Part 8
Buffy cast a disgusted glance at the plate sitting in front of her—not in the least bit tantalising, and looking worse than a her mother's meatloaf every second. And that was saying a lot... What was *supposed* to be a cafeteria lunch looked pretty much like dog food with gravy...and brown, unidentified chunky blobs that slipped off the fork like greasy noodles. The odour was...well, to put it simply, it was rather unpleasant.
Buffy put down her fork and tried not to look at the brown mush that the lunch lady seemed to consider edible and put a hand over her mouth. "Okay, eww..."
"I don't think 'eww' really sums it up. It needs more syllables; more gusto. Like...nyah-uh," Xander said, shaking his hands for dramatic effect. "Either way, it's still pretty damned gross."
"Not to go all 'Gone With the Wind' on you all, but I'll never be hungry again. Not after seeing this...what IS this?"
"Fiddle-dee-dee," Xander quipped. "I believe they're calling it Beef Mulligan today," Xander paused, "whatever a mulligan is."
"A mulligan stew is just one of those ones where they chuck in all the ingredients they can find and cross their fingers," Willow said matter-of-factly, "like Caesar Salad."
"I like Caesar Salad," Oz added. "Especially the anchovies. Nice and salty."
"Willow? How did you know that?" Xander asked suspiciously. "Looked it up cos you were just curious?"
Willow smiled sheepishly and sank into a slouch in her chair. "Yep."
"That isn't necessarily a bad thing," Oz said, comfortingly putting his arm around her and kissing her striking, red hair, "at least we now know what a mulligan is."
"We still don't know what's in it though," Buffy added, cringing at her next thought, "but I'm not too sure I want to know."
They all made a face, thinking of all the horrible things that could've been in their food when they had had cafeteria lunches all through their time at school, and thanking their lucky stars that they all now brought their own lunch—made by themselves or otherwise. No matter how 'uncool' it was to bring lunch, it was known that the food at the cafeteria was probably poisoned by the slightly insane lunch lady. Her very much squished-in face was enough to draw suspicion; the permanent crabby scowl attached just became too monotonous to scare them—now she was adding the evil smile on top of the crabby scowl. Very effective.
Buffy pulled her lunchbox out of her bag—environmentally friendly, no paper wastage, very cute—which she had bought when she had gone to Japan the year before. It had a cartoon hamster on it wearing a kimono and a mop of black hair in a style similar to a geisha's.
"Oh would you look at that," Xander mocked light-heartedly, holding the little lunchbox up as if he were standing up in class in first grade doing his Show-and-Tell item, "it's Buffy's teeny-tiny cutesy-wootsy lunchbox." He stuck his bottom lip and tilted his head as if he were a little girl.
"Haha, Mary Kate. Why don't you run along, find Ashley and go play marbles on the train tracks? It'll be fun," Buffy said in a sing-song voice. "Then we can rejoice."
"I'm the Mary!" Xander said in voice that sounded as if he was trying to imitate that of an old woman. Willow and Oz just looked on with puzzled expressions planted firmed on their faces.
"No, *I'm* the Mary," Buffy shot back playfully.
"No. You're the Rhoda," Xander said with a grin.
"Mary and Rhoda? What'd you do? Watch 'Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion'?" Willow asked.
"Let me just point out that that was the stupidest movie I've ever seen," Xander paused. "I just always wanted to do the whole 'Mary and Rhoda' bicker with someone..." Xander shrugged sheepishly. "That was fun. Can we do it again?"
"How'd you get from Mary Kate and Ashley to Mary and Rhoda?" Oz asked, scrunching up his brow in thought.
"Name association."
"Oh...gotcha."
"Anyway, getting back to the point, that is one teeny-tiny lunchbox. You need to eat more. It can't be healthier than my *lovely* Twinkie lunch," Xander said, emptying his brown paper bag onto the table. Out came three packs of Twinkies, all slightly squished. "My mum almost sat on them."
"Try the Beef Mulligan. I hear it's good," Oz quipped, pushing the tray towards Xander.
