The Book of Masks (Vol. 1)

Not the Girl He Thinks You Are

Previously: "Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Awkward Fire" 

by Seuzz

"I'll go with Gregory," you stammer. "Um ..."

The guy raises his eyebrows. He holds your eye, then turns away with a snort.

"Then go tell him to take you home," he says. "We'll talk when I get back." He turns around and jogs off the same direction as the others were going.

You look around. Is this your chance to bolt?

But before you can, yet another bare-chested guy comes running up. "HeySarahwhatareyoustilldoinghere?" he gasps. "Comegetacolawichus." He glances back at you over his shoulder as he jogs off, so with vast reluctance you jog off after him. After three steps, you have to stop to pull off shoes and socks that are now several sizes too big for you, and carry them at your chest the rest of the way.

There's half a dozen shirtless, sweaty guys at the blacktop when you arrive, flopping on the ground or pacing slowly about an ice chest that contains a bunch of cold sodas. Gregory beckons you over with a smile and hands you a half-drunk bottle. You choke it down while trying not to look anyone in the face. Fortunately, no one particularly wants to talk to you.

"Nice neighborhood," one of them says as he looks about. He's a buff, blonde guy with a bright smile.

"Better'n the shithole where you live," another laughs.

"Well, if we had the fuckin' money, we could live here," the blonde guy retorts.

"And if you had a dick, you could get laid!"

"Hey, I can get laid!"

"Doesn't mean you got a dick."

The blonde guy's eyes flare, and he yanks at the front of his shorts. "Fuck you, Linwood!" he blusters. "You wanna talk about— I got dick here enough to—!"

"Shut up, Joe," snaps a third. He's got dark hair and dark eyes, which dart restlessly and watchfully without ever settling on anything. "There's ladies present."

"Yeah, you hear that, Linwood?" the one called Joe jeers. "Ladies like—! Oh." He catches himself and pales when his eyes fall on you.

"That's okay," Gregory says. He touches your shoulder. "We're just going. Are we?" he asks you.

It takes you a moment to find your voice. "I was going to ask you for a ride."

"Then come on. Catch up with you guys tomorrow," Gregory tells the others, over which an awkward silence seems to have fallen. "Unless Joe wants to organize a dick-measuring contest later," he adds with a grin.

"Sorry about that," Gregory says in a low voice as he leads you over to where a bunch of cars are parked on the shoulder of the road. "The guys kind of get carried away sometimes." He opens the passenger-side door for you.

"It's okay," you say as you get in. Your skin prickles all over as he closes the door on you, and you have to fight the urge to throw up. "Um," you stammer as he gets in behind the wheel. "You're taking me home? You know where that is?"

Gregory gives you an incredulous stare. Then he laughs, though it comes out strangled. "Yeah," he says. "I think so!" He starts the car.

Fuck, there's gotta be away out of this, you tell yourself as he pulls into the street. But you're damned if you see how.

"What was your brother yelling at you back there about?" Gregory asks.

My brother? you want to ask. "Oh, I don't know," you say. "I guess because I stayed behind when all my friends left?"

Gregory grins at you. "'Cos you were gonna ask me for a ride home? Do you want to go home, or do you want to ...?" He stretches out the word "to" provocatively. You can't help shuddering a little. Is this guy supposed to be my boyfriend? you wonder.

"Let's just drive around the neighborhood a little," you tell him. "Um. J— Joe's right. It's a nice neighborhood."

"Uh huh. I guess. You know, my folks looked at moving out to this side of town, back when I was in elementary school. Glad we didn't."

"How come?"

"'Cos then we probably wouldn't have met! I'd be going to the other high school."

Other high school? You seize on the clue. So are these guys from Eastman? That's on the other side of the city! What the hell are they doing in your neighborhood?

"But you told your brother you wanted to get a ride from me?" Gregory is saying. "Was that how come he was mad?"

"I ... guess?"

"Well, that sucks. Fuck." A sudden moodiness seems to settle over him. "I don't suppose he could have been mad at you on account of those clothes you're wearing," he sullenly adds.

"My clothes? What's wrong with—?" You glance down. Oh. Right. The clothes that are a sloppy fit for Will Prescott, but which are probably all wrong for Sarah White.

"So what's the deal with them? I wasn't going to say anything, but Jesus, Sarah, when did you change into them?"

