'The Freshman Fifteen' is an alternate fourth season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. A fanfic writer is not constrained by TV budgets or schedules, so more options are available. 'The Freshman Fifteen' is a direct continuation of 'The Trick Chronicles' and finds the Scoobies scattered far and wide: Buffy in Sunnydale, Cordelia in LA, Willow in Boston/Cambridge, Oz and Xander on the road, and Faith on another road. The series title is not a promise that there will be exactly fifteen stories; it's simply a popular idiom. Each story will deal with one character (two in the case of Oz and Xander) and will run concurrently. I hope you enjoy this series and, if you do, that you will leave feedback. Thanks.

Suggested listening:

"Ten Minutes" Get Up Kids

"Love Is All Around" Joan Jett & the Blackhearts

"Cherry Bomb" Joan Jett & the Blackhearts

"Danger" Sally Ford and the Sound Outside

"Rising Sun" Samantha Crain & the Midnight Shivers

Five Dollars, Same As In Town

by

Michael Walker

The car came to an abrupt and screeching halt, rocking on its suspension. The passenger door flew open and a girl stumbled out into the street, dragging a large black nylon duffel bag behind her. The bag bounced at her feet as the car accelerated away, leaving a small cloud of grit settling onto the cracked pavement. She reached down, grabbed a hunk of loose concrete, and came up throwing. The projectile flew straight and true in a beautiful arc, leaving a star-shaped chip in the sedan's rear window. The brake lights flashed, but the car did not stop or slow appreciably. It sped away, leaving her spouting an incredibly creative stream of profanities. When she finally ran out of breath, the car was long gone. The girl was medium height, oval face, pale skin, and big dark eyes. Her hair was long, the kind of long that spoke of too much time between cuts, and just a half-shade away from true black. She appeared to finally become aware of her surroundings.

The town was laid out at the crossroads of two highways, one state, one county. It was longer than it was wide, with the state highway frontage claiming the bulk of the business district, a business district which wasn't very bulky. Three and four storefronts at a time were empty, and not recently empty. The occupied buildings were mostly flea markets and second-hand stores; there was one functional hardware store on the corner up ahead, and a diner directly in front of her with a hand-lettered cardboard sign in the window that read 'Open'. She didn't need any secondhand furniture or plumbing supplies, but the thought of a cheeseburger produced a very solid rumble from her stomach. She hoisted the duffel bag to her shoulder and stepped up onto the sidewalk, the weight of the bag giving her a swinging gait, then pushed the tarnished steel bar of the diner's door and turned left through the small entryway and a second door.

The inside was very clean. The floor was alternating linoleum tiles of black and white. The stools at the counter were black and chromed steel, and the tables and booths continued the color scheme, but in a mismatched fashion, spanning the decades from the 50s to the mid-80s. The counter was lined with customers, mostly older guys who ostentatiously avoided looking at her. It seemed like a safe bet to assume they were locals; you'd have to be aiming at this place to hit it. Two women sharing a table gave her a good once-over, then returned to their plates. Still, it seemed like they disapproved. One guy was behind the counter. He nodded a greeting as she stopped and surveyed the space.

"Sit anywhere there's an open seat," he said.

She stared at him, then chose a booth in the back corner. Even in her heavy boots and carrying the duffel bag, her stride was lithe and graceful. She could feel eyes on her back as she dropped the bag on one of the booth's vinyl bench seats, then took the other. The other patrons had already returned to their previous programming. She looked out the large plate-glass window, then at the door, then finally relaxed a bit.

"Here you go." A menu appeared on the table in front of her.

"Cheeseburger, fries, Coke," she muttered, her eyes still on the window.

"Okay, that was quick." The menu disappeared. The guy went through the swinging door behind the counter and in three minutes the smell and sizzle of ground beef hitting a hot flattop caused her stomach to rumble again. She reached into the front pocket of her jeans and spread what she found there on the table. She counted it twice; by the time she finished, a white china plate slid in front of her. She hastily scooped the money off the table into her hand and looked up. At first glance, the guy seemed young, an impression aided by a shock of hair that would be blond in the summer and darken when the days grew shorter, but then you saw the thicket of lines at the corners of his eyes and two grooves that bracketed his mouth; they grew deep when he smiled. Which he was doing now, like an asshole. "You just passing through?"

