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Dawn still came by Spike’s crypt sometimes after school. It was tradition, and Tara never minded. Dawn would barge in, trying to be as irritating as possible, and he’d bristle up like an angry cat.


She would make him promise to come over for dinner, and then they’d listen to pop music or punk, and they’d both harp about the other’s crappy music taste.


One day, however, after barging in, a giant bucket of water tipped over onto her head, followed by raucous laughter.


She never again went into Spike’s crypt without nudging the door open with her foot first.