Nowhere Girl ~ John Lennon/The Beatles

Chapter Nine: Big Bird

"Come on, you daft sod, play it right!" John exclaimed, laughing as he hit his hand against his guitar strings, whilst Stuart - the daft sod in question - merely rolled his eyes. "What are you, some kind of amateur?"

"Well you taught me how to play so maybe it's your fault," he shrugged, adjusting the bass strap on his shoulder.

Robin bit her lip, desperately holding back a laugh as she sat off in the corner of Paul's back room, watching as Stuart's comment hit John, who brushed it off by merely pulling a face. The rest of the band ignored them, all but Paul who rolled his eyes, and Robin couldn't help but wonder if he was jealous of John and Stuart's friendship. Not that it was really any of her concern considering she didn't really know him well enough to make that judgement, instead trying to focus on the sketchbook propped up on her knees.

She'd given up trying to work on her coursework at the very start of the band rehearsal. She knew it would be a bad idea trying to work whilst all the lads were messing about around her, not to mention there wasn't nearly enough room for her to spread out and work how she usually did, though she'd gone along with John's plan from the night before just because it felt good to feel included, to know someone wanted her presence. The latter feeling was extended when they arrived at Paul's house and the rest of the band were glad to see her. The feeling of being wanted almost made up for the lack of concentration; almost. Feeling guilty that the band were all rehearsing and she was just sat in the corner of the room not really doing anything, Robin had begun to sketch for fun, finding the lads great references as they played their instruments.

She'd started by sketching George. His teddy boy quiff had been fun to draw, all the shading and layers, and as she worked on his facial features she found his angular face, fang-like teeth and serious expression such an interesting test of her skills. She'd hate for George to know she'd been drawing him, worried he'd think it odd behaviour from someone who was still just a stranger, so she kept her book propped up, hiding it from the band's view.

About halfway through their rehearsal John's cousin Connie let herself in, silently sitting next to Robin in the corner. Robin was glad for her presence, no longer the only girl in the room as well as the only one not playing music, even though she didn't speak to her. Connie, like Robin, immersed herself in her own work as she read a battered-looking copy of Little Women, thankfully not even glancing over at her sketch pad.

The two girls decided though that this banter signalled a break from practicing, and Connie got to her feet, stretching. Robin got up too, shuttling her sketchbook and setting it aside. The boys looked to the two girls, their miniature audience, as if looking for feedback, making Connie snort out a laugh.

"You were alright," she said with a shrug.

"We're not aiming to be alright, we're aiming to be the greatest," John said flatly. When none of the others chimed up in agreement he sighed, rolling his eyes before he muttered, "Forget it, I'm going for a smoke,"

"Me too," Robin said, fishing her cigarettes and lighter out of her satchel before she followed John.

John was clearly close to Paul, as he strutted into the kitchen as if it was his own, and out the back door as if he'd done it a hundred times before, and by the time Robin had caught up to him he was leaning against the fence, looking over the divide into next door's garden, a cigarette already between his lips as he lit it up. Robin went to get one out of her own packet, but John shook his head, getting one of his out.

"You said last night, I owe you," he explained casually, ignoring the way she smirked in amusement.

Trying to hide her surprise at him remembering one flippant little comment, she took the cigarette, holding it between her teeth. Before  she had the chance to light it with her own lighter though, John was leaning over to her. She tried to ignore how close he was, focusing on how he was clicking his lighter as he lit her cigarette. The moment it was lit she took a step back, not sure why she felt so weird being that close to him. She'd certainly been closer, the two of them squeezed together as they shared a desk at college, but there was something about how he learnt over her, so close she could feel the smoke off his own cigarette, his eyes searching her expression as if he was desperately willing her to look up and meet his gaze.