#GRAB THAT FUCKING PEN NOW SEWARD

[immediatebreakfast]

Mina and Jonathan yesterday: Lengthy descriptions of the scenery as a way to convey their isolated feelings while they come closer to the place to slay the demonic man who caused their suffering under the traitorous watch of god.

Jack, today: "We are going to Bistritza, I'm freezing me balls off, I miss my phonograph, fuck writing more."

[preciouslandmermaid]

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader) - part 10

Note: I have an order for Yearning, table of 1. Also, I love the trope where the man is so in love that it makes him a pathetic loser. I love that shit.  

Warnings/Tags: None 

Synopsis:  It's fourth of July and Richie invites you to come see some fireworks with everyone. You decide to go even if Carmy isn't. Some secrets can only be told the dark, in the space between bursts of color, when everyone else is distracted.

(Read on Ao3) /// (Masterpost)

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Most businesses were closed for Fourth of July. You, however, were not. You were on custom-orders only, which meant no one could enter without proof of an order slip, but somehow—Richie got in. He swaggered into your office with a big grin, opening his arms like he’d hug you, before dropping them at your cold, serious look.

“What, no love for the guy who beat up your dad?”

You rolled your eyes, pointed to the invoices on your desk with your pen, “I’m working.”

Richie stepped behind and leaned over you while holding the back of your desk chair. It wobbled a little with the new weight and pressure. You resisted the urge to elbow him off.

“Doesn’t look as grim as Carmy’s office.” He said with a snort before pushing away and you caught yourself against the edge of your desk before your chair could roll forward. You frowned at his words. How much trouble was Carmy in? You still didn’t know even after helping him with the IRS situation. All you had were hints and clues and none of them boded well. If only he’d ask you for help, you could probably help him arrange for a first-time business owner loan or a bailout.

He peered at the whiteboard on the wall, grabbing a marker without asking, and wrote ‘I love Richie’ in bold letters. You sighed and reorganized your paperwork into a neat, color-coded folder.

“Are you just here to annoy me because the Beef is closed?” You asked. “Because if so, I’ll put you to work. Unpaid.”

Richie’s laughing blue eyes cut to you, mid-drawing of Fak holding a dick, “Hah! Nice try, but that’s illegal. I’m not here to be your bitchboy.”

“What a shame.” You joined him at the whiteboard and started erasing his artwork. He leaned his shoulder against the wall, folded his lanky arms across his chest and grinned. You noticed he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring anymore.

“Oh yeah? You into the dom-stuff?” He asked with far too much interest for your liking. Was he trying to flirt with you? Or did Richie still assume you and Carmy were together? You huffed through your nostrils. You and Carmy were friends. That was it. You hoped to pursue something romantic with him, but not now. Everything was too chaotic, too stressful. If you tried a relationship, you’d be a mess, and he deserved someone more put-together, more perfect, more healed.

You said, “I’m into you leaving my office.”

“Rude.” He replied without heat, “What’re you doing tonight?”

“Oh my god! Richie?!” You dropped the eraser and placed your hand over your heart, “Are you asking me out?” You mocked with fake surprise and glee.

“You wish, sweetheart.” His grin widened. “Nah, we’re having fireworks at Seward Park. You know it?”

You nodded and Richie said, “You should come.”

You eyed him dubiously, “You got a permit to launch fireworks?”

Richie laughed.

“Fuck no.” He peered down at you, “I just know the beat cop working the area and asked him to look the other way.”

Richie came all this way just to invite you to an illegal firework celebration. Incredible. Your phone was heavy and silent in your pocket. Why didn’t Carmy tell you about it? Did he think you wouldn’t want to go? Was he going? You tried to imagine it, Carmy in a state of relaxation, and your nose crinkled even as a smile pulled at the corners of your mouth.

“Oh, I know that dopey-eyed look.” He teased.

You lightly shoved him,  “Shut up, Richie, and get out of my office.”

He took a pointed step backward, hands up in surrender before tucking them into the pockets of his track pants.

“Just come, alright? Bring some fucking crêpes or whatever.” He backpaddled out of your office and you heard him yelling farewells to your staff.  The marker left residue on the board, like an echo, a faded ghost of Richie’s shitty drawings, and you chuckled to yourself with a small shake of your head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You decided to go to Steward Park even if Carmy wasn’t there. Because otherwise your evening would consist of take-out and watching re-runs of the Great British Bake Off. It’ll be good to get out of the rut of routine and be social for one night. You could afford it. It would be good for you (or so you hoped).

