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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Roles and Role-Players"  You jump to Howie's rescue by asking them to explain this campaign, this side-quest, and why he's playing a female character. (You have a professional interest in the latter question, you suppose.) "To mix it up a little," Howie says, sounding defensive. "It doesn't mean anything." "I didn't think it did," you assure him. "Unh!" Christian grunts. "You shouldn't have told him that, Danielle. It's called 'protesting too much.' Now he does think you think it means something." "No I don't!" "Howie," Christian says into the rearview mirror. "Danielle says she's innocent, and guilty people always protest their innocence." "I'm not guilty!" you protest. "I didn't say you were. I'm just reminding Howie that that's exactly what you'd say if you thought there was, you know, something iffy about him—" "Shut the fuck up, man," Howie fumes. He has turned very red. "My work here is done," Christian replies, and falls into a serene silence. * * * * * You have second-period AP Calculus with these two clowns, so take the line of least resistance and follow them into the school library—it's so you can go over your math homework with them, you tell yourself. You're not there long before your phone tweets—or, more accurately, plays the first few measures of the Vivaldi Concerto in A minor for bassoon and orchestra, RV498—and you find a text from Catherine Muskov: something wrong with us? You glance back to see her at another table with half a dozen mutual friends spread out around her. She smiles lazily at you. God, she's gorgeous, as even Danielle recognizes with some little envy. Long, brown hair; an easy smile; the toned hips and legs of a track girl, but with soft, voluptuous curves that remind you of Lisa. You wave back to her and hold up your math book as an explanation. She nods. "You can go sit with them if you want," Howie says in a small voice. He is hunched over his homework, watching you from the corner of his eye. "I'd rather get this stuff right," you reply. "I'll go sit with them," Christian announces. He hops to his feet and struts over to Catherine's table, like a bantam rooster out for a stroll. You catch Howie wincing a little. "What?" you ask. "Oh, nothing," he says, and bends back over the homework. Then he mutters, "Christian'll do things even when he knows it'll blow up in his face." "Nothing's going to blow up in his face. You wanna go sit with them?" You pull your stuff together. "We can work over there." Howie turns red again, and says, "We should stay over here, get more work done. Unless," he suddenly adds with a stammer, "you really want to go over there with them." You study Howie. There's nothing obviously wrong with him physically. Well, there's something a little froggy about his eyes—they're a trifle protuberant—and his smile is a little goofy. His belly hangs out over the top of his jeans, and he dresses in plaid shirts. So it's a little hard to pin down what it is about him, exactly, that screams nerd. And yeah, he would look a little out of place at Catherine's table, with the track and tennis people. You glance back over at that table. Christian is leaning back in a chair, his hands twined behind his head, in a very exaggerated pose of "cool." In his white sweatshirt and his gold-framed glasses (which match his wispy blonde hair) he wouldn't seem immediately out of place with that group. But he's skinny, and there's a nervy intelligence behind his dark, darting eyes, and satire in his grin. "You know what he's doing over there," you tell Howie in a low voice. "He's role-playing." The thought startles you, so it must be one of Danielle's. Howie frowns. "Roleplaying what?" "Roleplaying like he belongs. You could role-play like that, too." Howie draws back. "Uh uh," he says. "Sure you could. Are you telling me you can roleplay as an orc princess but you can't roleplay as someone who sits with Catherine and Cody and those guys?" "That's different," Howie says, blushing hard. "When I roleplay, it's part of a game." "You could make that a game over there. Like Christian is." You're not sure, but you think Howie is starting to shake. "I couldn't," he says, and his mouth curls up in a terrified smile. For a moment you are tempted to force him over to Catherine's table, but you relent with a shrug. "Then let's finish this stuff," you tell him as you spread your math back out, "before Christian comes back and bothers us." * * * * * You leave Howie and Christian behind for first period, but see them again in second period calculus, and note with a little discomfort that Howie seemed to be watching for you. He is sitting with Christian and Hugh Flake, but you take Danielle's usual seat on the other