Shropshire, England 1953

He'd seen her before. Every year when he visited his grandmother. But she had never really occurred to him. She was always just the girl next door . . . but this year when he saw her, she seemed different. She was older now.

She sat, propped up on the white fence in front of what he assumed was her home. She didn't do anything, just leaned there, her hands folded neatly in front of her, unaware of her audience.

George licked his lips and cleared his suddenly dry throat.

He jumped a little when a hand slapped onto his shoulder. "Well, what a little pervert we've got here." George scowled and shrugged off his brother's shoulder. They stood on the front porch, and Peter smirked at him.

"Shut up, I'm no pervert!" George defended himself, sticking his chest out a little. He was only 13, and compared to his brothers 16 years he seemed like no match. Peter just chuckled.

"Betcha don't even know what 'pervert' means!"

"Yeah, sure I do!" George said angrily, but turned away. Back to his young neighbor. She was still in her spot on the fence. George wrinkled his nose. Why wasn't she moving?

"Wanna know how to get 'er?" his brother's voice said from behind him. The sun was setting, casting darkness over the house.

George turned around, skeptically. "Huh?"

Peter leaned up against the railing of the porch and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. George watched as he put it to his lips and made to light it. Suddenly he stopped and looked George straight in the eye. "You tell Gran I nicked this and I'll pound ya. Got it?" George gulped and nodded quickly while Peter lit his cig and puffed it. He exhaled fully before continuing. "So, do you wanna know how to get a bird?"

George walked to where his brother was and sat on top of the rail surrounding the porch. He squinted his eyes. He wasn't sure if he could trust this sudden offer of brotherly advice. "You know how to?" he questioned.

This angered Peter for a moment, but he brushed George's comment off as an annoyance before regaining his cool demeanor. "Sure thing. Are you kidding, dolls can't get enough of me! All the fellas, they ask themselves, 'Just how does he do it?' but I'll never tell them!" Peter exaggerated, trying to make himself look impressive in front of his younger sibling. "But . . . since you're my brother and all, I'm going to let in you in on my secrets."

George looked at his brother with widened eyes, honored that his brother would confide in him such important advice. "Okay. What is it?"

They both turned to look at the girl next door, now picking some of the flowers in the front of her house. Her light blue dress ruffled as a breeze blew.

"Alright, first things first, you haveta be cool," George's brother said smoothly. George nodded, watching the girl determinedly. "Don't let her know how much you like her. You gotta make her wonder. Drives them nuts."

George watched her pick a last flower and stand as another breeze came, pushing her hair in front of her face. She tucked it behind her ear and smiled happily as she looked at her fresh bouquet. George couldn't help but admire her now that he was older and could properly appreciate a woman's beauty.

"Next, tell 'em they look pretty. They love hearing that sort of stuff," Peter continued, still puffing his cigarette. "I mean, they spend so much time getting all prettied up for us . . . just gotta tell 'em what they want to hear." He shrugged. George turned to his brother and nodded, hoping he would go on. "If you can, take her somewhere you can dance," he said after a moment.

"I'm no dancer!" George said, grimacing. He had always been a little awkward on the dance floor.

George rolled his eyes. "So what? Them birds love it. You wanna know why?" George nodded eagerly and Peter chuckled. "Sex." George gulped a little and blushed at the word. "It reminds of 'em of it. Bodies all rubbed up against each other, all sweaty and stuff. Also, you can get real close when you talk, otherwise how can she hear you? You've practically got to get right up to her ear. They like to feel special, you know? Like what you're saying is only for them."

George thought about it for a second. It did make sense, even if he didn't dance too well. He nodded to himself and turned back to the girl, now analyzing the situation more than before, as if he now knew the step-by-step way to get any girl.

