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Kira’s feelings about music festivals are very much a mixed bag.
On one hand, they’re unlike any other experience in the world. There’s nothing like feeling the very ground shake underneath your feet as thousands of people move in sync, total strangers bonded for a few hours by the music. It’s hard to think about anything else when you’re swathed in sound, and there’s nothing quite as strange as tearing your eyes away from the neon flickering lights and realizing that, if you squint, you can still see the stars overhead.
Most of all, there’s nothing like being able to recapture those feelings a dozen times over a weekend, just by bouncing back and forth between stages.
On the other hand, the festivals definitely have their downsides.
There’s the obvious ones, the things that Kira is pretty sure everyone hates; the ridiculous price of food and water, constantly stepping on trash or in mud, the mile-long line-ups just to use a sweltering, filthy portable toilet. But on top of all those, Kira has another problem that can’t be fixed by sneaking in food or wearing a heavy pair of boots.
Namely, while being 5’3 makes it easy to wriggle through the crowds and get closer to the stage, it still means that, unless she manages to score a prime spot up by the fence, she can’t actually see the act perform.
Things are no different during the pack's trip to Coachella (which Lydia somehow managed to score tickets to). Once they set up their tents, they all go their separate ways. There’s an electro-pop act that Kira’s been wanting to see for years starting in a few minutes and before she can even think about asking, Boyd agrees to come with her.
“Is this going to be okay for you?” Kira asks, holding tight to Boyd’s hand as they slip through the crowds streaming towards one of the main stages. “I mean, the lights and everything. Is it going to be too much?”
“It shouldn’t be,” Boyd says, smiling down at her. “Besides, I have a secret weapon.” He reaches into the pocket of his shorts with his other hand and pulls out a tiny, translucent plastic container, just large enough to contain two pairs of earplugs. “Mom insisted I bring enough for everyone. There’s a whole container in our tent.”
“You’re the best,” Kira says, craning up on her tiptoes to try and kiss his smooth cheek. She connects more with his jaw than anything but still, it’s the thought that counts.
Eventually, they come to a stop, unable to advance any further. They’re still a fair distance from the stage; based on the murmurs, there’s hundreds, maybe even thousands of people in front of them, all packed in like sardines. As more people come up behind them, they’re forced to move closer and closer, until Kira feels like she’s slipped between two walls, able to only move a few inches one way or the other. When Boyd’s hand slips from hers, a spike of anxiety stirs in her chest, but he’s back almost immediately, pressing the earplugs into her palm.
“They should be starting soon,” Boyd says, putting his own earplugs in. “There’s someone up there setting up the drums.”
Kira stands up on her tiptoes and sees nothing. She cranes, she tilts her head, she even hops as high as she dares.
Still, even when she’s in midair, she can’t see anything more than the back of heads and the catwalks and banners criss-crossing the top of the stage.
“Well, it should be a good show,” she says dejectedly, rolling her earplugs back and forth between her fingers. A single sharp, amplified snap of a drumstick against a snare echoes through the air and the crowd’s murmur grows louder in anticipation.
“Is everything okay?” Boyd frowns and his nose crinkles enough that Kira knows he’s able to smell her disappointment.
(Or maybe he’s just slightly overwhelmed by the combined scents of marijuana, sweat, stale beer and raging pheromones. At times like this, Kira is glad that her senses aren’t that enhanced.)
“I’m fine,” she smiles, squeezing his hand. “It’s just a little hard to see. But it’s okay! I’m used to it!” Boyd’s frown only grows.
“It’s not fair that I can see them and you can’t,” he replies, voice low and thoughtful. He turns to glance at the stage (or at least where Kira assumes the stage is) and after a moment, his frown slowly shifts into the small smile that had Kira falling for him on day one.
“I have an idea. I think it’ll work, as long as you trust me.”
“Of course I do,” Kira responds automatically. Boyd’s smile grows a little more before he twists around, until he’s standing with his back to her.
“Climb up.”
“What?” she yells as a brief drumbeat, even louder this time, splits the air.
“Climb up! On my shoulders, if you want. You’ll be able to see the stage.” It only takes Kira a few seconds to make her decision; she knows that Boyd will be able to hold her up for the duration of the set and he’ll be able to keep her from falling even if the crowd starts moving around.
“Only if you’re sure!” she says.
“I’m sure. C’mon.” He crouches down and she hops onto his shoulders, legs dangling over his chest. As he slowly gets back to his feet, she twists her fingers into the straps of his tank, hoping that she doesn’t suddenly go somersaulting over his head.
She manages to keep her balance and when she takes in her new view, she can’t help but gasp.
The forecast was calling for rain, but the sky is cloudless and baby-blue right to the horizon. The sun is shining down on the crowd, glinting off a pair of sunglasses or a lighter every so often. There are a few people running around on the stage, presumably finishing off the last minute details. When one of them throws an open bottle of water into the crowd, Kira can actually see it soar through the air.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, leaning over until she can press her lips to the top of Boyd’s warm forehead.
“Anytime,” Boyd replies, curling his fingers around her shins and squeezing gently. “Hold on tight. I think it's about to start.” Boyd barely finishes his sentence before the noise of the crowd spikes as four people file onto the stage, each holding their hands above their heads and waving.
Kira gives Boyd one last kiss before she loses herself in the roar of the crowd and the reverberating, heart-pounding thump of the bass drum as the band starts their first song.