by Nancy Holder
And if achieving popularity would have required dissing them in the least, then Buffy wasn’t missing a thing.
“Is it me, or did someone erase your short-term memory?” Buffy asked her. “Specifically, all that stuff about you dating one of those losers?”
“Hello!” Xander protested. “Isn’t there a kinder word?”
Cordelia glared at him. “No.”
“Once you regain your soul, you’ll find you regret harsh words such as these,” Xander shot at Cordelia.
Cordelia looked startled, and then she clenched her teeth and narrowed her eyes at Xander. “Ha-ha. You are so completely anti-hilarious.”
“But I’m a great kisser,” he said, raising his chin and smiling proudly.
After a moment’s pause, Cordy smiled. “I’ll let you know when you’ve hit ‘great’ status.”
“And you’d know,” Xander said pleasantly. “You’ve tried them all.”
Cordelia huffed and stalked away.
“Oh great sensei, tell me how you did that,” Buffy pleaded as they watched her disappear back into the throngs. “So I can do it too.”
Xander made a show of stretching and putting his hands behind his head. “It’s all in the timing, Ms. Summers. She lunges, you parry.” He grinned. “And then you thrust.”
“Do not even go there,” Buffy said, and shook her head as they began walking again. “It’s best I don’t hear any more. I still don’t understand what this thing is between the two of you. Somehow you get through the chinks in her armor.”
“Or the cracks in her makeup. Did you notice that she had on just too much foundation? You’re right; it does make her look like a cheap hussy. You should talk to her about it, Buffy.”
She chuckled slyly. “Maybe. The right place, the right time …”
“She’d stew for at least two classes,” he assured her. “Better yet, ask Giles to do it. She’ll really go nuts.”
Buffy smiled, but halfheartedly. She hadn’t failed to notice that Xander had riffed on her own life while he was teasing Cordelia. His crack about Cordelia’s regaining her soul had obviously been about Angel and the horrible guilt he had suffered after regaining his own soul.
Xander’s wit could be just plain silly, but it could also be cutting at times. Especially with Angel. Of all of them, Xander reserved his hardest comments for Buffy’s undead boyfriend. Actually had the guts to call him Dead Boy, even though Angel despised the name. In fact, Xander called him that specifically because Angel hated it so much. Xander was jealous of Angel, no question about it. But Buffy knew that when the mouth of Hell coughed up something nasty, Xander would risk his own life for any of them, including Angel, despite all they’d suffered at Angel’s hands.
Buffy’s wandering mind was halted when she spotted Willow sitting on the bench where the three of them often met.
“Well, if it isn’t our willowy Willow,” Buffy said, and pointed.
Willow was wearing a baggy coat thrown over her shoulders and, as usual, she was bent over a book. She used to read science books, computer guides, that kind of thing. However, since meeting Buffy, her reading material tended toward dusty, heavy, leathery encyclopedia-sized doorstops about demons and monsters. Either that or she was surfing pagan websites. With the death of Jenny Calendar, Willow had struggled to do even more than her fair share. And her fair share was often a lot more than anybody else’s.
It’s too bad Willow isn’t the Chosen One, Buffy thought; she did a heck of a lot more research on the wonderful world of slayage than the actual Slayer. Imagine, a girl who could kick monster butt while reciting all the legal vampire holidays from memory. Giles would love it.
Too bad nobody had a choice about who was the Slayer, who was the Watcher, or who chose the wardrobe for Seven of Nine on Star Trek: Voyager. Poor thing had to be in serious pain.
“Will, hey,” Xander called, waving. “I called you yesterday for a 911 rescue attempt on my biology report, but you never picked up the pho …” Xander trailed off, and he touched Buffy’s hand.
Buffy’s lips parted. She rushed to Willow and dropped down beside her. “Willow, what happened?”
Willow’s face was mottled and bruised. Her left cheek was crisscrossed with deep scratches.
And her left hand was in a cast.
Buffy’s mind raced back to their night at the theater. Willow had been fine when they’d split up.
“Willow?” Xander sat on her other side. “God. Did you have an accident?”
