The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)

That Kind of Girlfriend

Previously: "A Girl to Drive Boys Mad" 

Sydney—you decide—can wait. She was using Kirkham's mouth and brain to say all kinds of disgusting things about Alana Ocampo, and she can damn well use Kirkham's mouth and cock on the girl herself until you can turn loose from Ricky.

(At the same time, in the back of your head, you are pretty certain it's Amanda's instincts rather than your own that are kicking in here.)

So even as the phone buzzes and vibrates, you cover it with your hand and concentrate on Ricky. "Is this about yesterday?" you ask him.

"Uh-huh."

"Did you or Anthony or anyone else figure out that maybe Kelsey is full of shit?"

Ricky reddens. "You mean she Photoshopped those pictures?"

Now you feel yourself redden. Kelsey took pictures? Was Sydney from the very start planning to use Kelsey to backstab you?

"Look, I don't know what business it is of yours—"

"Well, then, why are we even going out together?" Ricky settles back in his chair with folded arms.

"I don't know, Ricky. Why are we?"

His flush deepens. "Okay, if that's the way you feel—"

"Oh, shut up. I'm just saying, us going out together doesn't have anything to do with, you know—" Your face feels like it's going to burn off the front of your skull. "With whatever I want to do with whoever and wherever. That's all something else."

Ricky stares, and his voice is husky when he speaks. "Then why are we going out together?"

"Because— Jesus! You think I want to go out with David Kirkham?"

Now froth is showing on Ricky's upper lip. "So— What, all you wanted to do is fuck him?"

"Psshhh! It was Kelsey's idea."

"Oh, the—! The fuck?"

"Don't ask me about this, Ricky. I don't even want to have this conversation."

Again, he stares, then shakes his head in disgust and starts to get up. "Where are you going?" you demand.

"You said you don't want to talk."

"About this. But you don't have to go away mad."

"How the fuck else am I supposed to go away?"

A hard voice calls from the other side of the library: "Hey, shut up over there!"

"You shut up!" To Ricky: "Sit down like a fucking adult, Ricky. You're the one who wanted to talk."

He drops back down into his chair. You suck in a deep breath, and try to organize your feelings—which are quite firm and clear—into coherent thoughts.

"We started going out together— When? Our sophomore year? Because we were friends. Well, so this is what we do together. When there's something at the country club or some family function, or a thing that Kelsey or Anthony or someone wants to do, we go to it with each other. We go do things together when there's a thing to go do. We go out together. That's what it means when we say we're 'going out together'." You hook some pretty vicious finger quotes in the air when you use the phrase. "Now, where in there does it say anything about what else I can or can't do, where and with who? Including the Donna and including ... whoever."

Ricky's mouth falls open, and he stares. "Well," he stammers, "I just assumed—"

"And what do they say about assumptions, Ricky?"

He blinks behind his glasses. Then his lips peel back. "So, if I went to the Donna with, uh—"

Your own lip curls, but you don't utter the obvious thought: Who would go with you to the Donna, Ricky? You're short, you've got a doughy body and a spotty complexion, and you dress in cheap khakis and polos. Instead, you tell him, "Be my guest."

He blushes again, and his eyes dart angrily.

Your phone has stopped ringing by now, but you're ready to wrap things up with Ricky regardless. "Anyway, that's where we are," you tell him as you get to your own feet. "We're friends who go out to places together. And to be totally honest, Ricky, if we're friends, I would have expected a little more support and consideration from you, than this bullshit."

You haul up your bag and stalk off while he is still staring bug-eyed after you.

God damn it, Amanda, you marvel to yourself as you push into the nearest restroom. Maybe I am going to miss being you. Well, not that it matters too much, you add as you smirk at your reflection and resettle your dress. I can slide you on and off whenever I want. And that's the goddamned truth!

* * * * *

You really were impressed with the bitch-on-wheels personality that burst out when you let your fake Amanda personality have its head, and maybe you're still a little drunk on it, because you indulge in a pee and some washing and touching up before turning your phone over and returning Sydney's call. And you tap your toe impatiently until Kirkham picks up.

"Fuck! Where are you, Will?"

You roll your eyes. "I'm still at the school, Sydney. Where are you? At the portables? With—?"

"Yes! No point in your coming out here now, though."

