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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Awkward Invitations"  "Maybe I will meet you guys out there," you say before Caleb can volunteer on his own. "Could be fun." Actually, Besandwiched -- an eatery near the university that decks itself out with New Age crap -- gives you the creeps, but if there's a chance to be seen by those girls, in a situation where they might feel some obligation to you, it would be worth it. Then, as one thing will naturally lead to another, thinking about Besandwiched reminds you of that book you lost. The question comes blurting out of you: "Oh, hey, have you picked any new magic books or anything recently?" The corner of Braydon's mouth lifts into a half smile. "You mean like David Copperfield?" "No, I mean like your kind of stuff." Braydon taps the ash off his cigarette. "Why?" "Just wondering. Well ... " You hesitate as there washes over you some of that old anxiety about that book you found at Arnholm's. "It's just that I heard George Mendoza talking about how he had this, like, old book of magic. He was talking about selling it, and I just thought, you know -- " You shrug. "Mendoza?" Braydon makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. "Oh, fuck me, if Mendoza starts getting into this kind of -- " He shakes his head slowly, then shrugs. "Well, maybe I should talk to him about it, look at it in case it's something worth buying." "Well, he already said he sold it to someone. I just thought maybe you were the one that bought it." "Nope, not I," says Braydon. "Which is too bad, if he did find something good, because it's really hard to find any books that are worth anything." He wipes his nose with his palm. "Did he say anything about it? Like what kind of -- ?" "Not really." You didn't want Mendoza and his friends being interested in that book, and it was something of a relief when he said he'd sold it. But Braydon is someone else you're not sure you'd like to see it attached to. "So why are you interested in it?" "I'm not. It just reminded me is all." "Uh huh. Well, no, I haven't talked to Mendoza about anything. But I'll keep my ear to the ground." "No biggie." You fumble at your phone. "I should go anyway." "Right," says Caleb, who's been watching you intently. "We both should." He hangs an arm around your shoulder. It would feel like a friendly gesture, but you can feel the muscles in his arm tense. "Tomorrow at four, then," Braydon calls as you turn. "Besandwiched. Be there, or -- " "Be turned into a toad," Caleb mutters under his breath. He keeps his arm on you as you walk toward the tennis courts. "The fuck are you up to, Prescott?" "Nothing." "Nothing? Crashing in on the thing I set up -- " "I'm helping out! I had Stephanie last period, thought I'd help out by talking to her instead of waiting 'til tomorrow like you -- " "Right, because you're all about helping out Eva. What were you talking about with her today at lunch when you ran off with her?" "Lisa." He drops his arm like you just said you'd been rolling in shit. "Lisa?" he exclaims. "Well, whatever -- And why are you showing up at the place tomorrow?" "Why are you?" you retort. "I didn't say I was! But you're trying to get in on what I was talking about, when you didn't know why I was!" "Did you just have a stroke or something? What did you just say?" "You know what I meant!" He shoves you. "You just stay away from -- " "I'll go wherever I fucking please!" You shove him back. "Then I'll go too!" "Fine!" You feel your eyes bulging, and your breath comes in short pants. Caleb glowers. Then his eyes turn shifty. "You wanna go out there together? One car?" "Sure." You catch your breath. "I'll text Stephanie -- " "You have her number?" You flare up again. "She gave it to me! Okay?" "Alright," he grumbles. "Make you a deal. You get to talk to Stephanie, I get to talk to whoever else shows up." "That's not fair!" "I'll be texting the other girls! They won't even know you're -- !" Well, the argument goes on tediously all the way out into the parking lot, and nothing gets settled, except that Caleb won't make any moves on Stephanie. "Like you'll get anyplace with her," he sneers. You yell something back at him -- you're not even sure what -- but on the drive home the cold reality sinks in: At Besandwiched tomorrow, you'll only be giving yourself another chance to humiliate yourself in front of a girl that you don't even like all that much, and who scares you half to death anyway. * * * * * You add Stephanie's number to your