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Not that I, or really any of us, have any doubt that she won’t be…claimed or whatever. She’s been on their radar for months, apparently, according to the murmurs I’ve heard from Mom and Dad. I don’t know if Izzy knows that. She’s been freaking out enough as it is.
Despite how neurotic and obsessive she’s been these last few weeks leading up to tonight—and that’s saying a lot, because she’s always a bit neurotic and a lot obsessive when it comes to piano—I still stand by my earlier statement:
She’s in her element.
That girl thrives under pressure.
Whereas I become as wilted as a century-old pressed flower in a long-forgotten journal.
The lights flicker a couple times in warning, and a hush falls over the semi-packed concert hall. Returning my focus to the here and now, I glance around, taking in all the formally dressed individuals taking their seats and getting settled for the show about to begin.
It surprisingly hasn’t been too bad, so far. Sure, I feel like a hunched back alien butler dressed in this awful, poorly fitting suit.
But I’m covered head to toe.
And these strangers? They’re just that. Strangers. They don’t know me from Adam.
I’ve gotten a couple looks, sure, but it felt…different.
Felt especially different when one such look came with a wink.
My cheeks heat at the memory, and I slouch down in my seat.
He was…cute, I allow myself to observe now, in hindsight, as the guy’s face fills my mind’s eye. Older than me, but not by much. A little more…feminine than I think I’d go for.
My knee starts bouncing, and I dart a panicked gaze around, as if someone could be overhearing my thoughts. But no one’s paying attention to me.
“Are you okay?”
Scratch that.
I turn my head, and give my mom a smile, nodding. “Yeah. Just antsy. Nervous for her. But, like, not in a bad way.”
Mom nudges my shoulder. “I know. Me too.”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea…”
I’m already nodding, and she trails off. I tell her, “It would kill him to miss this.”
Her mouth thins and she nods. “I know. But?—”
“It’s okay,” I say, and I find that I mean it. “It’ll be dark and…and no one knows me here.” With my softly uttered words, a solemn sort of understanding moves over her face, making her brown eyes gleam.
“I see,” she says gently, and I try not to…bristle…or draw too much attention to myself.
On the other side of her, Dad leans forward, meeting my gaze with forced air of sternness. “If they catch you, just remember?—”
But he never gets a chance to finish what he was about to say, because Mom’s batting at him, telling him, “Quiet you,” and then the lights are dimming again.
This time, it’s a slow descent into darkness, telling me it’s time to get moving.
Patting my front pocket, I make sure my phone’s still tucked safely inside, and push to a crouched, awkward stand. Shuffling past my parents, I quickly start making my way up the red carpeted aisle toward the back of the auditorium, where seats hide in the shadow of the balcony.
Most of the seats back here are empty, with the attendees having filled up the front row and the balcony above for the best views, or acoustics, or whatever.
At least, that’s what Izzy said when we hatched up this little plan of ours.
There’s a faint crackle, before a regal voice fills the room from the surround-sound speakers, instructing us that we should remain quiet and seated and silence our phones. No flash photography.
