Chapter Two

A/N: Special thanks to Valyssia, Em, and Kina for beta help.

That was an experience. I think I could go another year without being around those two. Willow wasn't too bad, it's just that I'm really not a large crowd kind of person anymore.

I walk towards my art class, watching the people who pass. The sun beats down on me, warming my skin. I pass an empty bench and decide to sit down, just enjoying the day.

Reaching into my bag, I take a cigarette from my pack. I should quit. I promised Stella I would.

I promised her a lot of things, though.

Sighing, I place the filter between my lips and slouch forward to fish my Colibri from my jeans pocket. I click the lighter and take a deep drag, then slowly let the smoke go.

Here's to my health.

College was supposed to be it for us. For the first time in forever, things were gonna be perfect.

I close my eyes and see her smiling face. Tears start to form in the corners of my eyes and my nose gets that annoying tingly feeling. I take a long drag off the cigarette. Maybe it'll help curb the impulse to cry.

I haven't cried since the night Dumbass DuMos stuck me with my goddamned soul. I've got no clue whether it was a 'revenge' thing or that annoying 'holier than thou' streak of stubborn nobility. I did sorta kill his daughter. But knowing him, it was about being noble. Stupid Watchers.

Longest night of my life and all I did was cry. It's the only time I can remember crying that much.

Somehow I ended up at her grave. Clueless how I got there. I stood until the last few moments before dawn, and then I laid down. It would've been so easy to stay there and just let the sun do me in. I'd lost her. Worse, I was the monster…

I want to bail, but my vision's so blurred with tears now that walking's out of the question. I take another drag instead. Go figure, my brain just won't let it rest. It's like a dog with a bone.

The sky was getting lighter by the moment. I wished so hard that I could just go back a few weeks. Back to stop everything. Back to when things could still be perfect.

I could've fixed it.

But the PTBs obviously thought things were just peachy. No slack for me.

The rays were just a few inches from me, peaking over the headstones when Whistler showed up and ruined my brilliant plan. I don't remember much, just him smiling upside down at me, then darkness. When I woke up, we were inside of a mausoleum.

His voice echoed through the stone chamber. "Wakey, wakey, Sunshine."

Annoying bastard.

He made it sound like they have some grand scheme, but I really just think they're playing it by ear. Trying to keep the 'balance'. Whatever that means.

I can't think of a single good reason why Stella's in the ground and I'm still walking around.

A tear seeps out and I roughly swipe it away. Great, now my makeup is screwed up too. I can feel the pressure building up in my chest and the tingly sensation in my nose just gets more obnoxious.

I blink away the tears and glance down at my watch, taking in the goofy cartoon dog. He's all blotchy, but his silly grin still jumps out. Scooby Do. A harsh laugh bubbles up. I let go. The good: it eases the pressure and the prickly badness.

I've got about five minutes till art class starts and I still need to fix the mess that is my face.

I wiggle the cherry off the end of my cigarette, stepping on it to kill the fire. After tossing the butt into the trashcan beside me, I reach into my bag and pull out my PDA.

This was a purchase I just couldn't resist. The vamp lifestyle just wasn't working for me. Figures technology would eventually catch up with and surpass an ancient curse.

I flip it open, start the camera app and snap a picture of myself.

Welcome to the digital age.

It's not as bad as I thought. A little puffy around the eyes, but that'll pass.

Waterproof mascara for the win. Not only does it resist smudging, it last for days which is a major bonus when you're reflection-free. Just putting eye makeup on is an adventure.

Quickly stowing my PDA, I spare a glance at Scooby. Two minutes late. Go Figure.

I stand and hitch my pack over my shoulder before setting off in the general direction of my class.

The watch is pretty much a weirdness all of its own. It's a whimsical new addition to my ensemble. I picked it up on the way here. It's not like there weren't tons of choices. It doesn't really match anything I own, which at least gives me a uniform unmatchiness.

Unmatchiness aside, I needed it. Couldn't exactly cross my fingers and hope I'd find a place to stay before sunrise. It didn't help that the light for the stupid dash clock is out.

