A/N: I found the word "kushty" on an askreddit thread in response to a request for 90s British slang. The responder said it was another word for "cool". I'm hoping I'm using it right. It's not a word I've heard on my (Canadian) side of the pond. See the Author Note on Chapter 16 for the provenance of the lyrics for Emma's song.

Chapter 20

Emma didn't care that she'd come late to this concert. She didn't care that until Giselle had given her those PJs, she hadn't had a clue what Jem and the Holograms looked like and wouldn't have been able to name a single one of their songs without the radio announcer identifying them as the performers. Her heart seemed to soar and she knew she had a wide grin pasted on her face, as Jem's pure soprano rose above the Holograms' breezy notes in song after song.

Funny. She'd always thought she liked edgier songs with intense, driving percussion and wailing guitars, but this music seemed to wrap itself around her and transport her somewhere almost magical. I wish I could write a song like these, she thought. I know Kimber showed me that the lyrics aren't always anything special until they're set to music, but I wish I could write music like this!

"Emma?" Stephanie nudged her. "You okay?"

Emma nodded. "Sure."

Stephanie looked as though she was about to probe further, and Emma didn't want to explain. After all, what could she say? I'm upset that whatever song I write won't sound professional enough? Hello? I'm eleven. And Kimber did say she'd help me with the music. Maybe it'll be… okay. She doubted that, but she still pulled her lips back into another grin, leaned back in her seat, and tried to let the music carry her away once more.

Normally, Roxy found driving was a surefire way to calm down, but as she sped southwards, it felt as though her roadster was running on pure rage. At least, it did, until the engine coughed, sputtered, and died on I-15 a bit past Halloran Springs, in the middle of the Mojave Desert. "I can't believe this," she muttered.

Swearing, she got out, popped open the trunk, and grabbed the empty gas can. She couldn't remember how far back the last service station had been, but she knew that if she started walking, she'd eventually find an exit and exits meant service stations.

She grabbed a 20-ounce water bottle irritably and wished she'd had the presence of mind to bring a tote bag with her when she'd left the hotel. She couldn't hold onto a second water bottle if she was also carrying the gas can. Well, with any luck, she'd find a place to fill up before her water ran out, and if she couldn't get a lift back when she did, she was fairly sure she'd be able to buy another bottle for the hike back.

It was over two hours before she spied the service station, and even then, she had to pinch herself to be sure it wasn't a mirage. Roxy gulped the last of her water—it was disgustingly warm by now, but at least, it was wet—and approached the pump. She reached into her pocket for her wallet and froze.

There were no pockets in her leather skirt suit. Her wallet, she remembered now, was in the glove compartment of her roadster. She was in the middle of the Mojave Desert, out of water, with no cash and no wheels.

Roxy wanted to cry. Instead, she stalked over to the phone booth beside the service station and stabbed her finger down on the zero button. "I want to place a collect call," she informed the operator. "To a Rory Llewelyn in Los Angeles."

Rory massaged his forehead. This was one complication that he did not need. "I'll have someone pick you up in a few hours," he said heavily. "And I'll arrange a tow for your car."

"I'd have thought you'd do more," Roxy said, forcing a sob into her throat. "After everything we were to each other."

"After everyth— Roxy," Rory said, keeping his voice even, "we were rivals. Friendly rivals, most of the time, I grant you, but apart from one short fling five years ago that I think we can both agree was never going to go further than it did, we really haven't been anything to each other."

Roxy ruthlessly tamped down the retort she wanted to make—hadn't she promised herself long ago not to tell him about… Never mind! She swallowed hard. "You're right," she said. "And maybe I've just been fooling myself that I could make it in Vegas. About that benefit you're doing, the truth is, I need money. I'm not doing so good, you know."

"It's a benefit," Rory confirmed. "Nobody is getting paid for it, including me."

"I understand that now," Roxy said. "B-but couldn't I do the show anyway? For the exposure?"

"Roxy…"

"Please, just for old-time's sake!" To her horror, she wasn't faking her desperation. She needed this. Well, this and a Long Island iced tea, but she could wait until she was back in civilization for that, as long as it didn't take too long.

There was a long silence. Finally, Rory spoke again, his voice nearly emotionless. "I'll have someone on their way to rendezvous with you within the hour. You're at a rest stop?"

"No, I'm in… Baker."

There was another pause. "It's going to take about three hours to get there, longer if traffic doesn't cooperate. Okay. What's the address where you're at?"

"Uh… It's a Chevron on Baker Boulevard. Hang on." She left the receiver dangling, as she went inside to ask the attendant for the address and dutifully reported back. "Uh, Rory? I told you my wallet's back at the car and I'm sort of out of water and I don't know if they'll let me hang around if I don't buy something. I saw a Western Union sign at the counter could you…?"

