Chapter Eight

          It was nearing eight o’clock when Vee said almost home.

            The road Vee lived down had a rustic, old country painting feel to it; her driveway, a long stretch of pea gravel, was set in a dark wooded area, the canopies so thick that the faint evening light did not break through. The seclusion of such a place appealed to Nicolle, the privacy; it occurred to her that should Vee want to she could scream at the top of her lungs and bother no one, no neighbors to annoy.

            Vee turned down the radio and the car slowed; the lights of a house could be seen at the end of the wooded tunnel. If Vee overheard Nicolle’s nervous thoughts she politely kept it to herself. The Bug pulled out of the trees and into the meadow where Vee’s home sat; even in the limited light Nicolle could see the house well. It was a multistory, possibly as many as four floors, made of brick; the windows were large, showcasing a spacious and beautiful interior. Surrounding the house were flower gardens, stepping stones that led across an immaculate lawn to a lounging area back inside the trees; Nicolle spotted a gazebo and a pool.

            “Casa van Valen,” Vee said, and the car stopped. She pushed it into park and looked to Nicolle. “Whatcha think? No, don’t tell me...” she closed her eyes, smiled, then: “Merci.”

            “It’s large,” Nicolle said, still scanning the house up and down.

            “Yes ma’am,” Vee said, opening her door. “Mama’s dream home, so Daddy obliged…”

            Nicolle considered that with what could only be awe; Daddy obliged? She wasn’t acquainted with such sweetness back home… sometimes her mother and stepfather actually did things because it annoyed the other one, never did they oblige. It came to Nicolle with a jolt as she pulled her bag from the backseat, got out, and began for the front steps: she was walking into a house where everyone got along. It shouldn’t have been such a foreign thing, but it was.

            Vee’s casual step was quite the opposite of Nicolle’s nervous hobble; she jogged up the steps, approached the door, and grabbed the handle. Just when Nicolle expected her to open it, though, she turned to Nicolle and whispered.

            “Can’t believe I almost forgot to tell you,” she said, “I won’t be wearing my glasses inside cause Mama and Daddy are used to it, but you should wear yours.”

            “How come?”

            She twisted the doorknob. “Cause they don’t know a thing about Artists.”

            Nicolle had expected the door to creak and whine when Vee opened it �" it was what her home door did, anyway �" but it swung open noiselessly; music drifted out from the inside, an eighties hair band. Before Nicolle had pictured Vee’s parents as middle aged lawyers and accountants, balding spots, nerdy glasses, bad jokes and all. In an instant that changed; her perception was now of middle aged people who didn’t quite look it... fun adults, interesting and cool.

            “Muzza?” Vee called out over the music. “Fazza?”

            The music’s volume was lowered. From out of sight: “That you, Ashley?”

            Ashley? Vee had a sister? Vee turned to her, rolled her eyes, and yelled out, “No… this is Vivian. No one named Ashley here.”

            “Oh yeah,” the disembodied voice said, and then suddenly a man appeared from around the corner. Nicolle’s new perception was dead on; Vee’s father, black hair ruffled stylishly, glasses not nerdy but fashionable, lacking a dorky sweater and opting for green button-up, was almost certainly a fun adult. “Forgive me… I’d forgotten you were rebelling against the name I carefully hand picked.”

            “Carefully hand picked my behind,” Vee smiled. “Roughly one-point-five in two girls is named Ashley. True story.”

            “Uh huh,” her dad smirked, hands in his pockets as he strolled forward. “One-point-five out of every two girls named Vivian is insane. True story.”

            “Don’t make me smack you,” Vee said, playfully pushing her father, and Nicolle could only stare. Goodness, what a difference from back home… if ever she said don’t make me smack you to her mother there would have been a mighty duel within seconds, not joviality, as was the case here. Her father turned to Nicolle with a smile.

            “Ah, another Chess Clubber! Nice shades.”

            “Pa,” Vee said, “this is Nicolle Darling.”

