The Book of Masks (Abridged)

The Two of You

"YOUR CLOTHES, DUDE," Caleb snaps. "Hurry it up, I'm cold."

He has your face and body. He might as well have your clothes. Your fingers go the hem of your shirt—

Abruptly, you snap out of it. "What the hell are you planning?"

"I told you, I wanna see if I can fool your family with this thing."

"Why would you wanna do that?" Even you can hear the squeak in your voice.

"What are you, paranoid? It's just a quick trip to test it out. I won't get you in any trouble."

"Nnh. I dunno, this is getting into kind of a creepy area. How about you take that thing off now?"

"No, here's what we do," he says, warming to an idea. "I'll go back to your place. If I don't set off any alarms, I'll come back here with a sleeping bag for you. You can spend the night here, and I'll spend the night at your house. I'll even call my mom, and tell her I'm staying at your place. Which I will be, kind of," he laughs.

"So what am I gonna do here?"

"Finish off the other mask. Then we'll use it on me. On Monday we'll go to school as each other. That'll be awesome!" His eyes dance excitedly.

"You're really getting into this, aren't you?"

"Sure. That's the whole point of a thing like this, isn't it?"

Something about his plan bothers you. "I thought you wanted to use the other mask on Jeremy or someone like that."

"Well, yeah," he admits. "But I can't just disappear, you know. Someone has to pretend to be me while I'm pretending to be you. And here's the thing," he hurriedly adds. "If you're pretending to be me, then you ask around about Lisa without people thinking it's you asking about her."

"You said there's nothing to find out. And anyway—"

You stammer to a halt as he grins. You don't like the grin. You hope that's not the kind of grin that you turn on people.

The thing is, though you hate to admit it, it's a good plan he's got: a safe way to test out the masks and what you can do with them. But you still feel like you're getting the short end of the bargain.

You thrust a finger into his face. "If you're going to pretend to be me, you have to do my homework."

"Sure," he says cheerfully.

"You can't fuck it up, either!"

"I won't. If I can do your handwriting."

"And you have to polish your own goddamn mask. I finished mine!"

"Alright," he sighs.

"And you have to bring me out my laptop and some DVDs. No horror movies." You glance around. "It's going to be spooky enough down here."

"'Spooky'?" he laughs. "Ooh, maybe I can bring you down a Great Dane and you can solve some mysteries. But sure, I'll bring your shit out."

And with that you acquiesce and start disrobing.

* * * * *

It's a very long time before he returns with the supplies, and you fill the time first by finding an electrical outlet and then by shivering on the floor. "Yo, me," Caleb chortles when he comes back down with his arms full. "Here's a wad of stuff for your campout." He drops a big, soft bag onto the floor, and sets the case for your laptop on the desk. "Everything seems okay so far. But who's the Chinese chick at your place?"

Chinese chick? Oh, fuck! You forgot that Umeko would be over there to practice with your mother. "That's my cousin!"

He looks amused. "Your cousin is Chinese? Damn, there's a lot about your family you should tell me before—"

"Okay, here's one thing. If you call her 'Chinese' to her face she will kill you no matter what you look like. She's Japanese. In fact, give me—" You grab at his shirt, and there's a struggle before he pulls away. "If you fuck things up with her for me—!"

"So what's the story?"

"I told you, she's my cousin. She was an orphan, and my Uncle Scott and Aunt Mary adopted her when she was a baby. Her name is Umeko. Memorize it, asshole! U-M-E-K-O!"

"Alright, alright! What's so important about her that you're getting so pissed off?"

"Well, I like her, that's what's important about her."

"Fine, so you like— Wait." A devilish grin spreads across his face. "Do you like her, do you like her?" He waggles his eyebrows.

You feel yourself crimsoning, and that's all the warning Caleb needs to dodge you again when you grab for his throat. "She's really cool, okay? I like hanging out with her, so don't do anything to piss her off!"

"You keep saying that, and I won't— Hey, you want me to set something up with her? I can be Mr. Smooth, and—"

"Oh, God! No!"

