The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)

Other People's Heads

Previously: "The Party Gang" 

"What?" you exclaim in answer to Teresa's question. "That one?" You point to Caleb, and she nods. "Um, that's— Uh—"

"This one's got a penis, Teresa," Caleb says.

She gives him a withering look—or, at least as withering as she can manage with her babyish face.

"And what's wrong with that?" she says. "If you guys can parade around in boobs, why can't I—?"

"Oh, Jesus!" Caleb says, and Keith blurts out, "That's totally different!"

"How come?"

"Because, uh—" Keith's eyes water a little. "Help me out, guys?" he pleads to you and Caleb.

"Look, you can do whatever you want," you tell Teresa with upraised palms. "No judging! But we thought if we were all gonna hang out, you know— Well, we thought it'd be easier if you were a, um, a girl too." You feel yourself reddening.

"Okay," Teresa says, very matter-of-factly. "I'll go with this one when we go to the party." She squeezes her face between her flattened palms, as though straightening it out.

You look uneasily between her and Caleb. "Caleb told you about that, huh?"

"About what?"

"The party Friday night."

"No," Teresa says. She looks at Caleb. "I was just talking about any party. Is there a party Friday night?"

"Might as well tell her about it, Will," Caleb mutters. "You stuck your own foot in it."

* * * * *

Teresa says she's totally interested in going to a party, as long as she gets to wear a "different face" to it. (She also says she is going to get some use out of the Keith-Stephanie hybrid at some point, and even casually mentions that maybe you all should make some "guy masks" as alternates for yourselves, a suggestion that you would support for Keith and Caleb, but which leaves you feeling a little insulted.) You try to explain to her a little what Micah Larson is like, and what his reputation is. But Madison's memories are fading quickly away, so that you only have an impression of what she thinks of him, and don't do a very good job of it. Not that Teresa seems fazed. She says that'll only make it "more fun" to meet him, hang out with him, then ditch him and disappear forever.

"You need to stop thinking these girls are real," Caleb tells you later that night, when you're talking on the phone. You were doing homework and texting him, but the texts—expressing doubts about what you're going to be doing—got thick enough and long enough that he just called you to talk direct. "So what if we get in trouble," he honks. "It's not gonna come back to us, because it won't be us! And it won't come back to the girls 'cos they're not real either!"

You're way too embarrassed to say that you kind of feel like Mickey is a real girl—at least while you're wearing her mask. So you just mumble that he's right.

"Fuckin' straight I'm right," he retorts. "Even Tilley gets this. And Teresa— Gotta say I was surprised she's going along with it."

You admit you're surprised too.

"Good thing, too," he says. "Otherwise we'd have to do it behind her back. And if she's along, she'll help keep us outta the worst trouble, so that'll be good."

"What kind of trouble are you thinking about?"

"Oh, going off and getting in a back seat with some guy."

"Dude!" you exclaim, and almost drop the phone. "You're not fucking serious!"

"I'm not fucking serious about myself," he retorts. "I'm not fucking serious about Tilley either, and I ain't worried about Teresa. Whoever's face was already in that mask Keith made, it didn't do her no favors. I'm fucking worried about you, though."

"Me?"

"I was watching you all last night, when we were out. You got really sore about there not being any cute boys around you could flirt with."

"I was just being in character!"

"And I'm thinking about you being in character while in a back seat someplace. If you take that same character with you Friday night—"

"I'm not gonna get in a back seat with no guy!"

Caleb sniggers. "Are you in the dining room, shouting where your folks can hear you saying this shit?"

You barely restrain yourself from hurling the phone at the wall.

"Don't worry about me, motherfucker," you snarl. "Don't worry about me now, don't worry about me Friday night!"

He sniggers again.

"Alright, I won't," he says. "I'll leave you to Teresa. Although maybe that won't be so safe either. Jesus, you hear her talking about putting on that spacky mask Keith made outta Stephanie Jockstrap? Jesus," he says again. "Maybe we need to start sittin' on her."

"I'll be alright Friday night," you fume.

"Okay, you'll be alright Friday night," he says. "But will you be alright tomorrow?"

"Why?" you demand, anxiously. "What's tomorrow?"

"You got homework do. And I'm trying to think how fucked up it's gonna be with you spazzing out this way while trying to do it."

