Changing Lives by Mabel Marsters

1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 8 :: 9 :: 10 :: 11 :: 12 :: 13 :: 14 :: 15 :: 16 :: 17 :: 18 :: 19 :: 20 :: 21 :: 22 :: 23 :: 24 :: 25 :: 26 :: 27 :: 28 :: 29 :: 30 :: 31 :: 32 :: 33 :: 34 :: 35 :: 36 :: 37 :: 38 :: 39 :: 40 :: 41 :: 42 :: 43 :: 44 :: 45 :: 46 :: 47 :: 48 :: 49 :: 50 :: 51 :: 52 :: 53 :: 54 :: 55 :: 56 :: 57 :: 58 :: 59 :: 60 ::

Chapter 25

Tuesday; another day that had Spike leaping out of bed with enthusiasm – not.

The first thing he had to do when he got to school was report to the guidance counsellor, something he really, really didn’t want to do. He could take pretty well everything else that was thrown at him but that was too much. His feet literally dragged along the floor as he walked to the office. A secretary told him to wait, so he sat down on one of the two hard wooden chairs that were next to the door.

After about ten minutes the door opened and the counsellor looked out.

“James Norman?” she enquired.

Spike nodded. He’d started to get a little more used to hearing that name; it didn’t cut him like a knife anymore.

“Come on in, sorry I kept you waiting.”

Spike followed her in. He wasn’t sure what he expected a guidance counsellor to look like but it certainly wasn’t like what was before him. He sat in the chair she indicated, which was a comfy armchair. He’d almost expected there to be a couch for him to lie down on, and he tried not to stare. She was beautiful - long dark hair tied back from her face but reaching well past her shoulders, and she had warm brown eyes. She was almost the same height as Spike and was casually dressed in blue jeans and a white linen blouse. You may have thought that she was trying to appear trendy or so students would identify with her more easily but the fact was she looked barely older than Spike, so the clothes just looked ‘right’.

She sat, not behind the desk but in another armchair positioned so it faced the one Spike was in at a bit of an angle. She held a notepad in her hand and on a low table between the two chairs there was a folder that Spike could see bore his name.

The counsellor regarded the youth in front of her and smiled inwardly.

* “Another reluctant customer” *

“Hi, James,” she said with a friendly smile, “I’m Monica Gibson.”

There was a pause before Spike muttered, “Um, hi Miss Gibson.”

“It’s ok, James, you can call me Monica. I’m not a teacher.”

“Okay,” he said. It was warm in the room so he shrugged off his leather duster and let it fall over the back of the chair.

“Oh!” exclaimed Monica, “You like Ghost of the Robot?”

Spike was quite taken aback. “Er…yeah.” He glanced down and realised he was wearing the t-shirt with their name on the front. “Wow, she’s real sharp spotting that. Let’s pretend to be interested in him then he’ll tell me everything,” he thought sarcastically.

“What’s your favourite track? I think mine’s “Dangerous” but it does vary depending on what mood I’m in,” said Monica.

“Okay, so she knows the band,” thought Spike before telling her, “I like “Dangerous” too but I love “Vehicles Shock Me” and “Mefiant”.

“I love “Mefiant” too but that’s not on the album, is it? Just on an EP CD.

“That’s right,” said Spike. She was the first person he’d met apart from James and Rich who knew of the band; admittedly he didn’t exactly have a wide social circle.

“So what other music do you like?” asked Monica, pleased to see the transformation as the boy in front of her lost his sullen expression and became animated as he talked about different bands and solo artists. Funnily enough they shared the same musical tastes.

“How about books, James? What’s your favourite novel or author?”

“Um,” said Spike shyly, “Everybody calls me Spike.”

“Spike? That’s different to most of the nicknames people get. I would’ve expected yours to be ‘Normy’, she joked.

“Normy? No way,” said Spike in disgust. “Lame.”

“So, Spike, favourite author or books?”

“I love all the “Dresden Files” by Jim Butcher and stuff by Harlan Coben but I’d ‘ave to say my all time favourite is still ‘Pride and Prejudice’.”

“Why’s that?” asked Monica.

“Dunno really.” For a moment Monica saw something pass over his face. “Just was kind of a total escape when I read it for the first time, totally different world, yer know?”

