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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Flirting with Success"  by Masktrix Your extra-curricular hobby – if stealing people’s faces can really be counted as a hobby – is already draining you when it comes to schoolwork. But two brains are better than one, and if you can’t get Caleb to do your homework, you might as well try Alex Day. At the very worst, it’ll give you a new perspective on the girls at your school tomorrow. You’re still wondering what Alex’s mind might teach you when you pull into the driveway and head to the garage, stuffing the fans into the truck ready for delivering to the theater. Then it’s into your home, where you’re immediately greeted (or assaulted) by some kind of fresh alpine scent – your mom must still be on her cleaning obsession. “Hey, Will,” your mom calls as you pass the lounge. “You just missed your friends.” You pause, peeking around the corner. Your mom and dad are watching TV. “What friends?” “Your friends,” she says. “Frank and Joe. I told them that you’d be out late, so they said they’d stop around tomorrow.” “Oh, OK,” you say, confused. Frank and Joe… as in the guys who were at Monte Viso’s when the windmill was demolished? What the hell do they want with you? “And remind Caleb I expect him at Salopek promptly after school,” your dad adds. “This is a job, they don’t let you come and go as you please.” “They don’t let you do that at school, either,” you reply. It gets only a stern look from your father, and you wonder what it’s about. Then you realize Salopek probably did a background check on Caleb with the school and noticed a day of unauthorized absence. “I’ll remind him,” you say with a reassuring smile, before heading up to your room and slipping on the mind band. Homework? Fuck, you’re boring. Look at this room, my dude. What you need is to screw up everything and reinvent yourself. Normally when I ask someone to let the Guru into their heart, I’m talking fucking figuratively. There are much more interesting things in life than homework… You blink, and suppress Alex’s urges to bail on your assignments and go do something far more interesting. Spray paint a wall. Create art and beauty. Go mess with Robert’s head, show him that there’s more to his older brother than he thinks. Or you could always take a little personal time. You shut your eyes, letting Alex’s mind replay hazy nights at The Warehouse, mixing fast dancing and sweaty bodies with the taste of guys on her lips, the feeling of beers and pills electrifying her body, and her vision filled with Izzy and Rae, her two friends, dancing without a care. You can’t help but settle into the memory, and without even noticing you drift into a deep, sweet sleep. *** You jar yourself awake, and almost immediately realize you’ve slept through your alarm. There’s no time to do homework, and barely enough time to rush downstairs and grab breakfast – and another pointed reminder from your father that Caleb needs to be prompt at Salopek – before you head to Westside. You manage to doze through first period, but you're jolted awake second period when you hear your name called. “William Prescott,” Mr Hawks says. “Why don’t you read your essay first?” Shit! You completely forgot you were due to hand in an assignment for Film-as-Lit. You feel your face turn white, and your pulse quickens as you know you haven’t got anything – not even a good excuse. “Well, Mr Prescott?” Hawks says. “We’re waiting.” He pauses and gives you a stern eye. “Where is your essay? And don’t tell me the dog ate it.” You gulp, trying to recover from a throat that’s suddenly scorched to dryness. Film-as-Lit is supposed to be bullshit, and yet you know how seriously Hawks takes his tour of crappy old movies, and any slacking is going to result in him coming down hard on you. Then, without warning, you feel a placid calmness. It’s not a reassuring calm, or a confidence that you can get out of it. It’s the calm of a center of a hurricane: a dead space that simply does not care about the consequences of the chaos it brings about it. And it’s at that point you remember you haven’t taken off Alex’s mind band. Relax, my dude. Let the Guru take the wheel. “Actually, sir, I memorized it,” you lie, standing up from your desk and walking to the front of the class. You give Hawks a wink as you turn to the rest of the class. “Art, bitches!” you begin, causing shocked gasps and giggles to erupt. “Art is the act of creation. But art can also be seen in destruction, including that of a person. And, either creative or destructive, it is constantly distorted by the prism of the viewer – the unreliable narrator in us all. In this essay, I will demonstrate that Charles Foster Kane is a work of art, rather than his folly of Xanadu or the papers to which he dedicated his life…” You stop after five minutes, your jaw aching, and a smug grin on your face. Alex is forced every year to watch that stupid-ass movie with her family, who apparently saw something of Kane in their own history. She can recite parts verbatim even if she doesn’t want to, and her artist’s instinct knows how to pick apart interpretation. You give a slight cough, and turn to Hawks. In a single, continuous diatribe you’ve analysed and debunked each of Hawks’ own theories about the movie that he’s been pushing for the past few weeks. There’s a silence in the room. Then Hawks mutters a long, drawn out hmm. “B plus,” he says. “Back to your seat, Mr Prescott.” *** The rest of the day passes quickly enough, and you remind Caleb to head to Salopek – getting a withering response from him that yes, dude, he remembers. As soon as the bell signals the end of the day, you make your way to the parking lot and your truck. To your surprise, there’s already a boy about your age leaning against it. He’s blonde, good looking, athletic, and has an easy, sunny smile on his face. You don’t recognize him yourself, but Alex does. Joe Durras, her mind informs you. Him and his brother Frank just moved to Eastman, and quickly made a splash and made themselves two of the most popular guys at the school. Not that Alex is unimpressed, though. My man, he’s already decided who and what he is, she tells you. He is beyond help. “Hey!” Joe calls as you walk up. “You’re Will Prescott, right? Boy, you’re a hard man to pin down. I’m Joe. Nice to meet you.” He thrusts his hand out, and you shake it warily. “Uh, hi,” you manage to stumble out. “Yeah, my mom said you and someone else came around last night.” “Right,” Joe says, smile never wavering. “My brother Frank. You making a robot or something?” “Huh?” Your nerves prickle, and you blink in confusion as you try to sort out why there are warning bells going off in your head. “Those fans in the bed of your truck. Unless you’re looking to ventilate somewhere, the only reason you’d need this junk is for spare parts. Y’know, build a death robot, crash it into other death robots. That your thing?” “Uh, not really.” Watch out, Alex is telling you. I knew there was something funny about these guys as soon as I met them. They're almost too on the level to be legit. “I was hoping we could grab a bite to eat, talk,” Joe says. “My treat. Believe me when I say it’s important. It’s about the elementary school in Acheson. Oh! Don’t worry man!” He grins, slapping you warmly on the arm. “It’s nothing bad. I just need your help with some stuff. I’m guessing you can answer a few questions that have been itching at me, is all.” Holy shit, this guy’s a narc! Alex screams at you. I can smell the narc all over him! Him and his 'brother' are straight out of 21 Jump Street! He’s an undercover cop, dumbass, sent to infiltrate high schools – he thinks you’re supplying weed or some shit! Bail before you end up in jail! You have just enough self control to not bolt. But while Alex is telling you to fake a trip back into the school, and to find another way home, that would be way too dramatic for Will Prescott. And even if Joe is an undercover cop you’ve got nothing to worry about. Next: "Spoofing the Interrogation" |
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