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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Hangover from a Life Change"  "Dane" looks so miserable that almost you yield to Chelsea's pleading. But then you remember what she did to you—sending her psycho-bully boyfriend to tear you a new one, all because you had the freaking nerve to stand up for your friend Caleb—and how that sent you spiraling into this mess of swapped identities. "Fuck you, Chelsea," you sneer back, letting your instincts take control of your tongue. "Go fuck yourself. You didn't deserve to have this." You thrust your—her—boobs out at "Dane." "Or I guess maybe you did. But you didn't use them for good. You used them to fuck people up. That's all you did with your life, Chelsea, you spun people up and you fucked them up. You were a selfish, psychotic bitch!" Dane's eyes widen with horror. "So you lose. You forfeit! I'm Chelsea Cooper now, and never mind who I was before! I'm Chelsea Cooper, and I'm the one who—" You snap your fingers in his face. "I'm the one who decides who's up and who's down, who's in and who's out!" You settle back on your heels. "And you're out, Dane. You're out and you're down and you're yesterday's news. Good riddance to smelly rubbish. Phew!" You wave your hand in front of your nose. "So go off and get fucked! I get to be Chelsea Cooper now! And I'll tell you one other thing! I'm going to be a better Chelsea Cooper than you ever were!" You turn on your heel and march away. But a hand grabs your arm from behind. Bad move. You wheel, and with hard kick to his balls you fell Dane Matthias. There's not much padding in the front of those flannel pajama bottoms to lessen such a blow. You sneer down at him as he hunches, writhing, on the asphalt. But you've said your peace, so after picking up and discarding several possible parting taunts, you just wheel back around and march for your car. * * * * * "You don't want to go out with Eva," you're explaining to Caleb. "You wouldn't last two days after—" Your phone chimes with an incoming text, and you glance at the screen, and at the name you were about to mention. Speak of the spawn of Satan, you muse to yourself. You're in the old elementary basement, where an unhappy Caleb has been poring over the next spell in the old spell book. It wasn't about that, though, that he wanted to meet. It was to warn you that "Dane" wanted to see you, and to tell you that he was being sent out of town. But that's old news now, as you explained to him while sipping on the Jamba Juice you picked up on the way over. You can't help giggling as you recount the confrontation. "Get this," you said, "I told him that I was going to be a better Chelsea Cooper than she ever was!" Caleb didn't look very amused, though. He looked positively cramped, and demanded to know what it was that you told Eva on Monday about her and him. "Pfeh, like you were even interested in her," you airily retorted. "I kept trying to set you two up, you know, and you kept weaseling out. What makes you such a limp-dick, anyway?" You were about to give him the same speech you gave Eva, about how Caleb would find himself getting stomped by the alphas in school if he tried going out with Eva. And that's when the text from Steve shot onto your phone. Dane matthias just tried talking to me psychotic brake or something. U need to go home and stay safe from him chelsea. "Oh, that's so sweet of you to worry about me, Steve," you coo at the phone. "You giant, dribbling cum-pump." You show him the text when Caleb asks what you're gabbling about. "I guess Dane cornered him after practice, tried telling him 'I'm the real Chelsea Cooper, the other one's a fake!' God! I bet that was a scream!" You laugh. Caleb looks serious. "Maybe you better head home," he says. "Lock yourself in. If she's desperate." "She won't find me here." "She knows about this place," Caleb reminds you. "That was your fault," you retort. "Hey, if you'd told me what you were doing—!" "Oh, shut your squeak hole. I can go, if you want. If you don't want to spend time with this." You leap to your feet, and stretch and thrust provocatively. Caleb's eyes bulge, and he swallows. "That's what I thought." "Jesus, man," he mutters. "Okay, if you think you can stay safe—" "It's just till tomorrow, right? Didn't you say Dane was getting put on a plane first thing in the morning?" "Unless he bugs out during the night. He might do that, you know. She might do that," he corrects himself. His manner turns very grave. "You know, what if he— What if she ... offs herself? She might be pretty desperate!" "Then she'll have put herself out of my misery!" you retort. Caleb doesn't laugh, and in truth you feel pretty ghastly. It's a grim thought he's spoken. "I'm sure she won't," you assure him. "I don't think Chelsea's the kind to give up like that. I think I'd know!" Again, you don't raise a smile. "She'll be fine, dude," you assure him. "It'll probably do her good, getting out of town. Around here, she's stuck having to be 'the Danester'. Wherever she winds up, you know, she can be ... whoever or however she wants to be!" "But now you can't switch back with her." "Like I was going to." Caleb's eyebrows go up. "You're going to be Chelsea Cooper? Forever? From now on?" You suddenly feel very aggrieved. "Well, why not?" you hotly demand. "Why the hell not? She has it good! Had it good! Now I've got it good! I know what she's got, and I can appreciate it a hell of a lot more than she could! Like I told her, I can be a better Chelsea Cooper than she could!" "You right about that, Will," Caleb says in a very sober tone of voice. "I don't think even Chelsea could be as good a cunt as you're being now." Fucker! You scramble around, looking for something to hurl at him. Luckily for him, probably, you don't. "Oh, you just watch and see what I can do with this body and this brain, buster!" you sneer at him. "Chelsea's got the school all wrapped up like— Like—! Oh, just go fuck yourself!" You wheel and run up the stairs. The tears are starting dribble out even before you reach your car. * * * * * Your mom notices your mood when you get home, and even though you try hiding in your room, she comes knocking at your bedroom door after dinner to ask if you're alright. Mrs. Cooper is a small, compact woman, like her daughter, with similar proportions and the same tendency toward demented cheerfulness when in a good mood, and stormy anger when in a bad one. She was also a cheerleader in high school, and has plainly channeled a lot of her still smoldering ambition into her daughter's own cheerleading career. If only she didn't hover and helicopter ... You tell her that you had a fight with Gordon—which is true enough. She clucks sympathetically and asks for details, which you brush away, and she assures you that it will all work out alright. "That boy just adores you, you know," she says. Yes he does, you reflect after she's gone downstairs to finish cleaning up from supper. And you have to wonder: Now that you've broken up with one "Gordon Black," might the other one—the real one—come sniffing around? Or would he have the intelligence to realize that there's no way that his old girlfriend would look twice at—snort!—Will Prescott? * * * * * You've got other preoccupations, though. You're sore and smarting from what Caleb said, about how you're being a bigger cunt than Chelsea ever was. That's not true! you assure yourself. If I'm acting like a cunt it's only because I'm in character! I'm doing exactly what Chelsea would have done! Which leads to the moody thought: Then I really am no better than her. So you're in no mood to deal with Kendra and Gloria, even though their texts to you are full of gossip about whether you're going to get back together with Gordon, and who you might start going with if you don't, and which guys are preening and positioning themselves for a chance with you. You tell them you're still too upset about the breakup to deal with it—but you ask them to keep you informed anyway. I told "Dane" I was going to be a better "Chelsea Cooper" than she ever was, you reflect as you brush your teeth (and study yourself in the mirror). What you meant, of course, was that you were going to be better at being Chelsea Cooper than the original. But now you realize there's a different possible spin on the words. I could be a better girl than she was, you mull as you primp in the mirror. I could take all this—God!—all the things that go with this body and these brains, and I could use them to make the school better. Nicer. Instead of being such a selfish scrunt, I could be a real benefactor. Like, I could actually help Meghan Farris. Her upcoming party was the subject of the last text Gloria sent before you said you were signing off for the night: I think we should totally ditch her show. Get others to ditch it. Teach her what her place really is at school. Chelsea—that snobby cunt—would squeal with delight at the idea. Shouldn't you be better than that? Next: "... And the Entrance of a Better One" |
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