Tales from the Wishverse – Misfits
By Andrew Crouch
Copyright 2002
Rated R for language, some violence (mostly for safety's sake)
Disclaimer – Characters property of the good folks at Mutant Enemy.
Prologue - The Playground Misfits (1986)
Willow Rosenberg walked glumly out of the back entrance of Sunnydale Elementary School, trying her best not to be noticed. It was recess – she knew recess was for playing. For running and jumping, for climbing around on the playground equipment. She glanced quickly around, saw the other kids doing exactly those recess-y things, and sighed sadly. Recess wasn't for hiding, but it was worse if she did try to play with them. One of the kids would laugh at her, for her red hair, or her clothes, or for how smart she was. That was the worst. She liked being the one in class who raised her hand every time the teacher asked a question, who got As on everything even though she didn't really have to study. But the other kids would snicker behind her back for it, call her names, would point at her and giggle to themselves in the lunchroom when she ate all by herself. Mommy told her it was just because they were jealous - but she said with kind of a sad face, as if Mommy was lying, and it really didn't make Willow feel any better. Mommy had also told her that the Easter bunny and the tooth fairy were real, and the other kids had laughed at her for that, too. So Willow had just nodded as her Mommy told her to just keep trying to be friendly, and had went on trying to hide during recess. Some days it worked, and they left her alone. Other days -
"Hey, Red," came a voice behind her. Willow cringed - she hated that voice most of all. Cordelia Chase, long, dark hair trailing behind her, beautiful dress dirtied by a careless game of tag, brown eyes laughing mercilessly at her. And Willow hated that nickname that Cordy had given her, Red, like she was a crayon or something. She walked a little faster, trying to pretend she hadn't heard...
"Hey, Red," Cordy said again, walking toward her with her little group of friends trailing dutifully a few feet behind. "Are you trying to look like Pippi Longstocking or something?"
The group of girls tittered, watching with wide eyes, waiting to see how the shy girl would react.
Willow turned nervously around. She couldn't understand how Cordy had meant what she said as an insult - Pippi Longstocking was one of her favorite characters. She could have fun all day, was outgoing and had friends. She could even lift up a horse - what was wrong with that? And how could little Willow Rosenberg ever hope to be like that? Willow stared down at her faded overalls, reached up to feel her pigtails, the ones her Mommy had braided for her just this morning. She had always imagined Pippi to be the most beautiful girl in the town - like Cordelia. Willow just looked like a boy, everyone told her.
"H-Hi, Cordelia," she said softly, afraid to raise her voice.
"I said, are you trying to look like Pippi Longstocking?"
"N-No, Cordy, I'm...I'm just..." she fidgeted, not sure what she could say. "I just don't want to...uhm, wear a dress...to, you know, get it dirty."
Cordy giggled - the other girls, following her lead, laughed with her. "But how else are you gonna look pretty? My Mommy says that girls shouldn't dress like boys, 'cause it isn't ladylike."
Willow swallowed. "I...I don't know, Cordy. M-Maybe, maybe it doesn't matter...it's not what you wear that makes you pretty..."
"Duh," Cordy said. "Of course not. You've got to wear pretty make- up." Cordy was proud that she was the only girl in school allowed to wear makeup.
"No," Willow said more softly, wanting to shrink into herself. "It's...it's not that, either. You have to be pretty on the inside -"
"On the inside?" Cordy said disgustedly, "Like, your guts and stuff?"
"No," Willow said, "No, like, how nice you are. You can't be mean to...uhm, other people, to be pretty."
Cordy seemed to actually consider this for a long moment. During that moment, Willow allowed herself some small hope - maybe, maybe they were listening to her. They wanted to be nice people, to be pretty, to be friends with her...
But it lasted only a moment. When Cordelia spoke again, if felt as if she had reached out and punched Willow in the stomach.
"No, that's stupid. That's BS," she said it proudly, an expression she had picked up from her beautiful Mommy, though Cordy didn't really know what the B and S stood for, "You are just too weird, Willow."
Cordy turned away, and the girls followed her, giggling, whispering about how strange the shy one was. Willow sat down on a bench, looking down at her feet, small face working itself into tears. When she had thought it up, it had sounded so smart - nice people were pretty, it didn't matter if you were ugly or beautiful on the outside. But when she said it, when the words actually emerged from her mouth for the world to laugh at, it sounded so stupid, like an excuse for how ugly she felt, how ugly the other girls made her feel. Willow felt a hot tear roll down her cheek, and leaned down into her hands, anxious for the bell to ring, so she could get back to the world she trusted, the world of books, of fiction, where people really did think that beauty came from the inside...
After a moment, she looked up to see a boy at her side on the bench, looking down at her, his expression as sad and nervous as she felt. He had dark hair, tousled and sweaty, as if he had been running. A pair of thick glasses almost covered up his entire face, though behind them, she thought she could see tears in his eyes.
"Hey," he said softly. "You're Willow, right?"
She rubbed her face with the backs of her hands. "Yeah."
He nodded silently, opened his mouth, closed it as if he couldn't get it to work right, then finally spoke, rapid and hushed. "I think you're pretty."
