Cordelia pulled into the concrete driveway and parked under a jacaranda tree. The driveway belonged to a mid-century arts & crafts house with beige stucco and brown trim. Her eyes narrowed; this did not look like a psychiatrist's office. A muffled shout drew her attention; Kaitlin stood by the back corner of the house, waving. She turned and walked away when Cordelia was about halfway to her. As the cheerleader rounded the house, she saw Kaitlin at the door of a small shed near the back fence.

"Wow," Cordelia said. "Nothing says quality therapy like using a chicken coop for your office."

"Oh, I don't think it's that bad. Come on in." The therapist pushed open the door. Cordelia blinked. The compact space had a woven, multicolored rug over a hardwood floor, two chairs, a desk with a computer on it, and a door to a small alcove that Cordelia assumed must be a bathroom.

"So," she said, stepping inside and looking around, "do you just invite all your violent nutcases to your house?" She realized the psychiatrist was looking at her hand. "Oh, is that a Freudian slip?"

"Well," Kaitlin said. "I would suggest we avoid using the word 'nutcase'. Remember, point a finger at someone else, there are three pointing back at you."

"Don't you mean four?"

"No." Kaitlin shook her head. "The thumb doesn't really point at anything. Second thing I was going to ask-" she motioned at the cheerleader's hand "-how are you feeling?"

"How do you think?" Cordelia said as dropped into one of the chairs. "I suppose this is where we begin?"

"Yes, we usually sit in the chairs." Kaitlin picked up a legal pad from the desk. "There's no room for a couch in here and it's so cliche anyway." She sat in the other chair and clicked her pen. "So, how was practice yesterday?" The therapist wore jeans and a dark red roll-neck sweater.

"How do you think?" Cordelia snarked.

Kaitlin raised her hand, pen between thumb and finger. "We're not here to find out what I think. We're here for you, so…" She lowered pen to paper. "How was practice yesterday?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and thought. "Let's see… I was on the field in gym shorts with el Bandage-o on my hand while everyone else went through the routines. At least my partner didn't mime our lifts, because that would have been humiliating. It was like having leprosy, without the smell of decaying body parts."

"Wow, that was colorful." Kaitlin nodded. "Did you see Allie?"

"When did I not see her? It was like that Bugs Bunny bullfighting cartoon." When the doctor's eyes narrowed in puzzlement, Cordelia clarified. "You know, the one where Bugs Bunny shows up at a bullfighting ring and hijinks ensue."

"Uh-huh." Kaitlin nodded as she wrote on the pad. "And in this metaphor, are you Bugs Bunny or the bull?"

"Please. You're always Bugs Bunny. Nobody wants to be Elmer Fudd or the guy with the mustache... you know, Yosemite Sam." Cordelia offered a pointed look.

"Noted. All right, so I'm guessing that you feel that Allie was, what, taunting you?"

"I feel like she was being a bitch." Cordelia's lip curled. "She knows we're not supposed to be near each other, so she made sure to walk at me all day, so that I had to jump out of the way."

"Are you sure this was intentional?"

Cordelia's voice was icey. "I have been back spot for a group stunt all year and Allie has always gone in front of the group. She has never, not once, gone behind us, except yesterday. She went behind us so that I had to move."

"Uh-huh. How's your hand?"

Cordelia looked down. "It's fine. I'm going to the med center after I'm done here, they'll take the bandage off and poke it, I'll be back at practice today."

"You seem positive of that."

"Yeah," Cordelia said. "It's not broken. It's not even a bad bruise."

"Let's talk about that." Kaitlin pursed her lips. "All the witness statements agree that Allie pushed you. All of them also mention the, um, ferocity of the punch, and not just the female members of the team. The boys went into a fair amount of detail. One of them said-" Kaitlin picked up another piece of paper "-'it looked like LL Cool J's momma told her to knock her out'." She put the slip back down and arched an eyebrow.

"Let me guess, Wyatt." Cordelia rolled her eyes. "That's him all over."

"That's not the point, Cordelia." Kaitlin's expression was frank. "This wasn't a slap fight or shoving match. You're a strong young woman and you threw a punch with violent intent."

Cordelia's nose scrunched in confusion. "Isn't that how you throw all punches? Wait," she said as Kaitlin wrote on the legal pad, "that sounded serial killer-y. I want to rephrase it."

"Don't worry." Kaitlin scribbled on the pad again. "Is there any particular reason why you and Allie don't get along?"

"She doesn't get along with any of the freshmen. Or most of the upperclassmen."

"We're not talking about them, we're talking about you."

"I'm having issues with a particular move." Cordelia sighed. "There, the deep, dark secret is out."

"Is it a particularly difficult move?"

"No. It's stupid, it's, like, a junior high move."

