by Beth Garrod
My boyfriend. Or my best friends.
Eurgh.
I was going to let someone down, however much I didn’t want to. I was going to have to figure this one out on my own.
But lucky for me, if there was one place on earth that helped fill my head with happier thoughts, it was right here. Even the sun felt like it was shining extra hard, extra happy, although I did kind of regret my playsuit. I was sweltering.
We needed to lift our spirits, so taking a break from prepping for the protest, we squeezed our way to the front of the barrier for our first gig of the festival. Squashed at the front of the huge crowd, I almost lost my voice singing along to every word. It was awesome. We jumped around like loons for the whole thing. They should totally teach moshing instead of athletics at school. I did more exercise in that forty-five minutes than I had done all year. Best of all, every time I looked at Rach or Tegan they were smiling as much as me.
So, with happiness fully restored, as soon as it finished, we turned our attention to making sure every Session poster around the main fence had a #StopTheSession added to it. I got stomach-twisting nerves every time we pulled out a pen to write on. But Tegan argued we had the moral high ground, and by our fifth one, our confidence had grown so much we’d also started scrawling 12 p.m. Sunday. Doughnut be late on them. Nice Doughnut Lady – also known as Brenda – had offered use of her D’Oh Nut Stand as a meeting point to make banners and posters on the day. We figured people who wanted to turn up would go to the effort of finding out what we meant.
I stood back and pulled my camera out to take a picture of our latest bit of handiwork for the website.
“Incommmmming…”
OOF.
A heavy lump plonked on to my back. A surprisingly furry lump.
I knew exactly what – or who – it was. I turned around expecting to see Mikey – bit taller than me, dark haired, scruffy, freckly, smiley face. But instead I recoiled at the sight of a 5’11” panda with scary red eyes. And his friend, a giant crab.
“So on one of the hottest days of the year you dressed as a fluffy demon panda? How’s that working out for you?”
Mikey used his broken arm to pull his animal suit even further down over his face and did a full spin. He’d accessorized with a neon bum bag. Strong.
“I think you’ll find it’s a ring-tailed lemur.” He peeled the hood back; underneath he was a sweaty mess. “It may have been the last one left. And it may be approximately 1000°C in here.”
Jay pulled his crab hood down. Could a person be that red without actually melting?
“…And they may also be the only things we’ve packed this weekend.”
Rach looked like she might be sick. Tegan looked totally unsurprised.
“And you wonder why I said there was no way I was sleeping in a tent with you.”
They both laughed. I couldn’t believe they could chat about this kind of thing so casually. Must take notes.
“So what’s the plan then?” Mikey sat down on the floor. I’d never seen a lemur cross-legged. But then again I’d never seen a lemur.
Jay lay flat out beside him. “Mike said you might need some help with getting things set for Sunday?”
A heckle came from a passer-by in a trilby. “Nice crabs, mate.”
Mikey sat up, all indignant lemur. “It’s a lobster, mate? Know your crustaceans?! “
Even though Jay had his eyes closed it still looked like he was rolling them. “That’s the tenth time today. And I’ve only had it on two hours.”
Rach laid out starfished next to him. “Oh well, it’s not like you have literally nothing else to wear.” She laughed, which turned into shouts of “Oi” as he tried to flop one of his pincers in her face.
Tegan sat down next to me and got her phone out, to look at the list of what needed to be done today.
We stopped laughing, and paid attention as we remembered the task at hand. Protest planning. Mikey buffled (bum shuffled) towards her, and leant in to talk. Because of the way his lemur head was dangling, it looked a bit like she was being eaten. “Teeg, give us stuff to do, OK? We want to help.”
Tegan gave him the kind of smile that if Adam gave me I’d physically be unable to not say uhuhruhrhrrhrurururur right in his face.
Jay heard and sat up, shrugging his lobster shoulders.
“For reals. Tackling the patriarchy takes everyone, right?” I was glad Jay had his eyes obscured by a lobster antenna (or whatever those long dangly bits are), ’cos for all the years I’d known him, I’d never seen this side of him. I never knew he had so many layers?! “Plus girls fancy boys who are into feminism, right?”
