Part One

Buffy climbed out of the backseat of the red convertible, stretching her legs and straightening her light blue tank top. She ran a careful hand through her shoulder-length blonde hair and began strolling toward the high school, ready to commence her final year as a Sunnydale student. She grinned brilliantly at her best friends as they fell into step with her, and the four seniors walked into the building. She plucked her sunglasses from their perch on her nose and slipped them into her bag, then picked an imaginary piece of lint from the hem of her knee-length, deep cerulean skirt. Her smile faded as she noticed the man who was walking purposefully toward her.

"Miss Summers, I'd hoped you wouldn't be coming back this year." The balding man, dressed in a dark gray suit and tie, gave her the once-over disdainfully. "You and your little group of deviant friends�" he said, "are my top priority this year. I'm going to weed you out one by one." He offered a grimace-like smile.

Buffy plastered a very fake smile on her face as she sized up the man. "Principal Snyder, how wonderful to see you again. How is your morning going? Because mine is excellent, and I'm pretty sure you couldn't possibly hurt my mood right now." She brushed gracefully past him, her friends following.

"God, Buffy, last year you would've never done that!" Willow exclaimed giddily.

Xander piped up. "Yeah, you really told that Ferengi wannabe off, Buff. I'm impressed."

"Guys, we're seniors. By the end of today we'll be one day closer to graduation." She smiled, but a dazed look replaced the happy one. Her gaze followed a dark-haired boy that she didn't recognize as he walked down the hallway. He was definitely gorgeous, and well-built, too. A look of longing passed over her features as she admired him.

"If you pass math, you mean�" the red-haired girl offered meekly. She noticed Buffy's inattentiveness and snapped her fingers in front of her friend's face. "Buffy� Buffy!"

The blonde shook her head. "What� oh. Yeah. Math." She frowned.

"Yeah, math. You know, the one grade standing between you and your diploma� Buffy!" Willow huffed as her friend once again stared openly at the boy.

"This can't be good," Xander commented. "Five minutes into the first day of school, and Buffy's already in lust."

Willow's look of annoyance directed at Buffy went unnoticed as the blonde's gaze followed the dark-haired boy around a corner and out of sight. The redhead's scowl immediately melted to a happy smile as two pale, masculine arms wrapped around her, hands tipped with dark green fingernails caressing her waist and slightly bunching the material of her orange baby tee. "Hey," her boyfriend, Daniel Osborn, murmured into her left ear.

"Hey, Oz," she greeted, leaning back into his embrace. "Are Dingoes practicing after school?" She was referring to Oz's band, 'Dingoes ate My Baby', which currently had "the suck-factor of a Hoover", according to the lead singer, Devon.

"Yeah. We've got a gig in a couple of weeks at the Bronze."

"Homecoming? Because that should be the fun that� isn't," Xander said.

"Oh, come on, Xander. Seeing all those people might be fun," Buffy offered. At Xander's withering glare, she quipped, "Or� not?"

Oz removed one of his arms from around Willow's waist as they continued their trek down the hallway. Buffy pulled a small piece of paper from her purse, scanning it quickly, then frowning. "Math�" she said with a slight shudder. "Waah."

***

A-L-G-E-B-... the teacher paused, turning away from the chalkboard after picking a large, wet spitball off the board with a ruler. It hung at the end of the ruler, threatening to fall off, onto his desk. "Who threw this?" he demanded, straightening his glasses with his other hand. A snicker from the back of the classroom gave him his answer. "Larry�" he warned. "I don't need to send you to see Principal Snyder so early in the school year, do I?"

"No sir," Larry giggled, hiding his grin behind a meaty hand. The football player wadded another piece of notebook paper up and prepared to stuff it in his mouth.

The incomplete word remained on the board, and the teacher ignored it, choosing instead to introduce himself and the course. "I'm Mr. Schmidt, your Algebra II instructor."

"Algebra II? Damn, I must be in the wrong room." An auburn-haired boy stood and hurried out of the room.

"As I was saying�" Mr. Schmidt continued, "You'll be getting your textbooks next class. For the moment, I thought we'd do something completely un-Algebra related and learn a little more about each other."

A collective groan rose up from the students, who attempted to slouch down more in their seats.

