“Ethan broke up with her,” Noelle says, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “About a week ago.”
“Really?” I say, shifting in my seat. Lacey wasn’t at band practice last weekend, but aside from that, nothing seemed amiss. Ethan hasn’t been acting brokenhearted or depressed. In fact, he didn’t mention her even once this week. Not to me, anyway. Then again, he’s been acting sort of cagey around me since he hugged me in his car. “That’s too bad.”
“Yeah.” She watches me for a moment before returning her focus to the road.
The community center is near the middle school, and luckily we don’t need to take Fulham Road to get there. When we arrive, the parking lot is full and I can already hear the distant thump of music coming from inside. It gets louder as we approach.
I stick close to Noelle and Julia as we pay admission and go inside. The place is teeming with people, mostly teenagers, but I see a few who look college-age. At the far end of the room, dozens of bodies surround a small stage, which is currently in use by a band that sounds part metal, part operatic. The sheer volume coming from the speakers makes my eardrums quiver, and I know I’m in for at least a day of hearing loss after this.
“I just texted Corey,” Julia yells over the music as we wind through the mob. “They’re in the back room next to the bathrooms.”
The three of us crane our necks, searching for a bathroom sign. Noelle spots it first and veers left, motioning for us to follow. I try to keep up while simultaneously doing everything humanly possible not to bump into people. It isn’t easy. My stomach tightens with rising panic.
Several minutes later, the crowd spits us out into a long, dimly lit hallway. The bathrooms are clearly marked but the “back room” isn’t, so we keep going, following the sound of voices to the only open door. As soon as we step in the room, the knot in my stomach loosens. This area is busy too, but unlike the frenzied crowd we just came from, the vibe in here is definitely quieter and more relaxed. It’s like some sort of holding room—bands waiting their turn onstage, lounging around on plastic chairs and tuning unplugged guitars.
Julia and Noelle head straight for their boyfriends, who are across the room talking to another band. Kel is nowhere to be found, which doesn’t surprise me, because he’s always disappearing and keeping the other guys waiting. But I stop wondering about Kel and his whereabouts the moment my gaze lands on Ethan.
He’s slouched in one of the plastic chairs near the corner of the room, one foot propped on another chair in front of him. His guitar rests against his stomach, but he’s not strumming or tuning like everyone else. He looks relaxed and peaceful and infinitely less nervous than he’d been since yesterday.
I make my way over and claim the chair next to his. “How’s it going?” I ask, giving him a quick once-over. His face has regained some color, and he’s no longer fidgeting.
“Better now,” he says, still smiling.
“Why? Did Hunter slip you some tranquilizers?”
Before he can answer, Kel plunks down in the chair on my other side and says, “Nope, not tranquilizers. Beer. We all slammed a few in the parking lot about an hour ago.”
I turn to stare Ethan down. So that’s why he’s so calm. I want to ask him how much he drank, but that would make me seem mother-hen-like, so I resist. I’m not his big sister and I don’t want to be.
“Two,” he says. “I only had two.”
I shrug like it’s none of my business how many beers he slams in the parking lot. His eyes flick to Kel’s arm, which rests on the back of my chair. He’s not touching me, thankfully, but I can feel the heat of his skin on my back. It’s not entirely unpleasant, but I still don’t want him touching me.
A chubby guy with greasy red hair and a clipboard in his hand appears in the doorway. “Realm,” he barks. “You’re up next. Ten minutes.”
Ethan drops his foot from the chair and sits up straight, his face going white again. Two beers only go so far. My fingers itch to touch him, to squeeze his hand, to do something to let him know he’ll be okay, but all I can do is catch his eye and smile. He smiles back tremulously and stands up to join the rest of the band. They all walk out together, and Noelle, Julia, and I follow close behind.
For some reason, I expect it to be like a real concert, with the band walking out onstage and playing with barely a pause in between. But high school bands don’t have roadies and sound guys, so it takes several minutes for them to adjust their sound before they can start. When they finally do, it’s even louder than the last act.
“Come on,” Noelle screams in my ear. “Let’s get closer to the stage.”
Closer to the stage means heat and pressing bodies and not enough air. Bad idea. “I think I’ll hang out back here.”
Noelle tilts her head at me. “You sure? I’ll stay with you, then.”
“No.” I nod toward the stage. “Go stand where Hunter can see you.”
“If you’re really sure . . .”
I nod again, and she squeezes my elbow before disappearing into the throng with Julia. Once they’re out of sight, I find a vacant pocket of space at the back of the room and lean against the wall. Even though I’m as far away as possible from the stage, I can still see the band. Or at least their heads. A portion of the audience is in my line of sight too, and most of the girls seem to be watching Kel. Not all of them, though. Some of them—the ones who probably think Kel is too pretty and prefer the ruggedly good-looking type—watch Ethan.
And despite trying to convince myself otherwise, I’m one of them.
It’s hard to tell from back here, but I think he’s found his groove. He’s not puking, anyway, and he definitely looks less terrified. By the end of their set (originals sandwiched between covers, like he suggested), he’s even smiling. The audience claps and cheers as they leave the stage, and I’m relieved for them. They did great.
I lose track of everyone when the crowd near the stage starts to disperse. Suddenly, I’m trapped against the wall as people file toward the exit a few feet away from me. I stay perfectly still, waiting for an opening and trying not to panic. A girl steps on my foot, then shoots me a glare like it’s my fault. That does it for me. Crossing my arms over my chest, I zigzag my way toward the bathroom and slip inside. This room, too, is mobbed. I back out again and stand next to the door, prepared to wait it out. I can hear the next band gearing up on stage.
Five minutes pass before I finally see Ethan. He’s at the other end of the hallway, emerging from the back room. As he approaches, I notice his face is even whiter than it was earlier.
“Hey,” he says when he reaches me, and that’s when I hear the telltale shortness of breath, which I know is one of the warning signs.
“Are you all right?” I ask, alarmed. I’ve only seen him have a full-blown asthma attack once, when he was about twelve, and it was scary as hell.