by Rachel Shane
With Isla leading us, we bypass the line snaking around the side of the building and enter without showing tickets. Zack Bellinger steps out of the line and tries to tag along, but Isla shoos him away. Inside, Isla pushes through the mosh pit crowd and leads us to the front row. Canned music blasts from the speakers. She flashes her management pass at several people pressed against the edge of the stage. They shoot us dirty looks as they relinquish their spots.
I tap Sabrina on the shoulder. She bends to my height, and I whisper, “We need to go backstage.”
She nods and whispers something in Isla’s ear.
Isla hesitates, glancing from the stage to the back door.
“Am I in your band?” she asks me.
Does this mean she won’t take me backstage unless I agree? The night she performed with us here was strictly an emergency situation in my opinion, but there’s only one answer to this ultimatum. I meet her eyes while crossing my fingers behind my back. “Yeah. Sure.”
She stares at me for a moment. “You sound like you’re giving in.” She blinks rapidly. “God, I’m so stupid. I thought…never mind.” She tugs Sabrina by the arm toward the backstage area.
Sabrina’s eyes go wide. As she moves away from me, she mouths, “Stay.”
“Graffiti,” I yell. “The wall!”
That’s all I manage to get out before the crowd erupts in cheers. Isla and Sabrina disappear backstage just as Scream Parade takes their positions. Tattoos color their bare arms, so dense they could pass for long sleeves. Their wild hair bounces as they lope to their places, and they have enough piercings to make airport security quit their jobs. Instead of greeting the audience with a hello, or even just starting one of their songs, the lead singer grabs the mic stand, pulls it close to his body, and attempts to lose his voice by screaming as loud as possible.
I’m standing so close to the speaker that I jump and knock into the kid next to me. A domino effect ensues, and before the music even begins, I’ve started the mosh pit going. The music throbs in my ears, all screams and power chords.
I can’t get my bearings as the crowd envelopes me, pushing me one way and then the other. Hands grope my body, sometimes in places I don’t want them to touch. A mosher crashes into me, and I sail in the opposite direction until my shoulder slams into the speaker. I try to weave through the crowd, but the bodies form a thick fence around me.
The person next to me steps on his friend’s shoulder and ascends above the crowd like parade float. He knees me in the back of the head, and I duck to avoid further violence. I spend one second too long bent over, and the crowd crunches me. I fall to the floor, face first, my purse sandwiched between my chest and the floor, my palms pressed against the sticky ground.
Legs surround me like tall trees. Someone steps on my back, and I let out an oof, all the wind knocked out of me. I’m so petite, most people probably can’t see me from above. I try to push myself up, but someone kicks me back down. A shoe presses down on my fingertips, the pressure snapping my finger on impact. I cry out but no one hears. The space is too tight, and I have nowhere to go.
Someone grabs onto my shirt, pulls me up, and wraps their arms around my back to steady me. My hand throbs, but I don’t let the pain stop me from clutching my secret benefactor as tightly as possible.
I finally look up into the eyes of Zack Bellinger. His eyes are red and glazed. “Is Isla with you?”
I try to break from his grasp, but he has me pressed against the stage, my back to the band, his body blocking the moshers behind him.
“I need to get out of here!”
“I miss her,” he breathes into my ear. “Will you tell her I’m sorry? It was a dumb mistake, I know that now.” His bloodshot eyes swim with fresh moisture. This boy has it bad.
“If you help me get backstage, I’ll talk to her for you,” I promise. I’ll keep it too. Maybe sway her away from Gavin at the same time.
“You’re stuck until the band finishes.” He nods to the wild crowd.
A few people crowd surf. A bouncer grabs one guy’s legs and pulls him to an open space by the concession stand.
I gasp. That’s my way out.
“Lift me up. I’ll crowd surf.”
I clutch my purse to my chest, tucking my injured pinky underneath the bag for safekeeping. Zack places his hands under my armpits and lifts me easily. I fold my legs up and someone grabs on to them, pulling me away from Zack. My body becomes horizontal with each movement.
