The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)

Rhapsody in Brown

Previously: "Any Club That Would Have You as a Member" 

It surprises you a little that Sydney is willing to take a wrestler as one of her pedi-whatevers. After all, it's not like she'll be using the mask as an alias, right?

But you'd probably feel out of place at a party filled with wrestlers, soccer players and other kids like that; and it would be worse being there while Sydney was flirting hard with one of the jocks.

So you acquiesce in her plan. You set the masks aside long enough to make up another tub of that goop, this time using Sydney's hair, then resume the main work. Sydney helps you, and she is very cheerful and chatty as she polishes up the second mask while you bend over the memory strips.

* * * * *

It's deep into the evening before you finish, but that's okay, as the party is unlikely to start rocking hard before ten. Sydney gives you a lingering smooch before driving off. Not until she's gone do you realize that she's taken both masks. You think nothing of it, though.

But the next morning brings a surprise.

The first clue that something has gone wonky comes when you're woken by a text at nine-thirty. It's from Keith, and you pry your eyes open only long enough to glare at it before shutting back down again with your face in the pillow. A feeling of unease gnaws at the back of your brain though, and when it finally penetrates the acrid, early-morning brain fog you lift your head long enough to open the text. It includes a single link to x2z.com. You press it, wondering why Keith—who told you yesterday he's not talking to you anymore—would be sending you a link to that shithole site.

The picture is fuzzy, but you recognize the people in it: Sydney and Alec Brown, embracing. You frown at it—you knew something like that was bound to happen at the party—but you don't start to worry until you see that there's a long tangle nested comments beneath it. The first one is enough to liquefy your bones with dread: wheres will presscot?

You roll onto your back and hold your phone over your face, glaring at the screen as you open up the reply, and the reply to the reply, and the threads that branch off those replies and off each other. They're all variations on a single thought: ha ha, sydney's come to her senses, sucks to be will.

It tears your guts out to see everyone laughing at you as a loser who thought he was actually going to be going out with Sydney. But what's worse is reading the handful of anonymous replies that take your side. They denounce Sydney as a slut, which sets your gut boiling.

Then you read the replies to those posts, which accuse the anonymous poster of being you. Yes, accusing you of being the chicken-shitted loser who went onto x2z and to call the girl you love a slut because she always knew that she was always too good for you.

You drop your phone and lay paralyzed in bed. No, it's worse than being paralyzed. You feel like someone has nailed you to the bed with a giant, iron spike driven straight through your gut.

You lay there for an hour, trying to convince yourself that it's all worthwhile. What does it matter that people are sneering and jeering at you online? You won't be yourself for much longer. You might even be one of the people doing the sneering and jeering. (You didn't check the names of the posters closely.) And even if you stay as yourself, at least this disaster will get Blake and Kirkham and other people off your ass.

Won't it?

* * * * *

Your next clue that something has gone wonky comes when in at a little before noon You're in the kitchen, getting a little lunch when a text from Alec Brown pops up: hey prescott dude lets get tgthre ths aftrn . You send your reply to Sydney: r we meeting up w alec brown today? Her reply is even more mysterious: Just meet with Alec, ok? and she doesn't reply when you ask if she's going to be there too.

So to Alec's second text—u ther will?—you reply yes what time meet n whr?

He says he's already waiting for you at the elementary school. You shove your plate back in the refrigerator and race out to your truck.

* * * * *

"Yo, Will!" Alec grins and jerks his chin at you as you hop out of the cab. "Thanks for coming over. I oughta get a key to this place."

"Did Sydney send you over?" You warily eye the plastic bags he's holding.

It's his laugh that tells you what's going on, even before he says, "Come on, Will, it's me."

"Oh, Jesus!" Your breath explodes; you'd not realized you'd been holding it in. "You didn't tell me you were going to switch with him!"

"I didn't know I was going to, not until I was ready to go home. Come on, open the fucking door, man. I'm getting tired of holding this shit."