Paying a bunch of gorillas to restore my car wasn't the brightest thing I've ever done. That they didn't fix the dash lights—now that's just classic. Figures I'd get attached to a piece of shit beater like that old AMX. Silly me, I just had to have it. It and the pile of frustrating crap that came with it.

Course, I didn't think about that.

Really, me driving is a scary thought. Especially when you consider, I spent my 'learning how to drive' years in a city with really good public transportation.

I was tempted to hire someone to drive, but it would've been a waste of money. Plus, with the 'getting to know you time'…I took a pass. Chances are my driver would've ended up a light snack.

I'm supposed to be 'laying low and not drawing attention to myself' girl. That was the entire point of enrolling to begin with.

Welcome to the non-sensey chain of events that is my life…

There might be a lesson here. But I'd have to give a shit to see it. From beater cars, to cross-country drives, to watches with silly cartoon dogs… I glance at the cheap watch. I really should get a real, grown-up watch one of these days.

Again with the giving a shit.

Pushing one of the heavy metal doors aside, I step inside the building, finding myself in a long, dingy corridor. The air's chilly, the lighting really sucks and all of the walls are a drab gray color that could pass for car primer. It's seriously the sort of place most people avoid, which, I suppose, makes it a great place for an art class.

I walk into the classroom. My eyes instantly adjust to the overhead fluorescent lights. Easels stand in one big circle around the room. The polished concrete floor matches the general level of drab. People sit in the majority of the empty spots.

Standing in the middle of the circle is—I'm assuming—the teacher. She's a heavy-set lady with short, black curly hair and gold rimmed glasses. She could pass for somebody's grandma. And her shirt screams uh...safari, with just a few extra neon colored triangles thrown in. She's talking. Saying something about a survey.

As I skirt past her she hands me a bright pink piece of paper. She smiles tightly at me, "Thank you for joining us, Ms…?"

I find an open seat, sit down, and supply, "Summers."

Her eyes widen for a quick second, then she turns back to face the class. "As I was saying, I'd like for all of you to fill out a quick survey for me. Okay?" She nods as if punctuating the statement.

Can we not?

The only proof that anyone's even noticed her speaking is the sudden silence. No one that I can see gestures 'yes' or 'no'.

I stare blankly at the copy she handed me.

'How long have you been interested in art?'

She's earning major points for both creativity and originality.

Hmm, how 'bout since I was four and Mom stuck me in art classes? There's something about moms who run galleries and having a thing for art. It makes a kinda perverse sense that Mom can't draw a stick figure to save her life. So I became the next best thing to being there.

But that's probably not an 'acceptable' answer. I sigh and scribble, 'As long as I can remember.'

All of the questions are like that. Way too open ended to answer with one word. Especially the last one.

'Tell me something unique about yourself.'

There's a bunch of extra room under it. Nearly half the page. Well, I'm a gay—sorta retired 'cause of the deadness—ex-slayer. Oh, and I've probably made more money selling prints than you make in an entire year. That unique enough for ya?

Is there even such a thing as an 'ex-slayer'? I don't think that's the right way to put it. But I know it must exist. I'm pretty sure I'm not a figment of my own imagination. Then again, I could just be some loony in a mental institution who dreamt all this up.

Yeah, right.

To not be the slayer, you have to be dead, which—well, technicalities aside—still walking, talking and answering moronic questions, so…

It's not like they just let you quit. I would've if I could've. But I guess I did sorta quit. Then with the mess and the wacky master plans…

Note to self: Find out where exactly I fit in the grand scheme. And WTF I'm supposed to be called.

I should really have a title.

Slayer-sitter?

I roll my eyes and turn the paper over, leaving the question blank.

I wonder what kind of reaction an answer like that would get? She might agree with the 'loony' thing. Or maybe she'd end up being a Watcher. An evil fighting, good guy cleverly disguised as my art teacher. Pffft. There's a laugh.

A poor, emo looking kid stands up and turns his paper in first. I shrug and follow his lead.

I slump down in my seat and do my best to sit still. It's not like I care much about annoying people, but the 'being still' thing seems to fit with the 'low key' plan. Yup, that's me…a model of discretion.

