Casey grabbed the phone before the second ring. "H-Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

"Yeah." Casey did not utter her complete thought: of course it was Ophelia because no one ever called her, and her mom would not be taking calls on a Saturday morning. "Where are we meeting at?"

There was a pause on the line. "I thought we could pick you up at your house."

"That's really nice of you, but you can't, I mean, I have some stuff to do." Casey caught a glimpse of herself in the oval mirror above the phone. Could she look any more like a liar?

"Well, then, what do you want to do?"

"Um, are you going to lunch first?"

"I think we're going to shop first, so we don't have to worry about time for lunch."

"Okay, what… what store are you going to?"

"Let me check." There was a rustling noise as Ophelia covered the phone, then Casey heard her voice, muffled but still definitely a shout. "She says she we're gonna be at Collective."

"Oh." Casey tried to swallow; her mouth was dry. "What time?"

The muted call-and-response was repeated. "Ten-thirty."

"Okay, uh, um, I'll meet you there, okay?"

"Let me check." The phone was covered a third time. "Yeah, that's fine. See you there."

"Yeah," Casey mumbled and hung up the phone. She looked in the mirror again and died a little inside. She had on a pair of jeans and a boat-neck T with horizontal navy stripes; both items had been pulled out of a drawer the night before and aired out because it had been so long since she had worn either one that they smelled kind of musty. Her hair needed cutting and she had found the white canvas sneakers in a back corner of the closet. The shoes felt weird; the insoles had hardened in the long interval since she had last put them on. She scribbled a Post-It note and stuck it under the phone, then grabbed her backpack from beside the door. She checked the knob to make sure it locked behind her, then went down the stairs. The railing shuddered under her hand and she remembered that a couple of the bolts were rusted through. The unfamiliar soles of the old shoes made every crack in the uneven concrete steps palpable. Casey walked to the corner, but not too fast; showing up sweating like a pig would not be good.

Casey had calculated the bus route; she had calculated it three times using pencil and paper. She had built in extra time since the buses sometimes ran late. The important thing was to get to the University district before Ophelia. She reached the stop at the end of the street and breathed a relieved sigh that no one else was waiting. She sat on the bench, backpack on her knees, on foot jumping. The bus was less than five minutes late. That was good; she had allotted ten minutes for lateness.

Casey peered around the corner. A midnight-black sedan with a split grille nosed into a parking space in front of the store; the passenger door opened and Ophelia got out, followed a moment later by Sybill Dandridge exiting the driver's side. Ophelia wore a navy blue tennis dress with a racer back and matching Adidas Superstars with white stripes and toe cap. A rose-pink clutch hung from a thin strap across her chest. Casey closed her eyes and swallowed, then tried on a smile. It felt stiff and ill-fitting, but it was the best she could do as she hitched her backpack up on her shoulder and wheeled around the corner. Ophelia grinned, her teeth gleaming in the autumn sun. Sybill Dandridge's smile was tighter as she dropped her keys into the expensive bag slung over her shoulder.

"Casey, it's good to see you," the blond woman said. "Thank you for coming."

"Thanks for inviting me." The line sounded phony and rehearsed in her ears, but no one else seemed to notice. Sybill opened the door to Collective and waved the girls in. The store was dimly lit, with spots highlighting mannequins sporting various outfits; the pieces that comprised each outfit were displayed on mobile shelves next to the figurines. Casey glanced at one mannequin wearing burnt-orange ankle boots, cropped jeans, a woolen shawl over a striped shirt, and a wide-brimmed hat. Her eyes fell on the shawl's price tag and she unconsciously edged away; the figure was roughly equal to their monthly rent.

"Welcome to Collective. How may I help you?" The well-modulated voice belonged to a woman somewhere between thirty-five and fifty. The store's lighting accentuated the angle of her jaw and the carriage of her neck.

"Well, I have an event coming up and I'm looking for a wrap." Sybill leaned forward conspiratorially. "It's outdoors and you know how it is this time of year."

"Oh, I know what you mean," the woman commiserated. "What is the expected level of dress?"

Sybill sighed and shook her head. "That's the problem. It's supposed to be casual, but…" She grimaced and raised her eyebrows.

