Jump: A Beatles Fan-Fiction

Chapter 3: December 5th, 1963, 12:00PM || London, England

The band and I got sandwiches to go and went to Paul's apartment. Once inside, we sat down and ate. I slung my jacket on the back of the chair and woofed down my food. The band didn't seem to notice, nor care, and I hadn't eaten anything since the canned spam from last night.

All of the boys were asking me questions, trying to help me regain my memory (that wasn't actually gone).

"Can you remember how you even got here? You must've taken a plane if you're from America," Ringo suggested.

"Not necessarily, she could've taken a boat, or-- or a submarine!" John nearly shouted.

"Yes, great big yellow one," I snickered. They looked at me, slightly confused, but then laughed anyway, seeing as it would be a preposterous idea. They had no idea how funny that actually was.

"Maybe you're a model! That's why you're wearing such strange clothing!" Paul said.

"I don't feel like I could be a model," I scoff.

"Oh come on, you're prettier than us!" Ringo says, and without missing a beat, the Fab Four simultaneously made goofy "ugly" faces.

If you were attracted to men you'd think otherwise, I thought. But I just laughed and tried not to get distracted by the attractiveness of the band.

"Penny, can you remember how old you are?" George asked.

"I think that I'm seventeen, but don't hold me to that..." I actually was seventeen, but I had always looked young for my age. I once got mistaken for a 7th grader when I was a sophomore.

"Really?" Paul raised his eyebrows, "She's just seventeen, if you know what I mean..." The guys snicker at the reference to themselves.

"No, I really don't know what you mean.." I had honestly never exactly understood that line in the song.

"Maybe you really are a model!" Ringo exclaimed.

"Wait, what's that?" George reached for the inside pocket of my jacket, still hanging on the back of my chair, and pulled out the Jump Reader.

I had a minor panic attack, but calmed down and played dumb, "Uh, I don't know, I guess it must be mine,"

"Unless you're a thief!" Ringo cried and waved his sandwich at me.

"Knock it off Ringo she isn't a thief," Paul smacked Ringo's spasming arms down.

"Lemme see that," John ripped the Reader from George's hands and started pressing buttons. I winced, and hoped that it wouldn't do anything. To my surprise, the cluster of parts did nothing, besides make a beeping noise that John seemed to find very entertaining, as he kept pressing them like a little kid.

"Hey! Maybe you're a scientist!" Paul insinuated.

"Yes, maybe I am," Better than a model I thought.

"Are you kidding, a seventeen year old scientist?" Ringo asked.

"Hey, you never know with Americans," George chimed in.

"There's always those prodigies!" John exclaimed.

I could tell this lie was just running deeper and deeper. But as long as it kept them from committing me, I was okay with it.

"You know I am sort of getting some memory back," I started to pretend to remember something. I pressed my fingers to my temples and closed my eyes shut. "I think... I think I can fix your amplifier, Paul,"

I had seen the broken guitar amp when I walked in. It was laying on the floor with the back popped open. Next to that there was a box of wires and other electronics tools, that I was sure I could use to fix it.

Well, pretty sure.

"What? Really? That thing has been broken for ages! I tried to fix it myself, but I'm rubbish with the stuff," Paul admitted, "I was just going to throw it out and buy a new one,"

I was surprised that he hadn't already, seeing as he was probably filthy rich.

I slowly walked over to the amp, for dramatic effect. The boys seemed to buy it. I looked inside. I picked up the circuit board and pretended to check it over for a minute. I could see what the problem was, or what I hoped was the problem anyway. There was just a cold solder joint on one of the resistors, and it was easily fixable.

There was a soldering iron and solder in the box of tools. I plugged the iron in and waited for it to heat up. The boys looked at me, "You know how to use that thing?" Paul inquired.

"I think so," I pretended to hesitate. This was my area, I knew full well what I was doing.

I dramatically took the iron out of it's holder, and waved it over the amp. I quickly fixed the cold solder joint, then checked for anything else that looked out of the ordinary. Nothing did, so I screwed the cover back on.

As I did this, the band watched me in complete silence. It was all I could do to keep a straight face, they seemed so amazed.

I took Paul's bass, plugged it into the amp, then handed it to him. Our fingers touched he took it from me. I should have been used to the Beatles touching me by then, but I definitely wasn't. Every time one of them even brushed against me, it felt as if I was being shocked.

And I knew what being shocked felt like. Being in electronics with guys who thought it was a good idea to stick paper clips into the power outlets, resulted in a few other unwanted, shocking, mishaps.

Paul slung the strap of the instrument over his shoulder and played an open "A" note, the sound projected through the amplifier perfectly.

The band looked at me in shock, "That's amazing! Do you think that you can fix my lamp too?" Paul exclaimed.

We all laughed, and Paul played a bass-and-vocals rendition of "All My Loving" with Ringo on the coffee-table-drums and George and John happily singing back-up, laughing and giggling the whole time. 

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Hi everyone! I'm Parcenet_ (aka @thebeatlesandfriends on Instagram). Feedback is great, if you see any errors, comment and I'll fix them! I don't have anyone to specifically edit my work, so feedback is always welcome! I'm planning on the chapters being a little bit shorter from now on, just for ease of reading and stuff. Comments and votes are greatly appreciated! ;)