“That’s a good thing. Your dancing background will make you a runway supermodel somebody.”“Bullshit,” she said quietly, but with a grin. “...’m ugly. Plastic surgery is in my future. Cheekbones, nose, boobs.”“Stop that,” Chuck said. “You have a dancer’s body. They don’t have boobs.”“You haven’t taken a look at Jacy lately, have you?” Missy snorted. “And don’t you remember Callie?”Fuck yes I do, he thought. “But that’s just one or two girls out of a dozen or so in your group. Most of them are. I had to learn to call Sister Olivia Tiffany, and not ever call her Sister. That was because the police might be looking for a nun and a boy. We couldn’t do anything about me being a boy, but we could disguise her nun-hood. There were six apartments in the building. All of them except ours had men in them. I saw new colors in their minds and had to learn what those meant, too. I found out some of those colors meant substance abuse. Alcohol was one color, and crack cocaine was another that was. More

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