Page 19 of Don't Think

I turn quickly, nodding to the girls to signal that it’s time, and don’t bother waiting for a response. I dash for the stairs, not even sure if they’re behind me anymore or getting swept up in the flood of inebriated adults spilling into the aisles.

By the time I make it halfway to the stage, the lights flicker twice, and the speakers start blasting Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline.”

Anyone who’s ever been to a rock concert can all agree on at least one thing: the intermission playlists arealwaysthe best.

I glance back to check on Nora, half expecting to find her overwhelmed again, but there she is, swaying right along with everyone else. The same girl who was on the verge of a panicattack not even an hour ago is now moving along with a crowd of strangers.

The irony should make me laugh, but instead, it just reminds me why I love concerts in the first place.

That feeling of finally finding where you belong—it’s rare. But when you eventually do find your people, it’s like the whole world clicks into place. It makes you forget the moments you ever felt out of place, or the times you wondered if you’d ever fit in. Because here, nobody asks questions. They just accept you.

Nora shouts, or sings, the chorus from “Sweet Caroline,” swaying into me so hard I nearly stumble.

I spin around and flash her a goofy grin while she grabs my shoulders and shakes me playfully.

The crowd continues to sway and sing, lost in a series of nostalgic songs, until the music cuts off without warning.

The room plunges into complete darkness, and Nora’s arm instantly links tightly with mine. Her fingers squeezing so hard that they burrow deep into my bicep. The stillness around us isn’t like before, it’s heavier now. I can’t even imagine what’s running through her mind.

Around us, the only sounds are hushed conversations and a single cough from somewhere in the back. Goose bumps rise on my arms while we wait for any sign of movement on the stage.

Then the deafening whine of an electric guitar cuts through the air, rumbling the floor beneath us. The crowd shouts nearly over the chord, a mix between cheers and straight-upscreaming.

Gareth and Casey hit the stage first, grinning widely with their fists pumping high above their heads while they move to their spots. James follows right after, stepping to the front and sweeping his arm through the air like a conductor, pulling another wave of screams from the crowd.

But the second Jax steps on stage?

Everyoneloses it.

Ear-piercing cheers burst from every direction, so loud they make my skin hum.

He stands at the mic with a gorgeous smile spreading across his face while he waits for everyone to settle down. And for a split second, it feels like the whole place might actually explode.

He grips the microphone as a low chuckle spills from his lips, echoing through the venue, but this time, I can tell it’s on purpose.

“How the fuck are we, Boston?” he yells into the microphone.

His voice carries across the floor, drawing more screams from every person in the building—even up from the balcony.

The band quickly jumps into their first song, and everyone is jumping so hard they’re even makingmyfeet leave the ground involuntarily. The energy picks up quickly, leaving absolutely zero time to catch our breath.

I glance to the side to search for Ana, instinctively extending my elbow for her to hook onto. When she spots it, she flashes me a grin and links arms like it’s second nature.

And just like that, I’m pulled into a rush of déjà vu.

There were so many times—too many to count—when we would get forcefully separated in crowds like this. We used to joke about supergluing ourselves together just so that we wouldn’t have to spend half the night trying to find each other again.

The band keeps playing, and I’m being tossed around like a rag doll. The sharp sting of whiplash is already creeping up the back of my neck, when a sudden shove crashes into us, snapping our linked arms apart.

My heart climbs into my throat as I lose sight of Ana. I brace my feet against the floor, trying to stay upright while the crowd surges forward. I twist around, attempting to shove my way through strangers, but they refuse to budge. There are too manybodies pressed together in a small space. It’s nearly suffocating. And I can’t see either of them.

Not Ana.

Not Nora.

Just a blur of unfamiliar faces.

“Open the fucking pit!” Gareth’s voice slices through the chaos just as Jax rips into a guitar solo.