Chapter Text
Rose Tyler awoke on Monday morning to her alarm blaring loudly. Trapped and twisted beneath her pink bedsheets, her hair strewn across her face, she blindly reached for the blasted thing and smacked it until it became silent and dormant. Feeling exhausted, she decided that resting her eyes for a mo’ wouldn’t hurt.
Next thing she knew, her mother was yelling at her to wake up from the other side of her bedroom door, claiming she had slept in. Rose groaned in protest, strangled her way out of her blankets and pillows, and promptly swore at the sight of her clock validating her mother’s claims.
As quickly as humanly possible, she put on her unironed school uniform, brushed her hair, did the quickest possible makeup routine, shoved her books and pencil case and lunch into her messenger bag, yanked on some socks and sneakers, cleaned her teeth, and grabbed some toast for the road. Her mum squawked at her for looking so messy, so disorganised, but Rose whined about being late for school and set off, taking two stairs at a time to get to the ground floor as quickly as possible.
She bolted to the bus stop, just making it in the nick of time. Full and congested, Rose snuck herself into a little free space and fished out her mobile. She caught up with texts she missed during the night, including a quick phone call with her boyfriend, Jimmy.
Jimmy was twenty years old, rode a motorcycle, played guitar in a rock band, had a handful of tattoos, a pierced eyebrow, smoked cigarettes, and had a buzz cut in an attempt to look more punk rock. He was, simply, hot and bad—the perfect specimen for an impressionable sixteen-going-on-seventeen-year-old Rose Tyler. They had met when Rose and her mates snuck into a pub one evening with fake IDs—low and behold, his band was playing that evening. They caught each other’s eyes from across the room as he played a U2 cover, and when the set wrapped up, he bought her a drink. That night ended with a quick snog outside and a demand that she saw him again. She gave him her number, and six months later, they were a well-established boyfriend-girlfriend pair. Rose claimed to be in love, and although Jimmy didn’t say it all that much, she knew he was too.
Rose ended her call with Jimmy as the bus pulled up to her stop, promising to see him this week, before bustling off with the crowd of students and making a direct beeline for her homeroom—she was pushing her luck in recent weeks. She had been repeatedly arriving late and her teachers were starting to become less lenient about it.
Thundering her way through the halls, she arrived at the door just on time, breathing heavily from exertion. Her teacher, Mrs O’Brien, gave her a firm look.
“Glad to have you on time, Miss Tyler,” she said icily, gesturing to the tables and seats before her. Mrs O’Brien ran a strict regime in her classrooms, and that included individual, separated spots. Rose scanned what was available to her and spotted an empty place beside… John Smith. The geeky lad was peering up at her from behind his tortoise-shell-rimmed glasses, offering a small, toothless, almost sheepish smile when they made eye contact.
Although Rose hated to admit it, primarily because of how she and her friends treated him since he arrived last year, John was rather pleasant-looking and quite interesting to listen to in class. He was always very immaculately dressed, especially with his blazer and tie, although sometimes he was a bit more relaxed and ditched the tie, exposing the layers of tops he wore beneath his uniform. Instead of standard leather shoes, he wore an array of old, battered-up Converse high-tops. However, he did put on a leather pair for science classes when requested. His brunet hair was always backcombed and gelled up into cool spikes; like an ocean wave rounding upwards and frozen in place. But when it wasn’t so sticky-uppy, he would part it to the side and strands of gelled hair curled down his forehead. She noted that it tended to look like this when he’d gotten a fresh cut, and felt that it suited his boyish face more, even if the pointed locks were, admittedly, attractive.
Since when had she taken in so much about John, she asked herself with shock?
“I’d advise you fix your appearance as well,” Mrs O’Brien noted with a tone of disgust, and Rose broke away from both her imaginative thoughts and eye contact with John to look over herself. Her tie was loose and crooked, her shirt wasn’t entirely buttoned up on the bottom, her shoelaces were untied, and her blazer sat rather crookedly on her. With a blush, she quickly sat down beside the boy she tormented, dumping her bag to the ground and fiddling with her uniform to avoid a slip.
