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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Parties to a Plot"  You pretend to ignore what has happened—what else can you do?—and thank God the guys don't bring Ethan and Andrew over to rub it all in your face. * * * * * But the play for Webb has robbed the night of whatever little fun it still had. By ten-thirty you are pleading both a headache and an impending curfew as you beg friends for a ride a home. One of the juniors—a football player named Jason Rowe—offers to take you. To your distress, Michael asks for a ride too. "That was pretty fun," he says in his nasally whine when you're in the car, you in the front seat with Jason while Michael takes the back. He presses forward with his face almost next to yours. "I need to learn to have more fun at these things," you reply. "You had fun, didn't you? We danced, right?" "Yeah, that was fun," you lie. (Michael has feelings, and you're not going to tell him he danced like a marionette being operated by three quarrelling puppeteers.) "I just need to loosen up. I always get so tense at these things." "That's what a party's for, right? Loosening up?" "Yeah. So why can't I?" He laughs: a shrill whinny. "Maybe you need a massage?" "Mmm." You slide down before he gets the idea that he should try giving you one now. But you do admit, "I love massages." Michael titters: "Yeah-heh-heh-heh-heh?" "You ever have an adjustment?" Jason asks. He's concentrating on the road, and smoothly changes lanes even as he asks. "Huh? What's that?" Michael says. "It's like halfway between a massage and a visit to the chiropractor." "I've never been to a chiropractor," Michael says. "Me neither. Just an adjustment." "What do they do when they do an adjustment?" you ask. "They fiddle with you. That's what the one I saw did." Jason scrutinizes the rearview mirror. "She has a little shop downtown. I was having back problems, my folks were worried I hurt myself bad at one of our games, so they sent me to her." You glance over at Jason. He's tall and well-built for running and passing, not for blocking and tackling, so you can believe he might get badly hurt in a scrimmage. And he is also totally hot, with chocolate-brown hair that curls up in little spits; green eyes; and a sculpted face under a lofty, intelligent brow. Laura spent all evening sucking up to him and the other juniors she had coaxed out to her party, and she stared daggers when you lured him away to ferry you home. Not that you have any illusions that he might be interested in you. Interested in Lindsay, you hurriedly correct yourself, and blush hotly. He's still talking, describing his session. "Like, she pulls on you and stuff. You lay down and give her your arm and she pulls your finger." Michael laughs. "You let something rip when she did that?" "No. She just kind of pulled it and shook it. Anyway, when she got done I felt like she'd taken me all apart and oiled all the joints and put me back together again but without the screws being so tight. It totally fixed my back problems too." Talk shifts to other subjects after that. Jason drops you off first, and Michael gets out when you do. But instead of getting into the front seat, he follows you up the sidewalk to your front door. "Um," you say. "I was gonna walk you in," he explains. You tense all over. "You don't have to. Jason's waiting for you." "He can wait." There's an awkward pause. Then you turn to the house. Michael stops you when you're on the porch. "Hey, can I—? I mean, I have no idea if I'm any good at, um, giving massages. But—" There's a frozen moment of horror during which you think He's not going to do what I think he's going to do, is he?, and Michael stares down at you with eyes so wide that even in the dark the whites of them glow. But he does. He clasps the back of your neck with one hand, and with the other presses his fingertips into your backbone. You gasp and go rigid all over. It's like having a tiny dog dancing up and down your spine. You'd tell him that he has to press and push harder and deeper, but if you did then he'd try, and all you want is to get away from him with a minimal amount of embarrassment both to him and to yourself. "Yeah, that was nice," you mumble when he pauses, and you pull away. "Thanks for the um, talking and dancing at Laura's." "Yeah, I, uh, had fun too," he stammers. "I'll see you later." And even though you know it'll look awful, you lunge for the door and shove it open. "Whew, almost missed my curfew!" you shout back at him from inside, then slam the door on him. * * * * * Well, that was awkward and awful in ways you never want to think about again. You run upstairs (after