Amber

Chapter 8

October 11, 2014

Dear Journal,

I showed up to the concert late on purpose so that I could blend in with everyone and avoid any awkward situations. I was totally unsure of Brad's reasons for inviting me to his show, so I mainly wanted to avoid getting there early enough to see his tongue jammed in some other girl's mouth or another disaster along those lines. Until we clearly escape the confines of friend zone, I don't want to misread anything.

I figured I would show up for a few songs and then leave without him knowing I was there. That way I could say I came but not seem like some pathetic groupie fan who went out and bought a new outfit specifically for the occasion. Good lord, it's such a cute outfit though, so I don't even feel bad about it.

I asked Hannah if she wanted to come, and she said that she did but had plans to go to dinner with Jake (her boyfriend). So I asked my friend Nicole instead. She's awesome because she already has her license and a car and doesn't have a lot of boy experience or make you feel stupid when you ask her to pick you up an hour after the show starts and to park far enough away to not be noticed.

We heard the music as soon as we turned onto the street—if you can call it a street. It was more like a gravel path leading up to a driveway, leading up to the type of house Bill Gates might live in if he took a second job. Seriously! It almost looked proud to be standing there all alone as if it swallowed the surrounding houses and shit out a bigger backyard.

There were lines of cars everywhere—on the gravel path, the driveway, even some on the front lawn. I huddled close to Nicole as we walked to the back, which was no easy task. Eventually the enormous house gave way to porch lights and a swimming pool and miles of open area where hundreds of kids stood, some with lighters, facing the stage (a wooden platform held up by garbage cans, sprayed with headlights beaming from surrounding cars) and swaying to a slow song that was all bass and acoustic and Brad's voice filling the air like a thunderstorm. It's so much deeper—his voice—when he's singing. Like he's stepping out of himself. Falling into every lyric.

I couldn't see his face, but I imagined him looking like every other rock star—all sweating and agonizing over the way the music takes them over long enough to actually exist inside of it. I closed my eyes and listened so that I could absorb that moment—that part of Brad—so that no matter how far he ever got away from me I would always keep that one piece of him—his voice floating over all of our heads, out of reach but somehow beating in our hearts.

When the song ended, the crowd roared and guys ran around waving their shirts while girls screamed at the stage, and everything at once reminded me why I didn't want to come or how I was never going to belong in Brad's universe. On that stage he was a God to them. They literally raised their eyes to look at him. An image of perfection. Because that's what Brad is. He's freaking perfect. And there I was stuck in the middle of everything, all not perfect and unsure of how to stand while listening to the next song without looking out of place. Unsure of how to be jealous of all of the girls undressing him with their eyes.

In that moment I thought only of one thing. That this is the type of guy who can't belong to one person because he belongs to everyone. That I would never be his Hailey—and even worse—he would never be my Brad.

They played one final song—no encore. Then everyone either flocked to the stage to greet the band members or drifted away toward the drinks in the coolers near the swimming pool. I wanted to leave, but Nicole found some guy from one of her classes and started talking to him. So I was stuck there, one of hundreds of Brad's very important invited guests.

I started to wonder things like how many of these people had he asked to go on a walk (or something) with him after school.

God, why do I do this to myself? It's okay, Hailey. Get out all of the crazy.