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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "A Life of Entrances and Exits"  You had Mr. Gelding—a.k.a. "The Nutcracker"— your freshman year, and you've no desire to sit in another of his classes, under your face or any other. Especially a class, like AP Chemistry, where he could really humiliate you if he wanted. Your friend doesn't argue when you demur on attending. The two of you have first period together, and walk into the school together—skirting the gym so you don't accidentally run into the bully-dominated basketball squad—but separate inside since your lockers are in different hallways. You're exchanging one set of books for another when a figure materializes at your side. "Yo," says Keith Tilley, lounging against a locker and jutting his chin at you. "Whadja do this weekend?" Tilley is your other good friend, the third of your three musketeers act. Or maybe the half in your two-and-a-half dudes schtick. He's kind of a dweeby loser, to be honest. Right now, for instance, he's trying to look really cool by gazing down his nose at you from under hooded eyes. But it just looks like he's suffering a weird ocular condition. "Nothing," you snort. What would Caleb say? "I tried getting together with Will a few times, but he was being weird over Lisa." Keith blinks—eyes not quite synchronized with each other—and his head lolls to the side. "I called your house Saturday, and your mom said you were spending the night at his place." Fuck, you forgot that was the excuse he gave her. "Yeah, well, sometimes I tell her that when I'm not." "Oh? Don't tell me you were gettin' bee-zay witcha girl." He leers in a way that makes your stomach turn. "If I was, Keith, I wouldn't tell you." You slam the locker. He sniggers. "Think you learned your lesson from Prescott, huh? Blah-blah-fuckity-blah-Lisa-blah-blah. But I'll tell you this." He jabs you in the shoulder with a pale finger. "When a girl breaks up with you, you'll be moaning as much as he is." "Shoot me now." You wriggle free from him, and move down a different hall toward Walberg's class. Caleb— You remind yourself to think of him as "Will Prescott," lest you make a mistake. Will is loitering near the door, and does a little double-take as you come up. You suppress the urge to wink or smirk or give any other sign that something is up; from the flickers that pass over his face, it looks like he's doing the same. And that leaves neither of you with anything to say or do, except go inside the room. It's begun to fill already. Geoff and Lisa are in their seats, and so is Geoff's butt-buddy Martin Gardinhire. Kelsey Blankenship and Brooke Galloway are buzzing with each other. Through the other door enters Laurent Delacroix; he drops into the desk in front of Kelsey. You shuffle into your seat. Will pokes you in the shoulder. "The fuck are you doing, Caleb?" You look up at him, then glance around. Oops. This is your usual seat; Caleb typically sits in the next row over. "Sorry, Will, haven't had my coffee yet." You move over. Instead of taking his seat, though, Will goes over to Lisa, bending over her desk and talking quietly to her. You tense all over. He looks so calm and confident, even a little smug, and it gnaws at you from the inside. Of course he can be so calm with her, he doesn't give a fuck about her, probably he's laughing on the inside because of the way he's leading her on! You glare and glare at him— Then you notice that Mansfield is also giving him a dark look. In fact, his eyes seem locked on him. "Hey Mansfield," you blurt out before you realize it, and with a jerk of his head Geoff looks over at you. "You scopin' out my man Prescott? You think he's sexy or something?" Color shows in Geoff's cheek, and he turns his back on Lisa and Will, leaning over to mutter at Gardinhire, who gazes back serenely in your direction from behind those stupid shades that he never takes off. As you turn around you catch Laurent staring at you. You return his gaze evenly, and he breaks into a grin. He leans over to say something to Kelsey. She turns, and gives you a brief, slit-eyed sneer. Well, what do you care what that stuck-up bitch thinks? You made the captain of the wrestling team laugh. Walberg starts the class, and then you can be bored without having to pretend to be Caleb-being-bored. * * * * * After that comes Caleb's AP Calculus class with Mr. Kowalski. You've got Kowalski for your own (non-AP) Calculus class, so the class doesn't feel weird; and although the material is quite an advance on what you're getting in the other class, it's not entirely beyond your comprehension, either. The only bad thing is that it's stuffed with AP twats—Mansfield and Gardinhire again; also Anthony Kirk and Ricky Golia and Brent