Chapter Two: Skiving off School
Spike was glad he’d eaten well at breakfast time when he saw what the cafeteria food was like. Making a mental note to make his own lunches from now on, he skipped the main meal – whatever it was supposed to be – and took an apple, a banana and a bottle of water, and froze in the middle of the room, wondering what to do now. Every table had people sitting at it. He spotted Cordelia Chase trying to catch his eye and quickly turned to look in the opposite direction. A group of students were just leaving a table and he hurried over and sat down, only to be joined immediately by a two guys, one with a jacket emblazoned with the school logo on the back, who introduced themselves as Larry Blaisdell and Percy West. They seemed friendly enough, if a little full of themselves. But Spike decided not to complain. They beat the last “friends” he had had by a long shot.
“Check out the drooling chicks,” Larry commented, nodding towards one of the girls’ tables. Glancing over, Spike saw them all turn away quickly, giggling like mad.
“Everyone’s been doin’ that all day,” he murmured.
“Well, *duh*.” Percy rolled his eyes. “Make the most of it, dude. You starting at this school’s been the biggest news since the swim coach got sacked for giving the team steroids. The interest’ll wear off in time, so grab a couple of girls now before they set their sights on someone else!”
“Um … all right.” Spike paused. “There was one, actually. Either of you know a girl called Buffy? Blonde, kind of short, absolutely gorgeous …”
“Buffy Summers? Sure,” Percy said. “She’s like the most popular girl in school, ‘cept for Cordelia Chase. They’re deadly rivals.”
“Oh,” Spike said. Another girl like Cordelia? Looks were most definitely not everything. Shame.
“I think she’s single,” Larry said in a thoughtful tone. “That Finn guy she was dating left town a couple of months back and I haven’t seen her with anyone new.”
“Um … no, I don’ think so,” Spike said. “Not if she’s like Cordelia.”
Percy raised his eyebrows. “You met dear Cordy already, huh?”
Spike nodded. “Call it repulsion at first sight.”
They stared at him as if he’d grown an extra head. “Are you crazy? She’s *Hot* with a capital H,” Percy exclaimed.
“Also shallow, self-centred and -- I think I need to look shallow up in the thesaurus, but you get the idea. I prefer my girls with personality.” Preferably not a psychotic one.
“Well, maybe she can come over a little strong,” Larry admitted. “Specially when a new guy starts. It’s a political statement. You’re new, you’re attractive to the female population, and she wants a date with you before anyone else, especially Summers. Like a competition.”
“And, explain which part of that is not shallow or self-centred?”
There was a pause.
“You’re just too picky, Spike.”
Spike chuckled. “I would just rather go out with someone I know *wants* to go out with me, rather than to make a statement. Even if that means no one ever does.”
Larry laughed. “I doubt that. Look at you, man. What makes you think no one would want to date you?”
Spike shrugged. “Past experience, I guess. I’m just not used to this kind of attention,” he admitted. “I haven’ had a lot of luck with girls before now.”
“Well, you’re new, which helps. And chicks really dig the British accent,” Percy assured him.
“English.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Well, either way,” Larry said quickly to stop an argument, “they love it. And hey, you’re not *my* type, but you didn’t exactly lose in the looks lottery.”
-----
Spike thought about their conversation as he made his way back to his locker to pick up his books. He wondered how much truth there was in what Larry and Percy had said. Did girls really find him attractive nowadays? At his old school, he hadn’t exactly been popular, and Drusilla was the only girl who’d paid him any sort of attention other than taunting him. Maybe he had changed more than he thought.
He found his locker and pulled out his English books. It was the one subject he was really looking forward to and the only, he knew, he was likely to do well in. Spike wasn’t sure whether this would help or impair his potential social life. The best he could do, he supposed, was do his best and see how people reacted, hoping he wouldn’t be branded a wuss all over again.
“Hi,” someone suddenly said beside him. “It’s Spike, right?”
“Ye-ow!” Spike turned his head abruptly, only to bash his nose painfully on his locker door. He could feel himself going scarlet as he realised who had spoken. Buffy Summers was smiling at him, her expression changing to concern as he rubbed his nose. “I’m sorry! Are you all right?”
“F-fine,” Spike assured her, starting to stammer as he did so. Up close, she was even prettier; her eyes were green, his favourite. He kicked himself.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Um.” Spike coughed awkwardly.
“I’m Buffy Summers.” She shifted her books under one arm and held out a hand, which Spike hesitantly shook, ignoring the voice inside his head telling him to walk away now. “Welcome to Sunnydale – Actually, welcome to America,” she smiled. “You been here long?”
“A few months,” he replied. “Took a while for my transfer to work out.”
“You like it here?”
“I …” Spike paused. “It’s … different.”
