The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)

Secret Agents and Hidden Agendas

Previously: "Inside Information" 

Dealing with Cindy's life means dealing with the aftermath of her "date" with Justin. "So, how was he?" Eva Garner asks after you log in to Skype.

"He was sweet," you say cautiously while squirming girlishly. "He was goofy. He was ... affectionate." You giggle.

"So do you have a thing for him now?"

"I don't know." Something in her tone carries a warning. "Should I?"

It's Eva's turn to squirm. "I don't know what Chelsea will think."

"She was egging me on."

"That's because of Seth, not because of Justin. I mean, honestly, can you see him at Chelsea's? With Gordon and the other guys around?"

"He's really cute, and he has great legs."

"Yeah, but he's not ... you know ..."

"Yeah, I know." You cup your chin in your palm and lean on the desk. "But can I really go back to Seth now?"

"Seth isn't the only guy on the basketball team. What about Darren?"

"Green?" You make a face. "I don't know. Maybe I should just break up with Seth and see what happens?"

"What you oughta do," Eva says guardedly, "is tell Seth he has to prove himself."

"Like how?"

"Pretty obvious, isn't it? Deal with Prescott."

"Yeah, what is wrong with everyone," you whine. "That scene today with him and Steve? Beyond fucked up."

Eva leans in close, as though imparting a confidence. "Look, I was talking with Kendra earlier—" Figures, you think to yourself. That's what this is about. Chelsea telling Kendra to tell Eva to tell you ... "—and Chelsea is, like, going out of her mind. I mean, Steve quitting Eastman to go to Westside? Everything is, like, totally drama, and not like the way Chelsea likes. She's freaked. This is supposed to be her perfect year, and suddenly everything is all fucked up. Her and Gordon are fighting all the time, and not in that 'I'm going to make you behave' kind of way."

"Are they going to break up?" you gasp.

"Oh, please." Eva rolls her eyes. "But she needs someone to solve this for her."

"Like who?"

"Like Seth?" Even with the fuzzy image, Eva looks very knowing.

You groan. "So I'm elected? I'm supposed to tell him to man up?"

"I think you put yourself out there," Eva says primly. "All that talk about how awesome Justin was, and how you were all, like, hot for him after he beat the shit out of Prescott. You crawled out on that limb yourself, honey, and Chelsea just climbed out after you with a handsaw."

Your phone dings, and you wince to see it's a text from Chelsea herself. "So I'm not supposed to hook up with Justin," you ask as you open it. There's an attached photo, which you also open.

"That's what I think, and I think that's what you should think too."

Okay, you mutter to yourself. So why is Chelsea sending me a cell phone snapshot of Cindy and Justin after cheerleader practice today, along with a note saying "2 cute!!!!"?

* * * * *

"So, you seen Justin Roth around today?" Chelsea's eyes glint.

It's Tuesday, and you're in the locker room after first-period practice. You'd been dreading dealing with Chelsea directly, and it's like she could smell the funk of terror coming off you, because she'd ostentatiously avoided the topic all during the workout—only to spring it on you now, when you've had maximal time to figure out the correct thing to say and minimal time (during the break) to say it at length.

"I wasn't looking for him," you say casually, "and I think he hasn't been looking for me."

"You know, if you want someone else, you know, a friend, to talk to him, you know, to find out ..." Chelsea trails off with a smile.

You watch the room out of the corner of your eye. Everyone is ignoring your little conference. "I don't think he'd talk to you, Chelsea," you murmur.

"Why?" Her smile turns violently upside down. "Is he stuck up or something?"

"He doesn't seem like the type to talk about it, with anyone."

"Well, no one has to talk to him about it, I mean, not it it, you know?" Her smile reappears, and now it is wicked. "Anyway, he just seems like an interesting guy. You wouldn't mind if I talked to him, would you?"

"He's not my boyfriend, Chelsea." That was the wrong thing to say: her eyebrows shoot up. "What I mean is, anyone can talk to him. I'm just surprised you're interested in him."

"Oh?" Her tone acquires the playfulness of a cat that has just trapped a particularly arrogant mouse and decided to have some fun teaching it humility. "Do you think I'm stuck up or something?"

