Page 9 of Severance

“Do you know how to film and edit videos?” I ask quietly, my question dissolving into the post-show noise of the lobby.

“Girl, I’ll figure it out. You just need to get on board. We can make you a whole cooking show. Martha Stewart 2.0 or Gordon Ramsay style, only prettier.” Obviously, Jess likes to exaggerate everything.

“I’m not sure I want to do the whole Gordon Ramsay thing.” I laugh.

“Don’t worry. It’s all minor details,” she assures me. Then her attention is diverted when she glances down at the screen of her phone and opens the devious Twitter app to announce to the rest of the world that Devin Monroe touched her.

After we buy two limited edition Black RoseRough Stitches World Tourtees, Jess pulls me aside to inspect our purchases. A couple of years ago, she was given the wrong size and by the time we noticed, the merch booth had already wrapped up.

“I have to make sure.” She checks the labels and presses the shirt to her body.

“It looks good,” I say, laughing at her OCD.

“Yes, it does.” Jess nods, satisfied. “Come on.” She hides the tee in her purse and motions for me to follow her to the exit.

The second I step outside, a sharp gust of icy wind slips under the collar of my thin suede jacket. Sometimes Oregon weather can be cruel, especially at the end of November. The days are still sunny and bearable, but the evenings are sadistically cold and not at all girls-night-out-friendly.

“You want to grab a milkshake?” Jess offers, holding on to my arm as we maneuver through everyone gathered in front of the club. The air is an odd mixture of cigarette smoke, sweat, and the barely-there fresh scent of the upcoming winter.

The idea of consuming something that’s not heated to at least eighty degrees seems insane, and my common sense tells me not to agree to Jess’s proposal, but trips to Patty’s have beenourthing since junior high and I’ve missed curfew before. Not many times but definitely a few. And mostly on purpose just to see my father’s reaction. What’s the worst that could happen? Another lecture?

“Sure,” I say, zipping up my jacket before I turn into an icicle.

“Hey, you!” A man calls from the crowd. I’m not sure whether it’s directed at Jess and me or someone else.

When I look up, I see the steroid diet guy in the ill-fitting leather pants—the one Jess wanted to set me up with—moving toward us. His eyebrow shoots up his forehead as he examines her from head to toe, a cocky smirk lingering on his lips.

Jess doesn’t beat around the bush. Over-confident guys like this are her specialty. “Hey, yourself. What’s going on?” She sounds sugary sweet with a pinch of dirty. Releasing my arm, she twirls her damp auburn curl around her index finger.

“I saw you inside. Looked like you were having fun.” Steroid guy jerks his chin in the direction of the club entrance. His gaze shifts to me for a brief moment, then back to Jess.

“I saw you too,” she purrs, turning up her flirt mode.

“My band’s playing a show here with Eclectic Blue on the thirtieth.” He lets his words sit between the three of us, probably thinking this is a great pickup line.

“Oh, nice! I like Eclectic Blue.” Jess’s tone pitches as it always does when she gets excited about something. “That’s awesome. Is this you inviting us?”

“Exactly.”

She goes straight for the kill. “They’re VIP tickets, right?” Eagerness laces her voice.

“Sure. Does your friend here”—his eyes cut to me again before sliding to her again…or to her breasts, to be more exact—“want to come?”

“I talk,” I call out, waiting for his reaction and wondering why Jess always has to get in with the worst guys ever who either try to grope me or pretend I’m invisible. Right now, it’s the latter.

This doesn’t faze him. “Cool.” He draws his cell phone from the front pocket of his leather pants.

“What’s your band’s name?” Jess asks.

“Midnight Rust.” Steroid guy smirks. “I’m Luke. My boys are over there.” He waves at no one in particular somewhere behind him.

“Nice to meet you, Luke. I’m Jess.” She turns to me and her eyes are thebe nicekind of wide. “This is my friend, Alana.”

I raise my hand slightly to greet Luke and smile. I doubt he sees my attempt. His eyes are pretty much glued to my friend’s partially-exposed cleavage. Looking at her boobs makes me shiver. It’s way too cold to be showing any skin.

As people swarm around the lot like ants, the invisible cloud of adrenaline that hangs low above our heads starts to dissipate.

My hair, still wet from the show, feels like icy globs of cement plastered to the back of my neck. The milkshake idea seems so absurd now.

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