E-mail: LilMissTessa@hotmail.com
Rating- PG-13
Couple- W/A
Disclaimer- This is a rewrite of an episode I can't call my own- BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.
Summary- 'Welcome to the Hellmouth' BtVS Episode #1, rewritten from the POV of both Angel and Willow. Things are not always as they appear.
Dedication- Lauren, my best friend- what on earth would I do without you? It's certainly not a pretty thought. Thank you for being there for me always, and for being you- 'cuz you're one hell of a person. Luv ya, girl!
Author's Note- This story is the product of many years of my watching Buffy and thinking- 'no, it should have been like *this*'. I've stuck as close to the original script as possible, but my story differs drastically from the one portrayed on television.
Fair warning- this story does *not* end with Willow and Angel together.
I was planning on making this into a series, one story per episode, playing
with the characters until I could get Willow and Angel together (probably
like end of Season 3). But what I really want is feedback, 'cuz what I'm
talking about doing is a lot of work, and if no one is going to read it-
well then it's all pretty pointless. One more thing- Buffy lovers beware-
(somewhat minimal) Buffy bashing does lie ahead.
~Part: 1~
*****Angel*****
Even though I am utterly alone I can very easily hear the derisive and taunting remarks a fellow vampire might direct my way upon catching me in such a compromising situation. The sad thing is, I wouldn't even be able to argue with said vampire. I *am* rather pathetic, crouched up here in this tree like a child hiding under his bedsheets in fear of the bogeyman. But I'm *not* hiding, at least not from something I fear. It's kind of ironic, but when you have no one and nothing to live for, fear becomes rather inconsequential. I fear nothing, not anymore. Haven't known the feeling in over eighty years. But that, in essence, is what brings me here, to this particular tree, tonight. I'm rubbing at my swiftly cramping leg while looking down into the bedroom of the new chosen one. The Slayer. She's just moved into this house, this town- which, coincidentally, happens to sit upon the mouth of hell- and lucky for me, she hasn't yet had time to put the curtains up. So 'Peeping Tom' can be one more offense added to the bottom of my very long list of sins. When you know you're going to burn in hell anyway, the conscious easily plays off crimes as trivial as spying. And she *is* a beautiful girl- slayers usually are- petite, blonde, quite possibly not a day over sixteen. Had I not personally experienced the wrath of a slayer myself- learned the hard way that they come in all shapes and sizes- I'd find it hard to believe that such strength, such power, comes in such an unlikely package. But, I'm not here for a pleasure visit. Bastard monster though I may be, I never got off on watching unsuspecting girls as they slept. *I* never did. My alter ego, however. That, of course, is a totally separate story entirely inappropriate for this night. I am here because this girl may provide me with something no one has been able to provide me with in over eighty years- a purpose. It's a long shot and I know it, but I've got more hope in me now than I've known in almost a century. So I crouch here, certain I am not likely to be found, because it isn't quite time for me to reveal myself. Not yet. And I watch as she tosses and turns, stricken with unknown dreams that must haunt her and linger on her conscious even when the day comes. I can relate. No doubt she's had such dreams countless times before, and no doubt they will continue to plague her for as long as she remains here on earth in her capacity as the slayer, the single girl chosen to fight and kill the vampires, demons, and all the forces of darkness.
