“I told you,” Jade said. “I don’t know any of the Simpsons!”

“SHOT SHOT SHOT SHOT SHOT SHOT SHOT SHOT SHOT!”

Jade fell into my shoulder, her body flopping, and I wrapped my arm around her. “You OK?” I whispered.

“I really like Mike,” she whispered back, her voice slurring. “Why doesn’t he like me?”

“He does.” I glanced up at the object of her constant unrequited affection. He was playing his acoustic guitar, his fingers moving deftly as he plucked out “Stairway to Heaven.” I watched him look over at Jade and his face go warm. A smile. She smiled back, before collapsing onto me again.

“I hope so,” she told my shoulder. “I’ve fancied him for so long.”

She kept drinking, and I decided to stop doing anything so I could keep an eye on her. We held on to one another’s denim shorts and let the atmosphere of the night take over—the only two girls left standing that evening. Sally had fallen in love with a roadie called Trigby on the first night, and hadn’t been back to our campsite since. Jessica and Liam were still love’s young dream, four months on, and she’d followed him into their tent a good hour ago. They hadn’t resurfaced yet. Mike started playing “Nothing Else Matters” and we all sang in choir-like voices, and I let a calm settle on me. I was doing it. I was at a festival. I was being a normal teenager. I was pulling it off. I was boiling hot, as it had been 30 degrees every day since we’d arrived, and I couldn’t let my arms out, but I was doing it.

Our singing was interrupted by a loud grunt from Liam’s tent, and everyone applauded and cheered.

“SOMEONE’S HAVING SEX,” Phil shouted, and some of the guys went over and banged on the canvas of their tent.

“FUCK OFF,” Liam’s head popped out from the top of his zip, clearly naked from the neck down. I heard Jessica’s laughter behind him. The boys cheered again. “Seriously, fuck the fuck off.” He disappeared and the air was a bit different when the zip went back up. Charged. All of us outside not having sex hugely aware of the people who were, only a few feet away. I imagined they were all picturing Jessica and wishing they were Liam. The perfect girlfriend. That’s what all the boys called her now. Since Easter, she’d been upgraded from Slutty Jessica to The Perfect Girlfriend. Whenever she turned up with crisps, or coke from her dealer, or looking particularly sexy and stunning in one of her new floral crop-top ensembles. “Liam, your perfect girlfriend is here,” they’d say.

Inspired, perhaps, by the events of the nearby tent, Mike stood up with his guitar, staring straight at Jade.

“Any requests, old friend?” he asked, before sitting next to her.