"Did you go over the reading for Lit?" Aislinn pulled open the door and they joined the throng of people in the halls.

"We had a dinner thing out of town, so I didn't finish." Leslie gave an exaggerated eye roll. "Ren even dressed with all the required pieces of clothing."

They both continued to steer the conversation away from topics they didn't want to address. Leslie lied easily, but Aislinn seemed determined to direct the conversation toward neutral subjects. Eventually, she glanced behind her—as if there were someone there—and made another random topic switch: "Are you still working over at Verlaine's?"

Leslie looked: there wasn't anyone there. "Sure. It drives Dad mad that I wait tables, and you know, gives me a good excuse if I need to explain my weird hours."

Leslie didn't admit that she had to work or that her father didn't have a clue what she did for money. She wasn't sure her father knew she had a job or that she paid the bills. He might have thought Ren was doing it, although he probably didn't realize Ren was dealing—or selling me—to get his money. Talking about money, home, and Ren was so not the sort of conversation she wanted to have, so she took a turn shifting the topic. With a conspiratorial grin, she looped her arm around Aislinn's waist and assumed the façade she adopted with her friends. "So, let's talk about Keenan's sexy uncle. What's the scoop on him? Is he seeing anyone?"

"Niall? He's just…he's not, but…" Aislinn frowned. "You don't want to mess with him. There's prettier … I mean, better …"

"I doubt that, sweetie. Your vision's clouded by staring at Seth too long." Leslie patted Aislinn's arm. "Niall's top shelf."

His face was as beautiful as Keenan's but in a different way: Niall's had character. One long scar ran from his temple to the corner of his mouth, and he wasn't shy about it. His hair was cut so short that there was no chance of anything detracting from the beauty of that jagged line. And his body…wow. He was all sinew and length, moving like he had been training in some long-lost martial art since birth. Leslie couldn't figure why anyone would notice Keenan when Niall was around. Keenan was attractive enough, with his unnatural green eyes, perfect body, and sandy-blond hair. He was gorgeous, but he moved in a way that always made Leslie think he wasn't quite meant for civilization. He frightened her. Niall, on the other hand, was luscious and seemed sweet—kind in a way that Keenan wasn't.

Leslie prompted, "So relationships…"

"He doesn't, umm, do relationships." Aislinn spoke softly. "Anyhow, he's too old."

Leslie let it drop for the moment. Although Aislinn was spending much of her time «not-dating» Keenan, she kept her school friends separate from Keenan's crowd as much as possible. When they did intersect, Aislinn clung to Leslie like an extra limb, giving no opportunities for Leslie to have conversations with anyone who hung around Keenan—most especially Niall. For a moment, Leslie wondered if she'd be so intrigued by Niall if it weren't for Aislinn's playing keep-away. The more Aislinn acted as an obstacle, the more Leslie wanted nearer Niall. An older guy with a drool-worthy body and seemingly no bad habits to speak of and somehow forbidden: how could that not be appealing?

But Aislinn's plate was overfilled with Seth and Keenan, so maybe she just wasn't getting it. Or maybe she knows something. Leslie forced that thought away: if Aislinn had a legitimate reason to think Niall was bad news, she'd say something. They might be in the middle of this weird dance of secrecy, but they were still friends.

"Les!" Rianne shoved through the crowd with her usual exuberance. "Did I miss seeing the dessert tray?"

"Just two of the tasty treats today …" Leslie linked her arm through Rianne's as they made their way toward their lockers. Rianne was reliably good at keeping things light.

"So dark-and-pierced wasn't on duty?" Rianne flashed a wicked grin at Aislinn, who blushed predictably.

"No Seth. Today was blond-and-moody along with scarred-and-sexy." Leslie winked at Aislinn, enjoying the brief moments of normalcy, of smiling. Rianne brought that in her wake, and Leslie was ever grateful for it. They stopped in front of Aislinn's locker, and Leslie added, "Our little dessert hoarder was just going to tell me when we're all going out dancing."

"No, not—" Aislinn started.

"Sooner or later, you're going to need to share the wealth, Ash. We're feeling deprived. Weakened." Rianne sighed and leaned heavily on Leslie. "I'm feeling faint with it."

And for a moment, Leslie saw a look of longing pass over Aislinn's face, but then Aislinn caught her watching.

Aislinn's face turned impassive. "Sometimes I wish I could … I just don't think it's a good idea."

Rianne opened her mouth to respond, but Leslie shook her head. "Give us a sec, Ri. I'll catch up."

After Rianne left, Leslie caught Aislinn's gaze. "I wish we weren't doing this. …" She gestured between them.

"What do you mean?" Aislinn grew so still and silent in the din of the hall, it was like the noise around them vanished for an instant.

"Lying." Leslie sighed. "I miss us being real friends, Ash. I'm not going to encroach on your scene, but it'd be nice to be straight-up again. I miss you."

"I'm not lying. I … can't lie." She stared beyond Leslie for a moment, scowling at someone.

Leslie didn't turn to see who it was. "You're not being honest, either. If you don't want me around …" She shrugged. "Whatever."

Aislinn grabbed her arms and held her close. Although she tried, Leslie actually couldn’t pull away.

A jerk passing in the hall called, "Dykes."

Leslie tensed, torn between the once-instantaneous urge to flip him off and the still-new fear of conflict.

The bell rang. Lockers slammed. Aislinn finally said, "I just don't want to see you get hurt. There's…people and things…and …"

"Sweetie, I doubt they're any worse than what—" She stopped herself, unable to say the sentences that would follow. Her heart thunked at the thought of saying those words aloud. She shook her arm. "Can you let go? I've still got to go to my locker."

Aislinn released her, and Leslie left before she had to figure out how to answer the inevitable questions that would follow her almost admission. Talking won't change it. But sometimes it was what she wanted most, to tell someone; often, though, she just wanted to not feel those horrid feelings, to escape herself, so there was no pain, no fear, no ugliness.

After school Leslie headed out before Aislinn or Rianne had a chance to catch up with her. She'd spent her free period in the library reading more on the history of tattooing, the centuries-old traditions of marking the body. The reasons—ranging from adopting a totem animal's nature to marking life events to offering visual cues to identify criminals—fascinated her. More important, they resonated with her.

When she walked in the door of Pins and Needles, the cowbell clanged.

Rabbit glanced over his shoulder.

"Be right with you," he called. As the man beside him talked, Rabbit absently ran a hand over his white-and-blue-dyed hair.

Leslie lifted a hand in greeting and walked past him. This week he had left a tiny goatee directing attention to his labret piercing. It was that piercing under his lower lip that had caught her attention the first time Ani and Tish had brought her to the shop. Within a week, she'd had her own piercing—hidden under her blouse—and found herself spending time in the studio.

She felt safe there—away from Bishop O.C., away from the unpleasantness of her father's drunkenness, away from whatever letches Ren brought home to share his drug of the week. At Pins and Needles she could be safe, quiet, relaxed—all the things she couldn't be most other places.