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AJ’s limbs slipped beneath the furious dip in the crowd, like the bow of a ship disappearing into the waves of an angry whirlpool. Scott, a security guard, ripped me backwards from the door, into the venue like a cat snagging a bird, unsuspecting, from the branches of a tree. “Cancelling Carter,” he snapped into his little earpiece thingy. “Casualty on McLean, repeat – We need clean up bus side.”

It was an especially rough night. The fans were feisty – apparently almost all of them – and out for blood. Immediately following the concert, we’d had to bolt from the back door of the venue, down an alley and out onto the street where our bus was parked, as close to the artist’s entrance as it could. The problem? There was a gap between where we emerged and where the bus waited, a gap guaranteed only one thing: maximum access to all fans on the sidewalk.

We’d gotten a late start liquidating ourselves from the venue because Brian had to trip coming off the stage. Brian grabbing his ankle as he went down the steps had thrown everything off. Normally, they sent me out first before the crowd collected, and I’d keep them all distracted at the window while they shipped off the rest of the fellas with minimal amounts of running, screaming females.

By the time we’d checked out Brian’s ankle and been assured that it was, indeed, still in one piece, the crowd had already formed in the alley and there was no way in hell I was gonna get from the door to the bus without getting smashed on the sidewalk and probably pillaged by the crazy-ass fans.

Now, I was the last one left, and AJ had just sunk below the surface of the vicious crowd. Howie had gotten out okay, and even Brian, who’d been carried out by a security guard and kicked his feet out like a dainty girl, laughing as he went and talking with a lisp as a joke, had gotten to the bus okay. AJ though… “Bus side slaughter house,” came a rattling voice, “I’m on it. Digging out the cracker jack prize…”

“What’re we gonna do?” I asked Scott, imagining what they were gonna do to me if Scott made me run for the bus. He was pulling me into the dressing room.

“Damage control. Wait here.” He bolted back out the door and I sat down on an empty director’s chair and stared at my fingertips and waited. It took a long time. I felt like I’d been sitting there a half a century or two when the door opened, and an exhausted, battered-looking Drew came in. “What happened to AJ?” I asked.

Drew panted just a little bit as he smiled, “AJ’s on the bus,” he said first, then added, “He got flattened to the cement. He had about thirty girls grabbing at him. It was like –“ he paused, “Like clearance day at the vintage wedding gown place in Brooklyn.” Drew knew what that was like. He’d recently accompanied AJ’s fiancé, Rochelle, there. “They were all over him like white on rice.” He laughed, “We were throwing girls out of the way trying to pull him out. He was shrieking like there was no tomorrow. He lost some jewelry, his shirt, and a pair of sunglasses.”

“That was an ugly shirt anyways,” I commented. “So how am I getting out there?”

Drew frowned, “We’re going to bubble and run, I guess.”

The bubble and run consisted of four security guards surrounding me and us all bolting for the bus door. The tactic usually worked great in mob situations in places like Japan or South America when the boy they were trying to slip away was either AJ or Howie. They’d become rusty on the American ladies – the ones that went crazy on my blonde ass. I was not the most coordinated person, and the bubble and run was almost always dangerous with me.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“Short of sticking you in the drum kit’s cases, we can’t come up with anything else,” Drew explained. “I was sent in here to collect you for the bubble. Let’s go.”

“The drum kit thing doesn’t sound so bad,” I pleaded.

Drew took my arm and led me back to the door. Scott, Marcus, and Steve were waiting by the door already, poised. Drew pushed me into the center of the three and closed in behind me. I gulped. This was gonna be bad.

“Ready?” Drew asked.

The other three guards confirmed, so I stuttered, “Guess so.”

“Okay, on my count, Steve, you kick open the door. Someone radio the bus.”

“Got it.”

My tension was high. I felt like a yappity dog – a Chihuahua waiting for the kick.

“Okay… one… two… three. GO.”

Steve knocked open the door, and a rush of screams bombarded us, like a wall. I grabbed onto Marcus’s waist and followed the four of them as they moved forward down the stairs into the crowd. Girls arms struck in between the security guards and I ducked away. “Carter on the way in,” called one of the guards into his ear piece.

Then the worst happened.

My shoelaces were untied and Drew stepped on it and I fell.

