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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Basic Instincts"  "Jessica!" you squeal. The boy with your old face whitens. "Shut up," he hisses. "If you wanna make a mess of things, you get to clean them up!" "How am I making a mess of things?" "Did I ever tell you I ever wanted to go to a party with Luke Richardson?" "I was just doing what I thought you'd want to do!" "Well, just keep on doing what you think I'd want to do. Including going on that date with Luke Richardson!" He looks you up down. "Maybe that's what you really want to do," he adds with an acidic twist. He turns and stalks off toward the main building. You start to follow, then catch yourself. There's no missing the curious looks and hooded stares you're getting from some of the people passing by. You are suddenly very conscious again that you are "Jessica Garner," and that that is who people see. You duck your head and hurry into the gym. * * * * * You're so rattled by your talk with Jessica that you don't really have the focus to properly enjoy what should be the high point of your day: a visit to the girls' changing rooms with the cheerleader squad. In fact, you are at Jessica's locker, and have pulled off most of your clothes, before it really hits where you are and what you're doing. I'm stripping off Jessica Garner's clothes, down to her skin, in a roomful of other cheerleaders who are doing the same. Your flesh prickles all over. It is cold and a little clammy in the changing room, and that's another reason you shiver as you unhook your day bra and exchange it for a sports bra, and the flesh on your ass puckers and quivers as you pull on some shorts. Out of the corner of your right eye you watch Maria Vasquez—tall, lithe, and panther-like—pull a sweater off over her head and pat her hair down before unbuttoning and dropping her blouse. Out of the corner of your left eye you watch Yumi Saito strip efficiently down to her bra and panties, then pause in this state to check her phone. With eyes unfocused and your head tilted, as though in distracted thought, you make a slow, three-sixty spin on your heel to catch a glimpse of— Deep breath. Chelsea Cooper: tiny blonde bombshell, pulling on a corset-like top and fluffing out her hair while standing bare-legged and bare-footed in her panties. Lin Pol: tall and bosomy, with straight black hair falling almost to her elbows, already changed into a sleeveless shirt and shorts, bending over to tie her bright pink sneakers. Kendra Saunders: gazelle-like black girl with auburn ringlets, standing in panties and bra like Yumi, and pouting as she studies her face on the screen of the cell phone she is holding up. Cindy Vredenburg: willowy platinum blonde with long straight hair, still in jeans and sneakers, but naked from the waist up, as she fumbles with a sports bra. Her breasts are upturned at the tip, and very erect in the cold. You have to close your eyes and suck in a deep breath before turning back to your locker to finish changing. Your own flesh ripples beneath your fingertips as you tug on shorts and a floppy t-shirt. Practice itself goes off well, though it's not until Chelsea (captain of the squad) lays into Yumi for fumbling a tumble ("Don't you know your hands from your feet, Yumi? Or are your legs too short?") that you realize why you came out onto the floor with a pit where your stomach should be. Chelsea is a terror, and it's like she keeps track of how many time she's yelled at someone so that she won't miss anyone. You escape today, though you and Eva both earn a murderous glare from her at one point. Second period is your study hall, which means you get to take a much longer shower than the other girls. Yumi, for instance, barely has time to wet herself down and shout inarticulately at you over the spray of the water before she's rushing off again; you, meanwhile, are giving yourself a lovely lather all over. When you emerge from the shower, the girls for second period P.E. classes are already starting to filter in. * * * * * It's a cool and drizzly Tuesday, and you dressed down for it, in jeans that are cut off just above the knee and a sloppy gray hoodie. Still, you are feeling fresh and sexy and you hop lightly along toward the library. So this is what it's like being fit, you find yourself marveling, instead of just being skinny. You are just getting your books spread out (preparing to pretend to go over the homework that you didn't do yesterday because you didn't know what the assignments were) and propping up your phone (for the actual business of checking social media and the internet) when Carson Ioeger saunters in, drops his pack on the table with a thud, and falls into a chair at your side. His mouth is curled up in a knowing smirk. "Saw you having