Queen in college, except all the other people are random other rockstars
± 1968
Roger ran through the halls of the BL, bag clutched in his arms. He'd love to have it on his back, if only he had the mind to put it there. He was rushing; overslept again. Well, that's what one gets for staying up all night watching trash telly.
The bell rang as he made it into his classroom, just in time and barely avoiding a bad grade. For some reason, in this specific class, attendance got graded just as much as test results — absolute bullshit, he thought to himself for not the first time as he sat down.
"Hello", his seating neighbour – Richard Blackmore – whispered curtly as ever. Roger smiled as politely as he could at the moment, pulling out his books. Richard (or Ritchie) was wearing a ridiculous hat and it was hard not to laugh at him. Roger himself liked medieval fashion, but wearing a pilgrim hat to school was too far even for him – especially if it was Ritchie, who always took himself way too serious.
The professor anatomy – Mr. Keith Richards – clapped his hands. "Time to start class, lads!" Roger already knew that everything Richards would say would ente one ear and leave the other immediately. Over Ritchie's shoulder, he eyed the desk and spotted a few Jack Daniels. Maybe he could sneakily nick a bottle.
"What are you looking at?" Ritchie, next to him, hissed. Hissed!
Roger then realized he'd, lost in thought, stared at Ritchie's ridiculous hat. It needed a name, he decided. 'Hugh' would be a good name. Hugh the Hat.
Ritchie's intensifying glare snapped him out of it, and he focused back on his book. "Nothing", he whispered. In the corner of his vision, he saw Ritchie roll his eyes and sighed. This was going to be a long hour.
When the hour was over, Roger indeed felt dead. Luckily, his day was short enough, one more class of oral pathology with Mr. Ozzy Osbourne (who was a bit terrifying and, according to some, recovering from rabies - ironic).
He had a break first and decided to go to cafeteria with his lunchbox. It consisted of one cookie that was left in it from the day before, but he ate it anyways.
Then, he went out for a smoke. Sadly. Ritchie was in the spot Roger always smoked in, speaking angrily to a guy who was in his knickers. Roger recognized him as the guy who often got escorted towards the school's dressing rooms - dresscoded for nudity.
When Roger lit his cigarette, Ritchie looked at him like he'd just massacred his mother, grandmother and sister in front of him. "Don't", he ordered from beneath Hugh the Hat, as if he owned that little piece of land.
"Don't what?" Roger asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Smoke!"
"– on the water", sang the almost naked guy. He got slapped by Ritchie. Roger sighed. Ritchie was a ridiculous little bugger with an ego the size of a mountain and a brain the size of a larvae; he didn't need to stop smoking for his sake, but for a moment he was curious. He'd humour Ritchie for a moment. He hid the cigarette behind his back and hoped Ritchie would forget it was even there as he asked innocently, "Who's that?"
"I'm–" the guy started, and Ritchie finished, "an utter buffoon who should invest in clothing!"
Roger gave up, shook his head and decided to find a place to smoke in peace.
"Hyperdontia", Mr. Osbourne simply said when everyone was seated. For a few seconds, he stared at the paper in his hand. Then, he paced from one end of the classroom to another, where one of Roger's classmates in this class – John Lennon – was asleep. John sat behind Roger and thus, Roger could get a close-up from Mr. Osbourne. Nightmare fuel, really! Forget 'recovering from rabies', this man looked like he'd contracted every illness in the world!
To wake John up, Mr. Osbourne leaned down and put his mouth as close as he could to John's ear without it being weird (it was kind of weird anyways), before screaming, "ALL ABOARD!"
John shot up, screamed and almost jumped into his seating neighbour – Paul McCartney –'s lap. Roger winced away from the movement behind him before sighing and covering his face in his hands.
While John (and Paul too) was/were recovering from a heart attack, Mr. Osbourne walked back like nothing had happened. "Hyperdontia", he said once more. "Who knows what hyperdontia is?"
Roger obviously knew what it was - his flatmate Fred Bulsara had it. Still, he didn't feel like doing anything and so he leaned back silently. No one else seemed to be interested in responding, and Mr. Osbourne also seemed to lose interest. "Just read those pages on it in your book, then. Index is in the back, y'know." He sat down behind his desk, lighting a joint.
No one really did anything that hour, besides John eating mints. In Roger's personal opinion, that didn't make John less smelly.
"Ey, John", Paul whispered to John. "Give me one of these, won'cha ?"
John responded quietly, "Oh, aye. Open up, then."
Roger looked behind himself just in time to see John spit his own mint into Paul's mouth. He'd never looked away quicker from something, his head reeling.
By the time Roger was walking on the hallway on his way to the exit, his name was called out and he looked around. It was Kurt Cobain, one of his flat- and schoolmates! "Roger!"
"Hey, Kurt!" Roger responded. "How's it going? I had Osbourne today." He shuddered at the memory of seeing the man up-close. Then, he remembered the John-and-Paul-mints thing and made a mental note to wash his eyes with bleach later.
"Do you have anything against gay people?" Roger asked Kurt spontaneously. Kurt raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "No. Aren't you literally gay?"
"What?!" Roger stopped in his tracks.
"What? No? Oh, okay", Kurt said casually. Roger rubbed his face with his hand.
"– and this here, found it at a thrift store!" Fred Bulsara enthousiastically pushed a vod up Roger's face. He held it up to take look at it and he couldn't see what was the top or bottom. Brian May – another of their flatmates – raised his eyebrows. "Ah, yes. A curtain. That'll sell."
Fred shoved at him. "It's a scarf and it'll make a fortune, you bitch!"
Brian shook his head and walked away. Roger could see a pencil sticking out of that perm.
"What's all this about?" Tracy Marander – Kurt's girlfriend and another flatmate – asked as she went to pour herself a glass of water. Fred snatched the scarf back from Roger and held it up for Tracy to see. "For our market stand in Kensington, y'know. It'll buy us out of this bloody appartment, that's how gorgeous it is..." Fred trailed off when Tracy, after downing her water, slipped back into her room to escape Fred's never-ending monologues.
Roger laughed at him and Fred gave him a shove too. "Just you wait!"
The Kensington Market was, as usual, bristling with activity. Brian had come along to see if that scarf would actually be worth a fortune (he and Tim Staffell – yet another flatmate – had made a bet). He was waving his hand around in front of his face. "Do you ever clean this place?" he asked pointedly.
"Get out, if you're only going to bloody complain!" Fred exclaimed dramatically. Brian scoffed out a, "That's rich coming from you. Chronic complainer, that's what you are!"
From behind a rack of clothing, Roger shouted, "You're smelling yourself, Bri! This place is clean." The response was a piece of clothing flinging into his face and he stumbled backwards. "Watch out, you idiot!" Fred screamed in horror and pulled Roger away before he could bump into the mirror behind him.
Roger pulled the piece of clothing – a jacket with flared sleeves, on closer inspection – off his face just in time to spot Fred chasing Brian out of the stall with a broom.
