The Less I Know The Better [complete]

2 ;; first assignments

The clang of metal slamming against each other; accompanied by the squeak of shoes against tiles and books being closed, creating a concerto of noises that were blanketed by the enthusiastic chatters of schoolchildren as they gathered their necessary items for class. 

It was just the same for John Lennon - he was gathering up his books for his first lesson of the second day, which was his main, music. Since it was a music academy for kids looking to pursue a career involving music, that meant that they usually had music as a lesson once every day, and twice on some days; they still had regular lessons like a normal school would have, like science and maths and English etc, but the kids attending were there for the music. 

Leaning his battered leather guitar case precariously against the lockers - that contained the most precious artefact in his life at the moment - next to him, he attempted to unlock his locker for the 3rd time, teeth now clenched in irritation. 

"Bloody lock.." He hissed under his breath, calloused fingers attempting to get the combination correct, and failing once again. "Fuck!" Why has the world forsaken me? He shook his head in indignation, spitting curses at whatever god or holy creature that his aunt believed watched over the earth, telling it to go fuck itself if it was causing all his dilemmas.

"Poor Lenny! Can't get his locker open." Ringo quipped amusedly, watching his friend suffer with his smugness seeping through his countenance, shining in his eyes and laced within his smirk. He had gotten the combination on his own locker right on the first try, and was patiently watching John fall apart from acrimony, waiting until they could leave for their shared class. 

"Shut yer mouth, Starr, or I'll shut it for ya." John's harsh scouse accent tore through his speech, but his amusement peeked through his anger, barely suppressed smile lighting up his features.

"I dare ya," His azure-eyed friend challenged him, and of course the younger boy would retaliate; he shot out a hand and twisted Ringo's wrist the opposite way that it should bend with an amused schoolboy malice. Ringo let out a noise of protest and scrambled away, not without a friendly shove to John's shoulder and a playful glare directed his way. "oi! Prick." He clutched at his sore wrist.

"You asked, and I delivered." 

Ringo was about to reply, but he seemingly fell short as his eyes fixed on something behind his friend, expression changing from amused to distrustful. John was about to ask what caused his sudden mood change, but decided to just turn and see for himself; and there they were. 

They weren't looking at anyone - John presumed they were too caught up in their own worlds to notice anything happening around them. The shorter one (Paul was his name, John remembered hearing Mr Martin say it yesterday) seemed to be gliding along the tiles, expression distant and cold, doe eyes fixed on a certain locker near the end of the hallway, which John assumed was his. He was holding onto a well-kept guitar case of his own that John recognised, since he saw him holding the same thing when they first met yesterday. Brows seemed to be more present in the world this time, meeting gazes of some curious students ambling along around them. John still didn't know his name yet. 

One thing the auburn-haired boy noticed, too: was the stares people were giving them. Most - if not all - of the people around were looking at the two new kids, some leaning to the side to whisper something to their friend, others snickering at jokes. Those jokes were most likely made at their expense, he thought with an uncomfortable swallow. He didn't really know why it made him so uneasy, the thought of the two being made fun of. They weren't exactly the friendliest to him the last time they interacted, so why should he care? They were just bratty kids who probably had too much money on their hands than they knew what to do with.