Page 134 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
“Because I’ve seen what you can do.” He lifts our joined hands, pressing a quick kiss to my knuckles. “I’m really glad you’re coming tonight.”
A breathy sigh escapes me. “Me too. I can’t wait to watch you perform live.”
Twenty-Five
I’mwearingallblack,as if it’ll camouflage me in the crowd. The only pop of color is the red lanyard around my neck. The card hanging from the lanyard says:‘Miranda Knox Management.‘Miranda gave it to me in an official capacity, so I could go anywhere in the venue to take photos and not be stopped by security.
The venue is called The Factory. It’s a converted warehouse with exposed brick walls and industrial lighting. It’s plastered with posters of indie bands and local acts, with dates and times they’ll be playing on stage.
Currently on stage is one of those local bands. Four guys in their twenties, known as Faded Warriors, playing competent but unremarkable alternative rock. The lead singer has too much energy, bouncing around the stage as if he’s trying to make up for the song’s lack of substance.
The sparse crowd is filling out and buzzes with electricity. It’s like the venue is drawing a larger crowd because the town ishere to see Sky Chaos. The clip online has millions of views for a reason.
Even though bodies are packing the main floor, the crowd isn’t paying much attention to Faded Warriors. Frustration is radiating off the guitarist, and the singer pushes harder into the chorus, hoping to spark a reaction. I’m betting they’ve heard there are industry people in the audience and want to prove they’re worth paying attention to.
Watching them struggle makes me squeamish.
The song ends to polite, scattered applause. The lead singer wipes sweat from his forehead and forces a smile. “Thanks everyone! You’re a great crowd! We’ve got two more for you.”
As I navigate through the crowd to get some test shots, I recognize a group from Ashworth Academy, and my skin crawls.
Jessa and Kimberley, the ghouls from art class, are dressed for a nightclub. Their tight dresses shimmer under the lights, their heels click against the concrete floor, their makeup is big and bold, and their silky hair blown-out to perfection.
Plus, they’re not alone.
They’re surrounded by a group of guys who likely walked straight off the football field. Broad shoulders, athletic builds, and attitudes of being the most important people in any room. One of them has his arm slung around Kimberley’s shoulders.
My stomach doesn’t just drop. It plummets.
Jessa says something, and the entire group erupts in laughter. One of the guys makes a gesture I can’t quite see, and they laugh even harder.
Are they talking about me? Did someone already spot me?
My hands tremble around my camera.
I need to move. At least get into a better position for photographing the stage. But my feet won’t cooperate.
With solid effort, I manage a step backward. A second one. A third one. Until I’m pressed against the wall near the soundbooth. I slide further to the left, partially hidden behind an older group who are talking amongst themselves.
From here, I have a terrible angle. The stage is too far away, and there are too many bodies blocking my view. I won’t be able to get the shots the band needs. The lighting will be wrong, and the composition will be all off.
But I can’t make myself move closer. My stomach twists at the thought of walking past Jessa, Kimberley, and their football player entourage. I’d rather go deaf from the oversized speakers than risk them seeing me, or worse, saying something to me.
One guy leans down to whisper something in Jessa’s ear, and she scans the crowd with sharp, predatory eyes. I press myself flatter against the wall, my heart hammering so hard I feel it in my throat.
The group shifts slightly, and I glimpse one of the football players. He’s tall, with dark hair and a smirk that makes me sweat. He’s holding his phone up, taking a video of the crowd, sweeping it slowly across the venue.
What if he catches me on camera? What if it ends up being another video on someone’s feed with a cruel caption? I can only imagine the crude stories they made up yesterday when both Ryder and I skipped school.
My breathing is coming too fast now. Shallow. Panicked.
“Breathe,”Mom’s voice whispers in my head.“You belong here just as much as anyone else.”
But I don’t. I don’t belong here at all.
These people own every space, and I’m just the weird new girl who breaks expensive equipment and can’t even manage to show up to class.
For Ryder’s sake, I force myself to lift my camera. Maybe if I just focus on the technical aspects I can do this. ISO. Aperture. Shutter speed. But all I can see through the viewfinder is thecrowd blocking my view. The terrible angle. The impossible distance.
