The Book of Masks (Vol. 1)

Faking It for a Friend

Previously: "A Friend's Favor" 

"Okay, remember," says the guy who looks like you used to, as he pulls your shapeless white ballcap down over his brow. "You're supposed to be me—"

"Yeah, I think I got that," you retort.

He gives you a look. "So you're supposed to act like me. Not like yourself. And you're supposed to do what I tell you. And you don't fuck around when—"

"Yeah, I got it, man. Like, yo!" You make one of the dopey "gangsta" hand gestures that Tilley is so fond of, and jerk your chin at him.

He gives you a look of alarm. "The fuck was that?"

"That was me being you."

"No it wasn't! That was—"

"I think I know how to be you." You put a finger to your temple and mime blowing your brains out. "Kch-pww!"

"Jesus, no!"

"Just take me back to pick up your car. My car." You jerk your chin at him again. "You know."

"Jesus," he mutters again, and a little green shows in his cheeks as he turns the motor of your truck over.

* * * * *

You wanted to go inside and show off to Carlos and them like you were totally "beta-Keith" ("beta" being the gang's term for the brainwashed clones they are leaving behind as replacements), but Tilley shrilly rejected the idea. "We can't take any chances, man," he said.

So it's his bad luck when you pull up in front of the climate unit just as the door opens and Eva Garner comes prancing out in the company of Philip Fairfax and Carlos Montoya. She smiles brightly at Will, and twirls in place, showing off her strong, bare legs and bright gold hair.

"Like it?" she asks with a smirk as you and Will fall out of the truck. "It's not like I'm trying to show off, but—"

"Jesus," Will says, "I thought you'd all be gone by now! What've you been doing, man, jerking off all this time?"

"More like finger-banging himself," Carlos mutters. "Come on, man," he addresses Eva, "get back over to the school and— Mmphgh!" He stiffens in alarm as Eva grabs him by the face and kisses him with her open mouth.

"You like that?" she giggles after releasing him. Carlos staggers back, almost knocking Philip over. "It'll be even better when you're Jessica and we can—!"

"Yo!" you call out, and strut around the truck to join the rest of the gang. "Long as you're passing out party favors, babe—" You reach out to tweak one of Eva's breasts.

"Ew!" She slaps you away, then does a double-take at Will. "You're cute, though. Cuter, at any rate. Why don't you do something about—?" She reaches up to tweak a hair off his upper lip.

"We just stopped by to swap out cars," Will says as he slaps her back. "You can take off now," he gruffly informs you.

"Oh, can I?" you retort.

"Go home!"

"Fucking nerve on this asswipe," you mutter, and turn to saunter over to Keith's car. "Gets himself a new face and suddenly thinks he's all hot shit. Ain't even the fucking face he was all fucking hot for, neither." You throw a hard finger in his direction as you pull open the car door. "Don't forget they all know what you really look like under that thing, so don't think you're fooling anyone, cocksucker!"

As you put the key in the ignition, you notice Philip Fairfax watching you with an expression of hooded curiosity, and you make a face back at him as you put the car in reverse.

* * * * *

"Keith? Is that you?" The voice echoes from the kitchen as you step into the house.

It's the question that your dad—

And you get a sharp twinge in your chest as you reflect that, for the next few days at least, this will be your dad and your house and your life.

—asks every time you come home. Even though it's not likely to be anyone else, so why does he ask?

"Yeah, was hanging out late with Carlos and Mike!" you holler back.

"Mac and weenies'll be ready in a few minutes!"

You shuffle down the hallway to hurl your backpack into your room. It bounces off the bed and bounces onto the floor. You leave it there and lope back to the kitchen. Mr. Tilley is standing in front of the stove, stirring a large pot with a wooden spoon.

He's a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair buzzed close to his scalp. His leathery face settles easily into a tired smile as he turns toward you. "Slaw salad's in the fridge," he says.

"Awesome." You take the bowl out and move it to the wobbly table in the dinette corner of the kitchen. Then you set out two plates, two sets of forks and spoons, and two glasses that you fill with instant ice tea. Your dad carries the pot over to the table, to plop a couple of great globs of Kraft macaroni and cheese, studded with plump Oscar Meyer wieners, onto your plates. He bows his head in a brief prayer after sitting down; you wait until he's lifted his face again before tucking into your meal.