            Nicolle nodded. “Hi.”

            “I’m Edward van Valen. It’s a pleasure,” he said, quite cordially. “Vee only told us you were coming at the last second, we didn’t have time to pick up…”

            Nicolle looked around. She saw no soda can collections, pizza boxes from a month prior, or stains that could potentially be blood; on the contrary, the place looked pretty tidy, cozy even.

            “Thank you for having me tonight,” Nicolle said.

            “Well, we’re allowing it only under the condition that you make yourself one-hundred percent at home,” he said. “Deal?”

            Nicolle grinned. “Deal.”

            “Vivian?”

            The sound came from an open arch that Nicolle assumed was a kitchen; an aroma of something home-cooked came from there. A woman stepped through the arch halfway through the act of sliding off oven mitts. Her hair was the same auburn color as Vee’s, and her face was nearly as young. Undoubtedly this was Vee’s mother.

            “Thought I heard you,” she said happily. “Have fun today?”

            “Gallons,” Vee said.

            “Drive safe?”

            “Negatory.”

            Her mother walked towards Nicolle with an extended hand, which Nicolle took shyly. Her hands were warm and soft, not likely used for hitting. “Hey, I’m Cora, nice to meet you.”

            “Nice to meet you too…” then, awkwardly from lack of practice: “… Nicolle Darling.”

            “We’re gonna go on up for a bit,” Vee said, “kinda rest from the day and all.”

            “Alrighty,” Cora said. “I’ll holler up when the ravioli’s done.”

            The house was like something you’d see in a magazine, constructed with such skill and craftsmanship; Nicolle held her bag close to her as she followed Vee up the stairs. Pictures lined the walls nearly everywhere, pictures of the three of them �" Edward, Cora, and Vee �" and pictures of more people, perhaps the whole family. In one picture a beautiful little girl sat in a bucket of sunflowers, overly large sunglasses on her grinning face.

            At last the fourth floor was reached; at the top of the stairs was a door, and on that door were multicolored words cut out from construction paper: VEE. Vee pushed the door open and Nicolle followed her inside; it felt as if she should be getting in trouble, going into a room that was not hers… that was a no-no in the home of Sylvia mother-extraordinaire.

            Nicolle removed her sunglasses to see the place in full color. Whatever she had expected -- even after having seen the rest of the house -- this surpassed it. Three of her rooms could fit into Vee’s; the carpet looked brand new, an off-white without stain; the walls were a cream color, peppered with framed photos and what appeared to be personal art; the queen-sized bed was covered with a light yellow comforter, the sheets beneath looking like cotton. On the far side of the room there was a rise in the floor, three steps climbing to what could pass for a stage, leading to an alcove that housed a tall window shaded by Venetian blinds. And look at that, Nicolle thought; she had always wanted a skylight as a kid, and there one was, the starry sky looking in.

            “My room,” Vee said. “A.k.a. the best room in the house.”

            “I believe it,” Nicolle said, looking around. She had always wanted soft and squishy carpet… and this looked so soft and squishy…

            Vee chortled. “Kick off them shoes then, Darling. It’s R&R time. But!... we also have stuff to do. You can’t go back to school until I figure you won’t hurt anybody, so we need to hop on that.”

            Nicolle pulled off her shoes and mentally braced herself for the old flattened carpet of her room, but no; oh-so-soft-and-squishy. The temperature of the room was perfect, the feeling of Spring; there was a faint aroma of something like vanilla, perhaps one of those plug in things. The silence, the privacy, the security: these were luxuries she wasn't used to. Never in all of her life had she been so comfortable in a place.

            “Your parents are very nice,” Nicolle said. After a second she asked, “Why haven’t you told them about your Artistry?”

            Vee unbuttoned her white shirt and removed it, leaving only a white tank top. She shrugged and said, “I think it would just create obstacles and stuff. They would want to interfere, which is understandable, probably, but I think we all handle our Artistries maturely enough that we don’t need supervision. Getting parents involved would just invite trouble… visits to specialists and doctors, everybody wanting to figure it all out. Like anyone would have any answers, you know?”

