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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Bids for Attention"  Forty dollars would be a nice little chunk of change, and a big profit on the two dollars that you bought the thing for. But you're more worried about your grade in Walberg's class. "Yeah, sorry," you tell the guys. "I was gonna text Sean anyway, tell him that something came up and I, uh, had to change my mind about selling the book." Jack's eyebrows go up. "What, did someone offer you a hundred for it?" He nudges Brent. "No, I'm not—" You shoot Brent a wary look. "Would you offer a hundred for it?" He pales. "No, not a hundred." That sucks, you think. You'd trade a bad grade for a hundred. "The thing is," you explain, "I bought it for the time capsule in my Sociology class. And it's due today and if I sell it then I won't have anything for class. And, you know, fuck, there goes my grade." Brent nods. "Oh yeah! You're in that class with Geoff and them." You grit your teeth. Geoff Mansfield—who is a friend of Brent's—is one of your least favorite people: a stuck-up, supercilious know-it-all who thinks he's got more brains than you, and judging by his wardrobe, his car, and his hairstyle definitely has more money. "Yeah, that's the class." "Well, okay," Jack says. "I can pass the message along to Sean." He grins. "Probably better to stick it in a time capsule than to give it to Ioeger for whatever shit he had planned for it." * * * * * You follow Jack and Brent out into the hallway, chatting in a friendly way about maybe getting together for a game of doubles this weekend, but once you've parted you sprint off toward Walberg's classroom. Please still be there, please still be there, you murmur under your breath. The doors are open but Walberg isn't in the classroom. Instead— "Ay! Prescott!" Dane Matthias sprawls in one of the desks near the front. Dane is a sloppy stoner with a cheerfully glassy grin under a mop of coppery hair. He's dressed today as he's always dressed, in a t-shirt, flannel pajama bottoms, flip-flops, and a smelly old sport jacket. With his hairy arms and hairy legs all akimbo, he looks like an orangutan that's been shoved into cast-off clothes and dropped into the school as a prank. "'T'sup?" he asks you with a grin. "Is Mr. Walberg here?" "Ol' Walrus-Butt? Yeah, he's around." Dane shifts and looks about with a frown, as though expecting to find Mr. Walberg lurking in a corner. "Well, when's he gonna get back, and how long's he gonna be here for?" you ask. "And what are you doing here?" "Detention, man." He shakes his head at the unfairness of it. "He caught me looking for some chalk." "You got detention for looking for some chalk?" "Well, I was lookin' for it in his desk." Dane giggles. "I was gonna write something on the board that would'a really got me detention, but he caught me first, so it's like I'm gettin' off light." Hmm. No way are you going to leave your time capsule submission on Mr. Walberg's desk where a klepto like Dane could get to it. "How long do you have detention for?" "Like, a week?" "No, I mean today." "Oh! Oh. Uh." His brow furrows. "What time is it? Like, another hour or something?" He writhes. "Man, it feels like I been here all day already." You're about to take a seat when you spot a dark hump rising over the sill of a nearby window. It hangs there a moment, then falls from sight again. You frown at where it appeared. A moment later it reappears, and again vanishes. Someone is peering into the room. "Be right back, Dane," you say, and scramble into the hallway. It's a long sprint to the exit, and a long walk back up the outside of the wing. You take it in a looping curve so you can approach the spy from behind. It's three spies, actually. Three guys crouching under the windows of Walberg's room, poking each other and giggling. As you creep up, one of them turns around, sits with his back to the wall, and raises a hand over the windowsill. He's holding something, and as the other two snerk and clutch each other, he wriggles it as though trying to catch Dane's attention within. He sees you approaching, and his face lights up. It's Marc Garner. He nudges the other two, and they wheel around. Steven Buckner and Spencer Osbourne. Definitely an odd trio to be hanging out together outside of Walberg's classroom after school. Well, maybe not so odd in the case of Buckner and Osbourne. Steven is a stoner like Dane. In some ways he's more obvious about it—he wears t-shirts emblazoned with pro-marijuana messaging; ugly, 70s-style corduroy pants; and a baggy hat woven of hemp—but in other ways he's less