The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)

Courtship at the Food Court

Previously: "A Cindy in Your Eye" 

There's more dividends to be collected by playing Seth, you figure. Not only will you have this beautiful creature—

Two beautiful creatures, Sydney and Cindy.

—for a girlfriend, but you'll have stepped up into the alpha class and into the skin of someone who can make the lives of your ex-friends extra miserable.

But it's a close-run decision, made under pressure as Sydney with folded arms and a tapping toe awaits your response. If you'd answered a little later ... or a little sooner ... you might have flipped the other way.

"I'll take Seth," you croak. "You can be, uh—"

"I'll be happy to be," Sydney assures you. "Now if you'll excuse us."

Her hand goes to the top button of her blouse. You feel a brief flare of anger. She's going to be coy about getting undressed in front of you? Does this mean she's going to be frigid with you after the changeover?

But you tamp back the unworthy thought, and as you turn toward the door you get a wild, exciting idea.

"What are you going to do after, you know—" You gesture at Cindy, sprawled unconscious on Sydney's bed.

"I'll go off with you," Sydney says. She looks puzzled. "We'll go find Seth. I thought—"

"Can you come find me—?" You ponder where a good meeting place might be. "The mall. The food court," you finally suggest with a helpless lack of imagination. "Come as Cindy."

"Sure." But Sydney still looks puzzled.

"I mean, as Cindy. Being Cindy. Like, you're Cindy and you went up to the mall to go shopping, and when you see me there it'll be, like, on accidnet, and—"

"Oh!" Sydney's brow clears, and her expression turns puckish. "You mean ... role-playing?"

Your heart leaps. "Yeah! But— With a twist." You flap your hands in the air, as though to sculpt a suggestion that you can't quite visualize.

"Alright, Will," Sydney says. "I'll see you up there in ... half an hour?"

"The food court."

"I know."

"At the mall."

"I know, Will." Gently, she pushes you toward the door.

You run for your truck, and almost faint with excitement—black dots swarm before your eyes—after you're behind the wheel.

* * * * *

You have your phone out and are surfing social media sites. But your eyes don't register anything, and if your finger flicks over the screen, it's only out of robotic habit, not because you're reading or searching.

The food court is chilly, and it's very, very white. The floor is a hard, bony tile, and the sunlight filters through a gauzy skylight to suffuse the open-aired atrium with a milky glow. A fountain sprays and splashes nearby.

Your idea is a variation on something Sydney said yesterday, about getting together with Cindy to make the switch, then coming to find you. Cindy has always been haughty toward you, never looking at you if she could help it, and certainly never saying anything to you. The only times she has ever been close to you—except for one class last year, when she sat one desk over and one desk forward of you—is when she's come outside to eat lunch with Jenny Ashton and/or Yumi Saito, to talk about girl stuff. You can only console yourself that she never has anything to say to Caleb or to Keith, either.

Though she sometimes has things to say to Carson Ioeger and James Lamont. Not mean or cutting things, either. But it's clear she has more respect for them.

Anyway, Cindy is one of those girls who is just way too good for you, even if she can't be bothered to say so herself. So as you sip on an overpriced cola and munch on some cold French fries from a fast-food kiosk, you are quivering with excitement. Cindy Vredenburg is coming up to the mall to meet me! And to talk to me!

No, you quickly correct yourself. She's not coming up here "to talk to me." It's important that you frame it right so that you get the right kind of role-playing thrill. She's just coming up here, is all.

Oh, but how do I know she's coming up here? you ask yourself.

Okay, I heard she was coming up here. She's coming up here to do some shopping, and I thought— Hell, I'll go put myself in her sightline. Call to her like she's a friend when I see her. She'll probably ignore me, but at least she'll look in my direction. Maybe she'll even smile at me. What kind of a smile? Don't expect too much, Will, you pretend to chide yourself. (It's like you're trying to hypnotize yourself into believing the make-believe story you're spinning.) She'll probably just make a face at me. Well, fuck her if she does.

You briefly flush with a twinge of real resentment.

Out of nowhere, a hard hand claps you on the shoulder. You almost fly out of your chair.

