Author's Notes: I would like to say that my prayers are with the families that lost loved ones in yesterday's shooting in Newtown, Connecticut. This chapter doesn't really have anything to do with it, but I wanted to say so all the same. May God give them peace and comfort, and although nothing can ever give them back what they lost, may they find joy and happiness remembering all the good times they had. It broke my heart, 20 children, ten days before Christmas. Those presents will never be opened. Wherever you are, please stop and take a moment this holiday season, to think about what really matters. And while this chapter is cute and funny, and hopefully will make you laugh, try and remember that what really matters, what's really the most important, is not the gifts or the tree or pretty decorations. This holiday is about Love, and lots of it, something we need now more than ever.

The next morning, Micky stumbled sleepily from the guest bedroom to the bathroom to get ready for the day, eyes closed, not really watching where he was going.

The evening before had been tense, if not outright stressful, but by the time the Monkees had gone to bed, they had all wordlessly decided that gang-leader or not, Howie was still a fun guy, and though they still disagreed with his plans to train Peter to take his place as Mr. Best and were going to do everything in their power to change his mind, they decided to try and enjoy themselves. It might be a long time before they would be able to visit Kent again, so they wanted to make the most of it.

Howie had gone into work early that morning, however, so there was even less tension in the air now.

Perhaps if the air had been thick with it, Micky wouldn't have run into the wall next to the bathroom door. Groaning, he tried again and actually made it through the door.

When he came back out, he was much more awake, and noticed that he'd knocked a picture frame off the wall when he'd run into it. Picking it up, he saw that instead of a picture, there was some kind of letter in the frame.

Reading it, he grinned, then set off to the kitchen to find the others. They had to see this.

"Guys!" Micky yelled as he ran into the kitchen. Polly dropped her spoon in surprise.

"Micky!" She gasped, hand over her heart. "What did you yell for!? You scared me half to death!"

"Sorry, Polly," Micky said, grinning. "I just found this note on the wall, and I wanted the others to see it."

Polly saw the frame and grinned, and the other Monkees looked up at Micky.

"A note?" Davy asked. "What does it say?"

Micky cleared his throat and began reading, glancing at a confused Peter as he did so.

"Dear Mrs. Tork," he said. "Peter is a very nice boy, who always respects the other children and obeys the rules. He is quick to share his toys and his snack, and he follows direction with a willingness not found in most children of his age."

"What is this?" Mike asked in confusion as Peter turned to his mom, blushing slightly.

"You framed this?" He asked her.

She nodded. "It's a note from Peter's Kindergarten teacher," She said.

Mike frowned, confused himself. "Why would you frame a note from his Kindergarten teacher?" He asked.

Polly shrugged. "I thought it was a cute note," she said. "So I saved it. Then, when I started missing him after he moved out, I found it and decided to frame it."

"It's not done yet," Micky said. "There's more."

Looking down at the note, he kept reading. "However," he read aloud "He has a tendency to look at things from a different perspective. Take today, for example. Today, during craft time, I had the children do some finger-painting. I noticed that Peter was using a brush, so I went to take it from him and discovered that he was actually painting a picture of fingers."

Peter blushed harder as Mike and Davy both laughed.

"Oh, Peter," Davy said. "You would..."

"I would have framed that picture, if I hadn't lost it," Polly said sadly. "You know, Peter's really a very talented artist."

"Yeah, we know," Davy said, remembering the last time Peter had taken up painting.

Marissa looked up at Peter. "You're an artist?" She asked him curiously.

Peter shook his head. "It's fun and everything," he said. "But painting is too dangerous for my tastes."

"Dangerous?" Polly said, chuckling. "What's so dangerous about painting?"

"You'd be surprised," Mike said dryly.

"Alright, something tells me you boys have a pretty good story to tell," Polly said with a smile. "So spill it. What happened to turn you off to the idea of art?"

"Well, it all started when Peter decided to take up painting," Micky said, and then launched into the tale.

By the end of it, Polly was laughing hysterically as Marissa giggled and even the Monkees, who had been there at the time, found new reasons to laugh.

