“Art, by its very nature, encompasses an infinite combination of meanings and expressions,” Joyce Devereux lectured, sitting on the table before the row of glass planes that lined one side of the studio. “It comments on the individual and the society, the viewer, the subject matter, and the observer. On it’s most fundamental level, art is not something that can be taught. It is seen, observed, and interpreted over and over again, yet there is no ‘right answer’. Life is art, and art is life. It brings chaos to order, and order to chaos. It is emotional, logical, and spiritual. Literal and representative. And this will our focus for the rest of the semester…”

Oz woke up to a blinding bright light and instantly wished that he hadn’t. His head was throbbing, and there was a nasty taste in his mouth, and was he…naked?

He sat up with a start and looked around in confusion. He appeared to be in some sort of closet or storeroom…maybe a basement of some sort. He blinked a couple of times, hoping that that would clear out his memory and help he remember how on earth he’d gotten here. No such luck.

And, at that moment, the figure beside him stirred, drawing his attention to her for the first time. “’Morning, lover,” Veruca practically growled as she stretched out in a contented manner.

A look of mild panic crossed Oz’s face as he tried to remember anything that had happened last night. It was still a complete haze, however. “Where are we?” he asked with deceptive calmness, gesturing to the storage bins that lined one wall.

Veruca gave him a coy smile and ran her hands sensuously through her hair. “Wow, you were really out of it last night, huh?” she commented, her tone obviously delighted by this fact.

Oz quickly turned away from the sight of her bare breasts and began searching for his clothes.

“Now, now,” Veruca practically cooed, “don’t get all prudish on me this morning. Especially not after how wild last night was…”

Oz’s shoulders stiffened at the obvious implications of what had happened. Not that he wasn’t attracted to Veruca; he was, but he didn’t like this whole waking up in some random closet with a naked woman and not knowing how he got here. “Where are we?” he repeated.

Veruca let out a peal of laughter that sounded hollow and empty in the small room. “Richter,” she said simply, mirth still dancing in her eyes.

Oz frowned in confusion.

“Richter?” she clarified. “Social sciences building?”

His eyes widened in response. “How did—?”

“Broke the basement window and picked the lock,” she provided. “You really don’t remember any of this?”

“Nothing,” he insisted, slipping on his pants.

A lazy smile lit up her face. “Well, that’s even more exciting, isn’t it?”

“I’ve missed class,” he commented, checking his watch.

Veruca batted one hand in the air dismissively. “After what we did last night, that’s the least of your worries.”

He looked back to where she still lay nude on the floor. She looked feral like that, hair curtaining her face, dark-lined eyes and scattered tattoos that looked like they belonged to some ancient tribe. An involuntary shiver ran up his spine in response.

“Look, about us—”

She cut him off with another of those hyena laughs. “What’s done is done,” she said simply, rising to her feet and sauntering over to where her jeans had been flung into the corner. “Not to mention fun. But I’m not going to freak if that was just the drugs talking.”

He frowned. “Then—”

She slipped her blouse over her head in one smooth motion, toeing on her shoes as she did so. “We go our separate ways, then,” she agreed with a wink. “And, maybe, the police don’t find us.”

Oz’s eyes widened comically. “What?!” he exclaimed in horror for perhaps the first time ever…

“Now, I know that some of you like to paint self-portraits, and some of you like more abstract subject-matter, and some prefer nature,” Joyce went on outlining the project. “No matter what technique you choose, it’s still possible to express the range of human emotion. Art is about beauty and humanity and making the audience really think. There are infinite variations on the human condition, and exploring them through artwork provides a means to understand others and yourself as well…”

“Cheetos,” Xander announced proudly.

“Junk.” Cordelia scrunched her nose up.

“Food,” Xander amended.

“Drink.”

“Cola.”

“Sugar.”

“Yummy.”

“Childish.”

“Games.”

“Work.”

“School.”

“Computer.”

“Cheetos.”

Cordelia scowled at him. “Cheetos?” she repeated incredulously. “You already said that.”

“Ah, but Cheetos are the answer to all life’s questions,” Xander said sagely, grabbing a handful of the cheesy goodness from the bag he had been munching out of and crunching on them merrily.

“But Cheetos don’t have anything to do with computers!” Cordelia insisted.

“Sure they do,” Xander insisted, holding one Cheeto out as a pointer as he elaborated. “Computers imply computer nerds. And what do computer nerds eat?” He popped the Cheeto into his mouth.

