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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Lofty Expectations"  "Whyncha down there runnin' things?" Lynch asks as he closes the loft door behind him. Jason Lynch is one of those guys like Black and Patterson, who—thank God!—has never paid special attention to you. Sure, you've been caught in the bathroom by him, and if he's with Javits when Javits decides to torment Tilley, then Lynch might amuse himself with you. But it's not like he knows your name. You, on the other hand, know well the glint in his eye and his grin: it's like the glint of metal on the tip of an aluminum bat being swung at your face. He's got that glint now, and you have to strain not to flinch from it. You shouldn't be scared of him: he's friends with Gordon Black and, anyway, Black is almost a foot taller than him. But Lynch—who is captain of the baseball team—is broad and compact and built like a fire hydrant. He also has a tidiness, from his trim blonde hair to the tight cuffs of his jeans, that suggests a tightly coiled power. "I don't feel good," you say. "Chelsea's cooking strikes again," he sniggers. He swaggers over. "Betcha'd like some o' my momma's soup, though. I could bring you some tomorrow. She made a new batch last night." "No thanks." He takes out two beers, and hands you one. "Yeah, well, anytime you wanna come over. My dad, you know—" He starts talking about his family in a way that presumes you know all about them while pawing through the porn collection. He pulls out one title for himself, and offers you another, which you decline. "You must be feeling bad," he chortles. You just keep quiet: a strategy that has worked so far today. But finally you are forced into something like a conversation when he says, "Oh, hey, Fernandez gave us some homework. You want the assignment?" "Sure." "Okay, I'll— You got the assignment for Morales?" "Which one's that?" "The one you said you'd copy out for me at lunch." "Oh yeah. Uh, no. I had to do something else at lunch." "Right!" His eyes light up and he snaps his fingers. "I overheard something about— You were out at the portables? Who with?" he grins. "Some guy." Lynch freezes, and his eyes bulge a little. Then he starts giggling hard. "Sorry, man, it sounded like, for a minute— Never mind. Was it— You had to take him there?" "Yeah." "Ho-lee shee-ut!" he guffaws. "What'd he do? Fuck that, what'd you do to him? I mean, the portables, man, you don't—" He squats again, his eyes shining, expression raptly focused on you. "What was it, an eleven?" He taps one index finger with the other, in a way that looks meaningful. "It was a guy saying stuff about Chelsea." "Whoa!" He falls back on his ass. "What did he say about her?" "I dunno." You don't like the topic, for obvious reasons. "Chelsea told me—" "She asked you to take care of him?" His mouth drops open. "Oh, fuck me, Gordon, that's how come you skipped Fernandez, innit? You lucky—" His grin is odiously sly. "And you said you were feeling sick. You're just wrung out from yer cookout." He fist-bumps your foot. "So who was the asshole? I mean, it's not like I'm lookin' for— But you know, if I can do Chelsea a favor, make her happy, I can add my own brand o' salt to his wounds." "Leave it alone. It's all done with." "Oh sure, sure. I'll go get you that stuff from Fernandez. You lucky dog." He scampers out. While he's gone, you quickly take out the phone and call Caleb. "Hey there yourself," he chirps in reply to your greeting. "Yeah, I got that, uh, that project almost done, you know, for class. I'll call you back in a bit, okay?" "Okay, but I also wanna—" "Thanks, later dude." He hangs up. Maybe Gordon was with him, you speculate. * * * * * Lynch takes almost fifteen minutes to return, and he's got some kind of a handout for you. He starts to make himself at home, but when you say something about wanting to get a little work done—alone—he retreats with gratifying speed from the loft. On a loose sheet of paper you scribble down some notes on Gordon's life for Caleb—assuming he's willing to take it over for you, at least temporarily—until the sounds from the gym below have quieted. You're on the point of trying to sneak out when there are again footsteps on the stairs, and Patterson comes back in. His hair is damp and there's a flush in his face. "Fucking slugs," he says as he slams the door shut. "We'll be lucky if Garson doesn't hand us our asses. Are you better?" he asks sarcastically. "I was about to head home," you say, getting up. "Well, fuck you too," he says as he bends by the refrigerator. "I do you a fucking favor, so—" "I got a phone call and