"So then, we managed to trick them into following us through the invisible beams," Micky said in between laughs.

"Let me guess," Polly said. "All six of you went to jail in five seconds?"

"You got it," Mike said.

"Oh, that's too much," Polly said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I knew you all got into trouble together, but really."

Just then, the clock rang out, and Polly started. "Oh!" She exclaimed. "It's later than I thought! Marissa, honey, get your things. We've gotta get you to preschool!"

The little girl ran off and Polly stood up quickly. "Oh dear," she said. "And I still haven't got the dry cleaning ready. I was supposed to drop it off on the way. And I need to get the shopping list ready, and oh my, my hair's still in curlers!"

"Well, we could take Marissa down to the preschool if that would help," Mike offered.

Polly smiled at him gratefully. "Oh, would you boys do that for me?" She asked. "How sweet! I knew Peter had found good friends, but I didn't know you were all so helpful! Do you know where the school is?"

"Well, we don't," Davy said, pointing to himself, Mike and Micky. "But Peter probably remembers where it is, even if he didn't go to this preschool."

"Yeah, I know where it is," Peter said. "We can walk her down there for you."

"Are you sure it won't be too much trouble?" Polly asked.

"Oh, it won't be any trouble at all," Mike assured her. "I kinda wanted to walk around Kent a little myself, see what all's here."

"Okay," Polly said as Marissa walked back into the room, carrying a small pink backpack.

"Marissa," Polly said. "The boys are going to take you to preschool today, so you be good for them, okay?"

"Yes, mommy," Marissa said, running up to Peter and placing her small hand in his. He smiled down at her as they all walked through the hall and out the front door.

She chattered throughout the walk, talking all about how much fun she had at preschool, how much she liked her teacher, and how she and Meg always sat together at lunch.

"Meg sounds really fun," Micky said, with a sidelong glance at Davy, who grimaced, knowing what Micky was up to. "Do you play with Meg often?"

"Oh yes," Marissa said, not noticing the two boys above her. "She's my best friend in the whole world, and I love playing with her."

"But wait a minute," Micky said in faux innocence. "I thought you said Davy could be your best friend?"

"They can both be my best friend," Marissa said. "People can have more than one, you know."

"You hear that, Davy?" Micky said. "You can both be her best friend."

"Good to know," Davy said, shooting a glare at Micky, who snickered.

"Meg's coming over to my house after school today," Marissa said, looking up at Davy. "We could have a tea party. Can you come, Davy?"

"I don't know," Davy said reluctantly, hating to say 'No,' but unwilling to say yes.

"Oh come on, Davy," Micky said mercilessly. "You wouldn't want to disappoint poor Marissa here. Not after she offered to let you be another best friend! You could all do each other's hair!"

"Micky, leave him alone, would'ja?" Mike said, although he was smirking slightly himself.

"You can come too, Micky," Marissa said, looking up at the drummer, who froze. "We'll make it a foursome. Me, Meg, Davy and you."

"Uh..." Micky started, but Davy interrupted with a laugh.

"Alright," He said. "I'll come if Micky comes. You wouldn't want to disappoint poor Marissa, now, would'ja, Mick?"

Micky groaned. "Fine," he said. "We'll come." Determined to get one last dig in at Davy, he sighed and stood up. "At least I won't have to get my hair done."

"Oh, don't worry," Marissa said, looking up at Micky's curly poufy hairstyle. "I'm sure we can come up with something." She frowned. "Although, it might take awhile."

The others laughed as Micky turned red. At least Davy's hair that looked like Meg's was nice. His was something to be challenged.

After they dropped Marissa off at the school, they walked around the town, Peter pointing out different shops and restaurants, telling them a few stories about his life before he'd moved out.

"Gee, this place is pretty small," Micky noted, looking around at the downtown area.

"Yeah, it is," Peter said, slowing to a stop and looking around. "But small-town life can have it perks. Everybody knew everybody, you could hardly walk down the street without running into someone you- Oof!"