“I imagine it must be pretty overwhelming, moving to a new country,” she said thoughtfully. “Listen, I was thinking, maybe sometime you and I could -”
Spike, coming to his senses, cut her off. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Buffy looked taken aback. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Look. I know all about you and Cordelia’s get-a-date-with-the-new-guy-first crap. And I’m not interested in dating someone who only wants me to make a statement.”
Hurt and anger flashed in Buffy’s eyes and Spike suddenly realised how that must have sounded. “*Actually*, Spike, I was going to ask if sometime you’d like a friend to show you around town, and an introduction to the American teen lifestyle. I don’t know who told you about Cordelia’s habits, but rest assured nothing like that ever crossed *my* mind.” Before Spike could register the meaning of her words, let alone form some kind of response, she pushed him aside, straight into his locker door, and hurried down the corridor, rounding the corner at a run.
Spike, shocked, slowly slid down the lockers and sat on the ground, massaging his sore nose. Had he been wrong after all? He groaned as it suddenly hit him that he had probably just ruined his chance of making a friend at this school.
At least he wasn’t at school to make friends.
Spike stood up, gathered his books and headed for English. Buffy wasn’t in the class, but the teacher called out her name on the register. Not long into class, her redheaded friend left for the bathroom and never returned. Spike found it hard to focus on the class, despite it being on poetry. Nevertheless, at the end of the class, Ms. Miller called him over and told him she was impressed.
*Well,* Spike thought, *Not a bad reaction, considering I don’t think I took in a word of what she said.*
-----
Willow paused outside the English classroom. She had lost count the number of times she had been through a similar conversation in the last few months. Most of the time Buffy seemed to be coping okay, then something would happen – often something trivial – that rocked the boat, and she was left in tears. At least the teachers understood why. When Buffy had eventually come back to school, Flutie had assured her and her mother that Buffy was not the first student to have been through a similar grief, and that allowances could and would be made. It was a good thing, too, Willow thought as she knocked.
“Come in.”
Willow entered the classroom. “Um, Ms. Miller?”
The teacher sighed. “Yes, Willow?”
“I-I’m sorry about class today. Buffy couldn’t … couldn’t handle it, and … I felt I needed to be with her.”
Ms. Miller nodded. “Thank you, Willow, and under the circumstances I completely understand. However, maybe next time you could simply tell me at the beginning of class, rather than making me send out a search party when you don’t return from the bathroom?”
“Sorry, Ms. Miller.”
Buffy was sitting with Xander outside. As Willow drew near enough to hear them, Xander was saying, “So you blew off English ‘cause the new guy was cold and rude to you?”
Buffy glared at him. Her eyes were slightly red. “It wasn’t just about that, Xander.”
“Right, you also haven’t done your homework. Isn’t that called taking advantage?”
“Shut up, Mr. Insensitive,” Willow said, giving him a shove. “That’s got nothing to do with it. Right, Buffy?”
Buffy nodded, looking down at the ground. “I just … You know what I’ve been like lately, Xander. The littlest thing and I’m blubbing for half an hour.” She frowned at her shoes. “It’s worse than when I was …” She trailed off, but she didn’t have to finish her sentence. They knew what she meant.
-----
Although Buffy and Willow had appeared for the rest of the day, they and Xander determinedly ignored Spike. He had tried his best to return the favour, not entirely sure what to say if he had to talk to one of them. After classes were over, Spike headed to the library. It was empty. He put his things down on the end of the table and called, “Giles?”
There was no answer, so he pulled out his homework. After a few minutes, Giles came out of his office.
“Oh, Spike. How was the first day?” Giles looked at him. “Spike?”
“Okay,” Spike muttered.
Giles continued looking at him for a moment. “Did you make any friends?”
“Dunno. Though I think I’ve made three enemies quite easily.”
He heard Giles sigh and tried to avoid his eye. “What happened?”
Spike snapped his textbook shut. “There was this girl. I got it into my head from stuff people said that she was really shallow and only interested in getting a date with the new guy before her rival. She tried to suggest we go around the town sometime so she could show me around, but I wouldn’t let her finish before I told her I wasn’t interested. I was really rude to her.” Spike paused. “Now she hates me. And her friends too.”
“Oh dear.” Giles removed his glasses and began to polish them. “Who was this girl?”
“Buffy Summers. You know her?”
“Buffy? Yes, I know her very well. Who said all those things about her?”
“No one,” Spike admitted. “Everyone said them about Cordelia Chase, and said Buffy was like her, so …”
“Ah.” Giles looked at Spike seriously. “I don’t think I have to tell you, you’ve made a terrible mistake there.”
“No, you don’t have to tell me.”
“From what I’ve seen, and heard from the other students, Cordelia is very shallow and extremely competitive. Buffy doesn’t take popularity very seriously; she’s a lovely girl, kind, hard-working … She and Xander and Willow spend a lot of time in here.” Giles checked his watch. “They should be here any minute, actually.”
