Chapter One – A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes
A thumping sound coming from her brother’s room drew Buffy’s attention away from cleaning her dirt and grass stained fingernails. She curiously made her way across her room and went to investigate what her contrary brother was up to now. She carefully pushed at his partially-opened door and lent against his doorframe, watching him haul some of his possessions into three duffle bags that he had thrown carelessly onto his bed. His bass guitar had been gently packed into its’ case and then had been tenderly placed against the wall.
“Whatcha doin’?”
Oz looked up mid-action and smiled at Buffy. “Living the dream.”
Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and raised one blond, perfectly arched brow. “Wow. I didn’t know your dream was that you wanted to be forced to go to prep school four weeks earlier than you would have had to go to public school because you failed every single one of your classes.” She flicked her gaze over the growing pile of black concert t-shirts and beat-up jeans on his bed. “But then again, I guess it must be true, ‘cause here I am seeing you packing for Illyria Prep a week early.”
“I’m not packing for school.”
Intrigued, Buffy stepped further into his room. “Then what are you packing for?”
Oz warily glanced at his open doorway. “Close the door and I’ll tell you.”
Buffy did as he told her and then waited for him to explain.
Continuing to hastily pack, Oz said over his shoulder, “Some talent scouts in London are interested in Dingoes Ate My Baby, so the band and I are going to go over and see if we can catch our big break.”
Buffy blinked once, twice. “London? As in London, England?”
“No, New London, Connecticut.”
Buffy stared questioningly at Oz, never knowing the difference between if he was being serious or if he was joking around. He always spoke in dead-pan.
He sighed, “Yes, London, England.”
“Mom would never let you go.”
He zipped up a full-to-bursting duffle. “That’s why Mom thinks I’m spending the week at Dad’s, and Dad thinks I’m spending the week at Mom’s. And after that week I’ll supposedly be imprisoned at Illyria Preparatory School—but you and I will know otherwise.”
“And they think I’m the devious twin.”
Oz chuckled. “No, you’re just too talkative to manage stealth.”
“Am not,” Buffy pouted, but then turned serious, “And besides, I think the principal and Mom would know if you just didn’t show up at Illyria for four weeks straight.”
“I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it. I know Mom’s going to be furious, but this might be it, Buffy. This might be my one shot at making it with the band. I have to know.”
Buffy nodded understandingly, knowing how much making it in the music world meant to her brother. She gave a wry smile. “And, hey, maybe if you come back a rock star, Mom’ll be a little more lenient on your punishment for skipping school, town, and country.”
“I doubt that.”
“Yeah, you’re most likely going to be grounded until you’re on your deathbed,” Buffy admitted conciliatorily.
Oz observed his put-together-belongings. “Well, that’s everything I’ll need. I guess I’m out.” He turned to Buffy, a special little Oz smile quirking his lips. “Take care, Buffy. And make some soccer goals for me while I’m away.”
Buffy came forth and gave her fraternal twin a hug. “You guys will do great.” She pulled away so that she could see his face. “I really do wish that you wouldn’t have to come home to a big ol’ mess when you get back, though. Because for a brother, you’re surprisingly cool and haven’t gotten on to my vindictive side, so I really can’t take any pleasure in seeing you fry at Mom’s hand.”
Oz winced. “Yeah, if only,” he got a far away look on his face, alerting Buffy to the fact that he was deep in thought. He did that a lot. The deep, philosophical thinking thing.
“If only, what?”
He shrugged. “I was just going to say, ‘if only you could pretend to be me’ but then, I thought of all of our classic examples of twins switching places and how they always end up getting caught, so I thought better of it.”
“Someone’s been watching too many Olsen twin movies.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of Shakespeare’s play Twelfth Night but, yeah, you could be right about the Olsen twin thing—and about me watching too many of their movies. They’re hot.”
Buffy rolled her eyes at the same time that Oz’s cell phone went off. The ring tone ‘Cold Hard Bitch’ made both Oz and Buffy grimace.
