by Beth Garrod
“Nice comeback, cowgirl.” He sniggered. “Anyway, seeing as you are all magically now coming to RebelRocks –” he stressed the words with a smile so we knew he wasn’t at all fooled “– make sure you check out Ska.” Ah yes. Luke’s model girlfriend, who was as pretty on the outside as she was pure evil on the inside. “She’s playing the New Bands Tent. Going to be epic.”
Epically avoidable.
The clanging brag-drop about his new girlf meant I needed to unleash a killer blow back. Something witty and bold and cooler than being in a band that gets paid to play festivals. This stage was mine. I breathed in.
“…Depends if there’s a clash with someone else?”
Et tu, Mouth-e? My ex raises me the world’s most intimidating girlfriend, and I hit back with calendar logistics?! But it was enough to end the convo and Luke sloped away. When he was out of earshot we grilled Mikey.
Tegan looked semi-annoyed, which, for Tegan, was full-on annoyed.
“Mikey – why did you say that? We haven’t got tickets?” She threw Rach a reassuring smile. “Rach made an alternative plan, remember?”
Mikey unlocked his phone, making sure Mr Lutas didn’t clock his unauthorized use of it. “But that was then…” He passed it to Tegan. “It’s what I came over to say – someone signed me up for this random email list. And last night I got this…”
Tegan read the email out loud (technically out quiet given the setting).
“Thanks for your interest in working at RebelRocks.”
Ahh – so that was Mikey’s plan?! Getting in by doing super-cool backstage stuff.
I grabbed Mikey’s arm. “You’re a flippin’ genius!”
He fanned his face. “As I’ve been saying for years.” He winced. “Also, that’s my broken one.”
I apologized for potentially breaking his arm even more. Tegan carried on…
“The final opportunities have come through. We’re looking for…”
My mind raced as Tegan paused. What could it be? Someone to get cups of tea for the bands? Someone to help assist all the stage setters-uppers? A celeb dogsitter?
I was so down for all of this!!!
“Litter pickers…”
Or not.
“To work Thursday–Sunday. You’ll be required to work four shifts of four hours each. In return you’ll get a ticket to the festival and backstage camping. Application deadline: Friday, 15 June. To apply please fill in the form below.”
I tried to focus on the “backstage camping” part. This could be our way in. Sure, while everyone else was raving, we’d be recycling, but at least we’d be in. That was worth it, right? One look at Rach and I knew.
“Guys?! This is mega!!” She was bobbing up and down on her chair. As discreet as she thought she was being, the whole room could tell she was doing bum clenches of excitement. “We can all go after all! I can see The Session?! Witness the fitness of –” her voice got slower as she thought it through “– Brian … in the actual flesh.” If there was one thing Rach loved more than The Session, it was their lead singer, Brian. She took a full minute to complete her Brian mind-perving. “Yes! It’s time to say hello to the coolest festival cleaning crew Worcester’s ever seen!”
Slash, the only festival cleaning crew Worcester’s ever seen.
Mikey silently high-fived her across the table. “Exact-o, Rach. I’ve applied already. Jay and everyone has tickets, so it’s my only way of getting in.”
Rach and Mikey both looked at Tegan and me, willing us to share their enthusiasm. This is how parents must feel.
“Well…” I looked at Tegan, trying to friend-lepathy what she was thinking, before I committed thoughts to words I couldn’t take back. “It’s a…”
I stumbled as I tried to bury the thought of wearing a high-vis vest in public to the back of my mind. But Tegan finished off what I’d started.
“It’s a hell yes!” She was beaming as much as the others. “I’ll send our applications tonight. If that’s OK with you, Bells?”
It was more than OK. Now I’d dealt with the shock we’d be picking up other people’s sandwich leftovers, I was TOTALLY up for it. I’d spent so long getting my head around not going that now I was allowing my brain to even think about getting a ticket, it was the most exciting thing ever.
