Page 4 of A Little Broken

With a squeal, I grab Rory’s biceps and jump up and down. “You have no idea how excited I am!”

“I thought you might be,” she laughs.

“Are they headlining?” I hesitate. “What am I saying? Of course, they aren’t headlining. Doomsday isn’t big enough for that. If they were, I’d know about it. Who are they opening for?”

Looking down at the ground, she kicks a pebble with her sneakers. “Well, uh, IndieCent Vows, actually, but…”

My brows pull down, and she peeks up at me.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t call in any favors, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she rushes out. “We can even slip out before Dodger and the guys take the stage if you’re really worried about it. But it’s your twenty-first birthday, Tate, and Doomsday is your favorite. I would’ve made this happen even if they were playing in a ditch across the world.”

She’s right. She would’ve. Rory’s sweet like that. Thoughtful. Caring. Maybe even a little self-sacrificing to a fault, if I’m being totally honest. She’s the opposite of me in every way, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Honestly, I can barely stand my own presence most days. Having two of me in a friendship? Yeah, we’d kill each other.

Lips pursed, I push, “You promise you didn’t call in any favors?”

“Promise. I even got the tickets on a shady site instead of calling Raine or Dodge to get them for free, so if my credit card info is stolen, it’s all your fault.”

With a laugh, I loop my arm through Rory’s and walk us toward the entrance, grateful our whereabouts are still hidden from my family, thanks to a shady website and Rory’s bravery. “Come on. It sounds like they’re already playing.”

“Yeah, becausesomeonecouldn’t get her butt in gear at the hotel.”

“When you said our activity started at seven, I thought you meant it in a it-starts-at-seven-but-the-cool-kids-show-up-at-nine kind of thing.”

“No, I meant it in a get-your-butt-in-gear-because-we’re-going-to-miss-your-favorite-band-if-we-aren’t-on-time-but-I-don’t-want-to-ruin-your-birthday-present-so-I’m-trying-to-play-it-cool kind of thing.”

My mouth lifts. “You’ve ruined nothing. And thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Let me be clear. I have nothing against IndieCent Vows. Actually, their music is pretty awesome, but the main singer, Dodger Anders, is the older brother of Raine Anders, and Raine Anders is best friends with my older sister, and well, let’s just say, the connection is a little too close for comfort when I haven’t had an actual conversation with my sister in who knows how long, and I’d like to keep it this way. It isn’t personal, it’s just… Oh, who am I kidding? Of course, it’s personal. It’s Ophelia. The one person who’s shadow I’ll never be able to step out of. Like a piece of hot coal, my phone burns a hole in my purse, acting as a reminder of the unanswered text Ophelia sent wishing me a happy birthday.

I shake off the mental intrusion as we open our purses for security, walk through the metal detector, and head toward the ushers scanning tickets.

After Rory shows the tickets to an old man with a bushy white mustache, he says, “ID please.”

“ID?” Rory squeaks.

The bored expression vanishes from the usher’s face, and he looks us up and down with newfound interest. “This is a twenty-one and older venue.”

Well, shit.

Without a word, Rory stands there like a deer in the headlights, so I move closer.

“I’m sorry, it’s what?” I answer for her.

“A twenty-one and older venue,” he repeats. His eyes bounce from me to Rory, then back again. “Do you have IDs?”

“Oh. Uh. Yes, but, uh… One second.” Red hits Rory’s cheeks as she fumbles in her purse for her ID, her hands shaking more and more with every passing second. I don’t blame her. The line is building behind us, and it doesn’t matter how long she tries to stall, her ID still won’t magically show an earlier birthdate than the one I know it sports. Even though it’s my twenty-first birthday, Rory won’t be eighteen for another two months.

“You know what? I need to pee,” I announce. “We’ll be right back.” Reaching for Rory’s fumbling fingers, I drag us away from the line and back toward the curb in front of the building.

“Tatum, I am so sorry,” Rory squeaks. Tears fill her eyes, and she dabs at the corners, careful not to ruin her makeup. “I swear, I had no idea!”

“Rory, breathe.” With a light laugh, I roll my eyes. Not because it’s fun to watch my best friend cry, but because if she didn’t shed a tear or two by the end of the night, I’d be convinced she’d had her body snatched by an alien or something. “Seriously, Rore. Breathe,” I tell her.

“Yeah, but it’s your birthday, and I was trying to surprise you, and?—”

“Trust me. I’m very surprised.”

---