Part 12
I hate dances. I hate dances. I hate dances. I hate dances. I hate...
Joyce Summers answered the large oak door. She was small like Buffy, though her dye
job was less obvious. They both had that beauty pageant look that made Willow wonder
why they had bothered to move to Sunnydale. There was good looks being wasted on the
piss-ants of this town.
Now ball that up and make a compliment out of it.
"You look stunning tonight Mrs. Summers." Willow extended her right hand, which was
rapped around a large bouquet of flowers.
"Are these for me? Thank-you, that's very thoughtful of you." Joyce looked the teenage
girl standing on her porch over once more. The teenage girl who was standing on her
porch, waiting to take her teenage daughter to a dance. The teenage girl with the red and
black hair. The teenage girl in the black suit. The...okay enough with the inspection...she
might pass out.
"Oh how rude of me...Come in."
The girl looked relieved to be invited in. She hadn't been expecting that much. Joyce
sighed. Of course she didn't expect it. She was from a small town where she had no doubt
been ostracized for her life choices. And Buffy had always had that good girl next door
look to her. Wilma...Daisy...what the hell was her name...probably expected some Bible
thumping housewife to come spewing prayers and crosses. Lucky for...her...Joyce
Summers grew up in LA and worked in art galleries. This was not her first experience
with homosexuality.
"Did you...Did you dye your hair for the dance?"
A shaking hand raised but was caught before it could actually run through her hair. "Well
I darkened it to match Summers...I mean Buffy's dress. But no, the hair is pretty much
always this way."
"Oh."
A giggle bubbled up from Willow's throat. With a look of abject horror she snapped her
mouth shut. Her chin dropped onto her chest and her eyes zeroed in on her feet.
*********
Alexander Harris had spent the last hour sitting at the same table. It was a nice table. It
had all its legs, nice long legs, with enough chairs to seat everyone, including Xander's
invisible date, AntiCordelia.
Xander and AC, as he had come to call her, were having a very long and involved
conversation. They were discussing the neuroses behind spending an hour waiting for
you best friend, who happened to be the best girlfriend material in the world, except that
entire gay thing, and her date to show up. Just so that you could spend another two or
three hours having the fact that you were a pathetic loser rubbed in your face by their
happiness.
For the last fifteen minutes AC had been laughing at him.
The only good news was that Cordelia, the queen bitch herself, had yet to show up. In
fact, if the little snippet he has listened in on were true, no one knew where she was, or if
she was even going to show. At least he wouldn't have to endure the constant barbs
tonight.
Instead there was the collective pity stare coming from the geek table. One of
them...Jonathan...had even invited him over. Of course Xander wasn't going. Even he
wasn't that pathetic. That and they all had dates, albeit chicks with outfits that in some
form resembled Princess Laiya.
Please let this end soon.
***********
Cordelia Chase had been waiting in the foyer of her parents expensive house for all most
fifteen minutes. Fifteen entire minutes. She was super pissed now. She was the one who
got to be fashionably late. No one made Cordelia Chase wait.
She had to stand through it all because this damn dress would be ruined if she sat down.
Her shoes weren't made for standing. They were made for torturing young boys and
making the Cordy the envy of every female within viewing distance.
Of course the Lezbos wouldn't get this. Butch was probably wearing a suit. Which
Cordelia would have to remind her was so eighties and therefore so over. Buffy would be
in a dress, one that was a couple of months out of fashion and a couple of decade past
good taste. Those two definitely wouldn't have any fashion conscience.
Why did she agree to do this? Oh yeah...Xander. What had she said that in one of those
wimpy breathy voices. Cause if so...she was going to have to kill herself. No way was
Xander Harris breathy material. Sure he was kind of cute, if you were into guys who
couldn't dress, or walk and talk at the same time, or is serious for more than like two
seconds. Cordelia guessed she kind of was.
End Part 12
I hate dances. I hate dances. I hate dances. I hate dances. I hate...
Joyce Summers answered the large oak door. She was small like Buffy, though her dye
job was less obvious. They both had that beauty pageant look that made Willow wonder
why they had bothered to move to Sunnydale. There was good looks being wasted on the
piss-ants of this town.
Now ball that up and make a compliment out of it.
"You look stunning tonight Mrs. Summers." Willow extended her right hand, which was
rapped around a large bouquet of flowers.
"Are these for me? Thank-you, that's very thoughtful of you." Joyce looked the teenage
girl standing on her porch over once more. The teenage girl who was standing on her
porch, waiting to take her teenage daughter to a dance. The teenage girl with the red and
black hair. The teenage girl in the black suit. The...okay enough with the inspection...she
might pass out.
"Oh how rude of me...Come in."
The girl looked relieved to be invited in. She hadn't been expecting that much. Joyce
sighed. Of course she didn't expect it. She was from a small town where she had no doubt
been ostracized for her life choices. And Buffy had always had that good girl next door
look to her. Wilma...Daisy...what the hell was her name...probably expected some Bible
thumping housewife to come spewing prayers and crosses. Lucky for...her...Joyce
Summers grew up in LA and worked in art galleries. This was not her first experience
with homosexuality.
"Did you...Did you dye your hair for the dance?"
A shaking hand raised but was caught before it could actually run through her hair. "Well
I darkened it to match Summers...I mean Buffy's dress. But no, the hair is pretty much
always this way."
"Oh."
A giggle bubbled up from Willow's throat. With a look of abject horror she snapped her
mouth shut. Her chin dropped onto her chest and her eyes zeroed in on her feet.
*********
Alexander Harris had spent the last hour sitting at the same table. It was a nice table. It
had all its legs, nice long legs, with enough chairs to seat everyone, including Xander's
invisible date, AntiCordelia.
Xander and AC, as he had come to call her, were having a very long and involved
conversation. They were discussing the neuroses behind spending an hour waiting for
you best friend, who happened to be the best girlfriend material in the world, except that
entire gay thing, and her date to show up. Just so that you could spend another two or
three hours having the fact that you were a pathetic loser rubbed in your face by their
happiness.
For the last fifteen minutes AC had been laughing at him.
The only good news was that Cordelia, the queen bitch herself, had yet to show up. In
fact, if the little snippet he has listened in on were true, no one knew where she was, or if
she was even going to show. At least he wouldn't have to endure the constant barbs
tonight.
Instead there was the collective pity stare coming from the geek table. One of
them...Jonathan...had even invited him over. Of course Xander wasn't going. Even he
wasn't that pathetic. That and they all had dates, albeit chicks with outfits that in some
form resembled Princess Laiya.
Please let this end soon.
***********
Cordelia Chase had been waiting in the foyer of her parents expensive house for all most
fifteen minutes. Fifteen entire minutes. She was super pissed now. She was the one who
got to be fashionably late. No one made Cordelia Chase wait.
She had to stand through it all because this damn dress would be ruined if she sat down.
Her shoes weren't made for standing. They were made for torturing young boys and
making the Cordy the envy of every female within viewing distance.
Of course the Lezbos wouldn't get this. Butch was probably wearing a suit. Which
Cordelia would have to remind her was so eighties and therefore so over. Buffy would be
in a dress, one that was a couple of months out of fashion and a couple of decade past
good taste. Those two definitely wouldn't have any fashion conscience.
Why did she agree to do this? Oh yeah...Xander. What had she said that in one of those
wimpy breathy voices. Cause if so...she was going to have to kill herself. No way was
Xander Harris breathy material. Sure he was kind of cute, if you were into guys who
couldn't dress, or walk and talk at the same time, or is serious for more than like two
seconds. Cordelia guessed she kind of was.
End Part 12