Ryan
I’m standing in front of The Cage auditorium with Pablo. He’s looking up at the posters promoting the concert tonight.
“Are you aware that Shadows of Death is a punk band?” he tells me in a pained voice.
“Alternative punk, Pablo,” I counter. “And it’s not Shadows of Death. It’s Shadows of Darkness.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.” Pablo scrunches up his face. “I hate to break the news to you, but Mexicans don’t do crappy alternative punk. We listen to good music.”
“You said we could go anywhere I wanted. I want to listen to SOD.” It’s no use telling him that the crowd is going to be louder than any other concert he’s been to. He’ll probably end up wishing he’d brought ear plugs.
When we take our place at the end of the line, Pablo’s eyes go wide at the sight of a couple with piercings attached to chains traveling from their ears to their lips. He shakes his head in confusion. “White people. Most of these dudes look like they need heavy doses of therapy.”
“Are you saying Mexicans don’t need therapy, Pablo?”
“You know what would happen if I came home with chains attached to my face, Ryan? My old man would kick me out of the house, not tell me I need to talk my feelings out by seeing a shrink.”
I wonder if my dad would be strict or more like a buddy. Maybe he’d be one of those lenient parents who let their kids do whatever they want. I try not to think about it too much.
There are about five people in front of us when the guy at the ticket counter announces, “Sorry. We just sold out.”
A collective groan echoes through the line of people behind us waiting to buy tickets.
“Sorry, man,” Pablo says without any remorse. “Maybe we can go to a normal club and dance to normal music.”
But I don’t want normal music. I want to hear Shadows of Darkness. When I had no friends the lead singer Atticus Patton was there to share my pain. “Listen, can’t you just sell us two tickets?” I ask the guy at the ticket counter.
The dude looks up at me through his long bangs resembling a mop that practically covers his entire face. “No.”
While the lucky crowd with tickets shuffles into The Cage, I shake my head at my lack of luck. This sucks.
“We could always go to a movie,” Pablo suggests as Mop Head closes the sales booth and disappears.
I’m almost about to give up hope when I see a Dimitri’s Catering van pull into the alley behind The Cage. I tap Pablo on the shoulder. “Follow me.”
Pablo follows me to the back alley. The van parks by the back exit and my idea springs into action.
“You’re late,” I bark at the two guys inside the van. “The band wants to know where their food is and I’ve had to stall them.” I act real jittery so they think I’m about to lose it.
“I couldn’t help it,” the driver says as he jumps out. “Traffic was a bitch and we’ve still got two more deliveries tonight.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “We need to get this food to the band right away. The boss man sent Pablo and me to find you.” We follow him to the back of the van.
“Help us, then. Here,” he says as he hands us trays of food. The other guy pulls out another tray and we all head for the back entrance of the club. I knock as if I own the place and think if we can pull this off, it’ll be a miracle.
Some big guy with tats all over his arms answers the door. “Catering,” I tell him.
He scans us and then opens the door wide to let us in. I’m completely at a loss as to where to go, so I wing it.
“Not there, you idiot!” some skinny white geek with slicked-back hair cries out as I find an empty room to set the tray down. “It’s for the band!”
I follow the geek down a brightly lit hallway to a door with a star on it. He opens the door and I’m suddenly face-to-face with none other than Atticus Patton. He’s wearing black jeans and a T-shirt with the band’s name on it. His jet-black hair is spiked in the back and the front covers half his face, his signature look in every Shadows of Darkness video. The rest of the band is here, too, sitting on the couches, completely chilling. It’s so surreal being in their presence, I almost drop the tray.
“It’s about time, man,” Atticus says in a lazy drawl. “We’re fuckin’ starving.”
I set the tray down on an empty table while Pablo and the caterers follow suit. Pablo looks uncomfortable, like he fears being caught.
“Thanks, guys,” the geek says as he takes out his wallet and hands all four of us twenty-dollar bills.
The caterers look confused as to why Pablo and I would get tipped, but they shrug and leave the room.
Not one to be shy, I walk up to Atticus. “I’m a big fan,” I say. “Your song ‘Fight for It’ got me through a rough time.”
He smiles. “Glad to hear it, man. What’s your name?”
“Ryan. And this is Pablo,” I say, gesturing to my friend.
“Nice to meet you, guys.” He holds out a hand for me to shake. “Hey, you guys can stay and watch the show if you want. Unless you got more deliveries.”
