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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The First Day of the Rest of Her Life?"  You feel a momentary flash of anger, and you have a brief fantasy of confronting Eva and Jessica with what they've done to you. Look, you know what's going on, you'll say to them. And I know you're the ones who did it. So let's just cut the shit and you tell me what the fuck is going on and why you're doing it. And they'll giggle and insist that no, really, they have no idea what you're talking about. But then they'll break down because they're both a couple of airheads who can't bluff for shit, and they'll explain everything and switch you and Kelsey back and things will return to normal. Well, as normal as they can be after you've been body-swapped with one of your classmates. But it's just a fantasy, right? It would never work out that way. So you push the fantasy away and go with your original, more cautious plan. "What are you two so full of giggles about?" you demand. "Huh?" Eva's eyes go wide. "Oh, nothing!" "Nothing," Jessica echoes. "Just something we've got in store for Chelsea!" "Really?" Your eyebrows arch. Are they planning a bodyswap for Chelsea, too? "What?" "Nothing, really." Jessica titters. "You'll want plausible deniability,." "Hm. Just as long as you tell me about it afterward. Better yet—" You feel your eyes narrow as a nasty smile curls your lip. "Will it be Tiktokable?" Eva looks panicked, and her eyes roll in their sockets. "Um—" "Plausible deniability, Kelz," Jessica repeats. She pulls at her sister's arm. "See you in third!" The two run off, and burst into laughter before they're gone. Okay, it's definitely them, you think as you watch them go, and you can hardly keep your anger contained. * * * * * You wish that was the worst of the weird stuff. But it's only getting started. Because even though you've swapped bodies with Kelsey Blankenship, you still share Mr. Walberg's first period class with her. She's in your seat, in your clothes, and in your body when you sweep into the classroom, and she's jogging her leg hard. Instinctively you shrink a little at the sight of "Will Prescott." It's bad enough seeing yourself where you ought to be sitting. Worse is seeing him through Kelsey's eyes. Not that she has a low opinion of you. She hasn't got an opinion of you, except that you're a scruffy nobody who has no business getting near her. So you feel yourself tense all over as Will sits up with alert but hooded expression as you turn toward your new desk. Some of "your friends" are already waiting in their seats. Amanda Ferguson casts a brief glance over at you, and you can't help flinching a little. Amanda is an iceberg. White of pallor and black of hair, and today she is accentuating both colors with a short black leather skirt, a white blouse, and very dark lipstick. All she lacks is a whip. No, strike that, she's got a whip. It's called her tongue. "Your boyfriend's looking at you," she murmurs. "What boyfriend?" you snap back with a sense of panic. Has Amanda picked up on—? She smirks. "The guy who got you all wet and bothered at Meghan's party last Friday." You glare at Amanda. When she adds nothing, you turn to unpack your bag for class. You're clicking your mechanical pencils, getting the lead at just the right length, when Laurent Delacroix, the most scrumptious of the wrestlers, pads in and settles heavily in the chair in front of you. His shoulder bulges against the fabric of his too-tight t-shirt, and a feeling like a hot, damp sponge forms in the tight fork between your legs. God, I'll never get tired of looking at that, you think as you study the back of Laurent's neck. The skin is tight, and the tendons twist and pop just beneath it as he bends his head to unpack his own bag. And you can't pull your eyes off Laurent, even as you wonder if Kelsey is watching you from your old desk, and wonder if she can tell what you're thinking and feeling. Then your cell phone chimes. You clench it with stiff fingers as you lift it to check the text. It's from Amanda. Ur druling. You have to fight to keep the snarl off your lips. Jealous much? you text back. Swich places w me tday Lolno. Amanda drops her phone with a clatter. You smirk to yourself. She must really be jealous! you think. But it's one of Kelsey's thoughts, and you sink more miserably into yourself as, helplessly, visions of a shirtless Laurent swim before your mind's eye. * * * * * "Alright, good match, girls!" Coach Gellman calls when you put Sophia away with one final serve. "Shake and break!" You give him a look, and