The woman who stood up behind the portable podium was well into her 40s, but she wore it lightly. She would have been called 'handsome' or 'striking' when she was younger; generous smile lines bracketed her mouth and one eye turned slightly in, which somehow just made her… interesting. She smiled, took a deep breath, and leaned toward the microphone.
"To those of you who are returning, welcome back." She hesitated. "And to those of you who are new, welcome aboard." A low murmur rippled through the assembled faculty of Sunnydale High School (or as Matti thought of it, Sunnydale High 2.0). "I've only met a few of you, so let me introduce myself. I am Janet Majewski, I am your new principal, and, before you ask, no, with that last name, I was not born in California." She waited until a collective chuckle rolled forth. Matti had to admit that the lady was good; the faculty and staff were certainly swinging in her direction.
"I know this summer has been difficult," Principal Majewski continued. "The disappearance of the previous principal and the serious attack on the school that left a student dead and one of our own terribly injured-" she tipped her head in Matti's direction; the coach felt her face grow hot as heads turned toward her "-cast a shadow over the ending of the school year." Majewski made a rueful face. "All the new tile and paint in the world can't change that, but you can. As this school, this community, begins to recover this year, and we are going to lead the way. We are not going to pretend that last year didn't happen, but we are going to move forward from it. We are going to model to our students that, while the effects of the past will be felt, we are headed toward the future, not looking backward."
Matti unconsciously flexed her arm. The effects of the past damn sure would be felt. The arm was still not up to snuff; her little pickup game earlier had left it aching and trembling. If there was one thing to which Matti Hollis was not accustomed, it was being unable to depend on part of her body.
Or not having a partner. She and Stefan hadn't been a team for long, but their connection had been deep. She hadn't met many men like him: he was fine with her being the team leader (a surprising number of men weren't), he wasn't threatened by the fact that she was a little taller than him (a surprising number of men were), and he had never tried to sleep with her (an unsurprising number of men had). Being a Knight of the Cross was dangerous, they knew that, but the way he had died at the hands of that brute still entered her dreams from time to time, leaving her shivering and sweating.
She missed Cordelia, too. She had grown accustomed to the girl and her thin skin and quirks. It was better that Cordelia was away at school, but everything seemed very quiet. On top of that, Buffy had pretty much disappeared from the scene. Matti had talked to Joyce a few times in the last weeks of summer, but Buffy had made no effort to touch base, and damned if Matti was going to chase the reluctant Slayer.
She shook her head. Principal Majewski had kept moving and Matti blinked, trying to catch up. "It's a cliche, but it's a cliche because it's true," the principal said as she placed both hands on the podium and leaned forward. "In any community, the schools shape the future, and in Sunnydale that is doubly important. Given the recent past, you, more than most teachers, hold tomorrow in your hands. Please know that I have your back and my office door is always open." She stepped back. "And now, I know you want to make sure you're ready for tomorrow, so I'll shut up and let you get back to your rooms."
Buffy slouched in the chair and swiveled it back and forth. The action seemed very apt: motion that went nowhere. Neither her history class nor her math class had suddenly grown exciting, but Buffy found that they were tolerable. It didn't seem logical, but at this point in time they were less odious than her high school courses. Or maybe she just cared less.
Her Anthropology class was another story: maybe it was all the time spent listening to Giles pore over ancient, dusty manuscripts, maybe it was all the exposure to demons and monsters from all over the world, but the subject was actually somewhat… interesting? Maybe that wasn't the right word, but, whatever, it felt kinda connected to something she knew about.
"Teresa? Could you get me those projections for the parks renovations?" Mackenzie Moss rubbed a hand over the back of her neck. A half-dozen binders littered the surface of her desk. When she had arrived in Sunnydale, she had found that the city had basically no chain of command or flow chart. She had spent the first one hundred and eighty days on the job trying to organize the departments and keep everyone from showing up at her door asking for her personal approval of whatever they were doing. It had been a rough rodeo, but things were finally running somewhat smoothly; animal control no longer showed up to ask her what she wanted done with various stray animals (what was up with that anyway). It had taken three months, but she had finally been able to carve out the time to begin working on The Project.
"Yes, Mr. Mitchell, what did you need to see me about?" Janet Majewski looked up as the man in janitor's khakis leaned against the doorjamb.