*****Willow*****
My eyes, scanning the crowd, pick out Xander immediately. They usually do- in fact, most times the trouble is the *not* Xander lookage. I grin as I see him take a light spill on the sidewalk, because Xander is goofy and, not only can he get away with stuff like that- somehow, he makes it look *good*. Okay, maybe I *am* the only one who finds his bumbling clutziness endearing. That's not such a bad thing, right? Anyway, the grin lasts for about two seconds until I realize the object of his distraction. A girl, and Willow, you *should* have figured. It's always a girl (*another* girl if you wanna get specific), though today there's a refreshing twist on the old story- this is the long awaited, subject-of-many-rumors-and-much-discussion new girl, who transferred to Sunnydale from LA. And she's gorgeous, but why wouldn't she be? Tanned and curvy with a tight outfit, perfectly styled hair, and manicured nails to match- twenty minutes or less and she's sure to be officially initiated into Cordelia's snob brigade. I can't help the roll of my eyes but am careful to hide this from Xander, still on the ground, as I approach. I avoid his flailing legs and smile down at him, fully aware of- but unable to help- my nervous hair-pulling habit as he says- "I'm okay. I feel good." Then he catches sight of me- "Willow! You're so very much the person that I wanted to see!" In the millisecond it takes him to get up, a wave of emotion passes over me. I know in my head that twenty seconds ago, while ogling the new girl, he probably wouldn't have even *recognized* me- let alone acknowledged me- his (plain) best friend since way-back-when. Still, in my heart, I can't seem to accept this harsh-but-too-true fact and a hopeful feeling wells up in my throat, threatening to choke me. "Oh, really?" I am somewhat disgusted with myself over this pathetic response. "Yeah. You know, I kinda had a problem with the math." Bubble burst, and it took considerably less than twenty words on his part. Still, I'm Willow, *the* geeky brainiac (or so I've been told, and I pretty much agree maybe with the exception of the *the*), and I'll always help anyone who asks if it's within my power to do so. Even Xander. Especially Xander. "Uh, which part?" I ask, dreading the answer. "The math." He responds, like it should have been dead obvious, which it pretty much was. "Can you help me out tonight, pleeeease, be my study buddy?" Right, like I'm gonna give up a chance to be with him. Even if it is to talk trigonometry. that's better than nothing. Still- "Well, what's in it for me?" "A shiny nickel!" He quips, eliciting an undeserved smile from me. I sigh in resignation. "Okay. Do you have 'Theories in Trig'? You should check it out." If he's asking me for help, I'll help, but he'd better not expect me to do the work for him. "Check it out?" He questions, as if talking of a completely foreign concept. "From the library? Where the books live." Duh. What the hell else would I be talking about? "Right, I'm there! See, I wanna change..." Again, I roll my eyes, careful not to let him see. As we enter the school Jesse, our third musketeer, approaches, and I pretty much sigh in relief. I do love Xander, but Jesse is often a refreshing and welcome change of pace. "Hey, hey!" he calls as he approaches. "Hey, Jesse, what's what?" Xander responds. "New Girl!" Jesse says, with so much enthusiasm I need to both restrain the urge to puke as well as make a very conscious effort to keep my eyeballs from rolling right from their sockets. Last thing I want to hear right now is Xander's take on the new girl. "That's right, I saw her. Pretty much a hottie!" Too late. "I heard someone was transferring..." I say, just to make sure they realize that, yes, I'm *still* here. Sometimes I just wanna take a break from the male race in general. "So tell!" Xander nearly pleads. Geez, two and half minutes after seeing her he's already got the hots- big time. "Tell what?" Jesse questions, and I'm suddenly wondering how I could ever have found him 'refreshing'. "What's the sitch, what do ya know about her?" Xander needles shamelessly. "New girl!" Jesse says again, trying to muster a credible amount of enthusiasm. Thank God, because I am really *not* in the mood to hear her life story right here and now. "Well, you're certainly a font of nothing!" snaps Xander almost irritably, and once again I feel my eyeballs straining from their sockets.
