1. Getting our seats.
My breath caught in my throat, a pounding in my head drummed against my skull, a dryness took over my mouth, and my vision blurred. The sun was beating down softly and the pavement below my feet seemed to seep through my shoes, melting the soles and wrapping around my toes. I heard a slight squeal come from my left, and turned to see my two best friends gaping at the arena.
"You two okay?" I giggled, hiding my own nerves. Kiersten shook her head no, and a smile plastered her face. Gabby started shaking like a chihuahua. I grinned, knowing that getting these tickets had made my friends this happy.
We rushed up to the box offices, waiting to receive our tickets. A grumpy, redheaded woman with a cigarette hanging from her lips peered up at us over her wire-rimmed glasses.
"Would you like to exchange your seats for better ones?" her voice was singed with years of tobacco, and a cloud hit the glass in front of her, seperating and disapparating in her box.
"What kind of better ones?" Kiersten asked, a spark of interest evident in her voice. Gabby was squeezing my arm, I heard her mumbling "Please" under her breath. I was thoroughly confused.
"I have section FL, row 1, seats 9, 10 & 11."
My eyes widened to the size of plates, Kiersten choked on air, and Gabby's nails dug into my skin. That was front row.
"We can exchange for those seats?!" Gabby stuttered. I hadn't blinked yet...
"For a $200 extra fee, yes." The three of us looked at eachother carefully, and I nodded, handing over my debit card.
"You guys so owe me for this."
Once the girls and I took our seats, the fangirling took over. Kiersten was babbling on about how we were front and center, and Gabby just kept pointing to the stage asking herself what she would do if Harry stood anywhere near her. It was about half an hour before the show, and I knew if I wanted to do anything beforehand, I should do it now. I clawed my way through a crowd of teenage girls, and stumbled into the hall. I made a mad dash for the bathroom, then on my way back to my seat...I saw a man struggling to carry two trays of food. I instantly felt a pang of guilt that I wasn't trying to help. So, me being me, I rushed to the man's aid, catching a plate as it was falling.
"Thank you!" a heavy british accent replied. My heart skipped a beat...it was the boys' body guard, Paul. I smiled, lifting the tray over my shoulder.
"No problem, being a waitress gets my blood pumping when I see trays." Paul chuckled, asking if I would mind helping him bring the food backstage. I nodded, being happy to help, and we made our way through double doors marked 'Staff Only'. Paul and I started talking, asking random questions and laughing at eachother's responses.
"So are you just helping me so you can meet the boys?" Paul asked, a somewhat pleading smirk on his face.
"Of course not! I saw a guy having trouble with trays, so I helped him. It just so happened to be you, plus I thought i'd just be handing my tray over to someone and going back to my seat?" I laughed a bit, and he wiggled his eyebrows.
"Now you have to meet them."