Chapter Text
George was never one of the popular kids. Not until he met them , anyway. He went about his days averting his gaze in the hall, and singing quiet tunes in the back of the class. One day, though, his simple life would change forever.
“What are you singing, George HARRYson?” The ever popular John Lennon asked.
“Good God! Biscuits and tea!” George exclaims, completely and utterly terrified.
“Heh. Don’t seem so shocked, kid. I hear music, I hear a good beat, I listen. Then, sometimes, I hear music, I hear a shit beat, and I still listen.”
“Oh, interesting. Well anyhow, I’m sorry I was so mortified by your presence, you’re just a deeply unsettling person. But to answer your very first question, I was caroling a lullaby my mother used to sing to me as a child. I’m afraid I can’t remember it’s name, sadly.”
“That’s incredibly lame. Sing a little more of it though, will you?”
“Oh, well, alright then.”
George ‘Georgeous’ Harrison clears his throat, and stands from his seat. He puts one hand to the top of his desk, and the other to his heart.
“One, two, three four,” he begins solemnly, “What’s for tea, mum? What’s for tea, darling? Darling, I said ‘what’s for tea’?”
There’s a long, awkward, pause.
“Heinz baked beans!”
“How touching. I could cry,” John says sarcastically.
“I’m sorry… I don’t know what you were expecting.”
“Your mother sang this to you as a lullaby?”
“Yes! What’s so wrong about that?”
“It’s about baked beans, you turd!”
“Okay? I like baked beans!”
“Yeah, and you were probably conditioned to like them from hearing that god awful ‘song’ so many times.”
“Why are you being so mean to me?!” George yelps, and turns to run from his spot.
As he begins his sprint from the classroom, he is brought to a halt.
“Oh Johnny boy, why are you bullying this little rascal?” Paul ‘Big-Boobed-Paulie-Boy’ Mccartney scolds his bandmate.
“Heh, sorry Paul, you know how it is being so witty and sharp-tongued. Can’t help being so clever and potentially hurtful. It’s so hard being me.”
“Yes, yes, I’m aware, John. Still, I don’t see why you must direct your cruelty at this unassuming chap!”
“Fine. You have a point I suppose. Alright, George HarriDUMB. You’re off the hook this time.”
“Don’t call him dumb! It’s not like he’s Ringo. Georgie-chum, why did John approach you to begin with?”
“He came over here to make fun of my singing,” a single tear falls from George’s eye.
“No way no how! John, this accusation cannot be true. You have not been harassing this meek lad for his skills in singing, have you?”
“‘Fraid I have been Paul. You would’ve too if you heard the atrocious song he was singing.”
“It was very personal to me you jerk! I bared my heart and soul to you!”
“See, John? Look at how you’ve hurt the little bugger!”
“God, Paul, it’s not that big of a deal. If it makes you happy, I won’t pick on the pathetic scalawag again.”
“Darn tootin you won’t be making fun of him again! After all, it would cause major conflict if you chose to berate your own bandmate!” Paul winks at the camera.
“What? Paul, how dare you put me in such a shit position?! I don’t want to work with this… this nobody!”
“You owe it to him after calling him mean names and insulting his singing!”
“You don’t get it, the song really sucked ass!”
“Not an excuse, you silly scamp!”
“Fine. Fine! If he’s a member he’s a member, but don’t think I’m happy about it!” John storms off, huffing and puffing with boiling rage pumping through his veins.
“Sorry about that Georgie-chum. He’ll come around eventually.”
“I don’t want to join your band.”
“Hyuck hyuck hyuck,” Paul laughs, “you’re funny! Anyway, see you tomorrow for band practice!”
“I don’t even know how to read sheet music!”
“Neither do we. Later Georgie-gator!”
George is left standing in place, absolutely stunned. He put his head in his hands and sighs loudly.
“What the hell is your problem?”
“Pardon?” George wipes the tears leaking from the crevices of his eyes.
“Class started fifteen minutes ago, did you need to do all that?”
“You’re the teacher! Why didn’t you stop us if we were being bothersome?”
“Well, I don’t like to be impolite.”
“Okay then. That’s great. Sorry for interrupting class.”
“Yeah, you’d better be sorry! And if you’re not, you certainly will be when you’re in detention tomorrow after school!”
“Tomorrow after school?”
“Tomorrow after school!”
“Really?”
“Yes! That’s final!”
“ Fuck yeah, ” George whispers, and takes his seat.
Class flies by in a hurry despite the teacher’s droning lecture style. George was just happy he didn’t have to work with the abrasive sunglasses wearing foe he encountered earlier in the period. He thinks to himself though, that maybe being in a band wouldn’t be so bad. After all, he does do a little guitar strumming and vocal humming in his spare time. Maybe he would have fun.
“No! I would never engage in jocularity with those unscrupulous fellows!” George says aloud… Loudly.
“But… I do like to play my little guitar and sing my little songs,” the student next to him shoots him a concerned look.