*****
I bend over the water fountain for a drink not because of thirst but because, in my therapeutic world, negative thoughts can be washed down the drain as easily as unused water. I am cleansing my mind, therefore, when I am rudely interrupted by Miss Priss herself, Queen Cordelia Chase. And look who's accompanying her if not the new girl in the flesh. I win the bet with myself by *at least* a five minute margin. "Willow! Nice dress." Cordelia shoots her sickly saccharine- and distinctly fake- smile at me. I smile back, though not for the reasons she might suspect- I smile at her blatant stupidity and because to do anything less would probably leave way for my mind-of-its-own mouth to return a nasty comeback. "Good to know you've seen the softer side of Sears," she adds, like I didn't see that coming from a mile away. To respond to her insults is to fuel her fire, a lesson one might expect Xander would have picked up on by now (though big surprise- he hasn't), and I refuse to do it. "Well my mom picked it out." She thinks I'm meek, and that suits me just fine- because she usually just throws a few choice words in my direction and moves on. "No wonder you're such a guy-magnet. Are you done?" This does hurt a little, especially because the whole reason I'm here in the first place is my own insecurity. "Oh," I respond lamely, and turn to leave somewhat lost in thought. Behind me, still within hearing range, I realize that Cordelia is now addressing the new girl- "You wanna fit in here, the first rule is 'know your losers'. Once you can identify them all by sight, they're a lot easier to avoid." I may be lost in thought, but I'm still fairly perceptive, and I easily pick up on the blonde's discomfort. Apparently she doesn't approve of Cordelia's aggressive, bitchy manner. She wins no brownie points from me. It makes no difference, because I'm willing to wager yet another bet with myself that she, like the rest of Cordelia's flock- or should I say sheep?- will never stand up for her beliefs. And I smile as I hear her forced laugh, because- what can I say?- I totally called it.
*****Willow*****
It's less than half an hour later that I'm sitting in the Quad with
my lunch and seriously beginning to fear that I may be forced to eat my
own thoughts. The same girl that seems to have been haunting me all day
is drawing near, and it's clear that *I* am the target of her approach.
She seems to be lacking in the malicious, harmful intent that most of Cordelia's
groupies eat, sleep, breathe, and exude all over campus. "Uh, hi." She
says, with a nervous sort of respect about her that I can't help but like.
"Willow, right?" What gave me away? Must have been the jumper. Damn. "Why?"
I ask before I can stop myself. What I do manage to bite back is the insistence
that I am, indeed, on the list of people she should stay clear of. For
both her sake and mine. Still, I am quick to try to rectify the situation.
"I mean, 'hi'. Did you want me to move?" Please? Let's just do this and
get it over with. "Why don't we start with 'hi I'm Buffy'." Right. Am I
supposed to be grateful because she's decided to socialize with me? And
besides, what the *hell* kind of name is Buffy anyway? She continues on,
apparently not noticing the obvious I'd-rather-be-anywhere-but-here, pained
expression gracing my face. "And then let's segue directly into me asking
you for a favor." Ah, the catch- "It doesn't involve moving, but it does
involve you hanging out with me for a while." Internally, I sigh. Again
with the am-I-supposed-to-be-grateful?, but I realize that I am being somewhat-
okay totally- harsh. Truth is, I'm happy being one of the three musketeers.
That's good enough for me. I don't know how to act around 'Buffy', and
quite honestly she's kind of intimidating. But she's obviously gone out
of her way to be nice to me, so I guess I kind of owe her at the very least
a little common courtesy. And besides, she used the word 'segue'. That
alone merits at least a little interest. Still, I'm confused. "But aren't
you. hanging with Cordelia?" And I just love her response. "Can't I do
both?" She's obviously new. I don't know how things worked in LA, but.
"Not legally." She grins. "Look, I really want to get by here. New school.
Cordelia's been really nice - to me, anyway - but I have this burning desire
not to flunk all my classes, and I heard a rumor that you were the person
to talk to if I wanted to get caught up." Ah yes, please step into your
office Dr. Rosenberg. I'm a pushover, but a pushover by choice. Like I
said before, I'll help anyone that asks. "Oh, I could totally help you
out! If you have sixth period free we could meet in the library-" she cuts
me off, and I'm a little taken aback. "- or not. Or, you know, we could
meet somewhere quieter. Louder. That place kind of gives me a wiggins."
So I've resolved to be nice, to *think* nice even, but I can't help noticing
she's just a tad ditsy. "It has that effect on most kids," I concede, "I
love it, though. It's a great collection, and the new librarian's really
cool." For some reason this bit of news seems to startle her. "He's new?"
I nod. "Yeah, he just started. He was a curator of some British Museum.
Or The British Museum, I'm not sure. But he knows everything and he brought
all these historical volumes and biographies.." Oh geez, I'm definitely
babbling and nerdspeak at that- "..and am I the single dullest person alive?"