            “So no one’s parents know about the Chess Club?” Nicolle asked, plopping down onto the floor and sitting cross legged. “Kind of hard to believe, with so many members.”

            Vee fell onto her bed backwards, taking a deep breath. “One knows, but that’s not much of a problem.” She rolled onto her side, propping herself up by the elbow. “Dom and Eli’s mother knows. How could she not, you know? Her husband and both of her sons have Artistries, you can’t really hide all that. But, really, she doesn’t seem to care all that much for some reason so she never interferes.”

            “Wait… what?” Nicolle asked. “Elijah and Dominic’s dad is an Artist too?” She remembered Vee mentioning a name in that all important first email " Roland Beaumont " but so much had been going on since then that it had never been brought up.

            Vee leaned in a little, and Nicolle followed suite; even though multiple floors separated them from her parents she whispered still.

            “His name was Roland Beaumont. He was the first of us.”

            “… was?” Nicolle asked. “Is he dead?”

            “Dunno… he left when Dom and Eli were little, to learn more about Artistries and to find other Artists, and they haven’t heard from him since then,” Vee said. “I never met him. It’s because of him that we know anything at all… that we’re even called Artists in the first place. Dom talks about him a good bit... he respects him a lot. His dad had a lot of big sayings and quotes, and Dom quotes them sometimes.” After a pause: “The Chess Club was formed in his honor, Dom tells me.”

            Nicolle nodded. Her expression was pensive, to show that she was taking the story like she thought she should, but inside she was glowing with joy. She was really enjoying this, hanging out in Vee’s room, hiding from the world together, chatting about the super secret society she was part of.

            “So what did you think of the Chess Club the other day?” Vee asked, smiling as if she knew the answer. “Not the club, the people. Any likes? Dislikes?”

            “Well, I liked you,” Nicolle said, not quite meeting Vee’s eyes.

            “Thank you very much.”

            “… and… um… the Purple eyed girl and the Yellow eyed girl seemed nice…”

            “Maria and Elyse,” Vee said. “Maria’s shy… she’s the newest member, other than you. She joined just about five or six months ago, doesn’t really have her Artistry down pat yet. Shopping with her for clothes was tough, cause she’s so reserved, but she came through in the end. And Elyse is cool, she joined a few months after me, the first Artist that me, Dom, and Eli found. With four people it suddenly felt like we could officially call ourselves a club… three people weren’t cutting it.”

            “I liked Dominic, too,” Nicolle said. “He really takes it seriously.”

            “He’s extremely dedicated,” Vee said with what Nicolle judged to be genuine respect, perhaps a level of respect she would never allow Dominic to actually see. “Very… driven. Goal oriented.”

            “I’m not so sure how I felt about the other Blue eyed girl, the one who was always on her phone,” Nicolle said, absentmindedly running her fingers through the carpet.

            Vee exhaled, rolled her eyes, and looked at Nicolle with frustration. “I’m very sure how I feel about the other Blue eyed girl. She’s a freaking ho bag. I can’t stand her.”

            “Ho bag? What?”

            “Her name’s Brooklyn McKenna. She doesn’t have all the same abilities as me… like being able to see the relationships others have, I do that, she can’t… but she’s a better telepath than me in just one area. Scandals, gossip, and sex stuff.”

            “You’re serious.”

            “Dead serious. I’m better at hearing normal thoughts, but if someone is thinking about any of those things she picks it up loud and clear. She doesn’t break any of our rules so it’s kind of hard to stop her, but she uses her Artistry to know just how to seduce a guy. She’s good at it… I’ve seen her take girl’s boyfriends away just because she could. I was her partner for a while when she first joined up… I took her out shopping and all, like we did today. I almost mutilated her that day, she got on my nerves so bad… eventually we just stopped talking, but when you have two mind readers in the same car you can’t really stop talking. Oh, and speaking of rules…”

            Vee hopped off her bed and ran over to her bag; she pulled the glittery notebook out and plopped down next to Nicolle on the floor.

