Pulling into the parking lot of the offsite ticket booth, I watched a composed Emma instantly transform before my eyes.

A heavy sigh escaped her. “Oh, great.”

I whipped my head in the direction of her frustration and groaned myself at the horde of people lined up for tickets. It appeared half a block long.

“Crap,” she said. “Do you need me to go with you?”

Suddenly I felt like a toddler in need of his mommy. “I just… I have no flippin’ clue how I’m supposed to do this,” I answered, desperate for her to stay not only because I was dense and needed direction but also because I just really wanted her to stay. “Why don’t you wait in the air conditioning while I stand in line?”

Emma looked conflicted. I knew then that it wasn’t the heat that was bothering her but the extra attention that would be required to attend to my needs. Clearly, she hadn’t bargained on her good deed costing her so much time.

“No, maybe I can find a faster way,” she said, making her decision and sticking to it. “Let’s go.”

A furnace of heat settled over us upon exiting the vehicle. Now I really felt bad for dragging her out with me. But Emma didn’t seem affected by the temperature. She was focused on the task at hand as we made our way toward the crowd of people. As far as I could see, there were two lines: one for VIP guests, the block-long one; and one with only a few people in it, for passes comped by the festival artists themselves. Emma studied the signs a moment before confidently choosing the shorter line. Yep, I was digging this can-do attitude.

The first time I saw her staring at me through the windshield of her car, I knew she was a force to be reckoned with. With her straight, white-blonde hair, tanned complexion, and those golden sunglasses disguising her appearance, I thought I was looking at Hollywood Barbie, the Collector’s Edition. But since real life Barbie dolls didn’t actually exist, other than on creepy YouTube videos, my next assumption was that she was a celebrity making her way to the music festival. It certainly wouldn’t have been unusual to have one of her kind out in the desert all by herself. With its proximity to Los Angeles, this three-day event brought out the rich and famous in droves. And this girl definitely had the dazzling starlet thing going on.

I knew the type well. Working in the industry, woman who looked like her typically had their own trailers and didn’t associate with the help… although I could say with a small level of pride that I’d been known to catch the eye of B listers from time to time, thank you very much. But this woman was at the top of the alphabet, for sure. I just couldn’t pinpoint exactly where she fit in on the Hollywood landscape.

Yet surprisingly, Emma wasn’t flaunting whatever it was that elevated her to the higher level I assumed her to be. In fact, she was giving me no clues at all. I was used to women presenting to me their full (and messy) life stories by the end of a ten-minute, one-sided conversation, so this restrained demeanor had me on edge and longing for something of substance to hold onto. Instinctively I knew Emma was the type of person who revealed herself one tantalizing detail at a time. I just wanted to be somewhere in the vicinity when it happened.

“How do you know which line to stand in?” I asked.

“I don’t. Educated guess.”

“See, I don’t think so,” I replied, teasing. “You just don’t want to get into that amusement park line over there.”

She smiled, not refuting my claim.

“And if this one doesn’t work, then what?”

“Then I’ll be forced to call in a few more favors.”

I shook my head. “You must have a killer friend group.”

“I do.”

The way Emma said those two words with such certainty told me she had a rich pool of resources to pull from. Not like my pathetic support system of flakes and leeches.

“Name and ID, please,” a perky redhead called out to us. In front of her on a table was a printout with names on it. My chances of being on it were slim to none.

“Finn Perry,” I said, as I dug out my ID and handed it to the woman. She smirked, then glanced up at me with a raised eyebrow. It was the response I always got when people read the name on my driver’s license.

“It’s Finn for short,” I explained, reddening. Damn Shelby.

“I should hope so,” she said, shaking her head in amusement.

This perked Emma right up. She’d been watching our exchange with interest. This was clearly a detail-oriented woman who didn’t rest until she had all the facts. Too bad for her this was not one she’d be finding out anytime soon.

“Wait, what?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Well, Ind…,” the woman started, before I stopped her in mid-breath.

“It’s Finn. Just Finn.” I flushed in embarrassment.

“What’s your real name?” Emma asked, her nose wrinkling as she peered at me with amusement. Those eyes… christ, she was gorgeous.

“No, sorry,” I said. “That’s a second date type of question.”

The ticket lady’s eyes darted back and forth between Emma and me as if she were watching a romantic comedy. I fixed my stare back toward her and she cleared her throat and regained control.

“Anyway, Finn.” Of course she had to overstate my name. After all, we now had a pressing secret between us. “I don’t have any ticket under that name, or for the one on your driver’s license. Sorry, hon.”

