Free The Chaos by Nalo Hopkinson Page B

young?” That was another thing that drove me nuts about the ’rents. It was like they didn’t trust the report cards I brought home. All those As and Bs. I worked hard for those! But they thought I was too stupid to notice when new marks showed up on my very own body.
    Maybe now that Glory and I were talking again, I’d get her to remind me where that place was. Could hardly be worse than rubbing some greasy goo that smelled of peppermint-flavored rotten eggs into my skin every day and swallowing drops of some other gunk in tepid water every night.
    I checked my face out in the mirror. Damn; three zits on my cheek. ’Bout time I outgrew the acne stage. I dabbed some foundation on over them, blended it in with my fingers. It was a shade darker than the little chart on the back of the bottle said I should wear for my skin tone. Made me look healthier, that’s all. More like my nice summer brown. Then some lip gloss to finish it off. All of My Purple Life lipglass; my favorite.
    The toilet in the next stall flushed, and the stall door opened. I quickly shoved my sleeve back down.
    Someone came out of the stall. Legs bent at odd angles, walking with aluminum crutches. Sorta thick-bodied. At first I thought it was a guy, and I was about to tell him off for being in the women’s washroom. But no, she was a girl, just handsome in a guy kinda way. She looked Sri Lankan, or something, maybe. Dark skin, half her head shaved, the other half black spiky hair, gelled, with the tips dyed green. Eyeliner giving her raccoon eyes. Tight, torn black jeans and a black sweatshirt that read NO ONE IS ILLEGAL . She wedged her crutches under her armpits and started washing her hands at the sink next to mine.
    “I like your hair,” I said to her. She kind of grunted at me, scrubbed her hands dry on her jeans, and headed for the door. I held it open for her. She didn’t even say thanks. Whatever.
    Upstairs, on the way back to my table, I passed by the cute guy. He was leaning over the table, making some earnest point to his buddies. They saw me coming, and their eyes widened. He had his back to me. I touched his shoulder. He turned, looked up, realized that I was the girl he’d been looking at. I bent and whispered into his ear, “Those guys over there with me? They’re my brothers.” Then I walked away before he could respond. Ball was in his court now. I mightn’t be able to let anyone see my awful skin, but at least I could get my flirt on. Behind me, I could hear his buddies laughing. At me?
    Rich had gotten himself a beer. I sat down. “Gimme a taste of that?” I asked.
    He handed it over. Tafari looked at us with alarmed eyes, but he kept his mouth shut. I took a gulp of the beer. Yeah, still tasted like soap, like the first time Dad had let me have a teeny sip of his. I made a face and gave it back. “Why d’you like that stuff?” I shouted through a thumping swell of Beyoncé’s latest song. Maybe there’d be dancing later.
    He grinned. “It’s cheap. Why d’you like that guy?”
    Because it was bugging Tafari. I shrugged. “Looks like he’s checking for me. And he’s cute.”
    “He’s gotta be almost thirty!”
    I glanced over at the table my guy was at. He was deep in conversation again. “You think so?”
    “At least. What, you into old men now?”
    “Uh . . .” Shit. There was a Horseless Head Man, sitting right on the edge of the stage. Well, more like bobbing, actually, withits goofy sea horse grin. Damn. I’d been hoping I wouldn’t see any tonight.
    “Scotch?” said Richard. “You all right?”
    I nodded. He turned to look at where I was staring, and a girl hopped up onto the stage right there, about an inch away from the Horseless Head Man. It floated politely out of her way. They had manners, I’d give them that much. There it hung, about two feet in the air above the stage, invisible to everyone but me.
    The girl tapped on the mike a few times. The music went down. She was a tiny-waisted