Ink Exchange (Wicked Lovely 2)

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?”

“Livid. I have to go back to that counselor. And”—Rianne looked away—“I’m sorry.”

Leslie felt like a weight was pressing on her chest as she asked, “For what?”

“She thinks it’s from Ren. That I got it from him, so I can’t…You shouldn’t call or come over for a while. It’s just…I didn’t know what to say. I blanked.” Rianne caught Leslie’s hand. “I’ll tell her. It’s just…she’s really—”

“Don’t.” Leslie knew her voice was harsh, but she wasn’t surprised, not really. Rianne never did well with confrontation. “It wasn’t from him, right? You know to stay away from Ren.”

“I do.” Rianne blushed.

Leslie shook her head. “He’s a bastard.”

“Leslie!”

“Shh. I mean it. I’m not mad at you for letting her think whatever. Just stay clear of Ren and his crowd.” Leslie felt ill at the thought of her friend under Ren’s influence.

“You’re not mad at me?” Rianne’s voice trembled.

“No.” Leslie was surprised by it, but it was true. Logic said anger made sense, but she felt almost peaceful. There was an edge of anger, like she was about to be mad but wasn’t quite able to get there. Every emotion the past three days floated away before it grew intense.