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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "A Brief Return to Normality"  The school restrooms are always crowded before class, and you're taking your life in your hands every time you use one. The restroom in F wing -- the restroom nearest the gym that isn't in the gym itself -- is one of the more dangerous ones, and you get some sharp and hooded looks from the guys crowded inside it. There's some shoving and cussing near the sinks, and one kid in a denim jacket grabs a guy in a gray hoodie and jams him back against the wall, but a real scrum fails to develop. You keep your head up and your shoulders back and your chest out while staying out of the way. Whether that's the reason or not, you're not actually stopped and hassled. What you need, though, is a stall, and they all seem to be occupied. But you only have to wait a few minutes before help arrives. The door slams back, knocking two skinny guys with close-cropped hair against each other. They wheel with a snarl -- And the snarl dies in their throats. Gordon Black comes in, and you can almost hear the sphincters loosening. He's enormous, like a mobile monolith, or a landslide that has achieved consciousness. He has to duck his head under the door jamb, and his shoulders almost brush the sides of the door. He's dressed in a sleeveless red t-shirt and purple athletic shorts; his legs are like tree trunks, and his arms are like battering rams. He grabs a fistful of brown paper towels from the dispenser and brandishes them overhead. "Anyone who's not on an all-fiber diet, get the fuck out. If you're still here by the time I count ten, I will make you bob for loose shit in a toilet bowl. One. Two. Three -- " Paralysis has struck the crowd, though, and he's already reached "four" before the crowd start to move. A rumble of feet, pierced by the squeak of rubber soles on tile, echoes off the walls. "Five. Six. Seven." The laggards start shoving the ones in the doorway, and yells and catcalls sound outside. "Eight. Nine." There are only three guys left by now, and it looks like they're trying to liquefy and ooze their way through the gaps the crowd. "Ten." Gordon grabs the last two guys by the neck and pulls them back in. These were two of the unfortunates who were caught in the stalls when Gordon entered. He squeezes them in the crook of his arms. "You two have just volunteered. Stand outside and tell everyone who shows that this bathroom is closed. Tell 'em I'm inside. You know who I am, right?" "Erp. Yes." "Shut up." He shoves them into the hallway and kicks the door closed behind them. Then he turns toward you. You come real close to throwing yourself face down on the tile and howling for mercy. Gordon looks completely pissed off, and the terrifying thought flashes through your head that he heard from his dad about what happened last night and is going to take it out on you. But he just jerks his head at the stalls. "Now that we got some privacy, let's do this." * * * * * "Just keep quiet and listen for your name," Will Prescott says as he washes his hands. He yanks the cap off his head and stares critically at himself while running his fingers through his thick, stiff hair. "Don't make any plans with Steve or Chelsea or anyone, unless you want to be the one who hangs out with them. You know, like if you make plans for Saturday night, then you're going to be the one -- " "I know, I get it," you say. You're stooped so you can look at yourself in the mirror. You rake your own fingers through short brown hair. "Good. You got my schedule? Then I'll see you after lunch." He settles the cap back on his head and swaggers over to the door. It hits him in the foot as he opens it, and he cusses as he leaves the bathroom. You straighten up and sweep the backpack onto your shoulders. It feels astonishingly light. But then, you're as strong as a gorilla. The handle to the door isn't where you expect it to be, and you are also clumsy at opening the door. Those two guys are still standing guard outside, looking miserable. "Hey, thanks for watching me shit," you tell them, and plunge into the boiling crowd of the hallway. Somehow, this feels more like your first real experience as Gordon, even though you spent last night as him. Maybe it's because you're in an environment you already know, but are seeing it from his perspective. You can see the tops of everyone's heads, for instance. In fact, that's the first thing you notice. Where usually you are stuck with a face full of everyone else's faces -- or the backs of their heads -- and have to peer around them to see anything, now you can see over them all the way to the end of the farthest wing. The next thing you notice is how easy it is to get through the halls. No more sliding and squeezing and getting trampled. You're like a snowplow pushing through loose and flaky banks of powder, and it's everyone else who has to stumble and fall into each other as you move through the wing. It's not like walking through an empty space -- the hall is too coagulated for that -- but you don't have to swim through it. And when someone curses at you, you only have to turn and look at them for the anger to die into a sullen look. Your first class is Spanish, but it's first-semester Spanish, and you're only a few weeks into the year, so the class is still basically at the starting block. You might be the only senior in the class -- no one else looks bigger than a sophomore, and the seats next to you are empty when you sit down. It's a boring class of drills, exercises and vocabulary, and as the adrenaline from the change wears off your head begins to fall forward. The hour drones on, and your eyes are heavy when the bell finally rings. Second period is something called CAD-Technology with Mr. Boykin, a teacher you've not had, but have seen around: a classic nerd with a bad haircut and a brown beard. That's another class heavy on non-seniors. The only person you know in there is Jeremy Richards -- an old middle-school friend of yours who ceased to be a friend when he decided to try being a jock. Gordon would know him too, since Jeremy's athletic skill mostly consists of being tall and therefore tricked out for the basketball squad. From what you've heard, he isn't that good, and he flinches when you come in the door. But you ignore him, which is easy, since there's a seating chart and you're on the other side of the room from him. "CAD" means "Computer Assisted Design." It isn't a programming class, but you do have to use software. You're amazed that Gordon is letting you handle this class for him, since you know nothing about what's going on. But maybe he just doesn't care. There's a computer at each desk, and you log in and listen with baffled bemusement as Mr. Boykin outlines the day's work. Since you have no idea what's going on, you only sit like a lump. You're feeling very embarrassed until it hits you: You've no reason to feel embarrassed, since to everyone's eye it's "Gordon Black" who is being embarrassed. So you raise your hand, call Mr. Boykin over, and point at the screen. "I don't know what to do." He sighs heavily and tells you to launch a program. "Which one is that?" In a very annoyed voice he asks if you've been paying any attention in class. "No. But I'm thinking I'd like to start." That gets some snickers from nearby, but you let them pass since they seem to be laughing with you, not at you. Mr. Boykin makes a choking noise in his throat, and with elaborate condescension leads you by baby steps into setting up the day's project. It turns out not to be that hard, and after monopolizing his attention for fifteen minutes you're able to continue on your own. The end of second period brings a long break for you: a study hall followed by lunch. Gordon told you that he usually spends third period with Jason Lynch, which makes you shudder, but he usually spends it in the old gym loft. That would be a nice bonus on the day, because the gym loft is not just a "gym loft." It's known around the school as the "fuck room." Certainly it's not official school policy, but it appears to be a long-standing school tradition: the school's top athletes, the ones that lead the teams with the most promise, get a key to that space and the right to use it as a clubhouse. The basketball squad is the core athletic team at Westside, so Gordon Black and his best friend Steve Patterson are the room's custodians this year. Rumor -- which is almost certainly true -- has it that they use it for drinking and fucking, and that they use it for those purposes every day during school hours. Naturally, you are terribly envious, and this will be your chance to see it, since the key is on the lanyard in your pocket. That you'd have to suffer the company of Jason Lynch would be the price to pay. But you need to hit him up for money anyway. On the other hand, there's other company you could keep during third period. That's when you met Eva Garner in the library the other day. It might be really amusing if Gordon Black landed at the table with her. It would be extra amusing -- and would do Caleb some good -- if Gordon Black talked to her about those rumors he heard about her going out with Caleb, and if he encouraged her to continue to see him. Next: "Making a Case from a Different Direction" |
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