Pruitt. But Kowalski dominates it with his lecture, so there's no interacting with them. Then comes AP Chemistry, and you take the long way around to the library so that Gelding won't spot you. You were planning to spend the time sketching a paper that Walberg assigned for Friday, but when you walk through the door you spot Eva Garner sitting by herself in the middle of the library. She and her sister Jessica and brother Marc are triplets: non-identical, of course, but Eva and Jessica look enough alike that they wear their hair differently so as not to be commonly mistaken for each other. Eva wears hers in a short, blonde bob, and she is absent-mindedly brushing it—though maybe "batting it lightly with a brush" would be more accurate—while staring intently at nothing in particular. You don't have much to do with the Garner siblings: Eva and Jessica are cheerleaders, which puts them at least three social levels above you, and Marc is both a soccer player and AP stud, which earns him a place in two of your own bad books. But you and they have friends in common, and they're usual civil when they deign to talk to you. More to the point, she's one of Lisa's best friends. And as your best friend pointed out, "Caleb" is someone she will freely talk to about your ex-. So you drop into the chair across from her. "How's the cheerleader business?" you ask. She looks at you blankly, then lifts the corner of her upper lip in a quick sneer. "I don't wanna talk about it." "Sounds like Chelsea was in fine form today. C'mon, you can tell me. Who was crying by the end of practice?" "I don't wanna— What do you care?" "I don't. But it's something to talk about. Oh, hey, speaking of things I don't care about but it's something to talk about, Will went on a date with Lisa yesterday." "You mean that movie? Tss. Geoff was with them. So you might as well say he went on a date with Geoff." "Oh man, how pathetic is that?." Your guts clench, but you press on with the pretense of being unsympathetic to your own cause. "So if Will and Geoff were on a date, who was Lisa there with? Is she really serious about Mansfield?" "I don't know." She looks you up and down, curiously and carefully. "Will didn't tell you it was a group thing at the theater?" "No. He's delusional or embarrassed, I guess. He's all fucked up over her. I mean, never mind people crying because of Chelsea. You should see him crying because of Lisa." Her mouth falls open. "Is he really?" Red Alert! Reverse and full astern! "Well, not literally. The dude doesn't cry. But he's all twisted up. Me and Tilley are ready to throttle him." "Yeah, well. It's not like there was ever a chance between them. I mean, I like Will. I guess. But if he weren't so immature, if he didn't dress like he's still in fifth grade— I mean, that's why Lisa likes Geoff, you know, he—" And you tune out behind a haze of anger while she rattles off about Mansfield and all his amazing qualities. His smarts, his ambitions, his good taste; the hard work he's putting into his classes and his prep work for college; his acumen on art and literature. Apparently you're able to maintain a poker face throughout, for she never falters in this recital. "Fuck, maybe I should go out with him," you say at the end. The jibe earns you a look. "So why are you letting Lisa hook this amazing fish," you ask. "Why aren't you angling for him?" "Lisa's more his type," she says, and shows a trace of discomfort as she says it. "Are you saying you're not? What, does Geoff look down his nose at you because you're a cheerleader?" She turns on you with a gasp of outrage. "That has nothing to do with—" "Or maybe you're not allowed to chase him? Isn't Yumi always complaining about how Chelsea tries running you guys' love life?" "Chelsea can kiss my—" "Or maybe Geoff isn't good enough for you? It seems like I always see you with the basketball players, Eva." "Fuck off, Caleb." She starts to get up. It's fun teasing her from under another face, where you won't get the blame, but you don't want to run her off. "Look, I'm sorry," you say. "I know you're not a snob like Chelsea and her crew. But after what you said about Geoff, I'm curious. Who is your type?" "I haven't got a 'type'," she loftily declares. "That's horrible thing to say. I like— Well, I'm not looking for a type. A guy has to come to me, and then I'd decide." "So you're saying anybody has a chance with you?" "Well, not just anybody," she sputters. "Who would you rule out?" "I wouldn't rule out anyone!" "So anybody has a chance with you!" you conclude with a smirk. And as soon as you say it, you get the idea, the perfect revenge on Caleb for the way he humiliated you with Umeko and Lisa. To continue: "The Promise of Coffee, the Perils of Lunch" |
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