She nearly fell off the bench at the words. She had never heard those words, or anything close, from anyone, except maybe her Mommy, who didn't really count anyway. She wanted to say something, like thank you, but she could only gape at him as if he had grown an extra arm.
He looked down at his hands. "I heard what you said to Cordelia. That's really smart, it just sounds...you know, right, or something. How pretty you are depends on how you nice you are. I like that."
She smiled, and he smiled back.
"But I like your hair. It's....it's red. Red is a pretty color for hair."
Willow finally found her voice. "What...What's your name?"
"Alexander Harris," he said. His face again scrunched into an unreadable mask, like he was halfway between crying and laughing. "My Dad calls me Alex. I don't like...that name much. It sounds really lame."
Willow decided immediately that she didn't like the name either. "What do your friends call you?"
He shrugged. "I dunno. Mostly four-eyes, I guess."
She frowned. "That's kinda mean."
"Well, that's kinda the problem, actually. I don't have a lot of friends."
She shook her head. "Me neither."
Alexander seemed surprised at that. Then inspiration struck. "Maybe me and you could be friends."
She grinned happily at him. "I like that idea."
They got up and started to walk around the playground, being careful to keep a distance between themselves and Cordy's little group.
"So you don't like being called Alex," she said, thinking aloud.
"And Alexander is just too dorky," he said, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
"How 'bout if we just keep the A-L-E off altogether? Xander."
He stared at his shoes for a moment, and then his face lit up. "Yeah, I like that. Kinda super-agent-y, maybe. But what's our group name?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, if we're gonna be friends, we've got to have a group name. Like the Justice League of America?"
"How 'bout the Playground Misfits?" Willow suggested.
"Yeah," he said excitedly, then frowned. "What does misfit mean?"
"Like an outsider, somebody who doesn't belong in the group," she explained patiently, "Like that movie, Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer? Remember all those toys that couldn't find a home?"
He nodded. "How about Playground Bandits?"
"I don't know," she said doubtfully. "Are we gonna steal something?"
"What do you like to watch on TV?" he asked.
She thought for a moment. "I like the nature shows on PBS."
"What else?"
"Uhmmm, I like...Oh, I love Scooby Doo. Sometimes I wish I could be part of the Scooby Gang. Just like Amy - she's got red hair, but everybody think's she's the prettiest one."
Xander glanced around, to make sure no one was watching, and then started to shuffle around, waving his arms back and forth.
Willow watched with confusion on her face. "What are you doing?"
He grinned at her. "The Scooby Dance. Our official group dance."
She stared at him for a moment, then dissolved into hysterical laughter. After a moment, he joined her.
By Andrew Crouch
Copyright 2002
Rated R for language, some violence (mostly for safety's sake)
Disclaimer – Characters property of the good folks at Mutant Enemy.
Prologue - The Playground Misfits (1986)
Willow Rosenberg walked glumly out of the back entrance of Sunnydale Elementary School, trying her best not to be noticed. It was recess – she knew recess was for playing. For running and jumping, for climbing around on the playground equipment. She glanced quickly around, saw the other kids doing exactly those recess-y things, and sighed sadly. Recess wasn't for hiding, but it was worse if she did try to play with them. One of the kids would laugh at her, for her red hair, or her clothes, or for how smart she was. That was the worst. She liked being the one in class who raised her hand every time the teacher asked a question, who got As on everything even though she didn't really have to study. But the other kids would snicker behind her back for it, call her names, would point at her and giggle to themselves in the lunchroom when she ate all by herself. Mommy told her it was just because they were jealous - but she said with kind of a sad face, as if Mommy was lying, and it really didn't make Willow feel any better. Mommy had also told her that the Easter bunny and the tooth fairy were real, and the other kids had laughed at her for that, too. So Willow had just nodded as her Mommy told her to just keep trying to be friendly, and had went on trying to hide during recess. Some days it worked, and they left her alone. Other days -
"Hey, Red," came a voice behind her. Willow cringed - she hated that voice most of all. Cordelia Chase, long, dark hair trailing behind her, beautiful dress dirtied by a careless game of tag, brown eyes laughing mercilessly at her. And Willow hated that nickname that Cordy had given her, Red, like she was a crayon or something. She walked a little faster, trying to pretend she hadn't heard...
"Hey, Red," Cordy said again, walking toward her with her little group of friends trailing dutifully a few feet behind. "Are you trying to look like Pippi Longstocking or something?"
The group of girls tittered, watching with wide eyes, waiting to see how the shy girl would react.
Willow turned nervously around. She couldn't understand how Cordy had meant what she said as an insult - Pippi Longstocking was one of her favorite characters. She could have fun all day, was outgoing and had friends. She could even lift up a horse - what was wrong with that? And how could little Willow Rosenberg ever hope to be like that? Willow stared down at her faded overalls, reached up to feel her pigtails, the ones her Mommy had braided for her just this morning. She had always imagined Pippi to be the most beautiful girl in the town - like Cordelia. Willow just looked like a boy, everyone told her.
"H-Hi, Cordelia," she said softly, afraid to raise her voice.
"I said, are you trying to look like Pippi Longstocking?"
