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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Someone Old, Someone New, Something Stolen ..."  Fuck it, you decide as you slouch in your sixth-period class. Sydney was right when she said that at least half of your plan involves humiliating the fuck out of Geoff Mansfield. So what does it fucking matter if you've got or don't got Sydney's permission to go find him? When the bell rings you hustle to your locker to stash your backpack, then go looking for your prey. He's just closing up his locker when you find him, and when he turns around he almost steps on your foot. You shove him in the chest, and he bounces back with a look of hurt surprise on his face. Mansfield is tall—taller even than Will Prescott—so that you have to lift your chin to look up past his nose and into his eyes. He flushes a little when he recognizes you, but you calmly roll that toothpick around while silently daring him to try pushing past you. When he still says nothing you show him your teeth. "That girl you was with at the coffee shop yesterday," you say. "She's mine." Mansfield stares, then snorts softly. "What makes you say that?" "It's truth. We had a talk this morning, her and me. It's all settled." You pluck the toothpick from your mouth and flick it away. "Go home to your jerkoff sock." That flush had drained from his face, but now it reappears. Again, he snorts. "Yeah, Lisa told me you came around—" "Then you already know." A glitter comes into his eye. It could be anger—he wants it to be anger—but you know it is mostly fear. "You already know," you repeat, "that she's mine." "If you think that," he says, "maybe you better have another talk with her." You grin. "Oh, I'm going to have another talk with her, asshole. I'm gonna have lots of talks with her. We're gonna do a lot more together than talk." You pull out a fresh toothpick and slide it between your cheek and gum. "Gonna have the kind of fun never had with her, even if you had the equipment." His lip curls. But his eyes are watering. "So I'm gonna tell you what you're gonna do," you continue. "You're gonna step back and away. You're gonna find someplace else to park your ass. The kind of thing like yesterday, you hanging your arm on her at coffee shops?" You wag a finger at him. "That's ain't happening anymore. 'Cos she don't want it. An' I'm a gentleman. What my woman don't like or want, I make sure she don't have to deal with." You hold his eye, then turn to squeeze your way back into the seething crowd of students. * * * * * Of course, you don't expect Mansfield to drop Lisa right away, but that wasn't the point of your talk. The point was to put him on notice that he is in your line of sight, that you are interested in him and Lisa in a way that he isn't going to like, and to give him time to worry about what is going to come next. It gives you a very pleasant feeling, to imagine him shitting himself the way you were shitting yourself when Kirkham was doing it to you. But on the off chance that Lisa does show up for that date you reserved for her, you drive out to the Milagro Beanfield Warehouse after school and spend a solid hour nursing a coffee while trawling through the muck and filth of x2z and other social media sites. A couple of kids come in, a few of whom you know, but you ignore them. Lisa, though, as you'd predicted, isn't one of them. At a little after five you get a phone call—a rare event in the life of David Kirkham, who hasn't many friends, and who usually message him. But it's Kelsey, so it's no real surprise. "Hey, 'tsup?" you rumble into the phone. "Where are you?" Her tone is querulous. "Milagro. Waiting for Lisa Yarborough to show up. She's late—" "She's not showing up, Will," Sydney snaps. "Well, no shit. But, you know, just in case, I thought I'd—" "She's off with Geoff someplace. Naturally. That was a nice play you made with them," she fumes. "I was going to get her out to the house and do a switch, but because of those 'talks' you had with them, now I can't get her out there!" "Fine, but why are you shitting yourself? So we'll do it tomorrow. It'll be Saturday, don't you have a party out at your place every Saturday? That's what I hear, you can do it then." "Well, first of all—you dingus!