by Beth Garrod
An hour later, I was the sweaty, proud mother of a beautiful, bouncing rucksack. I announced its birth on my Insta Story. Tegan’s was a neat capsule, mine was a sprawling blob, items tied to it in all directions (wellies, tote bag packed full of optimistic shower stuff, ancient sleeping bag that still had the stain from when our old dog gave birth on it, school camera Mr Lutas had let me borrow for the last time).
Adam immediately commented on my story, saying it was “so big we should probably name it”. And “that name should be Dave”.
Yes! We were so couply we now casually named rucksacks.
Tegan brought me back down to earth with a time check.
“Fifteen minutes till we leave.” Yikes, how was it 2:45?! We needed to get to the festival by four to give us time to get our passes, put our tent up (aka, mine and Tegan’s first ever tiny home!) and “let those spiritual vibes take you over” (Mum’s words). “Want the final update?” But she didn’t want for an answer. “OMG, BELLS.” She looked completely stunned. “WE’VE DONE IT!”
She showed me the page. 2003 signatures?! Unreal!!
Mission: Stop The Session Playing At RebelRocks was on! We FaceTimed Rach. Four rings later her face popped up on the screen.
“Erm, Rach. Are you…” Tegan put her hand up to her eyes. “Are you on the loo?”
Rach’s face disappeared as the picture whooshed round to the cubicle door. “Sorrrrryyy!” she was shouting from the background now. “I thought it said ‘audio only’!! Lemme ring back.”
Twenty seconds later she did.
And again thirty seconds after that, ’cos when we told her we’d got two-thousand signatures she promptly dropped her phone in the sink.
It was time to put the next stage of our plan into action. Our draft email was ready to be sent on my laptop. Rach’s brother was studying law and had worked on it this morning to make it sound extra profesh.
“Dear RebelRocks Organisers.”
Tegan began reading it out, sounding extra stern.
“Along with most of our friends, we are looking forward to an excellent weekend at RebelRocks. However, before the festival kicks off we wanted to let both you, Worcester Daily News and Radio Shire (who you will find on copy) know the latest development in the response to The Session’s recent behaviour (including but not limited to their misogynistic merchandise, and offensive video-shaming of their fans). The petition to get The Session removed from your line-up has now hit over two thousand signatures. That’s thousands of people who think the band’s behaviour is unacceptable – and even more unacceptable is refusing to enter into any dialogue about it. As yet there has been no apology, or admittance of wrongdoing.
“We – along with thousands of others – strongly feel they should not be a headline act of a festival, especially one which celebrates music, art and using your voice to stand up for the issues you care about. In addition, The Session’s merchandise should not be sold at RebelRocks, as this further legitimizes their behaviour.
“Are you going to ignore the thousands of people who feel strongly enough to put their names to this??”
Tegan was almost shouting.
“Are you going to ignore the chance to do the right thing?? You still have four days to stop The Session playing their Sunday slot. To allow them to perform is to endorse their misogyny and bad treatment of their fans.
“We require a response before the festival starts on Friday. Yours sincerely, Tegan, Rachel and Bella.”
There was a tiny fraction of silence before Rach and I both whooped.
It was amazing. Even if I was a tiny bit terrified Tegan had talked us into putting our names on it.
“Teeg – that sounded ace?! You guys smashed it?!” I high-fived Rach via the phone screen.
Tegan blushed. “Do you think it might work?”
Rach shouted back from the phone. “It’s GOT to. The Session playing RebelRocks is naaat happening.”
I put my arm round Tegan. “Not on our watch anyway.”
“Shall I press send then?” asked Tegan.
“We’ll count you down! In fact…” I got out my phone. “Let’s do it liiiivee on the @StopTheSession account…” It had over 1.5K followers now. “Rach, you can introduce.”
I clicked “Live” and held the camera up to film Rach’s face.
“Hi, guys! Itsssss a-happening.” I ignored her weird TV presenter voice. The viewer count rolled up to twelve. “The petition to stop the monumentally rancid Session playing RebelRocks has hit, drum roll … TWO THOUSAND signatures.” Twenty-five viewers. “So you are watching THE MOMENT that we let the organizers slash the papers slash the radio slash the entire world know! Are you ready?”
A flurry of hearts started to fly up. I guess they were!
“Five…” Teeg and I joined in. “Four…” Tegan’s finger hovered, ready to click send. “Three … two … one … SEND!!!”
WOOO. We cheered as Tegan ceremoniously clicked, then gave a thumbs up at the camera, always last in line for attention. Guess it was over to me to say something.
“So YEAH!!! Watch this space for all the latest on the campaign against The Session and for backstage RebelRocks action.” Whoa. Did I actually sound quite cool? No one needed to know “backstage action” meant “bin emptying”. “So all that’s left to say is…” I pulled Tegan into shot and paused for a grand finale.
But it wasn’t Tegan’s voice that spoke. It was someone else’s. And it was extra, EXTRA loud.
“Did you want the extreme heavy-flow tampons, Bella, or just heavy like normal?”
Oh.
My.
God.
