“Oh, s**t,” I whispered, shaking my head and wanting to retreat into the shadows, to vanish, like a ghost into the solid façade of the building. I prayed you had not yet seen me. I prayed for the opposite. I prayed for a glimmer of recognition.
You were with your drummer, an impossibly tall guy with a leonine mane of long blond hair, and a couple of other boys, who looked exactly like what they were: groupies. I could tell from their fawning postures and starry-eyed gazes at you.
My face flushed red and I felt an insane urge to just turn and run—as fast as I could—up the street. But even I had enough dignity and sense to know how insane that would look.
You had spotted me…and I believe, from the length of your stare, that you perhaps even remembered me. Or maybe I was kidding myself. Bu