Rory sighed. "Sure. I'll wire you a few hundred and make sure you're booked into a decent hotel once you get into town. We'll discuss the benefit further tomorrow. And Roxy, the money I'm wiring you is to cover what you need now, plus any incidentals you might incur at the hotel. Don't go overboard."

Roxy smiled triumphantly. "Sure thing, lover."

"That's over," Rory told her firmly. "Are we clear?"

Her smile dimmed slightly, but she couldn't afford to alienate him now. Besides, she thought practically, Rory was likely to be a bigger help to her than Eric Raymond could possibly have been, even were he not currently rotting in jail. "Absolutely."

That evening, Emma carefully ripped the front pages out of the notebook she'd been using for math since she'd started school here. On a fresh blank page, she slowly, carefully wrote:

Come with me
I'm chasin' dreams, makin' history
I'll find a way and a place to be
Far away, findin' new memories

Wait. She wasn't going to be singing this on stage. This might be her song, but the Starlights were a group. She crossed out the 'I's.

Come with us
We're chasin' dreams, makin' history
We'll find a way and a place to be
Far away, findin' new memories

No good. 'Us' didn't rhyme with the other lines. But the other lines worked so well! And the words that rhymed with 'us'… Okay, 'fabulous' wasn't terrible, but this wasn't a song about how great the band was. The band was going to be great—she hoped! But if they were that great, then the song should speak for itself. Or rather, it shouldn't speak for itself. A line Ms. Kogawa had told them about writing stories came to her mind: Show, don't tell. The song was supposed to show how good the band was, not tell everyone they were fabulous! Bus… cuss… fuss…

Come with us,

We're chasin' dreams upon a (something) bus

No. They wouldn't have a bus on stage and who cared how they got there! She wasn't feeling it. She ground the heels of her hands to her forehead. The last three lines were so right just like they were! Emma thought about. Then, she took a deep breath, crossed out the 'us' and wrote 'me' again.

Come with me
We're chasin' dreams, makin' history
We'll find a way and a place to be
Far away, findin' new memories

She wasn't sure if she was allowed to do that: start with a 'me' and end with a 'we', but it rhymed and it sounded right. She had to trust herself. Even if she wasn't used to it, not for stuff like this. But the first verse was working. She had to have faith that the rest would too.

Run on faith and we'll be okay

Emma looked at the line she'd just written. She liked it, but it was a little long to start the next verse. In the first verse, her first line only had three beats, not seven. Maybe the second one had to start the same way. She started to scratch the line out, then paused. Maybe it wasn't the wrong line. Maybe it was just in the wrong place.

"If this isn't how the next verse starts," she murmured, frowning at the page, "then what is?"

She took a deep breath, stared at the page before her, and thought some more.

Craig looked at the two young women standing apprehensively in front of him and smiled. "Well, I guess I should say 'congrats'," he said. "Took you two long enough."

"You knew?" Kimber asked, noting that Stormer didn't look very surprised.

Craig shrugged. "I thought it might be something like that, but I figured if it was, you'd tell me when you were ready. Who else knows?"

Stormer shrugged. "I guess, just you… unless Aja's also guessed."

Craig's expression turned serious. "I'm flattered," he informed them, "but she really ought to know, too."

Kimber gave him a slight nod, but her voice was worried. "What if she takes it badly?"

"I don't think she will," Craig replied. "But if she does, at least you'll know."

"She'll want me to tell Jerrica."

"She might," Craig admitted. "And that's another decision you'll need to make. But when there are four people in a group, three of them can't keep a secret from the other one. Well," he smiled, "unless they're planning a surprise party, and then it's short-term. Are you two embarrassed?" he asked slowly. "Or ashamed?"

Kimber clasped Stormer's hand tightly. "No!" she exclaimed. "Of course, not! But…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "But, I guess I'm scared. I don't want Aja to look at me… at us… differently."

Craig sighed. "Well, do you think you can keep hiding what's going on from her indefinitely? Sooner or later, someone's going to slip up. If you're lucky, she'll guess it, just like I did. If you aren't… Honestly, I think she'd take it better if she hears if from you than if she reads about it in the tabloids."

"No one believes the tabloids," Kimber muttered.

"Okay, the entertainment magazines," Craig replied. He shook his head. "Look, I'm not going to tell her. But think about what I'm telling you. Sometimes, you're so worried about what would happen if a secret gets out that you blow it up bigger than it ever was."

Kimber nodded. "Maybe," she said reluctantly, "but I can't help thinking that this is pretty big." She turned anxiously to Stormer. "You won't tell her either, will you?"

