by Non Pratt
“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.
KAZ
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.
RUBY
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 FUC
KING WEXLER.
26 • FIND MY WAY BACK
RUBY
I feel like one of those wooden donkeys with tubes for legs held straight by taut strings that collapse when you press a button. Taut, loose, taut, loose. If I wasn’t concentrating so hard on walking, I’d probably slide sideways and fall right over.
That last beer hit me hard. Or that kiss.
I can’t work out which I find harder to believe: that I went in for a snog with a rock god or that he actually kissed me back.
Adam Wexler. Kissed me.
Suddenly my legs are very loose and I have to stop for a second.
With tongues.
Now my whole body appears to have gone floppy.
Such a hot kiss.
It barely seems real given how many times I’ve fantasized about it, but I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and run my tongue across the most tender part, where his tooth scored the skin.
Definitely real.
I’ve come over all fuggy. Beer? Sunshine? Lust?
My brain is incapable of sensible thought. My mouth incapable of sensible action.
I am all over incapable of sensible anything.
But then I’ve never been the sensible one.
I need to find Kaz…
KAZ
“Where’s Ruby?” Lauren asks when I tell her it’s time to go. “I thought Gold’ntone was going to be the highlight of her year?”
When we tell the others where we’re going, Ferris rolls his eyes and Nick comes out with, “Blinded by your vaginas, like everyone else.” Which earns him a punch on the arm from Eve.
“Don’t be a dick.” Eve smiles at me. “Some men feel threatened by hotness.”
“Who says I’m threatened?” Nick looks outraged. “I know I’m hot. I wouldn’t have landed a girl as gorgeous as you otherwise.”
He puts an arm around Eve and kisses her cheek, his nose mashing into the side of her head as she tries to push him off. Lauren looks uncomfortable about this – whatever she feels for Tom, it hasn’t stopped her attention from wandering – first Stu, now Nick… Guilt punches me in the lungs and I’m winded by my own hypocrisy.
“I take it you guys are staying here, then?” Sebastian says, sliding off the table to stand next to me. Another of those glances pass between Nick and Ferris, and Eve tells him they’re going to wake the guitarist and catch the band headlining the Mellow Tent later.
“We’ll see you by the van at midnight if we don’t hear from you before.” This time it’s Eve who’s giving me a funny look and I feel myself burning up under the scrutiny. As Sebastian nods his agreement, Eve reaches over to give me a hug. “It was nice to meet you,” she says, before halving the volume to add, “He likes you. This doesn’t happen often, so be gentle with him.”
It’s exactly the sort of thing that Ruby would say to Sebastian.
Where is she?
I call her on our way to the exit.
“Where are you?” I say.
“Bins.”
“Which bins?” And why?
“Ones opposite the bar, near the gate.”
I tap Lauren on the arm and point in that direction, before brushing my fingers down Sebastian’s arm to guide him. Or just as an excuse to touch him.
Still on the phone to Ruby, I say, “We’re heading over. Are you OK?”
“Not sure.”
“What about this hot boy you promised me?”
“Not sure.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Not sure.”
“For God’s sake, Ruby!” I’m not in the mood for cryptic. She’s been awkward all day and I’ve run out of patience … and that’s when I see her, leaning heavily on an overflowing bin. She’s resting her head on one hand, holding the phone to her face with the other, even though I’ve just hung up.
Lauren’s seen her too. “Is Ruby drunk?”
Lauren’s mouth is open, eyebrows puckered together in a perfect depiction of what Ruby would call Scandalized Face. For the first time today, I suspect that Ruby’s right to think that Lauren doesn’t like her – although after last night, I’m hardly enamoured of Drunk Ruby either.
“Not sure,” I say to Lauren.
RUBY
We plunge into the crowd together, me at the front of our little snake, Lauren following, Kaz behind her with Sebastian. I asked where the rest of the band went, but now I can’t remember what the answer was. I push forwards, careless of the people I’m trampling in my haste.
The first thing Kaz said was, “You’re drunk.” Which I probably am but is not the point.
And then Lauren asked me where my fabled hot boy was.
Fabled.
“I sent Kaz a photo.”
Lauren laughed a “HA!” with such a sharp little yap that it made me wince. Then Kaz told me it didn’t matter and that we’d be late for Gold’ntone, and the beautiful-but-not Sebastian was looking at me like I was something to pity and I couldn’t bear it…
“Wait up, Ruby!” Lauren catches hold of my sleeve and I yank it from her grasp.
