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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Party Prep"  You hold Teresa's gaze for a long moment as she fidgets with the mask in her hand. Then you sigh. "Just be careful," you say. "And if you need any help, well— Tell me." * * * * * It's a silent and awkward drive out to the party, with you and Teresa sharing the backseat of Keith's car. Up front, Keith doesn't say much either, leaving it to Caleb to fill the cab with inconsequential chatter, mostly about parties that he—or "she," as he reminisces with his impersonated persona—has been to or heard about. He offers plenty of joshing warnings about guys getting handsy with girls, and especially warns you to be careful. You don't pay him much heed, though, being preoccupied with Teresa, and what she's got in her purse. Caleb accepted her into your company because (so he said) she would act as a brake on your shenanigans. Yet here she is acting the way Keith had been acting, being both reckless and secretive with a mask. Has Caleb completely misjudged her? Certainly he's misjudged her in one way, and probably you have to, because you never would have predicted her acting this way. Were you fooled by her persona—that of the cool, prim, and prickly high school girl who is certain that everyone else is acting like an idiot and needs sitting on? Is she really a lot more wild on the inside? Or is she being sucked in by the temptations of the masks? You are now—in your dress, in your makeup, in your boobs and legs and hair—on your way to a party in the persona of a girl. ("Michelle 'Mickey' Martin" is the name you have now fully constructed for her.) Never in a million years, before you found that book, would you have guessed that you'd have it in you to dress up, even to the making of a fake and anatomically accurate body, and go to a party with the intention of acting like a flirty high school girl. Yet here you are. Is it the same thing with Teresa? Or maybe it is something in between. There was that very awkward conversation you had with her yesterday afternoon, after school, where she was talking about Jenny, and what it was like to wear her personality to school. You were hoping it would give Teresa a little more "sparkle." Has it done more, and unlocked something inside her, something reckless? You told Caleb that you thought Teresa wanted to do an impersonation, but didn't want to admit to wanting to. Having crossed that line (thanks to you) is she now barreling out of control? Whatever is going on, you're going to have to watch her. You glance over at her now, in time to see her pull something from her purse. She lifts her hand to her forehead, and you see a little flash of silvery metal between her fingers. Then her hand drops, her eyes roll shut, and she slumps in her seat. Well, that answers one question, you wryly think to yourself. That was Teresa, not "Jenny," you caught stealing the mask. * * * * * The party location, when you arrive, looks in real life like it did online. (Only, y'know, bigger, and three dimensional.) The country road weaves lazily over and along the hollows of some very low, rolling hills, bordered on each side by wooden railings, until you come to a small ranch house of red brick under a low-slung roof, with white shutters on the windows. Next to the house is an open carport, inside of which is parked a big, black truck. Keith is just pulling up to park in front of the house when Caleb points down the road, to where some trucks are parked on the side of road close to that ramshackle shed. "There's some guys down there," Caleb says. "Yeah, so?" says Keith. "Well, drive up there. That might be the guys. You're parking on the wrong side of the road." Keith grumbles in the back of his throat, and pulls back onto the road. A hundred yards or so up it, he pulls up behind a white sedan, were two boys are perched on the fence drinking out of some cans. They look over at your car with mild curiosity. Caleb turns around to address you and Teresa (who has woken up) and Keith. "Okay, remember who you are, girls," he says, and points a lazy finger around the car cabin. "I'm Maria, this is Linda, in the back we have—?" "Jenny," Teresa says. "Jenny MacNeil." "Mickey Martin," you say when Caleb looks at you. He makes a face. "Fine," he says. "Be difficult. I'm Maria Johansson and this is Linda Tilley." "You don't look like a 'Johansson'," the moon-faced Jenny MacNeil says to the very Hispanic-looking Maria. "My father was Swedish." "And your