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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Learning Like Danielle"  "Have you thought about putting up a video on YouTube, about the cheerleading squad?" Chelsea's eyes freeze at your question. Behind them you can see the thought: What the fuck are you talking about? It's Thursday afternoon, after school. The rain has finally stopped and the clouds are breaking up, but the air is cool and wet as you and your co-conspirator sit out on the deck by the pool behind her house. Chelsea is bundled up in a sweater and pants and fur-lined boots. You're dressed down more casually in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt with a thin windbreaker to protect against the breeze. It feels funny talking about this stuff out in the open air. But you probably have more privacy out here than you would inside her house. "Will," Chelsea says, "why are you asking about—?" "Because of what you said last time we talked. You said you wanted people to get the, uh, 'right idea' about you and the rest of the cheerleader squad. So what I'm saying is, maybe you could make, like, a documentary to put up online. An advertisement, basically." Chelsea's lips whiten. "You mean something that would make the squad look good?" "Sure." Her expression hardens further. 'That would make everyone on the squad look good?" "Uh—" Chelsea doesn't give you time to climb out of the hole you've dug for yourself. "That's not the kind of idea I had in mind," she says. "I don't want all of us looking good. Only some of us. And making certain other people—" "Okay, I get it." You lick your lips and look away. When Chelsea gets intense, she is like a cat that wants to hold a staring contest. "But, you know, there are ways of making people look bad in a— in a movie," you stammer. (You are suddenly and keenly aware that you have no idea what you're talking about.) "You know, with editing, and with picking out which bits you want to—" You gulp, because it's like lasers are shooting out of Chelsea's eyes and into your face. "It could be a really subtle—" "Is this the best idea you could come up with?" Chelsea's tone is wintry. And somewhere down deep, her attitude provokes you into resistance. "I just think we need to be subtle," you argue. "You need to be subtle. We've already done some pretty radical things with— with Gordon and Gary and—" You gesture at your face. "We can't just keep making masks and using them to—" "Why not?" Now you do rebel. "Because we're gonna get caught! If we're not careful. Do you want that?" "We're not going to get caught, Will." "But if we do—" "We've got these masks. Perfect disguises. We could always get away. Or if someone catches us, we could just use that stuff we put in your mask, and Gary's, and then they wouldn't be a problem anymore." Yes, the stuff that turned Danielle into a very subservient copy of yourself. It gave you a really queer turn the other night, when Danielle, still in her bra and panties, vanished and was replaced by someone who looked like you, but in Danielle's bra and panties. You had changed clothes with him and bundled him out of the bedroom (with orders to be normal and stupid) as quick as you could. But you're too hung up on the idea of using masks to "get away" to worry overmuch about that. It would be a really bad thing, wouldn't it, if you and Chelsea had to use masks to run away and make up new identities for yourself because government agents or someone found out what you had and were up to. "No," you say. "We're not going to do any more impersonations. It's too risky. I mean, Jesus. Run away?" You thrust out your chin at Chelsea, who has thrust out her chin at you. "Do you actually want to run away, and give up this—" You throw your arms out to encompass her house, her pool, and the girl herself. "If something goes wrong?" Chelsea's gaze narrows into a squint. "No, we just figure out some way of using what we've got, without—" "Do you know how to make an internet documentary?" Chelsea demands. "Do you even know how to upload one?" You bridle at the question but don't answer, for the fact is that you don't. "How would we even do it?" "We get someone to make it for us," you reply. "There's a video club at school. The, uh—" You have to snap your fingers before you recall the name of it. "The Cinephile Society. Mr. Hawks runs it." "And you think these guys could—" "We could ask." "Who are they?" Red spots are showing are showing Chelsea's cheeks, so you hesitate before answering, and have to stop yourself from rubbing the back of your hand nervously. "Carlos Montoya. Mike Hollister. Philip Fairfax." Chelsea doesn't instantly explode on hearing the names, so you continue. "They actually have a YouTube channel, they upload videos where they