Heavy rain sliced Lorelei's cheeks. Water dripped off the tip of her nose, and she wiped it with a saturated sleeve, not needing a mirror to know her eye makeup was bleeding down her cheeks.
"We look like drowned rats," Lacey said. Her voice cut over the rain and murmurs of others in line behind them, and Lorelei turned to her, glaring.
Lacey's hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, dripping at the tip, and both of their outfits were drenched. They stood near the back of the fast-pass lane at Ansley Street—not that it was actually fast. Even though Lacey had paid extra for them to get into the concert venue before everyone else, they were still far enough from the entrance for Lacey to turn feral—along with everyone else—as soon as the doors opened.
"As soon as we're through those doors, we have to sprint. I'll get a spot in front of Echo if it kills me. That man is fine."
"How do you know?" Lorelei said. "You can't see his face."
"It's his body language. He's confident—it's hot."
Lorelei shook her head in response, watching a photographer exiting the side door of the venue. The girl was loaded down like a mule with her equipment, making herself smaller to keep it covered under her umbrella.
"Besides," Lacey continued, holding up her palm, "have you seen his hands? If a man's got nice hands, I'm done for."
Lorelei shook her head. "Whatever you say."
Lacey bounced up and down with either excitement or the cold chill of the rain—perhaps both—changing the subject to some rumor she'd heard regarding the band several days ago on social media. Lorelei shifted her weight as water squelched from her shoes, letting out only low hums in response to Lacey's rambling. Lorelei hadn't thought much about Willow. They were an anonymous post-hardcore band that gained fame after performing at a festival two years prior. Lorelei had never cared for their most popular song—the one that had taken them from nobodies that Lacey couldn't shut up about to enigmatic musicians with sold-out shows. But Lacey always had a way of pulling Lorelei into her shenanigans, and Willow was Lacey's favorite band, after all. So now the two friends waited in the rain while everyone around them talked about the anonymous group with a fervor Lorelei just couldn't match.
Lacey nudged her. "You don't seem thrilled."
Lorelei flinched as a drop of rain hit her in the eye. She wiped it away. "I'm fine."
"I thought you wanted to try and figure out who they are, Miss Filmmaker."
"That's not what I said," Lorelei frowned. "I said, I wonder why they chose to be anonymous."
"Well, can we at least pretend you're excited to be here? I was happy to finally get you away from the club for a night."
"I am excited," Lorelei insisted, but the words sounded forced, and even she didn't believe them. "Really."
"You look like you're going to a funeral," Lacey said. "For your social life."
Lorelei rolled her eyes as her phone vibrated. She pulled it out, watching as the rain splattered on the screen, which showed two texts from her brother, Lucas.
I don't think we have enough napkins in stock for the weekend.
Did you call the sign company this morning?
Lorelei quickly typed a reply, feeling guilty about leaving Lucas at the club alone on a Friday night. Fridays and Saturdays were open mic nights at Club Seven—the former hotspot of Atlanta their parents had started up back in the 1970s. Weekends were once reserved for popular musicians and bands, but these days, the small venue was only a shell of what it used to be in its prime, shabby in comparison to this venue.
In truth, Lorelei's frustrations had nothing to do with Willow or that her extroverted best friend dragged her out to get lost in a sea of crazed fans for far too many hours. Lorelei had watched Ansley Street be built from her apartment window—late mornings after long nights, drinking her coffee and watching the giant crane and slow construction two blocks over, until the shadow of the new venue was too big for Club Seven to shine as it once had.
Though, it'd been a long time since then.
She looked up now, shielding her eyes from the drizzle. Ansley Street looked more like a spaceship than a concert building—all glass and steel against the wet concrete. There was a blue-tinted sign around the front of the building proclaiming some marketing slogan Lorelei couldn't remember, only that it promised everything Club Seven wasn't. These posters weren't hand-stapled to the walls or sun-bleached in the windows. They had QR codes and gloss coatings. She hated how appealing all of it was, and she hated even more how appealing she found it.
Lacey snapped her fingers in front of Lorelei's face, pulling her back to her cold reality of rain and the tinny gossip of the people in line behind them.
"You're zoning out again."
"Sorry, I just—" Lorelei began, trailing off. She could feel Lacey watching her, expression shifting from teasing to something softer, as if she had read Lorelei's mind. She linked arms with Lorelei.
"Quit worrying so much. You'll get frown lines."
Lorelei sighed as Lacey continued, droning on about their current evening. But the words were lost on Lorelei. Ansley Street was sleek and popular, everything Club Seven used to be but no longer was, and Lorelei couldn't help but feel the sting of guilt for being here instead of her family's own venue.
She felt a faint vibration in her pocket again and peeked at the screen inside her hoodie, shielding it from the rain.
The doorknob broke again... come in the back when you get home.
She sighed. But before she could type a reply, a cheer erupted from the line ahead of them, and the crowd shifted forward.
The rush happened quickly, and the line surged forward. Everyone threw themselves toward the doors as they flew open, and once Lorelei and Lacey made it inside, Lorelei barely had time to brace herself before Lacey gripped her wrist and hauled her through the flood.
The world became a blur of movement and noise. Wet jackets and dripping ponchos brushed against Lorelei as she stumbled to keep pace with Lacey's advance, cutting a path with stubborn force. Lacey's grip was a tether, both anchoring Lorelei and dragging her along faster than she could comfortably go. But Lacey didn't falter. She charged through the fray, dragging Lorelei past pockets of arguing fans.
A pair spilled into Lorelei's path, locked in a fist fight. Lorelei jerked to a halt, a sharp intake of breath catching in her throat, but Lacey pulled her back into motion.
"Keep going!" Lacey yelled as she muscled forward.
The fight was immediately enveloped by yellow-jacketed staff, the scuffle absorbed by the wider frenzy. The floor was slick, the surroundings a blur, and Lorelei's focus narrowed to the immediate need to keep moving until finally, impossibly, they crashed against the barricade.
Lacey let out a whoop, a sound of triumph that cut through the chaos. The cold metal pressed against Lorelei's ribs, grounding and surreal.
"See?" Lacey panted, gesturing to the center of the stage. "Front and center! Totally worth it."
Lorelei wasn't convinced. She exhaled, eyes wide at how something as intangible as music could lead to such chaos. She shook her head.
"Honestly, no."
Lacey raised an eyebrow, laughing. "At least you're honest about it."
Lorelei observed without speaking as the room filled quickly behind them, fans compressing and pushing and cramming inside. Every sight and sound crashed over Lorelei like a sensory hurricane. She held onto the barricade for dear life so as not to lose their spot, and, for a moment, she'd forgotten about Club Seven, about Lucas, about the wet, weighty troubles she'd left at the entrance of Ansley Street. Her world shrank to the here and now, where, within the dull roar of voices that followed the chaos, she reluctantly accepted that she'd become a part of some other world entirely.
Something she couldn't have prepared for even if she'd tried.