"What, like I can't learn a thing or two?"
The whizzing of a drone steals our attention, and my eyes follow it through the sky and into the setting sun. I squint, raise my hand to my forehead, and try to see where it went.
"Alright, listen up."
Adam Everest's voice booms from every direction, from loudspeakers hidden in the trees, and the crowd goes absolutely wild. I can hear the distinct sound of Adam trying to cover up a laugh before Dee grabs my hand and starts dragging me in the direction everyone else is rushing as they clap and cheer and scramble for a better view. "We're about to get started," Adam announces as I struggle to hold on to Dee's hand, getting swallowed alive by a mass of people much larger than me. She doesn't let me go, finagling people out of her way and then mine to keep us moving forward. "So I just want to tell you a little about the song and what we're going to be doing."
Dee suddenly stops, and when I squeeze in next to her, I see why. A rope barrier blocks us from moving forward, and beyond that is the edge of the grass. And beyond that, the pond. And beyond that, Adam standing at the edge of the steel platform with a microphone to his lips. He looks every bit the rock star in distressed black jeans and a tailored black button-down, with bracelets strung around his wrists and hair down to his shoulders, but my attention is already moving past him, to the back of the platform where Mike is sitting at his drums.
He's wearing that same Dallas Stars hoodie he wore here last time-the one that made my toes curl then, and the one that makes my toes curl now. He has a drumstick in his hand, and while Adam talks to the crowd, Mike twirls it between his fingers. A smile dances onto my face as I realize he's practicing one of the baton tricks I taught him a few nights ago.
"So that's why the song is called ‘Ghost,'" Adam continues. "So the concept for this video is basically that the music is bringing you back to life. It's going to start with all of you in the forest surrounding this clearing." Adam stretches out an arm and spins all the way around. "We're going to use CGI to make you look really washed out. But as the song plays, you're going to walk from the trees, and as you get closer to this platform, where we'll be performing the song, you're going to gain color."
"The costume department has been handing out cards," Shawn announces into his own mic, stepping up beside Adam. "There are trailers back where you guys came in. They're color-coded. If you haven't already visited the trailer that matches your card, you need to do that as soon as we're done here."
"We want everyone dressed bright as fuck," Adam explains, and Shawn chuckles.
"Right. Most of you got the memo and look awesome, but if you got a card, there's a reason for it, so go to the trailers."
"No logos," Adam reminds everyone, and Shawn nods.
"No logos. If you're wearing a logo and costume missed you, go to the trailers."
Adam glances at a guy standing off to the left, who I'm guessing must be some kind of video producer. "Are we forgetting anything?" The guy gives a thumbs-up, and Adam continues. "So we're probably going to spend a few hours doing the tree shit."
"We have to cut after every single angle," Shawn explains.
"But it's going to look sick when we're done." A few cheers fly out from the crowd, brightening Adam's electric smile. "By the time you reach the crowd that's going to form around this pond here"-Adam gestures to the water surrounding the platform-"you're going to be in full bright color, and you are going to be rocking out. By the time you get from there"-he points to the trees-"to here"-he points to a random girl at the edge of the water, who looks like she seriously might faint-"we want you to be out of your mind excited."
"Big smiles," Shawn illustrates. "Hands in the air, jumping up and down."
"Rocking the fuck out," Adam finishes, and when I glance back at Mike, a big contagious smile is on his face. I find myself mirroring it, my excitement for him washing over me. Even though I didn't know him when he was younger, I know how hard he worked for this. I can tell by the way he plays those drums, like he used to practice even in his dreams.
"Still good?" Shawn asks the producer, getting another thumbs-up.
"So when we're performing for the video," Adam says, "it's just going to be for show. You'll hear the song, through the loudspeakers, but we won't be live."
A murmur goes through the crowd, and Adam shakes his head at Shawn. "They have so little faith." Shawn grins, and Adam looks back at the crowd. "I haven't even gotten to the best part yet."
"You should probably get to it," Shawn advises with a chuckle, and Adam smiles.
"We're going to have to get some shots of us playing, but then after that, this whole fucking clearing"-he spins around again, playing to the giant crowd surrounding him on every side-"is going to be transformed into the biggest rager you've ever fucking seen."
I flinch when excitement consumes the crowd, causing a deafening cacophony of screams and cheers. Over the roar, Shawn says, "We've got trucks coming that are going to be loaded with kegs and food and glow shit."
"And we're going to perform two songs from our next album for you guys, so you'll get to hear them before anyone else," Adam adds, and the screaming grows even more insane. I look back at Mike, my heart skipping a beat when I realize he's found me in the crowd. He smiles wide, and then, in spite of all the screaming, he starts twirling the drumstick between his fingers, showing me that he's mastered the trick I taught him.
With my cheeks blushing red, I giggle-giggle. And then I thank God he can't hear me.
"This guy over here is going to give you more direction as we shoot," Shawn says, pointing to the director. "So listen to what he has to say. If you haven't already signed your release form, head to that lady over there because you need to sign it in order to be in the video." Shawn points to a woman standing further back in the clearing, who waves. "And if you got a card from the costume crew, head back the way you came and let them fix you up."
I frown down at my boring hoodie, jeans, and boots, but Dee nudges me with her elbow and shakes her head, telling me not to worry.
"And give yourselves a big hand for coming out tonight," Adam praises, ever the energetic frontman. "You're going to be in a music video for The Last Ones to fucking Know!"
Chapter 29
My outfit is a perfect combination of Dee and Rowan.
My zippered black ankle boots: Dee. My solid black leggings: Rowan. My I-don't-even-want-to-know-how-expensive leather jacket: Dee. My finger-curled hair: Rowan.
And my dress . . . my dress. The soft layers of tulle remind me of Rowan, but the bright, bright bloodred color is all Dee. And it's strange, how all of this together feels like me. Like a version of me I never knew existed, but which I'd like to get to know.
Standing in front of a full-length mirror in the band's personal trailer, I've never felt prettier in my entire life.
"I can't even get over how gorgeous you look," Dee praises, lifting the delicate red tulle away from my knees and watching the way it falls. Rowan brushes my bangs away from my face and smiles at me in the mirror.
"I can't believe you made this dress," I counter, and Dee's gaze lifts from the skirt of it, finding my reflection.
"You need to let me borrow it so I can get a grade on it for school," she says, "but after that, you can have it."
"I can?"
The question comes out as a squeak, and Dee smiles. "Of course. I made it for you."
"And you can have the shoes and leggings and jacket too," Rowan adds, and when I frown, she assures me, "Mosh Records paid for those."
"We put in a special request," Dee explains with a smirk.
"How'd you know my shoe size?"
"I checked your boots after you fell in the pond," Rowan confesses, and the girls both laugh, but I'm busy trying not to drown in emotion.
Even back then, they were planning this for me. Our scouting trip to the pond was two weeks ago, and it must have taken Dee even longer than that to make something this stunning. I can see her hard work in every stitch, every impossibly delicate layer of material. She sees my eyes welling with tears in the mirror, and she sternly shakes her head.