#I also didn’t think too hard about the pentagram just vaguely recognized it from something

[gidyolf]

a girl in my class (who I don’t know very well) came up to me and showed me a picture on her phone and said, “I thought you’d appreciate this.” It was a picture of a bonfire with the wooden sticks falling in the shape of a pentagram. She was like, “my friends and I were having a bonfire, and the sticks fell this way, I thought you’d like it.” I was like, “oh haha that’s cool” and didn’t think much of it. Told my friends later offhandedly and they thought that she was trying to see if I was into witchy stuff and it was a hidden invitation, but I thought she was just being friendly

[9layerdevilfoodcake]

Some Of A Kind

Chapter 1: Virgin in the Chapel

(Michael Langdon x reader)

Summary: When you accompany your friend to a black mass at the Church of Satan. You pick the wrong time and place to let him in on the fact that you’re a virgin, garnering the attention of the ‘chosen one’ himself.

Warnings: murder, mentions of drug use, poorly represented Satanism

Word count: 3,666 (that’s right)

//

It was a typical Wednesday night when you got a text from your friend Tyler.

‘So what do you say? Is tonight the night?’

He had been bugging you for weeks to come see a sacrifice at the satanic church. And since the first time he asked, the conversation always went the same way.

/

“I’m telling you, just one slice and then you can have whatever you want”

“You mean I can have powers beyond compare?”

“Yes” he answered back, in a hopeful tone. Clearly he hadn’t picked up on the sarcasm in your voice.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the excitement in his voice.

“I’m sorry, you do whatever you want over there with your edgelords but I’m perfectly happy in my boring powerless existence”

“First of all we aren’t edgelords, we're satanists. We just see the world for what it is. A dreadful place full of selfish people.”

“Well I can’t say I argue with that”

“Exactly, so give in to being selfish, and start doing what you want. You work so hard, and for what a one bedroom apartment you can barely afford and bags under your eyes that are only getting bigger by the day?”

“Hey” you interrupt, slightly offended. Which only earns a laugh on his end.

“I’m just saying, you put in so much effort for no pay off, when you could do this one thing and have everything you deserve”

“What a cable package and a ‘skip the line’ pass at Disneyland?”

“I also get unlimited snacks!”

“Oh sorry how could I forget, well if one soul is all it takes to get a free waffle cone then what are we still doing here?!” You ask back, your tone full of mockery.

“Have you ever wondered why I can snort as much coke as I want and have never OD’d? Or why every girl I bring home is a certified 10?”

Actually you had, the two of you had met the year prior in a religious studies class when you were partnered to write a paper on whether morality was dependent on a god. He could barely get through a sentence without tripping over his words or looking away in embarrassment. It was sweet really, and by the end of the class you two had basically become best friends.

But about 2 months ago things started to change. There was almost always a girl leaving his house when you would come over.

You swore at least two of them you recognized from Victoria Secret runways.

One night you even saw a man leaving whose resemblance to Ryan Reynolds was suspiciously uncanny.

He got a new car without any explanation as to where he got the money, and he had so much coke in his living room you assumed he started dealing, before he told you it was just his stash for the weekend.

At first he was vague about everything, but eventually he told you the truth, or at least what you assumed was a version of it.

For his final project he wrote a research paper on the church of Satan.

You went with him to a couple of services when he was writing it, him being too nervous to go alone.

You both thought they seemed a little kooky, but relatively harmless.

Yet what you didn’t know was that he kept going back after the class ended and had gotten himself sworn in, and eventually given the honor of participating in a black mass.

Where he had sacrificed a school teacher in order to get these new “gifts”.

Now you weren’t naive enough to think he actually killed someone!

You were sure his new lifestyle was a part of some religious Ponzi scheme, and one day the debt collector would come calling.

You’ve watched enough documentaries to know better than to get involved with this.

But he is still your friend so you take it upon yourself to be supportive and let him have his moment, while simultaneously letting him know you’ll be here for him if the day comes that he gets excommunicated.

“I love you and I am so happy for all you’ve gotten, especially when you share it with me, but I’m good, really. I’ll let you know if I ever change my mind”

That dropped the subject for a while.

 

That is until a few days ago when you lost your job.

