Chapter 1
Tonight, my friend Charlotte and I were attending a concert. A Beatles concert at that! My mother worked stubbornly to get these tickets for us, and I couldn't be grateful enough. I think I nearly exploded! She acted as if it were nothing, but honestly, it was an immense deal. I mean, how many teenage girls get to attend a Beatles concert? Okay, well, a bunch. But this was their first concert so far in America.
Busily, I brushed Charlotte's hair out. She demanded that I curl it, since she had curled mine, so I agreed. This was going to take a heap of our time, but she would look beautiful; she always did. And, on a night like tonight, I was undoubtedly jealous of her appearance. See, Paul McCartney likes the gorgeous girls, and it was obvious that Charlotte was prettier than me. My best friend was going to strike Paul's eye, and I won't. That upset me just slightly.
At precisely 6:30, my mother was rushing us outside. A limosuine awaited us, though I wasn't sure why. Had someone paid for this? Mother looked delighted from inside our house, so I suppose it was her. Beside me, however, Charlotte was too bubbly to notice the small details. She would probably hop into any stranger's car; she wasn't real bright.
Charlotte grabbed at my shoulder, shaking me fiercly from side to side. "Aren't you excited?" she gushed, squeezing my arm tighter. "I mean, girl, we're going to see Paul McCartney! This doesn't mean a thing to you, does it?" She shook her head, disappointed. Why was she so down? Of course this meant something to me! My heart was threatening to pound out of my chest at this very moment!
I rolled my eyes at her. How brainless did she think that I was? "Charlotte, this does mean something to me. But you know I'm not one for showing emotion in public." Well? She did know that about me. Or, at least I thought she did. Now that I truly think about it, she isn't a very worthy friend. She doesn't seem to know me at all...
The limosuine slowed to a stop in front of the theater the Beatles were performing at. Charlotte tripped over the curb as she hurried to the doors. I walked with my hands at my sides, like a polite young lady, to the doors. She screamed as soon as she trotted inside, with me darting to keep up with her quick pace.
As soon as we took our seats, the Beatles ran onto the stage. I shrieked alongside my comrade, reaching up toward the stage. (Yes, we had front row seats. That's mainly why my mother had to work hard for these tickets.) Paul, Ringo, and John waved buoyantly, while George stood there awkwardly with his guitar. George was almost my favorite; he had a surprisingly strong voice for him being so bashful.
The first song they did was She Loves You. They sounded amazing together! Charlotte couldn't contain her tears, but I was able to. See, I wasn't fond of public crying. The girl next to me was way beyond the point of caring. She hollered and blubbered and drooled over Paul without feeling self-conscious. Sometimes, she seemed so much younger than she actually was. She acted like she was 13 years old, though she was 19.
In less than an hour, the show ended. The boys trudged backstage, while people like Charlotte wailed for them to return. I applauded politely, like the few other civilized people in the joint. My friend acted like it was only her and Paul in the place, but it truly wasn't. I immediately wished that I hadn't brought her along. But it would have been rude if I had left her behind, because I knew how much she loved the Beatles.
Suddenly, Paul came bounding back onto the stage. He gazed into my eyes. "You!" he barked, pointing at me. "Won't you come backstage with me?" With a glance over his shoulder, he grinned slyly and muttered, "Bring your friend, too, if you'd like to." After those words were spoken, he danced back off the stage. What an angel.
I grabbed Charlotte's hand and yanked her backstage with me. Her lavender eyes were wide with confusion, but she allowed me to drag her along. Within seconds, we were in the boys' dressing room. John was changing back into his casual clothes; Paul was playing cards with Ringo; George was munching on the complimentary sandwiches.
We glanced around, hoping someone would invite us to sit on the couch. It was only mannerly for the ladies to wait for the men to give them the okay to be seated somewhere. Apparently, though, they weren't going to be gentlemen. Charlotte made herself welcome next to Ringo, saving me a spot next to Paul. Awkwardly, I sat beside him.
Paul shot me a glance. He was beaming now, and he wrapped his left around my shoulders. The warmth radiating off of him was quite comforting. I glared at Charlotte; she was basically climbing on top of Ringo. He didn't seem to mind much, though. That was sickening; I actually felt my stomach twist up.
Well, the man I was sitting next to was certainly no gentleman. He tried to forcibly pull me on top of him. I kept shoving him away; I wasn't going to give myself up that way. I could tell by his facial expression that he hadn't expected a girl who would put up a fight. Sorry, Paul McCartney, but I guess you just don't know me. I so very nearly said that to his face, but I couldn't. I wasn't that rude.
"What are you doing, love?" Paul whispered in my ear, scooting closer to me. The look in his eyes was killing me, and I very much wanted to kiss him. So, extremely lightly, I gave him a single kiss on the lips. But I instantly pulled away, for he was getting too rowdy. A large part of him even swelled at my very kiss. I was flattered, but also a bit scared.
I shrugged. "I've never done this before, Paul," I admitted, "and I want it to be with someone who truly loves me, and not just girls in general." That was basically the truth, except that I didn't mention my undying love for him. Oh, and the fact that I really wanted to. But the words that I spoke sounded dignified, so maybe he would get the gist of it. Maybe.
He chuckled. "I do love you," he buzzed in my ear. "But that's all right, love. I can wait for you to see how much I do. For now, we can do whatever you want." He tickled my neck. This was seriously turning me on, but I wasn't sure how to respond to that. A huge rock star just confessed his love for me. Oh, how I wished he wasn't lying, like I assumed that he was. Mother also told me not to assume, but sometimes, I just can't help myself.
I groaned. "Oh, come here!" I pulled his mouth down to mine and began kissing him passionately.
