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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Where the Heart Is"  That night, after you've gotten into bed, Martha asks you what's wrong. "What makes you think something's wrong?" you grunt. "You've been chewing on something all evening," she replies. "I can tell." "Just work." "You didn't have your 'trouble at work' frown." "My what?" She smiles. "I can tell when it's work and when it isn't, by your frown." "You're kidding." "No, I've had lots of experience by now. I can read you—" She cocks her head. "All last week," she says, "since you caught Will doing that chemistry experiment." Her eyebrows go up. "Was it really bad?" Then her expression turns alarmed. "Did it have something to do with the explosion at work?" "It wasn't an explosion," you tell her firmly. "And it isn't Will. It's his friend. Caleb." Might as well put the blame where it really lies. "He's a bad influence." "I thought you liked Caleb!" "I do." "Then how is he—?" "He's smart, but he's careless, and he gets in over his head. And Will hasn't even got as good a head as Caleb does." You turn onto your side, putting your back to her. "Will's been telling me some of the ideas that Caleb's had." You sigh. "That's all." Martha rubs your shoulder. "So what are you going to do about it?" "That's why I'm distracted. I'm trying to figure something out." But when you wake the next morning, you've got a solution. * * * * * "I need you to do a little research at school," you tell your "son" the next evening, as you do "homework" together in your study. "I need you to find who at school lives with a single parent. Also, they have to have their own transportation. It's a bonus if they've got money, but it's not a necessity." "There's my friend Caleb," he blurts out. His grin is cheeky. You give him a look. "That's what I'm trying to avoid. I've been thinking about your suggestion, the one about finding a, uh, secure place to work. It's a good idea, but I don't want to do it here or at, uh, your friend Caleb's place." "There's my other friend, Keith Tilley. It's just him and his dad." You'd forgotten about Keith, but you give the suggestion short shrift. He's a friend. And because your plan involves victimizing people, you want it to be people you don't know. Or, if it has to be someone you know, that it be someone you dislike. "I want it to be a household," you tell him. "Two people, so it can just be you and me. Transportation so we can get around. And money, if possible, so that—" You grimace. "So it's not all on my dad's credit card." "What will we do about your dad? If we move to someplace else?" "We leave this mask behind to cover for him." "Can you find someone at work?" Will asks. "Maybe we don't want to use someone at school. Besides," he adds, "if it's two adults—" "Like a husband and wife?" When Will freezes, you ratchet the question tighter. "Maybe a couple of gay roommates?" "Okay, forget I said that," he mutters. "Though if you know a couple of lesbians—" "I don't." "Well, how am I supposed to find anyone at school?" Will demands. "What am I supposed to do, stop people in the halls? 'Excuse me, do you live with a single parent? Do you have your own car? What's your disposable income?'" "Don't sass me, young man." "Oh, bite me, 'Dad'. You'd have a much better chance finding someone at work—" "Ask Kim Walsh," you tell him, seizing the sudden idea before it can vanish. "She's a nosy little busybody. I'm sure she knows every kid in school who comes from a broken home." "How do I ask her?" Will demands. "Am I just after gossip, or—" "Tell her you're working on a project. Something extracurricular for your college applications. She'll love that. She might even offer to help." "Do we want her help?" "We just want leads. After you get some, you can flake out like you always do, tell her you changed your mind." Will makes a face. "You sure are cynical about my follow through, 'Dad'." "I just know you, mister." * * * * * The weekend is already here by that point, but you don't let that stop you. Though it's Saturday, you order Caleb to go find Kim and get started on a list of possible new "locations" to do your work in. But you have to admit he's got a good idea too, about finding a "location" through work. So you go into the office, to do some research in the personnel files. * * * * * Monday evening. Your study. "You got your schoolwork?" you ask Will as you settle in at your desk. He had hinted broadly at the dinner table about finding some real interesting "research" that he wanted to talk to you about. "My schoolwork, Kim's homework," he chortles. "Man, that girl just came alive when I told her I was looking for single-parent kids at school to interview." Kim is the president of the student council, and her eagerness to help was so intense (Caleb reports) that she spent her own weekend compiling a list of names. Which is why it's Monday night before you can start looking over the possibilities. "And I did some research of my own after I got home this afternoon," he adds. "Did you get my email?" You glance at your laptop screen. "I got it but I haven't looked at it." "Well, I went online and found some pictures to go with the names." His grin lights up the room. "Why's that?" His face falls. "Well, don't you want to see who—?" "We're looking for a house. The faces don't—" "Oh, God!" he exclaims. "Are you serious? You don't care what they look like?" "Well, that's not the point of thing, is it?" "So if I told you— Grossie Gutierrez," he says, and folds his arms. "What about her?" She's a girl at school—fat, ugly, with a visible mustache on her upper lip. "That's one of the names Kim gave me. So I guess I'll bring her over, and you—" "Alright, alright! Who else did you—?" "I emailed some selfies I found online. I mean, some of them you know already. Like Kim. She's at the top of the list." He leans across your desk to grasp the edge of your laptop. You slap him away. "Really? I didn't know that." "Single dad. So, you know, Kim herself is definitely one who—" "Who else?" Will sucks in a deep breath, then unzips his pack and and takes out a notebook. You open up the email he sent. There's at least a dozen photo attachments. This is gonna take awhile, you think. * * * * * Indeed it does. For almost an hour you and Caleb go over the list, and after he leaves you go over it again, cross-checking the names with the photos and with results of internet searches on the names as you try to learn where they live and what their living arrangements are. It's the latter that leads you to strike out a variety of choices, some of which Caleb had plumped hard for—like a certain Melanie Saxon—and others he was indifferent to—like Dane Matthias. In the cases of those two, it's because you doubt that you want to do this kind of work inside a mobile home. You also eliminate anyone who isn't at least a junior, as you want someone who is at least semi-independent, and you also eliminate those who have younger siblings. But you are ambivalent about the resulting list, even after you look it over. Independence. Privacy. Mobility. These are the things you need in an ... impersonation. And the longer you look over the list of classmates, the less inclined you are to choose from them. Really, the only reason to pick one, you decide, is because a teenager is likely to have more free time to do the work. So in the back of the notebook Will left with you, you jot down some additional ideas. Some are particular names—co-workers at Salopek, and acquaintances at church—while others are just general ideas. "A teacher at school," for instance. You're still working at this very general level when Martha looks in at you to ask if you're coming to bed any time soon. That's when you look at the clock, and see that it's nearly ten-thirty. "In a minute," you tell her. Silently, you add, Pick a place, Harris, before you go to bed. Then sleep on it. The next morning, when you wake, you haven't picked a particular person. But you have settled on a general idea. Next: "Teacher Feature" |
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