Cordelia shook her head and smiled. “You’re deranged,” she announced.

“It’s the Cheetos,” he explained. “They warp your mind.”

Cordelia giggled. “That’s going in the script,” she decided, quickly scrambling for her notes and writing Xander’s Cheeto-related truisms down.

“Oh yeah, that’s high-quality material,” he agreed with a sigh, leaning his chair back against the wall of the library study room.

“You’re right. I never could have come up with any that ridiculous myself,” Cordy retorted, with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Xander flashed her a wide grin. “Hey, at least my idiocy is worth something for once…”

“What you call ‘idiocy’, my professors will call ‘creativity’,” Cordy laughed. “So, are you ready to go another round?”

“Just try and stop me,” Xander agreed with a grin.

“Paper.”

“Death Star.”

“What?!” Cordelia exclaimed in complete bewilderment.

“Cheetos,” Xander responded with a grin…

“Some common themes in the past have been listed on the assignment sheet,” Joyce announced.

Elizabeth, along with all the other students in Visual Arts 102, scrambled for the paper in the question.

Joyce dimmed the lights and showed the first slide. “Uncertainty,” she began listing the themes together with the paintings they had inspired. “Joy… Happiness… Anxiety… Loneliness… Isolation…”

“You ready?” Jonathan asked.

Andrew wiped his sweaty palms on his pants before picking up his tray. He took one step forward and then… “Are you sure we hafta do this?” he pleaded.

Jonathan sighed. “They were nice last time,” he reminded his friend. “Remember?”

“Yeah…” Andrew began hesitantly, “but Spike’s there and…”

“He won’t bite your head off,” Jonathan assured him. “He’s actually pretty cool.”

A dreamy look crossed Andrew’s face. “I’ll say,” he agreed.

Jonathan gave him a look, and Andrew immediately turned serious once more. “You ready now?” Jonathan repeated.

Andrew nodded nervously, and the two of them headed over to the Westing House table.

“’lo,” Spike looked up from the notes he had sprawled across the table.

Jonathan nudged Andrew.

“H-Hi,” Andrew greeted nervously.

Willow looked up from her own homework. “Andrew, right?” she said with a smile.

“R-Right.” Andrew managed a nervous smile before practically hiding his face in his tray.

“Did Elizabeth get her problem set done last night?” Jonathan ventured to ask.

Spike flashed him a thankful smile. “Turned it in bright an’ early this morning,” he assured him. “Said you were a godsend for helpin’ her with it.”

“Glad I could help,” Jonathan practically squeaked before turning to the important task of devouring his burger.

“W-What are you reading?” Andrew inquired.

Spike held up the cover so the two men across from him could see. “Dostoyevsky.”

“Geshunteit.”

Spike chuckled at that, and Andrew blushed.

“Uh…what about you, Willow?” Jonathan added.

“Only two lab reports due tomorrow,” the frazzled redhead answered, snatching up her calculator and frantically punching in numbers. “I can do this…”

“Ouch,” Andrew said sympathetically. “I once had a paper, a lab, and a problem set due on the same night as the Babylon 5 movie and—” He cut off with an almost-yelp, face flaming.

“You should hear Xander go on ‘bout that show…” Spike commented with a roll of his eyes. “Completely obsessed, he is.”

“It’s only the greatest sci-fi epic ever!” Andrew exclaimed in reply.

“What are you talking about?” Jonathan retorted. “Deep Space Nine was—”

“Deep Space Nine was a complete rip-off,” Andrew countered.

“Hello? Star Trek preceded B5!”

“But DS9 stole the idea for multi-episode plot arcs from B5!”

“B5, like all sci-fi shows, is completely derivative of—”

Spike and Willow exchanged an amused glance as the argument escalated to epic proportions.

“Er, uh, yeah. So whattaya think, Spike?” Andrew asked hopefully, breaking the back-and-forth with Jonathan.

“Din’t watch either,” Spike replied apologetically.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Andrew sounded disappointed.

“Now, this may seem like the easiest assignment you’ll get in college,” Joyce went on. “After all, all you really have to do is a painting, or maybe a few. And, for those who are just in this class because they have to be—”

A couple of students nudged each other jokingly.

“—it will undoubtedly be nothing more.” A wicked smile lit up Joyce’s face then. “Just don’t come complaining to me when you don’t get the grade you wanted.”

Chuckles sounded throughout the room.

