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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Fantasies, Plausible or Not"  You quickly dismiss the idea of turning yourself into Kirkham's "little bro." Kirkham himself is awful enough on his own, even with Sydney in the driver's seat, and you remember how you used to treat your own little brother. So there's no way you want to be the younger sibling in that relationship. As for the girls Sydney named ... You have to jump into social media to get a look at them. But the first one you find is so arresting that you stop right there. Alana Ocampo is luscious. There's really no other way to describe her. Technically, she is already is "jailbait," but she also looks and dresses the part. With her large, dark eyes; her weak chin; her shy smile; and her long, tangled brown hair, she doesn't need makeup to look enticing; nor does she appear to be wearing much makeup, save for a very pale lip gloss, which makes her even more naturally alluring. She's dressed provocatively too, in very short, ragged-chopped jeans shorts; a black XXL t-shirt with what looks like a band name printed on the front; a heavy canvas camo jacket that's at least five sizes too large for her; and a camo-pattern ball cap that she's turned brim-side backward. She's coiled up in the corner of a classroom with no way to gauge her size, but if she stands more than five feet tall, you'll eat the hat she's wearing. She looks very messy. Hot and messy, to tell yourself. In other words, the opposite of Amanda. And that's what convinces you to not even look at the the others. Alana, you text Sydney back. I like her look. I like it too, the reply comes back. I'm jerking off to her now. You suppress a shudder, and tell Sydney you're turning your phone off. * * * * * You are hot and bothered all the next morning as you prep for school. In the shower you feel extra tingly all over, and turn the shower head to pulsate and hammer yourself with needles of scalding water. It's like a flipping a switch, and your loins begin to boil. Pretty soon you give up to temptation, and hang onto the shower head with one hand as you push a soapy-sodden sponge at and into yourself. Even a flashback to the hotel room, to David Kirkham atop you, thrusting himself inside as his hot breath rolls down your face, doesn't break the mood. Maybe it even turns the temperature up, for the memory morphs into fantasy, of a muscular and very horny Kirkham stepping into the shower and clasping you from behind. Yesterday was painful, and you didn't much enjoy it. But could it have unlocked something inside Amanda? You shudder a little. I hope it's Amanda and not me, you think as your knees weaken, who wants to feel David Kirkham kissing the back of her neck! You are still shaking all over after getting out of the shower and drying off, and that fire is still burning, so you dress more provocatively than usual. The white hose you pull up and over your legs is the only gesture toward respectability, and they lose even than when matched them with the skimpy, short-skirted purple dress you pull over yourself, and the black, knee-high leather boots. You cinch a skinny leather belt, hardly thicker than a shoelace, around your waist to give your curves some contour, and plump your lips under an extra-shiny gloss. Your dark hair you comb out flat and let air-dry so that you won't look too styled—only styled enough. Nice, you think as you turn around and around to study the effect in the mirror and straighten the fall of your skirt over the shelf of your butt. The only people who'd fuck with me are the ones who'd want me to fuck them over. With a riding crop. Amanda, you tell yourself as you touch up a spot on your lip, you guessed what you had, but you didn't know for sure until you let ime slide you on like a sock. * * * * * You feel the eyes on you as you stalk across the parking lot toward the school, but that just makes you to walk taller and throw more sway in your hips. At the breezeway entrance, you turn to casually survey the effect you've caused, but your attention is hooked and drawn by the quartet of boys trudging along toward you. You know them, of course, for they are part of Amanda's gang. Anthony Kirk, Geoff Mansfield, Martin Gardinhire, and her boyfriend, Ricky Golia. The first three are looking up at you from under their brows; Ricky doesn't even look in your direction. Well, whatever, you think even as you flinch a little from the chill that palpably wafts off them. "Hey guys," you say as they reach you. "Talked to Kelsey yet?" "We just got here," Anthony says as he and the other brush past. You sniff at their retreating backs as they trudge past. What's their problem? At least Kelsey, when