Love-Struck (14 page)

Lie under the stars, in my arms tonight

And I'll tell you that we'll be all right.

But if you whisper a lie to my heart tonight

It won't be OK,

It won't be all right.

 

I sat with my back to the fence, listening to the song.

I didn't know how long I had been sat there. I did know that it was getting dark, and that the temperature was dropping, and that I'd left my jacket back at the tent.

Stupid girl.

I was a stupid, stupid girl.

How did I manage to get into this mess?

I thought hard. Oh yes, it was about the same time I promised Wes that if a girl walked into Ozzie's that he really wanted, I would help him take her to MSR with us, in our tent.

And now I was there, sat with my back to the cold fence, having the most miserable time of my life, when I was supposed to be having the best. I'd toyed with the idea of getting Mum or Dad to come and pick me up, but cleverly I had dropped my mobile into the tent when we had gone back, and I wasn't about to go back for it now. And I'd got this far, I was here at the gig – why should I leave? I wanted to see my band play on a huge stage in front of hundreds of people, hearing them scream and feeling them surge, having that feeling of being involved in something bigger than me, bigger than Wes, bigger than the whole situation – I was craving that right now. I needed the music to calm my soul again. And I needed it fast.

From where I was sitting, I could just about hear the speakers. Some band was on who had a good strong beat to their music. Wes would like them. Maybe he would be there now, dancing like I showed him, dancing with the no-good, evil, blonde…

I couldn't even bring myself to muster up a decent insult.

I shoved my iPod back into my ears and put it on to shuffle.

Familiar notes.

Drums.

Bass.

“
Love in idleness
…” I whispered to myself, ironically.

If there was one thing that I'd learnt those past two weeks?

There is definitely nothing idle about falling in love.

I watched the sky as the midsummer moon shone bright, even though it wasn't quite fully dark yet. It shone like a beacon down on me. I suddenly had the cheesy thought of wondering how many people were looking at the same moon right then and there, and how many of those people were sat feeling miserable like me.

The next thing I knew I was being shaken awake. I must have dozed off, looking at the sky. A big, black, bushy mane was shaking in my face, and I jumped out of my skin because I thought I was being attacked by a huge dog. As I jumped up, my head collided with a shoulder, sending me crashing back down into the grass again, accompanied by a squeal of pain.

Ahh, déjà-vu!

“Well, darling, she is not unconscious! That is always a good start.”

The hand of the shaggy dog reached down into my vision and hauled me on to my feet with ease. The helper then backed away and I saw that it was Finn, with Margo stood behind him, arms crossed. She had lost the shades and her hair was tied back. Margo never ties her hair back. I looked a little closer and saw that her arms were slightly pink from sunburn, and she was smiling.

And not even a crocodile smile –

– but an actual smile.

A smile which had a faint resemblance to Wes's cheeky grin, a shadow of his humour and humanity; it was all there in her small, genuine smile.

She stepped forward and I saw that she also wasn't wearing any make-up. Not that she needed it, she was gorgeous anyway, but still. It was like she was at one with herself, like she'd decided that her bum was sore from riding up on her high horse day in, day out, and just decided to get down, be herself.

I was a little scared, actually.

“What are you doing, Holly?” she asked, without even a trace of a sneer.

“Well, I was sitting…” I started shakily, not quite knowing how to react. “And now, I guess I'm standing.”

“No,” she said calmly. “I meant, what are you doing
here
?”

She gestured to the back end of the field and the fence.

I looked around, but only saw what a mess I had made of the situation. I couldn't say all the stuff that had just happened; I just couldn't relive the moment right away.

“It doesn't matter,” I mumbled, turning away. “You wouldn't understand.”

“If you tried us, you might be surprised.”

A low, slow voice had spoken those words. The voice sounded … wise, so that I stopped and listened. I turned around to see Finn push his fringe out of his eyes to look at me. They were like cat's eyes – cut like glass, all amber and deep, like they were pouring into my soul just a little bit.

Jeez, no wonder he covered those bad boys up.

But something in his voice compelled me to speak.

“Jonah kissed some other girl. Emily was a bitch to me, looking down on me and saying horrible stuff. I pushed her. Wes came up. I told him that she had been a cow and that she wasn't to be trusted. Wes took her side, and now he hates me. What else is there to say?”

“Darling,” Margo said, her brown eyes surveying my face. “This is the only time I will ever offer you my advice, so listen closely: do not go around with boys who think with their trousers. Do not mix with girls who switch boys faster than they switch their underwear. And most importantly—” she smiled knowingly, “do not try to fix up your best friend with a girl who clearly is just a replacement for the someone that they truly want. Said best friend is obviously far too afraid to talk to the person he likes, just in case he loses her as a friend, and it ruins their friendship for ever.”

She stepped forward and whispered into my ear.

“Take it from an outsider who
knows
,” she said. “He couldn't ever hate you, Holly. He loves you too much.”

She backed away, and Finn took her hand. I'd never seen them hold hands before. Ever. Something had changed. As I took in a deep breath, I felt it. In the ebony night air, all my senses had come alive and I felt peaceful: it was almost like Margo had done something to the air herself, like she'd worked some magic and everything just became clear and right.

“It's nearly half past eleven, Holly,” Margo said softly. “Shouldn't you get going?”

I didn't need telling twice.

