The Book of Masks (Vol. 1)

Sunday at the Park with Teresa

Previously: "New Partner, New Spell" 

You don't really want to see Teresa, but it would seem rude if you turned her down flat. So you split the difference, telling her that you're busy tonight but suggesting you meet for coffee or something tomorrow afternoon. She agrees. You, of course, hope that something will come up in the meantime that will let you cancel.

* * * * *

But at two o'clock the next day Teresa is sitting in your truck beside you. "Do you have one of those masks with you?" she asks as she buckles herself in. "Then let's go get one," she says when you shake your head. Doubtfully, you turn the truck back toward Acheson.

"I got that thingie done last night," she continues. "You? How hard was it? Same here," she says when you tell her it took you a couple of hours because you couldn't get the runes to stick in the metal. "I wonder how come that is." You shrug, and ask where she wants to go after you pick up the mask.

You wind up at Squeezin' Freeze, a juice shop near the university. On the drive over, and then over a couple of frozen "faquiris," you tell each other about yourselves.

She of course wants to know if you're into the occult. You tell you're not, especially. It's just that you found this book and it looked interesting, so, like Caleb says, you're carrying out "experiments" with it. "I'm not into the occult either," she says in a tone that smacks of self-satisfaction. "But I like fantasy. And science fiction."

"Harry Potter?" you suggest.

She makes a face. "I'm more into Lord of the Rings. Game of Thrones." She mentions a few more titles, none of which you recognize. "It's really weird, finding out stuff like in those books is real," she says. Then she adds, with a shrug, "Well, I guess it wouldn't be weirder than if aliens showed up."

You don't hate the time with her, but the more you talk, the more convinced you are that you'll never warm to her. She cops a faintly superior attitude, like she's talking to a dumb sophomore boy, and even though she says she wanted to get together to "get to know each other better," she doesn't seem much interested in you, and talks much more about herself. Not that there's much to find out about her, after you've learned about all the places she's traveled to (including Japan and South Korea), and her favorite movies and books, and why she thinks that video games are bad for the imagination. By the time she gets around to admitting that she doesn't have a lot of friends, the revelation neither surprises you nor arouses your sympathy.

At the same time, you find yourself relaxing your guard. She talks very matter of factly about the stuff you're playing around with, almost in the way Caleb does, but even more deeply and thoughtfully. She wonders how much of this kind of stuff is actually known to people with the power to use it, and what they might do with it. These masks, for instance, would be perfect for spies to use, and she wonders how many government or corporate conspiracies have been pulled off with them. And if magic is real, and there's other types of magic, she suggests, and it's controlled by only a small number of people, that would explain why such a small handful have all the money and control all the things.

So though it creeps you out a little to hear her rambling on so calmly with these paranoid reflections, it also reassures you that she won't be stepping too hard on the fun that you and your friends were hoping to have, and by the time she seems ready to wrap up your afternoon, you have decided that Caleb was right: Mostly, she's just going to pump the brakes on your hijinks, not try to stop them altogether. She seems too interested in what can be done with the book and the stuff it makes.

Nonetheless, it's a shock when she suggests getting that mask out of the truck and going around the block to a second-hand goods store. "You want some clothes to go with it, don't you?" she says when you ask what you're going to do.

* * * * *

Second Pickins is only a step above Good Will, and you can't help crinkling your nose a little at the offerings. But Teresa says that she's the one doing the buying, and that she's on a budget on account of she wants to buy some things for Caleb and Keith too. "You know," she explains, "so we'll all be friends." So you don't argue.

She starts by guiding you into the back, where there's a changing room that feels and smells like a moldy closet, where she shuts you in with the mask and orders to put it on. You don't disrobe, and crouch in a corner with your knees up close to your nose as you push the mask onto your face—

—and a wave of nausea washes over you when you wake up to find that you've toppled over onto your side. Groggily, you text Teresa to tell her you're awake. When there's a soft knock at the door, you open it a crack to let her in.