Stormer shook her head. "Not unless you're okay with it," she said quickly, but the look she flung at her brother told him that she and her now-declared girlfriend weren't entirely on the same page.

"Aja?" Jerrica asked, "Has Kimber given you the new arrangements for 'There's a Melody Playin',' yet?"

Aja blinked. "I didn't know that there were new arrangements," she said. "Jazzing things up for the nineties?"

Jerrica smiled at that. "It's actually for an idea that Phyllis brought up. You know some of our songs and some of the Misfits' songs kind of… play off each other. She thought we could lean into that a bit for some collaborations."

"Ahh," Aja grinned back knowingly. "Something tells me that we're matching that one up with 'There Ain't Nobody Better'?"

"Well, it's the same music," Jerrica shrugged, though her grin widened belying the nonchalance of her tone. "Anyway, Kimber was supposed to get the sound a little closer to Kaleidoscope Haze's: a little edgier than we did it, but lighter than the Misfits did. I take it she didn't mention anything to you?"

Aja shook her head. "And she's off cruising with Stormer," she said rolling her eyes slightly. "As usual."

"I never imagined they'd get so close back when the bands were starting out," Jerrica remarked.

"Yeah, well, these days, I think Kimber spends more time with Stormer than she does with me. I guess they're more on the same wavelength," she added. "Anyway, if she's already done the arrangements, they're probably up in her room. Want me to go get them?"

Jerrica considered. "She hates it when I go poking through her things, and since she's been a little touchy lately, I guess it can wait." She sighed. "I hope she gets back soon, though."

Aja nodded. "Mind you, she's not usually so uptight around me. How about, we give it another hour and then, if she hasn't come back or checked in, I'll see if they're lying around in plain sight for you."

Jerrica smiled again, this time a bit sadly. "I wish she and I were closer than we are now," she admitted. "It feels like there's a wall up between us that never used to be there."

"She'll come around," Aja assured her at once. "Meanwhile, give her space. And if you need to tell her something you think she'll resent, ask me to talk to her. Maybe she'll take it better if it's coming from me instead of you."

"Maybe," Jerrica said, her smile fading a bit more. "Thanks."

Aja had met Kimber for the first time when she'd been ten and Kimber eight. Over the years, she'd learned that her foster sister could be a bit of a slob, and from sharing numerous hotel rooms with her, Aja knew that little had changed on that front. At least, Kimber was usually good about keeping her half of the room clear.

Now, taking in the chaos in Kimber's bedroom, Aja's heart sank. Where might those arrangements be? She didn't want to go digging through all the desk draws and rummaging in the dresser. Even if Kimber hadn't been the sort to care about her privacy, Aja felt uncomfortable doing it. That Kimber did care made it worse. Wait. On the desk, under a haphazardly-thrown blazer, she could see a thin pile of papers. Maybe that was it, and she didn't have to look further.

She lifted the blazer and froze. There were papers there, yes, but not the ruled musical pages that Kimber used for her compositions. As far as Aja could see, they appeared to be blank. They also appeared to be underneath a magazine with a cover that showed a woman in a gold top hat and black lingerie, squatting, with a white jacket half on and half-off. It wasn't the picture that threw Aja off, though. It wasn't the title—the name Diva meant nothing to her. The subtitle, however, brought her up short. "The lesbian lifestyle magazine?" she said aloud, just as she heard a step behind her.

She turned, to see Kimber standing in the doorway. "I-I was just looking for the arrangements," she said quickly, realizing too late that she was still holding the magazine. "I didn't mean to… I-I'm sorry, I…"

Kimber made a choking noise. The blood seemed to drain from her face, as she mumbled, "I can explain…"

"Hoy there, new girl!"

Startled, Deirdre looked up at the loud greeting and smiled back a bit nervously. "Jetta," she replied, trying to play things cool. On the one hand, this woman had been the bane of her foster family not very long ago. On the other hand, she hadn't done anything lately, and the Misfits and the Holograms had long since made up. On the other hand, that didn't mean Jetta wasn't planning something now. On the other hand, Deirdre reminded herself, as of a month or so ago, she was a Misfit herself, now, even if it was just for this one reunion show. But even if there wasn't all this history, this was Jetta—a bona fide 80s rock star! Then again, Deirdre had been hanging around with 80s rock stars since she was about eleven. They were just people! "Hi," she added, lowering her eyes shyly.

Jetta's grin broadened as she came closer, and now Deirdre realized that there were three others trailing behind. "These days, it's Sheila," she said. "These are my mates: Saoirse, Ken, and Mark. Word on the street says you play some kushty guitar."

