“All I wanted was to scream the lyrics. Not change my life.”
For normal people, the summer holiday is a time to relax on a beach, perhaps sipping an iced lemon tea while reading a novel that’s been sitting on their nightstand for a year. For Patricia Schmidt, a highly respected elementary school teacher from a small town near Munich, the summer holiday of 2025 had a code name: Operation Summer Sunshine.
This wasn't just a vacation. It was a mission. A sacred pilgrimage. And like all things in Patricia’s life, this mission was planned with military precision.
Patricia, with typical German efficiency, had planned everything in a color-coded Excel spreadsheet. Red for 'Critical Expenses' (front-row concert tickets). Yellow for 'Highly Recommended' (new merchandise). Green for 'Mission Accessories' (backup power bank). "You need this tour hoodie, Patricia," she had whispered to herself weeks ago as her cursor hovered over the 'Buy' button. "This isn't a want, it's a logistical necessity. Let's just call it... the field uniform."
And now, it was D-Day. Halifax, England. June 12th, 2025.
Patricia had been standing in her spot, right at the front of the stage at The Piece Hall, for nearly two hours. It was an achievement she'd secured through a mastery of the art of defending one's territory in a crowd: a solid, wide stance, a polite but firm smile, a strategically placed tote bag serving as a territorial marker, and the legendary "don't-even-think-about-cutting-in" glare—known among her third-graders as "the Schmidt Stare."
"All for The Corrs," she muttered, smoothing down the limited-edition Corrs T-shirt she was wearing, feeling like a general inspecting her medals before battle.
Then, the moment arrived. The lights went out.
The crowd erupted in a hysterical roar. Patricia screamed along, momentarily forgetting her dignity as an educator of children. On stage, one by one, the silhouettes she knew by heart appeared. Jim with his calm guitar, Caroline on her throne behind the drums, Sharon with her magical violin, and finally, Andrea, the Irish pixie with her tin whistle.
The concert was a dream. Patricia sang every lyric. So Young had her jumping around like a teenager again. The violin intro to Runaway brought a tear to her eye, reminding her of all her youthful dreams. And Breathless... ah, that song made her feel like she could conquer the world. This was her world. This was her happiness.
In the middle of Breathless, while she was beaming with a wide smile, something strange happened.
Andrea, whose eyes usually swept across the entire audience, this time seemed to lock her gaze. Straight ahead. Directly at her. Patricia froze. Her heart, which had been pounding with the music, was now pounding with panic.