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Willow's heart had been pounding since she woke up. Well … since she opened her eyes, really, since she was pretty sure she hadn't slept a wink all last night. She had taken a long time getting dressed this morning, wanting to find an outfit that said to Oz that she was all his, one that said there were no illicit smooches on her mind, but one that also said she missed Oz's kisses and never wanted to be without them again.

She had finally stopped dithering when she knew the school's doors would be open, wanting to get there early so she couldn't possibly miss Oz's arrival.

On her way up the school steps, it occurred to her that he might not come to school today, and it felt like her heart practically stopped beating, before speeding up again with the need to hurry and make sure she didn't miss him.

She hovered near his locker, but there was no sign of him. Xander came in, wanting to hang, but she hurried him off. The very last thing she wanted in the world was for Oz to see her with Xander and think … things. No thinking things! She felt bad for Xander—Cordelia had closed that door pretty firmly—but she had to think of Oz first. If she had thought of Oz first before, none of them would be in this situation right now.

A voice behind her startled her out of her thoughts. "How's it goin'?"

She turned to see Buffy standing behind her. "Oz hasn't been to his locker! There may be books in there that he needs, but still—he doesn't come."

"Has Xander seen Cordelia?"

"I don't think so, but she is coming in today. Amy saw her last night at the mall." Willow felt guilty for leaving Xander to fend for himself—but then, hadn't he brought it all on himself in the first place by dating Cordelia?

"How is she?"

Buffy sounded concerned, and Willow felt guilty all over again. After all, Cordelia had been the one to land in the hospital; she deserved their sympathy and their good thoughts and their deeply meant apologies. If only she could see Oz, see him and talk to him and apologize in person, then she could think about Cordelia and Xander.

She realized Buffy was still waiting for an answer. "Amy said she looked pretty scary."

"Will, you're going to be late to class."

"I know."

"You hate to be late."

"I know."

Buffy smiled, understanding. "I'll see you later."

"Okay." Willow didn't even notice her leave, her focus back on Oz's locker.

He finally showed just before the last bell. The hallway was practically empty. Willow watched him around the corner. It seemed to her that he looked … different. Sad. But maybe that was just wishful thinking and he just looked like Oz. Part of her wanted to run away, to hide so he couldn't see her, so she couldn't see him and what his face would look like when he looked at her.

But the other part, the part that needed to make things right and put things back, pushed her around the corner in his direction. "Oz! Wow. Look at us, running into each other as two people who go to the same school are so likely to do now and then." She had no idea what she was saying. He turned to look at her, setting her worst fear to rest, her fear that he would ignore her entirely.

He said, "Hey." And then he walked right past her.

Could he do that? Could he just say "hey" and leave it at that? Willow grabbed his arm. "Oz, wait. Please?"

Oz stopped, but he didn't look at her. No question about it, there was an expression on his face. Pain. She had hurt him. If she had ever wondered how he felt, she didn't have to right now. Once she would have been glad to have seen so much emotion in him, but she had caused this, and it hurt them both, and … "What I did— When I think that … I hurt you … "

"Yeah. You said all this stuff already."

"Right. But …" If she'd said it all, everything she could think to say, why hadn't it helped? "I want to make it up to you. I mean, if you let me, I want to try."

Oz started to say something, then shook his head. "You can leave me alone," he said. "I need to figure things out."

Willow felt lost. If there was nothing she could do, then she would just have to carry around this big ball of guilt, and she didn't know if she could do that, not if there was no hope. "But, maybe if we talk about it," she said desperately, "we could …"

He looked away, and then down at the floor, before raising his head to look directly into her eyes, which he hadn't done yet. "Look … I'm sorry this is hard for you. But I told you what I need. So I can't help feeling like the reason you want to talk is so that you can feel better about yourself." He shook his head. "That's not my problem."

He left her there, standing in the middle of the hallway, feeling so small and so wrong and so lost.