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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Deal with Chelsea"  "Why the fuck are we making it easy on Javits and his schedule?" you ask Gordon. "I got a first-period class with a pair of giant tits I like lookin' at. I'm s'posed to go talk to Javits instead? Just 'cos he's got a study hall that period?" Gordon flushes. "So when do you want to—?" "Fifth. That's when I got my study hall, and you got that psych class you never go to." You spray on some deodorant. "So we tell him at lunch we wanna meet up with him in the loft." "What if he says he can't skip?" "Then we tell him not to bother coming practice this afternoon." * * * * *
Brenda is in her usual seat when you saunter into first. She's got her phone out, but she quickly glances up as you come in, and puts it away. Her eyes shine.You just hold her gzze all the way over and as you pass her, without speaking, to your chair. After dropping your pack and pulling out your books, you nestle into your desk and lean back to stare at her. She looks back at you, but you don't react except to hold her eye with what you mean to be a faint smile. She twitches and turns away—giving you (maybe without meaning it) a fantastic profile view of her massive right breast. You relax as you let it absorb your attention. But a minute before the bell, you pull out your phone and tap a short message to Brenda. Wednesday study time pick you up 7. Her phone dings, she checks it, she looks over at you. You show her your teeth in a hard grin. * * * * * The morning passes quickly but boringly. At lunch, which you take at the Triple-A table in the middle of the cafeteria with most of the basketball and cheerleading squads, you distractedly listen with an impatient irritation to the brags and laughs of guys like Lynch and Nichols and Dalton Douglas, and the chatter of girls like Chelsea and Kendra Saunders. Javits is there, of course, along with a very quiet Jeremy Richards and Cindy Vredenburg. You say nothing to him, despite some quick, worried glances by Gordon at you from across the table, until he gets up with Cindy and Jeremy to leave. You swing around and rise to your feet to block him before he can pass. "We gotta talk," you tell him. "You and me and Gordon. Next period." He blinks. "I got class," he says. "You got a meeting with us. Top of the stairs in the gym. You know the place. You miss that meeting, you can miss practice this afternoon, practice tomorrow morning, and practice from now on." He looks askance, and even Cindy looks anxious. He nods and says he'll see you then, and shuffles off. He and his girl mutter to each other as they go. "Hey, you almost done?" you ask Gordon, whose tray is as empty as yours. But he glances over at Chelsea's tray, which is half-full. (No surprise, as she is spending more time jabbering with her friends than eating.) He shrugs. "Then I'll catch up to you upstairs," you tell him. Chelsea turns at your words. Her mouth is hanging open, but she quickly glances between you and Gordon, then nudges him and mutters in his ear. He nods, and picks up his tray and her tray both, following you (with your tray) to the garbage station and thence outside to the gym. "Just let me do the talking," you tell him as you lead him up the stairs to the loft. "If you gotta say something, 'cos Javits is looking at you, just say, 'That's right' or something like that. And if I say I want to talk to him alone, don't kick up a fucking fuss or nothing, just go. Okay?" "You set this up with Chelsea?" he asks. "I got my orders same as you." You put the key in the lock and twist it open. It's another five minutes before Seth shows up, which is time enough for you to work yourself up to a nice feeling of irritation that you can use to bully him. He tries to look nonchalant as he comes into the loft, but there's no hiding the wariness that shows in his eyes and his hunched shoulders. "Hey," he says as his eyes rove the loft. "So this is the place." "Yep, this is the place," you reply. "There's beers in the fridge. Get yourself one." He starts to demur, then awkwardly lunges for the fridge. He pulls out a beer, studies it, then tucks it under his jacket with the muttered excuse, "I'll save it for later." While he's busy with that, you slip your phone from your jacket pocket and pull up a sound app. You hit 'record' and slip it back into your pocket. "Put this with it," you tell him. You've still got the loft key in your hand—you pulled it off its ring—and you toss it to him. He tries a one-hand catch, misses, and has to bend to scoop it up. He frowns in puzzlement at it, then at you. "It's to the door over there," you explain. "It'll get you in and out whenever you want. I'll get