review movies." Chelsea rolls her eyes. "That's not the same as—" "They know how to handle cameras, and they know how to make stuff." "How do you know?" Because I wound up talking about it with David Scofeld and George Basham last night after the recital. I mentioned that video that Sydney McGlynn was in, and they told me that those guys had a YouTube channel and were all into making videos and stuff. Which Danielle kind-of-sort-of knew but had totally forgotten about. So if Philip Fairfax was interested in Sydney's video it was probably because— "I was talking to some people last night, after the recital," you say aloud. "Hmph," Chelsea says, and settles back to stare at something over and behind the top of your head. She seems lost in thought, so you hold your breath and say nothing, in case she is in the process of talking herself into approving your idea. Which she does, sort of. "Well," she says at last, "you can talk to those guys about it, find out if they'd be willing to make a YouTube video about the squad. We could use some kind of publicity anyway, I guess." A little glint comes into her eye, and you guess that she's thinking about how to make herself look good in the video. "But," she continues, and gives you a very direct look. "We have to come up with some other way of handling Cindy and her friends." You nod, for Chelsea has exhausted you. With a jerk of her chin she dismisses you from her presence. * * * * * * Friday morning. You have Philip for second period, but you go looking for him earlier, in the first-period English class he told you by text that he has. Philip seems the logical one to talk to. Carlos and Mike are the on-air talent, but Philip was the one interested in Sydney's YouTube documentary, and you also heard from your other friends that he is the behind-the-camera guy and so would probably be the one in charge of making this project. As you enter Mr. Montague's classroom you do a double-take and wave at the people you know: George Basham, the clarinet player who helped put you on to Philip and his friends in the first place. Cody Schaefer and his friend Terry Colson, who are on the tennis team. Jack Li and Wendy Terrill. But you let your eye dodge past Jeremiah James, who has turned sideways in his seat and is staring at you with an intense and open interest. "I think Jeremiah's a stud," Leah Simmons said. She put her hands under the library table and shivered all over as she grinned. "He looks hard all over." She shivered again, then did a double-take at Nicholas Gray, who was sitting next to her, and who had snickered. "What?" "You said he was 'hard'." Nicholas snickers again. "Fuck you. I bet he is. All the guys in this school are hard down there. You walk around with it hard." She jabbed Nicholas in the shoulder. "I've seen the way you carry your books around in front of your crotch." Nicholas laughed and turned pink. "Just as long as he doesn't get that way around me," you said. "Who? Nicholas?" "No! Jeremiah. Who I was complaining about." "Bitching about," Nicholas says softly. "Too late," Leah laughs. "I've seen the way he looks at you." Her eyes flash mischievously. "I wish he looked at me that way." "Really?" Nicholas asks. "I mean, would you really want to—? Seriously?" "Why not?" "Because he's—" Nicholas freezes and turns very pale as a couple of hard stares get turned his way. "Well, it's not usual," he stammers. "Is it? I mean, the only times I ever see, you know—" Color flushes back into his cheeks, and he continues flushing until he is almost purple with embarrassment. "I don't ever see black guys with girls who aren't, uh, black," he finally gasps. "You can have him," you tell Leah, more to relieve Nicholas of his humiliation than to give Leah permission. "I don't want him." "I'd take him. Maybe," she adds after flashing Nicholas another narrow look. "I'd give him a chance anyway. So should you." She nudges you. "Jeremiah's a good guy. He's friends with Marc and Austin. He's not like Sean." She shivers again, and so do you, for Sean Sax of the basketball squad has gotten in your face and panted all over you without so much as an invite. If you had to pick one of them, you'd break speed records choosing Jeremiah James over Sean Sax. That was at the end of Danielle's junior year, and Jeremiah's interest has obviously carried over into the new year, even if he has never said anything to her. If he did, would she still "No"? Only the school's African-American boys seem interested in her ... But you know what you will say if he works up the nerve to ask you. Alas, Philip Fairfax has the same word for you when you ask about he and his friends making a video about the cheerleader squad. * To continue: "Garners and Gossip" |
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