30 seconds: A tale from one side

Izzy had been waiting to meet him from the moment she first set eyes on him-a sultry pose on a sunkissed beach that adorned the cover of MegaHits Magazine. That moment was indelibly printed on her brain; the moment she lost all grip on reality.
There wasn't any one thing that drew her to him, it was a combination of things: his green eyes, his porcelain skin, the sweep of his strong yet elegant nose and the air of graceful strength he projected from every photograph of him. He had been carved into perfection by a heavenly artist, that was Izzy's only explanation for the effect he had on her.
"He's coming," yelled Bess one morning as she tore down the locker lined corridor at school towards Izzy, darting between other pupils and waving a magazine in the air. "He's coming to Lexley, to sign copies of his book."
Izzy's heart wrenched and her breath caught in her throat. She knew Bess had just as big a crush on Marc Donovan as she had and needed no confirmation as to who Bess was referring to.
"When?" asked Izzy, snatching the magazine from Bess like a ravenous wolf.
"Thursday. At noon. We'll have to bunk off school."
"No problem. I'll tell mum I'm ill or something," said Izzy.
Frantically she flicked through the magazine to locate Marc's interview: a double page spread. There he was, perched on the edge of a tattered office chair in a disused warehouse; his acoustic guitar resting against his thigh. Oh how she wished she was that guitar.
"He's just a god, isn't he?" said Bess dreamily.
Izzy wasn't quite so vocal or obvious with her infatuation. Marc was her private obsession and only she wanted to know how deep it ran. "Yeah," she replied, casually and handed the mag back to Bess, but not before making a mental note of which magazine it was. She'd stop by Bensons Newsagent on the way home and buy her own copy.
The entire afternoon was lost on her. By the end of the day she couldn't recall any of her classes or what the teachers had taught, all she could see in her mind, with pixel-perfect accuracy, was the photograph of Marc Donovan in that magazine. If quizzed she could've easily recounted its composition: the number of windows in the warehouse, the colour of the chair he sat on, the folds of his shirt. It was an image that stayed with her and was made even more real when she finally got her hands on a copy of the magazine. It was her opportunity and was able to study the photo in minute detail and analyse the interview word for word, grappling for any scrap of new information about him.
What did he mean when he said he wasn't looking for a relationship? Did he mean never? Did he mean not serious? Did he even like girls? She couldn't figure it out, and it was the one thing she wanted to know over all the other stuff she knew about him (what toothpaste he used, the first song he bought, what he did with his toenail clippings).
When Thursday finally ticked around she put her plan into action (a heated flannel to her forehead, translucent powder to her cheeks to wash out their rosy tinge. It worked, perfectly.
"You'd best stay here today," Izzy's mum said. "I'll phone the school."
The moment her mother clicked the door shut Izzy leapt out of bed, already dressed: hipster skinny jeans and white t-shirt. All she needed was lip gloss and her red military jacket and she was ready to go. She grabbed her mobile and called Bess.
"You ready?" she asked. "Okay I'll meet you on the corner of Crompton Street at 9."

By the time Izzy arrived at Flicks Bookshop the crowd of kids was already spilling onto the streets.
"God, it looks like half the school's here?" said Bess. "I bet the teachers have twigged and are down here scouring the shop for truants."
"Well, I'm not about to change my mind," Izzy said resolutely. She'd be happy to get a weeks detention for it. It would be worth it.
"Me neither," said Bess. "What time is it?"
"Nine thirty."
"We've got a long wait then," said Bess glancing up at the leaden sky. "I hope it doesn't rain-my hair'll go frizzy."
"Bess, this is Lexley. It always rains in Lexley."
Sure enough by eleven the heavens opened and down came the rain.
"Told you," said Izzy as she opened her umbrella.
Soon though Izzy could feel the crowd start to move. Ahead of her were bookshop staff dressed in yellow t-shirts guiding kids between metal barricades.
"We'll be inside soon, Bess," said Izzy as the excitement and anticipation began to rise inside her. She imagined what he'd be wearing, wondered how he smelt, dreamed that there would be an opportunity for her to brush her fingers across his peach-skin face.
Once she was inside everything else and everyone around her paled into insignificance. For once in her life she was grateful for being tall, for being able to see across most people's heads and down to the black panelling at the far end of the shop and the long desk in front of it. 'He'd be there soon enough,' she thought.
"What can you see, Izzy?" said Bess.
Izzy barely heard her and grunted a reply. She was in no mood for idle chatter now, all her energy and attention was focussed on that long desk.
When the clock ticked twelve there was a sudden buzz of activity at the front. Bookshop staff appeared at each end of the desk to the delight of the crowd that suddenly erupted in cheers of "We want Marc, we want Marc."
They and Izzy soon got what they had waited in the rain for.
Marc Donovan glided into view from behind the black panels to rapturous screams so loud they temporarily deafened Izzy. She didn't care, she was screaming with them.
As the crowd quietened to a general, excited hubbub, Izzy prepared herself. She dug into her bag for her mirror and checked herself-hair looking smooth and glossy, mascara not running. She re-applied her lip gloss, smacked her lips together and took a deep breath.
The throng of expectant girls inched forward. Izzy jockeyed for position behind a girl whose hair was so wildly back-combed she looked like she'd been dragged through a hedge. Again she was glad she was tall as the girl would've obliterated her view altogether. As the crowd thinned toward the front and was filtered into a lane ready to meet their hero Izzy got her first solid glimpse of him: sandy hair flopping over his eyes, lemon yellow shirt rolled up at the sleeves and unbuttoned just enough to elicit excitement. She could barely contain the beating of her heart that quickened the closer she came to him. She knew her encounter was going to be brief, probably only a matter of seconds but she was going to savour it forever.

The story continues in The Brief Encounter