"You okay?" Tess stood in the doorway, bathroom caddy in hand. It was impossible to tell if she was going to or coming from the shower: Tess wore an interchangeable array of T-shirts and gym shorts whether she was sleeping, studying, going to class, or working out.

Cordelia struggled onto her elbows. "What?" Tess placed the plastic caddy on her dresser: she was obviously coming from the shower, although Cordelia realized that the wet hair should probably also have been a tip-off.

"You thrashed around all night like you were going ten rounds with Mike Tyson."

Cordelia blinked; her eyes were gritty and her entire body felt stale and sour. "Who? Is that someone I should know?"

Tess stopped combing her hair and looked in the mirror at her roommate. "Uh… like you went ten rounds with… whew… Jake LaMotta?"

Cordelia shook her head. "Sorry, I don't- Oh, wait, is that the movie where Robert DeNiro got really fat at the end?"

"Yeah, that's the one." Tess turned her attention back to her grooming. Since her hair was straight and fine, her routine consisted mostly of getting her part straight and pulling it back in a ponytail. She snapped the rubber band in place and ran her fingers through the ponytail. "So, is something wrong?"

"No." Cordelia worked her way up to a seated position, then pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. "I didn't do very well on some homework." She rested her forehead on her knees.

Tess turned. "And that kept you fighting your pillow all night? Damn, girl, I never figured you for a grade grub."

"I'm not!" Cordelia's head jerked up and her eyes flashed. "But I do… My freshman year, I really didn't do much in school, I kinda coasted, and… sophomore year, rinse and repeat, but… I realized that I would have to do more to get out of Sunnydale, and I kind of…" Cordelia bit her lip and looked up and to her right, then blew out her breath. "I kind of got in with a different group of-" She swallowed like a Lego was stuck in her throat "-of people. I realized that there was a lot more to the world than I thought, and I changed what I wanted."

"That makes more sense, yeah." Tess hoisted her backpack. "Well, seize ya later."

Cordelia swung her feet to the floor and sat on the edge of her bed, head in her hands. A dull ache rested behind her eyes and her neck protested whenever she moved her head. Tess hadn't been far off. In her days as a member of the Scooby Gang, the brunette cheerleader had slept soundly in the aftermath of many gross events involving blood, guts, and various fluids that might not have been totally of earth, but none of those had involved a vision of her dead mother. As hard as Cordelia had tried to convince herself that whatever she had seen was a trick of her imagination, her subconscious was not buying. Her sleep (if it could be called that) had been fitful and full of images that, frankly, made staying awake all night seem like a better choice. She felt as bruised and battered as that time they had all fought a wiederganger. She had slept better the night after they killed Mr. Trick and the Mayor vanished into someplace bad, but, again, none of those had involved a vision of her dead mother with sightless black eyes staring at her.

"Oh, god," she groaned as she pulled herself to her feet. "Why did I ever meet Buffy Summers? Why couldn't I have just stayed stupid and happy?"

The day did not improve. Cordelia took notes like a robot and that was the best part. In College Writing she actually suffered the dreaded 'sleeping-head-slips-off-hand' faux pas, jerking awake before her nose crashed into the desk. She found a corner table at lunch, intending to eat whatever she had put on her tray in a hermit's stupor, but even that small respite was denied; Tamarra and Maria found her.

"Jeez, you okay?" Tamarra asked.

"Define 'okay' and I'll let you know." Cordelia winced. "I didn't sleep well."

"Your period?" Maria asked solemnly.

"What? I- No, it's not my period." Cordelia scoffed. "I just… I just had a bad night."

"Okay." Tamarra took a bite of the sandwich she had built. "I thought maybe it was about what happened at Old House."

"At Old-" Cordelia went pale. "What do you mean?"

"Kelli said you saw a mouse." Tamarra shook her head. "I don't blame you. I hate them furry little… ichghhhh." She shuddered.

Cordelia felt her chest loosen. "Yeah, I did. Maybe that's it."

Maria took a drink of her tea. "I hope practice is better today."

"Oh, is Allie gone?" Tamarra raised her eyebrows and tilted her head toward her smaller teammate.

"No, I don't think so." Maria frowned.