Oz ignored it and began to haul his bags out of his window.
Buffy watched his progress. “I don’t see why you won’t just dump Cordzilla already. What do you see in her anyways?”
Oz heaved his last bag out of the window, a small grin on his face. “It’s a guy thing.”
“Let me guess,” Buffy adopted a lazed slouch and imitated in a gruff, male voice, “Cordelia Chase is hot—like the Olsen twins.”
Oz shook his head in amusement and nodded toward his bass guitar. “Can you hand that to me after I climb out the window?” Buffy nodded and Oz expertly descended out of his window. Buffy carefully lowered his instrument when he was ready for it, then stood at the ledge and waved good bye when Oz loaded up his van and mock saluted her as he turned out into the street—and headed on to go make his dreams come true.
Buffy sighed and turned away from Oz’s window. She was about to make her way out of his room when the door was opened for her. Her mom stood looking at her in bafflement.
“Buffy, what are you doing in your brothers’ room?”
“Uh… Waiting for Oz to get home. I wanted to talk to him about,” she squinted in thought, unable to come up with anything, “stuff. Teenage stuff.”
Joyce’s confused look smoothed out. “Oh. Oz left to spend the week with Hank in LA. Didn’t he tell you?”
Acting as if she was put-out by this information, Buffy grumpily said, “No. He didn’t tell me he was leaving. The loser.”
“Buffy, don’t call your brother names when he isn’t here to defend himself,” Joyce admonished. And then hesitantly she asked, “Is it something that maybe I could help you with? I was a teenager once too, you know.”
“Oh, no, it’s nothing, really.” She looked around, fidgeting. “Sooo…I guess I’ll just go to my room then.”
Joyce followed her out of Oz’s room. “Wait, Buffy, it feels like we haven’t talked in ages. Talk to me, tell me how your summer has been so far.”
Buffy slowed her pace to her room so that her mom could walk along with her. She shrugged. “Same ol’, same ol’ I guess. Window shopping—because I don’t have a job and therefore can’t pay for anything I want. Going to the beach. Kicking Angel and his friends’ butts at soccer in the park. The usual.”
She opened her door. Her mom followed her in. “So how is Angel? Have you two done anything special lately? Any anniversaries coming up?”
Buffy sat down on her bed and absentmindedly picked up her soccer ball, spinning it between her hands. “Umm, none that I can think of.” She suddenly dropped the ball onto her bed and looked at her mom with hopeful eyes. “Wait, why? Did Angel say anything to you about me and him having something special coming up?”
“Oh, no,” Joyce reassured, misinterpreting Buffy’s anxiousness for panic. “I was just asking out of curiosity. Don’t worry. You didn’t forget about some anniversary between you two.”
Buffy let out a breath, disappointed. “Oh.” There was a pause of silence until Buffy finally asked, “So how are things with you? Any hot office romances I should know about?”
Joyce delicately blushed. “No, Buffy, you gossipmonger, I’m afraid there’s nothing that exciting happening at the gallery…but there is something that I think could be of some interest to you.” At Buffy’s encouraging nod, Joyce continued, “In about a month, the gallery is going to be having an auction, and I and some of my colleagues thought it would up the intrigue if, instead of just doing it the boring old fashioned way, we could have an elaborate ball that all of the patrons and their families would be invited to.
“But, the thing is, we’re going to need money if we are going to decorate the gallery extravagantly for a ball. So, what I was thinking was that maybe you, your soccer friends and maybe even Angel and his soccer friends could help us fundraise by volunteering at the Sunnydale Carnival that the gallery is sponsoring. The owners operating the carnival said that they would give the gallery a decent cut of whatever they make in profit if we provide volunteer workers to work one Saturday shift for them.” Joyce looked at Buffy pleadingly. “So…will you do it?”