Unbeknownst to her, John’s gaze lingered on her for a few moments, taking in her behaviour and presence before bringing his attention back to the sci-fi novel his nose had been buried in for the last few days, soaking up the words within in order to distract himself from the pathetic, little crush he had on Rose. She never gave him a second look and she never said anything but insults to his face—in what world would she ever want him?
But he did savour the distracted, almost dazed look she had just given him, her eyes thick with emotion and awe. His heart twisted delightfully at the sight and he quickly memorised the interaction to hold onto it dearly and fondly.
If he couldn’t have her, at least he could indulge in small moments like this, he thought.
---
John’s last class of the day was physics—a class he loved.
Well , he loved all the sciences. What’s not to love? He was amazed and fascinated by the universe he lived in. From the living creatures that composed it to the formation of the solar system, he was always eager and keen to learn more about science. Furthermore, he felt so lucky to be able to be educated about such things and wanted to get as much knowledge as he could.
John was a star pupil, at the top of all of his classes, particularly in science and history. Teachers both loved and hated him, either admiring or despising his clever, sharp-witted nature and the mass range of information stored within his mind. He unashamedly rambled in class, answered all the questions, and helped his classmates if asked. He partook in all events and fares; won all the best prizes; received the highest awards and marks. His peers and educators were quite amazed that he didn’t just blaze on through to uni and start early, but he claimed he was happy being on the slow path, although he knew deep down he could already be well on his way to a post-graduate degree if he wished.
Frankly, he didn’t want to miss out on being a kid his own age. Even if he didn’t have many friends and attracted more ridicule than friendliness, he would rather endure high-school social complications rather than become the main attraction at uni for being so young. Plus, at least he had some relationships in high school—no reasonable adult would want to befriend a teenager.
Mr Chesterson, his science teacher, was perhaps his favourite teacher at Coal Hill. The two saw themselves in each other, although they could agree that Mr Chesterson was a more reserved, quiet type whereas John was loud and rambunctious. Ultimately, they were both confrontational individuals who spoke up when seen fit, adored and projected the wonders of science, were brave and inquisitive, always wanted evidence, and liked adventure and discovery. Some might view their relationship as favouritism, but they knew that they just got along well.
Currently, Mr Chesterson was returning assessments from the start of the term with marks and feedback. John beamed brightly at the sight of a one-hundred-per-cent penned on the front page with a kind comment, Mr Chesterson giving him a small smile as he handed it over. The student flicked through, drinking in the words and suggestions as his teacher explained to the class where things went right and wrong; where things could improve next time; the overall performance of the class. John liked Mr Chesterson’s feedback, which was a bit more advanced and detailed than what his classmates received. Because he always achieved highly and had no issues, he was given instruction on how to further develop and deepen his skills.
John grinned happily and preciously tucked away his assessment, excited to show his aunt, Sarah Jane, this afternoon.
On the other side of the room sat Rose amongst her gaggle of friends, who were whispering and giggling during Mr Chesterson’s words. She tried to quell her hopeful look as her science teacher approached with her paper, her heart pounding a little in her chest as he dropped the assessment before her. It took one look at her mark and Mr Chesterson’s empathetic frown to break her ambition, slumping a little in her seat and trying not to cry, telling herself she was being stupid for caring so much about one assessment. Her mates took no attention to their assessments, stuffing them into their bags without a glance or thought, and she felt her body spike with hot anger and envy at their carelessness. How could they just do that? Just throw it away, not interested in what they got?
Why did she care so much? She didn’t even understand the things that came from her teacher’s mouth. Why did she even try?
The assessment results and feedback dominated the rest of the lesson, the bell freeing Rose from this crippling embarrassment and shame she felt whilst freeing John from the anticipation of bolting home. However, their quick packing of bags was disrupted without warning.
“Miss Tyler and Mr Smith, stay behind, would you?” Mr Chesterton asked, shuffling his papers together. Rose’s mates snickered and chuckled, making crude jokes on their way out as Rose rolled her eyes and concealed her embarrassment. John stayed seated, compliantly and happily, taking off his tortoise glasses and tucking them away into his inner breast pocket, fiddling with his fingers afterwards. Their teacher waited until the room was empty and the hallways were cleared before he stood in front of his desk and leaned back, bracing himself against it.
