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into the backseat to put on the dress, ordering Madison to warn me if we hit traffic slow enough that anyone could see into the car. She tapped the brakes as a joke, giggling when I shrieked.
    I thought of something that was lingering from our conversation the day before, and I decided now was as good a time as any to bring it up. Did you come clean to Matt, about our backstage passes?
    She groaned. I couldn’t. Jason was there when I said it and I would have looked like an idiot.
    It’s okay, I told her. I had given this some thought the night before, and I figured it really didn’t matter much. He’s way in the front, so it’s not like he’ll see us back in our seats.
    Well, Madison hesitated. Don’t you think it would be weird if we watch the show from backstage, and we don’t get any pictures?
    I had a feeling I knew where she was heading with this.
    No, I said out loud before she could ask the question.
    You don’t even know what I’m going to say, she said, sticking out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout.
    Yes I do, I countered. You’re going to have some crazy plan to sneak backstage that you haven’t thought through, and I’m saying no, right now.
    Okay, Madison said, smiling slightly. Maybe you do know what I’m going to say.
    I’ve blown the whole rest of my summer by sneaking out tonight, I reminded her. If we get caught and kicked out of the concert, you still have July and August. I’m going to be back in the file closet with Sylvia the Troll for nine more weeks.
    Please, Madison muttered. As if they kick people out of a concert for getting lost on their way to the bathroom.
    Really? I said sarcastically, looking at her to see if she was serious. That’s your plan?
    She grinned. Of course not. Do you actually want to hear it?
    I rolled my window down a crack and didn’t answer, letting air rush into the car. We were almost in Chelsea now, and I could hear music coming from scattered bars and clubs as we drove by.
    I spent a lot of time on the internet when I couldn’t talk to you this week, Madison started, apparently taking my silence as acquiescence. One of the things I did was to check out the band’s website, and I found out the name of the PR firm that represents them.
    I was only half listening, already firmly convinced that whatever plan Madison had concocted would be a failure. If it were easy to sneak backstage at concerts, wouldn’t everyone do it?
    So I went to the agency’s website, and they list all their employees. I found the names of two who work in the New York office, and we’re going to pretend to be them, Madison explained, sounding proud of herself. You’re Jessica Sawyer for the night, and I’m Lindsey Thompson. We’re going to say that April forgot some samples of a product she’s promoting, and we’re delivering them. She gestured to the back seat, waving her hand in the empty space. Look back there.
    I glanced back, and saw an economy-sized box of Luna Bars wedged into the corner of the seat. I’d seen them in the backseat when I’d changed into my dress, but I’d just figured they were part of some crazy diet Madison was trying.
    So she had put some thought into this plan, at least, but I still couldn’t see how we would get away with it. Even if it wasn’t such a bad idea, we were eighteen and dressed for a concert -- how would anyone believe we were actually working publicists?
    I’ll think about it, I said as Madison turned the car into a parking garage, taking a paper ticket from the machine to mark the time we arrived. We got out of the car and she stuffed the box of energy bars into my overnight bag.
    Just in case, she winked, throwing her arm around me in excitement. She handed her car keys to the garage attendant and pulled me forward as we walked down the nearly empty street, past a bookstore with a section that served coffee and several bars. We walked down a few more blocks and finally saw the entrance to the concert, already teeming with