"There's a door in the basement," he said.
Of course, there's a door in the basement, that's how we get in. The retort rose quickly, but Principal Majewski tamped it back down and cleared her throat. "A particular door?" she asked.
"Yeah," the custodian said. "A new one. I don't have a key for it and I don't know where it goes."
"Wait, just, just a moment." Janet tried not to frown; she didn't need lines between her eyes. "What do you mean, you don't know where it goes?"
"Just what I said. Down in the boiler room, there's a new door."
"So, someone just cut a new doorway into a room that doesn't connect to anything?" She didn't quite keep the frown away.
"I don't know if it's a new doorway." Good god, the man made Clint Eastwood look like Dame Edna. "Mighta been there before, coulda been behind the old boiler, but the door is new, and it's like a submarine door."
"Well, where does it go?"
"Like I said, I don't have a key." Mitchell jingled the large bundle of keys attached to his belt. "None of these open it."
Janet Majewski leaned back in her chair. "So, do I have this right… We have a new security door in the basement, set in the wall of a room that's not connected to anything, and I'm assuming, since you don't have a key and you are the head custodian, that no one has a key."
"That's pretty much it." Mitchell leaned against the door frame.
"Okay, I'll look into it. Thank you for bringing it to my attention." Mitchell took her clear cue and made himself scarce. After he was gone, the principal's mouth drew down into a small bow.
"Well," she muttered, "that is just peachy."
Matti looked up from the practice schedule on her clipboard. Her visitor had dark hair and brown eyes and was… voluptuous. The white tank top and red spandex shorts emphasized that quality: the seams of both garments seemed about to fail in various places.
Matti tossed the clipboard onto her desk. "Can I help you?"
The girl frowned. "Are you the cheerleading coach?"
"I was last year." Matti waved toward the clipboard. "I'm the girls' basketball coach this year."
"Oh." The girl seemed thoroughly nonplussed by this information. "Oh, you're not… so, okay, um, who is the, uh, the present cheer instructor?"
Matti leaned back in her chair. "That'd be Ms. Williams."
"Oh." The girl blinked. "Where, uh, where can I find her?"
"She's on the first floor, Room 114. Go back up the steps, head away from the gym, past the cafeteria, it's on the right before you get to the library."
"Okay, okay. Thanks." The girl nodded and disappeared from the doorway. Matti shook her head and picked up the clipboard, thoughts of a well-run practice filling her head.
Buffy occupied the seat closest to the back door as Dr. Adjei entered the room and pointed her clicker at the laptop on the table. The image of a man with round glasses, bristly mustache, and messy white hair appeared on the screen.
"This," the teacher said, "is Carl Jung, one of the most influential psychologists of all time, but we're not going to be delving into Jungian psychology. What interests us about him, as far as this class is concerned, is the way his work with dreams led him to develop the concept of the archetype." Dr. Adjei walked around in front of the podium and spread her hands wide. "We're all familiar with archetypes, even if you've never heard the word before. An archetype, for our purposes, is simply a character who exhibits certain recurring characteristics, characteristics that often become a shorthand description of the character. For instance, if I say 'Frankenstein monster', what do you think of?" She worked her clicker and a rendering of the famous creature filled the screen. "Are any of you screaming 'No, no, that's not right'? Of course not, we all know what the monster should look like. This is an example of an archetype, albeit a pretty crude one. Other familiar examples of archetypes might be 'the girl next door' or 'the mad scientist'. Now, depending on who you're reading or talking to, Jung posited four archetypes, or maybe six, or it could be twelve." Dr. Adjei clasped her hands behind her back and rose up on the toes of her tasteful pumps. "As we talk about archetypes in this class, we will not be hewing strictly to Jung's theory. I have used it as the jumping-off point, but I haven't been terribly faithful to his hypothesis." She winked and a small titter rippled through the crowd. She nodded and punched the clicker again. "The most basic archetype is the hero. The hero often has a special birth, but doesn't know it. He or she may have special powers that they don't discover until just before they receive the call to adventure." Buffy felt goosebumps rise on her forearms; she sat up a little straighter as the professor continued. "The hero requires training to learn how to control and use these powers." Dr Adjei cocked an eyebrow. "Any of you read the new Harry Potter? I thought so." She walked across the stage, taking long steps for such a small woman. "It's all right, there's a reason they're so popular. Harry is the classic archetype of a hero."
