“Lydia! Seriously, it was just an interview for a story I’m working on,” I say, not sure if I’m trying to convince her or myself.
“Yeaaah. Okay, you and yourstories.” I can hear the sarcasm in her voice. I imagine her using air quotes around the word stories, and I roll my eyes.
“I’ll meet you at yours. Bye, Lo,” she finishes, ending the call.
? ? ?
I arrive back at my apartment and quickly run upstairs to find Lydia already in my bathroom applying a dark plum lipstick. She’s got winged eyeliner that accents her ocean blue eyes perfectly, and her dark brown hair is straightened today. She’s wearing a pair of short, distressed black jean shorts with a cute red corset top. She’s always been a beauty, both inside and out. Perhapsslightlycrazy, but that’s at least half of her charm.
“Hiiiiiii,” she sings, meeting my eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “Oh my God. You worethatto your interview with the hot professor?”
“Yeah. So? And I never said he was hot.”
She laughs. “Well, I’m sure he’s gonna be wishing you did after fantasizing about you and thathot librariangetup.”
“Lydia! He was not interested in anything like that,” I say, half convinced after the way he grabbed my wrist as he did. My hand rubs over the area.
“Hey, what did you mean when you said we wereinvitedto this thing earlier?”
“I got this official-looking envelope that was addressed to Sloane Keenan and Lydia Aston. I opened it, and it was an invitation to the meet and greet. I didn’t ask questions, okay? It’s Reverb,” she says, drawing out that last part. “Whatever, and who cares. We got invited, and we’re going.” She waves a hand at me. “Change, and hurry. We can’t be late.” She blows me a kiss as she heads downstairs to wait for me.
I walk down the stairs after quickly changing. I chose a pair of black leather shorts, with a Gothic-patterned, long-sleeved bodysuit. I took out the claw clip, letting my hair fall in natural waves. We take my Volvo and make it to the studio fifteen minutes early.
“You know, if you aren’t fifteen minutes early, you’re late,” Lydia says, as we get out of the car and make our way to the line of people waiting to get inside.Anotherline.
“What?” I respond, confused. She’s alwayssorandom. It’s hard to keep up sometimes.
“I don’t know. That’s what my mom used to say.” She grabs my forearm and starts jogging toward the line to beat a group of people walking up from our left. I don’t even resist. I stupidly jog right along with her.
“Is this strictly a meet and greet, or will they do a question and answer portion?” I ask, looking around at the people in line with us.
“I don’t know. Does it matter? I think they are going to play something, and then we get totouchthem for a picture,” she squeals.
“A picture? Of course.”Idiot. I should have figured, but my mind was only focused on finding out more about the frequency theory.
“Ahh, I’m so nervous,” she says, bouncing up and down on her toes.
“Why? They’re just normal people,” I say. I hate raining on her happy parade, but it’s the truth.
“You don’t get it.” She waves me off, and the line starts moving. “Oh, look! They’re letting people in now,” she says excitedly.
We move to the front of the line in about five minutes or so. When we reach the doors, we’re greeted by a big, muscular guy with a permanent scowl, who I assume is a bodyguard. He’sstanding next to a shorter woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and dark brown eyes. The woman reaches out to place a familiar-looking armband around our wrists.
“These are your entry bracelets. They allow us to keep a precise head count.” Her gaze meets mine, and her eyes linger, making me slightly uneasy. I’m almost positive that I see a flicker of recognition in the woman’s eyes, before she averts her gaze to look at Lydia.
“Okay, girls. Good to go. We hope you have awonderfultime.” She waves us forward and moves on to the people next in line.
We walk into an open seating area and take one of the chairs up front, like Lydia insists. I hate being this close to the front of anything. The unwanted attention is entirely too anxiety-provoking. It’s like saying, “Hey, look at me. Hey, call on me!” It makes me want to vomit just thinking about it.
“It’s gonna be fine, Lo,” Lydia says, reading the emotions that are likely written all over my face right now.
I sigh. “Don’t worry about me. You know I’d attend a million of these for you,” I say, turning and grabbing her hands in mine. She’s been through a lot, and seeing the smile that’s currently on her face is enough to drag me front row and centerevery time.
“You’re the best, Lo.” She smiles, turning to face forward as four men in beautiful masks and black cloaks all emerge from behind a large curtain. My eyes are drawn to one particular masked man as they take their places on the makeshift stage in front of us. Before I can reach over and ask Lydia what’s going on, the music starts playing.
The song is a slower one that I recognize from their most recent album. It’s beautiful and devastating, depicting the struggle of finally being seen but wanting to remain hidden. It flows through the challenges of being in the spotlight and wishing the music were enough. It makes me think of myconversation with Professor Riven when I went off on that tangent. I feel kind of sad for the band members
. Each note drags along my spine, eliciting goosebumps across my flesh. When my eyes scan the band members and land on Van, I find that he’s already watching me. It’s hard to tell if he’s lookingatme or just in my direction with his mask on. Nonetheless, my skin burns from the attention, causing me to shift in my seat. He seems to notice, tilting his head to the right before averting his attention elsewhere, and finishing the song. He doesn’t look my way again.
