This Boy

That boy took my love away
Oh, he'll regret it some day
But this boy wants you back again

That boy isn't good for you
Though he may want you too
This boy wants you back

Oh, and this boy would be happy just to love you,
But oh, My I
Oh, That boy won't be happy till he's seen you cry
This boy wouldn't mind the pain
Would always feel the same if this boy gets you back again
This boy, this boy

"George, hurry! You're going to be late again," Mrs.Harrison called to her teenage son. George came out from the small room he shared with his brothers, with guitar case in hand and his school bag hanging over one shoulder. "I'm not going to be late, mum." he assured her.
"Ahh, don't be so sure of yourself, then! You were late last time and I reckon you will be again if you don't 'urry yourself. And what's with the guitar? You can't bring that to class, you know. What are you doing?" George stepped to the mirror and swept his hair back in an Elvis-ly fashion. "Mum, the guys are practising, you know. Afterschool in one of the rooms at the art college...where John goes. I gotta practise with them, mum." he explained. Mrs.Harrison tilted her head, crossly. "And where do you intend on leaving your guitar when you're in school?"
George slipped his leather jacket on, over the pink shirt that hung loosely over his chest. "Dunno. The office, maybe. I'll try fitting it in my locker. It doesn't matter." Mrs.Harrison gave her son a look and continued her housework. Peter walked out of the room to discover his younger brother fixing his hair by the mirror. "They're never gonna let you where that, you know. Leather is against school policy. So is color." George rolled his eyes. "School policy can kiss my..."
"Boys, the bus is waiting! Go on, go on!" Mrs.Harrison exclaimed. Peter and George walked out of their small home in Wavertree, a subcity within Liverpool, England. The navey blue bus waited, rather impatiently as the two aboarded. The driver smiled at the boys. "Good morning, lads. You're running late today." Peter bit his lip. "Sorry, father." He said quietly, hoping no one else would hear. The Harrison sons made a point of keeping quiet that their father was the bus driver.
George walked down the aisle in search of his seat when he found Paul, an older schoolmate of his. "Hey Paul! Can I sit with you, mate?" Paul smacked his lips as he chewed his gum loudly, and gave a single nod of approval. George slid into the seat, and held his guitar where Paul would notice it. "What's that?" he asked, bluntly. George glanced at his guitar. "I heard the lads are getting together in the private lounge at the college. I wanted to play with them." Paul cocked his head. "That's keen, man but what about John."
"What about him? Do you think he'll mind?"
"I mean, I dunno. I think you're really good, but John, well...he can be John. But then again, Ivan is ill and I don't think he's coming today. Maybe you can fill in for him. We need another guitarist anyways."
"Oh great! I've really been practising, I have." George declared. "I can see that," Paul agreed as he noted George's swollen, and cut fingers. The two hour bus ride was soon over, as Paul and George seperated to go to class.
It was as George neared his first class that he realized he still held his guitar in hand. He gazed around, in search of a safe place to leave his instrument. Surely, it wouldn't fit in his locker (that was just an excuse to humour his mum). Ah-ha! The band room. George sneekily snuck into the band hall, finding an empty practise room to hide his guitar. He walked in the dark, silent room, only to be greeted by the wicked stench of smoke. Puzzled, he inhaled through his nostrils and recognized the filthy odor as a lit cigarette. "Is someone in here?" George asked the darkness. He heard the shuffling sound of a person trying to hide. "Whose there?" he asked in a louder whisper. George looked around for a light switch but all he found was a miniture lamp and he turned it on. The small light slightly illuminated the shadowed room to reveal a young woman in the corner, cigarette in hand. She drew back in fear, but she had already been spotted. "Oh, its only a kid." she said, relucktantly. "What are you doing here?" he asked again.
"I was smoking. I had to, I can't help it. I thought you were a teacher." She paused. "You're not going to rat on me, are you?" George shook his head. "No, I won't tell anyone. But you better get out of here; the smell of smoke is really strong and you'll be discovered any minute." The girl shrugged, "Really? I didn't notice."
"What's your name?"
"Bianca, and you?"
"George." The glowing light gently reflected on Bianca's image and portrayed a beautiful blonde, with long cascading hair and a lean figure. George couldn't help but look her over. It was the same look that he, Paul, and John had all melted over: Bridget Bardot. Long thick blonde hair with a full chest and big eyes. George felt his knees go weak. "What year are you?" Bianca asked him. George's young mind raced in forgetfullness and confusion. "Um, err..uh, second. How about you?" She laughed. "I knew it! You are a kid. I'm on my last year, here." George, sheepishly looked down at his hands. He bit his lip, a little hurt and humiliated at his own age, something beyond his control. Suddenly, the practise room door opened and the bald head of Mr.Whittington, the band instructor came shining in. Except, he found the light switch in only an instant and the two students were stuck, caught in the act. "What is going on here?" he demanded. Mr.Whittington's wide nose flared as he picked up the scent, like a dog. The scent of smoke. The scent of suspension. "Are you smoking?!" he cried. Bianca's face went pale. "Young lady, this is not the first nor will it probably be the last time that I've caught you smoking in..."
"She wasn't smoking!" George exclaimed. The two of them both turned to George, whose jaw moved but the words were absent. Finally he spat out, "It's my cigarette! She was holding it for me. I had to...tie my shoe. She wasn't smoking. It's mine...really." Mr.Whittington looked at Bianca. "Is this true?" She looked at George and back at the band instructor. "Um..." she panicked. George nodded. "Its true, sir." He continued. That was enough for Mr.Whittington to make his verdict, and cast the boy guilty without a second thought. "Alright then. What's your name, boy?" George looked back down at his hands. "George Harrison, sir."
Mr.Whittington replied, "George, you stay right there. Bianca, you may leave. I am going to call the principle over. He'll take care of you. Don't move!" With that, he scurried down the hallway and disapeared. Bianca exhaled in relief. "Oh thank you! You really helped me. If old man Whittington knew it was me again, I would have been in so much trouble. I can't thank you enough. I gotta go, I'm gonna be late to class. Thank you, George." She turned to leave when she paused. Slowly, Bianca turned around, leaned over to George and kissed him softly on his raw, dry lips. Astonished, George could hardly kiss her back! His little heart was pounding so fast, he struggled to breathe! But she was so soft and gentle, and she stroked his cheek lightly. The kiss might have lasted a couple seconds maybe, shorter than that. But its effect would last a couple lifetimes as George's insides melted. Afterwards, she quickly left. He stood there in awe, in wonder, in...love.
However, what happened next was not quite so beautiful. Principle, Mr.Rockford entered the practise room, with a 'your-screwed' expression on his face. "Come on, young man. Let's go."

"Well Mr.Harrison, other than being sent to the office for inappropriate dress code, your record looks quite clean to me. There have been no fights, or poor behavior in class. Your grades are not the best nonethless, not the worst. So it only puzzles me, young man, why you would be smoking on school grounds. Would you like to explain yourself?" Mr.Rockford glanced from George's open permanent record, to the boy who sat in front of his desk. George fidgeted, uncomfortably. "Explain what?" he asked, innocently. Mr.Rockford rolled his eyes. "Mr.Harrison! Why would a boy of your standards and behavior do the mindless act of smoking in school property?" George nervously scratched the back of his neck. "Um..I don't know sir."
Mr.Rockford slapped the file onto the desk, angrily, as George felt his skin crawl. "Well then, boy, you do know that the penalty to your action is suspension, correct?" Even more wretched by fear, he stampered, "No sir, uh, I mean, yes sir." The principle calmly took a seat in his big leather chair. "Look, rightfully, I should suspend you. Its only fair to the other students whom have been in your place." He leaned back in his chair. "But I personally feel that because you appear to be a good kid, you can get off the hook...slightly. You do agree that there should be some form of punishment, right Mr.Harrison?" George nodded, in agreement. "Oh yes, sir. It was...inexcusable." Mr.Rockford sat quietly for a moment, contemplating the punishment. "Then I'll be seeing you for the neek week after school, everyday. You'll be serving an hour detention each day for this week. The room is 409. You're familiar with it?" George scratched his neck again. Another trick question! he thought to himself. Luckily, the principle continued before he could answer. "Good, then I will see you there. As for the reasoning, I am going to mark lewd behavior in class. Should I put that you were smoking, it would look bad on both of our parts. You are dismissed. Get to class, now."

