The name Jude is from my Aunt Judy, who is my mother's older sister who died of cancer years ago. She was my little sister's Godmother, but they sadly never met. This is to you Aunt Judy and my Uncle Kenny who also died of Cancer. RIP you two, I know you'll always be watch over us.

Also to Linda McCartney and Paul's mother Mary McCartney both who died from Breast Cancer. This is dedicated to those who won and lost to Cancer. May a cure be there soon!

Also, a vote is made on my DA (link on profile) and which is better, this or the other Beatles story. I'll finish the one that is voted most.

Just Seen That Face

Chapter One

*~Shouldn't Know Better~*

"André Philips! Principle! NOW!"

"She did it again."

"You know her. She'd rather drop dead than take orders."

"But she'll be kicked out if she puts one toe out of line?"

"There she goes!"

Footsteps echoed in the school halls. The students murmured as her long stride legs lead her down the titled locker filled hallway. In her blue jeans rolled up her ankles, loose white collar shirt, and navy blue blazer, the tomboy of the school walked proud and tall. Wavy auburn hair bounced around her back and curled like bangs hung above her gray shining eyes, almost looked silver. A smirk of a smartass stayed on her face, she felt proud of her crime as she entered the door, with the sign above the door, 'Principal's Office.'

The door opened, two heads turned to find the guardian of the rebellious teenager. Said teen sat with one leg on the corner of the desk while the other bounced up on down to withstand her patience. The male tight principal stood behind the desk with hands behind his back. His face red from arguing with the 15 year old girl.

The man glared the teen that huffed her bangs out of her eyes and turned back with pouting crossed arms. He was her father, Charles Philips. His black hair and old face showed his age. He wore a business suit, being a business man. He was called from work hearing his daughter acted up again. He took a seat next to her, his glaring dark eyes tried to give her a threat. She repelled it as it was immune now.

"I apologize pulling you from your work, Mr. Philips." He sat down in his leather chair. "But, it seems André has acted up… Again."

The father's eyes stayed on his daughter who was watching a fly on the tip of her shoe. "Oh, really? I'm not surprised." He slapped her knee hard making her put her foot down and lose track of the winged bug. "What is it this time?"

"Well," He put his specs on and read the paper on his red oak desk. "First, André wrote some inappropriate words on the black board in her English class. Then she threw yellow paint on her art teacher, and then she gave a student a black eye with a flute in music class." André grinned on her success in that attempt. "Finally, she got into an argument with another teacher at lunch, screaming -ahem- 'you are a whore and love to sleep with all the male teachers… Including the Principal."

Charles cringed at first. "I greatly apologize for all of her actions."

The old man shook his head. "This has gone for too long, Mr. Philips." The father feared hearing this news. "I'm sorry, but André is no longer allowed here. She is expelled from Remold High School."

"Yes!" She hissed with delight.

"And never allowed in any school of this district, Ever!"

As the two walked from the building, the teen skipped with hands in her pants pocket kicking stones in the road. They walked from the school to the parking lot where the car was.

"Sweet! No more school! Free as a bird!" She cheered as she danced around the car. "Woo hoo!"

"You are not off the hook." Said Charles unlocking the car.

"Come on!" She stopped and stood beside her father. "Now I can focus on my dream life without that damned school getting in my way."

He glared at her from the corner of his eye. "You can't get anywhere without a good education." The door opened.

"Oh bull!" She exclaimed with a heated face. "There are a bunch of famous guys that made it without school to block their way!"

The door slammed as he grabbed his daughter's shoulders and slammed her against the metaled car. "Listen, just because your mother is dead, doesn't mean shit around with your life! I didn't stay as your father to take this fucking crap! You should be happy what you have!"

She blinked at him, stunted by his anger. Charles let her go still death glaring her. "Get in the car." He demanded quietly getting into the front. André crawled into the back and sat far away from her father. Charles pulled out of the drive way and onto the main road towards home. "Once we get home," He continued to glare through the rearview mirror. "I want you to tell me the things you have and are happy with."

Her now sad silver like eyes looked out the window seeing the lake as they went over the small bridge. "But I don't…" She whispered to herself, staying silent in the care.

Charles remembered summer break was coming up, so even trying to find a school to finish her year wasn't even worth it. Her mother died when André was of only 9 years old. Her first rebellious anger was shown when she punched a girl in her class when she hated a sweater her mother made on her death bed. Her mother, Jude, died of a multiple attack of tongue and throat Cancer. Despite that, her father did nothing to help. The hate of her father grew, as did the world for not helping her mother when she was in need.

In the time of late 50s, this soon to be 16 year old was in a troubled world of America. She felt no one else understood her, and because of this she feels like a black sheep of everyone. Taking this in over time, she made herself stand out more and more, until soon she was known in the town for her trouble making. She has shoplifted before, but that was something she can never get caught. From candy to sodas. André wanted to get out of her house, town, state, –Minnesota- country… Hell if she could this planet.

Charles gave a worried look through the mirror. He decided to put the radio on and hope to find some music to perk her up again. Thankfully he found a station of rock, her favorite music. It was making it big thanks to Elvis, all the girls crazed about him. Though she had a few records and a poster or two. A song of Elvis came making her perk up.

André and Charles arrived home in their small home. It was all they can do until her father earned that promotion. But from his daughter's school always calling him in, his boss doesn't see him work much. They lived in the upper level of their townhouse. Only a small combination of a kitchen and living room, with two small rooms. Her father worked at a car dealing company, that wasn't doing so well. Between work and his daughter, Charles didn't know how much longer he could take.

