Free 0577651001373397368 ls 00.7- ta by babe Page A

I don’t want her going alone. She has no weirdo-guy filter whatsoever.
    ‘How can you not be excited about seeing The Gnarly Surs?’ Nancy says, grinning at me as she eyeliners and lipglosses in the changing room mirror, before twirling in the Siberian-peasant-meets-ninja-assassin outfit she’s selected. Her aura is a buzzing cloud of topaz and gold: friendship and happiness.
    ‘I promise you it will be the best night ever!’ Nancy tells me, spinning the boa over her shoulders, the feathers floating into the rainbow haze above her making it seem like a flock of jungle birds are nesting in her hair.
    I shoot her a look. ‘The last time you made me go with you to The Majestic I had to pull you out of a mosh pit before you got trampled, and then we almost got beaten by a Hell’s Angel.’
    Nancy sticks out her tongue. ‘Hey, just because he wore leather, probably kept a family of rodents in his beard and held alternative views on democracy and women’s place in society doesn’t make him a cannibal.’
    I shake my head at her.
    Nancy’s pretty much my only friend, partly because among the consummate liars in the world, she’s one of the more honest ones. She only lies when she doesn’t want to hurt someone’s feelings. I don’t lie at all. Ever. It’s a rule of mine. And could also explain why I finished elementary school with no friends whatsoever. By middle school I’d learned not to open my mouth. By High School I had a reputation as a loner, a weirdo and an ice queen.
    But at least my aura is shiny clean. I pull on a faded vintage T-shirt I’ve been eyeing all day, and which I earlier hid among the second-hand bras to ensure it didn’t get picked up by one of the thriftstore junkies, and then, over the top, ease on a snug leather jacket that feels like a second-skin
    --- a pity it costs more than I earn in a week of shifts at the Exchange. But borrowing costs nothing!
    Nancy bounces over and tugs the beret on over my hair.
    ‘Goddamn your hair, you pre-Raphaelite princess, you,’ she mutters as she tries to tame it, pulling one red strand free and arranging it artfully around my face. Once done, she rams the sunglasses on too, even though it’s almost dark outside. Then she links her arm through mine. ‘Ready, soul sister?’ she asks.

Chapter 2
    The Majestic has drawn its usual crowd of local kids.
    There’s also a battalion of bearded biker guys wearing so much leather they squeak when they walk and which (I shudder when I think about it) must cause hideous chafing.
    There are some thriftstore junkies over in the corner who we recognize as regulars to the Exchange, some crusty surfer dudes (as Nancy refers to them), and a few kids from school --- a mix of the pot smokers, the emos and the punk grunge kids --- all of whom ignore me and Nancy. And then there are the out-of-towners, looking scared as they clutch their Buds to their chests and wait for the warm-up band to finish.
    I see him straight away. He’s hard to miss in this mismatched group of Majestic patrons. He stands out not only because he’s exceptionally good-looking (his good-looks only heightened by his proximity to one particularly hairy, bearded specimen of doorman with an aura so bile-stained and pockmarked it makes me flinch), but also because Nancy sucker-punches me in the stomach to call my attention to him. He had my attention fully anyway. I snatch the sunglasses off to verify I’m not just seeing things.
    I have never, in all my life, seen an aura like his. Except on two other people. And both those people had something pretty unusual in common.
    I can only describe it by saying it’s like one of those ticker tape parades where tiny squares of tinfoil float and whirl in the air above conquering heroes’ parading heads. It’s astonishing. There are other colours mixed in there --- but it’s the silver I notice… can’t help but notice. It’s like he’s wearing a chandelier for a hat.
    Blood whooshes in my ears,