She gave him a flat stare that was supposed to wither him in his tracks. It didn't. He just stood there, loose and easy, not that much taller than her, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his worn jeans. "I'm eating lunch," she said.

"I can see that," he said. "I didn't catch your name."

She picked up two french fries and took her time eating them. "I never pitched it."

"That's from a movie," he said. "Wait, I know. The Music Man." He nodded. "I'm Ben Stillwell."

"Wow," she said. "If that isn't the most All-American name ever."

He smiled; his eyes got all squinty. "Could have been worse. My mom wanted to name me William."

"Bill Stillwell. You're right. That's worse." She took a draw off her drink.

"Well," he said, "I've told you my name, and I shared the bullet I dodged as a baby, so, you are…" He wasn't going anywhere, that much was obvious. He was way too comfortable and at ease. She sucked at one of her canines and made a decision.

"I'm Faith," she said.

"Pleased to meet you," he said. "I'll let you finish your lunch."

"You coulda done that without all the song and dance," she muttered under her breath as he walked away. Faith attacked her cheeseburger, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he was watching her. The women at the table finished their ice cream sundaes, chatted for a minute with Ben Stillwell (Faith rolled her eyes at the name's corniness), giggled (pretty old to be giggling, but that's what they did) at something he said, then waved as they left. The old guys muttered to each other and laughed. The guy at the end, a burly fellow with a snap-back cap and a beard that had been red but was about to become mostly white, said, "Play your cards right, Benjy, you might get a girlfriend."

"Might get two," the man beside him muttered, provoking a general round of laughter.

Ben wiped down the table with a bar rag. "I'm not man enough for either one of them, let alone both." The chorus at the bar found this totally hilarious and headed out the door in a fine mood. Ben shook his head, stacked up their cups and saucers and took them to the back, then wiped down the counter. Faith finished her meal and slung her bag over her shoulder as she walked to the register.

"Everything good?" Ben asked as he plucked a green order ticket off a spindle.

"Yeah, it was great. Five by five." Faith dug her money out of her pocket, but Ben leaned against the shelves along the back wall, his arms crossed and the order ticket dangling from his fingers. "You got a problem?" Faith said. "I can pay for my lunch."

"Can you pay for your next one?" he asked.

"The fuck you wanna know?" she bristled.

"Well," he said, "your arrival here seems unplanned, and your luggage there-" he nodded toward her bag "-looks more practical than stylish, your hair looks like you should have seen your stylist about six weeks ago, and your clothes look…" He considered his words carefully "...well broken in."

"You really know how to flatter a girl, sweet talker."

Ben tilted his head to one side in acknowledgement of her jibe. "So, I'm guessing, and I could be way off base here, but I don't think I am, that what happened out there-" this time he nodded toward the street "-was somebody you hitched a ride with decided that you needed to pitch in on ride expenses."

Faith offered a cynical smile. "Gas, grass, or ass, nobody rides for free."

Ben scratched his jaw with a thumb. "I've heard that somewhere."

"Yeah, he was skeevy even by that standard. I fell asleep and when I woke up he was trying to get his hand up under my shirt." She gestured toward her black tee with red ringer trim on the sleeves and neck. "I shoulda rode in the back seat."

"And you bailed out?" Ben asked.

Faith lifted one shoulder and curled her lip. "I broke his thumb and punched him in the nuts first."

"Ouch." Ben's legs drew together. "That would explain the sudden stop." He frowned like a man working out a particularly knotty math problem. "I have an offer," he said.

"Did you just hear that story?" Faith snorted, then surveyed him up and down. "Your thumbs don't look very strong."

"What? No. God, no." Ben shook his head, then pointed down the counter toward the swinging door. "Just slide down there, stay on your side, and look at something."

"Man, you are just making this worse." Her eyes narrowed.

