%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Invisible Boyfriend"  "You should do it," you tell Sydney. "You know her better than me." You half expect her to argue, or at least to give you a look, but she only makes a quick nod. "Okay, do you think you can—?" She glances back down the hallway as her three friends start moving off toward the head of the stairs. "Never mind." She pushes you against the wall. "I'm going in." Then, to your astonished delight, she shoves her mouth against yours, tears a quick kiss off you, then scampers into the bathroom. A second later, she's inside, and there's the click of a lock turning. You gulp, and totter back down the hall to that sitting room, where you sink onto one of the window seats to stare down into the back yard, where in the lowering dusk you can just make out the forms of other high school kids. * * * * * You're still in the sitting room, talking to a girl—well, deflecting her, really—when your phone chimes with a text. "Yeah, we're gonna start at Legends," the girl is telling you, "then work our way over to a couple of more clubs, wait to hit the Warehouse until late when everything else is closed up." She scrunches up her nose at the guy who's rubbing her back. "Right?" "That's right," he replies as you pull out your phone. The text is from Sydney. Im downstars where r u? You frown. Has she made the change already? Has it been that long? Time wasn't flying; you weren't having that much fun talking to— "Sydney's looking for me," you tell the girl and her boyfriend as you stand up. "I guess she's done with ... whatever." Sydney being busy with something was your excuse when the girl asked where your "girlfriend" was. "Does she know what we're doing tomorrow? You tell her?" "I'll tell her," you assure her, and squeeze past. You really should have been paying attention when the girl introduced herself. She did introduce herself, didn't she? Why don't you try paying some fucking attention some time, Prescott? All you know is that she's on the track team with Catherine, which figures, as she's a skinny, bony thing. Sydney—or a girl who looks just like her—is in the kitchen when you catch up to her. She's grimacing at her phone, and your cell goes off again with a text just as she looks up to do a double take at you. A smile of relief breaks out across her face as you draw up. "Hey, I couldn't find you," she says, and slides a hand up your back. "Everything okay upstairs?" "I guess so." She strokes you. "I was told to come find you, hang out with you, do stuff with you." She brushes up against you. "And no one said anything about us having to stay, you know." You suppress a gulp. This isn't Sydney, you realize with something like panic. This is her double! "I think we better stay," you stammer, though by now you'd like nothing better than to crash your way out. Someone shoves you up against Sydney's doppelganger as they push past to get at the sink. Your heart squeezes up inside your throat. "You know in case we're needed," you squeak. "I guess that makes sense," Fake-Sydney says. "But it's not like we have to hang out in the big middle of— Hey!" She turns to smile at a girl who's interrupted her, and who has a question about some camping trip that someone has been planning. And then two more girls drift over to add their two cents. And then you get pulled away by one of Sydney's friends—Reagan Somebody-or-Other. "So how are you liking the party?" she asks after tugging you into a corner of the dining room, where a plastic tray of meats and cheeses has appeared. It is more like a party now, you decide, as Reagan helps herself to a slice of something orange, for music is now playing in another room. "I guess it's fun." "You don't go out much, do you?" The light in her eye is bold and more than a little satirical. It goes with her nose, which is also bold, like an anteater's. "Not a lot," you admit. "Yeah, I could tell. Well, get used to it with Sydney. She likes to have lots of people around. Are you at least friends with anyone here?" You shrug. "Well, come with me, then." She grabs a slice of salami with one hand and the front of your shirt with another. "You probably don't wanna hang out with Devin and them. Oh, this way." She pulls you into the living room, where that dumpy Raymond kid is slumped on the arm the sofa, chomping ice from a plastic cup. Two other guys are leaning on the furniture near him, but the girl you saw him with earlier has disappeared. Maybe that's why he is looking