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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Girls with Plans"  You have to poke Blake a second time before he turns to face you; behind him, his friend Erik Carstairs smirks down at you. It's weird being this close up to Blake. Weird to have him looking down at you blankly without knowing that you're really the guy (he thinks) who stole Sydney out from under his nose. Weird to have the scent of his hoodie and the musk of his skin floating up your nostrils. Weirdest of all to look into his face and to be able to think, I know you, Blake, I know all about you, I've been you. I've been inside your head and I've been inside your skin and I know what it is like to be you. And if I wanted to I could be you again, here, at school with your friends or at home with your family, and no one would guess it wasn't you anymore. Because I would look and talk and strut and smell just like you. You asshole. "Hey," he growls back. His dark, watchful eyes rake you from ankles up to your eyebrows in one hard, fast glance. "So when are you going to ask me out?" It's the line you settled on last night as you were trying on dresses to wear while making the approach. It seemed the kind of coldly confident line that Amanda would use on a guy if she absolutely knew that he was crazy for her, and if she was interested in him. Blake blinks once, slowly. Behind him, Erik stifles a guffaw. You say nothing, but only frown from under a lifted eyebrow. Blake sucks in a cheek. "What do you mean?" he asks. "What do you think I mean? Are you ever going to ask me out? Because you don't act like you are." Blake blinks again. Erik shoves him in the shoulder. "I didn't know it was a thing," Blake says. "You didn't know what was a thing? Asking girls out?" "No." He glances around, then leans in close, so that you feel his breath on your face. "I didn't know it was a thing I could do with you. Asking you out." "Why not?" His expression tightens. "So, are you asking me out?" "No. I'm asking when you're going to ask me out. You don't have to, you know," you continue. "You've done a freaking great job of not asking me out all year so far, and all last year too. It's like one of the things you do best, not asking me out. Maybe you stay up late getting extra practice at it, not asking me out?" Behind him, Erik claps his hands over his face and slides out of sight to the floor. You tilt your chin and peer up at Blake. "I'm not telling you that you have to ask me out, Blake," you tell him. "That's totally up to you. But if you're going to ask me out, can you at least give me some idea of when that might be?" His jaw works. "Um," he says, "later on today?" "That's fine," you say. "Was that so hard?" With a sniff you turn your back on him and stride off to your first-period class. * * * * * Which is Sociology with Mr. Walberg, the same first-period class you had when you were Will Prescott. A sloppy, straw-headed kid answering to that name is already slumped in a desk when you walk in, and his eyes dart expectantly up at you. You only give him the briefest of glances—which is more than Amanda usually gives—before taking your seat in front of Kelsey. After hanging your bag on the back of the chair, you lean over her desk to say, "Deanna heard all about Geoff and Lisa Saturday night." You cast a meaningful glance past her, to where Geoff and Lisa are sitting, studying their cell phones. "Fsh, no surprise," Kelsey mutters. "What's she saying?" "That things got wild at your place." "Oh, God!" Kelsey whips around to glare at the two lovebirds, then leans in to hiss at you. "I wasn't going to say anything about it to them, you know—" "Why not, it was your house they were dry-humping each other in, right in front of—" "Because I don't want to be a bitch about it, Amanda. But I guess I'm going to have to. God! You know, if they'd just gone and done it in the laundry room or something, that would have been— Well, no. I was going to say it would have been alright, nothing a little air freshener couldn't have cleared up. But if people are talking about it—" "You can't let it get around," you agree. "You don't let that kind of thing go on at your place. Not like the stuff Meghan lets go on at her parties." Kelsey's eyes glint. She'll never thank you for it, but for the rest of the week that'll be the line she's bound to try trot out: I don't tolerate that kind of shit at my place. If people want that kind of action, Meghan Farris will be glad to oblige. Kelsey hisses at you a little more, and when Brooke sits down behind, she turns to hiss at her, demanding to know what she's heard and what she's said about Geoff and Lisa. By the look of confusion on Brooke's face, you can tell that this is mostly all new to her. And behind Brooke you watch out of the corner of your eye as Caleb sits beside Will and totally ignores his former best friend. * * * * * It's humbling to discover that Mr. Walberg's class, which was one of the most challenging on your schedule, is Amanda's designated blow-off class. But after his Sociology class you have a solid run of AP classes: AP Calculus, AP Physics I, AP German IV; and after lunch AP English IV and AP European History. Only at the end of school do you have a study hall of sorts: Student Congress. It should be given over to research and mock debates, but Mrs. Wendt turns a blind eye by letting the members break up into "committees" to "study" "legislative issues"—which is a fig leaf for forming study groups where one kid does all the work while everyone else does homework. But then: It's the way most committees work, she has said the class. A couple of people on the committee do all the work and the rest try to catch a free ride and hope they don't get caught out. It's up to you whether you want to make the same gamble. That's why your "committee" is made up of yourself, Kelsey, and Ricky, with Ricky doing all the work. He won't dare fuck anything up, not with his girlfriend and her best friend riding on his ass. That leaves you and Kelsey free to concentrate on math homework. But Kelsey's got other news when she slides into the seat next to yours. "Is Sydney McGlynn still pestering you?" she asks. When you shrug—yes, you got a text from Sydney asking to meet up after school; but you're not going to admit to that unless there's profit in it—she says, "Well, get together with her. You and me and her. This afternoon." Across the table, Ricky glances up. He's poker-faced, despite clearly noticing that he is not included in Kelsey's directive. "Why would you want to do that?" you ask Kelsey. "You didn't hear what happened to her boyfriend?" "Boyfriend?" A penny drops. "Oh." "You did hear!" "No, I just forgot she had one." Kelsey smirks. "Well, maybe not for long she won't. David Kirkham got hold of him at lunch." Oh, shit. You were basically hoping that Kirkham wasn't going to follow through on his threats. But you keep your expression neutral. "What happened?" "That's what I want to find out. It was about Sydney, from what I heard. David was going on about her, like—" She glances around and leans in close. "What he wanted to do to her, and how much she was going to love it." Her glance turns very prim and very knowing. "Oh God." You shudder in horrified sympathy for your double. Really, better him than you, but it so easily could have been and should have been you. "Freaking creep." "Well, what I want to know is, is she going to stand for it?' "Who, Sydney? What can she do?" "She can break up with Will for a start. It would be best for him anyway. She's totally out of his class," she adds with a sniff. Anger boils up in your veins, but you affect to be neutral. "What, you want to try talking her into breaking up with him?" "We should just explain the facts to her." "Since when do you give a shit about Sydney? Or about Will?" She gives you a withering look. "I don't. But like I say, we should explain the facts to her. Like the fact that her boyfriend is going to break up with her. Because Will is not the kind of guy to stand up for himself against guys like David." You clench your toes hard inside your boots. But: "I'll see what I can set up," you tell Kelsey. * * * * * You're on your way out to the student parking lot when someone catches your elbow. It's Erik Carstairs. "Hey," he says with a smirk. "You serious about going out with Blake?" You jerk away. "I didn't say I was going to go out with him. I said—" "Cut the shit. Are you looking to trade in your current boyfriend for new model? 'Cos you are dating someone." Sydney wants a mask, preferably this afternoon. Erik has just put himself down as fourth on a list of potentials. Next: "A Girlfriend Becomes a Best Friend" |
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