Why did my mum think it was OK to walk into my room and shout these exact words whilst carrying a box of tampons so big it looked like it could absorb a small sea?
I wasn’t even due on for THREE WEEKS. Not that the 226 viewers needed to know that.
I looked back at the screen. A flood of crying laughing emojis were not what I needed to see right now. Especially not the one from Jo.
“MUUUUUUUUUUMMMMM!”
I clicked “end” and threw the phone at Tegan as if I could distance myself from what just happened.
But it was too late.
I’d already seen the one from @HeyItsTheSessionHQ that said, Tragic runs in her family ”.
So I did the only thing I could. Threw myself into a state of denial and hoped against hope we managed to pull this petition off.
CHAPTER
TEN
The ends of my fingers were totally numb.
My right arm felt as if it would never work again.
And my left buttock was in spasm. Sp-ass-m.
BUT WHO CARED?!
’Cos after staggering across two fields, along the world’s longest path, and through an actual stream (I may have taken a wrong turn, but all fields look the same) Tegan and I were finally here.
RebelRocks.
Where anything could happen. And probably would.
After weeks, months of dreaming, the only thing standing between us, and the most exciting thing to ever happen to us, was a big metal fence. And the fact I was so exhausted I couldn’t even crawl.
“WEEEEE MADDDEEEE ITTTTTT!”
I dropped Dave to the floor, along with the Tesco bags that had twisted round my fingers. But I didn’t get my arm out of the strap quick enough, and Dave took me with him, yanking me backwards like a giant beetle. Although, in this sunshine, a lie-down was just what I needed. I closed my eyes, happy, sweaty, content. Even the air smelt more exciting.
I breathed it all in, a mix of bonfire and food and possibility, and no parents and sausage and freedom.
Tegan gently put her bag down and knelt beside me.
“I can’t believe how big it is.” Even Teeg, the world’s most unflappable person, was flapped. The festival site we’d been trekking towards was like nothing we’d ever seen. Beyond the fence the whole hill was covered in tents and paths, stages and flags, and people. A pop-up city full of
all the very best things – music and food and places to hang – and none of the boring bits like dry-cleaners and funeral homes that you never see anyone go in or out of.
I lay as still as I could and tried to save this memory somewhere I’d be able to access for ever.
I felt weird. Light all over.
I couldn’t work out what it was.
•That I had four nights and five days with my best friends stretching before me.
•That the music coming in waves from speakers would soon be real-life bands playing stages.
•That one of those bands was my boyfriend’s.
•That exams were officially over and for the first time in my life I had zero homework-guilt to deal with. (Plus I’d agreed with myself I wouldn’t think about results, or colleges, or anything Scary Future like that, as I didn’t want to ruin my weekend).
•That I never had to go back to St Mary’s again.
•That for this one weekend, who we saw, what we ate, what we wore, what we did – everything – was totally up to us.
I wasn’t exactly sure what boggling was, but my mind was totally doing it.
Right here, right now, I felt free.
Untouchable.
Grown up.
In charge of my whole life.
Ready to take on anything. Including The Session.
OOF.
A trainer nudged me in the side-bum.
“Get up, beetle child. You’re lying in a massive cowpat.”
Oh.
My.
Daveballs.
I didn’t need to open my eyes to know exactly who it was.
THIS COULD NOT BE HAPPENING.
I tried to sit up. I was so cross I didn’t flinch at accidentally plunging my hand into the aforementioned cowpat.
“What the hell are YOU doing here????”
I was NOT going to take my sister turning up lying down. Even though that’s sort of exactly what was happening, as Dave was pinning me to the ground.
Jo folded her arms, looking down at me as I scrambled around.
“As IF Mum would let you come on your own. She’s crazy, but not THAT crazy.”
Objection. This was a woman who used to think when people said they’d “ask Google” that Google was just a person who knew a lot. She totally WAS that crazy.
“So what?!” My chill level had plummeted to below zero. “You’re here to babysit us?”
Jo shrugged.
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
“It’s an attack on my freedom, is what I’m calling it.”
“It’s you overreacting again is what it is.”
ARGH. I hated her. But if I shouted back I’d make her look right.
“Jo! Long time no see.” Trust Tegan to try and smooth the atmosphere over, but the pleasantries didn’t even make a dent in the shade Jo and I were throwing at each other.
“So I have a cool idea …” I was fully engaged in eye-to-eye warfare with Jo. “… that you do one … now?”
“But we’re having so much fun already?”
I scowled so hard I felt my eyes strain. But instead of being at all bothered, she bent forward and RUFFLED MY HAIR.
ARGGGHHHHH.
Unauthorized patronizing hair touching was the straw that broke the camel’s back (well, if this camel hadn’t already had its back broken by the world’s heaviest rucksack).
I gave up trying not to shout. I pulled my arms out of Dave and stood up.
“I’m NOT buying this, Josephine.” She hated it when I called her Josephine. It wasn’t actually her name which meant I loved it even more and did it as much as possible. “We both know this is NOT a Mum thing to do. And even if it was –” I crossed my arms “– which IT’S NOT – why did no one mention it to me before … say, TURNING UP RIGHT NOW TO RUIN EVERYTHING?”