"Here." Ben moved to his left and pushed the door open with one hand. Faith eyed him suspiciously, slid a few feet to her right, then looked through the door, trying to keep Ben in her field of vision the whole time. She could see a stainless steel double sink piled high with dishes; the cups from the afternoon coffee boys were stacked on the drain tray. "This is my offer," Ben said as the door closed. "You keep your money. Tomorrow, you come in and help me clean up that mess, and I'll pay you."

"You said 'tomorrow'. Why do you think I'm staying in this wide spot?" Faith looked exasperated.

"Do you have a ride? You want to get back on the highway and put out your thumb?"

"Maybe I'll just walk." She hitched the bag higher on her shoulder.

Ben shook his head. "You can't get anywhere before dark."

"I've slept outside before."

"It gets pretty cold up here at night." Ben crossed his arms. "And you don't want to be outside after dark, anyway."

Faith stifled a laugh. "Ooooh, the boogeyman'll get me?" She cast a theatrical look toward the window. "I don't see a motel around here."

Ben held up a finger. "I'm going to write down an address for you-"

"And there's the catch," Faith said, stepping back and raising her hands. "Took you long enough to spring it. What, I go there, maybe slip into a nice bubble bath, you'll be there directly?"

He looked exhausted. "This is my sister's address. I do not live there." He tore one of the green order slips from a pad and scribbled on it, then extended it toward her. "Here. Take it, don't take it, go, don't go." He sighed. "I'm just trying to do you a solid and you have worn me out."

Faith eyed him suspiciously, then stepped forward and snatched the paper from his hand. She looked at it, then at him. "Which way is this?"

He pointed out the window. "Take the county highway, second right. The signs aren't very good, but once you turn, you can't miss it. It's the nicest double-wide on the street."

Faith nodded, still looking at him a little sideways. "Double-wide. Awesome."

Ben shook his head and flipped the bar rag over his shoulder. "I'll call her and tell her you might be coming." He pulled at the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. "But I meant what I said about not being out after dark."

The road rose slightly, just enough that Faith was aware of the weight of the bag pulling back against her shoulder. The advice about the street signage had been correct; the galvanized pole was leaning and had several rust spots. Worse, there was no sign atop it. Still, it was the second right. As she turned, Faith tried to figure out why she was playing the chump. Going to some house on the word of some guy you just met? She was walking into a meth den if she was lucky, but one advantage to being the Slayer was that the sort of guys who manned rural meth kitchens weren't really that frightening. Faith didn't really know where she was. When she'd gotten into the sleazebag's car, she had been more or less traveling up the coast, but she was definitely in the mountains now. She was pretty sure they hadn't passed San Francisco, although her grasp of California's geography was pretty shaky, and she was tired. Ben might be a Boy Scout, he might be a serial killer, but he was observant. It had been a while since she'd slept in a real bed, and her wardrobe was acquiring a certain… personality. She snorted. Personality, hell, some of it was about to walk on its own.

Faith looked at the slip of paper in her hand, then at the vinyl numbers stuck to the mailbox thrust into the ground at the corner where the barely-paved street met a muddy gravel driveway. A pickup that had apparently used the driveway a few times recently was parked in front of an honest-to-god double-wide trailer. As Ben had said, it was the nicest one on the street. The skirting was complete and intact; no missing panels or swaths of rust. It had aluminum siding, but it appeared to have been recently painted, and instead of a half-dozen cinder blocks stacked up as makeshift stairs, someone had gone to the trouble of erecting a cedar pergola. Faith skirted the mud of the driveway and went up the two steps. Before she reached the door, it opened to reveal a woman who shared genes with Ben: she had the same not-quite blond hair, the same cheekbones and jawline, and the same eyes, but her mouth was wider, and her nose was not as sharp. She wore navy-blue scrubs and white SAS sneakers. She crossed her arms and appraised Faith, one foot tapping as she did so.

The Slayer stared back. "I guess you're Ben's sister."

"I am," the woman said and nodded toward the duffel bag. "And you're the runaway he's sending to my door."

