The Crush (6 page)

Forty thousand people suddenly hushed as the lights dimmed across the forecourt of the Sydney Opera House. Eyes focused on the gigantic makeshift stage rigged with amps, guitars, drum kits, control boards, microphones and massive television screens. Sweaty young guys and girls squashed together straining to hear the first note. Fans lining the nearby rock out-cropping pressed their faces between metal fencing, while those celebrating on boats and yachts bobbed in the harbour, which was rusting under the orange twilight. Delightfully nervous, one girl finally called out the name of her favourite singer and triggered off a litany of other names. People were desperate to see some of music's biggest stars. They needn't have worried. The delay was all part of the act.

Boom!
Silver fireworks rocketed into the air, the crowd erupted into chaos and fast fingers blasted out furious riffs as the first band leapt into view. Suddenly, the forecourt became one large maelstrom of singing and dancing. Kamikaze kids threw themselves into the mosh pit. Eager groupies clambered onto the stage to touch their heroes. Yellow-shirted security guards pushed them back. Bands screamed and shouted.

The concert had everything: babes, bouncers, beach balls, moshers, tats, headbangers, westies, Goths, screamers, dreamers, teenyboppers, indie poppers, waxheads, weirdos, freaks, geeks, water hoses and sweet sixteen flirters with more than music on their minds. There were people with earrings, nose rings, navel rings, tongue rings and of course a yuppie with a mobile phone that always seemed to ring. Others had blue hair, green hair, streaked hair, spiked hair or no hair.

Caught up in the excitement, Matt and Chris fought their way through the brutes, babes and body odour towards the stage. They hoisted themselves onto a barrier and faced tens of thousands of people writhing, shouting and screaming in front of them. They had to be mad.

Wa-hoo! They jumped.

Oomph! Hands caught Matt's legs, arms and back as he bombed into the seething mosh pit. They twisted, rolled, poked and groped him as he rode over the crowd. Fingers ran along his clothes and skin like millions of ants, which were carrying him like a giant morsel of food. Their touch was ticklish. The thrill was feverish. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care. This was so wicked.

The tide of hands gradually weakened until it broke.
Crunch!
He crashed face-first on the ground.

Knees and boots jabbed him as the crowd danced to a new song. Dazed, Matt struggled to resurface for air. He'd lost his bearings, not to mention Chris. Scouting the other ‘surfers', he spotted his mate still afloat and yelled out, ‘All right!' Chris answered by thumping his fists into the air.

‘How cool was that!' the Sundance Kid shouted when they regrouped. His shirt was ripped and he'd lost a shoe. ‘It's in the mosh pit somewhere. But look who I found.'

Rhino, Grover and Hazem squeezed through the crowd, soaked with sweat and water.

‘Matty!' Hazem shouted, grabbing his captain by the shoulders and shaking him excitedly. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you couldn't make it.'

‘What? And let you have all the babes? No way!'

‘Tell me about it! I've never seen so many good-looking women in my life. It's a fantasy come true.'

‘Then you must be still dreaming if you think any of these babes will pick you instead of me!'

Hazem laughed and grabbed Matty in a headlock. They mucked around before the squash of the crowd forced them apart.

‘How's it going, Rhino?' Matt asked.

Arms folded, the big Maori grunted then turned back to the stage. One grunt was good. Two grunts meant check the family insurance was paid up.

‘Hey Grover, what's with the frown?'

He snorted. ‘I just saw my girlfriend kissing a Princes boy.'

‘You're kidding.'

He wasn't.

‘Forget about her, mate,' Chris said. ‘It's the second time she's cheated on you.'

‘Don't worry. I'm cool. She won't be tomorrow when she finds out her new man recently suffered from severe glandular fever.'

Ha-ha! The guys crowed at that one.

The five of them were great friends. Hazem was a real lad. A Lebanese kid, he loved showing off to the girls, smart-mouthing rich kids, mimicking Robert De Niro, drooling over muscle cars and hanging out
by the pool during summer. He was the only son out of four children, and really family orientated. He never let anyone badmouth his parents, sisters or relatives. To his mates he was known as The Rocket because of his ability to launch himself from one side of the footy field to the other in seconds flat.

