Lonny was setting up his equipment when Morgan and I walked in after lunch the next afternoon. The shop had just opened, and we were the only ones there.
I saw the look of surprise on his face when he saw us. He quickly replaced it with a smile and stepped forward to give Morgan a quick hug. He nodded to me. “Hey, what’s up?”
Before I could answer, he turned back to Morgan. “I thought you were going to come pick me up yesterday.”
Morgan clenched her fists at her sides. But she kept the steady, blank expression on her face. “Sorry. I . . . uh . . . got hung up.”
“No problem,” Lonny said. “I got a ride.”
Two pink circles formed on Morgan’s cheeks. She flashed me a quick glance. She wanted me to take charge here. I could see she couldn’t control her anger much longer.
“It’s Morgan’s birthday,” I said. “And—”
“Oh, yeah.” Lonny suddenly remembered. “Happy birthday, babe.”
Babe?
“We want to do something special for her birthday,” I said. I motioned to the tattoo chair. “We want to give each other tattoos. And we’re going to surprise each other. We’re not going to tell what they are.”
Lonny rubbed the stubble of a beard on his cheeks. “You mean you want to do it yourselves?”
“Well . . . kinda,” I said. “We thought you could help. You know. With the needle and everything.”
He thought about it for a few seconds, his eyes on Morgan. “Awesome idea,” he said finally. “Totally awesome. Sure, I’ll help.” He moved to the equipment and lifted a large needle attached to a hose. “I’ll even give you the employee discount.”
Morgan couldn’t hold back. “You’re going to charge us?”
He shrugged. “I kinda have to. My boss keeps track of the ink and stuff.”
Lonny had obviously forgotten about his birthday promise. That he was going to tattoo Morgan’s name on his arm. That had to be a lie from the start.
A funny picture flashed into my mind. I suddenly saw Lonny with the words I’m with Stupid tattooed on his forehead in black and red.
He was saying something to Morgan, but I didn’t hear it. He turned and raised his shirtsleeve, showing off his Star Wars tattoo sleeve. “I designed it,” he said, “and Mickey, my boss, did the art. It took two weeks.”
Morgan just stared at it.
“Awesome,” I said.
“I submitted it to Inked magazine,” Lonny said, pulling his shirtsleeve back into place. “They’ll probably want to do a spread on me.”
Yes. For sure. It’s all about Lonny.
“Who wants to go first?” he asked.
I dropped into the chair before Morgan could answer. “I want to get the first tattoo,” I said. “I can’t wait to see what Morgan has in mind for me.”
Lonny grinned. “I know what it’s going to be. It’s going to be a big red heart, and it’s going to say Morgan and Morgan.” He laughed.
“Shut up, Lonny,” Morgan snapped. “Don’t be dumb. I have a nice idea for Morgan.”
“Let me set it up,” he said. He set down three little cups in a row on the table. Then he filled each cup with a different-colored ink. He pulled a couple of bottles from a drawer. I saw that one of them was skin lotion.
“Let’s get your skin clean and smooth, Morgan,” he said, taking my arm.
“Just the backs of her hands,” Morgan told him.
“No problem.” He rubbed lotion over the back of my hands with a cotton cloth.
He turned to Morgan, who was watching over his shoulder. “Tattoos bleed while you’re doing them. So you use this to wipe the blood away as you work.” He squeezed some kind of gel from a tube onto another piece of cloth.
Then he flipped a switch and the equipment started to hum. He raised a needle, flipped another switch, and it made a whirring sound and buzzed in his hand. “Do you know which color you want?”
Morgan eyed the ink cups on the table. “Just blue.”
Lonny nodded. “Okay. Remember, keep your hand steady. If you slip—”
Morgan backed away. “You know, maybe you should do it for me, Lonny. I don’t want to mess it up.”
I knew this would happen. I know Morgan so well and her total lack of confidence. But that’s okay. Lonny could go ahead and do my tattoo. It wouldn’t change my plan at all.
“Go ahead, Morgan,” I said. “Tell me. What’s my tattoo?”
She kept her eyes on the needle in Lonny’s hand. “Little bluebirds,” she said. “I want to tattoo a tiny bluebird on the back of each of your hands.”
I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Bluebirds? Why?”
“Because you are so free. You are the freest person I know. Your spirit is free as a bird.”
I felt a stab of emotion in my throat. “That’s . . . very sweet,” I said softly.
Lonny placed my left hand on the table, and he spread my fingers out. The needle whirred and spun in his hand. He dipped it in the blue ink.
“It stings,” he said. “But you can take it. Just don’t move your hand.”
“I’ll show you what I want,” Morgan told him. She unfolded a sheet of paper. She had drawn a bluebird on it with its wings raised.
And that’s what I got. Two tiny bluebirds, blue outlined in black, on the backs of my hands.
A little surprise for my parents. But the tattoos were tiny and they were my hands, and I didn’t care if they both had fits.
Besides, I didn’t realize it at the time, but I wouldn’t be alive to show it to them.