            “These are our rules and benefits,” she said, flipping to a page. “You need to know them super well before going back.”

 

RULES AND BENEFITS

 

            RULES

            - Only subtle Artistries (SA) can be utilized in the presence of a non-Artist. Should an obvious Artistry (OA) be used in public punishment will follow.

            - The Chess Club must be seen as a respectable and powerful organization; therefore all members must remain well conducted in public. Failure to do so will result in punishment.

            - Do not divulge the secrets of the Chess Club to anyone without the authorization of the Chess Club President; the telling of secrets is a top-level offense and is punishable.

            - Never bring a nonmember to the Hideout (Room 44) without the authorization of the Chess Club President.

 

            BENEFITS

 

            Homework

            The Chess Club runs on a points system (1-100) that ranks the conduct of a member. Depending on where a member stands in points is what kind of benefits they accrue regarding homework. New members start off with 90 points, gaining five points for every two weeks without incident.

            If an SA is used and draws the attention of a non-Artist, five points are deducted.

            If an OA is used “flippantly” (i.e. without care for non-Artist witnesses) without witnesses then that’s ten points deducted.

            If an OA is used and a non-Artist does witness it, twenty points are deducted, which places the Artist in suspension.

            If the secrets of the Chess Club are divulged to a nonmember fifty points are deducted and further punishment will likely ensue.

            If a nonmember is brought to the Hideout (Room 44) five points are deducted.

            If a member misbehaves without Artistry five points are deducted.

            100-91: Having this grade in conduct gives you full academic benefits. You basically have no school work to do, and you can graduate with scholarly grades.

            90-81: This will afford you help on three pieces of homework until the grade rises above ninety. At this level the Artist isn’t considered to have done enough for full reprimand, but their irresponsible handling of such a large secret refuses them full benefits.

            80 or below: The Artist receives no benefits. If they have reached this point disciplinary action will likely ensue. Upon reaching 80 the Artist is placed on suspension and will not receive any points for good conduct until after four weeks instead of the usual two.

 

            Protection

            In the event that a Chess Club member finds themselves bullied or in trouble the Chess Club will step in and help them. This is not affected by conduct level and is available at all times.

            NOTE: This was instituted as a rule in the Chess Club’s infancy, before it became unrealistic for anyone to pick on a Chess Club member.

 

            Medical Attention

            If the Chess Club member becomes sick, wounded, or has a permanent defect, then they will have the benefit of physical healing from an Artist of the White.

            NOTE: Personal ability of the Artist of the White should be taken into regard.

 

            Nicolle finished and looked to Vee.

            “Most of us don’t have a hard time with the rules,” Vee said. “Especially if you’re like Elyse or Maria, or me, and have almost only subtle Artistries. But then you have people like Darius and Jackson… we implemented a points system because of them… I mean, just look at this.”

 

            Dom - 100

            Eli - 95

            Vee - 100

            Elyse Robinson - 100

            Jackson McKay - 80

            Darius Geldart - 80

            Peter Bones - 100

            Brooklyn McKenna - 95

            Maria Friendly -100

            Nicolle Darling " 90

 

            “Those two are the only ones that ever get any real points deducted… drives Dom absolutely blasto, trying to ensure they don’t, you know… stop time during a basketball game, or throw a football five hundred yards, or teleport into the girl’s locker room. Again.”

            “Elijah is missing five points,” Nicolle observed, and probably unwisely; if she wanted to keep her crush a secret she would need to be a little more discreet… but what did he do?

            “Yup, and that reminds me…” She withdrew a pen from her bag and marked both he and Brook down to 90 points apiece.

            “Why?” Nicolle asked.

            “Same reason I took off five the first time,” Vee said, putting up the notebook. Even though there were places to sit in the room -- bean bags, beds, stairs �" they remained cross legged on the floor, inches from one another, Vee’s back against her bed. “Little miss sunshine.”