greeting your parents and wishing them goodnight) and hurl yourself onto the bed. Your cell phone is already in your hand, and your thumbs fly over the screen: tell bhodi n them ull pick michsel, you text Caleb. There's nothing wrong with Michael, you tell yourself. He's not a bad-looking guy. He's got handsome, regular features; a healthy blush under his fading summer-time tan; and (when he bothers to take his ball cap off) a thatch of soft brown hair. He's tall and skinny, and his eyes sparkle with enthusiasm. Too bad it's such a dorky enthusiasm. So Caleb won't be able to complain. Your only objection to Michael is that he's a flailing incompetent at flirting, and putting Caleb in for him will at least put a stop to that. Otherwise— Well, yeah, he's kind of a ninny, but he'd fit in perfectly with Bhodi and his friends, so they're totally right to suggest him to Caleb as an impersonation. Hell, two years ago he'd have fitted in perfectly with you and Caleb and Keith. You slap your hands over your eyes and groan. Yeah, maybe that's what's so grating about him. You and your friends share about 99.9% of your personality DNA with him, and that's mortifying! * * * * * The next morning—Saturday—you text around to your girlfriends, looking for something to do. (You assume that Joe and Grant will be off with their newly body-swapped friends, working to acquire new identities of their own; and you've no desire to hang out with golems.) But Paulina has already laid plans for the day with Bhodi—it's remarkable how quickly they have fallen into the boyfriend/girlfriend thing—so it's Evie that you'll hang out with. Which is totally fine. In fact, on the mile-long bike ride to the small park (halfway between your houses) where you've agreed to meet and kick around a soccer ball, you play out in your imagination a long and heartfelt conversation. Lindsay has tried being a very supportive friend to Evie since her hijacking experience, but Evie hasn't wanted to talk a lot about it. But you fantasize about it now (as both yourself and as Lindsay) and imagine her opening up, and sharing with you exactly what it was like for her, and how she felt about you when you came and rescued her and confessed all to her. The little that Evie has said hasn't been very revealing. Even though she has defended "Will Prescott" somewhat, mostly (you have the impression) it is because Lindsay has been so vituperative. You would like to see what she has to say when Lindsay isn't trying to suggest that he be dragged from his house and thrown in the river and there held down until a catfish eats him. Yes, you've got grand plans for a real heart-to-heart with Evie. So imagine your chagrin when, on arriving, hot and blown, at the park, you get a text from her saying that something's come up and she can't meet you. * * * * * You're back home at four o'clock when the text from Michael comes: hey last night was great thought we could hang out this evening you up for it? You come real close to replying that you've got family commitments, but then reflect that you should probably keep him interested, at least until he donates his body and identity to Caleb. So you arrange for him to pick you up at five. "Hey, so wha'd you do today?" he asks as he walks you out to his car on loping legs. He's back in his usual school clothes of jeans, sneakers, a gray hoodie, and the trucker cap—which in truth is hardly different from your own wardrobe. "I hung out with my friend Evie this morning," you lie. His eyes and mouth light up. "Yeah? Evie's pretty cool. I mean, really cool. Is that what you mostly do, hang out with your girlfriends?" Your hand collide as you reach for the car door simultaneously. "I hang out with lots of people," you tell him as he opens it for you. "Usually do group stuff. One on one dates are kind of unusual with me." You get in. "Yeah, kind of weird for me too," he says, and slams the door on you. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit, you mutter as he hops around the car toward the driver's side door. It's like he's got pogo sticks for legs. "So where do you want to hang out now?" you ask as he gets in. "Oh, I dunno, wherever you want." He puts the key in the ignition but doesn't turn it. "Someplace just the two of us, though?" he asks with a wet, worried look. Your voice dies in your throat as you see the puppy-like ardor deep inside his soft brown eyes. Then his grin turns impish. "But don't worry that I'm gonna touch you," he says. "Even though Bhodi and them are all, like, Lindsay totally needs to get laid, you should totally try going all the way with her." Next: "Fakes on a Date" |
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