The minute the words left her mouth, I deflated. It was like every Christmas I ever had growing up. All that excitement and build up, and the best I would ever get was a broken toy from the junkyard out back. Screw you, Santa.

Emma wedged herself up against the table, her fingers firmly splayed out on the flat surface with a steely determination ready to intimidate any who stood in her way… and damned if I didn’t appreciate her commitment to my cause. “Actually, the ticket was just called in by Sean Wilson.”

“Called in, you say? Okay, hold on,” the redhead said, getting on her phone. She eyed Emma with interest as she spoke with someone on the other line.

I took to biting my nails as I waited. If this didn’t work, I was back to square one, which was a ditch and a good cry. Maybe Bucky would drive all the way here to get me if I promised him a thirty rack of Natty Light. Luckily, he was easier than me to ply and manipulate; yet the chances of him having a vehicle that could make it this far were slim to none.

“That’s a bad habit.” Emma interjected her opinion into my moment of extreme stress.

“I know. I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be.”

“How can you be so calm? You heard her, there’s no record of my name.”

“Because it was called in ten minutes ago. Relax… and stop biting your nails. Do you have any idea how many germs are under there?”

She took a step back, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Did she fear microbes would start flying off me? “No, but I take it you do.”

“Not the exact number, but I promise you, it’s more than either one of us could bear.”

“Honestly, germs don’t bother me at all.”

“They should.”

“Why? So I can get all freaked out by them? No, thanks. I prefer not to know what grows in my sponge.”

“You use a sponge?” Emma visibly paled as she swallowed back her disgust at my everyday habits.

“I do. And not only that, but I also fully embrace the ‘five-second’ rule.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“That’s nauseating,” she said, covering her mouth in an apparent attempt to keep my airborne spores from invading her sterile space. “What could you possibly gain from eating food off the floor?”

“It’s not that I actively pull up a rug and dine off the carpet, but if something tasty falls to the ground, I have no problem picking it up and shoving it in my mouth.”

“Oh, so you have standards. Good for you.”

I eyed her in amusement. Was she for real? This genuinely bothered her. How adorable. “Of course, I have standards. For example, if I drop broccoli, the floor can have it; but if I drop something like a cookie, I’ll give it a full ten seconds on the ground before blowing on it and gobbling it down.”

“Ahhh, yuck. You do realize a simple puff of air will in no way clear away all traces of microorganisms?”

“I’m with Finn on this one,” the ticket lady said, injecting herself into our conversation and winking at me. “Who cares about the germs… it’s a cookie.”

Exactly! How was that so hard for Emma to grasp? Clearly the redhead had become fully invested in our dispute, and I welcomed her support. Emma? Not so much. Her jaw clenched ever so slightly. I wasn’t sure if she was annoyed that the woman had become a part of our dialogue or that she’d taken my side.

“Anyway,” – the ticket lady widened her eyes and gave me a look that said, good luck with this one – “We were able to locate the request, but I can’t process it here. A gentleman will be coming to escort you to the office and expedite it for you.”

“See, I told you,” Emma said, visibly relaxing and physically pulling the fingernail out of my mouth. “Now you can stop munching on your fingers. I’m sure inside the festival walls there’s a tasty corndog lying in the dirt somewhere just waiting for you.”

I burst out laughing. That sarcastic snark coming from such a polished woman was totally unexpected… and feisty. This Emma chick was all kinds of cool. Suddenly my heart started beating a little bit faster, and my eyes glazed over in a fusion of trepidation and excitement. I knew the feeling well: that shot of adrenalin I got just before performing some dangerous or death defying stunt. Huh? Interesting development. Who would have thought a woman could do the same for me as roof jumping?

Glancing back at the ticket lady behind the table to get her approval on my witty companion, I found that she was busy giving Emma her own thorough eye inspection.

“So who do you know?” she asked. “It’s got to be someone big.”

Although Emma completely ignored the question, it caught my attention. “What do you mean, ‘who do you know’?” I asked.

Using my past line against me, she said simply, “That’s a second date question.”

Emma wasn’t as diplomatic with the woman as she was to me. She shot the redhead a warning glare just daring her to continue with her line of questioning.

There she was… my diner diva. Earlier in the day, when I’d first observed her sashaying ass making its way into the diner, my interest in her was nothing more than pure lust. That killer bra-shunning figure, those long giraffe legs, and those bronzed cheekbones that cut slopes across her face had me worked into a frenzy.

