Synn steps in, roaring at the top of his lungs. “Did you not hear my wife? Let her through.”
As soon as the dickheads see him, they all pale. Stepping to the side, they allow the girl to slip through.
I move forward, grabbing her hand. “Come stand with us.”
Tears fill her eyes. “Thank you so much. This means the world to me. My mom—she’s a huge fan of Ronnie’s. She's too sick to come. I promised to get a picture of us together somehow.”
She’s adorable. Small features, long brown hair, blue eyes, and curvy.
“What’s your name?” I ask her.
“Christina,” she replies.
“Well, Christina, you met the right people. See those guys standing there?” I gesture to the guys. “They are powerful people, so we get top treatment.”
“Oh, how cool! Thanks so much.” Our new friend smiles in gratitude.
I give her a small hug, and let her in to stand with me, Valley, and Cynthia right in front.
A roar of guitars pierces the stage, and the lights dim, then come back up. We can see the band, but no Ronnie.
A loud voice comes from nowhere. “New Jersey! Do you know who I am?”
The crowd goes crazy, screaming Ronnie’s name.
I can see him squeezed behind a speaker on the side of the stage, and I elbow Cynthia next to me, pointing.
“Ah!” Cynthia screams, dancing in place.
Then, the voice continues, “Ronnie? There's no Ronnie here.” He then shows himself, moving dead center. Putting the mic to his lips once more, he screams, “It’s Ronald!”
The beginning music to the song “Ronald” starts, and he screams into the mic, strutting all over the stage.
I look to my guys, who are all thrashing around, knocking into each other. It's so damn cute, I wish I had a camera to capture the moment.
The next few songs come and go, then the opening licks of “Popular Monster” ring out.
The girls and I all squeal, jumping up and down, arms reaching towards Ronnie.
There's a small incline leading up to the fence, so I plant myself right against it, which makes me stand out as I’m slightly higher than the rest of the fans.
Valley, Christina, and Cynthia do the same.
We're singing at the top of our lungs. I've memorized the lyrics by now.
Ronnie sees us, and he saunters over. Cocking his head, he listens to our singing. He looks straight at me, and I freeze.
“Well, hey there, firecracker. You've got a voice that carries. You a singer?” Ronnie addresses me.
The rest of the noise falls away, and all I can see and hear is Ronnie.
“No,” I answer.
“Well, you’re fucking good. What's your name, firecracker?”
“Phoenyxx,” I say loud and clear into the mic he thrusts in my face.
“And your friends?”
