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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Perils of Paulina"  "Yeah, that is a good idea," you reflect aloud. Better than in sixth period Biology, when you'll have all kinds of people sitting around watching. It's a moment before the stares of surprise and incredulity on the faces of the others melt into masks of laughter. But you don't mind. You're pretty confident it'll go well. And if it doesn't? You've got enough distance to remember that it isn't you she'd be rejecting. Only the person you're pretending to be. * * * * * They all follow you out the cafeteria, of course, and into the hallways, but you force them back after grabbing Grant by the shoulder and pummeling him -- he runs away, chortling and shrieking. They loiter at the end of the hallway, though, watching and grinning, as you lean against Paulina's locker. When the bell rings, the crowds surge into the corridors, hiding them, so it's okay. "Hey Bhodi," says Paulina. She surprises you from behind, and despite your cool nerve, you jump a little. There's a bright gleam in her eye, and a little bit of a dimple in her cheek as she twirls the combo of her locker. She keeps glancing at you sidelong. She is really beautiful. Tall and thin without being skinny, with long hair that has reddish highlights when the light catches it just right. Her skin glows palely without being chalky, and the dusting of pink in her cheeks is like a reflected glow off a carnation. She has just the tiniest bit of an overbite, so that it's easy for her to suck nervously on her lower lip. You like it that she's doing that now. Did someone warn her that you were going to make this approach? You wouldn't put it past the guys. "Hey, what are you doing Friday night?" "Don't know yet." She shrugs. "Hanging out with friends, probably. Like usual." "Hang out with me?" "Sure. I guess we could get some people together." Her eyes dart nervously, but they don't lose that gleam. "Well, I was thinking maybe just us. We could go get something to eat, hang out. I dunno, go see a movie?" You lean forward, and your hair falls into your face. You brush it back with one hand. Her eyes widen, and a smile stiff with panic pulls the corners of her mouth up. "Just the two of us?" "Sure. I mean -- " Don't backpedal, don't backpedal! "If you want to get together with some other guys," you say, backpedaling, "we could do that. But you know, I like hanging out with you when there are other guys around. I wanted to try it without them around. No distractions, you know?" "Uh, sure." That smile gets bigger and bigger, and her nostrils flare. "Or, I know." You snap your fingers. "We can set up to meet other guys somewhere, like a hangout or a party, but we can get together early, just us, and -- you know -- a couple of hours later we can go meet them. If we want to." "That sounds great." Her eyebrows have lifted almost to her hairline; her smile is almost manic; her nostrils are pulsing; her pupils look dilated. "Awesome. I have to get to class, but -- " You lay a hand on her shoulder as you brush behind her. "Thanks, I'll talk to you tomorrow about when we meet? Right here, same time?" "Sure!" "It's a date, then. Bye. Owf!" In walking backward, you trip and almost sprawl all over another student. "Watch it, you fuck," someone snarls at you, and you apologize -- which only draws an "Asshole!" in reply -- and lope down the hall toward your friends. It's like an eight-legged, four-headed monster, they are packed so tight together, all grinning at you. "So?" Grant demands. "So what?" you coolly reply. Then you lick the tip of your pinkie finger and smooth down an eyebrow. They dissolve in gales of laughter. * * * * * You have English fifth period, and Jazmin is in there too -- without her friends, though. You're tempted to flirt with her again, but decide to see if she makes the first move, and only take your regular seat halfway across the room from her. She's occupied with her cell before class, though, and doesn't look around when she leaves class afterward. It's a little awkward in Biology, since Paulina is in there too. You can't ignore her, but you can't exactly hang out with her either after the talk at her locker. So you smile and jerk your chin at her, and she smiles shyly back and turns around to whisper furiously with Zoe Koch, who glances at you briefly before turning away with a hard giggle. You splay out in a desk and exchange a fist bump with Eric Hines, who sits across from you. He and Austin Chamberlain wind up being your partners when Mr. Carr breaks the class into