The Book of Masks (Abridged)

The Crises of Cameron Huber

EVEN IF YOU REALLY WANTED TO SWITCH, Cameron's own personality doesn't want to let you run away from a fight. And he gets reinforcements at lunch, when you finally get together with Anne for a serious amount of time.

"That must've been some kiss you saved up for me last night," she says when your mouths finally part. You're holding her tightly in your arms, and she seems to nestle naturally there, as though you could fold your pecs and shoulders entirely around her. You're very conscious of the erection you've got, and she has to be too, since it is pressing against her as firmly as she is pressing against you.

You peer down at her. She's not small, so you have pull your head back and crane your neck a little. She has a long face, dusted all over with small freckles, and hooded eyes, and a mane of dark red hair that she likes to keep pulled back in a bushy pony tail. "I should take you someplace and give you the other half," you say.

Instead, you go into the cafeteria, arms around each others' waists, and take a couple of trays back over to your usual table. Intramural tensions are such that members of the football team never sit together, and you usually hang out with Anne's friends.

That means you haven't got much to talk about, because her musician-heavy circle (Danielle Davis, Mark Kinley, Ben Kleema, and Brent Pruitt, among others) don't have much to say about sports, and you have little to say about their interests, except when mutual teachers and classes intersect. But that's okay. You've got Anne.

"If he wanted to be any stupider he'd have to take lessons," Brent is saying.

"Hasn't your dad said anything to him?" Danielle asks, her eyes and mouth wide with amazement. "I mean, my dad--"

"I think he has," Brent says. "I think the whole family has. But he won't listen." He rolls his eyes.

"Is this private gossip?" Anne asks.

"We're talking about Brent's uncle," Ben says. He hides a smile by biting on the knuckles of one hand while stirring his lunchtime mush around with a fork in the other. He shakes his head.

"My uncle's in love," Brent says.

"How did they meet?" Danielle asks.

"I don't know. You see," Brent says, turning to you and Anne with a weak smile. "The girl he's in love with is in jail."

"Are you shitting us?" you gasp. "How do you meet girls in jail? Is he, like, a security guard?"

"No. I said I don't know how they met."

"You haven't heard the best parts," Mark says, and tips back a can of juice.

"How can it get better than that?" you laugh.

"Well, he wants to marry her."

"In jail? Or when she gets out?"

"It'll have to be in jail," Brent continues. "Because she'll be in there for a while. She's in for attempted murder."

Your jaw drops. "Now you are shitting me!"

Brent shakes his head. "Yeah, she hired a hit man. So she's also in jail for embezzlement, because she stole twenty thousand dollars from the state agency where she worked in order to pay him."

"You didn't tell us that part!" Danielle exclaims.

"The rest was juicy enough," Brent says.

"Where was this?" Mark asks.

"Out west," Brent shrugs. "Montana or someplace."

"So who was she trying to kill?"

There's a pregnant pause around the table. Something plops off the back of your head, but you ignore it.

Brent sucks on his upper lip a moment. "Her husband," he finally says.

It takes a moment for all the gears to spin into place and lock: "Your uncle wants to marry a woman who's in jail for trying to kill her husband?!"

"Shh, Cameron, jeez," Brent says. "You don't have to yell it out."

"What does your family say about this?" Anne gasps.

"That's where you came in," Danielle says.

"Well, I think they've told him it's a bad idea, but--" Brent blinks as he looks at you, then cocks his head. "Hey, I think someone's trying to get your attention."

"Yeah, what is that?" you mutter. For the third time it's felt like something has hit you in the back of the head. You put your hand there and turn around with a frown.

Three tables away a couple of figures turn swiftly and hunch over their trays. Even at this distance you can see that they are laughing. As you watch, feeling the color rising up your neck, they turn to peer back with mirthful faces. One of them is Dalton Douglas.

You look down at your hand, and at the slimy stain on your fingers. On the floor is green goop--the vegetable puree Douglas was flicking at you. "Cameron," Anne says, putting a hand on your arm, but you ignore her as you rise and stalk over.