You trekked across the damp grass toward the cluster of people silhouetted by camping lanterns and the tiny, telltale reddish glows of lit cigarettes. You’ve got a tin of cookies tucked under your arm and a special cupcake with extra frosting for your favorite annoying string bean of a man. You noticed Carmy among them, talking to a blonde woman, and you quashed the unnecessary jealousy that burbled in your stomach.

Marcus was the first to notice you, his smile bright and welcoming, “You made it!”

“I made it.” You placed the tin of cookies onto the white, folded table on the grass. The food laid out is standard Beef affair—hot dogs with toppings on the side, roast beef sandwiches, and a cooler with ice and cans of pop. Eva, clearly up past her bedtime, immediately grabbed for the cookie tin with her mom trailing behind.

Marcus asked, “Did you make these?”

You shook your head. “Dani.”

“I’m sure they’re fire.”

“Try ‘em first.” You replied, shrugging, though your grin is proud and earnest. You recognized nearly everyone here—except for the blonde woman talking to Carmy a few feet away and the dork in the sweater vest. The needle in your chest dug deeper. You ignored it. Tina introduced you to her son. Angel introduced you to his sister. Syd introduced you to her dad. Everyone had someone with them, and you bit the inside of your cheek. Richie didn’t mention shit about bringing guests or dates.

Speaking of Richie….you find him in the crowd.

“Hey! Richie!” He looked to you, “I brought you something.” You announced, holding his cupcake aloft and raising both eyebrows at him.

He chortled.

“Sweetheart! You shouldn’t have.” His hand extended for the treat, and you pulled it out of his grasp while grinning.

“Open your mouth.” You said, giddiness building in your chest, with a desperate attempt to hold back your smile in case he caught onto your plan.

“Wow!” Richie looked to the others with a toothy grin. “All this time you’ve been holding a torch for me, angel? Goddamn.”

He tilted his head, “You know my ex-wife is here, right?”

“Are you going to chicken out because she’s here or are you going to let me feed you this cupcake?” You challenged.

Richie leaned forward, getting to your eyelevel, and you wasted no time whatsoever—you smashed the cupcake into his cheek and only barely hitting the corner of his mouth. The circle of Beef employees that were congregated around you burst in uproarious laughter.

You found Carmy’s laugh, like a frayed thread in a ball of yarn, and held it close to your heart.

“God!” You laughed, tears springing to your eyes at Richie’s shocked expression. “I’ve been dying to do that since the day we met.”

“Oh yeah!?”

Richie wiped some of the frosting and crumbs from his cheek with his fingertips and swiped at your face. You laughed harder and stumbled backward, hitting someone’s chest as Richie smeared icing against your temple, and it caught in the hairs at your scalp.

“it’s actually pretty good though,” He declared while sucking the frosting from his fingers.

You spun, meeting Carmy’s eyes, and realized it was him who you bumped into. Even in the low light, you saw the amusement dancing in his blue eyes, the lines that crinkled around them. Your heart illuminated like a firework, sending phosphorus smoke through your veins.

“Hi.” You couldn’t think of anything more eloquent or witty to say.

“Hey.” He responded softly, “You’ve got—” His fingertips grazed across your temple, dusting away crumbs and icing, and your breath caught inside your chest.

“Yeah, yeah.” You choked out, your mind went haywire at his casual, intimate touch. “Worth it.”

“Hm.” His lips flattened into a thin smile, “Totally.”

The unknown blonde and guy in the sweater vest approached you. You angled your body away from Carmy, forming into a semi-circle, and offered them a neutral smile. Was this Carmy’s date? And if so, who was the guy with her? Maybe the reason Carmy didn’t tell you about the fireworks was because he was bringing someone. Your stomach twisted and you wished you had something to fidget with between your hands.

“Hi, I’m Natalie.” She offered her hand to you.

You were the world’s biggest idiot. It wasn’t his date. It’s his sister.

She gestured to the dorky man next to her, “This is my husband, Pete.”

“Howdy.” Pete said, “Nice to meet you.”

