While I listened to the boys play over the intercom, I thought about what was going on.

For some reason, people kept trying to convince me that I was in the 1960s. But, there were a lot of reasons for me to believe it. I mean, the Ed Sullivan Show in full business. The Beatles in their 20s. I smacked myself in the face.

I must be dreaming.

I pinched myself.

"OW!"

No. I'm not dreaming. Wait! My wish!

My mouth fell open as I remembered the night before when I had wished upon 11:11. Could it be that my wish actually came true and I was really away from my old life? What's more, I was right there, talking to the Beatles, perhaps my favorite group that ever lived!

Holy crap. I really have been transported back to the 1960s!

"OW!" I exclaimed again. I had been thinking so hard that I had gripped the needle in my hand too tightly. As a small drop of red blood came out of my fingertip, I heard Ed Sullivan finish his interview with the Beatles. Girls screamed as the boys walked offstage.

I stood up to go wash off my finger and get a Band-aid from the cabinet. Before I got too far, George walked into the room.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"Hey," I returned. "Where are the others?"

"Toilet," he shrugged, jerking his head to the side to indicate that the bathroom was down the hall.

"Oh."

"Quinn?"

"Yeah, George?"

"What did you do to your finger?"

I looked back down at my finger to see that the little prick of blood had become a cut and a small stream of blood was making its way down my hand to my wrist.

"Darn!" I exclaimed under my breath, hurrying over to the sink. I turned on the water and washed off the extra blood. The cut wasn't too deep, but it was deep enough to bleed, obviously. I washed it off with soap. When I turned to get a napkin from the cabinet, George already had it in his hand. "Thanks," I smiled weakly. I dried off my finger and reached for a Band-aid to see that George had already gotten that as well. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he mumbled. But he didn't hand me the Band-aid. Instead, he took the paper off it and wrapped it around the cut gently. "There you go," he muttered to himself.

"Thank you, George," I smiled softly. Ever since I had first heard the Beatles, George had been my favorite. It was almost too much to stand to have him right there, touching my hand. George leaned towards me, his hand reaching for my face.

OH MY GOD! GEORGE HARRISON IS GOING TO KISS ME!

"What's goin' on in here?" John whistled as he burst through the door.

"Nothing," George said hurriedly, pulling away. "Quinn just got a cut."

"A little bit clumsy, eh, Winslow?" John teased, walking over to me and leading me to the couch. As Ringo and Paul walked into the room, John started spouting out ideas. "Wouldn't it be gear for us to go out and get something to eat? I'm starved!"

"Yeah," Ringo agreed. "And we can take Quinn with us!"

"Good idea," John nodded. "We need to get to know our little assistant."

"Do you want to come?" Paul chuckled. "Better answer now before they decide you're going."

"I'd love to come," I laughed. I was a little upset that John ruined the moment between George and me, but who's to say that was a moment in the first place. George was probably just going to put some loose hair behind me ear or something. Goodness knows what I looked like after this hectic day.

"I'll be right back," George announced before leaving the room.

Now where's he skittering off to?

"He'll be back. Probably just visiting the toilet," Paul shrugged, reading my facial expression. "He skipped because he said he forgot something in the dressing room."

"Well, he'll miss out on picking where we're going to eat," John smirked. "Too bad for him."

"Since we're new in America, I think we should ask Quinn where we should go eat," Ringo suggested. "She knows her way around here better than we do."

Crap! No I don't. I don't know my way around anywhere in the 60s!

"Um…Well…Uh…I would, but…You see…"

"What's wrong, Winslow?" John asked. "You new here too?"

SAVED BY THE WORDS OF JOHN LENNON!

"Yes, actually," I said. "I just moved here recently. From California."

"Oh!" Paul, John, and Ringo said in unison. "California."

"Nice state, I hear," Ringo grinned.

"Very warm," Paul nodded.

"Lots of gear clubs in Hollywood," John smirked, straightening his collar. "We should really go there sometime. Maybe on vacation?"

"You should definitely go," I smiled. "It's great there. The beach is fantastic."

"Well, since none of us know anything about New York," Paul thought out loud, "maybe we should just drive around until we find a place that looks good."

"Sounds like a plan," Ringo agreed. "We'll just wait for George to come back." This last statement was directed at John, who was already starting to go for the door.