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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Going Native"  That wasn't you who went after the Molester last week like a rabid weasel. But you remember what he did. And though the memories you picked up from Gordon are fading rapidly, you do remember how dangerous Kirkham is, and how you will have to hit him fast without warning. He's given you one advantage, though. He doesn't think you will actually hit back. Or, if you do, it will only be after screwing up your courage. So— You throw your left fist into his stomach and hurl your right fist up in an uppercut to his jaw. Something crunches, and your knuckles explode with pain. You can only hope you busted his teeth as hard as it feels like you've busted your hand. He only has time to grunt before you knee him in the abdomen and push him back until you can kick him in the balls. He hunches and— For a split second you think he's going down. But he throws himself headfirst into your chest. All the air explodes from your lungs. Then he's pounding you in the guts. You can only pound on his hard shoulders with your fists. It probably would have gone really bad for you except that a figure looms up and hauls Kirkham off you. You just have time to recognize the grim expression on Gordon Black's face as he lifts Kirkham and holds him in a headlock. Then you fly at Kirkham—despite your wheezes and the rippling pain in your stomach and torso—to punch him in the gut. He kicks and flails, catching you in the side of the hip with his foot, but you press in close to punch him until your arms and shoulders are sore. Dimly you are aware of guys shouting and girls screaming. * * * * * You are all hauled down to the school office, of course, and arraigned in front of Mr. Sagansky's desk. The principal glares at your trio over folded hands. You and Gordon are sitting erect, but Kirkham, with an icepack to his cheek, slouches insolently in his chair. His glasses are gone—smashed, probably—and he stares back at Mr. Sagansky down the length of his nose from deeply hooded eyes. "I was provoked," he says. That's his answer to Sagansky's question as the principal tries to figure out the fight. Gordon: I saw Kirkham punching Prescott, and went in to get him off. Kirkham: I was defending myself 'cos this little asswipe came at me. You: I went at him because he shoved me into a locker and threatened me. And why did Kirkham shove you into a locker? I was provoked. Sagansky looks at you. "I didn't say nothing," you protest. "I was just on my way to class." "Bullshit." Kirkham picks something off the tip of his tongue. "He's lying." "He's lying!" you retort. "I believe Prescott," Gordon says. "I'm being provoked again," Kirkham says. "I don't like being called a liar. It offends me." Sagansky sighs. "You"—he points to Gordon—"can go back to class." "I have a study hall this period, sir, I'd prefer to stay." "Then you can wait in the library. You"—he points to Kirkham as Gordon heaves himself to his feet—"will have detention for two days for allowing yourself to be 'provoked'. And you"—he points to you—"will also get detention for two days for responding violently to a verbal threat." He opens a desk drawer and takes out a pad of paper. "You will both serve detention in the conference room after school today and tomorrow until five o'clock. Bring your homework or something to do." He scribbles on the pad, and tears off the sheet, then scribbles on the pad again before tearing off another sheet. He looks exasperated as he hands you each a sheet to sign, then takes them back in exchange for your student IDs, which he had collected at the start of the session. He picks up Gordon's ID (which he forgot to return to him) and makes a face as he dismisses you and Kirkham. You get to the door first, but not fast enough to get out before Kirkham is kicking at your heels. "Fuck you, man," he whispers as he follows you down the hall toward the front office. "You're so fucking dead, you're a fucking dead man walking, and I'm gonna fuck you—" You spin on him. "You wanna try it again," you hiss, pressing up close on him. "Here, now, get another day of detention together?" "You ain't got the balls, not without your boyfriend—" You cock a fist, but catch yourself as Sagansky appears in his doorway behind Kirkham. The principal frowns hard at you. "That's right, you dickless