As we pull into the stadium parking lot, I realize that the screaming is coming from a huge crowd of girls hanging around outside.

Zee, Grace, Jamie and everyone else who has a ticket will be inside by now.

These are the fans who didn't get concert tickets in time.

Most of them are standing around waving signs that read "FABLE FOREVER" OR "ENFABLER4LIFE", singing, screaming, showing their support even though they won't get to see the actual show.

When Fable first started getting popular, their fans were mostly teenaged girls. The press were quick to label them as a boy band, even though they play their own instruments, and their sound is closer to rock than pop. As they started winning awards and earning respect, the press changed their tune. They were the band that "brought rock back". The cherry on top was when David Bowie, dressed head-to-toe in his Jareth costume from Labyrinth, joined the boys onstage during a performance of Déjà Vu at Central Park. After that, they were the media's darlings. Rolling Stone called them the modern Beatles, and said that the past three years will probably go down in music history as the Fablemania years.

As I watch the mass of crying, wailing girls gathered around outside the stadium, I realize why it is that for every die-hard Fable fan, there's also someone who hates them with a passion. Some of the girls look like they're having a heart attack, or like they're in a religious frenzy. And all the ear-splitting screaming.

A pack of girls near the front of the crowd in matching black dresses seems to be making the most noise of all. They're pointing at something in our direction. One starts sprinting, and a moment later the whole crowd is surging towards the limo.

"They've spotted us," Felix says. "Move away from the window."

"But how do they know -" I begin.

I shift over to the middle of the seat just as a dark-haired girl slams into the glass. Her friends are pushing her from behind, and her whole face is squashed flat against my window, while her eyes dart around excitedly trying to see inside.

Within seconds the limo comes to a standstill, totally surrounded. Girls are crowded around every window, their faces and hands pressed against the glass.

More and more fans crowd around us, until there's nothing to be seen but a solid wall of Fable t-shirts, phones and body parts.

Girls are piling up against the limo. I wonder if the windows will hold under the weight of so many bodies, or if the glass will suddenly burst into a million shards.

For just a moment, the screams and the glass and the chaos all jumble into one, and I remember.

Something dark and ugly surfaces in my mind.

Something I'd managed to keep buried – until now.

My best friend lying at the bottom of the bus with a halo of blood fanning out into the saltwater. A boy splayed out next to Mia with a shard of broken glass through his eye socket, whimpering and crying for his mother. Terrified screaming as we sink deeper and deeper.

I'd somehow blocked out the exact details of the scene for the past two years, and the regained memory blossoms inside my mind like a poisonous flower.

Dead dead dead all dead.

A shiver runs down my spine, and I feel cold all over, like I've been plunged into icy water. My chest tightens. I can feel my heart beating out of control, surely faster than a heart should be able to go. I can't breathe.

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Just before I fall over the edge, I realize that I'm going into full-blown panic attack mode.

That's when the crowd suddenly pulls away from the car. Men in black suits, probably security guards from the Rose Plaza, are moving the girls back. The limo starts moving again.

I feel the fear and panic release its grip on me. I take a deep breath and pull my attention away from the window, straight into Felix's eyes.

How long has he been watching me like that? He doesn't ask me what's wrong, but just stares indifferently. Like a scientist studying a particularly gross insect. His expression is still veiled, and impossible to read, but if I had to guess, I'd say the hardness in his eyes is revulsion. I'm sure he must regret inviting me into the limo. He's seeing me at my weakest and most vulnerable, spazzing out right in front of him, and I'm sure my lack of self-control must seem pathetic to him.

I look down into my lap, feeling myself blush for the millionth time.

The screams of the girls die down and fade away as we enter the underground car park.

Through the tinted windows I see row after row of shiny sports cars and luxury SUVs. This must be where the VIPs park.

As we pull into a parking bay near the elevator, a bulky security guard with slicked-back blonde hair and dark glasses opens my door. He's a mountain of a man, probably over seven feet tall and all muscle.

The limo driver is already standing outside, talking angrily to someone on his phone.

I pick up my bag and my guitar case.

The guard leads us to an elevator, where another guard, even bigger than the first, is waiting.

Ding.

The elevator doors open to reveal a small, shiny interior.

The thought of stepping into such a cramped space with two huge security guards and Felix Lockhart sets my heart pounding again.

I'm surprised when we all manage to fit inside the lift with room to spare.

This is the first time I've been able to get into an elevator (or any small, confined space for that matter) since the accident, and I'm actually a bit proud of myself for not freaking out and running away down the passage. Baby steps.

The lift shudders and starts to move. The guards start a not-so-subtle interrogation, looking me up and down. Then the blonde one gestures towards me impatiently.

"What's in the bag?" He asks.

It takes me a second to realize he's asking about my school bag. I'm about to answer when Felix steps in front of me.

"Back off Todd. " There's a casual, latent violence in Felix's tone. I notice both guards flinch. Felix's temper is legendary. I shrink back against the elevator wall behind me.

"Sorry Mr. Lockhart. I'm just doing my job. It's the same treatment for everyone." He sticks out his hand towards me. "We have to."

Felix shakes his head, grabs my bag and passes it to Todd. "Make it quick then."

All I really have in there are some pens, textbooks, house keys, my wallet and my phone.

Once it's obvious that I'm not carrying anything that could be used as a weapon or to smuggle in alcohol, the security guard passes my bag back to me.

The elevator stops at the third floor, and one of the guards gestures for me to follow as he steps out.

As I leave, Felix sticks his foot in the doorway to stop the lift.

He stares hard at me for a moment. I wonder if he's going to say goodbye. Maybe something generic like "enjoy the show" to end off our awkward little encounter.

He must be so relieved to finally be dropping me off. He'll be thinking 'Charity work done for the night. Crazy socially-inept girl delivered to the show. Good deed ticked off the list'.

I couldn't be more wrong.

"How well do you know Portland?" He asks.

"Um... pretty well I guess," I say. "I grew up here and all."

"Good." He replies. "The boys and I usually check out the local sights the day after a show, but our schedule got changed, so we've just got tonight to see Portland. And the tour guide the hotel organized for us is a total idiot. She's probably being paid by my manager to report back on every last thing we do. And it's too late to hire someone from outside. Can I trust you to show us around without blabbing?"

"Yes, of... of course," I stutter, trying to imagine myself playing tour guide, leading a world-famous rock band around Portland on a nighttime sightseeing trip. I must be dreaming.

"Just you," he says. "No friends."

I nod my head vigorously, trying to hold back a victory dance.

I was wrong. He doesn't think I'm a psycho. I'm just over-thinking stuff like always. He actually trusts me enough to let me show him and the other boys around Portland. OMG.

Somehow, it seems I've managed to make a good impression. I can't believe I got this far without saying anything really stupid or weird, or falling over, or walking into something, or any of the usual things that happen when I'm trying really hard not to screw things up.

"Good," he says, stepping back into the elevator. His expression is cool and distant, but I can see he's studying my face as if trying to figure something out. Like he's trying to find something.

"Todd will take you to the friends and family suite to watch the show," he says.

"You're not coming with us?" I ask.

"No... I'm in the show. I'm going to be on stage, remember?" He answers as the doors shut.

Facepalm. So much for not saying anything stupid.