"And don't be too nice, whatever you do. They'll be bored with you in a second." George questioned this advice . . . wasn't he taught to be nice to everyone? Especially girls? "I mean," added George's brother. "Hold the door open and all that shit. But don't be a pansy. You're a man after all!" George puffed out his chest at the mention of being a man. Peter looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Well, maybe you're not but you will be soon, I guess."

George deflated a little and scratched the back of his head. Both of the boys turned back to the girl, who was now in her original spot. "Okay, I'm gonna do it." George decided aloud. He was nervous, but he wanted more to prove to his older brother that he was indeed worthy of his secret information. He started to walk down the steps and over to the girl when Peter called out to him.

"Here," he said, handing George the rest of his cigarette. "Be cool, yeah?"

George didn't take the cigarette right away, a little intimidated by it. But he had to look cool in front of his brother, so he reached out and took the tobacco stick. George took a deep breath before making his way over to the neighbor's house.

As he approached her, he felt less and less confident. She was taller than him.

It's not too late, he thought to himself. Turn around. He stopped in his tracks, about to make a run for it, when she turned and looked straight at him.

She didn't say hi, only smiled, as her hazel eyes locked with his. George was silent for a moment, faltering in his mind. Not knowing what else to do, he put the cigarette in his mouth and took a drag, standing as he'd seen his brother do. Cool. As he inhaled, a rough, dry taste poisoned his mouth, and the back of throat burned. He had not expected the foul taste of the thing. Almost instantaneously, he began choking on the smoke, exhaling the plume hurriedly.

He coughed and coughed. Trying to stop only made it worse. He couldn't help but be ashamed of himself.

Eyes slightly watery, George looked up to the girl in front of him. She laughed. George immediately felt his cheeks redden, and he looked to the ground, embarrassed. He had ruined it, made himself look stupid. There was no chance of anything now. So he turned on his heal to make his way back home.

"Wait!" an amused voice said from behind him. George turned around, his heart beating with hope. The girl closed the small gap between them. "What's your name?" she asked George, smiling.

"George. Harrison." He said, his voice a little hoarse He didn't feel completely confident with himself at the moment, and wanted nothing more to go home and forget about his stupidity.

"Don't you wanna know mine?" she asked after a moment.

George scowled to himself. He had no interest in this conversation anymore. The cigarette had made him nauseous and he just wanted to get some water to clear his throat. "What's your name?" he grumbled.

"Brigitte. Just like Brigitte Bardot!" she said proudly.

"Right." He didn't smile. Hers didn't falter, and she looked at him with a smirk in her eye.

"You come 'round here every year, dontcha?" She leaned all her weight on one side, as girls often do. George nodded. "Thought so. Me too. My grandma's . . ." she trailed off, pointing to where the house they were in front of.

"Right. Me too." He was a little more hopeful now. He didn't expect this attention from her. Not to say he didn't enjoy it. She was very pretty. She had smooth skin and bow shaped lips, which were a natural pink color. Her big eyes were a captivating shade of light brown with just enough green in them to turn them more of an orange color.

She peaked around George to where his brother was leaning against the post. "Say, is that you're brother, there?"

George turned and looked at him before returning his gaze to her. "Him? Yeah, he's my brother."

George was slightly irked when she didn't return her gaze back to him, but continued to stare at Peter. "He sure is something . . . " she said more to herself than George. She let out a little sigh. George scowled. "Think you could tell him about me?"

"Right. Sure. Been real fab talking with you."

Without another word, and hands shoved in his pockets, George walked away from the girl. She was so distracted by his older brother; he doubted she even noticed him leave. He angrily flicked his cigarette as he marched past his brother.

It would be another year before he spoke to her again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.

Liverpool, 1963

"Hey! Judy! Put on that record, will ya?"

No one looked up from her work, but a smile spread across almost every woman's lips. An older woman, who was anything but frail, was standing along the wall and she scowled and rolled her eyes. "It better not be another one of those 'rock n' roll' records!" she said bitterly.

"Aw, come on, Judy! Rock n' roll is the sound of a new era!"

