So, this is my third story on here. I'm also in the middle of writing Eight Days A Week and I'll try to update both of them regularly. If I fall behind, please don't get mad at me!

Anyways, this story just came to me one day. It's set in 1963 during the summer. The main character is about 20 and in college. She is also kind of a spin off my personality, not that I hate The Beatles though! So, now, enjoy. . .

It was dark. I was walking home around one in the morning. I'd been at a local park drinking with some friends. We weren't getting drunk or anything – we were just having a good time. We had just finished school and wanted to celebrate. The celebration ended, though, because we didn't want the police – or "bobbies" as they were called here – to catch us. Our parents would have been furious.

So, now I was walking home in the pitch black darkness all by myself. I had moved here in March and still didn't know my way around town. Usually Suzie, my new best friend, would walk me home. Suzie had lived in Liverpool her whole life, while I had grown up in a tiny seaside town in America. Liverpool was very different and sometimes seemed scary to a small town girl like myself.

My family and I had moved here after my father died. He'd been a police officer and had been shot while responding to a robbery. My mother insisted that moving would be the best thing for us. I protested, but being the youngest I had little say in the matter. My mother's mind was made up and my sister always agreed with her. Sometimes I felt like the odd one out without my father around. I didn't like to talk about him a whole lot because it would only make me cry.

I hadn't even told Suzie about my father's death. Of course she'd asked why I'd moved here, but I only told her it was because of "family issues." She didn't pursue the matter further; she wasn't one to pry. Plus, her mind was usually only on one thing and one thing only – The Beatles. See, The Beatles were this band in Liverpool that every (and I do mean every) girl here adored. They were extremely popular and everywhere. Personally, I couldn't be bothered with them. I thought they were an absolute joke and a disgrace to rock n roll.

I'd only seen them play a few times at The Cavern Club. I hated the show each time and refused to see them ever again. Suzie constantly tried to get me to go, but I told her "No!" every time. I always knew she could find someone else to bring.

Each Beatle irritated me for a different reason. First, there was the leader – John, I think was his name – thought he was so incredibly witty. The audiences ate up every word he uttered – whether it was intelligent or not.

Next was the drummer. His name? I couldn't tell you it. All I knew was it wasn't even a real name. It was some ridiculous nickname. . .something to do with jewelry. Anyways, as he played the drums, he bobbed his head. Now normally that wouldn't bother me. But he did it out of sync with the beat of every song!

Then there was the lead guitarist. His name escaped me because he was so shy! He looked like a frightened little mouse on stage. And don't even get me started on his eyebrows!

Finally, there was Paul McCartney - the bass player who every girl in the United Kingdom had a crush on. They'd nicknamed him the "cute one" and he knew it and used it well to his advantage. I could tell he enjoyed how the girls screamed his name and how enamored they were with him.

As I thought about all this, I reached my house. I knew the door would be locked – on account of my mother thinking I was home – so I tried the windows. The one next to the door opened and I climbed through – not gracefully, I might add. As I stepped onto the floor, I realized that I was not in my house. I was in someone's very untidy bathroom. There were clothes and towels strewn about everywhere.

Damn these houses! They all look alike! I was about to climb back through the window, but I heard someone coming. I knew I would never make it, so I decided to hide behind the door. My plan was to sneak out of the bathroom after the person had entered the room and wasn't looking. Then, I'd run for the door and get the hell out of here!

As I was about to complete my plan by slipping out of the bathroom, I felt the person's hand on my arm. My stomach dropped. My blood ran cold. The person pulled on my arm to make me turn around. The person holding on to my arm wasn't the angry middle aged adult that I had been expecting. Instead, I saw the last person I wanted to see – Paul McCartney.

I looked at him in horror. His was wearing a white T shirt and pale blue pajama bottoms. His usually kempt hair was in a jumble on top of his head. When I looked into his eyes I could tell he was angry.

"What the bloody hell are ya doing in me water closet?" he demanded.

"I-uh-I'm sorry! I thought this was my house!" I said frantically.

Paul only laughed. He had an amused look on his face. "Calm down! I was only joking, I'm not gonna call yer mum and dad on ya, luv!"

I gave him a stern look as I wriggled my arm out of his grip. "Don't call me 'love.'"

Mockingly, he returned the look and said, "Okay."

I rolled my eyes at him in annoyance and started for the door. I don't have time for this. He grabbed my arm again, though, to stop me.

"What's the hurry?" he asked innocently. "Can't we talk a bit? I mean, ya just climbed through my bathroom window . . . there must be a story in there somewhere!"

"I told you," I said without any emotion. "I thought this was my house. Can I go now?"

Paul only ignored my question by asking, "Hey, that's an American accent, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I answered, "can I g-"

"What's a Yank doin' 'ere in Liverpool?" He sat down on the edge of a sofa and rested his chin on his hand. He had an expectant look in his eyes, like a child waiting for a bed time fairy tale.

"It's a long story," I answered dismissively. "Look, I ne-"

"You can tell my while I walk ya home!" he interrupted excitedly.

"What?" I asked dumbfounded.

"Well, obviously ya don't know yer way round Liverpool very well, so I'll walk ya home!" he said as he stood up.

I was in no mood to argue and if this was the only way I was getting home, so be it.


"I'm Paul by the way," he told me smiling. I didn't tell him I already knew who he was. That would probably only lead to more questions.

"I'm Michelle."

As we walked out the front door and down the front steps, he asked, "So, yer long story?" His almond shaped eyes looked at me curiously. For a moment, I was at a loss for words. When I looked away, I regained my voice. While I told him about my father and my family, I kept wondering what made me forget how to speak.

When I finished my story, Paul said, "I know how that is. My mum died when I was about 14." He had a sad look in his hazel eyes as he stared straight ahead. I could tell that he had really loved her and still did. We walked in silence for a few seconds.

Finally Paul asked, "What was yer address again?"

"It's six Hurstlyn Road."

"Oh, that's right up 'ere," he said pointing to my house.

We stopped walking where the sidewalk met the pathway to my house.

"Well, Michelle. It was a pleasure to 'ave met ya," Paul said grinning.

I stopped myself from returning the smile. I didn't want him thinking his little spell had worked on me. But as I stared into his large beautiful eyes, I began to understand what all those girls were screaming about.

"Um, yeah. You too," I said, trying to sound as disinterested as before.

"Well, see ya round, but don't go getting' lost again!" he joked as he turned and began walking away.

Again, I kept myself from laughing. I didn't want to sound like those girls at the Cavern who giggled at the mention of Paul's name.

Walking up the pathway to my front door, I caught myself watching him walk down the street. Maybe he isn't as bad as I think he is. . . I thought as I walked through the door, finding it unlocked. Before I could even reject the thought, though, a light clicked on. I saw my sister sitting in the easy chair next to the tall lamp.

"Where have you been?" she asked crossly.

Great. It's gonna be one of those nights again.

How was it? Do you hate me for making Michelle complain about The Beatles? Sorry, but I HAD to throw it in there! So review to tell me how ya liked it or if ya have any suggestions. XOXOXO