you one to the gym side door tomorrow." You continue as Javits looks silently startled. "There's only three rules to this place," you continue. "Rule one. If it's after school hours, you check with me and Gordon, see if either of us's up here and doesn't want your company 'cos we're busy. Rule two, if it's during school hours, and you don't want one of us coming up here while you're here, tell us so we don't come knockin' while you're rockin'. Make sense?" "Er ... Yeah! I guess." Still he looks uncertain. "You mean I ... Uh—?" "You're in, man, one of us. Up here and on the court." You cock your head. "How's it feel?" His eyes roll a little in his head. He takes a deep breath. "Well, it feels ... Whoa!" "Get used to it. Make it home. Want it for yourself after practice, maybe break it in?" "Well, can I?" he asks. "That'd be— I mean, Cindy would—" "Oh yeah, that reminds me," you interrupt. "That's rule three. Cindy can't come up here. Total ban." "What?" Javits looks over at Gordon. "That's right," the team captain growls. "Wh—? So, is it like stag up here?" "Not stag. Gordon and Chelsea are up here all the time, so's me and mine. Same goes for you. It'll be you and yours, whoever and how many." He looks confused. "But Cindy's my, uh—" "Not anymore, she's not." You step up close to Javits, so close you could almost step onto his toes. Seth is tall, but you've still got about three inches on him, and you use them. "You're not bringing her up here, man, because as of today, you are tossing her skanky ass to the curb." * * * * * Javits's jaw drops. "The fu—?" He looks over at Gordon, who rumbles, "That's right." "This is the way it is," you resume, and red spots show in Javits's suddenly pale cheeks. "You're number three up here, you're number three on the court. You come and go as you please up here, you help run the team down there. Me and Gordon don't ride your ass up here, and we don't ride your ass down there. "We know you can handle it," you continue. "Known it since the start of the year. You'd'a been up long ago except for one thing." You close the distance between you and Javits by an inch. "Your bitch." Javits staggers back two steps, staring open-mouthed. "So here it is," you tell him. "Here's your chance. Here's what you deserve and what you should'a got long ago. You just gotta cut her dead weight from off your ass. Then you'll be free and easy, like me 'n Gordon. Ain't that right, bruh?" "That's right," says Gordon. Javits's jaw works soundlessly. At last, he stammers out, "I— I can't do that!" ""Can't' ain't the right word," you warn him, closing that gap again. When he steps back, he bumps his ass into a crate, and briefly loses his balance before righting himself. "It's not can't, 'cos you certainly can. What you're really saying is that you won't." Javits swallows. Maybe having a heavy crate at his back has stiffened his spine, because he starts to get argumentative. "Well, okay," he says, "if you put it like that—" "Then put it that way. Say you won't. Because that's the condition, that's the bargain, that's the rule. You toss Cindy, or else I take that key back." He sucks in a shuddering breath, looks past you at Gordon, and stiffens. "Okay then," he says. His voice trembles a little. "If that's the bargain, then I don't want—" "Gordon!" you shout without turning around, keeping your stare on Javits. "This is gonna take awhile, guess you better get to class before you're too tardy." You suck long and hard on a tooth until you hear the loft door close firmly behind you. "You miserable little cock-sucking cunt," you growl at Javits. "You ungrateful little shit." He flushes. "Listen, man," he says, "you can call me names, but—" "Oh, I'll do worse than that. 'Cos this is about the team, about putting the team first. Cindy means more to you than that?" "That ain't fair!" "The only people who get up this high are the ones that put the team before everything else." Seth looks wild. "Gordon puts the team before Chelsea?" he snorts. "That's different. Can you live without Cindy? Are you saying you can't?" You put your face close to his. "You ever try eating a gun when she threatened to break up with you?" Javits's eyes widen. "Last Saturday I spent twenty minutes talking as fast and as careful as I ever hope to talk in my life, while my best friend had his finger on the trigger of his dad's police revolver, and he had it there because that psychotic little bitch has got her creepers dug so deep into his flesh. When Chelsea's miserable, she sends Gordon places that are very, very black." You punch Javits in the shoulder with a stiff forefinger. "And your girlfriend makes Chelsea miserable." Next: "Three Acts of Drama" |
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