• Prologue
    “Mister Lennon!” snapped Mrs. Baker, who stood at the front of the class, pointing a polished nail at the math problems on the board. “Have you any clue what is happening in this classroom?” John glanced up form his desk, his pointy nose sticking up. “Uh, sure...” John managed to spit out of his sleepy lips. Mrs. Baker glared at him. “Well, what are we learning about?” She questioned with a sinister and dark smirk.
    “Math?” asked the tired John. The class erupted with roaring giggles. “Um, no John,” the teacher sneered. John then finally saw the chalk board. A picture of Liverpool was posted in the corner. “Oh...god...” Mrs. Baker continued to ensue her ugly and sinister combination of a glare and a sneer upon him. “Listen, mister Lennon...” the teacher began. “We are learning about Liverpool. Hence the picture. Anyway, for your absent-mindedness, DETENTION!”
    John let out a groan as the class roared with laughter. Well, not the whole class. A few boys named George, Paul, and Richard, nicknamed Ringo, did not laugh. They simply glanced at John and seemed to share his misery. “Ma’am,” Paul spoke up, raising his hand.
    “What?” she snapped. “I think John should just catch up on the lesson in detention, and then can he come out to play?” Mrs. Baker gasped, then her sneer was once again placed on her cold lips. “Well,” she hissed. “Since you seem to care so much, how ‘bout you join John in detention!” Paul glanced back and forth, to see the reaction of George and Ringo. They nodded, seeming to understand his thoughts.
    Ringo raised his hand. “Well,” he said, his thick and all ready deep voice ringing in the air. “If you take John and Paul, how ‘bout George and I come along?” George glanced at Ringo and smiled. “Yeah!” he shouted, shooting his fist into the air. “Ok!” said Mrs. Baker, scanning over the four boys. They must really be great friends if they want to go through my detention! She thought menacingly.
    The bell’s sharp ring was still ringing out at 12:02 as the boys slowly walked down the hallway towards the library. The school’s grey walls made all of them fill up with dread. John glanced back and forth and scanned his friends. “Guys,” he moaned, his British accent echoing down the hall. “I’m sorry. You know, you didn’t have to come to detention with me.” George glanced at John and noticed his face seeping with sorrow. He patted him on the back. “C’mon,” he said. “It’s fine. We’re all friends here. It can’t be that bad when we got each other.”
    George realized his words were a thing of fiction, for when he saw who was standing in the doorway, he knew detention being easy only existed just as magical unicorns do. Not only was Mrs. Baker standing in the doorway with a black military-style like suit on (“Boy she changed fast!” whispered Ringo to Paul), but their principal, Mr. Ingraso, grey suit and all, was with her. “Hmm...” he said, his eyes scanning the group. His eyes finally stopped at John, who started to inch behind Paul.
    “You!” barked Mr. Ingraso. “You’re the guilty one here! Your sleepy eyes are all the proof I need.” Mr. Ingraso, smirking, tugged on John’s wrist. John resisted, pulling back to his friends, not wanting to enter the dungeon of torture otherwise known as the library. “Come on, boy!” shouted Mr. Ingraso, struggling to get the glued John off his feet. Paul glanced at John with wide-eyes, noticing sweat started to pour from his forehead.
    He slowly leaned over and whispered into John’s ear, “Lift your feet.” John glanced over at the smirking Paul, who quickly shook his head, his black hair bouncing. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and his baby-face quickly spread into a smile.
    What happened next was never attempted in any school, let alone to a principal. And I highly recommend to never do to anyone, let alone a principal, what John did. John leaped off the ground. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Ringo and George stood jaws dropped, while Paul gasped at the results of his plans.
    Mr. Ingraso went soaring backwards, his screams a strong echo in the stale hallway. The grey walls soon absorbed the boys’ shock when they saw Mrs. Baker’s face. They didn’t stick around to see Mr. Ingraso slam into a book shelf and get a concussion. Neither did they stick around to hear his horrible slur of words that were meant to be curses on the boys’ life.
    But, instead, they did what instinct instructed them to do:
    Run.
    They ran from the growling Mrs. Baker. They ran from the nearly dead Mr. Ingraso. But, worst of all, they ran from the school. They ran from the courtyard, Mrs. Baker panting behind them. Her boots weren’t durable enough to keep up with the long-legged boys. Kids shouted and hooted around them, calling out things such as:
    “Yeah John! Fight Baker!”
    “C’mon Ringo! You can make it out of the courtyard!”
    “George! Don’t leave!”
    “Paul, my baby-faced cutie! Don’t leave!”
    The last one happened to come from Paul’s girlfriend, Jane. Jane chased Paul out of the courtyard, until they hopped the fence, and she was left standing on the other side. Tears dripped down her face. “I’ll find you again, cutie,” she murmured through tears. “I swear!”













    Chapter 1: A place for shelter
    George panted as he struggled to keep up with Paul. They ran down Admiral Grove, and eventually got to Town Square. Town Square was rather bleak: a small and rust covered fountain shooting ice-cold water sat in the middle, and four poorly built and splintered benches that revolved around it.
    Paul, John, George, and Ringo all sat cross-legged on one bench. A grumble was let out from Paul’s stomach, and he covered it with his left hand. “Ah,” he said. “We need to find a place to eat.” All boys pulled out their pockets, and no money was evident.
