“He’s not a petting zoo, lady.”

The lady’s face went from being pale to bright red, and she hurried away.

“Are you okay?” Mel asked. “I looked over and saw that lady trying to grab your hair.”

“Oh, yeah, the night’s been fun. Got shoved to the floor, some dude thought I was a dope dealer, random lady tried to grab my hair. Mosh pits are awesome.”

“Stick with me then. I’ll punch anyone in the face who tries to annoy you.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd. We made it right in front of the stage and I could see Desmond’s sweat falling from his face.

“Dance!” Mel yelled as she started moving her body with the music. I was too awkward for dance floors. Even at school dances, I stood against the wall most of the time. I still found dancing weird. Even being smaller, I still didn’t feel confident enough in my own body to move with a beat. Mel grabbed my hands and started moving my arms up and down just like in her bedroom so long ago.

“Like this! Don’t overthink it. Move your hips a little bit. There, you got it. Keep doing that. Be fluid. Fall back into the music. It’ll catch you.”

I trusted the music. It was pretty punk, but I was beginning to dig it. I had never danced in public before, so this was new, and a bit exciting. Mel cracked a smile at me, and I showed one back. We got lost in the music for a little while.

Things eventually died down, and people began to leave. Mel and I slowed, and I began to catch my breath. Desmond jumped from the stage and greeted us.

“Hey, Mel.” He smiled. “Adrian.” He nodded.

I nodded back. Ever since the liposuction comment, I got weird vibes from Desmond.

“Desmond!” Mel gave him a hug. “You were great tonight. Seriously.”

“Thank you. I’m glad that you were here. The staff wants to clean up, so we have to leave. But I’m having a small get-together at my place. You two wanna join?”

“Heck yeah, we do,” Mel said.

“Awesome. These are my bandmates by the way, Steph and Derrick.”

Steph had purple streaks in her pitch-black hair and a jean jacket full of patches that said everything from, “save the environment” to “punch racists.”

“Hello, younglings,” was how she introduced herself.

Derrick had a green Mohawk and wore a denim vest. He was tall and super lean. He seemed like the tough, quiet type. They both looked at least five years older than Desmond.

“Wait, you’re only sixteen. How did you get to perform here?” I asked.

Desmond smirked, reached into his pocket, and flashed me a card. “Fake ID. Hard to come by, easy to fool venues with.”

I disliked how smug Desmond was. But there was no way I was going to let Mel go to his place without me.

Once we got outside, Mel made headed toward her car, but Desmond insisted that he only lived a few blocks away, and that it was better to keep her car there.