If you were to look up the definition of a “scene” it would probably be a video of this moment.
Jo did a classic older sister move and blinked calmly, saying nothing. She knew full well the calmer she stayed, the more irrational I’d look. Which would make me more irrational. ARGH.
“Don’t act like a moron, Bella.” She looked at me like I was the pathetic one.
“Says YOU, Surprise-Turner-Upper-At-Festival-er … er.” I was still shouting. And also regretting wearing my “CHOOSE PEACE” T-shirt. “In fact, I thought you were broke – how come you managed to afford a ticket?”
“A spare one came up from one of my friends. His parents have a bar here.” OF COURSE THEY DID. “Mum was nice enough to pay half. Sweet after she’d forked out for yours.”
My rage hit a new level.
“You … know … full … well … she … didn’t…” Breathe, Bella. “Get … mine.” Bella, breathe. “WEAREWORKINGASLITTERPICKERSYOUTO-TALCOWBAG!!!”
Jo smiled sweetly, as if she’d only just remembered.
“Oh yeah?”
AS IF parents were allowed to have such a blatant favourite child?! And as if that favourite was allowed to rub it in the non-favourite’s face so much?!
“So how did you talk her into paying for yours?!”
She shrugged. “Generosity, I guess? Maybe helped by the small suggestion that you shouldn’t be left on your own in a field, considering the height of your adulting skills include once setting the lounge curtains on fire when you made beans on toast.” She gave Tegan a despairing look. “Don’t ask.”
“Erm, that was actually when I was being a first-class dog mother and had made Mumbles a birthday cake. But she had a slight incident when blowing out the candles.”
“Oh yes.” She smiled. “My mistake. That’s a totally sensible thing to do.”
ARGH. I swear the only thing she was learning at university was how to become even more irritating.
She was impossible to argue with. But it was clear she wasn’t leaving. All I had left was Option: Guilt Trip.
“Well, don’t think you’re staying to keep an eye on us. So go find your mates and have THE BEST time with them. And when Teeg and I are picking up bits of mangled burger at 5 a.m., you enjoy thinking about what you’ve done.”
“I’ll be asleep.”
“You won’t be.” I dropped my voice to the level of a murderous psychopath. “’Cos I’m going to hunt you down and put the remnants in your sleeping bag.” I half meant it. “With added gherkins.”
She hated gherkins. Although that was as a foodstuff (OMG THANK GOODNESS I JUST CHEERED MYSELF UP REMEMBERING HOW MUCH I LOVED THE WORD “FOODSTUFF”) – I’d never asked about her feelings towards them as sleeping companions, but I assumed it would be similar.
“Don’t threaten me… or I’ll tell Mum.” Whoa. Had she really gone there?!
“Isn’t there an age limit on dobbing someone in to a parent?”
“Isn’t there an age limit on being all ‘life’s-soooo-unfair’?”
“Isn’t there an age limit on making someone else’s life soooooo unfair?”
“Nope.” Jo looked at the entrance. “So how about I take a photo of us now as proof for her that we’re together? Then we can head off to get our tickets. Separately. And stay out of each other’s way. Until the end when she’ll pick us all up and we’ll tell her we all had a great time?”
Sounded simple. But also like Jo was getting everything her way.
“And if we don’t take the photo?”
Jo thought. “I’ll tell her I saw you telling someone you think ice cream for dogs is just a fad.”
My sister was an evil genius.
Still, one photo was all it would take to get her as far away as possible.
I summoned as much of a smile as I could as Jo snapped a selfie, before sending it to our group, alongside the caption “REUNITED!”
Mum replied with three heart emojis, which almost made me feel guilty for the deceit.
But not guilty enough to stick around – with Tegan’s help I hoisted Dave on to my back and headed as fast as I could in the opposite direction to my sist
er.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
It was official.
RebelRocks had magical properties.
As soon as we’d headed our separate ways it was like Jo, and all her annoyingness, got trampled away by the hundreds of happy people milling about. Even the sun seemed to be brighter. And soon, I was back to being as happy as I was before the ambush. Fam-bush. Maybe even better as Tegan and I sashayed our way towards our own special “staff” entrance.
Now, I’m a firm believer that stuff doesn’t make anyone special. The houses people live in. The cars they might/might not have. Whether they wear labels or charity shop finds.
However, moments after our bag check (and my concerned, but ignored, cries of “stop tickling Dave”), my entire belief system was called into doubt.
Who even was I any more?!
Because with one click of a metal punch, I felt different. Special.
I looked down. And smiled like I’d made it.
A small piece of red fabric on my wrist that officially meant we were more important than most people. I wasn’t being cocky. It officially said it. “VERY IMPORTANT PERSON”. (It might also say “DUMP ACCESS” after that, but no one needed to know that.)
Tegan waggled her wrist at me. “Check us out?!”
“I am so here for THIS!” I waggled mine back. “Number one rule of wristband club?” I left a dramatic pause. “Don’t tell anyone about wristband club…”
Tegan raised an eyebrow. “Just post it on Instagram with a suitably obvious comment?”
