Authors: Non Pratt
Kaz glances her question at Lauren, then me and I try to think of something witty.
“Er…”
Brain fail
.
Sebastian smiles at all three of us, although it’s Kaz he directs the question to. “Do you fancy hanging out backstage with us?”
Backstage everything looks the same, only every element is suffused with a certain magic – a glamour in both senses of the word. The sun seems brighter, the people cleaner, the laughter louder. Flipping the lanyard over, I read the words
guest pass – skyfires
to reassure myself. Sebastian gave Lauren and me one each with Ruby picking the short straw and risking a broken wristband that she’s pinned back together. Not that anyone here seems to care one way or the other. The only security I can see are driving quad bikes of people more important (or more lazy) than us through the crowds, and everyone else is too busy to worry about what anyone else is doing. We pass a group of girls consulting the schedule as one of them pulls out her phone. “I’m setting an alarm for eight forty-five. No way am I missing Gold’ntone.”
When I look at my own phone, I’m dismayed at how little time that means we’ll have with Sebastian.
Catching myself thinking this feels odd. It’s been so long since I had a crush on anyone other than Tom that I’m not even sure that’s what this is. Do I fancy him? Or do I just really like him?
It could be both…
Sebastian leads us to a table, where I recognize the other members of his band. He introduces everyone: Nick the drummer and Ferris, who I think was the tall keyboard player, and Eve, the bassist. Apparently their guitarist has gone for a nap in the back of their van.
“He always does that,” Sebastian says to me. “Don’t take it personally. Now, let me get this right.” Sebastian points to Ruby first. “This is Ruby and Lauren. And this is Kaz.”
My cheeks flush at the glance that Nick and Ferris exchange, but there’s no time for awkwardness as Sebastian pulls over some spare chairs. Ruby sits down and shows no compunction in asking Nick if one of the beers is going spare. Something Lauren doesn’t look too happy about.
“Drink?” Sebastian asks.
“Is there any water?” I can only see beer.
“I’ll get you some.” And he stands to leave. My dismay must show, because he asks if I want to go with him.
Which I do.
“So. Er…” I walk with him to the bar, hoping to strike flirtatious gold.
“How’s your day been?” Sebastian asks.
“Nice.” I’m useless at this.
“That’s a very vague word.”
“I know. Sorry.” The queue for the bar here is tiny compared to the arena – only two-people deep.
“Why say sorry?” Sebastian smiles into my eyes. “Vague is permitted.”
“OK. How about your day?”
“Mostly fine, escalating to exquisitely nerve-wracking.”
I can imagine why. “You didn’t need to be nervous – that set was amazing.
You
were amazing.” And then because this sounds a bit over the top, I panic and add, “Your band were amazing.”
“Don’t let them know you called them ‘my’ band,” Sebastian says in a whisper that’s quiet enough for him to lean in.
“Well, SkyFires are amazing, then.”
“Oh, I know that.” His somewhat goofy grin dilutes the arrogance of the statement. “I’m not a fan of fake modesty. I like the music we make – we can draw in a good crowd and we’ve interest from someone who wants to manage us. We play to bigger crowds in our hometown than here.” Sebastian glances at me and then away, shuffling forwards towards the bar. “That wasn’t what I was nervous about.”
Performing here would still make me nervous, but… “What were you nervous about, then?”
“Just a girl I met.”
“Oh,” I say, disappointed.
But Sebastian ducks his head, forcing me to meet his eyes. “That girl is you.”
“Oh.” This time I do not sound evenly faintly disappointed. “Now you’ve made
me
nervous.”
His laugh is uncomplicated and happy. “You’ve no need to be. I’m not after anything sinister, just your company.”
“Really?”
Sebastian nods. “So far I’m enjoying it a lot.”
And even though I’m smiling mostly at the grass between his feet, when I glance up, he’s looking at me as if that really is what he wants from me.
“Water?” he asks and I nod.
I definitely have a crush.
I’m tired of having Lauren cock-block me every time I try to talk to Drummer Boy Nick. Really fucking irritating when all I want to do is find out more about Sebastian ON KAZ’S BEHALF. Also, really fucking pointless. Lauren’s a one-focus kind of girl, so she hasn’t noticed that Nick and Eve are totally a couple. One of those really relaxed ones that are so comfortable in their togetherness that they don’t need to advertise it beyond the familiarity of a hand-touch here or a secret smile there.
