She is precarious atop the shoulders of a boy, his hair sandy blonde and pushed up from his forehead in clumps by a red headband. One of her arms is outstretched, bare and pale white; the other hidden, clutched tight around the waist of her friend on the left as they sway unsteadily above the crowd. On the main stage ahead of them the band strum out the chords of her favourite song and she stretches open her mouth so wide it creases up her cheeks, and sings along. Her teeth are straight and bleached white in the sun; perfect aside from the little gap between the front two that used to make her feel awkward and shy, but now she loves how it sets her out from the crowd.
She throws her head back and closes her eyes behind mirrored aviators- their surface shows nothing but the reflection of the crowd, and a shiny white slice of sky beneath the rim of her straw trilby, pulled down low over her head. Her hair tumbles out from beneath it, bleached blonde and crispy dry, matted with a long weekend’s dirt and the smell of smoke and mud and sweat.
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