Well actually when your job was stolen from underneath you by your boss's son.

All it took was one night of bitching to your best friend for the talks of satanism to start up again.

//

So here you were bored on a Wednesday night actually considering his offer to watch a black mass.

‘Well…’

He texted back after a few minutes of no response on your part

‘Fine’

It’s not like he’s ever going to let up, you might as well go see what all the hubbub was about.

After he picked you up, you made your way to the church.

More precisely the back alley with a hidden door. Not at all unsettling.

And the rain pelting down on the robe he gave you just adds a nice ominese touch to what you're sure is going to be a long night.

Now inside you sit in a pew in the back. While the choir above you sings as the others file in.

They actually sound pretty good if you’re being honest. Maybe on your way out you’ll pick up the album you saw for sale in the lobby (for $6.66 no less).

You haven’t been sitting more than 10 minutes before the mass begins.

And in that time Tyler roughly explained what you were about to see.

You weren’t paying too much attention though. More enamored with the atmosphere.

It was a sea of red cloaks and black pentagrams. And the thunder outside appeared to clap along in sync with the crescendo or the choir.

This place seems vastly different from the shabby collection of misfits you encountered when you visited the first time. Who spent most of the service complaining and handed you a stale donut on your way out the door.

“...Y/n are your listening?!”

“Hmm Yea”

“Really?”

“Yea the guy’s gonna sacrifice some ‘innocent soul’ say a few hail satans and voilà he gets his hair back and starts getting laid again” you answer back, waving him off. You’re more interested in watching two Satanists in the front of the room give each other the “sign of the cross” gesture in reverse order.

“This is serious, the things you see might shock you but you can not react! If they think you’re some sort of threat to our secrets or even just afraid of them, it won’t end well. I’m kind of taking a risk by bringing you here”

That brings your attention back to your friend.

“So you hound me for weeks to come with you, but I’m not even allowed to be here?” You ask back, starting to wonder why you actually said yes to this.

“Well yea, I just really want you to see what I’ve seen, I want what’s best for you”

That was actually really sweet of him.

Now you felt a little bad for making fun of this so much.

That is until you see a man in the next row pull out a flask with “unholy water” written on it and rub it on his chest like Vick’s.

But before you get the chance to ask Tyler where he keeps his flask(which you're certain he has). The choir stops singing and the Priestess has the room's attention.

Everything goes as Tyler explains at first.

The “sacrifices” are brought in in their underwear. (They couldn’t even keep their clothes on, what does the devil give them a level up if the victims are humiliated before they die?) and tonight's chosen one, Phil, is about to take his position, before you hear a voice behind you.

“Wait!”

You turn your head to see an older woman rushing in, but it’s not her that steals your focus it’s who walks in behind her.

He is quite possibly the most attractive person you have ever seen. With cheekbones that could slice butter and soft blonde hair falling around icy blue eyes.

She says his name is Michael and this honor belongs to him.

You look over to Tyler to see what’s going on. He didn’t explain what part of the performance this was, was this some sort of second act surprise?

You were expecting this night to follow like a church service, watching Phil take his vows and minimal audience participation. Now you wonder if this is all rehearsed, or if the Satanist’s are partial to improv?

But Tyler pays you no mind, he can’t take his eyes off the blonde either.

It’s not until the Priestess mentions the “mark of the beast” and that he is the chosen one, that you get why Tyler is looking at him like he’s some sort of god.

Because to him he is, this guy is supposed to be the Antichrist.

Tyler says nothing only glances in your direction when he sees you’re the only one still standing, before he pulls you down to your knee like everyone else.

The rest of the performance is really top notch.

The flickering of the lights was a nice touch, but you can’t help but feel a little uneasy wondering how they keep getting the thunder to time up with everything they do.

Plus the bodies of the sacrifices fell to the ground almost too well.

How did they manage to get their bodies to look that lifeless, and why did those cuts look so deep?

But you try not to focus too much on it as you walk to the ceremonial Wednesday night potluck.

/

After the Antichrist has dismissed his followers from fawning all over him, you sit with Tyler at the end of the table and dig into your lasagna.

“So does the antichrist part happen at every sacrifice or is this one special? Is it some Satanic holiday I wasn’t aware of?” You ask, breaking Tyler out of whatever trance he appears to be stuck in.