            “You deduct points because of Presley…?” This didn’t seem fair to Nicolle, but oh well; she wouldn’t be brokenhearted if the Chess Club made a move to extract her from his life altogether. She hoped Vee didn’t detect this selfishness.

            “Not because he dates her, because he keeps bringing her to the Hideout,” Vee said; the annoyed quality of her voice told Nicolle that the subject was a worn out one. “He hasn’t discussed this with me, and he’s better at resisting my telepathy than most, but I think he hides so much from her that he tries to keep her in the loop as much as he can. So he brings her by…” Vee’s words drowned into nothing; she smiled a compassionate smile, a smile of pity, and Nicolle was confused. “Never mind.”

        “What?” Nicolle asked.

“Nothing, it's nothing,” Vee said, waving the topic away, don't worry about it.

“Tell me.”

“Really, I shouldn't.”

“Vee.”

“Nicolle Darling.”

“What is it??”

“You wouldn't want me to.”

“Yes I do.”

Vee sighed for several seconds, long and defeated, alright, I surrender. “You like Elijah.”

Nicolle actually gasped, like a comic book character might, eyes wide and mouth open. “No! How'd you find out?!” Stupid question. “When did you find out?!”

Vee laid a hand on Nicolle's shoulder. “I promise I wasn’t snooping. I try not to read the minds of some people too much, to respect their privacy and all… but your attempts to hide that little nugget was like, you know… trying to hide the planet behind a square of toilet paper.” She laughed at her own joke, trying to lighten the air. “And I've known since you came into Room 44 the first time. You saw him and thought... well... you were taken with him. From what I gather, that wasn't the beginning... you've sort of been taken with him from afar for a while.”

Was this stuff actually being spoken out loud? Nicolle couldn't bring herself to raise her head; there was a certain kind of excitement to be found in another knowing her little secret, true... but she was also embarrassed. A tone deaf singer with aspirations of landing a record deal... that's what she felt like. Or even closer: a frumpy, loser teenager crushing on the hot actor from the poster hanging on her bedroom wall.

“Silly of me,” Nicolle said, a small smile, her fingers fumbling with her pants.

“What is?”

Nicolle couldn't even bring herself to say it. “It's not like anything will ever come of it, so...”

Vee backed up in a rush, as if offended.

“What? What makes you say that?”

Nicolle only looked Vee in the eyes, expecting her to hear in her thoughts what she couldn’t quite explain: her self-esteem issues, her fears, her shyness, her appearance contrasted to Presley, Elijah’s appearance contrasted to her own…

Vee shook her head. “No ma’am. Words like can’t and never are curse words in this room.” She took Nicolle by the shoulders and looked her dead in the eyes; Nicolle expected this to be uncomfortable, but with Vee it wasn’t, not really. “You are a Black Eyed love machine.”

Nicolle laughed, a derisive, delirious noise.

“Nope, you have to say it!” Vee pointed a finger in Nicolle’s face. “Say it and be proud! Say, ‘I am a Black Eyed love machine.’”

“There is a zero percent chance I’ll ever say those words,” Nicolle said, hiding her face in her right hand.

“Listen, I know you’re a bit behind in style, I acknowledge it… you’re only other friend is a super clingy nerd and your mother can’t teach you squat. But Vee is here now.” She smiled at this news, arms spread gloriously. “I am a world class master in style, and no Darling of mine says she can’t get a guy. I’ll coach you.”

`Nicolle tried to scoff; her raised eyebrows and pursed lips was her best attempt at it. But beneath the surface she could feel a new excitement rising, and telepath or not Vee knew it.

Those Blue eyes were sincere. “Please?”

Nicolle sighed, still attempting the scoffing thing, and then dropped it altogether; she looked up to Vee with hope shining in her eyes. Could she actually dethrone Presley Llewellyn? Was she going to try this? Could it happen??

