Chatha skipped down the hall, pausing for a moment to listen for any signs of her friend. No music. Not even the dissonant noise of the stuff that many goths claimed to be music. “Amaaaanda,” she called out in her childish voice, beginning to skip again. “Comeout, comeout wherev’yar.” She stopped in front of Amanda’s door, wondering why she hadn’t answered yet. “Amanda Emily Terson, I’m comin’ta getcha’!” She threw the door open and sprang in.

            All the room lights were off. The only source of light was from three black pillar candles standing on a low wooden table. Amanda was sitting cross-legged behind the table. She looked up at Chatha for a moment and put her fingers to her lips. “Shh.”

            Chatha shut the door behind her and lowered herself to the floor on the opposite side of the table. “Castin’ a spell? Spells’re fun!”

            “Shush, Nicole.”

            “I ain’t Nicole n’more,” Chatha muttered.

            Amanda didn’t really listen to her. She was staring into the flames of the candles. “Why are you here?”

            “Well, I came t’ tellya’--”

            “I told you next time you showed up without callin’ ahead first, you’d probably find my dead body lyin’ here.” She narrowed her eyes against the flame.

            “Goin’ off on anotha’ suicide tangent, are we? I know it’s th’ ‘oly quest o’ all goths to go out by their own hand, bu’ it’s kinda’ gettin’ old, m’dear. ‘Sides, I know yer ne’er leavin’ me behind.”

            “Why would I want to keep such a nuisance around?” Amanda looked past the candles to Chatha.

            “E’eryone needs a counterpart, or sumthin’ like tha’.” She sprang to her feet and hit the light switch. Amanda shrieked and fell back on the floor, covering her eyes. Chatha laughed at what she saw.

            Goth was the only word that would fit Amanda. She wore black clothing, black makeup, and hadn’t had anything but black hair as long as Chatha had known her. She listened to all the proper bands like Bauhaus, Sisters, Love and Rockets, Birthday Party, and so on. Her death wish was apparently unstoppable, even though she’d been talking about suicide for years and nothing had happened yet.

            The only problem with Amanda’s goth image (other than her plain name) was that her mother was so strict, she had decorated Amanda’s room. And the room had to stay that way, or Amanda would be kicked out of the house. This entailed a lot of flowers and pink and white frills, which had probably hurt Amanda’s eyes more than having the lights turned on.

            “Bitch,” she muttered through her hands. She peaked out at Chatha for a moment. “Why are you here?”

            “Y’di’n’t lemme answer afore!” Chatha sulked, pretending to ignore her friend on the ground.

            “I’m listenin’ now.”

            “Well, hasta’ do wit’ me havin’ a new name.” She plopped herself on the ground beside Amanda, then blew out the candles before they started dripping on the perfect little wooden table (which is something that would have gotten Amanda’s death wish fulfilled, had her mother ever found out).

            “And what’s your new name?”

            “Chatha Darling.”

            “Is that better or worse than Nicole Reiner?”

            “Be’er, silly. Chatha means an end. Th’ endo’ m’life as Nicole Reiner. An’ Darling, ‘cause I’m just so bloody darlin’!”

            “And how did you happen upon this name, oh darling one?”

            “I’m gonna’ ignore yer sarcasm fer nah, but I’ll get ya’ fer it la’er.” With a bright smile, she leaned over Amanda so she could see her eyes. “I’m in a band!”

            There was a flash of excitement in Amanda’s eyes that she quickly suppressed. “A band? You? And what sort of thickwhits let you into a band?”

            “Th’ kind with a grrl punk band. Y’ heard me; grrrrrl punk. They’re all a bunch o’ femi-nazis, from what I’ve seen. So cool. Their lead’s this total bitch, bu’ so nice at th’ same time. She’s the one ‘oo let me in. She owns ‘em, def’nitely. The rest are bitches too. They di’n’t really seem t’like me, bu’ so long as Kim does, it’s all well an’ good.”

            “And you’re telling me this because?”

            “’Cause you’re the best bloody keyboardist to’ve ever existed, Mandy!” She grinned, knowing full well that Amanda hated that name.

            “How does this pertain to the situation?”

            “Fer the smart one, ya’ def’nitely never act it. This means--” Chatha stood up, bouncing in one spot “--tha’ they still don’t have keyboards, an’ I told ‘em I’d talk t’ya’ abou’ th’ whole thing.”

            “You offered me up to a band I’ve never met with?”

            “Yeh. I know yer cool with it. Y’always are when I pull shit like this.”

            “Well, this is a lot of shit to be pullin’. Have you heard any of their music yet?”

            “Nah. Don’t hafta’. Kim’s the one ‘oo writes the songs, an’ I could tell jus’ by meetin’ her that she is so cool. No escapin’ tha’.”

            Amanda smiled softly, shook her head, then sat up. “You realize you ruined a perfectly good black mood, right?”

            “I kinda’ figured I would. It’s not tha’ bad t’ruin, is it?”

            “You’re a big girl; I’ll let you decide for yourself.”

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