"Well, then, it's not gonna be better." Tamarra's tone was brisk. The dining hall was emptying out, but there was still plenty of bustle and the hard, clacking sound of utensils and plates banging together beneath the hum of conversation.

"Why do you think she's so mean?" Maria asked.

"Because she has a giant stick up her butt," Cordelia said.

"Maybe this is the only way she knows to get us to be our best," Maria offered.

"Then she needs to learn a new way." Cordelia tilted her head. "I was captain of my squad last year, and I wanted us to be our best, but I didn't act like that." She paused and scrunched her nose. "I don't think."

Cordelia was passing by Mayer when an unfamiliar voice called her name. She stopped and turned, trying to locate the source. "Oh, hi, you're, uh…." She winced. "You're Larry's friend…." Her eyes widened along with her smile: the universal signal for 'I can't remember your name'.

"Trevor."

"Yes, Trevor. Yes." She put a hand to her forehead. "I'm sorry, it's just… without Larry, you're taller."

"Really?" Well, maybe I'll just quit hanging about with anybody. I'll be two meters before you know it." He arched an eyebrow and mugged a little.

"I'm sorry, you'll be…"

"Oh, yeah, meters, uh, sorry, I forget that you're not on the metric system." He shrugged an apology and looked damn cute doing it.

"Oh, yeah, metric system… but isn't the football field in yards?" As it came out of her mouth, Cordelia could not believe she had said something so dumb.

"Yeah, well, that's why I'm the kicker. Don't have to measure how far away the posts are, I just kick between 'em. The coaches are afraid that if I played another position I might not run far enough… or I might run too far." He grinned. "So, did you like what you saw Saturday?"

"Saturday? Wh- Oh, the game." Cordelia nodded. "We really don't get to watch that much of it, we're kinda busy doing our thing, you know?" She made a hybrid sort of back-and-forth-mixed-with-finger-guns motion. "But I remember that we scored 28 points so… you must have made all your extra points?"

"Yeah, yeah, I did." He winked. "I did the absolute minimum expected of me."

"So, you didn't play football in Australia, did you?" Cordelia was mortified; she was babbling like an eighth-grader.

"Yeah, real football, you know, soccer."

"Oh, okay, yeah." She nodded again.

"Yeah, well, listen, I gotta run. Great seeing you."

"Yeah," Cordelia said. "I walk by the library a lot." Why couldn't she stop nodding?

"Okay." Trevor looked a bit puzzled. "Maybe I'll see you again, then." He winked and slipped past her. Cordelia waited a three-count, then turned around. Yup, he looked just fine leaving. She half-sighed, half-groaned.

"'I walk by the library a lot'. Ohmigod, that sounds like a pickup line Willow would use."

Cordelia pulled the T-shirt over her head and shook out her hair. Her street clothes were stowed in her locker. Wainwright provided all their workout gear: T-shirts, shorts, sweats, socks, the works. She had decided a little extra work on the mats might help. It certainly wouldn't hurt, and her raw nerves after the incident at Old House would not let her relax, so even if the workout didn't improve her, maybe it would exhaust her to the point where she would (have to) sleep. She pulled her hair back and headed for the workout room; a persistent squeaking and clacking grew audible as she drew near. She stopped dead in the doorway. Juniper Taliaferro was there, wearing black gym shorts and a yellow tank top with a large green 'O' on the front and a leather weight belt as her accessory. The girl from Oregon was doing curls at the Universal machine; a folded towel lay on a bench beside her. She looked up and made eye contact with Cordelia, which ended any chances of sneaking off unseen, so the former Sunnydale Razorback set her jaw and walked across the room to the mats stacked in the corner. She pulled two off the pile and arranged them against the wall. She tapped the mats with her foot, then turned her back to the wall. She found herself looking at Juniper. Sweat rolled off the girl's face and glued her tank top to her torso. Cordelia felt slightly ridiculous as she flexed her knees and jumped backwards, landing lightly on the mats. Juniper stared at her, unblinking, and continued to perform her curls. Cordelia pointed at Juniper's outfit. "You're wearing you own clothes?"

Juniper nodded as her arms flexed. "Like to remind myself where I'm from."

