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It’s almost 8:00 when I arrive at Featherz, and the stifling, hot air inside the venue is thick with the smell of pizza and nachos.
Since it’s an all-ages venue, they make their money selling food—and from the cover charge, which is ten bucks.
Apparently, the price of the cover depends on the popularity of the band that’s headlining, and I guessFearAttack isn’t all that popular yet.
Also, it’s a weekday, so that makes it a bit cheaper. A good thing, because my wallet isn’t exactly fat at the moment.
My purple Converse stick to the floor with every step I take, which is annoying as fuck. I’m going to have to wash them off later tonight.
The dance floor of Featherz is standing room only, and the tables have been shoved off to the sides to make room for the crowd. It’s already pretty packed, but I see an empty two-person table near the wall and rush over to grab it.
As soon as I sit down, a waitress, who looks about my age, approaches me.
“Want anything?” she asks. “We serve nachos, pizza, and every type of pop. Cash only.”
“Uh, just a cola, please.”
“Five bucks.”
“Oh, you want it now?” I ask, surprised. “Okay.”
I dig around in my pocket and pull out a five-dollar bill, then hand it over. She sticks it in her apron and pushes her way through the throng of people, back toward the kitchen.
While I wait for her to return, I peer around at the crowd, searching for any familiar faces. I don’t see Beckett or his band anywhere, but they’re probably behind the curtain, getting stuff ready.
Every once in a while, I see someone run out and fuss around with the equipment at the front of the stage, but I don’t recognize anybody.
Ten minutes later, the crowd doubles in size, and it gets even hotter inside of Featherz. Thankfully, the waitress drops off my drink not long after I’ve begun to sweat, and I take a grateful sip of the cold, icy beverage.
I eventually recognize a few faces from school, but there’s no one I’d care to go up and talk to. Not like I care to go up and talk to many people, but still. I guess I should be glad Mandi’s not here.
I take another sip of my drink as the lights go down and the spotlight turns on. The yellow curtains open to reveal Beckett, holding his purple guitar and standing a few feet in front of his band. “Hey, guys! We’re FearAttack, and this one is called ‘All for You,’” he yells.
The band launches into the catchy, hard-hitting song, and the crowd yells their appreciation, bopping and fist-pumping to the music. Apparently, the band has some local fans, because quite a few people seem really into the song.
Beckett commands the stage, strutting around and tossing his hair like a rock god. It’s weird to see this side of him, considering he’s one of the most laid-back people I’ve ever met.
He’s pretty cute I guess, and he seems right at home on the stage. More so than his bandmates do, anyway.
About four songs into the set, I hear someone yell, “Did you save me a seat? How sweet of you.”
I glance to my right and see Eli Donnelley standing next to the table. He’s dressed in blue jeans and a gray Oakmire Hockey t-shirt, and he’s looking as gorgeous as ever.
Big surprise there.
“What are you doing here?” I yell back, then realize how rude that sounds.
He doesn’t seem offended. In fact, he seems amused.
Eli takes the seat next to me. “Same thing as you. Listening to the band.”
“You’re a fan of FearAttack?” I ask, leaning in close so he hears me.
“I’m a fan of lots of music,” he replies, then grins. “Not much else to do on a weekday around here.”
“You could study. Oh wait, I forgot, you don’t need to.”
He laughs. “Jealous much?”