“What? They’re coming here? *Now?*”
“They normally do – Use the library’s resources for an hour or so after school each day.”
Spike started gathering up his things.
“What do you think you are doing?” Giles grabbed his arm and said firmly, “Oh, no you don’t. You are going to stay here and do your homework and when Buffy comes you can apologise for earlier.”
“But – I can’t -”
“Tell her you’re sorry for being rude to her. You won’t get anywhere by just avoiding her.”
-----
There was already a place set with homework when Willow, Buffy and Xander arrived at the library.
“Is Oz here? I thought he said he was -” Willow began, but broke off as voices sounded from among the shelves.
“Spike, was this the one you wanted?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
The new guy came down the steps, loaded with books, and froze when he saw them there. All four students waited, and Giles appeared a moment later.
“Oh, hello, you three.”
The scene began to unfreeze as he started stacking books and the three arrivals sat down at the table and began to get out their own. Spike slowly placed the books Giles had given him in his place and sat down as well. All were avoiding eye contact, and began working in silence.
Buffy chewed the end of her pencil, and eventually broke the quiet. “Willow, please come off strike. I swear we’ll never take advantage of you again. *Please* help me out, I really don’t get this.”
“Nope.”
“But it’s *poetry*. You know that’s my weak point. I’m useless at it.”
Spike looked up. “Poetry?”
“Hey, this is a private conversation, Ice Man,” Xander snapped.
Buffy looked at Spike. He went slightly pink, but determinedly held her gaze. His eyes didn’t look cold. On the contrary, they looked hopeful.
“I’m good at English,” he ventured. “Can I help?”
Buffy hesitated, but there was sincerity on his face. She pushed the book towards him. “I have to find the metaphor in this. I’ve been through every word, every *syllable*, but I’m still not getting it.”
Spike scanned the poem, and he grinned. “I’ve done this one before. See, what you need to do, is step back a little – figuratively speaking – and view the piece as a whole, rather than analysing it word by word.” He returned it. “Does that help?”
Buffy re-read the poem, and suddenly it was obvious. “Yes! I think I’ve got it!” She looked up at him in bewilderment. “Thanks, I guess.”
“You’re welcome.”
The four of them continued working quietly, but the atmosphere was a little less awkward. Finally, Buffy sighed and started packing away her things.
“I think I’m gonna call that a day. My mom’s probably worrying.”
Her friends murmured goodbyes. Spike stayed put until Buffy was almost out the door, when he suddenly bolted after her, knocking his chair over, and caught up with her just outside the library.
“Um, Buffy?”
She turned. “Yes?”
Stumbling slightly over his words in his haste, Spike said, “I wanted to apologise for earlier. I was really rude -”
“Yeah, you were,” Buffy agreed.
“I’m sorry. I just … I heard a lot of things about you and Cordelia and I, and I made presumptions about you based on that before I got to know you. I’m really, really sorry.” He paused for breath. “I really want to get along here and making mortal enemies wasn’t exactly on my top ten list of things to do on my first day. Bloody hell, I’m babbling like an idiot.” Buffy smiled slightly. “So … do you think you can forgive me?”
She considered the young man standing before her. She supposed it was his first day. And he was pretty cute, with the deep blue eyes, pronounced cheekbones, and the accent, and the way he was blushing now as she looked at him. And, despite the misunderstanding earlier, he seemed nice enough, helping her out even when she was ignoring him. He seemed an interesting character, and Buffy found herself wanting to know him better.
“Maybe,” she finally said playfully. “If you make it up to me.” A thought struck her. “Do you have a car?”
He shook his head. “’Fraid not. Giles drives me.”
So he couldn’t give her a lift home. “In that case, I’ll have to think of something else.” She paused. “Perhaps you could help me out with English sometime? I’m not really *bad* at it, but you’re definitely better.”
Spike smiled. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Great. Thanks … Spike. And … You know, the offer’s still open, if you’re interested.”
“Well, I guess it would be good to have a tour of Sunnydale from a teenager’s point of view rather than a forty-something-year-old’s,” Spike said thoughtfully. “All right, I’m in, thanks.”
“Okay, then. Why don’t we talk tomorrow at lunchtime? I’ve got to get home now.”
Spike nodded. “’Course, that would be great. Do you need a hand?” he asked, gesturing towards Buffy’s books under her arm.
“No, thanks, I’ve got it.” Buffy smiled at him. “See you …” She trailed off. “Giles drives you here?”
“What?” Spike said blankly.
“You said Giles drives you here.” Buffy’s face registered comprehension. “Are you two related?”
“He’s my godfather.”
“Wow. Small world.”
“Not really, he enrolled me here when I came to live with him.”
“Oh. Well … Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Spike nodded. “Better not keep your mum worrying.”