"I understand. Come with me." She turned and walked toward the back of the store, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Sybill turned to Ophelia and Casey.

"You two can wait here if you want."

"Sure." Ophelia looked at Casey and jerked her head sideways. Collective had arm chairs and settees in discrete groupings throughout the store. "We'll hang out in the dad chairs." Sybill followed the saleslady as the girls settled themselves.

"This is a really nice place," Casey said, looking around.

Ophelia made a face. "It's, like, Divorced Mom's Dream House."

"Okay." Casey drew back before the sharpness of Ophelia's tone.

"Sorry, I just…" Ophelia looked toward the ceiling and shook her head. "She just sucks."

"Uh-"

"Like this, like, this is so fake, like it's mother/daughter time." Ophelia dropped her gaze to Casey's face. "If I had to be here with her, all morning, pretending, I don't know, I just-" Ophelia closed her eyes and let out a long, shuddering sigh.

Casey winced; her head buzzed like a half-dozen bees had entered her ears. "Well, uh, couldn't you, I mean, couldn't you just not come?"

Ophelia's eyes opened. "Then my dad acts all disappointed, like I'm the bad seed or something."

"Oh." Casey looked over her shoulder at the front window. The tinted glass made the street outside look dim and cloudy. She had just turned back when Sybill appeared from the back of the store holding some sort of floral knit shawl/sweater combo. Ophelia clasped her hands in her lap and stared at them as her stepmother paid.

"Well, that went well." Sybill glanced down at her shopping bag. "She understood exactly what I was looking for."

"I'll alert the media," Ophelia mumbled.

"What?" Sybill asked.

Ophelia turned away. "Nothing."

"I think you young ladies get to pick where we go next." Sybill's smile was wide. "Casey?"

"I, uh, I don't know, I mean, I don't know what's around here…"

"We can go to Sunflower Mercantile," Ophelia announced, pushing herself up from the chair.

"Of course." Sybill strode past them to the door.

Casey leaned toward Ophelia. "What's Sunflower Mercantile?" she whispered.

"It's a cool store. You'll like it. She'll hate it." Ophelia tipped her head toward the exit; Casey followed. University Row was lined with repurposed buildings: a bank that was now a restaurant, a granary that had morphed into an art gallery, and an old dry-goods store that had turned into Sunflower Mercantile. The building had been unequally divided: the bulk of the space was merchandise, while the left-hand third was a coffee bar and bakery. Entry was via an old screen door; the floor was the original bleached hardwood and the proprietors had refinished the old shelving and moved it around to display their wares, which seemed to consist mostly of high-end outdoor and running equipment. Two wide wooden steps led up to the cafe area and a matching staircase zigzagged up the back wall. Casey saw a circular rack of sweatshirts; there was a teal one that looked nice. She lifted the sleeve, saw the price tag, and dropped it like a hot ember. Ophelia had selected a burnt orange-and-black nylon backpack and was studying her reflection in what looked like an antique floor mirror.

"That's very nice," Sybill said.

"Yes," Ophelia said to her reflection. Her eyes shifted toward Casey. "Do you want one?"

"What? No, I mean, I can't, I couldn't-"

"Casey, I apologize for Ophelia's rudeness." Sybill gave her stepdaughter a pointed look. Ophelia scowled and held out the backpack, which Sybill accepted. "Anything else?"

"I'm going to look at the Blundstones." Ophelia's voice was edgy and a little sullen.

"Fine. I'm going to leave this at the register and get a latte." Sybill nodded at Casey and turned away. Ophelia went to a half-wall with boots arranged along its shelves and sat down on the bench facing it, kicking off her sneakers as she did so. She wore thin white footie socks.

A guy who looked like he might have tried out every piece of equipment in the store approached. "What can I show you?"

Ophelia pointed. "I'd like to try on a pair of those."

"Okay, nice choice. Do you like the stout brown?"

"Sure." Ophelia wiggled her toes as he left to retrieve the proper size footwear. Casey crossed her arms, uncrossed them, then recrossed them as she fidgeted. The guy returned with the boots; Ophelia slipped them on, then walked over to another wood-framed mirror.

The store associate chipped in. "How do they feel?"

Olivia turned back and forth, studying her reflection. "They feel good."

