%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Straight and Tarot"  "Look, don't text her," you urge Caleb. He glares at you. "If she didn't text you to cancel or change your plans, it's 'cos something came up. If you go charging in all mad, you'll just screw things up for yourself. Trust me on this." "I've trusted you so far and look how screwed up everything is!" "Jesus, man! How is any of it my fault?" "You had my phone, cocksucker! If I'd had it I could'a—" "And you'd'a said the wrong thing. Something must'a gone wrong on her end," you insist. "Maybe someone got sick. Maybe she got sick. Maybe her dad had a heart attack and she's at the hospital! Dude!" You grasp Caleb's arm as he blinks and pales at your suggestion. "Either she's a bitch and a flake and you're better off not getting mixed up with her, or something bad happened. That's how come you shouldn't even talk to her tomorrow." His eyes bulge. "I shouldn't what?" "Talk to her. In class. Just go in there and see if she's there, see what she says or does. If she comes over to tell you what happened, then you'll know what it's all about. If she just ignores you"—which she totally will, probably—"then you'll know she's just a flake." He glowers. "I still think I should talk to her. In case she just got the days confused." "I'll talk to her," you assure him. "It'll be less embarrassing for her if she just flaked out that way." Caleb grumbles, but after a little more argument he agrees to leave things to you. Because (you can tell) he's totally terrified of her and is scared of throwing up on her shoes if he tries talking to her. * * * * * You check out Sydney's card when you get home. It's a really fancy thing: thick, creamy card stock, and her name engraved in golden letters in a fancy font—Copperplate, it looks like. What's really odd is that it looks like she's got a logo to go with it. It's a line drawing of a face, and it takes you a moment to recognize it as a copy of the queen of hearts or queen of spades or some queen like that off a deck of playing cards. You set the card on your knee as you prop up on your bed with your cell phone. Hey sydney this is will prescott i am a friend of caleb he said i should text you if that is ok. Your heart leaps up the back of your throat as you hit the "send" button. You're a lot more nervous talking to her, even by text, under your own name and identity than you were under Caleb's. It's a solid minute before she replies: Hi Will Nice to meet you. Your thumbs tremble as you tap in the sequel. This is either going to get you in good, or it will totally blow any chance you have of scooping her away from Caleb for yourself: Caleb says your into magic and stuff so am i and he thinks we could talk about it. For an agonizing five seconds you hesitate to send it. Could you rewrite it to sound better? Better to just get it out, you pant quietly to yourself, than to make things look weird by dragging it out. You flinch hard as you hit "Send." Your heart sinks as the cell remains silent for a couple of minutes. You gnaw your lip. Your thumbs twitch. Should you send a follow up? Your heart explodes when three animated dots appear at the bottom of the screen: She's replying! Sounds cool Do we have classes together? Your heart nearly explodes. no maybe meet after school talk the crystal cave? "Send" Gah! Your reply (now that you read it) leaves you sounding like a moron. Love Crystal Cave! Meet tomorrow night? You leap around your room, pounding your fist in the air and whooping softly to yourself, and you can hardly restrain yourself from throwing the window up and screeching into the night. Your brow breaks out in a hot sweat as with shaking thumbs you tap out: works for me tlk tmrw set time? Her reply: Sure! You collapse onto your bed, feeling like you've just run a mile. Is this what love is like? You never felt this way with Lisa. On the other hand, Lisa didn't look like Hollywood's idea of the head cheerleader at a Hollywood high school. You grind an eyeball with the heel of your hand, and reflect on how funny it is that hadn't noticed Sydney before, and that no one has ever talked about her in earshot of you. * * * * * "Jesus Christ, Prescott!" Carson Ioeger brays. "We talk about her all the time! Get the fucking wax out of your ears!" It's Wednesday, lunch time, and as seems to be becoming habitual, you're taking it with Carson and James and Jenny and Paul. Maybe your conscience is bothering you, but you don't like hanging out with Caleb anymore. In English he gave you a hopeful frown when you came in. You asked him what Sydney said or did in second