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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Swimming With the Tide"  "I don't know those guys," you grunt, and cuddle up closer to Andrea. "Adam and them." "So you wanna try hanging out with Charles?" You don't reply right away. It's clear that, if you're going to go out with Andrea, you're going to have to become friends with some of her friends. But Charles Hartlein is arrogant, snotty, and gay in a way that rubs you the wrong way all over. Jelena Petrovic seems as cool and aloof as Andrea did, and she's always struck you as having some of Charles's arrogance. Fatima ... Well, you don't know her, but she is extremely exotic. That guy Adam, though, despite his silly hairdo, seems pretty normal. "Well, tell me about Adam and his friends, then I'll decide," you say. "Adam?" She shrugs in a way that wriggles herself deeper into your embrace, and you start to harden again as her warm skin rubs against yours. "Adam is—" * * * * * There's not a lot she can tell you about Adam Dortch and his circle, Sydney admits, because Andrea mostly knows him only at a distance. So, mostly Sydney can only convey impressions: That he's a louche, cynical party guy, known for cornering girls and taking them out to the river or out to the quarry for a beer and a "bump." That he was on the JV basketball squad his freshman and sophomore years, and was pretty good, being fast on his feet, fast with the ball, and having a good eye and good aim. But he quit, maybe because he just didn't want to do it anymore, or maybe because he was a bad fit with guys like Gordon Black and Steve Patterson. Lately he's started going steady with Catherine Greathouse, who Sydney/Andrea knows even less about, except that she's not part of any of the obvious crowds, unless she's got a crowd of her own. The only comment she's heard about them came from Charles, and was characteristically catty: He likes a good spanking, and she knows how to give him one. Adam's other friends include Ben Gunnison and Paul Fitzgerald, who you vaguely remember from middle school as a couple of normal-ish dorks, but she's also seen him hanging out at the portables with guys like Cody Wooten and Zachary Herman, who are dumpster fires. You don't say much while she parcels all this out, and you don't say anything when she falls silent. In fact, you're not thinking about Dortch at all, but about whether you can get away with turning her over and climbing back on top, when she says, "So, what do you think?" "About what?" "What do you think I'm asking about, you goose!" "Oh, them? I—" You shrug. "I dunno. I guess?" She sighs, and wriggles away from you. "So what are we going to do with you?" "Why do you have to do anything with me?" "Because we're going to be hanging out. Because we're going to be—" She strokes your chest. Yet it doesn't get a rise out of you, because she's talking about something that is kind of a boner-killer. "You're gonna have to see and talk to my friends, Will. And if you don't want it always to be Charles and them—" "Fine," you groan. "If you think I'll bond with Adam and those guys, or whatever." "What are you worried about?" she asks. "I'm not worried, I—" "You are worried, Will. I know you just want to be with me," she says, and sits up, giving you a glorious eyeful of her firm, plump breasts. "And I want to be with you too. But you're also going to have to—" "I know, and I'll get through it," you assure her. "I'll deal with it." "'Deal with it'?" She snorts. Then, to your delight, she pushes you onto your back and clambers atop you, to peer down from under those hooded lids. "What's wrong with having friends?" "I thought we were making friends," you retort. "Like Kelsey and Amanda, and Kirkham, and Andrea here." She smirks. "Are you saying we could 'make friends' of some of my friends?" "Well—" "Sure. But later, Will." She looms over you. "Right now, I want you in my world. In Andrea's world." You groan, and close your eyes, and lift your hips to touch her bush with your lengthening cock. But, to your dismay, she pushes herself off you and clambers out of bed. "Where are you going?" you ask. "To get my phone," she says. "I want Adam and Catherine over here before Charles decides to show up." * * * * * Except Charles never does show up. As Andrea doesn't recall until it's nearly too late, he is preoccupied all day and evening with the school play, which is being performed that night. In fact, it's not until nearly five o'clock, when half a dozen schoolmates have gathered at her house, and some pizzas are on their way, that she is reminded of that fact by a text from Fatima. "We have to get rid of everyone," she tells you in a hurried conference