"Not at all!" she says perkily, and against my better judgment I finally
do swallow the nasty thoughts I had about her earlier. She is lying to
be sure, but she's doing phenomenally, and I certainly appreciate it. Just
as I am entertaining these thoughts Xander and Jesse walk up. This *should*
be interesting. Xander begins, "Hey. Are you guys busy? Can we interrupt?
We're interrupting." He's obviously happy to see Buffy, and this hurts
a little, but I guess the water fountain did me some good because I'm *not*
mentally killing Buffy and dancing on her grave. Buffy says a simple "hey"
and I kinda figure she's a little intimidated by his in-your-face attitude.
Poor Xander- he means well, but sometimes he comes off a little strong.
Jesse chips in his own and slightly more lackadaisical "hey there." He
too wishes to impress her, but goes about it in a slightly different way
than our third 'sketeer. Deciding that this is my cue, I chip in- "Buffy,
this is Jesse, and that's Xander." Xander, bless his heart, feels the need
to steal center stage, and he goes about doing it marvelously. "Oh, me
and Buffy go way back. Old friends, very close. Then there was the period
of estrangement, I think we were both changing as people, but here we are
and it's like old times, I'm quite moved." I'm confused but decide that
to question him would be foolish- he'd either be stumped or make a bigger
fool of himself. Jesse, a little more- well, tactless than I- says, "Is
it me, or are you turning into a bibbling idiot?" Xander, embarrassed,
says- "It's not you." And it's really not. I feel sympathy for Buffy- the
poor girl is probably more confused than I- because the one and only leg
up I've got on her is about sixteen years of experience. Still, I admire
the grace with which she handles herself- "It's nice to meet you guys.
I think." "Well," says Jesse, and I actually think he might be attempting
to lessen Xander's blatant stupidity with a show of some of his own, "we
wanted to welcome you, make you feel at home. Unless you have a scary home."
Xander's eyes light up, and apparently he's remembered something. "And
to return this!" He produces a wooden stake similar to those driven into
the ground to keep circus tents in place and I can't help the eye twitch
that is sooner or later going to give me away. He continues, "The only
thing I can figure is that you're building a really little fence." A what?!
"Oh." Says Buffy, and she's nervous, "No. That was for self defense. Everyone
has them in L.A. Pepper spray is so passe." Oh-kay. It's pretty obvious
that none of us really want to continue down this road of conversation.
I for one would rather *not* find out that the innocent looking girl- a
possible friend, even- is actually a homicidal psycho-maniac. Xander is
quick to move on- "So, what do you like, what do you do for fun, what do
you look for in a man. let's hear it." Oh yeah. definite points for subtlety,
there. And Jesse can't help but adding, "If you have any dark, painful
secrets that we could publish." Yeowch. Buffy's composure slips a bit.
"Gee, everybody wants to know about me. How keen." Xander seems to be oblivious
to this. "Well, not a lot happens in a one-Starbucks town like Sunnydale.
You're big news." True, true. "I'm not. Really." She insists, and I admire
that she seems to be more than okay with the idea of not-fame. And then
out of nowhere appears Cordelia, and for half of a terrible second I'm
wondering what malicious trick Buffy was put up to. But this thankfully
passes as Cordelia says, "Are these people bothering you?" in that snide
and bratty tone of voice she loves to call her own. Buffy is startled.
"Oh! No." And I am quick to cover for her, because it *is* Cordelia after
all. "She's not hanging out with us." Lame and pathetic, yes. but I wouldn't
want to startle them too much. I am after all just shy and mousy Willow.
Jesse casts his best puppy dog eyes upon the curvaceous brunette, and my
stomach flops in utter disgust. "Hey, Cordelia." "Oh, please," she shoots
him down with those two simple words, and I almost feel sorry for him.
