Little Fish

High school, Buffy was starting to learn, was kind of the worst.

Not only were the hallways at Grant bigger (they were) and the kids meaner (same), but the atmosphere was…harsh. And that was coming from her.

After picking up her schedule from the front office that morning, Buffy had lost her way while heading to Spanish and proceeded to drop all of her books when a snide senior hip-checked her by the south-stair lockers. Nobody had stopped to help her, of course, and a freckled cheerleader even trod on her geometry book as she passed.

"Thanks!" she had called out, watching the girl's ponytail swing as she walked away. "Really helpful."

Buffy was no stranger to harsh, having doled out her fair share over the years (Cyrus had certainly never been the tough-love member of The Good Hair Crew). But she had spent the day learning about Grant's particular brand of it, even when she had gone to sign up for basketball tryouts after homeroom.

"You know that freshmen never make the team, right?" said a brunette smacking her gum and leaning against the wall next to the sign-up sheet.

"Maybe," Buffy had said, sounding braver than she felt. "But I'm going to."

She spent an extra-long moment on the Ls in "Driscoll" as she signed on the line—before hiking up her bag and…promptly getting hip-checked by yet another senior.

"Can't anyone at this school watch where they're going?" she grumbled. The brunette laughed, though whether it was at Buffy's predicament or her comment, she couldn't tell.

The only familiar face she had seen all day was that of one Jonah Beck, who looked about as ragged as she felt. He gave her a commiserating look and a wave as he rushed by, clearly running late to something or somewhere.

To make matters worse, Buffy and Cyrus had zero classes together. Not even lunch.

Cyrus: I'm in lunch block C! You?

Buffy: B. Figures.

It didn't help that Andi was at her new fancy art school and nowhere to be found. Not that Buffy was really mad about that. But she still couldn't wait to lay her miserable day on the table at The Spoon once the 3 o'clock bell rang.

The scattering of The Good Hair Crew was why Buffy was currently spending her lunch break yanking at her new locker rather than laughing at the situation. Because life without Cyrus and Andi was a lot less funny. Or fun. Or both.

The only way this day could get any worse, Buffy thought, were if she were still on crutches. In the hallway, a sophomore on a skateboard zoomed by and narrowly missed her bad foot. Letting go of the lock, she looked to the sky, silently lifting her hands in a "What the hell?" gesture because Seriously? Was somebody up there listening to her?

It was the lunch period. B, of course. And she was practically ready to call it quits, grab her bag and head for the nearest Exit doors.

She needed Cyrus. He was the optimist, after all. But Cyrus was also across the school, somewhere between the chem lab and the gym. And Buffy was just trying to get out of this hallway before she lost her mind.

She looked back toward the Exit doors in longing when a throat cleared behind her. She was slow to turn, groaning on the inside, because What now?

But when she did turn, it was to find her favorite pair of dimples and brown eyes. Marty. Holding a crumpled school map and trying to pretend he wasn't just as frustrated. The only giveaway was his left eyebrow. It was twitching—a tell she had long ago learned to read.

"Looks like we have the same lunch." His words were practiced. Almost as if he had known this all along but wanted it to seem casual. "Ready to show this school what's up?"

Buffy raised her eyebrows and played along. "Lead the way," she said.

He looked left, then right—before leaning down to whisper: "We both know I have no idea where the cafeteria is."

And for the first time in her god-awful day, Buffy leaned her head back and laughed.