We arrived back at the school in plenty of time, sadly. I say 'sadly' because I'd hoped to avoid the traffic of the student body. Alas, we can't always get what we want, can we? I mean some people seem to manage it somehow, but most people don't.

Apologies. Digressing.

Our group soon broke up to go about our preparations, though Willow and I were headed in the same direction since I had to retrieve a book I'd left in my locker, so we walked together for a time through the halls. She was still embarrassed that Buffy was upset with her abrupt costume change.

"Maybe I should have just stayed out of the sheet." She fretted.

"Nonsense." I assured her. "I mean, if you want to take the sheet off, go ahead."

"I don't."

"Then leave it on."

"But Buffy…"

"Is Buffy," I finished for her, "and she's just mildly putout that you're not as outgoing as her. But you don't have to be. Just be you."

"Even if I'm in a costume?"

I nodded. "Certainly." I said.

She came to a slow halt, thinking about something.

"You go on ahead," she said after a moment, "I need to go to the bathroom. It's starting to get a little hot under here."

"Go ahead," I told her, "If I'm not here when you come back out, I've gone to the library."

Then we parted, she to the ladies' room and I to my locker, which was in the next hall.

I had just retrieved the book and slipped it gingerly into my bag when something caught my eye. Something had reflected the light, and when I turned I saw it was an electric guitar that a young man was holding.

He was small, well, I say small. He was my height, actually. No, not quite. He was an inch or two taller than I, so maybe 5'4 or 5'5, but he looked smaller because of how he slumped and how thin he was.

I recognized him, though I wasn't sure what his name was.

I'd seen him around, certainly, and that ginger hair was hard to forget, but we hadn't really spoken aside from one time in history class. He'd fallen asleep, or at least drifted away, because when he was called on to give an answer to a question about the French Revolution he didn't know what the question was, but had seemed too abashed to ask for it to be repeated.

So I'd whispered it to him, and told him the answer, though I think he knew the answer already.

He'd given me a fist-bump. No one's ever done that before, hence why I remembered it.

He seemed a nice enough young man, I thought. And the red guitar he was putting in its case was an expensive looking one. He must have had to save a long time to get it.

I frowned, wondering why I was letting him distract me. I turned and started to head back the way I'd come when an unfortunately familiar voice caught my attention.

"Oz!"

Cordelia marched toward the ginger-haired lad, dressed in a leopard leotard…and cat ears…

Well it takes all sorts, I suppose.

"Cordelia," Oz said from his squatted position on the floor, eyeballing her with a very sardonic look, I thought. "You're like a great big cat." He pointed out.

"That's my costume." Cordelia blinked.

God save me from that girl.

"Listen, are you guys playing tonight?" she demanded. Right, Oz was in a band. I'd known that but forgotten. It didn't seem particularly important at the time. When you live for such a long time you tend to filter out less imperative information.

"Yeah, at the Shelter Club." Oz answered, snapping the guitar case closed.

"Is Mr. 'I'm the lead singer, I'm so great, I don't have to show up for my date or even call' going to be there?"

Oz smirked and stood up.

"Yeah, he's just going be 'Devin' now."

I stifled a chuckle and moved towards the doorway to the joining corridor, so I could observe more closely.

"Well, you can tell him that I don't care," Cordelia said, "and that I didn't even mention it, and that…I didn't even see you. So that's just fine."

Poor Oz seemed as bewildered as I did. I swear I've never understood modern courtship. I doubt anyone does, really.

"So…what do I tell him?" Oz asked.

"Nothing!" Cordelia snapped, "Jeeze, get with the program!" she scoffed, and then stalked away again, heels clacking viciously on the tiled floor.

"See why can't I meet a nice girl like that?" Oz joked to himself. I stifled another laugh and started for the opposite hallway, when Willow came through.

"I need to find my kids!" she told me, "I'm late!"

I blinked at her and then pointed down the corridor to the courtyard, where there seemed to be hundreds of the tiny mortals scurrying about everywhere.

"Oh, right." She said. She started off in that direction, and collided with Oz, who had just turned around.

"Oh I'm sorry!" Oz murmured.

"Sorry!" Willow returned, no doubt blushing beneath the sheet.

This exchange of apologies went on the whole time they tried to disentangle themselves from each other, which was adorable, honestly.

"Sorry!" Willow exclaimed again, finally hurrying away. Oz turned to look after her, still walking, just not looking where he was going.

So he would have run into me had I not put my hand out and grabbed his shoulder.

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry." He said, turning back around. "Should probably not walk backwards, huh?" he commented, smirking.

"It might be wiser, yes." I nodded seriously. A look of recognition flashed across his face.

"Hey, do I know you?" he queried.

"Very possibly."

"So…that's a yes, right? You look like you're saying yes but trying to do the whole mysterious thing." He motioned to my rather colorless outfit.

"Am I that see-through?" I asked in mock consternation.

"Seems like it. I never see anyone talk to you. Except for that blond girl, uh, Buffy? And that librarian dude. Oh and Xander, but he talks to everyone."

"I like to keep my circle of friends small." I shrugged.

"Obviously. So, do I know you or what?" he asked. I smirked and nodded.

"History." I told him.

He blinked, and then pointed at me, slowly, the memory coming back.

"Riiiight." He drew the word out, "French Revolution."

"Indeed."

"Man, it's hard to remember you sometimes." He frowned, "It's really weird. Like you're just kind of a shadow drifting through the background of a memory. Hard to focus."

I blinked.

"Obviously the Literature class is paying off." I commented. He smirked and shrugged.

"So what's your name?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

I lifted an eyebrow at him.

"You wish to join my small circle of friends?" I asked, "So soon?"

"What, is there an entrance exam into that circle or something?" he asked, chuckling. "Or are you just trying to be stuffy and vague?"

I bit back a retort and a lecture on showing respect to one's elders. But…God help me…I liked him. He was…oddly refreshing in a very laid-back sort of way.

"Stuffy." I repeated. "Close enough."

He placed a hand on his chest. "I am known as Oz," he said, "now what's your name? Or do I have to call you Stuffy One from now on?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Fine," I sighed, "I'm known as Margery. Satisfied?"

"Pretty much." He nodded. He hesitated a second, and then offered his hand. "Nice to meet you, I guess."

I smirked at that, gripped his hand, and dipped my head in thanks.

"I guess it's nice to meet you as well, young man." I said.

I let my gaze linger on his face for a moment, absorbing every detail as quickly as I could. I wanted to remember this lad, for some reason. I felt like I should.

He held my gaze, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Cool." He said after a moment. Which was not what I had expected.

"See you around?" he asked.

I nodded.

"You know," I said, "I think you will."

"Cool." He repeated. "Look forward to it. See ya, Margery."

He gave a small wave, and then was gone, shuffling through the dense crowd of children.

I watched him go, and then remembered Giles was probably struggling with archaic Egyptian verbs. I had to rescue him.

I started for the library, still thinking of the young lad. Oz.

"I really have got to stop collecting children." I muttered to myself. "I'm getting too many strays….I'm turning into a nanny."

There are worse things to be, I suppose.

Strange how we find ourselves doing things we never expected to be doing.

Like being a nanny…

A six-hundred-and-thirty-seven year old nanny…