When he wasn't plotting revenge, Steve Evans was the Grover. He got his nickname from the same Sesame Street character he'd loved as a kid. When he was nine years old, Chris had a costume party where everyone had to come as their favourite TV character. Steve picked Grover. He dyed his hair blue, painted his nose pink and wore blue sheep-skin covers as fur. When he arrived at Chris' place and rang the doorbell, he was in for a shock. The costume party had been cancelled and everyone came wearing normal clothes. Except no one had told Steve. The kids laughed at him for hours. That was until Melissa Butterworth found him crying in a corner, cheered him up and said he looked kind of cute in his costume. Lucky guy. He experienced his first kiss that day and laughed at his mates for many years afterwards.

And then there was Rhino. One hundred and eighty-one centimetres tall at just fifteen, he was solid muscle. A Maori with thick skin, a big nose and
a hard head, he played centre for the Mongrels and blitzed any opponent who dared stand in front of him. He didn't say much and nobody could remember when he started tagging along with Chris and the guys. But when Rhino wanted to hang out, an arsenal of tranquillisers couldn't stop him.

The crowd went psychotic again as another band took control of the stage. It was one of Matt's favourites. Jumping up and down, he started thrashing on his air guitar. Chris, Hazem and Grover broke up laughing before joining in, while Rhino looked on with indifference.

They only stopped when Chris suggested they brave the mosh pit again. All agreed, except Rhino, who stubbornly stayed put.

Chris and Hazem plunged into the mosh pit first, followed by Grover and then Matt. Laughing like a loon, Matt rode over the crowd farther out than before. The world was out of control. He loved it!

Four hands grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him down. He tried resisting but he was sucked under. With a thud, he collapsed spine-first onto the ground. Shaking off the pain, he stretched to his feet—and faced Aaron Blackwell.

‘Nice fall?' Aaron asked.

‘What did you do that for, huh?'

‘I want to talk to you.'

‘Sorry, but I can't hear you
above all the music!
'

Matt moved to leave but the four goons surrounding him blocked the exits. Blackwell spun him round. ‘You better start listening or else.'

Matt's jaw clamped tight in anger. He scouted for Kelly. There was no sign of her.

‘What do you want then?' he demanded.

‘You know what I want.'

‘Zoo keepers to stop putting you back in their gorilla enclosure?'

Blackwell laughed, amused. ‘That's good coming from a guy whose mum shops at tent stores for clothes.'

‘Hey! Don't insult my mum.'

Blackwell shoved him backwards. ‘Then you better start taking me very seriously, feral.'

Matt tried retaliating but two goons grabbed him from behind.

‘Get your hands off me!'

Blackwell slapped Matt in the face. ‘Stop worrying about them and start worrying about me. You and I have things to talk about.'

‘We've got nothing to talk about.'

‘Oh yes we do. Plenty in fact. Remember the other day? You nearly got me arrested. If my old man
hadn't talked the cops out of it, I could be in serious trouble because of you. It's bad enough to have the Porsche taken away from me, but to know you were responsible? Mate, if I didn't like you before, I hate you now.'

‘So?'

‘So it's payback time.'

‘You can't be serious.'

‘Deadly. It's a simple proposition. You know your finals match against Punchbowl Boys High next week? You're going to lose it.'

‘Yeah right!'

Blackwell jabbed a finger at Matt's face. ‘I'm not joking.'

‘Yes you are if you think I'll ever throw a match. I'd never let my teammates down.'

The Lions captain leaned forward, eye-to-eye. ‘You better.'

‘Hey, Aaron,' one of his goons said, elbowing him.

Blackwell glanced up and saw a trio of security guards coming towards them. He had a friendly arm around Matt's shoulders when they arrived, casting robotic-like scans of the group. Matt couldn't say anything. Just like in science class, there were unspoken rules. Convinced nothing was wrong, the three hulks pushed on, looking for trouble elsewhere.

Still smiling, Blackwell grabbed him in a headlock. ‘Remember, lose the game on Tuesday or you'll never play football again.'

