Escape of the Nerk Twins

Chapter III

Unfortunately, none of the presents under the tree are large enough to hold one human being, let alone four. So we can safely assume that I don't own the Beatles.

A/N: Finally, chapter III! I buckled down and wrote it - are you proud? Thank you thank you thank you to my reviewers: on FanFiction, the Mysterious Guest, omgringo, and Macca's Little Teddy Bear; on WattPad, Macca40, InmylifeIloveLennon, and MasterofFire. Thangs four awl the helb wif schpelin. U guys r the bets!

In the parking lot of another gas station several miles away, John and Paul heaved four bags' worth of crisps, candy, and pretzels into the trunk of their Ford Anglia.

"That it?" asked John, surveying the contents of the trunk. He and Paul looked over the blankets, cameras, comic books, bags of food, suitcases, and guitar that now filled up the back of the car.

"Yeah, reckon so," replied Paul. He slammed shut the trunk, revealing the brown and green hills that had been hidden behind the lid. "I'm gonna go call my dad and tell him I'm alright. You know, just in case the news says something ridiculous about all this."

John nodded. "Can you call Cyn?"

"Do it yourself, you lazy git!" replied Paul playfully.

John made a face. "She'll be alright."

Paul trudged across the parking lot to the telephone booth. John pulled a newly purchased road map of Scotland out of his pocket and spread it out on the Anglia's trunk lid, thankful that the wind had subsided somewhat.

Paul turned around and had one last look at his friend, hunched over the map, before pulling shut the telephone booth's door and picking up the phone. He slid a couple of coins into the slot and waited for the comforting thunk they made as they hit the bottom.

He called a familiar number, the well-worn dial of the telephone spinning and clicking confidently.

Someone picked up after a few rings. "Hello?" asked the older man on the other end of the line.

"Hey, Dad," replied Paul. "It's me."

"Hello Paul!" said his father. "What're you calling about?"

"Listen, I'm really busy, I have to go soon," explained Paul quickly, "But whatever you hear, I'm fine. I'm having a blast! Probably most fun part of the tour."

Paul could practically hear his father frowning. "What do you mean? Is something wrong?"

Paul grinned. "No! It's great!" he enthused.

"Well, alright," replied his father hesitantly. "As long as you're enjoying it."

Paul looked up from the payphone and through the grimy glass of the telephone booth. He saw John beckoning him impatiently.

"I have to go," said Paul. "See you after the tour."

"Bye, Paul."

Paul heard the click of his father hanging up in the front parlour of 20 Forthlin Road. The Beatle put the phone back in its cradle and pushed open the telephone booth door. He jogged back across the parking lot to the Ford Anglia.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Can we talk about it in the car? It's bloody freezing out here," complained John.

Paul nodded. "Sounds good."

John crumpled up the map. He and Paul walked around their sides of the car and got in. Once they were seated, John spread out the map again, holding it up rather awkwardly against the inside of the windscreen.

"We're here, right?" asked John, pointing to a spot just north of Edinburgh.

Paul's eyebrows leapt together in confusion. "Er, no, we're in the Highlands, between Dundee and Glasgow. Somewhere around here, I think." He pointed to a completely different spot.

John scratched his head. "But that's Dundee, isn't it?" he asked, pointing to Edinburgh. "Anyroad, why've you got the map upside down still?"

Paul groaned. "You have to put on your glasses to read the map, John."

John grudgingly pulled his glasses out of his pocket and put them on. The map sprang into focus.

"Better?" asked Paul. John nodded slightly, bending closer to the map.

"Oh, so we're here," he said finally, pointing. "Where do we go, then?"

"Well, we have to get to Glasgow eventually," said Paul. "Otherwise Eppy's angry face'll be the last thing we see."

John laughed. "So we just curve up north like this," he suggested, tracing a possible path. "Up into the Highlands, then down here to Glasgow." He tapped the dot labelled "Glasgow."

"Perfect!" replied Paul. "So we'll still go to Glasgow; it'll just take us about a day and a half longer than it'll take the others."

John grinned. "Perfectly logical." He balled up the map into a scrunched mess of coloured paper and tossed it over his shoulder into the backseat of the car.

Paul shoved the key into the ignition, turned on the Anglia with a rumble, and shifted into drive.

"Scotland, here we come!" he shouted.

A/N: I cannot guarantee anything for you if you review, but you might be given a real live Ringo Starr for the holidays if you do! Or you might not. It really doesn't depend on your review, regardless. But you can still review below!