THE XANDER YEARS, Vol. 1 Read online

  “But I suspect it’s going to be great.”

  This time Summers looked confused. “You mean ‘great’ in a bad way?”

  Dr. Gregory smiled as he cleaned off his reading glasses with his tie. “You’ve got a first-rate mind and you can think on your feet. Imagine what you could accomplish if you actually did the—”

  “The homework thing?”

  “The homework thing,” he repeated. “I understand you probably have a good excuse for not doing it. Amazingly enough, I don’t care. I know you can excel in this class and so I expect no less. Is that clear?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Sorry.”

  Students always said they were sorry. Just once, he wanted one to mean it. “Don’t be sorry. Be smart. And please don’t listen to the principal or anyone else’s negative opinion about you. Let’s make them eat that permanent record. What do you say?”

  Summers smiled a genuine smile, which was exactly what Dr. Gregory was hoping for. “Okay. Thanks,” she said.

  Dr. Gregory returned the smile. “Chapters six through eight.”

  Nodding resolutely, Summers left the room.

  As he put on his reading glasses and turned his attention back to the slides on his desk, Dr. Gregory thought, A good reaction. Amazing what a difference it makes when you treat them like human beings.

  He once again turned off the fluorescent overhead lights and switched the lightboard on. The slides were for the advanced-placement, college-level class of seniors tomorrow morning. No worries about them nodding off during the slideshow.

  Peering at the slide, he saw that it was, as expected, from a species of salamander. As a general rule, Michael Gregory preferred reptiles and amphibians. He found their habits much more fascinating. Insects just didn’t interest him, and he would be grateful when the sophomores moved on to something else in another two weeks.

  A strange noise sounded from behind him. He thought he heard something shuffling.

  Then he was grabbed by the neck and yanked from his stool. His reading glasses went flying onto the floor.

  The last thing Dr. Gregory saw was what looked like huge mandibles.

  His last thought was, But that’s impossible.

  CHAPTER 2

  As general rule, Buffy Summers thought Sunnydale, California, would be pictured in the dictionary next to the phrase boring suburb—if it weren’t for the Hellmouth. But aside from the occasional bit of evil, Sunnydale was as dull as dull got.

  Thank God for the Bronze, she thought. The club catered to underage students, thus providing the only real nightlife for those not old enough to drink legally.

  Tonight, they had a good rock band playing, but not of the thrash or metal variety, therefore allowing Buffy to carry on a conversation with Willow without too much shouting.

  “So,” Willow asked gravely, “how’d it go after bio class?”

  “Actually, it went pretty well,” Buffy said. “Dr. Gregory didn’t chew me out or anything. He was really cool.” Sighing, she added, “But Flutie showed him my permanent record. Apparently, I fall somewhere between Charles Manson and a really bad person.” That had been the one part of her talk with the teacher that annoyed her. When she first arrived at Sunnydale High, Flutie had made noises about how her past record didn’t matter and she was starting with a clean slate. So much for that, if he’s showing it to every teacher.

  “And you can’t tell Dr. Gregory what really happened at your old school?” Willow asked with a mock-innocent smile.

  “I was fighting vampires? I’m thinking he might not believe me,” Buffy said dryly.

  Willow nodded. “Yeah, he probably gets that excuse all the time.”

  Buffy smiled. That was one of the things she liked best about Willow. Anyone could be sarcastic, but Willow was the only person she knew who could do it in a nice way.

  Their conversation was interrupted by the approach of Cordelia Chase. Speaking of people who do things in a nice way, Buffy thought, here’s the world champion of people who don’t.

  “Here lies a problem,” the brunette cheerleader announced as she came up to Buffy and Willow. “What used to be my table occupied by pitiful losers. Of course, we’ll have to burn it.”

  Buffy gritted her teeth. Cordelia had been the first person to talk to an awkward-feeling transfer student when she arrived at Sunnydale High, but Buffy quickly got on her bad side. Cordelia being the most popular girl in the class, if not the school, meant that now Buffy’s chances of expanding her circle of friends beyond Willow and Xander were fairly slim.