He raised his two pincers in the air, giving himself his own “holler”, which was short-lived, as after a quick glance between us, Rach, Tegan and I all piled on him, arms and legs flying everywhere as we let out a war cry.
Turns out lobster suits provide excellent protection from prodding. Maybe I should get one for around the house whenever Jo’s back? But we were people on a mission, and soon we’d tickled him into submission, and from a foetal position he’d apologized for the error of his ways.
Once we got our breath back – and Jay was satisfied with the protective barrier of bags he’d built between us – I went back to the plan.
“So I’m on ‘trying to blag free stuff for people to wear, wave, whatever’? But –” I slurped my Capri Sun “– manage those expectations ’cos my blagging skills are as good as my bowling skills.”
Mikey looked puzzled. “I don’t remember you being bad at bowling, Bells?”
“You don’t remember it ’cos I’ve refused to do it ever since I broke two fingers and caused the ‘first-ever ambulance to visit GameCity in its fifty-year history’.” Yes, I air-quoted. “Their words, not mine.”
“I see.” Luckily he hadn’t. It was a disaster. I’d fallen forwards with the ball and had flown seven metres down the bowling lane. “So what else can we do?”
Rach sat up. “I’m going to post as much in the forums and on the hashtag as possible. You could help with that? I updated the blog too. Talking of which, can I get some photos of the graffitied posters, Bells?” I nodded, happy to be of use, and flicked the wifi button on my camera to send them to my phone. “We’re already getting loads of comments on Insta.”
Tegan’s eyes lit up. “Lots of people down to turn up?”
“Not yet…” Rach sounded as positive as she could. “But I’m sure there will be. We’ve still got today and all of Saturday to get people on board.”
We all made noises of agreement – I hoped none of them had the same nagging feeling we were setting ourselves up for just another failure. But this time, instead of being able to hide behind the internet, we’d be there in real life, in the middle of a crowd of die-hard Session fans, who, according to a post last night, “wanted to shove our heads where the sun didn’t shine” (I could only hope they meant Alaska in the winter).
Eurgh.
Why was it so scary standing up for what you believed in? Why couldn’t it all be about having a nice-comfy-sit-down for what you believed in instead?
But Tegan wasn’t going to let our spirits drop again.
“I’ll start digging into who runs the festival radio, and Lemur, Crab – argh, sorry, Lobster – if you’ve got any ideas about how to drum up support here that would be hay-mazing.”
Mikey narrowed his eyes, as if he could spy an idea creeping over the horizon.
“I miiiight have something…” He picked up his phone and started typing. “Can you give me a couple of hours?”
“Sure thing…” Tegan sounded intrigued. “So how about we head to the stalls and get stuff started. Meet back here at seven for The Tomato Ketchup Conspiracy Theory?”
They were one of my fave punk-pop bands and I didn’t want to miss them. Adam and I both knew every word to every song – he sometimes played along when I was round at his house. He really wanted to watch them tonight, so I was hoping he’d be there too.
With time ticking, the five of us headed off, making a beeline (although bees tend to go in lots of loops, and ours was a lot more straight) to the market area. You could buy everything here. Animal tails to pin on to clothes, postcards to send back home, a picture of your face made out of lentils. One queue was so long it snaked round the back of the Portaloos. Being British, we were magnetically drawn to it. We walked past all the people who had clearly been there for ages, overhearing one lad telling his mate it was “worth it ’cos they were going to sell out by the end of the day” because “it’s the kind of stuff you could clean up with on eBay”. But when we got to the front of the van, to see what it was for, it couldn’t have been worse. It was the queue for The Session’s sexist merchandise.
“I can’t believe it,” Tegan hissed with rage, turning her back on it. “Do people have zero taste?”
I almost didn’t want to show her the handwritten sign next to the display. See what the fuss is about. Get your hands on the most talked about merch of the festival!
