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8:15 on the dot.

He was exactly fifteen minutes late.

He was never late.

Riley stared at his watch actually feeling the seconds mercilessly tick away. It was probably the thousandth time he'd checked it that morning.

8:16 am...

He didn't get it! This kid lived for school didn't he? It was an understood rule that at 8:00, the 'morning ritual' began and he'd shown up on time every day and took his undeserved punishment.

For four years it never failed,

But by 8:17 Monday morning - two weeks before graduation -

'Wee-Willie' Hall was nowhere to be found.

"Maybe he's sick." The voice of Scott Hope broke the silence among the group of boys. He gave Riley a lopsided smile. "It could happen."

"Willie doesn't get sick!" Riley shouted, looking up from his watch for the thousandth-and-one time. "Has anyone actually ever seen him sick?"

"Uh..."

"Um..."

"No, you haven't," he said abruptly, ending the chorus of confused grunts and mumbles. "Willie's got some kind of Super Geek immune system."

8:18am....

Angel sighed. "So he's late, Riley; the world won't stop turning."

"Yeah, but this throws off my whole day, you know?"

The group nodded in understanding.

8:19am....

Forrest patted Riley on the back reassuringly. "There's always tomorrow, buddy."

**

One, well-manicured hand came up to cover her mouth as she let out one, elegantly long yawn: Ray-Ban's hiding her tired, green eyes. Buffy laughed suddenly as if she'd been programmed to, earning looks from the other girls.

"Did you forget your anti-insane-o pill this morning, Buffy?"

The blonde's mouth quickly snapped shut when she finally realized she was the only one laughing. Buffy propped her sunglasses on the top of her head. "Isn't it 8:00?"

"It's the 8:00 hour," Anya supplied matter-of-factly, "but technically, it's 8:19."

Cecily smiled, "Angel keeping you up way past your bedtime again?"

"Uh-huh," Buffy muttered absently glancing around the quad.

Where was the scream of pain? The loud laughter? Where -

The first bell of the day sounded promptly at 8:20 and Buffy moved soundlessly into the building along with everyone else, briefly sparing a look at the flagpole as she passed it.

Where was William?

**

"Did you see that guy?! You saw that guy, right?!"

William ignored Xander and continued to steam ahead towards another rack of jeans.

"Who knew you could pierce your forehead...?"

Smiling proudly, he pulled out a perfect pair of black jeans and took a step back, running dead into Willow.

"Could you not stand so close, Wills?"

"Sorry." Willow blushed backing away from William. "It's just - they have plastic clothes in here and - and the guy behind the counter is wearing a Priest collar but I'm pretty sure he's not a Father at St. Joseph's. "She now clung to Xander's arm in genuine fear as her ears were assaulted relentlessly by a Slipknot song.

"They're not plastic and what do you think of these pants?" William stated holding up the pair of jeans for his two friends.

Xander looked at the jeans, looked at him, looked at the jeans again and then back at William and sighed dramatically. "If the flagpole hasn't already killed your chances of having children one day, those jeans will definitely get the job done."

"Oh, oh god!" Willow gasped suddenly. "It's 8:30! We're - we're late - we're beyond late - we're officially skipping! We're truants! They still have cops for that sort of thing, don't they?"

"Truants?" Xander gave her a look. "Feel free to come back to the twenty- first century anytime Wills." He turned to William. "In her own, special Willow-way, she does have a point, William. What's with the school skipping and the dragging us in a store where barbed-wire is sold as a hip accessory?"

He shrugged. "Felt like shopping is all."

"Shopping?!" Xander squeaked. "You felt like - did Buffy manage to brainwash you in the one afternoon you spent together?"

"Nobody's brainwashed me, you git!" he sighed, "Now, I'm gonna go and try this stuff on." William called back jokingly as he walked away, "Try not to frighten the customers you two."

Xander paused, gazing down at the redhead still attached to his arm.

"Hey, Willow, what's a git?"

**

"How short do you want it?"

William curiously titled his head to the side, studying his curly mop closely in the stylist's mirror. The girl loudly snapped her gum and raised her brows impatiently.

"Well?"

He turned to her. "As short as you want to go."





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