The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)

The Cork on the Current

Previously: "Booting Up a Legend-Worthy Night" 

Much as you'd like to have as much faith in yourself as Patrick and Dean seem to have in you, you can't quite picture it working out.

At least, you can't see yourself picking up a girl just by snapping your fingers and asking her to dance.

And if you tried, and she said no, it would probably crush you.

So you decide it's better to play things by ear. Let the night drift.

Just play it cool.

And hang out with the girls that brung ya.

* * * * *

Tiffany, Lacie, and the girl from the mini-golf whose name you didn't know are at the corner of the bar when you and Dean go looking. Tiffany flashes you a broad smile and gestures you over, touching your shoulder and your back as she introduces you to the others.

"Hey, so you remember Lacie," she says, indicating her friend. "And this is Mattie. This is Will, from school."

"Hey," you greet them. "I really liked your restaurant," you tell Lacie. "I've never been out there before, but I'm gonna have to start going."

"Oh, thanks," she says with a smile both deep and bright. "I like your hat!"

"I need some boots to go with it," you reply with a glance down at your dirty white tennis shoes. "I like your outfit!"

Like Tiffany, Lacie is not a small girl. She's got big breasts and big hips, and a hefty in-between as well. She is stitched up tightly in a white, sleeveless blouse with ruffles at the shoulders and down the front, and is wearing a very short blue skirt that shows chunky, bare legs all the way down to her high-heeled sandals. She has pinned most of her mass of dark hair up in a bun on the back of her head, but two thin tendrils of curls tumble past her ears to rest on her shoulders. Her eyes are large, dark, and sparkling.

Her friend, Mattie, is much less enticing.

Most of the trouble is in her expression, which is pinched and sour. That by itself would put you off, but it looks especially unattractive on her narrow face with its narrow eyes and narrow nose. She wears her long, reddish-brown hair in flat sheets, tucked behind one shoulder on one side, and hanging freely over a breast on the other side. She is wearing a small, black dress that at least flatters a body that is slim with good (though not enormous) breasts and a figure with feminine curves. From the neck down, in fact, she looks really good. But she's got the face and demeanor of an elementary school teacher who long ago ran out of patience with her students' shenanigans, and is going to start handing out lunchroom detentions to anyone who so much as sneezes out of turn.

"You're friends with Caleb, right?" she says to you. Her pinched voice matches her pinched and impatient expression. "Yeah, I've got him for a couple of classes." She looks away, and you're grateful for the excuse not to follow up with her.

"Lorenzo and Kristin here yet?" Dean asks.

"Don't think so," Tiffany says. "We saw Patrick heading into the dance floor a couple of minutes ago."

"Yeah, we all came together. Who else is here?"

"Scott and some of his friends came in a little while ago," Lacie says. Then she does a double-take at you, and squeals.

"That's who you remind me of!" she exclaims. Her hands dart up, and to your shock she cradles your face between her palms. "Scott's friend Daniel!"

"It's the cowboy hat, Lacie," Mattie says.

"You work on a farm, Will?" Lacie asks. Her eyes are shining even harder now.

"Uh, no." You blush a little with embarrassment. "I just thought I'd look good this way."

"You do!" Lacie squeals. "Come on!" She grabs your arm. "I need to dance! Like, right now!"

And she hauls you off for the dance floor.

* * * * *

You're not very good on your feet, and because the dance floor isn't exactly packed—most of the patrons prefer to stand next to the wall, talking and watching the dancers—you are very self-conscious of how stiff you are. You get through it by watching Lacie closely and mimicking her moves as best you can. She isn't a very good dancer either, and makes up with enthusiasm what she lacks in grace as she shimmies and grooves and throw her arms and legs around. It's a relief, actually, when she moves in close, planting her hands on your shoulders, and drops into a gentle, rocking sway. You hesitate, then grasp her by the tops of her hips. She doesn't flinch or protest.

"Yeah, I don't really know how to dance," she confesses later, when you've retreated from the floor, and are watching the other dancers with your shoulders touching. "Except the polka."

"The polka?" you ask. "Really?"

"You've seen people dance a polka!" she asks, sounding scandalized. "You'll just have to come over to my house and I can teach you!"

"Do the rest of your friends know how to do a polka?"

Her smile falls off her face.

"You don't want me teaching you?" she demands.

"No, I didn't mean—"

She laughs. "Maybe you want Patrick teaching you?"

"What?" You feel yourself blushing.

