Page 46 of Knot Just A Fan

Enzo’s doing a quiet drumroll, seemingly pretending everything is fine but more likely trying to cover up any words shared on stage, because man, is Ronan sharing them. Not intelligible from the crowd, but he’s obviously irate at Grayson.

Grayson steps away from the mic and tosses his guitar pick at the front row, but somehow the two girls with the sign manage to leap over the seats to the floor and grab it. When I look back up, Grayson is gone.

“Holy shit,” says Cami.

I see an arm thrust out, pointing to the stage. Ash. He and Grayson are arguing. Enzo and Ronan are both staring that direction. Enzo, shakes his head, stands, waves at the crowd somewhat half-heartedly, and walks off stage left.

Ronan unplugs his bass, throws the cable on the floor, does a sarcastic clapping toward the crowd with a fake grin that looks so out of place on his face, then stomps off stage right.

Oh, fuck.

Cami and I watch, waiting. Three minutes go by. Then ten.

“They’re not coming back, are they?” Cami grimaces, flashing her teeth in aYikeskind of way.

He stood up for me. He stood up, and he walked out. And he hasn’t come back.

My heart’s pounding. The crowd’s stomping their feet, shoutingencore, encore, but it’s becoming an angry roil rather than an ecstatic plea.

“They’re pissed,” I say, but Cami’s turning in a circle as if looking for someone.

A tall, muscular guy in the front row is shouting obscenities at the stage. Cami points to him. “That’s the bloke who called you a bitch.”

I shrug this off. The guy is pounding a meaty fist on the empty stage, slinging other slurs.

“Don’t think he feels he got his money’s worth tonight,” Cami says.

“I doubt most people do,” I say, as an insane idea takes hold of me. Either it’s the gin, or the crowd chanting in unison, “Where’s our encore?” or the unsolicited encouragement. Whatever the reason, something’s planted a seed of audacity where there’s never been one before.

I bite my lip just as the house lights come up and a gigantic moan of disapproval and disappointment rolls across the room.Having been in front of a lot of crowds, I can sense this is about to turn ugly. So I do it. Partly for them, partly for me.

I walk briskly but don’t break into a run, bypassing the first two rows. I flash the old “CREW” lanyard that I’d used for that first eighteen months to the security guard, who has no reason to doubt it as I’m sure Ash hasn’t taken the time to redesign their access badges. And before I can think better of it, I pull myself onto the stage.

The crowd keeps chanting until I stand. I shoot a quick look at Cami, whose eyes are saucers but her face is creased in a huge grin to match. I wave my arms.

I have to repeat myself a few times, but finally, it seems, the crowd’s gotten the message that I might have an answer they want to hear.

Of course, I don’t.

“Hi! Hi,” I say, when I can finally be heard. I think briefly of going for Gray’s abandoned mic but since house lights are up, no doubt the mics have been cut. “Hi, I’m the camera bitch you were referencing.” I look down at the man with the meaty fists but he’s just standing there now, with a crowd of his mates, looking dumbstruck.Yeah, not such a big bad Alpha when faced with the woman you assumed was nowhere to be seen.“Feel free to take photos for posting. But I’m not Arcadia Echo’s, or anyone’s. I’m a freelance photographer. My name is Briella Phillips. So if you’re looking for an industry-honed professional, message my agent: Camilla Douglas.” I look her way and she’s nodding vigorously, raising two thumbs high into the air, and jumping up and down whooping. “You can reach her at Camisaurus_Rex_Media on all those social media sites you love to shitpost on. I’ll be waiting. Let’s hear another round for applause for Arcadia Echo!”

I’m shaking and sweating, amazed no one’s got the hook out and dragged me away. The crowd actually starts to follow my suggestion, to my shock.

I don’t sense any commotion stage left so whatever chaos unfolded has been moved elsewhere. Stagehands begin packing up gear behind me but aren’t paid to deal with something like this.

I turn back to the crowd, and to my surprise, many are laughing, hooting, or shouting “Encore!” but in a more jovial manner again. Many are even applauding. A woman in a sequined mini-dress yells, “Go get it, Miss Briella!” I blow the crowd a kiss, then hop off as the security men exchange looks like,Were we meant to stop that or?—?

Before they decide they were, I run for Cami who’s ready to grab my hand, and we flee the venue, not stopping until we reach a narrow lane two buildings away. A few people slap me on the shoulder or back, and one man bows to me as we exit the venue.

“They still think Echo’s coming back out,” Cami says as we’re huffing and puffing, leaning against a brick wall festooned in posters. A closed-up vendor cart is nearby, and a small closed bookseller’s front is further down, but no reason for concert-goers to come down this way.

“Phew. That was amazing. That was FUCKING amazing! When did you decide to do that?”

“I—I didn’t!” I say, somewhat amazed myself. “I packed this pass thinking I might want to say goodbye to Grayson, or might need it for some reason, but I didn’t expect to jump on stage and pimp myself to the crowd.”

The sound of the ocean waves not far away reminds me where we are.

“Well, shit! What do we do now?” Cami asks.

---