Kaitlin leaned forward. "So, you've done it before?"

"Yeah, like I said, starting in middle school and all through high school."

"And there was no problem before?"

"No."

"So, what's changed?" Kaitlin's eyes opened wide, guileless and inviting. Cordelia looked down at her hands and saw the smallest chip, the tiniest flaw in the polish. It was enough to concentrate on. "Cordelia?"

"Hmmm?" The cheerleader raised her head.

"I said, what's changed?" Kaitlin's gaze was still steady and direct, but now she leaned forward slightly.

"Nothing." That nail really needed some attention.

"Really? So, who's your partner in this stunt?"

Cordelia looked to her right. She could see the back of the therapist's house through the window. "David."

"Uh-huh." Kaitlin looked at the legal pad. "Did you have a male partner in high school?"

"What? No." Cordelia looked back at the doctor. "I didn't."

Kaitlin nodded. "So, do you think-"

"Stop. Just stop." Cordelia held up a hand. "Coach Martin has asked me about this, Dorian has asked me about this, Ju- It's been discussed, okay? The problem is not David, and it's not that he's a guy." She could feel a flush climb to her hairline.

"But you think this minor issue with what you see as a pretty elementary move is at the root of your conflict with Allie?"

"No, it's just a, a..." Cordelia made a groping motion in the air. "It's something she can pick on."

"So, it's not the source of the problem?" Kaitlin tilted her head to the side.

"No. She didn't like me at camp. In the summer."

Kaitlin nodded. "All right. Uh, I know this may be painful, but could we discuss what happened to your parents?"

Cordelia swallowed what felt like a very large rubber ball. "Why do we need to do that?"

"Well, as I said, you threw a punch that rendered your teammate unconscious and you don't remember that. You also passed out yourself." Kaitlin shifted in her chair. "If trauma is repressed and not dealt with, it can manifest in many different ways, and I know that was a traumatic event. Did you receive any counseling after their deaths?"

"No," Cordelia said. "I was too busy dealing with funerals and the federal government confiscating our house."

Kaitlin nodded. "I saw something about that in your paperwork. What was the reason?"

"Isn't it in the paperwork?"

"I'd rather hear you tell me."

Cordelia sighed and looked out the window again. "My father was in finance… I thought he was in finance. It turned out he was a cheater."

"He defrauded his clients?"

Cordelia turned back; her expression was frosty. "That's the fancy way of saying it."

"Did that have anything to do with his death?"

"Yes. No. I mean, yes, his cheating did, but not his clients." The brunette cheerleader blinked rapidly.

Kaitlin hesitated, her mouth open slightly. "Oh." She looked at her pad again, then back up at Cordelia. "So, you're saying that your father was unfaithful to your mother."

A sound came out of the girl that might have been a bark or a laugh. "That's civilized." She shook her head. "He boned every woman he could."

The psychiatrist nodded. "What was your mother's reaction to that?"

Cordelia drew in a deep, ragged breath. "I really, really don't want to talk about this." She shivered.

Kaitlin watched her for a moment, then licked her lips and tapped the pen on her pad. "Okay, we'll back off-"

"We'll back off?"

"So, your parents died, you lost your home, and you didn't receive any counseling?"

"No." Cordelia would not meet the doctor's eyes.

Kaitlin held out a soothing hand. "It's all right, I'm sorry, let's take a step back. When I was reading your file, it appears that after your parents' deaths you lived with-" She paused as she checked her notes. "Mattison Hollis?"

"Matti. She goes by Matti." Cordelia picked a speck of lint from her pants.

"Okay, you lived with Matti. She was… ?"

"My cheer coach."

"Can you tell me a little more about that?"

Cordelia shrugged and made a face. "Like what? Like, the only living relative I had was an aunt who I hadn't seen in years and didn't know my name and who left town like the Wicked Witch of the West when she found out there wasn't really any money?"

"Yes." Kaitlin nodded. "Exactly like that."

"Well, there you go." Cordelia cocked a challenging eyebrow. "If anything, I overshared."

"Okay." Kaitlin's pen flowed across the paper. "How did you end up living with Ms. Hollis?"

Cordelia fidgeted in her chair. "I, uh, I guess I ended up at her house after... when my parents... after everything was over and... there wasn't..." She folded her hands firmly in her lap. "It just sort of happened."

"Uh-huh." The pen tapped. "You said 'I guess I ended up at her house'. Do you not remember what happened?"

Cordelia's stomach clenched; her pits and hairline were flush with moisture as a response raced through her mind: "I don't remember anything after I looked in the bathtub. I woke up a week later from a magic coma that may have had something to do with an apocalyptic downpour." Instead, she said, "I don't really. It was... " She bit her lip, focusing on the pain.