    “Ok!” Paul said, clapping his hands together, scanning the group. “Then let’s go to someone’s house!” Ringo glared at Paul. “Unless you want to see stupid Harry Graves and Elsie, or maybe my drunk dad, can’t be my house. Or should I say houses.” Ringo glanced down at his shoes and kicked the soil.
    “No dirt on the carpet,” George began, wide-eyed and staring into the distance as if in a trance. “No shoes in the house. No shouting. No burping,” he turned to the other grimacing boys. “Don’t think you’ll like my house.”
    John glanced at George and Paul. “I have the same case as George,” he slapped Paul on the back. “That leaves you Paulie.” Paul glanced at John and raised his eyebrows, nodding. With a clap of his hands, he declared: “Okay! Then we’re off to see Jim an’ Mary, aren’t we?” Paul laughed and got up. He pulled John to his feet, and Ringo and George hopped after them.
    The four boys finally turned on Madryd Street, and Paul sprinted to adress 2584.
    He darted to the wooden door and grasped the knocker in his hands, curling the cold brass around his hands. He knocked four times on the door, and finally the sound of high-heeled shoes tapping across the floor came.
    Mary Mcaurtney, otherwise known as Paul’s mom to the other three boys, appeared in the doorpost. “Now what are you doin’ home so early, Paul dear?” she softly said through lip-stick stained lips. She then lifted her head up, and, wide-eyed, noticed George, John, and Ringo were staring at her with smiling faces. “Oh!” she said, pulling her hands away from Paul’s hair, who’s she was brushing through with her fingers. “John! George! Ringo! I didn’t know you were coming! Oh, and Ringo, is it okay I call you that? Ringo? Or do you like adults to call you Richard... maybe Rich-?”
    Rngo glanced up at the friendly Mary Mcaurtney. He let out a sigh: they always went through this. “Ringo is fine, Mrs. Mcaurtney.” Ringo followed Paul inside, who had managed to brush past his mom. She hurried to follow them, and as they zipped up the stairs, she called, “You haven’t answered my question!” She got no reply. Anger bubbled inside her.
    “JAMES PAUL MCAURTNEY! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!”
    She heard laughter from upstairs and a groan. “James?” she heard Ringo snicker. “I thought your name was Paul! But James? Now are you going to tell me John’s name is Charles? Ha!” Paul shrugged it off and headed downstairs.
    “John got in a bit of trouble at school,” he began, standing in his doorway. “Um...” he was interuppted by the ring of the phone. “Hello?” he heard his mom say. “The reform school? You’re looking for Paul? Why!”
    Paul madly dashed into his room. “Grab the Lucky Charms!” he shouted, jabbing a finger at a red box with a small leprachaun on it. “The school’s on the line! We gotta jump!” Ringo lifted the window up, slowly lifting his long legs up. “GO!” Screamed John, hearing Paul’s mom stomp up the stairs. He pushed Ringo out the window, and he tumbled off the roof. He landed with a thud on the patio below. “Ugh,” he groaned. “I think I broke my-AH!”
    He saw John’s feet about to impale him in the forhead, and he rolled to the side. John missed him by barely a centimeter. Then George came tumbling down, and Paul after him. Paul landed on his back, which, trust me, hurt like falling face first. Anyway, he was pretty sure his Lucky Charms were still in tact, and I’m not talking about the cereal.
    George scrambled to his feet, and sprinted out of the sight of the windows. John scrambled after him, followed by Ringo. Paul was the last to stand up, and he glanced around his backyard. Then he noticed his mom peek out the window. “You’re in big trouble, Paul! I’m coming to get you!” Paul helplessly watched his mom slam the window close, and then he felt something grab his shoulder. “Come on!” shouted Ringo, tugging on Paul’s sleeve. “Your mom’s coming.”
    Paul frowned. “I’M NOT COMIN’ BACK!” screamed Paul at the top of his lungs, stretching his arms back. He caught a glimpse of his mom’s teary face peeking out the screen door. “No,” she murmered under her breath. “My baby. Come back!”
    But Paul wasn’t coming back. That didn’t cross his mind.
    “Come on!” he boomed, his voice racing throughout Liverpool. He quickly threw the Lucky Charms box to John, and he hopped over the gate at the back of his yard. He used his right hand as support. John tossed back the box over the fence to Paul, and he leaped over the gate with George and Ringo.
    Paul heard the creak of the front door opening. He saw his dad’s bearded face peek out. His eyebrows raised, and he quickly hopped out the doorpost. He, with narrowed eyes, zipped to Paul.
    “HURRY!” shrieked Ringo. All four boys picked up speed, and eventually Paul’s forty year old dad had to give up. Paul twisted around the corner, his shoes skidding across the pavement. He suddenly caught a glimpse of something behind him. He turned for a moment and peeked around the corner. His mom and dad were standing in the doorway, crying. Paul sighed and felt a small tear drip down his cheek.
    John glanced at Paul, still running. He crashed into a street lamp, and fell to the ground on his back. George jogged back to get Paul, but he already turned around. Paul started to sprint again, and helped John to his feet. Ringo turned around to face them. “So...where exactly are we goin’?”
    John hazily glanced at him and smiled sheepishly. He dizzily stumbled towards Ringo and placed a shaking hand on his shoulder. “Who the hell knows?” he said, still smiling. Ringo could only watch as Paul, John, and George crossed the street shrugging. “Whatever,” he shrugged, and sprinted after them. “Hey! Wait up!”