"I'm not going to make you stand in front of the classroom and tell us in detail what you did this past summer. You're just going to stand up and say, in five sentences or less, a little about yourself." He glanced down at his clipboard. "Starting with� Kevin Adams."

Five sentences, it turned out, were a lot more than many of the students could think of. Most were zoning in and out, becoming alert only when their names were called.

"Right then," a deep, slightly husky voice said, suddenly, in a distinctively British accent. Immediately all the girls in the room shot up in their seats and turned to look at the owner of said voice, and all the boys, slightly jealous, paid attention as well. "Name's Spike. Transferred 'ere from London, England, an' I'm headin' back there as soon as I get my diploma and whatnot." He looked down at his fingernails and chipped at a loose flake of black polish before continuing. "Manchester United 're the greatest football team on the bloody planet. The Sex Pistols are brilliant, right? An' I'm single." He smirked cockily, and then slumped back in his chair, drumming his fingertips against the plastic desktop.

The girls in the class continued staring, some with unabashed hunger in their eyes, until the teacher cleared his throat loudly. "Thank you, Mr. Giles - er� Spike," the teacher said dryly. "Angie Greene, you're up."

Immediately the bored, glazed over look returned to all the students' faces. Some scratched out designs into their desktops with their car keys, others stared blankly ahead of them. Buffy had opened a notebook and was doodling in the margins. The lines that she etched onto the paper soon took a form, and she realized within a few minutes that the face of the dark-haired boy from the hallway was staring back at her from the notebook. When her name was called, she dropped her pen, closed her notebook, and hopped up out of her seat, straightening her clothes.

"I'm Buffy Summers," she began, scanning the classroom and noticing with a slight smile that several of her classmates had fallen asleep and were now snoozing quietly, their eyes still open to feign attention. "I'm a senior, and this is my second time taking this class. I'm also a varsity cheerleader. After graduation, I plan on moving to Los Angeles and managing the LA branch of Summers Galleries." She ran a hand through her blonde tresses. "For now, I'm stuck here, with my mom and my bratty kid sister." With a flourish, she sat back down, opened her notebook, and drowned out the incessant drone of someone else prattling on about themselves as she busied herself with her doodling.

She was pretty, Spike had decided when the chit in blue had stood up and spoken. He pegged her as the typical California girl type, what with the cheerleading and the dyed hair. Just the type Angelus would go for, which suited him just fine. He was nearly sure that SunnyHell would have at least one beautiful brunette that he could move in on. Again, a vision of Cecily flashed through his mind, and he scowled. He was ready for someone new.

Just as the teacher would've called on the final student, the bell rang and the students filed out of the classroom, wiping spots of drool from the sides of their mouths before they walked across the threshold and into the hallway.

"Hey!" a tenor voice called. Spike turned to face his brother, and rolled his eyes heavenward for a moment. "How's your first day going, little brother?" Angel asked, grinning.

"Peaches!" He clapped his brother on the back. "These American chits are soddin' boring� They're all the same. 'I want to be on the cheerleading squad and marry a Ken doll,'" Spike mocked in a high-pitched voice. "And how the buggerin' hell did you lose the accent in less than a day?" He stared at Angel scrutinously.

The dark-haired boy shrugged. "Been practicing since Dad told us we were moving here," he replied. "Gotta go, anyway. I've got gym next."

"Yeah." The bleached-blond boy looked down at his class schedule. "Creative Writing. Couldn't be all that bad." He swaggered down the hall, leather duster swinging slightly behind him, and burst into the library, dramatically throwing both doors open.

Rupert saw him the moment he walked in the door. "Oh good Lord," he mumbled under his breath as his son stepped up to the information desk.

"Morning, Rupes," he said quietly. "Don't s'pose I could get a spot of cash off ya?"

Mr. Giles removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut in irritation. "One," he said tersely, putting the glasses back on, "I told you not to call me that. I'm your father. And two, why do I need to give you money this time, William?"

Spike sighed. "Bloke can only go so long without a decent pack of smokes, Pops. I need about� fifteen."

"The last time I checked," Rupert said, reaching for his wallet, "cigarettes were less than five dollars." He sighed as he handed over the desired cash. "Now, I hope you're not planning on staying out late tonight, we're - " he cut off as he looked up and realized that his son had already breezed out of the library. "� having guests for dinner."

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R to NC-17