The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)

The Tomboy

Previously: "The Connected" 

You had texted ahead on leaving Starbucks, to say you were on your way, so you're not surprised that Jessica Garner is waiting just inside the climate-controlled unit to meet you. She pats the handlebar of the four-wheeled dolly at her elbow. "Have a seat," she says.

You eye her and it warily. "What for?"

"Ride in comfort, man."

You hesitate, then drop cross-legged onto the platform. You're just looking up to ask what the deal is when she leans over you with something blue in her hand. You just have time to feel something cold and smooth being pressed onto your face before the world goes dark.

* * * * *

Voices are sounding, but you can't make out the words, even after you sit up onto your elbow with a wince. You look around. You're still on the dolly, which is resting now halfway down the hall of the climate unit. One of the bays is open, and it's from it that that the voices are coming. The dolly slides beneath you as you stagger to your feet and over to Carlos's studio.

Four cheerleaders are perched on or behind the broad desk when you look in: Jessica and Eva Garner, Cindy Vredenburg, and Maria Vasquez. "Will!" Eva squeals at you, and the other three turn to smile at you. "How was your nap?"

"The fuck is going on?" You grind the heel of your hand into your temple, where a headache is fading. "What did you do to me?"

"Just getting you ready for your body swap," Jessica says. Her grin is very wide and wicked.

"Come on," Cindy says before you can reply, and she takes your arm. "I'll show you." She leads you from the room.

You kick at the dolly as you pass it. "The fuck?"

"Carlos was just being cute." She lifts the rattling door of the next-door bay. "Forget about it."

"But what did he do?"

"He made a copy of you, Will. We told you we had to do that, right?"

You want to ask why Carlos couldn't have warned you, or asked your permission, but you're too dumbstruck to speak.

That's because Carlos's weight room is not unoccupied. Sitting on the bench, glaring at you, is a figure both familiar and alien.

"Will Prescott," says Cindy, "say hello to Will Prescott."

"Jesus," you whisper. It's you sitting on the weight bench—the same straw-colored hair, the same rabbitty eyes, the same fading summertime tan.

Worst of all, he's totally naked. And he doesn't seem embarrassed about it. He's actually leaning back so that you and Cindy have a widescreen presentation of your crotch and junk.

"Yeah, it's kind of freaky the first time you see your own beta," Cindy says. She squeezes your arm. "Come on, give him your things so you can send it home."

"What?"

"He's gotta go home right?" Cindy gives you a look, and behind it you can almost just glimpse the face of your friend Keith. "Don't you have a dumbass curfew or something? Or was that just a lot of bullshit you used to get out of hanging out with me and Caleb?"

You grimace back, but start to strip.

"So how are you and Seth making out?" you ask as you pop off the suspenders and unbutton your jeans.

"Tchsh. Something I'd talk about with Jenny. How about we wait until then."

That's right. In the shock of seeing your beta you'd almost forgotten what you're really here for: to turn yourself into Jenny Ashton. That's really Jenny over there, you marvel silently as you eye your beta sidelong, turned into a copy of me. No wonder she— he— it— looks pissed.

"What made you pick Jenny?" Cindy asks.

"Huh? Oh, I dunno."

"Jesus, Will, you should have a reason. Not that I'm saying she's a bad choice, but c'mon, man. You could'a been—"

"Look, did people argue with you when you said, I want to be Cindy Vredenburg?"

"Nope." She lifts her chin, and again Keith's stubborn dopiness bleeds through the mask and onto Cindy's face. "They were all, like, I wanna be Cindy."

"Well, this way I get to be friends with Cindy at least," you retort. "And with Yumi and Lin and Jessica and Eva and— Fuck, just about anybody."

Cindy frowns. "Yeah, okay, I can respec' that," she says. "And fuck, you can pro'ly get laid, too."

Jesus! "I wasn't thinking about that," you mutter as you hurl your clothes at the beta, who catches them out of mid-air. "And Jenny doesn't get laid. I don't think."

"Well, I'm sure Mike and Carlos 'ud love to get it on with her. So, y'know, you just have to ask."

So that's what he meant, not that you-as-Jenny could get a boy to fuck you. But you prefer to drop the subject, and instead ask what happened to them getting some second betas of their own.

"We were gonna try for that tonight," Cindy says. "Mike wants Kendra, and Carlos wants some friend of Marc's. But it was easier to just get Jenny out here to watch a movie and, y'know, corner her. You know, like you pointed out, all us being friends an' all. Here, I'll go get'cher stuff." She hops from the room—

—which leaves you alone with your beta, which is hurriedly dressing. You shiver as you watch from the corner of your eye, and it's not just from the climate-chilled air settling onto your naked, bony frame.

At least your replacement looks better when dressed, and he looks better than you'd have credited yourself with looking. Rugged jeans, a rugged shirt, suspenders, hiking boots, an outdoorsy hat ... Yeah, the clothes make a difference.

"So," you say to it. "I guess you're supposed to go home and be me."

"Sure." Its tone is sullen, and with a jerk of its shoulders it sweeps up your cell phone—the last piece of the disguise. "I got ten minutes to beat the curfew," it says after checking the screen.

"Then I guess you better go."

It doesn't wait for you to repeat the order, but barrels past you to the door. But you shout "Hey!" and it stops in the doorway, only just missing knocking over Cindy, who has returned. "You know what to do, don't you?" you ask your beta.

It rolls its eyes. "Yeah!"

"It knows everything you know, Will," Cindy says. "It remembers everything right up until we made that mask of you."

That doesn't make you feel any better, and your voice is a nervous croak when you say, "Okay, I guess you can go. Just don't get in any trouble."

It mutters something, then dashes off. Cindy snickers. "What?" you demand.

"You didn't hear him? He said, 'Like you're not getting into any trouble'. Here." She thrusts a pile of clothes at you. There's a mask balanced atop them.

"Can we really trust those things?"

"They do what we tell them, Will."

"Well, all I know is, the thing you made that's supposed to be you really does act like you, except with a shittier attitude."

"That's what makes it perfect."

You'd argue, but it seems wiser to drop the subject.

* * * * *

It was chilly when you lay back on the workout bench and dropped Jenny's mask onto your face, and it's chilly when you wake. For a long moment you stare at the ceiling, thinking, Where am I?

Then you remember the storage unit, and the workout bench, and the mask, and Carlos and Cindy and Keith and Eva and Jessica ...

You bolt upright, giving you a head rush. You cover your face with your hands.

Fuck. They weren't real, none of them were real, they weren't your real friends, they were all a bunch of fakes giggling at you behind your back, plotting to turn you into a fake and to give your face and body to—

You freeze, and your joints creak as you slowly pull your hands down from your face. The long lock of brunette hair falls across your eye.

You are Jenny Ashton. But you're also Will Prescott. For a fluttering moment, as quick and as soft as the single beat of a hummingbird's heart, you are unsure which of those identities to claim as your real one.

But the answer falls on you with the force of a dropped anvil.

Mm. You cup and squeeze Jenny's breast. They're small, but they're nice. You open your legs to peer at her bush—a dark, curly patch. You smile to yourself and hop lightly to your feet.

Out of the corner of your eye you watch yourself in the full-length mirror that Carlos has propped against a wall, as you pick up and don your clothes: panties and bra; a short-sleeved denim top; blue jeans; ankle socks and ratty sneakers. A thin, aquamarine windbreaker. Last is the ball cap, sun-faded from blood-red to dark pink. You pull back your hair, grind the cap onto your head and settle it into place, then grin at yourself.

The tomboyish Jenny Ashton grins back at you.

Next: "Happy Birthday to the New You" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 4)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)"