a lot less happy than when you saw him on the porch earlier. "Hey guys, this is Will," Reagan honks at the trio. "Will, this is Raymond, Luke, and Jack. Will is Sydney's new boyfriend." There's a leer in her voice as she says it, and she gives you a rude push in the shoulder by way of launching herself back the way she came. "Hey, cool," says Jack. He's Chinese-American or something, and dressed up nice in slacks and a long-sleeve shirt. "So you're the one who finally scored with Sydney." Luke—a tall, milk-faced kid with sloppy locks of crimson hair and a fringe of sideburns—guffaws. "Did you?" he asks with a wide grin. "Did I what?" "Score." His grin widens. "Jeez, man," Jack snorts. But he turns an eye, bright with curiosity on you. "We— We hooked up," you stammer. "Just started going out, I mean." You feel your ears turning as red as Luke's hair. "We just, um—" "Been out to the Warehouse yet?" "With Sydney?" you ask. Luke laughs, rudely. "Well, we're talking about hitting a bunch of spots tomorrow. Yeah, Legends, then maybe out to the Warehouse after, you know, everyplace else has—" "Yeah, I heard Lily and them talking about doing something like that." Luke stretches around to pluck a can of cider off an end table. "Club hopping?" Jack says. "I'm up for that." "Yeah, who with?" Luke asks. "Fuck you." "No, not me, man." "Oh, fuck you." "Where's your girlfriend now?" Raymond asks you. He's got an ugly look on his face. "Yeah, hey, speaking of which, where's Ashley now?" Jack drawls. He pokes Raymond in the shoulder. "Fuck you." Raymond slumps even lower in his seat. Just then, that wrestler dude—Eli—and some of his meaty friends come barging up, and you sidle away in the confusion. * * * * * Time passes. Too much time, in your judgment, since Sydney ducked into that bathroom. You return upstairs. There's a small knot of girls in front of the bathroom door, so you hang back. As you watch, one of them knocks gently at the door. "Hey in there," she says. "We've got a line." You hold your breath as a muffled voice replies from within. You can't make out the words. "Well, how long are you going to be?" the girl asks. Another muffled reply. "It's also occupied." Another reply. The girls all roll their eyes and sigh and mutter at each other. But one of them takes the lead, and in a knot they all at come at you. You have to press yourself against the wall as they pass. Then you approach the door. You hesitate, then rap at it. "Occupied," a voice tight with stress replies through it. "Uh, Catherine?" you say. "This is Will. Prescott? Sydney's boyfriend?" No reply. "Is that you, uh, Cather—?" The door jerks open and Catherine Muskov, a startled expression on her face, stares back at you. Then she puts her head out long enough to look both ways down the hallway before hauling you by the shirt front into the bathroom with you. She slams the door shut. "Oh, God, Will!" She throws her arms around you, pulling you close. Every cell in your body instantly springs into a phallus-shaped erection. "Sydney?" you squeak. "Yes," she says. "And that's the problem. I can't seem to get the mask to work." The fuck does she mean? But it would be awkward to argue, even though you're being squeezed inside the arms of a girl who sure looks like Catherine Muskov. "How is it not working?" you ask. "I can't get the memories," she says. "Aren't these things supposed to copy memories?" "Supposed to," you agree. "Well, I can't remember anything Catherine is supposed to! All I can remember is— Jeez, Will!" She grips you tighter, and it's like you can feel the fear bursting out from her. "There's a whole house of her friends out there! I can't fool them! Not without—!" "Well, hang on, just calm down." You give her a squeeze you hope is comforting. "When you say you haven't got the memories, uh—" You chew your lip, trying to come up with some diagnostic test or other. "Um, when you got the mask off her, did it have Catherine's name inside it?" "Yes. I noticed that for sure," she adds, "because I was thinking, wow, I'm going to be her in a minute." "Okay, that probably means the mask is working." "But—!" "Hey, wait a minute!" A thought has come to you. "Remember when you put on Caleb's mask, back in the old school basement? You couldn't get his memories either." She sucks in a breath. "That's right. Oh God, Will! What if the masks don't work on me? What if they only work for—" She swallows. "For you?" Next: "The Runaway GF" |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
