Being a Groupie - Part 2

I looked so hot in Mom’s lace top that I thought the walls might melt. When it was time to head out, I put over it this totally lame sweater my aunt Margo gave me last Christmas, and my dad got totally excited because it was the first time I’d worn it, and he wanted to take a bunch of pictures of me in it to send to Margo and kept telling me to smile, which I finally did so he’d let me like leave. He knows better than to ask where I’m going anymore, or when I’m going to be home. I never tell him the truth and he always winds up getting like humiliated, so he doesn’t even try.

It was a really big deal when somebody in our town signed  up to be an Uber driver, because before that we had to rely on Tim Pritchett and his stinky 10^th-hand Yellow Cab that he bought in Cedar Rapids or something, but half the time he’s too drunk to drive. Our Uber driver turned out to be Justin Whatsit from English as a Second Language’s dad or uncle or whatever, in a piece-of-crap-mobile with one of those air-freshener things that actually make the car smell worse than it would without it. I wanted to text Britt on the way over, but Dad-or-Uncle kept distracting me, asking a bunch of lame questions about how do I like school and if I’m planning to like go to college, all the usual stuff adults who think you’re going to be really flattered that they’re asking ask. I wanted to send him the text message STFU, but I was raised better than that.

It looked like they’d just bussed very kid from my school over for the concert, and every kid from Privilege too, and from the Catholic schools. Some of the guys from my school and some of the Privilege ones were trying to stare each other down in front. I suppose it would like kill them to act older than nine every once in a while. I took the sweater off Tim pulled up in front, and got all parental on me. “I really don’t think I should let you out of the car like that,” he said. I told him his two choices were letting me out and my reporting him for attempting kidnapping or whatever the like legal name for it is, and he let me out.

It was hilarious how everybody stopped talking at the sight of me, even Britt, whose top two Privilege dudes were trying to look down. It was like she was suddenly proud to be my friend or something. She’d never greeted me so like warmly. I felt like saying something to the two Privilege dudes like, “If your eyes bulge out much farther, they might like fall out,” or something, but I didn’t have a chance because here came Alykzandra in her sparkly bustier, and suddenly the dudes only had eyes for her, and I wanted to strangle her with my bare hands, but some guy who looked in his short-sleeved dress shirt and clip-on tie like the assistant produce manager at Walmart came out and announced that the show was going to start.

There was this really lame warm-up band. Somebody said they were from Privilege, with one guy from my town. Me and Britt and Alykzandra spent all but one song in the ladies’ room smoking and like sneering at less hot girls who came in, and any girl who came in could pretty much count on being less hot.