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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Anyone for Tennis?"  Andrew cracks open a beer and swallows half of it down in one long gulp. "Be out of your way in thirty minutes," he gasps through a ripping belch. "Bro! Hang out if you want," you reply. You're occupied in running your finger down the CD tower and pulling out the occasional disc for a closer examination. Most of them are old mixes compiled years ago by an older cousin. Terry's brother—no, your brother; you make a slight mental adjustment—only belches again. "Vanessa," he replies. "You guys can go all night if you want." "Thanks, I was planning to." You slip him a sidelong smile. "Bring her back." Andrew glances around. "Gonna clean up a little? I guess I—" But what he guesses goes unexpressed. He just rubs his forehead, and blinks stupidly. There's no hint of marijuana in the apartment air. But you'd bet your last paycheck that Andrew is stoned stupid. He pulls a dirty plate out of the sink and picks at the spaghetti crusted onto it. But he's not so far gone that he actually puts it in his mouth. An hour later—not the thirty minutes he promised—he finally leaves. His beard looks like a nest for a family of sparrows, and his hair looks like he combed it with a pencil. But Andrew Colson is handsome and he lifts iron, so he looks like a Norse god—albeit a Norse god with a distracted air, like he's not sure if he left the keys to Valhalla in his other leather breeches, or if he dropped them in a fjord when he and the other gods staged that panty raid on the Valkyries' sorority house. So Vanessa—whoever she is—will probably suggest they stay in and spend their date in bed. By the time he leaves you've got the CD tray filled with a rotation of music, and you've been outside to lounge on the hood of your car and smoke another cigarette. Terry has been smoking more heavily since the start of the school year, and Sean and Cody have been chiding him about that—it can't be good for his stamina, let alone his lungs—and if you were planning on sticking around as Terry Colson you might give serious thought to cutting back. But it's a certainty that you'll be finding yourself another role to inhabit; and even if you move later rather than sooner (as in, the end of the school year rather than tomorrow) there's no reason to change any of Terry's habits in the meantime. There's rather more reason to leave him in all his ruts. You do pick up the apartment a little after Andrew has gone, but only enough to move the dirty clothes into the bedroom, where you pile them onto Andrew's bed, along with the shit on Terry's. (No use being unprepared if someone wants to stay over with you.) You wash up the plates and stack them to dry, and in the bathroom you thrust the filthy towels under the sink. But it's not like you vacuum or dust or even wipe down the kitchen counters. No one coming to Andrew Colson's place for a party would expect it to be clean. * * * * * Cody Schaefer texts you a little after seven: Got pizzas anything else? You shoot back an N, then a moment later add, Got 25$ 4 u. You don't, actually. But Terry always offers reimbursement, thought Cody never accepts it. But Sean is the first to arrive, with three cases of beer and a box of wine. He's also got two weeks' pay for you, in cash, which you take with a fist bump. "It gonna be safe there?" Sean asks when you shove it into the kitchen utility drawer. "You wanna be my banker and my boss? Put on some music," you tell him as you put the wine in the fridge. "People gonna start showing up soon." So there's a soft techno beat echoing out the open front door and into the street when the Cody pulls up. You and Sean are outside, enjoying the music and the cool evening air as you pass a cigarette back and forth. (Sean enjoys a smoke now and then too.) Cody joins you after putting the pizzas inside. "You did remember to tell people this is happening," he says. "Fuck you, man, I can't do everything." Then you add, "Prescott should be showing up, I told him his presence was required." Sean smirks; Cody grunts. "Sophie and Brooke. Dorothy." You wedge the cigarette in the corner of your mouth and take out your phone. "Any pussy you're particular for?" you ask through the wafting smoke. You expect him to glare back—Cody is usually such a goddam gallant son of a bitch—but he puts his foot up on the hood of your car (his tennis shoes retail for what Andrew pays every month in rent for this standalone apartment in the college student