"Uh-huh." Cordelia raised her hands, palms out, as she stepped off the mats. "Are you down here for a reason?"

"Seems like it." Juniper grimaced as she lifted. "Are you?"

"Yes." Cordelia's reply was tart. "I'm working on rudimentary jumping."

"Well, I'm kinda pissed off, and when I'm pissed off, I lift, like Sergeant Vasquez in Aliens." Juniper curled the weight. "I think I've increased my bicep size a full inch so far this fall."

"That's wonderful. You're literally trying to put hair on your chest." Cordelia rolled her eyes and shook her head. She looked down at her feet and adjusted her position. "What's got up your butt?"

Juniper lowered the weight. "Same thing that's up yours, I'd guess." Her biceps contracted and the plate began to rise. "I get upset when people push me. Especially when it's their problem, not mine."

Cordelia scoffed. "We're confident, aren't we?"

"Come on." Juniper held the bar under her chin. "My grandpa had a saying: 'if you meet an asshole in the morning, you've met an asshole. If you meet assholes all day, maybe you're the asshole'."

Cordelia's tongue probed her cheek. "Sounds like grandpa was a regular Confucious."

"Nope, just a guy who ran a garage and milked a few cows. But he knew people."

"So, I guess we know who we're talking about."

Juniper resumed lifting. "Everybody on the squad is doing everything wrong? Come on, Kelli's biggest crime is being the cutest person on the planet, and Rachel-" She shook her head; sweat sprayed out in a sparkling corona "-Rachel never makes a mistake. No, Grandpa was right. Somebody's got issues and instead of working on them, she's taking it out on us."

"Well, that's very folksy and heartwarming." Cordelia's nostrils flared and her lip curled. "But I'm actually trying to fix a problem." She turned away from the mat, dipped, and hopped backwards, landing with her weight evenly distributed, then stepped down and repeated the action. Juniper curled the handle twice, then spoke.

"That's not gonna fix it." Her voice was slightly breathy from strain.

"Excuse me?" Cordelia looked up from examining the position of her feet.

Juniper lowered the plate onto the stack, dropped the handle on the ground, and grabbed her towel. "It's not your form or your strength that's the issue."

Cordelia put her hands on her hips. "Oh, and you know that how? Does Grandpa have thoughts?"

Juniper wiped her face. "Did you watch the film? Did you see your shoulder sit? No problem, none. Your shoulder stand was fine." She flipped the towel between her hands, twirling it into a tight cylinder. "Any time you're facing David or in contact with him, it seems like everything's great. It's just that minute, when your back's turned, when you're waiting, when you have to trust him, that's the only time you got a problem." She swiped the towel under her arms.

"Well, gee, thanks for stating the obvious. Are you a psych major?" Cordelia's eyes narrowed.

"Nope, not me. I'm probably going into sports medicine." Juniper shook out the towel. "I'll leave you to it. I've got my own issues to work through." Juniper popped her eyes open wide and stretched her mouth as wide as possible in a grotesque parody of a smile. "Think that'll make Captain Queeg happy?"

"I think Allie Anderson happy is the sound of one hand clappy." Cordelia gave the mats a light kick.

Juniper nodded. "Yeah. See you tomorrow." She walked toward the door, strong and graceful.

"Hey!" Cordelia called out. Juniper turned. "Vasquez was a private."

Juniper's chin lifted, a gesture Cordelia recognized. "Whatever. Hispanic chick in rural Oregon, you take your role models where you find them." She turned and left, her movements fluid and controlled. Cordelia shook her head and set her feet again. She kept at it for a solid thirty minutes until her feet ached and her calves and hips protested, then, on the assumption that more work equaled more results, did a set on the weight machine. The room was still and frozen in time; as she lifted and sweated it felt as though, if she simply stayed here long enough, the outside world would pass on by. When she finished, sweat dripped from her nose and stuck her hair to her forehead and temples. She stripped off her sodden workout clothes and tossed them in the big cloth hamper, then showered. As she dried off she realized that she was probably the only person in the building at this time of night, except for maybe the odd custodian (which did not make her feel any more secure). She dressed quickly, unable to shake the feeling that someone (or something; who could forget Sunnydale) was lurking in the corner, just outside her peripheral vision. She slipped her feet into her sandals, ran her comb through her hair one time (straight back, no chaser) and left the building.