mother?" "Wasn't." He glances back at the two guys, who are still staring at your car. "And we're not from around here," he says when he turns back around. "We're from Adaburg." "Except me," you say. "I'm from Saratoga Falls." "Jesus," Keith mutters. "If anyone asks your biography," Caleb says with no little acid, "be vague." And with that, he turns around, opens the car door, and gets out. A moment later, you join him. The pungent scent of wet, new-mown grass engulfs you as you step out of the car, and a quick breeze ruffles your hair. Loud motors buzz in the distance, like mechanical cicadas, and off in the field behind the shed you glimpse two large riding tractors—almost the size of combines—bouncing over the ground, spewing fresh-cut grass behind them. It's not bucolic, but it is definitely the countryside. "Hey," Maria calls out to the guys on the fence. "Is this where someone's having a party?" You freeze, watching with a feeling of sudden terror and amazement, as she saunters over to the two boys. Because suddenly it's not Caleb anymore, and when you glance around it's not Keith and it's not Teresa, either. In the car with them, even in their masks, you still couldn't help thinking of them—and even "seeing" them, in your mind's eye—as your old friends. They were just "made up" different. But now? Three girls have gotten out of the car. In the lead is a short, stocky, strong-looking girl in t-shirt and shorts, her dark hair cut in a short bob. Her name is Maria, and she's a smart, cynical girl who speaks her mind bluntly, with a glint of knowing mischief in her eye. Coming around the front of the car to join her is Linda, who is taller and a little more ungainly, a little more giraffe-like. Like Maria, she has dark hair and a Hispanic cast to her features. Her glance is a little more wary, a little more frightened than her friend's, and she fidgets self-consciously. The last girl, Jenny, is the smallest of your bunch. Her hair is mousy brown and hangs in a limp, straight sheet down to he shoulders. She has a moon-face with a sharp glance, and her lips pucker with amusement. Maria speaks bluntly, but Jenny looks like she could draw blood with a sharp remark. These are my friends, you think. My girlfriends. We hang out and we do stuff together and we're here to party on a Friday night. You run a nervous hand up the strap of the little purse dangling from your shoulder. And I'm one of them. I'm Mickey. Your mouth twists open into a nervous grin as the boys hop down off the fence and advance on you and your friends. Their mouths and eyes sparkle with interest. A quick, hard thrill runs through you. This is going to be fun! * * * * * "Gnkph!" Maria makes a face after slurping down a mouthful of the cheap beer that you're all drinking. "Oh, it's fine," she hurriedly adds. "I've just had better, but I've had worse." She swallows down another great mouthful, this time without flinching, and cuts a tiny burp. "Pretty good, once you know what you're in for." "Maria's a beer snob," you explain with a smirk. "Her dad only drinks, like, craft beer, so that's what she steals behind his back." You dimple at her as she makes a face at you. "You're not a snob," Jared Larson says. You wrinkle your nose at him, and take another, longer sip out of your own can. "No," you say after lowering it, "but I don't drink beer that much." Jared's lips curve into an insolent—and slightly bullying—smile. He and Cody are seniors at Eastman. They are twins, in fact, but not identical, so it's easy to tell them apart. They are both lithe and lean teenage boys, dressed in loose-hung, sloppy shorts and t-shirts, and both keep their brown hair (which dangles in loose curls behind their ears and down the backs of their necks) under control with burgundy-colored ball caps. Jared is the taller of the two, and seems slightly more burly. He has a long, open, handsome face, and his eyes are set in a direct and unembarrassed stare even when gazing openly down at your breasts. Cody is a little shorter, and his manner slightly more furtive and rat-like. He's bothering Jenny, while Jared entertains you and Maria with an indifferent equality of interest. Or maybe not so indifferent. Someone shouts behind you, and as you turn around to look, Jared's arm drop onto your shoulder, framing your neck in the crook of his elbow. It rests heavily there as Micah Larson—Jared's cousin—comes striding up the shoulder of the road from where he's parked. Next: "Meet the Larsons" |
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