With a harsh laugh, a brawny, brown-skinned dude steps from behind your chair to grin down at you. So astonished—and frightened—are you that it takes you an absurdly long time to connect a name and biography to the face.

And to the three other faces that crowd around to grin at you.

"Hey, Will." Laurent Delacroix, the captain of the wrestling team chortles at you. "So, you up here chillin' with fries and a movie on your phone?"

You stare back with a slack jaw.

"You meeting someone?" asks Marc Garner, the captain of the soccer team. He cranes his neck to look around the food court.

"Uh— uh— g'uh," you stammer.

"Yeah, we're bustin' in on him," says a guy whose blonde hair sticks in spit curls from under a ski cap. He grins and kneads the top of your head through your ball cap. "Is she here yet?"

"Is who here yet?" you ask. Your breath is coming in short, painful gasps.

The four guys—Delacroix, Garner, the guy in the ski cap, and Austin Dougherty (another soccer player)—lean back on their heels behind folded arms to guffaw openly at each other.

Somehow this is worse—so much worse—than when those assholes hauled you out to the portables the other day.

Not that Delacroix and the others are assholes. You've actually carry around a pretty positive impression of them, especially Garner, whose always been chipper and friendly to you when he's caught you talking to his sisters (Eva and Jessica), though he hardly ever notices you otherwise. But they're clustered around your table now while you're waiting to meet a girl ... who is Seth Javits's girlfriend.

If these guys see you with Cindy, and say anything to Seth before you can make the switch with him ...

Your heart, already beating wildly, threatens to jackhammer its way through your breastbone.

"What are you guys doing up here?" you blurt out.

"Killin' time before a show," Laurent says. The movie theater is next door. "Gonna go hassle Brownie, watch a show, stay after and watch him clean up the mess we make in the aisles." He nudges Marc in the arm, and guffaws.

"So where's Sydney?" Austin Dougherty asks. He stares down at you over a tilted chin, from under a wild mane of dark brown hair that floats and shivers as he tilts his head. His gaze is shrewd and penetrating.

"Sydney?" you squeak.

The moment hangs, and you watch in horror as the open-mouthed grins of the four athletes turn hungry.

"She's late, I guess," you stammer.

Their eyes come alive, and they explode with laughter. You fight the urge to crawl under the table.

Laurent sucks in his upper lip, then drops heavily into the chair opposite you—the chair you'd been saving for "Cindy." You are suddenly highly conscious of how massive his torso is, and how brawny his arms are as he leans them on the table top. His coffee-dark hair glistens in the milky light of the food court.

"I heard you had some trouble with some guys out at the portables," he says in a deep, low voice. He holds your eye. "Don't let 'em fuck with you, man. That girl is worth grabbing and holding onto with both hands."

There's murmurs of agreement from the other three.

"And I'll tell you something else, man," Laurent continues. "If you do lose hold of her, and I—" He punctuates the personal pronoun by punching the Formica top with a hard forefinger. "If I get wind of it in time. Well—" He sucks on a tooth. "You just better figure on me getting in there and up inside her faster than anyone else at school." He settles back comfortably into the chair. "You think long and hard about that before you go doing something stupid like losing hold of her."

The other three burst into raucous jeers. But Laurent doesn't laugh. He just continues to hold your eye.

Before you can figure out why he is telling you this—other than so he can swing his muscle-bound dick in your face—the scene is interrupted by a cry of feminine delight. "Who are these sexy beasts hanging around here?"

Marc and Austin turn and part to make room for Cindy Vredenburg to slide in between. Her eyes shine as she glances from one brawny athlete to the next, and she slips a slim hand around Marc's arm. She's greeted by guttural cries of "Hey! Cindy!"

You can't find your tongue, so you can only sit and watch helplessly as the other four start to shamelessly flirt with her. You are an afterthought—if even that—when they ask if she wants to go see the show with them. She hungrily agrees.

There's a cold, hard spot where your heart used to be when she turns to you and says, "You wanna come too, Will?"

Next: "A Special Effects Extravaganza" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 4)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)"