Monica nodded. She was a little surprised at him liking English classic literature since, according to his notes, he was doing worse in English than in any other subject. She looked at her watch.

“Well Spike, you’d better get on your way for your next class. The bell will be ringing soon.”

“Wot?” said Spike puzzled, “Is that it?”

“What do you mean?” asked Monica.

“Well aren’t yer, like, gonna ask me about why I got sent to see you?”

“It’s all in your notes, Spike, which I’ve read thoroughly,” replied Monica.

“But don’t yer want to ‘ear it from me?”

The bell rang shrilly.

“No time now, Spike. Off you go, you don’t want to be late.”

“But….”

“Go on, Spike. I’ll see you at the same time next week,” said Monica firmly. She put her notepad down on the table and Spike could see she’d written nothing on it at all.

“Oh, okay,” said Spike. He stood up, put on his jacket and walked out, closing the door behind him. “Now that was weird,” he thought as he went to class.

Oooooo

Monica was smiling as she picked up Spike’s records and flicked through them again. It wasn’t difficult to see why things had gone wrong with his behaviour after everything that had happened to him - losing his parents then moving to another country with an uncle he barely knew, let alone the head injury he’d suffered.

She was looking forward to getting him to open up to her. Her method of making the first session nothing like what they expected always worked. They came in surly and determined not to talk but then when she didn’t ask the questions they expected they suddenly wanted to talk. Looking younger than her 28 years helped, too.

“Surely the kid can’t be all bad if he likes Ghost of the Robot.”

Ooooooo

The rest of the morning passed quickly and soon Spike was walking into the library for lunch.

“Hello, Spike,” said Rupert, “How did you get on with your appointment with the counsellor?”

“Yeah, it was okay,” said Spike, “Monica seems pretty cool.”

“Monica?”

“Er…Miss Gibson. She told me to call her Monica,” said Spike.

“Oh that’s very…..modern of her,” said Rupert.

Spike grinned, “Yeah, real modern to a dinosaur like you.”

“Hey, watch it,” said Rupert, smiling back at his nephew. He was pleased to see Spike looked less tense today.

Since the library was empty Spike settled down to eat his lunch at the large round table in the main room rather than with Rupert in his office, mainly because he could then listen to his Ipod. He’d been there about fifteen minutes when the door swung open and, true to his word, in walked Oz.

“Hi, man,” said Oz sitting down next to Spike.

“Oz,” nodded Spike. He pulled out his earphones and turned off his Ipod.

“Did you ask Mr. Giles?” asked Oz.

“Yeah, I did,” said Spike with a dramatic sigh, “Thing is, he won’t let me ‘ave anyone over for at least two months.”

“Wow, that’s pretty harsh,” said Oz.

Spike couldn’t keep it up and started to chuckle, “Nah mate, he said it was okay.”

“Really? That’s great! So when shall I come over?” asked Oz, “Thursday?”

“Can’t, got extra bleedin’ tutoring on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” said Spike, “’Ow about Friday?”

“Can’t, we always go to The Bronze on Fridays,” replied Oz.

“Oh,” said Spike, a brief flash of the evening spent with them all before his trip hit him, “Um, wot about Saturday?” he asked without much hope.

“Yeah, Saturday’s cool,” said Oz with a smile, “Shall I come about five?”

“Cool,” said Spike. He gave him directions to the apartment. “Um….are yer gonna tell the others that yer coming over?” he asked hesitantly.

“Was gonna. Why, don’t you want me to?”

“I know yer’ll think it’s stupid but could yer not tell anyone just yet?”

“Oh, okay,” replied Oz, deciding to humour him.

“Cheers, mate.”

Oooooo

After school Spike once again made his way to the library for his first session of tutoring.

“Okay, here goes,” he muttered as he pushed his way through the doors.

Truth be told, he was actually quite looking forward to it. He wanted to get back into doing his schoolwork properly. He walked in and looked around; no one was there.

“Rupert?” he called.

“I’m here, Spike,” said Rupert, appearing from behind the furthest bookshelf.

“So where’s my study buddy?” asked Spike.

“Principal Snyder said he would be down to see you get started so I presume whoever it is will come with him. They should be here any minute.”

