The first thing you notice at a concert is the noise. It’s like an airplane taking off, over and over again. You hear it before you even walk into the arena.
The second thing you notice is the arena itself. Huge. Filled with thousands of people. Mostly girls like me, between the ages of ten and twenty I think. Which is the age when our lungs are working at maximum capacity.
I guess what I’m saying is, the place was loud.
Before we went inside, Mr. Ramdal pulled me, Nareem, and Nareem’s little sister Ru aside.
“WE STICK TOGETHER!” he yelled over the crowd. “NO ONE LEAVES MY SIGHT!” At least that’s what I think he said. He might have said, “NO ONE LEAVES MY SIDE!” Same difference.
“OKAY!” we all yelled back.
Then Mr. Ramdal gave us these bracelets to put on, which immediately turned us into incredibly important people. It got us through about eight security checks and down about three levels of stairs until we ended up seven rows from the stage.
I turned around and saw about 14,000 people with worse seats than me. It’s easy to feel pretty superior when that happens.
We got to our seats just before eight, which was five minutes before the show was supposed to start. Then we waited for an hour.
“THIS HAPPENS SOMETIMES,” Nareem’s father shouted, as warm-up music blasted away. “MUSIC PEOPLE ARE LATE QUITE OFTEN. FOR MEETINGS AS WELL AS FOR CONCERTS.”
We nodded, staring at everything, including our bracelets.
At exactly nine o’clock, the lights went out.
Then it sounded like a thousand planes taking off at the same time.
Planes with huge engines, and filled with thousands of screaming teenage girls.
I heard someone plunk some notes on a guitar, then someone bang a drum a few times. My heart started to race.
Then, all of a sudden … BAM!
The music exploded.
The first chords of “Life Is for the Living” began, one of my favorite Plain Jane songs. Lights flashed everywhere, then suddenly, the band was right in front of us—no more than thirty feet away! My eyes zeroed in on Jane Plantero, guitarist and lead singer. She sang right to me. I swear.
Don’t control—connect.
Don’t attack—accept.
Gifts are for the giving.
Life is for the living.
The whole audience was singing along, of course. I was probably singing louder than anyone—except when I was posting pictures online. I think everyone was doing some sort of online bragging. It’s definitely the best way of saying to your friends, I’m here and you’re not.
The song ended, and the crowd went wild.
Jane stepped up to the microphone.
“Hey, what’s up Connecticut? So glad to be back in the old neighborhood!”
The crowd answered with a sound louder then planes taking off. It was more like the sound of a rocket launching.
Then Jane put her hands out and motioned for quiet.
“I have a favor to ask you guys.”
The crowd actually got quieter. Not quiet, but quieter.
“I want to ask you guys to help me make music tonight.”
The crowd got un-quiet quickly, until Jane put her hands out again.
“I want you guys to help me make some beautiful music by taking it a little easy with those phones, and those cameras, those doo-hickeys and devices and gizmos and gadgets. Let’s just sing together. Let’s connect. Let’s make eye contact. Let’s make history. Let’s make music.”
I suddenly realized I had my phone out, recording her speech about putting away our phones. When I looked around, I saw that 14,000 other people were doing the same thing.
“Sound cool?” Jane asked.
Everyone roared.
“SHE WANTS US TO CONNECT!” I screamed to Nareem.
“I KNOW!” Nareem yelled back.
His father just shook his head and smiled.
I put away my phone. Nareem put away his phone. Ru was too young to have a phone.
I was able to listen to one whole song before I took out my phone and started texting and taking video again.