little fuck," Kirkham hisses at you, "you don't got the fucking balls—" "And how did he provoke you this time, Mr. Kirkham?" Sagansky barks from right behind him. Kirkham leaps and spins, bumping into you. His ass touches your hand— And without quite understanding how or why you do it, you fish into his back pocket and pull out his wallet. Quickly you slip it into one of your own pockets. Sagansky lays a firm hand on your shoulder while glaring at Kirkham. "Get to class," he orders. A sneering smile jerks onto Kirkham's face, and he turns and struts off toward the exit. Sagansky's grip on your shoulder tightens until he's gone. The principal sighs as he releases you. "I'm sorry, Mr. Prescott," he says. "I'm sure it wasn't your fault. But I have to play it fair according to the evidence. If you hit him first—" "He pushed me first." "But he says you provoked him. I have to give him detention for pushing you, and you detention for escalating. Next time, restrain yourself, and let him take the punishment." "Can I go now?" you mutter. "Yes. We'll call your parents, tell them that you'll be staying late." Such a fucking lot of bullshit, you seethe as you stalk off. You've never not "restrained" yourself, and what's it got you? When has anyone who hassled you, hit you, or put you on the ground, been punished? Kirkham and the rest are invisible to the administration, the only way to get them punished is to actually hit back, and then you get it as bad as they do. Worse, you get to spend your detention in the same room as him at the same time. How fun is that going to be? Sagansky is punishing you worse! "Hey." You almost jump out of your skin at the gruff voice. But it's only Gordon, leaning against a wall, arms folded. "Sagansky kept you extra? I saw Kirkham going by." "He had to separate us. We almost got into it again, right in the office." "Huh." Gordon sucks on a tooth, and gives you a very steady look. "Don't expect me to say I'm proud of you. You just did the minimum." "I know. But thanks for jumping in back there. Except—" You make a face. "Except what? You'd feel better if I didn't?" "I don't know. Maybe." You wince as you touch one of the bruises on your abdomen. "Actually, I know lots of ways I'd probably feel worse." A little smile creeps up the side of Gordon's face. "Come on," he says. "This is my study hall, and you don't wanna go to Career Planning anyway, do you?" * * * * * To your astonishment (and no little pleasure) he leads you into the gym and up the creaking stairs to the loft. The door is partway open, and he kicks it all the way open to usher you in. A familiar, loathsome voice chortles from inside the loft. "Hey man, yer late. What happen, Chelsea get her tittie in wringer or—" Jason Lynch's face and expression both falter as you follow Gordon in. For a moment he stares at you. Then a gleefully malicious smile pops onto his face. "Oh, man," he sniggers. "And what's he up here for?" "A beer and to hang out. Want one, man?" Gordon asks you as he kneels beside the dorm fridge. "Sure, thanks." You dodge Lynch's face as his expression turns flustered. "Naw, really, man," he says to Gordon, "what we got planned for this little—?" "A beer, and to hang out." Gordon tosses you a beer, and cracks open one for himself. "We'd hit the weight deck, all three of us," he says as he holds your eye, "'cept Prescott here's a little too bruised." "Whadja do to him?" Lynch asks. Then, as Gordon turns to glower at him, "I mean, what's he bruised from?" He starts to look harried. "He told Kirkham to go fuck himself, and when Kirkham didn't, he started fucking up Kirkham himself." Lynch's jaw drops, and he turns to stare at you. "No!" He cackles. "This little piss-shit?" "This little piss-shit," Gordon confirms. Lynch looks you up and down, and sneers. "Fuck!" He steps up close, his eye glinting with challenge. "You don't look like no bad ass to me." You're too tired, too bruised, and (frankly) too frightened to act on the challenge. So you just cast a weary glance at Gordon before replying, "What would I look like if I looked like a bad-ass?" "Pssh!" Lynch says, "Well, you wouldn't look like—!" "It's not what you look like," Gordon says. "It's what you do." Fuck. You set your beer down with a sigh. "Can we just do it quick?" you wearily ask Lynch as you ball up a fist. Next: "Gone to Heaven" |
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