Over the Hills and Far Away.

Kelli Jean.

For Liliana, Alison, and Patricia.

For Steph. For Sigrid.

For Elaine.

For Grandma and Makenna.

And most of all...

For Mom.

The Third Eye.

The Third Eye refers to the mysterious notion that there is access to places of higher consciousness. It is a concept that a hypothetical, imperceptible inner eye provides spiritual insight and awareness beyond what is ordinarily seen.

Those who utilize the Third Eye have the aptitude for precognition and are often referred to as seers. It is also associated with an ability to perceive chakras and auras.

Located in the center of the forehead, the Third Eye is often associated with the pineal gland.

Friday night, I was getting ready to go out with my two best friends, Alys Stuart and Liliana de la Cuesta. Liliana happened to be running a little bit late. The tedious ritual of putting ourselves together was made easier by blasting "Stairway to Heaven" while Alys and I belted out the lyrics at the top of our lungs. Well, I happened to find the ritual tedious, but Alys enjoyed it.

Led Zeppelin was a particular favorite of ours. We'd grown up listening to the groovy tunes our parents played nonstop and adopted them as our own. My mother was secretly in love with Robert Plant, and she'd passed that love onto me. I, too, secretly carried a torch for a twenty-something Robert. Even now, my mom would listen to Houses of the Holy at least once a day.

Our love for music defined my best friends and me more than anything else. It influenced all aspects of our lives-from the way we spoke to the way we dressed to the people we shared our lives with.

That, and there really was nothing sexier than a musician. Even the fugly ones were hot on some bizarre level. The fact that they had the balls to get up onto a stage and rock a crowd was so admirable. All my childhood and adolescent crushes had been on musicians. I couldn't help it. They were my weakness.

Tonight, we were heading to Bougainvillea, a run-down three-story club in a backwater, before hitting the city limits of New Orleans. Rumor had it to be a bordello way back in the day. Now, it was a badass place where NOLA's best up-and-coming bands could strut their stuff before heading on to bigger and better things.

It was an eighteen-and-over club, but our dear friend Jimi Reynolds worked the door on weekends. He was going to let us in a few hours early, so we could watch our favorite local band. Jimi was also our weed guy, and he had the best damn ganja in all of New Orleans.

Just hours away from turning eighteen, I was a whole year younger than my two best friends, but luckily, I had been smart enough to get a year ahead in my school career, and we'd all graduated high school together a little over two months ago.

With a sigh of resignation, I leaned close to the dresser mirror and started applying mascara. I absolutely hated wearing makeup. But Liliana would never let me out of the house to see our favorite local band without looking my absolute best. I had an unholy crush on the front man, Phil Deveraux, and Lili was a firm believer that one should always look her best in public.

I glanced over at Alys. She was slicking some lip gloss over her gorgeous massive lips-dick suckers as Lili and I affectionately called them. Alys had such a delicate-looking beautiful face with large hazel eyes, a cute ski-jump nose, and porcelain skin that bloomed with natural roses in her cheeks. Her light-brown hair was a bit on the fine side, but it was soft, silky, and shiny. She had it in a badass bob, a somewhat recent change she'd made, having cut it short right after we'd graduated.

"Who's ready to tear this shit up?" cried Lili as she burst into my bedroom. Back-kicking the door shut, she pulled out a fat blunt and sparked it. "Ah," she sighed, passing it to me.

"What took you so long?" Alys asked, deciding to wipe off the gloss. There was no need to gunk up the funk.

"My dad. He busted me and Matt making out in the van in the driveway. He was so pissed that he made me scrub the bathroom. I almost didn't make it out."

Lili's father was hardcore religious. His belief was that his daughters didn't need to know what sex or fun was until they settled down and married their Catholic husbands. It was the complete opposite from how Alys and I had been raised. Our parents were seriously open and encouraging when it came to sex and fun-maybe a little too open and encouraging.

"Are you still able to stay the night?" I asked, exhaling a nice fat cloud.

"I'm staying the whole fucking weekend. No way am I going home to grunt work before classes on Monday."

Liliana had to be one of the most beautiful girls I'd ever laid eyes on. I always carried a smidgen of a girl-crush over her. Colombian, she had long black hair that curled to the waist, almond-shaped black eyes, a killer smile, and skin the delicious color of caramel. Even in the melting pot that was New Orleans, I thought she was just so exotic and drop-dead gorgeous.

She was only five feet tall, and I always felt like a great white Hulk standing next to her. That would be because I was six feet of great white woman. I'd reached this height during my junior year of high school, and I'd begged the gods to just make it stop.

My father, a massive Scotsman from Inverness who was six-three, blessed-cursed-me with this gargantuan height, and he'd also gifted me with hair that wasn't quite ginger but a decent copper color. Wavy, I wore it to my rear to control the curl. My dark green eyes had come from my father, Sigmund MacGregor, too. Connor, my younger half-brother, had them as well. The only things I could see that I had inherited from my mother were her high cheekbones and impressive ability to tan because her grandmother had been a full-blooded Cherokee. Not many Scots had that talent.