He started babbling about your grandfather, citing magazine articles, and popular restaurants in the area. You rubbed the back of your neck and adjusted the weight of grief on your shoulders. You foolishly thought that no one here would bring up your granddad tonight. You hoped to have a reprieve. Apparently, no such luck existed in the world. You tuned out Pete, listening, instead to snippets of conversation around you: Richie talking to his daughter about Dinosaurs, Syd talking to Tina about mashed potatoes, Ebra explaining to Fak that he doesn’t want to celebrate Forth of July and is only here to see if Richie lights himself on fire.

“Anyway, I guess what I’m really trying to say is that it’s really cool—what you’re doing, I mean.”

You blinked, surprised, “W-what?”

“The bakery.” Pete clarified, albeit sheepishly, “He never tried to do that, right? So, you’re kind of like, trailblazing, huh?” He said while nodding.

“I – yeah? I guess.” The back of your neck tingled. You glanced to Carmy beside you and his smile was light and faintly hidden by his knuckles as he scratched under his nose.

Carmy said, “Hm, he’s right.” The subtle, white glow of camping lanterns softened Carmy’s curls falling across his forehead and painted gentle shadows of his eyelashes across his cheekbones. His golden chain peeked out from the collar of his pristine shirt and your heart somersaulted.

“It’s incredible.” He said with a meaningful look to you. One that made you feel like you were stripped bare, rearranged, and reconfigured like you were a well-loved recipe carved into delicate, coffee-stained paper. All the atoms inside your body electrified and vibrated beneath his stare and your tongue was heavy and wordless between your teeth.  

“Alright!” Richie clapped his hands, breaking the moment, “Get comfortable! The show’s about to start.”

“Yes!” Ebra clapped louder, “Yes! Go white boy!”

Carmy and Pete moved away, leaving you alone with Natalie, an opportunity which she took full advantage of.

“I’m glad he has you.” She blurted before you could join the others on the blankets. You stared at her, wide-eyed, before regaining your composure.

“It’s good that he has friends.” She continued, “Even more so that those friends are people outside of work.”

“I am across the street.” You said, in case she didn’t know, or had forgotten. In full view, you could see the similarities between them now. They carried the same shadow of grief below their eyes. Although Natalie’s eyes were softer, and the faint lines on her forehead that suggested she often furrowed her brow. You wondered how the family dynamic played out now that Mikey was gone. Natalie was the eldest, did she feel responsible to Carmy?

“Yeah but,” She shrugged, “That place is a black hole.” She didn’t even try to hide the sadness or the anger from her voice. “And he needs people—good people—to lean on.”

You smiled. “What makes you assume I’m a good person?”

Natalie doesn’t miss a beat. “I know you were the one to call in the favor at the IRS.” She said, “And believe it or not, it takes a lot for us Berzatto’s to let people in, let alone someone like him and…”

She trailed off, her gaze drifting across the lawn to Carmy sitting alone on a blanket, his arms resting on his bended knees. His hair blew softly in the breeze. You clenched your fingers into fists at your side with shameless longing to walk over and card your fingers through it. Even surrounded by laughter and sparklers, Carmy appeared forlorn and pensive, and your chest rattled with sympathy.

“Anyway,” She cleared her throat, “I’m happy we finally had the chance to meet in person.”

You dug at the grass with the toe of your sneaker, “Maybe you’ll see more of me.”

Natalie reached out and squeezed your forearm, “I hope so.” She said with a quick, friendly smile.

She left you to join Pete and you stood in a weird pocket of space, watching the blankets and lawn chairs fill up, your hands numb and quiet at your sides.

Tina tossed a blanket over her sons’ shoulders and kissed his cheek, muttering something in Spanish, and he groaned—embarrassed—in reply. Tiffany sat on a woven, red lawn chair with Eva in her lap. Pete put his arm around Natalie after opening a can of pop for her. Syd draped a blanket over her dad’s lap, talking low and quiet, before laughing at something Marcus said. Fak and Ebra were at the table, still chatting, while scooping condiments onto their hot dogs—their paper plates balanced precariously in hand.

The word came to mind like rainwater to glass: Family.

Your throat tightened and an itching desire to turn and walk away before anything started buried under your skin. With a strange, magnetic force, your gaze pulled to Carmy – sitting alone. You hesitated at the edge of everything and considered your worthiness to sit among them. You took a cautious step forward.

