2. ADELE
2
ADELE
A fter paying some guys with beers to haul our mountain of luggage across the muddy terrain, we finally arrived at the campsite.
“Seriously?” I laughed, hands on my hips as I surveyed the chaos before me. “Oh my God.”
A vast green-brown field lay ahead of us. The landscape was utterly consumed by an explosion of vivid colours—tents of all shapes and sizes crammed together like mismatched puzzle pieces.
The scent of wet earth and damp grass filled the air, promising a summer storm. Despite the distant gloom, the festival was alive with light and sound—the pulse of excitement throbbed in the breeze.
“Uh, I think we’re late,” I muttered, sceptically glancing at Orion.
Orion pursed her lips and shaded her eyes from the glaring sun, which burned stubbornly beyond the gathering clouds. Her electric blue hair glimmered with vibrancy against the sea of people.
“Bollocks. We just need a little patch—a scrap of space. Come on.”
“Oz…” I groaned in return, feeling every muscle in my body protest from the weight of my bags. My shoulders ached mercilessly, and my back screamed “ What were you thinking?!” as I heaved my holdall higher.
Was I here for two nights or a month?!
“Just think,” Orion panted as she dragged her trolley through the thick sludge that passed for mud beneath our boots. The wheels churned miserably, caked in layers of filth. “Within the hour, we’ll be sipping beers, watching the sunset, and singing our hearts out.” A childish grin spread across her face.
I screwed my eyes shut, imagining I could hear the distant hum of guitars blending with the rhythmic laughter of people ahead. The smell of fried food wafted faintly through the air, making my stomach growl.
“I admire your optimism,” I said through gritted teeth, trudging like a half-dead mule behind her, “but I think I’ll be found face-down in the mud within the hour.”
“Oh, there,” Orion called out, pointing with one hand while yanking her trolley with the other. Before us, a small clearing emerged near a group of girls in sequins and faux fur jackets, their eyes darting to us as they sat cross-legged in a semi-circle.
“Ugh, it’s near the toilets. Keep moving,” I hissed, cringing at what I’d read about in preparation for the festival. The toilets loomed like little blue boxes in the distance—promising smells far worse than death.
The thought alone was enough to churn my stomach. Images of one hundred and fifty thousand people squatting in those tiny plastic boxes…vomiting, or worse, the aftermath of the morning. No thanks. Fresh hell awaited only the brave—or the desperate. “Just keep going,” I managed to mutter, pushing forward.
Orion grumbled but trudged on, still determined. After a few minutes—and what seemed like miles—through the maze of tents, she bounced on her toes and jabbed at the ground again. “This will do,” she declared, satisfied.
I stared blankly at the patch of ground that would be my bed for the next two days. “It’s barely big enough for a picnic blanket, let alone a tent,” I mumbled, my brow creasing as I eyed the tent bag weighing down Orion’s arm.
“It’s a two-man tent, Dell!” She winked.
Once we dumped our bags on the squishy ground, I stretched my aching muscles, groaning loudly as I straightened my back. Orion began setting up our tent. As if possessed, her hands worked swiftly, and before I knew it, the tent was up and somehow standing tall. She paused, biting her lip and glancing proudly at her handiwork.
It was a tight fit. The duvet she brought would cover our sleeping bags, but only just . And as for space?
Ha!
I wondered how we would turn without elbowing each other in the ribs. But still…
“It’ll do,” I sighed.
“We’ll take turns to get ready,” Orion commented with a snigger. “But yes, it will do.”
The sound of faint, distant rumbling—drums, voices, the earth vibrating with human energy—seeped into the air around us. The festival was right there, calling us towards it.
“Let’s put our stuff in the tent and make our way to the stage,” Orion suggested, handing me a beer from her seemingly bottomless stash. “Start as we mean to go on, chick. Cheers. ”
“Cheers,” I echoed, cracking open the can and taking a long sip. The warm, bitter liquid slid down my throat, and I realised our drinks would be warm unless we bought them from the pop-up bars, but that would be expensive.
I better get used to this.
We snaked our way down to the stage area about thirty minutes later, the slope ahead slick with fresh mud. I watched with faint amusement as random people slipped and clung to one another like pairs of drunken penguins, collapsing into laughter as they slid.
The cool breeze brushed against my skin while the music surged around us—a gentle hum that would soon become electric as the festival came to life. The atmosphere swirled around in a dizzying mix of floral perfumes, metallic tangs of sweat, and unmistakable notes of spilt beer. It was raw, unrefined energy. It was alive.
“So many boys, so little time,” I quipped, lightly elbowing Orion as I spotted a group of guys standing by the stage to our right.
One of them caught my eye almost immediately. He stood tall—easily the tallest in the group—his messy black hair curling onto a weathered leather jacket. The jacket hung over a hoodie, his skinny jeans were ripped, and his scuffed boots were caked in mud. Every inch of him exuded that irresistible indie-rock cool. But his face captivated me—angular, sharp, like something sculpted by ancient hands with a hammer and chisel.
The bone structure on this guy.
“Ooh, I like that band!” Orion cooed beside me, dragging me forward as I kept stealing glances at the boy in the leather jacket. His eyes—a brilliant, vivid green—caught on mine for a fraction of a second before shifting back to the stage.
“Oh yeah?” I replied absently. “What’s their name?”
“That song we like—remember?” she replied absently, nodding to the stage. “It’s that indie one…you know.”
“Jett , ” I told her, rolling my eyes.
Nearby, the boys’ group was louder now, swaying to the music and shouting non-stop at each other, their fists wrapped tight around countless beer cans. Despite it all, Mr Tall, Dark, and Handsome flicked his eyes back toward me, and I felt something unspoken pass between us.
Him.
There was something about his gaze, like he saw something more in me. Then he disappeared, and I searched the crowd looking for him. My stomach dropped when I didn’t find him, and my shoulders slumped.
Great.
“You fit the lyrics,” a gruff voice came from beside me, shaking me out of my reverie.
It was him .
I turned, blinking up at the tall, chiselled guy.
“Sorry?” I responded, heart skipping. Was he serious? Surely, this wasn’t actually happening. Did I imagine him staring at me earlier?
“The band up there. Jett? They’re singing ‘Are You Gonna Be My Girl.’ You seem like their muse,” he teased, his deep green eyes locking on mine.
Holy fuckamole.
My pulse quickened, each word sending a cascade of curious warmth through my chest—a sensation that both thrilled and made my stomach flip all at once. His lips lifted at the corners, revealing a hint of a dimple, like a mischief waiting beneath the surface.
“Oh...huh.” I laughed, feeling my cheeks flush under the weight of his gaze. I regained my composure, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m Adele.”
“Adele,” he repeated, and how he said my name—slow, deliberate—felt like a tiny secret whispered against the night’s wind. “I’m Ted.”