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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "A Conjunction Outside of Pisces"  "I told you, I'm on a schedule," you remind Roth. Without waiting for an argument, you slam the doors open and step into the bright sunlight of a late September day. You have to pass the tennis courts, but at least it's not the kind of gauntlet you'd have to run in front of the gym. There's maybe half a dozen kids milling about inside the tall, chain-link cages that surround the courts, and another half dozen kids loiter nearby. One of these catches your eye. "Hey Yumi," you call, and the girl turns. A small smile creases her lips. Yumi Saito is a cheerleader. That all by itself makes her cool. But even better is that she's a cheerleader who actually knows your name, and sometimes talks to you. She's a pert little fireplug of a girl, hardly coming up to your shoulder, but with strong legs and a well-shaped bust stacked atop a wide pair of hips. Her black hair is trimmed short into a page-boy cut. And she is, as her name implies, of Japanese ancestry. "Hey Will," she says as you come up. Her smile briefly widens before she goes back to staring through the fencing into the tennis courts beyond. "You have any firecrackers on you?" "What? No. What do you want firecrackers for?" She makes a face, but only says, "You're up here late." "I had—" Don't say you had detention, don't say you had detention! "Something to do. You waiting for someone?" "Yes. Come on, Kelsey," she growls under her breath. You follow her gaze. Sure enough, Kelsey Blankenship, queen of the AP set, is loitering by the net, chatting with another girl. With her long brown hair, her immaculate white skirt and blouse, her poise, the tennis racket resting casually on her shoulder, and her obliviousness to anyone or anything outside her immediate social circle, she is the very picture of snobby, country-club entitlement. "What do you want to talk to Kelsey for?" you ask. Like anyone would want to talk to that stuck-up bitch, you silently add to yourself. Yumi seems to agree with you: "I don't want to talk to her," she retorts. She glances over your shoulder, and you don't need to turn around to guess that Roth is loitering behind you. "Just some stuff I need to hash out with her." She goes back to glowering in Kelsey's direction. Then she says, "Oh hey, how'd your time capsule thing go?" Ouch. "It was a disaster." "What happened?" "It was just a disaster." Because, hey, if she doesn't want to talk to you about Kelsey, you don't have to talk to her about the time capsule. "Oh, for fuck's sake," Yumi exclaims when another girl comes up and taps Kelsey on the shoulder. Kelsey turns, makes a bright exclamation, and gives the girl a hug. The two fall instantly into a rapturous conversation. With a snort, Yumi stalks over to the gate, tears it open, and marches onto the court. She doesn't even wish you a "Goodbye." So you resume your walk to the parking lot. "She's a sassy little thing, ain't she?" Justin chortles. "Yeah." "So, you don't got time for me, but you do got time to talk to cheerleaders, huh?" "I'm talking to you now, man." "But not a heart to heart like you were having with— She a friend of yours?" Friend would be going too far. But the idea of calling a cheerleader like Yumi a "friend" flatters your self-conceit. So: "Yeah, I guess so. We hang out at lunch." Well ... Yumi sometimes hangs out with Jenny Ashton at lunch, and sometimes you do to, and when the stars align that means you and her "hang out" at the same place with the same people. "You're quite the mover and shaker, aren'cha?" Justin says. You squint at him. There is unmistakably a sarcastic edge to the comment. But his gaze is guileless. "Listen," he continues, "the reason I'm pestering you is I need a ride home." "I gotta head straight home myself." "It's on the way." "You know where I live?" "Look." Justin grasps you by the arm. "I just need to get away from school. There's some guys looking for me." Now there's a pleading expression in his eyes. "Who?" He hesitates. Then: "Who'd your pal Tilley buy his ganja off of?" You blanch. "Chen?" "Near enough. Come on, man, gimme a lift someplace." "I have to go straight home." "That's cool. Just as long as you get me away from here." You don't reply, but you don't try to chase him away either. Not until you get to your truck. "I got detention, and I'm grounded," you tell him. "My folks even took my cell phone away. Even if I gave you a ride, I'd have to drop you off somewhere before I got home—" "What'cha grounded for?" "For getting detention. I have to drive straight to and from school. No place in between." Justin gives you a shrewd look. "So you gotta go straight home or else your folks'll know you're goofing off." "That's right." "What if you went to school early?" The question startles you. "Why would I want to do that?" "Oh, you know." He shrugs. "You head out early to get some coffee or some donuts on the way. Or maybe you gotta head out because you gotta pick someone up, someone who needs a ride? Hey, at least it's something 'ud get you out of the house," he adds when you look skeptical. Well, he's right, it is something, you have to admit. You are not a morning person, but heading out early so you can at least hang out with someone outside of class? That has some appeal. "I could do it for you as a favor," Justin says. "Do what?" "Ask you to pick me up, so you got an excuse. Then we could— Oh, I dunno." He smiles impudently. "Go do something that'll make us late to class tomorrow morning." You can't do that. But even if you don't give him a ride now, you maybe could pick him up in the morning and do something before class. Next: "Of Two Minds on One Matter, Part 1" |
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