“Do you …” A dark thought hit me, and I couldn’t hold it in. “… reckon it’s so popular because of us trying to stop it?”
The girls underwear saying “Property of The Session” had already sold out. Most pants news ever.
Teeg rubbed her hands over her face. “Yuh-huh.”
“Well, this has backfired.” Rach had a knack for saying what we were all thinking. “Anyone got any ideas?”
I didn’t have an idea. But I did have something.
A call coming through from Adam. It was decision time.
And after what I’d just seen, I had to choose the protest. Didn’t I?
He’d understand. Wouldn’t he?
“Hiyer, Beef.” Hearing his voice flooded the fear straight back.
“Hiyer, Aard.” I didn’t sound like myself.
The problem with phones is there’s no getting round an awkward silence.
And we were officially in one.
“Er…” Adam was first to break it. “I can’t be long as we’re carting more kit from the van, but you … you said you wanted to speak?”
“I could have helped?” Skilful diversion technique, me.
“S’OK. You seemed busy.”
I thought back to when I last saw him. When Lols made him flee. Cringe.
“So, er, you going to tell me what’s up then?”
The words were on the tip of my tongue. It was now or never.
“I, er, just wanted to say…”
I swallowed. I could do this.
“Sorry about that girl earlier.” Or not.
“Oh?” He sighed into the phone. Was it relief? “Her? No probs.”
“She’s, er…” What, Bells? A lame excuse of something you can talk about to buy more time?
Luckily Adam finished my thought for me. “Intense?”
Phew. At least we were on the same wavelength about one thing. “Intense about tents.”
He laughed too. “But that’s not your fault. I thought you were going to say something really bad… Like you couldn’t make our gig or something?!”
ACTUAL STOMACH LURCH.
He chuckled like this was the funniest thing he could have thought of. I did the only thing I could think of: laugh as if I wasn’t the worst girlfriend in the world.
“As if.” It was one of those unhinged laughs that could all too easily turn into a cry if I was left unattended. Rach saw and gave me a thumbs up to ask if I was OK. I shook my head and stumbled through the next bit of conversation as we agreed to meet after he’d finished unloading the kit and I’d promised to take pictures of The Tomato Ketchup Conspiracy Theory if he missed them. Then we said bye and I was left staring at my phone, wishing I could fast-forward my life by three days.
“Whadup?” Rach headed straight over, Tegan right behind her. Mikey and Jay had disappeared, which is actually quite an achievement when one of you has claws that flap above your head.
I wasn’t sure whether to tell them what was going on. Which would mean admitting that I’d deliberately avoided telling them about Adam’s set change, because I didn’t know what to do.
But I was freaking out. And they were my best friends – and soon I’d told them every single detail, including the dilemma I was in.
When I stopped there was silence. Please let them not be mad.
Tegan spoke first.
“You know what I’m going to say, don’t you, Bells?”
And from the way she was looking at me, I did.
“That sometimes there isn’t a best thing to do?”
She nodded. “Yup.” It was something she said all the time. “So sometimes you just have to do what you think is best.”
But that was my problem. Sometimes it felt like my head and heart bickered more than me and Jo.
“Wouldn’t it be, like, totally zero-cool to ditch my mates for my boyfriend though?” I cringed at how I was casually trying to pretend I wasn’t asking for advice, while hoping they’d reassure me I’d made the right decision.
Tegan put her arm through mine. “You know my motto – girls support girls.”
Rach lifted her hands in the air and mouthed, “Preach!”
“So if you did want to go support someone who’s given you loads of support, like your boyfriend, that’s not ditching us, that’s just having a rubbish choice to make, right, Rach?”
Their support made me feel like it could all be OK after all. I felt weirdly emotional – more so than when I finished the last doughnut.
But as I went to reply, the music stopped and the loudest boo went up.
The stalls lights had gone out.
The people behind the counter were all running about.
Oh My Doughnut Balls.
Was it our first bit of good luck?
