I paid for my seat. I want to sit in it without missing anything.
So, when the band kicks the show off with their second-biggest hit, and the woman in front of me with black hair in a silver sequined dress leaps to her feet, I groan. Jodi, my cousin, shares a look with me. We go to a lot of concerts together and we hate the early standers.
The silver dress is writhing in front of me, like a fish dying on land. The woman’s friends are still sitting. It’s just her. She must know how obnoxious this is.
I sigh and try to enjoy the song but I can’t. She is directly in my line of sight with the lead singer.
I lean forward to tap her back.
She ignores me, hands above her head.
I tap harder.
She whirls.
When our gazes meet, my stomach jumps. Her eyes widened, bigger and brighter than the spotlights.
“No one else is standing yet,” I yell over the music after collecting my thoughts. “You’re kind of blocking my view.”
“I’m not standing, I’m dancing,” she hollers back with a smile. “You should try it, it’s fun.”
I share another look with Jodi, but instead of being annoyed she seems amused.
The woman turns back to the stage and dances harder, hair and hips tossing in time with the bass line.
I seethe.
Jodi nudges me. “Just get up, Mia.”
My brow furrows. “What?”
“Get up. You won’t have fun sitting behind her all night.” There is something serious in her expression.
A glance around confirms that no one else is standing yet. Just Sparkle Lady.
“I can’t,” I tell her. But Sparkle continues to dance. The lights bounce off her dress and bathes us in a rainbow glimmer.
The song ends and the crowd roars. Sparkle jumps up and down a few times, her hair bouncing.
“Are you having a good time?” the lead singer bellows into the mic.
Sparkle whoops then turns to wink at me. The audacity.
Jodi elbows me again. “You’ll miss it. Come on, I’ll get up too.”
The next song begins, one of my favorites. Sparkle is swaying back and forth, arms waving as smooth as kelp in the rising tide.
I stand. Jodi jumps up with me.
Sparkle turns. She’s singing the lyrics. Then she’s singing them at me. Her lips are plump, a hint of a pink tongue visible on ‘lover’ and ‘lay your head’.
She grins.
Sparkle’s friends stand, then the rest of her row, then my row, then everyone. We are all swaying, a forest of kelp now, liquid light and flashing scales.
She turns to smile at me again, and again, and again as the concert goes on, each time my face growing hotter and my heart racing faster, until the encore is over, the cheers have faded, and the lights are on. I haven’t touched my seat.
I am out of breath, hairline damp with sweat.
Sparkle turns her back on the stage for the last time and reaches towards me. The static in the air lifts the hairs off my arm. I take her hand.
I don’t want to miss a thing.
Bio:
Jennifer believes that there are so many more romantic stories to tell than the ones that have traditionally been lined up on bookstore shelves, and she’s writing as many of them as she can. Her short stories have appeared in several anthologies and literary magazines, and she has three published queer romance novels, including her first of a three-book deal with St. Martin’s Romance. Jennifer can be found on Instagram @JMoffattWrites and her website: jmoffattwrites.com