Page 35 of Before Eve

Me: Okay, see ya…

After that, I stare at my phone, but nothing else comes through. The anticipation of seeing him at sound check nearly undoes me, so when Ford comes up to me and says, “I’m sending you and Anne on errands,” I nearly argue. That means I’ll miss seeing West.

I almost text West to tell him, but then decide that’s probably too much.

An hour into our errands, my cell buzzes. I nearly rip it from my pocket.

West: Where are you?

Me: Errands with Anne.

West sends me a frown emoji that inordinately pleases me.

West: See you after the show?

Me: Absolutely!

Nothing else comes through after that, and I finally slip my phone back into my pocket.

“You two have it bad.” Anne snickers.

“What?” I ask, though of course I totally know what she’s talking about.

“Puh-lease.” She snorts, giving me a playful shove. “Kidding. Dude, I’m so happy for you. I loveseeing you like this.”

“Like what exactly?” Because I can’t quite put my finger on it, but whatever this feeling is, I want it to continue.

“Happy.”

Happy. Yes, I amhappy. But happiness is foreign, like I’ve borrowed the feelings of someone normal and stuck them in my body. It’s light and fizzy and feels so good it scares me. “We’re justfriends,” I automatically say, using the word I continue stressing.

She snorts again. “Whatever you got to tell yourself.”

By nine o’clock that night all the other bands have come and gone, and I stand beside Ford at the soundboard. A sea of bodies fills The Garden. Their excited roar vibrates through me. In my craziest dreams, I never thought this would be me.

“Bus Stop! Bus Stop! Bus Stop!”

“Cue smoke and lasers,” I hear in the headset Ford gave me to wear.

Colored smoke shoots up from hidden shafts, lasers beam down from the ceiling, and spotlights crisscross the crowd. Excited screams fill the air as the fans jump to their feet, craning their necks, trying to catch a glimpse.

“Cue sound.”

Ford slowly slides the channel bars into place. “Sound cued,” he responds into his headset.

Hidden behind the smoke, the guys begin to play the opening number, then West steps through first, and the crowd goes from wild to insane. People jump up and down screaming and flailing their arms. A girl in the first row faints. Some eager fans push toward the stage. Handmade signs pop up proclaiming undying love for their favorite band member.

Ford puts his hand over the mike attached to his headpiece. “Good, raw music. No fancy moves. Just the four of them jamming out. It’s the way it should be.” He cocks his head. “Hear that?”

I listen. “The reverberation?”

He points at me. “Goodjob, and the mid is off, too.”He reaches over to the EQ rack, makes some adjustments, and nods.

I observe his every move, hoping he’ll let me do some of that soon. He makes a few more tweaks, then takes a step back to survey the stage. Large flat screens sit perched on either side showing close-ups of the guys. They each have their own unique style: leather, jeans, T-shirts, boots, sneakers. Only Toby, the drummer, wears his hair long, and in my opinion, he needs a major cut. West’s image flashes onto the screens, and my belly does a slow roll.

His head sways from side to side as he strums the chords. Dark strands curl in spiky messiness all over his head. The top four buttons of his white shirt are open, showing a bit of chest hair. A silver necklace hangs around his neck with an emblem on the end. I’ve never noticed that before.

“What the hell is going on?” Ford snaps.