Club None

XI.

Since his strange Cinderella – for that was what he had started calling her – had gone missing, Chanden wandered back to the security tent and found his half-irate father. Ignored the purpling veins in his temple. Poured out his story and waved the flip-flop around like a useless pink wand.

"She just bolted," he was saying now. "Freaking bolted."

His father stared at him. With a sigh, he pulled off his sunglasses. "You like this girl?"

Chanden ran his thumb along the edge of the folding table. He thought of the twelve freckles, five moles, and xylophone neck. How her lips parted when she breathed deep, and slow. "Well, yeah. I mean...yes. I do."

"You think she's in danger?"

Silence. He examined the canvas ceiling. Sunlight filtered in around gaps. Outside a BMX biker was yelling the crowd up before a stunt. Guttural screaming. Drunken laughter.

"Look," his father said, "I want to help you, I really do. But I have a group who just let five raccoons loose in campsite B, a corporate-sponsored event the police just pinned for giving marijuana to minors, and a couple BMX riders –" he jerked a thumb toward the noise "– who offered to let someone in the audience participate this morning, a kid tried something too ambitious, fell on his ass, broke his tailbone, and decided to sue. This needs to be important."

Chanden pressed his nail deeper into the plastic. Ellie's face had been so pale. Lips white. Hands shaking. He could still feel her fingers trembling against his palm.

"I think this is important," he said.

"Okay." his father tossed him a radio. 

If it were any other day, this might not have happened: but it was Monday, and Mondays were apt to be terrible, awful, no-good, very bad. As it was, half the festival was teaming with internal chaos. The campgrounds were a wasteland of beer bottles and someone had to be held responsible.

"Get security out here. If she's in a camper, that's going to be site D or E. Don't try to be a hero, Chanden. Let them handle it."

Radio in hand, his son raised his palms. "Wouldn't dream of it."