With each class, George had lost his mind to its own tranquil state of thought. He just could not focus on his education at a time like this. Something seemed...different. He had a rush of excitement like something big had happened. No, it wasn't weazling out of suspension. It was something else. During Algebra, he rested his cheek on his hand and dazed off. Bianca. It just sounds so nice, doesn't it? Flowing off the tongue so beautifully. Bianca. George pondered. The series of the day dripped slowly as mollassess does in early spring. It was not long till lunch arrived and George eagerly raced to the cafeteria to meet his buddy, Paul. Because Paul was a year older, he had no classes with George but they often met up together at Lunch time. Naturally, Paul was one of the first ones to make it to the cafe and he was in line nearly first. George ran up to him. "Hey Paul!" he called to him. Paul payed for his lunch at the head of the line, and turned towards George. "Yeah, man? What's your hurry?" Paul smiled curiously. George shook his head. "Nothing really. I've just been in a good mood today." he confessed. Paul took his tray to a table. "I dunno about that. I heard some girls talking about you. Some older girls. In chemistry class. I just heard mention about you saving one of their girlfriend's from big trouble. What happened, man?" George's eyebrows arched in confusion. "Saving someone? Oh yeah! I'll tell you about it later. Wanna sneak out to the Art College and have lunch with John and Stu?" Paul nodded, "Sure, let's go. You gonna grab something to eat?" George shook his head. "Nah, I'll get something at the college. They have better food."

The two boys walked out the cafe door, and through one of the long corridors of the Liverpool Institute. Turning a couple corners, and pretending to be late to class around any passer-bying teachers, the lads make a sneaky route out of the building and onto the street paths that were only a short walk to the Liverpool College of Art. As they entered the building, the sophisticated art student look came on their faces and they snuck into the lunchroom. It was less roudy at the lunchroom in the college; the students sat together in small tables and conversed quietly about more economical issues. In a near corner, sat John, his mate Stuart, and a couple friends of theirs. "Come on," Paul led. The boys walked over to the table. "Hello lads! Hey John, Stu." Paul greeted, cheerfully. John's face lit up to see Paul. "Hey man. Glad you came." he said. He peered round Paul to see the young, frail George looking much like a child as he was surrounded by older students. "I see you brought the kid. Hey kid!" John greeted, less enthusiastically. George forced a smile, loathing the common nick-name he'd been granted, but still feeling lucky to hang out with older folks. And even to John's dismay, George looked up to him as a role model. He constantly hung around whenever the lads had a gig (which were few and far between), and stuck around during practises. Even when his company was not desired, George would tag along and hope to win John's approval. Stuart pushed over to make room for George. Paul was already seated across from John. "I'm gonna grab something to eat. Be back, guys." George said.

He wondered to the lunch line, standing as tall as he could. For now, he was standing amongst college students. Taking a place in line, he slowly moved foward. "He is so cute, Dottie." he heard a voice say. In front of him stood two girl students, one, a long haired light brunette, the other, her friend, a short dark haired brunette. George recognized the light brown haired girl. Her name was Cynthia Powell, a girl who strongly fancied John in private. Her friend was Dot, a tall rather intellegent indivisual. Both girls watched the table where John sat. "He is kinda cute. But I dig his mate. The one with the freckles." Dot replied. The girls giggled. "Well," Cynthia continued, "a lot of freckles aren't my thing. But I think Stu has just the right amount. Sparse. And I like the way his hair falls over his face and his ears. But Stu is Stu. All I really want is John." Dot flashed Stuart a smile. His gaze reached her smile, and he shyly blushed, grinning lightly back at her. "Ooooh, did you see that? He's so sensative!" Dot admired. Cynthia grinned down at her tray. "John can be sensative!" Dot laughed. "Are you serious? John's a jerk...a lovable jerk." Cynthia playfully smacked her arm. "Watch what you say about my man! He can to be sensative. I know he seems witty and just...strange at times. But I know that deep down, he must be sweet and sincere. Just look at him."
"Is it true that he is dating? Steady?" Dot asked her adoring friend. Cynthia brushed her hair behind her ear. "Oh, I hope not! But I have a back up weapon," she said, slyly. Dot's face lit up. "What? What are you going to do? Tell me!" she exclaimed, excitedly. "Oh, you'll just have to see. I hear things here and there so I am going to change my look. My hair, that is. You'll like it!" She shook out her hair. "Are you going to cut it?" Dot wondered. "No, no. You'll have to wait and see. Its gonna be great." After the girls payed for their lunches, they retreated back to their table, and George soon followed back to the guys.

"Guess what I heard?" George said as he scooted in next to Stuart. John rubbed his chin. "Tony and Layla broke up?" he guessed. "Who?" asked Paul. "Nah, no one. What's your news, boy?" John piped up. George grinned at Cynthia and Dot and then back at the lads. "Cyn Powell has it in for you, John." John laughed. "Yesterdays news, chicky baby. Everybody knows that! Everytime I see her, she shys all up. But when I talk to her, boy oh boy, priss priss priss! That Cyn Powell can be so..." John lifted his chin up, and erected his nose in a snobby manner. "Not my type. Anyways, I already have a steady. You'll have to meet her someday. She's gorgeous. And her knockers, man! They go out to here!" John stretched his hands out. The lads laughed. George turned to Stuart. "And Stu, Dot thinks you're cute." Stu blushed again. John reached over and pinched his cheek. "Well who could resist this face?! Oooh Stuart!" he said in a girly voice. Paul and George snickered. "Piss off, John! What else did she say about me?" Stuart asked eagerly. "She likes your freckles. And she thinks you're sensative." Stu smiled shyly. John looked disgusted. "Sensative? 'Aint no way Stu better be sensative! You know what they say about a sensative male artist." Paul played dumb and replied, "No John, what do they say?" John grinned, devilishly. "Well, I'll tell ya!"
Stuart rolled his eyes. "That is so over-rated and stereotyped." John withdrew in shock. "You mean, this whole time...we weren't a couple?! Are you trying to break up with me?!" George and Paul burst out laughing. Stu hit John's shoulder. "Shut up, John!" John teasingly wiped his eyes. "Slut!" he bursted out. "Stop making a scene, John." Stu scolded.

The bell wrung and dismissed the students back to class. George looked at his watch. "We gotta go! C'mon Paul." They got up and threw away their trash. "Bye John. Practise is still after school, right?" Paul asked. John nodded. "Yeah, man. 3:30. See you there?" Paul agreed. "Wait, guys! I have detention after school." George spat out. John gave him a cross look. "So? What, you planned on coming to practise?" George bit his lip. "I brought me guitar. I thought I could fill in for Ivan. Um, I've really been practising. You should hear me play! So, er, can I come?" John pondered for a minute. "Yeah, I guess so. Only cause I like your gear shirt, though. Alright, when will you be coming, then?" George tried not to show his excitement and replied, "As soon as my detention is over. Uhh, 4 o'clock, I'd say. I'll see you guys then." George and Paul hurried out of the college and back into the Institute through a back entrance. "Whats this news about you having detention?" Paul said as they entered the hall. "I was smoking." he answered. "What?! You? Smoking?" George shook his head. "Well, not really. But...I promise, I'll tell you later. I gotta get to class." The boys went their own ways just in time as the bell rung.

Three o'clock. Detention room 409. The room was packed with the tardy students, the misbehaved students, the bullies and harmful people, and finally young and innocent George Harrison. He took a seat in the back of the room, hoping to remain unnoticed. It was not too long after he had gotten adjusted that a familiar face entered. The beautiful blonde came in wearing a loose white sweater and a tight pink miniskirt. Her hair lie over her shoulders and concealing her back. She wore light pink heeled shoes and a silver charm bracelet. Everything about the way she moved and talked was graceful, unique, and ellegant. She walked over to the front desk, where Mr.Rockford sat tapping his pen. "You again, huh? Take a seat." he instructed her. Nonetheless, it was Bianca.

She walked down the aisle, looking for an empty seat. George felt a lump well up in his throat, as he watched her. She tossed her hair back, and ran her slim fingers through it just as she spotted George sitting in the back. She smiled and paced to the back, planting down right next to him. "Hi George!" she said. He smiled, warmly back at her. "Hello Bianca. What are you doing here?" She sat back in her chair and relaxed. "They got me for the dress code. Honestly! Do you think this skirt is too short?" She stood up and turned in a circle for him to see. A chill ran down George's spine. "Um, er, no. Not at all!" he assured her. She sat back down. "Well, Mr.Rockford seemed to think so. Jerk." she mumbled. "I get busted for the dress code. You know, they don't take kindly to leather pants or jackets. And colored shirts must scare them, you know." She laughed. "I know, right? Whats so shocking about a little color?" George unzipped his jacket to reveal his pink shirt. "Well I don't know, you tell me!" She smiled down at his chest. "Pink is sexy." she said, biting the end of her pencil. George scratched the back of his neck (he tends to do that when he gets nervous). "Not on me!" he exclaimed. She tilted her head. "I don't know. It kind of...suits you. Not enough guys wear it." George considered the thought. "So they gave you detention, huh?" Bianca asked. "Yeah, for a week. It sucks, but thats life." She looked down at her hands. "I really want to thank you again. You saved me! They would have kicked me out for sure, had they caught me. It means a lot to me." George grew red as he remembered the kiss.