"No, but you have a boyfriend." Her eyes freeze. One point for the mouse ...

"Well," she replies, "I'm very interested in what happens. You're just so cute together, and he could be a real breath of fresh air around here. Speaking of which, when are you going to change your perfume, Lin?" She rounds on the unfortunate Ms. Pol. "It stinks like a Shanghai cathouse in here!" Then she stomps out.

* * * * *

Actually, you had been looking for Justin, though with the firm expectation that he would not be found. So imagine your reaction when you round a corner after second period and smack right into him. You leap and squeal.

He hitches his backpack a little more firmly onto his shoulder, and bends over you with a smile. "What are you doing after school, you little vixen?"

"Ummmmm ...."

"Yesterday was too much fun. Today, could we keep it, like, in first gear?"

Your breath is coming in quick gulps. "I really don't feel like getting together with you again."

"Yeah," he drawls. "Except you really want to, right?" He lightly pinches the top of your breast. "I don't have to tell you what you'd be missing."

You feel the color rising in your face. "I think I'd rather miss it."

"Hey, you're already playing a dangerous game— Will you fucking stop pushing me?" he snarls over his shoulder at the passing throng. He turns back to you, smarm re-engaged. "You took a pretty fucking big risk yesterday after our little session. Why are you suddenly so cautious?"

"Someplace public," you say, thinking quickly. "The bleachers out by the practice field."

"Three-thirty. See you there." You hold each other's eyes, watching over your shoulders, as he passes on.

You turn, to find Seth watching you angrily from nearby. It's the first you've seen of him today too—How perfect!—and you sniff and turn your head and pass him by.

* * * * *

"Do me a favor?" you ask Eva as you exit the cafeteria together after lunch. "I'm meeting Justin out by the practice field after school, and I want someone there to keep an eye on us."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want any more stupid rumors getting started. Can you bring Jeremy along?"

Eva stops dead in her tracks, her eyes wide. "Jesus, why would I do that? Besides, he has basketball practice then!"

"So he can be late! And I want him to see because he's, like, Seth's best friend."

"What's gonna happen?"

"I don't know," you admit. "But if Jeremy can watch and report on it to Seth, it would be better for everyone, you know?"

She shifts uncomfortably, but agrees.

* * * * *

Your real reason for arranging for witnesses—and as you sit down on the benches at three-twenty you are relieved to see Eva and Jeremy already sitting on the grass of the practice field, pretending not to be watching you—is in case "Justin" gets rambunctious. Jeremy is a big guy, and should be able and willing to intervene if he sees anything untoward going down.

Still, you draw back as Justin approaches, trodding heavily from bleacher to bleacher with his eyes down as he ascends. When he reaches you, he pauses, to gaze down at you with an ambiguous expression, before dropping with a sigh by your side. "Well, this is pretty fucking awkward, isn't it?" he says.

"So, what do you want to talk about?"

"You're a smart guy. What do you think?"

"All cards on the table," you cautious ask.

"More like masks off, and I mean that literally."

"Not here," you gape. "And I'm not going someplace alone with you."

"Aren't you curious to know what's under my face?" He smiles mischievously.

"I can make two good guesses."

"Bet they'd both be wrong," he says with a grin.

Your eyes narrow. The hell is going on here?

"Okay, you won't go off with me alone," he sighs. "I can dig it. How about this, then?" He squeezes under the bleachers, to drop onto the ground below. You bend over to watch him as, shielded from the gaze of all observers, he puts his hand to his brow and begins to mutter. He tugs.

Your first guess would have been "Will Shabbleman," but it's not Shabbleman who turns to look up at you. Nor is it Aubrey Blackwell.

It's the guy you met at the archery range a few days ago, and it unsettles you further to see that he hasn't passed out—as usually happens when a mask comes off.

"Maybe you don't remember me," he says with a shrug. "But we've met. And your friend over there, the beanpole who's doing a really bad job pretending not to spy on us? He'd definitely know who I am.

"So if you don't mind, I'd like to put Justin's face back on, and then maybe we can go off someplace private to talk?"

Next: "A Game of Questions" 

*
"Table of Contents (Vol. 3)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)"