\"Writing.Com
*Magnify*
    December    
SMTWTFS
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
Archive RSS
SPONSORED LINKS
Printed from https://writing.com/main/books/action/view/entry_id/998487
Image Protector
by Seuzz Author IconMail Icon
Rated: GC · Book · Occult · #2183561
A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises.
#998487 added November 16, 2020 at 11:27am
Restrictions: None
Ambushed Again
Previously: "A Matter of the MindOpen in new Window.

You try to tell yourself that you're not being lazy, but it's hard to pretend otherwise. You look at the unpolished masks, and you think about moving four hundred pounds of graveyard earth, and your shoulders sag.

On the other hand, it's going to be tricky getting close to Coach Schell after you basically mugged her with the first mask.

You expend more brainpower on that question than on your homework. But no ideas come.

* * * * *

You're still thinking about it, in a distracted way, the next morning when you walk into Mr. Walberg's class. A chill passes over you as you thread the aisle between the desks. But that's no surprise: You get the shivers anytime you're near Kelsey and Geoff and the rest of the AP crowd. Even when you were dating Lisa—except she says that you were never dating in the first place—you got a cold, nauseated feeling when they were around.

But the chill deepens when you fall into your desk next to Caleb. He gives you a wide, smug smile. But not until he speaks does the dreadful penny—in this case a penny as big and as heavy as a millstone—drop.

"Did you ever figure out why you put a hair dryer in the time capsule?" he says.

Your jaw falls open.

That paper! The paper you were supposed to write for this class, about the item you contributed to the time capsule! It's due today!

And you forgot to write it!

You whip around to stare at the other students, all of whom have neatly typed papers sitting on their desks, ready to turn in.

Shit!

Mr. Walberg isn't at his desk, which gives you the narrowest chance of escape. "I'll be back later. Maybe," you grab up your pack and lunge to your feet.

"Later?" Caleb says. "Where the fuck are you—? Will!"

But you're already out the door and slithering through the crowded hallway. If you can get to the library, to one of the computer stations, maybe you bang out that paper before class ends. Technically, won't Mr. Walberg have to accept it if you get it to him before the end of first period?

Oh, who are you kidding? The old walrus will ding you at least a letter grade, even if he does take it. Which he probably won't. And anyway, if you even had a good idea for that dumb paper, you'd have written before now and wouldn't be in this mess in the first place!

Then you spot Mr. Walberg himself coming down the hallway straight at you. You twist around and start fighting your way back the way you came. With Walberg between you and the library you have to take the long way around, circling around F wing and approaching the library from the opposite direction.

And that's how come you manage to spot Coach Schell.

She's coming out of the tutorial offices and is dressed up very smartly in a yellow polo shirt and crimson, hip-hugging shorts that show off her powerful legs.

Legs that you spent the other night caressing, along with lots of other parts of her body.

But what you notice now is her ball cap. It's old, worn, and more than a little ratty.

Like yours, in fact.

You stop and blink at her retreating back as she turns and strides off toward the gym.

Then you grab the sides of your head and dance in place. This idea you've suddenly had: It's so brilliant that it hurts!

* * * * *

"What's with the new hat?" Keith asks when you catch up to him and Caleb halfway through lunch. He points his plastic spork at your face.

"I'm showing school spirit," you reply. You whip off the new cap—the one emblazoned with a dragon's head and the letters WHS, which you bought in the office, where they have a whole room of school-themed items for purchase at outrageous markups—and run your fingers through your stiff shock of hair. "To go with the haircut I'm getting this weekend."

"That's a good idea," Keith says. "The haircut, I mean. I could give a shit about school spirit."

"You mean you couldn't give a shit," Caleb corrects him. "If you could give a shit, it would mean—"

"It would mean that I could shit all over it," Keith says. "And I could, too. Is that what you were doing second period?" he asks you. "Buying a hat?"

"He was writing a paper for first period," Caleb answers for you.

"How does that work? You have a time machine? You write your papers after they're due, then go back and—?"

"Time capsule," you correct him.

"No, time machine," Keith insists.

"He forgot to write his paper for Mr. Walberg," Caleb explains. "So he skipped first period to do that. You didn't tell me you skipped second period too," he adds.