She stepped out of Southard into the light of a full moon, but it was not romantic or soothing. Instead, the light was a harsh polarizing and as she looked up into its unblinking eye, Cordelia realized that the silver-white orb hung directly over Old House. She shivered and hurried away, chased by the feeling that this moon was not a candle to light her path, but a spotlight to reveal her location to pursuers.

The sun beat down out of a cloudless sky, the sort of cloudless sky that wasn't majestic or awe-inspiring, but hard, brutal, the sort of cloudless sky under which people in movies perished. Coach Martin was up on the tower while Allie crawled all over everyone: Kelli wasn't sharp enough, Maria was too peppy, Amber wasn't peppy enough, Juniper too robotic, Terrence wasn't finishing, Jason's head was somewhere else ('up his ass' was the destination suggested by Allie), Rachel was… well, Rachel wasn't making Allie happy. In every case, Dorian softened the criticism and offered more constructive comments, but Cordelia wasn't sure that 'good cop/bad cop' was as effective as Dorian tried to make it.

"Hey, nice job there, Last Minute. Too bad we can't just run you out there as a base, that's what you're best at, standing around and holding up other people." Cordelia inhaled, held it, counted to ten (which did nothing), then twenty, and stared straight ahead until Allie moved on down the line.

"Be cool," Tamarra said at the water break. "Don't let her get to you."

"Too late." Cordelia scowled into her paper cup. "I may already be got."

"Are you all right?" Tamarra shot a glance toward the captains, who were huddled some fifteen feet away. "You seem a little… stressed."

"Gee, why could that be?" Cordelia glared in Allie's direction; it seemed to have no real effect.

"Guys, did we do something to Allie? Did somebody pee in her oatmeal?" Kelli filled her cup, gulped it down, and stuck it back under the spigot. The blond girl's peaches-and-cream complexion was flushed a uniform brick red and her hair was plastered to her skull.

"Are you about to have a stroke?" Tamarra asked.

Kelli nodded. "Maybe," she gasped.

"Ladies." Coach Martin touched each of them on the shoulder. "I know it's a rough day. You're looking good."

"Tell that to a certain Mommy Dearest," Cordelia muttered as the coach walked away.

"Okay, everybody up. Sideline stunts." Allie clapped her hands as she walked among the members of the team. "Let's go." Cordelia tossed her crumpled paper cup in the trash and jogged over to David.

"Gimme a minute," he said. "I gotta dry my hands." David's T-shirt was dark with perspiration, only two small bands around the tail showing the original light blue. He wiped his hands on a towel and grabbed a handful of chalk. "Sorry," he panted, "I know this is disgusting." He waved a hand to indicate his shirt.

"Yeah, because I positively reek of lavender." Cordelia shook her head. "We're all the grossness."

David smacked his hand together; a puff of chalk floated through the air. "Sorry. I'm gonna get chalk on you."

"It's chalk, not heroin," Cordelia snapped. "Stop being apology guy."

"Listen, everyone, be careful. We've been pushing pretty hard and the last thing we want is for anyone to be injured because they're tired or sloppy." Dorian made eye contact with every team member. "We're here to get better, not get hurt, okay? Let's go."

Cordelia had to admit that David had one point: the chalk did stick. By the time they finished sideline stunts, her T-shirt was covered with cakey white handprints. She was not the only one; most of the girls looked like they were wearing middle-school art projects. Everyone's internal clock said that it was time for practice to be over, and their body language confirmed it.

"Hey, hey, now's not the time to drag ass," Allie barked. "Corridor, let's go." A collective groan went up, but Coach Martin circled her hand and everyone formed into the double line. Bree and Catherine took their places and started their tumbling runs at the sound of Allie's whistle. Everyone was tired, so the drill was running about three-quarter speed. Cordelia took deep breaths and tried to calm her jangling nerves as Rachel flipped and was lifted by Terrence. Cordelia exploded off her mark, trying to use the nervous energy as fuel. She flipped, turned, landed…

And felt the flinch coming. In desperation, she pushed off as hard as she could and went too high. Instead of her waist, David's hands grabbed her hips so that as she went up she was boosted too high and too far back. David found her feet, but they were crucial inches higher than usual. His hands wobbled as Cordelia fought to bring herself back to vertical, but she overcorrected and toppled to the side. David released her feet and caught her deftly as she fell.