She was out of my league, yes, but that was part of her overall appeal. Emma was the woman you tried for just in case. Yeah, you probably didn’t have a chance in hell, but if you didn’t at least give it a try, you’d be kicking yourself later when you were spending a little extra time in the bathroom that evening. So my plan with her had been simple. Primal. Make contact. Let her know I was interested, ready and willing – just in case, you know, she wanted to go slumming.

What I hadn’t expected upon first contact was an instant and intense attachment. She’d accepted my stare and raised me a thousand. Those eyes, they’d nearly brought me to my knees. It wasn’t so much the striking, almost overcast coloring that did me in; it was the way she looked at me like she’d never seen one of my species before and was fascinated. Her interest in me was clear, yet so was her loathing. It was a unique emotional combination that I couldn’t even hope to comprehend. Either you were attracted to someone or you weren’t, right? I mean, was there any in between?

And that’s how the first conversation went down, too… she was an unpredictable play in contrasts, and I was hopelessly hooked and dangling from her line. My overwhelming desire to know everything about her immediately consumed me. I was no ‘instant love’ kind of guy, preferring instead to take it slow and really get to know the woman I was planning to walk through flames for. With Emma, however, I’d surmised in a matter of minutes that a few third-degree burns wouldn’t be such a high price to pay to get her attention.

Unfortunately, Emma didn’t see it my way, and swiftly kicked me to the curb before any permanent damage could occur. Still, it pained me all the same. Rejection wasn’t something I experienced often. Usually women approached me, and if I wasn’t interested, it became my job to let them down gently. No one would ever describe Finn Perry as a cocky asshole. I was a classic pleaser, always putting everyone else’s thoughts and feelings before my own. It was a personality trait I both loved and hated. Nothing upset me more than people thinking I was a jerk; but at the same time, being nice and accommodating tended to attract the bloodsuckers. I was an easy mark for the right parasitic female. Maybe that’s what drew me to Emma. I needed her more than she needed me. In fact, I was apparently the last thing she wanted, and damned if that didn’t light a fire under my ass.

Being turned away from the Sun Desert Music Festival main gates was like shoveling shit on top of an already overflowing pile of manure. The day had officially spiraled too far out of control to ever be salvaged. Or so I thought. How could I have predicted that my dream woman would appear on the horizon, driving an icebox on wheels, and proclaiming in that raspy, sexy voice of hers that she could perform miracles? And then, by the powers invested in her, she’d delivered on her promise. Emma. My savior. My Ticketmaster queen.

I was still trying to make sense of the incredible reversal of fortune. This woman had not only handed me a ‘get out of jail free’ card by getting me into a sold-out concert, but she’d also pitched the luxury VIP ‘Park Place’ package while she was at it. Who the hell was this fictional Emma character and what had she done with my crap-fest of a day? I’d been simmering in a warm, steamy pile of dog poo, when down swooped Malibu Barbie to spray Febreze all over my shitty day.

“Those shuttles, do they drop off at the festival?” Emma asked the now-subdued ticket lady.

“Yes, they leave every ten minutes.”

“And everything is set? They have the wristband under his name?”

“Yes, madam,” she answered, appearing a little flustered by my companion.

Join the club, name-dropper.

Emma turned back to me. “Well, Finn, everything is all set, so I have to go. I hope you have a great time in there.”

“You’re going now?”

Oh, man, even I could hear the pouty tone to my voice. Not cool. It wasn’t just that I’d be screwed if something went wrong with the ticket, but also I really, genuinely did not want her to go. My earlier plan of music, drinking, and women had come to a screeching halt the minute Emma pulled her car over and saved my life. Now, I just wanted to be at her beck and call the entire weekend.

“I thought maybe we could hang out inside. I was hoping to buy you a beer… or a corndog.”

She hesitated a moment, an expression on her face I couldn’t read. Every decision she made seemed calculated. This was not an impulsive woman, but judging by her actions today, she could be swayed – and that was what I was counting on now.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I really can’t. I have people to meet at the hotel.”

Dammit. How could I work with that? She had plans, ones I’d derailed with my whole traveling pigpen act. I had a sinking feeling that I was just her philanthropy for the day, and she had no intention of devoting anymore of her time to my worthy cause. But unluckily for her, I’d never been one to give up easy.

“Maybe I can get your number so we can meet up later.”

Emma scanned me again, her lips trapped under perfectly straight teeth. The hesitation she displayed was unmistakable, and it was becoming quite obvious that this woman wasn’t interested in finding out what name was on my driver’s license. As much as I was hoping for that second date, she clearly was not.

