Page 60 of Power Moves
Archie, however, barges through the crowd like a human cannonball. As he burrows ahead, I crane my neck to track his path until my eyes start watering. His stupid black shirt is basically camouflage. It takes a few seconds before I realise that I’ve lost him.
I pull out my phone but predictably there’s no reception. The lump in my throat is instant and my tear ducts feelperilously close to overflowing. Swallowing hard, I decide to head east towards the food trucks. I take three steps to the left and a low-flying gumboot soars into my right cheek.
‘Owwww!’ I cry. No one hears me, and if they do, no one cares.
Fuck it, I think dolefully. I can’t hold the tears back any longer. I’m just going to stand here and have a cry. For the bazillionth time in my life, I wish Mum were here to scoop me into her arms and tell me that girls who cry are the strongest of all. Instead, as per usual, I’m swamped with regret. I close my eyes and see visions of a messy car, sheets of A4 paper tumbling through the air, and Mum’s stoic expression.
I wish I’d done things differently.
I should have tried harder.
‘Millsy!’ yells Archie, appearing by my side again. ‘Why did you go left?’
‘You disappeared!’ I counter, all prior helplessness instantly zapped away by a cocktail of fury and adrenaline that only Archie seems to ignite.
‘I was walking to the tents, like we planned.’
I squint at the horizon, where I can see the shadowy outlines of the campsite.
Whoops.
‘I wanted nachos!’ I yell, pointing at the food trucks.
‘Should we get some?’
This is a ridiculous conversation to be having in a giant swamp of a dancefloor surrounded by shirtless dudes and women in nipple tassels. And anyway, we are not two people who should be discussing dinner plans together—ever.
‘No!’ I yell back, not caring about my rapid 180 on the nachos. ‘Tent!’
Archie nods, then starts leading the way. Once again, within a few seconds I can barely see him.
‘Archie!’ I yell.
He turns and waits for me with a tiny but infuriating smile. He offers his hand again and grudgingly I snatch it. At least I’m making his fingers muddy. This thought gives me some consolation.
We make it out of the mosh pit to where the crowd is thinner and I drop his hand like it’s scalding hot. Archie notices and turns around. His eyes do a quick scan up and down my mud-soaked body.
‘What?’ I demand.
The music is fainter here so we can talk at a normal volume, which is a shame. I feel most natural when I’m yelling at him.
Archie is now determinedly avoiding looking at me, which is distinctly abnormal. Usually he’s always getting in my face.
I scowl. ‘Are you trying not to look at me because you’re finding thishumorous?’
‘No,’ he says, staring at the ground.
‘Don’t you dare laugh.’
‘I’m not,’ he says, voice shaking.
‘Archie!’
‘Sorry!’ He tries to steady himself but it’s like the flood gates have opened and the laughter is fizzing out of every pore in his body. He’s vibrating like a jackhammer.
I try to lift my chin to superciliously ignore him but it’s impossible to summon my usual level of superiority when I look like an extra fromThe Walking Dead.
‘How far away is this tent?’ I mutter. All I want is clean undies and a shower and I’m already ninety-nine per cent sure Archie’s tent will have neither of these things.