obvious, as you've never seen him less than bright-eyed and alert. Osbourne, meanwhile, is a slacker and a troublemaker with a wicked grin and a sense of mischief that sometimes shades into light bullying. But Marc? Marc is the captain of the boys' soccer team, a clean-cut athlete with a chiseled torso, a healthy tan, and blonde locks chopped short and gelled into spikes. He's an AP student, too. Healthy of mind and healthy of body, he's the last person you'd expect to find with a doobie between his fingers. But that's exactly what he's holding, what he was waggling in front of Walberg's window. "Hey Will," he calls to you with a bright grin. "Wha'chuptoo?" He rolls his eyes window-ward. "Is Walberg back yet?" You glance at the window, but the glare against the glass makes it impossible to see into the room. "I don't know. What are you guys doing?" "Teasing a monkey with a banana," Spencer says. His grin is sly and malicious. "You're gonna get caught," you warn them. "If Walberg sees you—" But they only snort and giggle. "Who else is in there?" Steven asks. "Dane's in there but there was another guy—" "That was me. I saw you looking in, came out to see who— If I can spot you, Walberg'll—" "What do you fucking care, man?" Spencer says. A hard glint comes into his eye. "No, Will's right," Marc says. "We're gonna get caught. Unless," he adds after a beat, "Will goes back in to be our lookout." He gives you a bright grin. "Are you guys high?" you demand. "I'm not—! No, wait." You march up to the window and put your face to the glass. Dane, zonked in his desk, is staring at the blackboard. Mr. Walberg is still absent from the room. "Yeah, I can go back and do the lookout thing," you say. "I could, like, ding you with a text when Walberg comes back." "Don't believe him, man," Spencer says. "He's gonna narc on us!" "I'm not gonna—! I have to see Walberg anyway. I got a thing I have to drop off for him. School project." "The time capsule?" Marc asks. You look at him surprise. "Whatcha got for him?" "A book," you stammer, and show him your contribution, which is still in your hand. "This thing. How do you know about the time capsule?" "Fuck, it's all I heard from Kelsey and them all last week, the shit they were bringing in." Marc raises up and peers through the window. "Like the fucking future wants anything Kelsey would leave behind." He giggles and drops and turns a bright face up at you. "You're not giving him an old iPod too, are you?" "No, I told you, I'm giving him a book. Who's giving him a—?" "Like they're gonna read in the future," Spencer sneers. But Marc's mouth has dropped open in a silent laugh. "Will," he gasps. "Give him a joint!" He holds up the brown, papery cylinder. "Give Walberg a fucking joint for the time capsule!" The other two burst out laughing, but you only gasp. "I can't—!" "He'd love it, man!" Marc insists. "Guaranteed!" You roll your eyes. "Except where am I gonna get a joint?" "Pwah?" Marc explodes with laughter as he rolls the doobie between his fingers. You feel yourself redden. "You'd let me have it?" "For what, free? Fuck, no!" "I don't got any money on me!" "Whaddaya got to trade?" "Well ... Just this." You show Marc the book. He snorts at it. But you've caught Steven's attention. "Hey, you were showing that to Keith in Hawks's class, weren't you? What is it?" "It's a, uh, trick book. A fake. There's a hidden compartment and a hidden lock and—" "Oh, fuck, listen to this," Spencer jeers. His grin deepens into a demonic leer. "Oh, fuck you guys. I'll catch you later." You blush at their hoarse laughter as you stalk off with as much dignity as you can muster. * * * * * And yet, when you're back inside and loitering by Walberg's door, you have second thoughts. What would be wrong with contributing a joint to the time capsule? It would be unexpected. It would be topical. And contributing a joint wouldn't be like smoking one in front of the teacher. You could probably write a pretty good paper on why marijuana would be a worthwhile thing to send to the future as a representative item of the current era. You've no idea what you would say about the book. When you see Walberg shambling up, you make a snap decision and run back outside. But Spencer is the only guy crouching under the window, and he's busy texting on his phone. "Hey!" you shout at him. "Where'd Marc go?" Spencer looks at you, then points off toward the athletic fields. "Where's Steven?" Spencer points at another doorway into the school. * To chase after Steven: "A Dopey Trade" * To offer the book to Spencer: "Joint Ventures" |
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