Asha and Spencer are the only ones at a school close enough to make the trip, and they both bailed because they have papers due tomorrow. I haven’t talked to anyone besides them since school started, unless you count a few mass emails Matt added me to. I mean, I know everyone is busy. I didn’t expect fountain pen letters on stationery or anything. It’s just that I’ve always felt like they’re more Matt’s friends than mine, and having that as proof gives me a slow sinking feeling.
But as we head toward the stage, the music lifts me back up. Sometimes dancing is hard for me—everyone else moves to the drums and my hips move to the bass. But the amps whine, and the beat thuds in my chest, and I stop caring who might be watching. Sweat rolls down my back. The music pulses under my skin, like my soul is swelling. I can’t not dance.
When The Underground Township takes the stage, the crowd doubles in size. I lose track of Matt in the sea of camouflage and crop tops, white hats and white-boy dreadlocks, Tevas and Timberlands. Finally, I spot him with some girl and a bunch of Andrew’s friends—including Cruz and, unfortunately, Shane.
I don’t see Andrew, though, so I squeeze through the cracks in the walls of people and find him sitting by our stuff. He turns my water bottle upside down when I reach for it. “Empty. Sorry, kid.”
“Damnit, Andrew. You should have brought your own stuff.”
“I did!” He flicks two fingers in my direction, smoke trailing from the joint between them. “I’ll even share.”
“You have any beer?” I haven’t smoked weed in ages. It makes my head fuzzy and it’s not predictable like alcohol—you never know how strong it’ll be.
“Cruz’s brother was supposed to get us a case, but he forgot.” Andrew pinches the roach and takes a hit, the end glowing orange as he inhales. “You up?” he rasps.
The scent pulls me over. I could use some fuzzy-headed time, and we’re not going to score any alcohol. Even if we could find someone who’s twenty-one, this county is dry on Sundays.
Not that you could afford it anyway. Because you got fired.
I take the joint and promptly burn my fingers. The first hit goes okay, but the second makes me cough so hard I think I’m going to die. “I suck at smoking,” I choke.
Andrew laughs. “You know what they say—if you don’t cough, you don’t get off.”
“I’m going to the bathroom.” I head for the concessions area. I’m dying of thirst, but there’s no free water on-site because they want to charge you three bucks a bottle. My stomach growls at the smell of corn dogs, Indian tacos, funnel cakes, cotton candy … All these people buying all this stuff, and my only cash is locked in Matt’s glove box. I’m not going to cut in while he’s dancing with another girl and ask for his keys. Or his money, for that matter.
“Hey girl!”
I turn around. An older man gestures to me from a cluster of tents by the tree line. His tie-dyed shirt barely covers the stomach that flops over a sizable belt buckle. “Come here.” He’s smiling under his full beard. When I get there he asks, “You got anything to smoke?”
“Me?” I glance around, like someone might have materialized beside me.
“Yeah, you. You look pretty fried.”
Right. Raychel the lightweight. My eyes probably look like hell. “Oh, no, it’s a friend’s. I think he’s out,” I lie.
“Aw, that’s a shame. We got this case of beer to trade for something good.”
My throat is killing me. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to part with one of those, would you?”
He laughs. “Can’t break up the set, darlin’.”
“Oh.” Dickhead. I start to leave, but his friend calls me back.
“Hey! We might be willing to give you one, for a peek!”
The older man frowns at him. The younger one has a goatee and green tattoos run like mold all the way up his skinny arms into a sleeveless Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt. “A peek?” I repeat.
“Titties!” He pretends to grab his own chest.
“Jack,” his friend warns.
I stare at them, wondering if they know I’m underage, or just don’t care. “You’d give me a beer to see my boobs?”
Jack snickers. “Honey, I’ll give you the whole case for a feel.”
“She ain’t gonna do that!” the older man protests.
Now it’s a dare. Seeing me waver, Jack snorts. “They’re just boobs.”
They’re just boobs. Maybe that’s the secret to life. Body parts are just parts—you use them or they use you. Hell, a guy grabbed my ass while I was dancing and he didn’t even ask first, much less pay me.
I look around, then yank my shirt up. Tattoo guy squeezes with both hands and yells, “Honk!”
“Jack,” the other guy says, disgusted.
It’s fast and ridiculous, like a secret handshake, and Jack and I are laughing for very different reasons. So what if he thinks I’m trashy. Sometimes trash is a force to be reckoned with. Landfills rise into mountains and pollute entire waterways.
Okay, maybe I’m a little stoned. But I still feel victorious, hugging a case of beer to my meaningless chest. Andrew’s face glows with pride when he sees what I’ve brought. “Leave it to you to find beer on Sunday,” he says, and raises the can I give him. “A toast. To Raychel and her incomparable skills.”
“And my boobs,” I say.
“And your boobs,” he agrees, tipping his can toward them. “One of your greater assets, I’ll admit.”
We clink cans. Andrew chugs but I take small sips, to make it last.
MATT
It starts to drizzle near the end of the Township’s set. I’ve been dancing with an older girl who laughs as I spin her, long skirt swirling around her legs, but when the rain starts to pick up, she wanders off with her friends. I go to find Raychel, stopping on the way to buy some Cokes and a giant soft pretzel to share.
She’s sitting, half-baked, beside my brother, surrounded by empty cans and a few of Andrew’s friends. She thanks me and takes a bite of the pretzel. “Where’d you get the beer?” I ask.
“Our girl Raych is handy,” Andrew says, slinging his arm around her shoulders.
She laughs and blinks bloodshot eyes. “It’s raining.”
“I noticed.” Andrew smiles placidly, tossing a Hacky Sack up and down with his other hand, while Cruz holds out a small pipe. “I have to drive,” I tell him. It’s true, but it’s also true I’m an uptight nerd who doesn’t smoke, and I’m pissed off to see Raychel partaking. “You want to leave?” I ask her.
“No!” She sits up straight. “We’ve barely danced at all!”
“Then let’s go!” Andrew motions to his friends and jumps to his feet. Raychel grabs both our hands, dragging me along instead of letting me sit and stew, like I’d prefer. We kick off our shoes because the dancing area is quickly turning into a mud pit, and Raychel starts to sway, arms slowly working their way into motion with the beat, rivulets of rain running down her bare shoulders. Andrew’s more interested in starting a mud fight, but I shake my head when he eyes me, so he rushes Cruz, tackling him into the slop. Raychel giggles and keeps dancing.
“Where’d you get the beer?” I ask again, but she doesn’t hear me over the music, so I give up. Occasionally I take her hand or put mine on her waist, more to keep her upright than to touch her. Mostly. When the band goes into a jam, she goes into a trance, her feet barely moving but hips in constant motion. It’s sort of hypnotic. I move closer and she backs up against me.