by Alice Oseman
‘I’m so sorry,’ he says, and he sounds like he’s apologising for humanity itself. ‘I … that’s not … I didn’t want to do it like that.’
‘Do … do what?’ My voice is little more than a hoarse whisper.
‘Tell you,’ he says.
My stomach lurches again. This can’t be happening now. This is the wrong time. He’s never … I’d never have guessed—
‘You don’t have to … like me back,’ he says, and his voice breaks but I can’t tell whether he’s laughing or trying not to cry. ‘But please don’t hate me.’
‘I-I don’t hate you,’ I say, because I can’t get out what I really want to say, which is that I love him, but not really in that way, I mean, not right now at least, and I want to help him, I don’t want him to keep drinking all the time, but we’re all dealing with shit, and I don’t know anything about the world, and I thought the three of us would be friends forever. I can’t deal with these unsaid feelings. I don’t want to know about them. I don’t want to think about them.
Eventually he pulls back and steps away from me, releasing me from where I’m trapped against the sinks. He turns away from me without another word and starts walking towards the door.
‘Only one more show! Then we can rest in peace!’ He sounds cheerful but I’m still reeling from what just happened and ‘rest in peace’ keeps ringing around my brain, again, and again, and again.
‘I’m gonna die,’ I say again, as we’re walking out of the tube station towards the O2 arena. ‘I’m gonna die. I’m literally gonna die.’
‘Wouldn’t recommend that,’ says Juliet, as if she’s been on a two-week holiday to Death and gave it two out of five on TripAdvisor.
There are The Ark fans all around us, also walking towards the O2. Though we may be typecast as screaming twelve-year-olds, The Ark fans are in fact a hugely diverse crowd of people. There are tweens wearing Ark T-shirts and face paint and holding big handmade signs saying ‘I LOVE YOU, LISTER’ and ‘ROWAN, JIMMY, LISTER’ in a big heart. There are teens with coloured hair, wearing all black, thick biker boots and ripped skinny jeans and denim jackets. There are older teens dressed like they’re going out to a club, make-up sharp and edgy, wearing heels and holding sparkly clutches. And there are even adults – younger adults, sure, but adults nonetheless – here because the love for The Ark still burns in their hearts, because they still scream along in the car when The Ark are on the radio, because, like all of us, they don’t care what other people think; they’re just here to be happy.
That’s the common theme, I think. We are all here to be happy.
Well, maybe apart from Juliet.
Juliet has been in a bad mood all day and I don’t know why. Why wouldn’t she be happy today, the day that we’ve been waiting for?
She’s been hanging out with Mac, hasn’t she? The love of her damn life?
What exactly is her problem?
The meet-and-greet area is a huge room with a roped queue and a curtained-off area where we get ten seconds to say hi to the boys and take a photo with them.
I am wearing one of my most edgy and best outfits, which includes a button-up baseball shirt with the word ‘Angels’ on it (an incredible find from my aunt and uncle’s holiday to Los Angeles last year) over a long-sleeved top. While it’s not really making me any less nervous about meeting The Ark, I at least feel like myself, which is the most important thing.
I’ve also rehearsed (in my mind) exactly what I’m going to say to them.
Jimmy/Lister/Rowan:
Hey, how are you?
Angel:
I’m great, thanks! I’m so happy to be meeting you guys! I’ve been listening to your music since I was thirteen.
Hopefully Jimmy:
No way, really!
Angel:
Yeah, you guys have allowed me to make some amazing friends and you’ve shaped all my teenage life with your music. I hope you’ll continue to make music forever!
Hopefully Jimmy:
That’s our plan! Thanks so much for coming!
Then I’ll ask them for a photo in which Jimmy and Rowan are holding my hands and Lister is doing a peace sign behind my head.
And then I can rest in peace.
