"I lose myself in music because I can't be bothered explaining what I feel to anyone else around me."

—Robert Smith

"Oh my God! They are even more beautiful in real life! How is that even possible?!" Laina jabbered on as we busted through the doors and got our tickets scanned by an arena employee. "Brooke, I swear to God, he was looking at you!"

I was only half paying attention to the sound of her voice. I was completely shaken up—in a hazy trance—from what just happened.

"Who?" I asked.

The total lack of people wandering the halls alerted me to just how late we really were. Minutes were precious, as were the seconds.

"Julian!" Laina was so exhilarated, she nearly stumbled over her own words. "He was gawking at you and smiling when he was smoking by the bus!"

"Yeah, okay, Lain," I muttered. Down at our tickets, I continued staring. "Alright... Section B, Row 1. I think we go this way."

"Brooke, I am not kidding. I know what I'm talking about here!" Laina went on. "I saw him and he—"

On my heels, I halted abruptly. This talk of nonsense was not going to stop, until I ended it myself.

"Right, Laina. Julian Miles—who I'm sure has his choice of any girl he wants—is attracted to me, in all of my slobby glory. Please. Just look at me."

When the miniature, stress-induced, sarcastic tirade of mine was through, I took the time to notice the changes in my best friend's face. Her features—that were just glowing with enthusiasm moments earlier—held nothing but hurt. In response to this, I felt my own expression softening. For an addendum, I scrambled.

"He was just being nice—too nice," I continued. "They both were. I just... Come on and help me find our section? They said not to let anyone know where they're parked, anyway. Don't let anyone hear us talking about this."

Although nobody was actually around to hear us—it seemed that every ticket-holder, apart from us, was already in his designated seat—Laina did not question me. Instead, she silently jogged alongside me, through the corridor, until we spotted a sign.

Large, block-style, black letters directed us down a staircase, which led to the floor level closest to our section. Two steps at a time, we sprinted down—bounding—while following the overwhelming noises of hands clapping, cheers echoing, and chants growing in volume.

Then there it was... in the open, right in front of us.

The stage was huge, bright, and empty. We made it in time.

"May I see your tickets, please?" An arena worker interrupted our awe and overwhelming excitement.

I handed my ticket to him.

"Oh. I'll help you to your seats," he offered, already walking forward. "Right this way, please."

Closely behind him, Laina and I followed, while still staring up and down at the thousands of people filling the arena. Toward the very front, we were growing closer and closer. With each step taken, I could feel the jealous, dagger stares boring into our backs as we crept forward—ahead of others who wished to be as close to the stage as us.

The spectacular view was one thing, but actually meeting the performers was something else entirely.

I wondered how much our fellow concert-goers would have hated us, if they had only known what just transpired in the back of the parking lot. Perhaps, though, many of them would not have cared so much after all. Ascend the Stars was big, very big, but most people were there for the main act, I reasoned.

"Here you are," the employee said, as he pointed us down a row—the front row.

We were to be seated in the middle of it, and in order to get there, Laina and I had to step over numerous pairs of feet while endlessly apologizing for obstructing peoples' views of an empty stage.

But it would not stay empty for long.

At last, we found our way to seats nine and ten—the only two empty seats in the row, and probably the only two empty seats on the entire floor—and sat down. Just as we did, the lights dimmed.

A signal. A beginning.

Smoke began pouring into the air—permeating every inch around us—and I found comfort in this, for it meant that Laina and I would not have a chance to discuss what had just happened, in the packed parking lot. Already, my heart was threatening to pound out of my chest, and to further discuss my peculiar meeting with Julian Miles would have only exponentially worsened these matters-of-the-chest from which I was suffering.

Along with everyone else around us, Laina and I jumped to our feet. The vibrations being produced by the massive amplifiers awakened us all. Down to my very bones, they shook me back to life. The sound of a singular guitar note was being expertly sustained, emphasized and decorated by the use of a whammy bar.

Screams. Everywhere were deafening screams.