""It's all right," Kaitlin said. "Our mind often protects us from trauma by forgetting. Amnesia as a defense mechanism." She looked down at her notes. "Let's shift a little bit. Ms. Hollis, what can you tell me about her?"

"Huh." Cordelia's response was half-grunt half-laugh. "She played basketball in college and was good, I guess… She-" The brunette cut off her response. What was there to say that didn't touch on the Chevaliers or Mr. Trick or the Mayor or the detonation of Sunnydale High?

"She what?" Kaitlin twirled her hand in a 'keep going' motion.

Cordelia took a deep breath. "She let me have it when I called her the other day. It was very A Few Good Men."

Kaitlin nodded, her lips puckered. "Which of you couldn't handle the truth?"

"Oh, I think there's no doubt that was supposed to be me."

"Uh-huh. You realize that Jack Nicholson was the villain in that scene?"

"Oh, please." Cordelia closed her eyes and shook her head. "I took one high school psychology course and I know that's tired."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I mean that she was kinda upset and I got an earful of unasked-for advice about how I should get my butt to therapy and take this seriously and dot my i's and cross my t's and mind my p's and q's and probably some other letters that I didn't hear."

A small crease appeared between Kaitlin's eyebrows as she frowned. "Did you interpret that as criticism?"

"No. I mean, not really." Cordelia looked at the floor as she formed her answer. "That's just who she is, she's always pushing forward." She looked up. "Personally, I think it's the jock mentality coming out."

"Do you think that influence, that 'pushing' you referred to, do you think that had any influence on how you reacted at practice?"

Cordelia recognized a land mine when she saw one: "Well, she decided the best way for me to deal with whatever I was going through was punching a heavy bag, and we spent part of every night either lifting weights or sparring, so you tell me." She took a deep breath and said, "I don't think so."

"Okay." Kaitlin made a mark on the pad. "Just a few more questions for today."

"I wanted this first session to be private so I could get a sense of where you are." Kaitlin reached into a desk drawer and brought out a business card. "I think you would benefit from a group that I have on Tuesday nights. It would be easier on your schedule and I think it would be a good experience. We can augment it with private sessions as needed." She scribbled on the back of the card and extended it across the desk. "Here. There's the time and address."

Cordelia held the card as though it emitted an offensive odor. "What if I'm not into group therapy?"

"Well," Kaitlin said, folding her hands, "I guess we could continue private sessions exclusively, but then I spend the entire fifty minutes concentrating on you."

"Okay," Cordelia said. "Tuesday night it is."

The buses were two years old and decked out in Wainwright double blue. The cheerleading squad clustered by the first bus; they already knew that they would be on that vehicle for the two-hour ride up the coast. They were all wearing Wainwright warm-ups and sunglasses, although the sunglasses were not officially part of the outfit. The football team milled about, waiting on bus assignments.

"Hey," Kelli said, nudging Cordelia in the ribs, "hottie at seven o'clock." Cordelia turned. Trevor Evans-White strolled toward her, hands in the pockets of his Wainwright jacket. Unlike the cheerleaders, the team was dressed in casual clothing and school varsity jackets.

"You guys on bus one?" he asked, flashing a wide grin.

"Yes." Cordelia used a finger to pull aside a lock of hair the breeze had blown across her face. "You?"

"Of course. Your mate pulled some strings." He jerked his head backward; Cordelia looked over his shoulder to see Larry approaching, flanked by a young man who made Larry look anemic. "We're all on this one."

"Who is that fine brother?" Tamarra leaned over Cordelia's shoulder.

"Oh, that, that's Winston."

"Why is he so much bigger than everyone else?" Cordelia asked.

"Oh, that." Trevor turned back and looked into her eyes, at least as much as sunglasses-to-sunglasses exposure allowed. "Funny story. Winston's a senior, and since he came to school he's grown four inches and put on something like forty pounds."

"And in the right places. Mmmmmm." Tamarra pursed her lips.

"You wanna pull in that tongue before you drool all over my jacket?" Cordelia sniped, but there was no denying that Winston was an impressive specimen.

"Cordy!" Larry held out his hands; Cordelia felt she really had no choice but to offer her own in response. Larry's paws engulfed her hands up to the wrist.

"Cordy?" Tamarra snickered.

"Say that again and die." Cordelia turned back. "Hello, Larry."

"Wow, first road game, I'm psyched. Are you psyched?"

Cordelia squinted behind her glasses. "Almost. I'm almost up to psyched."

"Is he always this jazzed?" Winston's voice matched his physique; it sounded like he had a subwoofer instead of a diaphragm.

"Only recently," Cordelia said, then felt a sharp nudge in her back. "Oh, Trevor, Larry, this is Tamarra."

