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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Of Two Minds on One Matter, Part 1"  Will Prescott is staring back at you with a look of horror on his face. You've probably got the same kind of expression on yours. My mouth is hanging open, you realize with a jump. You shut it with a snap. Then you come alive, and bustle yourself into your clothes. You've got the bra halfway on before you realize that you thought of them as my clothes. At least it doesn't take long to dress after you've got the bra on: shorts, a t-shirt, socks and sneakers. You dressed down today. Yumi dressed down today, you remind yourself through gritted teeth. The thought that you are Yumi Saito is not terribly convincing, but it is still very natural to think of what she did as "what I did," just as it's easy to think of her clothes as "my clothes." And it feels so natural to double-check your appearance in the passenger-side visor mirror, as Yumi frequently does, that not until you're looking at your face—button nose; dark, alert eyes; pie-pan cheeks; sleek black hair—do you realize you're doing it. You flip the visor back up, and with a deep breath hop out the passenger-side door. The walk over to ... Yumi's ... car seems to take forever. Will (or whoever it is) is hunkered down inside. You can't make him out clearly, but it looks like he's also getting dressed. As for who it is in ... Yumi's car ... and in your body ... Well, this is so weird that you don't want to speculate, even though there's only one hypothesis worth hazarding. You hang back and wait until ... Will ... finishes dressing and turns around to squint out at you. His eyes pop when he sees you looming so close, and he looks ill. Do I wave at him? you wonder. Gesture him to roll down the window? Or just yank the door open and barge on in? You have a feeling that the last is what Yumi would do. So instead you take a step back, and wait for him to get out. He stares at you. Then, with obvious reluctance, he pushes the car door open, and lumbers out. God, he's tall, you think as he unfurls himself to his full height. But then, next to Yumi Saito, almost everyone one is tall. He's lanky, too, and dressed in sloppy khaki cargo shorts and a burgundy t-shirt that's at least two sizes too large for him. With his skinny arms and skinny calves (hairy, too) and with the shock of stiff, straw-like bale of hair that sticks out every which way atop his head, he looks like a teenage scarecrow. Oh, it's not that he's bad looking, you muse. His features are regular (though he's got some monstrously large choppers) and there's something adorable about the way he peers shyly out from under his bangs with a pained and crooked smile— You shake the thought from your head. This isn't the time to scope myself out, you chide yourself. He doesn't say anything, he just sways there, looking at you with a little green showing around his terrified grin. You don't say anything either. But eventually the moment becomes too awkward, and you ask, "Okay, ar you as weirded out by this as I am?" His eyes widen. In a fearful voice he croaks, "Yeah?" Then you say, "Yumi?" He swallows an enormous lump and again says, "Yeah?" "I mean—" You swallow in turn. "You are ... Yumi Saito. Right?" The question sounds beyond ridiculous. "Even though you look like—? And I look like—? But really, you're ... Yumi?" A hard tremble passes through his shoulders, but his eyes harden. "I was when I woke up this morning." You glance around, for suddenly you can't look him in he face. "Yeah, well," you mutter, "when I woke up this morning I thought I was—" You wave a finger in his general direction. At least that's out the way, you think. But before you can come up with a follow-up, Will sways, chokes, spins about to grab the side of the car, and hunches over. Then he vomits all over rear left tire. * * * * * "Charles Hartlein," Will suggests as you're still tapping out a text to Tim Gerard. "Adrian hangs out with Justin, and I hear Charles and Adrian hang out a lot. I mean, a lot." "Eww. I don't want to owe Charles anything. Andrew Harding?" "I don't have his number." "Don't you?" You have a vague memory—one of Yumi's vague memories, surely—of exchanging texts with him. "How come I'm not the one sending these texts? It's my phone!" "It doesn't go with your outfit." Not much time has passed since Yumi finished tossing your liquified lunch all over the asphalt. It only feels like a lifetime. But it's been long enough to turbo-charge your anger. Will—given who he looks like, it seems easiest to think of him as "Will"—quickly came alive with fury. Almost as soon as his stomach settled, he whipped around and accused you of perpetrating this "body heist." You told him that was pretty fucking unlikely, and when he persisted you calmly gave him a kick in the crotch to think about. While he was snorting and panting, you told him you thought that Justin Roth—the last person each of you saw before weird things started happening—must have something to do with it. Will got a very black look on his face, but agreed that that made sense. So now you're trying to track Roth down. Because neither of you really knows him, you're shooting out texts in a lot of different directions, trying to find him through chains of acquaintances. And all the time you're searching, you're also thinking, How the fuck am I going to explain this to my mom and dad? Also: I have to get home. I'm grounded. It's Andy Tackett who finally comes through. More than comes through, he tells you that he's with Justin now, up at the college. You ask him to wait there while you come out. "So whose car are we taking?" Will asks as you put the phone away. You turn toward your truck. "Mine." "Then I'll drive." "What?" "Who's it registered to?" he says. "Me." "And who's looking like you now?" "Alright, fine, then we'll take your car. I'll drive." "Rock paper scissors!" Will puts out his fist. "Rock paper scissors," he repeats, "to see who drives. And whose car we take." You make a face, but put out your own fist. Your scissors beats his paper, so you wind up taking Yumi's Nissan Sentra, yourself driving. Will looks vexed as he buckles himself in. "You sure are being pushy," he says. "I'm not being pushy," you retort as you put the car in motion. "I just want to get things put back to normal. Don't you?" "You think I don't?" He squirms in his seat. "And you are being pushy," he grumbles. You don't answer, because he's right, and you can feel it. It's like you have this need to be in control, which is a feeling you don't often have. You want to elbow Will ... Yumi ... aside and get the thing done. "What are we going to do when we find him?" Will asks. You chew on the question before answering. "You're going to hold him down, and I'm going to kick him in the balls until he agrees to put things back. Or do you think," you can't help adding, "that'd be too pushy?" You can feel the dirty look he shoots you. But aloud, he only says, "No, that's pretty much the idea I had." Still, you find it very awkward to talk. And maybe she does too, for the ride passes mostly in silence. * * * * Andy and Justin are up at the college, lounging on the concrete steps of a plaza that fronts a four-story brick building. The shadows of evening are just starting to lengthen, but they and Karl Hennepin and a girl you recognize but can't put a name to are lazing away like it's the middle of a summer day. They have foot-long sandwiches, and bags of chips are scattered about them. "Hey Yumi!" Tackett shouts as you approach. "Will!" he adds. "Go pick yourself up something at the Union, then pull up a step!" You ignore him to concentrate on Roth. He returns you a hooded look after briefly raking you up and down with his eyes. "We're here looking for Justin," you reply through gritted teeth. "Will and me. We want to talk to you alone," you tell him, and point to the corner of the building. "If it turns into a three-way, I want video," the girl giggles as Justin, after a couple of hard blinks, slowly levers himself to his feet. You ignore her, and clench your hands into fists. Justin trudges off ahead of you, saying nothing until you've forced him around the corner of the building and pushed him into a little nook where you won't be seen. That's when he mutters, in a growly baritone, "Yeah?" "Put us back." His brow creases. "Put what back?" "You know what I mean. Me and Yumi." You jerk your thumb at Will, who is standing guard behind you. "Put us back the way we were." Justin just looks puzzled, and asks you again what you mean. "Yumi?" you ask your companion in misfortune. "Remember what we said we were going to do to Justin if he didn't play along?" "Yeah." "Grab him." Next: "A Real Kick to the Balls" |
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