“Don’t touch me!” I yell, loud enough that Kaz and Sebastian and the twenty people crushed into a two-metre radius hear me.
“No need to bite my head off!” Lauren looks offended and Kaz puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Ruby…” It’s her telling-me-off voice. Kaz has decided that I am drunk and everything I do from now on is entirely unreasonable.
I HAVEN’T EVEN DRUNK THAT MUCH.
I probably HAVEN’T EVEN DRUNK THAT MUCH.
Kaz is supposed to be the person I can trust to see straight through all my bullshit. When did the pair of us get so fucking blind that we couldn’t even read the truth in each other?
I turn away. “I want to get closer.”
As I storm on, ignoring the tuts and squeals and “watch where you’re going”s, I bump my chin on someone’s elbow and bite through the sore spot on my lip. The pain is sharp and welcome and sobering, but it doesn’t last long enough to distract me from how upset I am about Kaz.
The only other thing to think about is the band. The music. The man making it.
It’s stupid in a crowd this size to hope that he’ll find me, but I don’t stop until we’re as near to the stage as we’re likely to get.
“Ruby!” Lauren holds me back as a bottle of suspiciously yellow fluid flies from above and plummets to the ground. The pissile explodes, but I’m clear.
“We should move further back,” Lauren’s saying to Kaz, who’s nodding.
“It’s a pretty intense crowd,” adds Sebastian. But Kaz looks at me and I forget that I’m hurt, because my best friend is not immediately doing whatever pleases Lauren.
“I don’t want to move,” I say, cheek pressed against the back of the girl in front as the crowd lifts me off my feet.
“OK.” I hear Kaz loud and clear because the crowd has moved her closer. “But if I faint, promise me you’ll illegally crowd-surf me out of here?”
I squeeze her hand by way of a promise since my mouth is full of someone else’s hair.
When the stage lights flare, most of the band burst on, creating a space around the microphone at the front of the stage, waiting for the heart of the band to start beating. Mine thud thuds in time with the bass drum. The second he steps into the spotlight, the crowd heaves amidst a swell of screams. Wexler is wearing a suit jacket, the vest underneath cut low enough to show off the new tattoo we’ve all been speculating about. The possibility of seeing more of it if I go backstage superheats my core and I start trembling.
I want to tell Kaz, but I don’t think it’s the wisest thing to shout that I’ve snogged Adam Wexler in the midst of some girls wearing tees with “I want to sex the Wex” scrawled in lipstick. Or blood.
“Ruby!” Kaz is yanking at my hand. “It’s our song!”
And she throws our arms in the air, squeezing my hand tight as I jump and scream in joy when the familiar chords sound out. I look up to see our hands locked together
above the crowd, silhouetted against the stage lights.
KAZ
Ruby running up the stairs into my room shouting, “Listen to this, listen to this!” jamming one of her headphones into my ear so hard that I fell off my chair.
The email I got on my phone with the subject PLAY ME NOW! and clicking through to the video when it only had 73 views.
Dancing round the classroom in a conga when it came on the radio one lunchtime.
The print Ruby made of my favourite lyric that she had framed for my birthday. The tears I cried because she knew me so well.
Friday nights by the DJ booth, putting in at least twenty requests for this song, giggling too hard to write the words properly on the Post-its.
The “Kaz, Kaz, Kaz!” when it came on the playlist in Owen’s van on the way here – the marks on my leg after she’d gripped it in excitement at the thought of seeing them tonight.
I’m squeezing Ruby’s hand tighter with each memory, until her fingers are half-crushed. Music has made me cry for the love of it before, but now I feel like crying for the love of my best friend. My crazy, jealous, moody (possibly drunk) best friend who I love more than anyone else in the world.
More than I ever loved Tom. More than I could ever love Lauren.
“Everything Ends Midnight” – but not tonight.
Not me and Ruby.
27 • MAYDAY [M’AIDEZ]
RUBY
Seven songs in and they’ve got to be near to closing the set. As if on cue, Wexler, now jacketless, ribbed vest clinging to his body, tells us that this is the last song. His gaze sweeps the audience, as it has so many times already, and I imagine that he’s looking for me, when I know he’s really just seeking adoration. I stare at the stage, hoping, dreaming that this time he will see me.
Just as it seems he won’t, his eyes rest on my patch of the crowd.
And he points.