Growing Up Beside You [John Lennon/Beatles Fanfiction]

12. Look who it is (1)

January 1957

John staggered forward into Pete as somebody crashed into his back.

"Eh, what the fuck, John?" Pete groaned, his eyes flickering from his best mate to his half-eaten apple which was now sitting lonesome on the concrete.

John spun around ready to shove the fucker that almost caused him to headbutt Pete, only to find Celia Pooley standing opposite him.

"I'm so sorry, I-" Celia frowned, obviously deciding to save the rest of her apology for someone she deemed worthy of hearing it. The corners of John's mouth slowly rose, knowing full well that the girl wasn't in the least bit pleased to find out it was him she'd bumped into.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," John smirked, giving Celia the once-over.

It was funny, before last week he'd never properly seen this bird around school and now she was everywhere. She seemed flustered, trying to catch her breath from where she'd been running. Whenever he saw this girl she was always having bloody palpitations over something or another.

"I could say the same to you," Celia scowled, brushing away wisps of her hair from her eyes.

John slouched on the brick wall beside him. "I know yer find me irresistible and all that, but throwin' yerself at me ain't gonna work, love."

Right then, he wished she would've. There was something desirable about the way she looked at that moment. Her blonde hair hung loosely around her flustered pink cheeks and her breasts rose and fell in time with the pants from those plump parted lips of hers. He wanted to shove her against the wall and shag her- audience or no audience. The way she was staring at him now, though, seemed as if she wanted to shove him against the wall and bash his head in.

"Oh, as if I ever would," Celia scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Don't flatter ya'self."

Yeh, we'll see. Give it a week or two and she'll be falling on her knees, beggin' for it.

"If I knew it was you I was gonna knock into, I would've made sure I hit you harder."

"Oooooh! We've got a tough one 'ere, boys!"

Pete snigged behind John. Their other mate, Rod, attempted to laugh too but ended up choking on the smoke of his cigarette instead.

"Apologise," John demanded. He crossed his arms and stared down at the girl who was currently shooting him daggers.

"I already did, prick'ead."

"Not to me, to Pete," John replied. "Yer made him drop his apple. I'll have ya know, he was enjoyin' that."

The girl glanced down at the apple beside Pete's foot and John watched her eyes flicker back up to him with an expression that read: You can't be serious.

Of course, he wasn't. John couldn't give two shits about the bloody apple or whether or not Pete was distraught about it. He simply enjoyed the way it was so easy to tick the girl off and he liked the way she never stood for any of his provokes.

"Go 'ead, then," John said, nodding towards Pete. "Tell the lad you're dead sorry." Both boys had moved to stand either side of John with equally amused smirks on their faces.

"You don't get to tell me what to do, Lennon." Her expression suddenly hardened as if she remembered something and she sneaked an apprehensive look behind her. "And if ya don't wanna get caught bunkin' or smokin'," she said nodding down at Rod's cigarette, "then I suggest you move away from here. Mr Taylor's gonna come around that corner any second now."