“However, I’m hoping this experience will be far more than a mere exercise in painting pretty pictures,” Joyce continued. “So much focus is placed upon assignments, papers, deadlines. You’re all required to study practically every field there is. And, in the midst of all that, often there just isn’t enough time for life.”

“Amen to that!” someone shouted out from the back of the room.

Joyce smiled in response. “This project will hopefully give you the opportunity to study something lacking in other classes – your feelings, hopes, dreams…yourself. This can be a very positive experience, if you’re just willing to take the time to make it one…”

Anya groaned and rolled over onto her back, blinking a few times before she felt the rumble in her stomach once more. “Xander?” she asked softly.

“Hey, there,” Tara’s soft voice answered her instead.

Anya blinked. “Where’s Xander?” she inquired a bit anxiously.

“He’s in class,” Tara assured her. “We’re all taking turns on Anya duty.”

Anya managed to nod slightly before rolling over onto her side. “Doctors said I have mono,” she provided sleepily.

“Yeah, I heard,” Tara agreed softly, brushing Anya’s hair back from her forehead. “Hey, no fever,” she pointed out.

Anya frowned, trying to break through the thick haze that surrounded her mind. “Do you get fevers with mono?” She couldn’t remember.

“The symptoms can vary a lot,” Tara provided. “But the absence of a fever is a good thing. The antibiotics should keep things from getting worse.”

Anya nodded against her pillow. “Thanks for, y’know, being here. I mean, I’m sure you’d rather be out with Willow right now…”

“Willow’s got too much for work to hang out with me anyway,” Tara assured her. “Besides, you’re my friend. I want to see you get better.”

Anya smiled at that. “Thanks…” she repeated.

“You want me to get you something to eat?” Tara offered. “You need to keep up whatever strength you have…”

“Last time I ate, I barfed into a paper bag afterwards.” Anya’s face twisted up in distaste. “It hurts my throat, too…”

“How about something light? Chicken broth?”

Anya’s stomach grumbled in response. “Sounds good,” she agreed with a yawn. “Just…I’m probably going to fall asleep again soon…”

“Instant,” Tara held out the soup packet proudly. “I’ll just go use the microwave. I should be back in a minute.”

Anya nodded, not wanting to be left alone that long but too tired to come up with any better solution. A sigh escaped her lips when she heard the door close behind Tara.

This. Sucked.

It was so unfair. She’d finally gotten herself a boyfriend, and she was all caught up in her classes for once, and she had been so looking forward to this semester, and now this. The worst thing was that she was barely even conscious enough to realize all that she was missing. She could only begin to guess what day it was. The alarm clock on her nightstand said that it was eight, but she had no idea if it was AM or PM or…

“You still awake?” Tara asked as she slipped back into the room.

Anya groaned and turned to face her. “Unfortunately,” she agreed. “I’ve been in bed so long, my muscles are starting to ache.”

Tara gave her a little smile and set the soup down on Anya’s desk before moving over to help her friend sit up in the bed. “You’ve been on the meds for over a week now,” she said hopefully. “The doctors said it should take two weeks, tops.”

“Another week,” Anya sighed wearily, leaning back against her pillows and yawning. “I’m fading fast,” she warned the other woman.

Tara handed her the bowl. “Eat whatever you can,” she pressed.

Anya sipped from several spoonfuls and managed to empty half the bowl before weariness overtook her. She handed the soup back to Tara with shaky hands.

“Can you hold on just long enough to take two pills?” Tara inquired.

Anya managed a numb nod and quickly down the medication Tara gave her together with half a glass of water.

“You’ll get better soon,” Tara assured her, lowering the pillows once more.

Anya snuggled down into them and was asleep against almost immediately.

“Poor baby,” Tara cooed softly, giving her shoulder a light squeeze before returning back to her homework…

“Like I said,” Joyce continued, “life is art. So, all you really have to do is find something that has real meaning for you, something that you find beautiful…”

She was struck speechless by the sight in front of her. She was confident that she was drooling all over, and she didn’t even care.

“Harmony!” Kathy exclaimed in exasperation. “Come on. I’ve still got to work off a thousand calories if I want my miracle diet to work.”

Harmony didn’t budge. She just continued to stare into the training room, drinking in the salty goodness before her.

Spike was working on one of the punching bags, wearing nothing more than a pair of baggy black sweats. As his fists and feet pounded into the bag rhythmically, taut muscles rippled beneath smooth, ivory skin, every move one of complete grace and power. A sheen of sweat covered his body as his jabs became more vigorous and he picked up his pace.