Xander backed away as far as he could, taking his Twinkies with him. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm good. With my Twinkies. Junk food of choice... Oh my God, get that thing away from me!" Xander feigned fear of the Beef Mulligan, holding a hand against his forehead melodramatically, and unceremoniously shoving a Twinkie into his mouth at the same time.
"Hey, my lunch is perfectly healthy. I'll have you know that I have more food in my bag and a nice big bottle of Evian. So there, Twinkie Boy. I'm not allowed to have junk food and even if I were, I like Oreos cos they aren't full of fattening cream."
"Isn't the white stuff in Oreos cream?"
"It's icing, Xander."
"Oh... Well...the biscuit part gets stuck on your teeth and makes them look all black and yucky. I still have trauma from a *particular* experience," Xander narrowed his eyes at Willow.
"What? Oh! The Oreo Incident? I remember now. That was so funny," Willow said calmly, before being unable to hold it any longer and bursting out laughing. "Oh my God, that was...it was just classic."
Xander glared at his red headed friend, "Laugh now. I'll get you back for that one of these days..."
"Yeah, and that day shall come. On the day that you decide you hate Twinkies."
"Never! I'll never hate Twinkies! How can anyone hate Twinkies..." Xander's question fizzled out as he realised what Willow had just said. "Hey!"
"I burned the photo, okay? Into the blistering hot fireplace during the blistering hot Hanukkah of '98," Willow said, smiling at the memory. "Remember? It was the year that you tripped over your own feet while doing the Snoopy Dance."
"Umm...no need to embarrass me more, Will," Xander said, stuffing another fattening yellow bar of cakey Twinkie goodness into his mouth.
"Sorry. It was just so funny...alright, I won't say anything."
"What's the Snoopy Dance?"
"Don't tell her, Will."
"Tell me!"
"Just tell her."
"Can I tell her?"
"No! Please, God, no! I still need revenge on so many things that I've lost count. Especially for the time I fell asleep during Bio and you made sleepy-me volunteer to be the make-believe ant."
"The antennae looked so cute!"
"Tell me!"
"Oh God..."
"You eat sushi for lunch?"
*****
Buffy slumped into the chair (or, rather, her stool) and almost collapsed with the pain in her throat and her gut. All the laughing had done bad things to her. **Oh shit...and I have voice training this afternoon! Fuck! Bury me right now before Jenny does... Although, all those stories were so funny...definitely worth it.** Buffy took out her books and pencil case and folded her hands on the table, awaiting the arrival of the rest of the class as well as Dr Gregory. **Argh. Mini-quizzy-thingo...why'd you have to be on today?**
"Hey, Buffy. Willow," Angel greeted them each with a nod, setting down his folder and opening it to hide the pictures on the front and back covers. "Don't laugh," he warned Buffy. "I was in a rush this morning," he said, pursing his lips.
"Really? Maybe we should carpool you then," Buffy said, trying not to smile at the oddly attractive notion. Maybe she could even somehow force Gunn to ride up front with the driver...
"I sometimes drive, sometimes I walk," Angel replied flatly, considering the idea of the interesting position of himself and Buffy *alone* in a limo and remembering that she had that good-looking boyfriend of hers. He wasn't really into the cheating types—that being the basis of his dislike for Darla.
"I can tell you're very enthusiastic about that arrangement," Buffy said sarcastically, keeping eye contact with his constantly darting eyes.
"I am," Angel gulped as her piercing green eyes kept contact with his own. His gaze travelled across her very scarcely made-up face, down the seemingly endless expanse of creamy, silky skin of her neck and chest, and finally down at his twitching feet.
"Well at least consider my offer," Buffy said.
"Okay, I will," Angel said, giving up the argument. No need to push it towards the 'why not' end of the scale. "I see you got onto the cheerleading squad. Then you can cheer me and the boys on when we play next, next week. Or maybe it was next, next, NEXT week. I'm not too sure."
"Speaking of, how'd the tryouts go yesterday?" Buffy asked.
"Don't ask," Angel shook his head, with a slight smile.
"That speaks volumes."
"Good afternoon class. I'm sorry for my lateness, I was actually held up by next door's science class. The substitute was having trouble with the, uh, science," Dr Gregory said as he organised his things while having to fix his glasses after every other word. His whole demeanour was frazzled and disorganised.