The room is already half full, despite it being over two hours before the meet-and-greet starts at four o’clock. I spot a couple of people I know from Twitter, and a couple of others who attended Tuesday’s meet-up, but I’m too fidgety to go and say hi. I just keep babbling to Juliet and Mac, even though Juliet isn’t saying much and Mac looks like he’d rather be at the dentist.
Ten minutes into the two hours we have left to wait, Juliet says, ‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ and disappears, leaving me and Mac alone.
I’m not going to let anything get me down.
I’m not going to let Mac wind me up.
I’m going to see The Ark.
And then I can die happy.
‘How long do we have to wait, again?’ he asks.
‘Two hours,’ I say.
He makes a face of disgust. ‘Two hours? We’ve got to wait for two hours?’
I feel my smile twitch.
‘Got a problem?’ I ask him.
He shrugs and looks away. ‘No.’
‘Good.’
We stand in silence for a moment.
‘She doesn’t know yet, then?’ I say.
He looks up at me in alarm. ‘Know what?’
‘Know that you hate The Ark.’
‘I don’t hate The Ark.’
‘That you’re not a true fan.’
He snorts. ‘True fan. You talk about them like they’re a religion, or something.’
‘What are you even going to say to them?’ I ask. ‘Hi, I’m Mac, I’ve never actually listened to your music properly, I’m only here because I lied to get a girl to like me—’
‘Just lay off, this isn’t any of your business—’
‘Juliet is my best friend, so, yeah, I think it’s my business—’
‘Best friend!?’ Mac laughs. ‘Best friend? You only met her this week.’
‘We’ve been talking to each other online for years—’
‘So? That doesn’t mean anything compared to real life.’
‘How are you any different to me?’ I feel myself snapping. I don’t want to, but God I hate this guy. ‘We’re in exactly the same position.’
‘No,’ he says. ‘I wanted to meet Juliet so we could get to know each other better. You wanted to meet her because you have this selfish need to have someone to talk to about the things you care about. Are you even interested in properly being friends with her? Talking to her about anything apart from a fucking boy band?’
He abruptly stops talking and glances behind me, and I turn and see Juliet gloomily making her way back through the room.
I try to think of a clap back, but nothing comes in time.
The queue is almost full now – almost everyone has arrived and the excitement is real.
I wish Juliet would wake up and enjoy this with me.
I wish Mac would stop glaring at me behind her back.
There are only ten minutes before The Ark are supposedly going to appear. I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like, seeing them this close for the first time. I don’t know what I’m going to feel.
They will be good feelings. That I know.
I feel like I’ve come to the end of a pilgrimage.
‘What are you gonna say to them?’ I ask Juliet. Maybe we just need to talk about it a bit. Get her hyped up. Then she’ll be more excited about it.
Juliet blinks slowly. ‘Oh, er, I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.’
Oh.
‘Are you gonna get a selfie?’ I ask her.
‘Yeah, probably.’
I bite my lip.
‘Aren’t you excited?’ I ask, and instantly regret it.
She turns to me, eyes wide, almost like she’s about to cry.
‘I’ve just … th
ere’s been …’ she begins, but then swallows and looks away. ‘Yeah, yes. Yes, I’m really excited.’
Maybe she’s just nervous.
It is two minutes till four. There are only two minutes to go until we see them for real, in the flesh, living and breathing and three-dimensional.
The boys.
Our boys.
I get chatting to a group of girls, a bit younger than us, in the queue behind us. They’re German, and have travelled here from Germany after failing to get tickets to the Germany tour dates. Even I think this is kind of crazy, but I guess some people actually have money to do things like get trains and planes to go to other countries. I only managed to get to London because I saved all my birthday money and Eid money.
‘It’s nice that you’ve got a boy with you,’ says one of them in incredibly perfect English. I’m terrible at languages and immediately feel jealous. ‘It’s a shame that there aren’t many fans of The Ark who are boys.’ She points at Mac, who turns round to look at her.
I glance at Mac. ‘I know, right!’ I pat him on the shoulder. ‘This is Mac. He’s a big fan, all right!’
