The Book of Masks (Abridged)

Kooky Kapers

IT'S NOT A HUGELY IMPORTANT DEAL, so you don't bother Carson until much later in the afternoon, when you call him from home, where you're trying to straighten your desk before starting on your math homework. "So, I talked to Dane this afternoon--"

"That guy?" Carson snorts. "Fucker almost ran over me in the parking lot after school."

You blink. "Did you stay late or something?"

"No," he says. "I didn't leave right away, but I didn't stay late. Why?"

"Well, it's just that Dane has detention with Walberg after school--" You pull at a loose sheet of paper on your desk, and a whole stack tumbles over.

"Ah, I guess that explains why he was in such a hellbent-for-leather hurry, then. Getting away while the getting was good."

You cock your head. "He was already in detention when I saw him," you mutter. "How late was this?"

"I don't know, what does it matter?" Carson cries. "I'm walking to my car and he comes racing along and clips me so hard I spun around twice. Fucker didn't even stop."

"He actually hit you with his car?" You move that fallen stack of paper over to your bed.

"No! He was on foot! Jesus, Dane Matthias behind a wheel?" Carson exclaims. "Dude'd wind up on Saturn."

"You said--! Oh, never mind. Maybe Walberg left and he made a break for it. Anyway, I talked to him." You recount your conversation with Dane as you sort through all the debris. "So I guess the whole denial thing is official."

Carson is unimpressed. "It's Kim's word that counts. I bet Dane doesn't even remember Saturday."

"Yeah, he said--"

"Lotta thick haze between Saturday and today. On a clear day, relatively speaking, Dane can probably see five minutes into the past."

"Well, I'm feeling better, at any rate" you say. You're eyeballing a sheet of paper that you'd forgotten you had. "After what I said to you on Saturday-- I mean, after we left--"

"I'm so glad," Carson says dryly. "But if I spot any doppelgangers, I'll let you know."

You make a sour face: You shouldn't have reminded Carson of that nonsense you'd been spouting, as now he'll almost certainly make a running joke of it. But it was hard not to, considering what's written on the paper you're holding: Purport to be another and Beware of twins and Dismiss the original person and a few other translated passages from that kooky book.

You try changing the subject by asking Carson for help on that math homework. But one thought will follow on another, especially as your eye keeps returning to those notes. And in the present instance, one thought following on another is like a long line of freight trains rapidly rear-ending each other: Doubles. People in two places at once. Getting people out of the way so a substitute can take their place. "What do you think of Mansfield?"

"I try not to think of Mansfield. And shouldn't you be more concerned about what Lisa--"

"Do you think you could keep Geoff distracted Wednesday night?" you blurt out. "Like, maybe you could have an attack of appendicitis, and he's the only guy you can call to take you to the hospital?"

There's a long silence, and you take advantage of it to navigate to a web page showing the university orchestra's schedule for the season. Eight o'clock. WA Mozart, Piano Concerto No. 10 in E flat.

"Prescott," Carson says very carefully. "I've asked a lot of very regrettable questions of various people over the years. And I'm going to ask you a question now, one that will probably end up somewhere near the top of a very mortifying list. One that includes the time I asked my Uncle Morris where babies come from, and he told me 'Daddy's sock drawer,' which is how I first came to be naively acquainted with condoms--"

"I want to get rid of Mansfield."

"Oh, well, who doesn't? But I'm not going to help you dig up that time capsule so you can--"

"I mean, I want him distracted. Wednesday night. I'm going to a concert--"

"No one's playing at the convention center."

"The university." You try out a very Geoff-like sneer. "Mozart."

"Who the fuck is Meowtz-art?"

"Geoff and Lisa are going to this concert, and I want to show up there and I want Geoff not to."

Another silence. "Prescott, is this going to turn into an I Love Lucy episode, with you disguised as an Arab sheikh, and then Ricky comes in and--"

"Oh, never mind. Just see what I have to say when you ask me to keep James distracted so you can get it on with Yumi."