Suddenly, Bianca's pencil fell off the edge of the table. "Oh!" she exclaimed so innocently. "Could you get that for me?" He happily bent down to pick up te pencil when he realized he wasn't alone. She, too, had leaned over and instantly, kissed his lips again, now hidden behind the desks. George was so stunned by her sudden and blunt action but this time, had the courage to kiss back. Except it was Bianca who opened her mouth first and George had no other choice but to comply and mimic her action. Lips locked, she ran her long nails through his thick hair and scratched his head, gently. He smiled but continued to kiss her. She giggled and then drew back and sat back up, as if nothing had happened. George slowly moved back into place. He was in love.

The bell rang gleefully as the clock hit 4 and all the detention students were in a raucous to leave at once. "Can I carry your books?" George asked Bianca. She smiled at her hands, so purely. "Sure." The two walked out of the room and down the corridor. George carried her stack of books, while his were hanging in his school bag, slung around his shoulder. "Where are you headed?" she asked him.
"I gotta pick up my guitar and then, I'm meeting some fellas to practise. In a band, you know." he bragged.
She arched her brows. "Is that right?"
He gave a swift nod, and cocky grin. "I love just a man who likes rock n' roll. Its just so...kinky! Its the new sound, and a good one. You play rock n' roll?"
"Oh yeah! Definantly! Thats all we dig. Rock. My mate kinda likes the folk sound, too but mainly just rock and skiffle." Bianca fell in a daze. "My, is that interesting. You remind me of someone." He cocked his head. "Who?" he wondered curiously. She just kept walking with him, with a laconic look on her face. "Oh, no one."
"No, really! Who is it?" George pressed. She shook her head. "You wouldn't know him. He's a little older than you anyways. He's in a skiffle band. Can't get a break though." George and Bianca entered the band hall. Their footsteps shook the air, as it was silent, so silent. As he neared the band practise room, a sound disrupted his ears. It was a jangling noise coming from the room. "Stay here, I'll be right out." George instructed her. He walked in the room and saw three tall lads. They must have been in their last year, but looked older (perhaps, repeated). One of them held George's guitar, strumming away harshly at the delicate chords. The other two were laughing, as their friend pretended to be a star. "Hey, thats my guitar!" George cried at the sight of his poor guitar being violated. The two boys laughed while the one with his guitar stopped playing. "You got a problem, kid? Its my guitar now!" George's face went of fright. "No its not! Give it back." He reached over for it but the boy drew it back, tantalizing him, evily. "I'm serious! Give it back." George demanded. The boy pushed George away like a child. "Piss off, boy! I already told you that its mine. Get over it. Cry to mummy, if you must." The two other boys chuckled. George was angered. "You better give that guitar back to me!" he said, as his tempter rose. The boy looked numb, with no feeling by his threaght. "Or what are you gonna do about it? Report me to mummy!? Go ahead. Do it!" George's jaw clenched. He grabbed his guitar by the neck with one hand, and punched the boy's shoulder with the other. His aiming wasn't the best, but the punch felt strong and hard. And the feeling of victory kissed his pinched cheeks. "Thats what!" he shouted. With that, he turned to leave. But as he reached the door, the two other lads stood there waiting for him. Each one grabbed one of his arms and pushed him against the wall. Pinned to the wall, George struggled to best of his ability but he could not get away. The tall boy walked over to him. "I would want to break your guitar when I'm breaking your face." He said as he set the guitar aside.

The boy pulled his fist back and then punched so hard and fast that George didn't know what hit him. The punches didn't stop there. Continuous blows followed, some directed at his chest and others, his face. He could feel the knots of bruises forming all over. And the stinging taste of tears roll down his cheeks. The pain didn't seize, as the blows got harder and more unbearable. A drop of blood streamed from his mouth off his chin and stained his pink shirt. His lip, now gashed and torn, was leaking the bitter taste of blood that nauseated the boy even worse. But soon, his body began to numb and the harsh hits hurt less and less. He might have been punching harder, but his body seemed to loose a sense of feel. George hung limply in the arms of the two boys, feeling ashamed, feeling belittled, feeling completely helpless. A throbbing sensation overwhlemed his cheek which overthrew the numbness. It was pure anguish again. The only thing that kept George going was the thought that soon, or at least sometime, the pain would stop and everything would be better. But he dared not moan or even grunt for he feared Bianca hearing. And if Bianca spotted him being beat up and torn apart, she would see what a kid he was. He feared the very thought.

Bianca stood quietly in the hall, wondering what could possibly take so long. She leaned against the wall when someone entered the band hall. Low and behold, it was John Lennon. He spotted Bianca and ran over to her. "Hey sweetheart! I came looking for you. I wanted you to hear the lads and I reherse. We're one man short right now but he should be coming any minute." John wrapped his arms around Bianca's thin body and hugged her close. She happily illuminated as John leaned down to kiss her soft, pearly lips. He then kissed her perky nose and then her forehead. "What are you doing out here, anyways?" he asked. She looked at the door. "I was walking with a friend and he needed to pick up his guitar. He is going to a band practise too." John smiled. "Oh really? What's his name?" Bianca held herself close to John. "His name is George." she answered as she began to kiss him again. "George?" John asked. "You mean a little guy about yay tall, with long hair and big brown eyes?" John asked more suspicious. "Oh yes! You know him?" she said. "Why sure I know him! He's my little mate. Hangs around me all the time. I was going to introduce you to him because he wanted to meet my girlfriend. But I guess you two have already met." She nodded. "Yes, he's been kind to me." John put his hands on Bianca's cheeks and kissed her. "Well if George is in there, I'll go get him." She unraveled John from her arms and he walked into the room. A restricten George Harrison was leaned against the wall, near passed out and still recieving sharp blows.

John's eyes widened. "What the bloody 'ell is going on here?! Get the bleeding hell off of 'im. Your killing him, you pricks! Sod off! I'll kill you!" John grabbed the boy's shirt and tugged him foward to punch him in the face. That one shot knocked the boy to the ground. The other boys fled! George slumped to the ground, feeling ill and hurt. John dashed to the floor and shook George. "Are you alright? Can you hear me? George?! Can you hear me?" John's voice stretched in George's racing mind. Bianca curiously entered after seeing the men evacuate. She dropped to her knees when seeing George on the floor, beaten and bruised. George looked up at the two of them confused. "John, do something!" Bianca cried. George rubbed his eyes. "How do you two know eachother?" he asked, still spaced out. John looked at Bianca and then back at George.

"She's my girlfriend."

The next feeling that overcame George was an anuguish beyond any compare. He looked at John, his friend, the man who saved him from unconscienceness and further pain, and then at Bianca, the beautiful bombshell who misleadingly snogged him and flirted innocently. It couldn't be possible! The woman of his dreams be dating...John? So many questions came to mind. Why had she kissed him? Did she mean anything by it? If she was dating John, how come she never mentioned being taken? Or did she just view George as a friend? Like a friendship kiss. But wait! There was some tongue in there! That was definantently no friendship kiss. Right? George sat up and rubbed his aching forehead. "Are you two steady?" it was the first of many questions that came out of his lips.

John put his arm around Bianca's shoulder and smiled at her, lovingly. The very look in his eyes answered George's question. She leaned to John and kissed his lips. Right in front of George. A burning sensation tickled George's heart. He could not bare to watch his friend and his love in a romantic embrace. He felt cross emotions. Hurt by his heart breaking, jealous of his mate, but ashamed to have kissed John's girl. Twice. Bianca just smiled at George as if nothing was the matter. "How do you feel?" she asked him. Anger took over all his emotions. How could she be so blind, and do this to him? He scooted himself away from her, bitterly. "Fine," he snapped. She gave him an apathetic look and put her hand on his leg. "Are you sure?" It was about this time the hormone fairy took a pit stop to sprinkle its joyful pixie dust on George! Beaming with happiness, he replied, "Yes. I'm great." She nodded. "Okay, let's get you up then." John and Bianca both took George's hands and lifted him up to his feet. He took a moment to balance himself and stood as erect as possible. His cheeks felt puffy and bruised. He could only imagine how he looked (and he tried not to).

