“Having fun?” Devon yells into my ear.
And ow, that was loud, but I nod and smile, because I am having fun. Sure, rap’s not my favorite, but it hardly matters when you’ve got floor tickets to the sold-out concert everyone in school’s been talking about for ages. The energy in the stadium alone would be enough to make any rap hater have a good time. And Jay-Z hasn’t even come out yet.
The lights dim suddenly, and a slow beat—not unlike the ones common in slasher movies—blasts through the speakers. The crowd hushes. Random images flash across giant screens set up in all corners of the building. Smoke billows from the very pores of the stage. An explosion sounds, eliciting gasps from the audience, and then floodlights pour blue light across the stage, and Jay-Z is there. The stadium erupts into savage cheers just as the first notes of his latest song begin.
Jay-Z strides across the stage—Jay-Z is right in front of me, holy crap, Jay-Z’s red sneakers just walked past me!—and the crowd surges forward, so Devon and I get smushed up against the stage. Which would be totally painful if I weren’t so freaking happy about being smushed up against my boyfriend at a Jay-Z concert. This is the best—best—night of my life.
So what if we hardly get to talk, and when we do get a chance, conversation is stilted and awkward like it never was before. And so what if at intermission we have to stand in line for approximately seventeen minutes to get a bottle of water, and then Devon doesn’t even pay for mine. And really, I don’t mind when Devon sees his football buddy, Ian, and runs off so they can smash their chests together in a testosterone-fueled greeting, then go on to badly sing Jay-Z lyrics for what feels like forever while I twiddle my thumbs by the concession stand.
Mere blips. I stand by my statement: best night of my life.
“Indigo!”
I search the packed lobby for the face belonging to the vaguely familiar voice calling my name. I do a double take when my eyes land on Leather Jacket Guy, leaning casually against a wall with his hands jammed in the pockets of his black pants. A chill ripples through me.
He followed me.
Leather pushes off the wall. For a moment I lose sight of his black waves among the sea of bodies crowding the lobby, and I panic. When he pops up again, it’s nearly right in front of me.
I gasp, clapping a hand to my pounding heart. “Did you follow me?” I ask, trying to keep my eyes on him while simultaneously scanning the lobby for Devon.
“I’m here for the music,” he answers.
I snort, despite my fear. One look at his smirk and I know he’s lying.
“Does your mom know you’re out this late?” he asks.
“Okay, getting creepy there, Leather Jacket Dude,” I say. “Should I memorize your features for the police lineup now or later?”
“I’m just saying, it’s late.”
“And? I’m not twelve.”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t check in with your mom. Innocent suggestion here.” With that, he gives me a little wave and disappears back into the crowd.
My throat goes dry. My missed phone call from Mom, the fact that she didn’t call back, didn’t show up to the game—something’s wrong. really wrong. I frantically dig my phone out of my purse and punch in Mom’s number.
It rings ten times before going to voice mail.
I try once more, but my luck doesn’t get any better. Finally, I stow my phone and search for Devon. I spot his blond hair in a group of guys and cross the lobby to give his arm a violent shake. He glances at me before holding up the universal “one-minute” signal. I shake him harder.
Releasing a heavy sigh, he reluctantly turns to me. “Ind, I was in the middle of—”
“I need to go home.”
“Home? What are you talking about? Are you drunk?” He makes to turn back to his friends but I yank his arm.
“The guy from the football game you told me not to talk to, he was just here and he said some really creepy shit and now I’m worried about my mom.”
“That guy was here?” he asks.
“Yeah, which you would have seen if you were paying any attention to me at all.”
“Oh, come on,” he starts, but I cut him off because that argument can so wait.
“I think he followed me.”
He puffs up his chest and scans the lobby. “You see him again, you tell me. I’ll take care of it.”
Seriously?
“That’s great,” I say. “But we have to go.”
“Go? It's only intermission!”
I glare at him.
He wraps an arm around me and pulls me into him. “You can’t seriously be suggesting we leave based on what some crazy guy said? I’m sure your mom’s fine.”
“I’m worried,” I mumble. More like warble.
He kisses the top of my head. “We’ll call the cops after the show and you can tell them all about the guy. Does that make you feel better?”