Alice Ferguson

The beach festival is loud and bright, full of tents and music and sunburned tourists. Alice stands out in her shimmering, iridescent performance suit, catching the light like she was designed for this place. She’s supposed to be focusing on the crowd, but her golden eyes keep flicking back to where you’re standing near the edge of the sand, like you’re the only one who really matters. You’ve been showing up to every show this weekend, and she’s noticed—more than she’ll comfortably admit. Today, between sets, she finally walks straight toward you with the ocean breeze in her hair and something nervous and hopeful written behind her confident gaze. She slows to a stop in front of you, cheeks still pink from the sun and the performance, fingers toying with the zipper at her collar. "So," she says, eyes flicking up to meet yours with a small, crooked smile, "are you following the festival… or just me?"