"I'm not interested in-- Hang on, is Yumi interested in me?"

"No one's interested in you. Except when you know how to do number seventeen on the math homework."

You spend the rest of the conversation talking about how to calculate curves.

* * * * *

Tuesday morning, and Walberg is walking up and down the rows of desks, handing back the papers from Friday. People quietly cheer or quietly groan as he comes closer to you and Caleb. Your heart pounds as he sets your paper face down on your desk. You bite your upper lip and glance at Caleb. He sniffs and carefully turns his paper over. He blinks as he looks at it. Then he smiles, and holds it up to show you: There's a big "A" at the top, and the comment "Excellent cultural artifact."

You blink, too. He's not calling Caleb's bluff? Didn't he take notes on what each student submitted? Did he just assume--as Caleb said he might--that he made a mistake on his notes? Or--

You settle back with a Cheshire grin. Maybe it was your paper that convinced him not to call Caleb's bluff. Walberg must have known that you didn't submit an accurate paper about your contribution to the time capsule--and that if he called Caleb on his bullshit, he'd risk exposing the fact that he stole your real contribution from the capsule. That means that you should also have received a good grade on your paper, since he could hardly call your bluff if he didn't call Caleb's.

Smugly you turn your own paper over.

F. See me after school.

Your stomach plunges into the earth, far deeper than the bottom of the hole with that time capsule in it.

You watch Walberg closely for the rest of class, but he never calls on you or even seems to look at you.

* * * * *

Brooke is weeping by the doorway as you stumble out of Walberg's, but you ignore whatever drama has encompassed her, if for no other reason than because Kelsey is with her, and the less you have to do with Kelsey the happier you will be.

Also, you have the sudden need to shit.

That's a dangerous thing to do during breaks, so you decide to skip your next period and take care of business then. Usually you're much more competent at managing the timing of your bowel movements, but Walberg's note has accelerated certain digestive mechanisms.

When the tardy bell has rung, you duck into a nearby boys' room; luckily, it is deserted, and you take the farthest stall. You're almost finished with your business when you hear the door slam open. Uh oh. You draw your feet up and hold your breath.

"Over here," a voice says, and the door to the next stall bangs back. There's the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. "Keep an eye on the door. Keep people out."

You blink: That's Dane Matthias's voice, and his stoner's rasp has hardened into something masterful.

"We shoulda done it after school," another voice says, and now you gasp: That's Seth Javits.

"I got something scheduled for then," Dane snaps. "And we need this one in a hurry. We're lucky we caught him when we did."

"If we get caught--" Javits says in an uncharacteristic whine.

"We'll get a hall pass. Christ!"

"I mean if someone catches us here, doing this!"

"That's why you're guarding the door. You know how to do that, don't you, Seth?" Dane's voice drips with scorn.

There's a long silence, filled only by the thump of your heart. Then comes the sound of a zipper. "Shit," Dane mutters. "You got the temp?" Another zipper slides with a rasp. Dane mutters again, and then there's a scrambling sound from the next stall. "Okay, you know what to do, right?" Dane says. "Hang out in the library, then ditch school at lunch."

"Yeah, yeah," says a third voice you don't recognize. "Come back after school?"

"Make it the start of sixth. That's Tony's free period." There are a few more muttered words, and then the squeak of sneakers on linoleum as someone leaves. There's another long silence before Dane speaks again. "Okay, get this to Tony," he says.

"A nice new look for him," Javits laughs.

Dane snorts. "So it's not what he wants. Remind him that we all have to pay our dues." Then there are footsteps, and the door to the restroom softly closes.

You exhale raggedly, and then you have to shit some more. You tremble as you stand up and wipe yourself. You have to talk to someone about this--probably Carson, as he's the only person who would even begin to understand what you're talking about.

For you don't care that you recognized two of those three voices. That was not Dane Matthias, and that was not Seth Javits.