The Book of Masks (Vol. 1)

The Girls at the Dairy Queen

Previously: "The Counterfeit Asshole" 

It's probably the most chicken-shit of your options, but you decide to play it safe by looking for trouble back in town. But you figure there's no reason to run unnecessary risks while looking for people to get Javits in trouble with.

Your plan, to the extent you have one, is to drive around the city, stopping in at various likely places in the hopes of running into one or more sexy girls that you can make some kind of move on. That mostly means ducking into fast food restaurants. But an hour of looking into various McDonalds, Burger Kings, Taco Bells, even Taco Famoso ... None of them have yielded anything.

You don't give up, though. And when you step into the Dairy Queen you discover, if not the jackpot, a scene about as good as you could expect.

* * * * *

There's five of them clustered in a back booth, close to the restrooms. Soccer players, strong, tan, limber, and tawny of hair. So tongue-tied are you when you spot them, and your legs creak a little as force yourself to totter in their direction. They don't know it's really me, you have to remind yourself as, with a racing heart, you approach. It's okay if I do something stupid. In fact, that's what I want!

Three of them are facing you, and it takes you a moment to place their names. Barbara Powell is sitting on the end. Her long blonde hair hangs in a sheet down to her boobs, and it gives you a warm glow when her expression lights up when she sees you. You only wish it was "Will Prescott" she lit up like that for, and not the asshole you're pretending to be. "Seth!" she shouts even as the other two girls squeezed into that side of the booth—Josie Holden and Dominique Hughes—spot you. Josie, who's got a mane of brown hair, also lights up brightly at your approach. Dominque, who despite her surname is a full-blood Cree or Sioux or Apache or something like that, remains impassive, but there's no unfriendly light in her mica-like eyes.

"Hey girls, got room for me too?" you chortle as you drop into the booth opposite and push the other two girls in. "I was just passing through and thought—"

Your voice dies in your throat when you glance over to see who you've sat down next to, and the smile freezes on your lips. Thank God you're wearing those cheap sunglasses you bought, so that—

Stephanie Fucking Wyatt!

—doesn't see the terror that probably has filled your eyes. She's giving you a look of cold surprise.

On the other side of her, Anita Nuevo, the captain of the Westside girls' varsity soccer squad, leans over to eyeball you. "Oh, hey," she says.

But you're preoccupied with Stephanie. Her eyes—a hard green—seem to pierce you through, and almost you can believe that she has penetrated your disguise and knows exactly who you are. Her wiry, chestnut-colored hair, which is bobbed short into tight spit-curls, seems to writhe and bristle. Her lips are parted, but there's smile on them.

How long you might have sat and stared at her—one of the toughest, most no-nonsense girls at Westside; a girl who could kick your ass almost without noticing—you don't know, but the impasse is broken by a giggle from Barbara. "How was practice?" she asks.

"Huh?" You break your gaze from Stephanie's. "Oh, it was great," you reply. "Real good workout. Fuckin' Gordon, though, you know?" You stretch your arms over your head and push your chest out. "I think he's trying to kill us." You've heard that Gordon Black, the team captain, is a real hard-ass toward his teammates.

The other girls just giggle and dart smiles at each other. But a voice next to you says, "He just wants you to be good, right?"

You find you can't look Stephanie in the eye. "Oh, well, pfft, we're already that," you say. "We're goin' to State, for sure." That's one of the few pieces of sports-related gossip you've heard. You grin at Barbara. "We got me on the squad, so we can't lose!" You twine your hands behind your head, bumping Stephanie with a stray elbow, and settle back in your seat.

More giggles and shining eyes from Barbara and Josie, and Dominique says something about how people are saying the WHS boys' team hasn't looked this good in, like, ten years or so. But Stephanie cuts through the chatter. "Yeah, well, you're gonna have to still get by Eastman," she says.

"Fuck Eastman," you retort. "Am I right?" you add with a bright grin at Barbara.

"They're coming on strong this year too, I hear."

"Fuck Eastman," you repeat. "They can suck me off!"

The grins on the other side of the table falter a little.

"They got those two new guys." Stephanie's tone is cold, flat and even.