"You just do your work, now, Bri, and I'll put the bleedin' record on!" Judy, who was slightly hunched over and looked older than she was, walked over to an old uneven table and pulled out a record laying on top of a pile underneath the it. Mumbling to herself about the downfall of this generation, she placed the record on the player and carefully placed the needle on top of it as it spun. The room was instantly filled with noisy clang of guitars and drums. The girls all danced in their seats as the steady beat was accompanied by almost indecipherable lyrics.

"I don't know what we would do if you didn't bring that in," a petite blond said, nodding her head in the direction of the record player.

"We'd all be dead, by now," Brigitte said sadly, but with a lightness to it. "Half by suicide . . . this awful place."

Her friend just laughed. Brigitte smiled and pushed some of her mousy brown hair from her face. The room was hot, and her forehead was sticky with sweat. She mouthed the words to the song as she continued to sew.

It was an awful job. But it paid. Not much, but just enough. With a sigh, she rested her head on her hand. She could work as a seamstress for now. She could bear it. But for how long, really? She had dreams, too, you know! But being born into near poverty, she didn't really have a choice about what she did.

At least she got to listen to her records.

There was a bang as the door slammed open. All the women looked up from their sewing, but returned to it as soon as they had seen who had arrived.

"Turn off that music!" she said, frantically running over to the record player and shutting it off. "Please tell me there is a radio around here!"

Brigitte stood and walked over to her childhood friend. "Annie, what are you doing?"

"We've got to get to a radio, Bri!" she said desperately. "I've already got Linda and Marie at theirs, waiting by the telephones, you know!"

"Why?" Brigitte said, narrowing her eyes at her friend.

"Alfie Ray is doing a give-away! Tickets, Brigitte, tickets! To a show!" Annie half laughed her sentence, but looked so anxious to leave she was sweating.

"I'm working, Annie!" Brigitte laughed at her friend. Annie stopped bouncing and looked at Brigitte, who was slightly taller.

"Brigitte. This is a once and lifetime opportunity. We never get to go out! And if we just answer the question, we win the tickets for free! We'll get to see the Beatles for free, Bri!" Annie reanimated as she finished her thought. Brigitte herself was getting rather excited.

She hadn't listened to the Beatles much; their records were new and more expensive than the one's she usually got. That didn't mean she didn't know of them. They were, after all, the pride of Liverpool. That alone would make the show something else.

She was about to respond yes to her best mate, when someone grabbed her ear gently. "And what about what Miss Judy says about all this?" the thick woman said reproachfully. Judy was stern, but Brigitte knew she loved her. She'd worked at the factory since she was Brigitte's age. Brigitte assumed that Judy saw herself in the girl.

"Oh please, please? Please let her go, Miss Judy!" Annie pleaded. Brigitte watched amusedly as Judy only got more and more peeved while her friend whined. Finally, when Annie had stopped pleading, Brigitte turned to Judy. She didn't say anything, only looked Judy with hopeful eyes, lips forming a humble smile.

"Oh, alright, alright!" Judy exclaimed, throwing her hands up. Annie nearly exploded with excitement.

"Oh thank you, thank you, thank you! Let's go, Brigitte! Before we miss it!" Annie grasped Brigitte's wrist and began forcefully pulling her towards the door.

Before they left, Brigitte turned back. "Thank you, Miss Judy! I'll work extra, I promise!"

And they were gone.

Brigitte didn't live too far from the factory, so they ran the whole way there. They reached her home and stood in front of it, catching their breath.

"I've only got one line, you know!" Brigitte said in between breaths.

Annie, unable to speak yet, just shook her head. "I've already asked your neighbor . . . Mr . . . um . . ."

"McCorcle?"

"Yeah! I'm going to use his telephone. One of the four of us will get it, we have to!" Annie nearly squealed. "Now go! Do you know the station?"

"Yes, of course!"

