Page 45 of Come As You Are

“I don’t, actually—my mom’s grandparents were Holocaust survivors and she made me swear on their graves I’d never get one—but that’s not the point. This isn’t like paying for stolen candy five minutes later, Peach. If you hate it, there’s no magic eraser.”

“What makes you so sure I’d hate it?”

He sighs. “What would you even get?”

“Hmm… I was thinking maybe your face, as a back piece. If I bend at the right angle, you can kiss my ass whenever I want,” I say sweetly.

“Ha ha. Then what’s really at the Ink Spot?”

“They have a piercing chair, too. I was thinking maybe a cute little stud, right here.” I tap the outside of my right nostril. “What do you think?”

He tips his head. “I think… that’d look cool, actually. All right, come on.”

We head down to the Ink Spot, trading ludicrous tattoo ideas as we go, and are greeted by a cute girl with pigtails the color of blue raspberry cotton candy and a double lip piercing that clearly captures Salem’s attention. I can’t help wondering if he’s lusting after the piercing or the mouth it’s attached to. She’s definitely what I would’ve picked out as his type, and for the millionth time since my discovery on Friday night, I wonder how the hell he can be with Jenna London, of all people.

Unfortunately, Pigtails’s coolness extends only so far as her own appearance; as soon as we tell her why we’re here, she taps the sign next to her that saysMINORS MUST BE ACCOMPANIED BY A PARENT OR LEGAL GUARDIAN.

“Oh, uhh, this is my dad?” I offer, indicating Salem.

“She’ll be sent straight to her room after this,” Salem confirms.

“Orrr I’m eighteen? Should I have gone with that?”

“Probably,” Pigtails says with a shrug, “but only if you’ve got a good fake. We do check IDs.”

“I do,” Salem says, pulling out his wallet, but Pigtails stops him.

“You’re a little late,” she says, but at least she sounds a little sympathetic. “Come back at three when we change shifts. You have perfect eyebrows for a barbell.”

“No one tells me I have perfect eyebrows for anything,” I grumble as we walk away, the depleted bag of candy swinging between us.

“You have perfect eyebrows for scrunching up when you’re pissed at me.”

“That helps, thank you.” We walk until we reach the central atrium, and I look over the banister at the shoppers below. As I watch them film each other on escalators and holding up hauls, I think about how today has been an incredible bust on my part… and then finally, I think of something even I can’t screw up.

“I’m going shopping,” I tell Salem.

“Yes, I did notice we are at the mall.”

“Oh, shut up. I’m running into Azalea Commons—ten minutes, tops. You can go do whatever, and I’ll meet you at the food court.” If I’d been with Sabrina, or pretty much any female friend, I’d have dragged them into the cheap fast-fashion shop with me, but I can’t bring myself to make Salem sit there while I try on outfits, looking for one daring piece to add to my wardrobe.

Sticking to the bargain bins, I find it easily—an aqua lace corset with lime-green ribbons that I change into in the bathroom immediately after checking out and cover with the button-up before stuffing my original tee into my bag.

Salem’s sucking noisily from a cup of fountain soda when I arrive, five minutes later than I said I’d be. “Hey, you wanna share fries?” he asks when I walk up.

“Soon,” I promise. “First, I need you to do a silly, embarrassing thing with me without making fun of me for it.”

“Can I make fun of you for itlater?”

“Sure. Come on.” I yank him out into the parking lot and start unbuttoning my shirt.

“Whoa, Skeevy, this is not the place—”

“Do you seriously think I am flashing you in a parking lot?” My fingers fly over the buttons, and then I push the fabric off my shoulders. “It’s just a different shirt.”

“It… is definitely that.” He sounds a little bit like he’s choking on his tongue, and I imagine he’s kindly swallowing down fifty shades of mockery. “You look—um.” Am I imagining it, or are his cheeks flushing a little pink? “What’s the plan here?”

“I just want some pictures,” I tell him, handing over my phone set to camera mode. “I have nothing and no one to dress up—or down—for, and this is definitely not in Camden dress code, but I want just one little photo shoot of me looking like a rule breaker.”

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