 

Fireworks bloomed in the night sky, turning the Opera House's white sails into gold then orange then green. Traffic streamed across the Harbour Bridge, its commuters hurrying to enjoy the beginning of the weekend, as another band took to the stage. The music was slower and based on romantic ballads. Couples hugged and swayed together while a small group of single guys yelled out for someone to change the channel.

‘Matty, we're going for a drink. You want anything?'

‘Nah, I'm right,' he told Hazem.

‘We'll be back in five minutes then.'

After his four mates left to fill their stomachs, Matt checked his watch. Ten o'clock. There was still another two hours to go. Turning round, he stood on tiptoes to look at the Circular Quay train station but he couldn't see anything. Sigh. And his view of the bus stops was blocked.

Since the shakedown, his enthusiasm for the concert had soured. He would've left if not for his friends. They were having such a great time he didn't
want to wreck it for them. But the more time dragged, the more itchy he got to bail. Bad luck. He wasn't going to stick around anymore. Matt cut through the crowd towards the food stalls. He'd find his mates and tell them he had an eleven o'clock curfew or something. Free, he headed towards a hot dog vendor when he saw a familiar face. Kelly! She'd just arrived. He was going to call out to her when she spotted who she was looking for and ploughed into the masses. He followed her.

The trail quickly disappeared and Matt found himself stuck between a group of thirteen-year-old girls in fluorescent crop tops and a ruckus of beer-drinking uni students dressed in Hawaiian shirts, shorts and jester hats. He pushed on but without any luck. ‘Watch it!'

‘Sorry.'

He was wedged tight.

The crowd thrashed wildly to a fast song. Elbows jabbed his ribs and feet jumped up and down on his shoes. Once the set was finished, he swore to get out of there. The last notes were played before the masses cheered. They quieted when a new, slower song was strummed, except one guy who was caught shouting mid-sentence at his girlfriend, ‘… you're absolutely hopeless, Kelly, you know that!'

People near Blackwell turned towards him. Matt didn't hear what was said next because Kelly begged him to lower his voice. But it was all Matt needed to pinpoint them.

When he found them, they were fighting again. He didn't get too close to hear what was said because of the bad blood between him and Blackwell. But from his hiding spot behind two tall women, he could see lots of angry pointing and whispered anger.

A new band strutted onto the stage and changed the tempo. Love songs were replaced with hard rock mixed with old-fashioned punk. The peroxide blonde lead singer screamed at the microphone as she tramped across the stage dressed in a black skin-tight vinyl bodysuit and high heels. The extra noise allowed Blackwell to scream at Kelly without restraint. She wasn't yelling back. She just stood there and copped it.

The crowd roared as the female singer finished her first song. Two goons elbowed Blackwell to check out what was happening on the stage. The singer was flicking sweat at excited guys swarming beneath her. The Princes boys laughed but Blackwell wasn't finished cursing his girlfriend. He turned back to her … except she was gone.

‘Kelly!
Kelly
! Where are you, you whore?'

Shadowy Moreton Bay fig trees lined the darkness as she ran into the Royal Botanic Gardens. Chittering night creatures scratched above her as the blare of guitars and drums started to grow softer. The harbour slurped against a seawall to her left, while skyscrapers and Centrepoint Tower blazed with neon lights off to the right.

The gardens were off limits at night. There was little illumination and no protection from an attack. So naturally she was extremely paranoid when a hand reached out behind her. She screamed and lashed out at her attacker.

‘Stay away from me, you freak!'

‘Kelly … wait!'

She hesitated at the sound of her name. Cautiously, she stood her ground and tried to make out the face of the guy collapsed on the ground and clutching his ribs. ‘Aaron?'

‘No, Matt Cassidy. Remember me?'

‘The footy player? What are you doing here?'

‘I saw you run into the gardens. You looked upset. I came to see if you are okay. Though the way you hit, I don't think I should've bothered.'

‘I'm sorry. I thought you were a pervert chasing after me.'

Matt groaned and rubbed his side. ‘Now I know how that ball boy you decked felt.'

Kelly watched him stand and brush himself off. ‘Are you okay?' she asked.

‘I should ask you the same question.'

She hesitated then nodded. ‘I just need to be alone for a few minutes. I was starting to feel … claustrophobic.'