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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Third Time a Charm?"  You're standing at the refrigerator, looking through it for ideas for side dishes, when the front door bursts open. Loud voices sound indistinctly in the entryway, and heavy footfalls thump and bump on the uncarpeted floors. A light rustle of footsteps tells you that Eva is on her way upstairs. The soccer ball that bounces between footsteps tells you that Marc is coming toward the kitchen. He does a double-take, and grimaces when he sees you. "Kerri says you're full of shit," he says. You blink. "About what?" "Your fucking history assignment." He bounces the ball off his bicep, catches it, and twirls it on his fingertips. "She says Walberg didn't assign no paper today." "Well, I guess I made a mistake." "You coulda fucking made the trip all the way over to her place yourself, you know." Marc's chin is tilted, which he only ever does when he's mad. "She said she didn't even know what the fuck you were talking about." You don't know what he's talking about either, unless it has to do with that phone call Jessica made to him and Eva, to keep them away from the house while she ran in to search his room. You're not even really sure who "Kerri" is, unless it's Kerri Mullen, who Jessica shares AP World History with. But it isn't just Marc's angry references to a conversation you don't remember that have you rattled. You can't shake the feeling that at any moment he's going to pierce your disguise, and recognize that it is you. Marc is a cheerful soul, and the only times you've ever really seen or talked to him, he's been goofy and silly and friendly in his jock-ish way. But you've got Jessica's own memories of growing up with him, and of the tantrums he can fly into when he's stung into a sudden fury. His round, cheerful face turns cherry-red; his hair bristles; his eyes flash like lightning; and his muscles bunch up into pistons capable of putting a dent in a wall. If he figures out who you are, he probably won't wait for any explanations, but will break your arm and pound your (fake) face in. And the way he's looking at you now—chin tilted, eyes keen, his lip faintly curved—it's like he's searching for something he can use against you. "Well, I'm sorry," you tell him. "It was all a mix-up. I'll text Kerri and—" "I don't give a fuck, Jess." He bounces and twirls the ball expertly. "I'm just not your personal fucking errand boy, okay?" "Okay! Jeez!" His nostrils flare, but when he speaks again, he changes the subject. "What are you looking through the refrigerator for? Is supper going to be late?" "No, it's going to be early. Mom—" You break off at the sound of pattering footsteps. A moment later Eva swings into the kitchen. She stops short when she sees you, then flushes. You leap back as she pushes past you to pull a water bottle from the fridge. She doesn't even look at you before stomping from the kitchen. "Yeah," Marc says after you look to him for a reaction. "You're about as popular as the plague around here." He gives you a look, then follows Eva out. * * * * * Jessica's dad is a lot friendlier when he gets home, and though he's tired he greets you with a smile and kisses you on the side of your head before asking about supper. He glows a little with happiness when you tell him of the Salisbury steak meal kit, and since you don't want to deal with your "siblings," you concentrate on fixing dinner downstairs while everyone else is upstairs. The meal that follows—just the three Garner kids and their dad—is very muted. He takes turns asking each of you about your day. Eva gives him short, monosyllabic answers. Marc is a little more talkative, but hasn't much to say. And you, of course, have no idea what happened to Jessica today, so you just keep your replies to grunts and mumbles, and bolt from the table as soon as possible. There's a couple of texts on your phone when you get up to the bedroom. Cindy, wanting to know what you and Eva will be wearing to school tomorrow. Mark Kinley sharing a couple of memes. Kerri Mullen, asking how come Marc and Eva stopped by her house asking for a homework assignment from Mr. Walberg's class. (To this last one you dash off a quick, dismissive, Sorry, that was a ixup. *mixup.) And a note from Stephanie Wyatt, reminding you that Josie Holden is having a study party tonight, and asking if you and Eva ("and Marc" she adds in parentheses) want to come out to it. You're mulling this last one when Eva comes in. She ostentatiously doesn't look at you (sprawled on your twin bed) as she marches over to her desk, where her book bag is slumping half