You take that as an invitation to close the line, and you do.

* * * * *

But the real trouble—if trouble it is—comes from Teresa. She catches you at your locker between classes on Thursday and suggests another shopping trip.

"I don't have any money," you protest. "Not really."

"I'll pay," she says.

"How come?" You feel your expression darken with wariness.

"'Cos you need something for Friday night, Will. That guy already saw you in your one set of clothes. You need some others."

Alarm ripples through you. "What does that matter?"

"Jesus. Maybe guys go around wearing the same shit every day, but if you're gonna be a girl—"

"Quiet!" you yelp, and quickly glance around.

"Nobody's paying attention, Will. Come on, I'm trying to do you a solid here. That's what you'd call it, right? A 'solid'?"

"I guess. But—"

"Great. I'll meet you out at your truck, we'll go over to Second Pickins again, or maybe the rag shop up by the mall. We'll have to pick up your shit on the way out, of course."

Only after she has gone do you realize that Teresa seemed a little more ... vibrant ... than usual.

"Yeah, I wore that thing to school today," she confesses when you and she are driving into town after school, and you ask why she was cursing so much when she was at your locker. "You know, the one of your ... friend."

"Jenny?" you say. "Oh."

"Yeah. I took it off at lunch, though. I was getting really aggravated with people." Her brow furrows. "I almost kicked Madison in Geometry class." She gives you a sidelong look.

"Yeah, that's Jenny," you agree.

She's silent for a moment, then says, "Do you like her?"

"What?" You swerve a little in surprise.

"Do you like Jenny?"

"Well ... Yeah. As a friend."

"Is that all?"

You get a bad chill, and your bowels loosen. "What the hell kind of question is that? Why do you wanna know?"

"Just curious."

"Why?" A long-delaying penny finally drops. "Oh my God! Does Jenny wonder that? What I think of her?"

"No, I do."

"Well, what does Jenny think of me?"

"I dunno," Teresa says. "I wasn't thinking about it at the time. I was just wondering now. What do you think she thinks of you?"

"Uh—! I don't think Jenny thinks of me all that much at all!"

"I'm pretty sure she likes you fine, Will."

"Likes me how?"

"Well, like the way you like her. You do like her, don't you?"

You are far too rattled to speak coherently, but you at last manage to blurt out that you like her fine as a person, only you feel like she's a lot more interested in other things than you.

"So if she paid more attention to you?"

"What does this matter?" you holler.

"I guess it doesn't," she says, and falls silent.

But you find the silence almost as maddening as the conversation.

"Look," you finally blurt out, "it doesn't matter what I think of Jenny, and I don't think it matters what she thinks of me! Because there's nothing that could happen with us!"

"Well, not with that attitude," Teresa says. "But I wasn't talking about whether anything could happen with you. I was just wondering what you thought of her."

"And what I said, I think she's fine! A little— I dunno. Pushy? She's a total tomboy." You shoot a couple of quick glances at Teresa, who looks like a little gnome perched in the passenger seat of your truck. "I mean, you were wearing the—you said—this morning. You know what she's like."

"Uh huh. It was kind of fun. Weird, but fun, until I knew I was about to get in trouble. You should try it," she adds. "Make one and wear it to school, see how it makes you see things."

"I've got one," you point out. "The one of Madison."

"I don't think you want to wear that one to school. Make a 'brain copy' of a guy."

You feel a little revolted. "Why would I want to do that?"

"To see how it all looks to some other guy. Maybe," she continues, and her tone turns a little dry and ironical. "Maybe copy the brain of some guy who doesn't freak out so much when someone asks him what he thinks of a girl."

That jibe almost sends you hurtling into the traffic coming the other way.

* * * * *

You did bring Madison's "brain copy" with you, but you don't wear it into the shop, but do change into your alternate's mask and clothes before going in. Maybe your time with Madison's head inside your has helped, because you're not nearly as awkward on your feet as you were the first time.

Teresa helps you pick out a very simple shift dress—hardly more than a sleeveless cotton rag, which she accentuates with a thin belt to set off your curves. And then, after that, she suggests hitting the art supply stores. "I've got my mom's credit card," she says, "I told her I'm working on a model for biology. I want to make some more masks."

Next: "Party Prep" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 5)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)"