Growing Up Beside You [John Lennon/Beatles Fanfiction]

34. Who do you keep lookin' at (3)

It was better, Celia believed, to keep James from knowing the truth of her burden. So she nodded, feigned a smile and forced the enthusiasm from the back of her throat to reassure her good friend that everything was fine, that he had nothing to concern himself with, that yes, they should try and cram on the bus.

Despite being pals since the days of loosing their baby teeth, there were some things that Celia felt she couldn't talk to James Marsh about. She'd learned over the years from experience that certain issues and sentiments were best keep to herself or for others to confide in. Often it had been Celia's elder sister who bore the brunt of her emotions but now that was more difficult when Marian wasn't in the room next door anymore.

Celia was upset and what she needed today was a little bit of compassion and empathy. James, wouldn't provide her with either of them. Not because the boy was heartless, or inept at embracing such sensitivities, but because he seemed to be hardwired to lend pity to those situations which he thought best needed them. This, Celia knew, wouldn't be one of those situations because John Lennon was the reason for the misery she'd carried around like a brick on her shoulder. The weight of his harsh words spoken in Geography class were pushing against her brain. They were niggling her mind and forcing her into a state of dejection that not even James' company could make better.

Anyway, Celia couldn't talk to James about another boy no matter who it was. What with him being one of them it was just...awkward. James himself was quite reserved when it came to speaking about girls or voicing his opinions and troubles about anything of a personal matter. Their relationship seemed to lack a level of intimacy where subjects as such could be comfortable rather than awkward.

The topic of boys had never really rose between them, unless of course, you exclude the ones that Celia could only ever fantasise about. James had been the frequent recipient of Celia's gushing's about Elvis and every other dark-haired dreamboat that captured her fancy. The same way he'd gush about Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly. But that was different. They weren't real in a way. They were mirage-like. These people didn't actually exist in the physicality of their world. She couldn't touched them, or talk to them. Relationships couldn't be developed or thrived upon. These fanciful, visionary men and women couldn't drag her into a despondence over their conflictual exchanges, like others around Celia could. Like John could.

James would often rant to Celia about his elder brother and the constant competition they possessed over intellect, proficiency and talent on the cricket pitch. And sure, every once in a while he'd have a moan about, in his own words, "the deterioration of modern-day music" and the "inferior" opponents of his chess games, and oh, he'd annoy her to no end about the Grand National when it came around every year over at the Aintree racecourse, all of which Celia held no interest in whatsoever, but still, she'd listen and try to sympathise and offer him consolidation and empathy when he needed it, because she was his friend and she...well she really liked him. But James wouldn't welcome any of the above when it came to John Lennon. Ever since they'd confronted each other nose-to nose in the canteen last month, there had been an air of resentment between the two boys. Celia would often notice the tautness of James' face anytime John was mentioned in earshot.

If John was able to extract a conflictual side to the    the usually non-confrontational James, than she worried what other side John might extract from him. John, it seemed, had the power to bring out the worse in people and she didn't wanna see that happen to James. Besides, if Celia were to open her mouth about Lennon, James might take it the wrong way. If he thought John to be occupying her mind, he may get the impression that Celia fancied him, and that in itself was a horrifying thought. James was the boy she was so dearly fond of. The boy who never gave her any trouble at all. And thus, it was better not to say anything to James at all. It was easier to say she was fine for her own sake as well as his.