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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Comes a Storm"  A-Three's suggestion shocks you: It sounds like the kind of cruel prank that Kendra would have proposed. Of course, A-Three does look exactly like Kendra (or, rather, like Kendra in a Storm costume) and has been instructed to act like her original. But this feels like plotting behind her boss's back. It makes you queasy: Are Numbers Two through Seven (and maybe even Number Six?!) doing the same thing to you? "I don't think that's a good idea," you tell A-Three. "I think we should leave those decisions to the boss. Something like that might hurt her," you pointedly add. "It depends on how we do it," A-Three says. She lightly grips your elbow. "It's exactly the kind of thing Kendra and Chelsea would have done to the boss," she says in a near whisper, "so it would be completely in character for us. But we could push it in a way that helps her. A good rumor about the boss's sex life could get her noticed by the right kind of guy." Again, you're given pause, but now in a positive way. Yes, I can see that, you think. A rumor that backfires on the girls spreading the rumor by actually helping its target! Still, you decide not to follow up, at least not right now. "Let me talk to the boss first," you tell A-Three. "I'll be seeing her tomorrow. It might mess something up if we did a thing like that without consulting her first." A-Three nods. "Now let's get back in circulation," you tell her, and glance her up and down. "Chris Ratliff was looking at you earlier like you're a double bacon-cheeseburger and a stack of onion rings." Kendra smirks appreciatively at you, and straightens her costume. * * * * * The downside to Sophie's parties are that, being parent-hosted, they always end before midnight, and you and Gordon depart early. There is some talk, before you go, of meeting up with Steve and another girl—someone from Eastman, you think; anyway, Number Three has got her tightly gripped in the crook of his arm, and he keeps drunkenly kissing the side of her head—at the school, but you primly tell Steve that he and his date probably want to be alone with each other. (She looks a little ill after you say that.) The ride away from Sophie's, in Gordon's Bug, is very quiet. "Pookie," you finally ask, "are you mad at me for quitting as head cheerleader?" You sense him looking at you sidelong. "It's your business," he gruffly replies. "But you're not dating the head cheerleader anymore. Doesn't that gut you? Even a little bit?" "It's your business," he repeats. "Well," you observe after a moment's thought, "you could still date the squad captain if you wanted to. I bet Jack would go for you." The explosion on the other side of the car cabin makes you jerk with surprise. "Yeah, and what the fucking Christ is that all about?" Gordon shouts. "That little Chinese fucking homo? And it was your fucking idea?" "I did it for the good of the squad!" you squeal. "And who the fuck are me and Steve and the rest of the guys supposed to look? That prancing faggot leading a routine?" "You could look at me," you coldly retort. "I could look at you before! Now I gotta look past his pansy ass—" "Cut it out, Gordon! For a start, you're talking like a, a homophobic bigot! And if it ever got out, the things you're saying, what you're thinking—" "Don't start that with me, Chelsea. That's got nothing to do with—" "Then why do you care? Second of all—" You have to touch the corners of your eyes, to push back the flood of tears that is threatening to burst out. "Second of all," you continue in a voice that gets huskier and huskier with choked emotion, "it was the only way I could stay on the squad at all!" Gordon whips his head around. "The fuck are you talking about?" Now it's your turn to explode. "You don't know fucking shit about the squad, Gordon! I tell you and tell you, and I explain, and it's all in one ear and out the other! You never pay attention to me or my problems, to what's going on in my life, or— Or—! Oh, fuck you, you cheesehead! Lemme out!" You're stopped at an intersection, but Gordon grabs to stop you from leaping out the car, and hooks a vicious right-turn into the parking lot of a convenience store. You sob into the crook of your elbow as he kills the engine. At least he gives you time to let it all pour out before he starts pressing you. Between hiccups you tell him to fuck himself, but with an iron-hard patience he holds you and waits until you have calmed down enough to tell him about the squad's myriad traumas. "Huh," he says when you've done explaining how the others were plotting to get rid of you, and the only way you could survive was by bringing Jack