The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)

Big Man, Big Mouth

Previously: "Shopping for a New Face" 

You wrestle hard with the question of what to say to Katy, and finally end up deciding (more or less) not to say anything at all. Whatever she wants to do, you tell yourself, is fine with me.

And if that involves her putting on a couple of different masks of a couple of different girls and making out with you?

Well, that's just a cross I'm going to have to bear, you tell yourself with gritted teeth as you fight down a raging hard-on.

* * * * *

Katy is waiting for you the next morning in the student parking lot. She's not alone: Her friend Meghan is with her. She smiles brightly at you, her white smile splitting her dark face. "Hey Will," she calls as you approach. "You got plans this weekend?"

You glance at Katy. "Er—"

"Tomorrow night, I mean. Party at Megan's house. Caleb's picking me up at eight. You and Katy—" She nudges her friend. "We could pick you guys up too."

"Um ... Sure?" You twitch your eyebrows at Katy.

"Gonna be fun," Meghan says. She looks past your shoulder. "Lots of fun."

"Uh huh." You try beaming a telepathic message to Katy through the wrinkles that furrow your brow: Can we go off just us?

But Katy only fumbles for your hand. "We're waiting for Caleb now," she says.

"Um, he's usually late," you inform the girls. But Meghan only replies with a careless shrug.

"Everyone's been waiting, like, so long for this party to finally happen," Katy says. There's a nervous flutter inside her gushing tone. "Meghan's, like, going all out for it."

"Really? What's the plan?" you ask her friend.

Meghan gives you a puzzled glance. Katy shifts on her feet. Then she says, in a very soft voice. "Megan Farris. The party's at Megan Farris's house."

The penny finally drops. "Oh! I guess I was kind of confused."

"Yeah, I could tell," Meghan drawls. Then she laughs. "You and Caleb."

"Me and Caleb what?"

"Nothing." She twinkles at you. "You're both so funny is all."

Is she laughing at me? you can't help wondering.

Katy lunges in with some desperate small-talk about the party. It helps you to place who she's talking about. Megan Farris is some brown-haired girl you've seen around. Nothing very pretty but nothing very exciting either, that you can recall. But this party is a pretty big thing, apparently. Katy tells you it'll be something to rival some of the parties thrown by Chelsea Cooper or Reagan Hackett (whoever that is).

The conversation, thankfully, leaves you behind as Katy and Meghan start talking about other parties they've been too, and comparing their merits. But then a big blonde guy comes swaggering up. He's in shorts and a tight gray t-shirt, and his whitish-blonde buzz cut and five-day beard bristle with aggression.

"Hey, great of you to wait out here for me," he chortles as he pushes in close to Meghan. He puts a brawny arm out to embrace her.

"Get off, Dylan," Meghan snarls, giving you a name you were trying not to remember. She tries shoving him back. "Aren't you late for practice?"

"Yeah, I'm already in trouble." Dylan Lloyd, basketball player, snickers. "But if you go in with me," he says, and tries cozying up to Meghan again, "and tell coach I'm late because—"

"Fuck! Off!" Meghan snarls at him again.

"Yeah, why don't you fuck off, man," someone else says, and you almost shit yourself when you realize it was you. Your heart pounds in your chest. "She already told you—" you start to mumble, and then your voice dies away entirely in your throat as Dylan Lloyd turns a bright stare in your direction.

He's not enormous, like some of the guys on the basketball squad. He's not much taller than you, not like Gordon Black or Steve Patterson, the terrifying alpha jocks who run the squad. He's not bulging with muscles, either, like Ryan Shuler or Jonas Martin. But he's big enough and strong enough and hairy enough on his own. And when he grins at you, it's the grin of a carnivore that's just caught the scent of fresh prey.

"Maybe you wanna show me how to fuck off?" he says.

You feel Katy squeeze your hand hard, and out of the corner of your eye you are sure you see Meghan giving you a warning glance.

But you're already over the precipice, hanging in mid-air. It won't go any worse for you if you push ahead.

"Yeah, maybe I should," you retort.

"Right now?" The grin on his face widens.

"You're late for practice, Dylan," Meghan hisses.

"Yeah, and I need someone to walk me there. You volunteering?" he asks you. The gleam in his eye is hard and bright. "Sweetheart?"

Your sphincter loosens even as your backpack slides off your shoulders.

