I still haven’t talked to Perry, although I’ve seen him in passing several times. While we were all scrambling to set up the tents once they arrived at 11:05 sharp, he was dealing with another mess: finding a last-minute replacement for the cover band that was supposed to perform. Apparently, the lead singer and drummer woke up with the “stomach flu” （aka a hangover, I’d bet my paint set on it）， so Perry spent the last hour calling every musician he knew trying to find a backup.
Through the general murmur, a crackle fills the air. “One two, one two. Check, check,” intones a female voice through a set of speakers. A guitar strums. The notes shift as the instrument is tuned, and several heartbeats later, guitar chords fill the street and a woman begins singing. Her lilting alto is mesmerizing, and I smile. Looks like Perry found a replacement act after all.
“Hey, Cass. You’re here early.” I jump at the sound of David the receptionist’s voice, my hand flying to my chest. Here we go. It’s Smith & Boone time. With fumbling fingers, I quickly button my jacket to hide my volunteer T-shirt.
“Hi, David,” I say, turning around. “You look nice.”
Cocking a hip, he adjusts his pink-framed sunglasses. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure about the fanny pack. Is it too much? It’s too much.” Tugging at the hem of his black-and-white-striped T-shirt, he adjusts a neon green fanny pack over his cut-off jean shorts.
“No, it’s perfect. Not everyone can rock a fanny pack, but you’re totally pulling it off.”
Pursing his lips in a smile, he taps my shoulder. “You’re so sweet. I’m loving this outfit, too, by the way. Very Emily in Paris meets Love & Basketball.” He wags his finger between my white Adidas, high-waisted khaki linen shorts and matching belt, tucked-in T-shirt peeking out from my white linen jacket, and hair piled into a loose bun on top of my head. “Aren’t you hot though? It’s like a thousand degrees out.” He flicks the corner of my lapel.
My mind races to find a convincing lie. “I have a sunburn. On my arms,” I say quickly, because my legs are clearly normal colored. “Yeah, I went to the lake after work yesterday and forgot to put sunblock on my arms. So stupid.” Rolling my eyes, I force a laugh. “So I have to keep them covered today. Boo.”
“Well, at least linen breathes,” he says. “So, I’m supposed to buy the lunch and drink tickets for everyone. Do you know where to go for that?” Unzipping his fanny pack, he pulls out a shiny black credit card—probably a company card.
“Oh, um…”
“Hey, there you are!” A familiar female voice rings out. Devin’s friend Anisha is waving at me from thirty feet away and approaching fast. “Devin’s been—”
“I think you buy tickets inside this tent.” I say to David as I unceremoniously push him into the ticket booth tent we just set up.
“Goodness!” he blurts.
I poke my head in after him. “Wait here. I’ll see if I can find a volunteer to help.” I don’t wait for his response before making a beeline toward Anisha in her green volunteer shirt. I intercept her not ten feet away.
“Cass! I’ve—”
“Shhh.” I make a slicing motion at my throat. “One of my coworkers is right there,” I say in a hoarse whisper, pointing at the ticket tent behind me.
Her hands fly up to her mouth. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I forgot we have to pretend like we don’t know you today. Perry filled us in.”
“I mean, you don’t have to pretend like you don’t know me. It’s just, a few dozen people I work with including my bosses will be here today, and I don’t want them to find out I helped plan this event. It’s complicated.”
“No, no, I get it. Devin was looking for you, but I’ll remind him you’re officially off the clock until your coworkers leave.”
“Thanks, Anisha. If you could remind the other volunteers too, I’d appreciate it. Oh, and do you know who’s scheduled to work the ticket booth at twelve?”
“Me and Jai.”
“Perfect. My colleague is in there right now—he’s here early to buy lunch and drink tickets on behalf of my company. When you sell him the tickets, can you set them aside in the booth? Then when a Smith & Boone person arrives, ask them to show you their work ID in exchange for their allotted tickets. Oh, and don’t forget to card them if they want an alcohol wristband.”
To simplify sales on Zelma’s end so they wouldn’t have to handle money and card people while also serving food and drinks, Marcus suggested selling tickets at a separate booth for two dollars apiece that festival-goers could use at their tent—five tickets for a burger and fries, three tickets for a beer, etc. That way, Zelma’s and the other breweries could provide faster service and we could card people up front and give out wristbands to those twenty-one and over. Plus, it gave us the perfect opportunity to put out a “suggested entry donation: $2” jar for anyone who wants to throw a couple of bucks toward festival costs.