Willow tried to smile, but it made her mouth hurt. She thought about trying to make a joke, but nothing about this was funny. So she told them the truth.
“I got mugged.”
“By vampires?” Xander cried. He grabbed at Buffy’s Slayer’s bag. “Quick. Give me something sharp, Buff.”
“Nothing supernatural,” Willow assured them. “I was walking home alone.”
“Didn’t Giles give you a ride?” Buffy interrupted.
“Oh, well, I kind of wanted to be alone. I had some thinking to do,” she added sadly.
“You could have been alone in your bedroom,” Xander chided her. “And you can think there, too.”
Willow swallowed hard. She didn’t know why she was so embarrassed for them to see her injuries, but she was. Her first impulse after the attack had been to call them both, but something had made her put down the phone.
“Who was it?” Buffy demanded, her thinking apparently running along the same lines as Xander’s: It was payback time.
“I don’t know,” she replied meekly, and half-protested as Xander closed her demonology book and set it on his own lap. “I was just walking along and these two guys—regular ones, I think, not vampires or demons—jumped me. They took my watch and twenty bucks.”
She glanced at Xander and felt a rush of sadness. “I’m sorry, Xander. It was the Tweety Bird one you gave me for my birthday.”
“Darn. And that promo’s over at Burger King.”
Tentatively he examined her cheek, cupping her chin very gently. “Oh, Will … ,” he began, and she could hear the frustration in his voice. Xander wanted to help, but it was too late for anyone to help.
“Did they break your wrist?” Buffy asked.
Willow shook her head. “It’s a bad sprain. From when I fell weird.” She realized she was near tears, and fought hard to hide them. “After all these times I’ve watched you practice falling with Giles, and seen you in action, you’d think I’d know how to do it.”
“It’s an acquired skill,” Buffy said kindly.
“Take up skateboarding. You’ll get lots of practice,” Xander added, obviously trying to lighten the moment. But he wasn’t smiling. His dark eyes were serious and his mouth was set and angry.
“Willow, why didn’t you call us? Tell us?” Buffy asked.
Now Willow did smile. She was lucky to have such great friends. Although, of course, in Xander’s case, she still wished he was more than a friend. But she’d been wishing for that longer than Buffy had been the Slayer. And, well, there was Oz now.
“It was … I don’t know,” she said. “I felt … like not talking.”
“I understand,” Buffy told her, and Willow figured she did. After Buffy had been killed by the vampire known as the Master, she had bottled up her feelings for a long time. All her fear and frustration had poured out in a long crying session in Angel’s arms.
“Listen, I hate to do this,” Buffy said, grimacing, “but it’s almost time for class, and I promised to check in with Giles before first period. Will, are you going to be okay?”
“Sure, Buffy,” she said in a small voice. “Go on ahead.”
Buffy looked unhappy about leaving Willow, which touched Willow deeply. She had never had a friend like Buffy. Buffy was brave, and strong, and no dumb mugger would ever take her down …
“Aw, c’mon, Rosenberg,” Xander said as a tear trickled down her cheek. He pulled her against his chest, kissed her on the top of her head. “It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not. Because this kind of stuff is going to keep happening to me,” Willow said, letting the tears flow as Buffy disappeared into the building. “I’m useless, Xander. A liability. Half the time Buffy has to risk her life to save me, and—”
“—and the other half, she has to save me,” Xander finished, trying to get her to meet his eyes.
Willow was miserable. For so long, she had wanted Xander to hold her, and now he was just being nice. Just pitying her. He would never pity Buffy.
“Maybe you should ask her for some fighting tips.”
“Huh?” Willow sniffled. “I could never be like Buffy. I see those vampire guys and I totally freak out. I hate being Velma.”
“Come on!” Xander protested. “Velma’s the coolest! The smart chick always saves the day—as long as she doesn’t lose her glasses. Hey, look, at least you’re not Daphne. Now, Daphne was useless.”
“So who’s Daphne?” Willow asked, allowing herself a small smile at Xander’s waxing philosophical about Scooby-Doo!
