Beatle

Chapter 2 (Continued)

Hello there Beatle People! The next installment of my story; we finally get to meet a new character (I sure hope I do him justice!) Enjoy!

“The gate’s not gonna be openin’ itself,” a thick Liverpudlian accent called in a rather smug way.  I turned to my left to face the house next door to see a boy of about sixteen standing at his identical gate.  He started walking towards me with cockiness in his step, his brown eyes laughing impishly at me.  He wore black drainpipe trousers, a faded black jacket that was a bit too big for him, a checkered shirt underneath, and black crepe soled shoes.  His hair was slicked back on the sides with the top curly in a DA haircut, obviously trying to mimic the style of the Teddy Boys back home, who, in Melrose at least, were punks that cut class and smoked in the bathrooms.

“This must be the famous Lennon kid,” I thought, looking him up and down.  “I don’t like the look of him already; seems very full of himself.”

John Lennon had reached the gate by the time this train of thought had finished, and he leaned against my aunt’s gate with his hands deep in his pocket, shamelessly looking me up and down.  I crossed my arms over my chest and stared pointedly at him, causing him to smirk at me.

“Hello John,” Anne said, coming up between the two of us to get through the gate.  She had my bag in her hand, and as she passed she handed it to me.  “I see you’ve met Liz, my niece.”

“Yeah,” he drawled, drawing out the syllables still with that infuriating smirk on his face.  “I was just tellin’ ‘er how she needed to open the gate herself stead of lookin’ at it.”  He looked at me and spoke in a way one might to a child.  “I dunno how things are in America but ‘ere gates don open just by starin’ at ‘em, love.”

“I figured as much,” I shot back, tired from my flight and not at all amused by his sarcasm.  I wanted to sleep so much it hurt, and his pointless prodding was not helping.

He raised his eyebrows at me, surprised at my retort, and Anne broke the silence that followed it by saying tentatively, “Well.  I’ll leave you two to it then.  I’ll go put these cases in the house for you, Liz,” she added, taking my suitcases from me and walking up the walkway to the front door. 

I almost followed her, not wanting to stay any longer with this Lennon boy, but she was gone too soon, so I had no choice but to put up with his teasing until I could politely excuse myself. 

John went back to staring at me before finally sticking out his hand and saying, “I’m John.  John Lennon.”

I reluctantly took his hand and shook, replying, “I’m Elizabeth, Elizabeth Callet.”

I immediately regretted telling him my full name as he replied with a sardonic, “Well Miss Elizabeth, I coulda sworn I heard yer auntie call you Liz, or was that me old ears failing me?”

“My friends call me Liz,” I retorted, irritated with his prodding.

He gave me a mock insulted look, saying, “Oh, so you’ve already decided I’m not your friend ‘ave you?”