Faith rolled her tongue around her cheek. "That's a pretty quick judgment."

The woman-who-was-Ben's-sister sighed, long and low. "If I squint and the light's behind you, you might be seventeen. That accent's not from any part of California… Massachusetts, Vermont, New Hampshire, New England, but not California." She pointed at the Slayer's bag. "And by the look of that, you've got pretty much everything you own in there, so, you tell me, what are you?"

"I'm not a runaway. Runaway implies a place to run away from." Faith's eyes were hooded.

"Well, that makes me extra-willing to invite you into my house."

Faith's jaw tensed and her eyes flashed. "Lady, I don't know you from Sister Mary Theresa, but right now, I'm trying to decide whether I just leave, or whether I knock you out of those sensible shoes and then leave." She gave her head a savage shake. "I don't need anyone's help."

"Ben said you'd say that." The woman's eyes narrowed. "My brother's a good man. Too good for his own good sometimes."

"Is that supposed to make me go all gooey-center?" Faith backed up until her butt touched the cedar rail. "No dice."

The woman was silent for a moment, then nodded. "My name's Beth. Beth Stillwell Hopper. I tend to be overprotective of my brother."

Faith looked around at the dead-end street, the forest that started up maybe fifty feet behind the trailer, the muddy pickup."Overprotective from what? He's a grown-ass man and there's not much going on here."

"Like I said, you're, what? Seventeen?" Beth looked toward the highway. "Listen, Ben asked me to give you a place to stay for the night, and I'll do it, no questions asked, but if you're running a scam on him, I'll find out, and you do not want to mess with me. You want to come in, or not?"

Faith studied her for a few seconds. "I can respect that. For the record, this doesn't make us best buds, and this is all your brother's idea." She stared at the other woman, who stared back, neither one blinking. "So, what's with the scrubs?"

"I'm a nurse," Beth said.

"Really?" Faith looked doubtful. "Did I miss the doctor's office, or-"

"I'm an RN at the hospital in the county seat, thirty miles that way." Beth pointed behind her, in the direction of the county highway.

Faith's eyes narrowed. "You getting ready to leave for work?"

Beth shook her head. "Just getting home. I do twelve-hour days, three on, four off. I'm just starting this week's four off." She returned the Slayer's flinty look. "That's the only reason I'm considering this. No way I'd leave you in my house alone."

The standoff continued for a few more minutes, then Faith rolled her eyes and said, "Fuck it. You got a washing machine?"

"Washer and dryer in a nook off the kitchen."

Faith nodded. "Can I do laundry tonight?"

Beth nodded. "Sure."

Faith's mouth worked for a second. "I'll stay for one night, do my laundry, help your brother tomorrow, then split. Sound good?"

Beth finally opened the door, eyes still locked on Faith. "You can sleep in the first room on the left down the hall. The room at the end is mine."

"I've already shown you where everything goes," Ben said. "I just need you to wash everything up and put it away as it comes in. I'll handle the tables, the cooking, and that's everything, except, uh…"

"'Except, uh' what?" Faith said. She stood at one end of the kitchen, arms crossed, feet shoulder-width apart. It was very early, but clean clothes, a solid night's sleep, a real shower, and a bowl of instant oatmeal had done wonders.

Ben reached into a high cabinet and then extended his hand. "Hair net."

"No." Faith held up both hands in a warding gesture. "No. Not a chance. The Sox have a better shot at winning the Series than you do of getting me to wear a hair net."

Ben shrugged. "State says you have to wear something that contains your hair when working in a kitchen."

Faith puckered her lips, then held up a hand. "One second." She disappeared through the door, then crossed in front of the window. Three minutes later she crossed back, then came in again. "Here," she said, tying the bandanna around her head. "That count?"

"I guess, although a big chunk of the customers are going to think I hired one of the Crips, or the Bloods, or something. Guess it's better than a hair in the soup, anyway."

"Cool," Faith said. "By the way, the old guy runs the hardware store?"

"Pete."

"Yeah, Pete. I told him you'd pay him for this later."

