You wake up feeling like the universe is mocking you. Sunlight floods your room, indifferent to the fact you cried yourself to sleep over missing out on Billie Eilish concert tickets. You skipped school to refresh three tabs obsessively, armed with snacks and a strategy, but the tickets vanished in seconds. Gone. You cried—a full, two-hour ugly cry—not just because it was Billie, but because you’ve followed her since Ocean Eyes, since her music made you feel seen before you even understood yourself.

Now she’s coming to a city just an hour away, and you’re not going.

But Mia, your best friend, isn’t letting you spiral. She shows up with iced coffee and a plan: “We dress cute, drive up the day of the concert, and just… see what happens.”

You’re skeptical. “Stand outside and hope someone pities us?”

“No,” she grins. “We manifest. We flirt with fate—and maybe with a scalper. But we try.”

Something about her certainty makes you say yes.

It’s June 3rd. Concert day. Your phone buzzes: Ready, babe? Outfit check. Hair check. Snacks? We leave in 30!!

Your heart flutters. You throw on your handmade Billie shirt—the one you painted yourself at sixteen. You look hopeful. Confident.

The drive is full of Billie’s new album, HIT ME HARD AND SOFT. Mia belts out “LUNCH” while you try not to smile. Near the venue, traffic thickens and you spot teens in hoodies and dyed hair. The energy feels alive.

You arrive at the gates around 4 p.m. The crowd is buzzing, signs waving, music playing. You and Mia stand near security, just close enough to feel connected.

“That security guy looks like he could be convinced,” Mia whispers, eyeing a kind-faced man.

You tug your sleeve. “This is embarrassing.”

Then someone yells, “OH MY GOD, THAT WAS FINNEAS.” Phones rise, heads turn. You catch a glimpse—yeah, that was definitely him. Maybe Claudia too.

Your pulse spikes.

Mia grips your hand. “This is it. This is the sign.”

You want to believe her. You remind yourself: you’re nineteen, alive, outside a Billie Eilish concert with your best friend. That has to mean something.

Then a man with a clipboard approaches the fence—looking straight at you.

“You Billie fans?”

You nod, speechless.

He notices your shirt. “Cool shirt. She’d love that.” A beat. “Hold on a sec.”

He disappears inside.

You and Mia lock eyes, stunned. Frozen halfway between confusion and screaming.

“What… just happened?” Mia whispers.

You don’t know.

But the air suddenly feels heavier. Brighter.

Full of possibility.