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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The New Girl"  Maybe "Chelsea" only wants to yell at you for wolf-whistling at her on the gym floor, but more likely she's got something important to say. And, anyway, you really want to see and talk to her up close. This is the gap between periods when you can get up the loft stairs without being seen, and you make it in a quick dash. The door is still unlocked from last night, and you slip inside. You take care to stand out of sight, though, in case someone other than Chelsea comes in first. So there's a moment when she has to look around with a puzzled air while you stare at her from behind a pillar. It was ten minutes before she appeared, and she's dressed out in the school's crimson-and-gold cheerleader uniform: colors that might have been chosen to bring out her hair and complexion. You whistle softly as you step out, and after jerking in surprise she twirls about once for your delectation. "How you settling in, girl?" you ask hoarsely. "I see you got the wardrobe figured out." "It took me a little while," she says. She does a double take at the door, and locks it. "It's not as easy as you're making it look." Maybe, maybe not, but she is very easy on the eyes. "You remembering everything you need to remember? Class schedule, locker combo, how Gordon likes his blow jobs? Oh, speaking of which, what's going on with him?" "Are you asking about his quitting the squad?" "He quit?" you gasp. "Really? When? Did you—?" "Last night, and it wasn't my idea." She puts her hands on her hips; between that and her wide stance, she's suddenly copped a very butch attitude. "Patterson caught up to him last night, tried giving him some bullshit intervention." Her tone turns clipped: a contrast with the chirp of her voice. "Said the wrong fucking thing, and Matthias told him to shove the squad up his ass. Moron. Patterson came 'round to see me afterward, which was a bitch and a half, since I was still settling in." She shrugs. "I didn't know what to say, just told him it was Black's business, which I guess he thought was a fuckin' strange thing for his girlfriend to say 'cos he gave me a look." She twists her face into a goofy expression. "Then an hour later I started getting texts from Chelsea's gangbangers, all squealing about Gordon quitting, 'cos Patterson sent a text around to the other players, and then they started—" Something dings. Chelsea growls as she takes her phone out. "Driving me outta my fucking mind," she says as she checks a text. "Like I give a fuck, you cunt!" she yells at it, and puts it away. "You have any ideas what I should do about it?" "Isn't that Chelsea's specialty? Boyfriend wrangling?" She glares at you. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about her anyway, the real girl. I guess she got away from here okay?" "I made sure she did. She was freaking out hard, but to anyone watching, it woulda just looked like Matthias having one of his fits. You know." "And if she comes nosing around me?" "Do whatever Chelsea would do. Like I tried doin' to you when you—" "Alright," she sighs, but still looks worried. "It's just not coming naturally yet or anything—" "Relax, stop worrying about it. You're letting your own brain get in the way." With an inward pant of delight lay your hands on her shoulders. You knead them, and she gives your hands a doubtful look. "Just go with the flow. Remember, you're Chelsea Cooper. 'What would Chelsea do,' that's what you gotta keep saying. 'I'm Chelsea Cooper, what would I do? I'm Chelsea Cooper—'" You lapse into a singsong as you massage her. "I'm Chelsea Cooper, the hottest girl in school. I'm Chelsea Cooper, head cheerleader, I date the hottest guy and I crack the meanest whip, everyone thinks I'm hot and I don't let anyone put a finger up my cunny unless—" The doorknob rattles. You and Chelsea both jump. "Hide," she hisses, and you scamper behind some crates. A lock slides back and the door opens with a creak. "Oh, hey." The voice is soft and a little hoarse, with a twang in it. "I didn't see you downstairs, so—" Jason Lynch. Ugh. "Aren't you supposed to be out on the diamond?" "I had to come back in to get something, that's when I saw— I thought you might be up here with Gordon—" "Well, I'm not." "Oh. I guess you're thinking about—" "Have you got a fucking point? Gordon's not here, if you wanna find him try looking in— Where the fuck is he now? Spanish? Or wait until you can see him later." The door slams. There's a knock. "Go the fuck away!" You can hardly contain your amusement at the entirely unladylike way Chen is conducting himself inside Chelsea's skin. You don't know what would be funnier: Chen being out of character with all the cursing, or Chen