The class laughed, knowing whom he had been referring to. Natalie French, an elderly substitute teacher who had been wandering the halls not knowing her way. She had to ask about half a dozen people for directions before she found the room she was supposed to be in. And on top of it all, she wasn't a very good science teacher. Dr Gregory had considered inviting the class to join his, but remembered that his class was supposed to be having their test. Not exactly the best working environment, not to mention that the other class were freshmen and the entire lack of bench space. The Advanced Chem class was already bursting, even with the renovation of the labs to allow for larger classes.
"My memory might be failing me, but I do believe that we have a quiz scheduled for today, though. I hope you've all studied," Dr Gregory teased them. "This is just to check that you understood the revision that I gave you yesterday, so the marks won't go to your reports or anything like that, so don't panic. It'll also help me to see standard of your understanding for this subject for those who were in Mr. McNamara's class last year."
Half the class breathed out a sigh of relief—those who hadn't studied, and those who had been in worry-hyper-mode. Either way, it was a relief to everyone.
"You'll have 20 mins and then I'll collect your papers," Dr Gregory announced as he put a test paper on everyone's desks. "Pen-only please."
Buffy spotted Marcy Ross waving from her desk near the front of the room. Buffy smiled back and turned to look at the test that had been placed in front of her. **Wow. I didn't even need to study. Phew...**
"Principal Snyder tells me you're kind of a genius," Dr Gregory said to Buffy, before placing a test paper in front of Angel. "You may begin."
**Huh? I'm not THAT smart...the last time I checked.**
19 minutes and twenty questions later, Buffy sat quietly in her seat, looking out the window—partially in boredom, partially in curiosity. In the time it had taken for them to do the test, it had somehow started to rain and a rainbow had formed. It had been so long since she'd seen a rainbow. The travelling and working and performing and the whole hectic shebang had prevented her from really doing anything else.
"Okay, pens down."
The clatter of pens hitting the desk and the loud sighs of those stretching their arms after the relatively hard 'quiz'. Fingers cracked and many had started chatting to those near them. The boom of thunder came from outside, causing many to jump at the abrupt noise.
Everyone handed their papers in as Dr Gregory made his way around the classroom.
"That was hard," Willow finally said.
"I second that," Angel agreed.
"It wasn't THAT hard..." Buffy mumbled truthfully.
"Okay then, you're just abnormally smart," Willow commented.
"When did it start to rain?" Angel asked, peering out the window.
"Didn't notice," Willow and Buffy said in unison.
"Well at least we won't have to have practise this afternoon..." Angel said cheerfully.
"How's your arm now?" Willow asked, inadvertently leaving Buffy out of the loop.
"It's good. My physio says I can play as soon as next week."
"That's good! I told you it'd be okay for the new season," Willow beamed.
"What happened to your arm?" Buffy finally asked. She had checked out both his arms and found neither hide nor hair of what they could be talking about. No scars, bandages, or anything like that.
"Fracture. In my left arm," Angel turned his arm in an awkward position for her to see the 2-and-a-half inch scar that ran along his forearm.
"Ouch. Was that from the falling off the house?"
Angel chuckled. "No. That's a completely different thing altogether."
The bell rung, signalling the end of school. It had started to rain again. And being California, it was pretty much a given that nobody had brought umbrellas. Which kinda left a whole lot of people in a rut... Why did it have to rain?
"Ugh. I have cheerleading practise..." Buffy mumbled, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.
"At least *you* won't have to walk home..." Willow said disdainfully. "Oh, wait, Oz can drive me," Willow said excitedly. "I guess it won't be so bad after all. I have to go...find Oz. Bye!" With that, she hurried out of the classroom with a spring in her step.
"Need a ride home?"
Angel shook his head. "It's okay. I'll wait it out."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Okay... See you later then." Buffy spun on her heel and followed Willow's lead. **What's that guy's problem? Who does he think he is? A guy... I mean, I can take a hint, but that was just...cold. Guys... They're always like that. Hot one minute (okay, metaphorically, cos Angel's always hot...BUFFY!), cold the next. Who do they think they are? A couple of guys...**