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surprise for you. One of Scottsdale’s own is in town to do a promotional photo shoot for their latest album, and they agreed to play here today because they’re just that cool.”
    A rumble of excitement whipped through the crowd. Mel wondered who it was. She really hoped it was someone good and not some lame one-hit wonder has-been.
    â€œOh, no,” Angie murmured on Mel’s right. She clutched Mel’s arm in a grip that pinched. “We have to get out of here—now!”
    â€œWhy?” Mel asked. “What’s the matter?”
    Angie was scooping up her wedding dress skirts and looking to find a way out, but the crowd of zombies behind them was pressing forward, trapping them at the front of the stage.
    â€œSo without further ado, put your undead hands together for . . . the Sewers!” Chad yelled into the mic, and the crowd went nuts.
    Mel felt Tate stiffen beside her as the first one to run out onto the stage was Angie’s old boyfriend Roach. At six foot three, his tall, lanky frame commanded the stage. Per usual, he was shirtless, showing off his many tattoos as he jumped behind his enormous drum kit and began to snap out a rhythm as the rest of the band followed him out onto the stage.
    â€œDid you know he was going to be here?” Tate asked Mel.
    â€œNo!” Mel shook her head. “I’m just as surprised as you.”
    Angie was trying to fight her way out of the crowd, but they weren’t budging. If anything they were pushing the three of them closer. She dropped her skirts and wailed, “It’s no use. We’re trapped!”
    Just then the band kicked in, playing one of the singles that had hit the top of the charts a few years ago. Despite herself, Mel felt herself getting swept up into the music. She had been a fan of the Sewers before Angie started dating Roach, and secretly she still was.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Tate hissed in her ear.
    â€œHuh?” Mel asked.
    â€œStop singing,” he hissed.
    â€œI can’t help it,” Mel said. “It’s catchy.”
    â€œSo is the flu,” he grumbled.
    Mel glanced at him and Angie. They looked to be the picture of misery. Seeing Roach while they were in the middle of their skirmish was obviously not helping the already tense situation.
    She grabbed Tate by the arm and pulled him into her spot while she maneuvered around him. It was best if the two of them faced Angie’s past as a united front. At least, she hoped they’d manage that.
    Mel bobbed on her feet in the tiny square foot of space that the press of bodies allotted her to dance in, and watched her friends out of the corner of her eye. Tate was leaning down and whispering in Angie’s ear. She looked irritated, and then she looked up at him with her big brown, sunken eyes, and a smile parted her black lips.
    Angie grabbed Tate’s hand in hers and began to dance to the band. Mel wondered what he’d said to her. She wondered if he’d given in and told Angie that she could have Mel for her maid of honor. Mel was okay with that. She was okay with whatever they chose, although she did dig the idea of wearing a tux and being Tate’s best wo-man, but that was just the lure of men’s fashion. The truth was, Mel was just as divided as Angie and Tate about which of them she should stand up for. Who’d a thunk?
    The band blasted through three more raucous songs before they turned it down to play a ballad. Mel got a nervous flutter in her stomach when she realized this one was to be sung by Roach. Oh, no, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
    â€œThis is a song I wrote about a girl who stole my heart and then smashed it,” Roach said into the mic. “It’s called ‘Angie.’”
    He did!
    Mel felt the acid in her stomach bubble and gurgle. Where was her Uncle Stan and his ever-handy roll of antacid tablets when she needed him?
    Roach paused and scanned the crowd