"What new guys?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself. "Oh, them," you add, trying to cover the sudden silence. "Yeah, well, fuck them too."

"Yeah, what've you heard about them?" Anita asks, leaning around Stephanie. You flinch after giving her the briefest glance.

"Same as you all've heard," you reply. You feel yourself start to shiver all over. You came over here to flirt, not talk about a sport and a team you know nothing about.

"Almida says that Eastman's building a whole new set of plays around them," Stephanie informs you.

"Who, the new guys?" Dominique asks. Josie follows with, "Who are these new guys?"

Stephanie ignores them. "What do Gordon and Steve know about them?" she asks you.

"Ask Gordon and Steve," you retort. "Look, I don't want to talk about—"

"Fuck," Stephanie says. She looks around the table. "You believe this shit? Our guys are gonna—"

"I didn't come over here 'cos I wanted to talk about fucking basketball or fucking Eastman!" you holler. "So fuck you, Stephanie!" She reddens under her tan. "Why don't you loosen up? Why don't you go get laid your something?"

You heart nearly explodes with alarm at what you've said, and a shocked silence falls over the table.

But then you're overwhelmed with a giddy feeling of relief. I just cussed out Stephanie Wyatt in the worst possible way! you realize with an almost frantic sense of joy. A girl who's scared me for as long as I've known her! I just cussed her out, and I'm totally going to get away with it!

"Yeah, why don't you go get yourself a good, hard lay?" you chortle. "Go have yourself a good, hard fuck. A good, hard, bed-breaking, teeth-rattling, lung-busting, scream-at-the-ceiling fuck? You know?" You feel like you're going to hyperventilate. "Something that'll make you human? Instead of a— Whatever the fuck you are. Jesus, go fuck yourself with a crowbar, if that's what it takes to bust the hinges open on your vijayjay!"

You glance around the table to find the other girls staring in shock at you. You can't meet their eyes. It doesn't matter that it's not your eyes you can't meet them with. Despite the relief you feel, you're too embarrassed by what you've said.

You half-expect Stephanie to punch your lights out. But no, after a long and brutal silence, she only says, "So who would you nominate for the job?"

Now you do look her in the face. Except for a slight flush, she doesn't look any less friendly or any more flustered than when you sat down. The girl must be made of iron.

"I don't give a shit, Stephanie," you tell her. "All I know is that you need about eight inches of steel pounded all the way up your cootch. Then maybe the rest of us'll be able to stand your company."

"I think we're all about done here," Anita declares from the other side of Stephanie. No one moves, though, not even when Anita begins to push at Stephanie, who only holds your eye. But you can feel the others shifting nervously in their seats, and then slowly Barbara and then Josie wriggle out of the booth and to their feet. Dominique gives you a long and hooded stare before she slides out too.

Still Stephanie doesn't move. You finally give up, and stand to let them out. You don't move aside, though, and force both girls to graze past you as they shuffle toward the exit. "You asshole, Seth," Anita spits as she brushes past.

My work here is done, you think as the five girls, with murmuring voices, leave. Well, not quite. So—

"Hey Stephanie!" you shout after her. "If you ever are in the market for some steel, call me! And we could make it a regular thing, too! 'Cos I think me and Cindy are, like, busto!"

That gets you a couple of startled, backward glances from Barbara and Josie, but not from Stephanie, you notice. She just slides on her own shades and with a chin lifted high throws open the door to stalk into the parking lot.

* * * * *

You have to pee afterward, and your knees almost buckle as you bend over the sink afterward. What have I done? you ask yourself.

But you know what you've done, and you feel great! Exultant! Emancipated! Powerful!

There's a bright light in your borrowed eyes when you look at yourself in the mirror, and the horsey face you've assumed is flushed with excitement. Who else could I do this to? you wonder. Who are some other assholes I could fuck up like I've fucked up Seth?

Oh, but you'd have to make some more masks before you could do that, and that would take forever. Maybe you should just stick to using Seth's face. Get him in more trouble? Or—

Oh! You almost giggle out loud.

You could maybe use Seth's face to prank some of your own friends!

That's all for now.

*
"Table of Contents (Vol. 1)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 1)"