It's a house party, in a house that looks like it might have once belonged to someone with much more land than the Hughes currently own. Plantation-style, requiring significant upkeep and with a dark history that none of these drunk teenagers are thinking of. They have developed a lifelong habit of ignoring the bloodstains that pepper their world. The music is bumping, the drinks are flowing, and the hormones are swirling through the air.

Cassie sees it all. She sees the guy pressing his luck with the girl he's wanted for three months now. She sees the two friends and their tag-along, who thinks she's their friend too. She sees the outcast, the loser, back nearly pressed up against the wall, trying to disappear. 

People often disappear in Sunnydale.

But that's not what Cassie sees. She sees sloppy makeouts in the janitor's closet. She sees accidents before they happen. She sees boys in rooms taking advantage of girls who can't say no. 

She sees a lot of things. All of them happen, she thinks. She doesn't always see them with her eyes, but she's kept a tally of how many of her visions come true. The track record is good. 

It doesn't feel good. She can't stop them. That's the thing. Cassandra, and that's the thing that pisses her off, actually, because what the hell was her dad thinking, knowing his mother, naming her Cassie?

But this is a party.

And everyone knows that Cassie Hughes throws the best parties.

"Hey, babe."

Jackson hands Cassie her cup and places an arm around her waist in a practiced motion. They've been together for two years now, and it's been a good deal. Everyone wants to be or be with one of them. This school is theirs for the taking, and he has no plans to stop there. They've talked it through. Partner track for him, tenure track for her, until he's well-placed enough to run. A strong legal background, perhaps a governorship, and a professor for a wife? They'll be unstoppable

Kiss.

"What's the plan tonight?"

"Mmm. I'm thinking, ten minutes by the pool, and then you can find the team while I collect strays upstairs?"

"Are you sure we should be splitting up? Last time-"

"I want a boyfriend, Jackson. If I wanted someone to follow me around whining I'd ask my dad."

She pulls away from him, takes a swig, and heads outside. She doesn't have time for this.

It was when she was drilling SAT vocab with her mom. The screeching of tires, the reflection in the puddle, and the smell of fries. Three tiny little flashes of sensory detail, and then- her corpse.

Cassie tapped two fingers on the plastic cup as she made her way to the pool, leaving Jackson to catch up. There were dozens of people outside, which was an unfortunate reality of house parties when someone brought a keg. She would have liked to make use of the space inside, but it was all safer this way. Less chance of damage bad enough to attract her father's ire. Not that he had any power anyway. Not anymore. Cassie had stopped fearing institutionalization the third time she foresaw her death.

"Woo! Looking good, Pat!"

Pat Wegman, junior. Twice the size of Jackson, and half as smart. He was doing what had to be the second or third cannonball of the night, judging by the disgusted looks by the other girls standing around the pool and the joyous shouts of the boys in the deep end. He flashed a grin as he jumped. 

Idiots. Every single boy was an idiot. She wished she had more time.