Three Day Summer(15)
There’s music when I walk out of the tent, but no singing. Instead, I hear a gentle voice reverberating throughout the fields. Some guru is giving a speech about celestial sounds and the universe and vibrations. “The future of the whole world is in your hands,” his voice echoes across the field.
“Hey,” a voice says near my ear. I turn around and see, to my surprise, Peach Fuzz.
“Michael,” I say. “What are you doing here? Are you feeling okay?” I squint into his eyes. They look clear and bright.
He laughs. “Yes. I came to enlist your services. Though not your nursing services.”
I stare at him blankly and he clears his throat nervously. “I just mean,” he continues, “I thought I’d invite you to the concert.”
“Invite me?” I can’t help laughing. “How kind of you.” The roots of his stubble turn pink. I really didn’t mean to embarrass him. “What about your friends?” I ask, remembering the blonde again.
“I can’t find them,” he confesses.
“Ah,” I say. Being invited to a concert I’m already at by a boy who is only doing it because he’s missing his girlfriend. This might be a new low.
“Wait,” Michael says, touching my wrist. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, me not finding my friends is not why I want to go to the concert with you.”
“It isn’t?”
“No,” he says solemnly. “I figured it would be good to have a nurse around in case I have a flashback.” He waits for a beat before breaking into a grin. “I’m just being an ass,” he admits.
“I’ll say.” But I can’t help smiling at him. “Anyway, I’m not a nurse yet. Just a candy striper.” I indicate my ridiculous uniform.
“Well, you’re good at it,” he replies easily. “And seriously, I would just like to listen to some music with you. Is that all right?”
I admit there is something sheepdog-adorable about him as he stands there staring down at me with smiling green eyes, both hands jammed into the pockets of his bell-bottoms.
But then I think of all the reasons to say no. It’s been a long day already. Dinner is waiting for me at home. Besides, how will I tell my parents if I decide to stay? There’s a small pay-phone bank nearby but I can see how far the lines for that stretch back. It’ll take three hours just waiting in that line to call them. And Dad will definitely be sending out a search party by that point.
“N . . .” I say the letter, intending it to start the word no. But then it makes a different, heart-sinking word. “Ned.” He’s walking toward me and waving. Michael turns around to look at him.
“Hey there,” Ned says. “Getting ready to pack it in for the night?”
He smiles at me and my lungs hurt. Okay, so it’s probably a different organ that’s in the vicinity of my lungs, but it somehow makes me feel less pathetic to think I spontaneously have a respiratory problem.
But then Ned’s trademark know-it-all smile steals across his face. “See? They’re not checking tickets at all. Everybody can get in. Like I said.”
My respiratory problem is interrupted by a surge of anger that jolts the next words out of my mouth. “Hey, Ned. Are you heading back home soon?”
“Right now, I think. I can walk you home if you’d like.”
From the corner of my eye, I can see Michael staring rather intensely at Ned and, I have to admit, a part of me is feeling very pleased about it.
“No need,” I say slowly. “Actually, I was wondering if you could do me a favor. Could you just stop by my parents’ house and let them know that I’m going to be at the concert for a while? I don’t want them to worry.”
Ned’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “You are?” he asks.
“Yup.”
“But I thought you said—”
“See you later!” I cut him off as I grab Michael’s arm and saunter away toward the stage. I have to settle for imagining Ned’s stunned face since I won’t give him the satisfaction of turning around to look at it.
Pompous ass. I will get over him somehow and my alveoli will go back to properly distributing oxygen and carbon dioxide. And in the meantime, I’m going to stop thinking of all the reasons to say no to the cute boy who has not really asked me out at all.
This is a weekend for yeses. And thousands of people agree with me as I hear them chanting, in unison, “Hari Om, Hari Om” over and over again. I don’t know the language but I somehow know exactly what they are saying.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
chapter 18
Michael
Not that it’s any of my business, but I don’t particularly like the way that guy with the glasses looks at Cora, like she’s a casual possession. A small but useful possession. Like an alarm clock or something.
I don’t particularly like the way she looked back at him either.
What is wrong with me? I met this girl about ten hours ago, six of which I can hardly remember. It must be the side effects of the acid.
Regardless, Cora still holds my arm as we wade through the crowd, her black hair floating behind her like a panel of silk. And I’m keenly aware of both of those things, especially the touch of her hand on my forearm. It’s rougher than most girls’ hands I’ve held and, for some reason, I’m finding this pretty damn sexy.