Just as hastily as the sound had come, it disappeared again. With the loss of sound came an absence of vision. Down, the lights went. In anticipation—in total darkness—the entire crowd roared.

Another teasing musical note shook the arena floor.

Around the all-black stage, strobe lights started to dance—blue, purple, red and white. Resounding cheers made the hairs on my arms stand on end, as the colorful smoke began to slowly dissipate—revealing all five musicians, for whom we had gathered to witness.

And the spotlights returned.

Over his drum-kit stood Jesse Hawthorne, with his wooden sticks held high into the air. Down they came on his toms—with a force so powerful that I felt the beat within my ribs. Up the sticks went again, teasingly pausing the rhythm, as Jesse scanned the crowd. Up into the rafters, the drummer turned and pointed, giving us a better glimpse of his straight, wet, copper hair which was slicked back against his neck.

Again, the beat returned on the drums, and the entire band joined in while transitioning into their opening song. Where I was, and what was happening, finally began to sink in. In the moment, I began losing myself, while emphatically singing along. I cared not about how silly I may have looked or sounded; this escape was one that I needed badly.

Viewing videos online, or listening to music through earbuds, was incomparable to the energy of a live event. This one, in particular, seemed otherworldly.

Stealing my focus, as he ran around the stage before us, was Devon Emory. The vocalist's appearance commanded attention, with both sides of his head buzzed short into a faded cut, and longer hair gently spiking up the middle. Naturally, Devon's hair was black, but he dyed the tips a dark, royal blue. Plenty of indistinguishable tattoos along his skin gave it the appearance of being slightly dirtied, whereas his height and slim build combined to emphasize Devon's poor posture.

The frontman's poor posture, however, just made him seem casually, and coolly, disinterested. That, in addition to his nose and lip piercings, created a rather intimidating aura around Devon. Some course hair was filling in around his pointed chin, too, and while it might have been an unkempt look on anybody else, Devon—much like Mason—looked every bit a rockstar.

Laina was trying to say something in my ear, but her efforts were all lost. It was just too loud for me to hear anything but the music. Refusing to accept my lack of attention toward her, Laina demandingly nudged my arm and pointed toward the side of the stage. There, Julian stood with his blue electric guitar, peering in our general direction. All around us, I searched for who or what he might have been staring at, but nobody was trying to get Julian's attention yet. They were all too focused on Tommy Hudson, who was standing almost directly in front of us, plucking his bass.

Toward Julian again, I looked back... and saw his eyes squint slightly as he grinned at us. The first song of the set then came to an end.

"Arizona! We are Ascend the Stars!" Mason announced—as if we were all unaware—while muting the rhythm guitar completely. "How's everyone doing tonight?!"

His question was met with raucous, ringing yells.

Mason's sleeves were rolled up, and I noticed the excessive amount of ink staining both of his forearms. He motioned to his left, pressing his thumb to his index finger, and Julian ran over to hand his friend a fresh guitar pick.

The rhythm guitarist spoke into his own microphone again.

"Damn, it's good to finally be playing in the states!" Mason shouted. Through the crowd, his eyes scanned—left and right—to find a copious amount of gorgeous ladies. "And some of you lasses out there are looking so delicious, it'll be very difficult to leave."

Before the females in the crowd could respond in absolute glee, the music hit again. Down came the confetti.

Closely, I watched as Jesse shout-whispered, what I could only imagine was, a very inappropriate joke into Devon's ear, right before the vocalist had to start singing the first verse. It made for a breathy, laughter-filled intro that only excited the crowd further.

Riding on the high of the crowd's buzz, all of the guys jumped around the stage—looking incredible and so happy. I was especially fixated on Tommy's short, messy blond hair, until Julian plopped down on the stage to sit directly in front of Laina and me. The lead guitarist flicked his hair away from his eyes—while blindly playing his loud, distorted instrument with captivating accuracy—and waited for his turn to sing backup.

Seconds passed, but it felt more like lingering minutes... or perhaps even hours. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought Julian's strangely-tinted eyes to be locked on mine.

My heart stopped when Julian pointed, I think, to me, and began to sing.

