Chapter 11
Weeks later, as opening night drew near, Spike was summoned to the office of Mr Sullivan over the PA system. Spike was well-used to summonses of this nature and had a plan of attack formulated by the time he got to the office of the deputy headmaster. Attack is the best form of defence, he reminded himself. And that cooker, well, it was faulty anyway! Everyone knew that, that's why they avoided it in Home Ec.
"Mr Sullivan, sir, I just want to say, before you say anything, you're doing a great job of directing the school play. I mean, I know it can't be easy what with Lynda and Colin and all. You're probably under terrible strain . . ."
"Relax, Spike," said Sullivan wryly. "You're not in trouble."
"Hey, great!" Spike was relieved. "I mean, not that I've done anything anyway."
"Quite," replied Sullivan. "Actually, I was hoping you might know where Lynda is. She didn't return to class after lunch. Any ideas?"
Spike thought. "Well, sir, I do have a hunch. Only it would mean leaving the school, sir. Much as I hate to miss out on my biology lesson, and we are classifying ants today, I'm willing to make that sacrifice to help you out."
"Thank you, Spike. Your service to the school is appreciated," replied Sullivan dryly. He filled out a permission slip and handed it across the desk. "Take this back to your teacher. You're on an errand for me."
"No problem, sir. I guarantee I'll bring Lynda back to you. Dead or alive!" Spike pocketed the note and dashed out of the office.
"Well, preferably the latter, if you can manage it, Spike," said Sullivan to himself.
Spike hadn't been lying when he said he had a hunch where Lynda might be. He did. He knew the "what", just not the "where" exactly. Heading down Norbridge High Street, he started poking his head into dress shops. He had investigated three before he caught sight of a curly-haired brunette going into the changerooms with an armload of clothing. As she pulled the curtain closed behind her, he pulled it open again and went inside.
"Spike, you have to stop doing that. One day I will actually be getting changed," said Lynda.
"I live in hope," grinned Spike. "So, Lynda. Dress shops again. I thought we were over this whole taller thing? Like I keep telling you, higher heels, shorter skirts. It works for me."
Lynda answered by slumping forward and burying her head in her hands.
"Hey, what's up?" Spike asked.
"Hic!" was the only response.
"Oh, I get it. The play. You're nervous about opening night."
"Hic!"
"Look, Lynda. If you really don't want to do it, you don't have to," said Spike gently.
"But I'll be letting everyone down!" came the muffled reply from between her fingers.
"No, no, it will be fine. I mean, Stacey's a great actress. I'm talking really great. We've been having a few private rehearsals and I'm telling you . . ."
"You what?" Lynda's head flew up.
"Private rehearsals. With Stacey. You know, I kind of figured something like this would happen so I wanted to make sure she was, you know, prepared. And boy, is she!" he grinned. "As a matter of fact, Sullivan is letting us have another one when I get back to school."
"No, he's not," replied Lynda, getting up.
"What do you mean?" asked Spike, with a pretended look of puzzlement on his face. "I mean, if you're going to be out, she needs all the rehearsal she can get."
"Well, she can rehearse over my dead body," retorted Lynda. "Come on, we're going back to school. If Sullivan can give you time off for a rehearsal, he can give it to me as well." She pushed past Spike and out of the change room. Spike grinned at his reflection in the mirror.
"Almost too easy, wasn't it?" he asked his mirror self, who winked back at him.
"Hurry up, Spike, we're wasting time!" Lynda called over her shoulder from the front of the shop.
"And you're looking particularly handsome today," Spike added to himself. "What a day!"