-----
London, Six Years Earlier
“I can’t do P.E today, sir.”
“Why not, William?”
“I forgot my kit.”
This was not strictly true. Ever since starting at “Big School” two years ago, William had been trying various ways to get out of his least favourite lesson, including leaving his P.E kit at home. Unfortunately, his mother always seemed to find wherever he had stuffed it out of sight and presented it to him as he walked out of the door. Today, however, after she remarkably managed to retrieve it from behind the boiler, William had thrown it in a skip on the way to school.
“Do it in your underwear. And then I want you to write lines, one hundred times: I must not be a forgetful sod and leave my Physical Education kit at home where I cannot use it for lessons and have to parade around in my underpants.”
William undressed as slowly as he could, in his usual corner by the fire exit where he was mostly out of sight. He folded up his school uniform with shaking hands, picturing the inevitable reaction from his classmates. He frequently heard mutters of “Mama’s boy” and “Useless Eustace” in P.E, which was the only time any of his class acknowledged his existence. He was always, always picked last for teams, the only exception having been when one of the other boys had come to school with a filthy cold no-one wanted to catch.
The boxers William was wearing were the worst he could have possibly worn; they were patterned with Santas and reindeer, a joke present in his stocking last Christmas. The thought of all the jeering they were bound to elicit filled him with dread. He would probably have something like “Santa’s Little Helper” added to his list of nicknames.
The coach presented him with the spare P.E kit, which consisted of a t-shirt and pair of trainers too small for him which were almost black with grime, smelt strongly of the boys’ toilets, and had SPARE PE KIT written all over them in large black letters. William pulled the shirt over his head, squashed his feet into the trainers and was roughly pushed into the gym by the coach. “Get a move on, William, we don’t have all year.”
At first no-one noticed William’s get-up, but as he moved self-consciously to his usual place in the back of the crowd, titters rang out. William snatched his glasses off his face so he couldn’t see them laughing at him. A moment later, the coach entered and they all quietened down.
For as long as he had done P.E, William had always been useless at it. He could run fast, but throw a ball in his direction and ninety-nine times out of a hundred he would completely miss it. A few months ago, the school bully, Angel Lyan, had punched him in the mouth so hard it broke his top front teeth clean in half. The injury was no longer noticeable since the dentist had fixed caps on, but William hated anything near his face and shied away from every ball, even if it was aimed at several feet away from him. He was labelled a “scaredy-cat” in addition to “useless”. The coach was the worst.
He wasted hours on William, even forcing him into one-on-one training sessions after school, which were pure torture. “Come *on*, William,” the coach would say angrily. “Don’t let me down. Put some effort into it, you useless boy.” The coach seemed to take it as a personal insult that William was no good at his subject, and when William failed to reach the coach’s standards, insults would be thrown – sometimes both ways – which just served to deepen the hatred felt between them.
The coach had been warned about his verbal abuse at the students. But the head teacher never took further action. William secretly thought she was scared of him. Everyone else was.
The teams were picked, and William hovered as far away from the ball as possible, hoping today wouldn’t be one of the days the coach said -
“William? Come and stand over here.”
And so the torture session began. William’s teammates groaned as he ducked around whoever had the ball, and missed when they had no choice but to pass to him. As usual, he did his best to ignore the jibes, but they still hurt as deeply as ever.
The coach blew the whistle for a time-out. William’s glasses had fogged up, and he removed them to wipe them clean. It took him a moment to realise the game was re-starting, and just as he was replacing his glasses the ball, thrown with deadly accuracy from the coach, hit him smack in the face. He let out a yell of pain as his hand smashed between the ball and his face, his knuckles colliding with his teeth. Pain jarred through his top jaw, and he couldn’t stop tears starting to leak down his face.
“William, quit being a cry-baby and pass the ball on!” the coach snapped.
Instead, William dropped the ball and ran out of the hall, followed by catcalls and the coach’s angry yells.
He didn’t go to another P.E lesson. He found the attic-space above the Art classroom and hid out there during the lessons, and every detention he was given for skipping them. It was the beginning of a dangerous pathway.
-----
Sunnydale, Present Day
The first lesson the next day was P.E. It wasn’t until the class were assembled in the gym that anyone realised someone was missing.
“Has anyone seen Mr Williams?”
Larry spoke up. “I saw him just before the bell went, he’s definitely here.”
Coach Marren checked his watch and looked back at the door. “We’ll give him a couple more minutes and then get started.”
“Do you think Spike got lost?” Willow murmured.
“Who cares?”
“Xander, it was a simple misunderstanding.” Buffy frowned. “The gym’s not *that* hard to find, surely.”
The coach began the lesson. Spike didn’t show at all.
“If any of you see Mr Williams, please let him know that, first week or not, he *will* get detention for unauthorised absence.”
TBC …
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