"Why were those guys picking on you?" John wondered. George tried fixing his hair. "They were messing with my guitar and would not give it back to me. I got mad and socked him one right in the shoulder. Bad mistake. His two mates pinned me to the wall and started a bonnie. I bet I could have beat him if I weren't out-numbered! But they wouldn't let me go. It was aweful. I'm alright. A little shaken up, but I'll be okay." John grinned at his little mate's cockiness to actually believe he could beat up anyone. They both knew how fragile, and gentle George was, even through that leather jacket and pants. He was just as dangerous as Stuart Sutcliffe, a passive and sweet-hearted artist! But John let George get out his empty threaghts without doubting him. As for Bianca, she didn't know any better but figured George probably wasn't that harmful. "How hard did you hit him?" said John. George evilly replied, "I knocked him good! Smack! It was a bloody harsh punch, man." John messed up his hair. "Thats ma' boy!" Bianca giggled. John continued, "But you shouldn't have hit him in the shoulder. There's a key spot that will take any guy down. And you know where that is, right?"
"John!" George exclaimed. "There's a bird present. Watch your mouth!" John laughed. "Ahh, come on now. I'm giving you some good advice. Its one of lifes key stratigies that all men should know. And it might come useful to my Bianca here. If some guy tries to put a move on her, she can bam! Kick him good! Show no mercy." She teasingly hit John's arm. "I'm with George on this one. You talk about your guy issues when I'm not around. I don't plan on kicking any guys where it matters most." she declared. John rolled his eyes. "Now now. Bianca, this is important bollix. Its defending yourself, love." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Well if I have you around me, I won't need to defend myself now will I?" She planted a kiss on his lips. George squirmed. John nodded agreeingly. "The lady serves a very good point. Why milk the cow yourself when the farmer can do it for you?" She giggled cutely. "Oh you!" she exclaimed. John and Bianca were held so close they were breathing the same air. The sight bothered George but he tried not to express it. "Moo!" John whispered to her. She was squealing so innocently, so freshly. It was like the laughter of an angel. "Moo!" John moaned louder. "Cut it out, you." she said. John touched her hair. "You wanna play cow and farmer?" he asked.

"John Winston Lennon!" she cried. "Come now. I can be the cow if you want." He teased. "Kinky!" she said, and pulled away from him. He was still smiling, happier than ever. "So John, are we going to practise or what?" George interrupted, moodily. "Yeah sure, lets go. Are you gonna come watch us, love?" Bianca ran her long fingernails through her thick hair. "Uuuh, I have plans actually so I'm gonna have to take a raincheck on this one. But maybe next time, okay?" she answered. John kissed her. "Alright sweety. I'll call you, okay?" She agreed and then left. John and George went in John's car and drove down to the college.

The whole car ride felt awkward to George. He didn't know what to say. Most definanently, he would not tell John nor Paul about what had happened with Bianca and he that day. John would kill him for sure. After all, George had never seen John so daft for a girl. He must have kissed her five times! And they were so close, emotionally and physically. As much as George loved Bianca, he knew it could never happen. It wouldn't be right to John, and besides, he didn't have a keen feeling that Bianca even fancied him. He would just have to let this one go. But for having loved someone for less than a day, George found it hard throughout practise to stop thinking about her. To stop replaying the kissing scenes in his head. To stop thinking about her beautiful eyes, beautiful hair, beautiful smell. She was irresistable, and like a leach, sucked the life out of George. Sure, George had his share of crushes, girlfriends, and even two steadies. But none of them had had such an effect on him like Bianca. And as much as he wanted to forget about her, something inside him refused to let go. Maybe he really was in love. Maybe he had never french kissed a girl and being his first, he found her more...exotic. Whatever it was, his main problem was, well, it was. And he didn't know how long it would take him to stop loving her.

The room they practised in was a small, echoing art room they were granted permission to play in. It had a strange smell, and sometimes the light wasn't very bright. But it was the only place they could all meet and play music. The door creeked open and the boy immediantly paused and looked to see who entered their 'studio'. It was Cynthia Powell and Dottie. The band watched them. "Can I help you, Miss Priss?" John asked Cynthia. She tucked her hair behind her ear. "We were wondering if we could listen to you play?" Dottie answered, ignoring John's comment. Stu exchanged looks with Paul. Paul whispered, "Sounds like future groupie material. Let 'em stay." John laughed at the whisper. "Groupies are suppose to be hot! Cyn Powell is average. Just an average lass." he whispered to Paul. Paul sympathetically threw a glance at Cyn and shook his head. "Nah, I don't think so. She looks cute to me." he begged to differ. John sneared. "Look at her skirt! It reaches her knee for God sake. What a priss. My girl wears these mini-type things. Its great and conveniant if you know what I mean." he nudged Paul, winking very obviously.

Paul rolled his eyes. "Not all of us have a girl, John. Especially one that dresses like a floozie. And how should you know about that being conveniant? You haven't done anything!...have you?" John just smiled. "Haven't I?" he replied. Paul leaned foward. "Are you serious? With YOUR girlfriend? She's hot, man. Nah, you couldn't have." John sat back. "If you say so." he tauntalized Paul. Stu turned to Paul. "I've met his girlfriend. And your right; she is hot. But its actually true. They did. I know cuz' I met her the day after and she was beaming! After she left, John told me all about it." Paul's jaw dropped.

"Gentlemen." Cynthia interrupted. The two girls were oblivious to what the lads were talking about but nonetheless getting impatient. "Can we stay or not?" Paul whispered to John, "I want the full story in all graphic details later today. Got it?" John laughed. "You're too young for that kind of stuff...but ah hell, I'll tell you anyways. Later." he agreed. Stu motioned to the girls. "Come on over, girls. You are welcome to stick around." The ladies sat on two unoccupied chairs and relaxed. "Okay boys. Go ahead. Play." Dottie said. The lads rehearsed for nearly two hours, and Cyn and Dottie stuck around the whole time. Afterwards, everyone was tired and began to depart. Paul approached John. "Can you give me a ride home?" he asked. John said yes and led Paul towards the exit. "Wait!" George called after. "I need a lift too." John shrugged. "Theres only room for two in my car. Sorry kid." He and Paul left, and George felt fearful, and upset. Why should he care about John's feelings? John obviously didn't care about him. There was no reason to forget about Bianca now. He felt to John, he would always be the 'kid' and not matter. 'Screw him.' George thought to himself.

George went to Stuart. "Hey Stu, can you take me home?" Stu had been flirting with Dottie and gave George a cold look as if to say 'I'm trying to flirt - piss off!' George drew back, helplessly. "I'm going with Dottie to Ye Cracke. We're gonna have a couple drinks and hang out for a while. So I can't take you." George swallowed hard. There was no where to turn. And walking home could take hours, maybe even days! Or at least thats what George believed. "Hey, I can give you a ride, baby." he heard a voice say. It was like music to his ears. It was Cynthia. The warm offer took a load off his shoulders. "Oh thank you! Thank you!" he exclaimed. She took George to her car and he sat in the front seat. She started the car and they drove down Rice Street through a neighborhood. "Can I tell you something George?" she asked him. "Sure, go ahead."

"Have you ever been in love?" she said. He uneasily scratched the back of his neck. "Uhh, I dunno. Why?" She sighed. "I'm just asking. I wondered if you knew what its like. I mean, I know your kinda young to know that feeling. But its a wonderful feeling. George, I think I am. With John. You can't tell him, though."
"I won't." he assured her. "Good. Anyways, I don't know what to do. He is so interesting. I don't know why I love him or even if I should. Its probably a stupid idea. He hates me." George shook his head. "No, he doesn't hate you! He just thinks you're a little too..." How to put it delicately? George pondered. "Sophisticated." Yeah, that worked. Sophisticated. Cynthia arched her brows. "What do you mean? I'm not...dumb enough? He wants me to be ditsy?" she questioned. "Uhh, not nessacarily. Just less...priss." She replied, "Oh you mean, less bratty and snobby, right? I figured!"
"No, Cyn. Its not that. You're not bratty...or snobby. You're pretty. And sweet." She looked at him. "Really?"
"Really." he promised.
"Hey, is that John's girlfriend?" She pointed straight ahead. Sure enough, a distance away stood Bianca in her garden, picking weeds from the flowerbed. She had changed into a pair of old, dirty, short denim shorts and a white top that tied in the front, exposing her mid-drift. Her hair was pulled back with a tie and clamp, and her arms and kness were covered in dirt and soil. She looked beautiful.

