Hannah Smart, Operation Josh Taylor (9 page)

When in Doubt, Trust Your Gut

I
'm
so relieved! Rachel and I are back to normal and we have a new mission: get tickets for the Josh Taylor concert, but not just any tickets. We want front-row tickets … not an easy task, but I'm sure we can do it. After all, we are successful businesswomen. We can handle anything!

This plan is our most exciting yet! We're going to camp overnight outside the box office. This way we will be first in line when it opens in the morning — I know that buying tickets online would
technically
be easier, but Rachel and I just can't chance it. For one, thousands of people will be trying to buy their tickets online
AT THE EXACT SAME TIME
! — what if the website freezes up? It's totally possible … right? Plus, sometimes our Internet goes

down for no reason. If that happened when we were trying to buy tickets, I would die! I mean, can you just imagine? Plus, buying tickets from the stadium just makes sense. I mean, wouldn't the place that's actually having the concert have the very best tickets? I'm thinking yes! Last but not least, campouts are fun, even in the winter. Anyway,
I
think it's a brilliant plan! In your face, Scarlett Hastings! V.I.P tickets here we come!

It took a little convincing, but after explaining all of the above reasons why it is
absolutely
necessary for Rachel and I to camp out for tickets, our moms finally agreed to let us. Rachel and I have loaded up the van with sleeping bags, extra blankets, pillows, a tarp, board games, a small folding table, flashlights, hand warmers, feet warmers, a cooler, tons of food, and folding chairs for the three of us (Mom insists on coming, too). We're wearing leggings under our jeans and have our heavy winter jackets, snow pants, mittens, scarves and hats all ready to go.

There is only one slight, potential problem — the weather. Looks like there might be a teensy storm tonight, nothing really, just a sprinkling of snow and a bit of wind. I'm sure it won't be that bad. Just the same, Mom is a little concerned, and she's driving, so it's up to her. I told her not to worry; I mean, we have a tarp, but she's making us wait until five o'clock for the updated forecast.

By 5:15 I'm jumping out of my skin and so is Rachel.

“Come on Mom!” I yell from the front door. “We need to get going if we want to be first in line!” I look at Rachel, frustrated. “What's taking her so long? She's driving me nuts.”

“I don't think she's going to be driving us anywhere. Look …” Rachel points out the window.

“Ah, it's just a little bit of snow,” I say, opening up the front door to show her. “See …” A bitter gust of wind blows through the door, whipping me in the face with ice pellets and snow.

Mom finally appears. “Shut the door, Hannah!”

“Where's your coat?” I cry, forcing the door shut against the howling wind.

Mom shakes her head. “There is a blizzard outside and it's only going to get worse as the night goes on.”

“But …” I try to protest.

“But nothing!” she hollers, “I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you!”

“Mom, we have winter tires!” I yell, wiping the melting ice pellets from my face. “They're like Michelin Blizzard Blasters or something. Don't you want to try them out? Look, the conditions are perfect!” I open the door again and point outside to our soon-to-be-buried-van. “Imagine us fearlessly blasting our way through the snowy streets of Glen Haven, battling the elements. The three of us braving the treacherous storm! We could make video! We could put it on YouTube and maybe Michelin would see it and want to put us in a real commercial! We'd be famous!”

“Hannah, shut the door. We're not going.”

“But, Mom, we've been working all day and we're all ready to go!”

“Hannah! Drop it now!”

“Fine!” I fire back, slamming the door shut. I kick off my boots and stomp up the stairs.

“Is your mom okay?” Rachel asks when we get to my room. “She seems … I don't know … kinda cranky lately.”

“Something is bugging her,” I agree, shrugging out of my jacket. “I don't know, maybe it's Dad's promotion. He's working a lot, and I know she doesn't like it because I heard them arguing. I caught her crying a couple of times, too. She said it was just allergies, but I'm not stupid.”

Suddenly, the lights flicker as a big blast of wind rattles the windows.

“Man this sucks,” I say, plunking down on my bed.