"I picked out a couple of things," she starts to say, then catches herself and does a double take at you. "Oh my God," she mutters.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I guess," she stammers. "Only I— That is you, isn't it? Uh, Will?"

You nod.

"Okay. Wow. I, uh, haven't seen this—" Her eyebrows go up. "Who, uh, did you copy? With the mask?"

"Me and Chelsea Cooper."

"I don't know who that is."

"You don't?" That flabbergasts you. "She's the head cheerleader."

"Oh, okay, that explains it. You just look a lot like— Well, someone in my class." She cocks her head to study you, then shakes her head. "Okay. Well, I picked out some things, but I wanted to, um, see what I had to work with. Hm. Take off your shirt." Somewhat shyly, you comply. It feels very awkward showing your boobs to a girl, but Teresa is obviously trying to take it like it's no big thing, so you try to keep calm too.

"Okay," she finally says after studying you up and down and making some faces. "I've got some ideas. I'll be back."

"Can't I go with you?" After all, you might have some ideas too.

But she shakes her head. "You're dressed all wrong."

* * * * *

It only take three trips for her to outfit you: once for the top and the shorts, and twice for some used sneakers that will fit your demure little feet. The charge comes to less than forty dollars, though that rises after you've made a stop at Nirdlinger's, the big department store, for a pair of panties and a bra. Then, at Teresa's suggestion, you drive down Thirtieth Street to South Creek Park. There, in the parking lot, she leaves you to wedge yourself down in the footwell, where you will put the mask back on and put on the clothes before joining her for a walk around the big pond there.

You are prickling and shaking all over after you wake again and start putting on the clothes. First are the panties, which are tight, and then the bra, which it turns out is probably a size too large. Then you pull on the gray cotton shorts that ride down to the middle of your thigh, and the black-and-white striped short-sleeve shirt. You run your fingers through your hair to straighten up before clambering from the truck. A ratty pair of faded pink sneakers, slipped on over bare feet, are the last to go on after you have reached the grass.

Teresa is waiting, standing by herself a little ways off toward the edge of Stewart's Hole, watching you with a wry smirk as you make your way toward her. Your carriage feels all wrong, and your hips wobble in a way that leaves you lurching slightly. You are also unbalanced up top, feeling yourself pulled slightly forward by the weight of your breasts. You feel a sickly grin spreading over your face as you come up to Teresa.

"You look adorable, Will," she smirks, then looks past you. "Those guys out on the soccer field are watching you."

"What?" you gasp, and wheel to glance over your shoulder at the nearby athletic fields, where a couple of dozen guys in shorts and jerseys are shouting and running up and down. "Oh, Jesus!"

"It goes with the territory," Teresa says. "Come on, let's go hang out in the gazebo."

That's a large, vaguely Oriental-ish structure in the middle of the pond, connected to the shoreline by a long pier. It smells of damp redwood, and a faint odor of wet decay hangs under its eaves.

"So what do you think, Will?" Teresa asks after you are leaning against a railing and looking out across the parking lot at the traffic on Orlando Road. "What do you think of how the other half live?"

"Oh my God. It—"

Well, you don't know what it's like. On the one hand, you feel the same as ever, though the world might be slightly bigger (and Teresa seems taller). The main difference is that all your weight is redistributed, making it awkward to stand and walk without feeling like you're about to topple over.

And yet, the way the weight is redistributed ...

You've got boobs, and you have to fight the urge to support them with one forearm while touching them gently with a free hand. You've got hips that you want to palm and caress. You've got strong and shapely legs that you want to stretch and massage. Most of all, there's the lack between the crook of your thighs: an empty spot where you want to slide a hand in to rub and rub and rub.

"You need to learn how to drive it," Teresa says when you say nothing. "Or we can take a short cut."

"What kind of short cut?"

Her smirk deepens.

"I don't know for sure what the next spell does, but I can make a pretty good guess. If you'll leave it to me—get me the one you made, and the ones Caleb and Keith made—and I'll show you."

Next: "Two in One" 

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