Annie nodded and ran across the street to Mr. McCorcle's house. Brigitte, not wasting time, didn't watch her go in, but headed straight for her kitchen.

Her mother was sitting at the table, drinking her afternoon tea, and listening to some talk radio, when Brigitte flew in. Without a word, she hurriedly turned to the right station. A blaring harmonica was fading out as the song ended.

"Annnnd that was the hit single 'Love Me Do' by Liverpool's own . . . The Beatles!" a deep charismatic voice said through the speakers. Brigitte inhaled sharply. Just in time.

"Brigitte! What on earth are you doing? I was listening to –"

"SHH!" Brigitte shushed her angry mother. She turned up the volume full blast

"Brigitte! Turn that down!" her mother yelled to be heard.

"SHHHH! Mother, just a moment! Please!"

"And now, ladies and . . . well ladies mostly, I'm sure, is the moment you all undoubtedly have been waiting for. It's time to ring in for your chance to see the handsome quartet next weekend, live at the Cavern. This is gonna be a big one, folks. And all you have to do is answer this question correctly:"

Brigitte was bouncing on her toes, ready to dash to the phone at any moment. "Just give the damn question already!" she muttered as Alfie Ray paused for dramatic effect.

"The Beatles' recently released hit album, Please Please Me, was created at what recording studio?"

Brigitte didn't hear what else Alfie Ray was saying; she was already dialing the phone number for the station. She held her breath as it rang. She waited for someone to pick up when on the radio she heard:

"Alright we have our caller!" Brigitte's heart sank as she heard Alfie Ray exclaim the news. "Alright, caller, what recording studio is responsible for the hit album Please Please Me?" Brigitte hung up the phone disappointedly and slumped down at the table with her mother. She had known the answer too, she thought miserably.

"Oh, God, is it Abbey Road Studios? Please tell me it's Abbey Road," the caller said, sounding stressed. Brigitte perked up. She recognized that voice.

"That's correct, young lady!" exclaimed Alfie Ray, but he was overpowered by the squeal of the winner from the other line. "Congratulations, you've just won two tickets to see the one and only Beatles next weekend at the Cavern. Tell us, what's your name?"

"It's Annie! Annie Anderson, sir!" she yelled happily. Brigitte leapt up and let out a cry of delight as she jumped in her spot.

"Brigitte, what is this all about?" her mother asked, turning down the loud radio.

"Oh, Mother, she's won! Annie's won!" she said happily, covering her mouth with amazement.

"What's she won?" her mother asked sternly.

"Haven't you been listening?"

"Brigitte, don't you dare talk to me like that," she scolded. She pulled out another teacup for her daughter and filled it with tea. "Now sit down, and drink your tea."

"Yes, Mum." The moment Brigitte sat down however, the slam of a door was heard.

"What in the—" her mother said, startled.

Just as Brigitte expected, a red-faced Annie came running into the kitchen. "Didya hear?" she exclaimed. Brigitte's mother cleared her throat meaningfully. Annie turned to her respectfully. "Oh, hello there Mrs. Mackie. Sorry for the intrusion." She curtseyed quickly before turning to Brigitte. "So did you?"

"I did!" Brigitte said happily and Annie squealed and hugged her friend tightly.

"Oh, what are we to wear?" Annie moaned, though she was grinning from ear to ear. "Alfie Ray says I can go pick up my tickets tomorrow at the station! You haveta come with me!"

"Tickets for what?" Ms. Mackie said loudly to overpower Annie's shrill voice. The smiling girls turned to her. "I would like to know what is going on here, Brigitte."

Brigitte cleared her throat and grinned as she stepped forward, hands folded in front of her. "Mother, we are going to see the Beatles!"

-.-.-.-.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Beatles or anything. Yeah.

A/N: Chapter two should be coming soon! Hope you liked! Leave a comment! More Beatles in the next one, I swear. This was kinda just the intro!