Walking to school alone was also new, but not uncommon, for me. I made my way through the streets, making sure not to take a shortcut through the graveyard this time in case I should run into Wesley and his pointy stick.

I'd only known him for a day, and I was already becoming quite fond of his presence. He was sweet and book-smart (or so he seemed to me). However, it did make me wonder why he had a stake last night. Or at all!

Waiting outside of the school building, I watched the buses file in and out with students spiralling out like an avalanche. Eventually, I spotted Libby among everyone, Amanda and Rebecca in tow. She bounded over to me, looping her arm through mine. We began walking towards the entrance, up the steps.

"I am guessing you got home alright?" Rebecca asked, her fiery curls bouncing all around her.

I nodded. "Without a hitch."

"We were so worried," Amanda chimed in. "We should have asked you to call us."

I waved a hand in the air, but my stomach turned over. The implication of being hurt—or worse—made me want to crawl into my skin.

"She can handle herself, guys," Libby replied with a knowing look between them. "Meg is like a superhero."

I rolled my eyes, pulling away from Libby for a moment to grab my things from my locker once we entered the hallway. I quickly returned to the group with a smile before walking straight into someone. This time, they dropped what they were reading, the book falling flat on the ground.

I stared at Wesley as he scrambled to pick it up alongside some other books that had fallen from his grasp, muttering under his breath. I giggled as I leaned over to help him. Before he could snatch them from me, I glanced at the titles and smiled, handing them out for him.

"You should really take better care of these," I said, tilting my head up at him.

A blush crept up his cheeks. "I apologise." His fingers brushed against mine as he took them from me. A shiver crept up my spine.

I leaned closer to him, dropping my voice to a conspiratory whisper as I said, "Maybe keep the titles hidden. They might seem suspicious."

"Oh, yes. Quite right," he agreed.

Libby wandered around to meet my gaze, Amanda and Rebecca once again in tow behind her. "Do you two know each other?"

"Of course not," Wesley said, almost startled.

"We just met yesterday," I said at the same time.

We both shared a glance, both equally as questioning and accusatory.

Libby smiled knowingly. "I'll see you in class." She waved, flipping her golden hair behind her shoulder. Our friends followed behind her, not without shooting me a couple of perplexed glances.

It left us both in the hallway that was slowly dispersing with students ready for homeroom. However, I couldn't move my feet to leave where they were planted.

I wanted to ask him about the books and why he was researching demons in long-dead, ancient languages. I wanted him to talk to me a little longer, even if we argued about what we just said. Neither were lies, but it would be nice to know why he sounded so upset at even knowing me.

Then, Cordelia wandered past with her group of friends. As she walked past, I smiled at her as I often did, and she smiled back.

"I love the outfit today, Cordelia," I gushed as a way of greeting. "Those boots are to die for."

She beamed even brighter. "Thank you, Megan. I can count that you have some notes for history fourth period?"

"All in my notebook," I called as she sashayed away.

Wesley raised a brow. "I didn't know you were acquainted with Cordelia."

I tugged on a stray curl, not wanting to meet his gaze. "Uh, yeah. She wasn't great at history when I moved here, and we were in the same class. I've been helping her ever since."

His gaze immediately softened as he smiled at me, his gaze soft and understanding. His eyes glimmered in the harsh morning sunlight, and I had to take a breath to make sure I didn't say something I would inevitably regret.

The bell rang, making me jump out of my skin.

Wesley blinked as if coming out of a trance. He bowed his head goodbye and left me stranded in the hallway. I wanted to sink into the floor. My head buzzed as I wandered to the next lesson, not really paying attention to what was being said as I overanalysed every moment with him.

Was I supposed to do that? Was that even normal? I couldn't be sure anymore.

_____

The history of the American Revolution kept my mind occupied, especially since I was stuck helping Cordelia once again. Group projects were never really my forte, but with Cordelia, it was quite simple. I explained everything whilst I did most of the work. Sometimes, I debated placing my name in big capital letters at the top of our projects and hers smaller underneath. However, I didn't think that was fair. She helped to some degree, albeit with the creative flair of the assignment.

"I think I relate to this guy who died," she began whilst painting the letters for the title. "They were misunderstood for being pretty and rich."

I rolled my eyes, writing the information in my neatest handwriting in the allotted places. "I think we've been down this rabbit hole once before, Cordy." I gave her a pointed look. "Marie Antoinette last year. Remember?"

She mirrored my expression perfectly. "I am only saying that I can relate to them."

"You seem to relate to these figures for the exact reasons they died—or their inevitable downfall," I pointed out, trying to concentrate on the notes I'd made and what I was writing down at the same time.

She shrugged. "Well, what do I know? If it wasn't for you, I doubt I would have passed that assignment either."

Unfortunately, I believed that to be true. Though Cordelia made some valid points when I was reading through her draft, I had to make some pointers here and there to help back her case that Marie Antoinette was unjustly executed by the French. I hated changing her work, especially after she put so much effort into trying to prove a point that was ultimately void. However, those pointers had earned her an A- at least.