period, and he grumbled that she smiled at him—"But it didn't look friendly." You tell him that you tried talking to her at her locker, but she gave you the cold shoulder when you dropped Caleb's name. That lie left him slouching and muttering to himself, and he probably wouldn't have been good company at lunch even if your gut wasn't twisting with guilt over the treacherous way you've been treating him. You had another reason for eating with Carson and his friends: You were hoping Yumi Saito or Lin Pol or maybe even Cindy Vredenburg would show up, as they sometimes do. Being cheerleaders, they might give you some clue about what the squad itself knows or thinks about Sydney. But they didn't, and it was left to you to broach her as a topic. "Well, excuse me for not knowing who she was," you retort. "Have you guys been jerking off to her? Bragging about jerking off to her? I didn't know she was someone special!" "When did you figure out she was someone special?" "Someone pointed her out to me." You dodge their eyes; you don't want to mention Caleb's name in connection with her. "And I was, like, how come I haven't noticed her before?" "Maybe you're gay," James suggests. "What?" he replies to your glare. "It happens. Just ask Charles Hartlein." "Will isn't gay," Carson says. "Having your head up your own ass doesn't make you gay." "What makes you say I've got my head up my ass?" "'Cos it's the only way you could come to school without noticing Sydney McGlynn. Christ." "But isn't she new?" You look at Jenny, who has been hunkered down over her cell phone. "Didn't you say this is her first year at Westside?" Carson doesn't give her a chance to answer. "Like that matters. You don't notice half of the insanely sexy girls at this school. Jesus!" He sits up and, like a ground hog scoping out the open plains for predators, gazes around the quad. "It's like someone's been conducting genetic experiments and trying to breed only the most beautiful girls possible." "I think I notice!" "Yeah?" Carson's lip curls. "Name six." The challenge momentarily staggers you. "Um. Sydney," you gasp out. "Chelsea Cooper." That's a gimme, but you cast a nervous glance at Jenny, who despises the head cheerleader; but she's still preoccupied with her phone. "Um." James's lips twitch. "Lisa Yarborough?" "Fuck you!" But James only laughs at your reaction to your ex-girlfriend's name. "See what I mean?" Carson says. "You can't name more than two." "Can you name more than two?" you spit back. "Who do you want me to name? Yumi?" You glance at Paul, who suffers an ill-concealed puppy-dog crush on her. "Jenny here?" You glare at James. Now Jenny reacts. "Fuck you all," she says, and snatches up her lunch. "I'm gonna eat in the library." She stalks off. James glares at you, but Carson rolls onto his back with a happy sigh. "At last. I thought she'd never leave." "You wanted to get rid of her?" "Sure." He slides the heel of his hand up and down his crotch. "Now we can really talk dirty about Andrea Varnsworth and Josie Holden and Phoebe Beauchamp—" "And Kendra and Gloria?" James snickers. "Maria?" "Ha! Ellie Kemp. Catherine Muskov." "Julia Paez." "Alright, alright!" you shout. "So I'm oblivious!" But Carson isn't listening. He ticks off names against all ten fingers while gazing dreamily at the sky. And when he's done with his fingers he kicks his shoes off and waggles his toes inside his socks as he rattles off more names. * * * * * It embarrasses you that you weren't able to come up with some of those names off the top of your head. It embarrasses you further that even now you're not totally sure who some of those girls Carson mentioned are. Alana Ocampo? Madison Fortney? You half suspect that Carson is just making shit up, and that most of the girls he named would turn out to be dogs if you went looking. So you keep alert as you push your way through the halls to your sixth-period class. And that's how you bump directly into Sydney, who is pushing the other way. Her expression brightens when she sees you. "Hey, are you Caleb's friend?" she shouts over the crowd. "Will ... Peterson?" "Prescott," you gasp back. "Yeah!" Someone jostles you into her, and you almost pass out with excitement at brushing up against her. "Ng'um—" "I have gymnastics after school," she says. "Can we meet still tonight? The Crystal Cave? At seven?" "Works for me!" "Cool!" She gives you a smile like something out of a toothpaste commercial, and sidles past. "See you then!" Only after she's gone do you wonder that she recognized you. Next: "Date with an Angel" |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