side of the room, with her orchestra friends—David Scofeld, Tyler Burns, and Sarah Bhatnagar—and the volleyball players Whitney Rosenthal and Reagan Hackett. You're also sitting behind a new girl to the school, Sydney McGlynn, who you haven't talked to much. Now, after studying the back of her head a moment, you poke her in the shoulder. "Did I hear you were on the cheerleader squad at your old school?" you ask. She nods. "Yeah, why?" "I was thinking of something else, and it reminded that I heard something about that." "There's a documentary about her up on YouTube," Reagan says. She smiles so widely it's like the top of her head is about to fall off. "Not on me," Sydney protests. "On my school. My squad." "They were, like, national champions," Whitney says. "Regional," Sydney corrects her. "And it was just a video that the video club at our school made and put it up on YouTube." "Still, you should watch it," Reagan says, and tosses her long blonde hair behind her shoulder. "They make our squad look like— Oops." With a smirk she mimes zipping her lips shut. You look across at Eva Garner, who is slumping in her seat across the aisle opposite you. It looks like she's absorbed in her cell phone, but you have the distinct impression she heard Reagan slagging the cheerleader squad, of which she is a member. "What school was this?" Philip Fairfax asks from farther up the row. He is half-turned around in his chair with a very intent look on his face. (But Philip always looks intense; it seems to be his default setting.) "Hutchinson High," Sydney says. "Go Cougars," Reagan titters. Philip picks up his phone and with a frown taps furiously at the screen with his thumbs. You find yourself reflecting on the spell that Sydney seems to have cast over Reagan and Whitney. These are not shy or stammering girls—not the kind who typically put a wet finger in the wind to see which way it's blowing. They're more like the kind of girls who tell other girls what to do. And here they are, acting like groupies around Sydney. You're mulling this when you see a familiar figure sit up very straight in the front row, and look around. Caleb—the guy who got you in trouble with Chelsea—slowly twists in his seat, as though searching the room for someone in particular. From one end of the room to the other, from the front to the back, his eye picks over the room. You have the impression that he looks at every person in the class—or every girl, since it's pretty obvious when his eye has lighted on Eva and Reagan and Sydney and Whitney. But you're looking directly at him, and so you can't miss it when his gaze sweeps past you completely without settling for an instant on you. * * * * * The rest of the school day passes without incident. A study hall. Lunch. A gymnastics class. (Yes, it turns out Danielle does do gymnastics.) An English class, where Chelsea Cooper watches you with a glinting but hooded interest. Chemistry and orchestra. You're not invisible. You've got friends. But you feel like you're on the margins. Though you see smiles of welcome when you slide into your seat next to Audrey Briscoe and Kim Walsh and Kristin Yetter and Genesis Lee (and so many others) you're conscious that you don't talk much but instead spend more time listening and watching and laughing. Not that the others ignore you. Genesis whispers to you about the crush she's got on Blake O'Brien. Kristin shares catty confidences about Katelyn Feaster. Kim asks you if the orchestra might need to hold a fundraiser. But if Chelsea thinks that Danielle Davis has any kind of influence over her friends' opinions, well ... You just have to remember the admiring looks that Reagan and Whitney were giving Sydney to realize that Danielle has never gotten similarly looks of admiration. You're pretty distracted, then, as you work on your homework in the library after school. You're not really keen on helping Chelsea out anyway, but you know (with a sinking feeling) that she's going to be an utter pest for ideas about using the masks to help her out. The two obvious strategies fill you with qualms: putting Chelsea in a disguise so she can do the work herself, or filling the school with fakes (like Chen) that will do her bidding. You get two more ideas, though, after looking up to see Philip Fairfax and Howie Baylor walking through. Roleplaying. Chelsea wanted you to be Yumi or Lin. Maybe instead you could talk her into putting Howie and/or some of his friends under masks of her rivals? They'd be more likely to be your allies than hers in the long run. Or, more innocently: The school has a video club of its own. Maybe you could talk Chelsea into getting them to make a documentary on the WHS cheerleader squad. * To continue: "Who Wants to Be a Video Star?" |
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