Fifteen
Energy bites
It fizzles, delights
Oh . . . I think this is the start
Of something electric, magnetic
I hope I don’t regret it
‘Electric’ from The In-Between
On Saturday morning I’m as prepared for these Rose Conrad tickets as I’ll ever be. I’ve watched several TikToks about the North American sale, read every internet forum, and have a set-up including my laptop, my phone and my mum’s laptop and phone.
An interesting piece of post arrived for me this morning.
In a brown envelope with only my name written on it, a collection of photos had been posted through our letterbox.
It was pictures of Croydon, taken all over the city.
Ty had captured every part of the town, from good to bad: graffiti, shops, people who live here.
And he managed to make it all look beautiful.
There was one small note with it: I spent a week looking around. I can see why you like it here so much.
I read it and smile. Maybe Ty is having a change of heart. Maybe this is a good omen for the ticket sale. I grab the school paper, slide my article about hometown glory into the empty envelope and quickly run out to post it back to him.
Kira and Faye are logging into the sale from their own homes, because having different IP addresses is paramount to success. Armed with our parents’ credit cards and hyper speed Wi-Fi, there will be no stopping us.
The countdown is on until 10 a.m., when tickets go on sale. I’m jittery, I’ve barely slept and have accepted a rare coffee offer from Mum.
The group chat is pinging off between me, Kira and Faye.
9.57 a.m..
I enter the online waiting room. Five times, with every electronic device in the house. I breathe out a sigh as my access code works. As does Mum’s. Faye and Kira confirm they’re in too. No word from Ollie, but no doubt he’s as nervous as me.
And now the ticketing gods will sort us into a random place in the queue as soon as it it hits—
10 a.m..
I squeal as the page refreshes. I don’t even think I’m blinking.
My heart drops when I see the page.
You are 72,345 in the queue.
I let out a sound I can’t describe. Like a strangled shout.
I look at the other screens in the room.
90,372
63,587
22,485
104,572
My best shot here is the 22,485, which is on Mum’s ancient and unreliable laptop.
I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I immediately go to the group chat.
Kira has 45,293 and 35,587.
Faye has 33,485 and 102,874. Across everyone else I had asked, there is no good news. So much for those IOUs. My only hope is Ollie.
I message Ollie, asking him what his queue number is. Surely now he should reply.
Nothing.
It would be great if you could tell me now, as I’m stressing, I message, gritting my teeth. ‘Stressing’ is a loose word for what I’m feeling. But ‘on the edge of a breakdown’ doesn’t have the same ring to it.
Still no reply.
I look back at my queue positions. They’ve all started to tick down, but none are anywhere close to zero. I go on the forums online. People are starting to post about getting tickets, some people are also raging about the long queue.
I think I might throw up.
Kira and Faye both tell me that theirs are still nowhere near the end.
Mum comes over. Puts her hand on my shoulder. ‘It’ll be okay, Selena.’
Part of me wants to wail and scream, but I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and nod. What use is screaming when the outcome is so obvious? It won’t change anything.
Ten minutes pass. Ten minutes of agonising waiting, watching everyone get tickets. I see other people at school post their victories and I want to delete all my social media and throw my phone into the void.
Instead I send them party congratulation emoji responses.
And then it’s over.
And I don’t have tickets.
And Ollie never responded to my message.