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ChapterOne
“Hey, Shannon. This is a gimmick thing, right?”
“Hmm?” I lower my eyeliner and glance over at Grace. Of course, she’s already perfectly put together, dark curls tied back and her pressed blouse as immaculate as at the start of the workday. “What, Goëtica?”
My MP3 player is connected to the car’s speakers, blasting a song from the band in question. I know them well. I know themverywell. After all, they’re the group we’re on our way to see in concert.
Well, I am. Grace is more of a fan of the support band and knows Goëtica only in passing. Mainly through the osmosis of hearing me speak of them. I’m glad to use the drive to introduce her to more of their songs.
I’ve known Grace for quite some time through work, but we’re still on the awkward cusp between close acquaintance and true friend, and the two-hour drive from San Diego to the venue in Anaheim with no buffer was a daunting prospect.
“Yeah, Goëtica,” Grace confirms, amused. “I mean, some of these lyrics…”
I give a small laugh. “Oh, wait until you see them.”
“Mmm… I remember you said something about their aesthetic?”
“I guess you could call it a gimmick,” I agree, returning to my makeup attempts. I’m not used to putting it on. I only ever bother for special occasions or going out, neither of which are regular occurrences. The eyeliner smudges a bit, but I suppose it adds to the messy, smoky look. “They have a whole backstory and lore around the band. All the songs and music videos are ‘in character,’ I guess you’d call it.”
“Aswhat, serial killers?”
“Demons.”
“What!” Grace says, breaking into giggles. “I was kidding.”
I smile at her. “Well,they’renot.”
“Damn. I guess that explains why some lyrics are so dark.”
“They are,” I agree. “But they have a poetic sort of savagery to them.”
Grace glances over at me, running her eyes over the outfit I changed into after leaving the lab. “I figured you’d be into that.”
Her tone is teasing, making me smile. Strange to think that this is the first time we’ve met up outside of work, beyond hastily grabbing coffee during breaks. She’s never seen my hair swept over to reveal the undercut sides before since I normally wear it parted in the middle and tied back in a bun at work to look ‘professional.’ The color has always been unnatural, though—dyed silver, with brown roots growing through because I haven’t bothered with the upkeep recently.
She’s never seen my fashion sense before, either. I’ll be the first to admit that I throw together a wardrobe from whatever I find in thrift stores. It’s somewhere between lazy punk and melodramatic goth, depending on how much time I have to get ready.
Because we had to leave straight after work and considering the practicalities of being in a concert crowd for a good number of hours, I’ve opted for something basic and comfortable. Black skirt, fishnets, band shirt. Hardly anything overtly weird or out there, I’d thought. But apparently, I just have a vibe where people can tell I’m some kind of ‘other’ no matter what I wear.
“Pfft. Grace, c’mon.”
“Always the quiet ones, right?”
I laugh. “I have literally worn nothing but black the entire time you’ve known me, and you know my music taste. How did you not at least have some idea?”
“Lies. I’ve seen you in a white dress shirt several times.”
“Monochrome.”
“The red dress occasionally.”
I would have looked Grace dead in the eyes had she not been focusing on the road. “The color of blood,” I joke, dry and deadpan, earning myself a snort from her. I wave a dismissive hand. “Anyway. You like at least some of the same music. You’re not one to talk.”
“Sure, but I’m notedgy.”
“What? C’mon, I’m hardly—”
“Your boys are,” she says with a nod to the stereo.
