The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)

Meet the Locals

Previously: "A Little Magic Trick" 

by Masktrix

It takes five days to fully polish the mask, squeezing the time in between school routine and study time while trying to keep it out of sight of Tammy-Lynn. Worse, the second week back is always ‘Charity Week’, with volunteers recruited at the end of last term taking part in visits to care homes, local outreach and student car washes down in Lattyville. Some of the more eager students are even taking in donations from locals, gathering up a big pile of junk that can be shipped off to Africa or used to feed local families in hardship. It’s meant to remind everyone of how privileged they are to go to St Francis Xavier, although this year’s donation drive has been taken over by Dalton Reeves, whose habit of treating the drop spot like a military supply pool makes you wonder if people will be so generous in the future.

But by Wednesday night you have rubbed all the grayish-white from the mask so that it is a burnished blue inside and out.

That's when you sneak back into The Crypt to cast a second mask, and when you get your second real surprise. To your shock, the page of instructions is stained with an oval, like water damage. Is this Tammy-Lynn's doing? you wonder. Was she snooping through my stuff?

But as you glower at the stain, you notice that it's about the same shape and dimensions of the mask you made. You set the mask atop it, and find it's a perfect match.

And as you lift the mask, the page beneath, which all this time has been firmly stuck to the rest of the book, flutters free. You feel the blood draining from your face as you examine the reverse for signs of glue. But there are none. There is no sticky residue at all that could explain why the page wouldn't come loose earlier.

This is officially crazy, you decide, and set about translating the reverse of the page.

When you're done, you cast that second mask and take it back to your room to polish. It gives you something to do while thinking. For if your translation is right, these masks are able to copy people, letting their wearers disguise themselves!

***

You spend Friday morning daydreaming your way through law, art and politics, thinking of different people whose life you’d love to sample, just for a day. It’s all fantasy, of course – the mask probably doesn’t do anything special at all. What if it does what it promises? So much weird shit has happened in the past week and a half around that book that you’re starting to believe in the impossible. What if it’s really magical, like some YA fantasy novel? What could you do with it?

Who could you turn yourself into?

Abigail Steiner is an obvious choice, beautiful and with prefect power to boot. The idea of surreptitiously stealing her identity, roaming around and commanding people to do whatever you want, is intoxicating. Kate Gross could be fun, too, although you doubt that you could pretend to be that nice for so long. By lunch, you’ve decided the girl you really wish you were is Mathilde Ambard. A French noble with beauty an effortless, Parisienne grace, you know from Vicky Benjamin she’s got a vast collection of clothes in her dorm room – so much so she started occupying half of Vicky’s own wardrobe (without permission) just to hold her shoes. Mathilde often takes off for the weekend, and if you could borrow her looks, that accent, maybe a few pieces of clothing, with careful planning you could spend the whole weekend as her! Maybe you could talk to Mark as Mathilde, seduce him with your newfound figure, hold a secret tryst under a magical glamour. You pinch your lips just thinking about it.

You’re still picking over fish and fries in the dining hall, wondering the best time to get the mask on Mathilde and see what happens, when Mary sits down opposite you. She is practically shaking with fury.

“What’s up?” you ask, only catching Corinne’s rapid shake of the head too late.

“Marius. Hall.” Mary says, her voice slow and deliberate. “Who. Does. He. Think. He. Is?”

“Uh… head boy?” you offer. Mary’s eyes narrow to the thinnest of slits.

