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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Another Night of Holding Someone's Hand"  I have church, Will replies after you text him. U forgot that. You make a face, then shrug. Jack's family doesn't go to church, and it didn't even cross your mind last night that your houseguest would need to get home in time for church. In fact, you even forgot to set up an excuse for him with your dad. It gives you a tight feeling in your gut: I hope he didn't get in too much trouble. And also: I hope I'm not getting so used to "being Jack" that I actually turn into Jack! So, anyway, your houseguest bugged out early in order to get home, which is good for a lot of reasons, among them confirmation that he's now got your memories. Will it be the same with the other guy? You wait patiently until well after breakfast for word from the new Steve Patterson, and when you still haven't heard anything from him by nine, you send the new Will Prescott a text asking for his old phone number. With it, you reach out to Steve, asking if he wants to get together for a workout or something. Prolly shldmt b seen w u, he replies. Then he sends you an address—the intersection of two streets—with the request to meet him there at ten. * * * * * It turns out to be a crossroads of two country lanes way west of town, halfway to Lattyville. Horses are grazing in a fenced-off field nearby when you pull up, and there's only one house visible is off in the distance, on the crest of hill under a clump of trees. Steve Patterson, tall and dressed like a twenty-first century cowboy in jeans and jeans jacket, boots and trucker cap pulled down low over his face, is standing by his sedan, foot on the bumper, studying his cell phone. He looks up as you climb out of the minivan. "Yeah, not much chance of anyone spotting us out here," you remark. You can't keep a slightly spiteful tone out of your voice. "Your reputation as a gay-baiting asshole will be safe." He ignores the jibe as he slips his phone into his jacket. "So what happened last night?" he asks. "Nothing. What did you think would happen? It was just a repeat of last night. He took the bed, I slept on the couch. He got my memories during the night, 'cos he left early when he remembered he had church this morning. How about you?" You seem to be in character, you silently add. "I'm fine," he grunts. "Spent the night at school up in the loft. It felt gross as fuck when I bedded down, but it was okay when I woke up. Felt natural, even. Jesus." He glances around, and shifts on his feet. "I don't know what I'm going to do." "You mean about Steve and ... girls?" Patterson has a reputation for coming on hard with girls, with not accepting rejection, and with badgering and bullying them until they give in. After which, he throws them away. So ... more or less the complete opposite of Jack Li. Your new friend gives you a surly side glance. "I guess he can take a break for a little while. I meant about him and his friends. About him and Chelsea. You know?" He gives you a meaningful glance. "Steve told me last night that him and Chelsea don't get along." "They don't. But they hang out in the loft together, with Gordon. What am I supposed to say or do with her?" That was a thought that occurred to you last night: By soul-swapping Jack with her boyfriend's best friend, she's exposed herself to his constant company and scrutiny. Why would she do that? Unless she felt safe. "I'm thinking of pretending with her that nothing happened," he continues as you mull his question. "You mean you're just going to roll over for her?" That doesn't sound like either Jack or Steve. "No, I mean— I'd act like the soul-switch didn't happen. I'd ask her how come she called me up to the school last night, and I'd act all pissed off at her—like I just woke up after and didn't feel any different." He pauses. "I'd ask her how come she took my clothes off. Maybe ask her that in front of Gordon." He snickers. "That'd be fun!" "Why do you want to do that?" you ask. "I don't—" "To make her think the soul-swap didn't go off. Then maybe she'd try it again on me and Steve, to do it right, and switch us back." That's an interesting idea. Except— "It still wouldn't get you back to—" You tap your own chest. "No," he sighs. "But it'd make Steve happier." * * * * * You're not sure there's a point to making Steve Patterson happy. In fact, you think maybe you're stronger for being three people who have a grudge against Chelsea instead of just two. But you agree to let Jack handle it as he sees fit. From his current perch, he at least can spy on her. "Thing is," he says as you and he settle onto the hood of his sedan, "I don't figure Chelsea for someone who could pull off