by Patrick Wong
Nicole shouted along with Amy as they held out their hands and waved.
The atmosphere was electric as Jenna began her first song. Her exuberance was infectious, and Nicole and Amy were soon jumping up and down to the music.
Peace, love, remembering you and me …
Despite the irresistible chords of her favorite song, however, Nicole found herself stepping away from the moment and becoming an observer to her world. It felt a little like the slowing of time when accidents happen. She was vividly aware of the colors all around her and the infinitesimal details of her fellow Jenna fans.
Down in front of the stage, the sea of people rippled like ocean waves, intensified by the music. For a moment, Nicole felt this could be anytime in the past, present or future. Suddenly, the wave of people in the floor sections looked like the ancient healing pool from a thousand years ago. Nicole remembered the Fountain of Youth bathers in the 18th-century painting Ben had shown her. She recalled how those entering the pool were gnarled and ill, joining the many reclining people happy to be bathing in the waters, while the people who had been rejuvenated were climbing out the other side.
The sounds around her echoed and morphed as her vision would blur and then sharpen. Nicole felt a tingling that resonated from her heart into her hands that she had never felt before. It was as if she had the power of the entire arena in her fingertips. She could feel life. She was omnipotent.
Jenna played song after song after song. For Nicole, moments of sheer ecstasy intermingled with the sense of the music passing right through her, leaving her in a haze of addictive power that was like nothing else she had ever experienced. Jenna played another song, and then another. The colors, lights and beating bass …
Then all of the flashing lights in the arena suddenly darkened and the music stopped. Nicole snapped out of her hallucination and, for a moment, was disoriented and unable to rejoin a world out of focus. A spotlight appeared center stage, and she saw Jenna seated quietly at the piano, starting a beautiful acoustic ballad from her latest album.
Nicole looked at her phone and saw it was past 10 p.m. already. Ninety minutes had passed in a flash. What had she been thinking?
The show was going to end soon!
Nicole looked over at Amy, who had tears in her eyes at Jenna’s bittersweet ballad of love and loss that seemed somehow to speak to her own experience, as if the singer had known every detail.
The piano ballad ended, and Jenna left the stage to rapturous applause. She has to come back, willed Nicole. Surely she must come back.
I need more time.
The crowd kept up the thunderous applause, begging Jenna to come out for an encore. Louder and louder. Nicole looked over, and although Amy looked tired, she was still smiling and clapping with the audience, who was now chanting Jenna’s name over and over like they were casting some spell that would make her return.
Of course there would be an encore, but Nicole now realized she had wasted away most of the show in some other dimension. Back in this world, with maybe one or two songs left, she was running out of time. As expected, the bass beats started up again, and Jenna re-appeared on stage. The entire crowd was back on its feet again. It had to be now or never. But Nicole still had to figure out whom she should choose.
Jenna began to sing again and raised her hands above her head, clapping. The audience repeated her action, and the whole arena seemed suddenly to be waving in unison. Then Jenna moved to those closest by her in front of the stage and jumped lightly on her feet. Then, as the arms below stopped clapping and prepared to support her for her trademark stage dive, it occurred to Nicole.
Of course, the mosh pit.
As Nicole clapped to the beat, she stood on tiptoe to get a better view of those who were standing in the section directly in front of the stage just at the moment Jenna leapt. The fans underneath supported her effortlessly. Security guards primed at the railings looked on to direct any over-enthusiastic fans away from the pop star, or to pull out anyone caught in the crush. Nicole knew from her own experience that anyone down there in the mosh pit was prepared to dance nonstop the entire show.
Those in the standing section at the front of the stage were the most energetic and youthful people. They had to be in order to dance, jump, sing and withstand the crushing force of the crowd moving to the rhythm of the music. Of all those gathered in the Patriot Center, those in the mosh pit were, in pigeon terms, the “healthy flock.”
Perfect.
They were Nicole’s chosen ones.
Nicole felt the beat flowing in her body and was then gripped by the sure knowledge that now was the right time. She stopped dancing and remained rooted in one spot.
She focused on those fans dancing at the front of the arena as the wave of arms carried Jenna Kidd back to the head of the crowd and then delivered her to the roadies, who helped her back onstage. As the music continued, up and down the fans went, energy bouncing through their limbs in time to the heartbeat of the music.
Nicole remembered Amy’s words — how exhausting it was being Amy Madigan. She recalled the goofiness and the wild hand gestures, the whooping and the glory of Amy’s happiness and how much energy that took to sustain.
Then she knew what she was going to do.
She would save Amy to the beat of this music.
In her mind’s eye, Nicole saw an old-fashioned light bulb shaped like a heart. The filament inside was burnt, and the glass was as worn and beaten as Amy had seemed in the car when she’d told Nicole about her illness. With every beat of the drum came a quickening pulse, and slowly, with each beat, the light bulb in Nicole’s mind began to pulse, too. At first it sparked small and red, deep down in the filament wire. Each person jumping up and down in time seemed to be powering up the bulb. They were — each one of them — reviving Amy.
One, two, three, four …
Nicole counted the beats to herself and felt them directly lighting up Amy’s light bulb.