I have to go." "Whatever." He slams the refrigerator shut. You worry about additional gauntlets to run between the gym and the car, but things are well emptied out by now. You squeeze into the Bug's cabin and think about where to go. You can't decide, and just drive around until Caleb calls you back. * * * * * Deep suspicion etches your friend's face. "Why would you wanna give up a sweet gig like this?" he asks. "I don't wanna give it up," you say, not quite dishonestly. "We could share it. Trade days off." "Yeah? So why don't we talk tomorrow afternoon after school? That'd give you a full day before—" "How soon were you gonna tell Gordon what's going on? How did you deal with him today?" "I caught up to him and dropped some big hints about which classes he was supposed to go to, arranged for him to come over to my house afterward." You're not at Caleb's house now, but are in the basement of the elementary school. It might be dangerous, being in the neighborhood where Gordon is temporarily living, but it's out of the public eye. "How was he acting," you ask. "Real quiet. He didn't freak out or anything, didn't run around trying to tell people who he was, that I could tell. He gave me some funny looks a couple of times, like maybe he thought I had something to do with it. But he didn't say anything much. He asked a couple of questions that were kind of leading." "Is he going to be able to handle it at my house?" "Is that what you're worried about, that I can't keep him out of trouble? I think I can do a better job of it. You'll just crowd him because you're so panicked." "Okay, I'll stick it out here then," you shrug. "Since you don't want Chelsea Cooper giving you blow jobs." "Chelsea Cooper isn't—" His face falls. "Is she?" "You mean 'Did she?' don't you? And the answer is, 'Uh huh'." "When?" he croaks. "Sixth period, up in that loft. I went up there after you left, and she came in. And she sucked me off and then we spooned until the bell rang." Caleb turns a bright red, and his nostrils twitch. "What's the catch?" "Catch is that maybe you have to go out with her tonight, with Kendra and Rachel Burton and a couple of guys." "That ain't bad." Still, he looks suspicious. "Nope. And I even made up a list of all the stuff I figured out about him." You hand him that piece of paper. "And you can probably find out a lot more at his house." "I still don't get why you're willing to give it up." You almost come clean with him, that the stress of pretending around Chelsea and Patterson and Lynch was more than you want to handle in one day. But that'll probably only make him more suspicious. Anyway, you don't want to give up the Gordon-gig totally, and would like it back. "I had a good afternoon," you say. "And I don't wanna hog things. I had my fair share right away. You take things over until tomorrow after school, and then unless you've set up another blow job with Chelsea, I'll take over again for a day." "And there aren't any catches?" "The only catch I can see," you say, "is that I don't know how we're gonna handle the basketball stuff." "What do you mean? Can't you handle a ball?" "I don't know," you confess. "I didn't have time to find out, and I just told everyone I was sick and sat it out up in the loft." "Huh. So I guess that'll be one of my projects tonight, figuring out—" "So you'll do it?" "Alright. Of course, if I find out you're pulling some kind of double-cross, I'll be in Gordon's body and I'll be able to fuck you up good." He opens a desk and takes out a mask. "Put that in Gordon's bag, okay?" "What's it for?" "Get a copy of Chelsea, naturally," he chortles. "I cancelled the date with Umeko last night and finished up the other two masks. In fact—" He takes out a second mask. "Pack this too, in case Gordon has a little brother or sister." The confession about Umeko reminds you: "What is, uh, Will going to do about his date tonight with Lisa?" Caleb shrugs. "Up to you. I 'reminded' him of it this afternoon, but I don't know if he's gonna follow through. I guess it's up to you whether to give him another push, or maybe pull him back. If you're gonna do anything, though, we better get switched." * * * * * Caleb masks and dresses as Gordon, and you get a sense of what he went through when you awoke in Gordon's body: the intimidating size and implied violence that comes with seeing him up close. He sways a little on his feet, and stumbles on the steps as he goes out. Then you drop his mask onto your face. And when you wake, you ponder whether to go see your best friend, Will Prescott. * To continue: "A Tale of Two Eavesdroppers" |
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