This choice: Keep playing on the team • Go Back...Chapter #37The Life of Timothy Johnson by: Seuzz   Fleetingly, the thought that you could double-cross Patterson flashes through your mind, but you put it aside. This really does seem to be a sign that you have arrived, and that he is willing to treat you as a peer and not just a subordinate.
"Okay, better get changed," the other you says. "I don't remember if Johnson has places to go and girls to do, but meeting up with me was not on his agenda for today."
"Am I supposed to keep this a secret from Caleb and Keith?" you ask as you pick up the new mask.
Patterson runs his tongue along his bottom lip.
"Well, I can't stop you," he says. "But they might get kind of jealous. Maybe you should keep it quiet until you get your team picked out. I won't play any mind games with them—" He flashes a quick, mischievous smile. "I'll just tell them I'm covering for you while you're out on a tricky job."
"That sounds pretty good, I guess." You take a deep breath and drop to the floor. "Well, here goes ..."
* * * * *
Patterson has already left by the time you wake up, though he has left three blank masks behind. You sit up with a start and glance up and down at yourself. There's no mirror, but— Strong arms and legs. Nicely developed chest. Flat stomach. You clench your fists and grunt, then scramble over to the clothes. Wrinkled boxers, ankle socks, loose-cut jeans, white t-shirt and a short-sleeve button-down shirt (which you don't tuck in) and sneakers. Downstairs, in the car, you check yourself out in the rear-view mirror, even though you know what you'll find: hazel eyes framing a strong but not overly prominent nose and a wide mouth that relaxes easily into a smile; short, sandy hair that lays down flat without fighting you. It's an open, trustworthy face, that of a dependable, loyal friend. A little gleam comes into your eye: Timothy Johnson is just about the last person anyone would suspect of treachery.
* * * * *
"I'm home," you shout as you let the door slam behind you.
"Julianna called!" your mother shouts back from the living room. "She says she couldn't get you on your phone."
"I had it in my bag." You step into the living room, where you find Leah Johnson on her laptop. "Am I picking up supper for us?"
"If you don't mind," she says. "Money is on the end table by the door. Get one of those rotisserie chickens from the Valu-Mart."
"Chips, potato salad, what kind of sides?"
"Ask your sister. I forget what her latest ethical stance is."
You grin and lean over her shoulder to peer at the screen: another email to the district councilman. "You wouldn't let your children starve while you're out saving the wilderness area, would you?"
"Your sister may starve yet, the way she keeps adding to her list of things she won't eat."
"I'll buy her a gun, and she can eat free-range out."
"You're turning out more and more like your father with each passing day," she replies, and you know she doesn't mean it as a compliment. You mollify her with a quick peck to the cheek, and swagger off down the hall. You fling your kit into the room on one side while rapping hard at the door on the other. "Jade! I'm starving! Tell me what you want for dinner!" There's a scrambling sound and low voices from inside. "Jade!" you call again. "Come on, quit screwing around!"
The door opens a little, and Jade Johnson peers out: a long, narrow face made narrower by long, black hair that drapes down each side of it. You look at her with a tight smile, then glance up to see her "soul mate," Derek, slouching against the window sill on the far side of the room, arms crossed, glaring darkly back at you.
"What are you picking up?" Jade asks in a sullen tone.
"Rotisserie chicken," you reply. "What do you want with it?"
"Crap," she says: a word that effortlessly combines her world view, her opinion of rotisserie chicken, and her reaction to dinner plans. "Whatever."
"I can pick you up some veal or seal," you josh. "Mmm. Freshly clubbed baby seal." She doesn't even react. "Potato salad? Canned corn? What?" you ask more seriously.
"Processed crap," she replies. "Get whatever you want."
"Is he eating with us?" You glance back up at Derek.
"I'll take supper in my room."
"That doesn't answer my—"
"Fuck off." She slams the door.
