161991
Darcy pulled on the black jeans her mother deplored, the ones with the slashed right leg held together with safety pins. She was short and had to roll the legs up. That sort of spoiled the look, but Darcy was unwilling to spend any time hemming them. How she did up her face was more important. She spent a solid half hour with powder, shadow and eyeliner, just to get the goth effect the way she wanted it: her face so pale it nearly glowed, her eyes dark, sunken caverns. She grinned at her reflection and noted with approval that thanks to the makeup, her teeth looked grayish-yellow.
After putting on boots and grabbing her knapsack, she strode to the front door of her family’s large Colonial, making no effort to sneak out.
“What do you think you’re doing?” her mother said, appearing
