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 29

Two weeks had passed and Spike’s life had settled into a steady routine. He tried to concentrate harder in his classes. He worked hard with Buffy in his tutorials, trying to impress her but both were still awkward with each other. The part of the week that Spike liked best was Saturday evenings when Oz came over; it was the only time he truly felt at ease. He’d even sung a couple of ‘Dingoes Ate My Baby’ songs with Oz playing the guitar. It had taken a lot of persuasion but they’d had a laugh doing it.

So far at school he’d successfully avoided Angel, having lunch in the library with Rupert helping to keep him out of the way.

Angel had seethed over the past two weeks since overhearing Rupert and Monica and today he’d finally decided what to do about it. Angel cornered one of his regular victims, Jerry, as he left the cafeteria.

“Hey, Jerry, you’re going to do me a little favour,” he said.

“What do you want me to do?” asked Jerry, cringing away from him, “I don’t want to get into trouble.”

Angel slapped the hapless youth on the shoulder, “As if I’d try to get you into trouble,” he laughed, “Don’t worry, you won’t get into trouble, in fact old Snyder will be delighted that you pointed it out to him.”

“Pointed what out?” asked Jerry nervously.

“You're going to tell him that Spike Norman is drinking on school property every day,” said Angel.

“He’s drinking?”

“He is. The creep can’t get through a day without topping himself up with vodka. He keeps it in his locker and puts it in his juice at lunchtime,” said Angel. “I want you to tell Snyder now, before afternoon class starts.”

“Okay,” agreed Jerry, relieved that Angel wasn’t going to pick on him. He remembered Spike laughing with Angel when he bullied him and so was glad to be able to get him into trouble.

Oooooo

An announcement was made over the public address system that pupils with lockers in row D must go and stand next to them ready for a locker search.

Spike wandered from the library to his locker. Oz walked with him as they’d been chatting in the library over lunchtime.

“Wonder wot all this is about?” asked Spike.

“They must be expecting to find something they shouldn’t.” replied Oz.

Spike’s locker was about three-quarters of the way down the row. He stood next to it ready to open it up. The gathered students fell silent as Principal Snyder started the search - he was having the lockers opened four at a time. He seemed only to be giving a cursory glance into each one. Spike watched quizzically. It seemed to him that Snyder wasn’t interested in the ones at that end of the row at all. He must know which locker he wanted to check and the others were just camouflage.

A few students had gathered to watch. Oz was standing several yards away talking to another boy. Spike met his eye and raised his eyebrows at him, meaning ‘what’s going on?’ Oz shrugged in reply. Then Spike saw Angel, he was leaning against the wall and smiling at Spike. Spike’s blood ran cold; no way could this be a coincidence.

“Oh, Christ!”

Spike suddenly remembered he’d told Angel his locker combination one time. He looked at Angel again; Angel nodded at him, answering his unasked question. Spike looked at Snyder as he rapidly worked his way down the row and he noticed Buffy and Willow were heading his way, too.

“Oh, great. Now she’s going to see me get bleeding expelled,” groaned Spike inwardly.

“Get the next four open now,” ordered Snyder.

Spike’s was the third of this batch; his hands trembled as he fumbled with the lock. Once opened, at first glance, all was as it should be. Then Spike saw it – the cap of a bottle sticking up at the back. He reached in and pulled it out; sure enough it was a half empty bottle of vodka. He held it in his hand. It was hidden from view by the half opened door of the locker. Unable to move, he knew he was totally trapped – again.

Suddenly it was snatched from his hand. He whirled round expecting to see Snyder but all he saw was Oz’s back as he ambled along the corridor with Buffy and Willow.

“Step aside, Norman,” growled Snyder.

“Huh?” said Spike.

“Something to hide? I said step out of the way,” snapped Snyder.

“Oh sorry, sir. No, I’ve got nothin’ to hide.”

He moved away as Snyder methodically went through his locker, much more thoroughly than he had the others. Angel tensed as he heard Spike’s words; this time it was Spike’s turn to smile.

“Nothing,” said Snyder in disgust.

“Check his bag, sir!” called Angel.

“Shut up, O’Connor,” ordered Snyder. He glared at Spike, “Give me your bag.”

