In which Dawn Summers almost kills her self-named best friend, is over exposed, called a writer, and definitely does not cry
“Excuse me! But this girl would like to add the class!” Dawn tugged against Sungyeol ineffectively (she fought vampires with a Slayer on the weekend but couldn’t detach her arm from one skinny boy’s grasp?) as an entire class of students stared at her. They were in the theater and Sungyeol had drug her all the way down the aisle to where a tall man wearing glasses was sitting, his legs swinging over the edge of the stage. He reminded her distantly of Giles – but only in a very vague tweedy sort of way. “Is that true? Do you want to join this drama class? There’s room,” his voice was warm and pleasant, with a feeling of ease to it. As if he were somehow oddly accustomed to very tall boys dragging breathless and frantic girls before him. “Drama?” Dawn laughed, “No – this period I have ceramics.” Sungyeol dropped her hand and looked down at her, his arms folded across his chest, “Ceramics?” (And suddenly Dawn Summers knew all too well why Sungjong referred to the older boy as “Prince Sungyeol” … and wished she didn’t.) “I’m going to kill you,” she hissed up at him sullenly (hopefully out of the teacher’s earshot). Dawn ducked her head around the boy and smiled up at the teacher, “I like Ceramics. It’s quiet.” She cleared her throat and smiled uncomfortably, “Anyway. I’m no actress.” “Oh no?” Dawn shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. The man on the stage let out a long breath, “I must ask that you try an experiment for me. And then I will allow you back to …. Ceramics.” Dawn began blushing furiously. He was going to make her get up on the stage, she just knew it. The class twittered around her. Suji touched her arm lightly and cooed a soft comfort from behind her. He hopped down and pat the stage with one hand, “Sit right here and tell us the story of your life. It can take you as long as you want. You can say as many or as few words as you think necessary.” Dawn shrunk into herself. Seriously? Please ask anything but that. She had no desire to reveal her twisted story to a room full of complete strangers. The man let out a short laugh. “Of course every word MUST be a lie.” “A lie?” Dawn whispered. He nodded. She handed her bag to Suji and padded up to the stage, hoisting herself up with a little grunt. She looked out at the class blankly for a moment (grinning a little as Suji pulled Sungyeol into a seat a few rows behind the rest of the class, the older boy wiggling and jumping around with unrestrained excitement.) For a brief, ridiculous moment she thought about telling the very, very truth. Keys and monks and Slayers and hell-gods and death and death and all. But she lived that story. It wasn’t a lie at all. And anyway, she was tired of that story. So she spun a sweet, but a little sad, story about a girl she could have been –maybe the one she’d be if she had been allowed to write her own story. Another girl would probably have told the story of a girl who was just a little too perfect, just a little sweet – but Dawn didn’t. Her Self was a little like a girl from a story she once read, probably; someone with stubbornness that allowed her strength, someone with a vulnerability, someone who held a grudge, someone who loved fiercely. There were some nuggets of truth there – truths that could probably break her if she let them. She was an orphan who never knew her real parents, she had an older sister who was fierce and kind, she had two (adoptive) parents who struggled to make their relationship work … there was still a little loss in her story, still a little pain. She couldn’t tell a whole lie. And anyway – a life without tears wouldn’t be Real. Even if this was just a yarn she spun to get out of a class, it still had to be something she would have wanted. And she didn’t want to lose herself, even in a new story. “… And when my dad gets home from his trips to England to visit family, we always make a large sundae spread in the kitchen. Even though Beth is in college now, she still comes over and brings toppings with her.” Dawn focused down on the teacher sitting in the front row, tucking her hair behind one ear (and also maybe surreptitiously wiping a tear from the corner of her eye). He stood and looked her right in the eye. “You were right, dear.” Dawn breathed a sigh of relief and then glanced up at the clock. Twenty minutes had passed! The instructor turned to the class, “This, class. Is no actress. This is an author! A storyteller! A writer!” The class erupted into applause. Sungjong jumping up for a standing ovation, tugging Suji up with him as he bounced. “I’m sorry my dear,” he addressed Dawn again. “But you aren’t going back to Ceramics. … But you don’t have to be on stage if you don’t want to. There’s plenty of things I think I can teach you… if you’ll let me?” Dawn nodded. She had never been called a writer before. And anyway, it wasn’t like another class with Sungyeol would be a burden. The class continued on like normal for the rest of the period – much to Dawn’s relief. As they walked out to their other classes, syllabi in hand, Dawn was held back. “Your last name. Summers.” “That’s right. Dawn Summers. Do I need to talk to the office about getting into this class?” “No, no. I’ll take care of it.” He cleared his throat. “So … your sister?” Dawn tensed. “Buffy.” He nodded. “My younger brother was in your sister’s graduating class. Tell her…” He stared off into the distance. “Tell her thank you.” Dawn started to walk away, then turned back – shaking her head at Sungyeol who stood waiting in the doorway. “Mr--?” “Oh. Blume. Gale Blume.” “Mr. Blume—” “You can call me Gale.” The smiled sheepishly at each other. Dawn had never had to ask anyone a question like this before, even in Sunnydale, even with the sister she had. It must have been a sign of growing up or something. “Did he—did your brother? Is he…?” “He didn’t make it through the graduation ceremony,” he laughed a little and shrugged. Dawn stood silently. “So many might not have,” the way he said it – they both knew. And she knew and smiled. After all that, she walked to her final class with Sungyeol’s arm tight around her shoulders, and Suji’s small hand gripping hers tight. And she thought… maybe she wouldn’t kill the twerp after all.