“I spent all afternoon here rehearsing. I think I’m allowed to take a break.”
“Well, it probably would have been good for you to tell me where you were going rather than leaving me running around like a headless chicken!”
Noah winks at me. It’s typical for him to run off without telling his management team where he’s going. I stifle a giggle.
It’s far less glamorous backstage than I thought it would be. In my head, I had imagined a lot of leather furniture and big mirrors with naked bulbs surrounding them, or maybe somewhere really industrial, with exposed metal pipes and lots of speakers everywhere. Instead, we are ushered through a series of narrow hallways towards a door with a piece of paper tacked on the front that reads: NOAH FLYNN. Inside is a small, beige-painted room with a couple of grey sofas round a coffee table. Just that on its own would look really boring, but it’s made much livelier by the sheer mess that’s dotted all around. There are lots of instruments stacked in the corner, suitcases open and spilling their contents onto the floor, and several leather jackets laid across the back of the sofa. On the walls are photographs of famous people who have performed at the Brighton Centre, from Bing Crosby (who I now know all about, thanks to Elliot) to more modern bands like The Vamps, The Wanted, and even One Direction. I wonder if Noah’s picture will end up there one day too.
“Are The Sketch in a room like this too?” I ask.
Noah shakes his head. “No, they get the fancier dressing rooms.”
“Well, that makes sense. Will I get to meet them?”
Now he laughs. “Heck, I haven’t even met them yet! I’m just the support act, remember? Their management keeps them on an even tighter leash than Dean does me. I’d be surprised if we see them at all this tour, unless you’re really lucky. Wait, you’re not hoping to upgrade your rock-star boyfriend, are you?”
I punch him lightly on the shoulder and stick out my tongue. I quickly get over any disappointment at not meeting The Sketch as soon as I spot the array of treats laid out on the coffee table. There’s a HUGE bowl full of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Jolly Ranchers, several bottles of neon-yellow Lucozade . . . and Cadbury Mini Eggs.
“Wait, Noah, how did you get these?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s the summer—these mini eggs are only around at Easter! I guess that’s your big diva request,” I say with a grin.
“I’ll have to trust your chocolate expertise on that fact,” says Noah. He reaches down, grabs a mini egg, and pops it in his mouth. He pulls a box out from underneath the table, and when he opens it the room fills with the aroma of chocolate-chip cookies. “But, seeing as Sadie Lee made me promise to give these to her favourite Brit and not eat them all by myself, mini eggs are the next best thing!”
“Nothing beats Sadie Lee’s cookies!” I say, grabbing one. They’re still soft on the inside. Even though I could eat the whole batch, I offer one to Noah and then to Dean, who has followed us in.
“Hey, who wants some beer?”
I look up from the box of cookies and there’s a guy leaning in the doorway, a long, grungy fringe covering most of his forehead. He’s wearing a black T-shirt like Noah, but unlike Noah he has a lot more tattoos running down his arms. In one of his hands, he grips the necks of two beers. Instantly I feel goose bumps prickle the back of my neck, though I can’t explain why.
“Not for me, man,” says Noah. “Blake, meet my girlfriend, Penny. Penny, this is Blake—he’s one of my best friends from back home and the drummer in my band.”
Blake barely looks at me—or, if he does, I can’t tell because his hair obscures his eyes too much. I do hear a small grunt of acknowledgement from him, I think.
“Hey,” I say. My voice squeaks and now I do see Blake’s expression change—his lip curls up into a sneer. My heart sinks. I wanted to make a good impression on Noah’s friends. Now I just feel awkward and a little pathetic. For the first time, I feel out of place.
The other two members of Noah’s band pile in behind Blake—they are both carrying beers too, but they’re much friendlier and smilier than Blake. Noah introduces them as they come in: the bassist, Mark, and a keyboard player named Ryan. Mark and Ryan sit on the chair opposite me and Noah, but Blake strides in and plonks himself down next to Noah so that I get squished between him and the arm of the sofa. He passes one of the beers over to Noah.
Noah takes it, but, rather than taking a swig, he puts it down on the coffee table.
“This is England, dude. You’re legal,” urges Blake, after taking a large gulp himself.
Noah shrugs. “I said I’m cool.”
Blake looks about to push the issue, but Dean claps his hands together and the band looks up at him together. “OK, guys, this is your first big gig together, and you sounded great in rehearsal. Just repeat what you’ve been doing and you’ll smash it. I don’t think I have to explain how important this is for Noah, for all you guys. This could be a real game changer. No pain, no gain. Now, it’s only ten minutes until lights up so, all of you, get out and get ready. This is your time to shine.”
“Is he always like this?” I whisper to Noah.
“What, always speaking in clichés before we go onstage? Yep, that pretty much sums up Dean.” Noah looks at his manager. “Can I get a minute alone?”
“One minute,” Dean says, narrowing his eyes at the two of us so we know he means business. “All right, everybody out.”