The moment that Kitty leaves the suite, the three angels swoop down on me.

I shrink back from the cloying semi-circle of bleached blonde hair, fake tan and too-sweet perfume.

They look a few years older than me, possibly seniors at another school.

I was so worried about running into the Three Bs, and instead I've ended up with another (possibly worse) trio of angels.

Unfortunately it's not as coincidental as one might think.

Alastaire's fans always seem to travel in packs. All Enfablers are like a big family, a sisterhood that spans the globe – but the angels take it to the extreme.

Angels stick together with one goal in mind. Their sole aim is to get chosen. To get noticed by their idol, and to have the honor of being one of the special angels that "Alastaire takes up to heaven" after each concert.

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That's what the rumors online say, and it looks like there might be some truth to them.

The girl in the sparkly gold top is smiling sweetly but her voice is cold. "So tell me, jailbait, which one of them was it?"

I have no clue what she's asking about. "Which of them was what?"

She lets out an exaggerated sigh and shakes her head at the other angels.

What an idiot, she seems to be saying.

"Are you stupid or something?" She asks me, while her friends giggle on either side of her. "We want to know which member of Fable sent you here. I don't see any wings."

She points to her collarbone, where her sparkling silver wings mark her as one of Alastaire's elite fans.

"Who are you here for?"

What I want to do is tell her that I'm here for me, and that it's no business of hers anyway.

I want to turn my back on her and walk as far down the aisle as possible, take a seat and ignore them for the rest of the show. I want to show them that I'm not a doormat and they can't speak to me like that.

Instead, I look down at my feet and struggle to keep my voice from wavering as I reply. "It was Felix."

"Felix..." she practically growls his name. "Fine. Just stay away from Alastaire."

One of the girls, a bit shorter than the others and with messy platinum hair, points at my guitar case. "What's that for? Bringing a guitar to a concert is sooo lame."

"It's a long story," I say, but the angels have already sauntered away in their little clique.