ghetto) and says "Kelsey" as he tightens the laces. Sean guffaws. "You want Kelsey out here?" "I want her pussy out here." Cody's voice is tight with coiled fury. He tightens the laces on his other shoe, like he's strangling someone. "Her pussy," he repeats. Sean twitches the cigarette from your mouth before it can fall from your sagging jaw. "You're still pissed off about this afternoon?" he asks. "I'm even more pissed off. The way she was talking to Lynette—" "Then you don't want her pussy out here." Sean knocks some ash off the cigarette. "She had a hornet up it about something." "I'd dig it out of her," Cody growls. "With a fork." You have to catch your breath. Terry has never heard Cody talk this way. Not even about Kelsey Blankenship. In fact, now that you think about it ... "Did you go anyplace after practice?" you ask. "Meet up with anyone?" "No. I stayed in and did homework. My dad likes me to have it all done if I'm going out on the weekend." "So no one-on-one time with ...?" Caleb Johansson, or some sophomores? Who might have copied and replaced you with someone else? "With who?" "I dunno. Only it's like someone stirred you up." "Kelsey did." Sean tosses away the cigarette. "We can ask Brooke what her problem was. Fuck, it's usually Brooke that Kelsey's yelling at." * * * * * You've not long to wait. About ten minutes later a car pulls up carrying Brooke Galloway and Sophie Van der Berg, both (like Kelsey Blankenship and Lynette Kolaya) of the WHS girls' tennis team. Then Dorothy Harmon arrives, having caught a ride with Emily Sparks and Darrell Parson. So one and half pizzas have been consumed before the guest of honor—at least, that's the way you think of him—arrives. Half a dozen people, with a lot of whooping and hollering, leap from the back of his white pick up truck, while three more pile out of the cab. Jesus, you muse as you watch through the screen door. I never had so many friends I had to carry them in the truck bed. They all fit up front with me. With room to spare. First to the door are Spencer Osbourne—grinning like the Joker—and Dean Stratton. Andrew Harding and Eric Harlen with their arms around Rebecca Sykes and Brianna Gould. A glowering Sienna Goldman brings up the rear. And last, trudging up the driveway, are a guy and girl with their arms around each other. The girl is Mia DeWitt, who in your previous incarnation you shared a second period film class with. The guy is— You almost swallow your tongue as he lazily saunters through the doorway, as though he were a star basketball player standing six-and-a-half feet tall and weighing over two hundred pounds. —Will Prescott. * * * * * It shouldn't be such a shock, seeing your alter ego this way. Terry Colson has seen him in the school hallways, and has had him out for parties just such as this. He's already etched in the memories you've stolen. But there's a difference between remembering the swagger that he barely holds in check, and actually seeing it. "Hey," he says, and he barely glances at you as he brushes past. Inside, he lifts a general hand in greeting. Then he buzzes something in Mia's ear, and she buzzes something in his. He drops his arm from her waist and trudges over to pick up a beer. "Someone bring wine?" he asks no one in particular. "'Frigerator," you tell him, and he trudges into the kitchen. "Bring me one of those?" Spencer calls out. "Your hand broken?" Will retorts as he pulls a plastic tumbler from a cabinet. "You had it wedged up Michael's ass, and he broke it?" Guttural laughs from the gang; Spencer grins and blushes and fetches his own beer. Mia, you notice, isn't the only girl watching Will. So is Emily, and so is Dorothy. The latter, you notice, has a stricken look on her face. Will carries a bottle, a tumbler, and a plate slopping over with pizza to the couch, and with a kick of his foot convinces Darrell to give up his spot so he can take it. Mia sits next to him and takes the tumbler of wine and a slice of pizza. Will watches her intently, and after she's taken a bite he leans in to nip at the side of her throat. She squeals. Someone nudges you, and you jump. It's Brianna Gould. "Got a cigarette?" she asks. You give her your pack. Then you follow her out the door. "I thought Will was into Dorothy," you tell her. She looks up at you from under her brows as she puts a flame to the cigarette. "I don't think Will's settled on anyone," she says. She hisses out a stream of smoke. "What about you?" Next: "The Party Boy" |
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