"What does John see in her? She's not even in college! And she's just...so...blonde! What's so great about that?" Cynthia jealously snapped. "Want to know a secret?" George blabbered out. "What?"
"You have to promise not to tell. Ever! Okay?"
"Okay, I promise."
"Alright." He took a deep breath and quickly said, "I'm in love with her!" Cynthia's eyes widened and she stopped the car. "What?!" George bit his lip, nervously. "I didn't know she was John's. I fell in love with her before I found out. I felt bad about it when I heard the news. But I can't get over her. John doesn't deserve her. He's so crude and just...insensative. She's so perfect and everything! I love her Cynthia. I'd do anything to have her. I know, I'm awful. I can't help myself." Cynthia sat quietly for a moment. But slowly, a little scheme formed in her head. "You know what, you are right, George. John doesn't deserve her. John can have any girl. I think she's more your type, and your age level. I say go for it! John will get over her quickly but you won't because you really love her." George considered her advice. "You're right! I should, shouldn't I? Okay, drop me off at her house. I need to talk to her." Cynthia felt her plan coming to work. "Great!" She started the car again and stopped it in front of Bianca's house. "Good luck!" she called to George.

George walked over to Bianca who was kneeling in the dirt, tending her garden. "Hi Bianca." She smiled up at him, surprised to see him. "Hey George!" She stood up to see him. But as George looked in her eyes, he knew this wasn't right. This was John's girlfriend and who was he kidding? This girl could never be his. But if not anything else, George knew he wanted answers. "What are you doing at my house?" George looked down at his hands. "I was just passing through the neighborhood and I saw you here and wanted to talk to you. Do you mind?"
"No, not at all. Let's go inside. I need to get cleaned up anyways. I'm all dirty, you know. Follow me." He followed her into a classy and rather large home, nothing like his whereas he shared a room with his two brothers. The floor was tiled with white marble, and the carpeting was clean and glowing. The walls had paintings and illustrations that were a feast for one's eyes and there was a curling stairway that led to a whole other floor, something George's home definanently lacked. It was quite a sight. Like royalty. Bianca and George went into a relatively large bathroom and she began to wash her hands in the sink. "What did you want to talk about?" she asked, as she washed her hands. George took another deep breath, 'Here goes.' "Bianca, why didn't you tell me you were dating? Someone steady, moreless!" She dried off her hands. "I never said I was going steady." she corrected. "Yes you did! You and John." he protested.
"George, I NEVER said I was going steady with him." she repeated.

She began washing her legs in the tub. "Then why didn't you tell me you were dating in the first place?"
"Was I suppose to?" she asked, innocently. George shrugged, not knowing what to say. The way she put it, it didn't seem like any of his buisness. Still, he tried to remember all his agruements. "You kissed me. Twice! And one of them wasn't so innocent. Especially for a girl whose dating my friend." She patted her legs dry with a towel. "How was I suppose to know you two knew eachother?"
"That's not the point! Even had we not known one another, he is still your boyfriend, right?"
"Right. So?"
"So?! What do you mean 'so'? So you shouldn't be kissing other guys if you have a boyfriend. Why would you kiss me if you already had a boyfriend? And don't tell me it was a friendly kiss 'cuz it wasn't!"
She walked out of the bathroom and George trailed behind her like a shadow. They came into a bedroom which must have been hers. It was enormous. She sat on the bedspread and George stayed standing.
"Guess you're kinda mad at me, huh?" she said.
"Not mad at you. Just confused, Bianca. Very, very confused. I like you. I do."
She tossed her hair back. "I like you too, George. But I have a boyfriend. John. And I love John."
George's heart picked up speed as she said that. She liked HIM? It was incrediable! But it didn't matter in the long run. He had to be faithful to John whether he liked it or not.
"I know. I understand that. I guess its best if we just stay friends then. Right?"
She nodded, smiling. "Yeah, friends is the way to go, I guess." She patted the bedspread for George to sit down. He did, feeling a little upset by the outcome. Evetually, it had to happen. They were silent for a moment. But then, it happened. Bianca and George faced eachother at the same time, and began to kiss. George's jaw trembled by relaxed as they continued. She held him to her and kept kissing him, softly and smoothly. And like their last kiss, it developed into a french kiss. Except George was first to open his mouth. He kissed her lips, then, her chin, and then her neck. "Wait!" she said pulling him up to look at her. "That was a friendship kiss. Right?" George stampered. "Uh..um, yeah." She smiled. "Great." Then pulled him back against her and kissed him passionately. The two stumbled on the center of the bed, trying to keep kissing as they etched closer. He was atop her, before he knew it and they were still kissing.
***
An hour later, the front door opened and Bianca's parents came home from a nice romantic dinner. George had his head nestled in Bianca's neck, as the two lied quietly in bed. Her arms were wrapped around his back, in a cuddly embrace and the two lie comfortable and content. "Bianca! We're home! Have you had dinner yet?" her mother called to her. Bianca's eyes widened. "My parents are home!" she exclaimed. George opened his eyes from pure tranquility to pure fear. "What?!" He slipped off of Bianca and searched the floor for his clothes, in panick. As did she. He grabbed his pants and pulled them up, frantically. "Where's my shirt?" he cried. "Where's my bra?!" she declared. They heard foot steps coming up the stairway. "Oh my gosh! You have to hide!" she said. She pushed George in the closet, and shut it. Then she grabbed her top, no luck finding her bra, and pulled it over her head. Suddenly, the door opened. It was her father.

"Hi daddy," she said, nerve-wrecked. "Hi princess. We just got home. Had a really nice dinner." he said. "Oh, thats great." she replied. "Your mother wants to know if you've eaten yet. Have you?" he asked. "Um, no, not yet, daddy. I've been busy...doing my homework!" He smiled, proudly. "That's my girl. Well, you should fix yourself something to eat soon. Its getting late, dear." She nodded quickly. "Sure daddy!"
He glanced around the room. "You know this room is a mess. Look at this! Clothes everywhere. You 'otta clean this place up before your mother sees it. She'll throw a bonnie." He began picking up the clothes sprawled on the floor and folding them on her bed. George watched through the vents of the closet door.
Her father picked up George's pink shirt. "This is a cute shirt. Haven't seen you wear this one." He folded it and put it in her drawer. He found a pair of pants and asked, "Where do these go?"
"The closet." She answered instinctively. "Oh wait! No!" But it was too late. He had already opened the closet doors. George stood in the very back of the closet behind a row of dresses, trying to conceal himself in clothing so he wouldn't be seen. Her father walked in the closet and took and hanger, slipped the pants on it, and hung them up. George's heart pounded loudly. Her father looked around the closet for a second, then turned away, and shut the doors. Bianca exhaled, in relief. 'Thank God' she mumbled to herself.

"Well princess, I'm going to head downstairs. Make yourself something to eat, and please clean up this place, okay?" he said. "I will! Thanks, bye daddy." She shut the door behind him as he left and ran to the closet. "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry about that! Are you okay?" she cried. He walked from the closet. "I'll be fine. That was scary!" he said. "I know! My heart was racing so fast." She kissed him quickly. "I am gonna eat something. Its probably best that you stay and hide in my room. I'll bring you something to eat, okay?"
"Okay." he said. Bianca ate, brought food to George, and the two spent the night together.
Just friends.

*Riiiiiiiing* It was the buzz of Bianca's alarm clock the next morning. She dazily lifted her head, just long enough to see the time. 8:37am. With that, she plopped her head back into her pillow and rested her eyes. The sharp buzzing sound awoke George. He was nestled against Bianca in the bed, wearing a loose t-shirt of hers, and sharing her pillow. He rubbed his dreary eyes, and squinted at the alarm clock. His eyes widened. He was 37 minutes late! George sat up, in shock. It couldn't be! It just couldn't. "Bianca! Bianca, wake up. Wake up, darling. It's past 8:30. We're running late. Come on, love. Get up. We're going to be in so much trouble." He shook her gently. She rolled over and peared up at him. He gave a grunt of disaproval and buried her head back in the pillow. "Bianca! You don't want to be suspended do you? What if your parents walk in again? We're as good as dead!!" George's heart picked up speed.