"Oooooh, Romeo and Juliet," Allie crowed.

"I'm sorry," David said as he lowered her to the ground.

"Will you shut the hell up?" Cordelia hissed as she struggled to keep it together.

The routine was completed and Coach Martin blew the whistle. "Okay, everybody, that's a day. Good work. This weather's the worst." Cordelia stood stiffly, hands on hips. Tamarra and Kelli approached her.

"It's okay," Kelli said. "It's no big deal."

"It's a middle-school stunt," Cordelia said, blinking rapidly.

"Hey, it's one slip at the end of a bitch day." Tamarra ducked down to look up into Cordelia's face. "You hear me? Like Kelli said, no big deal. We got your back." Cordelia could think of nothing to say as Tamarra patted her arm and the girls walked away. David spread his hands and looked like he was about to speak, then shook his head and left. Cordelia stalked over to the sideline and grabbed her gym bag. Her heart hammered in her ears as she fought to control her breathing. She sensed someone stepping up behind her.

"Better shape up, Last Minute." Allie reached out and pushed Cordelia's right shoulder. The former Queen of Sunnydale High stumbled and almost fell; someone to her left snickered. Cordelia gritted her teeth as her vision went red. She had had enough; it was time someone told Allie Anderson where to get off. The brunette spun on the ball of her foot to face the captain. Allie smirked. "Oooh, did someone's feelings get hurt?"

A Roman candle went off behind Cordelia's eyes.

"Cordelia! Cordelia!"

She blinked. Who was yelling her name and why? She looked up; Dorian was looking at her, but his posture was strange. He was sideways and leaned over from the waist… which is when Cordelia realized she was lying on the ground. "Wait, what… what happened? Why am I down here?" Dorian put his hand on her shoulder and something in his face made her feel sick. She detected motion in her peripheral vision and started to sit up.

"Shhh," Dorian said. "Shhh. Just stay down, okay? Just relax."

"What do you mean, relax?" Cordelia knocked his hand away and struggled to a sitting position. She put her right hand on the ground to steady herself and flinched as pain lanced through her hand. She looked down; the knuckles were red and a little swollen. A horrible image flashed through her mind. She looked to her left. Someone, female by the outstretched legs, was on the ground and, based on the slackness of said legs, was at best semi-conscious. Squad members hovered around her. Cordelia scanned the crowd and realized that the only person unaccounted for was Allie. Cordelia felt nauseous as she watched the athletic trainer kneel over the captain. A whoop-whoop startled her, and she turned her head to see two EMTs bail out of an ambulance and run across the field. Cordelia stared, frozen, unable to look away as the crowd parted and she saw Allie's face. Blood covered the lower half of the blond girl's face; her nose was already swollen and her left eye was closed and beginning to turn purple. The EMTs urged her to stay down, but it seemed like a needless precaution: Allie did not give any evidence of trying to go anywhere, except maybe to dreamland, which the trainer tried to forestall by keeping up a constant stream of conversation.

Cordelia looked at Dorian, her eyes wide. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out. Dorian shook his head slightly and held out one hand in a 'stop' gesture. Cordelia felt tears well up in her eyes and spill down her cheeks. To add insult to injury, one of the EMTs came over and went to one knee. "Can I see your hand?" he asked.

Mute and crying, Cordelia gave him her hand. He pressed, manipulated, asked questions, but she could only wince and answer with a nod or shake of her head. No words seemed to fit the occasion. He nodded and spoke to her and Dorian. "I'm pretty sure it's not broken, but I'd get an X-ray to confirm that."

"Okay," Dorian said, "we'll do that."

"Does she need…?" The EMT pointed a thumb toward the ambulance.

Dorian shook his head. "No, we'll get her to the med center and take care of her."

All Cordelia could think of when she heard the phrase 'take care of her' was the end of Old Yeller. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was about to be put out of her misery.