He was cut short as from seemingly out of nowhere a man turned the corner and ran into him, full speed.

"Peter, are you alright?" Davy asked as he and Mike helped the two men to their feet.

"Wow, you were right," Micky noted, referring to what Peter had said the day he met the man- by running into him. "You do get run into a lot. You're a very unlucky person."

"You're telling me," Peter grunted, catching his breath.

"Peter!?" The man asked in surprise.

Peter looked up at him. "Pointy!?" He exclaimed.

"No way!" The man said, smiling. "Peter! I never thought I'd run into you again!"

"You mean it wasn't on purpose this time?" Peter asked him.

"On purpose!?" The man said. "I didn't even know you were in town! Just dumb luck, running into you here."

"Peter, who is this?" Davy asked, bewildered.

"Oh, sorry," Peter said. "Guys, this is one of my friends from high-school, Pointy Q. Zimmerman."

"You've gotta be kidding me," Micky said. "Your name is Pointy Q. Zimmerman!?"

Pointy smiled. "Well, my full name is Pointdexter Quebec," he said. "But Pointy Q. is easier to say."

"You bet it is," Mike said. "Anyway, I'm Michael Nesmith, that's Davy Jones, and that's Micky Dolenz, we're Peter's friends."

"Finally replaced me, eh?" Pointy said jovially, shaking hands with each of the Monkees. "I gotta say, I'm impressed. I'm not easily replaceable. I was voted "Most likely to Make Friends" in Middle-school.

"That's not what I remember," Peter said with a grin. "I remember you winning "Most Annoying" and then I remember you shoving the ballot in Dougy Carmichael's mouth."

Pointy laughed. "Ah yeah," he said. "Good times, eh Pete?"

"Yeah," Peter agreed.

"So what was Peter like back in school?" Micky asked.

Pointy laughed. "Pete?" He said. "Pete was probably the nicest, most level-headed guy ever to walk the halls of our school. He was also the only one nobody ever remembered."

"Nobody remembered him?" Davy said with a confused frown. "What do you mean, nobody ever remembered him?"

"Pete left school before senior year," Pointy explained. "Decided to go travel, hitch-hike across America, he said. So he said goodbye to me and the gang, and took off. About halfway through senior year, somebody noticed he was gone."

"You're kidding," Mike said.

Pointy laughed again. "Nope," he said. "Shelly Anderson walks up to me during lunch one day, and she says 'Hey Pointy.' 'Yeah?' I say. She looks around and says 'Where's that blonde kid that used to hang out with you? I haven't seen him around lately'."

"Wow," Peter quipped. "She actually noticed I was gone? And here I thought she only cared about herself."

"I know, right?" Pointy said. "Surprised me out of my mind! I couldn't even say where you'd gone, I was so surprised. After a minute, she left without an answer and spread a rumor that you'd run away to Alaska where you got a job driving a Zamboni ice-resurfacer and broke through thin ice and drowned."

The Monkees all blinked, and Peter raised his eyebrows. "Really?" He said. "Shelly Anderson came up with that one all by herself?"

"Okay, you got me," Pointy said with a grin. "I started that rumor. Eventually, one of the teachers heard it and sent some flowers to your mother. That really freaked her out, and then I had to come clean. She never forgave me."

"No kidding," Mike said, imagining Polly getting condolence flowers for the apparent death of her son, whom she'd already been worrying about.

"But hey," Pointy said. "It was really funny to walk down the halls and hear some kid that never talked to you a day in your life talk about the "loss." That made it worth it. I'll tell you what, Peter, you were more popular senior year than you ever were before."

"That's not a nice thing to say," Micky said with a frown.

"Oh, but it's true," Pointy insisted. "Other than me and the gang, Peter here just never really hit it off with anybody. A lot of the kids didn't even know his name. In fact, during elementary school, a lot of the kids thought his name was Peter Dork."

"Dork!?" Davy exclaimed as Mike shook his head and chuckled. "That's just cold," he said.

"You said it," Peter smiled. "But at least I was able to set the record straight. Pointy here had to admit to his name."

