Witcha'be (15 page)

“I’m so excited. Aren’t you, Molly?” Lenni leaned forward, peering across Bianca.

“Can’t wait,” I said flatly.

“Me neither!” She bubbled over, clapping her hands and stomping her soggy, black, moccasin boots on the floorboard.

Bianca rolled her eyes.

“Well, you don’t have to wait any longer, because we’re here,” Pam exclaimed, pulling into the parking lot.

“My word! I’ve never seen so many cars,” Mom gasped.

“How about I let you girls off right out front?” Pam asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

I swiped fog from the side window and squinted through the rain.

“Sweet!” Lenni exclaimed.

“Do you remember where we picked up tickets for the musical last spring?” Pam asked.

Lenni nodded. “Oh my goodness, that was such a
sad
play. I cried. I couldn’t believe when at the end she—”

“Lenni. The concert.” Bianca snapped her fingers in front of Lenni’s face.

“Right.” Lenni shook her head and refocused on Pam’s eyes in the mirror. “I remember.”

“Show Molly to that counter when you get inside.”

“Molly, do you have your ID?” Mom asked.

“Yep.”

We nudged along in the line of traffic, finally stopping in front of the large arena.

“Okay, girls. Have a blast.” Pam gave us the thumbs-up sign. “Lenni, give me a call as soon as the show’s over, and we’ll pick you up right here. Look for us.” She swiveled and kissed Lenni on the cheek.

Mom frowned at our dripping, uncovered heads.

“I almost forgot. I have a little something for you.” Pam opened the console between the front seats and pulled out three, crisp fifty-dollar bills. “Enjoy yourselves.” She pressed one into each of our hands.

Cars honked.

“Go. See you in a couple of hours!”

I opened the door, feet disappearing into the moat in front of the arena. I fisted my money and ID tightly, curled my toes to keep my shoes in place, and sloshed through the ankle-high water. I stepped to the crowded curb, Lenni and Bianca right behind. Lenni’s waterlogged, knee-high moccasins must’ve weighed a ton.

“Hey, you ladies need tickets?” A short man in a ratty hat stuffed a hand inside his coat.

“No, thanks,” I said.

He shrugged and turned away.

We walked toward the doors. Water droplets vanished from Bianca’s sleek, high-heeled boots as she strutted past me.

“Reserved ticket counter is over there.” Lenni pointed to the glass booth by the far wall. Bianca quickened her stride, navigating around rows of people. Several heads turned as she passed.

Bianca and Lenni stood aside as I lined up behind a tattooed couple with a small boy with facial piercings.

“Next,” a blonde, pony-tailed girl called.

The little boy stared at me and poked his finger up a nostril, causing the silver stud in his nose to dance.

“Next!” I tore my gaze from the kid’s shimmying nose jewelry and handed the pony-tailed girl my ID. She squinted from my face to the card, and then slipped an envelope through the slot. “Bad hair day?”

I managed a weak smile and lifted the flap. Three tickets plus my ID.

I bustled from the counter, accidentally knocking into Bianca. The envelope jarred from my hand, contents spilling to the floor, sliding beneath the feet of the thickening crowd.

“Excuse me.” Falling to my knees, I crawled between people. I gathered the tickets and ID from the rain-smeared tile, keeping a tight grip on the money in my palm.

A ticket was missing. I glanced around, heart sinking.

“I’ve got mine.” Bianca rose and fanned her face with the ticket.

“Oh, good.” I slapped a hand to my heart and handed Lenni a ticket.

“I know where to go,” Lenni said, examining it. “VIP isn’t far from where we sat to see
Shoe Angel
.” She dragged her nail across the ticket. “Row one … seat one. No way—First row, first seat? Sweet!” She jumped up and down waving the ticket.

We snaked around lines of people at various booths that sold beer and band t-shirts. Lenni paused in front of a table displaying glow-in-the-dark merchandise, manned by an oily-looking guy wearing lighted, red devil horns.

“Ooooh. I want one,” she cooed, gazing at a fairy wand covered in colorful lights.

“Later,” Bianca said.

From the arena, a voice echoed, followed by a chorus of whoops, hollers and whistles. I searched my ticket for a seat number as we walked.
Row-two?
Seat
-
twelve
? My seat should’ve been right next to Lenni’s, row one, seat two.

