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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Knuckleheads"  You wipe your palms on your knees -- a nervous, pathetic thing to do, you realize before you catch yourself. Not that Stephanie is paying any attention. She's thumbing away at her phone. You glance back at the other table, where Braydon and Caleb are squeezed in by four girls: Anita Nuevo and Bonny Trask on Braydon's side, and Kristy Suffolk and Almida Jones on Caleb's. Anita and Bonny are soccer players. Anita is very dark of hair and complexion, with the aquiline features of an Hispanic-Indian mix. You wouldn't call her husky -- certainly not to her face -- but she exudes a physical power, and her expression when resting is a lot closer to a scowl than it is to a smile. She is seated next to Braydon, but she is staring straight ahead, over the heads of her friends, at a distant wall. Bonny Trask is almost her opposite. Though her hair too trails past her shoulder blades, it is a light chestnut color, and Bonny looks built more for speed than power. She has a willowy quality and her complexion is very fair. When she smiles, which is often, her entire face lights up. And while Anita is hunched in her seat like a stone on a log, Bonny is squirming and twisting around and checking out the restaurant. But Almida and Kristy are concentrated on Braydon. Almida is African-American, and her skin is very dark and her hair pulled into a top-knot that geysers up like a splashy fountain. Her brow and her lower lip are very heavy. Kristy -- a blonde with a long mane of coarse hair -- is also wearing a very serious expression, though with her big eyes she doesn't look quite so dour as her friend. And Stephanie? Today she's wearing a teal polo shirt, and her arms look very dark in the diffuse light of the restaurant. Her short curls are tousled, and her lip twitches in and out of a cold sneer as she taps at her cell phone. It would obviously be a mistake to try talking to her. "So, I'm sorry there's no room for you over there," you say, and swallow to get the squawk out of your voice. "I dunno why Johansson thinks he has to sit over there," you add as Stephanie ignores you. "Doesn't matter," she says without looking up. She sucks on a tooth and scratches the Formica with a polished fingernail. (Polished, but not colored.) "You're friends with Delp, huh?" she says. Whoa! At least she added something of her own to the conversation. "Yeah, well, we know him, hang out some. When we heard you guys -- " "Coffee," Stephanie says. You do a double-take at the waitress who has apparated at your table. "Separate tickets," Stephanie adds, then snorts softly down at her phone. "Uh -- " You gawp at the waitress, for you gave up all your cash to Caleb. "Nothing for me." You shoot a glance back at Stephanie, but she's absorbed in texting. "I just came along to keep a seat warm, I guess." No reply. You hold your tongue until Stephanie drops her phone with a clatter and raises her face to sigh at the ceiling. "I never pictured you guys -- " Your throat briefly closes as Stephanie fixes her chilly, gem-like eyes on you. "Being into Braydon's kind of stuff." She grunts and looks back up at the ceiling. "Research," she says, and crosses her arms. "Group project. Got some questions he can maybe help us with." "Really? For what class?" "Are you this nosy with everyone, Prescott?" You feel yourself blushing all over, and your embarrassment is so deep it actually flares into anger. "I'm just trying to make conversation." She lowers her chin. Her glance is still chilly, but there's something like surprise in it now. She shrugs. "Fine, what do you want to talk about? Seen any movies lately?" She glances around like she's already bored with you. "Uh, no, not really." But mention of movies has reminded you of Carlos and Mike. "Did you know there's a couple of guys in our class who have their own YouTube channel?" "Anyone can make their own channel," she sighs. "Well, I mean this one is -- They do movie reviews, talk about old movies, stuff like that. It's Carlos Montoya and Michael Hollister." "Oh yeah," she says. "I know that channel, I know them." "Really?" She gives you a look. "I pay attention," she says. "I know what's going on in school. I know those guys." You blush again. "Well, did you see the one, like, a couple of weeks ago? They were reviewing The Fly?" "No, I don't check it out that often." "Well, a friend of mine had a cameo in it. I think I'm going to do a cameo in their next one. Yeah, they asked me to be in it, we were