Buffy smiled, “I guess it wouldn’t be too bad, I’ll ask the gang... And, um, will any of this fundraising money be going into getting me a knock-out dress for your auction-ball-thingy by any chance?” she asked, feigning innocence.
Joyce smiled winningly. “Money for that will come out of my own pocket, missy. But I don’t mind.” She straightened and headed for the door. “Well, I guess I’ll leave your room before I stay too long and cramp your style. I love you, sweetie. Thanks for doing this for me.”
Buffy smiled from her place on her bed. “No prob.” Suddenly remembering that she needed a ride for the next day, she called out, “Will you be able to take me to the Sunnydale High field tomorrow? It’s our first practice meet.”
“Sure, Buffy. Just remember to remind me what time you need to be there tomorrow, okay?”
“Alright. Thanks, Mom. Love you.”
[][][] [][][] [][][]
A tapping noise on her window woke Buffy up in the middle of the night. She stumbled out of her bed, and then shook herself to help dissipate the grogginess she felt, as she made her way to let Angel in.
He went right in for the kissage.
“Mmphello oothoo.” Angel pulled away slightly and looked down at Buffy quizzically. She elaborated, whispering, “I said ‘Hello to you, too.’”
Giving her a lop-sided smile, he replied by giving her an abrupt “Hi.”
And then went straight back to the kissage.
“Mmph. Angel, wait.” She pushed him at arms length. “I want to talk to you.” Something, she had noticed, that they had been doing less and less of ever since she had finally given in to having sex with him for the first time at the beginning of the summer.
He blew out a breath and nodded his acceptance. “Sure, Buff. What’s on your mind?”
She told him about her mom’s idea and asked if he could help out with the carnival.
His dark brows furrowed in consideration. “It all depends on what Saturday it is, Buffy. I have to make sure I don’t have any commitments to the team, but if I’m free, sure. I would be glad to help out.”
Buffy nodded. “Yeah, of course. Believe me, I know how it is. I’ll most likely have a practice or game every Saturday, too. But the carnival is for my mom, so it’s not like I can say no.”
Angel looked around her room, not meeting her gaze. “So you’re trying out for the girls’ team again this year?”
“What kind of question is that?” Buffy asked in disbelief. “Of course I am.”
Angel put his hands up in surrender, a playful smile on his face. He was meeting her gaze again as he strode backwards and sat down, getting comfortable on her bed. “Hey, I was just making conversation, Miss ‘I want to talk.’ Chew my head off for it, why don’t you.”
Buffy wilted in embarrassment, feeling reprimanded. “Oh.” She moved to sit on the bed beside him. He immediately slid a hand up the back of her spaghetti strap pajama top, lightly stroking up her spine and smoothing up to her shoulder blades, because she wasn’t wearing a bra. She tried to keep the conversation going. “So today after I came home from totally creaming you and your friends’ butts at soccer-“
“You did not cream us.”
“I so did,” Buffy countered.
“Okay,” he relented. “You’re better than some of my teammates at soccer, but you didn’t beat me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, sore loser, after I came home from creaming your friends’ butts at soccer, I came across my brother packing up, getting ready to go to London.”
Throughout their exchange, Buffy gradually found herself lying on her back because of Angel’s insistent hands, with him lying on his side, leaning into her. He stroked along her exposed flat belly as he asked, “Isn’t he supposed to go to reform school in a week or something?”
“Prep school,” Buffy corrected, while trying to keep his wandering hands in uncompromising territory. “He’s supposed to, but he’s decided to go after his dream instead,” she ended wistfully.
Angel made a sound of derision. “He’s ruining any future that he could have by leaving. Do you know what percent of bands actually make it to the big times? Not many.”
Feeling anger at Angel’s flip judgment about her brother’s future, Buffy shoved his hands away. He always had looked down on Oz and his friends’ lifestyles, not seeing any reason to put much stock into a near-nonexistent career as a musician. She didn’t know why she thought Angel could join her in seeing Oz going after his dreams as something to admire.