"They're great boots. Love mine. That air-injected sole is great.

"Uh-huh." Ophelia looked at Casey. "What do you think?"

"Uh, they look okay, I mean, they look nice."

"Yeah." Ophelia turned to the salesman. "I'll take them. You can box them up and put them with that backpack over there." She pointed at the register.

"Will do." He left with the box under his arm.

Ophelia slipped her sneakers back on. "Let's go."

"Wait, shouldn't we, shouldn't we tell your…"

Ophelia made a sour face. "Yeah, we should probably let Cruella DeVille know." She trooped up the two worn steps, Casey trailing in her wake. Sybill seemed to be expecting them; she was on her feet as they stood in the wide doorway.

"Did you find anything you liked?" she asked.

"Yeah, I got some boots." Ophelia gestured vaguely over her shoulder. "We're gonna go somewhere."

Sybill's face tightened up. "No, we're going to lunch."

Ophelia shook her head. "I think-"

"Ophelia." There was a definite snap to Sybill's voice. "You are not going off anywhere. We are going to lunch. Now, where would you like to go? I thought we might try 337."

"Ugh." Ophelia scowled. "Let's go to Burger Stand."

"Really, Ophelia." Sybill turned to Casey. "Where would you like to eat?"

Casey swallowed, which was quite difficult given her cottonmouth. "I, uh, the Burger Stand sounds good."

Sybill looked vaguely disappointed. "All right, you're our guest, the Burger Stand it is."

Buffy parked outside Happy Burger and sat unmoving. The autumn sun through the window made the RAV's interior temperature rise to an uncomfortable level. Perspiration trickled down the girl's spine, but she made no move to get out. As she looked at the bright white stucco and the garish neon, all she could remember was sitting at the Formica-covered tables as a hellish rain pounded down, a suffocating storm that the rest of Sunnydale seemed to have forgotten. Even getting a fast-food burger produced traumatic flashbacks. She couldn't force her hand to grip the handle, her arm to open the door. Shaking her head, she started the engine and threw the transmission into reverse. Her hands shook on the wheel as she turned out onto the street, but the constriction in her chest loosened when she was in motion. She hung a left on Main and a right on University Row.

She parked in the middle of the block between Main and Dorset and got out, grateful for the cool breeze; her carefully chosen smart outfit was pretty wilted. As she lifted her hair, a sleek black sedan with darkened windows rolled by. The hair at the nape of her neck bristled as her eyes followed the car. It stopped at the intersection of Main and Dover, then rolled through and parked on the left hand side of the street. She blinked and shook her head, then noticed the cafe across from her: Thyme Out. "Cute," she grumbled and crossed the street for lunch, moving easier now that every building and corner did not harbor a grim memory.

Casey put the last of her fries in her mouth and chewed. The Burger Stand was definitely a cut (at least) above mall food, but she was relieved that Sybill Dandridge was paying; when Casey had seen the prices chalked above the register she had almost had a heart attack. The restaurant was long and narrow; booths lined the right-hand wall and halfway down its length a short flight of stairs led to an elevated seating area. She and Ophelia were in a booth upstairs; Sybill was on the ground floor in a booth near the front window. Ophelia took a sip of her milkshake and twirled the straw absently.

"Have I done something to piss you off?"

Casey blinked, taken aback by the blunt question. "No, I mean, no."

Ophelia bit her lower lip and glanced away, eyes sparkling. "Then, do you just not want to be my friend?"

"What?"

"All day, you've acted like you'd rather be anywhere else… have I done something?"

"Ophelia- No, you haven't done anything…" Casey grimaced and looked away quickly. "Well, I mean, it's kind of… uncomfortable, being with you and your stepmom, I mean, I get that you have issues with her, but… I kinda feel like I got squeezed in the middle today. I don't want to… I don't need to be in other people's drama. I've got enough of my own." She caught her breath, waiting for Ophelia to storm out of the booth or throw her drink or something.

"But you always act like you're upset when I'm around, not just today."

"I'm not upset, I'm nervous." Casey clamped her lips tight; the response was more direct than she'd intended.

"Nervous? About what?" Ophelia's head tilted to the side.

"I don't, I don't hang out with people, I don't-"

Ophelia's brow furrowed. "Because of last fall?"