Mac chuckles nervously. ‘Yeah!’
I notice Juliet start paying attention to our conversation.
‘I wonder why that is,’ I say. ‘Why girls like The Ark more than boys.’
‘I think it’s because they’re nice,’ says one of the German girls. We all look at her, and she shrugs. ‘You know that they’re good people, from their YouTube videos and their interviews. They’re not like normal musicians. It feels like they’re our friends and they understand us and care about us.’
The girl’s friends all nod and voice their agreement.
‘And that’s what girls like,’ says another of the girls. ‘Boys that are nice and good. Not attractive.’
They all laugh. Mac forces himself to join in.
‘So, Mac,’ says another girl, ‘which Ark boy is your favourite?’
‘Oh … er, well …’ He pauses and I see the panic flash across his face.
Everyone looks at him.
‘Probably … Owen?’ he says.
There’s a long pause.
‘Owen,’ I say, and then laugh. ‘I sure do love Owen from The Ark.’
The German girls laugh and start chatting among themselves again.
‘Wait –’ says Mac. ‘Hang on, I meant—’
‘We know what you meant,’ I say to him.
And then I look at Juliet.
If she’d been grumpy before, she’s distraught now.
‘Owen …?’ she says.
‘I meant …’ says Mac, but he can’t even remember Rowan’s name.
‘I know exactly what you meant,’ says Juliet. She nods and laughs. ‘I know exactly what you meant.’
For someone so small, she suddenly looks terrifying.
‘You’re not really an Ark fan, are you?’ she says.
‘What? That’s – I—’
‘You just lied about it to me this whole time because you fancy me, don’t you?’ she says.
Mac goes a deep red colour. ‘It’s not … like that …’
‘What is it like, then?’ Juliet grins at him. It’s vicious. ‘Go on.’
But he can’t think of anything to say.
‘Bliss was right,’ she whispers, almost to herself. ‘Oh my God.’
The silence after that is broken only by screams, and I already know what is happening before I turn to look.
The Ark are here.
‘There’s queue ropes, right?’ I ask whoever’s listening – Rowan, Lister, Cecily, a random O2 employee, our security guard. ‘There’s, like, a fence, or, like, a gate …’
We are standing in a corridor outside the meet-and-greet room. There are several security guards and O2 employees around us going through what’s about to happen. I’m trying to talk while also doing deep-breathing exercises, which is not working.
Rowan squeezes my shoulder. ‘Jimmy … come on, calm down.’
‘Do you think they’re going to ask us about … like … the stuff that’s happened this week … the Jowan photo …’
‘You don’t have to answer anything they ask you, Jimmy. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. There are three of us.’
‘Do you think they’re gonna read something into this hoodie?’ I hold out the sleeves of my hoodie, which read ‘TRUTH’ and ‘LIE’ respectively. They always overanalyse stuff like that.
Rowan shakes his head. ‘Come on, it’s just a hoodie, for God’s sake.’
‘They’ll want me to say something. They’re gonna want me to say something.’ I can’t control my breathing. Everyone else has started to notice. ‘About the photo or Rowan or Bliss or—’
‘Hey, Jimmy,’ Lister interrupts, leaning heavily onto my shoulder. He’s sparkling; he’s a beacon of contemporary beauty. I don’t feel like I’m here. ‘Don’t worry. If any of them ask you about the photo, I’ll change the topic and start talking about my affair with—’
‘Are you drunk?’ Rowan hisses at him. The slurring in Lister’s voice is unmistakable.
Lister narrows his eyes and frowns.
‘Probably,’ he says.
‘What the fuck?’ Rowan shakes his head.
Rowan pulls me away from the group and puts his hands on my shoulders.
‘I know a lot of shit’s happened this week,’ says Rowan in that very parental voice he puts on when I’m freaking out about something unnecessary, ‘and I know that makes your anxiety worse, but you’ve got to calm down. Nothing bad has happened to you, Jimjam. Nothing bad is happening to you.’