—it's a freaking party, how the hell am I supposed to get Lisa alone when there's a dozen other kids around? And second of all, I'm not having the party tomorrow night! We're all going to the school play, including Lisa and Geoff." "The school play?" "Yes, you fucking hooligan! There's a school play tomorrow night—" "Stop acting like Kelsey, Sydney." "Well, you stop acting like—!" She catches herself, and after a short silence she draws and expels a deep breath. "You're right, I'm sorry. Only it's been a stressful day. And I just got out of tennis practice and I'm ready to strangle some of the— No, I'm sorry, let me cool off a minute." You have time to saunter over to the refill station to get yourself a fresh cup while she's still clearing her head of the worst of Kelsey's Blankenship's personality. "Okay," she says when she comes back on, "I guess I just assumed we were going to get started on your idea as soon as possible, Will." "I'm in no hurry." You singe your lip on the hot coffee. "I want time to make Mansfield suffer." "Uh huh. And I wanted to make sure Lisa was going to be on board with what you're, uh, doing. 'Cos we don't want her doing or saying stuff that'll make it, you know, weird if she suddenly changes her mind about, uh, you." She pauses. "That is the plan, isn't it? To make her and David a couple? I mean, out in the open?" You hadn't thought things through that far. Truth to tell, Kirkham doesn't seem like a one-girl guy. On the other hand, you're not sure you'd ever get tired of banging Lisa if it was Sydney inside her. "We can figure that out later," you grunt. "You're probably right, we prob'ly want to get her nailed down. But I don't want her breaking up with the cocksucker right away. I want some time to tease the motherfucker." "Is it you who wants to fuck around with him, Will? Or David?" You smirk. "Why can't it be both of us? At the same time?" "Uh huh." Her tone is very dry. "I got out of Kelsey's head when you asked me to. Any chance I could talk you out of David's?" Your smirk deepens. "Sure." "Promise?" "Promise." She holds the line, and you hold it too. "You there?" you finally ask when the silence has grown awkward. "Yes. I'm trying to figure out if I can believe you. I'm also trying to figure out— I don't have anything I'm supposed to do tonight, but I can always tell Kelsey's parents I'm going out to a party or something." You shift in your seat. "Are you telling me you want to do something?" "Yes. I want to meet at the Donna again. I'll still be in Kelsey's mask, and I want you in David's. But I'm going to be me, Will. And I want you to be you." * * * * * It's nearly nine o'clock, and the street lamps are burning acridly in the nighttime darkness when you pull into the Donna parking lot. There are a handful of cars in the lot, including Kelsey's BMW. You trudge over to it, and the driver's side window goes down. Kelsey twinkles at you as she hands you a couple of fifties. She's out of the car when you come out of the office, and follows you wordlessly down to Room 18. The air inside is close but not musty, and the place is clean. Kelsey sashays to the middle of the room while you close the door behind and lean against it. She's wearing baggy short-shorts and sandals, giving you a look at all of her long and sexy legs. She's also wearing a midriff-baring top, over which she's draped a heavy jacket. Bracelets of silver dangle and jangle on her wrist. She twirls around to give you a good look, then falls onto the corner of the bed with a laugh. "Oh, Jesus," she says. "I spent the whole drive over trying to get out of 'Kelsey country,' and the minute I'm in the room it's like she flips back on. She's such a fucking snob and show off." She sighs and sags. "How are you doing, Will?" You shrug. "Why are you standing all the way over there?" Because that's what you'd do, in your own skin, if you were in a motel room with Kelsey Blankenship. Or with Sydney McGlynn. Because, like she'd asked, you spent the drive over trying to shove your borrowed personality into a box. You never really succeeded. you can feel Kirkham seething in the back of your skull, fuming that what you should swaggering over, pushing her onto her back, pulling down her shorts, and ramming your schwanz inside her. But that's not what you'd do, and Sydney asked you to be you. So, hands in pockets, you stroll over and sit on the bed next to her. You face each other, neither making a move, until Sydney blushes. "Are you shy, Will?" "Yes." "You haven't been shy about kissing me before." "We weren't in a motel room before, and we weren't going to—" You shrug. "You want me to start? Set the pace?" You can practically hear Kirkham jeering at you. Shut up, you growl at him, and put a boot in his mouth. But he pushes you to this much: You peel off your shirt and toss it away; the cool motel room air prickles on the bare skin of the body you've stolen. "Just let me be me," you tell Sydney. Gently you push her onto her back, and lower yourself over her to touch your lips to hers. Next: "Faces Under Faces" |
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