Page 74 of Never Ever Getting Back Together

Jordy takes my hand. “When we got to the top of the hill, we listened to some music.”

I do remember that, actually. I played him my favorite song, “Tears in Grayscale” by the Motherload. Then Jordy made me listen to five Two Seater songs, because that band wasdeepand their songs werelayeredandmetaphoricaland obviously way more entertaining to anyone with taste than the Motherload. I mean, he didn’t spell out the last bit, but he didn’t have to. I’ll never forget that, because it was the moment I started feeling uncomfortable sharing my music with other people, in case they thought my taste sucked.

Aww, who said Jordy and I didn’t have a special first date?

“That day, you showed me your favorite band,” he says.“Well, today, we’re going to listen to them again. Only, a little louder this time.”

“Wait—” I say.

“Yeah.”

“But they broke up last year!” I screech. I know I’m supposed to stick to the “distant” plan, but screw the plan, this is the Motherload! And it’s not like Skye expected me to stick to that plan anyway. God, I wish she were here. I’d go to a concert with her over Jordy “my band is better than this” Miller any day. She’s going to freak when she hears this. I feel even worse about her fondue now, but—

“No, they didn’t,” Jordy says. “They’re on their second world tour. And it just so happens that today, they’re in Chalonne. And we have backstage tickets!”

I feel my smile dropping, and I plaster it back on desperately for the cameras. “Wait, who are we seeing?”

Jordy takes my other hand as I realize what he’s about to say. “Two Seater!”

Getting this smile to stay on my face is like wrestling a lion into submission. “Wow. My favorite band, Two Seater. Wow.”

“Your face right now is all the thanks I could ask for,” Jordy says.

“Why would I thank you? Didn’t the producers organize this?”

Off-camera, Isaac nods emphatically.

“But I remembered your favorite band,” Jordy points out.

Well…

“I’m ecstatically… ecstatic,” I say. Realizing it wasn’t super convincing, I give a little jump. There. They’ll be able to cobble that into actual excitement with movie magic, right?

He throws an arm around my shoulder and gestures toward the park. “Let’s go, then! Come on!”

Gwendolyn beckons Jordy, and he lets go of me. “Here,you just need a little powder,” she says, and the makeup artist, Kelly, runs over.

While they degrease Jordy, Isaac pulls me aside to record some talking-head stuff to the cameras for voiceovers. I don’t call Jordy a self-absorbed narcissist, I don’t admit I couldn’t name a single Two Seater song, and I don’t even bring up the Motherload. Frankly, I’m killing it at the whole “image rehab” thing.

We make our way toward the concert down a dirt path, following the sound of the crowd and bass. I recognize the music as we get closer; it’s sort of country-meets-rock, heavy on the guitar, lots of songs about drinking after a breakup and driving down abandoned roads at dawn, yadda yadda.

Around a path, the thick foliage and trees fall away, and suddenly we can see the stage. It’s an enormous black and blue half dome with endless, grassy space in front of it, where thousands upon thousands of people are standing and screaming, fenced in by metal barriers. The smell of stale beer drowns out the sunscreen now, but I can still smell the fried food. I scan around until I spot a food stall selling something calleddhunplirs.I know I’ve just had dinner, but the smell is making me want second dinner something fierce. Maybe they’ll let me find out what the heck adhunpliris on camera?

A couple of camera crew members head to the crowd to take some shots of the concert itself, while the rest of us head backstage. I can’t tell how far into the concert we are, but it seems a bit weird that we didn’t get to catch the beginning of the set.

Gwendolyn drops us off side-stage. Here, standing in the dark, we have a prime view of the stage. Evenwithmy mic-pack, it’s loud enough that the camera isn’t gonna be able to pick us up, so I don’t have to make small talk with Jordy, at least.

He cranes his neck to get a better view of the performers. His face is lit up purple and yellow from the stage, and his smile is just about big enough to pull a muscle. At least one of us is having fun. Eventually, he remembers I’m there and we’re being recorded, apparently, because he wraps me into a hug and sways me from side to side to the music while I cringe.

As the song ends, he lets go of me. “They’re even better in person,” he shouts.

“So deep,” I shout back. “Their stuff is really layered and, like, metaphorical, don’t you think?”

“Yes!Yes,I do think!”

“Wow, you have such good taste, Jordy.”

“Of course I do. I fell for you, didn’t I?”

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