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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "A Night of Not-So-Fun Fun"  Your talk with Hermione has left you hot with anger on the surface but coldly bemused underneath. You can be such a drama queen, Jack, you muse to yourself, as though it wasn't you who got ugly with Hermione. Even though you think you're above all that! But after brushing and flossing (and water-picking and gargling) and changing into pajama, you prop up in bed long enough to send a couple of texts. The first is to Hermione: I'm sorry I said those things to you tonight, you write. I didn't really mean them but I was wrong to say them. I know you were only trying to be a good friend and I acted like an asshole. My only excuse is that you surprised me and frightened me. I don't like gossip about my sex life when I don't even have one and it scares me if people are talking like me and Brendan have something going. I know you didn't mean that but it scared me anyway. Please let me take you someplace after school or something to show how sorry I am and how much I love you as a friend. You make a face as you reread it, because it's totally insincere, but it's good form and should hopefully smooth away any drama you have accidentally created. But you do backspace and replace "love" with "like" because the thought of "loving" Hermione, even as a friend, makes you want to puke. To Brianna you write: I just sent Hermione a sorry for what I said at your house and I want to tell you I'm sorry too. I was stupid and scared by what she said so I lashed out even though I was wrong. I love you guys and don't want to go to bed without trying to make things okay again. Let's hang out tomorrow ok? BTW so you know SP wasn't talking to me about Brendan. He just heard I said some shit about him and because he's such a shit he had to take me out back and be a shit to me. It was just embarrassing that's why I didn't want to talk about it. Love you. That one, being entirely sincere, is much easier to send. Last, to Clover Mystery: Tell me what you want so I can think about it. That's the scariest and hardest of the three to write. * * * * * You wake early with wood, which you relieve in the shower without trying to think of anyone or any gender specifically, then put yourself through the morning grooming ritual. I wonder if I should start doing this if I ever get back to normal, you think to yourself as you work at your face. I wonder if I'd clean up nice. You wince as you picture your old face, with the oddball crop of zits, the long, stiff hairs on the chin and upper lip, the squinty eyes that peer out from under stiff bangs. I'd have to change my whole look, you ruefully conclude. And though with Jack's practiced eye you might be able to figure out a look, you doubt you'd ever be able to do it yourself. And, also, you'd probably get jeered at by your own friends. No, you reflect as you study your present strong, smooth, bare-chested form in the mirror. This is probably the best I'll ever look. And it isn't even me. You get to school early, but bypass your locker and the library to head over to the music annex, where a dozen band kids are already swarming around the practice room. Brianna and Hermione are among them. Hermione, after you catch her eye, returns you a narrow but not unfriendly smile. Brianna, when she sees you, bounds over. "Where are you taking me after school?" she asks with a toothy, chipmunky smile. "Wherever you want. You didn't answer my text." "I wanted to talk to you, not your phone. Where are you taking me?" "I don't know. Is Hermione going with us?" "No." "Because I told her I—" "I mean, you take her someplace on your own. It's just us this afternoon." She grins. "You promised." You peer down at her, and wonder how many other guys have girls so casually coming onto them. Damn, I could score so easy, you think. Except it would freak Brianna out if I tried. "Well, let me talk to Hermione—" "I got dibs on you." "—and I'll talk to you later." "Promise me, Jack!" she calls as you saunter across to where Hermione is crouched over her phone. "Hey," you tell her when she looks up at you from under her brows. "Am I forgiven? I am sorry." "Sure," she says. "I'm sorry I freaked you out." "I'll take you someplace to make up for it." "You don't have to." "If I want to?" She ponders a moment before saying, "Raincheck." You wonder if she's still pissed at you, or if Hermione is naturally as cool toward Jack as he is toward her. "Okay, raincheck. And, well, thanks for telling me about that thing. I'm glad you did, and I promise I won't freak out if— Uh— You ever have something to tell me again." You try not to flush. Maybe she doesn't actually like Jack that much, because her smile is satirical. "Sure. That's why I told you. Because I know you can't stand being out of the loop." Yeah, just try to collect on that raincheck, you think as you wander off back toward Brianna. "Well?" she says. "Meet me at my locker after last period. I'll take you for ice cream." She squeals and gives you a quick, hard hug. * * * * * The rest of the school day is like butter, mostly because you share most of your classes with best friends Parker, Wendy, and Kristina, so there's always a friendly face to smile at, chat with, and exchange secret, amused glances with. First period is an English class (Essays), followed by AP Calculus and AP World History, all of which Jack is acing so that you don't have to strain to keep up. Fourth period and fifth period is the study hall/lunch combo, when you get to see and talk to more friends and acquaintances as they filter in and out of the cafeteria and library: Leah and Laura and Philippa Hosford; Cody Schaeffer and Sean Wilcox; Adam Dortch and Sophie Van den Berg and even Carson Ioeger, who on his way to lunch out front detours through the library long enough to ask if he can peek at your AP Physics homework to check a problem that was giving him fits last night. "Number twelve?" you ask. "Yeah, I couldn't figure that one out. I don't think anyone could've." After lunch are the two P.E. classes that break up the academic monotony. The Dance class is Jack's favorite, because he so excels at it, but you are dreading it today. Chelsea Cooper is in that class, and though she skipped yesterday you are sure she will be in it today. All through it you watch her narrowly out of the corner of your eye, and you're sure she notices you but pretends to ignore you. She is certainly very stiff and doesn't talk to anyone, not even Gloria Rea, the cheerleader flunky she shares the class with. Then comes last period, AP Physics II. Steve Patterson is in there. He's hunched up in the back when you enter, studying his cell phone, but he lifts his brows long enough to give you a sturdy look when you come in. You return it with an equally sturdy stare, but say nothing as you drop into your chair and unload your bag. Nor do you have any reason to say anything to each other during class. But after the final bell, you linger in your seat, pretending to be absorbed in your own phone, as Patterson trudges past. He stops in the doorway, which you take as a signal. You finish packing up, and make like you're leaving. As you almost anticipated, he blocks your exit, then shoves you back a couple of steps. "Highway 37 and Morris," he says in a cold voice. "Five-thirty." "I got plans." "Yeah." His stare is glacial. "With me." He turns to leave. You catch Mr. Krohling watching you carefully, but blunt his silent query with a shrug. * * * * * "Hey," you greet Brianna when she comes sliding up to your locker. "I can still take you out, but I have to be somewhere else at five-thirty." "So do I," she says, "so it's okay. Just as long as we get to talk." Something in her tone catches your ear. "Something special?" "Maybe." She pokes you in the gut. "But you gotta promise you won't get mad like you did last night." Your stomach promptly sinks. And, naturally, once you're at the Dairy Queen she refuses to come to the point, but chatters inanely about this and that and the other things that happened during her day while you listen with a lot of "Uh huhs" and "Whoas" and "Damns." Finally, though, she winds herself up to make her pitch. "How long have you known that Brendan Tummler was gay?" "Oh, Jesus." "You promised you won't get mad." "I didn't promise. You just asked me to promise." "Well, promise me now." "It depends on what you say. If you just want to ask me how long I've known he's gay— Well, okay, I promise I won't get mad." Her gaze narrows. "You can be such a jerk sometimes, Jack. But what do you think of him?" Your blood runs even colder. "I don't know him." She answers you with a look. "That's the only answer I'm going to give you, Brianna." "Well, would you at least like to get to know him?" Next: "Gossip Girls and Jumpy Jacks" |
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