I took note of the empty chairs in the classroom again. There were fewer in here than in my other classes in the morning. Even so, it was unnerving, nonetheless. I could pinpoint exactly where Maya used to sit, her chair was now filled with flowers and cards instead of the person who once sat there. It was strange being without her. I doubted it would ever be normal.

I turned away, catching a glance at Willow, Xander and Buffy's assignment. They seemed to be doing well, though I believed Willow had a large hand in that. Like me, she was always at the top of her game. I found it hard to beat her in tests or assignments, but on the occasion I did I proudly placed that score by my bedside for the rest of the week to prove it could be done. I sometimes wondered if I could also be friends with them, but they were always running off somewhere.

Buffy Summers spoke to me the first day I arrived here. She was nice and kind, unlike Cordelia and her posse of wannabe popular kids. She was designated to show me around by Principal Snyder—as a punishment, she informed me. Despite that, I found myself liking her and her quick-witted quips as we wandered through the halls of the school. She was probably happy to be out of the classroom as much as I was.

Willow and Xander were never far behind her. There had been assignments where I worked with them in a group for a brief period. It was enlightening and different to be around Maya and Libby. I could hold an intelligent conversation with Willow. I could talk about dorky common interests with Xander. Buffy and I often spoke about moving schools or fighting techniques after she found out I go to martial arts lessons.

I would be lying if I said I didn't want to hang out with them more. I certainly spent enough time in history lessons with Cordelia or with my group of friends. But there was something unbreakable about those three, even if Cordelia was also a part of them to some degree. They rarely let others into their circle apart from the odd friend outside of it.

"So, what do you think about the killings? Are we thinking vampires or are we thinking vampires?" I overheard Xander say to Willow and Buffy as they worked.

I tucked some hair behind my ear, hoping to hear some more of their conversation over the ramble from other groups around us. I glanced up to see Buffy shrug.

"Nope, I don't think so. You should have seen her. They staked her through the chest and took a bite out of her neck. What vampire does that?" She shivered, folding her arms around herself.

Xander put his pen down, fully engrossed in the conversation. "So, it must be a demon."

Willow shook her head slowly, every flick of her wrist emitting another step towards a higher grade. "We don't think so. We looked and it doesn't add up. There are few demons that use a stake to kill their victims."

"There has to be something we're missing," Buffy interjected, her gaze wandering over the class as if the answer might be written on one of the student's heads.

I looked down, ignoring her and concentrating on the final paragraph of our project. Cordelia was pleased with her handiwork on the title—the only thing I allowed her to touch on the large poster.

The empty chair beside me screeched and groaned as someone sat down in it. I looked up briefly to see Buffy smiling down at my crouched back as I leaned over the table to finish off what I was writing.

"Buffy," Cordelia said a note higher than she probably intended. "How can we help you?"

"Oh, I'm just looking at the other projects. Actually, I wanted to talk to Megan," she nodded toward me.

I leaned up, tugging at a stray strand of hair that forced its way out from behind my ear. I gulped. "Why do you want to talk to me?" I wondered.

It had been a while since the last time I spoke to Buffy properly beyond her also being at the scene of the crime the other day.

"Well, you know more about this history stuff than me and I don't think I'm pulling my weight with our project. Is it okay if I take a look at yours?" she asked brightly.

Cordelia huffed. "It's my project, too. You could always ask me."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course. Just don't touch any of it. The paint is still drying in places."

I let Buffy read the paragraphs, all intricately planned, drafted and edited for perfection. Nothing below perfect would suit me. Though I knew as much as Buffy did that this was not why she came over to talk with me.

"You knew Maya better than anyone, right?" she began slowly, cautiously.

I nodded, pushing the pang of hurt out of my mind. "Other than Libby."

"So, do you know if anyone was after her or if she'd been seeing anyone outside of school?" Buffy wondered aloud.

I shook my head before conversations from previous weeks flooded my memory.

There was the odd comment about a guy she was meeting almost every night. Other than that, nothing. I voiced this unintentionally—a secret Maya begged me to take to my grave when I accidentally found out.

"Hm, thanks," Buffy said distantly, returning to her group of friends.

I listened to their mutterings for a while longer. Not much came out of them before the bell rang to mark the end of the lesson. I breathed a sigh of relief whilst I packed everything up. Cordelia left before me.

After I finally placed the drying poster on the windowsill, Libby bounded through the door with a leaflet in her hand.

"Look what's happening tonight," she giggled excitedly. I almost thought she was going to explode on the spot as she bounced on her heels.

I laughed, taking the leaflet from her hand. I skimmed over the words, reading the odd word. An event at The Bronze.

I cringed. "I don't know."

"Come on, Meg," she pressed. "It'll be fun."

I tilted my head. "Aren't we supposed to be studying again tonight?" I wondered pointedly, though there was a note of uncertainty in my voice I couldn't hide.

"Please," she begged. "We can study another night."

I looked at her and then back down at the leaflet. It was a difficult choice. But there would be no dissuading Libby once she got a thought into her head.

I sighed, "Fine, I'll go."

Excitedly, Libby pulled me with her to the next lesson. She chatted ruthlessly about tonight, growing more and more bouncy with each word. It didn't dispel the stone rolling around in my stomach. 

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