“What are you looking at?”
I turned away from his mouth to protect my eardrum. “I know you’re onstage, and so you see it from a different angle,” I said. “But don’t people ‘appreciating’ music look odd to you?”
“What do you mean?”
I gestured towards the group I’d been analysing. “Like that lot. Why can’t everyone just stand round quietly and listen? Why does pushing each other, or chucking half-filled bottles of beer in the air, or flicking your long greasy hair over each other, or making that devil worship sign with your fingers…why does that mean you enjoy the music? If I was in a band, I would want everyone to listen quietly and concentrate.”
Again Guy laughed. I always seemed to make him laugh. He pushed his dark hair off his face and shoved a sweaty arm around me.
“You don’t really understand metal, do you?”
“I understand that Joel got dumped and needed to get over it by calling the girl a bitch in a song…which kinda makes him a dickhead. Is that metal?”
He laughed again. “Nah, that’s just Joel. I didn’t think we should open on that song anyway.”
“So why are you agreeing, you’re the lead singer, aren’t you?”
“Because it’s got a kickass bassline.”
I nodded to the side. “Oh, okay. That makes me feel so much better about some poor girl being publicly called a bitch in a song, just so Joel can make his willy feel bigger.”
“You’re really something? You know that?”
I was? He didn’t say it in the nicest way. There was a bit of awe in his voice…but a bit of disdain too. “Anyway, you going to watch me from the front?” He puffed his chest out.
“No. I don’t like touching too many other people. I’ll stand at the back, and if you see me standing real still, and concentrating, it means I’m enjoying ‘Die Bitch Die’ in my own special way.”
I disentangled myself from his sweaty armpit and joined the girls on a last-minute dash to the toilets.
We squeezed back into the hall just as the support act finished. Personal space wasn’t an option anywhere and my chest tightened as I tried not to think of how much germy breath was exhaling into the stuffy atmosphere. Jane found us and pulled us through the crowd.
“Guys,” she yelled. “Over here. I’ve got us a spot.”
“That’s odd,” Amber said. “Joel’s gone and she’s suddenly all friendly.”
“Shhhhh.”
We crammed into her tiny gap. Bits of my body touched all different parts of other people’s bodies. I took a deep breath and concentrated on my ribcage going up and down to distract myself. Jane rambled on about the band’s chances of a record deal to an unimpressed Amber and Lottie. Everyone pushed to the front of the stage, causing tidal crowd surges to disturb the rest of us. An out-of-place looking bunch of lads stood to our left. They were smartly dressed and drinking the most expensive bottles of beer the pop-up bar provided. They stood out more than us. Not just ’cause they were our age, but they were blatantly posh too.
“I’m so excited,” Jane stage-whispered to me. “I’ve never seen him play live before.” She grabbed my hand and I studied her face. It was filled with utter adoration. Her eyes were distant and dewy, her cheeks pink, her smile was practically tattooed on. Despite everything, I gave myself a moment to feel happy for her. My best friend was in love – I had to be glad for that much at least.
BAD THOUGHT
Even if no one will ever love me…
The lights dimmed and Joel, Guy and the others shuffled onto the stage and the screams from the audience began. Guy kicked over the microphone stand whilst simultaneously grabbing the mike out of it. He clutched it right over his mouth and stood with his leg up on Joel’s guitar amp.
“This,” he said, in a voice much gruffer than usual, “…is ‘Die Bitch Die’.”
I was engulfed with noise. What can only be described as “a din” blurted through my eardrums, ripping holes through them, filling my brain with “oww”. The crowd surged forward but I stood firm against the tide, grinding my heels into the dusty wooden floor.
“Let’s go closer to the front,” Jane yelled.
I crossed my arms and shook my head.
“Why not?”
“No. Just no.”
She looked to Amber and Lottie for support, but they looked as bemused by the whole gig as me. Amber’s arms were also crossed, a puzzled look on her pale face. Whereas Lottie was just sort of…sneering.
“You gotta die now…DIE…DIE. DIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE!” Guy’s voice took on a monstrous quality. Like the Gruffalo was hidden in his ribcage holding a spare mike. However, everyone else seemed to love it, and it spurred the mob on. We held our own against the crush and were somehow shoehorned to the back. That was perfectly fine with me.
Gangs of girls screamed whenever Guy opened his mouth. He did look kind of sexy up there, I guess. What with the sweat, and the cockiness, and the attention. He caught my eye briefly and winked and my knees went a bit funny. But then he launched into their next song – the opening line of which went: “I hate you so much for breathing. I wish I could make you stop.”
And I promptly lost interest again, staring instead at the “JESUS LOVES YOU” banner hanging limply above the stage.
As they catapulted into their next song – a really REALLY angry one – the audience rose to a new level of mass insanity. We were pushed and jostled from all directions and I began to really not enjoy myself. The random posh blokes kept bumping into us, and then falsely apologizing. Amber gave them her very best evil eye but they didn’t seem to care. Then one of them pushed the other, and he pushed them back, and before we knew it…
…Whoosh…
A bottle of beer whistled through the air and emptied itself all over Lottie’s everything.
For a moment, she just stood there. Dripping. Her hair mangled. Her make-up smudged. Her clothes drenched.
“Oh my God,” one of the boys said, moving forward from the group. He was tall and very clean-looking and his voice was the poshest thing I’ve ever heard. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
Lottie glared at him. “Was this your fault?”
“Yes. I’m dreadfully sorry. The boys, well, we got carried away.”
He leaned in so Lottie could hear better but she pushed him away.
“Get off. I’m SOAKED.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Good. You should be.”
“Hang on, Lottie, is it?”
“How do you know my name?” she demanded.
Her face was so full of venom even I was scared. Posh Boy backed off a bit.
“Didn’t you used to go to my school?”
She nodded slowly.
“I’m in the year above you, I think. I remember seeing you around but I’ve not for a while, did you leave?”
Lottie was still glaring at him, but I could see her thawing a bit.
“I’m sorry,” he continued, still waving his hands, all posh. “Let me make it up to you… Can I get you a drink?”
“You know what? I’m doing okay on the moistness front.”
“Some peanuts then?”
Lottie gave him a look.
“Crisps?”
She looked to the band and back again. Joel was in the middle of a five-minute guitar solo whilst Guy lay on his side, pushing himself round in a circle using his legs. Lottie swept her wet hair off her face. “Yes. Multiple bags of crisps might do it.”
Posh Boy steered her through the crowd towards the bar whilst Amber and I looked at each other and shrugged. Jane, oblivious to all the drama, screamed, “I LOVE YOU, BABY!” through her hands. Posh Boy’s mates didn’t bother trying to make small talk and were swallowed by the crowd. The guitar solo made way for a five-minute drum solo…