Richie shouted, “Here we go!”

Carmy’s head turned away from the fireworks and toward you. His profile illuminated in a burst of red, hissing light. His large nose, and greasy curls were briefly set alight, washed in crimson like an ambulance siren. An emotion swelled in your chest, too big and too terrifying to name, as the park erupted in loud golden sparkles and a chorus of ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ echoed through the dark, smoky air.

You were at the precipice of cowardice and desire. You could turn, flee into the shadowed park, and tell Richie something came up. Or you could step forward, into the bright unknown, into the messy future.

The world flashed with color and bright, booming sound.

Carmy’s hand twitched, a quick motion that you almost missed in the erratic light of the fireworks, and you realized with a mind-numbing surprise that he was beckoning you. His eyes met yours, honest and expectant.

A firework whistled, arching across the sky like a shooting star, blue and white and lovely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carmy’s heart thundered inside his chest. The distance between you was less than ten steps, but it felt like a hundred miles.

Every firework cast a sudden, colorful radiance to your skin. Your eyes glistened and crinkled softly at the edges, like the pages of a worn cookbook, when you smiled at him. He doesn’t use the word ‘beautiful’ often. But there was no better way to describe you. You were beautiful. His beautiful, ambitious, and achingly wonderful friend.

He only came tonight because Richie mentioned he invited you. Now, he couldn’t help but feel grateful that he did. He wanted to remember this moment forever. He ignored everything else—the laughter, the exclamations of delight, the faint smell of smoke in the air and cars drifting down the street.

There was only you, and him, and the footsteps that separated you. A firework blazed green and blue and the tightness in his chest unraveled as you started walking toward him. He scooted to make room for you on the warm, flannel blanket.

Your shoulder brushed against his, but you didn’t move away. The sky sizzled, smoke trailing like the exhaled breath of a great monster, and you tossed the extra blanket over your bare legs.  

You asked, “What truck bed did Richie buy these fireworks from?” During a brief respite of Richie setting up the next round.

Carmy scoffed, “Like he’d tell any of us.”

“Hm. Good point.” Your lips pursed, and he’s never wanted to kiss you more than in this moment. And it’s not just because you slept together in the past. It’s something else. Something newer and scarier and less defined. It would be so easy to incline his head forward and brush his lips against yours.

Carmy tore his eyes away from your mouth before he did something outrageously stupid. He wanted to keep your friendship more than he wanted your affection. He tugged at the edge of the blanket over your legs, adjusting it, so he’d have something to do with his hands.

You said, “I talked to your sister.”

“Oh yeah?” He couldn’t imagine what Sugar would want to talk about after Pete’s weird fanboy moment. Although he could begrudgingly admit that Pete’s admiration of you mirrored his own and he supposed that wasn’t the worst thing to have in common with his brother-in-law. You were amazing. He wanted more people to recognize that, to see you beyond your family, and all the things they accomplished. You deserve to have that.

“She said she was glad we’re friends.”

“Mhm, well, I’m a loser.” He gestured to his chest, “I don’t usually have friends.”

“You have me.” Your voice was soft, and oh-so-gently teasing that his jaw clenched. Yes, he had you. His chest warmed and he peered over at you through heavily lidded eyes. Your front teeth pressed into your lower lip, a tempting sight, and Carmy forced himself to look into your eyes.

He muttered, “Present company obviously excluded.”

A fresh display of brilliant fireworks erupted in the sky, cutting your conversation short, though Carmy only half-heartedly watched them. He kept glancing over to you, seeing your face illumed in a rainbow of colors, brief and gorgeous flashes of pleasure in the relaxed slack to your jaw and the slight widening of your eyes. He savored every second with a subtle, quiet smile affixed to his lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The nerves danced in your heart, walked a tightrope across your stomach, but the curiosity would burn you up from the inside-out if you didn’t ask. You leaned into Carmy, pressing your face into the side of his head to speak into his ear, as fireworks boomed overhead. Their noise was your courage and your protection. No one would overhear this. This question was for him and him alone.

“So, no…girlfriends or boyfriends then?” You asked. You could assume his answer, but you wanted—needed—to know for the sake of the future. For when you were healed enough, and less broken, and less messy and you could ask him out properly and do things that couples do. Your breath quieted inside your lungs as you awaited his answer.

