“Oh, my God! What are you doing here?” I hiss, looking around to see if anyone else has figured out what I just have.
Taya is here. At Freedom Fest.
I realize there’s a guy beside her in an equally outrageous outfit and recognize her bodyguard, Captain. I don’t think he’s actually a captain, of either a boat or in the military, but that’s what he goes by, and he’s not the sort of person you question. Especially about his origin story. That’s how movie villains start their monologue and end up going off the deep end.
Oddly enough, they don’t particularly stand out in the crowd. Taya is probably safer here than walking around the streets of LA where people would expect to see her. And as outrageous as her outfit is, it’s not nearly as wild as most of the other ones here.
I rush her for a hug, and she squeezes me tightly but yells, “Don’t fuck up my makeup, bitch.”
Her smile makes me laugh. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Wouldn’t have missed your shindig.” She sees Carson standing next to me and lifts a questioning silver-painted brow my way. She’s asking so many questions with that one arched curve of skin and hair.
Does he know about me? Does he know about you? Are you fucking him yet? What does he mean to you?
It’s friendship shorthand, and I answer with my eyes, knowing she’ll understand.
No. No. Yes. Everything.
Taya offers her hand to Carson, and he shakes it politely. But she pulls him in, using a hand on his shoulder to force him lower so she can speak directly into his ear.
She doesn’t yell, but I’m close enough that I can hear.
“I’m the bestie. Don’t fuck her over or I’ll kill you, and that’s not an exaggeration.”
Carson grins as though she’s kidding but then sobers when he sees her hard expression. I love her, she’s an amazing friend, but I don’t need her threatening people over me.
“Tay—” I say, but stop myself short. Carson doesn’t know who she is, nor do the people dancing around completely unaware that one of the most famous artists in music is mere feet from them. I look at Carson with wide eyes, hoping he didn’t catch that. It’s not my place to share.
And yes, I did overshare his information with his dad, but that was for therapeutic reasons. Sharing Taya’s identity and whereabouts is a safety risk, a completely different thing.
But there’s no surprise in Carson’s eyes, and Taya notices as well. “You know who I am?”
He dips his chin once. “You have a beautiful home,” he shouts.
He’s known all along and never said anything, keeping the secret to himself and not even letting me know that he knew whose house I’d taken him to.
He passed a test I’m not sure I even consciously realized I was giving him.
We never find Spencer or Kyleigh, but the four of us make our way through the crowd in a chain—Carson holding my hand, me holding Taya’s, and her holding Captain’s. I look around to make sure everyone is enjoying themselves, partying responsibly, and sharing hashtags with their photos as we go.
After a while, we’re simply four more people in a sea of neon body paint, bass lines, and lighting effects—including the disco balls, which look amazing with the tree’s LED lights and the stage’s laser lights reflecting off them. We’re jumping along with the beats, dancing with the people around us. It feels like we’re part of one huge family.
The Americana Land Freedom Fest family.
I make a mental note to do some posts with that hashtag and caption. Especially if the photographer got some good shots of the festivalgoers with Grandma Barb.
Generations of fun.
It’s basically writing itself in my mind. I want to tell Carson, but knowing that he can’t hear me that well right now releases me to simply enjoy the craziness and leave the work until later.
DJ Amalfo’s set finishes, entirely as amazing as Kyleigh promised. You can feel everyone catching their breaths, recovering from the steady dancing as they rave about the show and share excitement for the upcoming headliner. Slowly, anticipation fills air, building steadily. The crowd begins to chant, “Jazmyn! Jazmyn! Jazmyn!”
As though the chant were music itself, people are jumping up and down and skipping around. It’s not out of control, but the plan-for-every-situation part of me is beginning to freak out a bit. “We need to get this calmed down.”
Carson grabs my hand, pulling me away from the crowd, and I grab Taya’s too. Our chain all together again, we make our way to the edge of the crowd. With our neon shirts and Carson being easily recognizable by staff, we’re able to get backstage fairly quickly. Carson sees Spencer, Kyleigh, Toni, and Jazmyn talking and guides us that way. “Over there.”
The Americana Land crew, including Toni, are wearing matching neon shirts. But not Jazmyn. She looks ready for the stage, wearing three-inch platform boots, red leggings which have been ripped to shreds along the front of the thighs, a black T-shirt with a cut neckline hanging off one shoulder, and so much jewelry and chains, I’m surprised she can move. Her makeup is dramatic black and white eyeshadow accented by false lashes and a literal smear of red lipstick across the lower half of her face. And her mullet is teased high at the top. She looks like a vampiric anime dream girlfriend.