Before you unlock your feet from the ground, though, a hard voice tears across the parking lot. "Ay! Lloyd!" It's followed by a piercing whistle.

Dylan Lloyd glances past you toward the gym. Then he gives you another chilling smile. "I got practice after school too," he says. "But meet me here after it's done."

Then he pinches you on the chin. For a horrifying moment, you think he's going to lean in follow it up with a peck to your lips. Instead, with a chuckle, he saunters off.

Your eyes are watering after he's gone, and the air is swarming with blurry dots. So you can hardly make out Meghan's expression when you finally glance in her direction. Even her voice is blurry, as it has to fight its way past the roaring in your ears.

"You just keep Caleb out of your thing with Dylan, okay?" she says. And it sounds like she'll join Dylan in kicking your ass if you don't.

* * * * *

You promise Meghan you won't say anything to Caleb, and in fact you don't say anything to anyone at all about it.

But word gets out anyway.

The first clue comes in fourth-period English, when you can't help noticing the way Brendan Tummler and Scott Frazier—two teammates of Dylan—keep glancing in your direction. But confirmation comes after lunch as you're on your way to math. "Will!" a hearty voice shouts. You glance through the crowd, to find Marc Garner—brother of Jessica and Eva—grinning at you from the doorway to Mr. Muniz's room. He's the captain of the soccer team, and he's got some of his friends from the squad clustered around him.

"Heard you and Dylan Lloyd are having a rumble after class!" Marc calls. He gives you a bright thumbs-up. "Kick his ass!" His friends look a little puzzled, and give you querying looks. You just duck into your own math class.

But a sharp finger pokes you in the shoulder blade before you can find your seat, and Carson Ioeger peers down at you when you turn around. He's a science nerd—tall and gangly—and one of few people at Westside that you'd call a friend, though you don't hang out all that much except sometimes at lunch. Even in Calculus, which you share, he sits a few rows over, serenely uninterested in you as a person.

But today—

"What was Garner bellowing at you about?" he honks. "He catch you molesting one of his sisters?"

"No!"

"Molesting both of them, simultaneously?"

"Fuck you!" With a snort you fall into your seat.

"No," he insists. "I'm interested. It sounded like he was saying something about you kicking someone's ass." Like a stork settling into a nest, Carson levers himself into the desk in front of yours. "You don't kick people's asses, Prescott. You're not built for it."

You roll your eyes and hold your tongue.

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No."

"I don't believe you, but go ahead and play it close. If you'll give me a hint, though—"

"Go away."

"—maybe I could give you some pointers."

You snort. "Pointers from you about a fight?"

"Oh, so it is a fight. Who with? You and—" He pales. "Don't tell me it's Tilley!"

"It's not Tilley!"

"Because you could take Tilley. But there wouldn't be no glory in that."

You can't help flushing a little with pleasure at Carson's estimation that you could take your friend Keith in a fight. "Nothing's going to happen," you tell him. "It was just some smack talk. You know."

"Uh huh." Carson looks over your head at the wall behind. "Yeah, okay, that makes sense. That's a relief, actually." He fixes you with a look. "You're dumb, Prescott," he says, "but I never had you pegged for stupid."

You give him a dirty look as he gets up again.

But then, as he passes, he pats you on the shoulder. "Still, if I was you," he says, "I'd get away from school before Lloyd gets out of practice this afternoon."

* * * * *

You're not staying after school to have a fight with Dylan, Katy had told you in no uncertain words when you ate lunch with her. I don't want to have to use one of those mask things to fix your face!

But then last period comes—Astronomy—and not only do you notice Scott Frazier coolly eyeing you, you also have to face Stephanie.

Not that she has anything to say about the promised fight. She only asks, in a very friendly tone, if you're going to "Megan's party" tomorrow. You jerk your head in a nod, and turn around in your seat.

Does she know about Lloyd's challenge to you? She's bound to find out after the fact, if she hasn't heard about it yet. And what will she think of you if she finds out you ducked out on it?

I shouldn't care what Stephanie thinks, you tell yourself. Only what Katy thinks. And she doesn't want to have to 'fix my face'.

But, thinking about masks ... Of course one thought will lead to another. Maybe you can't punch Dylan out, but you do have one more blank mask back at the school. If you could somehow contrive to get it close to his face ... Well, that would at least be a way of knocking him out.

Next: "Lonely Are the Brave" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 3)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)"