Part 11: Victoria

Walking into the concert venue was like walking into another world - walking into their world. A world where Victoria and Hannah weren’t just the couple of weird kids who dressed in all black and listened to real music and knew what pain and unhappiness were - but where everyone else was like them, too. All these kids who felt so alone at school, surrounded by fake, preppy plastic people - finally brought together by their love of OBM.

It was the same feeling she’d had when Hannah first brought her to Hot Topic, at the mall, times a thousand. It was like living your life as a goldfish in a fish bowl, and then suddenly being released into the ocean, where there were not just a million other kinds of fish but dolphins, sharks, whales, and jellyfish too. 

Victoria couldn’t stop looking around in awe. There were emo kids, scene kids, goths, punks, people she didn’t know what to call. People who you couldn’t call kids but definitely weren’t adults, either. People with piercings, tattoos, dyed hair, X’s drawn on their hands (she had to ask Hannah what that meant later) - a girl who looked like she actually had the letters OBM carved into her arm - leather vests, hats (she knew she should have worn a hat) - plaid skirts, ties, everything. Her own band t-shirt and ripped jeans seemed pathetic in comparison. 

“This place is amazing,” she said breathlessly. She didn’t try to hide her excitement. Even Hannah had to be impressed by this place. 

“Right? It’s like coming home,” Hannah replied. “Plus there are tons of hot guys here. Plenty of ugly ones, too, but who cares about them?” 

“I love it.” 

“Oh, this is nothing. Wait until the concert actually gets going, this place is going to get crazy.” 

“Crazy how?” Victoria couldn’t imagine anything more crazy - a tall, skinny guy without a shirt on skateboarded by them, close enough that her hand almost brushed his bare chest. She could smell his deodorant. It was like staring straight into the sun and someone telling you it was about to get brighter. 

“Oh, you’ll see. We’ve got to figure out our game plan,” Hannah said, grabbing Victoria’s hand and pulling her through the crowd. She was on a mission of some sort. 

“Game plan?” Victoria felt like she was just repeating what Hannah said without really understanding it. There was too much going on, too much to look at. T-shirt vendors, food stands, long lines that seemed to lead nowhere but still made Victoria wonder if they should be standing in them. Everyone was so tall. Hannah was right: lots of the guys were attractive, but as soon as Victoria fell in love with one, he was gone and she had forgotten his face.

Where was Hannah leading her, anyway? Wait, did that girl have a snake around her neck? An actual, legit snake? She should have at least dyed her hair or something. Maybe you had to be older to get a tattoo (sixteen, right? or was it fifteen?) but she could have bought hair dye at the drugstore. Or stolen it, that would have been even cooler. Or some more pins to put on her bag - all she had was the one black one with the star on it. That was enough at school, but here it was nothing. 

She felt herself stop moving and realized they had joined the end of some line or other. Hannah turned around to face her and finally answered the question Victoria had asked what felt like ages ago: “Yeah, our plan to get backstage. Obviously. We are not leaving here until we meet Xander Cross and get him to sign our bodies and I don’t care how long your mom has to wait out there in her minivan.” 

“Our bodies?” 

“Yeah, that’s what they do. Like back in the olden days bands used to sign record covers or posters and then Xander realized, hey, why are writing all over these objects when it’s the people that really matter. He wants to touch his fans directly, like person to person, that’s what makes him so fucking great. He really cares about his fans. Victoria!” 

Victoria snapped back to attention like a dog running into an invisible fence. She turned to look at Hannah, who was still leading her through the maze of people. “Sorry!” 

“It’s okay, I get it, it’s your first show,” Hannah said. “You get used to it.” 

“Was that guy leading a girl on a leash?” Victoria stammered. 

“I don’t know, maybe. Some people are into that. Subs and doms. Short for dominatrix,” she explained casually. They reached the venue employee who was guarding the entrance to the concert floor, an overweight bald man giving each ticket a glance and a grunt. Hannah’s demeanor changed immediately. “Hey, Dave!” she said, in the same tone of voice she used on Mr. Brown at school. 

Did she know this guy? Or did she just know his name? Victoria looked to see if he was wearing a nametag or a badge of some kind, but she didn’t see anything besides the bright-yellow polo tucked into his jeans.

“Ticket, miss,” he grumbled.

“Of course, just one second,” Hannah said, fishing in her bag. 

“Aren’t the tickets --” Victoria started, but a glare from Hannah, lasting no more than a second, shut her up. 

Hannah kept digging around in her bag, shuffling the same few items around. As confused as Victoria was, she did know three things for certain: the tickets were in Hannah’s back pocket, not her bag; they had seats, way in the back of the venue, not floor passes; Hannah was going to get what she wanted somehow. 

“Oh, shit,” Hannah said, looking directly into the eyes of the man who might have been called Dave. “I can’t believe I did this, but I think I must have thrown them out once we got in here. I mean, I didn’t really think we’d need them again . . . we don’t really, do we? I mean, I can go try and dig them out of the trash if you want me to . . .” She stretched her arms above her head and leaned in closer to the man. “Or could you just . . . be cool?” 

Maybe-Dave glanced at the line of people that was starting to build up behind the girls. He grunted, shrugged, and nodded towards the floor. 

