“How can you tell?” she asked, squinting.
“Practice. Lots and lots of practice.”
“So what is she, an easy mark? A sugar mama?” He looked at her quizzically. “How are you going to get that brooch?” she asked.
Again, he assessed her as if seeing her for the first time. “I see we have a similar way of viewing the world.”
Sara Beth, feeling less like a member of a circus and more like herself, smiled. “Go on, then. Show me what you’ve got.”
He clenched his jaw for a moment, deliberating, then seemed to decide.
“Wait here,” he instructed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“And?” Saskia demanded.
“And?” Sara Beth replied.
“What the heck happened?”
“I don’t know! My darn alarm clock went off.”
“You woke up?” Saskia asked disbelievingly.
“Yeah.”
“Man, that sucks,” Adrienne remarked.
“Tell me about it,” Sara Beth replied with a dramatic sigh. “I would have liked to know what kind of criminal I’m dealing with.”
Almost two weeks had passed since Sara Beth had shared her dream, and Saskia could now say for certain that she and the girls had settled into a new routine. A wonderful new routine. What had started as intermittent gatherings had morphed into nightly meetings—always at the sisters’ house, and almost always under the tree. She looked forward to the meetings so much that the hours she wasn’t with her new friends felt wasted—a necessary but unwanted prelude.
When she and her father had arrived in Coventon, Saskia had figured it would take at least a year before she felt like she belonged. She was even ready for the possibility of never belonging and finding her footing only after she left for college. After all, being a high schooler, no matter where you were, was like being a powder keg in a lightning storm.
Turned out, though, she’d been wrong. In just a few weeks, Saskia had not only found a great group of friends, friends who were cooler and more intrepid than even Heather, but she’d also found a sisterhood. Never before had she had such a close peer group: girls with whom she trusted her deepest secrets, girls who hung on her every word and vice versa. Even her father had noted that she was happier. “It’s like a whole new Saskia,” he’d said. “You’ve shed your moody, scaly teenage skin.” And he was right—she had. The only person she was still salty around was her mother.
Sometimes Saskia thought back to the first time Paige had offered to hang out. That day by their lockers. Back then, Paige had been this perfect, popular girl on a pedestal; Saskia had felt privileged just speaking with her. Now Paige was one of her closest confidantes. And the best part was, Saskia wasn’t the only who felt this way. At one of their meetings—this one in the Sampras den due to a rainstorm—Paige admitted she, too, loved the girls in the group.
“You know, I hope I don’t sound stupid, but I never thought I’d have friends like you. I’m so . . . so grateful,” Paige said.
Saskia felt moved by her sincerity.
Paige continued, “And our Mercury Boys—I never imagined they could be this amazing. We could go our whole lives and never meet guys like this, don’t you think? They’re cool, charismatic, charming . . .”
“Handsome. Criminally handsome,” added Sara Beth, smirking.
“Smart,” said Saskia.
“Perfect,” piped up Adrienne.
“Exactly,” finished Paige. “The only thing is, I feel protective of them. Know what I mean? God forbid word got out. What we have with these guys—it has to remain private. It’s ours.”
Saskia and the others nodded in unison.
“I’ve been thinking about this, the need for privacy, and have a proposition . . .”
“What?” Saskia asked curiously.
“I suggest we turn the Mercury Boys Club into a proper club. A secret club. With rules.”
“What kind of rules?” asked Lila.
“Rules that make us accountable. Like how we can’t talk about the Mercury Boys to other people. Ever. And how we can’t date anyone else—that would be cheating.”
“Isn’t that a little much?”
“Not at all.”
“Makes sense to me,” said Saskia, glancing at Lila.
Paige beamed at her. “We owe you a big thanks, Saskia. I’m beyond thankful that these guys are in our lives. I feel like we won the lottery.”
“Absolutely!” agreed Adrienne.
“We should do something. Something to celebrate,” said Sara Beth.
“Another toast?” suggested Adrienne.
