After parking, I climb out of the truck and lock it, more conscious of protecting Ryen’s letters and my wad of notes than my wallet in the console.
I walk for the entrance but once inside, I don’t stop to look around. Square Hammer by Ghost plays as I weave through the crowd and make my way for the corner where I know I’ll find the rest of the guys. They always snatch up the seats over there when we party here.
“Misha!” someone calls out.
I glance up and nod at a guy standing with his buddies near a pillar. But I keep going. Hands pat my back and a few people say hi, but mostly I see everyone moving about, their laughter rivaling the music as phone screens light the air and pictures snap around me.
I guess Dane was right. Everyone seems to love the event.
The guys are exactly where I knew they’d be, sitting on couches in the corner. Dane works on the iPad, probably managing the event online. He’s dressed in cargo shorts and a T-shirt, his usual attire no matter what temperature it is outside. Lotus fastens his black hair into a ponytail as he talks to a couple of chicks, while Malcolm raises his bong to his mouth and lights the stem, his curly brown hair covering his, no doubt, blood-shot eyes.
Awesome.
“Alright, I’m here.” I lean down to the table, picking up the guitar cables one of them left laying in a spilled drink, and fling them to the couch. “Where do you want me?”
“Where do you think?” our drummer, Malcolm snaps. Smoke pours out of his mouth as he jerks his head to the crowd behind me. “They want you, pretty boy. Go make the rounds.”
I shoot a look over my shoulder, grimacing. “Yeah, no.” Getting up and singing or playing a guitar is one thing. I have a job then, and I know what to do.
But this? Humoring people I don’t know to raise money? We need the cash, and I have my gifts, but conversation is not one of them. I don’t mingle.
“I’ll do security,” I tell them.
“We don’t need security.” Dane stands up, the ever-present hint of a smile on his face. “Look at this place. Everything’s awesome.” He walks up to me, and we both turn to look out at the crowd. “Relax and go talk to someone. There’s tons of good-looking girls here.”
I cross my arms over my chest. Maybe. But I’m not staying long tonight. That song is still in my head, and I want to finish it.
Dane and I watch the crowd, and I see people carrying cards around, which they picked up at the door. Each one has various tasks to complete for the scavenger hunt.
Get a picture of a six-person pyramid.
Get a picture of a man with lipstick on.
Get a picture of you kissing a stranger.
And then some of the tasks get a little dirtier.
They have to upload the photos to Facebook, tag our band’s page, and we’ll pick a random winner to win…something. I forget. I wasn’t paying attention.
Everyone has to purchase a ticket to get in, but since there’s a full bar, it clearly—from the looks of it—wasn’t hard to draw a crowd and get people to pay the price. The bartenders are supposed to card everyone, but I know it’s bullshit. Everyone drinks and gets away with it in this town.
“So how are you doing?” Dane asks. “Your dad on your case again?”
“I’m fine.”
He pauses, and I know he wants to push harder, but he lets it go. “Well, you should’ve brought Annie. She would’ve liked this.”
“Not a chance.” I laugh, the scent of weed drifting into my nostrils. “My sister is off limits. You got that?”
“Hey, I didn’t say anything.” He feigns innocence, a cocky smile on his face. “I just think she works hard and could use some fun.”
“Fun, yes. Trouble, no,” I correct. “Annie’s on a good track and doesn’t need distractions. She has a future ahead of her.”
“And you don’t?”
I feel his eyes on me, the challenge lingering in the air. I didn’t say that, did I?
Dane stays quiet for a moment, probably wondering if I’ll answer, but again he just changes the subject.
“Alright, so check this out,” he says, leaning in closer and holding the iPad in front of me as he scrolls. “Four hundred and fifty-eight people have checked in already. Videos and photos are being posted, hundreds of tags, and people are even going live on their own profiles… This worked better than I could’ve imagined. The exposure is already paying off. Our YouTube videos have quadrupled in hits tonight.”
I glance at the screen, noticing our band’s name with a lot of pictures in the feed. Drinks are raised in the air, girls smile, and some videos play as he scrolls, showing the warehouse.
“You did good.” I gaze back out at the warehouse. “Looks like the tour is bankrolled.”
I have to hand it to him. Everyone’s having fun, and we’re making money.
“Come by tomorrow,” I tell him. “I have some lyrics I want to try out.”
“Fine,” he answers. “Now do me a favor and go relax, please. You look like you’re at a chess tournament.”
I shoot him a scowl and grab the iPad out of his hands, letting him walk back to the guys, laughing.
Drifting around the action, I scroll the feed as I walk, recognizing lots of names of friends and classmates who showed up to support us. The small fires from the pits waft through my nostrils, and I study a picture of a guy with the word HORSE written in Sharpie over his fly. A girl points to it, posing for the camera with her hand over her mouth in surprise. The caption reads, I found a horse!
I laugh. Of course, some of the tasks, like snap a picture of yourself with a horse, can’t be done unless you get really creative. Good for her.
There are a zillion pics and videos, and I don’t know how Dane’s going to sort through all this shit tomorrow. Though, knowing him, the winner won’t be random and fair at all. He’ll just choose the best looking girl from the photos.
Scrolling down, I spot a video that starts playing, and I watch as a girl takes a bar gun, faces it upward and away from herself, spraying water. It shoots up and then falls back down like a fountain.
She performs a sexy little dance move and laughs at the camera. “I’m standing in a fountain!” she announces, her breasts barely contained in her tank top.
A tank top she’s wearing in the chilly New England February weather.
But then one of the bartenders snatches the gun out of the girl’s hand and sets it back in place at the bar, shooting her an annoyed look.
I hear a quiet laugh from the other side of the camera.
The girl in the tank top reaches for the phone. “Okay, that was embarrassing. Give it here. I need to edit it before I post it.”
“Uh, uh,” the female voice behind the camera taunts as she backs away.
But tank top girl charges her, squealing, “Ryen!” And then I hear laughter, and the video ends.
I stand there, staring at the iPad, my heart slowly starting to pound in my chest.
Ryen?
The girl behind the camera is named Ryen?
No, it’s not her. It can’t be. There are tons of girls who probably have that name. She wouldn’t be here.
But I look at the video, and my gaze is drawn to the names at the top of the post. She’d tagged the band and a few other people, but then I look at the name of the person who posted it.
Ryen Trevarrow.
I straighten my back, my chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
Oh, my God.
Shit! I instantly look up, unable to stop myself from scanning the crowd, drifting from face to face.
Any one of these girls could be her. She’s here? What the fuck?
I look down at the iPad again and hover my finger over her name, hesitating.
Seven years I’ve known her, but I’ve never seen her face. If I search her out now, there’s no going back.
But she’s here. I can’t not look for her. Not when I know she could be within arm’s reach.
That’s too much to ask of anyone.
And we never promised we wouldn’t look each other up on Facebook. We simply said we wouldn’t communicate on social media. For all I know she’s searched for me. She could be looking for me right now, knowing what band I belong to and that this is our event. Maybe that’s why she’s here.
Fuck it. I tap her name and stand frozen as her profile comes up.