“Fred, are you avoiding me?” Buffy confronted the thin brunette before school. After a couple more days of Fred not saying more than two words to her, Buffy had decided to take matters into her own hands.
“No!” Fred replied; however, her nervous habit of twisting pieces of her long hair betrayed her unsaid feelings.
“Fred…” Buffy began with a look.
The brunette instantly caved. “It’s not that I’ve been avoiding ya,” she explained with a fretful look. “It’s just that…”
“You’re freaked,” Buffy finished for her miserably.
“No!” Fred repeated, and paused. “Not exactly…more like…baffled. Not freaked.”
“Okay.” Buffy blew out a breath. “Understandable. You promise you’re not…disgusted or something.”
“I promise I’m not,” Fred said earnestly. “Honest.” They started walking towards the English wing together.
“So…did you ever decided about…?” Fred trailed off.
“I’m undecided,” Buffy confessed in a low voice. “I told Tara and she helped, sorta, but I’m still…very confused.”
“You talked to Tara?” Fred asked, surprised. “I haven’t seen her practically all week.”
“She’s kinda hiding from Willow,” Buffy confided. “I guess their mad at each other or something. I’m not sure, she didn’t say.”
Fred wore a concerned expression. “Is she gonna sit with use at lunch again? I miss her.”
“Me too,” Buffy agreed, “But I don’t think so. She’s been helping Giles in the library.”
“Really?” That kindled Fred’s curiosity. She pushed a thick strand of hair over her shoulder. “Since when?”
“I think since she and Willow stopped talking,” Buffy replied. The two stopped outside of Fred’s class.
“I’ll talk to you later,” Buffy told the brunette with a wave.
Fred quickly waved back and slipped into her classroom. Buffy glanced at the clock and swore. She only had two minutes to get her class. Hurriedly, Buffy raced to her classroom and managed to slide into her seat at the final bell.
“Nice one,” the girl next to her whispered and Buffy gave her a half-grin.
“Thanks,” Buffy whispered back and yanked out her binder and pen.
“Ms. Summers,” the teacher’s drawling voice rang out.
“Uh, yes?” Buffy replied hesitantly.
The teacher’s steely eyes bored into hers. “Next time, try to be in your seat and ready before the bell rings.”
****************************
“Why are we sitting outside again?” Buffy whined, shivering in her thin shirt. The weather had gone from mildly pleasant the day before to jacket-mandatory the next.
Instantly Anya responded, “Because Xander Idiot Harris is inside at our table with Oz.”
“And we’re avoiding them,” Willow added with a sympathetic shrug.
Buffy’s teeth chattered. “I-I’m freezing.”
Anya’s gaze flickered over Buffy’s outfit. “You should’ve worn a jacket,” she advised unnecessarily.
“Thanks,” Buffy replied sarcastically. Her shirt was a pretty blue with a deep V and a lacy camisole underneath. Cute, but not exactly weather-appropriate. For once, Buffy wished she’d listened to her mom in the morning.
Willow nibbled on her usual peanut butter and jelly sandwich, staring out at the bubbly fountain. “Besides, it’s pretty outside.”
Anya turned to look behind her, trying to peer into the tall glass windows. “Whatever. Can either of you see Xander?”
“No,” Buffy answered, not bothering to even look. The windows were highly reflective from the outside it was impossible to see anything but their reflection.
Anya pouted slightly and bit into her apple. “Stupid penis head,” she mumbled.
“Name-calling?” Buffy half-teased.
“Well he is,” Anya countered childishly.
Willow and Buffy locked eyes and shared a grin. For all her sex and money knowledge, Anya could still act like a five year old kid with her lack of tact.
“You still haven’t talked to him?” Willow tried.
“No,” Anya muttered angrily. “I need groveling before I talk to him again.”
“Maybe,” Buffy ventured, “if you talked to him, he’d understand why you’re currently not talking to him.”
Anya paused, worrying her lip thoughtfully. “Why wouldn’t he know I’m pissed?”
“Because you haven’t told him,” Willow reminded her gently.
For a moment, Anya seemed to be contemplating her words, but then shook her head. “No,” she decided stubbornly. “If Xander wants to talk to me, he can grovel.”
Willow shrugged helplessly and Buffy decided it was wise to change the topic, quickly.
“So, what’re you doing for thanksgiving?” Buffy asked.
A determined frown firmly placed itself on Willow’s face. “Nothing. In fact, I’ll be protesting the new building at the college this weekend. Thanksgiving is nothing but the obliteration of indigenous people.”
“Okay,” Buffy said slowly to Willow’s out burst. “Anya?”
Anya shrugged, munching on a cookie. “Turkey, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie. Daddy “working” at the office.” She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, does he really think that working excuse actually works anymore?”
Willow looked perplexed. “What does he do?”
“Screws his secretary,” Anya answered nonchalantly.
Buffy’s olive eyes went round. “Oh,” the simplicity of her response was belayed by the shock in her voice.
Anya remained unaffected. “It’s not that big of a deal. Mom’s having an affair with the pool boy.”
“Oh, wow,” Willow commented faintly and then recognition brightened in her eyes. “Wait the same pool boy who…?” When Anya nodded with a smirk, Willow added, “Goddess!”
Buffy looked between the two with a confused stare. “Wait, huh?”
“Anya had a fling with the pool boy last summer, and now her mom is…” Willow trailed off, letting it sink in.