“What?”

“I gotta say the dramatics were very entertaining, but if you really wanted to get me here all you had to do was tell me the guy who plays the Antichrist is really hot” you snicker under your breath.

“Play? Y/n your don’t understand he IS the Antichrist” he explains in a hushed voice before continuing

“That doesn’t happen every time, he really has come. This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for! Don’t you see?! I think it was fate you came here on this night!”

“Ha, why do you need a virgin to sacrifice or something?” You laugh and take another bite before you look over and see Tyler staring at you with wide eyes.

“What?”

“You’re not serious are you?”

“Well yea, what’s the big deal, I didn’t realize you were so caught up on a social construct”

“I’m not, but you can’t say things like that around here” he looks around the room nervously and you follow his path of vision until your eyes land on Michael, who’s own gaze is locked on you.

There’s no way he heard you, you were across the room and you were whispering.

Still he continues to stare with eyes that speak only of intensity. No smile, no nod, no hint emotion whatsoever.

It’s only after you raise your brows and mouth a “What?” That he looks back down at his plate with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Oh Satan, I think he heard you. You should go” Tyler’s tone becoming more erratic by the second.

“What?” You’re sure he's joking, but when he looks at you there is nothing but worry in his eyes.

Now you’re starting to get nervous, this is too far.

He actually thinks these people are going to do something?

He’s practically shaking with fear, and because of the man in the turtleneck? Who barely knows how to hold a spoon?

Okay you’ll play along for tonight, but tomorrow you are having a serious talk, he might need professional help.

“Alright let's go then” you huff out as you start to grab your belongings.

“I can’t just leave, especially since our savior is here, but I’ll make sure everything is good and you’re not followed or anything”

“Okay, is there some sort of satanic shuttle bus that can take me home? Or should I call an Uber? Does this place have an address or should I just send them an inverted cross?”

Still unamused by your inability to grasp the gravity of the situation, he just shakes his head and hands you his keys.

“Here just take my car, I’ll get a ride later, in fact stay at my house incase you’re followed”

He’s basically pushing you out of your seat and nodding to the door.

“Okay...bye I guess”

And with that you take off down the hall.

You know you’re supposed to go straight to the car. You’ve never seen Tyler look so serious in his life.

But when you walk past the chapel you can’t help but stop. You can still see the bodies up at the altar.

Why are they still there? Was there a trap door you missed and these were just doubles?

Or were these people so committed to the role and as crazy as your friend that they had to stay in the character of “dead sacrifice” all night?

Curiosity got the better of you, the car could wait, you had to see for yourself.

Closer inspection did nothing to stifle your suspicions.

It looked so real.

They weren’t breathing, so there was no way they were still the two actors, but you had never seen fake bodies look so real.

You're reminded of an anatomy class you took last semester.

Those cadavers looked suspiciously close to these.

Just colder and with less life left in their faces.

And there was so much blood, the iron was thick in the air.

But that couldn’t be true. Your friend wouldn’t kill someone would he?

He didn’t actually think they would kill you?

If you got a closer look, if you just swiped some of the “blood” with your pointer finger it would surely taste like corn syrup and not like…

“Are you afraid?”

You whip your head around, blood still staining your finger and beginning to drip onto the linoleum. To see Michael walking in the same way he had an hour earlier. Only this time without the cloak, but with some newly added confidence.

“They’re really dead aren’t they?” You know it’s true, but you still wait for his confirmation.

“Yes, that tends to happen when you slice someone’s throat” He acts as if this shouldn’t be a shock to you. It didn’t shock any of the other members of the congregation. Yet you know without him saying it, that he’s well aware you’re not like the others. That you don’t belong here.

“So you really sacrifice people, just to get stuff” you blurt out. Still trying to wrap your head around the fact that everything you witnessed tonight was real. Perhaps you shouldn’t have taken that last crescent roll you’d seen another satanist eyeing at dinner, you definitely have a curse coming your way. That is if you live through the night.

“Well not me” Michael says, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to the present.

“Oh of course, you’re the one they do it for”

“Well my father more specifically”

“Does that upset you?” You know you should be more careful about how you proceed with this conversation, but the words leave your mouth before your mind can stop them.