“No, bigger than that,” insisted Sara Beth.
“What do you have in mind?” asked Paige.
“It’s kind of a crazy idea . . .”
“It can’t be crazier than what we’ve been doing in our dreams,” Saskia replied.
“True. So here it is. Let’s get tattoos. Mercury Boy Club tattoos.”
Lila wrinkled her nose. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“I think it’s a fabulous idea!” said Paige, smiling ear to ear. “How about the letters MBC? Everyone in the club can get them wherever they want. The tattoo would prove membership. It would prove sisterhood and loyalty . . .”
“Aren’t we underage?” interjected Adrienne.
“I’m sure we can convince somebody to do them,” replied Paige confidently.
“With the right incentive,” added Sara Beth.
“Oh Lord, I think I need a drink,” Adrienne moaned, collapsing into giggles.
“Well, you’re in luck,” said Paige. “Our mother restocked the liquor cabinet this morning.”
An hour later, the girls piled into Lila’s car. The sisters, too drunk to take their Mercedes, were happy to let Lila drive. Saskia rode shotgun. The others crammed into the back.
“Dude, it smells like a deep fryer in here,” Adrienne complained.
Sara Beth added, “Like year-old McDonald’s.”
“Nasty,” said Paige. She passed a bottle of liquor to her sister, who took a swig.
“Seriously, you need to get this car detailed,” said Sara Beth.
“What’s ‘detailed’?” asked Lila.
“Are you joking?”
“It’s getting your car cleaned,” said Paige. “Professionally.”
“I can’t even afford an oil change,” Lila retorted.
Saskia squirmed, embarrassed by Lila’s comment. She wished her friend would try a little harder to fit in.
“So where are we going?” asked Lila.
“To Never-Never Land,” mused Adrienne, still giggly.
“For real.”
“I don’t know the address of the place, just the name,” said Paige.
“What is it?”
“Graphic Content. It’s somewhere in New Haven. Downtown.”
Lila typed it into Google Maps on her phone. Luckily, the name was recognized, and they were soon on their way. Lila hopped on the highway and went directly into the fast lane, though her Buick topped out at 50 mph and groaned with mechanical exhaustion.
Saskia fiddled with the old radio until she found a song she liked—a catchy, feel-good confection of hard rap and bubblegum pop. Pure summer. She cranked up the volume and rolled down the window, savoring the moment.
Sara Beth rolled down her window, too, then half-climbed out of the car. Her head and torso sailed through the evening air as the car rumbled along. “Mercury Boys, we’re coming for you!” she screamed into the night.
Paige yanked her back inside. Sara Beth toppled onto her sister, spilling booze on the back-seat upholstery.
“Maybe that will drown out the deep fryer smell!” she said. Adrienne dissolved into more laughter. Out of deference to Lila, Saskia tried to keep a straight face.
In New Haven the girls drove through Yale, staring at the buildings, passersby, a crowded outdoor concert on the town green. They passed a parade of impressive architecture—gothic cathedrals, a thicket of handsome brick dorms, a pretty stone chapel, ornate entryways, arches, and gates.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the campus faded away. It took only a mile to reach a seedier part of town: New Haven’s version of the wrong side of the tracks: foreclosure signs, broken windows, liquor stores, and pawn shops. People stood around smoking and talking. Saskia couldn’t help but notice a predominance of brown skin. She found herself praying no one in the car would make a racist comment. Hey, lock the doors. Roll up the windows. You can’t trust these people. She didn’t want to take on the responsibility of challenging her friends, of explaining how history’s atrocities cast a long shadow on the present. But mostly, she didn’t want them to follow up with, Oh, but not you, Sask. You’re different.
She didn’t think she could stomach that.
Lila spotted the neon sign: graphic content, in blinking lights. Purple and gaudy, it hung on a one-story building wedged between a row house and a gas station. Saskia stared nervously out the window, trying not to make eye contact with the men sitting on the stoop of the row house. They looked restless, bored, observant.