There's none of the girlishness she showed when she had Caleb's mask on, which is just as well, because Brownie—no one calls him "Alec"—looks exactly like a member of "The Caveman Club" should look. He's a nut-brown all over, with close-shorn hair that glistens like butterscotch, and he's knotted all over with muscles. He's hairy as well, and half a head taller than you.

"You have any trouble with the, uh, memory thing?" you ask as you fiddle at the lock. "Personality working okay?"

"Now it is," he says. "It wasn't working good last night, and I had to look at my— at Brownie's driver's license to find out where I lived. But when I woke up this morning it was all there. I guess maybe you have to sleep on it in order to get them?"

That's not the way it worked with you, but you let it slide. "What've you got there?" you ask he brushes past you with his bags.

"Supplies. We were running short, right? I couldn't remember everything we needed to make masks, so I just picked up what I knew we could use." He looks around after setting the bags down on the large conference table. "How was your night?"

"Okay. How was yours?" You try to stop yourself from shooting resentful, sidelong glances at him. "I guess it worked out."

"Oh yeah. It wasn't hard talking Brownie into going off alone with me." He flips open the book. "Then, y'know, boom. Mm," he mutters as he runs a finger down the page. "I see two things— Three? Need to make a list." He takes out his cell phone. "Can you pull the rest of the stuff together, see if we can at least get started on a couple more masks before I go out to get the rest of what we need? Oh yeah," he adds as he taps at his phone. "Yeah, turns out Brownie's a total man-whore."

Your chest is tightening. "So I guess no one was surprised when he went off with Sydney."

He peers up at you. "You don't got cause to be jealous, Will."

"I'm not!" But it feels like a sac of poison has exploded in your guts. "But I guess you haven't checked out your social media?"

"Pff, like what does it fucking matter."

"So are we still going out together? You and me? Me and Sydney?" He frowns at you. "'Cos according to what people are saying online, you dumped me for this—" You point at him, and bite your tongue before you can call your girlfriend's alias a bad name.

"The fuck are you talking about, Will?"

You pull out your phone, scroll to Tilley's text, hit the link to x2z, and hand it to him. You study his face—his expression tightens but remains impassive—as he scrolls through the posts.

"Huh," he says a couple of minutes later. "I guess that is kind of a complication. Well, it doesn't matter."

"How come not?"

"Because we're not those people anymore. Not going to be."

You stare at him. "We're not?"

Brownie frowns.

"You don't want to be Sydney McGlynn anymore?" you continue. "You're going to be this guy from now on? And who is she going to go out with? After all this, she can't go out with—" You swallow; it feels like your Adam's apple is trying to choke you. "With Will Prescott anymore."

Brownie kicks at the ground and sighs. He brushes his hair back. When he looks up again, it's with a squint.

"We'll figure out something, Will," he says. "Maybe we had a fight, and that's how come I, you know, went off with Brownie. It doesn't have to be a big deal. He's not going to come between us, you know. He can make a big deal of apologizing to you, making it up to you." He turns his squint toward the ceiling. "Brownie's a pretty decent guy. He didn't even know you and me were going out, or else he wouldn'ta—"

But he catches himself, and mutters. "Well, maybe he would've anyway."

Sydney is trying to make you feel better, but you're still feeling lost and bewildered. So you just make a face when Brownie says, "Come on, let's start figuring out who we're gonna get for you to be. You'll feel better when you're someone else."

"The Caveman's Club," you murmur.

"Sure. Or, it doesn't have to be. Maybe Brownie should hook up with a new girl tonight. It could be you." He grins, wolfishly. "You wanna be the whore who cheats with the man-whore, sends Sydney back to Will."

You jump as though slapped.

"Or," he continues, "and just hear me out. Change of plans. We take over Brownie's family instead. There's six of them, including Brownie. And you know how I was talking earlier about taking over the Christian school? They're all, like, evangelical and shit, so they'd be awesome as the core of a Baphomet Brotherhood."

Next: "At Home with the Browns" 

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