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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Schooled and Scuttled"  Carson is acting very mysterious, and you are briefly tempted by his words. But you've got Rachel with you, and you know what, it's just Caleb. Fuck him. "Whatever, man," you tell Carson. "You can tell me about it later." You turn to Rachel. "You ready for lunch?" She blushes a little behind her smile. "Sure, Will," she says, and precedes you to the cafeteria, so that you have to hurry to catch up. * * * * * She's more inquisitive today than previous days, and she tugs you away from her friends, to sit at the end of the table, a little apart from the others, so she can have you all to herself. After setting up a time for her to come over to your house tonight—7:30—she asks about Chelsea. "So are you still gonna be tutoring her?" she asks as she bites down hard on a chalky carrot stick. "I don't know." You feel a blush rising up your cheeks. "Maybe. Oh, no, can't," you remember. "I'm grounded." "You could have her over to your place, same as you're having me over, right?" A grin fights its way onto your face. "Are you jealous?" "No!" But she blushes again a little. "I'm just thinking, if I'm tutoring you and you're tutoring Chelsea— How did you set that thing up, anyway?" "It just happened, is all." "Well, tell me how it happened." Your grin widens. "You are jealous!" She gives you a look—a patient, almost motherly look—and says, "Well, where were you when the idea came up?" "Um—" I was at Besandwiched, with you and your friends, and you asked why I got hauled up to the fuck room, and I improvised a bullshit lie about how Chelsea wanted to talk to me about tutoring her. That's where the idea came up, and then in some weird way I don't understand it came true. Well, you can't say that. "At the library. We just ran into each other and got to talking." (i}That's sort of the truth. "And the next day she asked you to come up the loft to ... talk about it?" Rachel's eyebrows go up. You blush hotly all over, like you've broken out in an instantaneous rash. Rachel didn't say it aloud, but it's the obvious, teasing implication: Did Chelsea ask you up to the fuck room to talk? Or to do what the fuck room was designed for? "Yes! God, it's like you are jealous!" "Had you ever been up there before?" You gasp with shock, and no little delight. Does Rachel think I'm in and out of the fuck room all the time or something? You almost fall over with suppressed laughter. "No!" you exclaim. "Just that one time! To set up, you know, a time to meet!" "So why didn't she text you? Does she text you, Will?" With spidery fingers she goes for your midriff. You gasp and flinch and chortle and blush. "If I looked on your cell phone, would I find all kinds of— Oh my God, you're ticklish!" "I am not!" "You are!" She tickles you all over, and you try folding yourself in half. Out of the corner of your eye, you see everyone else at the table staring and grinning at you as Rachel tickles you under the table. You almost pass out from sheerest delight. * * * * * You've completely forgotten about the thing with Caleb when you roll into sixth period, and even when Carson, who shares that class with you, crooks a finger to beckon you over, it takes you a moment to figure out what he's talking about. "So what's going on with Chelsea and Johansson?" he asks you. "What?" "Chelsea and Johansson," he repeats. "What's going on with them?" "I don't know what you're talking about." "Chelsea and Johansson," he says through gritted teeth. "Your friend Caleb. What's the secret project they're cooking together?" Secret project? you think. The fuck is Ioeger babbling about? Then you remember the incident before lunch: Gordon hauling Caleb off toward the gym. "Oh!" you exclaim. "I don't know. What makes you think there's some kind of secret project?" Carson starts to reply, then does a small double-take at Josie Holden, who is sitting in the next row over and listening with undisguised interest. "Stick around after school," he tells you, "and we'll talk." "I can't. I'm grounded and I have to take the bus home." "You have to take the bus?" Carson's whole face lights up with astonishment. "Shut up. My truck got confiscated." "Wha'd you do, get caught being sucked off by your new girlfriend? In the family room?" "Fuck you!" You turn to leave. "I'll give you a ride home. Or do you have to take the bus?" You flip him off over your shoulder as you trudge back to your desk. Because although you would accept a ride from him in other circumstances, he was being a dick. And besides, the last thing you talked to Rachel about, before parting after lunch, was about her driving you back