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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "A Whole New Girl"  by Masktrix “What’s this?” Todd Baldwin grunts as you hand him a sheet to sign, looking down at you. A towering wall of solid bulk, Baldwin’s a battering ram given human form. Why anyone made a school’s tight end and rowing star a prefect is beyond you. “Exeat for this afternoon,” you say. “Please.” “Bit late, isn’t it?” He smirks. “Usually these things require notification. I’ve got to process them, y’know. Each one takes at least ten minutes,” he pauses for emphasis. “I can’t jump you to the head of the pile.” It’s a shakedown. You fish out your wallet and drop $10. You have no idea why Baldwin even bothers with small change. Todd grins and signs the slip, and you grunt a brief thank you. “Oh, and Moss,” he says, almost as an afterthought. “Meeting. You, Marius and I. In the dining room, before dinner.” You raise an eyebrow. The dining room isn’t the dining hall, but the formal chamber for prefect meetings – used almost exclusively for disciplinary action. “Why?” “Just be there,” he says with a tiger’s smile. *** It’s easy enough to get out to Russian Lake. It’s not far, although your ride has to cut across tracks that are little more than farmers’ routes once they leave highway 44, but eventually you see the glimmer of dark blue and the flecks of white from the soft breeze running over its surface. It doesn’t seem that vast from the drop-off point, although apparently you’re looking at only a small triangle of the lake’s furthest reaches, with the body of water opening out around the bend into a mass that could swallow Saratoga Falls whole. It’s Saturday afternoon in September, still warm enough for summer fun, so there’s quite a crowd along the small beach area: families having BBQs and groups of kids chatting on the shoreline, occasionally dipping their toes in the small, netted off swimming area shared with canoes and body boards. You can see the boys already – Tyler, Jacob, Mark and Travis, guitar in hand as usual. You make sure they aren’t looking your way and head to the shop to rent a wetsuit and book a slot with a boat, then slip into the small changing area. Five minutes later and Stephanie Wyatt, clad in a figure-hugging neoprene shorty with neon pink flashes, emerges. You shake your hair as loose as possible, shove Jocelyn Moss’s clothes into a locker, and stride out, letting your body do the talking. First, you step into the beach shower, and make sure your hair and suit is soaked through, water still glistening off your exposed skin. Then, with a deliberate effort to show off your newfound curves, you walk across the beach and directly in front of the boys’ eyeline. You don’t let Stephanie’s lips curl away from their natural seriousness until you’re a good 20 metres away, allowing yourself a satisfied grin. But that’s just the starter. For the main course, you need to get onto the water itself. You walk up to the small dock and find your ride to the start of the course. Then, fastening the wakeboard securely against your feet, you hop off the back. The chill of the water sends a momentary chill up your spine, but any cold is gone with a quick dunk of your head. You hang on to the bungee handle and give the OK sign to the driver. The boat lurches. Most amateurs would try and stand, but it’s a mistake: you have to wait for the boat to build up speed or the board’ll sink too deep. You stay in your crouch, letting the board drag you up through the spray, before stretching out your legs and feeling the exhilarating rush of wakeboard and girl skimming across the crest of the water, the bounce of each wave reminding you how great it is to be alive. If you closed your eyes, you could be in California again. But closing your eyes will only make you fall, so you keep your head up, a beaming grin on your face as the boat turns and brings you through the course. You slip over the first jump, crouching to catch air and steady yourself for landing, and manage to stoop up again. You’re not a pro at this – you’ll never be able to do a flip – but you can at least fly a few feet off the ground. You manage it again on the second jump, before losing control of the board and skidding off to the side, eventually wiping out after a few feet. You bob back up, lean back, and enjoy the chill of the lake water. You have another couple of attempts before your booking runs out and the boat takes you back to the dock. You never get around the entire course, but you land a few jumps and, in the distance, you can see the boys have taken note. Tyler seems to think he has the best shot, but Mark seems interested as well. You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions and hot, hot lust in check and play it like the body you’re borrowing would. Summoning up fake confidence, you walk down the dock toward the St. X boys. “Holy shit, Stephanie!” You stop dead in your tracks. Two complete strangers, both boys, have rushed up and are holding a phone in your face. “That was amazing! How come you’ve never said you could do that shit at school!” “Uh,” you say, trying to think of an answer. “Hi, uh, guys.” “It was insane!” the other blurts out. “We got the whole thing recorded. Wait ‘til we get it on YouTube, it’s gonna blow up.” “Not ‘blow up’, blow up,” his friend says. “It’s not like you were doing the 900 out there. But you weren’t falling off all the time, and it’ll go viral around Westside at least. Surprised you’re only on the basketball team with skills like that.” SHIT. “Well, I’m good at all sports.” You say, trying to sound like a bossy-ass bitch. “And I don’t want this on YouTube. Delete it.” “Why would we do that?” the first boy says. “Because I told you to.” You try and stare intensely with Stephanie’s green eyes, but you’re pretty sure you just end up squinting. “Uh, no?” the second boy says. “Look,” you say, trying to dredge up a reason. “It’s a secret. I’m practising for a… school thing.” “What thing?” You think for a moment, but nothing comes up. “None of your business. Now are you going to delete that, or not?” The boys discuss it for a moment. “Why can’t we just hold onto the footage until after this ‘thing’?” the second one states. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, realizing that you’re about to do something horrible. But what option do you have? You reach out and snatch the phone away. The boy tries to resist, but Stephanie’s far too strong for him, and you rip the phone out of his hands, shoving him back hard. He flies back onto the deck, while his friend just looks at you, shocked. Within seconds, you flick into his phone's photo stream and delete the videos – permanently. “What the fuck, Stephanie!” You throw the phone onto the dock next to him, and are about to say something when a group rushes between you all, fanning out for your protection. “You alright, miss? These creeps bothering you?” Your heart beats in your chest as you look into the eyes of Mark Pederson, knight in shining armor. On one flank is Tyler Van Buren, a kid who could easily kick the ass of half the boys in St X if he wished; on the other is Dawson Young: a tall, slim drama kid with a blonde pompadour who at least looks imposing. “No, I’ve dealt with it,” you say, looking down at… whoever the kid is. “Let’s just forget about this, alright? Forget it happened.” “Fucking bitch!” You’re pretty sure that last comment gets a kick in the ribs from one of the St X boys, but you’re too busy being led away to see. *** You feel terrible about what happened to whoever Stephanie’s friends were – and the reckoning the real Stephanie is going to have with them – but not bad enough to let it sour your afternoon with your new 'protectors'. The boys all introduce themselves, and you make a play out of double-checking their names, and asking what school they’re from. It’s amusing how many white lies they tell, especially as you know all of their secrets already. Jacob doesn’t even say his surname, probably worried it’ll tip you off that his mom’s in some shitty police procedural. Travis strums his guitar a little and you’re sure to compliment him on how good he is, even though you know he gets lessons from some rock has-been and mostly just plays the start of ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’. But none of that matters, because you’re closer to Mark than you could ever have imagined. When you mention the stiff breeze, he lends you his beach towel, and you wrap it over your shoulders. When he asks you your name, he actually listens as you lie. And when he compliments you on your wakeboarding it’s probably the nicest thing he’s ever said to you. You play it cool, taking your time and trying not to be overly eager as you enjoy their company. It’s a world of difference, not being Jocelyn Moss, and you fantasise for a moment about whether the book holds the key to escaping that stupid life altogether. But you can’t. And Jocelyn Moss has an appointment with Todd Baldwin and Marius Hall – about what you don’t know – at dinner. If you blow them off, you’d hate to think of what they could do: the prefects control the school’s discipline, after all. And yet, here and now, being Stephanie Wyatt has given you a better shot at making out with Mark Pederson than you’ve ever had before. Just a few more minutes and he could be yours… or, at least, Stephanie’s. Surely it’s worth the risk? Next: "The JM Witch Trial" |
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