Growing Up Beside You [John Lennon/Beatles Fanfiction]

33. Who do you keep lookin' at (2)

The classroom door flew open. Flecks of paint fluttered to the carpet where the metal handle had banged violently against the chipped, ivory wall. Ms Rainsford stopped in the middle of her sentence to fasten a reproachful glare at John.

"Why, Good afternoon, Mr Lennon! How nice of you to join us fifteen minutes late!"

John unapologetically grinned at the geography teacher as he leaned against the doorframe. "Sorry, Miss. Would've been here on time 'n all, but Sweaty Simmons kept me behind."

The students that started to giggle were those who were still entertained by their prior lesson with John. Unfortunate Mr Simmons never used to sweat that much until John got hold of him. There was no reason why the harmless maths teacher had been singled out for persecution, except that he was young and inexperienced, fresh out of teacher-training college. John could always sense nervousness in someone and would home in on it ruthlessly. His larks began after just a couple of weeks of first-term, when Mr Simmons was pacing up and down the classroom during a maths test and suddenly jumped about three feet in the air when he noticed there was half a dissected frog from the biology lab sitting on John's desk. A couple of days later, further humiliation was visited upon him when he was standing over a girl's work, helping her out with a Linear equation, whereupon John and two accomplices began shifting their desks towards him, inch by inch, until the poor man was imprisoned, on all four sides. He nearly broke his leg climbing over the desks to get out and John almost pissed himself with laughter. That had been the first time everyone saw an outbreak of the uncontrollable perspiration that was soon to give Mr Simmons his nickname. It had got worse and worse after that.

Just an hour ago, Sweaty Simmons had been scribbling an algebraic formula onto the blackboard when he reached into his pockets for a handkerchief, and pulled out John's very own underpants—a pair of dirty, off-white Y-fronts, which John had placed there a few minutes earlier. Mr Simmons mopped his brow with them for about five seconds before he realised what was going on. The whole class roared with laughter. John had sat back in his chair with a tiny, self-satisfied grin on his face: the smile of a skilled craftsman, the great orchestrator of mayhem, a Lord surveying his kingdom.

Ms Rainsford propped her small, freckly hand on her hip and gave John another one of her reproving stares. "Mister Simmons. Show some respect, John, please."

"Sorry Miss," John said, though absent of remorse.

Ms Rainsford's voice rose sharply. "It seems to me that if you had to honour us with your presence today, you could have at least prepared yourself to come to class looking presentable."

The geography teacher surveyed the unkempt boy in front of her and below her hooded eyelids, her disparaging eyes lingered on John's creased shirt which was severely poking out from underneath his grey sweater-vest.

John lowered his gaze to his midriff and whilst tucking in his shirt he said, "That's a little rich coming from you, Miss, when you've got a coffee stain on that blouse of yours."

Ms Rainsford suddenly flushed red with mortification and John turned his impish grin to the front so he was facing the reverberating giggles around the room. He shrugged and swaggered off to the vacant desk at the front of the classroom.

As John slid into his seat, he popped his chewing gum on the back of his teeth, knowing full well Ms Rainsford didn't allow for it. After she'd turned away from her students and rubbed profusely at her cream blouse, she appeared in front of John's desk holding the waste-paper bin under his chin with raised eyebrows and tightly-pressed lips.

"Sitting on your own for this project won't suffice," she said to John as he obediently dropped his gum into the bin.

"What project?" John mumbled.