After Alexander gave me a kiss good night outside Aunt Libby`s apartment, he admitted he had prior plans with Jameson and wouldn`t be able to meet the following evening. I was disappointed, but since I hadn`t given Alexander any warning of my arrival in Hipsterville, I tried to be mature. Though I was totally bummed out my boyfriend and I would have a night apart, I hadn`t spent any time with Aunt Libby. We were due some family bonding time.

The following day, as usual, I got up late. Fortunately for me, Aunt Libby was not a morning person, either. By the time I woke up and dragged myself out of the cozy confines of her down comforter, I found my aunt wearing a knee-length kimono robe, drinking herbal tea, and listening to NPR.

It`s after two, I said, noticing her stove clock. I was shocked I`d slept as long as I did but even more surprised that my aunt was still not dressed.

Well, you had a particularly long day yesterday. And I chose to have a lazy day, too.

Aunt Libby poured me a cup of coffee and fixed me a veggie sandwich.

I have the perfect place to take you tonight, she said, placing the plate in front of me.

You don`t have a hot date tonight with Devon? I teased.

Not until tomorrow night. And I told him you were coming with me.

Not on your life!

Sorry, but he`s taking us both to the Summer Arts Festival.

Well, you have twenty-four hours to convince me that that is a good idea, I said between bites. So what are we going to do?

There`s a club here in town that has teen night from nine until eleven.

I rolled my eyes. I imagined a Chuck E. Cheese`s with a disco ball.

It`s called the Coffin Club, my aunt exclaimed.

Excuse me?

It has your name written all over it. I don`t mean the coffin part, of course. But it`s very goth and I think you`d enjoy it.

I`d love to go!

I`m a bit old to be hanging out there, but hey, why not?

That`s why Aunt Libby was so special--she didn`t care what people thought. Ever since I was a little girl, my aunt marched to her own drum, African or not.

So we have a few hours to find something appropriate for me to wear, my aunt stated. I don`t have anything darker than yellow. Whatever my Aunt Libby did, whether it was drumming so hard she got calluses or performing so much she lost her voice, she put forth 110 percent. Hanging out at a nightclub with her sixteen-year-old niece was no exception.

Where are we going? I asked as we hopped into her car. Hot Gothics?

Aunt Libby let out a loud laugh. I have to find something that I can fit into, right?

A few minutes later, we were driving into a gravel parking lot and walking up the stairs of the vacant elementary school, which was now home to the Village Players Theater.

Along with a car key, mailbox key, building key, and door key, my aunt possessed a Village Players Theater key. It took her a minute or two to figure out which key opened the front entrance door, but she eventually found it.

We sauntered down the main hallway, passing Village Players posters of West Side Story, The Sound of Music, and South Pacific, an empty principal`s office, and a cafeteria.

We passed a tween-sized water fountain, which still had a wooden step stool placed before it, and stopped in front of a door marked 3. What was once a classroom for ten-year- olds now had a sign above it that read: COSTUME SHOPPE.

The blackboard and filing cabinets were still in place, but the teacher`s and child-sized desks had been removed, perhaps sold at an auction or sent over to the new elementary school. Dozens of boxes, labeled BROACHES, HATS, SCARVES, sat on the floor in the front of the classroom, while racks of dusty costumes were lined in rows where the students` desks once belonged.

The room was filled with the combined scents of thrift store clothes and textbooks.

Aunt Libby and I stepped over boxes and dug our way through the old clothes with the sole purpose of bringing out my aunt`s inner goth.

This is so awesome, I said as I began looking through a rack of clothes. I don`t know anyone else who would do this for me.

Are you kidding? I live for this stuff. My aunt beamed as she sifted through a rack of dresses. That`s one of the reasons why I love acting. I can always wear a different style than what I`d normally wear. I`ve been stuck in the same look for decades.

I couldn`t imagine you any other way. The way you dress is who you are. It`s more than beads and bangles. You aren`t doing it to be like someone else, or fit in.

I gave up fitting in years ago, my aunt said with a laugh.

That`s what my mother doesn`t understand about my lipstick and dark clothes. I don`t wear tattoos to freak her out; I wear them because I have to. It`s me.

Aunt Libby paused.

My mother never understood my inner style, either, she confessed. That`s what it is, really, she said wisely. It`s not about designers or labels but about self-expression. And attitude.

I smiled inside as well as on the outside. Aunt Libby and I dressed as differently as day and night, but we shared the same values.

