Free Three Day Summer by Sarvenaz Tash Page A

to go home. And I will actually die of embarrassment. Really. I can just picture the rain mixing with the waves of humiliation radiating off me to create a toxic gas that will kill me and everyone within a ten-foot radius of me. It’ll be Woodstock’s great tragedy. A morbid smirk spreads across my face.
    I peek again at Michael and in my haze of insane thoughts, another one takes hold.
    It’s absolutely crazy. I don’t know if he’ll even entertain it. And even if he does, I know for a fact that the logistics of it will be a nightmare.
    â€œHey, I have to go home,” I find myself saying to him. But before his eyes fully dilate to puppy dog, I blurt out, “Do you want to come with me? I could get you something to eat and a bed.” I flush immediately at what I’ve seemingly just offered. “I mean, your own bed. Well, more likely a couch. Just . . . a place to sleep. Is what I meant.”
    Lovely.
    Michael opens his mouth and then turns to look longingly at the stage. I can see the word “no” forming on his lips. And then, to my surprise, he turns back to me and says, “Yes. I’ll walk back with you.”
    He smiles and I smile back, despite the fact that my stomach is now doing flip-flops at the prospect that a) I have just asked a strange boy back to my house where b) my father lives and c) I will have to think of a way to sneak him in and out of there and d) also feed him.
    He squeezes my hand as we turn around and slowly make our way through the crowd.
    â€œI can’t wait to finally see this farm,” he says. “You’ve been going on and on about it for ages.”
    â€œYes,” I counter. “All six hours we’ve known each other.”
    â€œHey! I thought we met this morning. It’s been at least twelve hours.”
    â€œI don’t think those first six hours count, since I’m pretty sure you thought I was a bird or something.”
    Michael goes a little red. “I said something about that?” he says in a small voice.
    I laugh. “Don’t worry. It was all very charming. And complimentary,” I can’t help adding. “Anyway, I like birds. We have chickens at home.”
    â€œDelicious,” Michael says.
    â€œDon’t let me catch you saying that in the henhouse. They are very sensitive.”
    Despite what my miraculous watch continues to tell me, we don’t hurry while making our way out of the concert grounds. The singers have changed again by the time we make it to the edge, and someone I actually recognize is now onstage: Arlo Guthrie.
    â€œI don’t know, like, how many of you can dig, like, how many people there are, man.” Arlo’s voice is fading out. “Man, there are supposed to be a million and a half people here by tonight. Can you dig that? The New York State Thruway is closed, man.” He laughs. “A lot of freaks!”
    A million and a half freaks. In Bethel. Unreal. And absolutely fantastic. I can dig it.

chapter 24
    Michael
    Holy Christ. I don’t know what happened in the last day, but if I thought my car was the only one pulled over on the main road, I was dead wrong. There are rows upon rows of empty cars, joyfully abandoned in the middle of the street. It looks like an alien abduction scene from The Twilight Zone .
    â€œThat’s a first,” Cora says as she points down the road.
    â€œWhat? Bethel isn’t normally a parking lot?”
    â€œDefinitely not. But I was actually talking about the little market that’s down there.” She points down the street, where I can see the lights on in a small building with a long line snaking out of it. It looks like someone is at the door, monitoring how many people enter and leave.
    â€œIs it usually open this late?” I ask.
    Cora laughs. “Nothing in Bethel is open this late. Until this weekend anyway.”
    We are on the other side of the street and, as we pass it, I glance