This choice: All of the above, and more • Go Back...Chapter #11In Search of the Perfect Hiding Face by: Seuzz   Gordon Black. Marc Garner. Andrea Varnsworth. Kelsey Blankenship. Chelsea Cooper.
You could steal the face and body and mind of any of these, replacing and impersonating them. But why impersonate one of them, when you could impersonate all of them?
Not at all once, of course. That would impossible. But, like, spend a week being Gordon, then a weekend being Marc, a few days being Andrea, another week being Kelsey, and so and so on, even adding more ponies to your string.
And the great part is, when you weren't impersonating them—wearing their clothes, driving their cars, hanging out with their friends, sleeping in their beds—they would still be under you control, following your orders, and calling you "boss." You could have the whole school rigged and wired!
As you shower and dress, the idea of running the school grows more and more appealing, even to the point of crowding out the appeal of impersonating one of the more popular or prominent students. Gradually a new fantasy evolves, in which you secretly run the school from the shadows, using your puppets and pawns to manage everyone and everything else.
Not that you fully give up on the idea of an impersonation. Only now your idea is to run the school from behind the face of someone who is relatively invisible—or, at least, not as high profile as the kids you were fantasizing about last night.
No, they would kids like ... Um ... Well ...
Okay, you're just going to have to be on the lookout for candidates when you get to school.
* * * * *
You're early getting to school, and are hunched up in your desk watching as the other students slowly file in, when Caleb comes swinging in through the door. At first, as he passes your desk, his presence doesn't register.
Then it does, and you almost jump from your seat.
"What's your problem?" Caleb honks as he drops his backpack onto his desk.
"I don't got a problem," you retort. "What's yours?"
"What makes you think I got a problem? You're the one jumping like you sat on a thumbtack."
"Nothing. Just— Nothing."
Caleb frowns at you, and you are very conscious that your face must have gone very pale.
You were in class with him yesterday, of course. But yesterday you were preoccupied with Chelsea, and so hardly paid attention to him, and when you did it was only to nurse the sour, secret grudge you've got against him: He copied your face into a mask without your permission, then tried using it to steal a copy of Gordon's. That's how he lost the book you sold him, and how come you got mixed up with Chelsea.
But now you've got the book back, and you know how to use it, and you're making plans for using it.
And the only person who could possibly suspect your scheme—who could even know that such a scheme is possible—is the so-called "best friend" who stabbed you in the back.
You quickly look away from him.
But you feel his eyes boring into you, so give him a peevish, sidelong glance and demand, "The fuck is your problem, man?"
"I don't know, Will," he says. "My problem is whatever the fuck your problem is, and since I don't know—"
"I don't got a problem. Except!" You snap your finger and wheel on him. "I just remembered, you owe me thirty-something dollars!"
"For what?"
"For getting you that job at my dad's work!"
"Oh, for fuck's sake!"
"Guys!" Mr. Walberg barks from the front of the room. "Clean up the gutter talk, take it outside, or pipe down!"
You flash the teacher a brief glower, then lean over to hiss at Caleb. "Thirty-seven bucks! That's what my problem is!"
"Fuck," Caleb grumbles. "That's not what your problem is, but fine. I'll have it for you tomorrow. Are we friends again?"
"Sure we are," you growl back. Silently you add, But that doesn't mean I want to talk or look at you.
* * * * *
You keep alert through all your classes for possible candidates for a body-jacking, but it's a frustrating exercise. The fact is that when your candidate is to be a nobody, then everybody is a candidate.
Okay, maybe not everybody. Take Jason Church, for example. He's a chunky kid in Mr. Walberg's class with a bowl haircut and glasses and a moon-shaped face. He's got friends—a couple of chunky girls who talk to him—but when you tell yourself you want "low profile" that doesn't mean you want to be unattractive. The opposite trouble is that the attractive ones, like Laurent Delacroix, who is a wrestler, are for that reason not "low profile."