“Have you ever even heard his band play? They’re really good. So good that talent scouts are asking them to come to their country, so that maybe they can get Oz and his band signed by a record company.”
“Emphasis on maybe, Buffy. Getting noticed enough to be famous in the music world is like taking a blind, deaf, and mute shot in the dark.”
“Oh,” Buffy bitterly intoned, “like becoming a professional soccer player is all that easy to do and make a living off of.” She said this, trying to make a point by bringing up Angel’s wanted profession.
“Yeah, okay, but at least I have a back-up plan if all else fails. That’s why I’m continuing my education, “ Angel said pointedly, only to let out a listless sigh a moment later, wrapping his arms back around her waist and pulling her flush against him. “C’mon, Buff, let’s not fight over this. I didn’t come here to argue.”
Buffy let him take her into his embrace, but her posture remained stiff. “All I’m saying is, people have to have faith and go after their dreams, Angel. Otherwise, where would this world be if no one believed that they could reach the impossible?” She stared into his dark, half-lidded eyes, feeling so alone as she got swept up in her own seemingly impossible dream of becoming a professional female soccer player. Something she had only told her brother she was serious about, because he was the only one that wouldn’t think it was a comical joke. But she let go of the feeling of making Angel understand her inner-most desires about pursuing far-reaching dreams, when she glumly saw that his desire deepened gaze was trailing a heated path down to her exposed cleavage—something that couldn’t be helped because her small night top wouldn’t allow any more coverage.
She resigned herself to the fact that her conversation attempt was a bust. He hadn’t been listening to a single word she had said since she opened her window. Not really.
So with sadness in her heart, she let Angel sweep her into his passion. He didn’t notice, or didn’t understand, that the whole time they gave into their carnal pleasure, Buffy’s eyes were filled with an aching hunger that could not to be gratified by physical satiation, but by his willingness to understand her, to really know her, for once.
These needs he never met.
[][][] [][][] [][][]
“Hey, B, get your fine ass over here.”
Buffy grinned, turning around to see her voluptuous brunette friend mirroring her expression. “Hey, Faith. You ready for the new season?”
“Born ready.” Faith made a show of hefting her soccer bag higher on her shoulder and placing a hand on one of her soccer shorts covered hips. “Even my therapist finds that my need to come to his office is way less when I have a sweat-soakin’ session of running around a field, getting my aggression out by steaming over the competition.”
Buffy feigned being cautious as she approached her friend. “That’s good. I’m glad that you’ve, um, found your need to pulverize people in a conducive atmosphere where you won’t get in trouble for it.”
Faith lifted a brow tauntingly. “I think I might just have to beat you up for being such a smarty-pants. You know how it makes me all insecure when you use big words I can’t understand.”
“What, when I use words like conducive?” Buffy waved her hand, as if clearing the air of the non-corporeal word. “It’s just an SAT prep word. I’m pretty sure that I used it in the right context and everything.” She stopped, and frowned in thought. “I think. Mom’s been on my case about being prepared,” she explained.
“Whatever, brainiac,” Faith said derisively, “Senior year doesn’t even start for another five weeks. Chill.”
“I told you it’s not me, it’s my mom. Tell her to chill.”
“She is sorta touchy about you making the grades, isn’t she? ‘Cause Oz, you know, doesn’t.” Faith’s face scrunched as she thought something over. “Doesn’t he start at Illyria next week?”
Deciding to forego mentioning that Oz wasn’t even in the country, she stuck with the known facts. “Yeah. It’ll be Banana Republic Dockers and navy blue blazers for him from now on,” Buffy said solemnly.
“Yikes.”
“I know.”
They steadily made their way from the drop-off point at the front of the school over to the back field of Sunnydale High. When they stepped onto the field, they trekked over to a small gaggle of girls that were wearing the same uniform as them.
Buffy noticed that most of the girls wore bewildered or angry expressions. “What’s going on?” she directed at her teammate, Kendra, whose exotic features were twisted into a mutinous frown.