“Anya,” Buffy finally spoke, “that’s a little…disturbing. Like a soap opera.”
“My mother’s insane, my father’s a cheating bastard,” Anya said candidly.
“My dad’s a cheating ass too,” Buffy adjoined, pulling her legs up to her chest, looking out at the nearly empty courtyard.
Willow stared down at her plain nails. “My mother spends more time at protests in LA than she spends at home.”
“Our families kinda suck,” Buffy surmised.
“Well, we’ll do better,” Willow said with confidence.
Anya leaned back against the wall. “Shit, we can’t do worse.”
*********************
After lunch, Buffy and Willow walked together to class. Buffy bit her lip, giving Willow a glance before speaking. “Hey,” she began, “what’s going on with you and Oz?”
Willow hugged the books in her hand closer to her chest. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I like him a lot, but…” Once again, the redhead shrugged, unable to put her feelings in words.
“Trust me,” Buffy told her in a low voice. “I get that feeling.”
Willow looked at Buffy questioningly. “Who? That guy from the Bronze…Riley?”
Buffy had barely thought about the college guy since she’d returned from the beach house. “No, not him. Just…someone else.”
A flicker of disappointment flashed in Willow’s eyes. “Oh.”
Buffy immediately felt guilty. “I really wish I could tell you, but I’m really unsure about…everything. Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not,” Willow finally decided. “Do I know him?”
Buffy nodded slightly, and Willow’s widened to saucers. “Oh!” This time her simple response brimmed with excitement and curiosity.
They stopped by Buffy’s classroom and Willow asked, “Well, what’re you going to say to him?”
The question of the day, Buffy thought and twirled a lock of hair. “I don’t know.”
“Buffy,” Willow began seriously, “do you really like him?”
Fuck, she did. “Yes,” Buffy answered quietly, avoiding Willow’s gaze. “I mean…sorta.” She let out a noise of frustration. “It’s too confusing!”
Willow paused thoughtfully. “Go with your instincts,” she announced.
“Yeah, but…what if you think your instincts are wrong?” Buffy asked plaintively.
“They’re not,” Willow responded with utmost confidence.
Buffy gave her a wry look. “Are you sure about that?”
Willow shrugged a little, hesitant. “Well, I’m not sure, that’s just what Tara always tells me.” Her voice softened at Tara’s name.
“Willow-“Buffy tried, but was cut off.
“Sorry,” the redhead blurted, “I don’t want to be late.” She took a few steps back, and then added, “Remember: instincts!”
Buffy watched Willow bob through the traffic in the hallways and sighed loudly. “Right. Instincts,” she muttered under her breath, “too bad mine tell me to jump my stepbrother.”
********************
As soon as the final bell rang, Buffy shot out of her seat. She quickly pushed through the masses of lingering students, intent on making it to the parking lot before Spike left with her ride.
She pushed the heavy metal and glass door, rushing out into the sunshine. The clouds had melted away sometime during the afternoon, and Buffy had to shield her eyes to see the cars.
She spotted the Desoto, chipped and worn, parked on the far side of the parking lot. “Shit,” Buffy swore loudly and weaved through the traffic, nearly getting hit once or twice while trying to wedge between the long lines of cars.
Her backpack strap slipped off her shoulder as she approached Spike’s car, and she dropped out the ground, leaning against the hot metal door. She tilted her chin up, soaking in the lukewarm rays.
“Summers.”
Startled, Buffy straightened and turned over her shoulder to see Spike standing there in his leather duster holding his keys.
“Uh…can you give me a ride home?” Buffy asked meekly, her bravado seemingly disappeared.
Spike gave a short nod and unlocked the doors. Buffy scrambled to grab her backpack and slide into the bucket seats. Slowly, she relaxed in the seat. “Thanks,” she said politely.
Spike started the engine, ignoring her comment. Buffy blew out a breath, turning to stare out the window. Maybe this had been a bad idea.
The only noise during the drive was the Sex Pistols blasting from the stereo. Buffy even hummed along with it as best as she could, but nothing seemed to illicit any words from Spike. A rare occasion, she thought with an annoyed look. Usually she couldn’t get him to shut up.
Spike turned the massive car into the driveway, parked it and turned off the engine. Buffy took that as her cue to pick up her backpack and get out. Not that she would protest much. Not Talking Spike wasn’t exactly a bundle of fun.
Buffy had one foot out of the car when Spike blurted, “You know, I don’t bloody get you Summers. You fuckin’ ask me for a ride home after not talking to me for two weeks, and then, don’t even say a soddin’ word. What’s the matter with you, you stupid bint? You run hot and cold-“
Buffy had the supreme urge to yell, “Shut up!” But instead, she dropped her bag and turned to face Spike head on, her face set with determination.
“Make up your bloody mind, woman! I-“
Buffy effectively cut him off with a deep, long kiss. Her tongue traced his lips gently, and her fingers curled around his neck. After a moment, she pulled back. “Is that clear enough?”
Spike resumed his cocky demeanor. “Not a bloody chance,” he told her and pulled her across the seat for another engrossing kiss. Buffy readily kissed him back, letting herself give in.
Instincts, she remembered hazily. She’d really have to thank Willow and Tara.
A/N: Ahem…while this ending does sound promising, nobody should get too comfortable with this happy, conflict-resolved moment. There’s still lots more to happen! Also, Anya’s line ‘shit, we can’t do worse’ is from the A-List series—I always liked that line.