“Bianca, what’s your seat number?” My heart thudded heavily.

“Two,” she said, without looking at the ticket.

“The show’s starting!” Lenni danced in place as guitars and drums reverberated. “Let’s roll.” She quickened her pace, walking toward the music.

“Bianca, I think you picked up the wrong ticket from the floor. That one’s mine. I’ve got yours.” I held the ticket out to her.

“Doesn’t matter.” She passed Lenni and lined up at the arena entrance.

“I want my ticket, please,” I said, aware of the warble in my voice.

“VIP is so close to the front, no one will care what our seat numbers are. Everyone is going to jump out of their chairs and dance when Dizzy takes the stage, anyway.” Bianca clenched the ticket in her teeth, gathering her wild, red tendrils into her hands then shaking them free.

The air thickened. “If it doesn’t matter, then you take this one.” I struggled to keep my voice even.

She ignored me and stepped forward in line—only three people standing between her and the ticket-taker.

Red and purple light pulsed through the turnstile in rhythm with my heart.

“Bianca.”

She swiveled, eyebrows raised.

“Bianca!” I shouted.

The turnstile clicked as the person in front of Bianca stepped through.

Lenni stopped dancing and tapped Bianca on the shoulder. “Molly’s talking to you.” She pointed to me as she shouted above the music.

Bianca looked at me, tossed her hair, and cupped her ear. She frowned and shook her head.

I glared and held out my hand. “Give me my ticket. Please,” I said slowly, my words lost in the squeal of electric guitars.

She put a hand on her waist and cocked her hip, holding up the ticket. “This ticket?” she mouthed, sweeping it through the air.

I took a step toward her.

“Don’t,” Lenni spoke into my ear, tugging my elbow.

“Me don’t? What about her? She has
my
ticket!” I shouted.

Lenni looked anxious. “It’s okay. We’ll be on our feet anyway. We’ll all be together and it won’t matter.”

The turnstile clicked. I jerked my gaze from Lenni in time to see the ticket-taker examine
my
ticket with a small flashlight. Bianca walked into the arena.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The bass guitar thumped inside my stomach and skull. Head down, I followed Lenni’s moccasins through the maze of people gyrating in the aisles. Plumes of cigarette smoke surrounded the huge
No Smoking
sign on the arena wall.

“
Eww
!” Lenni squealed, sidestepping a foaming puddle. Nearby, a large man grimaced and clutched his stomach, a red plastic cup in his hand.

Bashing Banisters,
the opening act, shrieked on stage, looking the size of insects.

“Can you believe this?” Lenni yelled in my ear. “We’re really here!”

Bianca handed her—
my
—ticket stub to the usher in the VIP section, who pointed toward the first row. He checked Lenni’s stub, and then mine. After he handed it back, I slid the stub into my shoe, along with my ID and fifty-dollar bill.

Bianca slipped quickly into seat number two. Bristling, I stood beside her chair.

“Move along,” a female usher instructed.

“She’s in my seat.” I pointed at Bianca.

“Stub, please.”

I held the chair for support and removed my shoe.

“Here’s mine.” Bianca handed the woman her stub while I rifled through my slipper. The usher shined a pin-light on the slip. “Row one, seat two. You’re in the right spot.”

Bianca flashed a smile.

“Got yours?” I handed over my stub. “Row two, seat twelve. You’re way down there.” She directed her pointer to the empty seat at the end of the second row, next to the far aisle.

“You don’t understand. She stole my ticket. This one is hers.”

The usher scowled and crossed her arms.

I looked at Lenni. She was gnawing her lip, eyes begging me to let it go—damsel in distress, limbs mercilessly strapped to a couple of wild horses headed in opposite directions.

“Never mind.” I stomped off, maneuvering around the section. I sighed and plopped heavily into seat twelve, next to a kid with a blue Mohawk and earlobe-gauges the size of quarters. He glanced at me, texting on his phone. My hand slid over my leggings. I’d forgotten my phone.

“Thank you!” The lead singer of
Bashing Banisters
yelled. “Party till you puke.” The band exited. Roadies with flashlights scrambled to the stage, hauling equipment up and down stairs.

“
Diz-zy
!
Diz-zy
!
Diz-zy
!” the crowd chanted. A roar, louder than thunder, filled the arena as people stomped their feet. The lights dimmed. Multicolored searchlights swept the audience as the intro to
Throw It
rose in volume.