“Rizzolt.” Mikey raised his hands to the roof. “Only gutter is that at the end of the email they banged on about that new band thing Ska’s doing. They had another slot up for grabs apparently.” He looked at me. “I forwarded it to Adam, but the deadline was last night, and I didn’t hear back from him, sooo … guess that was a nonstarter.” Mikey looked all blurry-eyed. “Imagine how awesome it would be having The Wet Donald Project playing?! Imagine Luke’s face!”
That was the latest name for Adam’s band. If there was one thing I loved as much as Tegan and Mikey’s romance, it was Mikey and Adam’s bromance. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it, as Rach had pushed her chair back and, checking Mr Lutas was round the corner annoying some other students, was bundling us up into a hug.
“This is going to be THE best summer EVER!”
“Agreed!” I smiled back, feeling extra lucky to have the best mates in the world. Going to the festival meant this much to Rach, but she’d still offered to give up her ticket to keep us together. Althoughhh…
“Rach – don’t you apply, you dingbat.” It suddenly hit me what she was suggesting. “Or you, Teeg. I can work, then you two can have Rach’s tickets.” It was the least I could do after all their help with my revision.
Tegan looked stern. “As if. You already have a job at GADAC. I’ll take this one for the team.”
I shook my head. “Nope. No way. Rubbish idea.”
Tegan brushed my words away with her hand. “Bin that thought!”
I tried not to laugh. “Pick-er a new idea.”
Mikey waved his cast between us. “Guys – enough trash talking already?!”
Tegan folded her arms defiantly. I folded mine back, but accidentally punched myself in the boob just as Mr Lutas did a walk-by peer at us. We took the hint and pulled out our textbooks. We could all go – that was the main thing. So, with that amazing thought keeping me going, I got stuck into a solid hour of biology revision. I nailed the entire section on hormones. So much so that when I reached the end of four back-to-back chapters I rewarded myself by borrowing Rach’s mag for a quick flick. The quiz about “Which food smells most like your dream boyf” was kind of biology, right? (Also, must urgently check if Adam does smell of Hawaiian pizza.)
“That doesn’t look much like revision, Ms Fisherrrr?”
I leapt upwards with the shock of my art teacher’s booming voice right above me. Mr Lutas. Part art teacher, part stealthy spy.
“Unless your syllabus includes…” He peered at the magazine. “Young men with dubious hairrrcuts messing around on inflatable unicorrrrns.”
Shame. That’s a syllabus I would have been well up for. I slapped the magazine closed. To reveal giant letters on the cover: “HOW TO MAKE HIM SIZZLE BETWEEN THE SHEETS”. I flipped the magazine fully over. Oh great, the world’s biggest sanitary towel ad.
I tried to obscure everything with my arms. It didn’t work.
“Please make sure you stay focused, Ms Fisherrr. It’s not just you who has put a great deal of time into your porrrrtfolio.”
My insides cringed. I wasn’t sure what my face was doing, as it was so hot with shame, my nerve endings had temporarily deadened.
“I know – and I promise I’m still working on it.” I looked him awkwardly in the eye. He made a noise which might have been approval, or just his stomach rumbling.
After school, we all slow-walked home through the warm afternoon to put Operation Persuade My Mum to Let Me Go to RebelRocks into action. As we turned into my street Rach nudged me.
“Look!” She gestured to the alley across the way, pointing at the girls leaning against the wall. “It’s THEM!”
Rach and I simultaneously smoot
hed our hair and hoisted our bags up. Rach even managed a quick slick of lip balm. Tegan just looked bemused.
We’d first seen this group of girls in the Easter holidays. Rach called them “Future Us”. She was clearly more optimistic about my future than I was. I called them MGC. Major Girl Crush. They always looked iconic. But in a no-effort way, which made them even more iconic.
The three of them had the most amazing style (Blue Hair Girl had three rings on every finger – proved after we zoomed in on one of Rach’s surreptitiously taken photos). They looked like a girl band who were too cool to need to sing or dance.
“Hiyer.” Blue Hair waved as we walked past.
What. She was waving. At us?!
I checked to make sure there wasn’t someone behind us.
“Er, hiii?” the three of us chorused back, accidentally doing a synchronized wave. Could we be more tragic?!
What if they thought we practised it?!