Spike handed his knapsack over. Snyder tipped the contents onto the floor, and a can of Coke rolled away. Spike stopped it with his foot.

“What’s that?” asked Snyder.

Spike bent down and picked it up, “It’s just a soda left over from my lunch,” he said, handing it to Snyder.

“Where’s your bottle of juice?” he demanded.

“My wot?” asked Spike astonished, “I’ve just got that soda, the other empty can is in the bin in the library if you’re that interested. I only have juice for breakfast.”

“Shut up,” snarled Snyder. He threw Spike’s knapsack at him and slammed the locker door as he strode away, not continuing along the line.

Spike grinned at his receding back and silently offered his thanks to Oz for his rescue. Several of the other students chuckled and caught Spike’s eye. For the first time ever at the school, he felt a sense of solidarity with his fellow pupils.

He looked over at Angel who was glaring ferociously but Spike didn’t feel intimidated - he felt angry, he felt bleeding furious. Something snapped. He was sick of being a puppet, getting played all the time. He’d had enough. He met Angel’s malevolent stare with a hard one of his own. He took a couple of steps towards him, fists clenched. Angel matched him. They were only about five feet away from each other; the other students backed away, knowing there was going to be trouble.

Spike began to raise his arm….

“It’s about time you all went to class,” called a voice.

Spike turned round. It was Monica. He held his ground but let his hand fall back to his side and unclenched his fist.

“Now,” said Monica sharply, “Angel, Spike, get moving.”

Spike shrugged and turned away.

“You’re so dead,” threatened Angel as he walked away.

“What was that, Angel?” asked Monica.

“Nothing, Miss.” He stared after Spike for a moment longer and then walked away.

“I wonder what provoked that?” thought Monica as she headed to her office. She was glad that Spike travelled home with Rupert, since it would keep him away from Angel after school.

Oooooo

Spike leapt from his seat the second the bell went for the end of the day and rushed out of the class. He didn’t go to the library or to Rupert’s car; he went to the bleachers. Angel was sitting there waiting, as he knew he would be. Spike’s heart was in his mouth but all he could hear were James’ words.

“The bigger they are, the 'arder they fall.”

Angel stood up and sneered at Spike.

“Like I said before, ‘English’, you’re fucking dead.”

He strode to meet Spike. Spike didn’t hesitate. Without breaking stride he hit Angel as hard as he could with his fist, it connected with a satisfying crunch on his nose. Angel dropped like a stone.

“Soddin' 'ell,” shouted Spike, shaking his hand as a shaft of pain hit him.

Spike looked down at Angel - he was rolling on the floor, hands to his nose, which was pouring blood. All the years of bullying Spike had endured at Angel’s hands burned through him. He saw red. He kicked him in the ribs as Angel was struggling to his feet. Angel groaned and fell back down.

“That’s for the last bleeding six years, you bastard,” said Spike, almost inaudibly.

He went to kick him again when he was grabbed from behind and pulled away.

“Get off of me!” shouted Spike, swinging a fist as he turned.

“Hey man! It’s me!” said Oz, ducking the blow and letting go of him.

“Crap, Oz, I nearly hit you!” yelled Spike. He turned back to Angel who was on his knees gasping and wiping the blood from his face. Spike stepped towards him again.

“Don’t.” cried Oz, “Just leave him - you’ve made your point.”

“Sod off, you don’t know what it’s been like having him on my back for so long,” shouted Spike, forgetting his ‘English’ accent in his rage.

He reached down and got hold of Angel with both hands, gripping the front of his jacket, and pulled him to his feet.

“Where’s your mate?” asked Spike, “Where’s Davey?”

Angel shook his head then winced as his broken nose objected to the movement. Spike looked around. Davey was nowhere to be seen.

“Well, you tell him that if he so much as looks at me sideways I’ll give him a bit of what I’ve given you. And you better keep out of my fucking way.” It was all the more unnerving in that Spike said it so quietly.

He pulled back his fist, still holding him with his left hand. Angel cowered, which made Spike laugh - a hollow mirthless sound. As he brought his hand forwards Oz caught it with his own.

