Frisson.

A sudden strong feeling of excitement or fear; a thrill. (Free-Sawn)

I went to the concert to report on the pop star, but I fell in love along the way.

After shouldering through a thick custard of tweens, I made it to the front of the stage. A security guard named Hank put his hand against my chest. “That’s far enough,” he growled. 

“I’m Press,” I retorted, showing him my badge, which read Irvine High School Newspaper. Alas, the wall was impenetrable, and I cursed my luck. 

Fireworks erupted on either side of the stage, and the sensational Harry Styles strutted out. Three girls peed their pants with the uniformity of synchronized swimmers. I scribbled the detail in my notebook. 

Styles was dressed in a flamingo-colored button-up, black leather pants, and sandals. The outfit was cohesive, except for the sandals. It was as if Styles was getting ready for a big night out on the town, but when it came time to decide his footwear, he was like, “Fuck it” and threw on some flip-flops. I wondered if he was drunk or had fallen to some strange ayahuasca addiction.

It just didn’t make sense.

As Styles opened his first song, the audience released a piercing howl and one girl rushed the stage. Hank sprung into action, wrestling her to the ground the way a bear might overtake a rabbit. 

Now there was nobody between Styles and me. We were in clear view of each other. And that’s when it hit me that I had had it all wrong. The sandals totally worked with that outfit. Styles knew exactly what he was doing. “What a king,” I jotted in my notebook. As I did, I felt a frisson ripple down my spine.

This is a Friday newsletter. Each week I pick a new word I’m trying to learn, then use it in a short story. Suggest a word in the comments. See ya next week wordos!