"Eh, I turned it into a joke," Pointy said, shrugging. "Kinda hard to make fun of somebody if they're laughing right along with you. One time, Dougy told me I had the stupidest name in history. I told him he had a Point."

The Monkees all laughed at that.

"I also remember hearing you tell someone that for every finger they Pointed at you, there were four more Pointing back at them," Peter said. "Right before you started poking them to death."

"Oh yeah, that was funny," Pointy said. "Then there was the time I told Mary Hooper that it was Pointless for her to pick on me, and when she still didn't let up, I told her I gave her permission to Point and laugh at me."

"After that, he started taping signs to his own back, telling people to Point and laugh," Peter said, turning to the others. "After awhile, people realized that it didn't bother him."

"It didn't bother me at all," Pointy said with a grin. "I love hearing new lame puns about my name."

"You should score everyone on their attempts," Mike said, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as he attempted to keep a straight face. "Rank them on some sort of... Point system."

Pointy laughed. "That's a good one," he said. "But hey, I gotta get going. I just remembered, I'm late for an appointment. It was really nice seeing you again, Pete! Are you gonna be in town?"

"Yeah, for a little while at least," Peter said. "You should drop by."

"Can't," Pointy said with a lopsided grin. "Your mother still hates me for pretending you were dead. Besides, Marissa gives me the creeps."

"Marissa!?" Mike exclaimed in disbelief. "How does Marissa give you the creeps!?"

"Ran into her at the park once," Pointy said. "She tried to get me to play mermaids with her because her friend had to go home. I told her I wasn't interested, so she chased me around and threw dirt at my head. Anyway, I'll see ya around!"

With that, Pointy took off running down the street and out of sight.

"She threw dirt at his head?" Davy asked, half skeptically, half worriedly.

"Yeah," Peter scoffed. "And I was drowned in a Zamboni Ice-resurfacer accident in Alaska. Don't believe everything Pointy says, he's a great guy and everything, but he's a pretty consistent liar. He'll say anything if he thinks it could be funny."

"Got it," Mike said, smirking at the young man he'd just met. "Man, Peter, you sure had some crazy friends."

"Hey now," Peter said, grinning. "They can't all be Micky Dolenz's."

"True, very true," Micky said solemnly, nodding his head. "That would be admittedly creepy. I mean, Baby Face Morales was one thing. Another Micky Dolenz? Weird."

As promised, Marissa threw her tea party that evening with her friend Meg, and Davy and Micky, as promised, attended.

With water instead of tea, milk instead of cream, and salt instead of sugar, it was by far the worst cup of tea they had ever had, but they hid their grimaces and assured Marissa that everything was delicious. Once tea was over, it was time to do their hair.

Peter and Mike stood in the doorway as Marissa, using a bright pink comb, complimented a red-faced Davy's hair repeatedly, as she tried several different styles and several different barrettes. Meanwhile, Meg was having her own problems with Micky's hair, as after wetting it down (getting Micky's shirt soaked in the process) and painfully yanking a brush through it several times, she declared it was impossible and proceeded to tie several different colored bows in different places, creating a rather psychedelic-meets-poodle affect.

The entire time the two boys hair was getting done, Mike and Peter snickered at them behind their hands, and solemnly praised the work done by the two girls.

Finally, it was done. Meg and Marissa stood back to admire their handiwork, and Peter and Mike tried hard not to laugh, as Davy and Micky stared grimly into two hand mirrors provided by the girls.

"I look like a circus clown," Micky moaned, examining the ribbons.

"That's nothing," Davy said, as his hair was parted down the side and held back out of his face with two pink barrettes. "I look like a girl!"

"Yeah, Davy," Mike said, his voice almost squeaking with his attempt to hide his laughter. "Yeah you do."

"I wanted to do Davy's hair," Meg grumbled. "I got the raw end of the deal with Fuzzy over here."

"Hey!" Micky exclaimed.

"I'm sorry," Marissa said smoothly. "I just figured since his hair was such a challenge, you would have better luck. You do have more talent with this sort of thing, you know."

