Three Day Summer(39)

“Yes,” I finally say, unable to deny the truthfulness of that statement. It is incredible, or at least it was. I turn my head slightly so that I can spy Cora out of the corner of my eye. For whatever reason, I assumed she’d be looking over at us, trying to process my conversation with Amanda. But she’s not. She’s talking to Evan and Rob, her back turned to me almost entirely.

“Did you hear Joan Baez? She’s been my favorite so far.” I turn my attention back to the girl who is still in my arms, chattering away excitedly. I swallow something hard, a shard of truth probably, and I push it deep down. I don’t want to examine it right now. In fact, I think I’m going to have to raid Evan’s rucksack soon so that I’m in no state to feel much of anything. Not that I want to think too hard about Evan right now either, especially since I think I hear Cora laugh at something he just said.

I nod at everything Amanda says and eventually start talking too about the one thing I have a lot to say about: the music.





chapter 45


Cora


“Have you been enjoying the concert?” Rob asks me with a lovely smile on his face. Seriously, his teeth are whiter than Chiclet gum. I must ask him about his toothpaste.

Actually, forget toothpaste. I must smile and flirt like a pro here. I must avoid the blonde who is making my heart do strange things, like drop into my intestinal area. There’s no reason for my heart to be anywhere other than my chest cavity. I should know; I have a very well-thumbed anatomy book.

“Very much,” I say. “You?” Safe enough.

“Definitely. Santana was tremendous.”

“Yes, he was cool,” I reply genuinely. For once, I know exactly who he’s talking about, thanks to Michael. There’s a strange echo near my ribs again. I feel like slapping myself in the face and yelling “Snap out of it!” like I’m in the middle of an episode of Days of Our Lives.

From up on stage, the lead singer of the Grateful Dead is saying something about the green acid, lamenting how it’s nowhere near as good as the stuff they have back home.

“You haven’t had any bad trips or anything, have you?” I ask Rob.

“To be honest, I’ve been staying away after what happened to Michael. I don’t think I’m ready to be a time god.” He laughs.

“Wise,” I say, and smile back at him.

From the corner of my eye, I think I can see Michael looking at us. I even think he’s frowning. I subtly move closer to Rob and lightly touch his arm. I can feel his bicep even through the very tip of my fingers. He definitely should be a god of something; he’s built like one.

“Are you looking forward to anyone else?” I ask.

“Oh, man. Everybody. Sly and the Family Stone. Jefferson Airplane. The Who. Janis. She’s a down chick, right?”

“Yes!” I exclaim, and almost go on to tell him the story of how we just met Janis. But then I stop myself. How much of that story can I really tell? Are any of these people supposed to know I spent the whole day with Michael? Not that it’s my job to cover for him, but still. Even though I can tell I’m operating on a whirlpool of emotions right now, including—very much—anger . . . it doesn’t seem quite right to betray him.

The Grateful Dead are playing now, and we all just listen. At one point, there’s a loud thump coming from one of the pieces of equipment, which sounds weird but I don’t know enough about the music to discern whether it’s not supposed to do that.

After about twenty minutes of music, Rob turns to me and Evan. “Not for nothing,” he says. “But they sound pretty awful, man.”

“No way, man,” Evan protests. “Don’t say that about the Dead.”

“I’m not saying they usually sound awful. But today, something seems wrong,” Rob says. He looks to me for support, but I shrug helplessly.

“They’re amazing,” Evan retaliates.

“Evan,” Rob says. “Are you listening with your bong again?”

“Dude,” Evan says. “I am almost totally straight. I haven’t had anything in, like, forty-five minutes. You’re the one tripping out.”

“Boys, boys,” I say. “Peace and music, right?”

“Of course, baby,” Rob says. “Peace all the way. Even when your good friend has sadly lost his sense of hearing in a tragic mesc overdose.”

Evan doesn’t let that one go either, and I listen to some more of their good-natured banter. Eventually, the two other girls who were with them come closer to us and one, the shorter, darker one, puts a protective arm around Evan. It gives me a pang to realize that she’s not entirely off base to look at me as if I’m a man-stealer. Wow. How did I let that happen exactly?

My increasing embarrassment is as good a reminder as any to look at my watch and see how much time I have left before I need to mosey on home.

Er . . . four thirty? That can’t be right. Either p.m. or, God forbid, a.m.

And then I remember that even though I took most everything else off, I forgot to take the watch off during my swim in the lake. Great. Waterlogged and completely useless.

I look around, trying to see a telltale gleam around anyone’s wrist. There’s only one in my vicinity. It’s Amanda’s.

Squashing down my guilt at being practically naked in her boyfriend’s arms just a few hours ago, I get recklessly bold.