"George, my father flew out of town this morning on buisness, and my mother works in the mornings. No one is home." She lied there for a brief moment when her eyes lit up. "Wait a minute! No one is home." She looked at George, excitedly. "George, no one is home! We can stay here!! And play hookie. You want to? It will be great. Come on, George, let's stay." Her excitement grew with every word. But George was uncertain at this to be a wise decision. "Bianca, when a student is absent, their home is rung up and they want to know why that person isn't there. What happens when the school rings up me mum and..." He paused, in mid-sentence. "My mum! I never came home last night. Oh my Lord! What am I going to do?"

Bianca bit her lip. Even the Cleopatra of deception was stumped by this eventuality. George rolled out of bed and paced the floor, trying to think of something...ANYTHING to tell his parents. There was no liable excuse. He was guilty. Obviously, the truth wouldn't cut it. He needed some kind of fib. But how do you explain to your parents why you never came home after school? "Can I use your phone?" he asked Bianca. She nodded.

He picked it up and dialed Cynthia's home. Her roomate picked up and in a sleepy voice, and answered, "Hello?"
"Yes, hello. This is George Harrison. I urgently need to speak with Cynthia Powell. Its an emergencey." There was a silence. "You're in luck. The art students had a holiday today. Day off. I think she wanted to sleep in but couldn't. Let me find her for you." There was some scrambling and thumping sounds before a voice said, "What's the emergencey?" It was still her roommate. "Its kinda personal. Can I please speak to Cyn?"
"Just a second." George waited impatiently. Finally Cynthia's voice came on. "I took care of it, George." She said. "When I got home, John called me and asked if you had gotten a ride home. He was worried about you." George felt a sick feeling in his stomach. "When I told him I took you home, he said that your mummy called Paul, asking if he had seen you. So I told John I would talk to Mrs.Harrison and take care of it. I rung her up and told her you were going to spend the night at my house because you needed help with your studies. She agreed, finding me a responsible girl and said as long as I took you to school this morning, everything would be fine. I figured you would be in school by now. Shouldn't you?"
A heavy load fell off of George's shoulders. "Thank you so much, Cyn! Yes, I should be in school. We woke up late and now, we're contemplating whether or not we should go to school." He stopped. "Cynthia, how did you know I would spend the night here?"
She smiled. "Woman's intuition, I guess." She mouthed to her roommate (whom was listening to their conversation) 'village slut'. "Well, I think your a little too late to go to school. Ring them up and tell 'em you're ill. Works everytime. Look, I gotta go. Hair appointment."

"At eight in the morning?" he pondered. "Yes, I couldn't sleep this morning so I scheduled an appointment. I'm a little late so talk to you later. Bye George." she said. "Bye bye, Cyn. Thanks again! You're the best. Cheers." He hung up. George went to Bianca. "Its taken care of. What do you want to do?" It only took her a minute to decide. "Follow me!" she exclaimed. Bianca and George wandered down the corridor, downstairs and into a livingroom. There was a leather couch, a coffee stand (with a short stack of philosophy books), a grand piano, and several other reclining chairs. It was quaint, and sophisticated. And like every other room in the house, large. Bianca held George's hand, leading him to the leather couch. They sat down, quietly. George took a moment to sink in the room. To study the artwork on the walls, and the keys on the piano. Everything seemed so cozy. The drapes on the windows that over-looked a lake out back. The gizibo that led off a pathway, small garden and sat alone and forlorn. And the carpeting was soft and caressed his feet unlike their hard, wrangley carpet. There was a vase of real flowers in the center of the coffe table. George's home did not have real flowers. A small light post sat on top of the piano, as if to illuminate the dark piano late in the peak hours of dawn. Every piece of glass glistened in that cozy room and every item seemed treasurable. These were the small settings George took in, while Bianca was just blind to.

He leaned back, comfortable with his surroundings. Bianca put her arms around his back. "George," she said so faintly. He looked into her eyes. So big, so beautiful, so blue. That was all that needed to be said. The cozy room was violated in only several minutes. The couch was the first victim of teenage curiosity and sins. Followed by the piano. One of the reclining chairs. And on the floor. After the floor, two naive yet innocent teenagers lied on the carpet and relaxed. He panted, a little tired. He never felt so much as a man as he did when he was with Bianca. It was an incredable feeling.

By afternoon, the Liverpool Institute released its students and George knew it was time to go home. He wished Bianca farewell and walked home, wearing yesterday's pink shirt and leather jacket. He was out of the neighborhood when he heard a car honking at him from behind. Turning around, he saw John and Stuart slowly driving behind him.

"Come on, boy! Get in!" John called. George shrugged. "I thought there was only room for two." he called back. John exchanged glances with Stu. "You're small enough. You'll fit. Come 'ead!" George got in the car, and sat on Stu's lap. He was a child again.

