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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "A Shared Life"  You make a compromise with yourself. After going back "home" and eating with your "mother"— During which you entertain her by talking a lot about school, and about Will and Keith and other friends, and about teachers and assignments: stories not all of which are untrue— After dealing with home life you drive out to the IHOP for some coffee and to do some kind of studying, since it looks like you're going to be responsible for much of Caleb's homework for the rest of the week. Just get through Friday, you tell yourself as you try to make sense of the Calculus. Then we'll have a talk with Gordon after school, give him the weekend to cool down, and go back to something more normal. You hope you have a normal life to go back to. Not just with your parents, but with Lisa. That's the "compromise" you've made with yourself: after giving "Will" and Lisa time to get together at the library, you'll sneak over there to have at least a quick peek to see if they're there and what they're getting up to. No way they'll be getting up to what you and Chelsea got up to, you kind of hope. You don't intend to be at IHOP long, but you're there long enough to get caught. As you're bent over one of the harder problems, pulling at your hair, a hand firmly claps your shoulder. "So this is the secret of your natural brilliance," Carson Ioeger says, and slips into the booth across from you. "Lots of studying and lots of caffeine." James Lamont slides in next to him. They're a contrast, if not much of one. Both are tall and skinny, but Ioeger has blonde, frizzy hair that looks unhealthy for often being wrapped under a bandana, while Lamont's hair is dark and only slightly disordered. Ioeger's grin is devilish; Lamont's is tighter, more modest. Both dress down in t-shirts and jeans, though tonight, as a precaution against falling temperatures, Lamont is wearing a blue fleece jacket. Smart guys, both of them, but not in the well-scrubbed, hyper-ambitious style of Mansfield or the other AP snots. Much more like Caleb himself, with whom they share several classes, including AP Physics. And that's what they want to talk to you about, to your dismay. "What did we miss in Krohling?" Ioeger asks. "Why, weren't you there?" They look at each other and guffaw. "So you didn't notice?" Lamont asks. "I hope Krohling didn't notice either." Of course you didn't notice: You were up in the loft with Chelsea that hour and Caleb was playing his own part. "Uh, same stuff as before, I guess," you say, and rummage through Caleb's pack for the books and notes. "But a little more." "But what was the homework assignment?" You flip through his notes until you find the physics section, and thrust it at them. Meanwhile, Ioeger has craned his neck to look at the math you're working on. "Jeez, man, they spike your coffee or something?" He grabs your current sheet and turns it around. "What happened to your handwriting?" He shows it to James. You snatch it back. "I'm just, you know, scribbling things out." "You got that right." Ioeger nudges his friend. "Aren't you the one always going on about how neat Johansson's handwriting is?" "I might have mentioned it once." "So where were you guys last period?" you hastily ask. "Being sick," says James, and Carson keels to the side with asthmatic laughter. "We'll tell you about it sometime. After we graduate. From graduate school." That sends Ioeger into another brief spasm of intense laughter. "Oh but seriously," he says as he straightens up again. "That reminds me." He puts his elbows on the table and peers intently at you. "How's Prescott doing?" Your brain races in about six different directions at once but reaches no conclusions. "Should he be in any trouble?" Ioeger cocks an eyebrow. "No psychological damage?" "From what?" The other two look at each other. Then Carson leans forward. "We heard Gordon Black took him off behind the portables at lunch," he says quietly. "Oh. That. How did you hear—?" "Jesus, man, there were only about a hundred kids who saw them. You know Gordon, he always puts on a show." "Will's fine," you tell them. "I think Gordon just put that show on to give him a scare." "What did he do to him?" "I wasn't there. And Will didn't say anything to me about it." "He didn't look traumatized?" James asks. You're not sure how to play this; there might be advantages to being "traumatized" when you get your life back. "I dunno. Maybe something did happen. He didn't say much to me." They share another glance. "Obviously it would be best if nothing did happen," Carson observes slowly. "Do you know what it was about? James and I have a lot of experience with Gordon, but isn't this a first for Prescott?" You're not sure you want them