Deirdre blinked at the unfamiliar word. "Is that good?" she asked, feeling her face grow hot.

The other woman, Saoirse, chuckled in a friendly fashion. "It's a compliment," she assured her. "Promise."

"Oh," Deirdre said. "Uh… I-I guess. I mean, Phyllis—Pizzazz—thought I was good enough. I mean…"

"Hey," Mark—boy was he handsome—said easily. "Relax. If you're jamming with the Misfits, you must be plenty good. We were wondering if you wanted to practice with us."

"If you can play punk jazz," Ken interjected.

Deirdre hesitated. "I… I've done some Saccharine Trust covers and," she swallowed guiltily, "NOFX. Just for fun," she added hastily. "Not on stage." And Jerrica would probably kick her out of Starlight House if she ever laid eyes on some of their album cover art!

Sheila made a show of looking around the room. "I don't see a stage here," she noted. "You know 'We Became Snakes'?"

Deirdre nodded. "Sure."

"Key of D," Mark said, his voice shifting at once from playful to professional, as he opened his own guitar case. "You play backup this time, and once we see what you can do, maybe you'll get a chance to take lead."

Deirdre nodded again. She took a deep breath to prepare herself and thought a quick prayer before she slung her guitar strap around her neck.

Please, don't let me screw this up!

"I'm sorry I took so long to tell you," Kimber finished. "And I wish you hadn't found out like this, but I was afraid you might…"

Aja exhaled. "Well, I guess that means all those times we were double-dating when we were younger, I never had to worry that you were going to steal my boyfriends."

"Like I was saying," Kimber reminded her, "it's not that I don't care for guys, too. Just that I don't care for them as much as I care for Stormer. But," she went on seriously, "I wouldn't date someone I knew you were into behind your back, even if you weren't already seeing them. If you were, then I probably wouldn't date them at all," she added. "I know I acted all boy-crazy back then, but anyone who would fool around on you—or any other girl—would fool around on me, too. Plus, making a play for someone already taken is just low," she added.

Aja nodded. "It's going to take some getting used to," she admitted. "And I'm probably going to mess up and say something wrong a few times."

"I've been there," Kimber said slowly. "Loads of times."

Aja laughed and after a minute, Kimber joined her. "You'll tell me if I'm out of line, right? I mean it. Don't just laugh stuff off if it's not funny. If I upset you and I don't realize it, you need to let me know."

Kimber nodded. "It's a deal." Something about Aja's expression made her ask, "What?"

Aja hesitated. "Are you… still okay sharing hotel rooms?"

"Am I okay?" Kimber repeated. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, I mean…" Aja took a deep breath. "I'm messing up, right? I just thought, if you were… Because I'm not… I mean…"

"You're wondering if I'm attracted to you and I've been fighting those feelings all this time?" Kimber asked gently.

"Kinda, maybe?" Aja asked, looking away.

Kimber shook her head. "Aja, you've been my sister for so long I can barely remember a time when you weren't. I love you, but not like that!" She grinned as Aja heaved a sigh of relief, and added, "Now, if you're asking whether I'd rather room with Stormer…"

Aja giggled. "Well, after Craig and I tie the knot, I'd say that's going to be a distinct possibility!"

Kimber's eyes opened very wide. Then a guffaw escaped her. "I can't wait!"

Emma had never been to a real day camp before. Summers were usually spent at the park, and sometimes, she'd run into some sort of supervised group and tried to slip in unnoticed. Early in the session, she could even get away with it for a few days. Sooner or later, though, someone would draw her aside and tell her that there was a fee to join and if she wanted, she could bring the registration form home "for her mother to sign her up." Emma would take the form, smile politely, and drop it in the nearest garbage can on her way back. The first couple of times, she'd been hopeful, but it hadn't taken her long to understand that there was simply no money for 'extras' in her life.

She looked around now at the wide, green, expanse where several dozen boys and girls milled about excitedly. Joellen, waved to beckon her over with one hand, her other brandishing a large, white, poster-board sign on which, "Girls, 11–12" was written prominently in a rainbow of Magic Marker.

A broad smile, one she was wearing more and more often these days, spread her lips, and she picked up the pace to reach the older girl, as she saw Casey and Stephanie hurrying in the same direction.

"Great," Joellen said. "You found us."

"Kinda hard to miss," Emma murmured, jerking her head toward the sign, and Joellen chuckled.

"Yeah, that was kind of the idea." She turned to another girl whose hair hung in tumbled sandy-brown ringlets. "Wendy, I'd like you to meet three of your bunkmates. Emma, Casey, Stephanie," she went on, "this is Wendy Moore.