  Not that I’m sure I want to expand it to include anyone influenced by her, she thought. She was also tired of being on the wrong end of Cordelia’s insults, and so looking at the well-etched tabletop she said with mock gravity, “Sad. You have so many memories here. You and Lawrence, you and Mark, you and John. You spent the better part of your J through M here.”

  Taken aback by an actual response, Cordelia simply made a tcha noise and moved on.

  “Wow. No comeback,” Buffy said, impressed.

  “You brought up bad memories,” Willow said. “Lawrence dumped her before she had a chance to dump him. It’s a sore point.”

  All in all, Xander liked the Bronze better in his fantasy. For one thing, there were more girls. The only girls present here had one of two drawbacks: they were attached to some guy or they were attached to Cordelia. Already, Her Royal Creepiness was holding court for her subjects at the coffee bar.

  Xander wandered up toward the stage, standing in the same spot from which Buffy gazed up at him in his dream. He gave the guitarist/lead singer a quick nod. The singer just looked at him like he was a dead cockroach and then ignored him.

  Next time, Xander decided, I’m thinking maybe I should try that with someone I actually know.

  Having already made a moderate fool of himself, he sought out Buffy and Willow. He wandered over to the couches near the coffee bar, but found only Blayne and one of his fellow football dorks, whose name Xander couldn’t remember. If Blayne hadn’t been Buffy’s lab partner, he probably wouldn’t have remembered his name, either. Xander made it a rule not to remember the names of people more athletic than he was.

  “Seven,” Blayne was saying. At first, Xander assumed they were comparing IQs, but then he added, “Including Cheryl. I tell you though, her sister was looking to make it eight.”

  “Ooh, Cheryl’s sister?” the other jock said, eyes wide. “The one in college?”

  “Home for the holidays and looking for love. She’s not my type, though. Girl’s really gotta have something to go with me.”

  Without thinking, Xander said, “Something like a lobotomy?”

  “Xander,” Blayne sneered. “How many times have you scored?”

  “Well . . .” Xander said hesitantly. Why do I get myself into these things?

  “It’s just a question,” Blayne said with an evil smile.

  “Are we talking today or the whole week?” Xander asked, stalling. He was looking frantically around for Buffy and Willow. Finally, he sighted them. “Ooh. Duty calls.”

  Quickly, he went over to where the two girls were walking. He said, “Babes!” loud enough for Blayne and his crony to hear as he put one arm around each of them.

  “What are you doing?” Buffy asked.

  “Work with me here,” Xander said quickly before Buffy did something unfortunate, like elbow him in the ribs. “Blayne had the nerve to question my manliness. I’m just gonna give him a visual.”

  Buffy still looked at him like he was nuts, but Willow, bless her, clutched Xander tightly. “We’ll show him.”

  Xander turned and gave Blayne a thumbs-up. Blayne just shook his head. Xander knew this was hitting below the belt. When Buffy first arrived, and had been assigned to be lab partners with Blayne (his previous lab partner had transferred out the week after school began), the hero of the varsity football Razorbacks tried to make time with her. The Slayer came within a hairsbreadth of dislocating his shoulder, an
d he backed off.

  “I don’t believe it,” Buffy said.

  “I know,” Xander said. “And after all my conquests—”

  Before he could continue, Buffy broke out of the embrace and approached a guy who had just walked into the club. Xander peered into the shadows—the man seemed to be avoiding direct light—and saw a tall, remarkably good-looking young man with short dark hair, wearing all black.

  “Who’s that?” Xander asked, indignant that Buffy would know someone he didn’t.

  “That must be Angel,” Willow said. “I think.”

  “That weird guy that warned her about all the vampires?” Shortly after Buffy arrived in Sunnydale, Angel—or “Cryptic Guy,” as Buffy had taken to calling him—warned her about the Harvest. Buffy did indeed stop that particular vampire suck-fest, and that was the last she saw of Angel.

  However, in all her talk of Cryptic Guy, Buffy had never mentioned what he looked like.

  “That’s him,” Willow said. “I’ll bet you.”

