The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)

A Foundation in Fantasy

Previously: "The Conscience of a Coward" 

A chance to hang out with people? Including some sexy-looking girls? This was the reason you went out last night! And if it didn't work out last night, at least you've got a chance now!

And if what Patrick just said about this girl Piper, there's a chance of something good developing!

"Sure, thanks," you tell him. "If it's alright with Jenna, or whoever." You glance past him at the girl on her phone, but he doesn't react.

"Oh sure, I'm sure it's fine," he said. "Jenna's cool. Come on."

Back out in the living room, no one has changed positions, unless Luke has maneuvered his arm a little farther along the back of the sofa around Ella's shoulders. Patrick drops like a sack onto floor next to the other three girls. After a fractional hesitation, you join him. Jenna looks up from her phone at you. Her eyes narrow a fraction, a pursed smile appears on her face, but she says nothing but only watches you.

You can't help feeling nervous as, groping for a conversation opener, you ask, "So did you all go out to Legends last night?"

There's a long moment when no one says anything, before Christine, looking as unnerved as you feel, says, "Yeah."

"You leave before they got out there?" Patrick asks. Because he's looking at Piper, it takes you a second to realize he's talking to you.

"I guess so. I left kind of early."

"Will doesn't waste time," Patrick says with a snicker. You tremble a little as a couple of heads turn fractionally in your direction.

One of them is Christine, a girl you had a couple of your classes last year, and who you have actually exchanged some words with. She is a girl with a long, straight blonde hair, and an engagingly dopey smile and a disarming giggle. Though she never had much to say to you, she was always nice about it; and though she is no great beauty, she is on the swim team, and has body that is a pleasure to look at. Especially when she is dressed as she is today, in a tight black t-shirt, jeans cut-offs, and flip-flops.

So you nod in acknowledgement at her, and ask who she has for English this year (English being one of the classes you had with her last year.) She grins (suppressing a giggle) and says that she's taking Creative Writing.

"You're not taking English IV?"

"No, I'm getting out of it with this one. I have Mrs. Goretsky again." Now she does giggle. "Did you have her, sophomore year?"

"Yeah. I don't think I'd like having her again."

"No?" She looks shocked. "I loved Mrs. Goretsky! And I think she loves me!"

"Dyke-teachers in love," Patrick snickers. The smile vanishes from Christine's face, and she reaches across to punch Patrick hard in the shoulder. He pretends to gasp, but chortles under his breath.

"No, but it's only Creative Writing," Christine says, "so we don't get to write any stories or poems. Unless we want to, but that's extra credit. It's all exercises and stuff."

"Like what?" you say, less because you're curious than because it's something to talk about.

"Oh, just like describing things," she says. "Like, we can't just talk about what something looks like. We have to talk about how it sounds or feels or smells. Or tastes."

Deep under his breath, Patrick (you'd swear) says "my ballsack," but Christine doesn't hear him. "That's mostly what we've done so far," Christine continues. "We have to read a lot, too. Poems and stuff mostly, on account of they're so descriptive."

"I'd wanna write stories," says Piper, who despite Patrick's attentions has apparently been listening in. "Exercises?" She sniffs with distaste.

"Well, I'm writing one now," Christine says, "but it's not for class. Omigod!" She giggles. "Talk about descriptive!"

"Yeah?" you prompt her. Jenna lifts her face from her phone, and even Patrick looks over at her.

That bright, panicky, dopey grin that you remember from some of your classes with her—usually it popped up, you seem to recall, when one of the basketball or lacrosse players came in—pops onto her face now. For a moment her face shines pinkly, then she falls backward to put her mouth close to Jenna's ear, muffling it with an upraised hand. Jenna listens carefully, intently. Then her jaw drops slightly and her eyes widen. When Christine straightens up, Jenna leans forward to murmur in her ear. With shining eyes, Christine nods, and the pink in her cheeks deepens to a rosy red.

* * * * *

The conversation wanders off from there, interrupted by gossip about mutual acquaintances—few of whom you know, and fewer still you care about—but you revive the topic of Christine's story-in-progress when you follow her into the kitchen when she goes in there to make some microwave popcorn. Though you haven't contributed much to the talk, you have relaxed enough that you feel like you can boldly ask her to tell you more about that story.