Why had she grabbed a bandanna from the hardware store instead of walking out and hitting the road? Faith asked herself that question a dozen times, but she couldn't come up with a satisfactory answer other than she was just tired of moving. Still, she had to admit it was an easy gig. Six old guys that Ben called 'The Breakfast Club' came in a little after seven-thirty and ordered plates that explained why they were all on statins, then a little later a larger group of women (Faith suspected that they were the wives of the Breakfast Club with a couple of widows thrown in) who went in mostly for toast and jelly and enough coffee to fuel a day's worth of gossip, then a long fallow stretch, then a couple of odd mid-morning customers. That was pretty much the morning. She had plenty of time to wash and put away all the dishes, although she could see how Ben had gotten swamped. It would have been hard to do both jobs, but Ben was a talker. He visited with everyone, swapped stories and lies and compliments, and, while everyone left smiling, it took up time.

Lunch was a little different. Apparently, Ben had a good reputation among various state and county employees who worked in the patchwork of protected forests and streams that pretty much surrounded the town. Three game wardens came in together, and it seemed like a regular occurrence. A county extension office on the other side of the intersection took lunch break together, and odds and ends of townspeople. For the first time in the day, Faith felt a little rushed, but after literally facing down death, where was the fear in a sinkful of dishes. After the lunch crowd thinned around two o'clock, Ben stepped into the kitchen.

"How's it going?" he said.

Faith gestured toward the empty sink. "It's not brain surgery, it's washing dishes." She stripped off her heavy rubber gloves. "Why don't you just buy a dishwasher?"

"Good question." Ben looked around the kitchen. "I'm not required to have one. Diners this old were grandfathered in when the state updated restaurant standards."

Faith looked puzzled. "But it'd make your job easier."

"Ah, two truths, grasshopper. First, a commercial dishwasher is expensive. Second, if I buy and install one, then I void the grandfather status and have to update all the other appliances." He shrugged. "The manual task of washing dishes is a great way to calm the mind and soothe the soul."

"Then why aren't you the one achieving enlightenment?" Faith slapped the rubber gloves on her thigh. "Why do you need my help?"

"Because trading stories with customers is a great way to stimulate the mind, and I have a hard time keeping those two spiritual poles in balance."

She nodded. "Uh-huh. Hey, since we're chatting here, can I ask another question?"

"Shoot."

"Now, I've been back here pulling swab jockey duty, but everyone I've seen, either in here or through the window, is an adult. Why haven't I seen any kids around this town?"

"That's simple," Ben said. "There aren't any."

"What?" Faith blurted.

"Yeah." Ben pointed over her shoulder. "The school here closed down… six years ago, I think? Anyway, all the kids go to the consolidated school over in the county seat."

"Whew." She relaxed. "For a second I thought this was a Village of the Damned sitch."

"It's going to turn into one." Ben looked rueful. "Parents aren't crazy about their kids getting on the bus early in the morning and coming back late, which means that they leave town to be closer to the school, which means we have fewer kids, so…" He made a spiraling gesture with an index finger. "It becomes a reinforcing loop.

Faith nodded. "Is that the county seat where your sister works?"

"Yes."

"I had a friend, her mom was an RN, that's not bad money, so why does your sister live in a trailer thirty miles from her job?"

Ben squinted one eye and twisted his face away from her. "I'm not going there." He relaxed a little bit. "She worries about her brother, I'll say that." He clapped his hands. "Did you eat lunch?"

Faith realized that she was incredibly hungry. "I didn't."

Ben pointed at her. "If you can hold out until three, I'll make you a sandwich. Sound good?"

"I can make a sandwich," Faith said, eyes rolling.

"Not like this one, I'll promise you."

Faith shook her head. "Sure, it's only thirty-five minutes. I'll wait for this sandwich that'll change my life."

"Help me wipe down tables," Ben said. "Time will pass faster." Faith scoffed and followed him into the dining area. When the tables were clean, Ben locked the door, Faith flipped the hand-lettered sign to 'Closed', and they went into the kitchen.

