Page 3 of After All

Amelie

Will do.

I smile and look up at my best friend, the one I’ve known all my life.

“What is that smile for?” she asks.

“I just got you a ticket to the — what was it you called it? Very exclusive, very impossible to get into, Muddy Boots concert.”

I brace myself as she takes a breath and lets out an epic squeal. Smiling through the exuberance, I say, “Go. We have half an hour to get dressed, get an Uber, and get to Broadway on one of the busiest nights of the summer.”

“You’re fucking amazing, Amelie Evans. Ah. May. Zing!”

I grab my bag from my desk drawer and shoo her out of my office. I live above my office, so I run upstairs to find something to wear to a concert I don’t necessarily want to go to anyway.

Not because I don’t love supporting Charlie. He’s one of my favorite people, not just one of my favorite family members.

But his statement about me not being a fan of crowds?

Well, that’s an understatement.

Chapter 2

Amelie

The number of people pressed into the room has to be close to five hundred, and I know I won’t be able to tolerate it very long. The noise level and the God-awful smell of far too many people breathing, sweating, and eating in one place may just cause a panic attack. And I do not need or want one, especially in public.

Why the hell did I let Charlie talk me into this? Pressing through the throng as best as we can, Suzette and I bounce between bodies like we’re in a pinball machine as they writhe and dance and jump. Far too many people stand between us and the much less crowded VIP section all the way across the room.

Crowds aren’t exactly what I have a problem with… it’s more touching the people in the crowds as we walk through. I don’t like people touching me, so this is my worst nightmare as we make our way slowly towards the small cordoned-off area near the stage.

“Ope.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Pardon me.”

I give a different response to each person I accidentally run into, and I’m nearly out of words when Suzette and I finally stop in front of the bouncer person that stands sentry at the velvet rope surrounding the small section for the people who carry passes. He’s so tall that Suzette has to tap him on the arm to get his attention.

I’ve grown very little since puberty, and topping out at five feet garners more than a few strange glances in places that grant entry only to those over 21. Especially since I look like I could be 17.

“Badges?”

We flash the passes hanging around our necks, and he waves Suzette in but asks me for ID.

“The bouncer at the door carded me when I got here,” I reply, not frustrated but confused.

“I understand that. But we’ve been having a bit of a problem with nearly perfect fakes, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to have a look.”

“Oh sure. I get it. I look really young, but I’m not. I’m 28. I just never really grew much after high school.”

At this point, my talking turns into blathering, and I roll my eyes at myself. He flips my license from front to back several times. Then he flashes the UV light underneath it, feels the corners and edges, and even curves it until I’m afraid he’ll return it to me bent.

“Date of birth?”

I rattle off my birthday along with my full name and address for good measure, and apparently, I pass the test. He hands the card back, steps back, and lets me pass. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and mutter a “thank you” as I walk towards Suzette.

The opening band exits the stage as we find two chairs next to each other and drop into them. Tucking my license back into my bag, I blow out a breath that pushes my bangs off my forehead.

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