Love-Struck (15 page)

“
'Tis almost Faerie time
…
!
”

And so came the screams from all around me, deafening, but they couldn't drown out the song.

Robin pointed to Matt, and in came the tune.

“
You're the riff that starts this story
…”

Chevans, drums and cymbals.

“
You're the drums, your one song glory
…”

Vikki stroking that bass.

“
This song, your song, our song, it's true
”

Silence.

“
'Cause everything is idle when it's done for
–
STOP!
Stop, wait – no, sorry!”

All the rest of the band stopped what they were doing and looked up. The crowd started to reply in outrage; I shouted along with the rest. What were they playing at?

“What!” cried Vikki. “What are you doing?”

Robin ran over and talked rapidly to her. Her eyes flicked around the audience, and I could have sworn she looked straight at me for a second, but I couldn't tell, and then Robin ran off to speak to Chevans, and Vikki spoke to Matt.

“What's going on?!” someone nearby shouted, and Robin looked up at the audience, grinned, and then resumed his place centre stage.

“I'm sorry, guys, we just can't play this song until … we get some people up on stage here with us.”

The sea of teenagers suddenly loved him again, and every hand stretched high into the air; the screaming was battering my eardrums and I could hardly breathe let alone scream from the pushing behind me in a rush to get to the front. I grabbed on to the fencing for support and gasped as the air was rammed out of me, and I watched painfully as Robin ran down from the stage into the gap between stage and fence, and walked along the row. Screaming girls were leaning over to touch him, and he walked straight past me to the middle of the section, as Vikki went to the other end. Everyone was lurching forward, stretching out, but he didn't pick anyone. He surveyed the faces with a glowing smile on his dark features, and then clocked my eyes from about three metres away, and I knew that he knew who I was. I almost died. He knew me. Robin knew me. And he'd picked me. Oh my god, he'd picked me, yes, he was nodding and pointing at me—

“Her,” he said to the nearest security guards, and before I knew it I was being lifted out of the crowd and on to the steps, ready to go on stage with the band.

My band.

Oh my God.

I thought my legs were going to give way, but I took slow, even strides up the stairs and into the light. It was so bright that I had to shield my eyes for a moment to get used to the glare. Then I felt a hand take my elbow to guide me across the stage. I looked at its owner.

Only Robin.

I would have fainted, but then I caught sight of the audience, and it just took my breath away.

Hundreds of people, shouting and screaming, taking photos and smiling and waving; people on other people's shoulders, people jumping up and down—

Just so many people.

All in one space.

All in one field.

All waiting to hear a piece of music that I had been pulled on stage to witness with the best band of all time.

Matt picked up the riff, Chevans the drums, Vikki the bass, and they kept a round going where they had left off. I was still awestruck by the audience, and was only vaguely aware that Robin was talking over the music.

“… and this is a special song for some special people. Some people who make the effort to support us as much as they can …”

I scanned the crowd for any faces I knew.

“… came to most of the tour, just to see us play the same set time and time again …”

I couldn't see anyone.

“… they make a really cute couple, don't you think?”

Was that Wes down there at the front?!

“… so let's sing it along for them, shall we…?”

No, my eyes were playing tricks on me. It wasn't him, it was some other—

And that was when millions of tiny shimmery shreds of plastic, almost like confetti, rained from above me. It was unbelievable. All of the light hit the various colours, and made the entire stage feel like a different world, like I was suspended in time. It was so beautiful that I staggered backwards in surprise, as Robin began to sing with what sounded like the whole of the audience as backing:

“
'Cause everything is idle when it's done for
–”

I bumped into something and spun around fast.

“–
you!
”

Straight into Wes.

The music carried on playing. Robin carried on singing. The confetti carried on falling. The crowd carried on screaming.

Wes took my hand and looked at me with those big conker eyes like he hadn't seen me in years.

“It turns out that American blondes and bad-ass English boys rather like each other…” he shouted, so that I could hear him. “Margo knew all along, but only told me now because she ‘didn't want to stir'.”

Ironic much?

“But I just saw him with some redhead!” I cried, bemused.

He laughed and shrugged. “Well then, he's even more of a jerk than I thought he was. He and Emily deserve each other.”

“Well, maybe that's OK,” I shouted back, determined for him to hear me over the amazing music. “Because that turns out to be a lot less hassle for me if she isn't with you!”

He smirked, holding up his hands in a surrendering pose.

“Less hassle?” he yelled sarcastically. “I can't expect anything to be idle when it's done for you!”

I grinned, stepped up to him, and kissed him ever so lightly on his gorgeous lips ('cause there were hundreds of people watching, after all!). I kissed him again, softly, and just stayed there for a moment in his arms with confetti swirling around us like a glittery snowstorm. It was amazing, like a dream, and everything just felt … right. Like I couldn't believe I'd wasted my time on other guys when Wes had been there all along. Then all the sound and colour rushed back and hit us full force. It suddenly came back to me – that we were on stage with our favourite band, with hundreds of people watching, and they were playing our song…

So we danced.

And I carried on smiling, and so did he; all through what was left of the perfect midsummer night's eve.

Rachael Wing was only fourteen years old when she posted the first few chapters of her first book,
Star-Crossed,
on a writers' website. She was spotted by Scholastic Children's Books, who were hugely impressed by this brand-new talent – and the glowing reviews from the other readers.

 

Sometimes, truth is just as fabulous as fiction!

 

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First published in the UK by Scholastic Ltd, 2008

This electronic edition published by Scholastic Ltd, 2014

 

Text Copyright © Rachael Wing, 2008

 

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eISBN 978 1407 13937 1

 

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

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