"Here we go." Ben turned up the heat under the flattop, placed a cast iron skillet on it, and grabbed a loaf of bread and took out two slices. "First step in a great grilled cheese-"

"Grilled cheese?" Faith said. "I thought this sandwich was supposed to rock my world."

"You will apologize profusely for that skepticism. Yes, grilled cheese. A simple sandwich that can be sublime. First, sourdough bread." He held up the two slices. "Medium thickness. If it's too thick, the cheese won't melt properly, too thin and you lose the texture. So-" he put the slices of bread on a plate and pulled a glass jar from the refrigerator. He unscrewed the top and began to spread a creamy white substance.

"What's that?" Faith asked.

"Mayonnaise."

"What the hell?" Faith yelped.

"Yeah, everybody uses butter, but mayo adds bite and tang, especially when-" he held up the spatula "-when you make it yourself, which I do." He finished coating the bread in a thin layer of the spread, then reached into the fridge and took out a sealed container. "Now, the star of the show. This is a cheddar made by a guy just over the ridge. Two slices, then gouda, also from over the ridge." Ben wet his fingers under the sink and flicked the water on the griddle; the droplets beaded and skittered around the hot surface. "Okay, here's where we have to move fast." He picked up the sandwich in one hand and a dish towel in the other. "Aaaaaaand…. Go!" He dropped the sandwich on the flattop, picked up the smoking-hot skillet, and put it atop the bread. Smoke curled from beneath the skillet. Faith frowned and stepped forward, but Ben held up a hand. "Trust the process," he said, and nodded his head like a man listening to music. He reached out, snatched the skillet away, slid a spatula under the sandwich and transferred it to a plate. "Give it a minute," he said. "It's rocket-hot." He stepped out of the kitchen; Faith heard the cash register ding, the ice dispenser growl, then the fountain gurgle. Ben came back in and handed her a drink. "Now," he said, nodding toward the sandwich.

"That was some real David Copperfield shit," Faith said, "but sizzle ain't steak." She shook her head and picked up the sandwich, looked at Ben, then took a bite. She chewed, swallowed, then gawked at him, eyes wide. "Ohmigod," she gasped. "That is… that is…"

"What did I tell you?" he said. "Simple doesn't mean easy." He reached into his pocket and pulled out two twenties. "Tomorrow I'll show you the secret of a great ham-and-cheese sandwich." He held out the money.

Faith put the sandwich back on the plate. "What is this?"

"I told you if you helped me today, I'd pay you. That's what this is for. Take it." He pushed it toward her. Faith took the bills and shoved them into her pocket. "Okay. We're square, but-" Ben held up his hand, palm toward her "-it was a lot easier today with you here. If you want to, I'd like for you to help me tomorrow."

"Is this some Godfather 3 scam? You trying to pull me in?" Faith said, eyeing him with suspicion.

"No. Farthest thing from it. I'll pay you at the end of every day. You pick up and go whenever you want."

"What about your sister? She hates me."

"She doesn't hate you in particular. She doesn't trust the world in general. You've already seen Beth at her worst. She might bitch and moan, but she won't really do anything."

"You are one weird dude." Faith took another bite. "But this is a helluva sammich." She shook her head. "I feel like an idiot, but… okay, if your sister doesn't throw me out, I'll come back tomorrow."

"Great." Ben exhaled, and Faith realized he'd been holding his breath. "You go ahead and go, I'll scrub down the griddle, and I'll see you in the morning."

Faith paused, one foot on the bottom step of the pergola. She was about to go up when the door swung open and Beth stepped out. Her face was hard to read. "You're staying," she said.

"That's not a question," Faith replied.

"He already called."

"Do we have a problem?"

Beth's mouth set in a hard line. "Ben's a good man, as good as they come, but sometimes he wants to save the world."

Faith's eyelids went to half-mast. "I told you yesterday, I'm not looking for anyone to save me."

"I heard you. I'm not worried about you, I'm worried about my brother." Beth turned toward the door. "Come in. I already moved your bag back to the bedroom."