“We haven’t practised that!” I shouted before I could stop myself. Yup, they were effortlessly cool, I was effortfully uncool. I couldn’t risk speaking again until we’d got to the next corner.
“They’re even more increds up close…”
Rach looked all dreamy. “Did you SEE what Choker Girl –” we’d called her that ever since we once saw her wearing a nice choker “– had on her nails?! Some kind of actual mirror! Nail voodoo?!”
But I was distracted by a car parked on my drive that I didn’t recognize. I dug my keys out, wondering if the car and the fact the lounge curtains were closed in the middle of the day were related. As I pushed the front door open, I got my answer. And wished I hadn’t. Because there was a jaunty wooden “DO NOT DISTURB – UNLESS YOU WANT TO BE DISTURBED!” sign on our lounge door. And most alarming of all, a deep man-chuckle was coming out of the room.
Tegan looked concerned for my welfare.
“I’m sure it’s not what you think, Bells.”
I stared at the evidence. And tried to stay calm.
“First one up to my room…” Deep breath. “Puts my music on…” Breath. “LOUD.”
Mortified, I pelted up the stairs as quickly as I could. Tegan still beat me. She turned the radio on, but instead of distracting me, it blasted out “Strip That Down”. I turned it straight off. And flicked on my laptop to concentrate on concentrating on something else.
As Mum was otherwise engaged, I couldn’t check with her first, so we filled in our applications to work at RebelRocks. We’d agreed that Tegan and I would both apply so we could do the shifts together. Rach’s brother was up for taking her spare ticket, and it meant none of us would have to work on our own. As much as I needed Mum to say yes to this plan, there was no way I was going to knock on that door. So I pressed send and gambled on a yes for now – I’d work on upgrading it to a real-life one later.
Knock knock.
In a move that was almost subconscious reflex, I tabbed my screen to a different window. A spreadsheet from homework in Year Nine that I still had open at all times for moments like these.
“Hiyer, loves!” Mum came into my room.
Tegan and Rach replied “Hello, Ms Fisher!” all innocent, like we hadn’t spent the last hour discussing what could possibly be going on behind that closed door.
“Oh, you know I don’t like Ms Fisher. Call me … Mary, or Mum 2, or…” She did a little shimmy. It was horrifying. “International Woman of Mystery.”
But I was not here for her friend-flirting. I needed to get serious. “Mother…”
“Daughter…” She plonked herself beside me on the bed and tucked a rogue bit of hair behind my ear. “How was your exam?”
“Erm.” How could I balance the truth and still butter her up for the question I was about to ask? “Well, when I finished, I was kind of happy.” No need to tell her that ten minutes later I realized I’d ruined the whole thing.
Mum beamed. “That’s my girl!”
Sometimes she spoke to me like she was a farmer and I was a well-turned-out cow.
“So, er…” It was time to turn the tables on to her life. “What’s been happening in the lounge?”
The bed wobbled as Rach and Tegan shifted uncomfortably. It’d been years since Dad left, and Mum had never, ever had a “man-friend”, as she called it, back here. Yes, it was bound to happen one day. But I was hoping that day would be when I was thirty-five and living at least 150 miles away.
I held my breath. Please let her be about to explain it was something totally non-alarming, and a reasonable activity for a mum in the middle of the day.
But no.
She did the worst thing.
She winked.
“Well, it’s early days yet … just a bit of fun. But I promise you girls will be the first to know if it becomes anything serious.”
Actual. Horror. Scenario.
“Erm, thanks…” Tegan replied to save me having to do it. “…International Woman of Mystery?”
Mum squeezed her knee. “That’s my girl!”
So Tegan was a prizewinning cow too. All we needed was Rachel to join in and we’d effectively be a herd. Still, if Mum was in such a good mood (moo-d), it was now or never to ask about RebelRocks. I shuffled nearer to her.
“M-uuuummmm…”
“Whaddya want?”
“You know RebelRocks?”
She raised an eyebrow. “The festival I’ve already said no to on multiple occasions?”
“M-bee.”
GULP.
I had to tell her straight.