open. You look at her from under your brows, and finally work up the courage to say, "I'm sorry about sending you and Marc over to Kerri's after school." "That's okay," she says without looking at you. "Somebody said something to me and I, well, I got confused." "It's alright." "Marc's mad at me too." "No he isn't." Her tone is almost scarily calm. "Well, then I guess he got over it." "He always does." There may be just the slightest emphasis on "he," which gives you the cold shivers. She finishes digging her books out, and turns to leave. You throw yourself across the bed and put out a hand to stop her. "Look, Eva, can we just have it out? Just ... yell at each other, get it all out, so we can get past this?" you beg. She gives you a very long, even look, then coolly asks, "What have you got to yell at me about?" Well, I'd like to yell at you for this passive-aggressive, cunty behavior, you think. "Well, nothing," you admit. "Well, what have I got to yell at you about?" "That's just it," you grind out. "I don't know." A spot of color shows in her forehead. "Oh, I think you do, Jess," she says in a voice that burns with quiet fury. "And I bet you had a nice, long, very long talk with Will about it on your drive home from school while Marc and I were—!" She wheels and stalks from the room, leaving you to cringe. What the hell am I going to do about her? you wonder. You flop over and stare at the ceiling. And you're still sprawled in this position when Marc barges in. His mouth is a grim, straight line, and his eyes are hard. "Did you go through my room?" he demands. "Go through your room?" you echo. "What do you mean?" He flushes. "Did you go into my room, and dig through it and—" His jaw clenches. "Take something out?" "No. Why the f—?" And then you remember. Jessica went through his room to get her gear out. The gear that you're wearing now. The gear that Marc would kill you for wearing if he realized it was you, here, wearing it now. "Why the frick would I do that?" you answer, a little uncertainly. His eyes blaze. In a single bound he is looming over you. "Don't bullshit me!" he hisses. "If you—!" Luckily, just then instinct takes over. "Why the fuck would I want to go in your room!" you yell, and leap upright to pound at Marc's chest with a girlish fist. "G'yah! If I wanna smell stinky socks I'll put my head in the laundry basket!" "I—!" "And why the fuck is everyone mad at me? God damn it, Marc! I got Eva mad at me, and now you, and I didn't! Fucking! Do anything!" You punctuate each with a punch to his chest. But instead of backing off, he grabs you by the wrist. "If you know what I'm talking about—" "I don't know what you're talking about! And let go!" You flail, but he keeps a firm hold of you. "Get out, Marc! I swear I'll—" "And I swear too!" he yells. He releases you, but shoves a stiff forefinger in your face. "If I find out that you—you!—went through my gear and got it out and—" "Got what out?" you shriek. "I don't know what you're talking about!" "Just remember what I said." His grin smokes like brimstone. "Because whatever the fuck you're up to, if you're up to—" You snatch a book off the desk and fling it at him. But it's a notebook, and it only flutters and flaps and falls to the floor at his feet. "Just remember," he says, and stabs at your face with that forefinger before stalking off. I can't stay here, you tell yourself after he's gone. I can't fucking deal with this! Your hands are trembling as you yank books and papers from your book bag, then shove them back in. I have to get out of here! Your eyes are boiling over with held-back tears as you stomp downstairs and grab the minivan keys from the bowl by the door, and charge outside. You throw yourself into the minivan, then bust out bawling behind the wheel. And yet, strangely, you feel an intense relief as well. Thank you, Jessica, for carrying me through, you pray to yourself even as you are wracked with sobs. If you'd had to improvise with Marc, you'd have crumpled and confessed instantly. As it is, even though he threatened you with hellfire, you're pretty sure you managed to bluff him. But where now? Back to your house, to insist on switching back with Jessica? To that study party that Stephanie invited you to? Or— You gulp as it hits you. Didn't Jessica say she found out about this stuff because Marcos Rivera told her? If and when Marcos tells Marc, and the others, that Jessica knows ... Well, it wouldn't take Marc long to figure that his missing "gear" might still be in the house with him, and is being worn by someone who is not his sister. Next: "Roughly Speaking" |
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