Petra nods and smiles at me like we’re buddies, like we understand each other.
“I’ll go get the books,” Petra says. “And maybe you’ll get inspired.” Petra walks away and I’m left sitting in the leather tattoo chair. Off to the side the blonde-dreadlock girl is still tattooing the Harley Davidson man who is now actually whimpering out loud as the needle deposits ink into his skin. I look around the room, at the shelves full of equipment—latex gloves, disposable needles, antibiotic cream. I stand up to get a closer look at one of the framed photographs on the wall. It’s of a group of guys in black T-shirts and jeans. The one in the middle has a cowboy hat on, and right next to him Petra is standing, looking proud. Suddenly Petra’s standing behind me. “They’re Saddle Up Susie, big in Nashville,” she says. “I know, no one up here’s ever heard of them…but they were passing through town two weeks ago. I absolutely love them.”
“Cool,” I say.
Petra hands me a thick black binder. “Take a look at this one, I’m just going to go get the others.” She disappears down a small staircase. I get up and slowly continue wandering. Hung up on the walls, filling every available space, are more framed photos of Bijoux Tattoo’s clients with their tattoo artists, proudly displaying their newly modified body parts. I vaguely recognize some of the people in the pictures: a guy from an indie-band that Eric pretends to like because he thinks it’s cool, a giant-eyed model that Amanda thinks looks like a lizard, a performance artist I once read an article about when Amanda and I were flipping through magazines at the bookstore. I stop in front of one photo in the corner and freeze, staring at it, my heart thumping in my chest.
There in the photo is my sister, staring right back at me.
I raise my hand up to my mouth. Her hair is a very faded blue, the color of jeans that have been washed too many times. She’s standing with three guys in their early twenties. Two of the guys have red hair and red goatees and they’re pointing at a third dark-haired guy whose pants are pulled partway down to reveal a giant tattoo on his lower stomach right below his belly button. The tattoo is a stylized picture of the faces of the other two guys in the band, surrounded by musical notes. Nina did this. The tattooed guy has one arm around her shoulders. Her mouth is curved into the shape of a smile. She looks very far away, not how I’d pictured her when I saw the drawing on the mirror. At the bottom of the photo is a scrawly signature, but it’s impossible to make out what it says. I turn around, the dreadlock girl is hunched over Harley Davidson’s arm. His eyes are squeezed shut. I reach up and grab the framed photo off the wall. I flip it over, there are three little metal pieces on the back holding a piece of cardboard in place. I pry them up with my nail, my heart is pounding. I shake the cardboard out and grab the photograph. I lift the front of my T-shirt, push the edge of the photograph down my cutoffs, and pull my T-shirt down over it. I drop the now empty frame behind a black metal cart just as Petra walks back into the room, holding a big stack of black photo albums. She holds them out toward me expectantly.
“I think I changed my mind again,” I say. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I want a tattoo after all.”
“Really?” she says. She looks at me with her eyebrows raised. I shake my head. “Poops!” She sticks her lower lip out in a jokey frown.
“Sorry,” I say. And then I remind myself that I’m Nina. “I can be a little impulsive sometimes, I guess.” I shrug and give her this big radiant smile. And because I am smiling Nina’s smile, Petra can’t resist it. No one ever could. Petra smiles back, and then I turn and walk back into the main room.
Sean is standing by the door looking nervous. I grab his arm and drag him outside.
“What happened?”
“Just keep walking.” I lead us outside and up the hill, and only when we’re three full blocks away do I stop and turn toward Sean. His eyes are sparkly, open wide. He’s already nodding in anticipation of whatever it is I’m about to say.
I take the photo out from under my shirt.
“She actually worked there.” I hand the photo to Sean. “Look.”
“Whoa! Who are the dudes?” Sean is holding the picture up to his face.
“I don’t know. I’m guessing they’re at least kind of famous since the photo was up on display. I’m figuring they’re in a band. So now we just need to figure out who they are.”
Sean is nodding. “You know who knows an awful lot of stuff about guys in bands?”
“Girls who want to do it with guys in bands?”