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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
| If you're going to confront Justin again, you should probably have Yumi along, that way if you can get a straight story from him, you can make him reverse whatever he did to you. Besides, Yumi's mom always makes sure her daughter has her homework done before letting her go out on a school night. So you're at home doing math when a text comes in from your old phone number: You have a five oclock curfew now and when detention is over you have to take bus to and from school for a week. It could be worse, you reflect, and when she asks how, you reply, It could be me whose grounded. That earns you a sour Ha ha. The next morning, though, brings a much more frantic-sounding text: Meet me at Salvation Donuts asap pls! Since you were in the shower when it arrived, you have to tell the sender to hang tight while you finish getting dressed. You don't waste time either, and wind up dressing very down in flannel shorts, a tank-top, and flip-flops in order to get out the door quickly. * * * * * Will Prescott makes a face like he wants to vomit. "It was really gross waking up this morning," he tells you, and he twists in his seat like he wants to squirm out of his skin. He's dressed about the same as he was yesterday: cargo shorts, way-too-large t-shirt (forest green this time), and shapeless white ball cap pulled down low over his stiff bangs. Yellow teeth show between lips that are twisted into a sneer of anger, and he hunches in his chair. He hasn't even touched the chocolate donut that he bought. His attitude makes you very tired. Yes, you can understand why Yumi wouldn't want to trade her body for yours, but to harp on it in front of you? That's just rude. And you tell her so. "I'll tell you what's rude," he retorts. "Waking up with your thing shooting snot out all over the place!" "What? Oh, Jesus! Gross!" "I told you!" "Well, I'm sorry! Maybe now you'll have a little sympathy for what my sex goes through." You catch sight of the fat woman behind the counter, and lower your face and your voice. "Seriously, though, I am sorry." "M'neh. At least I knew how to handle it." He casts a furtive glance around. "That's mainly why I wanted to see you. That wasn't the only thing I woke up with this morning. I, uh, seem to have woken up with your—" You twists a stiff forefinger into his temple. It takes you a moment to catch on. "You mean, you can ... remember ... um ...?" "All your shit? Yeah. And if I concentrate, I think I can even 'do' you." "Like what do you mean?" "Like, act like you." He squints. "Like I'm doing now." You can't help making a face. Is all this—this rude, gross talk and this ugly hunching and squirming—is that Yumi doing her best to act like ... you? "Well, don't overdo it," you tell her. "But what happened? How did you—?" She can't explain how it happened. All she can say is that she woke up in a panic over soiling herself, but got it all handled in the bathroom. And it was only after getting herself and her underthings cleaned and scrubbed off that she realized she was thinking and acting just like you would have—and that she knew everything about your family that she didn't know last night. "So I even got through breakfast okay," he tells you. "I even"—his mouth twists up into a half smile—"got some shots in at your brother. Told him he wasn't man enough to get detention." "You know my school schedule?" you interrupt. It's weird enough looking at yourself without hearing about what "yourself" got up to at home. He blinks, and his gaze goes momentarily distant. "Yeah. Sociology first period with Mr. Walberg. Then your film class, then— Jesus!" A look of amazement washes over his face. "You sure got an easy schedule!" "Oh, screw you, it's hard enough for me. Anyway, come look for me outside the cafeteria at lunch. We'll try to find Justin then." You check the time on your phone. "We better get going." "How'd things go at my house?" "They went fine. I hid in your room, mostly." "Was your night okay?" His expression turns hooded. You answer with a direct look. "I kept my hands to myself, if that's what you're asking. Now will you please eat that goddamned donut?" You mouth a silent Sorry! to the woman behind the counter for the profanity. "It's driving me crazy, and it's not like you have to watch your carbs." * * * * * As if life hasn't thrown you enough curveballs, you get the shock of Yumi's life when you go into first-period cheerleader practice. It's something you have been anticipating with a mix of dread, shame, and glee. I'm going to get to see all the cheerleaders with their clothes off! is your own excited feeling, and on the drive out to school you feel yourself blushing and flushing all over as you replay Yumi's memories. Slim, lithe, bouncy girls like Chelsea Cooper and Cindy