It took me years to figure out who I was, she said. But really, I`ve always known who I was, since I was your age. It was just that so many people around me wanted me to be like them and tormented me when I wasn`t. Your dad grew up and blended in nicely with the establishment. But I always kept my hippie beads, Pink Floyd albums, and left-of-center ideas. I eventually found people who dug me the way I am.

That`s why it`s so cool and meaningful to me for you to change your image for one night on the town together. Well, now we`ll be more alike than ever. My aunt smiled.

Here`s a black corset, I said, taking a costume off the rack.

I wore that in A Midsummer Night's Dream when I played Helena, my aunt gushed. I couldn`t breathe for a week.

How about this? she asked, modeling a witch`s hat presumably from an over-the-top production of The Wizard of Oz.

I think it might be a little overkill, I offered.

Aunt Libby found a Puritanical high-collared black dress. We wore these in The Crucible. If I hike it up a few inches...it might be quite fabulous.

I think it would be ghastly, I complimented her.

Cardboard boxes marked MEN`S, WOMEN`S, and CHILDREN`S lined the wall underneath the windows.

I removed a box from the top of the stack labeled WOMEN`S, 9 and sifted through it. The box was full of everything from cowboy boots to tap shoes, galoshes to stilettos.

Here`s some Mary Janes. With a pair of black tights and that Crucible dress, you`ll look like...

A grown-up Wednesday Addams, my aunt said halfheartedly.

Perfect! I declared enthusiastically.

Now was time for a Raven Madison Extreme Dream Makeover. The closest I`d ever gotten to being a fashion or cosmetics consultant was when I applied pink blush to Becky when she was preparing for a date with Matt.

If I ever had my own style show, I`d tear into a suburban style-challenged participant`s closet and throw out anything pastel, floral, or rhinestoned and replace it with bloodred tones, acid hues, and morbid blacks.

Today was different from anything I`d experienced when consulting Becky. From her auburn-topped head to her lime-green-painted toes, I got to transform my aunt from a flower child to a lady of the night.

While one hand soaked in lavender water, I painted her other hand`s fingernails bat black.

So, tell me all about the date! I prompted her like a professional cosmetologist.

Aunt Libby giggled as if we were best friends as she described her dinner date with Devon.

He is unlike any other man I`ve ever met. He`s very patient and intense. He listens to everything I say.

Do you have a picture of him?

We`ve only had one date. Besides, he doesn`t like to have his picture taken.

Curious, I thought. While Aunt Libby`s nails were drying, I toned down her warm glow and sun-kissed face by applying a soft, pale white powder. I drew her heavy eyeliner to a point and spread coffin black eyeshadow on her lids. I overapplied her mascara and finished off with two-tone vampire red matte lipstick.

I dolled her up with a hemlock lace choker necklace, rose dangle earrings, and chunky black bracelets. Then I zipped her into her recently hemmed Crucible dress.

I quickly unpacked my clubbing clothes and felt like I spent more time getting ready in my aunt`s bedroom than riding the bus to Hipsterville.

I think I`m melting out here, she hollered, knocking on the bedroom door. Hurry, I want to see what I look like, too. I sprayed my hair and opened the door.

Wow! Get a load of you! she exclaimed.

I twirled like a model in front of her, wearing a black minidress with a violet and black stretch bodice and jagged skirt, midnight-colored fishnets, and Demonia black leather buckled- up monster boots. I felt confident in my skin and clothes. I`d passed for a vampire in the Dungeon and a young adult in the Coffin Club and I was just being myself. It was electrifying that I had the opportunity to return as myself--much less with my aunt Libby.

Only she didn`t think so. Next to you I look like I could be your grandmother!

Get out! We look like sisters.

As long as you give me props like that, I`ll hang out with you wherever you want. Where to next, the cemetery?

Now, are you ready to see yourself? I asked.

For like an hour....

Drumroll please... I began, and presented her in front of her full-length bedroom mirror.

When my aunt saw her reflected image, she didn`t recognize herself. She gasped as if she`d just seen a ghost.

You look beautiful, don`t you think? I beamed.

Well...it`s certainly different from what I`m used to.

I made you look like me, I said with admiration.

There was dead silence. Then, as if she thought she`d hurt my feelings, she said, No one can look like you, Raven. You are unique and beautiful.

I can tone it down.

Don`t you dare. She grabbed a handheld mirror and fluffed her hair. This color is very slimming. She puckered her vampire red lips like a morbid Marilyn Monroe. Black is a girl`s best friend.

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