I planned to act slightly surprised to be caught in the situation, but to demurely shrug it off, walking over to my bag and slowly choosing what to pu... on. I knew exactly what I was going to put on and yet decided that I would ponder two possibilities and ask her opinion, standing all the while in my blue lace underwear, watching how long her eyes were going to linger on my chest. And what of my jeans. Should I dare slip them off before putting a top on? I stood there thinking to myself. What. She handed the guard her ticket. He looked college-aged."What's this?" he said."It's a Backstage Pass!" Brittany said proudly."I don't think so." Yes, it is. I got it from KUNT radio." This isn't a ticket to the concert." It's not just a ticket. It's a backstage pass." Brittany was agitated with the guard."No, it's not." Yes, it is!" she insisted. She was angry now."No," the guard shook his head and handed the ticket back to her. "I know what one looks like and this is not it." I got it from. This was it! I had found my gold mine of information. The journal was a diary of his activities for what he called the Brotherhood. He recorded the heinous activities he had been ordered to do or supervise. The loose papers were invoices and receipts for items he had procured and expenses he had incurred. The journal also listed his income from his Brotherhood activities; he obviously never needed a client with all of the money he received from the Brotherhood. No wonder they were so pissed at. Personally, I'd always thought it to be a curse, passed down from my great aunts. Otherwise, I had boring brown hair that reached the middle of my shoulder blades, rather large, brown eyes, and naturally pale skin. My dark hair and eyes only added to the paleness of my skin. Everyone had always told me that I was pretty, but I could never really bring myself to believe them. Well, at least until him. Brandon. He was a good head, head and half taller than me, with naturally dark features..
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