I slipped right between Steve and Marcus, to the ground, my head almost hitting the ground. I caught myself with my palms, which I felt break open and start to bleed. Fans screamed. Drew stepped on my leg. I yelled. The fans started grabbing at me. “Shiiiiiiit!” I scrambled to my hands and knees and pandemonium broke out.

Security ran back, trying to find where I’d gone as I crawled between their legs, the door of the bus in view. I saw it was opened and I crawled quickly. Fans were grabbing my ankles. I reached out my hand for the stair of the bus just as the doors closed around my wrist. “AH!” A couple fans had my ankles, pulling my legs out from under me, and for a split second, I totally knew what it would be like to levitate, suspended between the fans at my ankles and the wrist in the bus door. Unfortunately, the bus door was no match for the girls, and their tugging yanked my hand right out – ala the line of characters yanking Pooh out of the rabbit hole.

I squealed, loudly, like a little girl, as they pulled my legs, sucking me into their vortex. I was reminded of a thing I saw on the National Geographic channel where a crocodile sucked a kicking antelope into a pond. There was no mercy. I saw a flash of Brian’s face peeking out the bus window, watching as I was pulled under and then all I could see was hands and fans and faces and it was fricking scary as all hell! I thrashed. This only made them go wilder, half of them trying to comfort me, half of them thinking I’d just have to give in if they kept it up.

I felt like a turtle on it’s back, stuck on the curve of his shell, rocking and rolling and trying to flip over but incapable of that motion.

Suddenly Drew’s hand broke through the crowd and grabbed the front of my shirt. I grabbed his arm like it was a lifeline, and he pulled me up and out and I couldn’t help but think that he was like fucking Indiana Jones or something for going in there. I was the lost ark of the covenant and all he needed was a fedora and a whip. Actually a whip probably would’ve come in handy about now to get ‘em off me. But then again if they ever got a hold of it, things could’ve turned really kinky really fast.

“C’mon,” Drew shouted. He dragged me through the chaos towards the bus door, shoving me along in front of him, keeping my back guarded. We got to the bus and he banged on the door over my shoulder, the fans still screaming and tugging at me. The doors swung open and I scrambled on board, followed by Drew, whose body width blocked out the door to keep anyone from following me.

I ran down the aisle of the bus and flung myself on the floor between the bunks, hugging the carpet. “Oh Jesus, I never thought I’d live to see this carpet,” I yelled.

Brian looked down from his perch on the seats by the window and laughed. “That was insane,” he commented, rolling his eyes.

“It was like fucking 1999,” AJ called from the back of the bus. “Even off drugs, which I’m pretty sure made 1999 more psychedelic than it was, that was fucking like 1999,” he added. I looked up and saw he was nursing a scraped knee and a bloody earlobe where they took his earring.

I looked at the palms of my hands all scraped up.

“I told ‘em they shouldda stuck me in the drum kit. I was all down for that. Would they listen? Noooo,” I said, rubbing my palms on my jeans. Bloody streaks were left on my thighs.

Howie snorted right above me and I realized he was in his bunk. “Like you could fit in the drum kit boxes still.”

This sounded like a challenge.

“Of course I can,” I muttered, “Why couldn’t I fit in the drum kit boxes?”

“Because you’re not 14 and scrawny anymore.” He glanced at me and gave me a once-over, “Well you’re not 14, anyways.”

I looked down. “I’m not scrawny. And besides, I totally could fit into those things.”

“No ya can’t,” AJ called.

“Yes I can,” I answered.

“No actually you can’t,” AJ countered.

“Wanna freakin’ bet?” I demanded.

“Oh Lord here we go,” Brian muttered.

Howie rolled his eyes and grabbed his iPod, then pulled his bunk curtain shut, not wanting to be privy to what was about to follow. Brian looked longingly at his own bunk with its drawn curtain, clearly torn between sleep and seeing what insane antics AJ and I were about to get up to. Or maybe torn between feeling like we needed a supervisor. I could see his eyes trained to the two of us like he does when he’s watching Baylee closely just before yelling at him.

“I’ll fucking take that bet,” AJ laughed, “C’mere.”

When I struggled to get up off the carpet, Brian quickly followed me toward the living area, where AJ was sitting on the sofa thing that was inset along the furthest back wall of the bus.

AJ pointed across the room, “That trunk is bigger than any of the drum kit boxes. Get in there and we’ll assume you can get into at least one of the drum kit’s boxes.” I looked, he was pointing to Howie’s purple footlocker trunk, which didn’t fit in the bottom of the bus when we packed it up last, and therefore was being used as a coffee table more often than not. Howie had freaked the crap out when we’d left a glass on there the other day – by we I mean me, but I blamed AJ – and it had left a ring from condensation on it.

“No fucking problem,” I said. I rubbed my fingers together, “How much you willing to lose today?”

AJ thought about it. “Hmmm…”

Brian was glancing nervously from me to the trunk to AJ and then back to me again. “I’m not so sure this is a good idea, fellas…” he muttered.

AJ pulled out his wallet and threw down two crisp one hundred dollar bills onto the surface of the trunk. He looked up at me.

“Two fucking hundred dollars?” I squeaked, “Dude you’re in the mood to loose a lot of dough. You’re an idiot.”

AJ looked at the trunk and smirked, “No, Nick, you’re an idiot. You’re never going to fit in that thing.”

I pulled out my own wallet, my hands still hurting from being scraped up outside. I could hear the fans still screaming bloody murder. Drew appeared at the door to the living area. “What’s going on?” he asked as I dropped my ante on top of AJ’s and Brian groaned.

“Nick thinks he can fit his ass into Howie’s foot locker,” AJ explained.

Drew looked at me, then looked at the foot locker. “What’re you stupid?” he asked.

“I can do it,” I squealed.

“I can do it,” mimicked AJ. I stuck my tongue out.

Drew shook his head, “No fricking way could you fit into that thing,” he said.

“Ante up?” AJ asked, waving the money.

Drew hesitated only a moment before pulling out his own wallet, “Yeah but I’m only in for twenty.”

I reached in my pocket and pulled out another twenty to match Drew’s bet and threw it onto the pile. “Yall, I’ma laugh so damn hard when this shit is over and I’m $220 richer than I am right now,” I said.

“You gonna cut in BRok?” AJ asked, waving the money at him.

Brian shook his head. “No way,” he said. “I think you guys are all insane.” He must’ve decided Drew was enough supervision because he wandered out of the room and I saw him crawl into his bunk.

“Okay, guides,” AJ said, putting the money on the sofa cushion next to him. “You have to be completely in,” he said, “The lid has to be able to close over you.”

“Only for a second though,” I said.

“Right,” AJ nodded.

“Okay.”

“All right.”

I opened the trunk and AJ helped me to empty it out really fast by upending it. Howie’s stuff landed in a pile on the living area floor and AJ looked at it, getting a little nosey. “Hey are we here to paw through D’s shit or see if I can fit into the footlocker?” I demanded.

AJ shrugged, “Can’t we do both?”

“No,” I answered, “We can’t. Now. Here we go.”

I stepped into the foot locker and slowly slid down until I was sitting like I was in a row boat, my knees bent. AJ was laughing. I scrunched my ass as close to the back wall of the trunk as I could, my knees still bent higher than the side walls, but not so high that the depth of the lid couldn’t accommodate them. My heels were bent sharply, my feet against the wall of the trunk. I pulled my shoes off to make this slightly more comfortable and tossed them out of the trunk. I bent forward, my torso folding between my legs and tucked my arms against my chest and under my knees, keeping me down, my nose almost touching the floor of the trunk. My muscles in my thighs and calves were screaming for bloody mercy. “Okay,” I squeaked, unable to breathe comfortably in this position, “Close the lid.”

The lid closed over my head and I heard it click when it met with the wall of the trunk. It was really dark.

“Holy shit!” AJ crowed. His voice was muffled.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Drew laughed.

“What do you know, he does fit in a foot locker,” AJ laughed, too.

“Okay guys, lemme out now,” A thumping noise ensued on top of the trunk. “Guys?”

“So Drew,” AJ said in a conversational tone, “How about a game of football? I tivoed the Cowboys game.”

“Sure, sounds good.” A second thumping noise.

“GUYS?” I called.

“Here’s your forty bucks,” AJ said.

“Thanks.”

“Hey guys no, I won guys… Guys… Hey guys…” I knocked on the side of the trunk. “Guys?”

I heard AJ sigh. “Yup, it’s gonna be a lot quieter on the bus this evening.”

“Too bad we don’t have any beers,” Drew laughed.

“AJ! Drew! Lemme out!” I called. I knocked some more. “BRIAN! THEY AREN’T LETTIN’ ME OUT!!” AJ snickered and I heard the volume on the TV turn up to drown out the sound of the fans outside and me, yelling… “FELLAS?!?!”