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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Ambushed by the New You"  Brianna reaches you first. "Hey," she says as she kneels before you and digs into her purse. "Got a light?" "You don't got one?" You're watching Will, who has slowed up. But you're not so preoccupied that you miss the look Brianna gives you. With a grunt you pull the lighter out of your hip pocket and flick it under the cigarette she's taken out of her bag. She takes your fist between her hands as she put the cigarette to the flame. She gives you a small smile before releasing you; your cock, already restless, engorges. Brianna Gould is not the most beautiful girl in school. She is skinny and pale. Her hair, which is a brunette shading toward a very dark crimson, drapes flatly down the side of her head. She goes heavy on the black mascara and the blood-red lipstick, but no so heavy as to give her a goth or punk vibe. She covers her freckles with white powder, which leaves her looking like a vampire who pitched face-first into a sack of flour. But she gives Justin blow jobs every other month or so, and it's always her idea. But then, she gives lots of guys blow jobs, Justin has heard. "Hey," you grunt at Will as he sidles up. "It's Prescott, right?" "Yeah." He stares down at you with a pale expression, then abruptly drops his pack and falls onto his ass. He has a very worried squint on his face, and he stares at you expectantly. "What happened to your hat?" Brianna asks him. She takes a deep hit off her cigarette, and blows it out sideways through clenched teeth. "Huh?" Will whips off the shapeless white ball cap that you wore everyday before Keith and them gave you a makeover. He studies it critically. "What's wrong with it?" "Not that one," she says. "The cool one you've been wearing. The—" "Is that your jacket?" you interrupt her. You flick a finger at the thin, leopard-skin-patterned coat she's sporting. "Hm? Oh." She brushes it down. "It's Rebecca's. I'm borrowing it, seeing if it suits me. What do you think?" She squints at you and takes another hit off her cigarette. "Is it real? You shouldn't wear something like that if it isn't real." "What do you mean, real?" "Is that really—? What's that supposed to be? Leopard skin?" "Yeah, I guess so." She brushes her lapel. "You like it?" "Not if it's not real." "What's wrong if it's not real?" "It's fucking insincere. You should only wear something like that if it's real." (What a lot of bullshit, you find yourself thinking as you say it.) "Show some fucking respect for the wildlife. If you're gonna dress up like one of 'em, have the fucking decent respect to kill 'em and skin 'em and wear 'em. Only a fucking twat poseur would wear something like that if it's fake. Brianna's expression turns pinched. "I'll ask Rebecca if it's real." You take a hit off your own cigarette. "If it is, she needs to be shot in the face." "What?" "Fucking killing a leopard for its coat is not cool." "Oh, Jesus, Justin! What's your deal?" "Fucking ethics is my deal." Inwardly, you can't resist smirking, but you keep your face neutral. "You were just— What was all that bullshit about—? Oh, fuck you! Here!" Brianna peels off the jacket and hurls it at your face. You catch it with one hand and smirk around the cigarette at you. "You're so fucking pretentious." "What about your pants?" You point at her black, stretchy tights. "You kill and skin that wild animal yourself, or are you a twat poseur who—?" "I'm not taking off my pants for you!" Brianna punches you in the leg. Her fist is tiny and there's no force behind the blow, so you just laugh—a dry, asthmatic sound. "Give that back!" She grabs the jacket. "I don't think you were even serious, what you were saying." "I was totally serious." You lean forward to pinch at the fabric stretched tight across her thigh. "What is this, fucking polyester?" "Yes! Something like that!" "Why don't you wear natural fibers or something?" "I look good in these!" She squirms as you pinch at her again. "You think I look good in them, right?" "You look great. But, you know—" You shrug. "You know what?" "What do you think, Prescott?" You fall sideways onto an elbow and lift a chin at your beta. "Brianna look good to you?" His eyes widen and his chin bobbles, and he swallows. Brianna smiles narrowly at him. "You can tell her she looks good, man," you assure your beta. "She don't got a problem with that. You look good, babe." You stroke her leg. She glances at you, then turns back to Will. He croaks, "You look good." "You don't look so bad yourself," she retorts. "You were looking better out at the Warehouse the other night, though." His eyes swivel toward you. Jesus, you think at him. Don't you know how to talk to girls? Don't you even know how to listen to them? Okay, so you don't got any idea what she's talking about, does that mean you have to be so fucking incompetent with her? "What was going on at the Warehouse?" you ask Brianna. So she gives you the story, of how Will showed up at the Warehouse looking really stylish and sexy, and how he danced with all the girls and took selfies with most of them, and how she and her friends thought he looked really good. Your beta loses more and more color—and then turns greener and greener—as she continues. You just grunt. Then, to distract Brianna from the color show your beta is putting on, you ask her about what she did at the Warehouse. That sends her into a long and interconnected series of rants that run out the rest of third period. * * * * * Brianna leaves soon after the bell has rung, which at least gives you a few minutes alone with your beta—long enough to tell him to come find you at the portables after school for the real talk you need to give him—before sending him on his way. But you remain camped at the portables during lunch and the period after that, bullshitting with some of Justin's acquaintances. But it's during fifth that you get a most unexpected visit. You see her coming from a distance away: Cristina Ramon. She's someone Justin knows only vaguely and only by reputation: one of Marcos Rivera's three girlfriends. (That's what puts her on Justin's radar: Marcos Rivera quite openly entertains himself with three girlfriends.) She's a plump girl—fat, even—and in her billowing white blouse and skin-tight black jeans she looks like an ice cream cone tottering around on high-heel boots. But she's a stylish dresser, and she's got a great mane of dark hair that falls in loose curls almost to her elbows. You stare at her openly as you lounge on your elbow and smoke your fifth cigarette of the day, thinking, Yeah, I'd tap that. She says nothing until she's standing directly over you, staring down. "Will?" she says after a moment's hesitation. You cover your surprise by knocking some of the ash off your cigarette. "Yeah?" you grunt. "Mike told me this is where you are now." She glances over her shoulder. "But discretion is advisable when we're in public." You draw in a stream of smoke. "So you're Fairfax now?" "How'd you guess?" "You're the only asshole I know who talks like a fucking college professor, and I'm including the teachers when I say that." Her brow furrows. "I must've fallen out of character while I wasn't looking." "What happened to Maria?" "I made a switch last night. This is my second beta." "Why Cristina?" You look her up and down quite openly. Fat. It would be like fucking a tub of butter. But that could be delicious. "She comes with advantages. She can help you out." "Who? Me or Justin?" "You, Will. Cristina runs with a totally different crowd than the cheerleaders. She can talk you up in her crowd, get you into places than our original set of— That Eva and them can't get you." "Sweet. Except I need to get my own beta sorted out. Fucker's about as lame as a one-legged mule." Cristina frowns. "Who? Your second beta?" "I don't got a second one yet. I mean beta-me. He was sitting out here with me and Brianna Gould, and she was all flirting with him, and he looked like he was about to shit himself. Fuck." You grind the heel of your hand into your eye. "She was making me cum just to watch, and he was shitting himself. Hey, if you're not doing anything with Marcos this afternoon, how about hanging out with me?" "We should probably conference, so—" "I was asking if you wanted to fuck." Cristina glowers at you, then cocks her head. "Justin does know how to make a girl feel wanted," she says a little sourly. "You know, if you want to, we could arrange to give you Justin's personality. The personality without the body, so you could act with some of his ... assertiveness." "That could be cool." "But you also mentioned Brianna Gould." "What about her?" "She's another one who could help you out. She hangs out with a lot of people that the rest of us don't. You should think about making her your second beta." Next: "Three Can Be Company Too" |
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