Everyone, including me.
Holy shit. It’sher.
The girl front row of my game.
Andthis…this is the song from halftime when I tried to drown everybody out.
It’s like the crowd is stuck in a trance, listening to a siren cast her spell, luring each and every one of us to our death, and nobody seems to give a damn.
My mouth has gone bone dry, hanging wide open, my clammy hands now balled into fits against my knees.
I don’t think I’ve ever gone to a concert and listened so hard to the lyrics before. I’ve never paid this much attention. And suddenly, Noelle’s reaction to seeing her makes all the sense in the world.
Heartbreak.
My sister’s features are softened in the dim lighting, not phased by how her tears stain her makeup-covered cheeks.
We’re close enough to the stage to see the emotion all over the singer’s face and how her voice portrays what she feels so easily.
Goosebumps. Everywhere. And honestly? I don’t even care.
Her lyrics tell me this girl has been through all kinds of pain. Felt every type of sadness, and she’s letting the world know about it, one song at a time.
By the time the final notes of her last song fade, my hands hurt from clapping, my throat ripped to shreds from cheering her on.
I don’t think I would have this kind of reaction to seeing Akira live.
This girl is…angelic.
"Might wanna wipe the drool off your bottom lip before we go backstage, brother," Ryder says, and I hear Orlando snort to hide his amusement from beside me. "She might get the wrong idea about you."
In all the commotion, he and Noelle switched places, and I hadn’t realized.
I wipe my lip, and my finger comes up dry.
"You look like you just fell in love, Avery," my manager teases, an arrogant smirk slapped across his stupid face.
"Fuck off. She’s talented. You’d have to be an absolute idiot if you can’tsee that," I mutter, throwing my hood over my head to hide the redness I feel forming on my cheeks, while joining the crowd with Olive’s well-earned standing ovation.
It’s hard to get her name wrong when it’s written in bold letters on every screen.
"Yeah, she is!" Harley shouts, so proud of the girl everybody just witnessed create magic.
And when she walks off stage, there’s chaos all around us. Everybody’s voices hoarse as they scatter for a toilet break, or a drink break, but not us. "Anybody with VIP tickets. Please head backstage for a meet and greet. Have your passes ready," a random lady says, commanding our attention.
Noelle squeals like a twelve-year-old girl.
Here we go.
Chapter seven
Olive
"Alright,yourguitargoesover there," Josie says, her tone calm, but with finality as she nudges her head over her shoulder toward the rack with my name on it. "Move those legs, Olive, we have a meet and greet to get to."
"I—what?" It comes out thin, panicked. I’m already waiting for her to laugh and tell me she’s joking, that there’s a camera crew around me, and I’m being Punk’d.
But no, nothing comes.