“I am an Occam, JM. An Occam.” Her hands tighten against the bench, knuckles turning white. “How am I not the right ‘fit’? How can he, can anyone, turn down this?” she gestures to herself. “Huh? Well, Mr Young Republican, you’ve just made the worst mistake of your political career. You could have had the perfect ally to take us all the way to the White House. Instead, you’re going to end up with some nasty, fake-dye skank from new money, or worse, some pauper. Whereas I…”

She keeps ranting, but you zone out. So, Marius turned Mary down. Great. Now any move you make with your weird magical mask is going to have to wait. You’re not even sure if the mask works, after all, whereas Mary is a friend that needs a distraction. Calmly, you listen, trying to nod in all the right places as she tells you about last night’s study date with Marius, and how, with a kind and gentle smile in the middle of a supervised study hall, he’d told her he didn’t share ‘mutual feelings’. Objectively, you get the impression Marius was trying to be kind. There’s little point telling that to Mary, though.

“We’re going into town tonight,” she finally declares, with a hiss of breath as she composes herself. Next to her, Corinne nods sympathetically. “You’ve got your little photo assignment thing to do, JM. Surely that includes how ladies can entertain themselves.”

“Uh, yeah,” you say. “I guess. We could go out, have some fun. I’ll take a few pictures ‘n’ stuff. I’ve got my country club membership, I can get us…”

“No,” Mary says quickly. “I’ve already decided where we’re going.”

You look at Corinne, who just shrugs. You guess you’ll find out when you get there.

***

You’ve spent Friday nights on beaches. Friday nights in bars. Friday nights watching Broadway shows. You have never, ever, spent Friday night playing mini golf. Worse, it seems next to some kids’ go-kart track, the air humming with the buzz of two-stroke engines. At Mary’s request you’ve taken an Uber out to the fringes of Saratoga Falls, and the kind of weak-ass arcade that passes for entertainment around here. You’ve coordinated your look, white tops and blue bottoms, and you know it makes you stand out in this dive.

You don’t want to be here, but at least it means you can get some shots for your project. You fish your phone out of your shoulder bag, the ready mask also nestled inside, and take a few shots for your photo project. First, two locals playing on a tacky, soda-stained arcade machine next to a nacho stand; then a determined, shaking old man with atrocious form trying to complete out his mini golf round as if he were going for the Claret Jug.

Next, you turn your camera lens to the booth, focusing it on another specimen from the local high school. He’s about your age, slouching, with a lean face and a stupid tuft of beard that needs either shaving or styling. Unlike the two at the arcade machine he’s at least tried to make an effort, with cargo pants that have actually been ironed and neat plaid shirt. He looks kind of like a budget version of Mark, or perhaps the ‘after’ photo if Mark developed a severe meth addiction. You snap a photo, only to pause as you spy the girl he’s chatting to – and realize why you’re really here.

Sat in the booth is Roxanne Hurley. One of the ‘paupers’ – the kids who got into St X through the church – she’s a hipster who’s carved a niche for herself as an effortless standard to which other kids aspire. You’ve always liked her. Mary, on the other hand, has always viewed her money-can’t-buy cool with envy. We’re not here to play mini-golf: we’re here so Mary can make herself feel better by waving money in Roxanne’s face and abusing her power as a paying customer.

You head over to see if you can rein her in. You get there just as Mary passes over a $100 bill, only for Roxanne to check to see if it’s legit. Having gained that small measure of revenge, she thrusts three clubs at Mary, who says something to the local boy then saunters away in victory.

“Sorry about Mary,” you say quietly, heading up to the booth. “She’s in a pissy mood ‘cause Marius turned her down for a date last night.”

Roxanne shrugs. “It’s alright, JM. See you in class Monday.”

You nod and head after the others, catching up with them on the first hole. Mary’s just about to take a putt when a voice cries out, interrupting her swing.

“Hey, ladies!” The boy with the plaid shirt is heading over, with his two friends from the arcade in tow. “Fancy a game?” He jogs over, already embarrassingly out of breath – he must have covered a whole 30 metres. “What I mean is, do you want to play us?”

You all look at each other. Mary’s a bogey golfer, you're reasonable (growing up in Pebble Beach you have to be) and Corinne’s handicap is in the single digits. This is just going to be embarrassing… and you don’t like the gleam Mary has in her eye.

Next: "The Green-Eyed Monster" 

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