But I could not hear a thing.

All hope of Laina missing this sight died the very instant she began gripping at my shoulders and jumping up and down incessantly. I could not ask her to compose herself. I could not even ask my own torso-contained organs to function normally. All I could do was stand there, confounded, staring at him. Toward my heated face, the blood rushed as Julian winked, stood back up swiftly, and began walking across the stage again.

In waves of slow motion and fast forward, the night seemed to be passing. The band continued flying through their set, and yet, every time Julian passed by us—while inconspicuously dancing and parading around the stage—the lead guitarist made some effort to interact with us.

Every smirk, every wink, every thumbs up, every time he pointed, every time he reached out to touch our hands, the entire world halted.

This, I guessed, was what it must have felt like to be starstruck. The only strange thing was that I didn't feel this way when the other four musicians passed by us. Whatever the odd sensation was, I reveled in it—allowing it to swallow me whole.

While in and out of focus all night, I allowed myself the luxuries of happiness and enjoyment. My old life at home was nothing now. Where I was, and this feeling in my chest, was all that mattered. The music pulsed violently from the monitors, and screams—some of them being Laina's—echoed against every corner of the arena in response. This, in turn, drowned out my every paining thought.

For once, I was content. Enraptured. Intoxicated by something other than venomous liquid from a glass bottle.

Within the enormity of that crowd, I was simply one of thousands—nameless and easily lost. Nevertheless, somehow, Julian was bringing small notice to my existence, in a way that made me wonder what he could have possibly been thinking, for wanting to do so.

Until that moment, I had lived most of my days through black-and-white vision. This had been a necessary apathy. In so many ways, life had become completely unbearable. So, in response to the pain, I had lost the ability to consciously feel.

For the longest time, I had simply become numb to everything—good and bad—until this atypical-eyed boy picked at the familiar chords of my favorite song.

Some higher power must have flipped a switch in my brain, I thought. Every sense of mine was amplified in multitudes. What had been desensitized to all, now felt especially perceptible to all.

The lights—I absorbed each shade of their colors. The cool blasts of air from an overhead conditioning system—I felt the gusts wafting against the clammy surfaces of my forearms. The sounds coming from Julian's fingertips—the ones I already knew to be warm and gentle—I heard them. In fact, the notes were clearer than anything I'd ever heard before. As they came, my ears soaked up the melodic noises.

Beautiful notes filled every air particle around us, enveloping me into an impenetrable bubble of excitement, and something inside me was set aflame. Julian's strange eyes once again locked onto mine, and it felt as though every suppressed feeling, from years gone by, was erupting through the surface of my pale skin.

In that moment, I felt. A real something.

For the first time in my adult life, I remembered what it was like to feel alive.

Julian adjusted the microphone by his mouth and purred a verse. I only caught some of it, as he continued peering into me. Although I was still unalterably stuck in this trance, curiously enough, I did feel Laina wrapping one arm around me. As she held her cell phone in the air with the other, the chorus swayed the rest of the crowd.

With the passage of five more songs—during which time, my cold blood seemed to have turned thoroughly warm—the band finally disappeared for a short intermission. Before I knew it, the regular arena lights were flicking back on, and Laina began screaming into my ear.

"Oh my God! Brooke! Did you see?!" she squealed, in an untouchable state of bliss. "Believe me now?!"

Around us, some fans were dispersing to the bathrooms, or to grab snacks and drinks from the concessions. They walked by us, but I barely noticed. For the life of me, I could not coherently think. All of the voices blended into a single murmur as I looked blankly ahead. Laina's voice, though, cut through more than the rest. She was always unaware of her volume, and it always carried more than it should have.

I wouldn't have wanted to change that about my best friend, but for the moment, I wished only to clasp my hand over Laina's moving lips. A security guard near us was whispering into another one's ear—while looking directly at us—and he briefly pointed. The tall, stocky one started making his way over.

"Laina, please, you're going to get us in trouble," I said.

In my mind, it was settled: we were about to be kicked out for something.

