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“Last week you gave me a list of your choices for the independent reading assignments. Let’s review…” The teacher droned on about the upcoming assignments and exams.

Normally, Buffy would be doing any number of things: jotting down copious notes, staring at the back of Spike’s neck, cramming for an exam, doodling…she was doing none of these things. She was too distracted to take notes, too embarrassed to stare at Spike’s neck, too wired to think about an exam, too tense to doodle…all because of last night’s dream. It’s not that she had never dreamt about Spike or even imagined being with him; she had on numerous occasions. It was because last night had seemed so real to her; it had been based in reality, which was more than she could say for many of her fantasies, and it had seemed like a possibility in the three seconds they had stared at each other before she had kicked him out of her room. She sighed softly, trying to get her mind to skip to the next track, but it stubbornly stayed on repeat and tortured her mind with images of reality and fantasy intermingling.

“Today I’ll be assigning you partners, so please write down the names of your group members and the books you’ve been assigned.”

Upon hearing her teacher’s words, Buffy finally attempted to focus her thoughts on the man in front of her. She got out her notebook and waited to hear her name.

“Terry Smith and Jonathan Weldon, reading Catcher in the Rye. Andrew Conners and Jenny Stiles, reading The Bell Jar. Buffy Summers and William Summerfield, reading Love in the Time of Cholera…”

Buffy froze. Please tell me he didn’t just say what I think he said. Please tell me he didn’t say what I think he said. Please tell me he didn’t say what I think he sai—”

“So, you signed up for Cholera?” Spike asked, turning around and asking her casually as he looked at the assignment guidelines for the project. He had avoided looking directly at her all day, but the new partner announcement made it rather difficult to keep ignoring her presence. He tried to stay aloof in his conversation.

“Uh, yeah. Didn’t think you’d be interested in something like that,” she muttered, not really thinking about what she was saying. Buffy could only think about how she had felt when he had dream-touched her, and those fantasies were forcing themselves into her reality, however unwelcome they were.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m too dumb to read books or something?” Spike said, annoyed at her comment but more at his inability to look at her without thinking of her naked.

“Shut up, you idiot. Obviously you read, since you’re in AP English with me. I just didn’t think it’d be your kind of book. Thought you’d be more into Clockwork Orange or One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest or some other book with crazies that you’d be able to relate to,” Buffy retorted, rubbing her eyes. If I close my eyes, maybe he won’t see what I’m thinking,” Buffy thought to herself. Oh, who am I kidding? He never looks at me hard enough to see that. She sighed miserably.

“Look, we’re gonna have to do this project together, and I’m not about to mess up my perfect grades over stupid shit. So let’s set up a schedule and figure out when we’re going to work on this.” Spike ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. They always seemed to fight about stupid things, her sarcasm and biting comments always drawing out the fighter in him. Normally, he wouldn’t think twice about it, but that dream had seemed so vivid to him, making him more aware of her presence, her words, her body, her hair, her scent…

“Fine. Let’s start reading the book and meet on Monday. Say, first 100 pages by then?” she asked, expecting him to balk at the large number of pages. She felt like taunting him for some reason; perhaps she felt that taunting was normal, and she was desperate to get back to normal with him.

“Whatever. We can finish the book by then if you like. I’m pretty fast with books, faster than you, I’m sure. But if you can’t handle that much,” Spike taunted back. He was a fast reader, English being his best subject and reading being an enjoyable pastime for him. Being a strong student came naturally to him, an ability that seemed to contradict his bad boy appearance—not that he cared much what other people thought.

“Oh, yeah? Fine, we’ll finish the book by Monday and talk about it then. Study group for Calc and Physics is that day, so you can just hang afterwards, if you’re finished,” snapped Buffy.

“Fine. Try not to lose too much beauty sleep. You need as much as possible,” Spike bit.

Right then, the bell rang. Spike gathered his stuff up quickly and walked away without a second glance.

Buffy breathed deeply and tried not to let her emotions overwhelm her. For some reason, she felt like crying, like shaking, like falling into bed and hugging her stuffed pig until the stars came out. Watching herself around Spike had been exhausting, and his last words had just knifed into her, reminding her why she was never going to attract a guy like him. She grabbed her books and slowly walked out of the classroom.

***

Spike quickly strode down the hall and out the school building, jonesing for a cigarette. He needed something to calm his nerves; for whatever reason, he was ready to have some time away from Buffy Summers and her acidic tongue in that luscious mouth of hers. Climbing into his car, he drove directly to the bookstore to pick up the novel and start reading. He was eager to lose himself in another world, his present one being a little too complicated for him right now.

***

When she finally got home, Buffy reached into her bookbag and took out the novel for the project. There had only been one copy at the bookstore, and she wondered if Spike had been able to get a copy. Buffy looked at the title, remembering the conversation she had had with Spike about meeting and reading the book. Might as well get started, since I only have the weekend to read.

Opening the book, she read the first line out loud.

“It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love.” Great, Buffy thought. How incredibly appropriate.

She flopped down on the bed, hugged her pig Mr. Gordo, and dove into the alluring words.

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