“De cut off da girls’ team.” Kendra’s dark chocolate gaze lashed out at the soccer director of Sunnydale High, Coach Rayne. “He said dat not enough girls signed op, so we can’t play.”
Buffy felt her heart stop for a beat as her mouth went dry. Her future rode on her getting noticed by college scouts during the games. This couldn’t be happening to her during her senior year of high school. She’d never get anywhere.
Faith let out an exasperated huff of air. “Well this fucking blows.” She turned to get Buffy’s opinion, her countenance changing from agitation to concern when she saw that the blonde’s face had drained of color. “Buffy, are you okay?”
Buffy’s attention snapped back to her friends. “Are you sure?” she asked Kendra.
Kendra nodded resolutely. “Coach Rayne said dat dare is not’ing we can do. It’s over.”
Buffy whipped around and stormed over to the tall, lanky man who was holding a clipboard and monitoring over the boys’ team. Without looking up, he acknowledged her in his unaffected, upper-class English drawl, “You aren’t going to get anywhere with me. So, really, there’s no need to even bother, Miss Summers.”
She spoke as if she hadn’t heard him. “You can’t do this. There’s gotta be a way our team can play.”
Ethan Rayne finally looked up from his notes, his sharp gaze pinning Buffy’s. “Not enough girls signed up. And since our first game will be during the week school starts, your team would be unfit to train new players who might have expressed an interest to start later in the season. Give it up already, and enjoy the rest of your summer playing dress-up and having tea parties, girls.” He gave derogatory smile, before he went back to looking out onto the field of teenage boys in soccer training.
Buffy followed his gaze, landing on her boyfriend, who had just left her room two hours before dawn that morning. His face was flushed and his body was glistening from his exertions. His hair somehow managed to be the only thing up-kept and unmoved by the sport he played.
Feeling a frisson of hope, she blurted out the idea that she hoped would take root, “Then let us try-out for the guys’ team.”
Coach Rayne looked up at her in shock, his expression blank.
She pressed on after not having been put-down immediately. “C’mon. Just a fair-in-square try-out. Pick your players for their raw talent, not their gender. You wouldn’t even have to feel obligated to go easier on us just ‘cause we’re girls,” she added in an attempt to convince him.
His reaction was not reassuring.
“Boys,” he called out between fits of harsh laughter, “Come here for a moment. There’s something that these girls want to bring up with you.”
Adolescent males jogged to where Ethan and the girls stood, giving out cat-calls and lewd suggestions on their way. They stopped in front of them, panting and smelling of perspiration. Angel, as the captain, stood in the center of them. He looked to Buffy, his face purposely masked of emotion. “What’s this all about, Buff?”
Buffy felt an icy knot of trepidation trickle along her spine at Angel’s expression—and because of the way he kept calling her ‘Buff.’ He’d been calling her by the shortened name more and more frequently ever since the beginning of the summer…
And for the first time, she heard it for what it really was: cold and impersonal.
Thrown off by this discovery, she stuttered, losing her train of thought. “W-we wanted to know if, um, we could try-out for the boys’ team. Since it seems like there isn’t going to be a girls’ team this year.” She inwardly winced at how intimidated she had come off sounding.
The guys fed on it, joining in on Ethan’s amusement. Some guy in the back muttered, “You gotta be kidding me,” while others muttered comments not as tame, some even blatantly misogynistic.
Buffy spoke Angel’s name. Maybe she was wrong about the changes she had noticed about him.
His gaze darted around at his teammates, taking in the way they were considering Buffy’s suggestion as a big joke. Angel’s gaze turned back to Buffy, his face as closed off as an unopened book. But she had the feeling that she didn’t have to read to know what was going on inside his head.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Buff. Men and women have different levels of physical capabilities. I wouldn’t want any of you to get hurt.”