Glancing around, my eyes skim over the other students. Most of them are still scribbling away at the last question. I use the 'everyone else is working' time to survey the room.

Old charcoal sketches are stapled in place, covering most of the walls. Some look fresh, while others look so old that the paper's yellowed and the corners are torn up. The hairspray must've worn off with time, because most of the yellowed ones are so smudged from people rubbing up against them that I'm not really sure what they were originally.

I tilt my head to the side and study one almost right in front of me. The bottom left corner's been ripped and taped back in place at least once. It may have been a vase. Or a coat rack. Or a giant, erect penis. I can't decide which.

I stifle a giggle and watch as the last person turns in their paper. My eyes follow her back to her spot and then dart back to our teacher. She's got a whole new stack of papers in her hands.

Oh, goody!

She passes out the papers and I stare blankly at the title: Course Syllabus.

Great.

I hate these things. They're always the same boring list of rules and grading formulas. There's gotta be a giant handbook that every teacher ever is given with this piece of paper in it.

She starts reading through it and I glue my eyes to Scooby's arms. Each second ticking by makes a loud echoy noise in my ears. I know it's not really that loud, but I'd rather listen to the clock tick than go through another syllabus. What really sucks is that I know I'll have to go through another one before the day's up.

It's all a waste of time anyway. I've both been here and done this. It's like the administration office for UCSD went 'Well, it's great that you're really a sophomore and should be in the most advanced painting class…according to New York. But we really think you need to get those kindergarten basics down pat!'

I hold in the exasperated sigh I can feel welling up in my chest. Fifteen minutes until Psych starts.

The soft murmur of talking fills the room again and I rip my eyes from Scooby's mocking grin. Mrs. Cranston is standing in front of the class looking at all of us with that big goofy grin still stuck on her face.

She claps her hands to get our attention. She's gotta find a new way to get people to shut up. Her clapping's gonna get old really fast.

Maybe I'll get her a whistle?

No, it'd be too loud.

Maybe a bell?

No, too maid's quarterish.

"Class will be cut short since it's our first day. Your assignment? Draw something, anything at all, as long as you think it's interesting." She smiles happily and waves us off.

Again with resisting the impulse to raise an eyebrow. I've had weirder art teachers. But that doesn't mean they all need to be strange, does it?

It's like when they were growing up, they had to take the career assessment tests and the results read, 'You're weird. Please select one of the following exciting career choices: A: Shopping cart lady. B: Shrink. C: Art Teacher.'

I grab my stuff and stand up. Something interesting to me, huh?

I used to paint Stella a lot. Of course, I had to sketch her before I could paint her. But she was always nude. Maybe I'll try something less naked. How about, uh... a rock? They're not really so much not naked, er…uh, clothed. But their nakedness…

Yeah…I'm sure I could find a nifty rock just lying around somewhere.

I walk across the quad and into the Psychology building. Its way nicer than the art building was. Red and beige bricks with large windows make up most of the walls and the hallway is a large open space filled with people. I manage to skirt around most of the students, who're just standing in place, talking, and find my psychology class.

Hmm, a totally different set up.

There's a giant staircase up both sides of the class, and movie theater type seating. Only with a lot less cushy looking chairs. That's kind of a rip. I have to walk up half a flight of stairs to sit in an uncomfy chair?

At least art had cushy chairs. Maybe there was a trade off? Cushy chairs or nice building? Sounds like they were gypped to me.

I roll my eyes and settle for a spot half way up, somewhere vaguely towards the middle. Grabbing my sketch pad out of my bag, I stare blankly down at it. Might as well at least attempt to look busy. Maybe it'll discourage people from sitting near me.

I grab my pencil and start to sketch the first thing that pops into my head.

Go figure, it's disturbing.

Every time, it's always the same. I used to be able to draw happy things. But lately, all that seems to come out of me is death. I sigh and scratch out the outline of a corpse.

A plopping noise next to me yanks me out of my thoughts. I spare a glance at whoever just sat down.

Willow smiles brightly at me and offers a tiny wave, "Hey, mind if I sit here?"