"You get any more work done with your friends?" he asks.

"Mmpgh!" You nod while gulping down on a fat wad of noodles and cheese. "Got a cheerleader out there helping us too!" you mumble with a full mouth. "Gonna get some more of the cheerleaders to help us out too!"

"Really." His eyes gleam with curiosity. "How are the cheerleaders involved?"

"Well, see—" You pause long enough to swallow the mouthful, and wash it down with some tea. "Carlos and them, they're gonna do some video work for the squad? Making and posting videos of routines and stuff, y'know, to show 'em off? But the basic plan, in back of it—" You grin down your nose at him. "Get summa them to help out with the review videos. Like, you know, sit in on the reviews, talk about the movies 'n stuff. Be, y'know—" You jerk your shoulders in a shrug. "Be s'mthing nicer to look at than Carlos and Mike!" You grin.

Your dad laughs softly. "Well, that's smart. Like the weather girls on TV."

"Yeah!"

"They better be careful the girls don't take over completely."

"Eh, they're just gonna be there to look at. None of 'em'll know enough to talk about the movies and stuff. That'll be for Mike and Carlos to handle."

"And you."

"That's right!" You lick a fingertip, and make a checkmark in the air.

You talk a little more, about his day at the hardware store that he manages, and your school day, then you take care of the dishes and the rest of the kitchen. When you're done, he gives you a short shopping list of things to pick up for dinner tomorrow, when it will be your turn to fix. Then, as he settles with a sigh in front of the TV, you retreat to your bedroom to do homework.

Keith is dumber than you, and you can feel his mind dragging behind you like an anchor as you struggle through his Calculus homework. But most of your classes are the same or equivalent, so it's not much worse than your own homework. (The only challenge is the homework for the "French for Reading Knowledge" class he is taking, but you avail yourself of Keith's preferred cheat, and use Google Translate to handle most of it.)

And as you work, you field texts from Will.

Fuck ur dads a hard ass, he says.

Lol sux tb me, you unfeelingly reply.

F u I got n trbl fr bg late n then he yell at me fr looking at hm wrong or smthing.

Yeah that happens.

F u and f ths dumb astronomy shit

Tes devoirs de francais sont faciles comme de la merde douce.

F u better not b using google

U want me flunk ur classes instead

F u btw u sure got a tiny cock i almost cldnt find it in ur boxers.

Lol no u got tiny cock now I got cock like fire hose now n u know it roflmao.

And from there the texts degenerate into a weird contest where he has to brag about how insignificant his penis is now while you brag about the mighty hammer you can now boast.

* * * * *

That night, you lay in Keith's bed, staring at his ceiling. Why am I not freaked out by this? you ask yourself.

Well, you are, at least a little. Every few minutes, as you did homework, you looked around with an involuntary twitch and thought, This isn't my bedroom. This isn't my house. This isn't me! I'm not Keith Tilley!

But that was all. Just a twitch. Then with a sigh of aggravation you'd settle back to your work, scribbling out translations and math problems in Keith's crabbed handwriting. (Even that occasioned no more than a twitch—I'm writing just like Keith! you marveled, and then almost forgot how to bunch up his letters, like traffic in a twenty-six-car pile up, as the script reverted to your own.) When your dad—Keith's dad!—knocked on your door to ask with some help in the garage, it felt as natural as anything to get up and follow him.

It's because I've got his memories, you tell yourself now. It's easy to forget and to be him when your brain wants to follow the grooves laid down by his brain. And Keith understands exactly how these masks work, and who's behind it, and what's going on. He wouldn't freak out. Maybe that's how come I'm not, you think.

But you're still uneasy. That stuff his friends were going to put inside Keith's mask, to make you a mindless, obedient beta—maybe some of that stuff is inside the mask, affecting you? Maybe you'll wake up in the morning and forget you ever were someone else?

You're still awake after midnight, and when you wake the next morning, your muscles ache all over, as though you thrashed yourself half to death during the night.

Next: "School for Counterfeits" 

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