“Leave it, Spike,” said Oz firmly. “He’s had enough.”

Spike resisted for a second then relaxed and let his hand fall. He pushed Angel away.

“Go on, piss off,” he said.

Angel staggered backwards and then walked away, body hunched over. He kept looking back over his shoulder as if he expected Spike to rush him from behind.

As Spike went to walk away, he suddenly began to tremble. His knees felt weak and he sat down on the grass with a thump.

“Oh God,” he sighed as the rage that had fuelled his attack on Angel ran out.

He looked up at Oz who was peering down at him.

“Man, where did all that come from?” said Oz.

“I dunno,” said Spike, “Just had enough of it, I guess.”

“Well, remind me not to piss you off, okay?” said Oz.

Their eyes met and they both started to laugh. This time Spike’s was a proper laugh, not bitter and spiteful like before.

“Come on. Mr. Giles will be wondering where you are,” said Oz, offering Spike a hand to help him up.

Spike reached out with his left hand but yelped as Oz got hold of it and pulled it away. He took Oz’s hand with his right and stood up. He looked at his left hand as they walked to the parking lot. The knuckles were grazed and bruised and one joint looked a bit suspicious.

“You okay?” asked Oz.

“Not sure. I think I might ‘ave done something to my ‘and,” replied Spike, wondering how he’d explain it to Rupert.

“No, I mean you. You really lost it, man, if I hadn’t been there….”

“Yeah, I know I did,” said Spike quietly. “Oh, and thanks for before.”

“No problem, just figured you didn’t need the hassle,” said Oz.

“Angel put it in there, Oz, it wasn’t mine,” said Spike earnestly. “You believe me, don’t you?”

“Sure I do. I saw the way he was watching you and then your face when you found it,” replied Oz.

“Well, thanks. Snyder would ‘ave booted me out for sure if he’d found it. Probably still will,” said Spike.

“What for?”

“Breaking the star quarterback’s nose,” he replied.

“I don’t think Angel will be saying anything about that to Snyder. You scared him half to death, Spike,” said Oz, “Hell, you scared me!”

“Wot? Me?” said Spike, and then he grinned. “Yeah, I reckon I did, didn’t I?”

They arrived at the parking lot. Rupert was at his car looking crossly at his watch.

“You even sounded different,” said Oz.

Before Spike could reply Rupert called out to him.

“There you are, Spike. You know you’re to meet me here immediately. Where have you been?”

“It’s my fault, Mr. Giles. We were fooling about and Spike tripped up and hurt his hand,” said Oz, saving Spike’s skin for the second time that day, “Sorry, Spike,” he said, looking at him.

“Uh, it’s okay, mate, not your fault,” replied Spike.

“Let me have a look at it,” said Rupert.

Spike held his left hand out. Rupert touched the affected finger.

“Ow! Take it easy, it bloody hurts,” complained Spike.

“I think we’d better get this checked out,” said Rupert. “Do you want a ride home, Oz?” added Rupert, finally conceding to using his nickname.

“That’d be cool. Thanks.”

Ooooooo

They dropped Oz off at his house then took Spike to get his hand looked at by a doctor.

“Hmm, I don’t think it’s broken,” said the doctor, “We’ll x-ray it to be certain.”

Spike and Rupert waited for the results for what seemed like hours before Spike was called back into a cubicle.

“The good news, James, is that it’s not broken,” said the doctor. He took Spike’s hand in his and ran his fingers over the sore finger. Swiftly, without warning, he gripped the finger and tugged hard.

“Shit!” Spike cried out in pain as there was an audible ‘pop’.

“Sorry, James, but it’s always easier when you’re not expecting it,” said the doctor with a smile.

“Bleeding sadistic freak,” thought Spike.

“It was dislocated but it’s back in place now. Can you move the joint?”

Spike flexed his finger; it was sore but moved with the others.

“That’s good, now it will be sore for several days and vulnerable to dislocating again so take it easy with it – no more fighting.”

“Wot? No, I told yer, I fell over,” said Spike glancing over to see if Rupert could hear.

“Like I said, James, no more fighting,” said the doctor, looking him in the eye.

“Okay,” agreed Spike. “Thanks.”

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