Page 105 of If This Gets Out

“Angel,” I say urgently. “Not this way. That’s the main street.”

He ignores me.

“There are people camped out here.”

“We can hide in the crowd. Yeah. We’ll… they won’t be able to find us in the crowd.”

“No, we’ll getmobbedby the crowd.”

Angel’s voice is shaky, desperate. “Shut up.”

“He’s right, Angel,” Zach says.

“SHUT UP!” He starts to run again, and takes a right onto the street.

The others are outside, too, now, and they’re running. They’ll catch up to us before anything too bad happens. We just have to make sure we don’t lose Angel.

Zach groans as I pick up speed. As I predicted, an ocean of fans are surging and swarming toward Angel. When they see Zach and me round the corner, their screams of excitement and surprise turn into a roar. Angel runs toward them, and they run toward Angel, and they collide. And he’s engulfed.

It’s like they’ve consumed him.

Zach and I exchange glances, wary. I want to take his hand so I don’t lose him. He needs to be tethered to me for safety, in case something happens.

But I don’t. I don’t, because there are cameras, and witnesses, and because Geoff and Chorus said not to. And even in this moment of sheer panic, with this mounting fear, and the crowd about to hit us, I don’t disobey Chorus.

Maybe I’ll never be brave enough to. Maybe I only want to think I am.

So, when the crowd hits us, I find myself standing alone, surrounded by dozens of strangers.

Ruben.

Ruben.

Ruben.

Ruben.

There’s no malice in their eyes. There’s only love in their touches. Admiration in their voices. But they press against me until they’re breathing my air. Their hands, dozens of hands and hundreds of fingers, claw at my body wherever they can touch me. My neck, hair, lips, arms, legs, chest. A hand slips inside my coat. Moist lips press against my wrist.

My name gets louder, andlouder, and LOUDER.

Some try to push the others back from me.

Give him some space.

Back up, guys.

He can’t breathe.

Their voices are swallowed up, though. Just like I am.

“Please, let me get through,” I beg. “Please. I need to go. I need to move. Please. Just—just let me,move,let mego,I need to get THROUGH!”

Someone hears me. Hands take mine. A small group of them pulls me, and the group grows as the word spreads.I need their help. I need them to save me from themselves.

The sea starts to move, and it’s like being dragged through quicksand, but, gradually, its grip on me loosens, and I’m collectively yanked out before I can be sucked back in the depths.

And the freezing air is back on my face. And lights. Blinking, flickering streetlights, headlights, neon lights on storefronts. I’m chantingthank you, thank you,to everyone and no one while I search for Zach, Angel, Jon.

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