Carmy snorted with laughter, shaking his head, “No way.” He paused, swallowing. “You?”

The sky was silent with tendrils of smoke and scattered stars.

Maybe his answer meant he liked you, maybe his answer meant he didn’t like serious relationships, or maybe it meant nothing more and was simply a statement of a fact. Regardless of what could be read between the lines, hope took root inside your chest, twining around your ribs, and refused to let go.

“Nah.” You shrugged. In the gesture, his warm, solid forearm skimmed across yours and your skin prickled with goosebumps. He was so close, yet he wasn’t close enough.

“But…um…that might change in the future.” You admitted softly. “I mean I hope it does. I’d—I’d like it to.”

You searched his face, watching his clear, blue eyes register with shock and his brow crinkle.

He looked toward Richie in the distance setting up for the finale.

This was your confession, your secret, and you offered it to him on a blanket beneath a sky of ghostly fireworks. It’s not that you wanted a random relationship in the future. You wanted one with him. You twisted your fingers in your lap, knuckles popping, as Carmy’s silence continued for an agonizing amount of seconds.

Carmy nodded, “That’s—that’s good.” He said finally.

You blinked, swallowing your disbelief, and tilted your body away from his. You drew your knees to your chest, arms wrapping around them, and joined everyone in clapping for the final display of fireworks. You could feel Carmy’s eyes on you, but you refused to face him, because you were afraid he might see the hurt and confusion on your face.

You were lost in the enchantment of the moment and lulled into believing that he felt something more for you. Especially after how he looked at you when the fireworks began. You crawled back into the protective shell around your heart. It was better like this, wasn’t it? It was better to be his friend than to be nothing at all.

Richie ran across the grass, cigarette dangling from his lips, and barreled onto your shared blanket with Carmy. He nearly headbutted you in the process. You and Carmy shouted with surprise and annoyance as Richie literally shoved himself between you.

You pushed at his shoulder though it was like pushing stubborn stone, “Richie! Fuck off.”

He groaned, “You have the best seats.” He stretched out and puffed smoke around your head.

“Come on, cousin!” Carmy snapped, “What are you doing?”

“I don’t need you sucking face in front of Eva.” He said before Fak lit the fireworks and all conversation was drowned out through the dazzling lights and sound. You stole the cigarette from Richie’s mouth, ignoring his shout of alarm, and took a fortifying inhale of nicotine. He smoked the same brand as Carmy, and your heart fluttered with the memory of his mouth on yours and tasing like this.

You blew smoke to the stars. You took that fragile, rooted hope in your chest and buried it like a promise. A promise to heal, to grow, and learn from this. You would be the best possible friend to Carmy notwithstanding your romantic feelings. You caught Natalie smiling at you from her spot. You smiled back, hearing her words: ‘I’m glad he has you’ repeated inside your head.

You were glad to have him. You weren’t going to lose him.  

“You’re such an asshole.” Richie said, chuckling, when you returned his cigarette back to him.

You smiled. “Takes one to know one.”

Richie squinted, holding the cigarette to his lips, “Hmph. You’re not wrong.”

“She rarely is.” Carmy muttered, casting his gaze heavenward, the smoke from Richie’s cigarette curling around his eyes and obscuring them.

“Cousin, you are so whipped it’s not even funny anymore.”

You and Carmy said, “Shut up, Richie!”

“I rest my fucking case.” Richie stood, flicking ash on the blanket, “G’night, simps. You’re welcome for the whole fucking show. Maybe next time have a little gratitude because otherwise I’m not inviting you to shit. Capisce?”

You rolled your eyes, brushing ash away with your hand. “Dick.” You said once Richie was out of earshot. You caught Carmy’s eyes, “Was he always like this?”

He looked at you questioningly.

“Before…” You let the words hang unsaid in the empty air. Before Mikey.

“Yeah, I – I think so. It was just…” Carmy frowned, “Mikey was always the loud one, you know? Richie’s gotten louder since he’s—he’s been gone.”

You nodded. The voids people left behind are complex and nuanced and hardly straightforward. You only know pieces of Michael through Carmy, and through Richie’s personality, but you have a rough sketch of the eldest Berzatto. You imagined the void Mikey left behind must be massive. Like a black hole, you thought, remembering Natalie’s words again.