"You," the guard said to me, while leaning in toward my ear.

I felt my stomach drop.

"You've been invited to go backstage after the show," the guard said very quietly. "Interested?"

Toward Laina, I covertly glanced.

"My friend and I were invited?" I sought clarity from the guard.

"No," he grumbled, adamantly. "I was only instructed to ask you. Now, is that a yes or a no?"

I looked at the intimidating member of security and nodded, then finally cleared my throat to speak aloud. "Yes, I'd like that a lot."

"Someone will come and escort you before the show is over," he quietly replied, before turning to walk away again.

With a look of pure concern, Laina turned to me.

"Are we in trouble?" she asked.

Her hazel eyes, into which I stared, were stricken with panic. Closer toward me, I pulled Laina, and whispered as quietly as I could.

"Don't you dare scream when I say this," I warned. "I think they invited me to go backstage after the concert."

As my best friend's eyes seemed to double in size, a massive smile spread across her freckle-dotted face. The words—a flood of them, I was sure—were on the tip of her tongue, but, without warning, the lights went down again.

Once more, the music hit. Chord changes. A drum-heavy, extended intro.

And with that, back to Neverland I flew.

I supposed it was pointless to attempt to figure out what was going on. My mind—holding the consistency of scrambled eggs, and about the same ability to function—could only turn and spin. Absolutely positive I was that this was all a dream. When I woke, I decided, I would reach straight for my phone to text Laina the whole crazy story, with a sure hint of underlying disappointment that it never really happened.

But perhaps it really was happening, I conceded. After all, Laina's elbow kept hitting me—pulling me back down from the clouds of dreamland, and bringing me closer to reality.

Elbows never stung this much in dreams.

I had some time to consider this, as song after song passed. Before we knew it, Tommy was warning us of the band's near departure.

"Right, we have two more songs for you, Tucson, then the lads you're really here to see will be taking the stage," the bassist exclaimed. "So I want to hear you be asloud as you can! SCREAM!"

All too obligingly, the crowd replied, as I felt a tap on my shoulder... but, this time, it was not Laina.

A petite, gorgeous woman with platinum blonde hair, wearing black slacks and a white button-up, was standing next to me. She leaned into my ear to say, "I'm Anna. I'm here to escort you backstage. Will you quietly follow me?"

I nodded, and held up my index finger to ask for one moment of patience from her.

"Could you hang on to my purse?" I asked Laina, while handing it toward her. "Uh, the car keys should be in the zippered pocket. Feel free to go out to the car, or to take it anywhere. I have my phone in my pocket, so you can just text me. I, uh—"

"Brooke, GO!" Laina demanded excitedly.

Somewhat apprehensively, I nodded, and felt an immediate sense of guilt for leaving Laina behind. She should have been the one going back there, I thought, not me. Although I couldn't have been positive about what experience exactly awaited me in the backstage area, I was sure that I wouldn't be back there for very long, at least.

Just a few minutes, max.

"GO!" Laina sternly repeated, in a harsh whisper.

"Okay," I breathed the word—mostly to myself—and offered my best friend a small smile.

"Ready?" the light-haired lady asked, but began walking forward, before I had an actual chance to answer.

After the sharply-dressed woman—whose professional role I hadn't yet quite deduced—I followed.

Almost invisibly, through the crowd, Anna and I exited. The screaming faded substantially as we turned the corners of the dimly lit, backstage hallways. As we walked, crew workers maneuvered equipment around us. For the life of me, I still hadn't the slightest clue of what was going on, or why.

The clicking of Anna's black heels on the tile was making me more nervous for some illogical reason. As a result, I felt completely inadequate next to her. Still, I managed to summon the courage to ask, "So, where exactly are we going?"

"Oh, they didn't tell you?" Anna replied, noticeably surprised. "Julian would like to speak with you. There's a private green room set up, and you can help yourself to whatever you'd like in there."

We came to a stop in front of a plain-looking, locked door. Anna searched her pocket for a set of keys. She found the correct one and turned the lock. With a deep breath stuck in my throat, I followed her inside.