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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Old Plan, New Target"  At first, Cindy only looked mystified when she entered the conference room to find you waiting. Her puzzlement only deepened when you told her that you and "her father" had been talking about her grades. "I'm doing fine, Mom," she interrupted. "We know you're doing fine," you assured her. "We're just concerned that you could do a little better." That's when she started to look dubious. "Every little bit helps on a college application," you went on. "Now, you do have some Bs and Cs from last year and the year before. Those can't be helped. But this year's grades— Well, we would really like to see straight As from you." Which is true enough. But Frank and Betty Vredenburg hadn't been giving any thought to pushing their daughter any harder than she was already pushing herself. So with that, Cindy started to look truly alarmed. "Why did you come up here?" "I came up to talk to the administration about tutoring services—" "Tutoring?" she shrieked. "Shh! Honey, keep your voice down!" "I don't need tutoring! That's for the kids in the remedial classes! I'm not in any remedial—!" "I didn't say you were! And I wasn't talking about the staff tutors here. I was talking about a private tutor. Another student who could come over to the house and give you private—" "I don't need a private tutor! And I've got Seth to help me! We've got Chemistry together, he helps me in there, we work on our English—!" "I don't like Seth," you retorted. Cindy's eyes—those big, beautiful, blue eyes—nearly popped from her head, and it took her a moment to find her voice. "You don't like Seth?" she gasped when she did. "Cindy, if you can't keep your voice down—" "Since when do you—? What's wrong with Seth?" "I don't trust him," you replied, and did your best to hide the glee you felt as you said it. "I don't trust him alone with you." Cindy's jaw dropped, and all the color drained from her face. "You—?" she gasped. "You don't trust—? You're saying you don't trust me!" "I trust you, Cindy, honey! But I know boys like Seth, I know how they— I just don't like thinking of him putting you in a position where you have to— Well— Boys like that know how to put pressure on a girl—" "Mom!" "And I bet he's something of a bully, too," you couldn't resist adding primly. "I've heard that there are disciplinary problems at this school, and when I look at Seth, I can't help thinking that he—" "Oh! My! God!" "I think I've heard quite enough yelling from you, young lady! The point is that Seth is not going to be your tutor, and the school has already recommended one to me for you. His name is Will Prescott." Cindy gaped. And that's when she threw up all over the conference table. * * * * * So the janitor had to be hauled in to clean things up, and Mr. Staufford and Mr. Sagansky wanted to send Cindy to see the nurse, but you told them it was alright and that you were sorry for the mess and that you'd just take Cindy outside. So out on the quad in front of the administration wing, you had a long talk with Cindy about how this all was not open to discussion, that you had already talked to Will Prescott and set him up to be her tutor, and that it didn't matter how big of a fit she was going to pitch, it was all final. Also, you told her in your archest and most parental tones that you didn't think much of her attitude, that it didn't matter how much she hated the idea of having Will Prescott as a tutor, that he certainly did not strike you as being a "creep" or a "pervert" (as Cindy insisted he was) and that you were ashamed—ashamed!—of Cindy for talking like a snob. "I will not have you acting like a— like one of those mean girls like on the TV," you lectured her. "You will be a polite hostess and a good student with him. I don't want to think that I didn't raise you right, because I certainly tried!" She was pale and haggard when you let her return to the school, just in time for last period to start. After that—and after a little private gloating—you texted Frank and told him that you wanted him to take you out to dinner. * * * * * Cindy has locked herself in her room as you prepare yourself for an evening out with your husband. She texted right after school let out, telling you that she wanted to go do something with "friends," but you told her to come straight home. And once she was home, you told her again how disappointed you were with her and that she was grounded for the afternoon and evening so as to have time to "think about" what a perfectly obnoxious little pill she had been on the subject of Will Prescott. How awful would you feel, you asked her, if someone was talking about you the way that she was talking about Will? She retorted that if anyone ever did talk about her that way, it was because she probably deserved it. At which point you told her that she probably did deserve to have people talk about her that way, and sent her upstairs after first surrendering her phone. And if you know Cindy the way you think you know her, she has been spending the last hour or so screaming and sobbing into a pillow. Which put you in the best mood you've felt in a long time. Why didn't I ever think before about using masks of their mothers to get back at the motherfuckers? you ask yourself as you primp. You shower and scent yourself all over in just the way that a woman of mature years with decades of experience knows how to do, before slipping on the satiny foundation garments and pulling on a new silk dress. (This one is navy blue, with patterns of lighter blue and pale green, styled like falling leaves fluttering down the front and sides.) The hem falls to the middle of your calves, which you seal up inside dark hose, and you cinch your waist with a cord-like belt with a tiny golden buckle. You accent your right wrist with a thin, matching gold chain, and fasten another thin, golden chain about your throat. Then, feeling very pretty already, you sit down at the vanity table to apply powder and lipstick and eyeliner and eyeshadow. Then you spend a good quarter hour teasing out your hair into sharp, sweeping bangs and blade-like wings over your ears. A few lubricating eye drops give your smiling glance a glistening twinkle, and after strapping on some high-heeled sandals, you spend another five minutes turning around and around in front of the full-length mirror to admire the effect. You don't just feel sexy and desirable. You feel confidently sexy and desirable. Betty, you murmur to yourself, when you are looking like this, you can see where Lucy and Cindy get their stunning looks. Speaking of the latter ... "Cindy!" You knock on her door, then continue when there's no answer. "Your dad'll be picking me up in a few minutes, and I don't know when we'll be back. You're grounded, but you're not confined to your bedroom, so you can come out when you feel like it and get yourself leftovers from the fridge." You pause to listen, but there's no answer. "Also, you can watch television after you're done with your homework. But I'm taking your phone with me. If there's an emergency, you can go next door to the Jeskoes. Cindy?" you call again, and knock. "Ye-es!" she impatiently calls back. "Just making sure you heard me. We're going to have a talk about you, your dad and me. You're making it very hard on us. If you want us to go easier on you, you need to go easier on us, and that means smartening up your attitude, particularly about this boy we've hired. I don't mind you being mad about having to have a tutor, that's something you'll get over. But this snobby attitude you're copping toward him—" "Okay, already!" she shouts back. "I get it! I'll be nice to him!" "That's the minimum, young lady! You'll be studying with him here, at the house, so we'll see if you're a good hostess or not. What counts is how you treat him when you're not at home. I'm not telling you that you have to be his friend. But he's doing you a good turn, so you need to be respectful to him. You understand?" "Ye-es!" she groans, and the bedsprings squeak, as though she's thrashing herself around. "Good. I know it seems tough, but believe me, when you get out in the real world, you'll find that you can't get along by acting like a— like a little witch toward people you don't like. At least pretend that you like him, here and at school. Do that, and who knows? Maybe you'll find out that you really do like him, and then you'll have made a new friend!" A heaving and horking from the other side of the door suggests that you've come real close to making Cindy throw up again. You grin gleefully to yourself as you turn from the door and go downstairs. Next: "A Wife Has Her Ways" |
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