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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Copyist"  The meeting is at Justin Orr's house, but it's Andy Jensen who lets your quartet in. He seems very ill at ease, and he stammers when Mrs. Orr (a dark-haired woman who is as horsey-faced as her son) comes in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "Hey," Andy mumbles at her. "These are, uh, some friend's of Justin's, from school." He flings a stiff arm in your direction. You smile and nod at Mrs. Orr; she smiles and nods gravely back, and watches as Andy stiffly leads you all upstairs. "Pft, you think your mom cares who we are?" Joe mutters at Andy's back. "She's not my mom," Andy (or is it?) shoots back. "She's Justin's mom." Grant laughs, and grabs Andy (or is it?) from behind. "Bullshit," he chortles as they thump against a wall. "I'll hold him down while you guys get the mask—" "Stop it," Caleb growls. Everyone turns when a door at the end of the hall opens, and Justin Orr (or is it?) peeps out. His eyes are wide with worry, and his chronic acne is flushing very red. Grant snorts at Andy (or is it?). "Don't try messing with the pros, man," he tells him. "We can see the moves a mile away." Justin's bedroom is small and narrow, and the floor is layered with discarded shirts and trousers; a musty odor of unwashed clothes and unwashed teenage boy rises off them. Between the bed, the dresser, and a computer desk and chair, there is hardly space for one person to turn around, let alone the six of you trying to bundle into it, and the sophomores cuss as they fight each other for space on the bed. Caleb props himself against the narrow window ledge; you shut the door and lean against it with folded arms. "Okay, so me and Will spent the day making up a bunch of masks," Caleb starts. "Hey, can I get your attention?" he yells as Grant and Joe shove each other. "Where's Bhodi?" you ask, and roll your eyes as Justin (or is it?) tumbles off the bed. "He's not coming," Grant says. He tries biting Joe, who squeals and pulls away, knocking Justin (or is it?) off the bed again. "He's not doing the thing with you?" "No," says Andy (or is it?). "Him and Paulina are— Quit it!" he yells at Grant, who has elbowed him in the back of the head. Caleb looses a shrill whistle through his teeth, which mostly stills the boys, though Grant continues to push and elbow at the others. "But you guys are doing the thing," Caleb says. "So you have some names for us?" Grant guffaws—the only response any of them makes. Caleb turns to you. "Christ," he mutters. "Come on, guys," you say. "We're not mind-readers." Grant laughs so hard that snot flies out of his nose. "I'm gonna punch you in a minute," Caleb warns him, and Grant—his eyes dancing as he stifles a fit of the giggles—folds his hand in a "Scout's honor" sign. "Grant wants to be Kaylee Mercier," Joe says. Grant blushes so deep behind his grin that he almost turns as red as his cherry-dyed hair. "Uh, do you know who she is?" Joe asks Caleb. "Not a clue. I just want to know if you know who you want to be. You, whoever you are." He points at Justin (or is it?). "Who did you pick?" His zits turn very white even as his acne flushes very red. "Um." He gives Andy (or is it?) a lingering, sidelong glance. "Justin wants to be Ethan Clayborne," Andy (or is it?) says, "and I—" He stumbles over the pronoun. "I want to be Alejandra Roldan Cortes." Joe raises his hand. "Andrew Webb," he says. You start a little at the name: you know it, but can't quite place it. "Okay, can you get to these people?" Caleb asks. Silence. "What do you mean, get to them?" Joe finally asks. Caleb pinches the bridge of his nose. "Can you get them alone?" you explain. "Can you talk them into going off by themselves with you? Get them someplace quiet where you hit them with a mask and take their clothes off them and turn yourself into them? You can't do it in the middle of the school hallways, you know," you continue as they all, including Grant, get very quiet. "You have to lure them someplace. Just you and them. So you can replace them. So can you?" "Jesus," Caleb mutters as all four boys hang their heads. * * * * * "They're gonna need help," Caleb declares as you and he drive off after the meeting has broken up. Nothing got decided, except that the boys would get together again with Bhodi to brainstorm strategies for getting at their targets. "No way they're gonna be able to get to those people without cocking it up." "So we'll help them out. But I'm not gonna supervise them after that." "Well, who said you were going to?" Caleb retorts. "I was thinking about it," you admit. "Thinking maybe I should move down into the sophomore class to keep an eye on them, make sure they didn't do anything stupid. Maybe keep an eye on Lindsay and the girls, make