"Where are we going?" George asked. John kept his eyes on the rode as he spoke. "Round about. Dot is throwing a bash at her new place in Brukenstein, one of those large homes uptown. All the college lads are going, and some other people she invited. She's got connections to this man who's an owner of a German pub down in Hamburg, and he's coming. A lot of important folks, ya knowbut mostly pissers and wankers." George gave a lop-sided smile, "That explains why you two were invited!" John reached over and shoved his shoulder, "Piss off, you bugger. We're intellectual artists, you know. We're with the sophisticated crowd, and that's why we're goingplus a whole bit of broads will be there!" Stuart laughed. "Yeah, plenty of bords'll be about." John rolled his eyes. "Stu, we all know why YOU want to go." George shrugged. "Why?"
"Because! He wants to get into little ol' Dottie's knickers. No mystery there." John declared. "I do not!" Stuart protested. "I think she's a very keen individual, and amazing artist."
"You bloody liar! But who could blame you - Dot is a fine piece-a..."
"Watch your mouth, John!" Stu interrupted. George laughed. "You're so sensitive, Stu. John's only fooling with you. He likes to mess with your mind; that's what John does." John sneered. "Its true. Dot is quite a burning bird." Stu smiled shyly, "I guess so." The car drove down the long streets of Liverpool, and the scenery was forever changing - from the slum, poverty of Dunesberry Road to the upper-class estate of Brukenstein, a wealthy neighborhood on the northern part of town. The homes were mammoth in size, looking like columns of apartment complexes. They stretched high into the sky with decorative entrances that consisted of cobblestone pathways and fountains, a perfect lawn and a flowerbed. It was high society that they were entering, and very few could afford such nobility. Dot, on the other hand, could.
She was raised in a wealthy family, and came down the line of royal blood, as her great grandmother was the Duchess of Gionovia. Though Dot resumed to live a normal life, excluding herself from any royal political responsibilities, or recognition for being as such. To everyone else, Dot was the pretty, rich girl from the Liverpool College of Art.
Everyone looked forward to Dot's swinging parties. They had the flare and spunk of a normal college revelry but the expenses of the rich - wines, scotch, vodka, beer, and small finger foods. Loud music was played, the new sound as it was called, with dancing and drinking. It was a gratifying atmosphere and most enjoyable every time.
They reached the neighborhood and parked at the estate, amongst many other cars. And thus the party began
"I haven't thought about college yet. After all, I'm still in my second year. But maybe I ought to go to a psychiatric study or something in that field. I'd love to help people. I could never be a doctor! Too much schooling is involved. A nurse is too. Hmmm, maybe I could become an actress. I love the theater! I can act, and sing, and dance. I'm a natural. What do you think of my hair? I'm thinking of dyeing it blonde - I'm tired of being a brunette. It doesn't really work for me, but then again" chattered the loquacious Dora Lambert. She and Paul were reclined in a giant sofa in the dining room. Dora's raving never ended, but Paul didn't seem to mind. His attention was on something else anyway: the low-neck top that flaunted her full figure! Paul watched in awe, admiring and pondering, biting his fingernail and smiling. Dora was oblivious to Paul's fixation. "What do you think of red? Is it my color? I have such pretty hazel eyes that red would just perk me right up. You know, give me such ananAnne Margaret look. I love Anne Margaret, don't you? She is like, so my idol. This one time, some bloke said I looked just like her"
Paul sighed, and stared happily. His natural teenage urges were at a high that day, but just the sight was enough to satisfy him at that point. For Stuart on the other hand, it would take more than sight to subdue his cravings. Dot and Stu were on the 'dance-floor', which was in actuality the marble tile entry room of the estate, dancing to Lesley Gore. She swayed and twisted, swung and twirled, giggling and having a ball while Stuart fought back his growing temptation to snog her on the spot! He danced with her, while drinking a beer he held in one hand. The loud music seemed louder with the alcohol in his system, and the room spun in a wild fiasco of partying. He began laughing, uncontrollably due to his drunken state and everything amused him. Stu sang along with the music, his voice out of tune and his words cracking in attempt. Dot smiled at how cute he was when he was smashed. The next song began, a soft mellow ballad that took couples to the floor to cuddle in a romantic embrace of slow dancing. "Care to dance?" Stuart asked Dot with a crooked, drunken smile.
"I'd love to." She accepted, taking his hand. They promenaded to the floor, and Stu wrapped his arms around her waist. She put hers around his neck and gently swayed with him. He looked at her lovingly, even through his intoxication and leaned forward to plant a kiss on her unsuspecting lips. Dot kissed him back, which only instigated him to release more passion. He laughed, and snatched her hand leading her upstairs to one of the many rooms.
John watched the two happy adolescences run by and chuckled. "I knew he'd get in her knickers." He proclaimed. George sipped his scotch. "You called it."
They watched the pretty birds stroll by, exchanging remarks and compliments to them. "Fancy the arse on that one? What a knock out! She's banging gear." John exclaimed. George studied the girl's behind, and remembered Bianca. She was so beautiful, and sexy. He longed to see her again. Bianca wasn't just a good arse - she was much more than that. She wasperfect.
John swooned over all the gorgeous bords when suddenly a familiar face walked in. She had big, loped bedroom eyes and prissy, plump lips, an average figure, andlong, flowing hair. Long BLONDE hair! It was Cynthia Powell, Miss Priss! And she had blonde hair, in fact long, beautiful blonde hair. John could not believe his eyes. How could the most complex, prissy chick from the art college turn into that Bridget Bardot? He looked her over, shocked and delighted. "Miss Priss, did you get a hair cut?" he declared.
Instead of the usual sassy quip, Cynthia forced a soft, sweet laugh. "Oh, you noticed? I just dyed it a little. Does it look okay?" she said innocently. George licked his lips. "You look fantastic, Cynthia!" he chimed. She blushed, and then turned to John waiting for his approval. He did not reply but she knew he liked it by the glint of arousal in his sullen eyes. John went mad over Bridget Bardot: the long, luscious legs, the white milky cleavage, the massive blonde hair, and dark sexy eyes - she was John's dream woman. And though Cynthia didn't have quite the figure Bridget pertained, she still had the nice legs and now, the blonde hair.
"John, would you fancy a dance?" she asked, in a low, Bridget voice. John beamed in excitement, and followed her to the tile floor.
George wandered around the big home, sipping his scotch and peering around. "Hi George," a voice called to him. He turned around and a petite figure jumped in his arms. Bianca! She hugged him tightly, and he held her surprised at her presence. "What are you doing here, baby?" He exclaimed. She grinned up at him. "I was invited. What are you doing here?" she giggled.
"John brought me." He said.
"Oh, he did?"
"Yeah."
"Where is he? He's the one who invited me." She said.
George shrugged, awkwardly. "He's dancing with Cynthia."
Bianca glanced at the two of them dancing slowly, and John's wandering hand running down her backside. "He looks preoccupied." She stated. George nodded. "Yeah, he does. But I'm here!"
She ran her fingers through his thick hair. "Yes, you are!" she cooed. "Now lets dance!" George and Bianca cuddled together on the dance floor, her body pressed close to his. George felt a little eerie with John so close in viewing range. Then again, they were just dancing. But still. What if John should see them being so close? John was a little tipsy from the beer, and he had been known for throwing fits of rage when he wasn't sober. Bianca rested her head on George's chest and her arms caressed around his neck. He stroked her hair, inhaling the sweet scent and with every exhale, only that much more in love. She reached her lips up to his ear and whispered, "I love you, George." He held her closer, and firmer, as the night drifted by.

"Oooooooh! Oooh! Oh! Stuart, yes!"

The moaning cries echoed from upstairs and caught the attention of anyone still sober enough to reconcile what was going on up there. Those who did just laughed and cheered him on. Stuart was definitely keeping Dot busy that night, which was of poor taste for the host of a party. But they were just college kids looking to have some fun, and manners were the last of everyone's concern. John recognized the cries and yelled, "Yeah! C'mon Stuart! That's ma' boy! Make me proud." He was well pissed by then from bottles of vodka that he sounded like an animal. Cynthia concerned for his well-being, made him sit down and try to relax. "Everything's okay, John. Just sit back, and relax." He sloppily collapsed on the sofa, legs spread apart and eyes half-opened. And then, it happened.

Through a drunken gaze, he saw George lean down to kiss Bianca's lips.

Cynthia ran her fingers through John's hair and
noticed his bewildered gaze. She looked to see what
had caught his attention. Her eyes widened in
disbelief. "Bloody hell," she whispered faintly. John
hadn't heard. He couldn't hear anything, anymore. All
he could do was watch. Watch George Harrison, that
little scrawny mate, that tag-along, hero-worshipping,
floppy KID kissing Bianca, the girl of his dreams, his
GIRLFRIEND. Their lips were locked, their bodies
close, and their eyes shut. Embracing softly, and
smoothly, and in a sense of virtuous innocence. It was
like seeing two long lost lovers find one another
after a perpetual searching. They stood on the dance
floor, amongst many other couples, kissing. John
gritted his teeth. Anger, fury, disbelief, regret,
denial! All these emotions over-came him, and within
it all, he was still a drunken mess. Tears stung in
his eyes in rage and sorrow.

John jumped from the couch and paced towards the
couple. "George!!!" He cried. Bianca stepped back
after hearing the scream. George turned his head in an
instant and saw John heading towards him, the devil in
his eyes. Bianca broke away from him, and ran. George
stood there trembling in terror. John moved like a
lion about to attack his prey, and that was enough for
George to go tearing up the stairway without looking
back. John raced after him, only steps behind him.
George pushed through the crowd of students, knowing
John was not far behind him. He moved through the
people, as his mind was racing. John had finally
caught him in the act. Something...big was going to
happen. How could things be the same? After THIS?

He threw open the door to a bedroom and scurried in,
looking for a place to hide away. Falling behind a
bed, he stuck his head under a blanket. John pushed
open the door, and scanned the room. Stuart jumped out
of the bed, holding a thick blanket around his naked
body, and exclaimed, "John!" Taken aback, Dot crossed
her arms over her bare breasts in an attempt to cover
herself. She tried grabbing the blanket to cover
herself but then faced the problem of exposing her
chest. She sat up in the bed, and pulled a white sheet
over herself. Stuart cried out, "What the bloody hell,
John?!" John stood there, confused and angry. "Where's
George? Where the hell is he?!"

Stuart grasped the blanket around his waist, his hairy
chest heaving. "Okay slow down, John. What's going on?
Why do you need George?" he tried to rationalize. But
John had dismissed any sense of rationalization. He
was ready to kill him! "That...that twit! George!
He...he was...he was snogging her. He was snogging
her, the bastard. I'll cripple 'im. I'll bloody kill
him!" he ranted. John was crying in frustration.

Cynthia burst in the room, and to John's side. "John,
you need to calm down. You're tired, you're
drunk...maybe you're taking this out of proportion.
Maybe you didn't see what you think you saw. I'm sure
theres a good explanation for what happened." she
reasoned.

John shook his head. "Theres no good explanation for
that! I don't care what his excuse is. He was kissing
her!" Cynthia stroked John's sweating forehead. "John,
please. You and George can talk about this when your
sober. This is not the time, nor the place. Its
happening way too fast." she comforted. Cynthia
slipped her arm around John's waist, seductively and
kissed his lips. Though to her surprise, he drew back
from her. "No, Cynthia!" he declared.

Everyone stared not believing their eyes. John, the
ladies' man, the pervert, the cheating womanizer of
the art college was turning down a cheap offer! "Don't
even try it!" he admonished. "I love Bianca. I love
her with all my heart. I'd do anything for her,
ANYTHING! And she may cheat on me, but I wouldn't
cheat on her. I would never hurt her, Cynthia. I
couldn't...I love her." Stuart, still sorting out the
details of the situation, said, "John, if Bianca was
cheating on you, the feelings you have for her are not
mutual. I know its going to hurt, but you can't be in
a one-sided relationship. You have to end it." John
shook his head, sobbing. "No! Bloody no! Bianca isn't
the problem. George is the problem!" Cynthia was
quietly staring down at her hands, hurt and astonished
but in all, ashamed at her behavior. Maybe John really
did love Bianca. And all she had done was instigate
George to be with Bianca, when really, she was only
trying to be with John. Then now, all John really
wanted was to be with Bianca. It was a chaotic mess,
and the burden of responsibility lie on her shoulders.
Sure, she couldn't take full responsibilty for
George's actions. But she didn't try stopping him when
she knew what was going on, and moreoevr provoked him
to keep at it. Somehow, John had to find out
eventually and now came that time. No one was prepared
for the heartbreak, and anguish that followed his
discovery...especially John.

