He’s wearing that same Dallas Stars hoodie he wore here last time—the one that made my toes curl then, and the one that makes my toes curl now. He has a drumstick in his hand, and while Adam talks to the crowd, Mike twirls it between his fingers. A smile dances onto my face as I realize he’s practicing one of the baton tricks I taught him a few nights ago.
“So that’s why the song is called ‘Ghost,’” Adam continues. “So the concept for this video is basically that the music is bringing you back to life. It’s going to start with all of you in the forest surrounding this clearing.” Adam stretches out an arm and spins all the way around. “We’re going to use CGI to make you look really washed out. But as the song plays, you’re going to walk from the trees, and as you get closer to this platform, where we’ll be performing the song, you’re going to gain color.”
“The costume department has been handing out cards,” Shawn announces into his own mic, stepping up beside Adam. “There are trailers back where you guys came in. They’re color-coded. If you haven’t already visited the trailer that matches your card, you need to do that as soon as we’re done here.”
“We want everyone dressed bright as fuck,” Adam explains, and Shawn chuckles.
“Right. Most of you got the memo and look awesome, but if you got a card, there’s a reason for it, so go to the trailers.”
“No logos,” Adam reminds everyone, and Shawn nods.
“No logos. If you’re wearing a logo and costume missed you, go to the trailers.”
Adam glances at a guy standing off to the left, who I’m guessing must be some kind of video producer. “Are we forgetting anything?” The guy gives a thumbs-up, and Adam continues. “So we’re probably going to spend a few hours doing the tree shit.”
“We have to cut after every single angle,” Shawn explains.
“But it’s going to look sick when we’re done.” A few cheers fly out from the crowd, brightening Adam’s electric smile. “By the time you reach the crowd that’s going to form around this pond here”—Adam gestures to the water surrounding the platform—“you’re going to be in full bright color, and you are going to be rocking out. By the time you get from there”—he points to the trees—“to here”—he points to a random girl at the edge of the water, who looks like she seriously might faint—“we want you to be out of your mind excited.”
“Big smiles,” Shawn illustrates. “Hands in the air, jumping up and down.”
“Rocking the fuck out,” Adam finishes, and when I glance back at Mike, a big contagious smile is on his face. I find myself mirroring it, my excitement for him washing over me. Even though I didn’t know him when he was younger, I know how hard he worked for this. I can tell by the way he plays those drums, like he used to practice even in his dreams.
“Still good?” Shawn asks the producer, getting another thumbs-up.
“So when we’re performing for the video,” Adam says, “it’s just going to be for show. You’ll hear the song, through the loudspeakers, but we won’t be live.”
A murmur goes through the crowd, and Adam shakes his head at Shawn. “They have so little faith.” Shawn grins, and Adam looks back at the crowd. “I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.”
“You should probably get to it,” Shawn advises with a chuckle, and Adam smiles.
“We’re going to have to get some shots of us playing, but then after that, this whole fucking clearing”—he spins around again, playing to the giant crowd surrounding him on every side—“is going to be transformed into the biggest rager you’ve ever fucking seen.”
I flinch when excitement consumes the crowd, causing a deafening cacophony of screams and cheers. Over the roar, Shawn says, “We’ve got trucks coming that are going to be loaded with kegs and food and glow shit.”
“And we’re going to perform two songs from our next album for you guys, so you’ll get to hear them before anyone else,” Adam adds, and the screaming grows even more insane. I look back at Mike, my heart skipping a beat when I realize he’s found me in the crowd. He smiles wide, and then, in spite of all the screaming, he starts twirling the drumstick between his fingers, showing me that he’s mastered the trick I taught him.
With my cheeks blushing red, I giggle—giggle. And then I thank God he can’t hear me.
“This guy over here is going to give you more direction as we shoot,” Shawn says, pointing to the director. “So listen to what he has to say. If you haven’t already signed your release form, head to that lady over there because you need to sign it in order to be in the video.” Shawn points to a woman standing further back in the clearing, who waves. “And if you got a card from the costume crew, head back the way you came and let them fix you up.”
I frown down at my boring hoodie, jeans, and boots, but Dee nudges me with her elbow and shakes her head, telling me not to worry.
“And give yourselves a big hand for coming out tonight,” Adam praises, ever the energetic frontman. “You’re going to be in a music video for The Last Ones to fucking Know!”
Chapter 29
My outfit is a perfect combination of Dee and Rowan.
My zippered black ankle boots: Dee. My solid black leggings: Rowan. My I-don’t-even-want-to-know-how-expensive leather jacket: Dee. My finger-curled hair: Rowan.