They’re calling our names. Screaming our names, really. Louder, and louder, as they get closer. Our onlookers turn from the girls to us, putting two and two together. More phones are whipped out, like a ripple. The lights glow brighter and brighter until I feel like I need to squeeze my eyes shut before my vision closes in.
Zach steps forward, arm outstretched, and that’s a step too far for Angel. With a strangled noise that doesn’t sound quite human, Angel grabs Lina’s arm and breaks into a sprint, launching onto the road.
Time slows down even further. Headlights flash in the distance. Far enough away that Angel and Lina can make it across both lanes. Just. But then Zach moves. Darts forward to chase Angel.
The headlights are too close for him to make it.
I don’t make the decision to move. But I move.
I grab Zach in a bear hug and wrench him back onto the pedestrian strip. Headlights flash, and horns blare, and they’re screaming our names. They’re screaming for Angel. I think I’m screaming, too.
Zach and I stumble together, and I catch us before we hit the ground.
Finally, time catches back up.
“Jesus, Zach,” I’m shouting, still gripping him. “Watch what you’re doing!”
Angel’s made it to the other side of the street. He falters, as he realizes there are fans closing in from both ends of the street. Lina is looking around at the cameras like a cornered rabbit searching for an escape route that doesn’t exist.
I remember when the sight of that many photographers freaked me out, too. Now they only worry me if they’re recording, oh, a heated argument between our group, in the middle of the night, while one of us is obviously off his face and getting dangerously close to publicly defaming our management team. That would be the sort of contract breach that’d see us bankrupt in a finger’s snap.
One of the blinding headlights pulls to the side of the road, beside Angel. My heart jumps into my chest as I let Zach go. Is it a fan? Or someone who knows who Angel is, and also knows how much money he can get if he pulls him into his car? It probably wouldn’t be a difficult feat with Angel in this state.
But the driver steps out, and I almost pass out with relief. It’s Keegan.
“That was quick,” I say to Jon.
Jon shakes his head. “I couldn’t get ahold of him. Guess that’s why.”
Thankfully, Angel doesn’t kick up a fuss with Keegan. Whether it’s because he knows Keegan can overpower him, or he’s realized he wants to get off this fast-filling street, I can’t say. Zach taps me on the arm, and I turn to see Pauline’s pulled up in another car, and is sitting with the hazard lights on by the strip.
We don’t need to be asked—we clamber into the back seat as quickly as we can, slamming the door against the rising crescendo of people calling to us. My heart thrums in my throat, and I seek out Zach’s hand the moment we’re hidden. He holds me in a death grip, obviously as shaken as I am.
“Not exactly hard to find you,” Pauline’s saying to Jon when my mind starts processing words again. “Your photos were all over Twitter. You boys can’t cough without it being recorded online, why’d you think you’d be able to go out without us? If you wanted some air you could’ve asked us, we could’ve gone for a walk around the grounds. We wouldn’t have even needed to tell Erin! Now look!”
Of course they found us. We’ve been missing for barely fifteen minutes, and they tracked us down.
We’ve been missing for barely fifteen minutes, and we’d come a hair’s breadth away from being mobbed. Or worse.
I’ve never been quite so aware of how monitored I am. But at the same time, I’ve never been so grateful to be closely monitored. Of course, the downside is, they’re taking us back to the hotel, where our whole team is going to find out what we did.
Climb onto my head. I’ll swim you across the river.
FOURTEEN
ZACH
Saturday is still trending.
I keep waiting for it to die down, for something else to take over. God, please let a Kardashian do something, anything, to get the spotlight off us.
But no. It seems like the whole world has decided to pause so everyone can give their opinion about what is now known as Angel’s Meltdown.
And boy, people sure are enjoying giving their opinion.
Today is supposed to be a rest day before our second show in Berlin tomorrow, but nobody can sit still. For most of the day the four of us have been stressing in Jon’s room, because it’s the cleanest, honestly. I’m at the desk, trying to tinker with the lyrics in “End of Everything.” Ruben, Jon, and Angel are on the bed, trying to watch TV or browse on their laptops.