John Lennon - a sixteen year old with auburn hair gelled back into an Elvis Presley hairdo - strummed the last chord up on the platform along with his band, The Quarrymen.
The crowd of teenagers cheered in the yard that that The Quarrymen were playing in for a town party. Some adults clapped politely or cheered while others ignored the band completely.
John caught a glimpse of his mother, Julia, clapping from the audience. She had left him with his Aunt Mimi when he was five but he had gotten in touch with her again. He didn't know what to think about her leaving him, but he really wanted to get to know her.
"Come on, Johnny Boy." Stu nodded his head toward the Community House where school concerts and dances and graduations were held.
It was quite empty, but it was fine like that. John and the rest of his band - except for Pete, who was off doing who knows what - were drinking beer and smoking cigarettes.
Time passed this for about a half hour, until John's band mate Pete walked in with a younger boy who couldn't be more than fourteen.
"Hey, Johnny." Pete grinned. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."
The boy had dark hair that was Elle's similarly to John's. He had soft brown eyes and casually wore a white dress with clean trousers and shoes. He also - John immediately noticed - had a guitar strapped over his shoulder.
John took a swig of his beer before setting the bottle down on a cardboard box. He took a step toward Pete and the younger boy.
"He plays, too." Pete stated.
"What?" John smirked. "With himself?"
The boy didn't really react.
"I do," John grinned smugly. "It's good for the wrist muscles."
The boy through his eyes in a circle.
John chuckled and extended his hand. "I'm John,"
The boy gripped his hand an shook it firmly. "Paul,"
"Well, Paul, did see our performance?" John shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Yeah, I did." Paul nodded. "You're alright."
The rest of The Quarrymen began whispering among themselves. John's expression fell, then rose back to a smirk.
"Alright?" He questioned. "How are you on that thing there?" John asked, jerking his head toward Paul's guitar.
"I'm alright," Paul swung the guitar around and began strumming. "Oh dirty Maggie Mae they have taken her away
And she never walk down Lime Street any more
Oh the judge he guilty found her
For robbing a homeward bounder
That dirty no good robbin' Maggie Mae
To the port of Liverpool
the air it turns me tool
Two pounds ten a week, that was my pay."
John's smirk was moulded into a subtle smile. "You're alright. How old are you?"
"Fifteen," Paul said.
John nodded. "The name's John Lennon. Look me up in the phone book if you want to play a gig with us some time."
Paul nodded. "Sounds good." And he turned on his heel to walk out.
"Oi!" John called after him.
Paul whipped around. "What?"
"What if I want to look you up in the phone book?" John smirked again.
Paul crossed his arms. "Paul McCartney," and with that, he left.
"Okay," John nodded. "Paul McCartney." And then he turned back to his band.
"John!" Mimi called from the kitchen. "Someone's on the phone for you!"
John hurried down to the kitchen and snatched the phone away from his aunt. "Thank you. Paul?"
"So, you've been expecting my call." Paul said in a cocky tone.
"It took you long enough," John chuckled, though. "It's been two bloody weeks."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Paul said. "Do you want to meet at the park today and play some guitar?"
"Sounds good," John nodded. "When?"
"How about now?" Paul suggested.
"Perfect," John agreed. "See you soon."
"See you," Paul said before hanging up.
The line went dead.