Almost- hey, it's like that saying goes- play with fire and you're *going*
to get burned. Cordelia turns back to Buffy, apparently having decided
that none of the rest of us are worth her attention. Notice my not-upset
state, here. "I don't want to interrupt your downward mobility. I just
thought I'd tell you that you won't be meeting Coach Foster, the woman
with the chest hair, because gym has been canceled due to the extreme dead
guy in the locker." It's hard for me to comprehend this statement, and
apparently Buffy is having some similar problems. "What?" she snaps. "What
are you talking about?" I ask. "Some guy was stuffed in Aura's locker."
Like it's the most obvious thing in the world and, duh, why couldn't we
guess? "Dead," repeats Buffy, and there's a tone in her voice I can't really
name, but it's chilling. To the bone marrow chilling. "Way dead," Cordelia
confirms. And once again, Xander just cannot contain himself. "So not just
a little dead then." Dripping sarcasm. And okay, it fed the fire, but I
can't help but be amused. Even in this situation. "Don't you have an elsewhere
to be?" She snaps, nastily. Jesse certainly doesn't seem to be deterred.
"If you need a shoulder to cry on, or just to nibble on--" Buffy interrupts
him. "How did he die?" Damned if she's not little miss Curious Georgette.
"I don't know." Cordelia trails off, and for once I witness the great queen
of the snobs rendered pretty much speechless. Go, Buffy. "Well, were there
any marks?" Buffy presses, and now she's taking whatever game she's playing
just a little bit to far. Someone has died and yet it seems like she's
questioning a friend about a way long make-out session. "Morbid much?"
Cordelia snaps, "I didn't ask!" Well, at least *she's* still normal. Buffy
seems almost. disappointed. with Cordelia's lack of gruesome detail. "Uh,
look," she says, "I gotta book. I'll see you guys later." And then she's
gone, leaving the four of us pretty much staring in shock. "What's her
deal?" Cordelia asks tactlessly, but for once I think she's just spoken
exactly what the rest of us are thinking.
*****Angel*****
I knew she'd come out tonight. I didn't know in what capacity, exactly.
But I knew she'd be out because the night runs in her blood, courses swiftly
through her veins. This dark world belongs to all the creatures of evil-monsters,
demons, vampires like me- and to *her*. So I tail her closely, but I'm
not particularly trying to be stealthy. I've already decided that tonight
is the night that I will reveal myself. I would have liked to wait a little
longer, watch her a little more closely, learn as much as possible about
the extra-ordinary girl. but I've got one ear to the ground, and the rumblings
are getting loud. Too loud. Something is going down, and soon. She needs
to be warned. I'll let her catch me off guard. or at least I'll let her
think that she has. I may be a good guy now, but she's still the Slayer
and I'm still a vampire. And that will forever mean that we're mortal enemies.
So for now I'll allow her - no, encourage her - to underestimate me. I
see her tense- just slightly- but I know she's sensed my presence. Finally-
I've been trailing her for at least a mile, into the bad part of town at
that. I begin to get a little bit worried, because she's so new to this
and the Master's so powerful. I can't help but think that it's gonna be
a damn miracle if she manages to take him on and come out of the confrontation
alive. Suddenly she stops and turns slowly. I stop as well. She is too
far away to discern any facial features or detail, so she cannot see the
wicked smile that twists my angelic features. I find this whole situation
highly amusing. She turns and continues and I follow after her, allowing
the pitter patter of my shoes to sound loudly on the pavement and echo
through the cool night. It is now that her thumping heartbeat becomes evident
to me as she significantly speeds up her pace. I am suddenly struck with
an intense feeling that slightly resembles fear. Because if she fears *me*,
now. then how will she stop the Harvest? She turns the corner into an alley,
and I almost sigh with relief. I can smell the trap a mile away, and it's
comforting because at least the girl can think on her feet. As I duck into
the alley after her, I can still hear the pounding of her heart, but it
is now increased by some sort of aerobic exertion. And it's coming from
somewhere. above me. Suddenly, her body flies down and into mine, her legs
locking around my neck, and she flips me to the pavement. I roll with the
impact and am on my feet again in a matter of milliseconds. Then she too
is up and she's got me pinned to the wall faster than I can blink, seething
with an unholy rage that makes me think I may have slightly misjudged her.