“Rose, I’ll put it simply—your science grades have been horrible and growing steadily lower and lower throughout the term,” Mr Chesterton sighed, making Rose blush as John frowned empathetically. “I’ve chatted with other teachers about it, tried to employ other techniques these last few weeks, but nothing seems to be working,” he explained. “So, I’ve come to the conclusion that you need a tutor, and I would like John to be yours. John’s helped out other students before, mind you, in the younger grades, but he’s the best of your year.” Rose cast her eyes over to the scrawny boy, who fidgeted in his seat nervously and averted his gaze. “Now, I ran the idea by John last week, and he’s happy to help you if you’re willing.” It was now John’s turn to flush—did he seem desperate?
“Seriously? To be tutored by the biggest, loneliest geek in my year? Not happening,” Rose scoffed out, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning back in her seat with a roll of her eyes. She didn’t mean it—not really. She more than needed the help. But she knew what her mates would say; what they would do to her for fraternising with the wrong crowd. Not to mention, Jimmy would be jealous.
“Oi!” John piped back to her surprise, offence clear in his tone and face which was alive with animation. “There’s more to me than that, you know? And I do have some friends,” he claimed with a strong voice, before blushing red in his cheeks and slumping in his seat, arms crossed against his chest. “Sorry—that was rude,” he mumbled in a quiet, embarrassed tone. Rose bit back an amused grin as she straightened her posture and dropped her arms.
“No, I was the one being rude,” she replied. “Sorry.” John gave a forgiving smile, and she felt her heart warm at the sight.
“Glad you two are mature enough to have those discussions without teacher encouragement,” Mr Chesterton said with relief, dragging their attention back to him. He directed his gaze to Rose. “I seriously encourage you to reconsider it, Miss Tyler. Without extra help, you’re headed towards failing your final exam for the year and having to retake this class. I don’t want you to be behind your peers—you’re a very bright young woman, even if you don’t see it.”
She nibbled on her nails briefly. “Can I think about it?”
“Of course,” their teacher assured her, “but don’t put it off for too long,” he advised. “You two are free to go now. I’m sure you two are able to sort yourselves out if Rose decides she wants help?”
“Yup,” John answered with emphasis, pushing out of his chair and snatching his bag from the floor, swinging it over his body. He took a glance at Rose, who was also making her move, and caught her eye. “Just, uh, catch me in class or during breaks,” he murmured somewhat awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck and tugging at his earlobe. He changed his attention to Mr Chesterson and offered a gentle smile. “Thanks, sir,” he said earnestly before high-tailing it out the door, leaving the other two in an air of stupor.
Although Rose just wanted to deny this offer, leave it at that, her heart and mind yearned for understanding; for knowledge. And when she made eye contact with her teacher, who gave her a small grin, she could tell he sensed her dilemma.
She thanked him quietly and dashed out, trying to run away from this confrontation.
---
It only took a few hours for Rose to cave, terrified at the prospect of losing this opportunity. Sure, she could probably ask John or Mr Chesterson whenever she wanted, but she feared she wouldn’t have the guts to do it. If her friends questioned it, she could say they were mandatory sessions; make them look like obligations rather than participation, she decided. They didn’t have to know that this was something she wanted; needed. She could lead this double life—she could make it work. She didn’t want to stay stuck on the estates forever, in the working class, living paycheck to paycheck in a job that meant nothing to her. She wanted exploration, passion and knowledge in her life.
With that, she headed to school early the next day, knowing that John tended to hang around well before classes started. Whether it was sitting absurdly on a chair whilst getting lost in a novel or sitting on a tree branch writing frantically in a notebook, John was always busy doing something; as though his mind refused to shut off or stop generating new ideas. She wrapped her rainbow scarf and winter jacket around her tighter, fighting against the chilly air, hands clad in fingerless gloves as she power-walked her way past the gates. The grounds were rather barren and quiet when she arrived, even though she came barely twenty minutes earlier than usual.