“Are those, like, meth heads?” asked Adrienne.
Oh god, here we go.
“Don’t stereotype,” said Paige, glancing at Saskia.
“Um, there’s a reason stereotypes exist,” Sara Beth replied. “It’s ’cause they’re usually true.”
Saskia frowned as she watched Sara Beth get out of the car. Slamming the door shut, Sara Beth strode confidently toward the tattoo parlor. The men appraised her. She didn’t blanch.
“Hurry up, bitches,” she called to the other girls. “I don’t have all night!”
The inside of Graphic Content was a lot like Saskia would have imagined: dim and a little dirty, with illustrations of tattoo designs and photographs of actual tattoos covering the walls. The air smelled thick and unpleasant: a medicinal odor with undercurrents of cigarette smoke and bodily fluids. In the center of the room sat a couple of black vinyl chairs, reclining and well worn, patched here and there with silver duct tape. Between the chairs was a large, shabby steel cabinet. The top housed a collection of needles, ink bottles, antiseptic, cotton balls in mason jars, and a couple of corded gadgets that looked like glue guns.
Tattoo machines, Saskia realized.
When the door shut behind the girls, a little bell chimed. A heavyset man entered the room through a doorway at the back. He took his time crossing the room, seeming neither pleased nor displeased to see them.
“What?” he asked.
“We’re thinking of getting tattoos,” Paige replied, unflustered. Saskia suddenly felt like she’d fallen into the deep end of a pool with bricks strapped to her feet.
“Yeah?” the man asked. “You got IDs?”
“We’re of age.”
The man snorted and smiled. His teeth were gnarly: yellow and crooked, with a big gap where one of the front teeth should have been. “I get that a lot. I still need IDs.”
“We’ve got money.”
“What kind of money? Milk money?”
“Cash,” Paige replied, ignoring his condescension.
“Yo, Jimmy, these girls got cash,” the guy called out sarcastically.
Another man, thinner and younger, emerged from the same doorway. Scratching his unkempt hair, he looked at first glance worthy of a second one. Saskia liked the razor-sharp contours of his face, how his blue eyes were pale and sharp as diamonds. She liked the fancy, colorful skull tattoos up and down his arms. Sugar skulls, she remembered they were called, something to do with Mexico and the Day of the Dead.
But upon closer inspection, Saskia realized there was something distinctly unhealthy about Jimmy. His skin looked clammy, like he’d been sweating, and he was way too skinny. Not hipster skinny, like a lot of boys her age, but sick skinny: cancer or drugs, a body gone haywire. Suddenly the angles of his face seemed more like the edges of his own skull trying to burst through.
He pulled at the bottom of his vintage Nirvana shirt and studied the girls one by one, stopping to linger on the sisters. “What? They want tattoos?”
“So they say,” the heavyset guy replied.
“You girls in college?” Jimmy asked.
Sara Beth licked her lips and nodded.
“Oh yeah? Where?”
“Yale.”
“What are you, freshmen?”
Again she nodded.
“So why’re you here? It’s summer.”
“Getting a leg up on our studies,” Sara Beth replied. She gave Jimmy a look that was like a promise. Saskia marveled at her hard-core flirting.
“Oh yeah?”
Jimmy’s stare was like superglue, but to Saskia’s surprise, Sara Beth was unruffled, even receptive.
He grinned, still pulling at his shirt like it was three sizes too small, even though he was swimming in it.
“We need consent forms for anyone under eighteen,” the heavyset guy said. “You girls got parental consent?”
“We don’t need it,” Paige said. “Like I said, we’re all of age.”
“She ain’t eighteen.” He nodded at Lila, who, like Saskia, had positioned herself unobtrusively behind the others.
“She’s a young eighteen.”
“No consent forms, no service.”
“Mike, don’t be hasty, man,” Jimmy chimed in. “Slow night tonight, anyway.”
