Jump: A Beatles Fan-Fiction

Chapter 15: December 6th, 1963, 7:30PM || London, England

Chapter 15: December 6th, 1963, 7:30PM || London, England

The rain pounded onto the pavement. Thunder was booming, accompanied by random flashes of lightning. I could hear my pulse thumping through my head as my father and I sprinted into the storm.

I looked right and then left, peering through the rain. My father ran over to a tan car parked on the curb. It was sleek, and it had a familiar classic-car-look about it that I was unable to place until I spotted the "Corvette" logo on the back panel of the car.

It was a 1963 Corvette Stingray. I wasn't very knowledgeable about cars, but I was knowledgeable about music. And that was the car that I had seen The Beach Boys with several times. Sleek and wet from the rain, this was by far the nicest car I had ever seen.

And my dad was breaking into it! The passenger-side window was rolled part way down, and my dad reached in and unlocked the door. He turned around and yelled to me through the roaring rain, "Penny!" he motioned.

"Penny, I need you to drive. Can you drive manual?" he said.

"Are you crazy? This is--this car is worth more than me!" I yelled over the thunder.

"So you can drive stick then? Get in!" he yelled.

There was no time to argue, I jumped over the hood--without falling, thankfully-- and opened the driver's side door as my dad unlocked it. He reached down under the car, and began tampering with the wires.

I slid into the driver's seat, throwing my bag into the back. I grabbed the gear shift and put the car in neutral. I pressed on the clutch and shifted, gently releasing the clutch. The engine roared to life. The car felt alive in my hands as I began to drive towards The Beatles' concert venue. I switched on the wipers to their highest setting, and the lights as I raced through the rain.

"You don't know how to drive stick?" I asked dubiously.

"Nope, never learned. I took public transportation most of my life anyway. I could barely drive the automatic car that I drove The Beatles in!" he laughed.

"Well that makes sense now, you were a terrible driver." I retorted.

"Hey!" my father interjected.

"It's your own fault for getting a job that you weren't qualified for in any way! Being a driver when you can barely drive!?" I exclaimed.

Crazy! This is absolutely crazy! The Beatles are going to die, and it's going to be my fault!

"Where am I going exactly?" I asked. I hadn't been paying attention when we drove to the theater the first time, since I wasn't driving, so I didn't actually know where I was going.

My dad gave me the directions to the theater. I swerved into the back parking lot, and as I parked and jumped out of the car, a clap of thunder boomed. Because of the weather, there was no security outside.

I guess they were too good to stand outside in the rain and protect The Beatles. Or Staples and Haus took them out. Regardless, the rain whipped against me, as I ran into the building, my dad on my heels.

The door flew open in the wind, and I had to force it back shut. My hair flopped around my face like a wet mop. I looked around at the corridor I stepped into. The hall was grey, and there appeared to be a couple of restrooms, as well as regular rooms. I began to wander, my father following me, towards the muffled noise.

The muffled noise of a concert.

But not just any concert: a Beatles concert. Which meant that I was following the sound of hundreds of screaming girls, and the faint thump of music.