in and making him captain, to protect you. "I had no idea." Oh, bullshit, you seethe to yourself. You knew what Kendra was plotting, Number Three told me so! And you were going to dump me for her after she pulled it off! "Well," he concludes, "I still don't like him being on the squad. But I am glad you're still there too." He squeezes your knee. "You know, uh, it's been a long time since we—" "Steve has the loft tonight," you coldly remind him, "with that girl. Remember? Just take me home, Gordon, I'm getting a migraine. We'll talk tomorrow." He sulks the rest of the drive back to your house. * * * * * * That talk with Gordon surprises you, from two directions. The first is the fact that you even tried talking to him like you were still boyfriend and girlfriend. It must be Chelsea's instincts, you coolly reflect the next morning (a Saturday) as you drive up early to the school. It's the kind of talk she would have had with him if all this had been real. But what of Gordon? Or the Gordon doppelganger, since that's what he is. Was he just "being in character" too? He doesn't have anyone to give him orders, not since you got rid of the real Chelsea, so is he just on autopilot? Or are those emotions real? You have to tell your own doppelgangers how to act; is the Gordon duplicate just acting on instinct, or does it have real emotions? You don't know how to answer that question. But maybe it's not important. You hope it's not important. Patterson's car is at the gym, and he's sinking three-pointers when you enter. His gaze is calm but slightly quizzical when he glances back at you. "S'up, boss?" he asks after sinking another shot. He lets the ball bounce away. "I'm meeting Michelle up here in a little while, but I have a job for you. By the way, how was your date last night?" "Messy. I cleaned up after us, though." "Who was she? Anyone important?" "I don't know what you mean by important. I think she was trying to make another guy jealous. It seemed in character to take advantage of the situation." You nod. "It won't complicate things if you and A-Three go to the Donna this afternoon, will it?" "I think I'm supposed to run errands for Patterson's dad. But what's the job?" His gaze goes blank as you explain, but he instantly returns to focus when you're done. "If I get started early," he says, "I should be able to make it out there. But it would be better if I knew what time to be there." "I'll have Number Four text you." As though on cue, your own phone dings with a text from Michelle, telling you that she has arrived. "You can hang out in the loft until she's gone," you tell Number Three. He shakes his head and trots over to collect the basketball. "I should get started on the things for Patterson's dad." Then he pauses after scooping up the ball, and gives you a hooded look. "Are we going to replace any adults? Teachers, parents?" "Eventually," you tell him, though the thought had not occurred to you. He nods. "Patterson's father would be a good one," he says. "He knows a lot of important people." "I'll keep that in mind," you tell him. * * * * * He and Michelle meet at the door as she's coming in and he's going out. It amuses you a little to see him turn to scope out her ass before letting the door close. "Oh my God!" you exclaim as Michelle approaches. "A-Three and I had the best time at Sophie's party last night!" But your mood changes when Michelle only smiles wanly at you. "What's wrong?" "Nothing," she says. "I'm still just ... getting used to all this." "It's all for the best." You catch her in a loose embrace, and even smooch her in the crook of her neck. She goes taut all over, but you ignore it, and pull her over to the nearest bleachers. "Now, we've got two of your three choices in place," you remind her. "Christine and Kendra. You get one more." "And you get three more, right?" she says. Her face is gray. "But you can veto anyone I pick," you remind her. "But do you have your third in mind?" Her lips disappear and she turns away. It's some minutes before she can, mutely and haltingly, share her thoughts. They are—as they would be—for the benefit of her friends. Kennedy Palmer and Naomi Batson are gossips and queen bees of the same type as Christine Miles, who have made life hard for her girlfriends. Diego Rojas and Ryder Hillberger are JV athletes who make things hard for her boyfriends. The fifth is the one Michelle hesitates over: Roberta Barr. She's someone whose friendship Michelle confesses to craving, but who for some reason holds herself mysteriously aloof. None of these names mean much to you, but after talking them over with Michelle, you advise her to pick: Next: "Saturday Night Orders" |
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