I ran through a ghost town of empty tents; everyone had obviously left already to get to the show. I ran through the stalls and vendors, who were still awake, dodging staff and random passers-by – it was all a blur, but as I reached the opening of the field I came to a halt. It was heaving. All I could see were bodies – bodies milling around, talking, waiting, dancing to the now-quieter speaker music. I wasn't going to get through. It just wasn't going to happen. The announcement just said that it was 11.35 p.m. It seemed impossible that I could navigate my way around the crowd to the front by the time it started; there was just no way.

I absentmindedly fiddled with my wrist, and looked down at the purple bracelet on it.

Pit pass.

Ozzie.

Wes.

I ran into the maze of people, and started to frantically work my way through. I couldn't tell where I was going, I couldn't see a thing – it felt like I was going around and around in circles, seeing the same T-shirts, the same hairstyles, the same songs being sung all around. It was like those funhouses where there are mirrors all around and you can't find the exit through a sea of your own reflections staring back at you from every possible angle.

I cursed myself for being so short. I couldn't see a thing, and I started to panic, and my breathing started to go. I staggered forward, trying to block out the feeling of being trapped and isolated; the feeling that was bearing down on my chest like a cage constricting, around my lungs, and squeezing them until they were sore. I picked up a bit of speed, getting desperate to escape, but my foot got caught in a hole in the ground and I crashed into a girl in front of me.

I apologized the best I could through my gasping breaths and hauled myself back up as she asked if I was all right. I only vaguely heard her as I tried to look through the people for the gate. Then someone grabbed my arm and spun me around. I was face to face with Jack, lip ring and all. I smiled humourlessly. I think I've gone off lip rings – permanently.

“Holly, are you all right? I saw you fall.”

I nodded, breathing in a deep breath. Seeing him, even though he was still a complete stranger, was comforting. The crowd wasn't a huge sea of faceless people; they were real, I wasn't trapped…

The suffocating paranoia of claustrophobia faded.

“I'm fine,” I burbled. “I'm just trying to find the pit gate. I need to get to the pit because I need to get there before the set; I need to get there to find my –”

I paused, frowning, and then reluctantly finished the sentence.

“– friend.”

“Was he the guy at the bar with you? He turned up eventually?” he asked with a wry smile.

I smiled back. “It turned out he'd been there all the time – I just hadn't seen him.”

Jack nodded, lips drawn in tight. Then he smiled easily and pointed to our right.

“Just over there is the pit entrance. It's nearly twelve, though, so you'd better run if you want to find your
friend
.”

“Thank you,” I smiled, and turned away. Then on a sudden impulse, I shouted back over my shoulder. “I owe you a drink, Jack, I won't forget!”

I heard his laugh melt into the crowd as I finally hit the pit, waved my purple band in the guard's face, and entered. I saw straight away that there would be no point in trying to look for Wes – the people were packed like sardines. My heart dropped. I was too late…

Then an almighty chord echoed over the crowd, and I saw Matt crouching down with his guitar on the left-hand side of the stage as I looked at it, making sure he was in tune. The electrical buzz zinged through me. I just had to get to where he was – I just
had
to.

Now was the time to play my short-person card: being little is sometimes the best thing at a gig, because you can just slide through the gaps. So I did. I managed to squeeze right through, right to the front, right to the bar next to the steps where the bands walk on to the stage.

And there was Matt's perfect bum right in front of me; about three metres away, and up on the stage. It was calling to me! I suddenly had the urge to pinch it, but I just wasn't close enough…

He stood up and turned around to face the audience. He did a small wave with his guitar, and the crowd just erupted into screams and shouts and cries. He had a small, sheepish grin on his face, like he still couldn't believe that after three years people were screaming to see him. But we were. He was an icon – the lyric-writer of the band. Wes loved him for that, being a poetry geek and everything. And of course he was wearing his first-ever guitar. In all of his interviews, all he'd talked about was his guitar – the black, smooth, rounded curves of the base; he loved that guitar “more than any woman he had ever met”. Being so close, I saw that it had more dents than paint – it was a wonder it was still playing right, after he'd played it at every show without fail. He'd made it a part of his performance – the guitar was as much of an icon as he was, and he liked to say that it “spawned a god”, but personally, I feel that the god was already there: his amazing riffs just started something magical.

Then I thought I was going to explode! I jumped on to the fence (my ultra-small feet could fit through the holes) so that I was higher up than other people and I had an amazing view. At that point, Chevans walked on to the stage with his cocky swagger, swinging his drumsticks around his fingers and sitting at his drum kit. Like before every gig, he spun around twice on his stool, clicked out his fingers, then winked at the audience and gave us a little bit of hi-hat action. Once again, we all went wild. I thought I was going to get crushed as the people behind started to surge forward, but the pressure only made me scream louder and more passionately as Vikki strutted on to the stage with her violently pink bass, looking amazing in a small tartan skirt and bright turquoise top – her hair bleach blonde with green and pink through it, her nose pierced with a ring and make-up fierce. Then came the moment that everyone had been waiting for.

A voice came over the speakers: a deep, husky, bad-boy voice that made my limbs melt and my head explode.

“
The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve

Lovers, to
bed
—
”

And out walked the spokesman for every confused teenager on the planet.

Robin Goodfellow smiled broodily at the audience, radiating a godly glow that made me feel sick with pleasure. Ever the performer, he cocked an eyebrow at us, and finished his set-up line.