%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Boyfriends Who Are Bad for You"  Dump his ass, Gloria has advised you. Dump Gordon to the curb with the rest of the garbage. You nod thoughtfully at the suggestion, as though it is one you've already been entertaining. You glance around the library. It's mostly empty, but your eye settles on one kid a few tables over. He's got reddish-brown hair and wears thick, black-rimmed glasses. Philip Fairfax, the name comes to you. Science nerd. Made it to Washington or someplace like that for a science fair back in middle school. Quiet, sober, smart, and not bad looking. Not bad looking at all. If Eva wants to date a freaking rocket scientist, you find yourself thinking, she should be dating him instead of— You dismiss the idle thought with a shake of your head. "Is it that bad?" you ask Gloria. "You think it's really that bad?" Gloria gives Kendra a sidelong look, and returns you a tiny shrug. "Tell me what you fucking think, Gloria," you snarl. But it's Kendra who pipes up. "It'll look like you couldn't handle him, Chelsea," she says. "He's hurting the squad," Gloria insists. "He hasn't been to practice in— Forever." "So he's hurting the school," you reflect. "If Steve explained to him—" "I think Steve's already explained to him." "I mean, really explained to him," you say. "Really explained to him," you repeat, giving "really" the heaviest emphasis you can. "Has Steve really explained it to him?" Gloria flushes. She can tell you're not just asking about what Steve has said to Gordon. You're asking what Steve has said to her during their pillow talk up in the loft. So to show how serious you are, you put the same question, with the same subtext, to Kendra: "Kendra, last time you talked to Steve, did he tell you that he had really explained to Gordon how much he's hurting the school?" Kendra gives you a beady look. "We're all worried about Gordon," she says. Gloria jumps back in: "Maybe if you told Steve that he should really explain it to Gordon," she says. You glare at her. "Maybe we should all have a talk with Steve," you retort. "In each our own way." You feel your nostrils flare as you suck in and release a deep breath. "After practice today. You stick around while I have a quick word with Steve. Oh," you add, "have either of you seen Dane Matthias around today?" They both shake their heads. "Well, keep an eye out for him. I want to know if he's hanging around Gordon or anyone else. Maybe Steve should have another little talk with that peckerwood. Explain to him—really explain to him—how much he's fucked things up for lots of people with his selfish bullshit." Then you dismiss the topic, and turn to the matter of Meghan Farris's party, and whether and how many people from your crowd should show up to it, and for how long. * * * * * You and Kendra and Gloria watch the boys' basketball squad at practice after school. Usually it's Gordon and Steve running things. Since last Wednesday, though, it's just been Steve. Gordon is nowhere to be seen. After Patterson ends practice, he follows the other guys into the changing room to shower and change. You tell Kendra and Gloria to catch him before he leaves, to tell him that you want to see him up in the loft. "And stick around after that," you tell them. Steve lets you cool your heels upstairs for a good twenty minutes before he joins you, looking fresh and clean in a set of track pants and a floppy t-shirt. At six-foot-six, he towers more than a head over you, and his gray eyes are cold as icebergs as he regards you from the doorway of the loft. "If this is about Gordon getting sucked off at a couple of different parties last weekend," he starts to say. "This is about the squad, Steve," you snap. "It's about the school. It's about whether we're going to State this year. About whether you're going to State. You need to clean him up." Steve shrugs. "He's stressed out about something. Give him a couple of days." "You need to talk to him, Steve." "I have talked to him. He says he's got some heavy shit on his mind." "You need to explain things to him, Steve. Really. Explain things." A little of the color drains from Steve's face. He glances around. "I did explain that we need him back to—" "Really. Explain. Things." You put as much steel into the words as you can. Patterson sighs. "Gordon's not someone you can really explain things to, Chelsea." "Do you mean that you can't explain them to him? Really explain them?" A cold fire flares in his eyes. "Maybe you should try explaining to him." "If I do explain things to him, Steve, it will be to explain that we're not seeing each other any more." Patterson looks like he's been slapped. "What?" "I'm serious, Steve. You need to explain that to Gordon. I won't. After this weekend—" And all at once, emotions you didn't realize you'd been bottling up come boiling out. You burst into tears, hysterics, and a cyclonic fury all at once. "God damn him, that fucker!" you yell. "Did you see those pictures, Steve? Did you see those motherfucking pictures?" Patterson pales, and actually takes a step back. "You were at lunch today," you rant, "you were at motherfucking lunch! Did you—? You're the one that told Dalton to bring me my tray, didn't you? Didn't you! Fuck you, Steve, do you know how that looked? Did you plan it that way? Oh, you son of a bitch! Did you set it up? Did you tell Gordon he needed a break? Did you take him to that party? Did you him up with those whore? Were you trying to break us up?!" "Chelsea—" "God damn you, Steve! Because it worked! I'm fucking done with him! Done with him!" You scream so loud it feels like something has torn loose inside your brain "You two can go fuck each other for all I care! You're so fucking queer for him anyway! You and Jason both! You've always fucking hated me because he was my boyfriend instead of yours! You've always wanted to fuck him yourself, ever since you hooked up with each other! But I got in the way! Because I'm the one he wanted to stick his goddamned dick in and not you! Well, now you and Gordon can go off and fuck each other! Fuck each other blind! Never mind the skanks and whores and hanger-onners like you set him up with this weekend! You can do it out in the open!" Patterson grins at you, like a shark. He's pissed. But you can also tell that he's scared. "Because I'm bigger than you are, Steve! I give a fuck about this school, and the programs, and the basketball squad! And State! I'll give him up if that's what I have to do, if that's what you want! Go tell Gordon that it worked!" You savagely kick one of the big wooden crates. "Go tell him I broke up with him, and now the two of you are free to spend all your afternoons and weekends up here, fucking each other queer, and he can go back to practicing again! That'll fix things! You and him can— Will you get the fuck out of here?" You can hardly see straight through the tears that blur your vision, but you manage to lay hold of a discarded beer can that's perched atop the fridge, and hurl it at Patterson. He actually ducks. Then when you scream at him again, he backs out of the loft and slams the door. You hurl yourself onto one of the mats and howl yourself into a frenzy, weeping and banging the floor with your fists. Those fuckers! THOSE FUCKERS! * * * * * It's getting on toward dinner time, and you really should be heading home. But you've had a very satisfying hour in the loft, alone with your thoughts and your fingers and your pussy. Wow, it felt good, throwing that tantrum! For a couple of solid minutes you cried a massive jag. Then you rolled onto your back, and it all shut off. You giggled and put your hand down the front of your shorts and pushed your way into a place that was suddenly very hot and wet and aching for company. Oh, Chelsea, you groaned to yourself. When you get mad it is such a turn on! No wonder "make up sex" with Gordon after a fight is one of her favorite things ever! Except that won't be happening again. After wiping your eyes down and repairing your make up, you go home for dinner, where you are very cheerful and giggly, and give no clue that anything happened at school today. Then, up in your room, you field the texts and phone calls that you were expecting. To Gordon, you explain that you're now broken up and he can stop seeing you, following you, eating with you, and texting you. To Steve, you explain that yes, you and Gordon are now broken up, and that it's up to him to "fix anything else that needs fixing." With Kendra and Gloria you spend a few hours talking by Skype on how to announce and spin the break up. And you ignore the texts from Caleb, asking you to call or text. Not until the next morning, after you have woken up, does it start to sink in, the immensity of what you've just done. Oh my God, I just broke up with the most eligible guy in school! I need a boyfriend—I'm the head cheerleader, for fuck's sake! What am I going to do? Next: "Hangover from a Life Change" |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
