concert shirts of bands I knew from my new and improved iPod. All three wore snug zip-up hoodies that looked vintage seventies. One wore black boots, the others flats. Their makeup had some minor variations, but all three of them seemed to use an entire stick of black eyeliner around each eye. Several bangles adorned their wrists, and their nails were painted black.
Then there was the attitude. None of the girls seemed particularly happy. Not that they were actively crying or moaning, but I tend to think if someone saw me going about my daily business, they'd get the idea that I was probably a pretty happy person. Not so much with these girls. Even when they were hanging in the halls with their friends, even when they were laughing with their friends, they had this air of despair, like the moment was just a blip in an otherwise endless sea of malaise.
Could I really pull that off?
"Okay," I told Archer a few days later, "I've got the music, I've got the graphic novels, I've got the look and the attitude ... or at least, I know what the look and the attitude are supposed to be. Do I need anything else?"
"A full brain transplant?" Archer suggested.
I threw a pillow at him. I was sitting on his bed as he packed. Christmas break had begun, and he and his parents were leaving in the morning for a trip to Chicago. Archer wouldn't be back until the night before classes started up again, so the rest of my training would be more of a correspondence course.
As it turned out, this was for the best. The biggest thing I needed to concentrate on now was my physical transformation. That meant tons of shopping, tiny dressing rooms, and honest opinions on whether this or that outfit pooched out my flab in horribly unflattering ways. For that, Claudia was far more helpful than Archer ever could have been.
Two days after he left town, she and I spent an entire day at the mall. We nailed a ton at Hot Topic: skinny jeans in several shades of black, some with added zippers, some pre-ripped, and one with skull designs that made me feel like a particularly ridiculous pirate. We also chose a few short black skirts with several different pairs of leggings. We got creative with the leggings: in addition to all varieties of black, we also found bright purple fishnets and a fuchsia zebra stripe. For shoes we went with one pair of boots, one pair of flats. We grabbed hoodies, tees, bangle bracelets, necklaces, earrings, arm warmers, and wrist warmers. The last two were important for the emo-chick mystique because, even if you've never considered cutting, it's apparently good to look like you have.
The day was insanely fun. It was like Claudia and I were playing dress-up. We'd both try on what were for us the most bizarre outfits imaginable, and even though we'd send several to the counter to be held, I didn't really comprehend that these would be my new wardrobe. Nor did I have any concept about how much I'd actually be spending—until I was rung up and I felt my head go swimmy. Claudia later told me that I grew so pasty white that I drew jealous sneers from several of the vampire wannabes in the store. Claudia slipped an arm around me to keep me upright.
"It's okay," she whispered in my ear. "You never use your credit card. Spread this over the past two and a half years and it's inconsequential."
She did have a point. My parents had given me a credit card on the first day of high school, and it was a matter of pride that I could count on one hand the number of times I'd actually used it. Still...
"We should just go," I said.
"What the hell! Are you kidding me?" asked the goth-faced girl behind the counter, who'd just spent an eternity ringing up my massive pile of merchandise.
"Give us a second," Claudia said. She pulled me a few feet away. I shook my head, completely overwhelmed by the absurd futility of what we were trying to do.
"We shouldn't be doing this. It's crazy. It's never, ever, ever going to work. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing; a guy like Nate Wetherill would never go for someone like me. He's totally out of my league."
"You mean he's better than you?" Claudia asked.
It sounded stupid when she said it out loud, but yeah, kind of,