Knickers

Underwear, Bright Pink

It's been several years since I had a very important epiphany: I am alarmingly stupid.
Despite such knowledge it is evident that I do nothing to combat the urges this stupidity inflicts on my daily life.
Maya and I had driven up together and spent a few nights in San Francisco in the sketchiest motel imaginable. We got drunk three nights in a row and went streaking through the city, coasting along on electric scooters and crashing into whatever our hearts desired.
Upon the arrival of the weekend we found a Marriott down the street from the venue. The nightly rates were obscene, considering it was the final year of Warped Tour and everyone had flooded into Mountain View to bid their favorite festival goodbye.
So, for the hell of it, Maya and I splurged on a sweet loft with a full kitchen and spent Friday night cooking gross franken-meals and watching bad reality TV, propped on our laps a bowl of stir fried ramen noodles with a delightful Dorito garnish and ugly little bits of torn up beef jerky.
This morning we had lined up outside the venue with half a hangover and a deep rooted sense of nostalgia that neither of us wanted to reveal. Just the hangover, of course. Not some gnawing sadness that our final moments at Warped were about to begin.
After we entered we dawdled a bit, cruising through merch tents mewling over cutesy things. Maya falls in love with every merch girl she sees, and flirts hopelessly with them whenever they let her. Naturally, I'm her wingman, though sometimes people take me as her girlfriend.
Unfortunately for us both, however, I'm straight, which Maya loudly regards as a bad lifestyle choice on my part. Today it was my heterosexuality that got me in trouble.
Sleeping with Sirens went on, and I hung around after an Andy Biersack meet and greet to watch. A boy had been violently ejected from the mosh pit and slammed into me, taking us both down, and once the surrounding crowd yanked us to our feet I realized that, despite his split lip, he was fine as hell.
After the Sleeping with Sirens set had ended he chased me away from the stage, catching up to Maya and I with a smug confidence and a saucy introduction. Jacob, his name was, and that I could call him Jake if I wanted to, but only if I really wanted to.
Only, he had said with a wink, if you think Jake's hotter than Jacob.
I couldn't help the following eye roll.
Then stumbling up behind him came a girl, tall and tan, clad in fishnets and a studded denim jacket. Maya's jaw practically hit the floor.
"Where are you going?" she had asked Jacob.
"Wherever they're going," he replied with a cheesy grin. "I never got your name."
"I'm Marley," I told him. "This is Maya."
"I'm Maya," Maya echoed, reaching out to shake hands with the newcomer.
"Jay," she tells us. "Jacob's my twin."
"No, you're my twin. I'm older."
They were charming. So charming, in fact, that we let them buy us French fries and a beer and ask about our plans later, and where we're from. After some talking, Jacob pulled a twenty from his pocket and asked if I was into bad ideas.
And then came my case of the stupids. I told him, of course I am. What am I, a nun?
It didn't occur to me that he might try to pay me off to hook up with him later, but even if that was his intention, I wouldn't have minded. I planned to sleep with him for free.
Then, out came his lighter and a coy smile, followed by the dumbest dare I've ever heard.
Now, I'm faced with two things. A fence, and the sternest pep talk from Maya that I've ever gotten.
"Look," she tells me. "This is the hottest girl I've seen all week. And honestly, the boy isn't so bad either."
"I know," I dismiss her.
"Clearly they're into dumb shit," she continues, gripping my shoulders and nodding toward a large hole in the chain link fence, covered with a tarp tied down by some cable ties. "Let's just do it."
I roll my eyes at her conviction, so easily undone by every punk girl she sees. Jay and Jacob wait for our meeting to be over, swirling the rest of their beer idly. We approach them once more to accept their stupid challenge, and when we do he hands me his worn Bic lighter, faded and scratched.
As the twins watch for security, Maya and I approach the tarp and, one by one, melt the cable ties and rip them free. Then, once our opening is just big enough, we slip through the fence and into the back parking lot, lined with tour busses.
Maya and I are automatically stunned into silence, completely starstruck just at the sight of the busses. Thankfully we are well concealed, and peek around the corners of the vehicle in search of security. Then, we make our way bus to bus, trying to remember the name of the artist Jacob had mentioned. Then, regrettably, I recall that he had mentioned two, but I can't remember for the life of me which one he hated.
I stop, ducking behind a bus labeled Yungblud with a paper in the windshield, and pull Maya into a crouch.
"Do you remember whose bus we need to sneak onto?" I close my eyes, straining to recall the names. "Was it this guy, Yungblud? Or Machine Gun boy?"
"It's Machine Gun Kelly. Even I know that, you boomer."
"Alright, whatever. Which one is it?"
"All I remember is that one of them had beef with Eminem." Maya shrugs. "So, probably a rapper."
"Machine Gun Kelly sounds like a rocker stage name, right? And Yungblud sounds more hip-hop."
Maya crosses her arms. "And if you're wrong?"
"How are they going to know the difference?" I point out, jabbing my thumb back toward the fence. "Plus, I haven't even seen a tour bus for the Kelly guy. It must be this one."
"Alright, hurry, then." Maya waves me toward the entrance. "I'll keep watch."
"Start laughing if you hear someone," I tell her, creeping toward the door and yanking it open. "Pretend you're drunk and got lost."
"Copy that," she says, and with that I disappear into the bus.
It's musty inside, with a notable plasticky smell alongside hot, cheap leather, almost like an office lobby after the janitor's two week leave of absence. Miraculously there's no one inside, and during my snooping I discover an empty bunk bed with a suitcase haphazardly tossed onto it, open and spilling out its contents. From the pile I select a folded pair of underwear, alarmingly bright pink, and make a dash for the exit.
My fingers are on the handle when I hear Maya begin to laugh.