Four years ago, I would've wet my pants. Of course, four years ago I wouldn't have been here.
I'm in the Green Room at Summer in the City. All around me, the people who used to be my idols sit on white faux-leather couches, tapping at their phones or quietly chatting amongst themselves. They all seem so nonchalant, while I feel like there are bees buzzing around inside of me.
Don't do anything stupid, I tell myself, even though I probably will. I wouldn't be Mia Hatzidakis if I didn't ruin my own life on a daily basis. If I had an ounce less of self control, I would be running up to Charlie McDonnell (who sits to the left of me) all and asked for a hug and a selfie, all the while squealing like a piglet.
On the other side of me is PJ Liguori, the so-called "Sexy Italian Film Genius." At this point, I don't need to fangirl over him. He's just my friend, good old PJ. If anything, I'd make fun of him for the 'manly stubble' he's developing today. I guess he's so tired he forgot to shave this morning.
Of course, I don't look too great either. It's the first day of SitC, meaning the only think keeping everyone alive is adrenaline. I know I didn't get a wink of sleep last night. At one AM last night I got a text from PJ, asking if I was awake. A few minutes later we were starting a race in MarioKart on the Wii he'd brought from Brighton. I didn't fall asleep until four AM, and I'm not sure PJ even slept. We woke up four hours later at eight with just thirty minutes for me to do my hair, makeup, and get dressed. Now we both sit in a haze of sleep deprivation and caffeine, sipping our espresso with dark circles under our eyes.
"I think we should head in," says PJ, closing his phone with that satisfying clicking noise iPhones always make, "It's nine forty five." I stand, grabbing my bag and stretching. Maybe one AM Mario wasn't such a brilliant idea after all. At least after this I can run to lunch in the hotel lobby and get coffee from the cafe there. I keep that in mind as I trudge out into the hall, basically being dragged by PJ. No amount of caffeine from cliche coffee shops could keep me awake now.
"Come on Mia," grumbles Peej, grabbing my hand and pulling me up from my chair. I groan, stumbling to my feet.
"How do you have any energy at all?" I moan, trying not to rub my eyes and ruin my makeup. He grins halfheartedly, giving me that 'I'm dead inside' look.
"I might've bought a couple cans of Monster from the vending machine on our floor. I wish I'd brought some for you... Sorry." he says. I shrug, doing a zombie walk in pace with him. The adrenaline's kicking in now, and my brain is finally waking up from all the coffee and excitement.
"It's fine, Peej, just catch me if I pass out in front of everyone. Okay?" I ask. He laughs and nods.
"Of course."
We carry on down the hallway to the stage, ignoring the chanting coming from the audience only a couple dozen feet away. That would only give us nerves.
Two black-clad men open up the double doors and PJ and I head out into the bright lights of the stage. Immediately we get more energy, smiling and practically skipping on. The crowd goes wild, holding up their phones and screaming at the tops of their lungs. I raise my hand and wave at everyone, hearing the cheers grow even louder. I wasn't wide awake before, but I definitely am now.
"Hey everyone!" yells PJ, picking up a microphone. I introduce myself, not that it's necessary. These people know who I am, they've come here for me. And PJ, of course, but me too.
"Hello guys, my name's Mia Hatzidakis, and welcome to this year's Summer in the City! PJ and I will be announcing all the happenings on the Main Stage today!"
"Basically, you're stuck with us!" adds Pj, following the loose script we wrote weeks ago when we were asked to host.
After our share of borderline corny jokes and one way too drawn out intro, we let Luke Cutforth and Emma Blackery out onto the stage. I have no clue what they're doing, but I'm sure it'll be great. I love Emma, she's like the outgoing and assertive version of me, but we've never talked much. When I was younger I would write her fanmail, asking for advice. I guess that little bit of me hasn't totally worn off. Plus, her and Luke are pretty much the cutest couple I've ever seen.
I realize that I need to be remembering what I have to say once the two lovebirds leave the stage, and that I'm totally zoning out from sleep deprivation.
"By the way, Mia, would you like to go to Casona's with me and a few others?" asks PJ. I look up from my vintage faux-leather shoes. Casona's is a Mexican restaurant near the center of London. PJ and I have been a few times, and it was pretty delicious. The churros are to die for, as well as the nachos with fajitas.
"I'd love to, who else is coming?" I ask. Maybe now I can finally meet someone other than PJ and stop being the odd one out.
"I don't really know yet, actually. I guess it'll be a surprise," he says, grinning like a six year old on Christmas. Emma and Luke finish up their thing, and PJ pushes me back put on the stage. I guess he uses a little too much force, because the moment I'm out where the crowd can see me, I snag my foot on an extension cord and go plummeting flat on my face, Jennifer Lawrence style. In less than a second I'm stumbling back to my feet, with the help of Pj. I've gotten black dust from the floor all over my dress, but with a few brushes of my hands it's gone. However, my embarrassment is not.
"Sorry," Pj says, patting my shoulder and taking a microphone. I grab the next one, still blushing like a tomato. Saying this is embarrassing is an understatement. This is mortifying. I could kill Pj right now for making me do that.
Embarrassment or not, the show must go on. "Whoops," I say, shrugging nonchalantly. If I know anything, it's that you feel a lot better when you laugh at yourself. The audience, understandably, os laughing. I don't blame them.
We run through or next commentary, introducing the next act.
"Thanks everyone," says Pj.
"Bye!" I finish, already almost off the stage. I collapse onto a folding chair directly behind the projector screen and study my knee. I'm bleeding quite a bit, but it's nothing too bad. I won't need stitches, although this hurts like hell. I just need to make sure I don't get blood all over my nice new dress. Emma Blackery comes over, looking down.
"Damn," says Emma, "Are you alright? I saw you fall."
"I'm fine, don't worry about it," I laugh, looking around for a tissue or something to stop the bleeding. Emma hands me a water bottle.
"Well, they gave me a few of these to pass around. I guess you'd probably like one," says Emma. I smile.
"Thank you."
I reach into my purse and find a little pack of tissues. Not many, but it's enough to press up against the wound and stop the bleeding with.
Pj, who's been standing behind me the whole time, probably making sure I'm okay, whisper, "I'll take the next intro. It'll be funny." I smile grimly and he disappears into the shadows of the wings, as mysterious as a goofy boy with mop hair can be.
"Make sure it's stopped bleeding," says Emma, "Luke's mum is a nurse, apparently if you don't take care of it it'll get infected. Just saying."
"I'm fine," I insist, stepping over towards the entrance to the stage. Just as I head over, I can hear PJ explaining my absence.
"As you can see, my co-announcer is unable to be with me for this one, as she is backstage tending to her wounds. Sorry. Anyways..." I roll my eyes. Wounds. Pj is so dramatic.
