Page 88 of Call You Mine
But I can’t tell if it’s because she bought it.
Or, if it’s because she can see right through me.
CHAPTER 27
ANDERSON
The lights go down,and the murmuring of the crowd fades into a series of cheers as the opening band steps on stage, instruments in hand.
We’re close enough to the stage to see the two guitarists file in on one side, the bassist on the other. The drummer comes from the back, sitting and raising his arms overhead, holding his drumsticks as he sits behind his kit, and the screams intensify.
Emerson cups her hands around her mouth, yelling as the lead singer—her friend who got us these tickets—makes his way on, the stage lights still down.
As a music lover, I have a good amount of knowledge of artists—especially those from Milwaukee or the Midwest. This opening band, Sugarcoated Lies, is originally from Madison and is much smaller than the headliner, Cross My Heart. They’re one of the two bands—the first one having finished up just as we got here tonight.
Ava taps on my shoulder, and I lean down so I can hear her better. “Have you heard of these guys?”
I move my lips to her ear to talk over the cheering. “Yeah,they’re pretty good. I’ve been streaming their songs since Emerson got us the tickets for tonight.”
“Same,” she replies. “Her friend Liam is super talented. I think it’ll be a fun show.”
When I read up on this farewell tour, Cross My Heart’s lead singer, Mateo Lane, was credited for giving Sugarcoated Lies a shot—the same way a band did for them when they were trying to grow as a local band in Milwaukee.
The concert space is one big hall, dark and dim with neon lights lighting the bar that circles the back of the venue. There’s empty space behind us still waiting to be filled, and I’ve been to enough concerts like these to know that it will fill up more during Sugarcoated Lies’ set until it’s at capacity for Cross My Heart.
Ava’s head turns to the stage as the lights come up. She claps her hands and cheers along with the crowd, and the first strum of the chords is like an electric current over the already loud venue.
As the song starts, the crowd gets tighter, and more people want to get closer to the music.
It brings our group closer, Ava standing in front of me next to Rumi, who is in front of Jack.
Emerson is on the other side of me, and I don’t know if it’s her tattoos, her piercings, or just her overall vibe, but the group of guys who start filling in some of the empty space around her don’t get too close, as if she’s just radiating her “leave me alone” vibe.
I feel a few bumps behind me, but I don’t mind. It gives me an excuse to get closer to Ava.
We all nod our heads to the music, Emerson singing along, and I find myself wondering why I don’t do this more often. It’s been a bit since I’ve gone to a concert, and I forgot how fun it is to be surrounded by people here for the same reason as you—to get lost in some music for a couple hours and forget about all the other shit weighing you down.
When the first song finishes, the lead singer thanks the crowd and introduces themselves, sharing how excited they are to be playing on the same stage as Cross My Heart and kicking off their tour tonight.
The next song starts, and it’s one I recognize. Ava does too, excitement radiating off her as she bounces on her toes, her hair swinging behind her as she sings along with Emerson and Rumi.
As she moves, there’s a whisper of her body against mine, and I have to fist my hands to resist the urge to set my hands on those hips she keeps swaying from side to side, occasionally brushing up on me and making me dizzy.
I drag a slow breath through my nose, trying to focus on the music instead of the warmth of her.
It’s impossible.
One song fades into the next.
Every time she laughs or throws her head back to belt out a lyric, she bumps into me again like she doesn’t even realize what she’s doing. Or maybe she does.
Before I know it, the band is announcing their final song, and the volume of the venue stuns me out of my brain with how loud it’s gotten. Turning around, the space is completely filled, no more space between the crowd and the bar like there was before.
As the music starts up again, Emerson, Ava, and Rumi grab each other's hands, holding them over their head as they sing along, bringing the attention of the lead singer—Liam—to them. He smiles as he sings, pointing a tattooed finger at the girls as he holds his microphone.
The girls sing even louder, and I look at Jack, his face hard as if he’s ready to step in the middle of anyone stupid enough to get too close to the girls, especially Rumi.
But when Rumi turns to him, singing the words right at him, he cracks a smile.