"What part of 'it's a high school' is too hard to understand?" Mackenzie Moss's eyes squeezed shut and her knuckles whitened on the phone. "Yes, I know it's a complicated piece of equipment… trust me, I have read the material. If I'm not mistaken, and I'm not, calling 'complicated' is kind of a stretch. 'Experimental' would be better, I think. What? Well, you're just going to have to do it on weekends, provided there's not a band contest or speech tournament going on. Again, it's a high school, events sometimes take place on Saturdays, that's why I sent you a calendar. Yes, Sundays are all open." She bit her lip. "Except maybe a Sunday in December. I think the choir has a Christmas concert or something. All right. Glad we understand each other." She put the phone back in the cradle with a little more force than was absolutely necessary.
"Idiots," she hissed. "Imbeciles."
Ophelia's leggings didn't have a logo anywhere on them, but based on their heft and sheen, Casey knew they were expensive, expensive like Ophelia's shoes and the car that delivered her to practice every morning. Ophelia pulled the tights up high and let the waistband go with a snap of elastic. She looked down at Casey seated on the bench.
"So, tomorrow's the first day of school. Does anything change?"
Casey blinked. "Um, not really. We'll still practice in the morning."
Ophelia frowned. It was utterly adorable. "So, does everybody just go to class reeking of cross-country funk?"
"Huh? No." Casey shook her head. "I mean, there are showers here, Tierra and Becka go home, I think, since they can drive."
"Oh, okay, cool. What do you do?"
Casey's mouth felt gummy and dry. "I, uh, I shower here, I keep, I bring my school shirt in my backpack."
Ophelia frowned at the phrase 'school shirt', but before she could respond, another voice cut through. "Hey, Ophelia, you wanna hang out at the Bronze tonight?" Gabby Melvoin and Katherine Johnson stood side-by-side, arms around each others' shoulders.
Ophelia's eye widened and she shrugged. "What's a Bronze?"
"Oh," Gabby said, shaking her head, "the Bronze is the only real club in town."
Katherine chimed in. "They're doing a bunch of back-to-school stuff this week. I think tonight is all new bands." She smirked. "Some will be good. Some will be hilarious."
The corners of Ophelia's mouth turned down and she nodded. "Sounds great." She turned to Casey. "Will you be there?"
"M-Me?" Casey stammered. "No, I, uh, I have to work tonight."
"Oh, okay." Ophelia put one foot on the bench and tied her shoe. "Rain check, then?"
"Um, yeah." Casey spoke to the tips of her toes as Ophelia followed Gabby and Katherine out of the locker room. The chatter of normal girl talk ebbed away and left her alone. She slipped on her sneakers, ran her fingers through her hair, and stood up, hyper-aware of the stiffness of her cheap nylon track pants.
"Buffy?"
The voice was familiar, but not immediately recognizable. She turned and laid eyes on a tall girl with hair so blond it was almost white and a tan like polished bronze. Buffy squinted at the girl and felt a name percolate to the surface. "Bryn?"
"Yeah." Bryn McDaniel stood hip-cocked, on hand resting at her belt. "I can't believe it's you. How are you?'
"Oh, I, um… I'm okay." Buffy stared. "Your hair…"
"Yeah, we went to Spain for the summer." Bryn ran a finger through her tresses. "I gotta lotta sun, and when I got back, I decided to just… give it a little boost."
"It goes killer with the ubertan."
Bryn looked down at her arms. "I really pushed it, but, god, Spain is so sunny and it felt so good." She wrinkled her nose. "I'm never gonna hit it that hard again, I mean, I don't wanna look like a saddle later, but this one time, I'm totally cool with it."
"Great." Buffy nodded. "Well, I-"
"Hey, have you heard from Cordelia?'
Buffy tried to ignore the sudden heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. "No, I haven't. I guess she's gone to LA and forgotten all about us small-town hicks."
Bryn shrugged. "I d'know. After everything with her folks last year, I think I'd kinda want to get outta town, too."
'Sister, you don't know the half of it.' Buffy kept her snark inside her head. "It's good to see you, but I-"
"Hey, are you busy tomorrow night?" Bryn tilted her head to the side.
"No." Buffy was totally flat-footed. "Why?"
