I'm wearin' a mask

But how long can I last?

I'm drowning inside

From tears never cried

And it's all because

You left my side.

I looked at what I had so far and smiled sadly. It sounded good, but it fit how I was feeling so well, that it made me want to cry. But that was a good thing. If I could make my audience feel the same way I did, then I had the qualities needed to be a good song writer.

I set my work down and recalled the events of my day. My best friend ignored me. Again. For the new girl. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt happy after being with her. She just wasn't the same anymore. Always putting me down. A single tear trickled down my cheek. Wiping it away, I climbed into my bed and slipped into dreams. Dreams where I was accepted for who I was, and people were willing to put up with me, even when was being annoying, in order to be my friend. The dreams were always wonderful. Until I woke up in the mornings and had to face reality.

I woke in a cold sweat, not able to recall the nightmare that had caused it. I could feel that I'd been crying, and my throat hurt. Had I been screaming? Then, I realized several things at once. I was not in my bed. Or any bed, for that manner. I was on the floor of what looked to be a camper of some sort. There were four boys in the room with me, one of whom was kneeling at my side, looking as though he'd been trying to wake me up.

"Where am I?" I gasped. "Who are you?"

"You're kidding me!" One of them exclaimed. English accent. Sounded almost like...

"John." The one kneeling next to me quieted him. But...He sounded like...

"Paul! This girl appears out of nowhere, asleep, screaming, sobbing, on our tour bus and you pity her! You are the most-"

"John!" Another one shouted. There was George.

"Um." I could feel the color draining from my face. "What year is it?"

They stared at me a second before replying. "1963."

I felt dizzy. "Cou...could someone...turn on a light?"

The only one who hadn't spoken, so I'm assuming it was Ringo, flipped a switch. Sure enough, there, standing right in front of me, were the Beatles. I thought I was about to pass out.

"But...I...Not...Oh!"

They stared at me as though I belonged in an insane asylum. Paul spoke first.

"Is something wrong?"

I somehow managed to create a full sentence. "Well, I'm not from this era. When I went to sleep, it was 2009."

They stared at me again, something that seemed to be becoming a habit. "You don't believe me." I stated.

Ringo actually spoke this time. "Well," He began slowly. "We wouldn't, except for the fact that you just suddenly appeared out of nowhere. And you seem genuinely frightened." The others nodded. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then, I realized something else.

"I don't know how to live in the 60s! I don't know how to act, or dress, or anything! I can't-"

Paul cut me off. "It's alright! You can stick with us for a while. We'll help you as long as you need it, or longer, if you wanted!"

I grinned. This was going to be the adventure of a lifetime...