What If

Chapter 40

I took a deep breath and swallowed thickly. I must be seeing things, I thought desperately. It can't be her. I peeked back around the drunk guy one more time only to see that unmistakable face again. It was definitely Cynthia. I could only see her profile from the angle she was standing to me, but I've seen enough pictures of her to recognize her immediately.

A thousand questions ran through my head unceasingly. What should I do? Should I even do anything? Should I just pretend I don't know who she is and don't interact with her for the rest of the night? But if I do that, that would be passing up on the once in a lifetime opportunity to talk to a Beatle's girlfriend. Should I convince her to get back with John? If they get back together now, Julian may still have a chance to be born. But would she even want to now? And what if she finds out that I'm the girl John left her for?

Cynthia burst out laughing at something the boy had said to her. It wasn't a drunken laugh. I don't think she was drunk at all. She had a drink in her hand, but it didn't seem like she had had much of it.

I had to make a move. It was going to start looking suspicious if I was just standing there, hiding behind a drunken boy, and occasionally peeking my head out to stare at some random girl. I decided to be brave and go talk to her. It was a once in a lifetime chance to speak to her, whether we talked about John or not. She could end up hating me and never wanting to talk to me again, but we would never talk anyways if I didn't go up and start talking in the first place, so I might as well take the chance.

I puffed out my chest and walked up to her with fake confidence, more to pump myself up and be less nervous than to make a good impression on her. She didn't even notice me standing right next to her until I finally spoke. "Excuse me," I said, trying not to make my voice sound small.

She turned to me, losing all focus on the boy, and stared at me with a curious expression on her face. I was extremely nervous, only having this one shot to make her like me. It was now or never.

"I just wanted to say that I absolutely love your hair up like that. It looks so gorgeous."

Her mouth turned up into a grin and she lovingly patted the bun in her hair. "Oh, thank you," she said in her charming accent. "It took forever to get it just right. I couldn't get it to stop frizzing."

"Well, it's fantastic!" I continued to praise. I figured if I got her self-esteem higher, then she'd be more open to talking to me. Good advice for starting a conversation with anyone actually. "I can never put my hair up. It tends to accentuate my big ears." I pushed back some hair behind my ear to show her what I was talking about. My ears aren't big per se, but they stick out a little more than is flattering when they're visible.

She squinted her eyes at my exposed ear and laughed. "They're not big," she argued, waving my self-inflicted insult away. "They're perfectly normal-sized."

"Ugh, I wish." I rolled my eyes and recovered my ears. People need to start being honest about my ears.

"Where are you from?" she asked, sipping her drink. "That's definitely not a British accent."

"Oh, I'm from America," I answered sheepishly, unknowing of how much she knew of the girl John dumped her for.

"Oh, wow!" she said, her eyes going wide with amazement. "What are you doing here?"

"My dad's job got moved here. For whatever reason. I don't know."

"That's so incredible!" she raved. "What's America like? Tell me everything!"

I paused, fidgeting like a total spaz. That was too vague of a question. What was America like? It was like . . . America. I don't know! "Uh . . . a lot like here," I answered. "Except we don't talk with these accents."