Getting The Guy

Chapter 24: The Concert

Song: Shake It

Band: Metro Station 

Enjoy!

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I was filled with trepidation while I waited for my dad to leave the house. 

He left at exactly five minutes past six o’ clock in the night. 

I pressed the dead bolt of my push-in lock into place on my bedroom door and got dressed in a pair of black ripped skinny jeans, an off the shoulder blouse that was a brilliant crimson colour with a decorative mesh of roses for sleeves and black knee-length boots that had a small heel at the back. 

My hair was swept up in a high ponytail and my lips were a stunning ruby red. I wore a kohl shaded eyeshadow which made my eyes seem like they were the stars lighting up the pitch black sky. A shiny black, leather purse hung on my shoulder and I smiled at my reflection with satisfaction.

When my dad was about to leave, I had told him that I was going to bed early. I even faked a loud, exaggerated yawn for good measures.

I was determined not to get caught this time.

The pillows on my bed were set up perfectly to mimic my body shape—I hope—and I unbolted the lock on my room door when I was done getting ready to prevent suspicion.

I climbed down the tree and hopped onto the ground with my black purse still slung over my shoulder. Triumphantly, I made it to the cab that was waiting for me two houses down from my house. 

The journey to the concert took about forty-five minutes to an hour and I informed Quincy that I was on my way via text.

I don't know why, but I was still hesitant about letting them know where I lived since I still wasn't so familiar with him and his friends.

As soon as the taxi stopped at the venue's gates, I was bombarded with a horde of people.

Teenagers and adults were present but I would say that about seventy percent of the throng of people was dominated purely by boisterous teenagers who seemed to be on an unstoppable high of unceasing sugar rush.

I took deep breaths, readying myself for the tiresome yet thrilling art of socialization. I shoved a wad of cash into the side of the cab driver's head. He grabbed it much too eagerly, counting the contents in his hands. 

“Could you pick me up again later on,” I queried. 

His head snapped to the side to glance at me and he nodded eagerly. 

“Just call my number,” he instructed, still counting the dollar bills keenly.

I quickly cracked the door open, knowing I probably gave him a little over the amount he originally charged and stepped unto the gravelly surface of the road.

The laughter was louder now and a cool breeze slapped my curls into my face. The vicinity felt smaller with so many people and the hairs on my arms stayed in a high position, alert at the unending case of unfamiliarity. 

The cab sped off and I glanced around to see if a certain group of familiar faces would pop up in my eyesight.

I was about to dial Quincy's phone number when a mass of gorgeously untamed frizzy curls greeted me. A wide smile stretched across his lips as he shouted, “Vannessa! There you are.”

Quincy enveloped my tiny body in a bone crushing hug and I giggled.

“You look gorgeous,” he mumbled into my ear with that flirty voice of his and although I was blushing like a madwoman, I mumbled a polite ‘thank you’ before quickly greeting his friends.