trios and puts everyone in the lab to sketch some models. It's not real animal cadavers, only some very old plastic-and-rubber human torsos with removable organs. There's much ribaldry as each group of three starts taking out the intestines and other organs to sketch them with colored pencils, with boys guffawing and girls shrieking. The worst offenders have to be the three "Ath-holes" (short for "Athlete Assholes") as they are sometimes called. The trio of Aaron Riggs, Andrew Webb, and Elijah Washington -- the guys who are determined to be team captains their senior year. Of the three, Webb is far and away your least favorite. He's the buzzcut jerk on the soccer team you got crossways with first period, and he's just as much of a jerk and a showboater in this class too -- yelling at people to quit jerking off while he himself sniggers over the hose-like tubing of the large intestine that his pal Aaron Riggs has draped around his neck. Aaron, meanwhile, is on the JV football squad. He's going to have to get a lot taller and wider if he's going to become captain of the varsity squad. Right now he's still well under six feet tall. But he's already building thick arms that he likes to show off in muscle shirts, and they are an odd contrast with the hairless chin and with brown hair that hangs in lank curls over his ears and eyebrows. With that hair, and his droopy eyes, and his shell necklace, from the head up he looks more like a genuine stoner than Kieran Matthews does. Elijah Washington is the only one of the three that you -- with Bhodi's instincts to guide you -- actually like. He's a tall, skinny African-American kid with a shy smile and a quiet manner who laughs at the antics of his friends without joining in with them. He's on the basketball JV squad, and word has it that he's actually pretty good. It would be funny if the one guy who is least like an "Ath-hole" would be the only one to actually achieve his part of the plan they've concocted. But right now he is laughing at and goading his friends to greater heights of douchebaggery as Aaron puts the small intestine around his shoulders and stands atop the lab, dancing around like it's a feathered boa. Andrew laughs at him too, then turns around to yell at a guy who's accidentally dropped a pencil case with a loud clang, scattering writing implements. He and the others wouldn't be getting away with it if Mr. Carr hadn't stepped out of the room. "Jesus," Austin mutters. "Why don't you go tell your friends to sit down and shut the fuck up," he says to Eric. Eric -- who plays on the JV basketball squad too -- sits up. "Who, me?" "They're your friends." Eric stares back dumbly. Not an uncommon expression on his face, your borrowed memories tell you. Eric has a dopey look anyway, what with the athletic hoodie he always wears, the ball cap he always wears backward, and the massive swoop of blonde hair he combs from one temple to the other, and which hangs down so low it almost covers his eyes like a visor. He has to lift his chin to peer out from under that swoop, looking down the bridge of his long nose, just to see Austin's face. "They're not my friends," he retorts. Somebody yells, and something shatters loudly. The class collectively catches its breath, then explodes in a buzz of excited confusion. A glass jar has broken and scattered on the floor. Paulina, a look of intense mortification on her face, is standing over it. She covers her mouth and nose. "Way to go, Paulina," Andrew sneers in a loud voice. Paulina looks up. Her face is red and tears are showing in her eyes. Her eyes lock onto yours. Deep down, you are still Will Prescott. This is not a girl you know, and she's not a girl you especially care for, even though she is very cute. But you also have Bhodi Weaver's memories and instincts and affections, which very much incline toward Paulina. On the other hand, deep inside where you are Will Prescott, you have a bantam need to fly at anyone who has offended you or one of your friends, and you vibrate hard in sympathy with Bhodi's affection for Paulina and his loathing of Andrew. But on the surface you also feel Bhodi's aversion to violence of any sort. Not that he's a pacifist, mind you. It's just that he hates the idea of pain, and doesn't trust himself to come out well in a fight. For that matter, Will Prescott has never come out well in a fight either. But the fact remains: Paulina is looking at you with horror and humiliation in her eyes as Andrew's ugly sneer rings in the air. * To continue: "An Escape Route Into a Dead End" |
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