When I say I’m going to the loo, Lauren shuffles in closer to Nick and I smile at Eve, who winks at me. I guess if you’re in a band with your boyfriend you get used to it.
The toilets here have had a lot less use than the ones in the main arena. They’re like the ones down by the main stage: Portakabins complete with sinks, although these ones have functioning soap dispensers and actual toilet roll. There are a couple of girls in there, talking about having to take a picture to go with their write-up of the afternoon’s gossip. The one with the plumage of a tropical bird plaited into her hair accosts me at the sink, accusing my outfit of being totally grunge-punk chic and cooing over my arm – “Is it real?” – not waiting for an answer as she loops an arm around me and hauls me outside, asking if she can take a photo.
Before I can really decide whether I want that, the deed is done and Feather Head’s friend/colleague, whose necklace looks like a pterodactyl clinging to the cliff-face of her collarbone, is asking me whether I’m eighteen.
Given that I’m planning on heading barwards at some point, I sneer slightly and say, “Thanks a lot!” as if I’m massively insulted that she’d even ask.
Necklace Girl holds the phone steady as she asks, “What’s your name, how old are you and do you mind if we post your picture as part of the festival fashion piece for
Gozzip Magazine
?”
“Ruby Kalinski. Er, eighteen. No, sure, use my picture however you want.”
They tell me I’m done, but as they faff finding the right filter or whatever, Feather Head tells me to keep an eye on the Festblog feed. “A few of these street-style snaps go up there.”
Ugh. Festblog. Maybe I was a little hasty giving permission, but it’s too late now – my hyperactive photographers have already started walking off. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? I didn’t have my arse hanging out or anything and it’s not like I’m Megan Mallory or someone actually famous.
Kaz is back at the table, but before I get there, I see Lauren laughing, resting her arm on my mate’s shoulder; my feet slow to a stop and I can’t seem to get them going again. At least, not in that direction.
At the bar, it dawns on me that no one in here will believe my lie about being eighteen. The women look
magnificent
– they’re all seven-foot tall and wearing lipstick, both of which automatically make you look older. Standing on my tiptoes and swiping on some Vaseline is not going to cut it. Or grease it.
I turn back and walk straight into someone holding a full pint.
“Shit!” I’m not sure which of us said it the loudest.
“I’m so sorry – can I get you another one? Only, I don’t think I’ll get served and I don’t have my ID on me, so could you…?”
My voice trails off when I realize who I’m gibbering at Kaz-style.
Adam Wexler stops angry-frowning and starts thinking-frowning.
“I asked you to sign my belt,” I say. Then I point helpfully to my crotch. Awesome.
“The girl with the ex-boyfriend.”
“Could be anyone, that, couldn’t it?” I say.
“But it’s you I’m talking to.” He touches my shoulder, gently turning me towards the bar and guiding me forwards. I do my best not to faint. “How about we procure a drink and you tell me how successful you’ve been at getting your own back?”
“Well, I’ve not revenge-snogged anyone yet,” I say, trying to hold my nerve.
Wexler lowers his head so that his mouth is next to my ear as we approach the bar.
“Yet,”
he says, quietly, leaning away to order two beers.
The band are funny, especially Nick, who is fantastic at impressions and is currently circling the picnic table in a perfect “Moves Like Jagger” dance, leaving all of us in stitches. The others start begging him to do an impression of Adam Wexler and I glance at my phone to find there’s a message from Ruby.
Have found a hot boy. Will come find you before GT. K? X
I message back.
Picture?
She resends the Adam Wexler photo she found on Tumblr.
I meant a picture of the one you’re with, idiot
.
Be patient. You’ll see him later anyway. Hope you’re making good progress with S
.
My eyes slide to meet Sebastian’s and my heart accelerates to triple time. There isn’t much time between now and when we’ll need to leave to join the crowd for Gold’ntone – we need to get in early if we want to make it to the front before they come onstage.
“Do you want to come and watch Gold’ntone with us?” I ask, edging closer, not wanting to discuss this with all the others as well.