Soon I float on top of the crowd, moving along the waves of hands. People push me farther, wanting me out of their personal space so they can mosh some more.
On the stage, the lead singer points at me as if to dedicate the song. In my head, I dedicate it to stupid Zack Bellinger, my lovelorn savior. Bouncing up and down as I ride the crowd, I feel safe for once, on top of things instead of immersed in them.
A bouncer grabs and sets me up right outside the crowd. “Do that again and you’re out,” he warns.
I nod, and then take refuge by the bar. I close my eyes and try to catch my breath, my heart racing. I have to get backstage.
“Jan!” A deep voice. Harry Gibson, Isla’s father, stands in front of me, looking like a burly bouncer.
My cheeks burst red. “Sorry, I don’t usually crowd surf. I was just trying to—”
“You could have been hurt. We have a no tolerance policy on crowd surfing.” He studies my face for a long time. It makes me uncomfortable. “But I’ll make an exception for you.”
I nod. “Sorry, I understand. I came with Isla and we got separated,” I say. “I need to get backstage.”
“Isla’s here? With you?” He sets his lips in a thin line.
“Uh…”
He scans my face, his nostril’s flaring. “She’s not supposed to be out on a school night. Fine—but first, wait here a second, will you?” He heads behind the bar and retrieves a large back box and several cables. It looks like a DVD player only with a larger rectangular opening slot.
“Gavin said you wanted to borrow this?” He holds a weird player out to me. “And, of course, if you have that demo, I’d love to hear it.” He gives me a big smile.
Even though I’m still out of breath, my entire body freezes. “What is that? What demo?”
“Gavin told me you’d be bringing me a demo tonight in exchange for this VCR.”
VCR? As in the old school video players that went out of existence around the turn of the century? And why would Gavin think I needed it? I’m about to open my mouth and protest when I remember the mp3 player Gavin left me in the warehouse, our first clue. I reach into my book bag and pull it out. “This?” I’m not sure if I should give it away, it is a clue after all. But Harry makes the decision for me.
He takes it from me and places the VCR in my hands. “I’ll listen later. I have some friends who might be interested in your haunting voice. We’ve been getting requests.”
My body thrums. “Really?”
He nods. “Listen, there’s something…” He looks away, takes a deep breath, and then meets my eye again. “It’s just…”
I crane my neck over his to see if Isla and Sabrina are coming back from backstage yet.
“Isla…and the last time you were here. You just surprised me, you know?” He gives me a hopeful gaze.
I catch on. He’s trying to apologize for banning us to play here again when we’re now getting requests. “It’s cool. Don’t worry about it.”
“I always wished you’d stayed friends. If you want—”
“Listen, I really need to go backstage.”
He pauses for a second, his brow furrowing. “Yeah, Gavin said you’d want to. I’ll take you. I need to talk to Isla anyway.” He gestures for me to follow him.
Oops. I bite my lip. I didn’t mean to get her in trouble. Poor girl’s helping us out tonight, and she doesn’t even have the excuse of doing it for Gavin.
As I follow Harry, the VCR in my arms, I wonder why I needed to trade the mp3 player f
or the VCR. Couldn’t Gavin have left both for me in the warehouse?
Backstage, Isla throws her head back in laughter while she and Sabrina sit on the couch, two hot guys standing over them. Sabrina gives me a desperate expression, and I realize Isla has unknowingly kept her trapped this entire time. Harry calls his daughter over and the boys clear a path.
“Why do you have our ancient VCR?” Isla asks, joining us.
“I…uh—”
“Maybe you should come with me too,” Harry says to me.
Wow, he must feel really bad about not giving us a second chance to perform. But I have more important things to do. “Actually, I really need to talk to Sabrina.” I nod to her as she approaches our pow wow.
“Just listen a sec,” Harry says. “I—”
“Dad,” Isla scolds, giving him a warning look. “Please don’t embarrass me in front of them.” She grabs her dad’s arm and leads him out of the room.