“Thank you thank you thank you!” Hannah shrieked, giving Dave a tight, two-second hug. She yanked Victoria’s arm and pulled her along. “You’re the best!” she called over her shoulder. 

“Ohmygod Hannah, that was amazing!” Victoria panted. They were in the inner sanctum now, the concert inside the concert, where all the real fans were. “How did you do that?” 

Hannah shrugged. “It’s easy. Guys are so easy. You could have done it, too.” 

“No way.” 

“Sure, you just need some more confidence. Now come on - we’ve got to get to the front.” 

The crowd was much denser here on the floor. They were early - there was probably still another half hour before the opener even went on, it was still light outside, even - but all of these people were even earlier. Didn’t these people go to school? Victoria wondered. Some of them probably ditched school early for the show. You could do that when you were in high school. And some of them might not go to school at all, they might be drop-outs. She, Victoria Brixton, might be hanging out with high school drop-outs!

To their right, a group of guys had started a mini-moshpit, just four or five of them, all shoving each other playfully. 

Mosh pits were real. 

There was a song playing through the speakers that Victoria didn’t recognize. It definitely wasn’t Our Beautiful Misery. It sounded old, like something her dad or maybe one of her sisters might listen to. 

That girl with the red hair (real red, not ginger red) was wearing an OBM shirt. And an OBM hat. Did Hannah see her? She certainly didn’t look like a poser. But then again, she was probably, like, sixteen or seventeen. You could get away with anything once you were in high school. 

Up until this point, people had been letting them through - or, letting Hannah through, and then Hannah dragged Victoria along - but now their movement started to get more difficult. People were looking. Not just looking, glaring. Hannah seemed unfazed by it, though Victoria did hear her start to throw out a few “Excuse me”s here and there. 

“Um, Hannah, maybe we should . . .” 

“We are not stopping,” Hannah replied, not even turning back to look at her. “We have to get to the front. If we’re not in the front, then there’s no way Xander is going to pick us to come backstage.” 

There was a snicker somewhere nearby. Victoria felt a familiar sense of panic start to creep in. Usually being with Hannah kept her anxiety to a minimum, but she was starting to feel like even Hannah might be out of her depths here. They were eighth-graders! Middle schoolers! Did Hannah remember that they were middle-schoolers? They were lucky enough to have gotten this far. If they tried to go any further, they were going to get into real trouble - someone was going to get really mad, or figure out they weren’t supposed to be here, or call security, or call the police, or call her mom . . . 

“Hannah. Hannah.” She couldn’t breathe. The crowd was getting closer - moving in, smothering her, surrounding her - the people seemed to be growing, or maybe she was shrinking, or maybe she was falling. Everything was distorted, it was like a dream - it was a dream, it had to be a dream, she couldn’t really be here, could she? No, she knew it was too good to be true - Victoria could never actually go to a real concert. That was something other people did, not her, never her. The edges of everything began to go blurry, and then there was a sort of blackness - she could still see the people all around her, but there was a blackness there at the same time, how weird was that. 

Was she still holding Hannah’s hand? Was she still moving through the crowd? Was she still standing? Was she still conscious? Was she still alive? 

Was that stupid old music still playing? 

Yep. 

And so she came back. Hannah must have finally given up, or at least decided to take a break, because they weren’t moving anymore. There were people touching her on every side; sweat, some of it her own, was covering her entire body. The blackness was gone, the colors were starting to fade back in. But her hand was empty. 

Hannah was a few people in front of her, looking around intently, as if a pathway to the stage, unseen by anyone else, was magically going to appear. 

“Hannah!” Victoria shouted, hoping it sounded more like I’m-over-here type shouting and not I-just-had-a-panic-attack shouting. If she got back to Hannah, she would be okay. 

“Victoria, get your ass up here!” Hannah called back. “I’m trying to find a way up to the front!” 

“Hannah, I think we’re close enough.” 

“WHAT?!” 

“I said, I think we’re close enough!” 

“No, I heard you, but we are not stopping.” 

People nearby were definitely looking now - looking and laughing at them. 

“Hannah, please!” This was Victoria the Girl Scout speaking now - her past self had taken over her body like some sort of ghost, some sort of demon spirit - just like in that OBM song where Xander sang, “It’s taken over my body / It’s speaking in my voice / It’s gone too far to stop it / I’m left without a choice.” 

Of course, Xander’s inner demon was forcing him to kill the woman he loved, but it was the same idea. 

And miraculously, Hannah listened. She was back at Victoria’s side in fifteen seconds, wordlessly, without even a sigh or an eyeroll. See, this was the side of Hannah that other people didn’t see, couldn’t see - what her mom didn’t get. Everyone saw how powerful she was, how good she was at getting her way, but they didn’t know how nice she could be, how she would do anything for her friends . . . 

And the lame old rock song was over, and a song she knew had started - not an OBM song, but a song by a band called Brokenfolds, who Hannah’s friend James listened to . . . she didn’t like it, really, but it was familiar. It grounded her. 

Victoria felt her excitement start to come back. She had been to Hell and back, she had practically died and lived to tell the tale - just as Xander Cross surely had at some point in his life, and now she understood him so much better - and she was here, she was really here, and she was with her best friend, and any minute now (in her exuberance, she forgot there was still an opening act) she was going to see him, and until her last, final, dying breath no one could ever take that away from her.