safe till noon … ’ I let the picture hover temptingly.
She removed her hand. ‘Oh, go on then. Just don’t let anyone else see you’ve got that.’
‘Promise.’ I quickly snapped the plan. ‘Wait five minutes and expect to hear the girly screams.’
Enlarging the map with a swipe of finger and thumb, I saw that each plot was neatly labelled with the occupant or band name. I had to go ahead with the wet flannel thing just so Henry didn’t suspect my ulterior motives. Best to get that done first. I grabbed a bottle of water from the yurt fridge and made my way through the network of duckboards laid between camping spots. I passed the tour vans and motorhomes on my way to the more distant area handed out to the less famous names. As Al had said, Gifted had rocked up that morning. Their silver tour bus was parked alongside four Winnebagos. No slumming it under canvas for Kurt Voss and his band mates. There was no activity around the doors so perhaps they too were sleeping in. Checking the map, I saw that the fourth Winnebago was given over to Black Belt. Gifted clearly looked after their support act—that was nice of them. Most new bands weren’t treated so well.
I reached Matt’s tent. It would have been easier to use my gift and snake the water in without being seen, but I had promised Will that I would lay off using my powers. I’d have to go for the conventional approach. Not having a flannel to hand, this would involve direct application. Taking the lid off the bottle, I crawled in. Matt was lying on his back, snoring. Leaning over him, I tipped a little stream of water onto his face.
Yelling, he sat up like he’d been electrocuted, his flailing arm knocking me flying. The bottle catapulted from my hand and hit the side of the tent. ‘What the—!’
I put my finger tentatively to the side of my face. ‘Ouch.’ That hadn’t gone very well. I’d only gone and hit my head on a metal tent peg.
Matt scowled at me from his sleeping bag. ‘Angel, what the hell are you doing here? Why am I wet?’
I threw him a towel. ‘Sorry. It was supposed to be joke—payback for keeping Henry up all night.’
He rubbed the water off his face then noticed I was still clutching the side of my head. ‘You hurt?’
‘Just a little.’
Swearing, he scrambled out of his sleeping bag. ‘You twit: you need more practice at playing practical jokes. They’re not supposed to backfire and injure you.’ He turned my head to the light coming through the doorway. ‘Not too bad: just a bump.’
I’d imagined it being really funny; instead it had turned out just pathetic. I didn’t learn, did I? Always failing to look before leaping. ‘Sorry.’
Matt huffed, his early-morning wits only just catching up with him. ‘Henry’s pissed off with us?’
I nodded, picking up that my friend was more than slightly interested in Henry.
‘I’ll have to make it up to her then.’
‘Chocolate or flowers.’
‘What?’
‘If you want to impress her. And pretend the joke was really funny—show her you’ve a sense of humour.’
He grinned. ‘I must have a good one if I’m still friends with you.’ He ruffled my hair gently. ‘Get lost, sweet pea. Some of us are trying to sleep.’
Reversing out of the tent, I dusted myself off. OK, so maybe I wasn’t as funny as I liked to think. But I’d got my map—it hadn’t all been a waste of time. Next stop: Marcus Cohen. Summer had said I was irresistible. Even though my confidence had taken a knock at my totally lame execution of the joke, I had no choice but to act like I believed it.
I stood at the bottom of the short flight of metal steps leading up to the Winnebago door. Oh Lord. I bit my knuckles, running various lines through my head.
Hello, remember me?
Hi there. Do you want to have coffee?
Marcus, can you give me some tips at making it in the music industry?
Nothing sounded right. He was going to hate me—and probably call security. I
She removed her hand. ‘Oh, go on then. Just don’t let anyone else see you’ve got that.’
‘Promise.’ I quickly snapped the plan. ‘Wait five minutes and expect to hear the girly screams.’
Enlarging the map with a swipe of finger and thumb, I saw that each plot was neatly labelled with the occupant or band name. I had to go ahead with the wet flannel thing just so Henry didn’t suspect my ulterior motives. Best to get that done first. I grabbed a bottle of water from the yurt fridge and made my way through the network of duckboards laid between camping spots. I passed the tour vans and motorhomes on my way to the more distant area handed out to the less famous names. As Al had said, Gifted had rocked up that morning. Their silver tour bus was parked alongside four Winnebagos. No slumming it under canvas for Kurt Voss and his band mates. There was no activity around the doors so perhaps they too were sleeping in. Checking the map, I saw that the fourth Winnebago was given over to Black Belt. Gifted clearly looked after their support act—that was nice of them. Most new bands weren’t treated so well.
I reached Matt’s tent. It would have been easier to use my gift and snake the water in without being seen, but I had promised Will that I would lay off using my powers. I’d have to go for the conventional approach. Not having a flannel to hand, this would involve direct application. Taking the lid off the bottle, I crawled in. Matt was lying on his back, snoring. Leaning over him, I tipped a little stream of water onto his face.
Yelling, he sat up like he’d been electrocuted, his flailing arm knocking me flying. The bottle catapulted from my hand and hit the side of the tent. ‘What the—!’
I put my finger tentatively to the side of my face. ‘Ouch.’ That hadn’t gone very well. I’d only gone and hit my head on a metal tent peg.
Matt scowled at me from his sleeping bag. ‘Angel, what the hell are you doing here? Why am I wet?’
I threw him a towel. ‘Sorry. It was supposed to be joke—payback for keeping Henry up all night.’
He rubbed the water off his face then noticed I was still clutching the side of my head. ‘You hurt?’
‘Just a little.’
Swearing, he scrambled out of his sleeping bag. ‘You twit: you need more practice at playing practical jokes. They’re not supposed to backfire and injure you.’ He turned my head to the light coming through the doorway. ‘Not too bad: just a bump.’
I’d imagined it being really funny; instead it had turned out just pathetic. I didn’t learn, did I? Always failing to look before leaping. ‘Sorry.’
Matt huffed, his early-morning wits only just catching up with him. ‘Henry’s pissed off with us?’
I nodded, picking up that my friend was more than slightly interested in Henry.
‘I’ll have to make it up to her then.’
‘Chocolate or flowers.’
‘What?’
‘If you want to impress her. And pretend the joke was really funny—show her you’ve a sense of humour.’
He grinned. ‘I must have a good one if I’m still friends with you.’ He ruffled my hair gently. ‘Get lost, sweet pea. Some of us are trying to sleep.’
Reversing out of the tent, I dusted myself off. OK, so maybe I wasn’t as funny as I liked to think. But I’d got my map—it hadn’t all been a waste of time. Next stop: Marcus Cohen. Summer had said I was irresistible. Even though my confidence had taken a knock at my totally lame execution of the joke, I had no choice but to act like I believed it.
I stood at the bottom of the short flight of metal steps leading up to the Winnebago door. Oh Lord. I bit my knuckles, running various lines through my head.
Hello, remember me?
Hi there. Do you want to have coffee?
Marcus, can you give me some tips at making it in the music industry?
Nothing sounded right. He was going to hate me—and probably call security. I
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