You tapped your fingers against the flannel, “Can I ask a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Walk me to the L?” You asked sheepishly as if he might say no.

He swallowed and you allowed yourself to marvel at the muscles of his throat.

Quietly, he said, “Can I walk you home?” His words were so unbelievable that you wonder if they’re a hallucination. “I know your station, but – um – it’s a holiday and people are crazy and—”

“Okay.” You interrupted before you thought better of it and before you could talk yourself out of it.

“Sure, sure, yeah.” You shrugged, wearing easy confidence and nonchalance like glass armor, and hoping your true feelings don’t shine through.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The stairwell creaked beneath your sneakers, and you fiddled with your apartment keys. The L train had been one of the fastest in recent memory. You talked about the day-to-day at the bakery, sharing some of the core moments, like Leslie’s ex-girlfriend ordering a wedding cake. He shared with you a story about Mikey, and Richie, an agricultural goddess known as Ceres and featuring guest star Bill Murray.

You held this story close to your chest and recognized it as precious. Any story with Mikey, in your eyes, was to be treasured because Carmy spoke so rarely about him.

“Here we are.” You unlocked your front door and pushed it inward. “I hope this doesn’t mean you’re going to murder me with one of your fancy chef knives.”

You hadn’t anticipated him following you all the way up here. But he did and a very selfish, quiet part of you wanted him to stay.

You looked back at Carmy. He was leaning his temple against the wooden doorframe and gazing at you with his exhausted yet mournful, pretty eyes. You squashed the desire to touch him. Your keys jingled loudly in your grasp, their cold metal teeth bit into your skin. He looked so fucking tired.

Selfish desire won out against rationality and the question fell from your lips, “Do you need a couch to sleep on?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes, with a soft exhale. “No, no, no. I’m good.”

“Damn.” You clicked your tongue, “I was really looking forward to our first sleepover. We could stay up late talking about boys and I could braid your hair.”

Carmy managed a brief, fragile smile. “Maybe next time.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” You slowly opened your arms, “Goodnight?”

To your immediate surprise and immense relief, Carmy stepped into your embrace. His arms encircled your waist and his face buried into your shoulder. You clung to him, sank into his warmth, and the faint aroma of cigarettes and sweat. Your body hummed with desire for more even with the knowledge that you’d never have it. You wanted to remain here until sunrise. The temptation to beg him to stay wrestled between your teeth and your heart burned with it.

Carmy sighed, his muscles relaxing, his weight leaning into you a little more. You held him with unwavering strength, rooted to the hardwood floor of your entry hallway, and smiled softly against his warm cotton shoulder.

“’m glad I came tonight.” He murmured. “Almost didn’t.”

“Me too.” Your eyes fluttered close, savoring this, savoring him. His sinewy biceps, his solid chest, and his hair tickling your cheek. His grip lessened. He pulled away, fingertips trailing across your hips, an innocent touch that painfully reminded you of decadent ones. You stopped the low whine in your throat.  

“Goodnight.”

You held the doorframe, “Get home safe.” You didn’t shut your door until you couldn’t hear his footsteps on the creaky, wooden stairs anymore.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonus Author’s Note: Reminder, this fic has the tag “lack of communication” LMAO. But this is our last yearning chapter. Promise. The slow burn is almost done.

[redbootsthetimetraveller-archive]

Bea and I, With the Beatles Fanfiction Chapter 2

Same disclaimer as on the previous chapter.

About ten minutes later, this extraordinarily loud fart came from the back of the hall, halfway through the speech, and magnified because of the eerie quietness. It took two seconds for the entire hall to be laughing their socks off. There were even teachers trying to not die from not laughing up the front. The principal, though, was going a shade of purple with anger and embarrassment.

‘RIGHT! WHO WAS THAT?’ he yelled at the top of his voice, still going purple. The room fell dead silent, and I hid my book in case I was caught with it. Everyone was tense, and there was an air that we would be kept until someone owned up, and the person would not. But alas, a hand was held up, right at the back, and they immediately had every pair of eyes in the room upon them. ‘Jasper Kitchen. My office, at morning tea.’ Principal Summers snapped, and turned on his heel and walked back to the front. It seemed like every student wanted to burst into applause at that moment, but didn’t want trouble. Principal Summers went back to his dreary monologue.

