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"Maybe she completely missed the whole thing."

"Wills, Cecily and the ‘Rich Bitches’ had the same front row seats they always have."

"Maybe she’s extremely nearsighted – to the point of – um legal blindness?"

William moaned, utterly mortified, and let his head slump. Hands tightly holding the icepack in his lap, he sighed dejectedly and spared a wilted smile in the direction of his best friends.

"I think you’re stretching just a bit too far, Willow."

"I could be right…"
Both boys shot her disbelieving looks.

"Or not," she sighed, smiling sheepishly.

Since their Freshman year the school day had started out like this. With William holding a school-nurse sanctioned icepack over his dick and Willow and Xander at his side trying desperately to find words of encouragement and comfort – and failing miserably.

The moment William arrived in Sunnydale, California straight off the plane from London, Xander Harris and Willow Rosenberg had been his best friends. They ignored the poofy, curly mop of hair on his head, the big owl-like glasses that swallowed his face, his funny British-accent mixed in with the ‘baby-talk’ of a five year old, and his many allergies and accepted him right off. Of course, having new neighbor Buffy’s arm around him, leading him out to the playground, might’ve helped his case a little.

They were joined at the hip, a virtually inseparable threesome that once upon a time had been a foursome…

William took in a deep breath. "You guys can head on to class if you want. There’s really no need for three people to wallow in the pathicness of one."

"We’re not wallowing," Willow gave him a soft smile. "We’re supporting."

"But…" Xander began, quickly jumping to his feet. "If you insist…"

"Xander!"

"What?" he shrugged, his floppy-brown hair falling over his eyes. "I’ve got a French III quiz. If I wasn’t ‘parlez vous-ing’ I would totally be supporting."

William ran a hand through his curly locks and gave Willow an affectionate smile. "It’s okay, Willow. Really, get to class. I’m a big boy, can take care of myself."

He could see the hesitation on her face and gave a small sigh of relief when Willow conceded, pulling him into a hug before she climbed to her feet.

"We’ll see you at lunch, mister."

William gave a firm nod of his head, grinning. "Definitely."

The second he was alone, William leaned back against the wall, shutting his eyes. After he graduated, they would probably name the bloody bench in front of the infirmary after him. Get one of those monosyllabic monkeys down in wood shop to carve his name into it, add a nice varnish and paint the biggest, waving American flag right on the side –

"Uh – excuse me, are you William Hall?"

Eyes opened, William sat up straight. The sound of a British voice sent a surge of renewed hope coursing through his body…

A fellow countrymen. A new student (even though the school year was practically over) who needed someone to show him around –

His shoulders slumped and he let out a little groan, of disappointment, at the sight, of the rather rumpled, tweed-clad man who was obviously in his mid-forties.

Great, faculty…

"Yes sir," he said politely. "I’m William Hall."

The older man extended his hand with a friendly smile and William graciously shook it.

"I’m Rupert Giles, the – uh, Counselor here."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Could I have a word with you? It’ll only take a minute and you can get back to…" Mr. Giles curiously raised an eyebrow at the icepack, "whatever it is you’re doing."

William quickly tossed the pack aside with an embarrassed laugh and climbed to his feet.

"A word? That’s no trouble at all, sir."



**

"Miss Summers…"

Generally, academic strengths included basic subjects like your math’s or your sciences, but for Buffy; Napping-101 was the only ‘class’ she took the time to excel at.

"Miss Summers!"

Her head bolted up from its surprisingly comfortable resting-place atop her unopened Literature book, and Buffy yawned, running a hand through her hair, making the long, shimmering, gold locks perfect again.

"Hmm?"

"I’m so sorry I disturbed you," was the sarcastic reply from the dowdy Literature teacher.

"You’re forgiven," Buffy snickered, causing the rest of the class to burst into laughter.

The older woman frowned. I don’t drink nearly enough to put up with this shit. "You’re wanted in the Guidance Counselor’s office."

Carefully slipping out of the desk, Buffy straightened her mini-skirt and slipped her brand-new Prada bag on her slender shoulder.

"Don’t say anything terribly interesting while I’m gone," she called back casually as she sauntered out of the room.

And with one final flip of her impeccable hair, she was gone.



**

This girl was a mass of walking contradictions.

In all of his forty-seven years, twenty-five of those spent crammed into the tiny office of a high school surrounded by posters with sayings like ‘A Friend Is A Present You Give Yourself’, he’d never seen anyone like Buffy Summers.

Rupert Giles adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose as he studied the test scores before him.

Simply Baffling…

"You wanted to see me?"

"Hmm?"

Mr. Giles looked up, catching the petite blonde leaning against his office door: petulant scowl marring her features, she waved a blue Post-It at him.

"I got a note," Buffy sighed, voice clipped.

"Oh, right. Y – You must be Miss Summers, please come in."

She plopped down in the plush chair in front of his desk, staring at his offered hand as if it were a snake getting ready to strike her.