To both her surprise and expectation, her peer was easy to locate—he was holed up in the library, one of the only students there, curled up in a corner with a textbook, notepad and calculator balanced all over his lap, pen pursed between his lips. This was a rather unusual haunt for John, often preferring odd spaces and quiet havens—she remembered the hallways being rampant when he first arrived with the story of him scaring one of the drama classes after being discovered hiding in the upper crossover doing his homework. That, admittedly, was a big contribution to his tarnished reputation.
Currently, he was deep in thought, his dark eyes furrowed intensely behind his glasses, but as though he could sense her, he looked up when she came into his view. He offered a polite smile as she approached him, setting aside his things. He ignored the excitement and giddiness that flourished within him not only at her mere presence, but at the fact her attention was directed at him, clearly about to speak to him.
“Good morning, Rose Tyler,” he greeted in a quiet voice. “What brings you to school so early, let alone the library of all places?” he said in a slightly teasing tone, a smirk now forming on his lips. She fought back the urge to laugh, just barely containing her grin of amusement. The twinkle in his eyes told her he knew she was struggling.
“I want to do it,” she murmured like a church mouse, as though her words were blasphemy, afraid saying it too loudly would alert her mates and send them swarming at her like a beam. His smile widened and brightened.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he replied earnestly. “What sort of routine and arrangement would work best for you, you think?”
She shuffled awkwardly in place, fiddling with her clothes and hands. “I dunno…”
“ Well , Mr Chesterson has suggested two sessions per week,” he informed her. “I’m free… all afternoons,” he admitted sheepishly, a little embarrassed to be indirectly informing her he had no social life nor hobbies that required him to leave the house, “but I’m happy to do lunches, mornings, weekends…” he rambled. She resisted an endearing smile at his nature, both bemused and intrigued by his whimsicalness and energy. A quiet voice reminded her of Jimmy and her mates in the back of her mind.
“Maybe we can try lunch today, just to see how things gel, and then afternoons in the future?” she proposed, tucking some loose hair behind her ear that had fallen out of her messy plaits. He thought the sight was adorable and withstood a grin.
“Sounds alright to me,” he said.
“I’ll see you in class then. Thanks, John,” she murmured with a smile, turning to walk away. “Bye, now,” she added, waving at him. He reciprocated, and once she was out of sight, he rested his head against the wall and let out a heavy sigh.
Oh, how was he going to emotionally and mentally survive this, he wondered?
---
They agreed to meet again in the library for their first session. John was waiting at one of the vacant tables placed in the main studying area, the box-shape lined with halls of bookshelves and a few couches where students could read. Being later in the day, there weren’t that many students in there, but as the break went on, more and more peers filtered inside after eating to get away from the cold, biting air.
John briefly chatted with Rose about her history—what were her grades like? Which specific topics was she struggling or succeeding with? What particular concepts were she interested in and enjoyed learning? How did she do in similar classes? He nodded and listened politely and patiently as she answered his questions, genuinely interested in getting these details from her beyond understanding how best to guide his tutoring. But when the doors slammed open and Rose noticed her friends entering the building, her demeanour switched from civil to cruel, acting crass and rude and short-tempered. John wasn’t stupid—he had taken in her mates’ arrival and the panic in her eyes. She had a reputation to maintain and to hold up the farce that she didn’t want to be associated with him. He could accept it, he thought, knowing that she really didn’t mean it.
At this, he suggested that they go over some concepts and questions in their textbook, selecting a lesson that she had had particular difficulty with. Rose tried to focus on John’s words, to take in the information he was passing on to her, but she could hear the whispering, and with every small movement her mates made, her eye caught it and she saw one or multiple of them making silly gestures, giggling to themselves. She could also feel her phone vibrating in her bag, and it was driving her mad. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone?
“Rose?” John’s voice caught her attention, making her snap back to him. He peered at her with wide eyes, his lips tightly drawn in. “What do you reckon? A or B?” he hummed, tapping the question with his pen. She glanced back at him and he gazed at her with waiting, inquisitive eyes, ready to hear her response. “Or were we off in our own little world just then?” he suggested with a small grin, not annoyed with her, rather diligent and empathetic.