"I'm just teasing, Will," she says. "Jeez, keep a grip. My family owns a German restaurant, knowing the polka is like part of the lease!"

Then she nudges you. "Oh, hey," she says. "Look who Patrick's picked up."

You follow her gaze onto the floor, where you spot Patrick, flailing and gyrating without shame like a Polynesian priest summoning up a typhoon. The girl with him is pretty, but you don't know her.

"That's Kayla Shea," Lacie says when you ask. "Oh my God! Is he serious?"

"Whaddayu mean?"

But Lacie has pulled out her phone and is hurrying away, having completely forgotten you, it seems.

You return to watching Patrick and Kayla. He throws his head back and pumps his fists in the air while waggling his groin at her, and for a moment it looks like he's going to try to limbo under her, between her legs. She, on the other hand, is dancing furiously—almost jogging in place—in a tight little circle with her elbows pulled in and her head and face down. It takes you a moment to realize your mouth is hanging open as you watch them.

So mesmerized are you by the sight that not until he accidentally brushes you do you notice the guy who's joined you by your side. "Would'ja lookit that?" he says. You glance over.

He has shaggy blonde hair and is wearing a letterman jacket, and is watching Patrick and Kayla with the same expression of mesmerized fascination as you were probably watching them. You just have the presence of mind to think I shouldn't be standing next to anyone who is wearing a letterman jacket when turns to you. He has a bright and lively face.

"Hey Fishlips!" he screams. "Why'nch—? Oh, sorry there, cowboy." He claps you on the shoulders to shift you about five inches to one side. "Fishlips!" he screams past you. "Why'ncha get yourself something like that!" He points at Patrick and Kayla, and in a flash has brushed past you.

You grimace at his back, then go off in search of Lacie again.

* * * * *

You don't find her, but you do find Tiffany and Mattie back in the bar, sitting at a table and chatting with a couple of guys.

Okay, "chatting" is too casual a descriptor. The guys are standing in front of the girls with their hands on their hips and some helpless expressions on their faces while the girls glare at them.

"No!" Tiffany is saying. "They did not!"

"Then I'm standing here lying," says one of the guys. Like you he's wearing a cowboy hat, but he's dressed in denim and boots as well.

"Well, who said—? How did they get out there?"

"I think they went with Russ. Russ and Ryan," says the other guy. He is short and dark, like Dean, except he isn't Dean.

"Oh God," Tiffany exclaims. She takes out her phone. "Look, don't tell Lacie, okay?" she tells them as she starts tapping at her phone. The guys shrug, then shuffle off.

"What are you doing?" Mattie asks Tiffany.

"Texting Jonas! He knows he's not supposed to—!"

"He's not gonna leave just because you text him, Tiffy!"

"Well, he needs to know that we know they're out there!"

"Like it'll make a difference," Mattie grumbles.

"What's going on?" you ask.

"Lacie's kid sister and her boyfriend—"

"He's not her boyfriend!" Tiffany exclaims.

"Oh, open your eyes, Tiffy!" Mattie turns to you. "They went out to the Warehouse," she says.

"No shit?"

"It's not funny, Will!" Tiffany yells.

"I wasn't laughing!"

"You met Bree?" Mattie asks you. "She's only fourteen. Can you imagine a fourteen-year-old girl out at the Warehouse?"

You can hardly imagine yourself at the Warehouse. "And her boyfriend's only a year older," Mattie adds.

"He's two years older!" Tiffany says. "I think. He's almost seventeen, so almost three years!"

"And Bree's almost fifteen. They're just gonna ignore your text."

"Well, she's gotta know— Where's Lorenzo?" Tiffany looks around.

"Probably with Kristin. I don't think they're here yet."

"Well, how are we gonna—? I guess we could go out there." Tiffany wrings her hands.

Mattie looks up at you. You can guess what she's going to say before she says it.

But it's no easier for that.

"Would you go out there and get them, get them out?" Mattie asks you. "They shouldn't be out there." Tiffany does a double take at her friend, then looks up at you.

You feel pole-axed. You've never even been to the Warehouse. And you're being asked to go on a mission to retrieve a fourteen/fifteen-year-old girl from there?

"I don't know them," you say. "You'll go too?"

"If we could get them out of there, we wouldn't be asking you."

"Why can't you?"

"Because they'll just ignore us."

"Why won't they ignore me?"

"Because you're a guy."

You have a pretty strong feeling that that won't make a difference.

* To do what they're asking: "The Littlest Possible Help" 
* To tell them to find someone else: "The Conscience of a Coward" 

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