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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "When Ambitions Collide"  Turn yourself into another guy? As if! "I still want to be myself," you tell Chelsea. "I want to be me but with a girlfriend." Chelsea snorts, and you cut yourself off before you can say something really sharp. "So who likes to play matchmaker?" you ask. "Who could help me find a believable girlfriend?" Chelsea folds her arms and turns around with another snort. You glare at her back as she taps her foot. "Your friends would be the ones to tell you that," she says over her shoulder. "That's why Yumi and Lin are the ones you need to get your head inside. I'm really trying to help you out, Will!" she exclaims as she turns around to face you again. "I don't know why you're fighting me on this!" Her expression clouds over. "Is it because you don't want to, you know—" She wave her hand over her face. "Put on a mask of a girl? You think it would make you, like, less of a man?" "No!" Yes? Maybe? You hate the blush that you feel creeping over your face. "I don't mind— I mean, if that's what it takes." Her eyebrows go up. "You don't mind losing your cock?" "I'd pick up a pussy to play with!" you retort before you can stop yourself. "And a couple of boobs!" You feel your face burning. "I wouldn't mind that!" You'd expect Chelsea to recoil at your vulgarity, but her expression doesn't change. "So what's wrong with Yumi or Lin?" she says. "They've got some really nice, uh, boobs. I'm sure the rest of their plumbing is up to scratch too." What's wrong is that I don't want to play your game for you. But you can't say that, so instead you say, "I don't think they like me. I don't think they—" Your voice catches as you realize that you half-believe what you're saying. I don't think they like me that much, and I don't want to see what they see when they look at me. "I don't think they really respect me," is what you say out loud, "so why should I trust what they think?" Chelsea surprises you with a sympathetic gasp. "Oh, Will!" she squeaks. "Are they really like that with you?" You roll your eyes. "Well, they're nice enough, I guess. I just get the impression—" "Well, no wonder you don't want to put yourself through something like that! You should have just told me!" She smiles very sweetly, yet somehow it makes you shiver. "Just forget about what I was saying," she continues. "Give me a day or two to think about what we can do to help you instead. You want a girl who can help you figure out a girlfriend for you, still?" You nod. "Who else are you friends with? Girls, I mean." You shrug. You felt like you were totally in control earlier in the conversation. Now you can hardly keep your knees from shaking. "What about Eva and Jessica, are they bitches with you too? Never mind," she says before you can protest. "Send me a copy of your class schedule and a list of girls you hang out with." Without waiting for an answer, she pushes you toward the door. "Don't worry, Will, leave everything to me. I'll fix things up for you." She titters. "I like fixing things." Yeah, like the way you got me to fix Gordon, you think as she pushes you out of the gym loft and shuts the door in your face. * * * * * So Chelsea has given you some homework. It ought to be more fun than the real homework you've got, but it makes you wince to think about how few girls you actually talk to, so you put off doing it. got homewrok tdo, you tell Chelsea when she texts you to ask where the list is. sooner u get get me names sooner u get her, she texts back. ssoner u get masks done too, she adds. But it's not until shortly before ten o'clock that you get a list done. You thought about it while carving runes into some more of those mind-copying metal strips. Oh, your class schedule was easy enough to compile. It was also easy to add names like "Jenny Ashton" and "Cassie Harper" to it, because you do talk to them. But what do you do with a name like "Kelsey Blankenship?" She's the queen bee of the AP set, and until the start of the school year she was also on the cheerleader squad. (You haven't heard her or Chelsea talking about each other, but you'd bet they hate each other.) She's a rich snob—her daddy owns the biggest car dealerships in town—who when she deigns to notice you can't keep an expression of deep loathing off her face—but technically she has spoken to you. You'd like to keep out of her head for the same reason you'd like to keep out of Yumi's, because Yumi is at least a friend and probably can see some positive qualities in you. You're sure that Kelsey can't. At the same time ... If Chelsea suggested that you get inside the head of Kelsey Blankenship by making a mask of her and taking her place ... Well, there's a certain grotty pleasure in imagining yourself dressed up as her and queening it about the school as her and going home and jamming her fingers far up her cunny as her. But if you put her name down you'd have to put Brooke Galloway's name down too, and although Brooke is attractive enough (albeit in a skinny scared rabbit kind of way) she is very much under Kelsey's thumb, and it would be a lot less pleasant being close to Kelsey than it would to be Kelsey herself. Eventually you realize that either you're going to have to put down every possible name or no names at all, because if you spend your time agonizing over the list you won't get it done before it's time to graduate. So along about ten you send Chelsea your schedule and a much longer list of names than you've any real right to send. thx, you append at the end of the text before you can stop yourself. You don't remember your dreams the next morning on waking, but you've got a most raging case of wood. * * * * * There's no acknowledgement from Chelsea the next morning when you wake, but on reaching school you find that she's sent a messenger. Gordon is hulking it up at the entrance to the school parking lot, and you watch nervously in your rearview mirror as he follows you to where you park. You roll down the window as he walks up, but don't you get out. "Chelsea wants to know when the fuck you're gonna be done with those masks," he says. "I'm working on them." "Chelsea wants to know how long it would take to make two more." "You mean from scratch?" "I don't mean anything, fucker," he growls. "Ask Chelsea what she means. Better yet, just tell me how fucking long it'll take to make two more." "End of the week," you squeak. "But I need supplies, and I don't have money." "Better explain that to her, then," he says. He puts his arm through the window and grabs you by the back of the neck. "Need help getting your ass into school?" "I can manage!" You slap at him; it's like slapping at a sturdy oak. "Don't you have basketball practice now?" "Yeah, but Chelsea told me to talk to you before school, and now I'm forty fucking minutes late to it. So I got nothing better to do than to walk you to class." "Gee, Gordon, people might think we're going together." He socks you in the face. It's only a glancing blow, without much force behind it. But it leaves your head ringing, and loosens the molars on the left side of your jaw. At least your gibe sends him trudging toward the school without you. * * * * * You go in terror the rest of the day that Chelsea will send Gordon around to collect you, and by the end of sixth your nerves are so ragged that you leave campus early, skipping a study hall and your last-period Astronomy class. dentist aptt, you text Chelsea when she texts you at a little after four. She tells you to meet her up at the school at eight. "How's your mouth?" are the first words she says to you, and at first you think she must be talking about the blow that Gordon gave you. "Just a checkup," you mumble back when you remember that "dentist" excuse you gave her earlier. You hand over the two polished masks: your run-in with Gordon has convinced you not to hold anything back. "So you can get two more done by the end of the week?" Chelsea asks, and from her purse she takes a billfold. "Here's some cash for supplies." "What do we need more masks for?" "For testing that new goop out on. We'll use these masks here and that goop. If it works, then we'll use the two new masks to get you a girl." "Who are you going to try the stuff out on?" She just waves her hand. "I think Deanna Showalter would be best for you," she says. "Although there's a girl in the junior class who could work too." Next: "The Girl from Left Field" |
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