  Even more indignantly, Xander said, “Well, he’s buff! She never said anything about him being buff.”

  “You think he’s buff?”

  “He’s a very attractive man!” Xander cried, then lowered his voice. Bad enough Blayne’s dissing my studliness, the last thing I need is everyone hearing me talk about attractive men. “How come that never came up?”

  “Well, look who’s here.” Buffy said by way of greeting.

  “Hi,” Angel said, a response that, to Buffy’s mind, seemed kind of inadequate.

  “I’d say it’s nice to see you, but then we both know that’s a big fib.” That’s right, you don’t like this guy, she told herself firmly. He’s an annoying, mysterious person who won’t give a straight answer. You don’t like him.

  So stop staring into those glorious soulful eyes of his. . . .

  “I won’t be long,” he said.

  “No, you’ll just give me a cryptic warning about some exciting new catastrophe and then disappear into the night, right?”

  He looked down at her with those eyes and said, “You’re cold.”

  “You can take it.”

  “I mean, you look cold.” He removed his jacket and put it around her shoulders.

  Oh God, this feels wonderful. “Little big on me.”

  Then she noticed the three long, parallel cuts on his arm. The cuts looked recent. “What happened?” she asked.

  “I didn’t pay attention.”

  There he goes with the cryptic stuff again. “To somebody with a big fork?” she prompted.

  “He’s coming.”

  “The fork guy?” Why is it so hard for him to give a straight answer? And why does he have to look so gorgeously vulnerable?

  “Don’t let him corner you. Don’t give him a moment’s warning. He’ll rip your throat out.”

  It was quite possibly the longest string of words Angel had put together since she met him. She was, despite herself, impressed. “Okay, I give you improved marks for that one. Ripping the throat out: it’s a strong visual, noncryptic.”

  He almost smiled. He had a very nice almost-smile that made her long to see the full one. “I have to go,” he said.

  Of course. Before she even could say anything, he was gone, melting into the shadows. God, you’d think he was a vampire or something.

  “Sweet dreams to you, too,” she muttered.

  Xander watched as the two of them talked for a few minutes, then Angel took off his leather jacket and put it on Buffy.

  Xander was outraged. “Oh, right, give her your jacket. It’s a balmy night, nobody needs to be trading clothing out there.”

  “I don’t think she even likes him,” Willow said hesitantly.

  Xander doubted that Willow really believed that any more than he did.

  The following morning, Xander wandered the Sunnydale High quad with a spring in his step and a song in his heart. True, he learned last night that Angel looked like some kind of slacker version of a Greek god, but Xander saw no reason to dwell on annoying things out of his control. He had just learned of a good thing out of his control, and he wanted to share it with the world.

  Or, at the very least, with Buffy and Willow.

  He sighted Willow sitting on one of the brick walls, going over her biology homework, and also Giles and Buffy approaching that same wall. As he got closer, Xander caught the tail end of the conversation between the Slayer and her Watcher, a tall bespectacled Brit in tweed.

  “That’s all he said?” Giles asked. “ ‘Fork’ guy?”

  Aha, Xander deduced. Giving the Watcher the 411. Very cool.

  “That’s all Cryptic Guy said: fork guy,” Buffy said, confirming.

  “I think there are too many guys in your life,” Giles said with a laugh, then added, “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  They had arrived at the wall where Willow sat just as Xander also reached it. Giles looked up at the sky. “God, every day here is the same.”

  “Bright, sunny, beautiful—how ever can we escape this torment?” Buffy said with a roll of her eyes.

  The librarian gave her one of his looks, exchanged good mornings with Xander, then went off to bury himself in the stacks.

  Wanting to share his good news, Xander immediately started in on it. “Guess what I just heard in the office? No Dr. Gregory today. Ergo, those of us who blew off our science homework aren’t as dumb as we look.” He punctuated the statement by closing Willow’s bio textbook.

  “What happened?” Buffy asked. “Is he sick?”

  Xander shrugged. “They didn’t say anything about sick—something about missing.”

  “He’s missing?”