And just like that, you suddenly see a way out of this trap you've fallen into.

"Wait, what did you call me?" you squeak. "Sarah? My name's not Sarah!"

"Huh?" Gregory turns toward you. "What the fuck are you—?"

"My name's not Sarah!" you squeak again. "I don't know who you are!" you insist in a rush of words. "I was just going along with you all because you were acting like you knew me! My name's ... Bonny! Bonny Belinda Buttonwood!" You yank the door open as the astonished Gregory jerks the car to a stop. "Call her!" you holler as you jump out. "Call Sarah Whoeversheis! She'll tell you I'm not her!"

You scamper off just as fast as you can, the hot asphalt biting your bare feet, until you see an opening between two houses, through which you sprint to the alleyway behind. You run along this until you get your bearings, then jog along until you come to an empty lot about two blocks from your house. There's a stand of trees and bushes in the midst of it, and it's amongst these that you squat to remove the mask of Sarah White. After you wake, you stumble the rest of the way home, where you change clothes and text Caleb.

* * * * *

"Are you actually trying to be the world's biggest fuck up?" Caleb demands when you are at his house an hour later. "Are you actually losing IQ points by the minute?"

"I knew I shouldn't've told you about it," you grumble. "I knew you'd make a big deal out of— Hey!" You duck as Caleb hurls a book at your head.

"First," he fumes, "like a regular dumbass, you go back to the old school after I told you not to. Then—"

"You're not the boss of this operation!"

"—like an even dumber dumbass— And if this 'operation'"—Caleb makes finger quotes around the word—"isn't going to get fucked up the rectum, then maybe it does need a boss, and a boss who isn't a dumbass, which apparently rules you out!"

"Alright!" you holler. "So I fucked up! Except I didn't! I totally got away with it! I mean, lookit me!" You throw your arms in the air. "I did get away!"

"Except now people are going to be on the lookout for doppelgangers."

"No they're not!" you sneer.

"You told that guy—"

"I told that guy I was some other girl! It happens sometimes, you know!"

"What, telling guys you're actually a girl?"

"You know what I mean! You run into someone who looks like someone else you know. And anyway, those guys were from the other side of town, they got nothing to do with us."

Caleb wheels around to his computer and starts typing words into the search engine. You let him tap away in a silent fury for a minute or so, then trudge over to look over his shoulder. He brings up a web page. "So was it any of these guys?" he asks, indicating a picture of a bunch of jocks in basketball shorts and jerseys, spread in a semicircle under a basket. The page identifies them as the Eastman Eagles.

"Yeah, him." You point to one of the players. "That's the guy I got a ride home with. Oh, shit!" You recognize the coach, in his track pants and sweat shirt. "That's the other guy! The first one I ran into!"

"Shawn Gregory," Caleb reads off. "And Coach Dale White."

"The girl's name was Sarah White. Shit! That was her brother!"

"Well, I don't give a fuck, and I don't want to have to. You're goddamned lucky that it was only the Eastman basketball squad you ran into out there. Though I wonder," he adds, and pulls his lip, "what they were doing in our neck of the woods."

"Looking for doppelgangers, no doubt," you retort. "Shit, we're fucked now, dude."

Caleb pops you in the side of the jaw. "Just be glad it was a bunch of brainless jocks," he says. "They'll have a few beers and kill the brain cells that remember what happened."

* * * * *

But even you have to admit that Caleb has a point, and you feel kind of guilty for the stupid things you did out at the old school. So, to make it up to him, you hit your dad up for a loan of fifty dollars, calling it an advance on Caleb's salary that you want to pass on to him. Your dad, though, only laughs at the proposal and turns you down.

You bump into your brother, Robert, in the upstairs hallway as you head back to your room. Something about the way he's dressed—a long-sleeve shirt over a pullover; heavy twill cargo shorts; hiking boots; and a backward-turned ball cap—suggest he's loaded for bear. You ask where he's going.

"Over to the community center," he tells you. "I'm meeting Shawn and Jeff. You know, where they thought they saw you," he smirks.

"You should stay away from there," you warn him. "The cops were out there this morning."

"That's how come we're going out. They busted a homeless guy or something. We're going to check it out."

Next: "Retrieval Mission" 

*
"Table of Contents (Vol. 1)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 1)"