George dove for the car as his fellow band mates were assaulted by their adoring fans. Police officers swarmed the crowd, trying to pry girls' hands off John, Paul, and Ringo. When everyone was in the car, the doors slammed shut behind them and another barrage of girls smacked into the window, kissing it, pushing autograph papers against it as if it could melt through the glass, and getting fingerprints all over it. A few minutes of this and the car was screeching down the highway, fan-free.
"Lively lot, those ones," John smirked as he wiped blood-red lipstick off his cheek with his sleeve. "Feistier than normal."
"I thought we'd never get out of there," Paul panted, trying to catch his breath. He plastered a smile to his face despite his tiredness. "We're sure lucky lads, though."
"Indubitably," John agreed.
"You alright, George?" Ringo asked, his eyes drifting over to his quiet friend.
"Hmm?" George replied distantly. There was a long pause. "Yeah," he finally breathed. He didn't want to be talked to. He just wanted to think. Before today, he'd always attributed the fact that he got to the car before the other lads did to the fact that his legs were longer and skinnier than the others'. He thought that his agility was the reason. But, today, a new idea crept into his mind.
What if he wasn't in danger in the first place?
What if girls didn't go for him?
Normally, this wouldn't bother him so much. But February was coming up and he knew what that meant. John, Paul, and Ringo would have girlfriends and he wouldn't. It got lonely sometimes and George didn't want it to happen to him again. He didn't like feeling lonely, especially around Valentines' Day.
"Something's wrong," John said warily. "George may be the 'quiet Beatle,' but he's never this silent after a gig."
"What's wrong, George?" Ringo asked again.
"Nothing," George insisted.
There was another long silence. Finally, John whipped out a comb from his back pocket and started running it through his hair. He pushed himself up in his seat to examine his reflection in the small strip of metal at the top of the door.
"Well, whatever it is," he shrugged, "I'd get over it because we are invited to a party at the Record Room!"
"No kidding?" Paul exclaimed. "The Record Room? How'd you get us in the Record Room?"
"We're the Beatles," John laughed. "We can get in anywhere we want." He leaned over and tapped George's knee. "So get out of this mood."
"I will," George sighed. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."