Good Girls. Laura Ruby

       Beg Me

      Ash says she’s the Dark Queen of the Damned. I say I’m the Empress of the Undead. My dad, passing by the bathroom where we’re getting ready, takes one look and declares us Two Weird Girls from Jersey.

      “That’ll work,” Ash says.

      Tonight, we’re Goth. We’ve got the layers of black mesh shirts, the cargo pants rolled up to the knees, the ripped fishnets, the combat boots, the white face make-up and the smudgy rings of eyeliner. Ash brought a can of black hair spray, but she’s already used most of it on her curly brown hair. “Not sure if there’s enough left for you, Rapunzel.”

      “Shut up and start spraying,” I say. My hair is blonde, and long enough to tuck into the back of my cargoes. Ash blackens the strands around my face and puts skunky streaks all around the back. The noise scares Cat Stevens—aka Stevie, The Furminator and Mr Honey Head—who is watching us from his perch on the toilet tank. He jumps down and dashes out of the bathroom.

      “What did you do to Stevie?” my mom calls. I hear her murmuring, “Poor baby kitty. Little marmalade man.”

      After Ash finishes, we crowd the mirror. “We are so hot,” she says. And we are. Dark and freaky and brooding, the way vampires might look. I should like it more than I do. My black bra doesn’t fit right, and the straps dig into my shoulders. The fishnets itch. It’s a stupidly warm night and I’m already sweating. Plus, I’ve got on so much mascara that when I blink, my lashes spike my skin.

      It’s different for Ash. She’s sort of Goth-y anyway, with her pierced eyebrow and sharp cheekbones and the German swearwords courtesy of her Deutsch grandma. I lean closer to the mirror. “I should have bought contacts. In the store, I saw these green lenses with slanted pupils, kind of like a lizard.”

      Ash frowns. “You have the coolest eyes on the planet. Amber.”

      “Right,” I say. “Like that stuff insects get caught in.”

      “Plus,” she says, ignoring me, “you don’t get contacts for one Halloween party.” Ash blinks her own dark eyes, lush as melted chocolate. “And you can stop being so cranky, please.”

      “Sorry.” I bite my lip. “Can you believe this is our last Halloween together?”

      Ash’s hands fly up. “Enough with the ‘Can you believe this is our last whatever?’ stuff. It’s October. We’ve got like eight whole months of school left.”

      “More like seven.”

      “Seven, then.”

      “Six if you count vacations,” I say.

      “Audrey, the key word is ‘months’. Besides,” she says, digging her elbow into my side, “there are more important things to worry about right now.”

      “Like what?”

      “Like a certain person by the name of Luke DeSalvio, who I’m sure will be at Joelle’s tonight. You remember him.”

      “Oh,” I say. “Right.”

      “Listen to her!” says Ash. “Oh,

Скачать книгу