“Oh great, so I’m up for another lecture from him before we start,” grumbled Spike, “I’m very disappointed in you, Mr. Norman.” He mimicked Snyder’s voice perfectly as he sat down and pulled out his pen and his books from his knapsack.

Rupert laughed, “Yes, I’m afraid you will. Principal Snyder likes them a lot.”

“I like what, Mr. Giles?” asked Snyder sharply as he walked into the library.

“Um, I was ..er…just telling Spike how you…er….like pupils who keep good attendance records,” stuttered Rupert.

“Hmm,” said Snyder, not convinced.

Spike had to hide a grin with his hand, enjoying seeing his uncle discomforted.

“Right then, Mr. Norman,” Spike caught his uncle’s eye and both struggled to keep a straight face. “ I hope you’re ready to knuckle down to some serious studying. I chose Buffy Summers to be your tutor out of all our volunteers as her own grades are just getting better and better so hopefully she’ll inspire you to improve.”

Snyder had barely finished speaking when Buffy flung the doors open and rushed in.

“Sorry I’m late, I had to go back for a text book.” She stopped short when she saw Spike sat at the table.

Spike was looking at her in dismay, * “Oh great, now in addition to thinking I’m a thief and a lush, she’ll think I’m brain dead too.” *

“Hello, Buffy,” said Rupert into the small silence that followed.

“Oh, hi Mr. Giles,” said Buffy, * “God, it had to be him, didn’t it?” * “Are you sure I’m the right one for the job Mr. Snyder?”

“Of course you are, otherwise I wouldn’t have selected you, would I?” snapped Snyder, “Now get on with it. Goodnight Mr. Giles.”

“Goodnight,” replied Rupert.

Buffy and Spike glared at each other for a minute before Buffy pulled out a chair and sat down next to him.

“Right then,” said Buffy, all businesslike, “Let’s have a look at what you’ve done in English so far.”

“Yep, brain dead that’s wot she’ll think,” thought Spike as he pushed his English book towards her.

He’d barely done any work in that class since arriving back at Sunnydale, too busy daydreaming about Buffy or, like yesterday, avoiding her contemptuous looks. She scanned through his notes.

“Did you do anything at all in the lessons?” asked Buffy.

“Nope,” said Spike honestly.

“Why?”

“Why wot?”

“Why didn’t you do any work?” asked Buffy.

“Er…dunno…just got distracted, I guess,” he said, looking down at his hands on the table.

“Are you sure that you weren’t just too drunk?” said Buffy with a sneer, “The classes are all in the afternoons.”

His head snapped up and he looked her in the eyes, his face showing such hurt that she regretted her harsh words.

“Well, there is that,” he said softly, holding her gaze for a moment before dropping it back to his hands and doodling on his notepad.

“Okay,” said Buffy briskly, trying to hide the fact she felt bad, “Let’s get started on this essay.”

For the next hour and a half they worked solidly. Spike tried his best to keep focussed on his work but despite himself he found that occasionally his mind would wander. Sitting next to Buffy, smelling her perfume, took him back to what might have been, before that fateful vacation. Even though she obviously hated him, Spike couldn’t help still having feelings for her. He longed to touch her, to stroke her beautiful blonde hair.

“Spike,” she said sharply, looking up at him and seeing him gazing at her, “What are you doing? Concentrate.” She tapped the textbook with her pen.

“Uh….um…sorry,” said Spike, blushing as he realised he’d been staring, and he swiftly got back to work.

When it was time to leave, Rupert, Spike and Buffy walked out to the parking lot.

“Do you need a lift home, Buffy?” asked Rupert.

“No thank you, Mr. Giles. My mom’s over there,” she said, waving at a small car nearby.

Rupert and Spike accompanied Buffy to the car; Joyce wound the window down when she saw them.

“Hello, Mr. Giles,” she called.

“It’s Rupert, please,” he replied, “I can give Buffy a ride home on Thursday evening if you like to save you from having to come to collect her.”

“That would be very kind, thank you, Rupert,” replied Joyce, “Bye,” she added as Buffy got in the car and they drove away.

“Did you get plenty of work done?” asked Rupert.

“Yeah, I did.” Said Spike, still staring at the departing car.

“Come on then, let’s get home,” said Rupert and they climbed into his old Citroen and went home.

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