As André went to her room, Charles plopped into the sofa in the living room. Finger hooked onto his tie, he pulled it loosen it. A tired sigh left his lips as his eyes gazed at the picture on the coffee table by the plant. The picture showed his family, Jude sitting in the hospital bed holding the baby André. He remembers first hearing this name, strange as it was for a boy. Charles asked why not Andréa, but Jude said she found her unique and deserved to have a unique name that fitted her and her only. Just as Jude matched her own. He frowned as he wasn't in the picture. A reason for this was that he was taking the picture. That's what he told André. In truth, he was never there.

Charles took off his blazer and undid his tie. He took a book from the drawer under the coffee table, it was a phone book. His fingers flipped through the old pages as he found the number he was looking for.

The said Teenager sat on her bed drawing in her sketchbook. On her walls plastered with Elvis posters and her drawings. André drew portraits of people; most on the wall was her father or Elvis. There was one or two of her, but she'd rather draw other people than herself. This time she was sketching a photo of her mother she'd been dying to draw for the past month. Her gray silver like eyes shifted from the photo to her sketch book. Jude had brown long hair that covered her shoulders, silver shining eyes looked into the camera with a small but bright smile. A young face showing to be about in her early 20s before André was born. The photo was black and white, but with her memory, André will always remember the color in her mother before she died. Elvis music from her radio filled the room as she had the radio hooked up in there since she was 13. It was a birthday present, since she couldn't get a record player. On the shelves sat books of Sherlock Holmes, mystery was her favorite type of literature. Pictures of her mother on the dresser with small piles of drawings when she was younger. André was told by her mother to always keep them, as they were her favorite.

"Well, that was another Elvis request by little Bonny in North Carolina!" Came the radio man's voice. "Now we know we're all buzzing for the summer feel, got any plans for summer?"

"I wish." André scoffed as she kicked her ankles together laying on her stomach.

"Go to the beach, jump in the pool! That summer fun is just right around the corner! We'll be back with more on…"

The door creaked open as Charles came in, hands in pockets. His tired eyes found his daughter look up at him and then back to her drawing. Shutting the door, the old father rubbed his neck. His mind scrambled to put these words together. "André, I have something to tell you. And I think it'll help you."

She raised an eyebrow, but kept drawing. "Help me? What? Found another school?" André started shading the eyes. "Forget it dad, American schools just hold me down."

He sighed and sat on the edge of her bed, it creaked as his weight added next to hers. "Compared to English schools, I say you're wrong."

Her head shot up and whirled to look at him. "What's England got to do with anything?"

"They are more up tight than the schools here. They have uniforms, manners, harder classes."

André scoffed. "Well, good thing I'm not attending at their schools."

He sighed. "You will be. This upcoming fall for your final year."

André jumped off her bed with a face of shock. "What?"

Charles shrugged. "You always complain about this country, the school, the government, everything. So, why not go to England?"

"You just gonna ship me off there! Where am I gonna stay? Certainly not a dorm or anything like that!" She cried glaring hard on her father.

He sighed again, rubbing his temple. "You have relatives there."

André's face contorted into confusion with a mix of anger still there. "Mom doesn't have any relatives from England. She's only got them in Florida, which I also won't go to!"

"No, she's doesn't but your father does."

"No you don't! You've never said anyone from-"

"Your other father!" He yelled standing now.

André's jaw was ajar. "What do you mean, 'other father'? Y-You're my father."

Charles exasperated a large sigh and sat back on the bed. He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Your mother never wanted me to tell you. But you should know."

André sat on the other end, far from her 'father'. "Tell me what?"

Charles damped his chapped lips. "Before you were born, your mother was with a man. That man is your father. It was around World War II you were born. He only had a fling with your mother, she never saw him again. I didn't marry your mother until you were a year old. I'm only your step-father by marriage, not blood."

"That doesn't explain why I have relatives in England." André didn't seem to be that effected that he wasn't her true father. More focused on these relatives.

"Your blood father is English. He once told her he had someone back in England, a small place called Liverpool." He stood and kept his eyes on her. Her silver eyes wide of this new information. "You have a half-brother there. About a year older than you."

André combed a hand through her hair, which sprung her bangs up a bit. She kept opening and closing her mouth to try and comprehend words, but nothing. Thoughts processed her mind with questions. Did this make her half British? Where was her father? Who was her half-brother? What is he like?

"W-Who's my half-brother? What's his name?" She managed to pipe out.

"You're half-brother goes by the name John Lennon. He's just about your age." Charles calmly answered. "When your mother was informed after you were born, she sent a letter to Liverpool, and somehow got a reply from his mother, Julia. They've stayed in contact hoping to meet one day… That day never came." He took in some air putting his hands in his pockets.

"So wait," Her hands shook lightly as they were held up. Her face showed she was seeing all this over in her head. "I have a half-brother in England. My father is missing and really from Britain. You're really my step-father." She gave an angry scoff and ruffled her hair again. "What's next!"

Charles went over to her, hands still in pocket. "Here's what's next; you're going there."

"You're shipping me off!" She screamed pushing him away from here. Her eyes shook as her eyes watered. "No, I see. You're making this all up."

"What? No! And-"

"No! I cause so much shit, between mom's death and now. I bet you've been planning this!"

"André!" She looked to him with glaring eyes. He touched her shoulder but she pulled back. "I've always though of you as my one and only daughter. I just think it'd be best if you lived there. Had someone to be with, and actually family member at your age."

André's eyes started to water. She sniffled a bit before clinging to her step-father, her face hidden in his shoulder. He held her close and patted her back. "I-I…" She muffled. "I want to leave, I want out of this country."

He nodded and patted her head shushing her gently. "Alright, alright." He cooed. "We'll get you on a plane there this weekend."

She sniffed and looked to him. "Sooner…" André begged.

He searched her eyes seeing so much sadness and hate. Meeting her half-brother might help. She also needed a mother's touch, one Charles could never give enough like her mother did.