The Strange Adventures of Rangergirl Read Free Page A

needed the structure, and enjoyed the instruction. But Marzi tended to think that the only reason to get an art degree was to get a job teaching art—welcome to the closed loop of the humanities. Lindsay, obviously, disagreed.
    “Anyway,” Marzi said. “That thing with Beej yesterday.”
    Lindsay nodded. “Yeah, you said he was screaming? But there really was an earthquake, that time.”
    “Only
after
he was screaming, by coincidence.” Marzi sighed. “Maybe next time I see Beej, I’ll suggest he see a counselor at school or something.”
    “Me, too,” Lindsay said. “We’ll be concerned members of the community. He’s a talented guy—I hate to see him fall apart.” She sipped her Guinness. “So anyway. I told Jonathan to come out and join us once he finished drawing.” She grinned, impish.
    “Matchmaker, matchmaker. Why don’t
you
hit on the new boy? And don’t tell me you’ve sworn off boys—I saw you making out with Michael Baker just two weeks ago.”
    “A drunken fling,” Lindsay said with a wave of her hand. “Too much red wine and too little discernment. No more than a grope in a corner. It only served to confirm my all-girl resolve. Besides, I don’t
need
romance in my life. I’ve got someone.”
    “Oh?”
    “Alice Belle,” Lindsay said.
    Marzi widened her eyes.
“Alice?”
Alice was a semiregular at Genius Loci, one of the bikers who frequented the place, mostly on weekends. She wore leather and kept her hair cropped short, and she had a tattoo of one of Edward Gorey’s Gashlycrumb Tinies on her forearm.
    “I am being fully initiated into the mysteries of Sapphic love,” Lindsay said, deadpan, and Marzi burst out laughing. “I’ve never been all
that
experienced with girls,” Lindsay went on. “Just a little making out here and there. But Alice . . . Wow. Just, wow. She’s a fire-dancer, did you know? She practiced in her backyard last night, and I watched. It was amazing; she’s so graceful, so all-in-control—and not just when she’s dancing. I had so much fun with her, I thought about you, and how much fun you’re
not
having. When was the last time you did more than sleep in bed?”
    “A lady has her secrets,” Marzi said. It had been a long time, actually, and the last time hadn’t been very good, a romp with an old lover who was better in her memory than he was in her bed. “But I can sleep with Hendrix any time I want.”
    Lindsay giggled.
    Jonathan appeared in the doorway, carrying a black messenger bag over his shoulder and a coffee cup in his hand.
So much for working,
she thought, but the conversation was pretty effectively purging her mind of bad dreams, so it was okay.
    Jonathan came down the stairs to their table, putting down his cup and pulling up a chair. Lindsay put her elbows on the table and set her chin in her hands, blinking at Jonathan prettily.
    I bet she’ll flirt with the doctor on her deathbed,
Marzi thought, with something like admiration.
    Jonathan held out his hand to Marzi, and in the process knocked over Lindsay’s half-full pint glass. Guinness splattered everywhere, and Lindsay leapt back to keep from being soaked. Jonathan grimaced, said, “Shit, I’m sorry,” and wiped at the spill with a napkin. Marzi caught Lindsay’s eye and silently mouthed “Cool, huh?” Lindsay shrugged expressively. She could shrug like no one else; her shrugs had nuances. This shrug meant, roughly, “Sure, but what do I know?”
    Jonathan sopped up the rest of the spill. “Shit. I’m a klutz. I’ll buy you another one.”
    “Deal,” Lindsay said. “But don’t expect me to put out afterward.”
    Jonathan just laughed. So he was at least
that
cool. If Lindsay had said something like that to Beej or Denis, they would have blushed at the least, and possibly run away. Jonathan went back into the café.
    “So now you’ve met him twice,” Lindsay said. “Not much of a first impression, I guess, and an even worse second impression, but they say the