The question seems to catch him by surprise as he ruffles his brow, you’re not sure if it’s in anger or just shock at your brazenness. But he doesn’t answer. Just goes on to question you.

“Have you ever witnessed a murder before?”

“No”

“How did you feel watching it before your eyes?”

“Well I didn’t feel much, considering I thought it was all fake” That earns you a smile from him.

“And how do you feel now?”

“Curious”

“Really? Not scared?”

“No. Why should I be?” You’re really digging your own grave here. But your mouth seems to have a mind of its own.

“It seems your friend would say otherwise”

“Ah so you did hear.” You say, seeing his smile grow wider. “These aren't the days of the Old Testament, virginity doesn’t equally purity. Just ask sacrifice number one over there, with a body like that I doubt she was a virgin” you laugh, partially at your joke and partially out of sheer uncomfortableness. Michael doesn’t even spare the bodies a glance, eyes latched onto you, you go on to add

“I’m no saint. Despite my sexual history, or lack thereof”

“No, I’m sure you’re not” he emphasizes by swiping some of the liquid from your finger with his own, before taking it into his mouth. Making a show of it by closing his eyes as he releases it from his lips, slow as molasses. Smiling when he opens his eyes and sees you’re practically drooling.

Before his little show can go any further, you continue with your own questions.

“Have you killed people before?”

“Yes”

“How many?”

“You don’t have the time”

He’s looking at you waiting for your response. Waiting for the shock to subside and the shrieks of terror to take over.

Instead you just pause thinking everything over.

You should be scared, you know you should.

In one night you have watched two people die, found out your friend is a murderer, and that the Antichrist is not only NOT a myth, but is standing in front of you, conversing with you like he’s nothing more than your new neighbor.

Yet you search and search in your mind for any hint of fear and come up empty. All you feel is curiosity. You must be losing it too, you feel bad for judging Tyler so harshly. Maybe it’s his youthful face and the little outburst in the dining hall earlier, but Michael seems like more than simply the ‘incarnation of evil’. He seems so...human.

And more than anything he just seems confused and dare you say, lost.

“Do you like killing people? Or do you do it because it’s expected?”

“It depends”

“Would you like to kill me?”

Now it’s his turn to take pause, looking like he’s trying to decide if he’s “in the mood” to take your life.

“Not right now”

You can’t help but laugh at that (yea you’re definitely in shock). Soon enough he joins in too, and the mood feels lighter than it has all night. You might even say you feel comfortable.

That is until the laughter subsides and you meet his eyes. He’s now staring at you with the same intensity you’d met earlier at dinner.

It’s like he’s looking right through you, into your soul. You feel on display and more than anything afraid of what he might find.

“Stop that”

“Stop what?” He says with a playful tone and a tilt of his head.

“You’re..well..I don’t know what you’re doing but I don’t like it. You’re trying to get a read on me or something.”

He just smiles at that, because of course he does.

You know there is no avoiding playing into his hand. He wants to get a rise out of you, in one way or another.

“And what do yo-”

“Y/N!”

At the mention of your name you both turn to see Tyler standing in the doorway.

Antichrist or not, the look Michael gives him is enough to send a wave of fear up your spine.

He appears as though he’s about to snap his neck through just a look(and you're afraid to find out if he could).

Noticing his anger, Tyler stops and bows before Michael, apologizing incessantly for interrupting him.

You don’t miss the twitch of Michael’s lips. He’s clearly loving the effects he has on his followers.

You just roll your eyes at your friend.

“Calm down Tyler, get up”

He just let’s your words pass over him as if you hadn’t even spoken. If he hadn’t been the one to call your name a moment ago, you wouldn’t be sure he even knew you were in the room.

Every sense he had was aimed at Michael, and it was only when his precious dark lord gave him a nod that he got up and looked your way again.

“What are you doing? I thought you were going home?” He says through clenched teeth.

If he weren’t so worried about keeping you alive he would be pissed at you for not listening.

“I was. I am” you reassure him turning to Michael.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Michael, I’ll see myself out”

You are scurrying out of the room, grabbing a frozen Tyler and tugging him along with you, when Michael calls after you.

“No y/n, the pleasure was all mine.”