"N-No, Cordy, I'm...I'm just..." she fidgeted, not sure what she could say. "I just don't want to...uhm, wear a dress...to, you know, get it dirty."
Cordy giggled - the other girls, following her lead, laughed with her. "But how else are you gonna look pretty? My Mommy says that girls shouldn't dress like boys, 'cause it isn't ladylike."
Willow swallowed. "I...I don't know, Cordy. M-Maybe, maybe it doesn't matter...it's not what you wear that makes you pretty..."
"Duh," Cordy said. "Of course not. You've got to wear pretty make- up." Cordy was proud that she was the only girl in school allowed to wear makeup.
"No," Willow said more softly, wanting to shrink into herself. "It's...it's not that, either. You have to be pretty on the inside -"
"On the inside?" Cordy said disgustedly, "Like, your guts and stuff?"
"No," Willow said, "No, like, how nice you are. You can't be mean to...uhm, other people, to be pretty."
Cordy seemed to actually consider this for a long moment. During that moment, Willow allowed herself some small hope - maybe, maybe they were listening to her. They wanted to be nice people, to be pretty, to be friends with her...
But it lasted only a moment. When Cordelia spoke again, if felt as if she had reached out and punched Willow in the stomach.
"No, that's stupid. That's BS," she said it proudly, an expression she had picked up from her beautiful Mommy, though Cordy didn't really know what the B and S stood for, "You are just too weird, Willow."
Cordy turned away, and the girls followed her, giggling, whispering about how strange the shy one was. Willow sat down on a bench, looking down at her feet, small face working itself into tears. When she had thought it up, it had sounded so smart - nice people were pretty, it didn't matter if you were ugly or beautiful on the outside. But when she said it, when the words actually emerged from her mouth for the world to laugh at, it sounded so stupid, like an excuse for how ugly she felt, how ugly the other girls made her feel. Willow felt a hot tear roll down her cheek, and leaned down into her hands, anxious for the bell to ring, so she could get back to the world she trusted, the world of books, of fiction, where people really did think that beauty came from the inside...
After a moment, she looked up to see a boy at her side on the bench, looking down at her, his expression as sad and nervous as she felt. He had dark hair, tousled and sweaty, as if he had been running. A pair of thick glasses almost covered up his entire face, though behind them, she thought she could see tears in his eyes.
"Hey," he said softly. "You're Willow, right?"
She rubbed her face with the backs of her hands. "Yeah."
He nodded silently, opened his mouth, closed it as if he couldn't get it to work right, then finally spoke, rapid and hushed. "I think you're pretty."
She nearly fell off the bench at the words. She had never heard those words, or anything close, from anyone, except maybe her Mommy, who didn't really count anyway. She wanted to say something, like thank you, but she could only gape at him as if he had grown an extra arm.
He looked down at his hands. "I heard what you said to Cordelia. That's really smart, it just sounds...you know, right, or something. How pretty you are depends on how you nice you are. I like that."
She smiled, and he smiled back.
"But I like your hair. It's....it's red. Red is a pretty color for hair."
Willow finally found her voice. "What...What's your name?"
"Alexander Harris," he said. His face again scrunched into an unreadable mask, like he was halfway between crying and laughing. "My Dad calls me Alex. I don't like...that name much. It sounds really lame."
Willow decided immediately that she didn't like the name either. "What do your friends call you?"
He shrugged. "I dunno. Mostly four-eyes, I guess."
She frowned. "That's kinda mean."
"Well, that's kinda the problem, actually. I don't have a lot of friends."
She shook her head. "Me neither."
Alexander seemed surprised at that. Then inspiration struck. "Maybe me and you could be friends."
She grinned happily at him. "I like that idea."
They got up and started to walk around the playground, being careful to keep a distance between themselves and Cordy's little group.
"So you don't like being called Alex," she said, thinking aloud.
"And Alexander is just too dorky," he said, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
"How 'bout if we just keep the A-L-E off altogether? Xander."
He stared at his shoes for a moment, and then his face lit up. "Yeah, I like that. Kinda super-agent-y, maybe. But what's our group name?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, if we're gonna be friends, we've got to have a group name. Like the Justice League of America?"
"How 'bout the Playground Misfits?" Willow suggested.
"Yeah," he said excitedly, then frowned. "What does misfit mean?"
"Like an outsider, somebody who doesn't belong in the group," she explained patiently, "Like that movie, Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer? Remember all those toys that couldn't find a home?"
He nodded. "How about Playground Bandits?"
"I don't know," she said doubtfully. "Are we gonna steal something?"
"What do you like to watch on TV?" he asked.
She thought for a moment. "I like the nature shows on PBS."
"What else?"
"Uhmmm, I like...Oh, I love Scooby Doo. Sometimes I wish I could be part of the Scooby Gang. Just like Amy - she's got red hair, but everybody think's she's the prettiest one."
Xander glanced around, to make sure no one was watching, and then started to shuffle around, waving his arms back and forth.
Willow watched with confusion on her face. "What are you doing?"
He grinned at her. "The Scooby Dance. Our official group dance."
She stared at him for a moment, then dissolved into hysterical laughter. After a moment, he joined her.