gonna film it today out in one of the portables, but, uh, something happened." "Yeah? What?" Are you always this nosy, Stephanie? you almost blurt back. "I had, um, kind of an accident." You avoid looking her in the face. "What happened?" You squirm. "I'll tell you about it if you tell me about this project you got going with Braydon." She looks away. "I'm not that interested, Will." Again, it's like a rabbit punch to the jaw. Either you take it and wilt, or you stand up to her. "Why do you treat me like this, Stephanie?" says someone speaking from deep inside you. You continue in the same too-loud voice even as she looks back at you in surprise. "Like I'm gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe? Am I really just a bug to you?" Your voice rises in volume and pitch, and you catch Kristy looking over at you now, too. "Do I annoy you? Am I so stupid that -- ?" You break off as the waitress drops off a cup of coffee and a ticket at the table. Stephanie turns sideways in the booth and kicks her feet into the aisle. "You think I don't pay attention to you, huh?" she says in a very calm tone as she pulls the coffee toward her. "So convince me I should." She drops her elbow onto the table and rests her cheek on her hand. "Go on. Show me what I've been overlooking." You scowl. "I'm not a performing monkey." "You better be," she retorts. "You better show me something if you want me to -- We're on a date here, so show me a good time, if you want another one. Show me something, if you don't want me to leave." "We're not on a date!" you sneer. "Sure we are." "Oh, you mean you want me to pretend -- " "We're on a date, Prescott," she repeats, and her sigh almost rattles the tableware. "You asked me over here, I sat down, now you're trying to get busy with me. Show me why I didn't make a mistake coming over here instead of sitting someplace else." She slouches, and a look of dull, angry annoyance comes into her eye. A tingle runs all over you, starting at the base of your spine and traveling up your back to the top of your skull, and out and down to your fingertips and toes. A date? You should treat this like a date? You never acted like you were on a date when you were hanging out with Lisa, even when she was your -- Shit. * * * * * Is that what Lisa meant when she said you'd never even been dating? Did she mean that you never even treated her like you were dating? And maybe if you had treated her more like someone you were dating -- That if you'd acted with her like you were on a date, instead of just hanging out and being stupid with her -- ? Oh, but what should you have done with her? What do you do when you're on a date and are trying to impress -- ? You glance back up at Stephanie. She hasn't moved, she's still half sprawling across the table with her face squashed in the palm of her hand, and she's still staring at you like she's trying not to drool with boredom. Her eyebrows go up fractionally. "I've never been on a -- on a real date before," you mumble. "No shit?" says Stephanie. Whatever is the opposite of surprised, that's the way she sounds. Desperation moves your tongue. "Well, how do guys act when they're on dates with you? I mean, you do go on dates, don't you?" "They act like themselves," Stephanie says. "Only better." A cold hand grips your gullet. So how does Will Prescott act, and how does he act when he's being better than himself? No answer comes. You hang your head, and swallow, and swallow again. You dart another look at Stephanie, feeling the embarrassment twisting your features. "No?" she says, and there might be the tiniest note of sympathy in her voice. "That's too bad. Because until you gave up, I had nothing better to do today but hang out with you." She glances back at the other table. "Apparently nothing better to do," she snorts softly. She scoots from the booth and feels through the pockets of her shorts. "Have something on me," she says as she drops a crumpled bill on the table. Then she raps her knuckles on the other table and mutters quickly at her friends. There are some nods and smiles, and she high-fives Kristy before striding toward the door. She's got so much energy that she bounces on the balls of her feet, and you half expect her to execute a layup at the front door. She left a ten-dollar bill. After getting change from the waitress, you put a five in your pocket and leave the rest on the table. You finish Stephanie's coffee, and ponder the uselessness of your existence. * To continue: "The Least Interesting Guy in Town" |
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