As a giant female, I always had a secret longing to be small and feminine-looking. Well, it wasn't like people couldn't tell I was a woman. I was just a big one. The worst was the fact that my entire body was large, not fat, and muscular, and it was a bit of a letdown that I sported some pretty small Cs for tits.

Tonight was about rocking the fuck out while letting loose and unleashing the spirit through some awesome music. The three of us were raging headbangers. For this evening's purposes, the heavier the music, the better. Two of the bands playing were fucking awesome. First Blood was the opening band, a great choice for a warm-up. The headliner for the evening was a major disappointment though-Glory Hole, a band name worthy of the absolute garbage they produced.

However, the only thing that truly mattered was that we were going to see NOLA's Junk. How they weren't headlining was anyone's guess. Those guys were seriously talented and young, maybe only a few years older than us. They had a sound between good ole Southern rock and absolute thrash.

If these guys didn't make it big, then something would be very wrong with the world of music, and in that case, I wasn't sure I'd want to live on the planet. For the last two years or so, we'd been going to every venue they played, mostly outdoor concerts where I could get in, and they'd done some awesome circuits. We'd bought all their demos and singles, and no lie, those demos were fantastic even though it sounded like they had been recorded in someone's attic.

NOLA's Junk was fronted by the six-five beast Phil fucking Deveraux. On stage, he was this in-your-face, don't-give-a-fuck cocky son of a bitch who simply dominated everything around him. A true front man, he would get the crowd amped up and ready to scream before they moshed and simply went savage.

He was sex on a stick. A sex-oozing god, Phil was just so...gorgeous. He had long dark brown hair shaved into a Mohawk of sorts, showing dream catchers tattooed on either side of his head. His eyes were deeply set, and I was pretty sure they were brown, not that I'd been close enough to actually see the color. With his chiseled hard jaw and sharp, high cheekbones, he had sculpted full lips that I'd fantasized having all over me.

The fantasizing must have been written all over my face because Lili cocked a knowing brow in my direction.

"Careful, Kenna. Keep those thoughts up, and you'll have to change your underwear before we even leave the house," Lili drawled.

"It's all good." Alys laughed. "Make him your birthday wish."

"I just might do that," I replied before taking another hit off the blunt.

We finished off the weed and gave ourselves one more check in the mirror. I couldn't help but smile at our reflections. The three of us were so obviously best friends with our baggy wide-legged jeans, assorted tank tops, and hemp accessories. Even our footwear matched. Lili and I wore our beloved black Adidas sneakers while Alys had opted for black Chucks. Collectively, we looked like we were a couple of peace signs away from a patchouli stink.

I didn't stink of patchouli. I stank like a bakery with my vanilla oil perfume. At least I smelled tasty.

After splashing a few drops of Visine in our eyes-no need to look stoned out of our gourds-we traipsed downstairs and grabbed our bags-not purses, bags.

My mom, Laurie Craddock, and grandma Betty were sitting in the living room, watching TV.

As of late, I had been getting a small pang in the region of my heart whenever I looked at my mother anymore. She appeared so tired all the time, and I knew-we all knew-that her heart was getting weaker and weaker as the days sped by. It made me wonder if I should even be going out.

Mom caught my eye, and like she always did, she caught my train of thought. Shaking her head with a weary smile, she said quietly, "Go have fun, sweetheart. I'll still be here when you get back." She sniffed at me as I bent down to kiss her cheek, smelling the pungent weed in my hair and clothes. "Mmm."

Under my grandma's nose, I saw Lili sneak Mom a joint. Both Lili and Alys gave her a kiss.

"Have fun and be careful!" she told us.

"We will!" we chorused and headed out the front door.

"Love you!" I called out. I shut and locked the door behind me.

Alys was the one driving tonight. She had the most reliable car, a used gold Honda Accord that was her graduation present. I got shotgun-it was my birthday, after all-and I popped in the NOLA's Junk demo CD before cranking the volume. Machine-gun drums, shredding guitar riffs, pounding bass, and Phil Deveraux's throbbing baritone vocals filled the car.

There really was nothing quite like listening to amazing music. When the magic of it pumped into the ears and electrified the brain-making synapses, lobes, and cortices fire up-it would create a domino effect throughout the whole body. It hit the chest, deep into the heart, jump-starting the blood flow, swelling the lungs, making fingers and toes tingle. This feeling I could only describe as an orgasmic, cosmic high.

Well, that was how it was for us.

That's what Phil's voice does to me, I thought as we pulled out of our neighborhood.

We arrived at Bougainvillea at seven thirty, and this place appeared to be a bit spooky. Located along the river, surrounded by mangroves and willows, it was off a long dirt road where most people found parking. The actual lot could hold maybe ten cars at most.

