Elyse drawls. ‘She is a snotty cow, though.’
‘She’s the worst of the lot. Good thing you’re not friends with her any more…’
‘Yeah, it turned out we didn’t really have a whole lot in common. You’re Shimmi, right?’ Elyse grins. ‘Hey, Sorana – nice T-shirt.’
‘Um, thanks?’
I can’t work out if Elyse is making fun of me or not – probably because my gut instinct is that everybody is, all of the time – until she opens up her old army jacket to display the fact that she’s wearing the exact same one.
And that’s it. We’re off – all about how Elyse loves Trouble Every Day as much as I do, and so does Melanie. As we babble excitedly, it feels for a second like someone gets it. Then Shimmi starts to join in and I nearly burst out laughing, because I have never heard her so jazzed about Trouble Every Day in my whole life. I mean, Shimmi listens to Mariah’s greatest hits.
‘Oh, yeah, me too. Totally, deffo. My favourite one’s… What’s it called, again, Sorana? Something about “dead leaves in the winter” or some shit like that.’
‘Dead Flowers in the Fireplace!’ Elyse and I chant in chorus.
Then we all do burst out laughing. On the door, Shimmi and I show our hand stamps while the twins hand over their tickets, but instead of going straight ahead into the venue, Elyse immediately veers left and up the stairs.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask Elyse. ‘The gig’s downstairs.’
‘Yeah, I know – but the bar’s upstairs. Trouble Every Day won’t be on until nine, nine-thirty at the earliest. I’m not really up for seeing some crappy local support band called…’ she consults her ticket ‘…Mission to Mars, thanks very much.’
Tonight’s gig is an all-ages night, but the Arts Centre hosts all sorts of different events and the bar is still over-eighteens only – I know, from having come here to see a Polly Stenham play with my mum last year, that the upstairs bar is a candle-lit cavern with a small balcony overlooking the stage. When we walk in now, it’s a different proposition altogether. It’s still dark, lit only by candles and fairy lights – but it’s noisy and full of cool people, mostly a bit older than us as all the younger kids are downstairs.
This is where, left to my own devices, I would hover in the doorway for a moment before turning back down the stairs, defeated. Elyse pushes her way through the crowd and straight up to the bar. I follow her without question.
‘A bottle of house red and four glasses, please.’
‘Thanks,’ I say as she hands me a brimming glass – as much for saving me from having to order, as for the drink itself.
‘Cheers,’ Elyse replies, holding up her glass in a toast and grinning around the group.
‘Cheers,’ we all echo.
‘And happy birthday, Sorana!’ Shimmi adds.
As soon as Shimmi says this, Elyse appears to be suspended, mid-motion, in mid-air. Then, gradually, her face comes back to life and she looks over to Melanie, then at me. Once her eyes have locked on me, they don’t move away again. It’s like being trapped in oncoming headlights on the motorway.
‘It’s your birthday? Today?’
I nod.
‘And you’re seventeen?’
‘Yes,’ I say, wondering if I’m missing the point somewhere along the line here.
‘So you’re a Gemini?’
‘Yeah…’
‘Well, why didn’t you say so?’ Elyse suddenly begins cackling with manic laughter and envelops me in a huge hug. ‘Trouble Every Day are playing tonight and it’s your birthday and we all bumped into each other – it really is a sign! Here’s to your birthday, Sorana! Here’s to you!’
Just as Elyse predicted, we can hear from here that Mission to Mars are pretty dire. We chat and drink our wine and don’t pay too much attention. But as soon as the support set has finished, I’m starting to get antsy. I finish my drink and watch helplessly as other gangs of girls stake out their places at the front, sitting down cross-legged on the floor to bag the space.
‘Elyse…’
Elyse smiles into my eyes and holds up a hand to stop Shimmi halfway through an anecdote about the time her brother grew marijuana plants in their dad’s greenhouse without him noticing.
‘Come on. It’s time for Trouble Every Day!’
We’re spinning and jumping and whirling and dancing and screaming along with every word. I can feel the bass going all the way through me, from the soles of my feet, and it’s the best feeling because it’s all my favourite songs; it’s the music I love and it’s my birthday and I’m unexpectedly surrounded by friends. Vincent August is hotter than a thousand suns and the band seem to be playing harder than I have ever seen before.
I’m dancing with Elyse, both of us singing along and utterly unself-conscious, when I feel eyes on me, the distinct sensation out of nowhere that I am being watched. I look up, and see a boy staring at me. I come to a total standstill for a moment as the music fades away and rings like silence in my ears.
It takes me a moment to register that he’s the most beautiful boy I have ever seen – like a Kurt Cobain or a Robert Pattinson – you have to look through a thin layer of grunge before you notice the perfect bones underneath. The sort of heartbreaking face you could hang on a charm bracelet or keep in your box of special things under your bed. He’s leaning against the wall, standing apart from the crowd. His hair is flopping in his eyes and he is looking through it and right at me.
‘Earth to Sorana!’ Elyse yells in the direction of my ear and seizes my arm. ‘You all right?’
‘Yeah…’
My heart sinks – I am standing next to the most beautiful blonde the Arts Centre, if not the world, has ever seen. I couldn’t help but feel like we had a moment back there, but he was probably looking at Elyse. When I look back, he is gone.
I try to forget it, and just keep dancing. Way too soon, before I know it, it’s all over.
‘Listen,’ Elyse says to Shimmi and me as soon as the music stops, she and Mel hugging both of us. ‘We’ve got to run and get our lift. See you soon, yeah?’
Now that the lights have come up and the crowd is rapidly dispersing, the room looks a bit sad. Suddenly, it’s just Shimmi and me, alone again and a bit tired and sweaty. Shimmi’s make-up is all over the place; I can feel that my face is shiny and my hair lanker than ever, without even having to look in a mirror. The spell is definitely broken.
As we trail outside to wait for Pete, it’s just in time for me to see Elyse and Melanie across the road, climbing into the back of a car. That’s when I realise it’s him – the beautiful boy from earlier, with the floppy hair and the face made of unattainable dreams – sitting in the front passenger seat. Elyse didn’t speak to him all night or give any indication that she knew him; now she is getting into a car with him – and, cringingly I realise, I had been stupid enough to think that he might be looking at me.
Shimmi is oblivious as I watch another unknown, shadowy boy climb into the driver’s seat, before they speed away. Fortunately, then Pete pulls up in my mum’s Volvo and beeps jauntily.
‘How was your night, ladies?’
For a minute I had almost forgotten, but the magic still hasn’t worn off yet and suddenly it all comes flooding back. Shimmi and I grin at each other in the rear-view mirror.
‘It was brilliant,’ we say in perfect unison.
When Elyse rings me on Sunday night – less than twenty-four hours after the gig – I am beyond thrilled, but apprehensive.