“Please!” Xander snapped. “Cordy, of course. What, you thought I was Daphne? See, I figure Angel and Buffy are Shag and Scoob. Giles is Fred.”
“So who are you?” Willow asked, shaking her head in confusion.
“Me?” Xander asked. Then his eyes dropped and a deep sadness came over his face. “I’m afraid I’m not even first-string, Will. To my everlasting shame, I’m …”
He took a deep breath.
“I’m Scrappy-Doo.”
Willow started to smile, just a little, but it felt good. Then Xander stood, held up his right fist, and shouted, “Puppy Power!” and Willow laughed so hard that the pain of her injuries came back full force. A few more tears slipped down her cheek, from a combination of amusement and discomfort.
“Ah, Will … ,” Xander murmured.
“Hey, hi,” a voice said.
Hastily Willow dried her tears and looked up. It was her boyfriend, Oz. His band, Dingoes Ate My Baby, played a lot down at the Bronze. He also happened to be a werewolf.
Willow saw the concern in Oz’s eyes, and it cheered her up a bit.
“What happened to you?” he blurted.
“I fell,” Willow said quickly, mentally begging Xander not to contradict her. She was embarrassed about not having been able to defend herself. Actually, not even trying to defend herself. But the Scooby Gang knew about that part. “I was doing a chore—a chore of housework—I was painting the house—which is a chore—and I fell off the ladder.”
“Whoa. Bummer,” Oz replied, nodding sagely. “Painting the house, though. That’s impressive.” He took her backpack from beside her feet. “C’mon. The bell’s going to ring. I’ll carry your stuff for you.”
“Okay.” A bit unsteady, she stood up. She looked uncertainly at Xander, who was smiling faintly like a big brother, nodding his approval. Even though she really liked Oz, part of her still wished Xander would get jealous. Maybe he even was jealous, in a way. But only because they were so close, Willow knew. Not because Xander felt anything … anything romantic for her. Not like he did for Buffy.
But Oz didn’t lust after Buffy. Nope. He seemed to like Willow just fine. And he was pretty cute.…
The three of them entered the school and started down the hall.
• • •
“Oh my God, Willow, what happened?” Cordelia piped. She was flanked by two of her Cordette wannabes, who stood just so, smirked just so, and were just … not. It was kind of sad, really, to want to be someone else so badly, or so Xander thought. Of course, there had been many moments in his life when he had wanted to be someone else: someone suave, someone rich … someone with a car.
Also, someone Buffy would seriously adore. As long as he didn’t have to be Angel. ’Cause, y’know, being dead had to kinda suck. No pun.
“Good morning, Mistress Cordelia,” Xander intoned, extra politely, as if they had not spent an hour this morning being more than polite to each other. It was their shtick around the Cordettes, not being a cute couple, so that she wouldn’t lose her hard-won status as a stuck-up snob.
He looked hard at Cordelia, trying to ESP her a message: Don’t you dare be mean to Willow.
“Did you fall off your trike, or is this just some tiresome bid for sympathy?” Cordelia asked, gesturing to Willow’s face and arm.
“Don’t,” Xander said, and Cordelia looked mildly shocked.
“Or were you trying to use a new mask, and …” She frowned at Xander. “What?”
“I know your species culls the weak and aged,” Xander said, “but they obviously don’t have any rules about the thick-as-a-brick. Willow’s off-limits today, Brunhilde.”
“Well, I was just, I …” Cordelia clamped her mouth shut.
“You were just on your way to the library with us,” Xander said meaningfully, “to check the calendar for special gatherings of the crazed and possessed.”
“Are you speaking English?” one of the Cordettes asked, sneering.
“It doesn’t matter,” Xander told her. “I’m talking Cordy’s language. Am I not?”
Cordelia gave her hair a toss. Clearly, she had recovered from the momentary shock of someone pushing her off her venom-powered steamroller. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have time for your weirdness. The buses are leaving for the museum in five minutes.”
Xander thought a moment. “Oh, the field trip!” In all the worry over Willow, he had completely forgotten about their break for freedom. “What a sweet surprise on a Monday morning!”
