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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Lizard King"  Of course you know where Prescott has his locker, and the route he usually takes to and from it. So even though the halls are crowded, you've no trouble tracking him down. What a fucking stupid piece of headgear, you find yourself thinking when you spot his hat bobbing down the hall ahead of you. Like a helmet retards have to wear so they won't hurt themselves. He sees you after you've glimpsed him, and he looks startled. Startled but not afraid. He doesn't turn and scurry off the other way, but you've no time to wonder if that's bravery or stupidity on his part before you're onto him. He starts to brush past, but you shoot out an arm and wrap it around his throat, jarring him to a stop and bending him back. He chokes and gurgles. "I got something to talk to you about, man," you hiss at him. "'Spec' you know what it's about. Come on." You swing him around, seize him by the back of the neck and the hem of his shorts, and shove him along in front of you. You've cleared the halls and pushed him out of doors, leaving other students scattered in your wake, before he speaks. "What's on your mind, boss?" "Boss." Your laugh is a hiss. "I like that. Shows respect, shows you know your fucking place, you little shit pellet." You kick at his shin as you force him toward the portables. "We're gonna talk about your girlfriend again, man, and where I fit in with you two. Gonna be a surprise when I explain th'facts to you." You bet it will be a surprise, the fake you learning that the real version of him is now David Kirkham. If things like him can really feel surprise. You're a little smaller than him, and have to peer around the side of his head to steer, so you don't know he's there until you hear his voice and laugh: "Oh, fuck me, man, what's this about?" Your heart jerks in your chest: It's Gary Chen. And then you see him, rising from a squat by the corner of the nearest portable. Chen dresses (and acts) like a classic gangbanger, in baggy trousers and extra-large shirts under an extra-large camo jacket; his hair, which touches his eyebrows, his earlobes, and the top of his neck, his held in place under a dirty ski cap. He has a lynx-like face, and his dark eyes glitter maliciously over a bright, hungry sneer. "Got a little business with this fucker," you mutter at him as you brush past. "Talk t'ya later." But his footsteps follow, and a light, sickly sweat breaks out on the back of your neck. You rush Prescott up the sagging wooden steps into the portable Kirkham often uses for these "conferences," and bang him face-first into the door. "Open it, dumbass," you growl, and he scrambles at the knob. You thrust him through into the musty, mildewy darkness on the other side of the doorway. You hurl him away and spin, trying to slam the door on Chen, but he has slipped in right behind you and is standing just inside the door; the tip of his cigarette glows orange as he takes a drag. "So wha's goin' on?" he asks. "None of your business," you growl. " Just a thing 'tween me and this fucker." "Bullshit," Chen says. He takes another drag, then hops over a few feet to glare closely into Prescott's face; the pedisequos is leaning against a rickety old desk, and flinches openly. "Hey, I know this cocksucker. He's banging this hot chick." "That's what I need to talk to him about." The memory—or the absence of one—brushes the front of your brain: Kirkham hasn't told Chen how he's persecuting Prescott. "I been trying to explain to this dumb fuck that him and her are bustin' up." Chen shoots you a merrily malicious glance. "No shit?" He turns back to Prescott. "So, 'd'he score and now he's dumpin' her ass? Izzat it?" he mumbles around the cigarette. "Faugh!" You are trembling now at the mistake you've made, but you are now caught in an avalanche of improvisation, and are helpless but to continue the line. "Thinking of this little puss-sucker on toppa that girl? Makes me wanna puke. Pisses me off, too." Your right hand clenches into a hard fist. "So I'm tryin' t'convince this guy to—" You punch Prescott in the gut, hard, and it hurts you almost as much as it hurts him. Well, no, it hurts him a lot more, judging by the way he doubles up and falls to his knees, like Spencer did. But it does sicken you. "Fuck me," you growl at Chen, "I been at it three, four days now, explainin' to'm how he makes me sick, an' how I don't like bein' sick, and how he's gonna stop makin' me sick. But it don't seem to make no difference to the selfish little fuck." Chen snickers, then leans over to bat Prescott's hat and and grab him by the hair at the top of his head. "You like makin' my man here sick?" he snarls. "You got no fuckin' consideration of others?" He