this kind of shit. I mean, she's a bitch and all, and I can totally figure her for wanting to fuck people up. But where would she learn how to do this kind of thing? She doesn't seem like she'd be into the, you know, occult. Spell-casting. She's just into parties and gossip and cheerleading and 'How's my hair' and 'Do you think I'm getting fat, Gordon?' and 'Pookie, don't you want to get together tonight to do our homework together' and—" "You mean she's acting out of character?" you interrupt. You feel your hair rising, like the quills of a porcupine as an awful thought starts to creep over you. "No," he replies after a moment's thought. "She hasn't been out of character, except when she gets together with us for this soul-swapping sh—" "No, I mean—" You wet your lips. "What if she's not ... Chelsea ... anymore? What if," you continue as Steve stares at you in puzzlement. "You know, you're not you and I'm not me, and Steve isn't Steve anymore. What if Chelsea isn't herself anymore?" Steve's eyebrows go up, and his color fades. "You mean her and someone else got switched too?" "Or someone switched places with Chelsea," you say then shiver, "then started switching other people around." Your voice almost fades. "So what if we're not the only ones she's done it to?" Steve sucks in a deep breath. "So where's the real Chelsea?" "Stuck pretending to be someone else." "I can't picture Chelsea lying back and taking it." "So what would she say, what would she do? What are we doing? Like if Chelsea thinks she's the only one who had this happen to her—" "She'd still pitch a fit. A very public—" "Have you heard about anyone kicking up a fuss?" Steve thinks a moment. "No." "Neither have I." He hops off the hood of the car and paces. "Yeah, but maybe it really is Chelsea doing this. She acts like the real girl!" "We can act like the real guys we're stuck as, if we try. So if someone switched with Chelsea, she could act just like Chelsea. And if the real Chelsea thinks she's stuck being this other person, maybe she'd figure she has to do the same kind of act. Act like whoever it is she's—" Steve shakes himself all over. "This is just paranoia now," he says. "We know Chelsea's all mixed up in it, and that's enough." "So what are we going to do?" Steve thinks a moment. "I act like nothing happened," he says after a long moment's reflection. "Get her to try doing it again. But when she tries it again—" He flexes a strong hand. "You and Steve be around, and catch her in the act!" * * * * * It's mid-afternoon before you catch up to your replacement again, and it's just the two of you, for new-Steve says he should go back up to the school, where Gordon and Jason Lynch (and maybe Chelsea!) will be hanging out. You make no comment, but you suspect he just doesn't want to see the real Steve Patterson. It's probably just as well. Will is bristling all over when you see him. "Way to fuck me up with your dad," he seethes. "You get in trouble?" "I'm grounded. Like it makes a fucking difference." He grabs a fistful of his t-shirt and yanks at it like he wants to tear it off. It's his own skin, you'd bet, that he really wants to strip. Grounded, huh? you think. That makes sense. It's actually a pretty light punishment for your dad to hand out, for getting home early on a Sunday morning after staying out all night and not sending any kind of text or excuse. It also explains why Will told you to come out to Acheson, to the old elementary school, when you texted to say you wanted to meet. He rode your bike out instead of driving, and says he can't stay long because he used "going for a bike ride" as an excuse to get out of the house. You tell him about your meet-up with Jack, and how he's going to play dumb with Chelsea. Steve scoffs. "Fucking pussy," he snorts. "Oh, why the fuck am I using the word 'pussy' with him?" He gives you a sullen, sidelong glance. "How you doing in there, Prescott?" he demands. "Got a hankering yet for dick?" "Don't take it out on me, man. I'm not the one you're mad at." Steve clenches his—your—fists. "I will fucking tattoo his face with a sidewalk if he—" "Yeah, so you're worried about what Jack's gonna do with your face and bod," you interrupt him before he can get really ugly. "Should I be worried about what you're going to do with mine?" It looks like he's going to make a very biting reply, but he catches himself. Then he smiles in a way you don't like. "I got a text from the fat chick you used to hang out with in middle school," he says. "She wants to do something later with me. I can't, 'cos I'm grounded. But how do you want me to handle her at school tomorrow?" Fat chick? You cringe. He must mean Laura. Next: "A Warning for Laura" |
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