‘He’s not in our year, is he?’ Paul whispered to me.

‘No, I think he’s a few grades below us or something. He’s no older than Arthur.’ I replied, also in whisper. Principal Summers finished his speech, and had still not turned back to a natural colour. A few announcements were made, and we were dismissed for first class. For Bea, Paul and I this was Geography, and for Ringo and John Mathematics, and George had English. We bid each other farewell until morning tea, and headed to different parts of the school. Rather than having Mr Putnam, we had a substitute called Miss Russel. She clearly didn’t know much more than us about it, and looking at her we could tell she was probably a sports teacher. She read out the roll and had trouble with my surname.

‘von Harreson… no that’s not right. Elizabeth von Ha…?’

‘It’s von Harrelson, Miss.’ I corrected her.

‘Rightcha.’ She said, and continued on with the roll. I began drawing in my book.

‘She might see that. She’s gonna be more observant than Mr Putnam.’ Bea said to me quietly, as she sat to the right of me. We had worked out how to write without bumping into each other; right-handed on the right, left on the left. And then switch hands when the teacher is looking, because if I don’t I’ll get the cane. Unfortunately, as I was pretending to write notes I didn’t notice that Miss Russel had turned around.

‘Miss von Harrelson, come up to the front please.’ She said while turning a page over. The room took a breath at that moment, and I paused before standing up and walking from the mid-back of the room to the teacher’s desk at the front. ‘Hold out your hand.’ I instinctively held out my right. ‘No not that one, the one you were using.’ She said, sounding slightly flustered. I did, and she hit me hard with the cane eight times. Eight has always been my unlucky number. I tried not to swear lest I get more caning.

‘Fuck she’s got a strong arm.’ I said quietly to Bea. ‘If she sees my handwriting she’d not be able to read it.’

‘Which hand?’

‘Either, they’re both illegible.’ I said slightly smirking. Class went on another long, boring fifteen minutes, and then we were released from that hell of a class. I grabbed out my morning tea of chocolate brownie, hiding my prized treat. It was the first thing I didn’t burn or undercook, which is why I don’t cook, but we needed morning tea this week and Amy was working. I put my coat on, and braved the cold with the gang.

‘Paul here says you got caned!’ Ringo said. ‘What for?’

‘Got caught writing.’ I replied.

‘I getcha. Bloody annoying, isn’t it? You two can’t help it.’ he said.

‘Hm.’ I replied, and tried to unwrap my brownie with my frozen fingers.

‘Hey, lemme help you with that.’ Paul said.

‘Err… thanks.’ I said, hoping he wouldn’t try and steal it.

‘Ah, lucky you!’ he said with a wink, handing it to me.

‘What’s she got?’ George asked. ‘Is that BROWNIE?!’ he exclaimed. George loves his food.

‘You’ve got brownie? You gotta share, man!’ John said.

‘No! My food!’ I said, trying to be serious, but failing and we all ended up wandering around the school. We were nearing the football pitch, and a few hardy souls were trying to have a match amongst the snowdrifts. Suddenly, one of them didn’t quite stop the ball and it came rolling towards us. I stopped it, and kicked it. It went quite far, but the goalie hadn’t really been paying attention and so didn’t realise until it was fractionally too late that the ball was actually going to go into the net. It hit the back net and bounced out again, and several people cheered, and I high-fived everyone. It was time to go back inside again, and the heaters barely heated the rooms, but we weren’t allowed to wear our coats. Bea and I had Sewing, my definitely least, and worst, subject. I would try and fix my gloves in this class, it wasn’t like I was going to finish the handkerchief set we’d been assigned to do anyway. That half hour dragged on for way too long, but it got slightly better because next we had English with Mr Wright, whose profession used to be an author until the war, but now he just settles on teaching English and making bad puns. His classes were always quite enjoyable, as the first twenty minutes were always reading, and the next forty minutes were usually interesting. He’s one of the more popular teachers. The next hour long class was Civics, which could be interesting but was generally boring. Once again, Paul was in our class for this. It was one of the ‘mildly interesting but boring’ lessons. As soon as we were released for lunch, we sprinted as fast as we could to put our stuff back and get in the queue for lunch. Fortunately, Paul, Bea and I got into line rather quickly, and got the measly ration of four fish fingers, fried bread, some chips and a bottle of orange juice, a rare luxury. We sat at our usual canteen table, waiting for the rest of the gang. George got in not too long after we sat down, and came to sit with us, but in silence as he was already eating. Ringo and John came rushing in two minutes later, and as they came over to sit down, Jasper Kitchen walked in, to immediate applause. John even went and patted him on the back. Turns out, he only got off with twenty cane lashes and extra homework for a week.