I raise both eyebrows. She kinda already is.

"Be my guest." I think I can handle just her. My brow relaxes. "How was your class?" I close my sketch pad and shove it back into my bag.

Her smile widens before she answers, "It was great. The professor is supposed to be new here, and he's got all of these artifacts that he collected from all over the world. And each one has a story tied to it, like today he showed us this piece of parchment that they carbon dated back to renaissance times! And that's not even including the books!"

My eyes widen just a little bit. That was pretty impressive, considering she still needs to breathe if she wants to continue living.

"Oh, oh, oh, and not only that, but he said he'd let me read them!"

I might be scared if she wasn't so damned cute.

I chuckle a little bit at the thought. What else is she gonna do with the books? Use them for Christmas ornaments?

She sucks in a huge breath of air. "And yes, I'm always this much of a nerd."

I give her a reserved smile. "It's cool. Willow babble's kinda cute."

Color floods her cheeks and she looks away.

Okay, so…I was flirting with her. But it's not like I was asking her to have sex with me tonight or anything. Sheesh. She's uh...well, even cuter flustered.

She glances at me and flashes a quick smile. See? Compliments aren't that bad.

I grin at her, nearly on autopilot.

Someone at the front of the classroom clears their throat loudly. I tear my eyes from the hottie next to me and look down. Major disappointment. There's an older looking blonde woman with cropped short hair, and a younger guy who looks like a cardboard cutout.

The woman speaks up first. "I'm Professor Walsh. I'll be your instructor for introduction to Psychology one-oh-one." She waits for a second and then gestures at the young man. "This is Riley Finn. He'll be my T.A. this semester."

He gives a short wave at the entire class and steps forward. "At the beginning of each class I'll be calling roll alphabetically by last name. Just raise a hand and say 'here'."

Behind him, Professor Walsh starts speaking again. "After roll each day, we'll begin with the lecture." She starts passing out papers and I look down at it. "I run a tight class, and assign a lot of work. I expect you to keep up. Tardiness and absences will not be tolerated."

Another syllabus.

Joy.

The T.A. starts the roll call. He doesn't look like a very interesting person. His voice fits his face. I try not to yawn. I stare down at my nails, searching for something more interesting than him.

Shouldn't be too hard to find.

Yeah…this is riveting.

When did I get that bruise on the back of my hand? I don't remember that.

"Willow Rosenberg?"

Willow raises her hand next to me and pipes up, "Present."

I look towards him. He barely notices her reply. Huh, ass-wipe.

I shoot him a glare, but he completely ignores me.

"Buffy Summers?"

Giving him a vague half-wave, I mutter, "Here."

This time he glances up, double-takes and finally stares.

I give him my best, most-intimidating glare, the kind that used to make baddies run in fear.

Only, he doesn't seem to notice. His expression glazes over and I give in to the urge to roll my eyes. It seems to snap him out of it.

He finishes and Professor Walsh starts going over the syllabus.

I slip off into my own little world. Again. At least this time, there's no survey.

I lean over and let my head rest on my open hand. I could really use some sleep. I haven't even found my dorm room yet. The having a dorm room at all is bleh-worthy. We were gonna get an off campus apartment. Dorm life was never supposed to enter into the picture.

Now I've got to not only put up with B.O., burnt ramen smell and my roommate; I'm actually paying these people to let me put up with all of it. This year's gonna be a blast.

I let out a loud huff through my nose. Willow turns to glance at me and I send her a reassuring smile.

Euch. Not to mention co-ed bathrooms.

If living off campus was an option, I totally would. UCSD has this rule about first year students. I tried to argue that technically I'm a sophomore, but they so weren't buying it. So here I am. Ten months in hell.

I look up. Walsh is still talking. She waves her hands a little bit for punctuation. But I'm really not listening, so I don't exactly know why the punctuation is needed.

Willow stands up and I give her a questioning glance. She smiles slightly. "It's time to go. Unless you just like these seats. Then I guess you can stay. But I really don't think they're worth it."

I nod. "No, definitely not that comfy."

I stand and follow her down the stairs. I walk past Riley and he calls my name.