With every beat bounced, the stronger the light became. Each one of the hundred strong fans down in front of the stage was, in their own way, saving Amy. Nicole was in control.
It was kinetic energy, bringing life back to her best friend.
In Nicole’s mind, Amy’s heart-shaped light bulb began to beam stronger, and as the rousing chorus of the song rang out across the Center and Jenna Kidd held her long note, the light bulb shone without faltering.
It was like the moment when a lighthouse searchlight is revolving and you get the full glare of the beam, so strong and so clear. But this light didn’t turn away again.
This was Amy’s light.
It was back on, full and blinding in its radiant intensity.
The song reached its climax, and the crowd erupted with furious applause and the glimmer of a thousand smartphone cameras twinkling like mini-stars, capturing the moment forever.
“She’s amazing!” Amy cried.
Nicole nodded and beamed.
She couldn’t tell whether it was the exuberance of the moment and the uplifting feeling of the music or whether her Balancing had worked, but Amy was now happily jumping up and down, applauding.
Nicole let Jenna Kidd’s words drift over her as she craned her neck to get a better view of those people directly in front of the stage. She scanned the entire section — up and down, left and right, searching and searching. What she saw made her breathe a sigh of relief. No one had been pulled out ill, and everybody was still standing.
Nicole relaxed as she sat back down, and she squeezed Amy’s arm with genuine excitement. Now maybe life would return to normal for Nicole and Amy. Just two normal teens.
Four rows behind Nicole were two people who had other ideas, however. They were wearing T-shirts newly purchased from eBay. They looked nondescript and just like everyone else. They also had never heard of Jenna Kidd until tonight.
They were here on government business. Tasked to monitor the pretty brunette girl in the hot pink T-shirt under orders from the FBI unit
they had just graduated. Give a detailed surveillance report on any and all suspicious activity. They knew nothing about Balancing — all they had been told was that Nicole was dangerous. But to the young FBI agents, she looked just like every other teenage girl in the crowd. Throughout the entire show, the only odd thing the agents had seen was a moment during the last song when Nicole had stopped dancing and just stared at the crowd below for about a minute.
Was that it?
A Bucket of Cola Will Make You Feel Great
The last song had finished, and now that the main lights of the Patriot Center had come on to tell the crowd that the show really was all over.
Nicole and Amy began making their way toward the crowded exits in the direction of Nicole’s car. Nicole was trying not to give away her curiosity over Amy’s state of health. She had decided not to confess to Balancing, just in case it hadn’t worked properly.
Nevertheless, Amy had a bloom in her cheeks now that seemed to belie the fact that she had just spent much of the concert jumping around with the best of them. A few times she had become out of breath, but she would only stop for a moment to rest and then began dancing away again.
About the fifth time Nicole glanced across at her, Amy seemed to be getting suspicious.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” she answered, too quickly.
Amy narrowed her eyes. “Nix, you didn’t, did you?”
“Didn’t what?”
“You know what! Cuz, like, I feel … amazing. Like a miracle has happened or something.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I mean, I’m not aching. I don’t feel as tired. I could go on all night.”
“It was an awesome concert,” Nicole offered. “And you did drink a bucket of cola.” Amy had bought her body’s weight in candy and soda and had steadily made her way through it all as the concert progressed. Nicole hoped this excuse was a good enough distraction from her having to answer honestly. She didn’t want to tell Amy just in case things didn’t work out like she had planned.
But a new question appeared out of thin air, as suddenly the color went out of Amy’s cheeks and she grew pale. The cause wasn’t anything to do with miracles or illnesses.
It was Drake.
He was a few rows down, queuing for the exits too and chatting animatedly with a girl Nicole recognized from their year at Oak Wood — someone pretty, cute, and happy to be by his side. Drake cracked one of his jokes, and she flew into a fit of giggles and touched his arm. Amy let out a muted hum.
No one else was around from school, so it seemed the pair were there together.
“Are they … dating?” Amy trailed off, struggling with the sight.
“Um, not necessarily. Maybe they met here?”
“But he hates Jenna Kidd.”
Nicole glanced back. The girl was now standing with Drake in a very close and personal way. It was kind of a no-brainer. She searched for comforting words to offer Amy, but in this case, the truth just plain hurt, and there was no getting round it.
“Maybe he didn’t get your text messages?”
Amy shrugged sadly. One of the first things the girls had done after their YouTube filming was try to restore contact with Drake. Drake’s concern he expressed to Nicole had given Amy hope that he might now be able to understand the reasons she had backed off. She had never stopped liking him. This was apparent now, as she stood watching him with someone else.
Truth was, Amy didn’t want to text Drake the real reason for her silence, though she had tried many versions. Somehow, “I’ve got leukemia” seemed a bit too stark a statement. Instead, she could only ask for them to meet up. She hoped he still wanted to see her too.
Amy had been on the verge of sending this final message before the start of the show, but tonight’s sighting told her what she needed to know. He’d moved on. It was fair enough. It just made things all the more miserable.
Amy was glad she hadn’t spotted them earlier, but just then Drake looked up and caught her eye.
