Paul McCartney

You came in through the front door after returning from school. Without saying anything to your mother, you ran inside and went up to your room as usual. You turned on your record player as soon as you entered and threw yourself onto the bed. The sound of the sweet classical music filled your ears.

As you lay there, thinking about what a mess your life was, you heard your mother's whisper, her voice calling your name over the blaring music of the record player. Rolling your eyes, you got up and dragged yourself to the stairs. The music was still blasting in your room. You weren't like the other girls with your usual taste in music.

You saw your mother standing at the bottom of the stairs. A fur coat that looked quite expensive draped over her shoulders. Where on earth did she magically pull that one up? you wondered as you hesitantly descended the stairs. She glared at you, as if she wanted to hurry you along. You looked at her, confused.

"What?" You sighed, taking a few steps back, getting a better look at the fox-like fabric hanging from her back. "Where on earth did you get that coat...?"

Your mother's face shifted to one of slight guilt. "Oh, I sold you out... for gum," she said frankly.

Your face contorted. You were speechless.

"For ten pounds," he added. His guilty expression gradually faded. Ten pounds was worth more than 300 pounds in the 1960s...

You gasped in exasperation, was that really all you were worth?

"Who the hell is it for?!" You looked at her in disbelief, stressed.

"The Beatle Paul McCartney..." he hummed simply. It was then that the door suddenly opened, as if it had been the perfect moment.

A cheeky-faced jerk, hands in his pockets, stood on the other side. A huge grin spread across his face.

"Are you serious?" you protested, glancing from your mother to the man. She just stared at you. She was completely serious. Your eyes fell on the handsome, sickly man in the village.