Casey's breath caught in her throat. "What do you mean?"

"People say things… like, you went missing for a week last year?"

Casey felt like she was strangling. "Yeah… yeah, I did."

"Well, what happened?" Ophelia leaned down to look up into Casey's face.

"It's… I don't…" Casey could barely hear, her heart hammered so loud in her ears. "Why are you doing this? You should be hanging out with Becca… or Gabby. They would love this."

"They're trash people." Ophelia's voice was matter-of-fact, as if this was the plainest statement in the world.

Casey coughed. "What?"

"They're fake. They saw our car and my clothes and that's how they decided they wanted me in their club."

"That's… pretty blunt."

Ophelia rolled her eyes. "I'm not stupid. I know that we have money. I know that I'm pretty, I can look in a mirror, but… that's not me, you know, that's just… that's just some luck I had. Everybody thinks I have a flawless life, and I know it looks that way, but it's not."

Casey closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "But… okay, Becca and Gabby are phonies, yeah, but… me?"

Ophelia shrugged. "You're real, you're who you are, and…" She tipped her head to the side. "And I don't know, but…" She stuck her tongue in her cheek. "I don't think you would stab me in the back."

"No," Casey said, "I probably wouldn't do that."

Ophelia stared down at the tabletop. "I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. "You're right. Today isn't fair to you. I just…" She looked up, her face clouded. "I just wanted you to come along because I, I don't like being out with her. It makes… it makes me miss my mom." Ophelia dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. "But you're right, I have been super-bitchy today, and I… I kinda took advantage of you being here, because I knew she wouldn't call me out if you were here. That was bad. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Casey looked down, amazed that her hand rested on Ophelia's; when did that happen? "I mean, it'll be okay… everybody has something that's too much sometimes."

Ophelia squeezed her hand. "Thanks." She released Casey's palm and grinned. "I have been a jerk so far. Can I make it up to you?"

"How would-" Casey cut off the rest of her sentence. Ophelia had scooted out of the booth and trotted down the steps and was talking to Sybill. After a brief back-and-forth, the girl looked toward Casey and waved a hand. Casey grabbed Ophelia's trash and bussed the table; after working at the mall, she was not going to leave a mess. By the time she reached the door, Sybill was standing with her bag over her shoulder.

"Ophelia says that you two would like to hang out for a little while." Sybill ran her thumb under the bag's strap.

"Yeah, I thought it would be cool to see Wax'n'Stacks. Have you been there?"

Casey shook her head. "No, I, uh, I shop at the mall, I mean, since I work there."

"Oh, you're gonna love it!" Ophelia turned back to her stepmother. "So, it's okay?"

Sybill sighed and handed a plastic card to Ophelia. "Try to keep it under two hundred dollars, all right? You can call when you're finished. I'll send the car."

Buffy stepped out onto the sidewalk and sighed. Lunch had been fine, but she was unsettled. The feeling seemed unrelated to her mood; this wasn't darkness so much as an itch, an annoying tickle at the edge of her consciousness, a metaphorical fly buzzing in her symbolic ear.

A car slammed on its brakes, rocking on the suspension, and Buffy realized that, in her funk, she had stepped off the sidewalk without checking the traffic. The driver threw an irritated gesture at her; Buffy responded with a half-hearted grimace/smile and a small wave. She finished crossing and scooted into the RAV. As she adjusted the mirror, she caught a glimpse of herself. Her pale, sweaty face disgusted her; she grabbed a handful of napkins from the door pocket and took care of the sweaty part, but now she looked even more pale and washed-out. She set her jaw and dug into her bag; eyeliner in hand, she twisted the mirror toward her and began applying it heavily.

Wax'n'Stacks was as cool as Ophelia had promised. The high-ceilinged room was divided down the middle: books on one side, cassettes and CDs on the other, a small section of vinyl LPs in one corner, and DVDs in the back, with judicial crossover displays. A modest crowd of aggressively hip young adults combed through the merchandise. Casey hesitated just inside the door, but Ophelia grabbed her hand and dragged her to a long bin of albums.

"Oh, have you heard of these guys?" Ophelia held up a CD box with multicolored starbursts on a peach background.