Harmony sighed contently as she watched one drop of sweat form at his forehead beneath tousled bleached curls before sliding slowly down the side of his brow, around the razor’s edge of one cheekbone, down the column of his throat before it traced his perfectly muscled body, outlining the pecs and abs that Harmony was currently imagining licking clean. Muscles flexed, and fleshed gleamed, and, oh god! This was more than any girl could handle and still remain sane…

“Harm?” Kathy repeated in annoyance.

A heady exhalation of breath slipped between Harmony’s immaculately lip-sticked lips. “I think I’m in love,” she announced, leaning her head against the doorframe to the training room to more comfortably watch this young Adonis she’d stumbled across.

Curious, Kathy approached to see what Harmony was looking at. “Him?” Her eyebrows rose to her hairline. “He is, like, so…common!” She spit out the last word like it was the most disgusting insult ever.

“Oh, c’mon,” Harmony retorted. “You’re telling me that body doesn’t even tempt you to go slumming?”

“He’s a loser,” Kathy insisted. “And what kind of freak wears black nail-polish? Not to mention the whole ‘80’s are dead’ thing…”

“You’ve got to look beyond the façade,” Harmony countered, “to the sexy, muscly goodness that’s just begging to give me a few good rides.”

Kathy scoffed. “He has a girlfriend, you know.” She watched him deliver a lightning-quick series of kicks and punches to the bags, clearly unimpressed. “Plus, he’s, like…way scrawny. What do you see in him anyway?”

“ ‘Scrawny’?” Harmony repeated in disbelief. “That, my friend, is salty goodness to top all other salty goodness.”

“Whatever.” Kathy rolled her eyes. “He’s still hung up on Bitsy. If you really want a taste, just wait until she’s done with him.”

Harmony pouted. “I’m way better than her,” she insisted. “I mean, she didn’t even get in to Tri Xi!”

“He’s lunchmeat,” Kathy retorted. “Just wait for him to come around. I’m sure he’s a demon in the sack and all, but it’s only a matter of time before Bitsy realizes just how beneath her he really is.”

Harmony was still sulking. “I don’t wanna wait,” she protested. “Brad is so…blah! I need to rock my world, so to speak…” She licked her lips as Spike moved away from the punching bag to cool his face with the water from his nearby bottle. Sweaty, half-naked Spike got a whole lot wetter as little rivulets ran down his body, a sight so scrumptious it had her practically panting.

“It shouldn’t be long,” Kathy comforted her friend. “After all, Daddy’s bound to snap her back to reality soon. It’s shameless how long she’s stuck with him.”

Harmony cast the object of her lust one last longing glance before finally allowing Kathy to pull her over to the step machines. “Such a waste…” she sighed dreamily.

Spike looked up at that moment to find that, no, there was no one at the door. That odd feeling that he was being watched passed, and he shook it off as the restlessness of a long day. Absentmindedly removing the tape that he’d bound his hands with, he walked over to his towel and gym bag. A quick glance at the clock informed him that Elizabeth’s class would just be getting out, and a smile lit up his face.

This weekend he was going to dazzle her. Once and for all, he was going to show her what love really meant, and by the end of it she’d hopefully be swept completely off of her feet. And, hey, even if he had to wait longer, he would because the two of them had all the time in the world…

“And I’m sure you’ve all fallen asleep by now,” Joyce concluded with a smile. “Sorry for going on and on like that, but this project is always one of the most fascinating from my perspective as the teacher and observer. So, are there any questions?”

Complete silence filled the room.

“Great,” Joyce looked down at her notes. “That’s all I’ve scheduled for today’s class, so I’ll let you all out early—”

A dozen students instantly leapt to their feet, shoveling books into the gaping maws of their backpacks.

Joyce inwardly rolled her eyes at the impatience of youth. “And, let me repeat: there will be absolutely no extensions. I expect you to actually work in the studio on the free days I’ve given you. Please, don’t put this one off until the last minute…”

She got several pointed looks.

“Yes, a hopeless request, I know,” she reassured them with an amused smile. “So, I’ll see you all on Monday, then?”

The class fled the room on masse with one exception.

“Elizabeth?” Joyce asked curiously. “Did you want something?”

“No, just thinking,” she assured her, zipping up her bag.

“You have any ideas?” Joyce wondered.

“Not yet,” Elizabeth bit her lower lip, “but I’m working on it…”

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