Chapter 4: CONFETTI PALOOZA!

The night air around the three of us is warm, like all summer nights, and it feels good to be outside and free of John, Stu and Pete. We walk on the side of the road, without saying a word.

"Well, I hardly know you two…" I say, trying to break the ice. They just nod without even looking in my direction. I nod as well and sigh.

"I'd like to." They stop this time and turn to look at me with their big brown eyes. I feel my heart flutter a bit in spite of myself.

"And why on earth would a girl like you want to know two boys like us? I bet you don't live in the working-class part of Liverpool. I bet you have a nice little house where the robins sing and there isn't a damn person who would even think to jump you," Paul says, his eyebrows lowered. I can't think of anything to say to this, and George looks exactly like I feel. Surprised and startled.

Paul shakes his head and sits down on the curb.

"Sorry, I don't know what I was thinking, getting all jumpy. I'm not like that, honest. I guess I'm still a little angry about the guy who took my watch.

I sit down next to him, and George sits on the other side of me. I turn to George. "You don't talk much, do you?" His face breaks out in a smile, and soon both Paul and George are laughing. Their laugh makes me smile, it sounds funny.

We talk for a long while, sitting on the curb, and before we know it, it's already pitch black around us.

"Well, it's getting late, and I can't even see you guy's faces anymore…"

"Yeah, it is. Are you going to school tomorrow, Georgie?" Paul asks.

"Nah, I'm not up for it. You?"

"Nope. I'm done with that place. I'm hopeless. Not as hopeless as John though. He never shows up."

"He doesn't have a reason to anymore."

I see a glowing flame and a cigarette move through it. Then I realize that it's George smoking.

"George, how old are you?"

"Fifteen. Why?"

"Just wondering. How about you Paul?"

"Sixteen. You?"

"Sixteen." George drops his cigarette and swears as the glow on the end of it sizzles out in a puddle.

Paul laughs. "Oh. Wait, if you're sixteen how are you in art college?"

I shrug. "I got moved. I still really don't know all of the details exactly."

"Mmm."

"Well, I better be going, it's getting really late and I promised my Mum I'd be back soon. Not that she cares."

Paul turns to me.

"What do you mean she doesn't care?"

I sigh.

"Well she adopted me and apparently she thinks that if she adopts a kid that they will just take care of themselves and clean up around the house. Most of the time she pretends I'm not there, I think. It's really rare that she even shows any affection to me. The last time that happened was about a year ago."

George looks troubled.

"Well if she wasn't going to take care of you, then why did she even adopt you?"

"Because it was this Christian organization and she wanted to be looked upon as a good person who took in poor orphans. So she took her pick when some kids came to the church."

"Well she must have picked the prettiest one." Paul whispers, but I can hear him quite clearly. I feel myself blush and I smile to myself.

"Thanks, Paul." He's probably red too, but I can't see through the blackness.

"Anyways, I really have to go." I stand up.

"Yeah, see you." Paul says.

"Or not." George mutters.

"I hope." Paul replies again, followed by a yelp from George.

"Bye you guys!" I call as I walk down the street.

"Wait!" Paul cries and chases after me. He grabs me by my shoulders and stops me dead in my tracks.

"What?" I say, startled.

"Do you have a phone at your house?"

I nod slowly.

"Can I have your number? You know, for if I want to talk to someone."

"Sure, Paul. Do you have paper?" He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece and a pen.

"Make sure to write on the back though."

I look at him curiously and then unfold the paper carefully. I see music staffs drawn on one side, with little music notes delicately dotted on them. Underneath there is little words, and with the quick glance I get, I see the title at the top, followed by the words: "Written by Paul McCartney".

Paul snatches the paper and turns it around, then hands it back to me.

"You don't need to see that."

"But… you write music?"

"Yeah. It's nothing special. Not really."

I look around Paul and notice that George is gone. He probably has gotten tired of waiting for Paul and set off.

"Nothing special? You write music! What kind?"

Paul shakes his head. I remember what I was doing, and scribble my number down. He reaches out for it, but I turn around and flip the paper.

"I Lost My Little Girl…"

Paul jumps on me and I fall into the grass, him landing on top of me.

"What kind of music is it? You didn't answer my question."

"Rock 'N' Roll." My eyes grow wide.

"You write that stuff! I absolutley love Rock N' Roll! Especially,"

"Elvis." We say in unison.

"Sing it for me." I say, sitting up.

He props himself up on one elbow.

"No…"

"I haven't heard you sing before. Wait… Paul McCartney? You play at the Casbah, don't you?"

"Yeah?"

"I've heard that you're amazing! I never got to come down and see you guys though! Wait… You're the Silver Beetles, aren't you?"

"Yeah, we are!" He says, excitement in his voice.

"And you're Paul! The one everybody's in love with!"

"They are? You're kidding me!"

I shake my head.

"I swear. You should come around the Art College sometime. Everybody's talking about you. And they're two years older. You're a heartthrob, my friend."

I can tell he's beaming.

"Alright, you want to hear my song? Or Elvis?"

"Can I have both?"

Paul laughs and I grin ear to ear.

"Yeah, sure, it doesn't sound the same though without a guitar… you'll have to come by the Casbah sometime!"

"Yeah, I will, won't I? I've gotta see you!"

He laughs again. "Alright then, here we go."

He begins on his song 'I Lost My Little Girl' and then 'Heartbreak Hotel'. Then he goes on, singing 'Long Tall Sally', 'That'll Be The Day', and a few that he wrote, 'In Spite Of All The Danger', 'Like Dreamers Do' and 'I Saw Her Standing There'.

He says that he just wrote that song, and I ask him to teach me the lyrics. And before we know it, we're lying in the grass singing that song repeatedly.

As we sing and talk and laugh, I notice something. Paul is a real person. Not like my 'Mum', my teacher, Cynthia, Phyl, John, George, Pete and Stu. Paul is real. We see each other almost every day after that night, and soon, Paul McCartney becomes my best friend