Growing Up Beside You [John Lennon/Beatles Fanfiction]

8. You're vulgar, John Lennon

January 1957

Twenty minutes later.

Celia couldn't stop gnawing on her fingernails. It was a nasty habit; her mother scolded her all the time for it, but she couldn't help it. Her nerves got the better of her. How much longer must she sit outside Mr Taylor's office before he called her in?

Twenty minutes ago, a seething Mr Oliver ordered Celia to leave the classroom and make her way to the headmaster's office. She did as she was told- ever so nonchalantly- though her heart was pummelling against her chest as she packed away her things. This behaviour wasn't like her at all. She was a good student- good report cards, good reputation. Always doing as she was told because that was the best way to go about it. Sure, she may not have agreed with everything her teachers said or did, but she didn't dare argue.

Until now.

It's like she'd been pulled away from her comfortable little corner in the background and pushed into a world of candid confrontation. Celia had received a few detentions spread over her five years at Quarry Bank, but she'd never been sent directly to the head's office for punishment. Christ knows what would happen once she got in there. She'd seen kids come out of Taylor's office in tears before. Speaking of which, God help the kid who was currently getting lashes on the other side of the door.

Celia shuddered every time the boy winced. She could picture Mr Taylor's bamboo cane slapping against the kid's bottom and the rippling pain it was causing against his skin. Celia clenched her clammy fists together and prayed that she wouldn't be in the same position. She'd heard rumours that his notorious cane was stored in a polished glass cabinet on the wall above his desk- right where the students could see it. She'd soon find out. Celia nibbled at the edges of her nails now like a famished mouse.

In pure shock, her finger slide against the cuticle of her finger as the waiting room doors crashed against the wall. What the blimmin' hell? She looked over to see who had caused the sudden commotion and in stormed an enraged Mr Oliver, clutching onto the collar of smug-faced John Lennon.

"Sit," Mr Oliver commanded pushing John in Celia's direction. He pointed to the empty chair beside her.

Great.

John chuckled. "I'm not a dog, Sir."

"NOW!"

With one swift motion of his arm he stiffly pointed over to the chair and Celia heard his elbow joint click.

"Sir, yes, Sir!" mimicked John, furrowing his brows and saluting Mr Oliver.

Mr Oliver, not appreciating the jest at all, took a step closer to John and they both stood toe-to-toe.

"I'm warning you, Lennon," he said through gritted teeth. "One more sarcastic remark from you and i'll-"

"You'll what?"