“And… Well, that Paul fellow isn’t so bad. It’s mostly that John fiend that I find
upsetting!”
George feels a tap on his arm. He looks down to see a snively little British man.
“Um, are you okay?” Davy Jones asks him.
“Silence, you traitor to the good British name!” George hates the Monkees.
“Sorry.” Davy retreats to his spot under the sink.
Finishing his speech, the guitarist turns his attention to the clock. Class is almost finished. Only one more period before the day is over now. Anticipating his upcoming leave, he begins to pack his bag. The bell soon rings, he grabs his things, and takes his exit.
The hallways are never crowded at this school. ‘Banned-Bands High School’, a highly exclusive private school for only the most standard meeting musicians. That standard being ‘subpar or better’. George finds himself safely within those bounds, though he wouldn’t confidently say the same for all of his peers. He’s not like the other musicians, he exceeds mediocrity when he feels like it. Sometimes.
“Oh hey there George!” an unfamiliar voice calls out to him.
“Hello?” He turns to see none other than Ringo ‘The Hunk’ (Little known title. Little known because no one uses it.) Starr.
“Hi buddy! I hear you’re joining the band?”
“Well, honestly, I’m not sure if I am.”
“Ah, well you’ll get an idea tomorrow I’m sure.”
“You mean at band practice?”
“Yeah, when else?”
“Uh, well, I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter. Either way, I’m not going to be able to make it to practice.”
“What? Aghast! I’m flabbergasted, gobsmacked even! Why not? You don’t want to be a Beatle?”
“Well, no. Not really. Even if I did, I’m in detention so it wouldn’t really make a difference.”
“Oh you trouble maker, getting in detention even after getting the best news of your life!”
“I wouldn’t call being forcefully recruited into your band the best news of my life.”
“Listen bud, we’ll get you out of there!”
“Please don’t.”
“Don’t worry about a thing, G-man.”
“I am going to worry.”
“Later Georgie-gator!”
“Why do you all keep saying that to me?”
Ringo turns to leave down a mysterious hallway sandwiched between two forbidden lockers. Ever incurious, George does not follow him. Instead, he goes on to his next class, trying to ignore the events of the day. His final period is calculus, his least favorite subject by a mile. He slumps into his chair after entering the class. As always, he sits in the far back, close to the door. He’s ready to leave as soon as the bell rings.
After all, it isn’t just the math itself that makes this class so bad.
“Listen kid, I swear I wasn’t trying to hit you with my car. And technically, I only gave you a little bump,” Terry Cooperson, more commonly referred to as just TC says to a crying student. The student, knowing their tears will do nothing to help their situation, takes a seat in the back.
Nearly every student in this class sits in the back row. Generally, the further away they are from TC, the less damage they take. George groans, and tunes into his peripherals. He already knows what he’s about to see. Before his eyes, a health meter appears. He glares at it, and mentally prepares for the worst.
“Alright let’s start on problem one…”
George, nearly completely zoned out, does not notice the wave of students in the first row taking massive hits. His head is tilted away from his own health bar, uncaring. He figures that if all goes as it often does, he won’t be taking any damage.
“Really? None of you are understanding today’s lesson? You think that I’m wrong?”
The entire front row collapses. Even now, George keeps his eyes on the door. The second row begins to go down as well, soon to leave only one remaining.
“Not too many survivors today. Interesting. To the last of you still standing, do you dare refute me?”
And then, there were three. TC at the podium, George at one corner of the back row, and Paul at the other.
“Oh, Georgie-chum! Glad to see you haven’t perished.”
“Paul?! I didn’t even know you were in this class.”
“I’m not! I just followed you in, hyuck hyuck hyuck!”
“Wait what?”
“Silence you two! Dare you attempt dissent upon my epic calculus skills and concerning political opinions?” TC interrupts, banging a plastic Fisher Price gavel on his podium.
“I mean, we’re classic rock stars so our views aren’t that much better than yours even if we say they are. Or uh, peace and love and all that. That aside, what was the problem again?” George responds shakily.
“What’s 5 multiplied by five?”
“And this is calculus?”
“Pretty much.”
“Alright, well it’s twenty five.”
“Sorry, FOOL, but it is actually fifty five! Clearly you do not have a college level education.”
“We’re in high school, what are you on about? Plus, clearly you must not have one either to come to that conclusion,” Paul interjects.
“Forget about arguing now, I’ve had enough of this class’ ignorance I say as an expert on self awareness and ignorance that has never said anything stupid before. Begone you two!”
Paul and George collapse from their seats, losing all their health in a single blow. When George awakes, he’s alone.
“Christ, did I really die again? That’s not going to be good for my calc grade.”
He’s in his bed, and the lights are out. He can somewhat make out his shadowy school bag in the corner, though. It seems that he wasn’t looted after death this time. TC had likely been satisfied stealing his life energy alone, and the rest of his peers were dead too, so he isn’t too surprised by this.
“Well, here’s to hoping tomorrow goes better. Who knows what awaits me now?”