venture. So there’ll be fans watching from the side of the stage with you. About fifty or so. Just don’t let them freak you out too much, okay.”
I tapped him playfully on the arm. “I’m used to your crazy fans. I can handle it. They just better not block my view is all, or I’ll start a riot.” He reached down and squeezed my hand covertly. A thousand volts rocked my core.
“See you later,” he whispered huskily, leaving me in the stark brightness of the room.
I had been all talk . When I finally made my way to the side of the stage, I was met with girls crying, squealing and whooping all at once, and I was sure that the males who were there would have been doing the same thing had they not wanted to impress those girls. So I hovered at the back, not wanting to get involved in the hysteria.
I could just about make out Nate’s silhouette against the blue lasers sweeping over the stage blindingly. He opened the set with one of my favorite Chance songs—travelling down from a stage rigged in the sky to the stage floor, his arms outstretched like Christ as Mikey kicked in a powerful beat. As he jumped off the rig, he spun his guitar around from his back and tore the microphone from its stand. His voice oozed like liquid gold into my ears. I could feel it vibrating in my throat and pulsing between my legs. I swear I stopped breathing for two minutes at the sheer velvet of it. I had seen this band play so many times, yet today I was overwhelmed by pride, lust, joy, sex. I don’t know whether it was the collective adoration seeping from the group of people standing in front me, or if it was because my feelings for him were more intense than the last time I’d seen him play. Whatever it was, I rode the wave, singing along with the others, cheering and yelling in the right places, and I morphed into fangirl.
So much so, in fact, that during one of the songs, a girl turned to smile at me while we sang along together. She grabbed my wrist and pulled me next to her. “You’ll get a better view here,” she said loudly in my ear.
“Thanks.” I grinned at her, the shared experience making us instant companions.
“No worries.” She held her hand out. “I’m Alice, by the way.”
I shook it enthusiastically. “I’m Anna. Nice to meet you Alice.”
I’d never been part of such a large collective group before. My parents had never let me go to pop concerts when I was younger, and Peter just wasn’t the sort to get sweaty and enjoy himself. The Chance gigs I’d been to with Becks had been the first large scale music shows I’d been exposed to, and even then, it had generally been quite a muted affair watching from the wings. This was how it was supposed to feel—invigorating, sticky, charged. I felt part of a collective, a piece of a group with a common interest, a common love. It was—it felt like home. I felt like I belonged.
We jumped up and down and sang so loudly that my voice was hoarse by the time Nate sped off stage. His eyes obviously took some time adjusting to the darkness as he tried to locate me, I gave him a small wave and the smile I received as he found me was better than if someone had told me I’d won the lottery. He held up his hand, fingers wide, telling me ten minutes, before bounding down the steps and out of sight.
“Do you know him?” Alice asked me, her voice gruff from the singing.
“Erm. . .sort of. We’re just friends.” I couldn’t help the warm ball of smugness as I told her.
“Yeah, me too,” she said. It took me a second for it to register.
“Oh. What, you’re friends with him too?” The look on her face made me want to smack it. I may have had momentary smugness, but she wore hers like a badge, and suddenly I knew exactly what she was going to tell me. Part of me wanted to run away, pretend I hadn’t seen that righteous gleam in her stupid, massive eyes and make like I’d imagined it. But some sick
I tapped him playfully on the arm. “I’m used to your crazy fans. I can handle it. They just better not block my view is all, or I’ll start a riot.” He reached down and squeezed my hand covertly. A thousand volts rocked my core.
“See you later,” he whispered huskily, leaving me in the stark brightness of the room.
I had been all talk . When I finally made my way to the side of the stage, I was met with girls crying, squealing and whooping all at once, and I was sure that the males who were there would have been doing the same thing had they not wanted to impress those girls. So I hovered at the back, not wanting to get involved in the hysteria.
I could just about make out Nate’s silhouette against the blue lasers sweeping over the stage blindingly. He opened the set with one of my favorite Chance songs—travelling down from a stage rigged in the sky to the stage floor, his arms outstretched like Christ as Mikey kicked in a powerful beat. As he jumped off the rig, he spun his guitar around from his back and tore the microphone from its stand. His voice oozed like liquid gold into my ears. I could feel it vibrating in my throat and pulsing between my legs. I swear I stopped breathing for two minutes at the sheer velvet of it. I had seen this band play so many times, yet today I was overwhelmed by pride, lust, joy, sex. I don’t know whether it was the collective adoration seeping from the group of people standing in front me, or if it was because my feelings for him were more intense than the last time I’d seen him play. Whatever it was, I rode the wave, singing along with the others, cheering and yelling in the right places, and I morphed into fangirl.
So much so, in fact, that during one of the songs, a girl turned to smile at me while we sang along together. She grabbed my wrist and pulled me next to her. “You’ll get a better view here,” she said loudly in my ear.
“Thanks.” I grinned at her, the shared experience making us instant companions.
“No worries.” She held her hand out. “I’m Alice, by the way.”
I shook it enthusiastically. “I’m Anna. Nice to meet you Alice.”
I’d never been part of such a large collective group before. My parents had never let me go to pop concerts when I was younger, and Peter just wasn’t the sort to get sweaty and enjoy himself. The Chance gigs I’d been to with Becks had been the first large scale music shows I’d been exposed to, and even then, it had generally been quite a muted affair watching from the wings. This was how it was supposed to feel—invigorating, sticky, charged. I felt part of a collective, a piece of a group with a common interest, a common love. It was—it felt like home. I felt like I belonged.
We jumped up and down and sang so loudly that my voice was hoarse by the time Nate sped off stage. His eyes obviously took some time adjusting to the darkness as he tried to locate me, I gave him a small wave and the smile I received as he found me was better than if someone had told me I’d won the lottery. He held up his hand, fingers wide, telling me ten minutes, before bounding down the steps and out of sight.
“Do you know him?” Alice asked me, her voice gruff from the singing.
“Erm. . .sort of. We’re just friends.” I couldn’t help the warm ball of smugness as I told her.
“Yeah, me too,” she said. It took me a second for it to register.
“Oh. What, you’re friends with him too?” The look on her face made me want to smack it. I may have had momentary smugness, but she wore hers like a badge, and suddenly I knew exactly what she was going to tell me. Part of me wanted to run away, pretend I hadn’t seen that righteous gleam in her stupid, massive eyes and make like I’d imagined it. But some sick
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