“Funny,” Buffy bit out, “because I could have sworn you told me last night that I was a better soccer player than some of the guys on your team.”
Angel flinched at the angry voices that broke out behind him, but his countenance quickly smoothed. “I never said that,” he reassured his teammates. Turning back to Buffy, he said in a deadly calm voice, “Buffy, this isn’t the end of the world. There are other things out there for you.” He looked her over, his expression suddenly filled with exaggerated lasciviousness. “You’re flexible. Maybe you should try-out for gymnastics. Or, hey,” he raised a suggestive eyebrow, “cheerleading.” His teammates laughed, he was back in their good graces.
Buffy blinked at the angry tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes and raised her chin. “Angel… You’re an asshole and not even half the man I thought you were.” She turned a falsely bright smile on him and said over her shoulder as she turned to leave, “Go fuck yourself. We’re over.”
She left him gaping and facing the humiliation of being publicly dumped—and felt a little better for it.
[][][] [][][] [][][]
She had thought of the idea while she waited to get picked up by her mom from the school.
It was crazy, probably wouldn’t work, and could get her into loads of trouble.
But on the other hand, there was a possibility that it might work.
And she was willing to take her chances.
Entering her brother’s room, she zeroed in on his dresser and rummaged through the drawers until she found what she was hoping for. Oz’s new Illyria Preparatory uniforms. Sneaking them into her room, she set out the stages of her plan to help cover for Oz, making it look like he hadn’t left for London, and also to show the Sunnydale High boys’ soccer team that she was just as good a player as any of them.
She was going to beat them at their own game.
TBC
Author’s Note: So…what do you think? Is it any good? Please, if you have the time, I would greatly appreciate feedback on whether I should continue this hair-brained idea.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Joss, Fox Studios, Mutant Enemy and William Shakespeare; no copyright infringement intended. This fic mostly gains its’ inspiration from the movie She’s The Man which is based off the play Twelfth Night, or What You Will by William Shakespeare
Like I said in the disclaimer, this fic is mostly based off of the modernized movie She’s The Man rather than the ancient play by ze amazing Shake-a-speare called Twelfth Night, or What You Will. I kept the high school name the same as in the movie because it’s ‘Illyria Preparatory School’ and I thought that was right snazzy ‘cause Illyria is also the name of a Whedon-verse character. I’ll also just take some time beforehand to apologize for some of the funky pairings, but they’ll eventually straighten themselves out and find who they’re really meant to be with. So I hope you like ;)
P.S.: How do you like the summary, eh? I didn’t properly punctuate it on purpose, by the way. It’s supposed to capture the chaos of the situation—I hope. Whatever. That idea was scrapped from the movie as well.
P.S.S.: I realize that Oz’s name is really Daniel Osborne but, for the sake of this fic, I’m just going to have his first name be Oz because calling him Daniel Summers would just confuzzle everyone—including myself.
P.S.S.S—I’m just being obnoxious now. There are no more side notes. Read on, already ;P
Like I said in the disclaimer, this fic is mostly based off of the modernized movie She’s The Man rather than the ancient play by ze amazing Shake-a-speare called Twelfth Night, or What You Will. I kept the high school name the same as in the movie because it’s ‘Illyria Preparatory School’ and I thought that was right snazzy ‘cause Illyria is also the name of a Whedon-verse character. I’ll also just take some time beforehand to apologize for some of the funky pairings, but they’ll eventually straighten themselves out and find who they’re really meant to be with. So I hope you like ;)
P.S.: How do you like the summary, eh? I didn’t properly punctuate it on purpose, by the way. It’s supposed to capture the chaos of the situation—I hope. Whatever. That idea was scrapped from the movie as well.
P.S.S.: I realize that Oz’s name is really Daniel Osborne but, for the sake of this fic, I’m just going to have his first name be Oz because calling him Daniel Summers would just confuzzle everyone—including myself.
P.S.S.S—I’m just being obnoxious now. There are no more side notes. Read on, already ;P