Maybe her wide-eyed innocent look will serve her purpose well- because
no doubt she *will* be underestimated, and she has inadvertently just proven
to me that she knows how to use that to her advantage. She is about to
strike, and I haven't even done anything really overtly threatening to
provoke her. My body thrums with energy, and I can't help but wonder how
a fight between the two of us would go down. Still, I hold up my hands
in a peaceable way, because tonight isn't the night for a brawl. "Is there
a problem, ma'am?" I can't help myself, taunting her like that. Maybe I'm
a fool- I know I just pissed her off even more- but it was too much of
a temptation to resist. She eyes me suspiciously. "There's a problem,"
she shoots back at me, "Why are you following me?" She cuts right to the
chase, too. "I know what you're thinking," I grin, and maybe now there's
a little bit of contempt and sarcasm mixed in with the droll expression.
"But don't worry. I don't bite." The last sentence is almost a whisper.
I don't bite. not anymore. She backs off a little, and I don't know whether
to be happy or dismayed- because I *am* a vampire- and she *is* the Slayer-
and she should know better, dammit. "Truth is," I continue, "I thought
you'd be taller. Or bigger, muscles and all that." This is all true. she
just doesn't have to know that I've been thinking like that for about twenty-four
hours, since spying on her from the tree. "You're pretty spry, though."
I rub the back of my neck, allowing her to believe that she has hurt me
when she really hasn't. As long as I am playing the part of a human I might
as well go through with it whole-heartedly. "What do you want?" She asks,
seemingly uncaring of my pain. So much for that. "Same thing you do." I
reply, cryptically. Hell, I'm hamming it up and having a great time. I
always wanted to do something like this- play the mysterious man dressed
in black who seems to live in the shadows. "Okay, what do I want?" She
snaps, and she's so dead-serious I abruptly loose a great deal of my jovial
mood. "To kill 'em," I respond, "To kill 'em all." For a split second I
see a great deal of vulnerability in her pretty face, but then it's gone-
replaced by a hard and lifeless shell. "Sorry! That's incorrect but you
do get this lovely watch and a year's supply of Turtle Wax. What I *want*.
is to be left alone." Don't play that game with me, girl. I know she doesn't
want this, doesn't want her destiny- *tough*. What's that saying? The grass
is always greener on the other side. Nobody's ever happy, and I certainly
don't care how miserable she is. She's just going to have to do what she
has to do. "You really think that's an option anymore? You're standing
at the mouth of hell. And it's about to open." I'm not even dramatizing
this- it's all true, and someone needs to get through to this girl before
her selfishness gives way to hell on earth. I reach into my coat and pull
out the box that I've been saving specially for this occasion. I toss it
at her swiftly and she catches it with ease. Good girl. "Don't turn your
back on this. You've got to be ready." "What for?" She snaps, and her voice
is filled with so much frustration I begin to realize that maybe her problem
is not just ditsiness- maybe she really doesn't know. "The Harvest." I
say, and turn to leave. She stops me. "Who are you?" Wouldn't you like
to know. "Let's just say I'm a friend." I want- need- to establish in her
mind that I'm not the one she needs to be worried about right now. "Well,
maybe I don't want a friend." I stare at her, incredulous. That had to
the single most *pathetic* statement I've ever heard. The tremor in her
voice betrays her- it is enough to counter her quip and then some- and
obviously she is having some issues, but they do not concern me. "I didn't
say I was *yours*," I stress, and this is harsh but necessary. She needs
to understand that we will not be- *cannot* be- friends. She will need
my help, and I'll watch her back. That's my newfound purpose. But we're
still enemies, even if she doesn't realize that. I turn and walk away.