You’re at the end of the hall, and in the middle of Tyler’s scolding session, when you realize there is still blood on your finger.

It feels like it’s vibrating where Michael touched you, begging you to take notice.

Just wipe it on your jeans, you tell yourself.

Wait until you get to the car and find a napkin.

Do anything rational other than what you're thinking.

As you pass through the exit door, you cave and take a taste of the crimson on your finger.

Although you can’t see him, you know Michael is smiling. You can feel his smugness in the air around you and you're sure he knows what you just did.

This started out just as me wanting to make some jokes about Michael and the Satanists and has somehow turned into a multi-chapter fic. I still don’t really know where it’s going I’m just letting it take on a mind of it’s own. If it looks familiar it’s cuz it’s been on ao3 for a little bit now, so sorry it’s not a “new” new story! If you liked it that makes me very happy, and if not I hope it was at least entertaining! Either way thank you for reading!

(I wasn’t sure who wanted to be tagged just in my Xavier fic and who did in general so I didn’t add a tag list to this one)

[dantediscoversfic]

Chapter 40: The Crap Cave

“Dante! You found us!” Clio said as I hovered awkwardly in the doorway of the art room that first day of school during lunch period.

She bounded over and grabbed my elbow to draw me into the oddly dark classroom. The overhead lights were all off, the window shades partially drawn down and gloomy pop music I vaguely recognized as The Cure droned from a cassette player. About ten kids were sprawled out around the room, most of them sporting various degrees of punk/goth/New Waver style. Two corset-clad girls in billowy skirts drew intricate designs on each other’s arms in black pen; a couple dressed in “normal” clothes was making out with gusto in the corner by the potter wheels; a boy wearing all black continually skimmed his pointer finger over the top of a Bic lighter flame; and the rest were eating lunch, chatting, scribbling in notepads or singing along to the music. Clio flicked the overhead lights a few times to get everyone’s attention, eliciting a few winces and hisses and boos from the group.

“Everyone, listen up, this is Dante. He’s new. He’s from Texas, but try not to hold that against him. He’s a brilliant artist. Dante, this is everyone. That’s Raija, Jane, Sachi, Fletch and Kelly back there sucking face, Joseph, Ann, Dave, Forest and Vee.”

I was greeted with a few head nods and finger waves, except for the couple making out who kept at it with sloppy yet admirable enthusiasm. Everyone went back to their conversations as Clio led me closer to the girls she’d pointed out as being named Jane and Sachi.

“So, Dante from Texas, welcome to 'The Crap Cave’”, Clio said using air quotes. “We have lit mag meetings here and also make our own ‘zines and stuff. Raija’s mom Ms. B is the art teacher—she just stepped out for a minute—so she doesn’t care if we hang out here as long as we don’t you know, perform ritual animal sacrifices or set anything on fire. Again.” She coughed pointedly in the direction of the boy with the lighter seated a few desks down from us and the girls chuckled. Seeing my apparent confusion she said, “See, Joseph’s a bit of a pyro and went through a destruction of property phase last year, didn’t you, Jo-Jo?” The boy in question grinned slyly up at us. “But he’s got it under control now,” Clio continued. “He channels his urges into sculptures where he can use an actual blowtorch from woodshop.”

“Blowtorches rule,” he said and cast me one more glance before focusing all his attention back to his lighter and intrepid pointer finger. I couldn’t help but notice that all his fingernails were painted black and he was wearing eyeliner and dark lipstick like the girls.

I pulled my gaze away from him, not wanting to stare too hard and be rude. “What did you call this room? The ‘crap cave’?” I asked Clio. “Did I hear that right?”

“Oh yeah, you heard me right.”

“Do I even want to know?”

Clio laughed. “Don’t look so scared, we know how to use the bathrooms like everyone else. It’s a sort of long story. You ever hear of The Batcave?”

“You mean like from Bat Man comics?”

“No. Well yes, but no. Same but different. The Batcave is this famous club in London for people like us. Bauhaus, Robert Smith, Siouxie, Nick Cave, Specimen all hang out and play there. Jane actually got to go there this summer, that lucky bitch,” Clio knocked Jane’s shoulder with friendly admiration. “So we kind of started calling it that in homage to the club like a year ago. But then the school had this gross mouse problem and their little poops were, like, this constant presence in our lives, so somewhere along the line we started calling it ‘The Crap Cave’ instead. Because that's how we roll.”