words with Prescott outside the gym," he says. "Saw you having words with him in here on Friday. You making a move on him, now that Lisa's out of the way?" Again, instinct takes over, and you pound him on the shoulder. He snickers. "So what is new with you?" he asks. "If it isn't Prescott." Carson and Jessica don't have a lot to say to each other, but you can feel the warm regard that she has for him. When you look at him through Jessica's eyes, as you are now— Well, you see the same tall, shabby, gangly science nerd that you yourself know. You can also smell (with a stronger distaste) the musty stench of unwashed clothes and unwashed hair that rises like a fog off him. You wish more intently than usual that he'd chop his tangled blonde locks back, instead of tying them down with that filthy bandana (and that he'd get rid of that bandana altogether). But you also see a guy who is whip-smart and takes no bullshit, who isn't shy about talking to girls who are above his station or mouthing off at jocks who piss him off. You yourself rather resent Carson's air of superiority, but Jessica (it feels like) accepts and respects it. "I'm going to a party this Friday," you blurt out. "You going too?" His eyebrows shoot up. "Are you asking me out?" "No, I've already got a date. I was just asking if you're going to the party." "What party? And who's your date?" "Maggie Crenshaw's. I'm going with Luke Richardson." Carson squints thoughtfully. "Is he that short, fat kid in your math class, with the pimples and bad breath—?" You pound him again. He grunts. "I don't know who he is, then." "He's on the baseball team. I think he plays outfield." "I didn't even know our school had a baseball team." "You did too! We all went to a game last year, you and me and—" "I don't remember. But he is short and fat and pimply and—" He grunts again as you punch him again. "Isn't he?" "No. He's tall and really good looking." "I'm tall and really good looking. Maybe I'm Luke Richardson." You dimple at him. "But I'm not going with you to Maggie's party, so that means you're not Luke Richardson!" He grimaces and asks, "Do I get to tell Jenny you're going to this party with a knob named Luke Richardson?" "You don't even know him, Carson, why are you calling him a knob?" "Out of principle. Why don't you go with someone like me?" "What if I went with Will Prescott?" you retort before you can stop yourself. His eyebrows go up, which makes you regret the retort even more. "Prescott's nothing like me," he says. "How?" you ask, and feel the little hairs on your back rise with trepidation. He ticks off his fingers: "Grades, looks, basic hygiene—" "He washes more often than you!" "Like I said, basic hygiene. Also social skills, social awareness, social presence, social everything—" "When do I ever see you being social?" you demand. "I never see you at parties." "Because you go to the wrong ones." "Which ones do you go to?" "The cool ones. I'm having a very cool and exclusive one Friday night. You should come." "Where?" "At James's. Up in his old treehouse. We're gonna smoke a couple of bowls and—" "Oh fer Gawdsake!" You make a face at him. "I don't wanna go to no parties that start with weed and end with you and James giving each other handjobs!" "We wouldn't have to give each other handjobs if you were there." "Ew-wwww!" "So bring this Richardson dink over to James's. Just the four of us. James an' me'll look him over, give you our opinion—" "I don't need your opinion, or want it!" "—and you can thank us afterward by giving out handjobs all around." You make a face at him. He mirrors it back at you. "Why don't you get a girlfriend, Carson?" you ask. "I thought that's what I was trying to do." He smiles at you. "No you're not. You think you're funny when you talk like this, but you're not, and you're not cute, either." All the muscles in his face strain and tense. But you are suddenly very warm, and very serious. "You know what you're doing when you talk like this?" you say. "You're daring the girl to like you. That's all. It's like bullying! 'Like me even though I'm gross and dumb, or you're lame.' That's what you're saying. And it's not going to get you a girl. Well, not the kind of girl that you want." He pushes back from the table and makes to get up. "Okay, I'm sorry I sat down and said anything—" "I'm trying to be your friend!" you find yourself babbling. "I'm trying to tell you honestly what I think, because I'm your friend and I want to help you, so I'll tell you what you need to hear. You know, Luke's not that much better looking than you. But he didn't talk gross to me, and that makes a huge difference." Then you're startled by a sudden thought: Maybe you could set Carson up with a girl. Next: "Aftermath From an Invitation" |
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