“Come on,” I whispered to myself out loud as I closed my eyes tightly, letting the thumping bass and roar of the crowd pulsate through my body. I tried to let the music around me leak into my veins, flow through me like a current. I wanted to feel that sudden burst of excitement, like at any moment the sky would begin falling and everything around me would just collapse. That one feeling as if nothing else in the universe mattered. You were here, they were here, breathing the same air, singing the same heart-wrenching, hip swinging music. But there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I slowly reopened my eyes to see the wave of glow sticks, posters and home made t-shirts with ‘Jonas or bust’ or ‘I heart Nick’ written all across the backs in brightly colored sharpie. The fans that were clad with them seemed to stare at me with vacant eyes, looks of disgust written on their faces. As if I had no personal interest in being here, like I was the public enemy. I tried to shake the feeling of my own self-loathe from my conscience and turned my attention to what really was everyone’s focus. The stage was dark, with lines of red lights circling the rotating center. The anticipation almost visible.

I let myself blend back in with them all, becoming once more nothing but another face in the crowd, watching and waiting. The time was drawing nearer, and I knew I had to try and fix this. I rocked back and forth on my heels, sliding my hands in my back pockets as my gaze held steady on the platform fifty feet away.

“Come on, Abby, you’ve got to feel something.” I said aloud again for only my ears to hear. There was frustration nearly dripping from my tone. I must have looked like a tool standing here by myself. I wasn’t one of the girls who was plastered in matching outfits or holding hands in order to stay together during the pre-concert rush. I was alone. My friends, both strongly in favor of anything and everything Jonas related were unaware I had faked being sick to slip out to the garden to see another show. All three of us had been here just the night before. That felt like eons ago now. The boys were in town for the weekend, and i, being the selfish one that i am, had to come back once more before they left. I had to see if I could fix this.

The rhythm and drumming of Queen’s We Will Rock You seemed to get louder and louder with each passing minute. I sank down in my seat. Seat 12, Loge 16, Row 15. This was my fifth Jonas Brothers concert, the second one in two days. I used to thrive on this moment, waiting for them to appear from wherever they lurked underneath the stage - tears filling my eyes when I laid site on them with my heart nearly jumping out of my chest with excitement. But this time around, the feeling just wasn’t coming.

Something had happened, and it didn’t feel just right. I knew I wasn’t as into this as I used to be in years past, but this year it all just seemed, well…annoying. The fan girl shrieks, the corny lyrics, the Disney channel phenom they had become. Was I really starting to get over them? I thought last night had been a glitch, that maybe I was just distracted. But distracted by what? These were the boys I had spent the past two years of my life obsessing over. But now it seemed like that head over heels Lovebug of a feeling was just…gone.

I was snapped out of my daydreams as the stage became illuminated with a pinkish fog, the center disappearing as a platform rose from underneath - holding the three bodies that contained the most coveted beating hearts in the world. Cameras went off everywhere, the rumble of the crowd sky-rocketing into a deafening roar.

I remained slumped in my seat, my left hand draped across the arm rest and my right hand balled into a fist with my thumb nail in my mouth. I sat there alone, everyone around me standing on their tip toes and nearly bursting at the seams of their homemade shirts with joy. These boys. They were just humans. Average teenagers who just so happened to be widely recognized for the talent they possessed. But they were so much more than that.

They were adored, obsessed over even. I watched intently as they, known solely by their names of Nick, Joe and Kevin, danced around the stage whilst thrashing on guitars and singing their lungs out. Their brown eyes danced as they fed off the energy of the crowd, the fans falling at their feet. I didn’t fit in here. Not anymore. Maybe two years ago I would have. Heck, I would have been right down there in the pit with my body nearly thrown across the stage. But not now, and the way it was looking, not ever.

I rose from my seat, excusing myself from the row I was in before the song paranoid was even finished. I just couldn’t do this. It hurt me to know that I was finally growing up, finally letting go a piece of my childhood. But deep down, I was hurting even more but for a much more pathetic reason. Joe. Joseph Adam Jonas. Fan girl or not, I still loved him incredibly. But after all that had happened with Taylor Swift and Camilla Belle, I felt myself losing my faith in him too. Everything about this Jonas phenomenon just seemed to be melting into a small puddle at my feet, getting smaller and smaller with each ray of summer sunlight that beat down on the hot Boston pavement.

Once I was free of the arena, I contemplated what I was going to do with the rest of my night. I lived only a few blocks away, and my parents were out for the night. So home was always an option. But I had no desire to sit in my room and sulk the remainder of the evening. I had to at least stay out a few hours so I had something to tell my parents when I got back. I had just wasted another $90 on the Jonas Brothers for the second night in a row, not even bothering to stay for the remainder of the concert, and clearly was just a sappy, sixteen year old girl who was left to roam the Massachusetts capital by her lonesome. Great.

