There's a reason why Luke Cartwright is our lead singer and I am not.

I've probably said it before, but I'm gunna say it again, alright?

First of all, when Luke Cartwright is on stage, there are only two things you can really do.

The first thing is to shut the fuck up. I'm not talking about ending the conversation with your mate or putting your drink down while you idly bob your head up and down like a bobble head. Nah, I mean you have to shut the fuck up. I mean you have to let the world fall away. Your phone, your friends? They don't exist anymore. The walls, the floor, they don't exist anymore. Your mouth, your nose, nothing works now because you've shut them up. Everything stops.

The second thing is to listen. Listening is primarily done with your ears. Sometimes they might twitch, but that's a fanciful trick that not many folks can do so I wouldn't worry about it too much if you can't. It doesn't mean you're the best at listening, just that you're home alone a lot without an internet connection with time to spare. No, listening is what you do when your whole body can feel it.

It's you and it's Luke. He lets the magic out and you absorb it. Whatever it is; he can do it through a television, through a radio, through your Ipod.

But it's nothing like it is live. It's nothing like standing there as he's on stage, and there's lights and sound and people (but these don't exist because you've shut the fuck up).

Live is life. Live is sitting on the shoulders of strangers and feeling the sound weave through your fingers and beat heavy vibrations through your heart.

That's what if feels like to listen, and that's why Luke Cartwright is our lead singer.

"How are you all doing tonight?" A wall of screams makes its way over and crashes into us. I feel a wave of pure wind made from excitement spread through my hair, cool the redness of my cheeks, as I sit down at the large keyboard to the left of Luke, who's gripped onto the microphone like you would a lost lover.

Demitri sits behind us all, the back of the stage belonging to him; his own kingdom of drums.

And Oliver Godfrey, Oliver Godfrey stands to the right of Luke, his own microphone, his own guitar. He may have been practicing to sing without backup but he's also been shredding it on guitar, complimenting my lyrics, complimenting the sounds from Luke's mouth.

"Tonight is a very special night." Luke's eyes are wide, God knows what drugs coursing through him. But he's ready, we're all ready. We're to slow it down, but not before we've chased it through the stars and hitting the moon. "Our very own Scott Connors wrote every single song you're going to hear tonight. It's all new; just for you."

Another scream. Another Earth shattering scream. The veins in my wrists raise under my skin. It's so hot.

"I'll be your vocals, as usual. Now, if you'll all reach out your hands to me," The people who are standing all raise their hands. Almost all of them are teenage girls, some on the young end, some around nineteen. I catch the sight of more boys though, boys like me, boys not like me, boys who've been dragged by their girlfriends, boys not old enough to have girlfriends or boyfriends. Just boys. Because we are not exclusively for someone anymore. We're not just for teenage girls.

We're for everyone.

"And I'll take you with us on this fucking storm!" He's been told not to swear but he does it anyway. It'll be the first time some of these people have heard a curse word.

"1...2...1, 2, 3, 4!"

.....

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I will be in a minute."

I've stuck my head out of a window. I don't know what window, just that it looks out onto some bins and a car park. I don't think anyone can see me, and I'm glad.

Sweat drips from every part of me where there's skin. My fingers are like hot rods of fire. They might blister; they might fall off, who fucking knows. I've never played so hard in my life.

My throat feels like someone's taken a razor to it and just started scraping at the insides. We didn't scream; we ain't a screamo band, but I've never wailed like that. Never played, never sang like that.

It was strange, sometimes the crowd were stunned into silence, just shutting the fuck up and listening, and sometimes, they were as loud as our mics, as our speakers. I could feel every hit like a hot slap to the face, and now my cheeks are red from all the smiling.

"That was FUCKING AMAZING." Demitri barges in whatever room this is. It isn't the green room, I just found a random one with a random window and headed for the window.

He holds his drum sticks in the air, completely battered.

"My arms are on fire, lads. I've never drummed so hard in my life."

"I know, look." Oliver smiles and holds up his mangled fingers that shiver slightly. "So much strumming."

"Oi, oi!" Luke laughs and winks and Oliver's accidental innuendo.

"Jesus," My hands find my knees and I lean my whole body against the wall, cold against my wet back. "This is must be how real bands feel like afterwards. I'm fucking buzzing." And I realise this is how you're supposed to feel. You're supposed to feel like you've jumped off the fucking edge of the world and you keep falling and falling and the wind is in your face and all you can do is breathe heavily and smile.

"It was good though, right? I mean, they loved it didn't they? Sometimes they just gaped at us."

"I wanna do it again." Luke kicks back in a random chair in the corner, fiddling with the wrist bands that cover most of his arms. "I wanna give them another show. They had to all get out mortgages just to pay for this fucking thing and we were only on for two hours."

We all look at each other, and we race back to the stage.

We cheer and woop, jumping up and hitting fire exit signs and passing roadies who look at us like we're a bunch of idiots.

I slow to a stop when we pass a green room. Oliver, Demi, and Luke carry on, but I see Parker, sat on his own on a giant sofa watching MTV and texting at the same time. He looks miserable as fuck, not like the natural high I'm on. He needs it. He needs it as much as us.

I slink in without him seeing and grab his arm and pull.

"What the fuck, Connors." I make him stand and I ball his shirt into my fists and I press his lips hard against mine, letting his arms snake around me, pulling me closer.

"We're going on stage." I say, getting my breath back. "Come with us."

"Haven't you just done your set? People are leaving, it's past their bedtimes."

I shake my head. "No, we're going on again, People are still there. Come with me."

"And do what?"

I kiss him again. "Sing with me. Kiss me. Whatever the fuck you want."

His smile softens when I mention kissing me in front of thousands of people.

"Or not...You don't have to..." He grabs me again before I can pull away.

"Yeah. Yeah, alright. They talk about it enough, let's give them a show."