“Ya’ll ready to rock and roll?” Dizzy’s charged voice ripped through the stadium to feverish screams and cheers.

“
I said
, are you ready to rock and roll tonight?”

Crazed fans banged their heads in the searchlight beams.

“Well, alright!” she shrieked, “Let’s
Throw It
!”

Dizzy rose from the center of the crowd in a black sequined harness. My mood elevated with her. Everyone jumped to their feet, hands in the air, as she zip-lined to the stage just in time to belt out the chorus. She looked and sounded incredible. I danced as she performed songs spanning all five albums, from
Dizzy’s
Epidemic
to
Dizzy’s
Prevention
. My clothing was drenched again, this time with sweat.

During the guitar solo, two ushers approached the first row, handing out laminated cards on lanyards. I craned my neck, straining to see.

“Cool. Backstage passes!” Mohawk boy shouted, reading over a screaming teenage girl’s shoulder.

“Can’t be,” I said.

“Is too! Says so right on it.”

“Excuse me, sir.” I tapped an usher as he passed. “What are those?” I pointed to the lanyards looped over his forearm.

“Backstage passes for the ticket winners in the first row.”

“Told you so.” Mohawk boy sneered.

I slid my hands down my face.

“Listen to 99.9. Maybe next time you’ll win.” The usher meandered toward the stage, purple laser lights reflecting off his bald head.

More lanyards caught my eye as a younger usher walked to a section of seats farther back. A skimpily dressed blonde called to him, whispered in his ear, and placed something into his palm. He glanced about, unfolded what appeared to be money, and then slipped a lanyard around her neck. I was outraged. Then remembered the fifty-dollar bill in my shoe.

Teetering on one foot, I removed the damp money and called to the balding usher. “Sir, can you come back, please?” I waved my arms, my words drowned out by the music.

Visibly agitated, he lumbered to my seat. “There a problem?”

I tiptoed, speaking into his ear like the blonde woman had done to the younger usher. “This is for you,” I whispered, slipping him the fifty. He backed away from me, frowning into his palm.

“Who put you up to this?” he asked in a low voice, handing the money back. It fell to the floor.

“No one. I just really need one of those passes.”

“Joseph, the new custodian, put you up to this? I should’ve known. He’s been after my job since he started here. Well, little missy, you tell old Joe I’m not falling for it.”

“That’s not it. Wait! I don’t know anyone named Joe.”

He walked away, waving an annoyed hand behind his back.

“I won the contest! Someone swiped my ticket and refused to give it back,” I yelled after him.

He ambled to his post in front of the stage. I stuffed the musty bill back into my shoe.

Dizzy returned to the stage to an explosion of applause and whistles.

“Ya’ll ready to rock some more?”

The crowd thundered. “Let’s do this!” She placed her hands on her knees and whipped her hair.

The ushers motioned us forward, inviting the VIP section to dance around the stage. I wilted in my seat, deflated. Bianca was going backstage to meet
my
rock star. The night was ruined. Angry tears, black with mascara, dripped to my leggings while Dizzy performed medleys of my favorite songs.

“Molly! Molly!” I heard Lenni call my name as security ushered people with backstage passes behind the stage. “Come with us!” She waved. Bianca smirked beside her.

A rubber band stretched then snapped within my brain. I sprang to my feet. That pass was mine. I wanted it back. I marched to Bianca, focused on the rectangular card around her neck. She stared through me.

“Give it to me,” I spewed between gritted teeth.

She tossed her hair.

I lunged, crushed the card in my fist and jerked, tearing it from the lanyard. Bianca dug her nails into my fingers, pulling them back. I wrapped my other hand around hers, constricting the knuckles. She twisted my wrist as I squeezed the pass, muscles shaking. Hands knotted, we grunted, breathing hard.

“Stop it!” Lenni jumped up and down. “Molly, Bianca, stop.” Her voice broke.

“What’s going on here?” The female usher appeared before us. “You again?”

“She has my pass.” My voice quivered.

“Break it up,” the usher demanded.

We continued to struggle.

“Drop your hands before I get security involved. They’ll throw both of you in the holding cell in back of the arena.”

She sounded serious. I loosened my grip. Bianca yanked the pass, the sharp edge slashing my palm. Sweat stung the wound. I refused to wince.