“Sorry about that, those boys just wouldn’t leave us alone and Isla—” Sabrina eyes the VCR. “What’s with that?”
“Gavin left it for us.” I shove it at her and clutch my injured pinky. I guess the evidence we’re looking for is a video tape. Or maybe this is the clue.”
“Let me see it.” She yanks it from me and pulls out a post-it note from inside the tape entry. It reads: Check the wall. Written backward.
We glance at each other for one brief moment before branching off to scour the wall on opposite sides of the room. I squint in front of the wall above the oblivious couple making out on the leather couch. Graffiti packs the space, a lot more added on top of mine and Gavin’s autographs, which now look withered and faded even after only three weeks. I read a lot of them, trying to find one that differs from the usual pattern.
After roaming over the entire wall several times, I finally notice one phrase written backward. I didn’t even realize it was a real word at first. I yank out a pen from my purse and copy MAHGNINNUC SINNED onto my palm, then wave Sabrina over.
I’m just about to show her the name when Isla returns, her face drained of color, tears welling in her eyes. “We need to leave. Right now.”
Isla and Sabrina race into the hallway and I shuffle after them.
“—Huge fight. I don’t want to talk about it,” Isla says when I reach them.
Back in Isla’s SUV, the radio blasts and we all remain silent as Isla attempts to control her tears and gasping breaths. I wish she’d pull over and calm down, since tears are doing nothing for her driving skills.
After a few moments, her breathing returns to normal. “I need a favor.” She meets my eyes in the rear-view. “You don’t have to let me in your band.
I’m surprised she gives up so quickly. That’s unlike her. Now I’m curious what she wants. “What?”
“I can’t go home tonight.”
“And you want to stay over my house?” Krystal is home, probably passed out on the couch, addicted to the painkillers the doctor liberally prescribed her from her car accident a few weeks ago.
Sabrina spins around in her seat and gives me a pleading look.
Urgency darkens Isla’s eyes when she looks back at me. “I just need a place to crash.”
I pause for a moment, frozen by her insistence. Something about it seems off. “What about Becca?”
Isla sighs. “I’m going to be blunt, okay?” She waits for my nod. “My dad approves of Becca. And he doesn’t approve of you. He won’t try to find me at your house, but he’d probably drive right up to Becca’s.”
Sabrina gives me a dirty look. “Moxie, remember this will be easier. Since I was ‘supposed’ to stay at Isla’s too. And tomorrow…”
“I’ll drive you to school tomorrow,” Isla jumps in. “Maybe you can lend me one of your fashion…creations?” Her face is strained.
“Fair enough,” I say. After all, how could I turn down someone escaping from their home life. “You can both stay over.”
Besides, if she stays over tonight, I’d have ample time to figure out how to convince her to chauffeur us around. If I tried to trick her tomorrow morning when she picks us up for “school,” she might refuse on-the-spot like she did about going to the beach.
“Thanks. So, what movie are we going to watch?” Isla says, lifting her nostril at the VCR.
“Oh, this isn’t for tonight.” I pat the dinosaur machine.
Awkward silence fills the car. I look down at my throbbing pinky. The clue streaks across my hand, dripping like spilled ink. I make out the letters well enough to read it the correct way.
But I can’t ask Sabrina who Dennis Cunningham is. Because how will we discuss the clues with Isla invading our slumber party?
One-Month Ago
In the parking lot after the concert, I waited by my car as Gavin headed to Isla’s car so she could give him a thumb drive of songs she thought he might like.
“The one called Blister Heart is my favorite. My dad, like, totally knows the producer.” She tapped the thumb drive and giggled.
I focused on the gravel beneath my feet, trying to ignore my thrashing heart. A phone started ringing, and I jumped. It was mine.
No one called me. Ever. I only had the phone for emergencies with my incompetent car. I’d acquired a pay-as-you-go plan with my supermarket salary.
I didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”
“Is this Jan Crane?” a gruff male voice said. “Moxie?”
“Who is this? How’d you get my number?”
A few feet away, Gavin flicked his gaze to me. His forehead creased, and his face went pale. “My parents?” he mouthed.
