What If

Chapter 35

The looks I got from school were, in a word, awesome. People stared at the bruises on my face with semi-shocked expressions and then turned to their friends and whispered. Showing up like this, plus my outburst with Natasha, gave me a reputation: basically the female equivalent of a teddy boy. I wouldn't call it entirely true, but it wasn't something I was willing to argue either. Much less of a chance of being messed with this way. And I liked that image.

The teachers looked at me a bit funny too, probably perturbed to have another troublemaker in their classrooms. They didn't matter as much to me though. They had very little social influence on the students in the school anyway.

After school let out, I met up with Paul and George to walk our way to band practice. We had already told George the whole story during lunch. He couldn't stop staring at my face the entire day. I'm sure it looked slightly different, partially covered in a brown and purple spot on my left cheek.

Paul still insisted that I shouldn't come along, but I wouldn't have it. I planned on making sure that Paul and John made up. I was not going to be the reason the Beatles broke up. That was one mistake I was not going to allow.

"Now, Paul, remember what we talked about," I said to him as he lit up a cigarette. "I expect you to be on your best behavior and be nice to John."

"Yeah, yeah, alright, mum," he said sarcastically, taking his first drag.

"I'm serious. The moment you two fight, I'm cutting you both out, got it?"

"Got it, got it," he whined. He was tired of hearing it. I had reiterated the point at least a thousand times within the past two days. I didn't care though. I wasn't going to screw this up this time.

We reached the warehouse in no time at all and barged right in. The other three were there already: tuning guitars, strumming, and Pete tapping on his drums. This was the first time I saw John Lennon since he punched me in the face. His mouth dropped open when I walked in with the entire left side of my cheek black and blue. He set down his guitar quickly and came right over to me.

"Colleen," he said, not knowing whether to apologize or if it was too late. He held his hand up, wanting to touch my discolored face, but stopped himself halfway there. "Your face. It's . . ."

"Bruised, thanks to you," I retorted.

John shook his head guiltily. "Colleen-"

"Don't worry about it," I said, putting my hand up. "I'm willing to move past this and move on."

John looked behind me to Paul, eyes narrowing, fists balling. "Paul," he spat out.

"Lennon," Paul said rather calmly.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed John's hand, pulling into the far corner of the warehouse, behind some large stacks of boxes and crates. "I need to talk to you," I told him, not giving any other explanation than that.

He was surprised by my suddenly pulling of his hand, but he didn't question it and just followed along.

When we were far away from the others, I looked him dead in the eyes and said "Listen, I want you to make up with Paul." 

He sneered and crossed his arms. "And why should I?" he asked harshly. "He's a prick."

"Because, John Lennon, if you don't, I will never come to another gig or another band practice or your house or anything that involves you or Paul voluntarily. Understand?"

He chuckled and shook his head. I knew it sounded childish, but there wasn't really another threat that I could think of that would make him do it. "Love, you know I could see you at school or around town. You wouldn't be that far away."

That was the answer I typically expected, so I came up with another approach. I clasped my hands behind my back and gradually got real close to him, my lips close to his, and said in a really soft, seductive voice "Please, John? For me?"

He glanced down at my lips, nearly touching his, and grinned. I had naturally big pouty lips, something that was desired in a girl during these times. "Don't tempt me, love," he said, barely above a whisper.

I grinned back, looking down at his lips too, as if I were considering kissing them. "Please?" I ghosted over his lips. "Make up with him? He's your best friend."

His smile slowly turned into a frown, looking back and forth between my eyes and my lips. "Why did you go out with him and not me?"

I gradually shook my head. "It wasn't a date," I breathed. "It was a friendly outing. He and I had . . . an argument a couple days before and he wanted to make it up to me, so he took me out for a nice time. I promise you, John, it wasn't a date."

"Then why wouldn't you go out with me?"

"Because you wanted a date."

His frown then turned back into a grin. "Then how about a 'friendly outing', as you call it?" he asked, raising his hand to caress my chin with his thumb.

I grinned, keeping this charade going. "If you make up with Paul, I'll consider it."

"Deal." He turned his gaze back down to my lips, which were nearly on his already. He tilted his head and tried to close what little remaining space there was between us, but before he could, I stepped away from him and started back towards the others.

"Good," I said.