Shoes? Check.

Makeup? Check.

Sunglasses? Check.

Money? Check. Well, what's left of it, anyway. God, I hate being poor.

No. No whining. You can do this. You can. Never mind that a bus ticket to Los Angeles is going to take up way too high a percentage of what you laughingly call your trust fund. You can do this. You will do this. You have to do this.

"Yeah," I whisper. "I do."

Okay, then. Grab the suitcase - and anyone who ever, for even one tiny second, entertained the notion that Cordelia Chase could fit everything she owns into one lousy suitcase, please raise your hand - and out the door.

Wish I had enough money to call a cab. Long walk to the bus station. I could get a ride easily enough, I guess. But I can't ask. Not any of them. Not even...

"Xander?" I ask, as he steps up beside me and takes my suitcase.

"Hey, Cordy," he says, with a soft smile.

"What are you doing here?"

He shrugs and gestures with my suitcase towards the curb. Towards where his Uncle Rory's car is parked at the curb.

"A little bird told me you could use a ride," is all he says.

"Who?" I demand, but then I realize who it must've been. Consuela's the only person who knew I was leaving today, and she's always liked Xander.

Xander just smiles. He's not going to tell me, but I can see in his eyes that he knows I know.

"So," I ask him, "you're here to, what, drive me to the bus station? Ooh, big gesture there, Xander."

He shrugs and ignores my sarcasm. "I'll take you to the bus station, if that's what you want. Or I'll take you somewhere else. I'll take you wherever you need to go."

I laugh and let too much scorn creep into it. "And what if I want to go to New York? Or does your apologetic gesture only extend to the Sunnydale city limits?"

That came out a lot harsher than I meant it to. I do appreciate the gesture, I just don't think I can accept it. I open my mouth to apologize, but he speaks first.

"Then I'll take you to New York," he says quietly, putting my suitcase in the back seat of the car. Right next to another suitcase. And a dufflebag. And three boxes of Twinkies.

Oh, my God. I look up at him, the question in my eyes, and he nods.

"Yeah. Time to do the Xander Kerouac thing." He pauses to swallow nervously, then goes on. "Come with me?"

Oh, my God. He's talked about this so much. This is so important to him. And he wants me to go with him?

"Why?" I ask. No scorn. No sarcasm. Just an honest question.

"We both have to get out of here," he says. "We both need to get away. No reason we can't do it together."

"I... I..." I don't have an answer to that.

He smiles and opens the passenger door. I just stand there. I look at his smile. I look at the door. I look back at his smile.

And then I give him a smile of my own, and I get into the car.

"I've missed that," he whispers, as he closes the door.

"What?" I ask.

"Your smile," he says, and walks around the car to get in on the driver's side.

"So have I," I tell him as he starts the car.

He nods, like he's not surprised. "Okay. Where to?"

"You're not taking me to New York?" I tease.

"New York it is!" he announces, pulling away from the curb.

"Xander!" I squeal. "We can't go to New York!"

"Why not?" he asks, shooting me another smile. I've missed his, too.

"We just can't," I say, then stop to think about it. Why can't we? Why can't we do whatever we want?

For a second, for one wonderful, endless second, I feel free. Truly free, as the wind whips through my hair and I close my eyes and let the sun warm my face. I laugh, purely for the joy of it. Just because I can. Just because I'm free.

And then reality comes crashing down on me.

"Money," I whisper.

"What?" he asks, turning to glance at me briefly before looking back at the road.

"I don't have enough money to get to New York," I tell him. New York? I barely have enough to get to LA.

He shrugs, unconcerned. "Me, neither."

"What?" I ask, surprised. "What happened to your trip fund?" Oh, no. "You didn't spend it all on my dress, did you?"

He smiles. That sweet, small smile that I only ever saw when we were alone together. "Not all of it, no. Just about all of the rest went to getting the car fixed up. Good thing, too. The mechanic said the transmission was about ready to fall out. We probably wouldn't have made it past Oxnard."

"Oxnard?" I pretend to shiver in fear. Well, mostly pretend.

"Yep. Not for the faint of heart."

"Do you really think we can make it to New York?" I can't believe how much I want to go now.

"Absolutely. Here, look," he says, and starts digging in his pocket. He comes up with what looks like a pocket-watch, and presents it to me.

I push the catch and laugh. "A compass?"

"Better believe it, baby."

"Okay," I say, "this is good. Where are the maps?"

"Maps?" he asks contemptuously. "We don't need no steenkin' maps!"

"Xander," I begin, trying to keep a straight face, "if you think for one second that I'm going to drive across the whole entire country with you without a map, you're insane."

"Probably," he admits. "Fortunately, I have a plan."

I bend my head back and look up at the sky. "Oh, good," I announce to the world, "he's got a plan!" I turn to look at Xander again. "Okay, I'll bite. What's your plan?"

"Well, it's pretty technical, but it boils down to this. We keep driving east until we see a whole lot of water, then we hang a left."

I nod, getting into the spirit of things. "Works for me."

"Cool! New York, here we come!"

We drive along for a while, then I turn and look at him.

"Xander?"

"Yeah?" he responds. I can tell he knows what I'm thinking.

"What are we doing? I mean, really?"

He shrugs. "I don't know.

"You're going back, aren't you?" I already know the answer.

"Yeah," he admits. "Eventually. I have to."

"I know," I assure him. "I can't go back. At least, not anytime soon."

"I know," he assures me.

"Then where does that leave us?"

"Friends?" he asks, hoping he already knows the answer.

He does. "Friends," I promise him. "Always."

He reaches his hand over to me, and I take it and hold it as we drive.

I'm going to spend the summer with a friend. That's enough for me.