“Lay off, man . . . You wouldn’t know romance if it bit you in the ass!”
In typical boy style, Blake threatens to moon us, and instantly the tension is released.
Luckily, Larry shouts from the front of the bus that we’ve arrived—just before Blake’s pants can come down. Perfect timing. Dean claps his hands together and everyone’s attention focuses on him. “Guys, I have some amazing news!” His eyes are sparkling like he’s won the lottery. “You’ll never guess who’s going to be joining The Sketch onstage tonight.” He pauses for a moment, letting the anticipation build. “Leah Brown! It’s a total secret for now, but the crowd will be absolutely buzzing! How awesome is that, guys?”
Everyone around me is jumping and high-fiving—this is a huge coup for the tour, and will raise the publicity levels through the roof. But, when I wished for another girl to be here, Noah’s not-really-ex-girlfriend was not who I meant. If I think Blake is making this tour difficult, I’m almost certain the arrival of Leah Brown means it’s about to get a whole lot worse.
Chapter Fifteen
The venue in Berlin feels twice as big as the Brighton Centre, and our footsteps echo across the stage as Noah prepares to do his soundcheck. There are people all around us, but having driven straight from the airport to the hotel to the concert hall in the tour bus, I don’t feel like I’ve seen anything of the city yet. We could be anywhere. The only indication this is Germany is the bright red signs saying AUSGANG instead of EXIT.
I walk right up to the front of the stage, staring out at the sea of empty seats that will soon be filled with screaming fans. Even though the place is empty, I still get a little shiver down my spine.
At least I won’t have to be out in the crowd this time. I have my backstage pass hanging round my neck and I look so attached to it that Noah joked I might take it to bed with me. I just might. I don’t want to risk another incident like what happened in Brighton. I won’t have any friends here who will be looking out for me.
I lift up my camera and take a picture of the empty stalls. I have a vision that I can layer images of the crowd on top of the empty seats and make some kind of statement on the nature of the relationship between performance and audience. Miss Mills would like that for my alternative-perspectives project. Is it still a performance if no one is there to listen? I wonder.
I step back from the front of the stage, edging towards the shadows. Noah is standing in a pool of light in the middle of the stage, dressed in a maroon Harvard hoodie and black jeans, singing the first few bars of “Elements.” I snap a picture of that too: the performer before the performance, the many hours of rehearsal and hard work that the fans almost never get to see. This is turning out to be perfect for my A-levels project.
I’m lost in the image of Noah losing himself in his music, until Blake smashes the cymbals on his drum kit behind me, making me jump. I stumble backwards, tripping over a bundle of cords on the floor. I’m so concerned with preserving my camera that I don’t reach out to break my fall and I crash against a stack of speakers. The smallest speaker at the top wobbles precariously from the force of my impact.
Please don’t fall, please don’t fall, I pray to the gods of clumsiness.
They don’t listen.
The speaker drops to the ground with a sickening crack, pieces flying across the stage. I’m slumped on the floor, my shoulder throbbing, but my camera is in one piece—a tiny silver lining, at least.
“Penny! Oh my god, are you OK?” Noah runs over to me.
I stand up quickly, brushing myself off. I try to avoid wincing, which turns my smile into a weird grimace. “I’m fine, seriously, Noah—you better keep on rehearsing. I—I can pay for the speaker.”
“No, don’t worry about that. Blake, what the hell, man?”
Blake looks over at me and shrugs. “Hey, it’s not my problem if your girlfriend is a klutz.”
“He’s right—I’m a klutz,” I stammer.
Noah frowns. “Well, you’re my klutz and I don’t want you to get hurt. Those speakers are seriously heavy.”
I nod and, to hide the bright red blush of shame that has risen in my cheeks, I drop back to the floor and start to pick up the broken pieces of the speaker that have shattered across the stage. I’m never going to go on a stage again. Stages and I are officially cursed.
“Steve will help clear this up.” Noah gestures over to one of the roadies, who’s already at hand with a dustpan and brush. I vaguely recognize him from the quick-fire round of introductions when we first entered the venue. Noah knows the name of every member of the crew, even if he’s only met them once; it’s yet another thing that makes him so special. “We can get a new speaker here, right?”
“No problem,” says Steve. “We can switch one out from the back.”
“See? All good. Just ignore Blake and I’ll come meet you after I’ve rehearsed.”
“Sounds good,” I say. I’m still frustrated. Why do I have to be such a liability? Backstage is hopefully much safer.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Elliot.
One day in Berlin and I’m already a disaster
He texts back almost straightaway.
What happened?
Let’s just say I’m not meant to be onstage
Don’t tell me there was an incident with the unicorn pants again?
NO. Worse. I probably broke hundreds of pounds’ worth of equipment