investigating that whole incident. "I think it had something to do with Chelsea," you say. And you instantly regret it when they high-five each other. "What was that about?" "Tell you later," says Carson, and pushes James toward the aisle. "After we graduate. From a ten-year post-doctoral fellowship. In Australia. Can we borrow this?" He brandishes the physics notes. "Awesome, we'll be over there if you need to pick them up." He and Lamont duck into the closed-off smoking section of the restaurant, and through the glass partition you watch as they lean in toward each other over a table, passing a single cigarette back and forth as they talk intently. * * * * * That blows your concentration, and after checking the time you decide to make that stop to look in on Lisa and her date. You leave without getting those notes back from the other two—through the glass you mime that they can keep them until tomorrow—and drive over to the library. The front doors of the Saratoga Falls Municipal Library open into a short breezeway and then into a vast, open semi-circle containing the periodicals section; this "old people's pit", as you and your friends call it, is flanked on two sides by doors leading into the wings that contain the actual stacks. It's rare to find any teenagers studying in the periodicals section, but you at least are able to survey it quickly to confirm that "Will" and Lisa are not there. Then you move into the wings to see if they are in the other study areas. After ten minutes of searching, you find them at the very back of the south wing, at one of a set of three tables by a bay window that overlooks a side courtyard. Lisa, looking very pretty in a purple blouse, sits with her elbows on the table and a pencil in her hand. Your substitute hunches in the seat opposite, hands under the table, staring intently at her. His cap is on the table. You quickly step into the stacks before they can see you, and edge your way around until you are behind the shelf nearest them. From this vantage point you can catch most of what they say without being seen. But there's little you can hear. Lisa's voice is soft, and Will talks in a low mutter. When your ears adjust, you can still barely make them out. Will: "But what are you going to do with it?" Lisa: "Find work." Will: "Like what? What can you do with it?" Lisa's voice drops too low to hear, except the word "teaching." Then: "—taking that career planning class." "Tss. Bullshit. Only reason I'm in it is because— There are all those guys out there that know what they're going to do, and how to get to it. And I don't. But that bullshit class isn't telling me anything." "It's not going to tell you anything, Will. It's just supposed to tell you how to figure those things out for yourself." Your doppelganger's voice dips into a peevish mumble, and Lisa's voice becomes impatient, as they talk about jobs and employment and education and ambition, with Will evincing a mulish and resentful inability to figure out what he wants from life, and Lisa sounding more and more disappointed by these confessions. You are soon ready to flee in horror, but the fascination of the ongoing train wreck keeps you rooted in place. You're stuck in this attitude when low voices sound behind you. You don't recognize them, though, until they're upon you, when to your horror you see Carson and James walking past. They don't see you, being concentrated on Lisa and Will. "'Lo you two," Carson says. "Imagine meeting you here." Lisa returns the greeting; if Will says something you can't hear it. Voices overlap, so that though they're loud enough you can't disentangle the words. When they do simplify: James: "—worried after hearing about you and Black. So what did he do?" James: "I'm sure he's done it to us. Black's ingenious, but even he repeats himself." Carson: "Did he have Patterson or Lynch with him? Anyone? Then it couldn't have been the Indian rope trick. Any bruises on you?" Will: "—fucker." Carson: "Hey hey, sorry, I won't touch. Is it tender, is that where he—?" Will: "He didn't do anything, alright? He just shoved me inside one of the portables." Carson: "No. Really?" James: "Did he at least tell you what your blasphemy was?" Lisa: "Will, did you—?" James: "He didn't say anything about Chelsea? Whoa. 'Cos you know that's what it was about, right? What did you say to her?" Lisa: "What are you guys talking about? Will, what happened?" Carson: "Ask Eva, she was there. I just wanna hear Prescott's side of it. Because according to Eva, Will here dropped some major tonnage on Chelsea, and then Gordon hustled him out to the portables and then didn't do anything. Which is pretty damn ballsy of Black if true, since he got a blow job from Chelsea out of it." * To continue: "A Disastrous Date" |
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