That surprises and alarms you. "What happened? Where's Alana?"

"Fuck off! No!" He seems to catch himself. "I'm sorry, I'm just excited. Pissed off, but—" He sighs. "Just wait for me out at your car."

"Something go wrong?"

"We'll talk about it when I find you."

There's a growl in his voice, but you just roll your eyes. "Listen, I just got through talking my 'boyfriend', and I don't feel like—" But the line has gone dead. You make a sour face at the screen. Then, after touching up your makeup again and cooling your hands in a sink full of water, you swing your pack onto your shoulders and exit the restroom.

And you also stop at your locker to reorganize your book bag instead of heading straight out to the parking lot like Sydney asked.

* * * * *

So Kirkham is waiting by your car when you emerge into the late afternoon daylight. But he's not alone. There's a guy with him. His back is to you so you only make out his shock of coffee-dark hair and varsity jacket until, at a gesture from Kirkham, he turns.

Your frown deepens. It's Marcos Rivera.

He's not someone you or Amanda know well, and she only knows him by casual acquaintance because he often hangs out with Marc Garner. They're on the soccer team together, but you have the vague impression that the two are "best buds" of some kind. Anyway, he's a handsome son of a bitch, with a lean, slightly foxy face and dark eyes that flash impudently; his grin, when he unfurls it, is sharp, white, and very hungry.

But he's not smiling now as you approach. Instead, his expression is hard and wary. But not so hard and wary that he doesn't give you a very open and appreciative look up and down.

"Hey," you coolly greet them. "That's my car you're getting your butt-prints on." You reach between them for the car door handle.

Kirkham takes out the toothpick he's been nursing and tosses it away. "Where were you?"

You glance sidelong at Rivera, then answer, "In the library, if it's any of your business. With my boyfriend."

"Was your phone turned off?"

"No. Were you trying to call me? Maybe you misdialed if you were, and—"

"Turn off the Amanda act, Will. If you're gonna be her then I'm gonna be David, and then I'm gonna punch someone in the throat and there's an eighty percent chance it's going to be you. Okay?"

You freeze, then slowly slide another sidelong glance at Rivera. "Um—"

"Don't worry about him. He's one of the fakes now. A pedisequos."

The news, of course, startles you. "What?"

"Yeah, that's how come I was calling you. I had to improvise when— Shit." He glances past you. "That's your boyfriend and some of his other friends coming out of the school now— Don't look! But you're gonna burst your hymen all over again if they see us together, aren't you? Fuck. Meet us over at the, uh— Taco Famoso. Like, now." He pokes Rivera in the ribs. "Come on, you fucking lettuce-picker. I'll buy you a burrito you can go down on." Rivera shoots him a quick, surly glare, but dutifully trudges after. You stare at them a moment, then slide into your car.

* * * * *

It was all Kirkham's fault, Sydney tells you later, when you're parked in one of the drive-in stalls at the nastiest fast-food place in town. You're sitting in your car while she leans against the side and talks to you through the rolled down window while munching on a Frito pie. (You're too wise to order anything from a place that delivers the trots faster than it delivers the food.) Rivera, the subject of conversation, is slumping mulishly in the passenger-side of Kirkham's car.

Kirkham's fault, Sydney stresses, not her own. The fact is that David Kirkham knew that Alana Ocampo was taking it every which way from Marcos Rivera, but he just thought Alana was being a slut and Marcos was being a man-whore. He didn't realize that they were actually going out together.

And not "going out together" the way you explained it to Ricky.

But anyway, after Sydney propositioned Alana, and she agreed to meet him at the portables after school, she apparently ran off to Marcos to tell him about it. And so, when Sydney got to the portables, she found Marcos, not Alana, waiting for him. And if Marcos was in a frisky mood, it wasn't because he was looking for a good fuck, it was because he was looking to fuck David Kirkham over real good.

It might have even gone badly for Sydney except that she had a blank mask out and in hand when she rounded the corner. After quickly after realizing what was up, she got it onto Marcos.

That's why she was so urgently trying to call you. So you could get out and, if you wanted, claim Marcos as one of your own. Instead, when you didn't pick up, Sydney had to make him one of hers.

"Well, it'll work out," she sighs. "With Marcos, we can definitely get to Alana."

Next: "Delayed Gratifications" 

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