“The mice were perfect and adorable, not gross,” Sachi said.

“Sachi, no. Just no. The mice themselves might have been cute but their poops definitely weren’t.”

The two girls bantered about whether the mice should have been saved and kept as pets or if they were indeed an icky health hazard while I took everyone in, trying not to gawk, and sat down to eat my packed lunch. I was fascinated by the group’s collective style: a motley assortment of teased and spiked dyed hair, leather jackets, ripped band t-shirts, corsets and lace, fishnets, heavy boots, winged eyeliner, black lipstick and nail polish, powdered white faces, spiky hardware chain jewelry mixed with rosaries, crosses and pentagram necklaces. Some of the boys were even wearing makeup, which was something you hardly ever saw in El Paso. Joseph, the pyro boy, was particularly fascinating to me. His raven hair was teased out as much as Clio’s and his dramatic eye makeup accentuated his blue eyes and delicate, almost pretty features. The flame from his Bic lighter cast a warm glow on his ghostly pale skin.

Clio must have caught me staring because she leaned in close to my ear and said, “Don’t worry, Dante, we might look at little scary but we don’t bite. At least most of us don’t. Forest over there is saving up to get his teeth filed, but it’s not for blood sucking purposes. It’s because it’ll look badass.”

“Wow. My old school in El Paso was a Catholic private school so we all had to wear uniforms. It’s so cool you can wear whatever you want here. And be whoever you want. Do you all make your own clothes? I love your corsets,” I said to Jane and Sachi.

The girls grinned at me with approval and Clio said, “I knew you were a good egg, Dante. Jane made the corsets. She’s an amazing designer and sewer. I think the rest of us get by with thrift stores, hot glue and a crapload of paperclips.”

“I’ve never really thought about my clothes before,” I said. “But now I feel so boring compared to you all.”

“Aw, there’s nothing wrong with being a normie,” Clio said and patted me on the back. “It doesn’t make you boring.”

“Well, if you want to try something new, let me know,” Jane said. “Jo-Jo’s my twin brother. I make stuff for him all the time. Cravats, vests, things like that. I’m sure he’d let you borrow something.”

“Wow, thanks. You think I’d look good?”

“Yeah, for sure. But don’t let us pressure you. We dress like this because it feels right, right? But it’s not for everyone.”

The girls nodded.

“How did you all know you wanted to get into goth stuff?” I asked.

Jane said, “Well, for me, growing up I loved making clothes and dressing up since forever. Halloween was my always my favorite holiday. I was obsessed, like obsessed. Like I’d start planning my costume and how to decorate the house six months in advance. And after it was over each year, the next day I’d get so sad and cry for days and beg my mom to keep the decorations up and let me keep wearing a cape or whatever to school every day. So when I figured out that I could dress however I wanted whenever I wanted and basically have Halloween all year round and have my clothes express how I feel inside all the time, it was like a big weight was lifted.”

“Do people make fun of you?”

“I mean, sure, dicks are dicks,” Jane said.

“We get all sorts of ignorant comments at school, on the street, wherever. Like…‘Hey Morticia, Halloween is over,’” Clio lowered her voice to a dopey male grumble.

“Or ‘Errr….Do you sleep in a coffin?’” Jane said.

“Or ‘You look pretty hot for a dead girl!’” Sachi said.

“Or my personal favorite, the classic ‘Going to a funeral?’” Clio said with an epic eyeroll. “Yeah, your funeral if you don’t shut up about it. Please. But there are lots of people who aren’t asshats and you can just ignore the losers.”

“Yeah,” Sachi said. “People say things like ‘Oh, you’d look so pretty if you didn’t dress like that’ but this is how I feel pretty and beautiful. I didn’t feel right before. Now I feel good. Right. Like myself.”

“Raija’s mom is super cool because she’s an old hippie and gets it,” Clio said. “But my mom is still waiting and praying for the day when I let her dress me all in pink pouffy dresses again. Sorry Anita, not gonna happen.” There was an edge to Clio’s voice when she talked about her mom that I hadn’t heard from her yet. It made me wonder what her home life was like.

