"THIS WAY," TODD SAYS, walking down the corridor at a fast pace.

As I follow the security guard past several sets of frosted glass doors, I remember Beth boasting that her dad got her a suite.

If she was telling the truth, it means she and the other Bs are probably somewhere nearby on the same level of the arena.

I might even run into them.

Oh hell no.

Although even if that were to happen, it’s no big deal. Nothing could ruin my good mood. This is shaping up to be officially the most amazeballs night EVER, and it’s only going to get better. I still can't believe I'm going to meet the rest of the band after the show.

I'm not too nervous about meeting Lyall or Elliot, because everyone knows that Lyall's a total sweetie and Elliot's super nice. Ben has a bit of a "hothead" image going on but he's really fun, and Alastair is... Alastaire.

I have no clue what I'm going to say to them.

Todd finally stops in front of a brightly lit room which has its massive double doors flung open.

There's a girl in her late teens or early twenties standing in the doorway, crossing off something on a clipboard while she sips from a huge Starbucks cup.

Her dark wavy hair is cut into an elegant bob just above her shoulders. She's wearing a chic black playsuit and stilettos, and something about her screams money.

In fact, she looks like she could have walked straight off a Chanel or Dior catwalk.

With Kate Moss cheekbones, pale skin, long dark eyelashes and cherry red lips, she's easily the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in real life.

I can just see into the suite behind her – a wide brightly lit oval with a table in the centre.

"Another offering?" she asks Todd without even looking up from the clipboard.

"Yeah. Take care of this one," Todd says, before turning on his heel and walking away down the corridor.

The girl glances at me and rolls her eyes.

"Wow, another blonde," she says in a smooth, bored British accent, her eyes lingering on my guitar case and school bag. "Congratulations. You're the fourth one Alastaire's pulled out of the crowd tonight."

"You're wrong–" I start speaking but she cuts me off.

"No, I'm not wrong. I'm sorry to have to break it to you sweetheart. You see those girls over there?" She gestures to three blondes sitting in plush seats in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.

"It's the same thing at every single concert. Alastaire likes to make himself a little harem for his... amusement... after the show. That's how he does things. If you're not happy with sharing him, feel free to leave."

"That's not what I meant," I say. "What I'm trying to say is... I'm not here for... for the harem thing. Alastaire didn't send me. It was Felix."

For just a moment, the girl's eyes widen, and she stares at me intently.

"Really?" She asks, now studying me more closely. "What's your name?"

"Ashling," I answer.

"Ashling what?" she asks.

"Ashling Shields," I reply. Why is she quizzing me like this?

"And you live around here? You're from Portland?" she asks, flicking her eyes around my outfit, like she's looking for a flaw or a clue.

"Um yeah..." I answer. "Why?"

"This is your first Fable concert?" she asks, ignoring my question.

"Yes."

"Let me see your driver's license," she says.

"I don't have one. I just turned sixteen and things have been sort of–," I reply.

"Sure." She cuts me off again, staring straight into my eyes like she's trying to figure out whether or not I'm lying.

Finally she shakes her head and tucks the clipboard under her arm.

"Try to keep up," she says, stilettos clicking as she heads towards the table at the centre of the room.

It's covered in hors d'oeuvres on silver platters. Everything is recognizably food, but I have no clue exactly what kind of food it is.

There's some kind of translucent red pearls (caviar?) sprinkled over mini crepes with a yellowish foam on top.

Rows of rolled-up green and purple stuff with crystallized meat, maybe prosciutto or bacon, wrapped around it.

Little silver forks stuck into slimy orange and white globs, which I suspect are raw scallops, but I'm not sure – I've only ever eaten them cooked.

With two gourmet chefs for parents, I've always thought I knew quite a lot about haute cuisine. More than the average person anyway. But everything on this table is just pretentious beyond words.

Strangest of all, in the centre of the table there's a huge Christmas Pudding, with custard oozing down the sides, topped off with a sprig of holly.

I'm about to ask the girl why there's Christmas food on the table in June, but she's already turned away and is pointing to a corridor on the far side of the room.

"The ladies' room is down that way, and the bar's to your right." She nods her head in the direction of a line of bar stools in front of a chrome counter, with a large sink and a built in mini-fridge. On a rack above the counter, there's a rainbow of bottles – just about every type of spirits imaginable.

"As you can see, there's no barman," she says. "But don't let that stop you. Glasses are in the cupboard on the left."

I wonder whether or not she actually listened when I told her my age. Maybe the rules are different in the UK.

We walk around the perimeter of the room, until we reach a row of plush leather seats facing the window. The three girls she pointed at before are taking up the seats in the middle.

