For You, Blue

3. Can't Buy Me Love

Paul sighed, stepping toward the door with an expression reminiscent of a man heading to the gallows. "Damn it, lads, I think she's right. There's no use in dragging it out, we might as well try and make a clean break for it."

"I second that motion," George had peeped up from the stairs, finishing off tying his shoelace and standing, making his way to my side.

"I think you're all absolutely barmy," John had sighed, but rolled his eyes and joined Paul by the door. "But you're probably right, as well."

After making sure everyone had their respective belongings we all turned to the door, took a collective breath and slowly creaked it open.

"Godspeed, all," Harry had jibed, his voice full of mirth, before we stepped out.

The response was nearly immediate.

All of the girls had looked up, sights immediately poised on the boys, and they were setting off across the street before I had time to process they were moving at all. Harry's car was, mercifully, parked on the street directly in front of his townhouse, but John and Paul had parked across the street. I barely had enough wherewithal to register George's hand grasp mine before a petite girl bowled into my side, nearly knocking the wind out of me with the force.

Foolishly, I had expected some form of apology, ready and willing to receive it – only to be met with her back as she wrapped her skinny arms around George, grasping feverishly at his clothing. I had nearly forgotten his hand, still wrapped around mine, when he gave it a sharp squeeze.

"George! Oh, George, I can't believe it's really you!" she spoke, voice adolescently shrill. What I could see of her face was warped into an expression of pure distress, bunched up into a sob with great, fat tears running in waves down her face.

George pulled me alongside him, angling his face away from the girl and not uttering a single word. The teen went on, wailing and hollering, and he kept completely silent throughout the entire ordeal. We reached the driver's side of the car and as I made to detach my hand from his grasp, George tightened his grip. In one swift movement, he used his other hand to lightly shove the girl from him, pull me into his side and lead me to the passenger's door, opening it and shielding me from view as I climbed in.

In all the commotion, I'm still not sure how he managed to extract himself from her grip, but seemingly before I could blink Ringo had climbed into the back seat from the driver's side and George had slid in after him, shutting the door, starting the engine and pulling away from the curb.

"Are John and Paul alright?" I spoke first, nearly sitting backwards in my seat to try and get a clear view of them on the street behind us.

"They're fine," George muttered, his voice strained. I sat back down – his jaw tensed.

"Are you sure? They had a lot farther to go, and we –"

"Charlie, they're fine. We've had a lot worse than a few eager schoolgirls, believe me," he interrupted, both hands tight on the steering wheel.

There had really been nothing to say to that, and a silence settled in the car as we sailed along the narrow street. The further we drove away from the townhouse, the more surreal the entire experience had begun to seem – a man strolled along one side of the street, walking a dog; two neighbours waved to each other over a fence... all of them completely oblivious to the scene just down the road, mere moments before.

"Let's have some tunes then, yeah?" Ringo spoke up, leaning forward to switch the radio on – my heart, in retaliation, nearly jumped out of my throat at the action. It was easy to forget just how lax things like simple vehicular safety were this far back.