‘That’s not too bad for what he did, lucky bastard.’ John said as he sat down. ‘What’ve you got next?’

‘Well, it’s German for us, and then we all have Music until the end of the day.’ Bea said. ‘And I think George has Sport, and you?’

‘Well, I’ve got a free lesson, and I’m buggering off somewhere.’ John said. ‘But poor Ringo here has Science with Mr Gibbs!’ Mr Gibbs was this grumpy old shit of a teacher who was only still teaching because Principal Summers doesn’t want to lose his twin, or so the joke goes. We managed to get through our lessons, trying to work out how to swear in French (we’d already worked out German), or trying to work out how to get out of the class. One thirty came around, so Bea, Paul and I started running to Music, which is one of the only classes we ran to. Not many people were in the class, so the classes comprised of two grades. There was Bea, Paul, Ringo, George (who got special permission to join us, there weren’t enough in his grade), John and I, as well as Cyril Acker, in John and Ringo’s grade with Terry Garfield. In our year there was Belle Seward, Errol Hawkins, Graham Carpenter and Derrick Streets. Then the teacher, by far the best teacher in my opinion, and I guess the gang’s, and probably was the most qualified, Mr Eldridge. The class was in the new ‘Arts Wing’, which was much better than the shitty 1920’s classrooms of the ‘Academics Wing’ or the post-war slap-dash updating of the gym, and was actually not crap. Basically what happens in that class is we bugger around, doing stupid little songs and practicing for a gig or something, because we (I say we, because we sometimes go on stage with the boys and we’ve gone on one tour with them, over in Blackpool) were a band called the Silvers. It’s not the best name but it works.

‘So, what’s the lineup for Saturday?’ I asked, fiddling with my flute. The Silvers had scored a gig at the Cavern Club on my birthday.

‘So there’s a few songs…’ John showed me the list, as he was the band leader. He just was.

‘That’s not going to cover a night’s worth! You’ve gotta play for four hours!’ I exclaimed.

‘There’s one song we haven’t shown…’ Ringo started, but was glared at by George.

‘Y’know, if you’re short of songs, we could write some!’ Bea suggested.

‘That’s not a bad idea! Paul and I have already written some, so we’ve had experience, and you’re good at poetry, Lizzy, so it won’t be too much of a stretch for you, but I dunno about you guys though, just have a crack.’ John said, sounding slightly excited. ‘Use your books and rip it out later.’

We all sat with half the school’s guitars, three of them, and Ringo grabbed out his sticks, Paul tried to claim the piano but didn’t quite get it as Cyril Acker pushed him out of the way. John immediately began strumming away, George was experimenting with riffs and Paul began writing away. Bea also began busily scribbling. I put my pen to the paper, and soon started writing.

Some days, I hope to be far away.

Not right here or near, not today

If I stay here my mind might fray,

How I long not to stay.

‘That’s shit.’ I said to myself.

[immediatebreakfast]

Me: I am so excited to read today's entry! I wonder what is going to happen today after such wonderful chapter yesterday.

Seward: *writes three lines about how the cold is freezing his balls off, and dips*

Me:

[idratherhavefreedom]

#Van Helsing is not going to give you a good grade now#Seward grab that fucking pen and WRITE#We have Russian Fashion but it's not enough (via immediatebreakfast)

#we are all van helsing today#what the fuck (via thebibi)

Me: I am so excited to read today's entry! I wonder what is going to happen today after such wonderful chapter yesterday.

Seward: *writes three lines about how the cold is freezing his balls off, and dips*

Me:

[bookgeekgrrl]

#Van Helsing is not going to give you a good grade now #Seward grab that fucking pen and WRITE #We have Russian Fashion but it's not enough (@immediatebreakfast)

Me: I am so excited to read today's entry! I wonder what is going to happen today after such wonderful chapter yesterday.

Seward: *writes three lines about how the cold is freezing his balls off, and dips*

Me: