"I haven't seen a line like this since the last time I went to a DMB show," I said.

I could hear the smirk in Kelley's high, fast voice. "Probably a different crowd. I have a hard time seeing a lot of housewives and sorority girls smoking hash in the lawn seats."

I couldn't resist. "Well, in this car, I know which is which."

"Bite me," Kelley said nonchalantly.

We were sitting in my Ford hatchback with our heads out the windows, stuck in a traffic jam that stretched at least half a mile back from the turnoff for Verizon Wireless Amphitheater. The doors had been open for 20 minutes for the Backstreet Boys' show, their first here in years. We'd been sitting in traffic for half an hour.

"You'd think they would have given us priority parking or a frickin' shuttlecraft or something," Kelley said. I looked over and down at her over the tops of my sunglasses. The black bucket seat dwarfed her borderline-midget petite frame, which she had boosted to exactly five feet tall with four-inch straw wedges.

"The radio station promised us a meet-and-greet," I said dryly. "They didn't promise us the future."

Last week, I'd called in to a radio contest on a dare and won Backstreet Boys tickets. That had been a pleasant enough surprise, if a slightly mortifying one; I still listened to the Backstreet Boys, but I hadn't planned to actually spend money on their concert tickets. The call back yesterday from a smarmy DJ, announcing on the air that we'd won backstage passes, had nearly caused a heart attack at my desk. The rest of the marketing department had yet to let me live down my squeal of shock.

I had called Kelley, the other closet Backstreet Boys fan in a circle of friends dating back more than a decade to our first week of college, and sputtered in a mad rush, "We won backstreet passes for backstage boys!"

Kelley, her typical sarcasm just barely hiding her excitement, had replied, "You mean backstage passes for Backstreet Boys?"

"Stage, street, whatever," I'd said dismissively.

A day and a half later, it seemed we'd never get there. The smell of exhaust filled my car, which seemed perilously close to overheating.

The meet-and-greet was supposed to be in half an hour. It seemed too good to be true. It seemed entirely possible we'd both regress to age 15. We'd both been screaming, fainting BSB fans back in the day, and here we were, meeting them in the flesh.

What if the meet-and-greet was for just us? What if we could get close enough for long enough to smell their cologne and look into their eyes? My mind wandered in the interminable traffic jam...

 

**

 

The beefy, red-haired security guard ushered us around a corner, wordlessly leading us. And suddenly, there they were, standing in a clearing of scaffolding and wires and director's chairs. The five guys we'd lusted after throughout our adolescence. Standing in a circle, playing hacky sack. It was like 1999 all over again, all right.

Howie's eyes landed on us just as the guard cleared his throat. "Yo, guys."

All five of the guys faced us. None of them were in costume yet. None of them looked sweaty or tired -- just sexy as all get-out. I felt my eyes go wide and my knees go weak. A squeak escaped Kelley.

"Hey, ladies." A.J. was the first to walk over and offer us a handshake. His eyes were rimmed in guyliner, his arms covered with tattoos, a Def Leppard T-shirt stretched over a gut I didn't remember. He smiled warmly. "I'm A.J."

His hand was warm, firm and a little rough against mine. "I know who you are," I managed. It came out as a squeak.

A.J. winked as he slowly released my hand. "I know. But if I tell you my name, maybe you gals'll tell me yours."

"You're obviously the radio contest winners," Howie added with a charming grin, picking up the discarded hacky sack. "So how about you give us something to call you besides Winner 1 and Winner 2?"

I cleared my throat and offered a smile. "I'm Lucy. This is Kelley."

"Awww. Your little sister?" Nick was walking over to us now, an encouraging smile on his face.

I glanced quickly down at Kelley, whose wide green eyes had suddenly narrowed dangerously. She had stopped growing in the fourth grade, she had once explained to curious sorority sisters, and would forever stand four-foot-eight and look about 10 years old. The jokes had never stopped being funny for us -- or started being funny for her. She glared up at the guys through a curtain of auburn bangs.

"Hey, screw you," Kelley said indignantly. It could have been anyone in the world standing in front of her, least of all a Backstreet Boy. "I'm 29 years old, I have a kid, and you can't make a joke I've never heard, so don't even try."

Nick blanched and took a step back. Howie rolled his eyes. "Way to go, douche."

"Let's all take a deep breath here." I was starting to relax, and I even cracked a smile. "Probably the first time you've been read the riot act by a contest winner, huh?"

"Well, it just makes you all the more memorable," Brian said in his smooth drawl. He picked up first my hand, then Kelley's, and pantomimed a gallant bow over each one. I noticed, with disbelief, that he didn't break eye contact with me as he bowed; his eyes teased us a little. "Not that you weren't already."

My heart sped up, class ring-sized wedding band on his hand notwithstanding. Somehow, I didn't remember him having facial hair, but he looked no worse for it. He had been my favorite once, and now he was again. I did a quick self-check. Lip gloss felt even, straight almost-black hair didn't feel too frizzy, clothes seemed straight...

"Well, you sure know how to make a fan feel like a million bucks," I said lightly.

"This guy doesn't get out much," A.J. said dryly.

Nick was still contemplating Kelley. "I seriously just wanna give you a piggyback ride."

Kelley crossed her arms and glared up at him, looking almost straight up. "Do you have any idea how much money I spent on your records 15 years ago?"

Kevin, the only one who hadn't walked up to us yet, rubbed his forehead, a pained expression on his face. "Christ."

"Hey, I didn't see you say hi to the nice ladies who came all this way," Nick retorted, turning on his heel. "Backstage passes don't just grow on trees."

"You're right." Kevin walked over to us, towering over both of us, a genuinely friendly smile on his face and in his piercing green eyes. He shook each of our hands. "Lucy, Kelley, thanks for coming to see us."

Brian looked at the embarrassingly huge watch on his wrist. "Hey, we've got a little free time. Come hang out with us for a while. There's somewhere we can sit and talk. Sign some stuff for you."

"Stuff?" A wave of panic swept over me. I knew I'd forgotten something. I could picture the Millennium liner notes sitting on my kitchen counter, as clear as day. Maybe they could scribble on our ticket stubs...

Apparently sensing my horror, Brian took a step closer and picked up the all-access pass hanging around my neck. His knuckles brushed against my stomach through my ruffled red tank top, and I swear my vision blurred for a second. He held up the pass and grinned. "We'll just sign these."

A.J. rolled his eyes. "Jesus, dude, why don't you just offer to sign her cans while you're at it?"

Brian reddened. "Right. To the green room!" He pointed down the hall. I thought I heard nerves in his voice. "Fearless leader, lead the way!"

We took off down the hall, Kevin in the lead. Nick was now borderline-whining at Kelley, still begging for a piggyback ride.

"Christ. Fine. Fine!" Kelley stopped and clambered onto Nick's back as he stooped. Her ass hung awkwardly in the air, wedge-clad feet bobbing heavily, as a gleeful Nick ferried her down the hall. A grin tugged at the corners of your mouth as she looked down at me. "You really can't make this shit up. It's like we're back at the frat house."

"Might as well be," Kevin said as he pushed open what seemed like a random door. He threw a long-suffering glance over his shoulder. "These ass clowns act enough like it."

"Hey, kettle, you're black," Howie shot back as we walked into a small room with green walls and cushy leather couches.

As Nick set Kelley down on the couch and fished around in his pockets, I sat down tentatively, Howie and Brian on either side of me.

"So, what do you ladies do when you're not hanging out at concerts with a bunch of singing, dancing ass clowns?" Howie grinned at me.

I leaned back into the leather. "Kelley's a stay-at-home mom. Husband's a doctor. And I work in marketing at a bank."

"And your husband?" Brian looked at me with an interest that should have made my skin crawl.

I managed not to look away, smiling a little smugly. "Nonexistent."

Brian shifted his eyes to Howie, who was staring at him with an arched eyebrow. Unspoken communication seemed to pass between them, and they got up from the couch, standing close together.

Nick had had no luck in his pockets. A.J. produced a Sharpie from his back pocket. He uncapped it and looked back and forth between me and Kelley. "Autographs, ladies?"

I took the all-access pass from around my neck and handed it to A.J., but my eyes were on Brian and Howie, who were talking just a few feet away from me, doing a shite job of being quiet.

"You're not gonna cash in your fan chip now, are you?" I thought I heard Howie say.

"Well, why not?" I could swear I heard Brian mutter. "She's hot. She's single."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. They both looked down at me. My pulse drummed in my veins, and I was sure I was as red as my tank top. I didn't really care if I saw the show now or not.

As Howie took our passes and A.J.'s Sharpie, Brian sat down next to me, unmasked interest in his piercing blue eyes. He was awfully close, and the smell of his cologne washed over me.

"Hey, listen," he said, and leaned in still closer. His voice suddenly became high, feminine and fast. "Traffic's moving."

I pulled back. "What?"

 

**

 

"Earth to Lucy! Traffic's moving!" A small hand waved in front of my eyes.

I snapped to attention. The cars in front of me had disappeared, and horns were honking behind me. An Escalade swung around us in the other lane, and a platinum blonde girl glowered down at us.

Kelley was staring at me. "Dude, you wanna miss the meet-and-greet?"

I took a deep breath, put the car in drive and continued, at last, the journey to the venue.

Quite frankly, if Lucy hadn't won those all-access passes, I would have gladly pretended to be a 10-year-old girl. Maybe whipped up a sickly cough for extra sympathy points. She could be my big sister. Maybe my hard-luck mom.

Mind you, unlike her, I wasn't hot to trot for anyone in the band. As far as I was concerned, I'd already hit the jackpot. I had a sweet, funny husband who happened to be a doctor (OK, a resident, but considering I had a sociology degree I'd never used, he'd had me professionally outgunned for a long time) and the father of my gorgeous 2-year-old daughter. It's just that when you spend all day sitting at home with said daughter, you crave a little more...excitement.

"How many people do you think get backstage passes, anyway?" I said to Lucy as we walked toward the gate, where women were streaming steadily inside. Heat rose off the pavement in waves.

Lucy shrugged. Her long, dark hair blew in the warm breeze. She clutched her all-access pass in one hand, cord wrapped around her fingers. "I don't know. Few enough that we had to win them in a contest," she said.

I thought of what Phil had been watching on TV for what seemed like roughly the 30th time this year, little Mena whining about the absence of Pinkie Pie, when Lucy had come to pick me up. "Think it'll be like Wayne's World?"

Lucy looked down at me. Not for the first time that evening, she lowered her red-rimmed sunglasses just enough to stare at me over the tops. "Like what?"

I stopped in my tracks, trying not to wobble on my straw wedges. The question seemed too insane to be real, but I couldn't resist staring up at her. "You've never seen Wayne's World?"

"With a concert? Are you maybe thinking of Wayne's World 2?"

I shook my head and started walking toward the gate again. "I don't know why we're friends."

"Because I do random shit like win concert tickets for us?" Lucy matched my stride easily with her longer legs.

I was only half-listening as we got in line. Damn Phil and his Wayne's World kick...


**


The beefy, red-haired security guard ushered us around a corner, wordlessly leading us. The narrow hallway was packed full of people, but they parted for him like the Red Sea. He pushed open a door. And suddenly, there they were, lounging on leather sofas in a green-wald room. The five guys we'd lusted after throughout our adolescence.

Brian was plucking away idly on a guitar, Nick air-drumming on a table as he sat next to him. Kevin, Howie and A.J. were playing cards. Kevin was the first to look up at us.

"Kevin!" I blurted out, my voice half an octave higher than normal. I thought I heard a squeak escape Lucy. This was unreal. And here I was, just shouting their names like they were my best buds.

I cleared my throat and held up my all-access pass. "Is this cool?" Is this cool? Jesus, and I hadn't even really been watching Wayne's World before I left. I suppose I should have been happy to be able to form words at all.

"Yeah, come on in." Kevin stood up, his height dwarfing me.

A.J. stood up, too. "I'm not sure if it's douchier to introduce ourselves or not introduce ourselves, but what are your names?"

"I'm Kelley." I inclined my head toward Lucy. "This is Lucy."

Lucy didn't speak. Her blue eyes had gotten as big and round as dinner plates.

"We won the Y98 radio contest," I continued, when it seemed clear that Lucy wasn't worried about getting a word in edgewise. "We're excited about the show. We've never seen you guys before."

"Well, hey, that's cool." A.J. grinned at us.

Lucy still hadn't said anything coherent. She appeared to have regressed straight past high-school age to infancy.

Howie looked up from the cards he was shuffling. A note of alarm registered on his face. "Hey, is your friend OK?"

Part of me really wanted to tell them she was my mentally handicapped older sister. It would be the world's greatest comeuppance for all those times she had sent me on beer runs just to laugh at me. Instead, I said, "She's just a little star-struck. We're not mental or anything, so don't be afraid."

Somewhere, my husband was laughing hysterically at me. The guys all chortled.

"Well, it's nice to meet you ladies." Brian stopped strumming and smiled at us, waving us further into the room. "Y'all from St. Louis originally?"

"My mute friend here is," I replied, subtly pulling Lucy into the room by the elbow. The guys' friendliness and easy charm set me at ease, so that the words came surprisingly well. "I grew up out in central Missouri, and we both went to college out there, but my husband's a resident at a hospital here."

Howie nodded, his thumbs fanning the deck of cards. "That's cool. We like St. Louis. We're pretty regular visitors, y'know."

Kevin sat down on the arm of the couch. "St. Louis has certainly had its share of visitors, though. There were people here long before the French traders landed here some 250 years ago."

"Hey, isn't St. Louis a French name?" Nick stopped drumming and looked at Kevin over his shoulder.

"Yes, Nick, it is," Kevin said. "Named for St. Louis, King of France. Don't you guys have a statue of him outside your art museum?"

"I was not aware of that," Lucy blurted out finally. The hell she wasn't, I thought.

A.J. leaned against the other couch, hands in his armpits. "I've always found it interesting that St. Louis is the only major American city to have elected three socialist mayors," he mused.

"Nah, dude, that's Milwaukee," Brian said without looking up as he tuned his guitar.

A.J.'s face fell. "Oh."

Lucy looked down at me. "Do these guys know how to party or what?"

Silence fell. Everyone looked at her. My jaw was practically scraping the ground.

"Well, uh, we should probably go," I muttered.

Brian set down his guitar and grinned. "Well, hey, we've got some time before the show. Why don't you ladies sit down, make yourselves comfortable? Hang out for a while?"

And here I'd thought the meet-and-greet would earn us just a couple photos and autographs. Otherwise they'd have called it a meet-and-hang. I heard Lucy squeak again. My heart had all but stopped beating.

"Cool," I heard myself say. "Yeah, we'll stick around and hang out with you guys. The Backstreet Boys. Yeah."

If you've seen Wayne's World as many times as my husband had by then, you know what comes next.

Before I could stop myself, we were both on our knees, bowing in the doorway with our hands in the air. "We're not worthy! We're not worthy!" we screamed.

"Aje, you maybe wanna run and get these ladies a couple of Howie's Xanax?" I thought I heard Kevin say.

"Bite me, dude..." Howie shot back.

In the midst of our worship, Lucy turned to me and said, "You're gonna run into the..."


**

The curb seemed to pop up out of nowhere, catching the toe of my wedge. I pitched forward and broke the fall into the grass with my hand.

"...curb," Lucy finished lamely.

I straightened up, unconsciously wiping my grassy hand on my jeans. A few women around us snickered.

"Bitches," I muttered as I held out my ticket to be scanned.

"I bet there are 20 other women here," Lucy muttered to Kelley as they milled around nervously in the meet-and-greet room, her heart sinking. "We'll be lucky to get more than a quick handshake."

"Did you bring anything to autograph?" Kelley was fishing around in her purse with increasing desperation. "I thought I had one of my CDs, but I guess I left it." She rolled her eyes. "Mena's probably chewing on it right now. She's got this thing with sticking things in her mouth."

Lucy rifled through her wristlet. She could picture her old Millennium liner notes on her kitchen counter, clear as day. "Nope. I guess they can sign our passes."

The dull roar in the room suddenly pitched into a collective scream as the door opened, a burly, red-haired security guard at the front of the line.

"Ladies, ladies!" the guard shouted vainly as the guys filed in. "Form an orderly line, or I will form you into a line!"

Another guard herded them back behind a barricade. A barricade, in a room the size of a high school classroom. Lucy had been so sure no one cared enough to rip the clothes off the guys anymore.

Lucy and Kelley got no preferential treatment as contest winners. They were herded in with the rest of the VIP ticketholders, who squealed and snapped selfies and breathlessly held out CDs and posters for the guys to autograph in Sharpie.

"We were big fans," a wide-eyed Kelley said to Kevin as she held up her all-access pass. "This is totally insane."

Kevin's Sharpie darted across the front of the pass as he smiled down at first Kelley, then Lucy. "Are you two sisters? You could pass for sisters," he said with a grin as he side-hugged Lucy, whose heart had stopped cold and who could barely muster a dazed smile.

Nick grinned as he bent down to autograph Kelley's pass. She was too short for a hug. "It's nice to see some young fans here. I thought for sure it'd be all moms."

Kelley glared up at him. "For your information, bucko, I'm 29 years old, and I AM a mom. And don't even try to make a joke about it, because I've heard 'em all."

The blonde next to Kelley glanced nervously down at her. Howie tore his eyes away from her ample cleavage to roll his eyes at Nick. "Good one, big guy."

Brian was next. He smiled at Lucy, who returned a shaky reflection of his smile, a barely audible "eep" escaping her lips. "Y'all from St. Louis? We love it here. Gooey butter cake is the business."

Lucy swallowed hard, her favorite Backstreet Boy's easy charm and friendliness making her starstruck terror uncoil just a little. "Born and raised. I would've brought you a cake if I'd known it meant that much to you," she said lightly.

"Well, how 'bout a picture instead?" A.J. said as he finished signing Kelley's pass.

Lucy fished her iPhone out of her purse and handed it to a guard, who rolled his eyes and snapped the photo as the guys, already sweaty, squeezed into the frame with Lucy and Kelley.

"That was underwhelming," Kelley commented, examining the five scribbled autographs on her pass as the guard shooed them back out into the hall, where another guard waited to escort them back to their seats.

"What did you expect?" Lucy was gazing down at the iPhone photo, already composing an Instagram caption in her head.

Kelley stopped, tugged Lucy off to one side of the hallway and peered at her friend's pass. "You've got an awful lot of writing on yours."

Lucy held up her pass for a closer look. In messy script on the back was scribbled: "Gooey butter later? B. Littrell." Below it was a phone number.

The two women stared at the pass for a long moment.

"Well, that's not what I expected," Kelley said finally.