“You know what,” I said, trying to salvage what was left of this dying crush, “how about I give you mine?”

“Yeah, that’s better.” She nodded in relief and pulled out her phone. I gave her my number and reminded her of my name while I was at it. She seemed amused by that. “Yes, you aren’t easy to forget, Finn.”

“Don’t, then.”

Emma met my eyes, and there was a visible warming in hers. That was good, right? Or was it pity? She confused the hell out of me.

“Okay, well, it was great meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you inside.”

“Or… you know, you can call me.” I pointed to her phone. “That would be the quicker and easier way.”

“Right,” she said, holding up her phone and smiling as she walked away.

“Emma!” I called out. She turned around, that snowy hair fanning out around her, and suddenly, I had an overwhelming urge to beg for a little more of her time. I probably would have, too, had I thought it would make a difference. Just let her go. Plastering a smile on my face, I simply said, “Thank you.”

She nodded, smiled, and just like that, my fantasy league first round female draft pick was gone. I stood there frozen in her wake as I watched her get into her car and drive away. What in god’s name had just happened? She was quite possibly the most fascinatingly attractive woman I’d ever met in my life, and now she was driving away with my number in her phone. She was a woman who carried the answers to all my questions… a woman who was never going to punch my number in her phone and call me. I was just a pity add. Emma was probably erasing my number as we spoke.

The ‘gentleman’ escorting me was probably five years my junior. And he was no gentleman. I’d watched him eyeing Emma in a lecherous way, and I didn’t like it one bit.

“She’s hot,” he said.

“Yeah.”

We continued on in silence, surfer dude apparently having depleted his extensive word base. It was as if stringing those few words together had been so taxing on him that he had only the energy left to point me in the general vicinity. It wasn’t until I exited the office, a golden wristband affixed onto my arm, that my chaperone found his voice.

“Whoa, dude, I’ve never seen one of those up close.”

“One of what? The wristband?” That was weird. He worked for the festival, and he’d never seen a wristband before? I shook off his odd comment and headed for the shuttle. The escort walked more quickly, staying by my side.

“Who was that chick, anyway? The one who got you that wristband?”

“I have no idea. I just met her.”

“No way did you just meet her.”

“Yeah, like she literally just picked me up on the street.”

He laughed me off dismissively.

“I’m serious.”

The guy’s amusement subsided as he responded in a highly skeptical voice, “You’re telling me a complete stranger got you this wristband?”

The escort was so amazed that he actually ran his finger over it, looking on with awe as if he’d just witnessed the birth of baby Jesus. Okay, now he was starting to creep me out. I’d never seen anyone so fixated on a plastic band. Get a damn grip.

“You have no idea what that is, do you? Dude, you’ve got the golden ticket.”

* * *

I followed the procession of jewels down a dimly lit hallway. It took two strapping helpers to carry my bounty to the secured locker, and they did it with hushed excitement. I was, after all, musical royalty… or at least, that’s what they all thought. Okay, I wasn’t proud of the deception, but how was I to know they were going to assume certain things about me? I’d done nothing more than wander into a room of riches when people started throwing free shit at me – expensive free shit!

Closing my eyes and opening them again, I checked to make sure my wristband was still securely in place. That was my connection to everything and my only way back to her. As long as that plastic band was on my wrist, Emma was real, and this entire unbelievable day I was experiencing was still very much alive and kicking.

“Here we are, Mr. Perry. We’ll put your items in the storage unit, and you can collect them whenever you see fit,” she said, handing me the key.

“So I can leave my stuff in here all weekend if I want?”

“Certainly. Some choose to keep their items here until they can get their staff to come collect them and bring them to their buses. I’m assuming that’s how you’d prefer it as well?”

I nodded, not trusting my words. Never good at lying, I was feeling the familiar stab of regret for deceiving her; but today had spiraled out of control, and I really was just a victim, albeit a damn lucky one, of my circumstances.

Let me back up and explain how I came to need a storage locker for my loot. Or how I came to have any loot at all. Entering the music festival as an average Joe was totally different from entering the festival as a virtual celebrity. Whereas no one had met my eye earlier before sending me packing, when I walked in with the golden ticket, suddenly I commanded a boatload of respect. It became instantly clear that I wasn’t part of the normal cattle call that typically defined my everyman existence. For the first time in my life, I felt special, and I had to admit, it was a pretty nice feeling. Was this how Emma lived her life? If so, we weren’t even in the same social stratosphere. Maybe that was why I was having such trouble reading her. She was from a genetically enhanced alien nation.