Vredenburg; Gloria Rea and Lin Pol; the Garner sisters ... stripping off their school clothes down to their bras and underwear while changing into tight, sleeveless uniforms. And then, afterwards, the same girls, now hot and blown and shining with perspiration, stripping down to their skins and cooling their toned bodies under streams of cold water. Powdering themselves all over as they dress up again in school clothes. It gives you electrical twitches all over. But it gives you the winces, too. You can feel Yumi's instinctive disapproval. Pervert! Bad enough you're wearing my skin and pretending to be me with my friends! Now you're going to peep and ogle them like a creepy perv! And then there's the dread of practice itself. Coach Tesla, who nominally teaches the class, is never to be found on the floor—it's common knowledge that she hides out in her office, slowly getting drunk—and leaves the team captain, Chelsea Cooper, to run things. And Chelsea is a vicious, perfectionist bitch who only criticizes, never praises, and probably spends an hour a night inventing new and clever ways of insulting the girls on the squad. More than once you—yes, you! Yumi Saito—has had to fight back tears when Chelsea got especially brutal, and you're not the only one. So when you do get to school, and breeze into the changing room, your emotions are in too much of a boil to really pay attention to the other girls. And it's not until afterward that you realize how quiet the room was. The first shock of the morning comes when you go out onto the floor, to find Coach Tesla waiting there. Is the coach an old woman? You're not sure of her age, but she looks like she's been ridden hard by life. She is fat, with watery, bulging eyes set a broad and baggy face. Her hair is graying. She's standing in the middle of the court while Chelsea, her arms folded across her chest, slouches beside her with a black frown on her face. Kendra and Gloria, her two chief flunkies, are already standing nearby, looking uneasy. You stand off to the side by yourself, and say nothing, neither to them nor to the other girls—Cindy and Lin and the Garners—when they join. In fact, no one speaks until the entire squad has been assembled. "Morning, girls," the coach mumbles. "I've got an announcement to make. We're going to be having a new set of cheerleader trials." A ripple runs through the group, and you and the Garners exchange glances of surprise. Trials? You had trials at the start of the semester! That's how you all got on the squad! "I've scheduled the trials for Monday, here, in class," the coach continues. She looks a little ill as she speaks. "Each of you needs to prepare a routine, you'll execute it for me on Monday. I'll be grading you." A gray shadow washes over her face. "Lowest score gets cut from the squad." Now there's an audible murmur from your circle as more furtive looks are exchanged. Lin puts up her hand. "I don't understand, Coach," she says. "There's supposed to be ten of us, and you're cutting us back to nine?" "No, there's going to be another, um, contestant," says the coach. "Applicant. I'll be judging her too. If she gets the lowest score, then no one here gets cut. If she scores high enough—" The coach licks her dry and craggy lips. "Then she'll replace one of you." There are gasps all around the circle, except from Chelsea and her friends, you notice. Jessica Garner, who is standing beside you, protests in a very small voice. "That's not fair!" Maybe the coach didn't hear her, or maybe she just didn't want to, because she ignores Jessica. "That's all I have to say. Good luck to you girls, and be prepared on Monday." She pushes through the little knot that's surrounded her, and hurries off the floor. Chelsea steps into the middle of the floor to take her place. "You heard the coach," she says through gritted teeth. "You've got till Monday to whip yourselves into shape. I'm going to help you all, too." Her face flushes to a deep red. "Because there is no freaking way I'm letting her cut any of you!" * * * * * Chelsea works you hard for half the class, then releases you into pairs to practice and to brainstorm for possible routines. The shock of it all causes time to fly, and before you know it you are showering and dressing again, and are on your way to your second period class. Adrian Semple, one of the schools many sloppy, class-skipping dope-smokers, is loitering in the doorway. You try to push past, but he catches you by the arm. "Hey," he says. "What are you doing this period?" "I got class. This one." You jerk your arm from him. "You got this class too, don't you?" "Skip it," he says. "Come hang out with me." Then, before you can tell him to get bent, he adds, "I heard you tried kicking Justin's ass yesterday. I wanna talk about that." That's all for now. |
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