In the UNC meeting room, Brian placed festival schedule cards on the table. This Wednesday afternoon, like last Wednesday, he and Kaya hoped to drum up enthusiasm: The arts festival was for the directors and their friends and family. Thursday and Friday, they were invited to attend classes. The schedule touted Friday night’s excellent dinner thanks to Carla followed by a chant down bonfire. (Through Everett Clay, Angelina had secured a permit for this.)
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On Saturday Kaya and Angelina planned a presentation on the old Black Mountain College. After which, Trevor would give a “life-affirming” lecture. The festival would conclude inside Royce’s geodesic dome. The band Awake would play as long as people listened.
Brian set up individual bottles of water. Kaya was drinking coffee and he came close to suggesting it was the last thing she needed. Which was true, though no reason to say so. During the meeting Kaya would maintain, and not snap as she did at everyone in Black Mountain. Even Trevor. And especially Angelina, who ignored Kaya’s bad temper.
Brian worried that Kaya’s furious tongue indicated how precarious the art college was. If the festival fell apart, the whole Consortium might go down in flames. Money had gotten so tight suddenly. What if people decided experimental education was ridiculous?
Appearing ridiculous was Hailey worst fear’s right now. “I’m the first and only one on stage for three minutes—a coiled body coming to life.”
Brian had watched the rehearsals, but what could he tell her? Watching Hailey brush her teeth was so beautiful, he lost all other awareness. “The three minutes you’re alone on stage are gorgeous, Hailey.”
To Kaya he said, “She can’t go by me. Have you seen the dance?”
Please. Kaya was not worried about interpretive dance. Mostly, she said, it was Trevor. “Keep him under control.”
Brian didn’t nod or agree or disagree. Kaya knew Trevor. Brian wasn’t sure he’d control him if it were possible.
Kaya nagged Trevor all the time: no ganja.
And Trevor always answered, “The cutchie pipe is crucial to the bonfire chants, to reaching the heights.”
“So keep it level, Trevor. No heights this Friday.
“Heights toward the Lord, Kaya. Trust me.”
Kaya certainly did not trust Trevor. Brian didn’t say so, but Kaya needed to be realistic. Trevor gave his word he’d smoke only during the bonfire.
The UNC directors straggled in and Brian reported that for next semester five new students had enrolled. “We’re still projecting fifty by September of next year.”
The group smiled and nodded so pleasantly that Brian suspected Kaya was wrought up about more than mollifying the directors.
As the meeting dispersed, Brian left, thinking that the festival’s attendees seemed ready to appreciate the arts—and even, possibly, open to a little ganja during the Friday evening chant down.
And if not, Brian bet Trevor—being Trevor—could change that. The second he thought this, Brian jumped. He was walking along a path away from the library and suddenly Trevor was walking in sync beside him. “How long were you there?”
“Since you left the building. Didn’t you feel me, stepping when you stepped?”
Driving back, Brian heard himself ask Trevor the same old question, “What’s the message you need a lecture room for?”
“I can’t say until I see who’s there.”
“I put it down as a life-affirming lecture.”
“No lecture, Brian.”
“Well then what? What are you gonna do when everyone’s looking at you, waiting for whatever you have to say?”
“Till I see the people, it’s ’tween I-and-I.”
“It’s stuff like this, Trevor, that really makes me worry about you.”
“And I worry ’bout you so.”
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