“You should talk to him,” Jay said.

“No way.”

“Why not?”

“He’s... high,” I whispered.

“You don’t know that.”

But I did. The colors of someone’s emotions blurred when their bodies were under the influence. That guy’s were fuzzy at best.

Seeing emotions as colors was an extension of my ability to sense others’ feelings, their auras. I’d had the gift since infancy. The color spectrum was complicated, as were emotions, with shades of a color meaning different things. To simplify, positive feelings were always colors, ranging from bright to pastel. Negative feelings were shades of black, with a few exceptions. Envy was green. Pride was purple. And lust was red. That was a popular one.

The colors mesmerized me, the way they shifted and changed, sometimes slow, and sometimes in rapid succession. I tried not to read people constantly or to stare; it seemed like an invasion of privacy. Nobody knew what I could do, not even Jay or my adoptive mother, Patti.

The line for the club moved slowly. I adjusted my skirt again and looked down to evaluate the decency of its length. It’s fine, Anna. At least my legs had a little muscle these days, instead of looking like a pair of toothpicks. Although I’d been pegged with nicknames like “Twiggy” and “Sticks” growing up, I didn’t obsess about my figure, or lack of one. Padded bras were a helpful invention, and I was satisfied with the two small indentations in my sides that passed for a waist. Running had become my new pastime five weeks ago, after I’d read how my body is the “temple of my soul.”

Healthy temple: check.

As we moved up a few more steps, Jay rubbed his palms together.

“You know,” he said, “I could probably get us drinks when we get inside.”

“No drinks,” I immediately answered, my heart quickening its pace.

“Fine, I know. ‘No drinks, no drugs.’ No nothin’.” He imitated me, fluttering his eyes, then nudged me with his elbow to show he was only kidding, as if he could be mean anyway. But he knew I had an abnormal aversion to substances. Even now, his comment about drugs and alcohol caused an uncomfortable, almost physical reaction within me; it felt like an urgent, greedy pushing and pulling. I took a deep breath to calm down.

We finally made our way to the front of the line, where a young bouncer snapped an underage wristband on me and gave me an appraising look, eyes scanning my waist-length hair before raising the velvet rope. I rushed under it with Jay on my heels.

“For real, Anna, don’t let me stand in the way of all these dudes tonight.” Jay laughed behind me, raising his voice as we entered the already packed room, music thumping. I knew I should have put my hair up before we came, but Jay’s sister, Jana, had insisted on my keeping it down. I pulled my hair over my shoulder and wound it into a rope with my finger, looking around at the tightly packed crowd and wincing slightly at the noise and blasts of emotion.

“They only think they like me because they don’t know me,” I said.

Jay shook his head. “I hate when you say things like that.”

“Like what? That I’m especially special?”

I was trying to make a joke, using the term us Southerners fondly called people who “weren’t right,” but anger burst gray from Jay’s chest, surprising me, then fizzled away.

“Don’t talk about yourself that way. You’re just... shy.”

I was weird and we both knew it. But I didn’t like to upset him, and it felt ridiculous having a serious conversation at the top of our lungs.

Jay pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen as it vibrated in his hand. He grinned and handed it to me. Patti.

“Hello?” I stuck a finger in my other ear so I could hear.

“I’m just checking to see if you made it safely, honey. Wow, it’s really loud there!”

“Yeah, it is!” I had to shout. “Everything is fine. I’ll be home by eleven.”

It was my first time going to something like this. Ever. Jay had begged Patti for permission himself, and by some miracle got her to agree. But she was not happy about it. All day she’d been as nervous as a cat at the vet.

“You stay right next to Jay, and if any strangers try to talk to you—”

“I know, Patti. Don’t worry, okay? Nobody’s trying to talk to me.” It was hard to reassure her while I was shouting and being jostled.

The deejay was announcing that Lascivious would hit the stage in five.

“I gotta go,” I told her. “The band’s about to come on. I’ll be safe. I promise!”

“All right, honey. Maybe you can call me on your way home?” It was not a suggestion.

“Okay. Love you, bye!” I hung up before she started talking about self-defense moves or some other crazy thing. I’d barely made it out of our apartment earlier that night because of her list of warnings. Part of me thought she might be paranoid enough to follow us to the club.

“Come on.” I grabbed Jay’s hand and pulled him into the crowd. It was an eclectic mix—everything from punks to goths to preps. I worked us all the way to the front corner of the stage, annoying a few people with my slight pushiness, but I was careful to apologize. I figured I owed Jay a front-row seat after upsetting him.

The wooden stage was battered, like every other surface in the building. The club was small and boxy, but the ceilings were high. Cramming people inside and breaking every fire code in Georgia added to the atmosphere.