Sachi said, “Yeah, my parents were all worried at first that I was depressed and wanting to kill myself. They tried to have an intervention with all my aunties and cousins. ‘We’re worried about you, Sachi.’ ‘This isn’t the real you.’ Um, first off, yes it is. And second off, I’m so much happier now than before when I felt like a fake.”

“Yeah, people think that we do this for attention or as a cry for help or because we’re suicidal or worship Satan or are in a cult, but that’s not true at all,” Jane said. “I started making clothes for myself when I was ten. This isn’t a ‘phase’. I’m not going to just grow out of it.”

“And finding people who are into the same bands and fashion and movies and everything makes putting up with all the weird looks and comments easier. We’re here for each other, ” Sachi said.

“And sure, we get attention,” Clio said, “because we stand out with our awesome amazingness. But it’s not like we do it for attention.”

“Yeah, I totally get it.” I said. “I think it’s great.”

The girls smiled at me and I wondered how it would feel to dress like them, if that would feel ‘right’ for me or not. I understood what Sachi had said about feeling like a fake, though, and not liking how that made me feel. I felt that way when I used to tell people my name was Dan and not Dante. I felt that way still, a little. Because I didn’t quite know what it meant to be totally free and open with myself and the world and the universe. Not when it came to the biggest secret I had. In El Paso, I felt like I already stood out by not looking Mexican enough, by liking art and poetry and books and astronomy too much. It was enough to blend in and not get teased or bullied for being a little strange. Now I wondered if I flipped the script and really tried to stand out—if I dressed all in black and put on makeup and spiked my hair and embraced my innate weirdness—if that would make me feel more like me. It might make me feel tough and cool and badass for a little while, but I doubted it would make me feel more like myself the way it did for this group. How did I know, though? I’d never tried it before.

I wondered what Ari would think of my new friends. I bet he’d like them. And then I wondered what Ari would look like in black nail polish and eyeliner. I bet he’d look like a dark glamorous rock star. The thought did funny things to my insides.

Then the art teacher, Ms. Baldwin a.k.a. Raija’s mom, came in. She had gray hair in a long braid all the way down her back and wore a long flowy dress and bangle bracelets. She turned the overhead lights on and said, “Hey darklings, the cruel daylight beckons. Gotta get ready for the next class. Lunch is over in five. And you two, yoo-hoo, Earth to Fletch and Kelly! Please rein in your raging hormones during lunch if at all humanly possible? I can’t have anyone getting pregnant on school grounds.” Everyone cracked up at that and Fletch and Kelly turned beet red but finally disentangled their entwined limbs (and tongues).

I had an art class with Ms. Baldwin later in the day so I introduced myself.

“Hi, I’m Dante Quintana, I’m in your painting class during sixth period.”

“Dante, it’s so nice to meet you. You’re new, yes? This lot showing you the ropes?”

“Yes, Clio invited me to eat lunch with her and be part of lit mag.”

“That would be lovely. I’m the advisor, so I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot of you. How are you finding Chicago? Settling in all right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am! Please, call me Ms. B. Where are you from?”

“El Paso.”

“Ah. I’ve only been there once. EPMA is a lovely museum. Have you been to the Art Institute yet?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“We’ll be doing a field trip later in the year, but if you are a lover of art you must go. It’s one of the prides of Chicago.”

“Thanks, Ms. B, I will.”

"Now if you’ll excuse me, Dante, I have to prep for next period. See you in a few hours!”

Ms. B went over to her daughter Raija, who had been sitting off to herself drawing in a sketchpad for most of lunch, and gave her a quick side hug before disappearing into a supply closet. Since everyone else was getting packed up I ate the rest of my lunch quickly and consulted my schedule to see where I was headed next.

“You’re in sixth period drawing?” I looked up and saw it was Joseph who had asked me the question. Standing up instead of hunched over the desk I saw how truly long and lanky he was. He was about a foot taller than me.

I nodded up at him and tried to smile but had a hard time keeping eye contact.

“Cool. Me too.”

He flicked his lighter a few times in his right hand and then grinned a lopsided grin at me before heading out into the hallway right as the bell rang.

This was shaping up to be a much different first day of school than I had expected.