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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Naked Truth"  Will and Jenny— You shudder all over. Oh God, you think, it really does look like her and ... me ... down at the end the hallway. That's what other people see when they see us. And now I can see them that way too because now I'm ... someone else! They're standing just a little apart from each other, their shoulders hunched up defensively. The guy who now is you is twisting from one foot to the other, and his terrified, rictus-like grin is full of big teeth. Brianna puts her arm around your shoulders, and you lean on her for support. It's Will who sees you first, and his expression falls. His eyes dart between you and Brianna. "Alright, here we are," Brianna says as you draw up. "Um. Guys." "Yeah," says Jenny. Will bops his head in a nod. "What do we do now?" Jenny asks. "Well, I think we probably better go someplace where—" Brianna looks around. "Well, where Mr. Montague isn't going to see us and split a seam again." "I don't want anyone to see us," Jenny moans. "Suck it up," Brianna says, even though she also looks ill. "You don't got it so bad. Do you remember where I live?" "I think so." Jenny rattles off an address, and Brianna nods. "What about you?" Brianna also gives an address, and adds a phone number and a couple of names into the bargain. She looks at ... Will. "Um." He thinks a moment, then gives your address and your phone number. "And, um, m'Dad's name is Harris, my Mom is Martha, I got a little brother named Robert, and—" "Oh, Jesus!" you croak, and Brianna has to catch you as your knees buckle. "Okay, I'm guessing we all know what we drive?" she says after she's got you propped back onto your feet. "So let's get off campus and meet up at, um—" "The river?" Jenny suggests. "Too many people. I know, Potsdam Park! That's close. I'll take, uh, Melanie here. Because I know she doesn't drive," she sourly adds. * * * * * You feel very weak, and Brianna hangs back with you while the others go on ahead. You take it slow to the parking lot, where she gently helps you into a tired-looking sedan as though you are an invalid,. "Just try to relax, Will," she says. "Maybe you're panicking." "Wouldn't you be?" She bites her lip. "I mean— Can't you remember anything about Melanie?" "No!" You raise your hands to examine them. They are slim and rather pretty, but you can't help regarding them with horror and revulsion. "I never even—!" "Shh! Just relax. Close your eyes and try to drift." You shudder but do as she suggests. But your mind can only race as you replay the last hour, like it's a movie, and you're hoping that this time, when you watch it, it will all turn out differently. So the only thing closing your eyes does is give you a touch of carsickness on top of the existential nausea. Potsdam Park is a narrow strip of greenery that runs alongside the river. The lowering afternoon sun is glinting off the softly rippling water when you arrive, and it would be a pleasant stroll along the promenade that winds above the riverbank, if you were over there where that scarecrow-like kid with his sloppy clothes and stiff blonde hair is standing, instead of here, like this, where you are instead. Brianna—or Jenny; she certainly does act like your friend—gets things going by asking everyone to recall and describe the events leading up to this catastrophe. But Jenny—or Brianna; she certainly is a lot whinier than your friend—reminds everyone that she can remember not only what happened to herself, but what happened to Jenny. So what's the point? But Brianna insists. "Well," Jenny grumbles, "one of the things I remember, I was talking to this Chinese-or-whatever cheerleader out in the music annex, and then on my way back inside I ran into this guy here—" She glances uneasily between you and Will. "And then Mr. Montague—" She describes Jenny's afternoon, and then the afternoon of the girl she used to be, before passing the baton to "Will." He describes your experiences, including little details like having "his" cap knocked off before getting conked from behind. When it's your turn, though, you can only shrug and let Brianna tell it. "We were in Ms. Willet's classroom, waiting to meet with Eric Murphy. Melanie—" Like her counterpart, she glances guiltily between you and Will. "Melanie said she wanted to have it out with him and ... me. She was tired of all the fighting." Will clucks his tongue and rolls his eyes. "Well, Melanie was working on this thing," Brianna continues. "My coat-hanger sculpture," Will mutters. "And Eric never showed up, and finally Ms. Willet threw us out because she had to go. And then, while we were walking to the library—" "Because I wanted to wait for Eric there," Will says while giving you a fishy-eyed glance. "I texted him." "Well, that's when we, um—" Brianna shrugs. "Got punched in the head." She looks at Will. "And that's what happened to you?" "Twice, it feels like." He rubs the back of his skull. You rub yours. Curiously, considering that you were supposedly knocked out so hard your very souls went flying, there is no bump, no blood, no tenderness there. "You didn't see anything?" Jenny asks. Will shakes his head, but Brianna says, "For me it was kind of like with Will. It felt like someone came up behind me. I thought I heard footsteps, but it was all over so fast. What about you guys?" "I didn't hear anything," Jenny says, and Will says, "I didn't either." "Okay," says Brianna. "But the next thing I wanna know is, how did we all lose our clothes? And how'd we wind up in Mr. Montague's room? I mean," she adds when no one says anything, "it's sure seems like someone did this to us! It wasn't just a— a thing that happened!" "How do you know?" Jenny asks in a pinched voice. "There's lots of funky things out there that can do stuff like this." "Oh, I know you believe that shit," Brianna retorts, "but I don't!" "I know you don't, but I do!" "Hey guys!" Will spreads his arms. "Can we not lose our shit? Maybe it's— Maybe it's just a prank that someone did to us. Maybe it's just a prank, and we'll get a phone call, or tomorrow at school someone'll be all, like, hey guys, pretty funny, huh?" "I don't think it's funny!" Brianna fumes. "You wouldn't!" Jenny retorts. "But you would!" "Hey!" Will shouts. "I said, let's not lose our shit! Now," he continues when silence has fallen over the group again. "What do we do now?" More silence. Then Jenny says, in a small voice, "Maybe we should go home?" Brianna sidles up to you. "You really wanna send ... her ... to your home?" she asks Will. He pales. "Yeah, okay," Jenny mutters. "She can come home with me." "Uh, hello," Brianna retorts, "she can come home with me!" "You're not her friend!" "You're not his friend!" "Will you bitches both shut the fuck up?" Will yells. "Fucking Christ on a stick! How about you leave it up to—?" He looks at you, and swallows. "Leave it up to him." And of course, you're baffled. "Leave what up to me?" "Will," Brianna says. "You can't spend the night at, um, Melanie's." "Why not?" "Let's put it this way. You don't want to." You look at Will. "I don't?" His eyebrows go up. "Don't you know why not? Well, I wouldn't if I didn't have to," he continues when you say nothing. "I mean, this is the grossest and most disgusting thing that's ever happened to me. But at least I've got a good excuse to never sleep at my house again." "Oh God." Without even knowing what it is that is so awful, you feel again like vomiting. * * * * * So it turns out it's not the worst thing, maybe, when they tell you what is so bad about the home life of the girl whose body you now inhabit. She lives in a trailer park, but the bad thing is her mother, who is an underemployed drunk, and a mean one, too. Melanie knows how to handle her ("But it's hard!" she tells you), but everyone agrees that it would be best if you skipped going home tonight. The trouble is, you've got two girls who each think it would be best if you went home with her. You look to "Will" for guidance. He thinks a moment, then pulls you aside. "The thing is," he tells you—and again you get the impression of how strange it is to have "yourself" talking to you—"me and Brianna don't get along. Real Brianna, I mean, I don't know—" He glances over at the girl who now looks like Brianna. "Your friend over there," she concludes. "Anyway, me and Brianna don't get along on account of there's a, um, guy who got between us. I mean, you're not ... me ... so I guess I get why she'd be okay with helping you out. So you can stay with whoever. Only it would look sort of weird to anyone who found out if you went home with, um—" She again glances over at Brianna. Next: "Hideout for the Homeless" |
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