roll your eyes. As if I need to be reminded how to be a gracious winner! you think as you advance to shake hands with Sophia Van den Berg across the tennis net. I've had lots of practice being a winner! It's "ninth period," the afterschool tennis practice session, and the rain took a break long enough for you and the other tennis players to get in a few matches on the tennis courts behind the gym. You're the first girl to complete her match, and you give Sophia a sweet smile to go with the firm handshake. Sophia's own smile is a little tight, and she dodges your eye. Together you walk off the court, to dip into your athletic bags, which are sitting side by side, for bottled waters. "You know, I'd kill to have your backhand," Sophia says. She shakes her hair back from her face before tipping the water to her mouth. "You've got the best," she says when she comes up for air again. "Thanks." "Did your private coaches work you special on it?" You drown a waspish retort with your own gulp of water. Sophia's own backhand is a clumsy thing, and her backhanded insults—Your backhand's only so good, Kelsey, because your parents bought it for you—are almost as clumsy. "They worked me at everything," you reply after you've swallowed half the bottle, giving yourself enough time to come up with a retort. "I can give you their contact info, they could help you too." Not that you could afford them, Sophia, you add silently to yourself. Sophia is a sweet and pleasant girl, actually, so it gives you no great pleasure to stomp on her with a stiletto heel this way. But she should stick to being sweet and pleasant, as she's no talent in a scrap. Nor has she any hope. The Van den Bergs owned Saratoga Falls (practically) a hundred or so years ago, when it was half the size it is today, and the Van den Berg bank and the Van den Berg mercantile and the Van den Berg mills and grain elevators were the center of the rural economy. But their fortunes are faded, like the dilapidated old mansion where the reduced family still lives. Anything she might try to throw at you can always be parried with a subtle reminder that her family was once much richer than yours, and now isn't. A tennis ball bangs against the chain link fence by your head, and you jump back with a loud squawk. The ball bounces back toward Terry Colson, who scoops it out of the air with his racket. "The hell was that for?" you snarl at him. "Just trying to get your attention," he calls back. "Party tonight, my place!" "So? Wait, today's Tuesday!" "Every night's a party at my place." You can believe it. Colson has drooping eyelids, sports a giant plastic earring in one ear, and has a serious weed problem. He is also a killer with a racket, as he demonstrates now, by tossing the ball high in the air, stretching his arm as far back as he can put it, then smashing the ball just over the net to drop in a corner where his opponent, Sean Wilcox, can't hope to return it. "Gonna have your kind of crowd over there," Terry drawls as he turns his attention back to you. "I doubt it!" "Adrian Semple. Tim Gerard. Andy Tackett. Coupla guys from Eastman." He catches the returned ball. "Karl Hennepin." The blood drains from your limbs, and is replaced by a chill, even after he's added Dean Stratton's and James Brewer's names to the list. There was definitely what sounded like a subtle emphasis on Karl's name. "Not interested! Besides, I've got homework and study circles!" "I'll be out," Sophia calls back to Terry. "What time?" "Seven. That's too bad, Kelsey, we'd love to have you out. I'll get Karl to call you, maybe, see if he can talk you into coming." Again, he lofts the ball, and smashes it over the net. Before you can yell a retort, Coach Gellman calls you over to switch courts for a match against Brooke Galloway. It's just as well. You're not sure you could have trusted yourself not to give something away. And then Kelsey would want to kill you. * * * * * She was watching you from the corner of the gym all through practice, and when you checked your texts at the end of practice you expected to find a text asking you to hang back and talk with her. So you're surprised when you emerge from the gym afterward, to find the corner deserted and no new texts from your old phone. It might be just as well. You had a text from Jessica, asking you to hang out with her and Eva after school. But you feel like you need to talk to Kelsey -- if for no other reason, than to find out how she wants you to handle the guy she's sleeping with on the down low. Next: "The Planning Committee" |
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