The Monkees all blinked as Meg considered this. Marissa's flattery worked, and the young girl smiled. "Okay," she said. "I guess you're right. But next time, I want to get first pick on our customers."

"Deal," Marissa said. "How about we do the two of you?" She said, turning towards Mike and Peter, who froze.

"I don't know..." Mike started.

Marissa was a very determined girl, however, and after much persuading, she got Mike and Peter to sit down while Micky and Davy took their places at the door, watching.

An hour later found Howie coming home from work and finding four very grumpy Monkees sitting at the dinner table, eating their food in silence, their hair a testimony to what had them in such a bad mood.

Marissa had done Mike's hair, she managed to get it to curl up somewhat, and placed one green headband in it. Meg had picked Peter, and now his blonde hair was separated into several pigtails, which stuck up in all directions.

Marissa had convinced them to promise not to change it until after dinner, so the meal was a quiet one.

Then Polly brought out dessert, and asked Davy to pass one of the plates of dessert to Howie.

Davy obliged, and with a smile, Howie spoke up. "Thanks, Miss," He said.

Davy groaned and put his head on the table.

"Oh, Howie, leave poor Davy alone," Polly said mischievously. "Davy, dear, don't worry, I think your hair looks marvelous. Now, be a love and pass this plate on to Minnie Mouse."

Now it was Micky's turn to groan, as Mike, suddenly struck with the actual hilarity of the situation, began to laugh quietly.

"Leave me alone, Mike," Micky whined. "You don't look much better."

"That's just it," Mike said. "Micky, look at Peter. Peter, look at Davy. Davy, look at me. Really look."

The Monkees all looked at each other, still grumpy. After a second, they all blinked, then began to laugh themselves. Soon enough, everyone at the table was laughing as they ate their dessert.

"I look absolutely ridiculous," Peter commented, looking at his reflection on the back of a spoon.

"You're telling me," Micky said. "Hey! Shake your head really fast, it'll make your pigtails bounce!"

Peter obliged, and the table burst into laughter once more.

"Davy, your hair looks absolutely divine," Mike said to Davy after they'd settled down somewhat.

Davy reached up with his hand and flipped his hair over his shoulder. "Why, thank you, Mike," he said. "I like your headband."

"What about me?" Micky asked, looking around at the others. They all looked back for a second.

"Sorry, Micky," Peter said finally. "You still just look goofy."

"Your hair is impossible," Marissa commented.

"I think it's groovy," Davy said. "You should wear it like that more often."

"Yeah, maybe it'll get us more gigs," Peter said.

"Or less," Mike deadpanned.

They kept on like this until Micky happened to laugh right as he was swallowing a bite of dessert, and choked on it, gasping and retching until Mike had to hit him on the back several times to get him to cough it back up.

"Gee, thanks," Micky said gratefully once he caught his breath.

"No problem," Mike said. "...Miss."

They all helped to clear the table, and as the last of the dishes were put away, Polly came out of the bedroom, carrying a camera. "Oh no," Mike started, but Howie cut him off.

"Oh, come on, boys!" He said. "This is a memory, this is a grand time we all had together as a family! Let's please capture this moment, so we can always look back and remember tonight!"

Mike sighed. "...Fine," He said. "Come on, fellas, let's get this over with."

"I wanna be in the picture, too!" Marissa exclaimed, running over to Peter. "Pick me up," she ordered, and he obeyed.

"Okay, everybody, get together," Polly said, holding the camera up and peering into it.

The Monkees all stood together, Peter holding Marissa, and Howie standing behind Davy so he could be seen by the camera.

"Smile," Polly said, and they all grinned goofily as she snapped the picture.

"That was perfect!" She said. "Oh, I can't wait to get that developed! This is going over the fireplace!"

"Great," Mike said. "Now everyone who goes into the den will see us in our pigtails and headbands."

"That's not even the worst of it," Micky said. "I think I blinked."

The next morning, the local barber had a very good business day, as four boys with long hair came marching in for a haircut. Not too short, they'd said. But a haircut none the less.