contact list -- which is a bit of a thrill -- but can't bring yourself to throw out that scrap of paper she gave you. Her handwriting is surprisingly girly. Lots of swoops and curls in it, and you toss it onto the mess atop your desk, where you'll be able to forget about it and then rediscover it (to your delight) later on. You're not sure why you're making such a big deal out of getting her number. She only pays attention to you when you do something stupid, and she's totally out of your league anyway. But is that really true? You lean back in your chair -- teetering dangerously -- and rest your feet on the edge of the desk. There are lots of different ways that a girl can be out of your league, it now occurs to you. (And what a depressing thought it is to realize that fact, but there it is, and now that you've had it you can't stop yourself from worrying at it, like probing a canker sore with your tongue.) There are the beautiful girls of the school, for instance. You would have put Lisa in that category, and you still do, but since your talk with Eva you feel that old fascination palpably oozing away. The Garners belong on that list, too. There's no way you'd be brave enough to ask Eva or Jessica out. Andrea Varnsworth belongs there too, certainly, for her body if nothing else, though her facial features are a little severe. Olivia Byrne is a serious hottie. Catherine Muskov makes you want to sink to the floor and weep when she goes by. Then there's the girls that just through their social class are far above you. Kelsey Blankenship and Amanda Ferguson look good (from certain angles, at least) but they're too snooty to even talk to you. Most of the cheerleaders belong on that list, even the ones like Yumi who sometimes smile when they see you coming, because "cheerleaders" are reserved for guys with serious weight at the school. At the other end of the scale, a girl like Jelena Petrovic, who thrashes guitars and sings in scary party places like The Warehouse, wouldn't look twice at you because you're just not dangerous enough. And where does a girl like Stephanie Wyatt sit? Well, she sits with the other girls who are seriously into sports, at least. Almida Jones, who captains the girls' basketball team. Anita Nuevo, who captains the soccer team. Other players on the squads, like Barbara Powell and Bonny Trask and Dominique Hughes and Kristy Suffolk and Jamie Bornholm. (Well, maybe not Jamie so much.) Girls who can outclass any except the most egotistical jocks in confidence. Girls who don't take any shit and aren't interested in any shit that gets flung their way. Girls who go at school like it's a job, and maybe go at parties the same way. What must it take to get and hold Stephanie's attention, let alone her affection? you wonder with a spasm of irritation. You try to picture her being affectionate with a guy -- laughing at his jokes and cuddling up close to him and making cute little gurgling sounds. Impossible. You try to picture her looking at a guy and being impressed with him. That's also impossible. No wonder Caleb says she must be a dyke. And that's the girl whose number you're keeping. Your eye falls on that scrap of paper. Almost you pick it up to throw away. But you don't. With a quivering sigh you text her a message: Braydon will be at Besandwiched tomorrow at 4 if you want to talk, you type, taking care to spell everything out correctly and grammatically. For a solid minute you wait for a reply. When nothing comes back right away, you kill a few more minutes by going online. Keith's video. You search for the most recent upload from Carlos and Mike, to see what he found so fascinating. "I'm Mike," says Carlos with a grin. "No, I'm Mike," says Mike. He slaps at the other. "That's right, I'm Carlos," Carlos gasps and laughs. "Stop it!" Mike hisses. "Anyway, today me and Mike are gonna be -- " "Dude you just said I'm Mike!" Carlos covers his face and slips out of the chair, laughing. Mike jumps over into the vacated chair. "Yeah, this is my chair, I should be -- !" "Get out of there!" Carlos yells, and he reaches up from out of frame to pull at his friend. "That's mine!" "Dude, it's -- !" And they're like that all through their discussion of another old '80s movie, Like Father, Like Son. Except you don't finish watching it. Your phone dings, and it's a reply from Stephanie: k thx. You take a walk afterward, just to keep from curling up in a fetal position with embarrassment. * To continue: "Appointments Broken and Accepted" |
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