Passing college is a difficult task on its own, but imagine what it's like when your final grade rests in the hands of the worlds' favorite rock-star.
As graduation from her local community college approaches, Reese Taylors yearns for some answers...
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It was naïve of me to believe that sitting front row with Maia was the craziest An Echo in Time crowd experience I'll ever have.
And that, despite missing my youth, there's no way I'd survive as a fourteen year old. Memories of layered tank-tops, mid-thigh length jean shorts, and hair greasily pushed back into a ponytail with Nike flip flops on my feet flood my mind as I follow behind the three girls—reminiscing on my best outfit that I was sure would make all the girls jealous and all the guys fall in love with me.
Now—at twenty years old—I'm dressed in a different colored crop top and different shaded pair of ripped jeans to match the three teenage girls ahead of me. Rosie did fight me on my worn in black converse that need to retire, but they've accompanied me to many concerts and are molded into my feet; I'm not spending the next however-many-hours on sore feet.
Somehow, Rosie managed to land floor seats, still a reasonable distance from the stage. The large ice arena that I've accompanied my family to countless hockey games now hosts a large stage, with hundreds of folding chairs dividing sections on the ice that are quickly filling with people, much like the surrounding stands that people continue to file into. Large, flat screen TVs broadcast advertisements while the arena fills, anticipation thick in the air at what's to come.
The four of us file into our seats, the three of them chatting animatedly between themselves as they scour the Internet for the leaked set list and decide which of the umpteen million photos I took of them is the best to upload to social media.
"They're singing so many good songs. A lot of older ones, too." Porter comments, passing the screen shot around to her two friends.
On the car ride here, I truly felt like I was the greatest thing since sliced bread. Porter and Kelsey rapidly fired questions about my time in Los Angeles with the band—Kelsey paying extra attention to the few instances I mentioned Graham—and all but threatened me if I didn't show them every footage I took for my documentary, and every photo that I took of the Six Flags show (promising to give me credit, as they should).
As the week dragged on, I busied myself with creating an Instagram page solely dedicated to the images and videos that I take and edit, wanting to start building my brand before the degree is in my hands. And—after checking in with Milo—I began posting snippets of my documentary and images from the concert, adding my own watermark despite the fact that I know I'll hate it in a few months.
But it'll do for now.
However, once we stepped out of the car and the reality of where the three girls are sank in, I reverted back to just being Rosie's older sister that drove us. Which, honestly, is fine by me. My head is buried in my phone, refreshing my email every few minutes and silently cursing the slow internet as every single person in this room busies themselves on their phones while they wait for the opening act.
