“Does passing out count as screwing up?”
“Without a doubt.”
I looked past Victoria and saw that the band was, indeed, coming closer, although they were being stopped every five seconds by well-wishers and hand-shakers. Then one of them, the singer, glanced up at me, and we saw each other. I held his gaze for a fraction of a second and then looked back at my drink. “The lead singer just looked at me,” I whispered to Victoria. It was getting really crowded upstairs, now that one of the bands had made an official appearance, and I had to lean in close so she could hear me.
“So why aren’t you looking back?”
But I didn’t answer because the band was coming closer and closer and then the lead singer was leaning on the railing next to me, laughing with the guitarist about something, and every single part of my skin was burning. If our arms accidentally touched, I might burst into flames. On my other side, Victoria was playing it cool, sipping at her water and watching the crowd down below, but if you looked closer, you could see her repeatedly tapping my ankle with her shoe, Victoria’s Morse code for Talk to him! Talk to him! Talk to him!
Those three minutes when we stood next to each other were electrifying. It was so weird to be near someone that I knew but didn’t know, and I suddenly understood why so many people kept looking at me, then looking away when I looked back. I know because I was doing the exact same thing to the Lolitas, and especially the guy standing right next to me.
My ankle was gonna be black and blue if I didn’t act fast, so I was just about to open my mouth and say something stupid like “Great show!” or “I love your CD!” when some girl downstairs started climbing up the scaffolding on one side of the stage. “I’m no Plain Jane!” she was screaming, and let me tell you, she was no Sober Sarah, either.
“Oh, my God!” I said before I could stop myself.
And just like that, a British voice said in my ear, “Do you think she’s gonna jump?”
“She should at least wait until the show’s over,” I replied before thinking, and then Victoria quit kicking me. “Fucking finally,” I heard her whisper.
Drunk Girl was getting higher and higher and sections of the audience were cheering her on, including the Lolitas’ lead singer. “Shake it, baby!” he was yelling, and then another chorus stage left started up with “Jump! Jump! Jump!” and she climbed higher.
“She’s a little too good on that pole, don’t you think?” the singer said again. “Like, maybe…?”
“Wave a dollar bill and see what happens,” I said. I had no idea I was so good at conversation when my mind was completely disassociated from the rest of my body. You learn something new every day, I guess.
“Ah, you’ll have to loan me some,” he said. “We haven’t changed our money yet.”
I felt like I shouldn’t look at him, like he was the sun or something, but then he put out a hand and said, “Hi, I’m Simon. You’re Audrey.”
If I hadn’t been hanging on to the railing, I probably would’ve toppled over. “H-How did you…?”
He shrugged. His hair was all snarled and ratty and completely awesome, and his jeans looked like he had worn them during every show they had played. I wondered if they were his lucky pants, and then I realized I was thinking about his pants and my blush ran deeper into my face. Thank God it was so dark upstairs.
“Don’t you know that word gets around?” Simon grinned. “‘Audrey, Wait!’ is a big fuckin’ deal back home and then our manager said that you and your friend were up here dancing like banshees—”
Victoria had been waiting for her cue. “Hi, I’m Victoria, co-banshee,” she said, reaching past me to shake his hand. No nerves for her. I wondered how she did it. I’ve been her best friend for eight years and I still don’t quite understand how she works.
“Hi, I’m Simon, co-Lolita,” he replied, and shook her hand. “And is this your fellow?”
Jonah, surprise surprise, saw his girlfriend and her best friend talking to the hottie opening act and decided that now would be a good time to make his way back to us. So introductions were passed around and we met Luc (bassist), Roger (drummer), and Charles (guitarist). I could feel the eyes of everyone else in the VIP area boring into our backs and all I had was one thought:
Thank you, Evan.
11 “I wanna always feel like part of this was mine.…”
—Jimmy Eat World, “A Praise Chorus”
WE ENDED UP watching the Plain Janes’ set with the Lolitas, and halfway through the third song, when the lead singer was going spastic on the stage and looked like he was about to eat his microphone, Simon looked at me and smiled. “You should come backstage with us afterwards,” he yelled into my ear. “There’s gonna be a party but I’m not sure where yet.”
“Okay!” I yelled back. I was already feeling pretty party-ready, since Simon was a pal and had let me finish his Jack-and-Coke for him. Most of the ice had already melted, but that was okay by me. It was also okay by me that I was able to drink from the same glass that he drank from. Next to me, Victoria and Jonah were laughing up a storm about something, and his arms were wrapped around her like ribbons on a present.
Everything felt great. Simon felt great standing next to me. He smelled even better, a combination of hair dye, his drummer’s contraband joint that was passed back and forth between the band members, and somewhere way—way—down deep in the mix, soap. We weren’t really talking that much, but every once in a while, I’d catch him looking at me or vice versa, and then we’d both smile and look back toward the stage.