Beside her, Aislinn had finished her survey of the street. She was always cautious, enough so that Leslie had wondered more than a few times what Aislinn had seen or done that made her so careful.

Aislinn asked, "Walk over to the fountain?"

"Lead the way." Leslie waited until Aislinn started walking before she glanced back to make sure that the guy she'd flipped off hadn't decided to cross the street. He waved at her but didn't follow.

"So did you know that guy tonight? The one you were talking to when I got there?" Aislinn tucked her hands in the oversize leather jacket she had on. She had a nice coat of her own, but she tended to wear Seth's beat-up jacket when he wasn't with her.

"I've never met him before." Leslie shivered at a sudden rush of longing that rolled over her at the mention of the strange guy—and decided not to tell Aislinn that he'd said he'd be back.

"He was kind of intense." Aislinn paused as they waited to cross the poorly lit intersection at Edgehill.

The headlights of a passing bus cut through the shadows, illuminating shapes that for a moment looked like a feather-haired woman and a group of red-tinted muscular men. Leslie's imagination was entirely too active lately. Earlier she'd had the disconcerting feeling that she was looking out of someone else's eyes, that she could see things that were somewhere else.

The bus passed, sending an exhaust-scented gust of air over them, and they crossed into the slightly better lit park. On a bench across from the fountain, four unfamiliar guys and two equally unknown girls nodded to Aislinn. She lifted her hand in a wave of sorts but didn't go toward them. "So did he ask you to meet him or something, or—"

"Ash? Why are you asking?" Leslie sat down on an empty bench and kicked off her shoes. No matter how long she stretched or how much she walked, there was something about waiting tables that always resulted in sore feet and achy calves. As she rubbed her legs, she glanced over at Aislinn. "Do you know him?"

"You're my friend. I just worry and … He looked like trouble, you know? … The kind of guy that I wouldn't want near someone I care about." Aislinn moved so she was sitting cross-legged on the bench. "I want you to be happy, Les."

"Yeah?" Leslie grinned at her, suddenly calm despite the swirl of feelings that had been swarming through her tonight. "Me too. And I'm going to be."

"So that guy—"

"Was just passing through town. He talked pretty, wanted to be adored while he ordered his meal, and is probably already gone." Leslie stood and stretched, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. "It's cool, Ash. No worries, okay?"

Aislinn smiled then. "Good. Are we walking or sitting? We just got here. …"

"Sorry." Leslie thought about sitting down for a half second. Then she looked up at the dark sky swallowing the moon. A wonderful rush of urgency filled her. "Dance? Walk? I don't care."

It was as if her months of fears and worries were slipping away. She reached back to touch her tattoo. It was just an outline still, but she already felt better. Believing in a thing—acting to symbolize that belief—really did make her feel stronger. Symbols of the conviction. She was becoming herself again.

"Come on." She grabbed Aislinn's hands and pulled her to her feet. She walked backward until they were several feet away from the bench and then spun away. She felt good, free. "You sat around all night while I was working. You have no excuse for sitting still. Let's go."

Aislinn laughed, sounding like her old friend for a change. "The club, I guess?"

"Until your feet ache." Leslie looped her arm with Aislinn's. "Call Ri and Carla."

It felt good to be herself again.

Better, even.

Chapter 8

Leslie walked down the hall of Bishop O.C., shoes held in her hand, careful not to swing her arm and smack one of the dingy metal lockers with her heels. It had been three days since she'd had the outline tattooed, but Leslie was unable to stop thinking about that dizzying energy. She had been having strange bursts of panic and joy, emotions that seemed misplaced, out of context somehow, but they weren't debilitating. It was like she'd borrowed someone else's moods. Odd, but good. And she felt stronger, quieter, more powerful. She was certain it was an illusion, a result of her new confidence, but she still liked it.

The part she didn't like was how many fights she seemed to notice—or that they didn't frighten her. Instead she caught herself daydreaming of the Verlaine's customer. His name was almost clear when she thought of him, but he'd never told it to her. Why do I know …? She shook off that question and hurried to the open door of the supply room.

Rianne was motioning impatiently. "Come on, Les."

Once Leslie was in the room, Rianne shut the door with a quiet click.

Leslie looked around for a spot to sit. She settled on a pile of gym mats. "Where are Carla and Ash?"

Rianne shrugged. "Being responsible?"

Leslie suspected that she should be doing the same thing, but when Rianne had seen her in the hall that morning she'd mouthed, "Supply room." For all her flakiness, Rianne was a good friend, so Leslie ditched first period.

"What's up?"

"Mom found my stash." Rianne's heavily made-up eyes welled with tears. "I didn't think she was coming home, and—"

"How mad was she?"