being totally in character with all the cursing. But all your mirth dies at her next words: "You can come out now, Prescott." * * * * * You look over the crate. Chelsea stares back at you with a look of dull hate, but it doesn't look like she's mad at you: it looks like her reaction to dealing with Lynch. But forget Lynch: "What'd you just say?" you ask with a smile you hope is quizzical. "I said you could come out. Or were you asking why I called you by your real name?" "Yeah, I was wondering why you called me 'Prescott'." "'Cos it's your real name, dipshit. You think I wasn't ever gonna figure it out?" Whatever of Chelsea's mannerisms Chen had managed to mimic fall away, and you can see your alter ego behind Chelsea's face. "That's who you think I am?" you laugh. "You must have one hell of a theory." "Well it's fucking obvious now that I think about it," she says. "You were hanging out with Johansson, and though I never gave a shit about you 'cept when you were in my way, I do remem—" "Johansson's just where I happened to have my man when—" "Bullshit. Second is the way you bumper-carred me and Matthias around. Follow the fucking ball. You put me in Matthias's body, you put Matthias in Black's body. So where's Black? You sayin' that you're Gordon Black? Bullshit." She spits on the floor, and somehow it's even more alarming when she does it than when one of Chen's thug friends does it. "Would fuckin' Black do this to his girlfriend, let me help undress her last night? Fuck no, that motherfucker's a psycho about Chelsea. You ain't Black, which means you put him someplace else. Wherever you were before." "That doesn't mean—" "And just now Jason Lynch comes scratching at the door. I open it up, look at his face, the face that a sad little douchey mama's boy named Will Prescott tattooed all black and blue last week. Fuck, that was impressive, I was fucking impressed with the little prick for all of the five seconds I spent thinking about it. Prescott could never do that. But Black could, I bet. So put it together. Johansson's butt buddy Prescott jams Black into his body, Matthias into Black's, me into Matthias's, and himself into mine. If that ain't the way it worked, I'll lick out my man Kirkham's asshole every day for the next month." She arches her eyebrows. You say nothing, not right away. She's right: When spelled out that way, it's obvious. "Hey, if that's your fuckin' theory, sweet thing," you say when you do reply, "more power to you. But don't think I'm gonna confirm or deny anything," you add with a grin. Chelsea cocks her head and stares at you. Her words had been contemptuous, and her expression baleful, but there's nothing like hatred in her eyes. Nothing like respect, either. Only a measured kind of regard. "I will say I've got a little more respect for you now, Prescott," she says. "I always thought you were a sad little douche. Oh hell, you know exactly what I always thought of you, when I ever thought of you, which was as often as I could get away with not thinking about you. Even Knouse and his little gang of elf fuckers got more going for them than you and your friends, at least they've got the balls to let their stupidity hang out in public. But this trick you figured out, it's pretty impressive, I gotta say. You got balls going for Black, and trying to play me. Keep it up, and maybe I won't spit on you the next time I pass you in the hall." By the time she finishes, your nerves are vibrating on about three different frequencies. You are very frightened that Chen has figured out your identity, and means to treat you accordingly. Meanwhile, the part of Gary Chen's psychology that you've borrowed is quivering with rage, and would like nothing more than to knock this asshole about for disrespecting you. But there's a third vibration, an excitement at having this beautiful girl talk so dirty at you, and an ardent desire to prove to this person—whoever exactly he or she might be—that you're worth respecting. All three vibrations come together to produce your reply: "Does Gordon like it when you suck him off with a potty mouth?" She colors hard. "Listen, man," you continue. "However I got here, from wherever, you gotta deal with me as I am, and as I am this—" You point to your face. "Get used to it. And you get used to being Chelsea Cooper. You asked for it, you got it, and if you wanna be half the bad-ass, motherfucking shapeshifter I am—" You step close to her. "You will strive for a perfect impersonation of this almost perfect girl." Her nostrils flare, and you can't suppress the fantasy that she wants you to crush her in your arms. The fantasy isn't entirely dissipated when she says, "I want to see you fifth period. Up here again." Next: "Jujitsu" |
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