to your place. * * * * * But the world is determined to be weird and ugly. You're turning into G wing, on your way to Astronomy, when you're grabbed from behind by someone very strong, and frog-marched through the crowds. Not again, you think with a sigh. This is almost getting boring. Down the length of the wing you are hustled, and out the door. It's a longish trip out to the portables, which gives you plenty of time to speculate on the identity of your abductor. Gordon? He'd take you to the gym again, surely. Steve Patterson? He's never bothered you before. One of the football players? It's been a couple of years since Dominic Kleason or Roy Nelson hassled you. The Molester? David Kirkham? Seth Javits? Your captor's mitts feel too big to be one of them. The flock of students perched in front of the portables looks up with obvious amusement as you're carried past them. "Sucks to be you, asshole!" one of them calls. You're forced to the very back of the cluster of dingy old portables, which are rotting away in the weedy back lot of the school, and thrown against a door. "Open it," a hoarse voice commands, and after you oblige you are thrown into the dark interior. When you turn around— Well, goddamn, you marvel. It really was Gordon all along! The burly ballplayer doesn't give you time to react, but after throwing the door shut advances on you in two terrifyingly big steps. Before you can scramble away, he grabs you about the shoulders with a brawny arm to pull you close. Then, with his free hand, he grabs you by the face. Is he trying do some kind of Star Trek Vulcan thing on me? you wonder as he pulls at your forehead while muttering under his breath. You try twisting away, but his grip is too strong, and because he isn't hurting you—except once, when his thumb slips into your eye—you cease to struggle. This is the weirdest beating I've ever gotten, you find yourself thinking. After a minute of this, Gordon gives up and thrusts you away. He looks deeply puzzled, but he doesn't say anything. And you don't say anything either. You doubt the question at the front of your brain—What the fuck, man?—would get an answer. Then he turns and grabs something off the old teacher's desk. You just have time to see a flash of blue before he is shoving it in your face. It's like getting punched with a croquet mallet, and you tumble backward on your feet. Then you are floating, and the darkness deepens about you. * * * * * You are groggy when you waken, and you are shaking all over when you sit up. You feel sick, and you sit very still while your gut decides whether or not it wants anything to do with your still-digesting lunch. The feeling passes pretty quickly, though, but you still feel weak as you get to your feet. You're not surprised to find yourself still in the dark, dank, moldy old portable, and you find you don't much care. You feel only slight relief at having the place to yourself—Gordon has vanished. Classes are still in session, but even though you have time to get back to class, you scoop up your bag—thankfully still intact—and trudge to the library, where you try to gather your wits during the remaining minutes of class. The fuck is going on with Gordon? you wonder. It's weird enough that he grabbed you once, to hustle you up to the fuck room, then drop you off at the portables. But twice now? Chelsea has also been weird—like, she's been paying attention to you. Caleb has also been goofy. As near as you can tell, it all goes back to last Friday, when Chelsea summoned you up to the school. What that was about, you have no idea, and you don't even remember the conversation that clearly. Something about Gordon hurting himself, though why Chelsea thought you'd be interested, you don't know. But Caleb was interested after you mentioned it to him. That's when he got weird. You find yourself wishing you'd gotten more interested in all this shit earlier, before you got distracted by— The bell rings, dismissing classes, and the noise startles you into awareness of your surroundings. Like, you didn't even notice that Kendra Saunders and Gloria Rea, two of the cheerleaders, are sitting at a nearby table. Is it your imagination, or do they both give you a close but hooded look as you get to your feet? I need to talk to someone about all this shit, you tell yourself as peep into the hallway—scouting the scene before chancing a dash to your locker. Maybe I should talk to Carson. He's smart, and he had some news he wanted to tell you anyway, it sounded like. Or maybe you should have a serious talk with Caleb. Or maybe you should confide your troubles with your new girlfriend. Next: "Confiding in Carson" |
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