I shook my head.
“This is Doctor Taylor at Milford Brook hospital. Your mother was in an accident. She’s going to be all right, but we’re keeping her here for observations.”
What sent me stumbling back into the brick wall for support was not that Krystal had been hurt, but that she’d thought to tell me about it.
“An accident?” My voice cracked. Gavin appeared at my side, his hand reaching for my elbow. In his wake, Isla made a show of wearing a concerned expression, but her attempts were overshadowed by the fact that she pulled out a tube of lip-gloss and applied it while Gavin turned his back.
“She fell asleep at the wheel. Hit a telephone pole. Broke a few ribs, an ankle, and dislocated her shoulder.”
“What?” Gavin propped his arm above me on the brick wall, caging me in, but also blocking Isla out. His face was full of concern.
I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking of the hospital bill. “No one else got hurt?”
“Not to my knowledge—the police are interviewing her now.”
“The police were involved?”
“Standard protocol, Miss.”
“Can I—” I sucked in a deep breath. “Can I see her?”
“Yes, she’s in room 312.”
“Thank you,” I said and hung up.
Gavin’s anxious face didn’t leave me much room to think before I spilled the story to him in a rushed whisper. Isla pretended to be occupied by the excitement her nails held.
“I’m so sorry,” Gavin said.
“Oh, gosh, Moxie! Did something happen to your mom?” Isla covered her mouth in mock concern, and I wondered why she never tried out for the school play.
“Everything’s fine.”
“I’m coming with you,” Gavin said.
“No, it’s fine. Go home. The last thing you need is your parents wondering why you didn’t come home on time from the youth group dance. I don’t want you to get in trouble.” I touched his shoulder without thinking and immediately removed my hand when he tilted his head to stare at his arm. “We need to keep practicing.”
“Let me borrow your phone so I can call Sabrina. Maybe she can cover for me, or if not, my parents will just have to deal with me being a rebel for once.”
Before I could even hand mine over, Isla sashayed forward with her hand outstretched. “Here, you can use mine. I have unlimited minutes.”
&
nbsp; She gave me a piercing smile, guessing my financial discomfort. I hated that she knew me so well.
Gavin took the phone and punched in the numbers.
“Hey, Sabrina.” He breathed a sigh of relief.
He glanced at his watch. “Ten-thirty.” The fluorescent lights of the Coors logo turned his sandy brown strands an eerie blue. It was the same light that made the dull gravel rocks sparkle, transforming them from plain old parking lot to something mesmerizing.
“Shhh. Please keep your voice down. I’m going to be late.”
Isla’s friends came out of the club, their giggles drowning out Gavin’s next couple of lines as if they were talking loudly during a movie and I was missing the best part.
“It doesn’t matter where I am,” Gavin whispers. In the silence, Isla’s voice carried, telling her friends they should go. They laughed, and Becca jumped on Zack Bellinger’s back in a startling mount worthy of gymnastic accolades. He pushed her off and resumed smiling at Isla.
“Just cover for me, okay? I’m going to the hospital with Moxie.” He snapped the phone shut before Sabrina could argue further. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he shook his hair out of his face. A composed smile formed onto his features, already erasing the stress of the conversation.
I tried to walk past Isla, give her the same treatment of invisibility she’d just given me, but Gavin stopped.
“Thanks for playing with us.”
Her glossy lips glittered. “I’m really glad you came out tonight.”
“Me too.”
“Is your mom going to be all right?” she asked me in a soft voice. Her phone rang then, and she pursed her lips before flipping it open. “Hello? Who is this?”
I led Gavin toward the car, wanting to get this situation over with and start on the next, equally torturous one.
When we stepped in front of the sliding glass doors of the hospital, a familiar stale scent accosted me through the opening doors. It smelled like someone had cooked a frozen dinner in the microwave for too long. It smelled like my past. I thought of all those days spent in the hospital, IVs tethering me to the bed, anesthesia robbing me of reality, knives slicing through my skin and leaving their mark behind.
