Chapter 27 #3
“Look at you two,” Min said, holding his arms out wide. “Clean up nice, don’t ya?”
“Same to you,” Oliver said, clapping him on the shoulder. “And you look fine, I guess,” he said to Lola, laughing when she gave him the finger.
“You look beautiful, Willow,” she said. “That mask really suits you.”
“Thank you for dropping it off. It’s already been a perfect disguise.”
“Not to mention the air of mystery,” Oliver said, dropping his voice low. There was no way we could keep this up all night. But I had a bad feeling we were going to try.
“All right, Lo. Give us the rundown,” I said as we made our way out of the station. I needed to stay focused, to visualize the event and the goal. To stop visualizing the whole slew of other things I’d been visualizing since last week.
“Right, so the festival happens on every full moon, but the location changes and it isn’t announced until the morning of.
There are loads of vendors and artists and performances, some rituals, fire pits, music, dancing, drinks, the whole lot.
It’s a bit of cheeky fun, but you’ve gotta keep an open mind. ”
“Easy enough,” I said.
“For you, maybe.” Min laughed. “For this guy, who’s to say?” He hooked a thumb at Oliver, who rolled his eyes.
“I’m very open-minded,” Oliver protested.
“More now than you used to be,” Lola said, and something like hope bubbled in my chest. It would have been vain to think any of that could have been because of me. But a girl could dream. “Last time we tried to get you to come to something like this you told us to piss off.”
“That’s because it was an ancient crafts festival and I had other plans.”
“With yourself, drinking whiskey on the couch and watching Interstellar for the millionth time.”
“Those are still plans,” he said. “And I’m here now, so.”
“I’m just saying, I think we know why.” She flicked her eyes to me, and I looked anywhere but back at her, too nervous to confirm or deny. Too nervous my hope would be written all over my face.
“D’you have the address?” Minho asked. “Or are we just aimlessly wandering Shoreditch.” He always knew exactly when to change the subject. Bless him.
“You think I’d just drag you guys all the way out here with no idea where I’m going?”
“Yes,” Oliver and Minho said at the same time, with the same level of emphasis.
“God, tough crowd,” Lola said. “For your information, I do know where we’re going. And if I’m right, which I sometimes am, it should be right . . . up . . . here!” She sounded surprised to have actually found the place, but we were all under some silent agreement to let her have this one.
We were standing on the outskirts of a park laden with tents so tightly packed together it was hard to see beyond the perimeter. Neon lights and tiki torches lined every inch of the park, and somewhere a drumline was pounding out a tribal rhythm. The sound alone was intoxicating.
We watched groups of people in formal wear, ripped jeans, and what looked like bedazzled bathing suits pouring in through the entrance, already dancing and cheering and holding drinks high above their masked heads.
With the amount of energy this festival alone was going to take, I had no idea how I was supposed to stay up all night.
But one thing at a time.
“Are we ready?” I asked, relieved when Lola grabbed me by the hand and pulled me toward the gate. Her enthusiasm was infectious. Oliver and Minho followed close behind, equally wide-eyed and curious, and we were swallowed up by the festival as soon as we crossed the threshold.
Belly dancers swinging fireballs wove through the paths, alongside women on stilts with elaborate headdresses and hundreds of people wandering arm in arm from one booth to the next, spilling drinks and buying crystals and dancing to the ever-present drumbeat.
“Holy shit,” Minho said. “Lo, did you know it was going to be like this?”
“They’re all different,” she said, “but they do all have the same kind of energy. Brilliant, isn’t it?”
“It’s definitely something,” Oliver said, craning his neck back and forth to take it all in.
“Open mind, remember?” I said.
“For you,” he said, “anything.”
“What do I have to do to get that treatment?” Lola asked. “I’ve been asking you to do shit like this since uni. Willow just waltzes in—no offense, Willow—and now you’re Gandalf the Grey?”
“There are so many things wrong with that sentence I’m not even sure where to begin.
” Oliver shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“And need I remind you of the experimental Danish music festival we went to last year? Or the time Min and I came to see you in that play . . . What was it called? Crock of Bullshit?”
“Load of Lies,” she corrected him, and I bit my lip to stop from laughing. “Fine. Maybe you are supportive.”
“Was that so hard?” he asked, nudging her with his shoulder.
“Keep him in check, will you?” she asked me. “He’s exhausting.”
I saluted her, ignoring Oliver when he threw his hands up in protest.
“Oh, relax,” I said, linking my other arm through his and pulling him deeper inside the park. “The festival awaits.”