“Well, if we could hypothetically maybe have an opportunity to sort of go in a way that maybe didn’t cost any money, might you potentially think that would be, er… OK?”
Well, straight-ish.
“I think what Bella means is, can she please go litter picking at the festival? In return for a ticket,” piped up Rach, with the optimism of someone who didn’t really have any experience of parents saying no to stuff.
Mum’s face scrunched.
Was she weighing up the ethics of sending her teenage daughter off unsupervised for a weekend of extreme fun?
Was she wondering what on earth could go wrong with camping overnight and staying away from home?
Was she thinking how much more irresponsible this was than just letting me do extra shifts at GADAC to get the money together?
She sighed. “Will it be recycled?”
Tegan nodded, firmly. For some reason Mum had zoned me out of this decision process.
“Will you have gloves?”
Tegan nodded again.
Mum stood up and faced us all.
“Well, in that case … it’s fine!” What?! Was this happening?! “Just you girls remember to eat, sleep and be safe.”
Luckily sixteen years of these kind of comments meant I had a world-class gag reflex.
I couldn’t speak with shock. Mum took this opportunity to pinch my cheek. “Love you, chickadee. But in return, I want to see some more positive thinking when it comes to these exams, OK?”
This time I managed a smile. “Sure.”
And I meant it. Because I was totally positive that I knew I was messing them up. But picking up my results was three whole months away. So I decided to put stressing about them on hold and focus on RebelRocks instead.
The countdown to what could be the most fun weekend of my life was on.
CHAPTER
THREE
So this was what freedom felt like.
Well, freedom give or take the 1.5 more hours of being legally required to be at school, and then six more exams.
Today was the day I’d been counting down to ever since I arrived at St Mary’s. The day we could leave it behind.
It was the day my year left for good, and the whole thing had been surreal. Everyone who I’d spent the last five years with had spent it sauntering round the corridors like they owned the place. Like we were untouchable.
It had started off with a special assembly where Mrs Hitchman told everyone how proud she
was of us (total lie, but she was high on the fact she’d almost got rid of us). Then we’d had to do a morning of “lessons” which turned out to be the best I’d ever had – teachers dishing out snacks as we handed in books and chatted about our best memories (I still wasn’t over when Rach got a genuine crush on the illustration of “Axel” in our German textbook, but her face told me this wasn’t the time to revisit it).
Lunch then consisted of zero eating, but the biggest water fight ever. Kind of regretted wearing my Minion-print bra under my now see-through shirt. Despicably bad choice, me.
And this afternoon, instead of sorting out our lockers, Rach and I had been in the sick bay helping Mikey inflate massive helium balloons and stuff them with glitter. We would have been loads quicker if he hadn’t kept taking big glugs and singing “Let it gooooooo”. I laughed so hard Rach ended up having to tuck me into one of the beds to try and regain normal breathing. Which didn’t work, as seconds later Mikey started to write all over the balloons, things like “The time Mrs Hitchman got her skirt caught in her pants #NeverForget” and “The ultimate Maths puzzle? Why does the room always smell of gerbils?” One just said “Moist” – aka the most disturbing word in the English language. He and Jay then gradually let them loose around the corridors. When the teachers tried to burst them with the long window-opening pointy things, they got covered in total glitter bombs. Mrs Hitchman ended up looking like a cross between Dolores Umbridge and a disco ball (although she looked less shocked than our French teacher, who’d popped the only one Mikey had filled with, er, confetti people buy for hen parties).
Rach and I stepped outside the hall for fear of pulling a muscle from over-laughing. Which was good timing, as Tegan had finished helping with the locker checks she’d been roped into and was looking for us.
“Guess what I just saw?!” she said excitedly. Little did she know the superlative sight of Mr Roberts with a quiff full of peens was metres away. “There’s a whole pile in the canteen.”
Ahh. The yearbook.
The chance to see how misjudged people’s ideas of themselves were. And whether they opted for a boring, funny or posey photo for everyone to remember them by (my choice was easy, as the only look I can achieve is “uncomfortable and startled”). We jogged along the corridor, Rach chatting even quicker than normal.
