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would have thought it was his regular face, except the features are just a little bit too big and the hair is plastic. The eye part of the mask has been cut out and hisreal eyes show through. They’re dark gray, the color of wet slate. The crowd parts and joins together and parts and joins together and parts, but every time I catch a glimpse of him, his eyes are locked on me.
    Under other circumstances this might have been mildly intriguing, but I have already determined by looking at his arms, which are not covered in tattoos, that he is not the guy from the video. Therefore, he is a distraction, taking attention away from my mission of watching people until I find the one I am looking for.
    To my right is a girl with a perfect doll-like face, with choppy hot pink hair, dressed all in pink. She’s speaking what sounds like Swedish crossed with Japanese to the guy next to her, who is nodding and smiling although I kind of get the feeling he has no idea what she’s talking about. To my left is a tall thin girl wearing a dress that only a very tall thin person could wear—a stiff-looking piece of industrial-looking yellow fabric, secured to the body with pieces of twine. The back is totally opened with two pieces of what looks like twine crisscrossing in the back. She’s standing with three friends.
    “Yeah,” says a guy with a slight British accent. “But with more synth and eighties backbeats!” And then he rolls his eyes; everyone cracks up laughing.
    The crowd parts again and there’s Rubber Head, still staring. This time he starts walking over.
    “Finally!” he says. He stops right next to me. “You’re here.”
    I stare at his eyes. They don’t look familiar, and I don’t think I recognize his voice. “Do I know you?”
    He shakes his head. “Well…no. But you are here, aren’t you?”
    I raise my eyebrows. “It would seem that way.”
    “Well, this is just great news then, isn’t it.” His eyes crinkle in the corners. He’s grinning. “So how’d you end up at this crazy place? I mean other than the fact it was fated that we should meet, written in the stars long before either of us was even born, of course.”
    I stare at him. I feel myself blushing. If he’s hitting on me—and it’s hard to tell if he is—at least he’s original.
    “Okaaaaay,” he says. “I’ll go first. So picture it this morning: The sun was shining and the birds were singing and I was at the gas station paying for gas. I was looking around in the little mini-mart, for an iced-coffee drink for me and a gift for you, of course, but didn’t see anything I thought you’d like. So I paid for my coffee and I went back outside and what do you know! Someone had stuck a flier for this party on the windshield of my car. And I’d heard about this place, and had always kind of wanted to see it, but had never been here before tonight. But then I figured it would be my very last chance so…here I am! Clearly I was right in deciding to come, although now that I’m here talkingto you I’m really wishing I’d gotten you that sixty-four ounce travel mug, or at the very least that classy lighter that was shaped like a pair of legs.” I can hear him smiling again. “Sorry,” he says. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
    “Don’t worry about it,” I say. I feel myself grinning. There’s something different about this guy, and I think I kinda like it. “Here’s how I got here. Picture it, it was this afternoon and I’d just left work, I work at this place called Mon Coeur. And my best friend works at this store called Attic which is right down the street and I was visiting her after work and…” I pause, on instinct I start reaching for the photograph in my pocket. But then I stop myself as I realize something—if this guy has never been to the Mothership before, that means he couldn’t have met Nina here and therefore I don’t have to show him Nina’s picture and explain that she’s gone. And with this