Sure enough, the band came back, and Jamie and I turned to each other with our mouths hanging open in mock disbelief, which made us both crack up. Sweets launched into their crowd-pleasers, a couple of screamy, dancey jams that made Ruby seem so happy I was nearly lifted off my stool just watching her. Her face was red and shimmering, and she jumped up and down. I felt myself grinning, watching her, like a moron. Then I felt Jamie watching me and pulled myself together.
“You were right,” I shouted. “I’m a fan now.”
“I bet you are.”
Ruby held her last note, and the crowd smothered the end of it in applause. Once again she bowed and sauntered offstage, the rest of the band trailing behind her. This time, they really were done. The lights lifted like magic, controlled by the still-invisible Gaby, our own (wo)man behind the curtain.
Dee came over to pick up our empty glasses and leaned over the counter to mutter, “They’re no Le Tigre.”
“Nobody knows who that is.”
Dee pointed to Jamie. “She does.”
“Thanks to you,” said Jamie, and high-fived Dee’s outstretched hand.
Dee and Jamie started chatting about their favorite all-womyn-with-a-y, gurl-with-a-u bands, and I fully tuned out, scanning the room for Ruby. The denim-jacket boy from before resurfaced, picking up instruments and waddling backstage with them one by one, and the lesser fans started filing out the door in pursuit of an after-party. I had no plans yet, which was why I had to grab Ruby before she left: so she could invite me to hers. I told Jamie I’d be right back and headed for the office. Right about now Gaby would be getting ready to clear out for a strict twenty minutes, during which time the office became a postshow greenroom for “the artists.”
I made it only halfway down the hall before someone grabbed me around the waist, and I jumped and shrieked oddly. Something like this: “Yoweaagh!”
Ruby, her arms still around me, laughing just inches from my face. Pulling me into a hug and holding me close. My hand fell to the edge of her cropped T-shirt where her back was exposed. And a little sweaty. But I didn’t care about that. Ruby was hugging me, in plain view of her bandmates, who came sauntering up behind her. Then she pulled back, smiled at me, and kissed me.
On the cheek. But still.
Over her shoulder, Mikey glared at me. Say it, I thought. I dare you.
But he said nothing. None of them did. Ruby released me, and the boys brushed past us, crowding into the office/greenroom, where Gaby held the door open, trying her hardest not to look too displeased. We exchanged a look that meant: Boys. Ugh. Once they were inside she slipped discreetly past me toward the front, giving me a quick squeeze on the shoulder. I loved her so much at that moment, for making all of this possible and for knowing how important it was for me to stay right here, talking to nobody but Ruby.
“Thank you,” said Ruby. “This was so much fun.”
“You were amazing.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Best show I’ve ever been to.” One of the only, too, I thought, but she didn’t need to know that part.
Ruby clasped my wrist, setting it on fire. “That’s really nice.”
I shrugged. “What are you up to now?”
She looked over her shoulder, and my eyes followed hers—the boys were laughing and talking quietly, passing around a bagged forty-ounce beer they’d pulled out of thin air.
“We’re probably just gonna go back to Ben’s or something,” Ruby sighed.
There was no invitation there. I knew that. But there was something about Ruby’s expression that made me want to second-guess myself. I could still feel the spot on my cheek where she’d kissed me.
“Can I give you a ride?”
“Oh!” She smiled. “That’s so nice. I’ll probably just ride with the guys, but thank you.” I must have looked let down because she touched me again, this time higher up on my arm. “Seriously,” she added.