按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
uninteresting…just like everything else in her closet。 Serena's clothes were always so perfectly
frayed； faded and worn； belying the colorful and mysterious history of their wearer。 Jenny couldn't
help but wonder whether her own clothes would fade and develop character too if she got kicked
out of Constance and sent to boarding school。
〃Ever thought about going to boarding school？〃 Jenny wondered out loud。
Elise made a face。 〃Eat school food three meals a day and live with your teachers？ No way。〃
Jenny frowned。 That wasn't how she pictured boarding school at all。 In her mind boarding school
meant freedom： from her manic…depressive Mr。 Poet Rock God brother； from her manically
overprotective and embarrassingly unkempt dad； from Constance Billard's horrendous school
uniforms； from her dusty old bedroom； and from the everyday boringness of doing the same old
same old now and for the next three years。 It also meant opportunity： to live and go to school with
boys； boys； boys and to be… the girl no one could stop talking about。
Rufus poked his head in the door； not even thinking about the fact that Jenny was no longer five
years old and might be pletely naked or something。 His unruly hair was tied in a ponytail with
a piece of the bright blue plastic bag the New york Times was delivered in every morning。 〃You
girls want me to help you get a cab？〃 he asked with cheerful concern。
Jenny could tell her dad was dying to go to Dan's gig with them； but tonight was his monthly
anarchist writers' workshop… the only thing he took as seriously as raising his children； even
though none of his writing had ever been published。
〃That's okay； Dad。〃 Jenny smiled sweetly； daring him to say something rude about her sexy gold
sandals。 〃Ready？〃 she asked Elise。
Elise smeared an extra layer of Jenny's favorite MAC Ice lip gloss on her already shinny lips。
〃Ready；〃 she responded。
〃You two look so。。。〃 Rufus tugged on his straggly beard； struggling for the right adjective。
〃Grown…up；〃 he said at last。
Yeah； but we're not exactly models…who…date…rock…stars material； Jenny thought as the two girls
contemplated their reflections in mirror。 Elise had on way too much lip gloss； and Jenny kinda
wished that her Kors sandals weren't totally flat； so she'd at least appear taller。 After all； she wasn't
going to the gig to see Dan。 She wanted to meet Damian Polk and the rest of the band； and she
wanted to make an impression。
Jenny stood on tiptoe and then eased her heels back into her shoes again。 〃Lucky we're on the
guest list；〃 she sighed； 〃or they'd never let us in。〃
Actually with a chest like that she could probably get in anywhere。 But let her find out for herself。
V CAN BE SUCH A GIRL SOMETIMES
〃What the fuck？〃 Vanessa demanded。 How had she missed them after all these years she had no
idea。 She twisted her head around and checked her reflection in the bathroom mirror once again。
They were； four big brown moles； all lined up on her neck behind her ear like some kind of
fucked…up constellation。 She felt like a girl in a Clearasil mercial； panicking because she'd
gotten a zit right before going out on a date。 Zits were temporary； though。 The moles were there to
stay。 Who in her right mind would keep her head shaved with moles like that on her neck？
She yanked open a drawer beneath the bathroom sink； looking for some of that skin…colored
cover…up crap her sister Ruby put under her eyes when she'd been up all night。 She found a stick of
something called Peekaboo that was a little pinker than her natural skin tone but good enough。 She
dabbed some over the moles； rubbed it in； and examined the results。 Now she looked like she had
poison ivy； or poison neck。 She considered pasting a Band…Aid across the whole area； but she
didn't have one big enough to cover all four of the moles； and a Band…Aid would only draw
attention to the problem。 She washed off the cover…up and then dug around in the drawer； looking
for something that might distract Beverly from the hideous deformities on her neck。
As if the still…healing lip piercing on her upper lip wasn't distracting enough。 Beverly had been
polite enough not to mention it before； but now that they were getting to know each other； he
might ask if the crusty sore beneath that silver D…ring actually hurt。
And why would Beverly even want to check out her neck？ They were only going to the Raves gig
together… just hanging out to see if they'd mind cohabitating； as in roommates； not lovers who
looked at each other's necks。 Besides； Beverly was an artist。 He might think her moles were cool。
A sample vial of perfume called Certainty was rolling around in the bottom of the messy vanity
drawer。 It sounded like a name of a tampon or a pregnancy test； but Vanessa eased the little black
cap off the vial and dabbed some perfume on her wrists and temples anyway。 Certainty smelled
musky and powerful and might be so distracting to Beverly that he wouldn't even notice her
disgusting configuration of neck moles。 Maybe it would even work some sort of magic。 She would
walk into the club where Dan and the Raves were playing； Dan would turn purple with a mixture
of desire； regret； and mad jealousy； and Beverly would feel immediately certain about wanting to
live with her。 As a friend； of course。
Of course。
IT SUCKS WHEN YOUR MOOD AND YOUR OUTFIT DON'T MATCH
〃Sure you're all right； man？〃 Damian asked for the second time through the locked bathroom stall
door。
〃Yep；〃 Dan called back from the other side of the door； praying that Damian and the rest of the
band would think this was just his usual pre…gig behavior and go back to playing poker and
knocking back Stoli shots or whatever they were doing backstage。
〃All right； then。 See you in a few；〃 Damian replied。 〃Nice shoelaces；〃 he added before leaving the
bathroom。
Perched on top of the toilet seat lid； Dan stared woefully down at his new sneakers and the
absurdly wide pant legs that nearly covered them。 Yesterday he'd wandered into 555 Soul on
Broadway in SoHo and let a sales guy talk him into a pletely new performance wardrobe。 Big
yellow…and…black two…tone T…shirt； insanely huge and baggy gray rip…stop pants with drawstrings
and toggles and pockets all over them； black canvas Converse sneakers with yellow laces； and a
khaki…colored truckers' hat with a picture of yellow YEILD sign on it。 That hat kept his wild；
shaggy hair under control and revealed his shaved neck； making him look more menacing than
he'd ever thought possible。 In fact； with his new outfit； he kinda looked like a shorter； skinnier
Eminem。 Which was not really the look he wanted at all。
None of the guys in his band had mented on his outfit when he showed up； but then again he
hadn't really given them time。 One look at the huge line forming outside the club and the
instruments and microphones set up on the stage inside had sent him rushing to the bathroom to
puke his guts out。 He'd been locked in a stall ever since。
If only he had a lucky talisman like a handmade silver belt buckle or a shark tooth necklace the
way most legendary rock singers probably did。 He could don his lucky whatever…it…was； his
nervousness would disappear； and he'd perform with plete abandon； driving the crowd insane。
Instead； he just sat on the toilet in the club's garish pea…green…painted men's room and smoked his
lucky Camels… about forty of them… feeling progressively sicker and sicker。
All of a sudden the men's room door creaked open and the scuffed toes of Damian's black work
boots appeared under the stall door once more。 〃have a taste and you'll be all right；〃 he advised；
shoving an upopened bottle of Stoli under the door。
Dan took the bottle。 If he was going top perform tonight he'd need to feel as fly as his outfit。 He
opened it and took a swig。 His stomach felt so bottomless and endless； it was like pouring a
teaspoon of vodka into an empty well。 He took another swig and wiped his mouth on the back of
his hand。
〃See you in a few then； yeah？〃 Damian said again。 〃You might want to lose the hat； though；〃 he
a