As we pass them, I can see they're all Alastaire's Angels – each wears a small pair of silver angel wings on a chain around their neck.

Fable, like most bands, has its own official fan club, plus hundreds of smaller, less official ones – but Alastaire holds the distinction of being the only member with own his personal group run entirely by fans.

The most elite fans will fork out up to five hundred dollars for the official winged necklace, a sign of their devotion to Alastaire (and their excellent parental-wallet-manipulation skills).

Two of the angels are wearing very revealing little white dresses, and the third is wearing a tiny mini skirt and a gold-sequined top.

She must be wearing an amazing push-up bra, because her cleavage is almost touching her chin.

I can already see why Alastaire spotted them in the crowd – the sheer amount of skin on display makes these girls stand out like porn stars at a church fete.

My guide stops in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.

"You girls are lucky," she says. "You've got the best seats in the house."

She's right – the view of the arena is spectacular.

Far down below, a massive crowd mills around on the dark, shadowy floor.

Seeing that many noisy people crowded together sends a momentary trickle of panic down my spine, before I shake it off.

It's ok. I'm not trapped. I'm far away from the crowd. I can do this.

The longer I stare down into the swarm of bodies, the more beautiful it starts to look.

Everyone's taking photos, phones held up high. The brightly lit screens of a hundred thousand phones flicker in the darkness like a starry sea.

It's sort of peaceful.

"This is where I leave you," the dark haired girl says. "I've got some errands to run."

She turns away and starts walking, then stops and looks over her shoulder at me.

"I'm Kitty, by the way."

*****

The moment that Kitty leaves the suite, the three angels swoop down on me.

I shrink back from the cloying semi-circle of bleached blonde hair, fake tan and too-sweet perfume.

They look a few years older than me, possibly seniors at another school.

I was so worried about running into the Three Bs, and instead I've ended up with another (possibly worse) trio of angels.

Unfortunately it's not as coincidental as one might think.

Alastaire's fans always seem to travel in packs. All Enfablers are like a big family, a sisterhood that spans the globe – but the angels take it to the extreme.

Angels stick together with one goal in mind. Their sole aim is to get chosen. To get noticed by their idol, and to have the honor of being one of the special angels that "Alastaire takes up to heaven" after each concert.

That's what the rumors online say, and it looks like there might be some truth to them.

The girl in the sparkly gold top is smiling sweetly but her voice is cold. "So tell me, jailbait, which one of them was it?"

I have no clue what she's asking about. "Which of them was what?"

She lets out an exaggerated sigh and shakes her head at the other angels.

What an idiot, she seems to be saying.

"Are you stupid or something?" She asks me, while her friends giggle on either side of her. "We want to know which member of Fable sent you here. I don't see any wings."

She points to her collarbone, where her sparkling silver wings mark her as one of Alastaire's elite fans.

"Who are you here for?"

What I want to do is tell her that I'm here for me, and that it's no business of hers anyway.

I want to turn my back on her and walk as far down the aisle as possible, take a seat and ignore them for the rest of the show. I want to show them that I'm not a doormat and they can't speak to me like that.

Instead, I look down at my feet and struggle to keep my voice from wavering as I reply. "It was Felix."

"Felix..." she practically growls his name. "Fine. Just stay away from Alastaire."

One of the girls, a bit shorter than the others and with messy platinum hair, points at my guitar case. "What's that for? Bringing a guitar to a concert is sooo lame."

"It's a long story," I say, but the angels have already sauntered away in their little clique.

*****

I take a seat as far away from the angels as possible, at the far end of the row.

The view really is incredible, and I sit for a while just looking down at the crowd. Somewhere in the mass of bodies, Grace, Zee and Jamie are singing, dancing, probably crying (tears of joy, of course).

I'd love to spot them, but I know the chances are slim.

As I think of my friends, it dawns on me that since getting into the limo with Felix, I haven't messaged them even once. They have no idea that I'm even at the concert.

I try calling Zee first. Her phone rings for ages, and eventually I get through to her voice mail. When she doesn't pick up I try Jamie, with no luck.

It must be so noisy on the floor that they aren't hearing their ringtones.

Calling Grace isn't an option – she doesn't even have a phone.

Her parents think that cell phones equal sexting, which equals underage sex, which equals teen pregnancy, dropping out of school and a life turning tricks on the street corner.

It's amazing that Grace has turned out so normal when her parents are one step away from Amish.

In the end I send Zee and Jamie a quick text, although I doubt they'll see it before the concert is over.

