CHAPTER 27
Archie offers his hand to lead me through the crowd and I shoot him a withering look. I am not holding hands with that buffoon. Instead, I train my eyes on his shirt—it’s the colour of his heart (black) with tiny clouds dotted across it—and start following him.
Despite my sliminess, it is proving very difficult to slide past people. Everyone’s doing the shuffly dance moves these days, and as soon as you think they’ve made space for you, they’re shuffling right back to block your path. This is chaos theory personified.
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 feel perilously 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 this humorous?’
‘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 from The 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.
‘It’s close,’ he says, his laughter easing, though he’s still breathless enough to make my nerves crackle.
Away from the floodlit arena, long shadows fall across our path to the campsite.
Archie leads the way as I trudge behind, trying not to slip over with Maxy’s advice ringing in my ears.
Full aggression. When I stumble on a divot and, without looking back, Archie sticks his hand behind him for me to hold on to, I have to make a split-second decision about how committed I am to preserving my personal space.
The answer is genius. I smoosh myself against his back, wrapping my arms around his chest.
‘Millsy!’ he cries, aghast.
‘I tripped!’ I lie gleefully, wiping my arms over every part of his body I can reach. I can’t give him a deep soaking but I do successfully manage to cover at least forty per cent of him in streaks of mud before he can work out what’s going on. Victory is mine!
Archie spins and quick as a flash, grabs both my wrists in his hands. ‘You’re going to pay for that,’ he says.
‘I’m not scared.’
Archie picks up a handful of mud and throws it at my chest. My jaw drops in horror, but as I look down I realise I can’t even tell where it landed. He could drop a whole crate of soggy dirt onto me and it would make no difference.
I jolt backwards out of his grasp, grab two handfuls of mud and fling them at him. One lands with a satisfying thwack on his cheek.
Archie’s eyes widen. ‘Oh Millsy, no.’
Eeeeek! I run away as fast as my gumboots allow. I have no idea where I’m going but I’m giggling like a lunatic and I can hear Archie chasing me, hurling handfuls of mud at my back.
‘You’re a goner!’ he yells. He’s trying to sound threatening but I can’t stop laughing.
‘You don’t scare me,’ I call over my shoulder. ‘You’re just a big cuddly bear!’
‘That’s enough,’ yells Archie. He launches through the air to grab me around the waist and we fall in a heap into the mire, only now it’s not scary and suffocating—now it’s hilarious. I scoop up as much mud as I can and start plastering it all over his face.
‘Cheating!’ gasps Archie.
‘Don’t hate the player, hate the game!’ I’m laughing so hard I can barely move but I manage to wriggle from his grasp.
Archie grabs my slippery calf. ‘You forget I used to do this professionally.’ He yanks my ankle and I slide back to him.
‘You forget I’m not impressed at all by your football career.
’ I kick away and he claws at me again. I squeal as he drags me back.
This time, he throws a leg over me, and within a second he’s on top of me, pinning me to the ground.
I believe the technical term is straddling.
I’m trapped. There is a mischievous glint in his eye.
‘Don’t you dare look at me like that, Archibald,’ I cry, picking up a wad of mud and slinging it at his face. As the mud splatters on his neck, I squirm away.
‘Get back here, Ms Hatton!’
‘Nope,’ I shriek, panting as I crawl away and he swipes at my feet. ‘I know what that look means!’
‘No, you don’t.’ Archie lunges at my gumboot.
‘Let me go!’
‘Never!’
My knees slide out from underneath me and Archie pulls me towards him. His arm lands over my waist and it’s so heavy I can’t move. My energy is spent. He’s puffing from the exertion too. We’ve both won and we’ve both lost. Mud is the real victor here.
We lie there heaving for a few seconds before I twist around to face him. He is completely mud-brown, apart from the whites of his eyes and his teeth. He has one of those smiles that shines through his whole face.
‘Archie,’ I whisper, ‘can I ask you something?’
‘Anything,’ he says, simply.
I steel myself, knowing I’m probably going to be disappointed. ‘Do you wear women’s underwear?’