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Nothing had his doubts about how much Laine really liked girls。 The walls of his room were plastered with posters of the Cure； he had seen them in concert three times； and once he had sneaked backstage to present Robert Smith； the singer； with a bouquet of blood…red roses into which he had tucked two hits of blotter acid。 Julie wore her hair wildly teased in all directions； and she favored lots of black eyeliner and smudged red lipstick。 Nothing suspected that Laine liked her mainly because of her superficial resemblance to Robert Smith。
He looked around the room。 Several of the kids were groping each other ineptly； kissing each other with sloppy wet mouths。 Veronica Aston had pulled Lily Hartung's skirt up and had two fingers inside the elastic of Lily's panties。 Nothing stared at this for several minutes； dully interested。 Bisexuality was much in vogue among this crowd。 It was one of the few ways they could feel daring。 Nothing himself had made out with several of these kids； but though he had tasted theft mouths and touched their most tender parts； none of them really interested him。 The thought made him sad； though he wasn't sure why。
He lay back on the floor and stared up at a poster tacked on the ceiling above Laine's bed： Robert Smith's lips enlarged several thousand limes； smeared with hot orange…red lipstick； shiny and sexual。 Nothing wished he could fall into them； could slide down Robert Smith's throat and curl up stile in his belly。 The marijuana made him feel restless； he wanted to do a hundred things at once； but none of them here。 He realized that among these kids he called his friends he felt much more alone than he had felt in his room last night。
The Bauhaus tape ended； and no one put anything else on。 The party began to break up。 A hippie…looking girl Nothing didn't know flashed a peace sign at Laine as she left。 Julie got up to leave too； she was supposed to be grounded； she explained； because her mother had smelled beer on her breath when she came home from a party last weekend。 〃Bummer；〃 said Laine； not sounding as if he cared very much。
Nothing stared at the floor； feeling depressed。 He had seen Julie so strung out on acid that she thought the flesh was melting from her bones； and her parents couldn't even deal with her drinking beer。
As she was about to leave； Julie reached into her purse。 〃You can have this；〃 she told Nothing。 〃You said you liked it； and I never listen to it…sounds like shitkicker music to me。〃 She handed him a cheap home…produced cassette tape。 The crayon writing on the liner said LOST SOULS？
Nothing's heart quickened。 When he had heard this tape at Julie's house； something in it had sung out to him。 He remembered a snatch of lyrics： 〃We are not afraid 。 。 。 let the night e 。 。 。 we are not afraid。〃 The singer's golden voice chanting those words had awakened in him a courage he didn't know he had； a belief that someday his life would be more than this。 But to show an excess of feeling in this crowd was considered uncool； as far as Nothing could tell； you were supposed to act bored all the time。 He only smiled at Julie； said 〃Thanks；〃 and stuck the cassette in his backpack。
As soon as Julie was gone； Laine got up and put on a Cure tape。 Then he came and lay beside Nothing on the floor。 His bleached white…blond hair fell in long strands over his eyes。 His hand found Nothing's and squeezed。 Nothing didn't squeeze back； but he didn't pull away。
〃Do you want a blowjob？〃 said Laine。 He was one of the youngest of the crowd； only fourteen； but he cultivated arcane talents。 Nothing had seen the legend Laine Gives Killer Head inscribed on more than one bathroom wall at school。
〃What about Julie？〃
〃Julie doesn't turn me on much；〃 said Laine。 〃I like you； though。 I think you're really cool。〃 lazily he propped himself on his elbow and reached over to touch Nothing's face。 Nothing closed his eyes and let himself be touched。 The contact felt good。 Laine hugged him； buried his face in Nothing's shoulder； he smelled of shampoo and clove cigarettes。
〃Seriously；〃 he said。 〃I haven't given you a blowjob since August。 I want to。〃
〃Okay；〃 Nothing told him。 He pulled Laine's face to his and kissed him； nudging his mouth gently open。 Laine's mouth tasted delicately salty； like tears。 He suddenly felt terribly sad for Laine； who was too young to know so much。 He wanted to show Laine some gesture of tenderness； something that might make them both feel as young as they really were。
But Laine's tongue was already tracing a wet path down Nothing's chest； Laine's hands were already unfastening Nothing's jeans and tugging them open。 Nothing stared up at Robert Smith's magnified mouth。 The singer's lush clotted voice surrounded him； making him feel again as if he were tumbling between those lips。 Laine's hands and tongue worked him with a skill born of practice。 Nothing felt something twist inside him。 He put his hand down to touch Laine's brittle hair； and Laine looked up at him with clear； guileless eyes。
As he began to e； Nothing thought again of the black van that had driven past the school today； of the snatch of song he had heard trailing from its windows。 He wondered where the van was now。
Wherever it was； he wished he were there too。
Chapter 3
The road was long and hilly； the black van was hurtling along like a roller coaster； and the day was fine。 Twig drove with an elbow cocked out the window。 Molochai hung out the other side； gnawing on his sticky fingers； letting the wind blow in his face。 Zillah lolled on a mattress in the back； luxuriating in the clear autumn warmth。 The mattress was filthy； parts of its fabric caked with stiff stains that faded from dark' maroon to nearly black。 They would have to unload it at a dump and find a cleaner one soon。
Molochai swivelled his head as they passed the school。 〃Hey！ Kiddies！〃
Twig swatted him。 〃Small game。 How boring。〃
〃There'd be plenty to do at a high school。 All those candy boys； all those sugar girls 。 。 。〃 Molochai pictured himself gliding through shadowy afternoon halls when almost everyone had gone home； his nose and mouth full of the dry smell of paper； the soft scent of years' dust grimed into the corners； the underlying thrill of odor left behind by healthy young flesh shot through with sizzling hormones； greased with quickening blood。 Maybe one of them would have stayed behind； kept after school： a bad girl； sulking in an empty classroom； her eyes downcast。 She would never see the shape ing down the hallway； pausing at the door。 Molochai thought of ripping soft bellyskin； white and firm just above the tangle of pubic hair。 That was his favorite spot to bite girls。
〃A temple of boredom；〃 Zillah offered from the back。 He was braiding his hair。 He kept a streak of it dyed purple； gold； and green； and he was weaving the three colored strands together； toying with the braid； then delicately pulling it apart with his fingers。 〃Boredom is a sin。 Boredom is unholy。〃
Molochai snorted。 〃What do you know about it？ When have you ever been bored？〃
'I'm a hundred；〃 said Zillah； studying his long fingernails critically。 He produced a bottle