I'm at the show. Level 3 suite 5. Come here asap. I met Felix. No jk. We can meet the whole band. COME HERE. SRSLY.

Before hitting send, I delete the part about meeting Felix. That's something I want to tell them in person, just so I can see the looks on their faces.

They'll get the surprise of their lives when I tell them we're going out for the evening with Fable.

Felix did tell me not to bring friends, but he won't be pulling the shots anymore after the show. Unlike Felix, the other guys are all super nice, and I'm sure they'll outvote him if he tries to stop Grace and Zee and Jamie from coming along.

Still, I just can't wait to tell the girls. I want to tell them now. I check Instagram in case Jamie's posted anything from the concert.

If there's some photo that shows where they are in relation to the stage, maybe I can get their attention. Even if it's too dark to see, maybe there'll be a clue.

The last photo Jamie instagrammed was over two hours ago, which is like a record time for her.

It's a selfie (of course), showing off her pink and lilac ombré lips and matching eye shadow, while Grace sits in front of the mirror brushing her hair in the background.

It has a gazillion hashtags and there are already hundreds of comments underneath.

I give up trying to contact them and turn my attention to the show.

The opening act is a Canadian band called Darkdream. They're good, but nothing compared to Fable. Once their set is over, I notice a lot of people dressed in black scrambling around on stage, checking lights and sound.

After what feels like forever, a hush runs through the crowd as a single pillar of intense white light pierces the darkness onstage.

From the videos I've seen on YouTube, I know that Fable concerts usually start off with something big – a countdown on a massive screen, a crazy light-show, pillars of stage fire.

You name it, they've done it, bigger, brighter and noisier than ever before.

Which is exactly what makes this so special. For at least ten seconds, nothing happens. The whole arena seems to be silent. Waiting. All eyes are fixed on the stage, drawn to the single beacon of light.

Out of the darkness, Felix's voice rings out.

The opening line of Déjà Vu hangs in the air.

I feel goose bumps rise on my arms as the pillar of light widens, spreads, and one by one, each of the boys is revealed. Felix stands dead centre in front of a mic, dressed all in black, with a dark velvet top hat and eyeliner to complete the look. On any other person, in any other setting, it would look totally ridiculous, but in the fantasy setting of a Fable show, it just works. Bathed in cold white light, he looks every bit the sardonic dark-hearted rock god he's publicized as.

Pity he's just as evil in real life.

Alastaire stands to his left, dressed all in white to match his silver-wings embellished white guitar. His burnished gold hair catches the stage light like some sort of halo. He winks at the crowd, and the stadium is filled with screaming.

Elliot is to Felix's right. With his alert posture, close-cropped brown hair and minimalist grey outfit, he looks more like a military cadet than a rock star. He stares stoically out at the crowd, holding his bass guitar like a weapon.

Lyall and Ben are to the sides, both grinning devilishly as the stage light envelopes them. Lyall's wearing a cute white and green striped jumper, a perfect contrast with his cinnamon reddish-brown hair and caramel eyes. He runs his fingers over the keys of his digital keyboard, while Ben twirls his drumsticks around in the air next to him. Ben's wearing his trademark bandana – black with a skull and crossbones print. His kid cousin gave it to him when he was visiting family in Japan, and he's worn it on stage ever since.

Ben slams his drumsticks down, and the arena explodes into music.

From that point onwards, I'm glued to my seat, spellbound by the show.

I can see why Beth got her dad to rent a suite. I've got a clear view of every single one of the guys, and I can hear every note without the imminent threat of getting trampled.

Perfection.

The boys go through all their big hits one by one.

From time to time they pause to speak to the crowd, joke around on stage, answer Twitter questions and dodge flying panties, bras and love letters.

During Alastaire's guitar solo in Destined Hearts, he jumps off the stage, and pulls a girl out from the crowd. He runs his fingers through her long honey blonde curls while serenading her. At the end of the song, she's led away by a guy dressed in black.

Minutes later, she's in our suite smiling like she's just won the lottery.

I guess that's the idea of a harem. The more the merrier.

The trio of angels watches her suspiciously at first, until she shows them her winged necklace.

Several group selfies later they're BFFs, swapping Instagram and Twitter details.

I wonder how this harem thing works.

Are they going to hang out with the whole band after the show, or just Alastaire? Will he take them somewhere? A restaurant, or maybe... a hotel room?

I try to be open-minded about most things, but the thought of what these girls are probably going to do with Alastaire (and maybe with each other) in the next few hours... it's not something I'd ever do with someone I barely know.

Not something I've ever done.

In fact, I've never even kissed a boy.

Talk about inexperienced.