"'Cos it was none of your business. Anyway, it doesn't matter," you grumble. "He wouldn't accept it."

Actually, you didn't even try turning it in, because you didn't even write it, for you were so distracted by your brilliant idea. And when you spoke to Mr. Walberg at the beginning of second period, he told you not even to bother writing it for he wouldn't take it now.

That put you in the dumps for a little while. You distracted yourself by going to the office and, as a first step toward realizing your plan, buying this new ball cap.

"What are you gonna do with your old hat?" Keith asks.

"I dunno," you reply, and that's the end of the topic.

* * * * *

But it's not the end of the plan. You complete the second step during your seventh-period study hall. Then you troop down to the gym with the result.

As before, you skirt one of the basketball courts to reach the coaches' offices. This period it's the girls' varsity basketball team that's practicing, and you spend a few minutes watching them. What is it about basketball, or this school, that attracts ballbreakers to that sport? The girls are almost as big and mean and strong as the boys' team, and you turn away before any of them can catch you watching. Stephanie Wyatt might even come over and punch you in the face if she caught you gawking.

As you'd expected, the door to Coach Schell's office is open, for this is her free period. You're shaking slightly as you approach. You wish you could have gotten someone else to do this part of the job, but you couldn't think of anyone. And besides, given what you're about to do, it would have to be you to make the approach.

You tap at the door. "Coach Schell?" you say in a quavering voice.

She looks up from her desk. It's almost a replay of the other day. The same tawny mane of hair that falls to her elbows. The same oval face with the large lips and the nose that is ... well, a little bolder, a little more prow-like than you remember from before. Her brow furrows, but there's no light of recognition—still less of anger or horror—in her eye as she looks back at you.

She doesn't say anything, though, so you fill the silence.

"Some of the guys from last year put together a little collection for you," you say. "We got you this." You hold out the new hat you bought.

Her expression freezes for a moment, before broadening back out into a patently insincere smile. "Oh," she says. "How sweet. Um, the guys?" That furrow reappears in her brow. "Which ... Uh ... ?"

"Third period? Last year?" Please don't ask me for names. "We're really late getting it for you, but it was just an idea we suddenly had." You advance on her desk and hold the hat out.

She beams as she takes it. "Well, thank you, um ... " She lapses into a pained silence when you don't supply your name. "That's really nice of, uh, you guys."

"Can you put it on?" you ask, and take your cell phone from your pocket. "They want me to take a picture? To show the guys?"

Her expression turns blank, and the lines around her eyes tighten a little. But she regains her smile, and after pulling her hair back she lifts the cap to her head.

Just before she sets it there, she shoots you a quick glance, and in that glance you think you see a glint of recognition. Your heart goes into your throat.

But it's too late. She's already tugging the cap down onto her head.

And her eyes go out of focus and she face plants onto her desk.

Again, just like the other day.

And again, just like the other day, you lock the door, then leap forward to the desk. Gently you rotate her head so as to get a look at her face. Her expression is slack and her eyes unseeing.

And that metal band? The cap has tumbled off and you examine its insides after picking it up. That metal band is gone, but the tape you used to fix it to the inside front is still there. You look around the desk but find nothing.

It must have disappeared inside her, the way the mask did.

You're much less concerned about her health this time around, but you still pace the room anxiously as you await some kind of result. After about ten minutes, though, you wheel at the sound of a faint clatter from the desk. The band is now lying there, next to her forehead.

You scoop it up and replace it with the ball cap. Then you scoop the ball cap up as well. Best not to leave any kind of evidence behind. Let her think maybe she hallucinated your visit.

Back in the school library you sit in a corner and examine the spoils from your raid. The band looks unchanged until you turn it over. You almost drop it when you see the bluish letters that blaze out of it: ROBERTA CATHERINE SCHELL.

You let out a low whistle. Looks like it's done its job.

So now you have a complete "Coach Schell" disguise. Except for some suitable clothes. But do you really need them? What you need is money.

Next: "Clothes Make the WomanOpen in new Window.


© Copyright 2020 Seuzz (UN: seuzz at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Seuzz has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://writing.com/main/books/action/view/entry_id/998487