The merchandise stand had totally lost power. The card machines were all out, and the tills wouldn’t open. No one could buy anything!
The crowd around us was starting to get angry, but one face was smiling in the middle of it. Tegan.
“Our time to leave?”
She didn’t need to ask twice. We made a sharp exit, but after trying the festival paper printer, two T-shirt stalls and one flag printer, it was already time to meet back up with Mikey and Jay. And we’d had no luck. But as we explained to them the little progress we’d made, Mikey couldn’t stand still, his animal head bobbing around as we spoke. Was he having a lemur-based breakdown? He didn’t seem at all bothered by our lack of progress, and jumped in as soon as Rach had finished.
“Sooo, do you want some more bad news?” He didn’t give us time to answer. “’COS IF YOU DO THEN I’M SORRY BUT THE LEEMSTER –” which is what he’d started referring to the Lemur and Lobster duo as “– CAN’T HELP.”
He unzipped his bum bag. “Tell me giving up your Saturday night to babysit your child of hell next-door neighbour doesn’t have its benefits?!” He pulled out a wodge of postcard-sized bits of paper.
WHOA.
Flyers. Printed with the time and date of the protest. And almost word for word what Tegan had said earlier when she was explaining it to Jay.
If you want to show the true spirit of RebelRocks, then head to the main stage at 7.45 p.m. Sunday. Let’s show everyone the power of people is bigger than any band. It’s time to STOP THE SESSION. Bring whatever you can – signs, flags, voices. If you care about equality it’s time to demand respect – and get The Session to admit what they’re doing is NOT OK.
It even had our social handles on.
All support appreciated. Meet @ the D’Oh Nut Stand 12 p.m. Sunday if you want to get crafty and make banners in advance.
Yes the Leemster!!
The three of us threw our arms around Mikey. It was like cuddling a giant teddy bear (that was a bit muddy and smelt slightly of mould).
“First ever GOAT lemur!” I said into what I think was his neck, but could have been armpit (if lemurs have arms? Or do they just have four legpits?).
He made a
muffled “Ah, shucks”, but I knew he was loving it. Despite having a permanent vacant lemur look he really had been paying attention.
“My neighbour was heading down, and owed me a favour.” He was grinning like someone who knew they’d struck gold. “I can explain to my dad why his printer is near dead another time.”
Tegan flung her arms around him again. “So your brother was in on this too?”
“Uh-huh. He printed them out. You know he loves you almost more than I do.”
He said it causally, but we all knew he’d loved her since before they were even together. Rach grabbed a bunch to put in her tote bag.
“OK if I hand these out tomorrow morning when Teeg and Bells are working? Catch everyone early?” Sounded like a perfect plan. Mikey had given us the boost we needed.
“Oh and one more thing.” Jay had a naughty look in his eye. “You’ve got to ask yourselves why if all the power goes off for a stand, none of them think to check the generator?” He pulled something tiny out of his pocket. Was it a fuse? “Top tip, walk confidently dressed as a lobster and you get in anywhere.”
Sorry what?! Jay and Mikey had cut the power to the merch stand?!
“You evil, furry geniuses?!” I high-fived his claw.
“So next time you see Ms Ashley, please tell her that even if I fail physics abysmally at least I definitely learnt how to unwire a plug.” I’d been scared writing on a poster. These two must have lemur/lobster balls of steel. Well, fluff and steel. “Sure they’ll figure it out soon. Kinda their fault for assuming that two people looking like us are so obvious we can’t be up to something bad. Hiding in per-lain sight.”
BOOOM.
A drumbeat thudded out from the main stage speakers. The opening chords of The Tomato Ketchup Conspiracy Theory. Without another word, the five of us ran full speed towards it. And fired up on Mikey and Jay’s amazing news, we leapt around to the whole Tommy K set, arms round each other in a big, bouncy mosh circle. I even filmed the whole performance of “Rascalifornian” for Adam.
I felt on top of the world.
Which was just as well. As in less than half an hour, I was going to feel right at the very bottom.