“Okay,” Nicolle said. Vee didn’t explode into jubilation or give Nicolle a wild hug; instead she flashed a dangerous smile and Nicolle read it well: Let’s do this.

Vee heard her mother’s thoughts before she even made it to the second floor; supper was done, an actual supper. As soon as Nicolle and Vee emerged from the bedroom door (tucking their secrets away before doing so, giggling like children at their clandestine lives) the scent of what was no doubt a scrumptious meal filled their nostrils.

“What are you girls doing up there?” Edward asked, barley a smirk on his lips as he laid out the silverware on the dining room table.

“Talking about unicorns and butterflies and the color pink,” Vee responded, and he nodded as if his suspicions were confirmed.

The meal was fantastic. No gossip was spilled at the table, nor were there any arguments or fistfights. The van Valens were delightful people, a success story of togetherness that Nicolle assumed only existed on television. They asked her about her home and school life, and though Nicolle edged out of giving real answers (she did want to return someday, after all), she was touched that they cared at all.

After dinner was finished Vee led Nicolle outside. The night was warm for February; a soft wind made the unseen treetops dance, a comforting sound. After a minute or two of walking down a stone path, the house fading away behind them, they arrived at a lattice walled gazebo, vines climbing its sides.

   “I hope your parents liked me,” Nicolle said as they stepped inside.

“They did, without a doubt,” Vee said. “My mom thought you were pretty. Dad liked your humility.”

Nicolle grinned. She normally refrained from having good expectations about anything �" she wasn’t used to them being met �" but she allowed herself a vision: she and Vee in the upcoming months, maybe even years, enjoying the secluded comfort of Casa van Valen.

“What are we doing out here?” Nicolle asked. It was only now that she noticed the jar of dirt in the middle of the gazebo. But not just a jar of dirt: tiny tunnels and pathways could be seen inside, and as Nicolle drew closer she saw the small black dots marching around.

“We're beginning your training,” Vee said. “You possess one of the more dangerous Artistries and we need to get a good reign on it before Monday. What we have here…” Vee pointed to the jar of dirt, “… is an ant farm, and then I figured we could find some plants out here to go all Black eyes on.”

Nicolle recalled the image she’d once thought up, the image of her grandfather crinkling and dying at her touch. “I’m ready to learn whatever I can.”

Perhaps Vee had seen that image in Nicolle’s mind: “Dom doesn’t think you’re powerful enough yet to kill a person by touch. You’d probably mess with their health and make them feel all weird, but not kill them, at least not immediately.”

“But that plant I touched died pretty fast,” Nicolle said. “And that flower in class.”

“They’re weaker life forms,” Vee said; it sounded as if she were repeating something she had already been told. “Taking them down wouldn’t be as hard. But taking down a human, with an immune system and more vitality and all, would take power you probably don’t have yet.”

“How do you guys know this stuff?” Nicolle asked. “I thought I was the first Artist of the Black in the Chess Club.”

“You are,” Vee said, “but you have to remember that Dom’s dad provided him with some information before he left. Dead useful stuff, too. Like this, for example, something I’ve wanted to try since I heard it might be possible forever ago… come here…”

Vee took Nicolle by the hand and crouched down beside the ant farm.

“What are you doing?” Nicolle asked.

“Just watch,” Vee said.

She moved Nicolle’s hand toward the dirt.

“What are you doing?” Nicolle said, resisting a little.

“Just watch, you’ll be fine, probably…” 

Nicolle’s breath stopped; Vee pushed her hand into the ant farm, her fingers digging into the soft dirt. It was almost immediate; a swarm of black emerged from the newly made hole, and Nicolle’s stomach turned upon feeling dozens of tickling insects crawling up her arm.

“Don’t move.” Vee said, as Nicolle nearly did. “Just watch...”

“They’re going to bite me,” Nicolle whispered, trying not to sound too wimpy in front of her new friend.

“Just watch…”

Nicolle braced herself; the ants climbed up, up, up, higher and higher; the impulse to scratch them off her was strong. But as the seconds passed she loosened her muscles a little… there had to be fifty or sixty on her arm, but none had bitten her yet…

Nicolle looked to Vee. “What’s happening?”