‘Everything’s bad.’
‘Nothing bad is going to happen to you.’
But it feels like it is.
‘I am not afraid,’ says Rowan softly. ‘Remember?’
‘I am not afraid,’ I whisper, but the second half of that quote, I was born for this, swirls around my mind and makes me want to run.
I can hear the rain outside. Wait – no. That’s not rain.
That’s the girls.
The screams mean that they are very happy that we are here.
I focus on the air a few metres ahead of me so that the hoard of fans goes blurry. We are standing at one end of the room and the fans are gathered in a roped queue that winds all the way around the room. I smile at the blur and salute at them, the things I always do. I faintly register Rowan waving on my right and Lister waving on my left. Lister calls out, asking them how they’re doing, but they just scream back at him. Lister says we’re looking forward to meeting them and we’ll be just behind this curtain and he hopes they’ve been having a good day so far and he hopes they’re looking forward to the concert tonight. And then we are turning away and walking behind the curtain and my smile can drop and once we’re totally out of sight Rowan is squeezing my hand but I’m gone, I’m already gone, I’m up above the three of us and gazing down at the three bodies and wondering who on Earth decided that these three pathetically flawed human beings deserved so much worship.
Then the first girl appears from the other side of the curtain and she is so happy. And we are so happy to meet you. Have you had a good day so far? Would you like to take a selfie?
They are so happy.
They look so much happier than they do in photos.
Jimmy’s smile is so wide – a youthful, dreamlike grin – as he gazes over the crowd, almost surprised even, surprised and happy that so many people would want to come here to see him. He’s wearing a hoodie with Donnie Darko on it. God. I love him. I love him.
Rowan’s smile is close-lipped but there is light in his eyes and he looks proud, so proud to be here, so proud of all the things that he and his two best friends have achieved throughout their lives together.
Lister is the one doing the talking this time. I’d hoped it’d be Jimmy, but I don’t mind really, not when Lister looks like Paradise itself, glowing, warm and alive.
They are so beautiful.
H
ow could three people so beautiful exist in a world like this?
Once I have looked at them all separately, I look at the trio together. There is something inexplicable tying them together. Rowan and Lister stand symmetrically waving, Rowan always on Jimmy’s left and Lister always on Jimmy’s right. Both that little bit taller than Jimmy, who is the heart and the centre of The Ark. Rowan and Lister revolve around him like the three make up a solar system. I feel an inexplicable fear of them separating. Imagining them on their own is impossible.
Then they disappear behind the curtain. And all is right in the world.
I quickly lose count of how many people we’ve met and greeted and watched disappear again behind the curtain. We quickly find a routine where the three of us say exactly the same thing each time. The fan walks towards us, Lister says hey, how are you, they reply, Rowan answers them if they say anything that needs a response (for example, if they tell us how much they love us, or how we’ve changed their life, etc.), and then I say how glad we are that they came to see us. Then Rowan suggests he take the selfie, because he has the longest arms.
And then they’re gone.
And everything is fine. Everything is okay.
Rowan was right. Of course. Nothing is going to happen.
Almost everyone wishes me happy birthday. And a lot of the fans ask me what I did to my hand. I tell them I accidentally smashed a mug.
‘I heard about that online,’ says someone, which hits me so off guard that I fail to say anything in response, and Rowan has to quickly interrupt with another, ‘Do you want me to take a selfie? I have the longest arms!’
I have no idea how long we’ve been going when we’re offered a five-minute break. Sometimes we don’t take breaks when they offer them, but Rowan takes one look at me and says, ‘Yeah, just five minutes, if that’s all right,’ and someone gives me a bottle of water, which I drink half of in about ten seconds.
Lister sits down on the floor.
‘How you doing?’ Rowan murmurs to me.
‘Fine,’ I say.
I want to tell him about Lister and that I’m terrified of the fans and what’s the point of being in a band when all it’s doing is causing us misery?
