The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)

Marching to Zion

Previously: "Junior League" 

Maybe you're just hung over from last night's bed play, but the thought of continuing it in a pair of new bodies is just screamingly attractive. Let's go for the hot couple, you text Michael.

You mean Zion and Christine?

The names ring a bell. Y, you reply.

Done. Come find me after classes.

* * * * *

The day, like yesterday, passes in a haze. It's a nicer haze than yesterday, as you anticipate the afternoon to come, so that you hardly mind it at all when Elijah Denton, Brett Landon, and Caden Bradshaw spend most of one period making a racket in the back of the class instead of concentrating on the reading. At lunch, you casually slide into Michael's classroom to ask about the new recruits.

"I told you about them," Michael teases. "Zion Barber and Christine Miles."

"I was distracted. Who are they?"

"Zion's the junior class president. Christine's his girlfriend. They're practically joined at the hip." He glances past you into the hallway, then continues, in a lower voice. "I've got them in different periods, but they drop each other off in both."

You twinkle at him. "Sounds nice."

"I think it will be. I already told Zion I want to talk to him after school about a new junior-class club."

"With himself as president?"

Michael grins. "More like high priest."

* * * * *

Caitlyn Smith wants to stay after last period to talk to you about the grade you gave her on yesterday's journal entry—a B+ instead of the A- she really wants—so you have to take care of her while putting your things together to go. Even after you're all put together she wants to talk about it, and in a tone of grinding patience (because she really is stepping on your last nerve) you tell her to come talk to you about tomorrow, early. She makes a face at you and stomps off.

So you're feeling a little breathless as you make the short walk down to Michael's classroom. He's perched on the corner of his desk when you come in, talking to—

Well, it gives you a bit of a shock to see the kind of kid he's with. He's not what you were expecting.

He's black, for a start. Sort of. He's mocha-colored, and his hair (dark and tightly curled) has a fluffy texture. But his features aren't "black." He's got a prominent muzzle for one thing, and his eyebrows have an elfin arch. You don't know why, but you find yourself thinking Ethiopian?

Next thing you notice is how wiry he is. There's hardly any meat on him.

So you're a bit taken aback, and are assailed by instant doubts. You were expecting someone ... hotter ... somehow. Maybe because Sydney promised you half of a "hot" couple.

But then the kid looks over and sees you, and his face comes alive. His mouth twitches into a sharp grin, and his eyes glint with appreciation and mischief.

The effect is electric. He seems to crackle and fizz.

"Oh, hey," Michael says with an air of studied casualness. "Hannah, this is Zion. Zion, you know Ms. Cho?"

"Hey!" He jerks his chin at you. "I had Mr. Montague for ninth-grade English, wish I'd had you instead!"

"How sweet," you say. You pull the classroom door shut behind you. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, I was just starting to tell Zion about that new club we were thinking of starting. Hannah would have to be the faculty adviser," he tells Zion. "I've got my hands full with the Anglers' Club."

"Yeah, I been thinking about joining that one too," Zion replies. He darts a quick look at Michael, then goes back to staring hungrily you. "But this new one, it, uh—?"

"It's called 'The Brotherhood of Baphomet'," Michael tells him. He steps behind his desk and opens a drawer.

"Uh huh, yeah, so what kind of thing is it?" Zion asks. He seems entirely distracted by your presence—you could have told him it was a Neo-Nazi club you were starting, and he probably would have only said "Uh huh." You beam at him, to keep his attention on you as Michael comes out from behind his desk with a mask in his hand.

"Well, it's kind of a self-actualization group," Michael says. "But what we really want is your body. Your body and your girlfriend's body."

Even then it takes a few seconds for the words to register. And even then, Zion only turns around to give Michael a puzzled look.

That's when your partner leans in and pushes a mask to his face.

You rush over to shut the door and turn off the lights while Michael catches Zion and lowers him into a desk. Then you help him lift and carry the junior—desk and all—into a back corner of the room.

"What do you think?" Michael asks.

"I wasn't sure at first. But I think I like him."

"I like him a lot. He's got a lot of personality."

Yeah, well, there's not much meat on him so he'd have to make up for it somewhere, you think.