Oh, sure there are some guys who maybe fit it. On the far side of second-period film class, for instance, there's a lanky guy with a bright, open face and handsome features. He seems friendly and personable with those sitting next to him. You have no idea who he is, which is at least some evidence that he's "low profile" despite being attractive. But that's the trouble: You don't know who he is, and can think of no way of getting alone with him to make a switch.
What it comes down to, you finally realize as you're slouching in the library during your seventh-period study hall, is that anyone you know and have a chance to get close to is unattractive, while the attractive ones you know about are too high-profile to serve as the "secret mastermind" that you think you want to play.
But do you still want to play it? The day's challenges are eroding your plan's attractions.
You're chewing it over when you're startled to hear your name: "Will."
You look around. Kim Walsh, frowning, is standing just inside the doorway of the library. "Have you seen Deanna around?" she asks.
"Showalter? Uh ... No."
"Darn it," Kim says. "We have Speech in a minute, but she wanted to see me before we went in there. I thought she said she'd be—"
Kim wheels and exits without even finishing her sentence.
You stare after her, wondering why you didn't see the idea before.
Kim, a short, pert red-head who hangs out with AP crowd, is the student council president. She is earnest but popular, and because she's a natural politician she knows practically everyone in the senior class. If there was ever a natural-born wire-puller, who has the skill and know-how to manipulate the student body, it would be her.
And she's got a small, tight, attractive body, and the kind of sweet and pretty face behind which no one would suspect lurked the brain of a shapeshifting mastermind.
You haven't been keeping a list, because you haven't had any names to put on one. But now you flip your three-ring binder to a blank page, and in large block letters write "KIM WALSH."
Then, a minute later, after chewing it over, you add "DEANNA SHOWALTER" beneath it. Deanna, who you remember from a few shared classes in your junior year, is a popular girl who can talk your ear off when she gets going, but she is equally adept at listening. That's what makes her such a notorious gossip, so notorious in fact that even you, who don't pay attention to such things, know that she's got a reputation for ferreting out and broadcasting every secret in the school. Though her reputation would make her a bit obvious as a master manipulator, her sitting at the center of so many webs would make hers a natural position to work from.
It feels like you've had a breakthrough—a new and better sense of the kind of impersonation you should be looking for.
* * * * *
"Yo, Prescott!" You're just leaving Astronomy, your final class of the day, when your shouted named sounds over the buzz and roar of the hallway crowd. You stop dead and look around. A moment later, Carson Ioeger pulls you to the side and pushes you against a locker. His best friend, James Lamont, looms up behind him.
Carson and James are friends of yours from a long ways back, and they're cut from the same cloth as you and Caleb: tall, skinny, with a taste for video games, comic books, and movies, and a strong distaste for sports and the kind of beefwits who go in for it. Carson and James, though, are a lot better at math and science than you, and they're also a lot pushier and lot more arrogant. They don't take kindly to being shaken down by gymnasium goons, for instance, and often give as good as they get. Last year, for instance, they succeeded in gluing Seth Javit's shoes to the library floor while he was still wearing them.
So maybe they're not trying to bully you when they lean in over you, but it almost feels like they are.
"So my man Johansson tells me you're shaking him down for forty dollars," Carson says. He scowls.
"I'm not shaking him down! He owes me!"
"For what? Getting him a job at your dad's place?"
"Yes!"
"But you didn't, Prescott." Carson stabs you in the chest with a bony forefinger. "Johansson got the job fair and square."
"Look, he promised me—"
"You can try to collect, man," Carson warns you, "but know this. You get the money off'a Johansson, and me and James'll be around to take it off'a you.
"We like you, Prescott," says James. "We don't want to have to go sick-medieval on your ass."
"Yeah, we like to save that for the motherfuckers on the basketball squad."
* * * * *
With that, Carson makes the list alongside Kim and Deanna. He may not have their connections, but he's got the brass.
And as you trudge out to your truck, you mentally add Caleb to the list as well. He wanted to use the book. Maybe he should get a chance—after you've turned yourself into him.
But as you clamber into your truck, you sigh. Possibly the best tactic is to start as one of big fish at school—a Gordon or a Kelsey—and only later pick out a hiding place.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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