"I don't like having to park here," Alys said quietly as we found a spot that was a good five-minute walk from the door.

Liliana sparked another joint from the backseat. "Oh, come on, Alys. It's not like it's a new car, and it's not a very remarkable one either."

"Hondas are the most stolen cars, no matter what year!" Alys snapped back.

Just then, a cherry-red sports car of some make pulled in behind us. I really wasn't good with cars unless they were classics.

"Phew. Would you look at that?" piped Lili, handing the spliff off to Alys. "If a car's gonna be stolen tonight, it'll be that one."

We watched as five scantily clad females exited the car, which was pretty impressive, considering the tiny size of it. I noticed that they couldn't be much older than us, but they were dressed in heels, miniskirts, and slinky tops. One of them, a really cute blonde, was wearing what appeared to be silver tissue paper that tied in the back for a shirt, showing ample amounts of side boob.

"Well, shit!" Alys snorted. "We're dressed like nuns up in here!" She passed the joint to me.

"If dressing like that is how we snag dudes, then I'm not sure I want anything to do with those types of dudes," I said.

Alys and Lili grunted in agreement.

"I mean, there's nothing wrong with it, if that's all you're looking for. I'd just rather have a guy attracted to me for me, not for what I'm not wearing."

"Hey, that isn't a talking stick you're holding," Lili chirped.

One more quick hit, and I passed the spliff back to her.

"You want Deveraux to see you for who you are." Alys laughed. "But let's face it. He's gonna have about three of those dripping off of him tonight."

"His loss," choked Lili as she exhaled.

I rolled my eyes and laughed. "Like there's ever been a chance of the two of us actually meeting. So, I have a crush on the singer of one of my favorite bands. It's not like you guys can't say the same."

"Eddie Vedder," Lili sighed.

"Josh Homme," breathed Alys.

"See?" I laughed. "I'm not alone."

We exited the used and slightly abused gold Honda Accord, accompanied by a thick, billowing fragrant cloud. Two guys walked on by as we did, and they turned their heads to smirk at us. By the look on their faces, they'd recently smoked themselves.

Alys clicked the button on her key, setting the alarm. Lili snickered.

Jimi was at the door. He dutifully checked our IDs, for appearances' sake, and stamped our hands with the under twenty-one stamp.

Awesome.

Not that we'd planned to drink, but there was no need to advertise that we were that fresh. It was fifteen bucks a head, and Lili and Alys were treating me for my big day.

Bless them.

A few minutes after we got in, the floor lights dimmed down, and the stage lights blazed high.

First Blood was a good thrash metal band, but we weren't bothered with forcing our way to the front just yet. The pit looked fierce, and we wanted to be undamaged for NOLA's Junk. Sitting at a small table next to the bar, we bobbed our heads and watched the crowd get amped up.

"These guys are pretty good!" Alys yelled at us over the music.

Lili and I nodded in agreement.

The set finished at nine o'clock, giving everyone fifteen minutes to get ready for Our Boys-that was what I called them. The floor lights turned back on. We bee-lined for the restroom and then went straight to front and center at the stage. This would be the closest I'd ever been to Phil fucking Deveraux.

Maybe I'll be able to see his eye color.

Since Lili was the smallest, Alys and I flanked her. Several other females were squeezing in around us, aiming to grab a hold on the stage barricade. The five chicks in sparkle tops-Seriously, is that tissue paper?-and stilettoes pushed their way in on the left. They must be some crazy-ass bitches. These venues could get violent, not to mention that their choice of footwear could put them in the hospital with one misstep.

The blonde with the tissue-paper top grabbed the barricade next to Alys and tried to shove her out of her way.

Soft-spoken, sweet, sensitive Alys turned to the skank and shoved her back. "First come, first serve, bitch. Try it again."

Lili and I turned, and we all sized each other up. I knew I could handle three of them on my own. I was taller and bigger than all of them in my sneakers, except Silver Tissue Paper was of a similar height to me. But she was a waif. I would bet my breakfast weighed more than she did.

The bitches thought better of this and stayed where they were.

Cunts.

The crowd behind us swelled and pushed forward. Big rocker and metal dudes were all gearing up for NOLA's Junk. I loved this bit, the feel of the rising energy about to get unleashed. I would get high off it, get off a little on it. It was like a great pulsing wave that lifted my soul and carried me away into the music.

The lights went down, and the crowd surged, squishing us into the barricade. That was all it took. We were screaming and cheering our heads off with everyone else.

Bam! Stage lights exploded with blinding bright whiteness.

Jason Jones's guitar screamed, Xavier Johnson's bass throbbed, and Felix Bouvier kicked the bass drum. Phil fucking Deveraux charged out, wailing into the mic.

He's right fucking in front of me!

Yes!