"Oh, it's a fantasy story," she says, blushing a little around her grin, and looking everywhere but at you. "Dark fantasy?" she adds. "Romance, a little?" She giggles. "You wouldn't be interested."

"I like fantasy," you say, which isn't a total lie even though you don't remember the last fantasy story you read.

"Well, it's kind of Twilight so I don't think you'd be interested," she says. "Except it hasn't got vampires. Vampires are so passé." She sticks out her tongue and "gags" a little. You ask her what it's about, which makes her look embarrassed.

"Well, I haven't started writing it yet," she emphasizes. "I'm just making up the characters. So, it's kind of like, um, I've got a heroine?" she continues, turning vague and uncertain. "And, I have decided if she's, like, a princess or a warrior or what. But the guy, he's, um, dead? He's a spirit, but he's possessed the body of this dark lord kind of person? And he's influenced by this body, like its instincts, to be evil? But he's actually good, so—" She twists on her feet, and the blush at her throat at forehead deepens. "He's kind of, um, conflicted?"

"Huh," you say. "If you ever write any of it, I'd like to read it."

Christine giggles hard at that, but doesn't volunteer anything.

* * * * *

In the meantime, you've been puzzled by the one girl who you weren't introduced to, and who has kept almost entirely to herself, going so far as to hang out mostly in the kitchen by herself with her phone. Her mystery gets solved late in the afternoon, when plans change from getting a pizza delivered to going out for Mexican food—a shift that throws things out of whack for you and her both.

For you, the trouble is that you haven't got any money, either on your person or at home, so that if you were go out to eat, you would have to get some money from your parents. For the girl, the trouble is that she wants to go home, and her brother doesn't want to take her.

The solution to both problems is that you will take her home, because she and her brother live south of Acheson. Then you'll pick up some money and meet everyone else up at La Cocina.

"Hey, I'm Will," you introduce yourself to her as you're getting into your truck. She introduces herself as Emily. "So, you're Luke's sister."

"Uh huh," she says.

"You play softball too?" you ask, for Jenna, Ella and Piper are on the varsity softball team, and Luke is on the baseball team.

"Oh God, no," she gasps. "I was only out there because—" But she bites her answer off, and keeps stubbornly silent. You don't press her, and so it's a very quiet drive.

Which is too bad, because she is very cute—though "adorable" might be closer to the mark—with long, dark hair that tumbles around a tiny face, and a body that is slim. She is quite young, though: the last thing you elicit from her before utter silence descends, is that she is a sophomore. That rules her out for further acquaintance, as far as you're concerned, but you have to admit what your spongy boner confesses, that if you and she were in the same class you would have both a little bit of a crush on her and the courage to try talking to her, as she is not obviously out of your league.

But she seems completely uninterested in you, and preoccupied with the facades of the stores you drive past.

You stop at your house first, as it is between Jenna's and Emily's, and your mom gives you a twenty. And while you're there you dash upstairs to search your bedroom.

Talk of fantasy stories with Christine has reminded you of that book you got at Arnholms', with its pentagram on the spine, its uncanny illustrations, and its Latin text. It's a lark of an idea, but you act on it: You will show it to Christine, and maybe that will be a thread that you can thicken and strengthen into more of a bond.

Down again in your truck, you drop the book onto the seat next to you. Emily glances at it, then picks it up. Neither of you say anything as she examines it, until you have driven several blocks. Then she asks you about it, and you tell her about it.

When you pull up in front of her house, she hesitates with the book in her lap, then says, "Can I borrow it? I'll bring it back to you at school tomorrow!"

"What do you want to borrow it for?"

Her expression is taut, and she hesitates before answering, "I have a friend I want to show it to."

"Well, I wanted to show it to Christine—"

"I'll bring it to you tomorrow!" she repeats. "My friend, he—" She bites her lip.

But she doesn't have to continue, for the "he" makes it obvious. Just as you hope to use the book to impress Christine (somehow), she wants to do the same with some guy in her class.

You were taking it up to the restaurant tonight, but you could always show it to Christine some other time, if you wanted to do this favor for Emily. And bringing it to Christine later might be a smarter way of trying to lay down some kind of foundation with her.

That's all for now.

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