"Oh, it's just, there's this party, I thought you might like to come and hang."
Buffy suppressed a shudder. "Sorry. Frat Row and I don't mesh too well."
"It's not a frat party." Bryn held up her hands like a crossing guard. "It's a meet'n'mix thing at the Cage, sort of a 'the semester is actually underway' kinda thing. There's supposed to be a band."
"Sounds boss." Buffy's eyes narrowed. "Why are you asking me?"
Bryn's nose scrunched again, but this time in a more distressed way. "Look, I know we weren't really friend friends in high school, but, I do kinda know you and I'm honestly feeling a little lost here, and I thought… I don't know, maybe you'd just like to, you know."
"You." Buffy's voice was sharper than she intended. "With that hair, and that tan, you're telling me that you feel out of place here, at UC Sunnydale?"
Bryn shrugged. "It sounds lame, I know, but I went all the way from kindergarten to high school with most of the same people. Now, I've met, like, six people from school, and three of them are computer geeks who I'm not even sure are speaking English." She grabbed her left elbow with her right hand. "And I know UCS isn't a huge campus, but it's still a lot bigger than SHS." One corner of her mouth rose. "When I saw you, I thought it might be good to have the girl who saved my ass out in the woods as my wingman."
A bitter laugh bubbled up in Buffy's throat, but she quelled it. "I don't think the Cage is quite that bad."
"Could be." Bryn raised her eyebrows. "Don't you even wanna give it a look?"
Buffy intended to decline, but as she opened her mouth, her mother's voice echoed through her skull. Instead she heard herself say, "Sure, why not? My mom keeps insisting that I'm not enjoying college enough. Maybe spending Friday night at a rager will get her off my back." She pasted a smile on her face. Bryn giggled and reached out to touch her arm; Buffy flinched in spite of herself.
Bryn either didn't notice or ignored the spasm. "Great. Um, nine o'clock sound good?" Bryn reached into her bag and came out with a small black rectangle. "Do you have a phone?"
Buffy replied by holding out her own palm-sized obelisk. "Sure do."
"Great. What's your number?" Bryn keyed in the digits as Buffy recited them. "Okay, give me a call before you leave home."
Buffy shrugged. "Sure. Meet you in front of the Cage."
The sun was behind the tree line; the orange glow outlined the top branches like a raging fire. Buffy sat with her feet on the porch railing, breathing shallow, eyes darting around the deepening shadows.
Joyce sat down beside her daughter on the wicker seat. "How's everything?"
Buffy looked away from her mother, toward the street. "I'm going to class. I'm turning in my assignments."
"Yes, you keep telling me that, like it's the only thing I care about." Joyce patted Buffy's thigh and felt a slight stiffening of the muscle. "What about everything else?"
"Everything else? That brush is pretty broad."
Joyce sighed. "Honey, have you even been out of the house after dark since Willow left? When I ask you how things are, your response is always 'I'm going to class, I'm turning in my assignments'." Joyce shook her head. "I could get that much response from a robot."
"I don't know," Buffy said. "Willow could probably program a robot to do a lot more than that."
Joyce bit her lip. "Honey, I know you miss Willow. And Oz, and Cordelia, and Xander, and…" She took in a breath. "But time doesn't stand still. You'll see everyone at the holidays, but in the meantime, you should be making friends."
Buffy half-turned to face her mother. "Who should I hang out with, Mom? The other kids who spent the summer fighting demons? Oh, that's right… there aren't any students like that, because all the ones who did have left, headed away to bigger and better things."
"Honey, I know that a lot has changed-"
"Yeah, mom, a lot has changed." Buffy turned back toward the street. "But if it'll make you feel any better, I agreed to go to a party on campus tomorrow night."
Joyce's reply was quick. "What sort of party?"
Buffy held up a hand. "Y'see, you can't do that, you can't tell me to get out more and then be all like the dad in 10 Things I Hate About You."
Joyce nodded and held up a hand. "Fair enough. Can I ask what prompted the change of heart?"
Buffy shrugged. "A girl I kinda knew in high school asked me and then applied a moderate amount of arm-twisting.
"Well, I'm glad, even if arm-twisting was involved." Joyce leaned over and kissed the top of her daughter's head. "I'm going to go read. I love you." She slipped into the house and closed the door, leaving Buffy outside with the screaming tree frogs.
