Something Like Love

Chapter Nineteen

It was a lovely Friday afternoon. The birds were flying high in the cloudless blue sky, singing little melodies as they chased each other around in the air. There was a slight cool breeze that pushed all the fallen leaves around the streets. The air was warm (for fall that is), and little kids were out playing street football, and hopscotch.

Ever since Paul's dad accepted him, John felt as though everything was better. The days seemed brighter, people seemed friendlier, and he had a ton of ideas for new songs. Everything was looking up.

Paul had joined some club-- John couldn't quite remember what club it was-- and he had to go to a meeting after school, so John had to walk home unaccompanied. He didn't mind too much. He liked to be by himself sometimes, just to think. That's practically all he when when his friends weren't around. He would think about anything and everything. Why did his mom leave him? Where was his dad? What would he do if his band failed? Since when the hell was he queer? Those are the questions he tried to find answers for in his alone time.

Today, though, he couldn't get Paul off of his mind. For some odd reason, in which John didn't know, that little doe eyed boy made him so impossibly happy. It was ridiculous, really. John had never been so blissful in his life, and why should he be? His dad left him, his mum left him, even his uncle left him! And to top it all off, his aunt (basically the only person who will take him in) most likely hates his guts. None of this really makes your life fun to live.

But still, that raven-haired bloke that John met at St. Peters Church, he makes him optimistic. Paul makes him feel like he can do anything he dreams of doing. Take the band for instance. He's dreamed of having a rock and roll band since he was 15. And now, they have a gig in Hamburg next month. That's a step up from little pub gigs in Liverpool.

'I wonder if Paul's thinking of me right now.' John pondered. Although, John settled on the conclusion that he wasn't. Paul was probably concentrating on his club activities, trying to make everything perfect. What the hell kind of club was he in anyway? It was bothering John that he couldn't remember. Maybe it was a math club? Or the art club? No, it was probably th-

"John!"

John stopped, his eyebrows knitting together. That wasn't Paul's voice, for sure. He had heard that voice before, and there was only one person it could belong to...

He craned his neck around to look behind him, just as the golden - haired lad started running towards him. Pete Shotton.

'What in the bloody hell does he want?'

Pete reached John, bending over to try and catch his breath. John stood there, debating whether he should just walk away, or wait for him to say something. But Pete spoke before he could make his decision.

"Can we talk?"

"There's nothing to talk about," John said, continuing to walk. Shotton walked along side him, remembering how difficult his old friend was.

"There is. I want to talk about what happened at the dance."

"I kicked your arse. Are we done here?"

Pete sighed, already frustrated with Johns dumb talk.

"No, Lennon, we're not. Now quit being a daft bastard."

John stopped and put a hand over his heart, pretending to be offended. "Ouch."

"Now can we please have an intelligent, civilized conversation about the night of the dance?" Pete asked as nicely as humanly possible.

"I'm not really feeling that, right now. You'll have to catch me on a good day." John waited for a car to pass before crossing the road. "Ta ta, dear." He waved at Pete expecting him to turn around and go home, but to Johns surprise, he kept following him.