The last rays of summers morning sun had given way to a gentle breeze, though Rosie could scarcely feel its relief in the midst of the crowd she danced within. She could feel her cheeks burning like a furnace, and the sweat that trickled down her back was so warm that it felt more like a caterpillar, dampening her lovely pink blouse as she stood there at the mercy of her surroundings.

Bridgett danced to her right, rocking her head back and forth, her silver-dyed hair lapping here and there as she, apparently, envisioned herself as the personification of some sort of rockstar.

To her left YiYi had chosen a softer approach to the music, making a sign with her right hand which, according to the ‘rock culture’ meant ‘rock on’ or ‘yeeeeah’ or something along those lines, which Rosie was firm in the knowledge she knew absolutely nothing about, but had pretended she did for the last couple of days.

YiYi seemed to notice her discomfort and placed a hand on Rosie’s shoulder. ‘Don’t you like this song?’ YiYi asked. YiYo took no makeup today, but she had taken to wearing green contact lenses. Rosie thought they looked odd.

In response to YiYi’s question, Rose glanced around the ‘normally’ green fields of Ecclesfield, their beauty dulled in the presence of so many huge platforms and stages for bands and singers and dancers to perform on. Everywhere she put her eyes was criminal to her, for nature should be preserved, unbroken and virgin to the irritation of people.

Rosie grimaced at the trash on the ground everywhere around them. Empty cans, bottles, plastic, and everything else people threw around without thought at music festivals, they became part of the decor of the poor green grass these last several days. The growing smell about them was a plague to her, so pungent that many times she had considered simply leaving and forfeiting the money she had spent to come here.

‘Its a good song,’ Rosie lied. ‘But I don’t feel comfortable anymore, YiYi.’

‘Why?’ YiYi asked with her new laughing green eyes. She was a little shorter than Rosie, but much smaller than Bridgett, which was not at all difficult considering how tall Bridgett was.

‘I just think its becoming more disgusting the longer we stay here,’ Rosie told her, and her mouth twisted without her consent as she saw a trio of girls vomiting together over by the fence near the gate. The sight of it turned her stomach to jelly, and she was only thankful she did not have to smell it.

Finally YiYi took her hand from Rosie’s shoulder and pointed up at the stage. ‘See him?’ YiYi asked her. ‘He’s why I’m here.’ The man, or boy that YiYi was pointing at had a buzzcut of silver and black, wore ripped jeans and a ripped t-shirt decorated with some form of obscenity that Rosie would rather not read aloud, and he thrust his head around in circles and zigzags as he sang nonsense through a microphone. YiYi was mesmerised. ‘His skin is as pale as moonlight, and his jaw is strong and manly. He’s so handsome.’

Rosie chuckled at her. ‘You only like him because he’s famous.’

YiYi smirked, her pine-skin reddening at the cheeks. ‘Famous is okay, but some of these British guys are seriously hot. I never really liked the rock stars back in China. But for some reason over here…wow.’

YiYi had what Rosie called ‘white fever’, a condition which Rosie had diagnosed her friend with ever since they had met. ‘Well, whatever,’ Rosie shrugged. ‘I just don’t feel myself here, I feel so out of place. Maybe this kind of thing is just for you and Bridgette. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.’

YiYi took a hold of her arm with both her arms and smiled up at her. ‘Don’t say that. Don’t leave your little Asian sister alone with big bad Bridgette.’ She gave her best smile, as cute and innocent as the most innocent child and said, ‘pleeeeeeeaaaaaaase.’

Rosie pulled her in and let herself dance, if not for herself, then for YiYi. ‘Okay…for you i’ll stay.’