sure they don't figure out what's going on." You ignore the slit-eyed, sidelong glance Caleb is giving you. "But fuck it. I'm just gonna do my own thing. What about you?" you ask. "You thought about getting a new ID?" He scowls. "Every time someone tries that trick," he says, "it blows up in their new face. But I guess some people learn slower than others." * * * * * "Shit," you mutter as Caleb starts to pull into the Donna Courts. "It's Kim. I don't wanna run into her." The student council president is pushing a laundry cart across the parking lot. So Caleb does a massive and likely illegal U-turn, then makes an even spikier and more illegal dash across the boulevard to the Sunshine Cafe. "Jesus, it's like you're practicing to be a getaway driver," you snort at him. Inside—for there seems no better place to hang out—you're seated by a blonde kid your age who acts like he knows you because he greets you by name. "Who's that?" you mutter at Caleb after you're seated and have ordered a pot of coffee. "Sean Wilcox. Don't you know who anyone is except Tilley and me?" "Every time I meet someone new, it blows up in my face," you retort. If he catches your call back to his earlier jibe, he doesn't show it. "But how does he know me if I don't know him?" "You do know him, obviously, only you've got the memory of a sparrow and forgot." You hope he's right. Because, as there's now another one of you floating around, there's an alternative explanation. You're relieved that Sean, after dropping off the coffee, leaves you and Caleb alone to mumble at each other. Until after Caleb's left, that is. About twenty minutes into the coffee, he gets a text from Joe, asking for you guys to come back out to talk with them and Bhodi some more. You demur, but Caleb with a sigh rises and shuffles back out to the car. He's been gone about two minutes, and you're two minutes closer to boredom-induced insanity, when Sean stops at your table with a fresh pot. "So I heard Javits broke his fist on your face," he says. "It doesn't look like he did you any damage. I saw the shiner you gave him, though." He grins. And you almost shit yourself. This is much worse than being cornered by Kim. "Yeah, well," you mumble, "it wasn't a big thing." "Ooh, so modest. I also heard you impressed the fuck out of Patterson. Asshole's actually gonna give you a shot." He raises his hand for a high-five, but you're too baffled to follow through. Sean's brow furrows. "Isn't that right? That's what I heard." "Oh, yeah, he is," you stammer. He is what? "I just didn't know he told other people." "Well, I hear things." Sean smirks, then does a double-take out the window. "Hey, it's Terry," he says. "You comin' out to his place tomorrow?" ?!?!?!? "Uh ... maybe?" A minute later, a tall kid comes loping in. He's skinny, with a long face under soft brunette bangs that have been dyed blue. His eyelids fall heavily into a stoner's droop, but the eyes beneath are keen, and he studies you with twinkly amusement as, with long fingers, he puts a cigarette to his lips. "You're sick, man," he says around it, and raises his hand for a high-five. This time you remember to return the gesture, though you fumble the complicated handshake that follows. "Want you at my place tomorrow, wanna hear more stories about Chelsea's squirmy pussy. Sick!" "Jesus, take that thing outside," Sean snaps at him. "We're not zoned for it." Terry—that's who it must be—coolly blows a smoke ring in Sean's face. "I'll take this with me," he says as he twitches your ticket off the table. "You're covering that!" Sean calls after him. Terry just smirks over his shoulder as he saunters back out the door. * * * * * "Jesus!" Caleb hunches over with laughter as he falls into the motel room. You yank him inside and slam the door. "What's wrong?" he gasps, but his eyes are still dancing with amusement. "I'm still dodging Kim, and Sean, and Sean's friend Terry, and Seth Javits, apparently." You squeeze the bridge of your nose. "If I run into one more person who knows the famous Will Prescott, I'll—" "Then I just saved you," Caleb chortles. "I was just getting out of my car when this BMW pulls in. The girl driving it takes one look at me and does this massive U-turn and jumps back into the street. Didn't you hear all the horns blasting?" "No. Who was it?" He gives you a look. "How many people do we know who drive BMWs? It was Kelsey, dur. Man!" A dreamy look comes into his eye. "That's someone worth swapping bodies with!" The comment is on point, for now you're desperate to pull off a swap. * To swap with someone who can watch Gordon: "Someone to Watch Over Me" * To swap with someone big in the senior class: "The Bold and the Beautiful" * To swap with a senior who can watch over the sophomores: "The Bodyguard" |
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