Part Three
My conversation with a very friendly (that's Southerners for you, we're usually very friendly people) girl who was wearing a Gnarls Barkley T-shirt was going very well. I learned that she lived in the area, though she didn't go to my school. I learned that she liked Gnarls Barkley. I learned that her name was Kaytee and that it was often misspelled. I was about to learn more, but then The Trap said their thank yous and was about to vacate the stage when Sarah grabbed the hem of her shirt and swiftly lifted it up, taking her favorite pink bra with it. Kaytee saw my face blanch with sheer, utter fear while some jerks that weren't The Trap's vocalist cheered for my best friend's breasts.
"Sarah!" I barked. "What the hell does she think she's doing?" I asked Kaytee, who shrugged and looked away. My answer, though, was rhetorical, because in the next moment, The Trap's vocalist started gesturing wildly at Sarah, pointing in the direction of the parking lot and nodding. Sarah pointed in the same direction and nodded as well before taking the side door, meant only for the bands to use, out of the venue. "SARAH!" I screamed.
"Dude, you need to go out there and get her," Kaytee suggested. "Trey's a total horndog."
"Who's Trey?" I asked, shaking.
"The Trap's vocalist," Kaytee explained. "He has quite the following, if you know what I mean." I have an innate ability to read between the lines, so I immediately knew what Kaytee meant. I cursed under my breath and dashed out of Hell, back to the women's room.
I know I probably shouldn't be sticking my nose where it doesn't belong, but I care a lot about Sarah and I know she's actually very innocent and slightly naïve, despite her incredibly dirty dreams about Trey. Who knows what that scum bag will try to get her to do because she has this thing for him? I need to rescue her before he goes too far.
I ran into one of the stalls and slammed the door shut, locking it with shaking hands. I set my backpack down on the floor and started going through it to find my stick, which is purple with a white crystal on the end and about four inches long. Thinking I found it, I pulled a tampon free from the depths of my backpack, sighed, and threw it back in. I tried again, this time finding a pencil, and was becoming exponentially more nervous until I shoved my hand in deep and found it. Yes! Now, to transform. I'm sure other people are in here, so I need to be quiet.
"Mimas Satellite Power, Make Up!" I whispered, holding the stick high, but not high enough to bobble around over the top of the stall door. It worked, and I was swaddled in purple ribbons for a moment before emerging in what I've taken to calling my sailor outfit. It's a cute leotard sort of thing with a purple bow and sailor-style collar, a white button in the middle of the bow, a purple skirt with white hem, a long purple bow on the back, short white gloves with three purple bands, and purple ballet flat-type shoes. This would look so weird here, so I threw on my cape and tied it around me so you couldn't even see my arms or legs. I also put on my Mardi Gras mask, put my backpack on my back again, and exited my stall to find a completely empty women's room. I could have yelled my transformation phrase.
Oh well, there's a girl I need to save out there! I can't be bothered with such…things…as…you know what? I kind of look like V! I mean, my mask does cover my whole face, after all, leaving just a few holes for my eyes, nose, and mouth. It's black, gold, purple, and green, though, not white, and certainly not with a smiling face painted on. I'm also wearing a black cape, but I have my backpack on, which looks so obvious. I need to stash that in my car before I go searching for Sarah.
I left the venue through the front door, conscious that many people were staring at me and making remarks. Oh, if only they could see what was underneath this cape. I looked both ways before dashing into the parking lot, finding my car, and throwing my backpack in it. I shut the door with my foot and ran around to where the bands were told to park their vehicles. There were mostly white vans, like the ones you see repairmen putting around in, but there were a few small mobile homes as well. The vans tended to be brightly painted with band names, so I had to only look around for the one labeled The Trap.
The Trap has a mobile home. It's a nasty shade of taupe and has one of those tacky 1970s linear designs on the side, along with the name. Rambler Wagon. The Trap is painted above Rambler Wagon, but you can still see the original name peeking through. The mobile home is tiny, one of those kinds that you haul behind a pickup truck, the kind that usually just has a bed in it. I looked at the pickup truck, which was red though the paint was peeling with age. There was a nasty spot of rust right above the right rear tire. That will mess your car up like crazy if you don't try to do something about it. Like maybe getting a new car.
The door was shut and locked. I know this because I tried jiggling it. I cursed under my breath and stood there, trying to figure out what I should do. I feared just barging in because I might very well be interrupting something that doesn't mean to be interrupted, but I can't stand idly by while unspeakable things happen to my best friend.
Hmmm. What would V do in this situation?