Kicking a stray pebble, I began my way down Causeway street. The traffic around me was in high gear as late stragglers to the show dripped into the parking lots - girls of all ages jumping from the back seats before sprinting inside. I studied them closely, the way the did their hair and what they wore. How they all had the same pair of white Ray Ban sunglasses that Joe had made infamous over the years, or the fake medical tag that hung from their necks with a JB crest and butterfly wings that engraved the words ‘a little bit longer & I’ll be fine’ in fundraiser for Nick’s diabetes.

Walking by the glass windows of the subway station beside the TD Banknorth Garden where the concert was in play, I was caught by my own reflection. I didn’t quite fit the Jonas fan stereotype like I used to. My hair was two different colors, my natural brown on top with bleach blonde underneath. I was wearing a teal v-neck t-shirt, my jeans wide with holes in the knees. I looked more like I should be going to a fall out boy show then the Jonas Brothers. I frowned slightly, sliding my hands into my back pockets as I approached a crosswalk and waited for the oncoming traffic to cease. There was so much on my mind.

I continued my way slowly down the road, loose change and some twenties floating around in my pockets. My stomach rumbled, and I realized how hungry I was. I bit my lip as I rattled my head for restaurants I could easily get to from where I was. I had grown up in the North End of Boston, and had eaten at pretty much every place around. I decided somewhere a few blocks away from the arena would be a good choice. I didn’t want to be caught in the aftermath of the show when all the fans flooded into the restaurants on the corners and basically invaded the town for the night.

After a bit of contemplation, I decided that Davide, a little Italian restaurant on Commercial street, would be my choice. You could never go wrong there food wise, and it was just a safe enough distance away where no fan would bother to swarm in within the coming hours. It was located in just the right spot where you wouldn’t find it unless you were looking for it.

I continued on my way down the crowded sidewalks, keeping to myself and not lifting my gaze from the cement under my feet. It was a fifteen minute walk, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t feel like wasting cash on a cab, plus I enjoyed the city at night. All the lights, skyscrapers…not to mention the people. You never really knew who you were going to see around here.

Slipping into the small Italian restaurant, I grabbed myself a table in the back. The crowd inside was small - with not more than a few couples out for dates or the occasionally family dining at the larger tables up front. I sighed contently, feeling as if some pressure had been lifted off my shoulders. I put my head in my hands, nodding dully at the waiter that came over and poured me a glass of water. Spinning the small black straw around in the ice, I let my mind wander.

This was really it. My teenage fan girl dreams of falling in love with a Jonas brother were over. All I had left ahead of me was a quiet evening alone in a restaurant smack dab in the middle of Boston while the boys I knew and loved sang their hearts out to the people that adored them. That had been waiting hundreds of days for this moment. But not me, I was ignorant. I was over it. I just really wish that somehow I could reawaken that part of me and start over. That somehow I could really, truly fall in love with those boys all over again. I just wish I knew how.

If self-pity was an Olympic sport, I was almost 100% sure that I would have the gold as soon as the judges looked into my sad, grey eyes. Ever since the first concert last night, I was nearly oozing with depression. It was almost like I was spreading a disease to anyone and everyone that even passed me on the sidewalk. I wasn’t good at hiding this kind of things. But now a days I wished I was. I hated when people poked and prodded me, wanting to know what was on my mind.

Sixteen wasn’t old. It was in the exact center of your teenage years. Things should be perfect. By this time I should be frolicking through fields of happiness and sunshine, going to school proms, driving convertibles with the latest Taylor Swift poppy screwed up and totally not country remix blasting over the radio with a boyfriend in the front seat to hold my hand along the way.

But it wasn’t like that. Not for me, anyway. The Jonas Brothers had been my escape from the real world. Whenever I felt sad or down, I could just dust off my copy of It’s About Time and watch reruns of JONAS until the early morning hours to make myself feel better. Just the seldom thought of them used to bring a smile to my face. But now it just felt like a chore trying to enjoy these kind of things. Without them now, and feeling the way I did, I felt like finding happiness again would be impossible.

I searched my thoughts, trying to remember the last time I really, truly felt happy. It was hard to think about. I was diagnosed with depression last year, so not being able to enjoy things kind of came with the job title. It was almost…tiring, thinking so hard about things that made me feel like I was really enjoying myself. Now that the Jonas brothers no longer had that therapeutic effect on me, I was going to have to find something else. Anything that would try and get my head back on straight. I almost felt like I was having a midlife crisis.

Frowning, I leaned back in my chair and tried to distract myself. I eavesdropped on conversations at nearby tables, hoping to catch something interesting that would cause my mind to wander in a more positive direction. But the words coming from each person’s mouth seemed to blend in a dull murmur, and I couldn’t find it in me to stay focused. I didn’t know why I was having such a hard time coming to terms with the fact that I was over the Jonas Brothers and their stupid, corny little love songs. I just needed someone to slam my head on the table or something. I’m an adult now, I have to grow up.