*****Willow*****
I check my watch for what must be the sixth time in five minutes and let out an exasperated sigh. We're Bronzing it tonight- at least we're supposed to be, and we *would* be too if Xander or Jesse would just *show up*. Sometimes I really wish one- God forbid maybe even *both* of them- would surprise me by acting less like such- well, teenage two year olds. For the moment at least I decide to give up waiting- it's hot and I'm thirsty and dammit, I'm *going* to get a soda. I make my way to the bar and smile at the cute bartender, who is so utterly disinterested that he seems to be staring right through me. I ask him for a soda, mentally kicking myself repeatedly for my blatant stupidity. Handing over a dollar, I accept the drink he offers me, and turn around to see. Buffy. "Hi," she greets me cheerily. "Oh, hi!" I respond, startled but pleasantly surprised. I hadn't realized that she was coming, but she certainly is welcome now that she's here. Xander and Jesse are still no-shows and I *hate* being at the Bronze by myself. "Hi," I repeat, hoping I don't sound too pathetic. "Are you here with someone?" She asks, and once again I force myself to resist the tempting, tugging pull of my eyes- but I think that, for the first time today, she isn't the cause of the urge. "No," I say, hoping I don't sound nearly as bitter and hurt as I actually am. "I'm just here. I *thought* Xander was gonna show up." I trail off, aggravated. "Oh, are you guys going out?" She asks, and apparently she's drastically misunderstood me. "No. We're just friends," I reply, and immediately I'm struck by the horrific and mind-numbing thought that maybe she's interested in Xander in more than just a friendly way. "We used to go out, but we broke up." Even as the words are spilling from my mouth, the horrible and calculated reasoning behind them is deadly apparent to me- maybe, just maybe, I can ensure that Buffy will look at Xander as the ex-boyfriend of a gal pal. In other words? Off limits. However, I'm immediately struck with spasms of guilt, and when she asks "How come?" I know I'm going to come clean. Like it or not, I've gotta face it- deceptitude is just *not* in my nature. "He stole my Barbie," I admit with a sigh, and then add- "we were five." She gives me a funny look and says "oh," probably because she really doesn't know what to say. Dammit. "I don't actually date a whole lot," I say, then add "lately," just to make myself feel a little better. Truth is, I haven't dated since that Barbie incident and I'm sure that she sees right through me. Everyone else seems to. "Why not?" She asks, and I'm wondering if she's just, I don't know, patronizing me. "Well," I begin to respond, and I'm trying *so damn hard* to stop myself- but I keep talking, "when I'm with a boy I like, it's hard for me to say anything cool, or witty, or at all. I can usually make a few vowel sounds, and then I have to go away." The truth is a sad, sad thing. "It's not that bad," she says, laughing, and I have the tugging urge to cry. "It is," I insist, "I think boys are more interested in a girl who can talk." I've got so many thoughts, so many damn thoughts. and no one even realizes. Not even my two best friends. "You really *haven't* been dating lately," she says, and somehow the message that she's trying to communicate doesn't make me feel any better. "It's probably easy for you," I say forlornly, jealously taking in once again her perfectly styled blond hair and extremely pretty figure. "Oh, yeah. Real easy," is her response, and I don't know exactly what to say. Obviously something's bugging her, and while one side of me wants to reach out in compassion, the other wants to slap her, because- damn. "I mean, you don't seem too shy," I say, because it's the first thing that rolls off my tongue. "Well, my philosophy is - do you wanna hear my philosophy?" She asks, interrupting herself. "I do," I respond, and I really do. "Life is short," she says, and her delivery is pretty much perfect. For a split second there I was almost struck by the insightfulness of it. "Life is short," I repeat back. "Not original, I'll grant you. But it's true. Why waste time being all shy? Why worry about some guy and if he's gonna laugh at you? You know? Seize the moment. 'Cause tomorrow you might be dead." Well, Carpe Diem, and I really was right there with her until the conversation turned utterly morbid. She's got a lust for death, apparently. "Oh. That's nice." I respond kinda lamely. I mean, it is a good philosophy. Just. gloomy. Suddenly her back stiffens, and I can sense her concentration shift to the balcony above. "Uh, I'll be back in a minute," she says, and I'm intensely curious as to what has caught her rapt attention. "That's okay. You don't have to come back." Maybe she's gonna seize the moment. At least one of us will. "I'll be back in a minute," she confirms, which is kinda nice of her to say. She walks away quickly, and I'm left to mull over the conversation we just had. "Seize the moment." I mutter softly to myself.
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