“It’s pretty crazy, right? They’re kicking ass.” Merch sales are climbing every show and they’rethisclose to selling out. It’s going to happen, I can feel it.
“Our dad would be so proud. I wish he was here to see it.” The despair in her voice is evident. I turn around, and she’s staring up at the ceiling, but even from here, I can see the pain etched on her face.
“He knows,” I tell her, hoping like hell my voice is convincing. I don’t know much about God or where we go after we die. My parents never took me to church. Instead, they pushed me to find my own beliefs and forge my own path. But I like to think heaven is real and the loved ones whopassed before us are there. Watching over us, enjoying our wins alongside us, even if not physically. It makes the pain of losing them a fraction more bearable.
“Yeah,” she sighs, her tone perking back up like a flipped switch. “Anyway, what are you wearing? I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I packed a little of everything.”
“Ohh, let me see.” I rush over to her suitcase as she unzips it. Everything spills out into a lump on the floor. It doesn’t look like she took the time to fold anything. Looks like she just chucked everything in and said fuck it. The total opposite of her brother. I’ve seen his packing skills—he’s weirdly neat with it.
“I’m not much of a packer.” She shrugs. “Never really had anywhere to go before.”
“No worries.” A pang of hurt smacks my chest. I only know a small part of Pacey’s story and it’s not happy at all. She’s been through a lot, but she’s still here, smiling, and doing her best despite the shitty hand she’s been dealt. “Let’s see what we’re working with.” I start digging everything out, making a pile for tops and bottoms. Pacey’s style is similar to her brother’s—a tad emo. Dark colors, T-shirts, and hoodies. A pair of Converse tucked in the side pocket snag my attention. I bring out the white high tops. “These could work,” I say, putting them to the side.
“What should I do with my hair? Does anyone even look at you during these shows? I mean, notyou.Obviously people look at you, you’re gorgeous. I just don’t know if I want to get all dressed up, ya know? Maybe I’ll just wear a band tee and some shorts.”
“Nuh-uh.” I wave my finger at her. “You’re beautiful. Guys will be looking at you, and you never know when Mr. Right will come along.”
“I don’t really want to attract attention. I’m not sure I’m ready to date yet. Besides, Penn will probably snuff out anyone who gets too close.”
“We dress for us, not them. And pardon me, but fuck your brother. I?—”
“Hey!” Olivia says, coming through the door at the exact moment I was cursing her man’s name.
Our heads snap around as she strolls through the room, slurping on a slushie. I hold my hand up. “I was just telling Pacey not to worry about Penn if she’s approached by some hottie later.”
She pops her bottom lip out and nods. “Fair enough.”
We spend the next few hours getting completely dolled up. I’m wearing a black overall dress with a red cropped T-shirt underneath and black Doc Martens. Olivia is sporting a high-waisted skirt and a custom band tee she had made with Penn’s name across the back. I’m pretty sure she has a closet full of those now.
Pacey settled on black shorts and fishnets, a white tank top with an oversized flannel, and her Chucks. She let me French braid her hair into two short braids. She looks cute—barely legal—but adorable.
We’re riding in the elevator when Pacey asks, “Not that I’m complaining, but why do we have to stand backstage? Why can’t we be in the mix? I want to have the whole experience for my first punk rock show. I want to be in the pit.”
My eyes go wide, and I squeal. “That’s a fantastic idea!”
“I don’t know...Penn said the crowd gets crazy.” Olivia bites down on her lip, eyes bouncing between me and Pacey, both of us wearing a similar expression of delight.
“He doesn’t have to know,” Pacey suggests, and Olivia shoots her a look. “Come on, Liv! It’ll be fun. Don’t you want to see firsthand how much everyone loves your boyfriend?” Pacey asks.
Liv’s face scrunchies. “I don’t think we should.”
“If it gets too wild, we’ll just head backstage. The guys never have to know,” I urge, wanting so badly to be in the crowd. Of course, there’s a very high chance they’ll see us. I don’t say that. I’m always backstage, and Pacey is right, it’s not that great. I want to feel the energy from the crowd. See the guy’s faces and maybe even thrash around.
We hop off the elevator and exit the hotel. We’re just a block away and can already see the crowd forming in front of the venue.
“Please, Liv.” Pacey pouts her lip, giving her best puppy dog eyes.
Liv sighs. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Both Pacey and I scream, pulling her into a hug. “Penn is going to kill me,” she mutters under her breath.
“He loves you too much,” Pacey assures her.
I use my credentials to get us through the side door, and we head straight for the bar and grab a beer. The perks of being a part of the crew aren’t so bad.
We make our way to the greenroom. Liv and Pacey both stop to take photos of the door with Loose Threads’ name across it, then we join the guys for a few minutes, just to wish them good luck. We don’t want to mess with their routines, so we slip out and wait in the lobby, watching as the crowd grows larger outside the glass doors.
“Wow,” Liv says in awe, looking out at the excited faces standing in line hours early to see the band. She’s seen them play multiple times, but this is her first headlining stop. She pulls out her phone and starts snapping pictures of everything. “I’m being such a fangirl.” She smiles sheepishly.
“As you should be. You are his number one fan.”
