“Get your tits out, get your tits out,” the mass started chanting, whenever this happened. Most girls, swept up in the shock of the moment, obliged, and threw their top above their heads, rewarded with the cheers of twenty thousand people. Then the camera fell on one girl, the chanting started, but she refused. Crossing her arms over her chest, looking as if she might cry, the camera zoomed right in on her and the mass turned on her. Everyone booing this spoilsport for not getting her tits out.

Even Jessica wrinkled her nose. “Gross,” she said. “Everyone is always so fucking gross.”

I was about to ask if she was OK. Like, really OK, but that’s the moment Metallica came on. The music thrummed our eardrums, and the crowd instantly morphed into a chaotic, violent stampede where punching a stranger appeared to be the best way to appreciate it. We forgot the girl, giggled, and poked fun.

“I don’t know this song,” I admitted, while the crowd went wild.

“Me neither.”

“Don’t know this one either,” I said, about the next.

“Ditto.”

We were giggling ourselves stupid—my stomach aching from our constant laughter. Whenever a song came on that we knew, we screamed, “WE KNOW THIS ONE,” and fell into hysteria. It only happened about five times. With credit to Metallica, as the sky turned black, they got out “Nothing Else Matters,” and all the teenagers struck flames on the Zippo lighters they’d purchased mostly for moments just like this. They waved them in the air, and it really did look quite beautiful. Jessica lay her head on my shoulder, and I found myself wiping a tear away. The weight of Jessica’s head, the glorious symphony of the chorus, the sea of flames, it made me get all sentimental. I reflected on how far the two of us had come. How long we’d been friends now. The things we’d supported one another through. How proud I was of that. And then I thought of how only a year remained. How this time, next August, we’d be on the cusp of a giant change.

“Are you really not going to go to uni?” I asked, the music dimming at the importance of our conversation. I’d heard on the grapevine that she wasn’t applying to UCAS that upcoming autumn.

Jessica stiffened slightly on my shoulder. “Liam and I are going to get a place in London together. See what happens with his band.” It was the first time she’d mentioned him all day.

“But you got all As and Bs,” I reminded her. “Even though you never revise. I watched you with jealous disgust.”

Jessica laughed with her head to the sky. “Exams are easy. It’s just a system and you have to learn the hacks.”

“Teach me the hacks please.”

“Can I point out that you also got all As and Bs?”