It was 1963. Even Juno had started to notice that the world wasn’t all amusement parks and beaches and fancy stores. There were one or two exotic locations she sure wasn’t gonna pay a visit to, however flying.
But she’d noticed something else, too. Something kind of in the air. Something that reminded her a little of the supple, sort of buoyant, but at the same time super-dense vibe that had come to her house with Rolf that day, and that she’d briefly and less strongly felt on that street corner in Paris. She could only conclude that it had to be a little like Magic. But she didn’t know what it was, or where exactly to find it. Another one of those things there wasn’t a spell for in her book. And she really needed something to do for the summer. Hanging out with Doris just wasn’t on anymore.
Sashaying past pop’s garage one Saturday morning in early July Juno met Kent Keogh, who’d been a couple years above her at Templeton and was newly graduated from Vancouver Technical High. She had nothing else to do, so she talked to him. He’d just got back from a week’s vacation camping with two friends at Lake Pigeon in Alberta. He was still trying to impress Juno, so, after feeling his tongue loosen enough to enhance everything about the trip from his chase after something in the dark that had definitely been a bear to the amount of beers he’d sunk, he ended with the words, ‘Yeah, and then on our last night we went to a folk club!’
‘A folk club?’ echoed Juno. For some reason the hair on the back of her neck had stood up.