I sprawled out on the padded seat, rested my head against the window, and took a deep breath in. Squeezing my eyes shut, I counted to ten and exhaled slowly, but my heart continued to beat at a marathon pace.
My best friend Trina lay casually in the seat across from me. Plugged into her iPod, she nodded her head and mouthed lyrics, oblivious to everyone else on the train around us. I envied her ability to stay calm at a time like this.
I leaned over and tapped her foot to wake her from her musical trance.
“What’s up?” she asked, taking out one earbud.
“Are you sure we’re not going to get arrested for this?”
“Don’t worry,” she responded. “Just act like you’re supposed to be there and everything will be fine.”
I nodded and sat up straight, wiping the sweat from my palms onto my jeans.
The train soon came to a jolting halt, and an automated voice came through the speakers, announcing the name of the stop as Kenmore Square.
“Come on,” Trina said. “We’re here.”
Climbing the steps up out of the hot, sticky station, we emerged onto a busy sidewalk in Boston. I hastily combed my fingers through my thick hair; humidity was not a friend to my frizz-prone waves, and tonight was not the night to look like a hot mess.
My stomach did back flips and somersaults as we approached the night club. I’d been dreaming of this moment for weeks, and now it was finally here. Lansdowne, our favorite band in the entire universe was inside this building, and all that remained between us and them was a big steel door, and a towering, muscular security guard.
“Names?” the guard asked, peering down at us over his clipboard.
“I’m Trina Thorne and this is Lacey Kind,” she said, clutching my arm. “We’re on the list.”
Trina’s confidence always astounded me, and I aspired to be as self-assured as her by the time I started college, which was only a few months away. My shyness was probably the main reason I’d never had a boyfriend in my whole seventeen years of existence. Although it’s been fun to hear about all of Trina’s adventures in dating, I’d love to have a guy of my own sometime soon.
The large guard looked through the first page of paper on his clipboard, and then went on to scan the second. Moving his head slowly from side to side, he obviously wasn’t finding our names. We were so busted.
I poked my head through the small opening in the door to take in as much as I could of the venue; it was probably as much as I would see that night. How could I believe we would really pull off sneaking into a private concert?
I spied a blue wall, grey carpet and a few employees mingling around the lobby. A familiar looking guy walked over to the wall with some posters in his hand, and I immediately tapped Trina’s shoulder.
“Look over in the corner. Is that Jeff Brady?” I asked, pointing to the tall, skinny guy with shaggy blonde hair.
“I think so,” she said, leaning in for a closer look. “Yep. Definitely him.”
We met Jeff at our school’s spring dance a few months ago when our ex-best friend Jenna brought him as her date. It was painfully obvious that Jeff was staring at Trina all night, which probably made Jenna hate us even more.
“Jeff!” Trina yelled through the door, waving him over.
He caught a glimpse of her and instantly ran over to our rescue.
“Hey man, it’s ok, they’re with me,” he said, showing the bouncer his ID badge. “They didn’t win tickets until a few hours ago so I didn’t have a chance to add them to the list.”
