Changing Lives by Mabel Marsters

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Chapter 27

Spike spent Saturday morning doing his schoolwork. Fortunately, the afternoon soon passed and time for Oz’s arrival drew near.

At just after five there was a knock on the door. Spike, who’d been hovering near it for the last fifteen minutes, rushed to open it.

“Hi Oz,” said Spike as he saw him standing there, guitar case in hand. “Come on in.”

Oz nodded to Spike and stepped inside.

“Hi, Mr. Giles,” he said as he spotted him sitting reading.

“Hello, Daniel,” replied Rupert.

“Um, is it okay if we go to my room?” asked Spike, not sure whether Rupert wanted them in his view or not.

“Please do!” exclaimed Rupert, “I think I’ll need a closed door between you two and your music and me.”

“Great,” said Spike in relief, “It’s this way, Oz.”

Oz followed him to his room. Spike closed the door and looked at Oz a little nervously. He’d never had a friend come round like this before, and he felt very self-conscious.

Oz put his guitar case down and took his bag from where he’d slung it over his shoulder. He rummaged in it for a bit, then pulled out a box and threw it to Spike with a grin.

“Here’s a present for you,” he said.

Spike caught it, looked at it, and then burst out laughing. Oz joined in.

“Thought it might help you make your mind up,” he chuckled, “It’s easy to use.”

“It’ll ‘ave to be,” replied Spike looking at the package containing a bleaching solution for his hair, “So yer reckon I should stay with the white, do yer?”

“Yeah, it looks pretty cool,” said Oz, “I’ve dyed my hair plenty of times and lots of different colours but I’ve never had the nerve to go totally blond.” He sat on Spike’s bed, “Have you ever played guitar?”

“Nope,” said Spike.

Oz leaned down and unclipped the clasps on the guitar case and took out a beautiful acoustic guitar. He stroked it almost reverently as he put the strap over his head.

“God, I love this guitar,” said Oz, “Took me forever to save up for it but it’s worth it. It even makes me sound good.”

“But yer play really well,” said Spike, forgetting that ‘Spike’ hadn’t heard Oz play. When he saw the quizzical look on Oz’s face it clicked and he quickly added, “William told me yer did and if yer play at a place like The Bronze you can’t be all that bad.”

“William said that?” said Oz with a reflective smile, “Mind you, he did only hear me once and that was with the electric guitar.

Oz started to play the guitar. Spike sat mesmerised - whatever Oz said, he really could play.

“Want to learn a few chords?” asked Oz after a while.

“That’d be great,” said Spike.

He sat next to Oz and put the guitar on his knee but it felt strange. Oz watched how he held the guitar.

“Are you left-handed?”

“Yeah, why?”

“It’s just that you can get guitars for lefties so you might find it a bit harder learning the right-handed way.”

“Since this is the first time I’ve held a guitar I don’t think it’ll matter too much. When I broke my shoulder I got pretty good at doin’ stuff with my right hand until it mended,” replied Spike.

“Okay, here goes,” said Oz and he ran through some simple chords.

When they’d had enough of the guitar they sat listening to music. Spike introduced Oz to “Ghost of the Robot” and the “Kaiser Chiefs”, both of which Oz had never heard of before but instantly loved.

Spike resisted all of Oz’s efforts to get him to sing saying he was way too embarrassed.

At about seven Rupert stuck his head round the door and asked if they’d like him to order in a pizza, this suggestion was met with great enthusiasm by both boys.

Oz left at nine-thirty, refusing the offer of a ride home, as he didn’t live far away. He left telling Spike he’d see him at school on Monday. Spike had had a great time and hoped Oz would come over again next Saturday.

Ooooooo

On Sunday Spike dared himself to try using the bleach on his hair. To Rupert’s amusement he locked himself in the bathroom for about an hour whilst he read the instructions three times before he trusted himself to use the kit. Finally he managed to apply the solution to his hair, making sure he hadn’t missed a spot. He was a bit unsure of what the result might be as the stuff itself was a lilac colour; he hoped he didn’t end up with hair that shade. It stung his scalp a little but he remembered it did that when he had in done at the barber shop.

When the time was up he carefully washed his hair, hoping it had worked. He wiped the steam from the mirror with his hand and peered at his reflection, squinting a little as he’d taken his contact lenses out before bleaching his hair in case he got any in his eyes. It had worked well; his hair was now snowy white all over again. It was still in the need of a bit of a trim but that could wait until he wasn’t grounded any more, whenever that would be.

When he finally walked back into the sitting room Rupert looked at his nephew. He had hoped that Spike might have let his hair go back to its natural colour but he hadn’t said anything about it to him. The bleach seemed to have straightened his naturally wavy hair and he’d pushed it back from his face.

“Well?” asked Spike when he saw Rupert staring at him.

“Looks like you’ve done a good job,” said Rupert diplomatically, refraining from saying that he might find it easier to make friends if he hadn’t bleached his hair or taken to wearing his long black jacket all the time - hardly the most welcoming of looks.

“Yeah, it wasn’t as difficult as I thought it’d be,” said Spike, “Looks okay though?” he added, never very self-confident.

“Spike,” smiled Rupert, “If you wanted your hair to be as white as snow then yes, it looks okay.”

“Cool,” said Spike, and he went to his room to e-mail Rich.

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