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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Into and Out of Character"  You wake with a start and are halfway off the bed almost before you know where you are. What time is it? you wonder. Also: What happened to Marcos? You blink stupidly as you try to place yourself, and absent-mindedly push a long hank of hair from your face— And that's when your heart leaps into your throat even as your stomach plunges. You grasp that lock of hair and hold it up to examine. The color is a deep, luscious brown, and the ends are neatly trimmed. The fingers with which you clasp it are small with tapering fingernails that glint with a translucent polish. You glance down at your chest. You've got breasts. Small ones, pointed with almost-upturned tips, like bananas. But they are definitely breasts, and they are a light, creamy brown, as is the rest of your torso. Your stomach is smooth and flat and curves inward, and your bellybutton is like a little scoop in wet sand. And below that— Huh. Alana shaves. Wait, I knew that, didn't I? You touch the spot with an exploratory fingertip. It is tender, and pulses with hungry life. So where did Sydney get off to again? you wonder. But it's Marcos's name you call. In answer (you suppose) comes the sound of a toilet flushing. But it's another minute before he appears in the doorway, and by then you've wriggled back into the jersey. It belonged to Alana's older brother, when he played high-school football six or seven years ago. A lot of her clothes are hand-me-downs from a brother who is a foot taller and many pounds heavier than her. "Hey there," Marcos says as he come in. You put out your arms and he slides between them, embracing you and kissing the side of your neck. "How you doing?" "I woke up, and you weren't here." His bare torso is warm as you clasp him. "Nature called." He rubs the small of your back with his knuckles and squeezes your ass through the shirt. "Memories?" He kisses you again. "I think so." You sniff the side of his neck. It's a familiar scent, warm and tangy with an undertone of sweat. "We were— Mmm!" You clasp him tightly. "You had your fingers up inside me when that girl knocked at the door." It comes to you in a flash of memory: looking back at the the cold-faced Amanda Ferguson as she stared haggardly at you. "I wanted so bad to put something else up in there. But—" Marcos kisses your neck again, and this time there are teeth in the kiss. "I was expecting that knock, you know. And I wanted to save it for when—" He kneads at you through the shirt. "When it could be both of us here, like this." Your mouth finds his, and you kiss long and deep and wetly, with tongues and teeth and lips. You are quickly aflame, and grind yourself against him. "Oh God," you groan. "My pussy hurts so bad." "We got time to squeeze one in?" "Time?" "Before you have to go to work." You can hardly concentrate for the pulsing lust churning you, and it's a moment before you can place what he's talking about. "Oh, shit. What time is it?" "Almost two." "Fuck, I gotta get ready." You sigh. He squeezes you tightly to himself, and you feel a rock-like cock pressing you through your jersey and the front of his jeans. "I can drive you there, that could give us time to— Nngh!" "Or you could take a shower with me." "Mmm. We haven't done that." You giggle. "None of us have. You, me, Marcos, or Alana!" "We could do a lot of things they never did." He kisses the side of your head. "I can think of about ten right off the top of my head." "Your head or Marcos's?" "They're the same one now, babe," he softly answers. * * * * * In the event, you don't shower together, and without Sydney to distract you, you take as much time as Alana would, soaping and washing yourself all over with a giant sponge, squeezing it into every tight place on your body. She washed her hair this morning, so you don't have to deal with that, except to tie it up into a bun in back. When you emerge at the end of it all in your McDonald's uniform, Marcos is back in his red t-shirt and shoes. He puts his arm around your torso as you lock up and walk out to his car. "You gonna be able to pick me up tonight like you said?" you ask as you buckle yourself in. "Like I said?" he echoes as he starts the car. "I didn't promise I would—" "You did! You said you'd take me to work and pick me up." "Depends on if I can get away from Mamacita." "Bring her with you. I'll give you free fries and shakes." "Mmm!" He takes his eyes from the road long enough to seize your chin and give