I’ve almost made it through their entire set, and I am so stunned by this revelation that I actually wonder if I will lose consciousness after all.
I spin to Hennie with wide eyes. ‘Hen, look.I live!’ My voice is high and giddy with disbelief.
Her lips twist into a crumpled smile. ‘Yeah, you live,’ she shouts over the noise before throwing her arms around my middle. ‘It was all in The Plan, babes.’
Keeping my hand entwined with Hennie’s, we leap up and down in time with the music and I almost lose my tiara thanks to my enthusiasm.
For those three blissful minutes, there is only the music, Hennie and I. Making sharp judgements of my surroundings is something I do every waking moment of my life, but watching Queen Ego unlocks something inside me for the first time. All I can hear is Aga’s screeching guitar and Rosie’s husky voice, and it’s all too easy to lose myself in it.
They finally reach the end of the song and all the band members are on their feet, hands held up in the air as a sign of thanks. I clap my hands above my head and scream as loud as my voice will let me. It’s likely that my vocal cords are considerably, permanently damaged at this stage. But who cares? Not I.
Rosie places the mic back on the stand and casts a grateful smile at the crowd. ‘Thank you, Firecrest!’
The crowd explodes with cheers and screams again, and Teddy, Martin and Aga step forward to all bow together arm in arm. Aga throws her guitar pick to the eager hands around us and Teddy takes a step forward with his two drumsticks –I realise he’s about to throw them into the crowd and for a second I wonder if I have an above-average chance of catching it. Hoping for the best, I desperately reach my hands out towards him.
He throws one drumstick to the very front of the crowd, and then he throws the other drumstick –directly– at me.
It soars toward me with considerable speed, and I worry for a fraction of a second that it might spin straight into my eye and render me blind for the rest of the festival.
Wasting no time, I leap up above my crowd-mates nonetheless to reach towards it, and realise with utter disbelief and elation as it comes my way… I’m going to catch it.
A tiny piece of Queen Ego is going to belong to me.
Other hands reach up in a frenzy but can’t quite get to its height.
I spread my fingers as wide as they’ll possibly go and reach for it – just inches away now – as I realise there is another hand alarmingly close to mine directly to my left, which is also uncomfortably close to what I can tell is the drumstick’s projected location in milliseconds.
I push up onto my tiptoes and almost crash into the back of the man in front of me to reach it when I feel it hit my palm with a hard sting.
I wrap my fingers around it as tightly as they’ll go, but alarm bells are blaring in my mind. I can still feel the brush of contact against my arm of the other fan going for it.
And I see what happens next in slow motion: a pale, strong hand grabbing hold of the drumstick right next to my own. Horrified, I try to keep a tight grip on it, pulling it back down towards my body when I feel a harsh resistance and my arm being pulled to my left. I yelp from the suddenness of it.
Before I know it, the drumstick is between myself and the chest of a man. I recognise the t-shirt immediately and look upto see the same piercing blue eyes from earlier staring at me with bewilderment.
My body freezes as I notice his hesitant expression, his eyes studying my face curiously. His pale face is framed with a head of almost-black, perfectly messy hair and a jawline so sharp that it instantly annoys me to look at.
My immediate concern is that he’ll use physical force to tear it out of my grasp. But… he doesn’t. He just studies me with that same inscrutable, wary expression. My gaze seems to be attached to his, and I can only assume we must both be in shock.
My concern starts to twist into something bordering on hysteria.
As much as I would like to kick him in the shin and run with it, I should probably reserve my feral instincts until they’re absolutely necessary. I don’t have a history of being violent, but I’m realising now that perhaps I’m not above it.
I try my best to smile politely.
‘Well,’ I say with a breathy laugh. ‘Wow. This is weird.’
He merely frowns at me in response. I try not to gawp at him.
This could almost be funny if it weren’t for the fact that things like this are simply notsupposed to happen. I have so many questions. Such as: why is he here? Andwhydoes he look like that?
It is fascinating that he’s apparently unwilling to acknowledge the situation at all. Honestly I hope things stay that way, as it might make claiming the drumstick for myself a little easier. I decide to make my case as quickly and clearly as possible.
‘Um, I’m sorry,’ I start, forcing a polite smile. ‘I know this is an awkward situation but I’m pretty sure I caught this first. Would you please be a – I don’t know – a good sport and let go?’
He searches my face again for a moment before appearing to snap back into consciousness.
‘I don’t think that’s exactly what happened,’ he says carefully. There’s a deep frown carved into his brow and a gravelly texture to his voice that I wasn’t expecting. ‘It’s pretty bad timing but I think we both know we caught this at the same time.’