“So you’re a Gold’ntone fan, then?” Sebastian doesn’t quite answer my question and I get cold feet that maybe he doesn’t like them and somehow I’m horribly uncool, which is why I answer only half truthfully.
“Not as much as Ruby.”
“Your other friend.” He nods, looking round for her, even though she’s not here for him to see. It feels odd to have Ruby referred to as “other”.
“Ruby and I came here together. She’s my best friend.” Sebastian looks at Lauren and raises his eyebrows in question. “Lauren is … new to the group.”
His focus sharpens. “You seem like you’ve known each other a while.”
I laugh at this, a little embarrassed about how short that while actually is. “She’s going out with one of my friends.”
“
Boy
friend or
girl
friend?”
“Ex-boyfriend, actually.” Sebastian watches me, but I don’t know what it is that he’s thinking and I look away as I add, “You’re thinking that’s pretty weird, I suppose.”
“I’m thinking that
you’re
pretty, Kaz.” And I glance up to see him studying me. “That’s all I was thinking.”
He still hasn’t answered my question about Gold’ntone.
Our cups are empty.
“Your shout, Ruby.” Wexler nudges my foot with his toe.
“Yeah … about that…”
“You’re not eighteen, are you?” Wexler leans in, one elbow resting on the table, his face not far from mine. Breathing is very difficult, but I try not to act too flustered. It’s the first time he’s asked a serious question, and I guess it’s the kind that needs a serious answer.
“More like sixteen.” I concentrate on holding his gaze, making sure he knows I’m old enough to handle another beer. And myself.
“You know you’re staring?” Wexler says in a voice that I have to inch closer to hear.
“You know you’re an incredibly famous rock star?” I whisper back. “Staring is kind of the law.”
Wexler laughs then, leaning back in his chair, looking at me as if I’m something he was surprised to find. Or maybe it’s a move. I’ve had a lot of practice playing this kind of game with Stu, but he was my equal. Wexler is not, in any way shape or form, my equal.
But he does appear to be playing down at my level. For now. “Is that all I am to you? An
incredibly
famous rock star?”
It’s clear he’s mocking himself, not me.
“Are you meant to be anything else?”
“I thought we were bonding here. Becoming friends. Exchanging revenge stories, revealing devastating ways we’ve broken hearts…”
“I think you might have broken more than me,” I say.
Wexler narrows his eyes and I see a flash of white as he bites his lower lip. His eyes are so piercing it’s as if he’s looking right into my fantasies.
“It’s quality, Ruby, not quantity.” Then he goes to get up, pausing as he stoops near. “And something tells me you’re quality through and through.” He stays close, letting me hear him breathe. I’m aware that his mouth is getting closer to my ear and then he gives my earlobe not a kiss but a gentle pinch of teeth and a light tug. A fraction of a second later, he flashes me an entirely wicked grin that makes my insides quiver as he gets up to go to the bar. “We’ve time for one more…”
Once I’m alone, I hold my hand out flat. Or at least I try to – it’s more than a little bit shaky. As is the rest of me.
I can’t believe this is happening. He is
so very sexy
.
Watching him come back with two pints of beer, my heart plummets between my legs and thumps there insistently. Wexler puts the drinks down and runs a finger along my wrist as if getting my attention, then presses my unspent tenner into my palm.
“My stage call’s in fifteen minutes.”
How is that the time?
“No one’s allowed stage-side.”
As if I thought that was on the cards. A nibble on the earlobe might be five-star flirting, but it’s not a promotion from fan to entourage.
“I’ll be fine watching the normal way, at the front of the stage,” I say.
Wexler drinks some of his beer. I drink some of mine. I’m feeling a little woozy. I drink some more.
“So you won’t be coming backstage afterwards?” he asks.
I drink again, because it’s easier than using actual words when he’s looking at me like that.
“Because I’d like it if you were.”
Seriously, is this actually happening?
“I feel like I’m the one doing all the talking here.”
And he comes closer, moving his chair forwards until his leg is between mine, his face filling my vision with his sexy eyes and lips.
And then I lose my mind, because I, Ruby Kalinski, go in for a kiss. WITH ADAM FUCKING WEXLER.