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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Briar Patch"  It would be smarter to text Jessica than to just show up at your old house. But not until after you've messaged her—Think I can get away with shoing up at ur house?—do you remember your dad has grounded you so hard that she won't even have your phone turned on. So that kills that idea. And it pisses you off, too. Jessica has thrown you into a boiling lobster pot while she's safe and happy at your place, cut off from the world and all its stupid drama. Well, if she's going to shove you into her life and expect you to deal with it, you're not going to hold back! In a sudden fury of decision, you turn the minivan on, lurch backward onto the street, and roar off for Josie Holden's place. * * * * * Your eyes are still bruised and wet as you march up to Josie's front door. Voices, laughter, and music almost drown out the sound of the doorbell—some "study party"!—which grinds on your nerves. People are having fun and I'm not! you growl to yourself. And I'm probably not gonna have fun here even though they are! So when Phoebe Beauchamp opens the door, you shove your way past without saying a word—brush past Meghan Velasquez and Isaac Adler, who are loitering in a hallway—and charge into the kitchen, where you grab a bottle and a plastic cup and pour yourself out a Diet Seven-Up while ignoring the greetings (and stares) of Ethan Nieves and Anita Nuevo. You are gulping down a mouthful of soda as you yank open the back door and step onto the back porch, and slam the door shut after you. For a couple of minutes you stew silently as you gaze out into the back yard. The sky is dark, and the newly risen Moon has lost its pumpkin-yellow hue and faded to a washed-out, mottled disk. It's chilly but not cold; but you are hot and flushed and nettled. You want company, but at the same time know you'll probably bite the head off anyone foolish enough to come out to talk to you. But when the back door opens, out steps the one person you absolutely can't yell at. "Hey Jess," Stephanie Wyatt says. "Anita told me you were out here." She relaxes against the railing that separates the porch from the yard. "Yeah, I saw her in the kitchen," you mumble. "You come by yourself?" "Yeah." "You bring any schoolwork?" You start a little at the question, then sag. "It's out in the car. I forgot to bring it in." Stephanie rubs her nose with her open palm. "Well, shit," she says. "I guess you got nothing to do 'cept talk to me." You start at her words, and turn to look at her. She looks back at you with a very even expression. Stephanie practically grew up at the Garners' house. Okay, that's an exaggeration, but she and they were great friends from elementary school on, and she was constantly coming over to their house (which wasn't far away), to spend the mornings and afternoons playing. Stephanie is tomboy—more than that, almost; she's practically a jock on a par with Laurent and his gang—and so their games mostly involved throwing or chasing a ball. She got the Garners into soccer during elementary and middle school, and she lobbied hard for them to follow her when she switched over to basketball during high school. (Instead, at the start of their senior year, Eva and Jessica quit the soccer team for the cheerleader squad, which pissed Stephanie off until she abruptly got over it.) Stephanie isn't a confidante of Jessica and Eva exactly—she's too boyishly blunt for that. But though her bluntness makes her hard to talk to, it does make her a good person to talk to when you know what it is that you need to hear. "Everyone is pissed off at me," you sigh. "Who's 'everyone'?" "Eva and Marc." "Oh, well, psht! Craig is pissed off at me, but you don't hear me complaining." She grins. "I make him complain!" You make a face. "Well, that's fine for you." "What are they pissed off at you about? Is it your fault?" Ouch. Typical Stephanie thing to say and way to say it. Cut to the bone without anesthetic. "I don't know what Marc's fucking problem is," you reply. "He came busting into our bedroom, accusing me of going through his room and taking something. And he probably just put it someplace that he doesn't remember." "So why'd he accuse you of—?" "I don't know! Except he's still mad at me, probably, 'cos I made him and Eva go by Kerri's place after school. I thought we had some homework in Mr. Walberg's— Oh, never mind. But I guess he's still pissed at me about that, and so he decided to get pissed at me about the other thing." "Huh. Well, you know, I can talk to him tomorrow—" "No, don't. He'll get over it." "Uh huh." She chews on the inside of her cheek, then says, "So how come Eva's pissed at you?" You wince and kick at the railing. "I've been getting in the middle of her, um, dating life." There's a long silence. Then Stephanie says, "Well that was dumb of you." "Look, I know—!" "If someone tried getting—" "I said I know!" Stephanie snorts. "So why'd'ju go pushing in?" she asks. "I didn't go 'pushing in'! It just happened!" "How? Whadja say or do?" You sigh. "It was all an accident. She was texting a guy—" "What guy?" You brace yourself. "Will Prescott. You know him?" "Yeah, I know him." To your astonishment, that's all she says. No snorting or eye rolling or face palming. "Well, she was texting him, and I saw she was texting him, and I sort of— Well, I don't know what I said, exactly, but now she's mad at me on account of it." Again, Stephanie says nothing for a long moment. Then she says, "That's bullshit, Jessica. What did you say to Eva?" "Nothing! I was only, you know, surprised she was texting Will, and I must have said something." "Well, what would you have said?" "I don't know! I guess I was just surprised she would have been, you know, texting with him. And said so." "Texting him?" Stephanie asks. "Or texting with him?" It's an important distinction, you suddenly realize. Texting him just means exchanging words. Texting with him is the online equivalent of going for coffee. "With him," you reply. "Oh, and they went on some kind of a date. Or at least they went out together and did something the other night. They've been seeing a lot of each other." Stephanie's eyebrows go up. "So is it serious between them?" "I don't know!" "It sounds like it is, if she's pissed at you because you said something about it." "Well, I don't know what's going on with her. She was going out with Jeremy Richards for a little while—" "Richards?" she exclaims. "P'feh!" Almost you have to stifle a laugh of astonishment. Stephanie prefers you to Richards? Suddenly, you like her a lot more. "I know, right?" you say. "But she got mad at him because he was being a jerk, and now—" "Well, you just gotta wait until she settles down, Jess. You know that." She folds her arms, and her brow settles into a grim line. "If she thinks she's got you judging her—" "I keep telling you, I know! But every time I try to talk to her, it's like I make things worse!" "So do you have to talk to her?" "We share a bedroom, Stephanie!" "You know what I mean." You sigh. "Well, would you talk to her?" you ask. She rears back. "The fuck would I have to say to her?" "You offered to talk to Marc for me." She makes a face. "I'm not getting into this, Jess." Then she cocks her head. "So why don't you get Marc to talk to her?" "Oh, Marc," you groan. "We hate it when he tries barging in." "Well, then, I don't know." Again, there's a long silence before she says, "How's your love life?" "Psss! I got nothing." "Well, come on inside." She leans in close. "We got a selection in there," she grins. * * * * * There is indeed a selection of boys at the party, though they've mostly paired up with the girls. The only one at reasonably loose ends is Luke Richardson, and he's the one you wind up studying, belly-down, on the floor with. You've never had any classes with him, but Jessica shared a couple with him her sophomore and junior years, and is already reasonably friendly with him. Luke is a handsome redhead, with glittering green eyes set in a lean face under a sloppy mop of hair. Despite yourself, you are still so swept up in Jessica's emotions that you quickly warm to his smile—and judging by the way his eyes gleam and his smile widens, he is quickly warming to yours. You hardly get any work done but instead gossip about common acquaintances, and vacation plans, and favorite music artists. He doesn't touch you, but you find yourself squirming pleasurably at the thought of him laying a hand on your hip. Still, it's a shock when he abruptly asks, "You going to Maggie Crenshaw's party this Friday?" "Um—" "Because I can pick you up if you are." Next: "Basic Instincts" |
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