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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Firecrackers at the Tennis Court"  You're about to give Justin one last firm refusal when far off, at the edge of the gym, you see Seth Javits loping along toward a truck not too dissimilar to your own. Javits is one of the school's worst bullies, and he likes to take his frustrations out on you when your friend Keith—for whom he cultivates a special, gleeful savagery—isn't around. It looks like you just barely missed running into him on your way out. And didn't Justin say just now that he needs help dodging some creeps who are looking for him? "Yeah, come on, get in," you tell him. "I can drop you off someplace in town on my way home. But you'll have to call someone else to get a ride from there." "Oh, that's awesome, this is so cool of you, man," he says. "This is a really huge favor." Well, it's not that big, you think as you climb into your truck. I just hope someone else does me the same turn some time. Preoccupied with these thoughts, and with belting yourself in, you are not paying attention to anything else, and are only barely aware that Justin, in the passenger seat, has been digging around inside his backpack. And you see it only out of the corner of your eye when he pulls something bluish from it. But when he touches your shoulder, you turn. He is grinning brightly—madly—as he lifts the thing and delivers it, like a pie to the puss, with a resounding smack to your face. For only an instant you are aware that a suffocating darkness has overwhelmed you. Then it's like a trap door has opened beneath you, and you plunge into a deeper blackness that fills your brain and blots out your consciousness. * * * * * Your head hurts, like a seam of lava has opened in the skull between your ear and your eyebrows, and you grimace hard. You are stiff all over, and your neck muscles squeal and protest when you lift your face. You clench your eyes shut as you roll your head and shoulders about, loosening the muscles. The headache doesn't vanish, but it recedes to a smoldering burn. You open your eyes and peer about. You're in your truck, in the parking lot at school, behind the wheel. You look around with a frown. Something is wrong, but you can't put your finger on it. Something is missing—time, maybe, for you feel as though you've woken from a short, deep, but exhausting sleep. But something else has gone as wall. At once, simultaneously, two this hit you. The first is that Justin has gone. And the second is that he's taken your clothes with him. With a gasp you look down at yourself, and at your nakedness. For one horrifying second you can only stare. Then with a squeal you cover your breasts with your arms and hunker down in the seat. Oh my God! But there's something else wrong. This time, the realization takes longer to come, for you keep pushing it away. I— I— I'm naked! you stammer to yourself. And I've got ... I've got ... Boobs! Indeed you do. Your eyes are rolling so hard with astonishment that they threaten to fall out of the sockets as you peer down at your arms, which are covering your ... boobs. You can feel them, though. They are very large. And when you push your arms down a little, you can make out the deep cleavage that separates them. You squeal softly to yourself. And your arms— There's something wrong with your arms! They are very smooth and hairless. And when you raise your hands, your fingers are sinuous, with polish on their nails. Past your hands you gaze at your hairless knees and thighs, and when you lift a foot the little niblet-like toes are also polished at their ends. What has happened to my body? you wonder in a panic. Then, like a fog boiling up from the base of your skull, rising and engulfing and choking you, comes a presence. It's another mind, another personality. With a small sob you try pushing it away, but it envelops and invades and seeps into your consciousness, forcing itself on you until ... Then it's like being on both sides of a mirror, staring at your own reflection in the mirror even as you stare back at yourself from the depths of the mirror. Only it's two different faces. My name is Will Prescott. But also: My name is Yumi Saito. * * * * * How long you remain frozen in horror and astonishment you are not sure. Probably only a minute. Maybe even less. But it feels like an eternity as you try to make sense of the insane certainty you feel that you are two different people inhabiting the same skull. And it's not just a feeling that you've got. Your mind goes reeling back to not half an hour ago when you ... talked to yourself ... by the tennis courts. Hey, Yumi! you called to Yumi as you sauntered up. Hey, Will! you called back as Will sauntered up with Justin Roth dangling off his shirt-tail. Then you went back to glaring at Kelsey, who it sure as fuck looked like she was deliberately ignoring you, even though you had set it up to meet her after practice. You have any firecrackers on you? you asked Will. If you threw some firecrackers at Kelsey's feet, maybe that would get her attention. The question baffled you. What? No. What do you want firecrackers for? For a dumb joke, you thought, and changed the subject. You're up at school late. I had— Don't say you had detention, you reminded yourself. Something to do, you said. You waiting for someone? Dur. Yes. Come on, Kelsey, you growled. What do you want to talk to Kelsey for? you asked, wondering why anyone wound want to talk to her. I don't want to talk to her, you snapped back. But I want to talk about helping us lobby the administration to set up a mentoring program for wannabe-cheerleaders in the junior and sophomore classes. There's no juniors or sophomores on the squad now, and we need something to prepare for next year. And though it wouldn't be much of a consolation for Cindy, who really wants to knock Chelsea off as the squad captain, it would be something for her if she took charge of it. And it would even look good for her, maybe, if she was seen as mentoring other kids. But all that was too complicated to explain to Will, who sure as the dickens wouldn't even be interested, so you just said that you had some stuff to hash out with Kelsey. And because one thought will follow on another—Kelsey, who is ignoring you, was prattling the other day about the spurs she was going to contribute to the school's time capsule, which Will is also involved with—you asked him how the time capsule thing went. Just to kill time and fill the silence. You winced at the question. It was a disaster. That caught your ear. What happened? But he just repeated that it was a disaster because he ... you ... didn't want to talk about the detention he wound up getting over it. Well, let him play it close to the chest, you thought. I wasn't that interested anyway. And then Laura Minor came traipsing over to Kelsey, and Kelsey (who'd been chatting a mile a minute with Sophie Van den Berg, even though as far as you know she and Kelsey don't even like each other) dropped everything to turn and hug Laura and started all over again with her. That's when you lost it and marched onto the courts to tell Kelsey that you had places you had to be and that you wanted to talk now. And so you did, for all the good it did you. Kelsey fobbed you off with a I have to talk to some other people first excuse, then gave you a cold and quizzical stare when you persisted, and then you lost your temper and stormed off. You were almost to your car when you saw Justin— —who you'd agreed to give a ride from school— —called your name and came loping over. He asked if he could get a ride from you into town— —though you'd already agreed to, which is why he'd gotten into your truck— —and you said you would as long is it wasn't too far out of your way. Then he got into your car with you— —and he fiddled with his backpack— —and he took something blue out of it— —and he touched you on the shoulder— —then with a grin he mashed it into your face. Both of them. You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes. * * * * * When you drop them again you feel much calmer. Which is strange. Because it is strange to so calmly recognize your boobs and arms and hands and legs, and it is strange to have Yumi sharing your brain even as you're sharing her body, and all this is strange because you know beyond any possible doubt that you are Will Prescott. Just as you know beyond any possible doubt that you are sitting in your truck. I know I'm Will Prescott, you tell yourself, and you feel the impossibility of knowing any different, but I'm inside Yumi's body and ... I remember what she remembers? But when you look over at the passenger seat again, you see her clothes piled up there. You glance out of the cab, looking for Yumi's car. You spot it. The lot is mostly empty, and her car— Which you also feel like is your car. —is not far away. And peering out the driver's side window, with an expression of horror, is someone with Will Prescott's face. Next: "Of Two Minds on One Matter, Part 2" |
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