Mike exhaled audibly. He started to say something, but Jimmy cut him off. “What kind of tattoo you looking for?” he asked, the question clearly meant for Sara Beth.
“A cute one, somewhere special, maybe here, or here.” Looking at Jimmy, she touched the place where her hipbone jutted out, then the inside of her thigh. “The letters MBC.”
“Those your initials, sweetheart?”
“No,” Paige interjected. “They’re the initials of our friend. Mia Bree Coleman. She just passed away.”
“Jesus, really?” Jimmy’s face went the color of liver. “How?”
“Car accident. She was just walking on the sidewalk, minding her own business. Some idiot went right over the curb. Cracked her head wide open. By the time an ambulance came, she was already gone.”
“That’s terrible,” Jimmy said.
“It was.”
“What street did it happen on?”
“York.”
“People drive like garbage in New Haven,” said Mike. “I see it every day.”
“You know what’s even worse? The driver just drove off. It was a hit-and-run.”
“Jesus,” repeated Jimmy.
“Yeah, so we want to commemorate her,” Paige said. “Because the rest of us are going on with our lives, and Mia’s never gonna get that chance. She was robbed. High school graduation was, like, her last milestone.”
“Hey, man, at least she got that,” Mike said. Wearily, he set his body down on one of the black chairs. It made a sound like a softly hissing snake.
“So you understand why we need to do this?” Paige asked.
“Damn straight. I lost my younger brother when he was four. I’ll never get over it.”
“Was it a car accident, too?”
“Nah, leukemia.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head.
“Look,” Paige ventured cautiously, “I don’t know how much you charge for small tattoos. But we all want the same thing: Mia’s initials. MBC. We heard through the grapevine you guys are the best, and we want the best for our friend. We want to remember her—forever.”
“How small you want the letters?” Mike asked.
“Tiny.” Paige used her fingers to show him the s
ize.
“Maybe we can do it,” Mike said, a little out of breath. “Maybe. For two hundred dollars apiece.”
Saskia flinched; she had twelve dollars on her. Sara Beth and Paige exchanged looks.
“That’s a little higher than we hoped,” said Paige.
“That’s what tattoos cost, darlin’. Good ones don’t come cheap. You want cheap, you can find it. But then you’ll get a crap job, and maybe an infection, too.”
“But a thousand dollars total—that’s, like, the cost of a year’s worth of books.”
“You’re Yale girls? Come on, you got money.”
“We’re not all filthy rich, you know,” said Sara Beth. “Some of us worked our asses off to get here on scholarship.” She stretched her arms above her head. Saskia suspected she did it to flaunt her flat, tanned stomach.
“How ’bout we make a deal?” Paige said. “Negotiate.”
Mike shook his head.
“What do you have in mind?” Jimmy asked gamely.
Sara Beth gave him a frisky little smile. “My sister and I spend five minutes alone with you, and you do all the tattoos for free.”
“Both you and her?” Jimmy asked, glancing at Paige.
“Yeah.”
“You’re kidding me? Two smoking hot girls, a brunette and a blonde?”
“Man, calm the eff down. They’re underage,” Mike murmured from his perch.
Jimmy looked at him and shrugged.
“It’s all you, Jimmy. I’m out.” With effort, Mike hoisted himself out of the chair. “These girls could be bait, for all you know. Happened to Tribal Tattoo. ’Member the raid? J.J. got ten years. Feds took his weed, too.”
“There’s not going to be a raid,” said Paige. “We’ve been honest with you from the beginning.”
“Yeah, we’re making you a fair offer,” Sara Beth added. “More than fair. We can always go somewhere else . . .” She gazed at Jimmy, letting the words sink in.
“Okay, I’m in,” he replied, clasping his hands together. “Five minutes in the backroom. You and her. You really sisters?”
“Yeah,” Paige replied. “Five minutes and all five tattoos—right?”
“Right, baby. Whatever you want. The back room’s this way.” He gestured toward the hallway, which had a few closed doors, one being a restroom.
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