"Hi," Larry said. "And this is Winston."

Cordelia started to reply, but was cut off as Tamarra stepped in front of her and said, "Pleased to meet you."

"Hssst." Kelli's whisper caught Cordelia's attention and she looked in the blond girl's direction in time to see Allie strolling toward them. The swelling in the co-captain's face was gone as was the gauze packing her nose, but the left side of her face was still a potpourri of sickly yellow, fading purple-green, and grainy black. Cordelia felt the absolute slightest of twinges: even though their color schemes were different, she knew exactly what it was going to take to cover that with makeup. The smidge of sympathy vanished as she executed an impromptu pirouette as Allie marched through the middle of the group; it was replaced by irritation and resentment. She knew Allie had chosen that route just to force such an embarrassing maneuver and break up the conversation. Cordelia flushed, aware of the stares. It might have been an awkward moment but for Tamarra.

"So," she said, looking up at Winston, "I hear you grew after you got here."

"Yeah," he rumbled. "It was a surprise to me, too."

"Winston's got some interest from the NFL," Larry offered.

"Really." Tamarra seemed extremely impressed. Winston shook his head and unveiled a powerful smile.

"I might get invited to free agent camp. That's probably all."

"Hey, are you okay?" Trevor stepped closer to Cordelia.

"Yeah," Cordelia said, "I just have to avoid-" she glanced at the bus door as Allie climbed on "-certain people."

"Yeeeeaaaah," Trevor said slowly. "Because of the… ?" He circled an eye with a finger.

"Oh, god, does everyone know?" Cordelia winced.

"Define 'everyone'." Trevor grinned, and Cordelia had to admit that it eased the sting quite a bit. "I mean, come on, you laid out your captain. Did you think that wouldn't get around?"

Cordelia rubbed the corner of her mouth with a thumb. "Honestly, I wasn't thinking at the moment."

"I reckon so." He shrugged. 'But, c'mon, who hasn't dreamed of taking a swing at the cap?"

"Except I did it, and in public."

"Yeah, but look at it this way, is anyone gonna cross you now?" Trevor lowered his sunglasses and winked. The only response Cordelia could summon was a flustered smile.

"Let's load up." Karen Martin stood by the bus door, clipboard in hand. "Remember, cheer team in front, players in the back, no mixing."

"Looks like the sheet's going up," Trevor said.

"Is that some Australian thing?" Cordelia asked. "Like 'shrimp on the barbie'?"

"What? No." Trevor laughed and removed his sunglasses. "I meant… it's from It Happened One Night, you know, the old movie? Guy hangs up a sheet so he can share a room with a girl he's not married to?"

Cordelia scoffed. "Why would you do that?"

Trevor shrugged. "Like I said, it was the olden days." He put his shades back on as Larry and Winston passed. "Well, chat to you later. Don't want to weaken the legs." The trio of young men got on the bus.

"That meant something," Cordelia said as she hoisted her gym bag.

"Yeah, it's from Rocky," Maria said.

"Jeez," Cordelia, putting her foot on the bus's bottom step, "and I thought Buffy made a lot of stupid movie references."

The sun was beginning to paint the western rim of the world in shades of orange as the Blue Wave boarded the buses for the trip home. The game had gone against Wainwright by the score of 28-23; after everyone was showered and changed they had stopped for dinner. Cordelia climbed onto the bus and dropped into the same window seat she had occupied on the ride to the game. The knot in the pit of her stomach was not related to her performance at the game; since Wainwright was the visiting team, they had not performed the halftime show. No, the stone in her belly was caused by the need to be constantly aware, always vigilant, lest Allie 'accidentally' come too close.

"Hey, I need to ask you a question." Tamarra slid into the adjacent seat. "Do you think Winston looks like Denzel?"

Cordelia scrunched her face. "Denzel Washington?"

"Uh," Tamarra snorted. "How many other Denzels you know?"

"Good point." Cordelia nodded. "I'm not going to answer that question."

Tamarra leaned back. "Why not?"

"I can't quite put my finger on it, but, somehow, I think if I say 'yes' I'm somehow sounding like I think all black people look alike."

"You could say no."

Cordelia shrugged. "But you obviously think he does, or you wouldn't have asked the question."

Tamarra nodded. "Good point."

Cordelia looked out the window for a heartbeat. "So, are you gonna ask Jesus to help you get a date?"

"Hey, don't think I won't if I think it'll do any good." Tamarra held up an emphatic index finger.

"Well, good luck with that." Cordelia reclined her seat the ⅜" of an inch of which it was capable. She suddenly felt tired, and as the bus rolled through the deepening night, it appeared that she was not the only one. As quiet took over, she began to drowse.