She was frozen in the moment as he returned her stare while his date was texting.
There wasn’t anger in his look, but perhaps, Amy thought, a little sadness. It pained her to think that it should be her down there with him, laughing at his jokes, hugging him.
Nicole squeezed Amy’s arm and she broke the gaze, turning away.
Spying a gap in the line, she pulled Nicole toward it, and before long, they had disappeared into a throng of people and Drake could no longer see or be seen.
Eventually they cleared the Center and were freed into the night’s clear air. Outside, the stars were as bright as the night at Lake Fairfax. Amy could have stared upward for as long as her neck held, but she soon saw Nicole’s car.
Both girls climbed in.
Amy rested her head against the side-glass of the door as the car pulled away from parking area. She should have been tired, but she was surprised to feel awake. She spent the journey home staring out of the window, watching the bright lights of cars zoom past.
Days would pass. She would still miss Drake.
But as the misery lifted little by little over time, she would realize something enormous.
She felt better.
Happy Now?
Nicole crunched her toast while finishing the last of her Spanish homework at the breakfast table. She greeted her mom, who flew into the kitchen for the second time today and was holding a cup of coffee that she’d already spilled down one pair of pants this morning.
She was so late that she hadn’t noticed Nicole’s last-minute homework rush. Just feeling her mom’s air of hurriedness and anxiety as she brushed past disturbed Nicole.
“Not again. Rain!” her mom exclaimed, peering out the window at the dark gray clouds.
Then, without further announcement, she reached across and felt Nicole’s forehead with the back of her palm.
Before Nicole could protest, she was handed a thermometer.
“Wha-?”
“Just humor me.”
“But I’m not sick! I’ve got homework to finish.”
Her mom shot her one of her looks and turned on the cold faucet, cooling down her coffee. She glanced at the clock to really hammer home that she was running late and then gulped down the viscous black liquid.
Nicole ate her toast, drank some juice then reluctantly stuck the thermometer in her mouth. “Happy now?” she mumbled through gritted teeth with the thermometer sticking out.
“Shhh,” her mom scolded. “How’s Amy doing? She any worse?”
Nicole shook her head and made the necessary noises indicating the negative.
“Great. I want you both to fill this out by tonight, please.”
She slid across two copies of an official-looking questionnaire with the logo of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention emblazoned across the top. Confused, Nicole furrowed her brow as her mom took another slurp of coffee.
“We’ve had about fifty or so patients come to various clinics and our hospital who were all at the Jenna Kidd concert. All of them were experiencing the same flu symptoms — some aching, mainly complaints of fatigue. It’s standard procedure to report a community problem of this scale. Most cases like this, the CDC usually gets involved immediately.”
This was bad news. Nicole was grateful the thermometer prevented her from crying out.
“If you weren’t so busy cramming your Spanish homework, you might’ve seen it on the TV.”
Nicole looked over the form. It had the usual questions about general health and specific symptoms, but a table on the second page made her heart jump in trepidation.
It asked about seating in the Patriot Center. She couldn’t help but let out a little yelp.
“A few more seconds, then you can ask what you want.” Her mom sipped her coffee and smiled, enjoying the moment of peace.
Nicole didn’t want to seem overly interested in the questions. She feared that any sort of response would betray the fact that a widespread il
lness in this particular part of the arena had serious implications. It would confirm that her Balancing had worked and, more importantly, that Amy was on the mend.
That would be truly amazing.
But what had she actually done? She hadn’t really thought about it previously, because the people in the mosh pit had been fine. Now she was beginning to wonder whether she’d really crossed a line this time. Saving Mr. Geller was by mutual agreement — but she had never asked these people for their consent. What if the sickness got worse? Her mom, plucking the thermometer out of her mouth, interrupted these darker thoughts. She examined it, and then nodded with relief.
“Good. You’re normal. Temperature-wise.”
Nicole smiled nervously. “Is it serious?”
“You never know with flu symptoms. Means the immune system is active. The good news is that people are recovering pretty quickly.”
Phew.
Nicole experienced a serious lurch of relief in her belly. This was proof that her Balancing had taken something from those people, but not enough to cause serious harm.
“Now we’ve got the reporters coming over again for a follow-up later. I really don’t need another media circus in my hospital. The CDC is all over events like this for terrorism, and you know how the media loves a crisis.”
Nicole nodded. Her mom studied her face, and Nicole felt her cheeks color.
“You worried?”
“No.”
“Good. Because you were up in the first tier, and the flu victims seemed to be concentrated down in the front. Maybe it was some sick teen stage-diving into the crowd. Or, what if it turned out that Jenna Kidd gave her fans the flu? Ha!”
With a wave, her mom shot out the door, leaving her words ringing in Nicole’s ears.
Everything seemed just as Nicole had planned. She had skimmed a small layer of life off the people up front in the Patriot Center — the healthiest and strongest people — and transferred it to Amy. Though they had symptoms, they had actually only suffered minor effects, just like the pigeons at the mall. Enough to get noticed by the CDC, and enough to save Amy.
Imagine that.