“Miss?” A voice interrupted my thoughts, causing me to jump suddenly. I turned my attention to the waiter standing beside me with a pen and pad in his hands - waiting.

“What? Oh, sorry.” I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Uhm, I was actually just on my way out…” I mumbled, rising from my seat and pulling on my long tie-dye tote bag that rested across my shoulder.

“Can I interest you in our specials?” He persisted, trying to get me to sit back down.

“No, thank you.” I said impatiently, brushing past him with my head down as I quickly made my way to the exit. I wasn’t very good at talking to people. Just another one of my quirks. I made a beeline for the exit and was outside in the cool, city air within seconds. I took a deep breath. It seemed like I wasn’t going to be able to stay in one place for very long tonight.

Flipping open my cell phone, I decided that the concert should be ending by now. Sure enough, as I passed an intersection near the exit of the arena - traffic was in full throttle. An empty tour bus slowly made it’s way through the wave of taxis and SUVs, fans on foot pounding on the bus doors. I sighed and rolled my eyes, continuing walking. It made me wonder what possessed people to do those kind of things. Adrenaline, maybe? I just knew that if I was famous, I wouldn’t find a boy attractive when he pounded on my tour bus window or grabbed my shirt as I walked by all whilst screaming in my face. The thought was kind of scary, really.

Fingering the five dollar bill in my pocket, I figured I’d stop at a small ice cream shop on my way home. It was only a block away from the penthouse my parents and I lived in, and I could really go for some chocolate soft serve. Yawning a bit, I continued walking. It had been a long day, but my head was finally starting to clear a bit.

Pushing open the door to the small ice cream parlor called Veronica’s, I was instantly at peace. This was my favorite place in the whole city. It was huge, with a long wrap around counter with all kinds of funky furniture. It was futuristic, yet retro at the same time. Not to mention they had a small stage where you could do karaoke and what not when you came down with your friends. It was basically the place to hang out for teens who lived around here. I had only come down here with a few friends on occasion to see local bands play or watch kids make fools out of each other when they stopped in after high school football games. The thoughts of night’s past made me smile a bit. Weakly, but smile none the less.

I made my way through the small crowd towards the counter, the loud laughter and talking giving me a near instant headache. I just didn’t feel like dealing with people right now, I really just wanted to be alone. That thought made me want to slap myself across the face. I needed to stop being so emo. My parents were on my case about it constantly. About how I needed to be more social. Yeah. No thanks.

Tapping my fingers on the countertop, I scanned the menu that was written all over the back brick wall in brightly colored paints. It was always the same, but I just read it out of habit. “Welcome to Veronica’s, what can I do for ya sweetie?” A middle-aged woman with dark, curly hair said - snapping bubble gum in her mouth and eyeing me.

“Just a soft serve please, chocolate.” I said shyly with a small smile, dropping my five onto the counter before sliding my hands into my front pockets.

“Sure thing.” She winked, disappearing around the corner. I nodded, turning abruptly to the right to go find myself a booth before they were all taken. But me and my stupid self-consciousness, (meaning staring at the floor while I walked instead of paying attention to what’s in front of me like a smart person would do,) suddenly collided with someone. I looked up just quick enough to see the strawberry milkshake in their hand dump down the front of their shirt.

“Oh my god,” I said, feeling my cheeks grow hot in embarrassment. “I am so sorry, here - uhm, oh jeez. I - let me get some napkins.” I rambled, pulling some napkins off the counter, handing them to the person. But to my surprise, they, or should I say he by the tone of voice, was laughing. It wasn’t a hearty laughter, it sounded almost kind of forced.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, taking them front my hand. My skin touched his for a quick second, and I blushed even deeper. “I never even like this shirt anyway.”

I laughed nervously, shifting my weight and running a hand through my hair. I was staring at the ground still, too afraid to meet his eyes. With my luck, it was probably Brad Hutinson, captain and quarterback of the high school football team. His girlfriend was going to kill me. But it couldn’t be Brad. This boy was wearing bright white and gold Nike sneakers, dark washed skinny jeans tucked into them.

I scanned him further, as my eyes moved up - he was unbuttoning his green plaid shirt that was now splashed with strawberry, revealing a white v-neck underneath and a thin black string with a small gold pendant around his neck. There was a brown freckle on his chest right before his neck, and I could almost feel my eyes widening as I took these characteristics into consideration. No way, no freaking way.

My eyes kept going, slower now. A smile with small, straight white teeth, curly dark brown hair, incredible chocolate eyes. They were slightly puffy, almost as if he had been crying. “Don’t worry about it,” The words leaving his mouth said as he shrugged his shoulders lightly. “it’s been a long night for me, this was expected. I’m Joe, by the way.” He said, tossing the messy green shirt onto his shoulder and extending a hand. “Joe Jonas.”