George was peeking from behind the massive blanket on
the floor. The realization had finally struck him,
too. John had poured out his heart, his true feelings
about Bianca right then and there. George was guilty,
and he knew it. But how could he repair the damage? Or
even, COULD he repair the damage?

Stuart put his arm around John's shoulder. His blanket
fell softly to the floor. With one brief glance,
Cynthia spun around. "Stuart, the blanket!"
"Oh!" He picked it up quickly and wrapped it back
around himself. Clutching the blanket with one hand
and holding John with the other, he said, "John, lets
go home." Stressed and distressed, John ran his own
fingers through his curly hair and bit his lip. "I'll
talk to George in the morning when I have a clear
head." Stu patted his back. "Good. Go start the car.
I'll get dressed, and I'll be right down. I'm
driving." he instructed. John was too upset to argue.
He slumped out of the room, and down the stair-well.

Stuart turned to Dot. "I am so sorry about this. I
have to go. John's gonna be a mess tonight and I need
to be there for him. I'm sorry, luv." He leaned over
and kissed her. She nodded. "I understand. Take care
of him, Stuart." Stuart agreed, "I will. Bye bye,
lass. I'll call you tomorrow." He looked over the
floor and began picking up articles of clothing.
Moving the blanket aside, he exclaimed, "George!"

George lied curled up on the floor, gaping up at
Stuart in tears. Stu crouched down on his knees. "I
don't know the whole situation or the complexity of
the issue, but whatever the hell you did, you hurt
John! I'm not sorry for you, and frankly, I'm
disgusted. Now you best get the hell out of here
before John sees you. I have half a mind to take care
of you myself, but this isn't about me, its about you
and John." George had never heard Stuart speak so
angrily. He was such a soft, and gentle man. It took a
lot to really anger Stuart Sutcliffe, and George had
done it.

He got up off the floor, and ran.

The crash of the back door slamming shook the still night, as George left the mansion. The loud music fell silent outside, and the hoards of people were all inside. George pulled his leather jacket to a close, in heap of the frigid air. His breathe released puffs of ascending clouds, and his nose turned pink and rosey, contrasting against his white, pale face. It looked like he was walking home, from there. John had brought him but there was no way in hell he was returning him home. He was on his own now, alone in the night and still adrift uptown Liverpool. George shuddered the thought of walking home - it was a very long walk, though he lacked enough money to take a cab. He started towards the road when he heard someone call to him softly, "George." Turning around, he met the gaze of a weeping Bianca. She was sitting on the trunk of a car in the driveway, huddled up, small and cold like a child. She was alone too, lost in her own self-made misery. George pulled himself up on the trunk next to her and put an arm around her shoulder. He didn't know what to say, how to go about comforting her after all, he didn't even know what exactly is was SHE wanted. They sat together in silence except for her quiet sobs and sniffling.

The night air was thick with cold, still with silence, and lit by stars, the illuminating stars that hovered above. George buried his hand deep within his coat pocket, and stroked Bianca's shoulder with the other. He looked at her. She never looked so innocent, so pure, so confused, so...lost. Wiping her nose with a hanky, she began to speak. "I never wanted this to happen. It had to happen, but I...I just, didn't...I don't know. I didn't want it to happen like this. John and I had been together for quite a while, but I wasn't satisfied. I wasn't...happy. I mean, I knew that he loved me. And I thought I loved him too. We shared so many times together, and it was all I could have asked for. But, I wasn't happy, George. There was something John couldn't give me. Something I needed that he didn't have. You know what I mean?"

George nodded. "I don't know what is was. But whatever it was, I found it in you. I really like you, George." He smiled, and planted a kiss on her forehead. "You know, I like you too." She nodded. "I know."

The crickets sang a little louder, but didn't distract George. He knew very well it had to end. Looking back on it, he had only known her for a day. Everything had progressed so quickly. For the first time in his life, he really felt in love. But why Bianca, why the one woman he couldn't have? It was fate's way of playing a sinister joke. George turned to Bianca and took her by the hands. "I love you, Bianca..."

"I love you too, George," she interupted, "and I think we can make this work. You and I. Together. I'll totally break it off with John so we can be together and not have to worry about him. He'll get over it. Theres plenty of girls who would date John in a heart beat." George shook his head. "Bianca, no. Its not as easy as that." The excitement on her face disapeared. "What do you mean?" she said quietly. He took and a deep breathe. "This is the hardest decision I've ever had to make, Bianca." He held her hand, and looked her in the eyes. "I can't see you anymore. We can't be friends either - it'll only hurt us both and I know I'll be led into temptation again. John is my friend...was my friend. Even if he never wants another thing to do with me, I still couldn't see you. Its just... not right."

The temptress sat quietly that night in Liverpool, having what was coming to her, arrive in one brief statement. George got up off of the car, and started the long walk that would lead him home. Bianca just watched him leave, not saying a word. He never looked back.

* * * * * * * *

George stood in the empty hallway of the art college, watching the clock, awaiting the dismissing bell. Only moments later would college students come pouring out of the many classrooms, and flooding the corridor of which he stood, waiting. It had been the next day, and George took off early so he could meet with John. They needed to talk. George had already explained everything to Paul the night before; and Paul surely went to bed with an earful! George hadn't spoken to John or Stu since that night. But now was as good as any time.

The bell rang, and sure enough, the crowds came pouring in. Cynthia was the first to see George. "Hi George." she said. George smiled, and greeted her with a hug. "How you doing, Cyn?" She pushed back her blonde hair. "A little better. I'll be alright though. How about you?" He nodded. "You want the truth?" She laughed. "Yes, please."
"I feel like shite. But I'll survive. I broke it off with her. Its definantly over. Somehow, I feel like I made the wrong choice...but its for the best. The big question is, if she and John will stay together. John really loves her." Cynthia shrugged. "Who knows. John'll take her back, if she still wants him. But I can't see that ever happening. Its funny - I got what I wanted; John and Bianca are not going to be a couple. And now that thats happened, what did I really gain? I'm not happy, you aren't, neither are John or Bianca. We're all miserable!" George laughed. "Fiendishly true."

The door to a classroom flew open and a roudy John Lennon came strutting out, with him came Ivan and Stuart. He was just as lively as ever, like good ol' John. They kept walking when John bumped into George. There was an awkward silence that followed. Neither really knew what to say, how to approach the matter. George's lips parted when John put a finger to his mouth to hush him. "Bianca and I had a talk last night," John said. George shuddered.

"She told me everything. How you got well pissed and drunk, and she kissed you. She said it didn't mean anything - it was just a kiss. And that SHE kissed YOU, not vice versa as I had thought. I guess I jumped to conclusions. I..." he paused and looked at Stuart and Ivan. "Beat it, fellas'! I'm about to let go of my pride, here!" The two lads smiled in understanding, and walked away. John turned back to George. "I'm sorry...for trying to kill you yesterday." John gave a half-smile. George didn't know what to say. Bianca had lied to John to spare their friendship! And after he had broken it off?! She was a goddess, she was a saint, she was...

"Well do you forgive me or not, you bloomin' bugger?!" John exclaimed. George contemplated whether or not he should tell John the truth - but seeing the happiness in his eyes, seeing the forgiveness and tolerance, he realized some things were better left unsaid. He smiled at John, and hugged him. "'Corse I do!" John held him for a moment and then pushed him away. "Now don't get all soft on me! I might have to cripple ya." George laughed. "Yeah, okay. I'm just so glad you aren't angry." John messed up George's hair and the lads disappeared to an empty room to practise, just like before.

********

Back in trig class, George and Paul sat in the back of the room, fiercely copying notes. George had his cheek rested on his hand, pondering away. He watched all the pretty girls, the ones with 'going-steady' rings on their fingers, boyfriends' names written on their notes, and their sweethearts on their mind. He smiled and looked back down at the notes he's scribbled down. Biting the edge of his pencil, he sat quietly in wonder. Grinning down at his paper, he wrote in big bold letters, 'BIANCA'.