“Well, we'll just have to buy them online tomorrow,” Rachel says, yanking off her snow pants. “It'll probably be easier that way, anyway. Can you get your mom's credit card?”

“Yup. That's what she wanted me to do in the first place. She said we can just pay her back with cash.”

Rachel laughs. “Awesome! We've got lots of that!”

T
he whole night I can barely sleep; I'm tossing and turning, afraid we are going to sleep in, even though I've checked my alarm, like, at least five times. Finally, miraculously, I fall asleep. When I wake up it's to the sound of my blaring radio. I try to unglue my eyes to see what time it is. It has to be really early because the alarm hasn't gone off. When I finally manage to pry them open, I see Rachel pacing back and forth across the floor.

“What time is it?” I whisper.

“Eleven,” she says with a heavy sigh. “They're gone, Hannah, they're all gone …”

“Eleven?” I ask groggily. Then I leap out of bed, screaming, “Eleven o'clock!” “Did you get the …”

“The power went out. We slept in. The concert sold out in nine minutes.”

“Nine minutes?” I say, laughing. “Yeah right!”

“Hannah.” Rachel stops pacing and looks at me. “They're
all gone
.”

“They're gone?”

“Gone!” she says, rubbing her forehead.

“Seriously? In nine minutes?”

“Nine
freaking
minutes,” she answers, throwing her arms up in the air.

“I can't believe this, after all our hard work, after all we've been through. We're not going to get to see him?”

“This can't be happening,” Rachel says, shaking her head in disbelief.

“How do you know for sure?” I ask.

“I heard it on the radio, Hannah. It's the big news of the day.”

I don't think I can describe how awful we're both feeling right now, but I'm sure you can imagine. Even when I say the words out loud, it's almost too hard to believe — we're not going to see Josh Taylor.

Heartbroken, we mope in my room for the rest of the morning. It's safer in here, anyway; my parents have been arguing for the past hour. I crank up the radio, trying to drown them out just as the announcer repeats
again
how fast the concert sold out this morning.

“Can you believe it? Nearly
ten thousand
tickets gone in less than ten minutes,” the DJ says, chuckling. “Unbelievable,” he adds, as Josh Taylor's “Heart Attack” begins to play.

“That's it!” Rachel screams. “Hannah! Where's the phone!”

“What?” I tilt my head to the side, confused.

“The contest, Hannah!” Rachel shouts. “They're playing ‘Heart Attack'!”

I'm shaking like crazy. “I think the phone's in the bed.” I squeal. “You look there, I'll look downstairs.”

I throw open the door, tear down the hall, round the corner, and fly down the stairs two at a time, leaping to the bottom. I am searching desperately, running all over the place when suddenly I spot Mom's cellphone on the counter, right beside her.

“Mom!” I say, choking and out of breath, “I need your phone!”

“What, Hannah? Slow down.”

“
PHONE
!” I scream. “It's life or death!”

“What's going on?” Mom instantly panics. “Rachel! Is she okay?”

“Rachel is fine,” I say dragging my nails down my cheeks. “Mom … Josh Taylor … tickets sold in nine minutes … radio contest …
INEEDYOURPHONE
!”

“Take it!” She thrusts it forward, looking at me like I'm a crazy person.

“Thanks!” I grab it, and tear back up the stairs, dialling as I run. I trip at the top, stubbing my toe, and the phone flies out of my hand and into the air. The searing, stinging pain pulsing through my toe is so intense, I feel like I might throw up. I bend over, grab the phone from the floor, and hobble down the hallway in agony. When I reach my bedroom, I hear Rachel speaking to someone.

“My name is Rachel Carter,” she says with a shaky voice.

“And are you a big Josh Taylor fan?”

“His biggest.”

“So, Rachel, have you brushed up on your Josh Taylor trivia?” the DJ asks.

“Yes,” she answers, giggling nervously.

“Okay, for two amazing, front-row tickets to see Josh Taylor live in concert, can you tell me what musical instrument Josh Taylor's parents have played since they were teenagers, which Josh refuses to learn to play? Rachel … you have fifteen seconds to answer, starting now.”