She patted his cheek. “You are helping. Follow me.” With a scoop of her hand, she beckoned us all, then darted into the two-lane pathway with the moving mass of Woodstockers.
The three of us traced close behind, watching her prance toward the stage.
My insides blazed, knowing Leon was nearby. I longed to strike up another conversation, like the one we’d had over the last four hours, but after our hug I could hardly look at him.Why is it that Livy finds it so easy to talk to boys? And why can’t that be me?All the wishing in the world couldn’t change things, so instead of talking to him, I resorted to what I did best. I took in the sights.
Every few feet something curious caught my eye. For starters, there were just as many clean-cuts at Woodstock as there were hippies. Maybe more. I felt the shock on my face growing when a trio of young nuns in habits walked past. I stopped to pet an adorable collie with a tie-dyed bandanna around his neck, but when I looked up and noticed Livy twenty feet ahead, I left without a word, scurrying to catch up.
All four of us stopped moving at a sharp screech, followed by tapping on the mic. “Emily Kay, please meet Harvey at the information booth,” the announcer said. “He has your car keys.”
Livy turned around with hands pressed into her hips. “See! I told y’all this would work. People are looking for each other.” As she spun back around, her long silky hair flew into Leon’s face. He swept it away like he was swatting at gnats.
I pressed a fist to my mouth, trying not to laugh. Because even Livy’s hair made me jealous. She could be a Breck Girl, just like Cybill Shepherd, another Memphis beauty queen.
As we got closer to the stage, I noticed something even more shocking than the nuns: a slew of young people seated down front. Some looked as young as thirteen. I couldn’t help wondering how in the world they had managed to nab their choice spots. Had they arrived a week early? If so, what kind of whopper had they told their parents?
Livy barreled to the front row, stepping around blankets and sleeping bags until she reached a small clearing. She turned to Johnny. “Lift me up on your shoulders, will ya?”
As if he’d been offered a chance to score the last hamburger on earth, Johnny squatted down in a flash. Livy hiked a leg over his neck, then held on to his head for balance while he effortlessly hoisted her.
She waved her note in the air, trying to catch someone’s attention. “Hello!” she hollered. “Can someone please help me?”
You’d have thought Marilyn Monroe had asked the question by the slew of roadies who hustled to assist her.
A shirtless dude beat them all to it. He squatted down at the lip of the stage with a smile that looked like the keys on a grand piano. “I gotcha, doll baby,” he shouted. “Is that for Chip Monck?”
“Is he the announcer?” Livy megaphoned back, hands on either side of her mouth.
“One of them.”
“This note is very, very important. Would you mind giving it to him right now?”
“Sure will.” He looked down into a pit full of film cameras, where several people milled about. “Hey, Joe! Hand me that note.”
A random hand appeared over the fence, and Livy passed it off to Joe. “I owe you one,” she yelled back at shirtless dude.
“Glad to help.” He read the note, then pointed to his right. “We’re telling folks to meet up at the information booth. Not the stage.”
Livy nodded in appreciation, then kicked Johnny’s ribs, like he was her horse. Instead of putting her down, he traipsed back through the crowd holding tightly to her calves. It wasn’t until we reached the corner of the stage that he finally let her loose.
She glanced around. “How the heck are we supposed to find the information booth with this mob?”
On the other side of the wooden fence, workers, dressed in blue T-shirts, scurried between trucks and trailers. Roadies pushed cases up a wooden gangway extending from a parking area all the way to the stage. Johnny tried waving one of them down, but no one was paying attention to us.
Out of nowhere a Frisbee appeared, heading straight for Leon. Like a seasoned wide receiver, he jumped three feet in the air, catching it with ease. Drawing his arm back, he scanned the crowd, then, with a skillful flick of his wrist, spun the disc back into the massive audience.
I finally had my in. “Are you a football player? That was quite a catch.”
A twinkle of mischief shone in his eyes. “Learned everything I know from the one and only Coach Chaump at John Harris High School.”
“What position did you play?” I asked.
But Livy cut in. “Bet you were the quarterback.”
“Nope, fullback,” Leon said. “Were you a cheerleader?”
“God no. Not my scene.”
“Bet you were homecoming queen,” said Johnny, exchanging a bemused grin with Leon.
