Carter and I pushed our way through the wall of bodies to the front of the crowd. Jammed against the barrier, I stopped caring what Carter thought and joined the shouting, manic girls around us. Carter raised an eyebrow as if this was all beneath him, but his gaze was fixed on the stage. This was what ‘making it’ looked like; he was taking notes for his imagined future. As we waited for the band to come onstage, I leaned against him almost without a thought. I had borrowed one of his T-shirts for the night, black with the words ‘I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor,’ the name of his favourite Arctic Monkeys song. It fitted me better than him and I was secretly hoping he might let me keep it afterwards.
Addie Marmoset came onstage first, stalking in heels, petite beside her four bandmates but still more commanding than any of them. A scream escaped my throat and Carter turned to look at me, like he was enjoying seeing me lose control. I grabbed him and he hugged me so automatically that my breath caught.
The show was perfect, from the five mismatched costumes to the smooth, rich harmonies. It reminded me that our humble attempts to write a decent song were amateur hour. I would’ve killed if a crowd loved my band like this, but there was also something weird and disconnected about it; the sound was so fine-tuned they could have been playing the album over a loudspeaker. There was no way to tell it was really live.
The second encore was ‘Rock You All Night,’ my audition song, and Carter finally joined in as the crowd shouted out the words. When the music faded away, he draped his arm around my shoulders and said, ‘Let’s go out after this.’
‘And get me expelled for good this time?’ I laughed. His face was glowing.
From the stage, Addie cleared her throat, waiting for the screaming to die down. ‘And now we have an announcement,’ she said. The other four girls held their mics, heads bowed. Carter tightened his grip on my shoulder. The cheers rose, but Addie silenced them with a hand. ‘We wanted you to be the first to know that this is Perfect Storm’s last show as a five-piece. I’m leaving the band to pursue my solo projects ...’ She tapered off as the crowd’s shouting drowned her out. Beside me, a girl started crying, filming on her phone. I wanted to do the same, but I bit back the tears: Carter would never let me forget it if I cried. I looked at the other four girls on the stage. Three of them were holding steady, but one – Bella, the leather-clad ‘rock chick’ and, at twenty-four, the oldest – turned to scowl at Addie as she spoke.
‘I wish the girls well as they continue as a four-piece,’ said Addie, turning to the others, and her waist-length ponytail swung as she hugged them each in turn.
‘Good thing we were there!’ said Carter as we took the train home. ‘We witnessed history tonight.’
But I wasn’t so sure. Perfect Storm was the band I always went back to when I needed a lift, but I loved them for more than the music. I loved that they seemed like such close friends; that they always had each other’s backs. Addie had sounded calm, but bands didn’t break up for no reason, and I hadn’t missed the way Bella’s head had jerked up during Addie’s announcement. I knew the band was cheesy, and a part of me had outgrown them, but it was sad to think they might have outgrown each other too.