"I’m Mr. Giles." He cleared his throat, leaving his hand extended for the girl to shake. Buffy rolled her eyes and finally put her hand in his.

"Nice to meet you," she mumbled. "I didn’t do anything I swear! It’s probably Cordelia you want…"

"No – no, you’re not in trouble," he chuckled. "And trust me, it is you that I want…"

Buffy gave him a look.

Mr. Giles sputtered, his face turning bright red. "Oh, not in that way!" he sighed heavily, shaking his head. "I wanted to see you on the matter of your test scores."

"Oh," Buffy nodded. "Is that all? I mean, not that I’m not thankful for this little class-interrupting visit…"

"Miss Summers, you scored a 1580 on the SATs…"

"Yeah, I know," she said disinterestedly.

Mr. Giles’ eyes widened in disbelief. "You could go to any University in the country! A – And several outside of the country…"

She shrugged nonchalantly.

"Which is why," he continued, exasperated, "I don’t understand how you could be failing American Literature."

"Mrs. Cooper’s a stuck up, tight-ass who’s had it in for me since day one."

"Yes, well, while that may be true…" he began, and Buffy smiled at that, suddenly taking a liking to the flustered Brit, "your SAT scores show that you are more than capable of passing that class."

"Maybe I just test well," she grinned sheepishly. "What, I can’t have layers?"

"Your layers, Miss Summers, are not the issue. Graduating is – and here’s the bottom line… if you don’t pass American Literature, you don’t graduate."

The smile on her face completely disappeared and Buffy’s mouth hung open slightly,

"Not Graduate?"

"Not Graduate," Mr. Giles repeated.

"Oh god…"

"But don’t worry, an extremely capable mind like yours should have no problem learning the material needed right away."

"Uh-huh…" She nodded, wide-eyed.

"All you need is a disciplined study partner to keep you on the right track." Mr. Giles leaned over towards the intercom on his desk and pushed the call button. "Could you send in Mr. Hall, please?"

Buffy’s head snapped back towards the door. Mr. Hall…?

"Ah, William," Mr. Giles began, standing, "I’d like you to meet Buffy Summers, your tutee."

William froze in the doorway, his face twisting into a look of horror.

"Her?!" he roared.

Buffy quickly turned back to face Mr. Giles, her face sporting a look eerily similar to William’s. "Whoa, whoa, wait a minute, Giles…"

"Mr. Giles," he corrected cleaning his glasses.

"Did someone spike your tea and crumpets?!" Buffy squeaked, angrily. "He can’t be my tutor!"

"He most certainly can. He already agreed to it, didn’t you William?"

"Well yeah, but you neglected to tell me that the idiot I was agreeing to help out was Buffy!"

"Hey!" Buffy shouted, truly offended. "I don’t need nor do I want your help, Flagpole Willie!"

"I don’t see why the two of you are shouting," Mr. Giles said casually. "It’s already been settled. I’ll just leave you to make out your own study schedule."



**

"Buffy Summers…"

Just saying the name caused a thick bile to rise up in his throat. William pushed around the sludge on his tray that was supposed to pass as ‘food’ and made a face as he swallowed the vomit.

"I’m tutoring Buffy Summers…"

"It could be worse." Willow offered him a supportive, best friend smile.

"Not bloody likely," he grumbled.

"I’ve gotta agree with Will, here," Xander said training a nasty look in the direction of the trendy table where Buffy sat laughing all snuggled up with her meathead boyfriend Angel Connelly. "Who in their right fucking mind would actually want to spend hours and hours with the gaping, vapid black hole that is Buffy Summers."

Willow grinned. "Aw, you just don’t like her cause of that time she rejected you everyday for five years."

Xander narrowed his eyes at her. "It’s not just that! She ditched us, remember?! All because we didn’t meet Cecily’s and the rest of the RB’s standards…"

"Hey," William said sternly pointing his fork at Xander. "You leave Cecily’s good name out of that group. She’s nothing like the rest of that lot."

"Right," Xander snorted. "Cause she always notices you when her boyfriend’s not slamming your dick into the flagpole."

Willow laughed nervously. "Alright guys, this rather manly display of testosterone is starting to scare me." She paused, shaking her head. "Buffy used to be our friend and no matter what, I refuse to believe that the Buffy Summers I knew is dead and buried."

"You’re the eternal optimist, Wills," William smiled.

"Darn-tootin!" the redhead nodded. "Life hands you lemons, make lemonade. Only you know, remember to put the sugar in cause this one time my mom talked me into making lemonade for her bosses while they were meeting at our house and I totally forgot to add sugar and…"

"But…" William began cutting off the rambling girl, "the girl you knew is dead and buried. There ladies and gentlemen at that table sits the hollowed-out shell of Buffy Summers," he snickered. "An alien whose mother-ship is Abercrombie & Fitch, is in total control of her now."





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