Because I planned to spend the evening searching for Emma and charming the pants off her – literally – the daytime hours were open for exploration. I quickly discovered that when the world was your playground, it was difficult to decide what to do first. I spent a couple of hours being shuttled by golf cart from stage to stage, slipping into the backstage areas and chumming around with the musicians I’d just watched perform. Doors were opened for me right and left. I was allowed in the green rooms and treated to food spreads and free alcohol. A few hours of this treatment and the spoiling was already getting to me. I was feeling pretty damn full of myself. Jesus, how did people survive celebrity status without becoming giant douchebags?

With my newfound love of luxury, I naturally gravitated toward areas that promised more of it. Signs for the VIP area pointed the way to the holy land, and I followed them with purpose. Yes, now that I was a Very Important Person myself, I felt a sense of duty to find my people. My excitement came to a screeching halt, though, when I stepped foot into the expansive collection of tents. Was this the best they could do? For my people?

I’m not saying it was terrible, and certainly it was better than having to spend my day roughing it with the ‘normals,’ but VIP treatment should have been more than just air-conditioning, seating for the main stadium concerts, and upgraded porta-potties. I mean, would a little caviar have killed them?

Still, it was fine for cooling off, and since I assumed Emma wasn’t the type that liked to sweat or get caught up in freakish desert dust storms, this was most likely the area I’d find her in. I should probably get comfortable. My eyes zeroed in on a wine barrel filled with half-sized water bottles. From what I could tell, it was the only freebie available. The thought occurred to me to write a strongly worded letter bemoaning the lack of amenities. Scooping up two ice-cold waters, I chugged them down before picking up two more and shoving them into my backpack for future use. I never got the point of baby water bottles. It always took two to fill me up, so I might as well have just drunk one regular-sized one. Maybe I’d add that to my letter as well.

I strolled around, searching all the faces for Emma, even though, like a twin separated at birth, I felt certain that I’d sense her presence when she was near.

Passing by a door guarded by security, one of the men stopped me. “Were you looking for the private area, sir?”

“Um…” I stumbled a bit. “Is that, uh, somewhere I could go?”

The security guard appeared taken aback by my question, but after checking my wristband, he opened the door and let me pass. It felt as though I was entering through the gates of heaven! You could almost hear the harps playing. My god, the tented area I’d just come from was but a smoke screen… a way to trick festival-goers into buying expensive VIP tickets with the hopes of hobnobbing with the rich and famous. But in reality, the actual Very Important People were hiding behind a fortified door rubbing shoulders with one another.

Standing there in shocked surprise, I blinked in the wonder of it all: an expansive hall decorated with white furniture, ice sculptures, and fragrant flowers. Now this was more like it. It became instantly clear that the ultra-exclusive Private Area was the place to be if you were a person of any significance, such as myself.

Immediately I recognized several famous faces, but celebrities were not the only ones behind these closed doors. So were the rich and powerful. It was obvious just by their clothing and the way they held themselves that they belonged in here. Suddenly I wasn’t feeling so full of myself anymore. That pesky entitlement that had plagued me all day fizzled out as I looked down at my dirty, grubby clothes. Well, it was fun while it lasted.

Glancing around nervously, I waited for someone to kick my everyman ass out of there; but no one did. In fact, other than a few patrons giving me curious looks, no one seemed to be too bothered by my presence. And if they didn’t care, then I was going to milk the place for all it was worth. Grabbing a plate, I was dismayed to discover everything on the buffet table was miniaturized. Again, this went back to my issue with the half-sized water bottles. What the hell was the point? Why did rich people have such a boner for tiny portions?

Shaking my head, I filled my plate with a variety of tiny sandwiches and shrunken baby corn on the cobs. I felt like a giant in the land of littles as I took wee bites out of the bread and gnawed around the cob as if it were an average-sized corn. It wasn’t until I saw some guy shove an entire telescopic corn in his mouth that I realized what an idiot I’d been. Well, shit. Were you supposed to eat those little things whole?

Giving up on the dollhouse portions, I headed over to the bar.

“What can I get for you, sir?”

“Just a beer,” I answered, as I dipped in my pocket for some cash; and then remembered there was no need, as I’d died and gone to heaven.