She gave an exasperated sigh. “Sort of,” she vaguely replied. She heard her phone buzz once again and made a face of frustration. “Sorry, just a mo’,” she said, grabbing the device from her bag and turning it off before angrily throwing it back inside, picking up her pen and looking over the question. A little taken aback by her brief moment of strong emotion, he barely processed the way she quickly scanned the question and looked back up at him. “It’s A, right? Because of Newton’s Law?” she answered.
A dazzling, proud smile came upon his face. “Well done,” he congratulated sincerely. “See—knew you were bright,” he complimented, making her grin.
“Thanks,” she murmured back, her attention yet again being caught by her friends. This time, they were pretending to be making out with themselves and she felt her body tense up at the connotations. John’s eyes followed where hers went.
“Don’t worry about them,” he encouraged in a quiet voice, recapturing her focus once more. “They’re not worth your attention. Trust me—it gets easier after a year of being here,” he quipped. She was a little offended by his ignorance, lowering her brow at him.
“Easy to say when they’re not your friends,” she grumbled. He gave a small frown and leant in close.
“Look, no offence, Rose, but why do you hang out with them?” he asked in a slightly astonished voice. “I mean, blimey, we’re all headed towards our A-Levels exams and they’re still doing this sort of teasing. Could do better, you,” he rambled, letting his thoughts pour out. In the year he had been quietly falling for Rose Tyler, he had been taking note of her friends and how they influenced her. He had a simple conclusion: they did nothing good for her. They were toxic bullies and moulded her to fit their agendas, and it quite honestly made his blood boil . Rose was lovely and brilliant and amazing as an individual, but her group made her into something she wasn’t.
“Oi—they’re my mates,” she defended, even though a nagging feeling in her gut tugged at her heart strings. Listen to him, they compelled. He’s speaking the truth. Accept it. Get away from these people.
“Look, I was rude, I’ll admit it, but I think my point still stands,” he insisted, eyes wide and deep with emotion, emphasising his concerns. “Also, are they really your mates if they tease you for getting an education?” he whispered with conviction, hoping that this fact would change her mind even the slightest . She stared at him, mouth slightly parted with anticipation to reply. He eagerly awaited.
But she caught her friends pointing and laughing at her once more and averted her gaze, trying to subtly hide her face. He noticed she was feeling uncomfortable and decided to move on from it. He checked the time and noted that lunch was almost finished.
“ Well, I think that’s enough for today. You’ve already improved a little!” John said with a beam as he packed his things away, genuinely pleased with the small progress.
“Thank you. Do you think it would be possible to do this somewhere other than the library in the future? It’s… distracting, being around others,” she explained vaguely, not wanting to prove him right by directly saying who it was that was distracting her. He, of course, knew who the aforementioned was, but he was happy to oblige to her preference of not blaming her ‘friends’. She wasn’t ready for that conversation or reality, he thought, so he wouldn’t push it on her.
John shrugged his shoulders as he pulled his messenger bag over his shoulder. “Sure,” he agreed. “Your place?”
Rose panicked—there was no way he could see that she lived in the estates. “Uh, my place is a bit far from school, and a bit small. How about yours?”
“Yeah, I can arrange that,” he nodded. “What time works for you?”
“Maybe… afternoons? We can play it by ear,” she replied.
“Alright, just text me if anything changes,” he replied, scribbling his number down onto a scrap of paper and subtly hiding it inside her workbook for her sake. The look on her face told him that she appreciated the gesture. “I think this is for the best, Rose,” he said quietly. “You need support to show everyone how brilliant you are, so don’t let what people think of you disrupt what will be amazing progress,” he beseeched to her.
She nodded. “I’ll try, John,” she said in hushed tones, before a smile came onto her lips. “At least for you,” she added. He couldn’t resist a grin and waved as she walked away with her things. His stomach fluttered with butterflies and his heart did somersaults, body brimming and vibrating with joy.
If he couldn’t have her, at least he had this, he thought.