Casey shook her head. "No."

"They were all over at Duke last year. Real DIY indie." Ophelia replaced the record and leafed through the hard plastic boxes. "Oh, cool. Ben Folds is from North Carolina, Winston-Salem. Have you heard him?"

"I heard 'Brick', but everybody did, right?"

"True." Ophelia dove back into the rack. "Macy Gray… Oh, you've heard Ben Harper, right?"

Casey shook her head. "No, I haven't, I mean, I don't think so."

"Okay, okay, come on." Ophelia grabbed Casey's hand and dragged her to the service counter. "Hey," she said to the asymmetrical haircut behind the Formica, "have you got a listening station with a copy of Burn to Shine in it?"

Haircut nodded. "Ben Harper. Very cool high school." A finger pointed. "I think it's in number six."

"Cool." Ophelia fairly skipped down the aisle, dragging Casey in her slipstream. "Okay, let's see…" Ophelia looked at the numbers beneath the displayed CDs. "Fourteen… and… okay, they've got 'Steal My Kisses'." She grabbed the headphones from the peg and placed one can on her ear. "Here, here." She gestured emphatically at Casey, who held the other side of the phones to her own ear. She was very aware of the way their heads pressed together as Ophelia pushed the proper buttons and a syncopated funk drumbeat filled Casey's head, followed by a clean, silvery guitar riff and a slippery bass. "I pulled into Nashville, Tennessee…" The song played through the end of the first chorus and faded out.

"See? Wasn't that cool?" Ophelia's eyes shone as she stared into Casey's eyes from a distance of maybe eight inches.

"Yeah, yeah, it was." Casey released the earpiece and stepped back.

"So, what kind of music do you like to listen to?" Ophelia asked as she hung the phones on the peg.

"Uh, mostly whatever's on the radio at work." Casey felt intense embarrassment over her answer.

"Okay, um… do you like to read?"

"Oh yeah." Casey breathed a sigh of relief. She was on much firmer ground now. "I like Emily Dickinson a lot… last year I read The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. What?"

Ophelia's eyes were wide as she considered her response. "Well, one of those women spent her whole life alone in a room and the other, well…" She grimaced.

"That's not all I read," Casey protested. "I mean, I like Kurt Vonnegut… I read The Golden Compass, that was okay."

"I read The House on Mango Street in, like, the eighth grade," Ophelia countered. "I thought it was really sad." She frowned for a second, then brightened. "I really like Stephen King."

"I read 'Salem's Lot in the sixth grade," Casey replied. "I finished at midnight, like an idiot, and when I turned out the lights, there was, like, a voice in my head that said 'They're coming for you'."

"No way." Ophelia's eyes sparkled.

"Oh, way, and I thought, 'There's no such thing as vampires' and then the voice said 'That's what the people in the book thought, too'." She smiled wistfully. "I ended up sleeping with a plaster crucifix under my pillow."

"A plaster crucifix?"

"I went to vacation bible school with my cousin when I was eleven. We painted it, I mean, it was a craft project." Casey looked down, embarrassed. "It did make me feel better."

"I read The Stand when I was twelve." Ophelia grinned. "I told my dad it was like The Lord of the Rings."

Casey's eyes widened. A guy was approaching, nonchalantly walking down the aisle, but definitely headed in their direction. Ophelia saw the look and turned just as he arrived.

"Hey, how are you two ladies this afternoon?" he said.

"We're fine," Ophelia replied.

"Are you busy?"

"Just listening to music."

Casey tried not to hyperventilate as the guy leaned over and looked at the listening station's display. "Ben Harper. Very nice. You have great taste."

Ophelia turned and looked at Casey. "Wow, the very validation we were looking for." Casey's palms felt clammy.

"Hey, if you're not busy, we could hang out."

"No." Ophelia wrinkled her nose. "I don't think so."

"Could be a lot of fun."

"No. Leave us alone."

Casey's scalp prickled. The guy blinked and looked confused, then took a step backward. "Hey, all right, don't get all bent out of shape." He turned and walked away, looking over his shoulder as he reached the end of the aisle.

"Wh-What was that?" Casey stammered.

Ophelia shrugged. "I don't know. Come on, let's go look at books."