you catch up to her in first period, doesn't cold-shoulder you. In fact, she is so full of cheer and friendly feeling—complimenting you on your outfit and prattling about the upcoming Saturday-night party at her place—that it leaves you bristling with suspicion. Did Sydney tell the fake-Kelsey to be nice to me? you wonder. Because Kelsey is usually this bright and empty only when she has or is about to slide a shiv between someone's vertebrae. Anthony and the others are still cold to you in second and fourth period, and by the time the lunch bell rings you are so rattled that you nudge Anthony on the way out the classroom door. "Come talk to me while I change out books at my locker." "I'm hungry," he says. "It'll be just a minute, my locker's right over there," you snap. "It's about tomorrow night at Kelsey's" With a shrug, Anthony follows you over. "Actually I lied," you tell him as you start unloading your backpack. "It's not about the party, it's about how come you and the boys are giving me the treatment." "What treatment?" "Don't bullshit me. Brent's the only one talking to me, so I know you and Geoff and Martin have a bug up your assholes. What is it?" You turn a hard frown on him. But he doesn't flinch. He just holds your eye and says, "Where were you Wednesday after school?" "The fuck does that matter? It's my business, wherever I was." "It's not Ricky's business?" "No. If it's not yours, it's not his—" "You were at the Donna." You have to swallow the sudden tickle at the back of your throat. Anthony's eyes narrow. "You were at the Donna," Anthony repeats. "Don't lie and say you weren't." "I'm not lying! I'm not saying anything, because it's not—! Not—!" "Not what?" "Not your business!" "But is it Ricky's?" Anthony asks in an infuriatingly calm tone. "That's not your business either, whatever is with him or me!" "Did you tell him you were going to be at the Donna, with David Kirkham?" "Jesus!" Your face feels scorched with the heat of your embarrassment. "If you and Ricky wanna, you know, each have something on the side—" "Does he have something on the side?" Now Anthony can't stop himself from sneering. "Would you be mad if he did?" "He wouldn't," you snarl back. "So I don't even know why I asked." "My point," says Anthony, "is that if you're going to do something like that, it's not fair if you don't, like, set it up with Ricky first so he can be okay with it." What fucking business is it of Ricky's who I go off and have a fuck with? is you want to scream. Except it would be too stupid and absurd, given that he's supposed to be your boyfriend. Instead, as Anthony starts to turn away, you ask, "Who told you all about it? Was it Kim? If that little bitch—!" "If Kim knows, she hasn't told anyone, and no one's told her. If you wanna know who it was, it was—" * * * * * "Sure I told her to tell her friends," Kirkham sniggers. "What's the fun in keeping something like that a secret?" It's lunchtime and you've not eaten yet. Instead, you are hiding in a toilet stall in the E-wing girls' restroom, talking by phone to Sydney. Where she is, you don't know. "Are you crazy? And getting Kelsey to be the one who—" "Just trying to make your life interesting, babe," he chortles. "Anyway, Kelsey would'a told the others anyway, 'less I told her not to. She's that kind of girl." "I know what kind of girl Kelsey is!" "Then why are you surprised? You shoulda seen it coming." "But not from ... you!" "I toldja, I'm trying to keep things interesting for you. Anyway, it won't be for long. Or did you forget about—rrhhmmm—Alana? I got that all set up for this afternoon." "This afternoon?" "Isn't that what I said?" "I mean— That quick?" "Sure. She knows a good lay when it comes up and says I wanna fuck you so bad. We're meeting at the portables right after last period. So, you know. Stick around." Sydney's news doesn't dampen your anger, but it does shut you up. Okay, you tell yourself as you close the connection with trembling fingers. At least it won't be my problem anymore. * * * * * Or maybe it will. Because while you're waiting in the library after school for a phone call from Sydney, Ricky comes in. He has a look on his face that you—Amanda—have never seen before. He looks ... determined. "I was gonna call you," he says as he pulls out a chair. "But here we are. We have to talk." And just then your phone buzzes. Instinctively you pick it up, but Ricky seizes your hand and forces it back down to the table. "We have to talk, Amanda," he insists. So we have to talk, you think. Give me twenty minutes and you can talk to Amanda, but I'll be somewhere else. Because you saw the call was from David Kirkham. Next: "That Kind of Girlfriend" |
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