“They detect the danger,” Vee said; she sounded a little awed despite expecting the outcome. “Ants have a sense of smell, and Mr. Beaumont believed they wouldn’t bite an Artist of the Black because they could feel something beneath.”

“What?” Nicolle asked in wonder.

“Not sure. It could be poison, or maybe what lets an Artist of the Black kill is supernatural, in the same way seeing the dead is supernatural. Whatever it is, the ants won’t bite you.”

Nicolle lifted her hand, ants and all, from the box and examined it. She felt powerful, a force to be put against. Even though they were merely insects, she was still thrilled that for the very first time in her life she was intimidating. She was the dangerous one. Would it ever be possible to move beyond just ants? Would others begin to fear messing with her as well?

Nicolle concentrated, feeling each and every ant on her arm…

“Focus, just as you did with the flower,” Vee coached. “Remember the feeling… isolate it…”

… all at once, like sand dropped from a fist, the ants fell from her arm and onto the floor. A breeze blew; the ants scattered and were gone.

Nicolle had stepped into a scene from a movie that she figured would normally play around Halloween; a starless night, a dark wood, wind and a sense of magic in the air. Hooded figures meeting and performing mysterious feats, shadows moving just out of sight, no sign of a moon in the sky. Come morning maybe the spell would be broken �" a spell cast by equal parts new Artistry and new alliances �" but for now Nicolle was breathing in not air, but life itself, an electric feeling spreading through her lungs, through her bones.

In one hour alone they had made great inroads with her training. Where initially it had taken Nicolle thirty-seven seconds to completely kill a plant found among the trees, by the time they were finishing up it took her only fifteen seconds. Her control was improving; her power was growing. How long would it take to bring down a tree? Or what about a more complex life form; what then?

A question arose within Nicolle, a question she didn't linger on long for fear of Vee overhearing: did she ever believe she would be required to use such a power on a human? Would a day ever come when she would willingly touch someone with the intent to kill?

“Come hither, Darling,” Vee said from out of sight, a smile in her voice. “How long are you gonna make me wait?”

“Not yet,” Nicolle said. What was there to fear? She had seen the reflection in the mirror, the way her Vee-fixed curls shone without frizz, that tight black designer tank top that accented her eyes, the stylish skinny capris she wore; this felt like yet another milestone on her path to her better life, her first makeover.

“It’s new era time!” Vee said. “Get on out here, I wanna see if our shopping day was a success.”

Nicolle opened the bathroom door; the volume of the radio grew louder as she approached; it gave her the feeling of a moment building up, a crescendo that she may not be able to live up to. She appeared before Vee and held out her arms, this is it she gestured.

Vee smiled. “You know who you remind me of?”

“Who?”

“A member of the Chess Club,” she said. “And come Monday that’s exactly what everyone’s going to be thinking. ‘Who’s that hot new girl’?”

“You really think they’ll be saying that?”

Vee seemed to grasp the subtext of Nicolle’s question even better than Nicolle. “Elijah will think you’re beautiful.”

Nicolle couldn’t even meet Vee’s eyes. The power of her words shook the foundations of Nicolle’s soul, to think that Elijah Beaumont would ever pay her attention in that way; Nicolle didn’t know if she believed Vee or not -- probably not -- but it was thrilling to hear.

“You really like it?” Nicolle asked, looking herself over in the mirror.

“Who cares what I think? It’s what you think that matters, Nicolle.”

Nicolle was so caught up in the adventure that she had gotten swept into that she wasn’t sure what she thought, but her hope only grew and grew. A part of her hated this mounting hope, fearing it would only drop her harder in the end. Another part embraced it and loved it completely, and it was this part that made her smile.

I’m a Black Eyed love machine, Nicolle thought, notions of Monday terrifying her, and they laughed like maniacs, the hour of the night completely forgotten.