"Okay, I'll hide in your bedroom until she goes away."

"Don't do that either!"

"So what do you want, Will?"

"Gimme my fucking clothes back so I can—"

Again, he dodges you, and runs up the stairs. "Too late, your understudy's escaped," he laughs from outside.

He dashes off, and with a roar you slam the door shut on yourself.

* * * * *

At least Caleb brought you a well-thought out care pack. Besides the sleeping bag and computer, he also brought you some supper—cold chicken, beans, some pickles, and a couple of rolls—and pajama bottoms. There are also DVDs to watch. But you're not keen to start them up immediately. Isn't there anything else to do?

Hmm. You eyeball what's left of the supply pile. It looks like you have enough for one more mask—

Except you've run out of ice. Unless ...

There's an ice machine on the other side of the school, next to the old cafeteria, which is still used as a community center. There's even a couple of Coke machines.

But all you've got are your pajama bottoms. Cocksucker Caleb took his own clothes with him.

Well, fuck it. You've seen people running around in less than these.

You roll up the legs of your PJs so it looks like you're wearing baggy shorts, and creep out of the basement. The sun has gone behind a cloud and a cool breeze has sprung up, so you shiver both from cold and from nerves. But there is no one in sight, and on bare feet you scamper and hop your way over grass and a blacktop to the corner of the cafeteria where the ice machine is.

It costs money to get ice out of it, but you pay inside and it works on the honor system, so the doors to the giant cooler are unlocked. Still, you feel guilty stealing, so you don't lift an entire bag, but just rip a bagi open and take out a few small blocks. You shut the door and turn around and—

Shit. Up the street, so close you can recognize them and they can recognize you, are two of your brother's middle school friends, sitting on their bikes and staring straight at you.

You stare back for maybe three seconds, then turn away. Christ, what should you do? Well, you can't go back to the basement, lest they follow you. But you've no place else to go. So you walk in the opposite direction, turning your back on them and walking quickly toward the corner of the school opposite the basement. It's a long trek, then you hang a left to cross an even greater distance along the length of the school. You take that part at a run, and fight the urge to look over you shoulder at any pursuit. You finally hop around the last corner and hustle to the basement door. You scramble down the steps, toss the ice away, and slam the door shut behind you.

But what if they followed you? What if they snoop around, trying to figure out where you've gone?

There's lots of places to hide, luckily, what with all the furniture and bookshelves. You hurl your wadded-up sleeping bag over a standalone bookcase into a hidden corner, and shove your laptop into a drawer. But there's no time to move the fans or the other equipment. You scramble over desks—banging your toes—and drop down into a hidden crevice. There you wait, trying to control your breathing.

Voices outside, whose words you can't make out. Then—Oh God! The basement door opens.

"Whoa! Lookit this!"

"We shouldn't be in here."

"Robert's brother shouldn't be in here. D'you think he is?"

"Where else could he be. But come on, this is—"

"This is cool, that's what this is. I bet he hasn't got permission to be here."

"I don't see him."

Giggles. "He's hiding!"

"I dunno. Maybe he isn't."

"No, he is. Lookit, it's all messed up in here. Lookit all this crap."

"This isn't any of our business."

"No, but it's fun." Footsteps crunch. "He's hiding back in here somewhere. If we catch him—"

"If he catches us—"

Snickers. "Hey, let's go get Robert, bring him back here."

"Sure, as long as we get out of here before—" The rest of what is said is lost in a scramble of feet. The door slams again.

God damn it! You don't have your phone, so you've no way to call Caleb. And what will they think if they find "you" back at the house?

Well, that might stop them. Or it might provoke them into coming back here and making a bigger search for you.

You make another fast circuit, cleaning up. You hide all the rest of the supplies and equipment inside desks, and fix yourself up a better and more comfortable hiding place in a far back corner, where it will be hard for them to search. If you make it look like the mysterious occupant has left, maybe they'll leave too.

Except they'll have seen the lock, and if they come back they'll see that it is still open.