Page 57 of Power Moves
‘Nooo.’ Maxy is shocked.
‘It’s true,’ I sniff.
‘I remember when your car used to be messier than an O-Week foam party,’ muses Maxy. ‘One time I think I saw a rat in the glovebox.’
I raise my nose in the air. ‘We don’t talk about that period of my life anymore, remember? Anyway, what’s your exciting news?’
‘Hang on,’ says Maxy. ‘Let me zoom out.’ From the corner of my eye I spot a neon Hawaiian shirt.
‘Your festival shirt?’
‘I’m at the airport!’
Jessie starts punching the air. ‘Maxy! Maxy! Maxy!’
‘I managed to swap my shifts and found a last-minute ticket. I should arrive around lunchtime. I can’t wait to see you winkipops.’
My heart feels like it’s being filled with helium. We haven’t all been in the same place at once for such a long time.
‘Have you seen the forecast though?’ asks Maxy. ‘It’s supposed to bucket down.’
‘What?’ I cry. With all the chaos of work, I’d completely forgotten to check my weather apps.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Jessie says, sensing my sudden mood drop.
‘Maybe I misread the dates,’ Maxy adds.
I clench my tongue against the back of my teeth, immediately wishing I’d never opened my big mouth. ‘Guys, it’s fine. I don’t care about a bit of rain.’ (I do. I have long limbs that are prone to extreme chilliness in wet weather, but I don’t want to be responsible for killing the mood.)
‘We can buy gumboots in Coffs,’ suggests Jessie. ‘And my body glitter is waterproof.’
‘And you’re not camping,’ Maxy points out, as if to pull me back from whatever void I’m hovering over.
I nod to myself as I press my mouth into a tight smile. Jessie and Maxy are right. It’s not a disaster. It’s all about mindset. I can make this fine. When disasters are afoot, I plan, I make schedules, I compartmentalise and I get going. We’ll buy gumboots in Coffs and spare ponchos too. I’ll plait my hair in two tight braids so the rain doesn’t impact my hair-flipping abilities. It will be fine.
I readjust my grip on the steering wheel and a memory floats up—Jessie, Maxy and me pretending to make snow angels in the wet grass at a festival in Lorne, laughing like maniacs at how stupid we must have looked. That was probably ten years ago.
I can see the storm clouds in the distance, black smears across the horizon, but I smile more easily now. ‘You guys are right,’ I agree, willing it to be true, willing myself to be better. ‘This is going to be awesome.’
CHAPTER 26
So it’s not awesome. It’s fucked. It’s a giant pig pen of stormwater mixed with kilos upon kilos of churned-up topsoil. Three hours of incessant rain has transformed the festival site into a dystopian moonscape. The storm clouds have long since rolled away, but the sky is a sheet of white and the wide, grassy clearing is now slick and untrustworthy. It feels like I’m dancing on banana peels, while the skin above my gumboots is a Jackson Pollock artwork of mud splatters.It’s purifying, I tell myself firmly. Like a mud facial for the knees.
Around us, thousands of bodies undulate with the beat, stamping any last shreds of grass into a grey-brown sludge. We’ve linked up with a random crew of Maxy’s uni mates, a couple of his colleagues from the mines and Jessie’s work friends. We’re all of the age where we should probably be starting to think about investing in the stock market and podiatrist-approved footwear, but instead, we’re bouncingaround in a quagmire while the DJ duo on stage plays an elaborate mash-up of early nineties bangers.
Despite the mud, Jessie is as surefooted as ever. She’s performing graceful pirouettes, using the underfoot lubrication to garner extra speed. Maxy is stationary from the hips down, pumping his hands like eggbeaters. Their movements are joyful, their expressions beatific, both of them swept away in the music and the moment.
Meanwhile, I am definitelynotworried about whether this mud is full of bacteria. I have no fear of waking up tomorrow with dysentery. Absolutely not. No way. I am having the time of my life.
Maxy wraps an arm around my shoulder. ‘I’m going to get a drink,’ he yells. ‘Wanna come?’
I nod, trying to match his smile. I am not caring about stupid crap today. (Though it’s very possible there is literal crap in this mud but I am DELETING THAT THOUGHT FROM MY MIND RIGHT NOW.)
We tramp through the soggy paddock towards the vans selling overpriced beers and seltzers. Mazes of portable steel gates are arranged in front of them, directing the foot-traffic through hairpin turns. We attach ourselves to the end of a queue and wait.
‘You right?’ Maxy asks, as I tiptoe on the spot to test the suction force of the mud.
‘Yep.’ I nod too quickly.