You chuckle grimly to yourself, even though it's not funny, just stupid. As far as you can see, Derek Forney is a ninth-grade nihilist preying on middle school girls like Jade, and probably picked Jade out precisely because she was Timothy's sister. Part of Timothy wants to thrash him, but that would just make him into a martyr and piss Jade off. The other part of Timothy just wants to laugh at and ignore the little beast. Obviously, he's chasing after vulnerable girls because he thinks he'd have no chance with anyone who is actually—
You pause in mid-stride on the way back out to your car. There's a thought there. An ambitious, unscrupulous and deeply insecure little prick like Derek Forney might be just the kind of person who would grab the advantages the masks would give. On the drive out to the supermarket you play with the idea of making him one of your subordinates, testing it against your gut.
Inside the market, though, you take out your phone. Yeah, there's a missed call from Julianna. There's also one from your dad, but you can put that off for later. "Sorry I missed you," you tell Julianna when she picks up. "My phone was at the bottom of my kit."
"No emergency. I just wanted to see if you were free to grab something to eat."
"I'm grabbing something right now. I'm in the frozen food aisle at the store. Talk to me, and I'll start defrosting the pizzas."
She giggles, then sighs. "Not a big deal. Has Jonathan said anything more about, you know, Christmas plans?"
"I think he was just making noise," you say as you pull out a bag of frozen veggies.
"I'd love a ski trip," she moans. "If he's serious about that—"
"Straussler's never serious about anything until it happens," you caution her. "You can't work him into inviting you or me along. If it happens, it'll happen, and it's almost three months away."
"I know. Maybe I should start hanging out with Monique."
You snort, and saunter around the corner into the bread aisle. "Stop campaigning," you tell Julianna. "It's not another election. You already won one election, you don't need—"
"Well, if you'd campaigned more you'd have got the senior class presidency."
"Kade's doing fine." That's what you say out loud, though some of Timothy's own thoughts well up unbidden. If I hadn't let you talk me into running the senior/junior elections as a "team ticket" of boyfriend and girlfriend, I probably would have gotten elected. Oh, hell, even without that "ticket" idea, your running probably would have cost me the senior presidency, just because people hated the idea of a couple at the top. But I wanted you to succeed me in the junior class post, so I've only got myself to blame.
"What did you say?" she says. "You were muttering."
"I was asking someone where the the pickle aisle is," you hurriedly say. "What were you saying?"
"I was saying that Kade's doing fine because he doesn't know what to do with the job, and no one notices. They'd notice you in the job because you'd know what to do with it."
"Thanks for your vote."
"Early and often. We gonna get together tomorrow for a little one-on-one lobbying?"
You catch yourself just before agreeing. "I dunno. That meeting I had this afternoon, it was for a little extracurricular activity. I might have to do something tomorrow."
"Really? What?"
"Mentoring." Yeah, that's the ticket.
"Ooh, I could help out with that!"
"Well, lemme see how it works out. It's a new kind of thing, and it might be a crock of— A waste of time." The old lady walking past continues to eye you carefully, and you blush. "Listen, I got people staring at me. You know, public conversations and such. I'll call you later on when I need a distraction."
* * * * *
Derek does eat at the house—in Jade's room—and you do call Julianna later on, and you do play with your new cock after you've gone to bed. (You and Timothy both wonder what it would be like to do it with Julianna.) You're up early the next morning and at the school for pre-class basketball practice. It's a hard session, but fun, drilling with the other players. You find yourself weighing each as a possible mask: Ian Carpenter, the team captain; Jonathan Straussler, the rich jock; the two new guys, Joe and Frank Durras. But you judge it would be girls that would best attract recruits: Jenny Taylor, the girls' soccer captain; Alyssa Randal, the head cheerleader; the other cheerleaders, like Becky Torres and Jessica Pearce. Several times you have be bend and rest your hands on your knees, not because you're winded, but to hide your hard-on.
But these really ought to be secondary questions. The first is, where will you find your recruits?   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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