The bartender popped the top and handed me a bottle. Free of charge, as always. I was starting to see a pattern forming. Apparently the richer you were, the more freebies you got. Too bad it wasn’t like that for ordinary folk… you know, the people who might actually benefit. Shoving a couple dollars into the giant glass tip jar, I went on my way.

The room was teeming with people, but they mingled in small, private groups. Polite laughter and hushed tones seemed the norm. This whole environment felt stifling to me. Give me a hearty laugh and unbridled exuberance any day. I never apologized for who I was or how I’d been raised, but seeing the way these people lived made me realize just how far down the social ladder my family really was. I thought about Shelby and how she’d stand out in a crowd like this, way more than I did now. They’d snicker behind her back, and then she’d get wild and unruly. I shuddered at the unsavory image.

Drifting into an adjoining room, I was aghast to find tables manned by eager venders selling a wide variety of products and clothing. As if smelling fresh meat, every head in the place swiveled in my direction, and those salivating salespeople eyed me greedily. I froze, feeling like a trapped animal. This was going to be worse than a flea market on a cruise ship port.

I wanted out of there, but the minute I stepped in, I was committed. If I exited moments after entering, it would be rude, suggesting that I found their products uninteresting. And, of course, we’ve already established that I hate hurting people’s feelings, so now I had no choice but to make that obligatory trip around the room and pretend to be interested. Dammit. Sometimes I hated being a nice guy. I scanned the merchandise, not making eye contact with the salespeople in order to avoid the awkward conversation about my lack of funds to purchase their top-name, over-priced items. I hadn’t even made it a quarter of the way around the room when someone stopped me.

“Would you like a shirt?” a young woman asked brightly, as she held up the kickass t-shirt I’d been covertly eyeing. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and it bobbed happily as she spoke. That’s how they got you. Beam a smiling salesgirl down and make you feel like a jerk for refusing her.

“Oh. I don’t have a ton of cash on me right now,” I replied, trying to make my voice sound important by adopting a deep baritone, in the fashion of James Earl Jones.

“Oh, no. We aren’t selling it. It’s free.”

My feet dug in as I tried to make sense of her words. “Free?”

“Everything in here is,” she said, gesturing around at the other tables. “This is the gift room.”

Although I hadn’t meant to, I accidentally gasped in shock. “For who?”

She looked surprised by my surprise and glanced at my wristband. “Well, for you.”

“So, wait. You’re saying that everything in here is free?”

“Yes, sir.”

I shook my disbelieving head. There were hordes of people wandering around outside these doors. How were they not all stampeding in here, body-slamming each other to get a piece of the free pie? “Well, I don’t… why isn’t everyone in here, then?”

“I have no idea. There’s some amazing stuff. We get people trickling in all day, but some of the bigger name celebrities don’t take freebies…they don’t want to feel obligated to promote the products, you know?”

No. I didn’t know. This realm was completely foreign to me. These people lived in a world of microscopic food and free stuff that no one wanted? Good god! My family was the type who got into fistfights over a discounted television at Walmart on Black Friday. If someone offered us something for free, we were raised to say “Yes, please!” and then take off running before they could change their minds.

Handing me the t-shirt, the woman eyed me with interest. “I’m surprised you don’t see the gifting areas more often.”

“Huh?”

“As a musician and all.”

Oh, shit! Of course! That’s why I hadn’t been forcibly removed yet. They thought I actually was someone!

“Oh, yeah, well, you know,” I said stringing a bunch of words together with no apparent purpose other than confuse both her and me.

“What’s the name of your band?”

I was too frazzled to think, so I just stood there for an extended period of time wracking my brain for the name of my fictional band. I had nothing. Completely blank! About to hand the free t-shirt back and walk out with my head hung in shame, the salesgirl surprised me again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m not supposed to ask. Forget I said anything.”

“Excuse me, sir.” A man hurried over. “Would you like to try our headphones?”

Yes. Yes, I most definitely would. And like a kid in a candy shop, I allowed myself to be led around from table to table, wide-eyed and drooling, as one vendor after another tempted me with bigger and better prizes. It was like winning The Price Is Right Showcase Showdown, but without any competition.

And that’s how I now found myself in the storage unit, pretending to be someone I wasn’t in order to keep what wasn’t mine. I’d spent my day wallowing in filth, yet it was only now, surrounded by my new treasures, that I actually felt dirty. Living in this world was definitely more stress than it was worth. From this point forth, I was going to use my all-mighty wristband towards the pursuit of good, not evil. And in that spirit, I was dedicating the remainder of my weekend to what was really important: finding Emma.