you a quick kiss on the lips. "You really know how to turn me on." "So will you come pick me up?" "Sure. I'll tell Mamacita I promised you. But she has to come too." "That's okay. I like Mamacita." You scratch your ear. "She likes me too, doesn't she?" "Sure." He does a quick double-take at you. "You think she doesn't?" "I think she does. I just wanna be sure." "Well, give her free fries and a shake, and she'll like you for sure. And, you know, she'll like you for sure, Will, if we—" He scratches you under the chin, and grins. You brush him away. "It's too soon to think about that, Sydney. I just got here!" * * * * * It's a quarter to three when you arrive at work, which is plenty of time to get your head in the right place for the next nine hours. Martina Torres is taking an order at the front counter, but she briefly catches your eye and smiles as you come in the door. First stop is the restroom for a last, quick pee and touch-up to your look. The charcoal-gray blouse and pants do nothing for you, but you greedily consume your new reflection anyway. Big, soft brown eyes. Wide, shy smile. Smooth skin. Alana hasn't seemed to age much since her freshman year, and it's no wonder she's had to beat back attention from the boys almost since she was thirteen years old. Except, it's less that she's "beaten it back" than that she has flitted from one boy to another. Take Kenzo, for instance, who is emerging from the men's restroom at the same time as you step out of the women's. He jerks a little, then grins and nods at you, but you don't say anything to each other—not even a quick "Hi"—as side by side you stride toward the kitchen. Kenzo was Alana's boyfriend last year, when he was a senior at Eastman High, and he's the one who got her this job at McDonald's. It was an amicable break-up, but it still got awkward when he started dating Daniela, another crew member at the restaurant. Luckily, the job is busy enough that you hardly have time for more than small talk with him or anyone else. And speaking of the busy job— I'm sure glad Alana knows what she's doing, you reflect as you slide in the earpiece and settle in at the drive-thru station. "Welcome to McDonald's, will you be using any of your reward points with us today?" you coo at your first customer. If my dad—Harris Prescott—could see me now, you think as you tap in the order. With an actual weekend job. Oh, and tits. * * * * * "Mr. Medrano's talking about moving me up front, cashiering in-store." "That's cool. Isn't it?" Marcos wrenches a bite from the hamburger you snuck out to him, along with the two shakes and fries for him and Trina. It's a little before midnight, and you're helping sweep and clean the place. But your own shift will end when the restaurant closes, so you're not putting your back into it, and are loitering near the booth where Marcos and his Mamacita are scrunched up with their arms around each other's shoulders, feeding each other fries. "Depends on the reason he wants to move me," you reply. "There were some guys pulled in around nine, and they were, um, talking to me at the window." Marcos's face falls. "Yeah?" His voice hardens. "What kind of talking?" "Oh, you know. Guys cruising at nine o'clock on a Saturday night. Anyway, Mr. Medrano heard them—" "And what'd he do?" Marcos's eyes flash with anger. "He put his head around the corner and told them to drive on, we wouldn't be serving them." "Fuckin' right on." You hesitate. You were only making small talk when you started telling Marcos about all this, but it sounds like he's going to take it the wrong way. So when he asks, "Is that how come he's thinking of moving you? So you don't have to deal with creeps at the window?" you only nod and cut it short. A few minutes later, you've pushed the mop into the opposite corner of the restaurant, next to the napkin and condiments station, when Kenzo makes a beeline at you. "Is that Marcos over there?" he asks you in a low voice. "Yeah." He pauses. "Did you two break up?" "No." He glances back over his shoulder, at where Marcos and Trina are sitting. "Well, who's that he's with?" "Oh, that's Trina. Trina Murillo. She goes to school with us." Kenzo blinks at you, and again glances back over his shoulder. "So— The way they're sitting together—" You glance over, in time to see them nuzzle deeply at each other. Kenzo's puzzlement suddenly makes sense. "Oh, that." You smile at him. "It's complicated, Kenzo. But it's okay." You don't elaborate, and he looks doubtful. That's all for now. |
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