"I asked him about Christine while I was waiting for you," Michael continues. "She's got tennis practice right now, and he was waiting around for her. That means we can get her too. Or, it means that you can get her when we're all done here."

A tennis player? You like the sounds of that.

"You want to start getting out of your things now, Will?"

You titter. "One last time, I guess," you say as you take off your glasses with one hand and twitch at the buttons on your blouse with the other.

* * * * *

Sydney doesn't waste any time while you're unconscious, and you wake in a maelstrom of mental confusion. I was just talking to Mr. Hagerman, you remind yourself as you blink around the dimly lit classroom, trying to orient yourself, when I came in and saw him talking to some kid who ... looked just like me? You sit up and put a hand to the side of your head, touching a pile of fluffy hair that is at once familiar and unfamiliar to the touch.

Oh, Jesus, you mutter under your breath as discordant memories rush in, and you wobble on your haunches with the rush of vertigo. You see ... yourself ... standing in a doorway, dressed in a white blouse and beaming back at ... yourself ... from behind a pair of red-framed glasses; and you see ... yourself ... standing by Mr. Hagerman's desk and staring back at ... yourself ... as you stand in the doorway to Michael's classroom.

And, tenuously, you are aware that neither of those people you were staring at, and neither pair of eyes you were staring out of, were your own.

You grind the heel of one hand into your eye. Concentrate, Zwuhannall!

You grimace to yourself. Zwuhannall. Zion-Will-Hannah. That's who I am!

But as you shake yourself loose, you get a firmer grip on yourself.

The classroom lights are out and the blinds are drawn, and as you glance around you see you have the room to yourself. You put your hand out and, almost without noticing it, pick up the black hoodie that is lying atop the pile of clothes at your hip. Sydney must have taken "Hannah" back to her room, you think. You feel a twinge of jealousy as you imagine them making out.

Quickly you dress, pulling on tidy whities; the black sweat pants (which you hike up to expose your skinny calves); the loose, white muscle shirt; the hoodie; and ankle socks and the pair of fire-engine red sneakers. Clothes way too ghetto for Will Prescott, but just right for Zion Barber.

Not that Zion Barber is ghetto—far from it. But he's got a body that suits the look. His dad's a bulked-up black fireman, but he gets his small, wiry form and most of his features from his mother, an Ethiopian Jew.

You keep expecting Sydney to return, but there's still no sign of her even after you've got your backpack on your shoulders. You look out in the empty hallway, then hop down to Ms. Cho's room. As you expected, that's where you find them. Ms. Cho looks momentarily startled when she sees you peering in, then smiles palely at you. Your partner, who was talking to her, turns around.

"Hey, Mr. Hag," you call to him. "I thought I lost you. Ms. Cho," you address her, dropping your voice half an octave. Your cock aches as it starts to stiffen and pulse at the sight of her.

Mr. Hagerman smiles. "All set there, Zion?"

"You know it. So I got, like, twenty minutes to kill b'fore Christine'll be done—"

"You think you'll have any problem getting her back here?"

"Naaaahh. But I'm thinking, you know, you had some trouble with Mr. Hag that first night, and if you're gonna wind up needing another night with Christine, well—"

Mr. Hagerman smiles. "I think I figured out a way around that."

"Yeah?"

"I've got a blank mask and a strip, but I haven't attached them to each other. I'm going to try putting them on her separately. I think can get the memories fast if I just put on the memory strip. That's what happened when I"—he makes a face—"tried it with Nicholas."

"Uh huh."

"So I figure if I do that, then put the mask on on top of that—"

"Oh, I get you!" You feel your eyes light up. "Yeah, that's smart!"

"I think it'll work. Can't work out worse."

"Yeah!" You bounce on the balls of your feet. "'But, 'cos, I was gonna say, if you couldn't go back to her place 'cos you didn't know, like— Well, um, I was figgering maybe we could go off and do something, just the two of us. You know. Till it was time to take Christine home."

Mr. Hagerman grins. "You want to go do something, just the two of ... them?"

Maybe. But Zion and Christina already have a busy Friday night already planned with friends.

Next: "Catching Christine" 

*
"Table of Contents (Vol. 4)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)"