You will give Douglas until the count of five to turn around before you grab him, but he looks up almost as soon as you are behind him. "Hey man," he chortles. "You looked extra hungry today, so I thought I'd share some of my shit."

"I don't want your shit, so I'll be giving it back along with some extra portions you can choke down." You reach for him.

The tables creak, and Gordon Black and Steve Patterson rise simultaneously. A second later, Jason Lynch jumps up to join them. But they don't scare you, even though the two basketball players are almost half a head taller than you, and solidly built. "Hey, thanks," you smile tightly at them. "But I got this."

"You got discipline problems on your team, that's what you got," Black growls.

"Yeah, and I'm about to exercise a little discipline over the team now."

"You're a shitty captain, Huber, and you got a shitty team. You should talk to me about how to do things before you make things worse for yourself."

"You, Black?" Your eyes flick over to his friend. "Is Patterson going to hold your hand while you, uh, 'teach me' how to run my team?"

There's a hard light in his eyes. "Four fifteen, out on your practice field," he says softly.

"I'll be there," you say. "Here's a preview of what I'll be saying." You grasp Dalton's shoulder.

"Hands off my friend," Gordon says.

"Make me."

The tension is broken by a small voice. "Is there a problem here?" You and Gordon keep staring at each other, until by some unspoken agreement you tear away from each other simultaneously to take in the speaker: Ms. Graham, the creative writing teacher. She is a tiny woman, and she is wearing a terrified smile.

But she's still an authority figure. "Huber is touching my friend," Gordon says.

Her eyes flick over to you. "Please stop touching Gordon's friend," she says in a breathy voice.

It's like fire ants running all up and down inside your blood vessels. But with a jerk you let go of Douglas. Gordon smirks. You clap him on the arm. "See you this afternoon, buddy."

"Looking forward to it," he replies, and claps you back.

* * * * *

"What has two legs and flies?" you ask Sean as you lean up against the wall next to him.

"Keith Tilley during the summer," Sean replies. "I'd almost forgotten that old joke."

"Then you didn't hang out with Keith much over the summer. Have you seen 'em around?"

"Tilley? Yeah, I got him third period."

"I meant us, too. You know." You shrug uncomfortably. "It's kinda weird, isn't it? I mean, I used to think I looked kind of cool in that cap." You resettle the hat you are currently wearing, which fits much more snugly over your tight hair than Prescott's cap fits over that mat of straw that sticks out every which way.

"Yeah, well, at least you don't gotta talk to your original. I get to work with mine out at Salopek every afternoon."

"Is that where you picked up--" You jerk your chin at him.

"Yeah," he says. He gets a little bit of a furtive expression on his face. "Guy, uh, was sort of my supervisor. I had that shit out there, you know, the book and my supplies, and he caught me with them."

"So you--" He shrugs, and you drop a subject that he sounds like he wants to avoid. "Okay, so tell me how come I get to be Cameron?" Your eyes narrow. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Don't you like it? How's Anne?"

"Anne's great. Douglas and Carstairs I like a lot less. Oh, by the way, I got a meeting with Gordon Black after school. He thinks he's got something to teach me."

"Really." His tone is neutral.

"Really. So how about you tell me what this about. Ever since you and Bickelmeier buried the hatchet-- Why were you two always after each other?"

"You mean him and Sean? It's complicated. I wasn't so much interested in it, so I smoothed things over when I, uh--."

"Huh. Well, now the problem is that I'm in the middle of a pile of shit."

"And now we start fixing it," he says with a sly smile. He leans forward.

"You and me," he continues. "Like this." He presses his chest lightly. "Add James and Carson and Paul and Keith. Maybe a few others. Get them to be like ... Oh, I dunno who. But get them to be like ... this." Again he touches his chest. "And together we make Douglas and Black and the Molester and Kirkham and all the others go away."