La-di-da…I can't hear you. I can't hear you.

I smile at Willow, just listening to her as she talks about some computer class she's taking. She pauses mid-sentence, and looks behind me with a funny expression. He must've followed us.

"Uh, I think someone's trying to get your attention." She nods behind me.

I don't even have to look. The stench of Old Spice totally gives it away.

Great.

My eyes widen as he gets closer. Leaning in, I whisper, "Play along?"

She nods, not even asking what I want her to play along with. I reach out and grab her hand, turning to face the rapidly approaching T.A. at the same time.

"Hey, Buffy." He stands awkwardly in front of me, rocking back and forth on his feet with both hands stuffed into his jeans pockets.

I smile politely at him. "Hi Riley. What's up?"

Please don't ask me out.

He glances down at our linked hands and then back up at me. "I was just wondering…" he starts off lamely and finishes even lamer.

Figures. Working up the nerve is a thing. I wonder how he'd take it if I flashed him my alter-ego. A thin smile flickers across my face. Of course—stupid me—he takes this as permission to continue.

"I was just wondering if maybe you'd…" I put on my best glower. "…if you want to go out with me sometime," he finally stammers to a conclusion moments before I start with the hand twirling.

Is he seriously that stupid?

Do I really need to ask?

Oh, I get it.

He's really an enchanted Ken doll, brought to life with dark magic by an evil witch bent on giving me an ulcer…

Or a headache.

Has to be it. Bet if I pulled his head off, it'd be hollow.

Maybe later.

"Sorry, but I'm kind of...taken." I hold up our hands and he turns instantly bright red.

"Yeah, and uhm, I really don't share well," Willow says and leans over to plant a kiss on my cheek.

If I was still alive, I'd blush.

He gets a tight smile on his face.

"Oh, okay, well, maybe some other time then." His voice sounds so pathetic. I think even he knows that 'some other time' won't ever come.

"Yeah, sure, maybe." But pretty much 'no.' Never. The only way would be if that witch turned me into a Barbie.

Good luck with that.

I turn us around and guide us toward the exit.

She tightens her grip on my hand and asks, "Is he still watching?"

I glance back as inconspicuously as I can. Numbskull still has his gaze glued to both of us. "Yup."

We walk out the door and around the corner before I loosen my grip. My hand is just hanging at my side, but for some reason she's still holding on.

"Thanks for the save."

She lets go after a second and blushes.

And with the awkward silence. We both look down at her fidgeting hands.

After a minute, she looks up and the fidgeting stops. "So uhm, do you have another class? Or…?"

I smile as she finally meets my eyes. "No, I'm free. You?"

"Free. Extremely free. Have you found your dorm yet?" I shake my head no and she continues, "Do you know what hall you're in?"

"Stevenson, I think."

She starts fidgeting again. "Me too. Wanna maybe walk together?"

I nod and she leads the way.

"I haven't met my roommate yet, but there's a posting down at the bottom of the stairs that'll tell you what room you're in."

I wonder if everyone here is this…uh, open? Maybe? She'd last about three point two seconds in New York.

Anyway, she just accepts whatever and doesn't question.

That's probably not a good thing. That way lays badness and ruptured necks.

Then again, she doesn't get that I'm kinda pulse-less. Or would that be pulse-free?

She's still talking, but I kind of zoned on her.

Whoops.

"…took me a few to find it, but it's just up here on the left." She points to a big brick building ahead of us. I nod as we approach.

Spying a clipboard, I shake my head and walk up to it. Yeah…it's like someone gave this whole damned town a huge shot of naïve. Once I locate my name, I turn and give her a sidelong glance. "I'm in room two-fourteen." Oh joy. Losers above me and losers below. Good times! "What's yours?"

She smiles back excitedly. "Oh this is great. I'm in two-sixteen. We're neighbors!"

She reaches out and grabs my hand, lacing our fingers. "C'mon, I'll show you where we're at."

I smile in agreement and follow her up the stairs.

But I'm not so much minding the view. My attention fixes on her—

Gah!

Stupid eyes!

Equally stupid boyfriend…

And only badness lies down this path.