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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Morning After"  Going up to school maybe see chelsea there, you text back to Will. Lets meet after four. You throw your bag into the car and fold yourself into the seat behind the wheel. It's a relief when Will doesn't argue, and only texts back a thumbs up emoji. * * * * * Gordon's orange VW Bug is already parked by the gym when you arrive. There are some other cars there as well, but it's Lynch's car or Chelsea's car you are on the alert for. You don't see them, though. The gym is locked, but the lights are on when you enter, and Gordon is practicing free throws. He gives you a brief over-the-shoulder glance before resuming. Gordon Black and Steve Patterson are best friends, insofar as either one of them will admit to having a best friend. They started hanging out late in middle school, less because they liked each other (it seems, based on Steve's memories) than because they were both hassled by the bigger kids, and could silently commiserate with each other. But they remained close even after they each hit a growth spurt early in high school, and began to work out and to fill out, so that the hassling stopped. And they stayed close—well, closer than they are to anyone else—even after they were big enough that they could hassle their old bullies, along with anyone else. Looking at Gordon now, and trying to cast Steve's instincts into words, you suppose it's a sibling-like loyalty that they share. Gordon is a dumbass—taking blowoff classes and letting his girlfriend lead him around by his willie—but Steve has stuck with him and by him for so long that— Okay, maybe Steve has some real affection for his friend. At least, it would leave a real hole behind if Gordon disappeared; and Steve would never forgive himself if he didn't stand by Gordon, and try to help him. "You're gonna go blind if you do too much of that," you call out as you saunter across the gym floor to join him. He glares at you in puzzlement. "What?" "Jerking off solo like this. You need to do it with someone." You raise your hand, inviting him to throw the basketball to you, and hurl your bag halfway across the court. It bangs into the bleachers and falls onto them with a thud. Gordon's expression darkens, but he tosses you the ball. You dribble it a couple of times, getting the feel of it, then hunch to calculate how you're going to get it past him to the basket. He hunches too, guarding you watchfully. You drive to the left, but he jumps over to block you, so you feint to your right before ducking around him again to the left. But he's too quick and you have to jump to loft the ball for the net. It bounces off the rim, and Gordon wheels to retrieve it ... * * * * * "We are so fucked." You're at the Acheson Community Center with your two fellow victims. Jack and Steve. Or, to put it like they're looking, Will and Jack. When you texted the former to set up a meeting, he suggested meeting at The Shed again, but when you got there the place was closed. (Weird hippie hours.) So you went down a few blocks to the old elementary school, and are seated now in a nook between two wings of the old school. "So I just got back from hanging out with Gordon," you continue. "He told me he was with Chelsea all night last night. And he was with her all night Friday night." Will shifts. He's sitting on the ground, his crane-like legs folded up at awkward angles before him. "'All night' all night?" he asks. "Don't be a dumbass," Jack says. Where Will is dressed in cargo pants and a t-shirt, he's dressed up in slacks and a button-down shirt—no skin showing below the neck or above the wrists. It seems like an odd get-up for the weekend, and you wonder why Patterson chose it. To you he says, "What were they doing?" "Well, Friday they were over at Catherine Muskov's, he says, and last night they were at her place. They watched a movie with her parents. "Oh, fuck," Jack says. "But she was with us!" Will protests. "Gordon says she was with him." "Then he's lying!" A muscle flexes somewhere in your brain, but you stifle the urge to punch him, and glance over at Jack. But he doesn't move either, and just says, "Why would he?" "Gordon wouldn't lie," you say after Will has stammered himself into a silence. "Not to, uh, me." "But if they're in it together," Will says. His expression is blank and a little confused. You and Jack hold each other's eye. "Why would Gordon do this to you?" you ask him. "He wouldn't." "If Chelsea did it and he didn't know—" "He wouldn't be doing this." "Would Chelsea be doing it?" Jack looks away and mutters, "There's nothing I'd put past that bitch." "The point is," you say, now addressing both of them again, "we have to go through both of them, because they're either in it together, or—" But you don't know how to finish that sentence. "They wouldn't be in it together," Jack says. "Then what are we going to do?" Will asks. No one says anything for a minute or two. Then with a sigh you say, "I can keep an eye on them. I can try to talk to Chelsea alone." "Any of us can try to talk to Chelsea alone," says Jack. "We tried that," you retort. "Jack and me." You hold his eye. "She sent you and Gordon to fix it so we wouldn't try talking to her again." He flushes and looks away. "I guess we can keep on like this," Will says. He doesn't sound happy, but he doesn't angry either. "Until we think of something to do. I can pretend." "Yeah, I can pretend too," you say. You try not to look at Jack, but your eyes flick in his direction anyway. He catches the glances that you and Will are shooting him, and he flushes hard. "I'll make do," he growls, and clambers to his feet. "But if nothing changes before next week—" "Something'll turn up," you assure him, but he gives you a very black look. "It's like she can't leave us alone. She'll try fucking us up again, but she'll fuck something up, and then we'll—" You close a fist, and wrap your other hand around it. It's like a signal has been given to break up and go your own ways. Will rode his bike over, and after lingering a moment as he pretends to check on the tires and frame, he rides off. Jack, his face a tight mask of anger, loiters near his minivan. You are about to get into your car when he blurts out, "There's one way Gordon could be in on it." "Yeah?" He gives you a steady look. "It's not really Gordon." A cold streak runs down your spine. It looks like Gordon, but it isn't really Gordon? He's Steve's friend, not yours, but you have a horror of the idea anyway. You turn it aside with a question of your own: "And Chelsea?" "Not really Chelsea." "So where are they? The real ones?" "Stuck someplace else, wondering what happened to them." He pauses. "Pretending to be other people because they don't know what happened to them." "But why switch us all around?" you ask. "Just as a prank?" His eyes glitter. "Maybe one of us is in on it too." You feel yourself flush, but there's no retort you can make, so you just glower at him, then climb into your car. He is still leaning against his minivan, head downcast, when you drive away. * * * * * Keeping an eye on Chelsea is a defensive play, and Patterson is not a defensive player. And shaking something loose from her would be the best—maybe the only—way to convince Patterson that you're not secretly her partner. Fortunately, you don't have to wait until tomorrow to get in contact with her. You've got two phone numbers you can reach her at. You start by texting her real number: U busy tnte want to talk to u abt Gordon. The reply is half an hour in coming: What about? Stuff. His dad. School. Sorry busy, she replies, and you can tell there's no point pushing. But you try the Clover Mystery number anyway: I need talk to u. Again, there's a long wait for the reply, so long you figure that she's now ignoring you on both her phones. So it's a surprise when the reply comes back: Lol sure tonight at school like usual? * * * * * There's a bike again by the gym when you arrive, and this puzzles you, for you know (now) that Chelsea lives nowhere near the school, so why would she be riding a bike instead of driving? You're tempted to carry the bike over to the trash dumpsters, but leave it where it is. The gym is dark and empty. You're halfway to the stairs when your phone buzzes with a text. It's from Chelsea—"Clover Mystery." Ur not mad at me r u? You mull your response for a long minute before thumbing in, I'm keeping my temper. Lol I did this for u! You can only blink at the screen. Then a row of dots tell you she's typing in a new text. Now we can be together when we want. U don't even like me Chelsea. Then you add, You don't like Steve. More dots. You find you are holding your breath. Lol I'm not chelsea! Well, that's a start, you tell yourself. Go up to loft wait for me. You glance around, uneasy. Is she here, hidden in the bleachers, watching you? We can talk here, you reply. Dots. Talk later, she says. Fuck me then we talk. Next: "Some Naked Truths" |
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