in the kitchen. "Can you take them back to your place, keep the party going there?" You reply with a dubious look. It's not just that there are a bunch of them. It's that none of them look like the "take home and show to mother" type. You wince at even having the thought, but it's true. Oh, some of them could get by. Ben Gunnison, for instance, is more or less as you remember him: a short, chubby kid with dark hair and an embarrassed, chortling grin who seemingly only wants to talk about the latest movies in the Challengers Cinematic Universe. Meghan Farris, who rode in on someone's coattails, is a pert little brunette with black-rimmed glasses who doesn't use any language worse than "Gosh" or "Drat it!" And Taran Pritzker, who holds aloof by the music player, has the withdrawn and preoccupied air of an RPG player planning out his next campaign while only pretending to socialize. But then there's Roy Booth, whose thick, black hair is held down by a backward-flipped ball cap, and whose biceps, wife-beater, and dirty jeans would mark him out as a Jersey thug even if his accent didn't. Isaac Cyrs, also in a wife-beater and and jeans, and a scalp-hugging ski cap, whose flat, cold hazel eyes would be intimidating even if he didn't like to punctuate most of his remarks with a curse word. Rebecca Sykes, whose long red hair drapes over half her face even as her short, black dress fails cover the top of her boobs or the top of her thighs: the latter's coverage she leaves to fishnet stockings. And they all came trailing in with Adam Dortch. He's taller and lankier than you remember from the coffee shop, but he looks wiry and strong. His kinky bush of a hairdo has fallen down behind his head, where it seems to float, half-buoyed by whatever alchemy of careful teasing and copious hairspray he uses to give it lift and body. He's dressed as before, in a thin, long-sleeved button-up shirt that looks like it might be silk, because its gray sheen is shot through with leafy, grey-green patterns. He has prominent, almost buckteeth in his grin, but the insolent light in his eye makes him look impudent and confident, not like the dumb-fuck that most of the bucktoothed look like. And he spends a lot of time letting you get familiar with that grin, because almost from the moment he shows up he is cornering you with questions. What's your name? What classes are you taking? Who're you friends with? What's the deal with you and Andrea? You're in the kitchen when he springs that one on you, having found you loitering by the sink when he came in with Catherine hugged in the crook of his arm. He does a double-take at you. "You seen a bottle opener around?" he asks as he digs a bottle of tonic water out of the refrigerator. "I think I saw one out in the living room," you lie. He tests the bottle cap. "Oh, hey, it twists off." He squints at you past the bottle as he chugs some down. Catherine, pulled close to his side, sizes you up with a cooler and more speculative glance. "Yeah," Adam says after lowering the bottle, "what's the deal with you and Andrea?" You were dreading this question, but it's still like a punch to the chest. "Nothing," you stammer. Adam chortles so hard he almost does a spit take. "Nothing?" "Well, she asked me over to hang out. With everyone." "Yeah?" His eye is very bright and piercing. "Before or after she asked you out to the coffee shop?" "Uh, after," you improvise. "We were talking—" "So she asked you out for coffee?" He smirks like he's got you caught in an embarrassing admission. "Um ... I went out there and we got to talking. You saw us there." His smirk deepens. "Yeah. She told me and Catherine to go fuck ourselves so she could talk to you!" Catherine squirms in his arm. "Adam!" Your own stammer worsens. "Well, I don't think she, uh—" "And you were here when Ben got here. I as't him." He holds your eye. "You come straight here after you left the Cave?" "Um ... yes." "That was like two hours before the rest of us showed here." The glimmer in his eye deepens. You're saved from having to explain anything when Andrea herself comes into the kitchen. She pauses long enough to take in the scene, then touches Adam on the shoulder. "Can you go help Taran pick out some music?" she asks. He looks between you and her, then with a cocky grin he struts out, dragging Catherine with him. That's when Andrea shows you the text on her phone, and says that she needs your help getting rid of everyone. "Then I'll change," she says, "and we'll go see the play." Before you can reply, though, Adam puts his head around the corner. "Hey, you're goin' out with all us to the Warehouse, right?" Next: "Into the Deep End" |
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