“Especially for Buffy,” Willow concurred, cheering a little. “If we pay extra specially close attention to the exhibits, so we’re late getting back, then Miss Hannigan will have to postpone the math test.”
“Oh, good heavens, I see what you mean,” Giles said to Buffy as they approached Xander, Willow, and Cordelia. “Poor Willow.”
“You were supposed to give her a ride home,” Buffy snapped at him.
“Oh dear.” He was stricken. Giles was good at big-time guilt. Maybe it was a British thing. “She was so insistent about other arrangements …”
“Being insistent never does me any good around you,” Buffy huffed.
“So, Giles, Buffy. Field trip,” Xander said as they approached.
“That’s right!” Buffy clapped her hands. “I’m saved.” She thought a minute. “Am I saved? How long is this field trip?”
“I think it will be long enough,” Xander said with a wink.
“Yes. Quite. There will be a lot to see, from what I’ve read of the exhibit catalog,” Giles said, and gestured for them to keep moving.
“You can buy the exhibits?” Cordelia asked.
“On your mark. Get set,” Xander said.
“No. The catalog merely describes the exhibits. I’ve been anticipating this for months, actually. It’s a traveling exhibition about the art and culture of ancient Japan.” Giles smiled excitedly. “Such a rich and varied history.”
“History.” Buffy grimaced. “Oh, joy.”
“I believe you’ll find it a nice change of pace,” Giles insisted. “For all of you.”
“Yeah, uh-huh. Reading little plaques about a bunch of old stuff.” Buffy yawned. “Wake me up when it’s over.”
“I just had a thought,” Xander said. “Wait, where’d it … ah, there it is! Seems to me that a museum of that size would have a large number of closets.”
“God, you never stop, do you?” Cordelia sighed.
“Me an’ that bunny,” Xander agreed.
They all started for the exit, where the bus was waiting.
“So,” Cordelia said to Xander. “Lots of closets?”
CHAPTER TWO
The museum was one of the things Sunnydale’s mayor always crowed about, one of the things he claimed made Sunnydale more than just another Southern California paradise.
However, none of the truly unique things about a town whose original Spanish settlers called Boca del Infierno—the Hellmouth—seemed
to make it into the tourist brochures the Chamber of Commerce kept putting out.
Yet, somehow, even with a decent museum and a picturesque downtown that looked like something Spielberg stole from Frank Capra, tourists managed to bypass Sunnydale for the most part. Lucky them, Buffy thought. She and her mom hadn’t just visited … they’d moved here!
The exception to the tourist rule seemed to be when an upscale exhibit came to the Sunnydale Museum of Art and Culture, or the Sunnydale Drama Society put on a decent play. There were art galleries—like her mother’s—and an annual Renaissance Faire and a whole host of other things for aging baby boomers to do. But for teens, the ultimate consumers?
Nada.
Or at least so close to nada that it didn’t matter. The Bronze could get boring if you went there every night. At least, Buffy thought so. But when you’d lived in LA, it was hard to imagine having to cross into the next town just to go to a movie made this year. Sunnydale was no LA. It wasn’t even LA’s little sister.
As the bus pulled into the museum’s parking lot, Buffy sighed and let her head rest against the window.
“Suddenly, I’d rather be slaying,” she muttered to herself.
And that was saying something.
“Hey, hey!” Xander said. “What’s this I see?”
Buffy glanced up at that familiar, goofy grin, and couldn’t help but smile in return. Xander had turned around in his seat and was looking down on Buffy and Willow, waving a finger in their faces like a stern parent.
“I don’t recall giving permission for glum faces today,” Xander chided. “Okay, so the museum is not the coolest place to be visiting on a Monday morning. Okay, so on our last merry outing to these hallowed halls of pots and pans, we ran into a particularly attractive and exotic young lady who had a … all right, I confess, she had a thing for me.” He smiled modestly and touched his chest. “And turned out to be an ancient Incan mummy, and sure, I was way too young for her,” he added.
Xander tilted his head to one side and leaned over the back of his seat so his face was only a foot away from Willow and Buffy. His smile was manic, impossibly wide.