Twist and Shout (Choose Your Own Adventure)

Chapter Nineteen

You point to the green car, indicating that it's the right one.

Only you're not entirely sure that it is the right one.

You make your way to the backseat of the vehicle, open the door and hop in. The lads follow you. It's a bit of a squash to say the least. You're practically sitting on John's lap, George's skinny elbows keep stabbing you in the eye, and Ringo's face is smushed up against the window. After a bit of wriggling around and a good deal of shoving you and the lads are sitting in a line, reasonably comfortable.

"Is this the car to the Scala Theatre?" you ask the driver, pushing Paul's foot away from your stomach.

"Maybe," says the driver. He's staring at you and The Beatles warily, like you might spontaneously leap up and bite him. "Who's asking, miss?"

"These men are -" you start, but John cuts you off.

"We, sir," he says grandly, "are The Beatles!"

The lads flash bright smiles at the driver and fling their arms out sideways, making jazz hands. You try to restrain the giggles by shoving your hand in your mouth and biting hard. The driver isn't anywhere near as amused as you are. He's frowning at the band, eyes narrowed skeptically.

"You're The Beatles?" he says, as if it's a disgusting swearword. 

"That's right," Paul says, beaming with pride.

"Never heard of you."

There's an awful stunned silence - even loudmouthed John is struck speechless. You're probably even more alarmed than any one in the car. Surely everyone has heard of The Beatles! They're the biggest rock sensation to hit the world since Elvis Presley! You consider explaining this to the driver but he's quickly losing patience. 

"I suppose you've got cash," he says gruffly.

"Well, no," says Paul, "This ride was already paid for in advance. Brian said that -"

"I don't care if the Queen herself says you can ride in my car!" the driver shouts, sounding absolutely furious. "If you haven't got money or a proper reservation then you can bog off. Go on! Out of my car now!"

You're all forced to mount from the vehicle. You and the lads squeeze out of the backseat and explode out onto the muddy ground outside. The driver glares at you then revs up the engine and drives off. John jumps up and tries to chase him, but it's a vain attempt. Instead he shouts abuse at the quickly disappearing car and sticks his middle finger up, waving it shamelessly.

Paul sighs at his friend. "Come off it, john. He's gone."

"Yeah, he's gone," John grumbles, kicking at the dirt. "Now what do we do?"

"We'll have to walk." Paul looks at you. "And I think you should go home."

THE END

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