Chapter 31
JORDAN
Twenty minutes later, Paige and I walk into a large open room where Penny for Crows will play. It smells like an old bowling alley, a strange mixture of sweat and smoke. Our tickets are right up front in the standing area next to the stage, and the closer we get to our spots, the more I wonder if we’ve walked into the wrong concert. But one look at the band logo on the drum kit tells me we’re in the right place. People dressed in black from head to toe flank us on all sides. Most people are wearing heavy, dark eye makeup. And everyone seems to have come with something spiked on them—spiked collars, spiked hair, spiked chins.
“Maybe I should have kept your black hoodie on,” Paige says, leaning into me.
We look down at our clothes. I’m wearing a white T-shirt made fluorescent-purple by the lighting, and Paige is wearing a pastel-pink blouse. We stick out like cotton candy in a sea of black licorice.
“Paige, do you have makeup in your purse?” I ask.
“Yeah, why?”
“I think I need some emergency guy-liner,” I joke.
Paige laughs and then rummages through her purse, pulling out some black eyeliner. She uncaps the pencil and leans closer to me, grinning wildly. “Hold still.”
I jerk my head back. “No. I was kidding.”
She grabs my shirt and pulls me closer, aiming her pencil at my eyes. “We gotta fit in.”
We could wear all the eyeliner in the world and still be an entire fashion continent away from the people surrounding us, but when in Aspen. “Okay, lay it on.”
Paige spends the next minute transforming me into emo Jordan. She even tames my wavy hair so a large chunk hangs down across my forehead. When it’s her turn for a makeover, I manage to poke Paige in the eye several times with her eyeliner, gaining a new respect for makeup-savvy people, but regardless of my shady skills, she lets me keep going as I layer on the eyeliner until she’s more raccoon than Paige.
Thirty minutes later, Paige and I are singing along to every Penny for Crows song with four hundred of our closest emo friends. We look ridiculous, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had so much fun. I feel like I checked my worries at the door and am more free than I’ve been since high school. Suddenly, I want a million experiences like this with Paige, just us being stupidly spontaneous and making memories I never want to forget.
The notes on the guitar morph into an all-too-familiar sound. “Your song!” Paige shouts excitedly, trying to be heard over the blaring music.
I tug at her hand, pulling her in front of me and wrapping my arms around her waist. Paige lays her arms over mine and leans against me as we listen to the song she deemed mine so many years ago.
Instead of singing along, Paige and I sway silently to the slower tempo, absorbing the lyrics about a girl who finds adventure with a bear. “Winter of You” is a strange song with lyrics that can be interpreted in many ways. When Paige first told me this was my song, she said I was the bear who brought adventure into her life. And by a bear, she meant it in the most literal sense since I was a grizzly bear mascot for nearly two years. She always got a good laugh out of that.
“If winter is our end, then I’ll stand out in the cold, waiting for you to come out and warm my soul,” the band sings.
Part of me wants to laugh as I listen because now that I’m surrounded by our present company, I can see how the lyrics might attract the emo crowd. And maybe it’s my guy-liner speaking, but I feel like these lyrics are cracking open the depths of my soul. When I’m without Paige, I feel like I’m that person in this song, standing in a barren, bleak winter, knowing that only she can fill me with warmth.
“When spring comes and you see me again, promise me adventure. Please take my hand.” Paige starts to sing along with the sea of people surrounding us.
I squeeze her tighter because, to me, Paige is spring, bringing color back into my world, and I never want to let her go.
When the concert ends, we stop at the bathrooms, and I try rubbing off the eyeliner marring my face. I use a paper towel and water to scrub it off, but I only manage to turn myself into one of the guys from KISS. When I come out of the bathroom, I find that Paige’s face is wiped clean, save for a layer of mascara. She doubles over, laughing at my face before digging in her Mary Poppins purse for makeup-remover towelettes.
“Brilliant,” I say, taking a wipe from her. “Remind me never to wear makeup again.” I scrub furiously at my eyes and get a strange satisfaction from how much of the black makeup comes off.
As we walk to my car, Paige shout-sings Penny for Crows’s closing song, and several people in the parking lot join her. On any other day, I would sing along, but she’s robbing the words from my mouth with the way her love of life spreads to everyone around her.
“You know, I’m thinking about getting a collar. What do you think?” she asks when we get to the passenger side of my car.
“Would it include spikes?”
“Definitely.”
“If you get a spiked collar, I think Cabby Cat would be jealous,” I muse. “I’ve always seen her as the edgy type.”
“So, twin collars?” Paige grins, resting her back against the car.
“If you two are getting them, I think I’ll invest in one too.” I rub my hands up and down her shivering arms. “We should get going.”
Paige nods, but she doesn’t move. Instead, she looks up at me with a playful smirk. It’s an invitation. One I quickly RSVP to as I press my lips to hers.
When our lips finally part, I kiss her on the forehead and wrap my arms around her back, pulling her into me. “This was an amazing birthday gift, Paige. Thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that much fun.”
Paige pulls just far enough away for me to see her face. “You know, Penny for Crows is playing in San Francisco in a few weeks. Maybe we should try for round two. This time, we’ll be prepared and bring our collars.”
I know Paige is just teasing, but the thought of more nights like tonight in California makes me want to rent a truck and pack up my house immediately.
Paige slips into the passenger seat, and I close the door behind her before hopping into the driver’s side and starting the car. The time on the display panel lights up. It’s almost midnight. Somehow, in the noise and excitement of the night, I missed my nine o’clock alarm and forgot to call Mom.
I fish my phone out of my pocket. Mom was with Dan tonight, so she probably would have let my call go to voicemail anyway, but I figure I might as well text her.
When I press on my phone screen, my stomach bottoms out when I see a series of missed calls from Mom—followed by a text from Dan sent over two hours before.
Dan: Jordan, your mom is in the hospital. Please call when you get this.