Warpaint - The Fool -deluxe Edition- -2011- -

The Fool pulled a crumpled set list from her jacket pocket. It was handwritten on the back of a receipt:

She was wearing an old tuxedo jacket over nothing but a slip, and on her feet, mismatched socks. A jester’s charm, but a warrior’s stillness.

The first time June saw the Fool, she was washing her mother’s car in the dark.

They didn’t speak again until the sky turned the color of a faded bruise. The cassette deck clicked off. The Fool stood, brushed the dirt from her slip, and kissed June on the forehead—cold lips, warm breath. Warpaint - The Fool -Deluxe Edition- -2011-

“I’m not brave,” June whispered.

The Fool smiled—not a happy smile, but a true one. “Because love is a battle. And the bravest thing you can do is go into it looking exactly like yourself, even when yourself is a mess.”

June dipped her finger in the paste. She drew a shaky line down the Fool’s nose, then another across her chin. It was clumsy. It was perfect. The Fool pulled a crumpled set list from her jacket pocket

For the first time in months, June laughed. Then she went inside to make her mother breakfast.

June thought of her mother crying in the kitchen, pretending to chop onions. She thought of herself in the school parking lot last week, watching her ex-best friend get into another girl’s car without looking back.

June thought of her father’s last phone call. The way he said “I’ll be there Saturday” three times in a row, as if repeating it would make it true. The first time June saw the Fool, she

June hugged her arms. “Heard what?”

She handed June a small tin. Inside was a paste, dark as dried blood but sweet-smelling, like roses and gasoline.

The Fool opened her eyes. They were the color of wet asphalt after a storm—no, wait. They shifted. Gold. Green. A sad kind of brown.