Pablo and I look at each other, then back at Atticus. “No more deliveries,” Pablo mumbles.
I clear my throat. “Um, yeah, that was our last delivery. It’d be awesome to see the show, man.”
Atticus nods to the skinny dude. “Brian, get them some passes,” he orders.
Brian waves for us to follow him through the corridor. I think we’re about to be busted when I see Mop Head walk by, but luckily he’s focused on texting someone on his phone and doesn’t notice us. We’re led past security guards to the massive crowd gathering in front of the stage. The place is packed.
When Brian leaves us in the front row, I glance behind me at the massive number of people here. It’s standing room only. I nudge Pablo. “This is fucking amazing.”
“For who?” Pablo eyes the oversize speakers so close we can touch them. “Um . . . Ry, I think we’re too close.”
“No. This is perfect, man.”
The crowd starts roaring as the lights go off and the opening band sets up. It’s a lesser-known punk band called Psyclones. It isn’t long before the stage lights burst with a flash of bright colors. The crowd moves even closer and we’re practically on top of each other, but I don’t care. The floor is vibrating to the beat and I’m fist-pumping and jumping to the music. Usually I’m reserved and shut down, but this music seeps into my soul.
Pablo shakes his head and seems amused, as if he can’t believe how much I’m letting go.
The lead singer of Psyclones is singing to someone on the other side of the stage. I follow his gaze and see a Latina girl with long, brown hair with a blue streak who looks like she’s having the best time. She’s got two friends with her and all of them are smiling and enjoying the punk music.
I grab Pablo by the elbow and point to the girls through the crowd. “See? Mexicans enjoy punk music,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “They’re hot chicas, but they must be loco.”
Loco? I don’t think so. I glance over at the girl with blue-streaked hair. She’s jumping up and down to the music, completely uninhibited, as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. I can’t take my eyes off her.
After Psyclones is done with their set, the place goes dark again and the energy in the room picks up a notch in anticipation of Shadows of Darkness.
“Can we leave now?” Pablo asks. “I think that girl over there with the spider tattoo on her face just grabbed my ass. I feel violated.”
I raise a brow. “Violated?”
“Did you take a look at her? Dude, I’m afraid of spiders. Can you imagine kissing her and opening your eyes to a giant spider tat up close and personal?” He pretends to gag. “I wouldn’t be complaining if we were standing next to those hot Latinas you pointed to on the other side of the stage.”
“Then let’s go,” I tell him, but before we can push our way over to the other side, bursts of colorful flames appear and Shadows of Darkness is on the stage.
Atticus Patton is at the foot of the stage, holding the microphone tightly.
“Yo, Texas!” he screams at the top of his lungs and the crowd goes wild.
The drummer starts playing a beat and then Atticus starts singing “Chaos,” a song about a guy whose mind races at night with random thoughts.
My head starts bangin’ and my world starts shakin’. Atticus’s voice rises above the fast beat of the music.
As if the song inspires the crowd into chaos, suddenly everyone clears a spot in front of the stage and a mosh pit forms with guys who are willing to get bumped and pushed around. It doesn’t scare me. It’s more like a challenge. I’m immediately tempted to get in the middle of the chaos.
Chaos!
What the fuck is wrong with me, these thoughts of mine don’t let me be.
Chaos!
I nudge Pablo and gesture to the mosh pit. He takes one glance at the crush of fans violently bashing into each other and his eyes go wide. “Hell to the no!” he says.
When the crazy comes out, that’s when I’m free!
“We’re going in,” I yell to Pablo over the pounding music.
He shakes his head, but in that instant, someone pushes him into the mosh pit. I shove my way in there, too, thriving on the mass of people just letting go. Atticus Patton is right. To hell with convention and rules. Who cares about the danger. Life is about being crazy and losing your inhibitions.
Pablo goes from being cautious to laughing as he gets jostled from one end of the sweaty mosh pit to another. We’re a bunch of stupid, crazy guys, taking it to the brink of danger. This mosh pit is not for the weak-hearted, but as I glance into the center of the pit I notice a girl is tossed in the fray.
The girl with the blue streak in her hair.
Oh, shit.
This isn’t good. She bumps into a guy and is practically catapulted into the air on contact. She’s got to be terrified with guys twice her size crashing into her.
Someone’s got to save her, and while my motto is “fuck being a hero,” I’m not about to watch a girl get hurt or killed because some idiot decided to shove her into a mosh pit.
I rush through the rowdy crowd, heading for the girl before she gets trampled on.