shoves Prescott's head back down. "I guess we're both gonna have to explain it to him," he chortles to you. Now you are trapped, by Kirkham's own need to preserve face in front of his friend. You bend to put your mouth close to Prescott's ear. "Just tell me you're breaking up with Sydney McGlynn—" His head shoots up. "Okay, I'm breaking up with Sydney!" he bleats. You raise up, startled. "Th'fuck'ju say?" "I said I'm breaking up with Sydney!" You and Chen exchange startled glances. You keep a shocked silence, while Chen hoots and chortles. "Well, that was easy," he gloats, and punches you in the shoulder. "You can thank me later by giving me a blow job." But you're too shocked to respond to the jibe. You take another heavy step toward Prescott, who, still coughing and gasping, tries scrambling away. "The fuck did you just tell me?" you hiss at him. "Did you just fucking tell me you're dumping your girlfriend's ass—?" "Yes!" Rage—yours, Kirkham's, some combination—lifts your hand, and you smack him hard across the face. "I'm gonna fuck you up so bad," you tell him in a voice that trembles with an almost hysterical fury. "Starting tomorrow and every day, until you have to come to school with your brain and your guts in a bag because I've beaten them out of you. You—!" You grab him by the hair, as Chen did, and Prescott cries out. You shove him away and wheel for the door. Chen follows, and tries catching your elbow when you're outside. You jerk away from him. "Hey man!" he calls after as you half-trot, half-run back toward the school. "You got what you wanted, the fuck you—?" But the rest of his words are lost in the roar that fills your ears, and tears of rage and disappointment fill your eyes. * * * * * You spend the balance of lunch bathing your face in cold water in a restroom. It helps to calm you so that you don't start crying. It would never do to be seen crying. You asshole, you silently curse your reflection, which reflects in its own dark, deep-set eyes the hatred you feel burning behind your own. Are you fucking proud of yourself? If you were at home, you might bust the mirror with a punch. But you can't tell who you are most pissed off at: David Kirkham, for being, even under your control, the kind of asshole who would do that to Will Prescott; or yourself, for (in the form of a fake) breaking under the pressure and renouncing your own girlfriend. Neither of them is someone you like. Neither is someone you respect. And neither of them, really, is someone you want to be. It takes awhile, but caught between these opposing hatreds you do at last find something like a balance and equanimity. But you are mulish and withdrawn during the balance of the school day. * * * * * You're coming out of the last period of the day—AP Physics II—when you get a text from Kelsey Blankenship, telling you that she has to talk to you. Let's run into each other at Milagro, she says. It was a calm-sounding text, but the girl is far from calm when you catch up to her at the Milagro Beanfield Warehouse. "What the fuck are you up to?" she shrilly demands. "I got this almost hysterical text from my pedisequos, telling me that your pedisequos broke up with her, because you ordered him to!" Her frown is like a thundercloud. "She said you and Gary Chen beat on him until he promised to! Will!" Her fingers flex and curl like talons. "I thought this was how come we, you know—" She points at you. "So he'd leave you alone!" You hang your head. "'Z'an accident," you mumble. "I was just takin' him off to talk to tell him, you know, where I was now and what was goin' on. But fuckin' Chen had to tag along, so I had to do the usual act in front of him. And the little pissant actually gave in." You still haven't forgiven him—or yourself—for the way he crumpled, and the way he bleated. "Of course he did," Kelsey fumes. "He's your pedisequos, he has to obey you!" "Pff, he didn't know it was me when I—" "He knew it was you!" Her frown deepens into a glower. "They've got a freaking sixth sense or something about it when it's us." You blink at her, and your jaw drops a little. He broke up with "Sydney" because he thought you were ordering him to? So it was all your fault? You still haven't processed this revelation when Kelsey says, "So what's your plan now, Will? I thought we'd be looking for someone new for me, someone to go with—" She points at you. "But now I'm kind of thinking I want someone who can go out with Will. Now that he's broken up with 'me'. I'm really starting to miss him, Will," she growls, pointedly. * To put Sydney into a girlfriend for Kirkham: "A Girl for Kirkham" * To put Sydney into a girlfriend for Will: "A Girl for Prescott" * To find yourself a new impersonation: "A Guy for Sydney" |
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