  Xander frowned. “Well, let me think. The cheerleaders were modeling their new short skirts, I kinda got—” Buffy shot him one of her looks, which, annoyingly, was just like one of Giles’s, and Xander grew serious. “Yeah, they said missing. Which is . . . bad?”

  “If something’s wrong, yeah.”

  Xander felt like he’d missed something. No bio teacher meant a substitute, which meant, in essence, a free period. What could be wrong?

  Willow, as usual, explained: “He’s one of the only teachers that doesn’t think Buffy is a felon.”

  Mustering up his sincerity, Xander said, “I’m really sorry. I’m sure he’ll—iya huh huh huh!”

  He had intended to finish the sentence with the words turn up, but he had been distracted by a sight that made every overactive hormone in his body stand at attention.

  The woman who walked down one of the quad’s pathways was remarkable in many ways. For one thing, she was a woman in a setting primarily populated by girls; for another, she was attractive.

  Though attractive didn’t really seem to cut it.

  The most beautiful woman ever to walk the face of the earth came closer, but even that seemed insufficient.

  She had black hair cropped at her neck, sultry eyes, and the most amazing, pouty lips that Xander had ever seen. They were the kind of lips that simply begged to be kissed. At least, Xander hoped that’s what they begged for. She also wore a simple black jacket over a white shirt or blouse or something, and a skirt that wasn’t quite a miniskirt, but was sufficiently short to display two of the best legs Xander had ever seen. And she didn’t wear pantyhose—Xander had been staring at women’s legs long enough to know the difference. Those were her natural legs.

  To Xander’s amazement and glee, she walked right up to him. “Could you help me?” she asked. Her voice was mellifluous, with just enough of a hint of an accent to sound moderately exotic, but not enough of one to place it.

  All thought fled from Xander Harris. His mind was filled solely with this incredible image of beauty before him.

  “Uhhh—yes.”

  “I’m looking for Science One-oh-nine.”

  “Oh, it’s um—” His mind remained blank, but for the image of her. He had no idea where Science 109 was. He wasn’t entirely sure he could remember his full name if he were a
sked to provide it. “I go there ever day,” he said with a short bark of laughter, then turned to Buffy and Willow in a panic. “Oh God, where is it?”

  Before anyone could respond, a voice belonging to the teenager whom Xander right there decided he hated more than anyone else who ever lived said, “Hi. Blayne Mall. I’m going there right now. It’s not far from the varsity field where I took all-city last year.”

  “Oh. Thank you, Blayne,” she said, and Blayne led her off. The football star gave Xander a friendly pat on the shoulder as he led the vision of perfection off toward the main building.

  “It’s funny,” he said to the two girls, “how the earth never opens up and swallows you when you want it to.”

  Buffy and Willow looked completely unsympathetic. In fact, they were smiling.

  Women. Can’t rely on ’em.

  “Come on,” Buffy said, getting up, “we’ll take you to Science One-oh-nine. If you want, you can even drop bread crumbs so you can find your way the next time someone asks you directions.”

  “Hardy har har,” Xander said. Willow also rose from the wall, and the three of them went to bio class.

  Xander noticed that the goddess was standing at the front of the class. She had removed the jacket, revealing a white sleeveless shirt or blouse or whatever that exposed a pair of arms that were like porcelain.

  She wrote the words Natalie French on the blackboard. So now she has a name. And a function: she’s the sub. There is a god. He had nothing personal against Dr. Gregory—he was as decent a human being as a teacher could possibly be, which put him right above slugs in Xander’s pantheon—but he could stay missing forever as far as Xander was concerned.

  He heard Willow say, “What’s wrong?” Xander turned to see Buffy kneeling down to pick something up off the floor.

  That something was a pair of glasses with a cracked lens. “If Dr. Gregory dropped his glasses, why wouldn’t he pick them up?” Buffy asked. Shrugging, she put the glasses on one of the tables and took her seat next to the hated Blayne.

  The final bell rang, and the class settled down. “My name,” said the most glorious voice in the universe, “is Natalie French, and I’ll be substituting for Dr. Gregory.”