The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)

The Things You'll Do to Not Be Lonely

Previously: "No Strings" 

You start shaking all over. You figure it's the chill of the night air, and you hug yourself tightly. "Are you cold?" Will asks.

"I think so."

"We can go back inside."

"But I like it out here." Despite the cool air, the darkness has a velvety softness to it. "I should have brought a shawl or something."

Will says nothing. Then you start at a touch to your back. You turn, and find that he has stepped up close, and has his hand on your shoulders.

He withdraws it. "Sorry."

"No, that's okay," you stammer. "I liked that." Yet it's with reluctance that you unclasp your arms and put one around his torso. "You can warm me up," you say as you pull yourself to him.

Neither of you speak for a minute. "God, what a dumb thing to say," Will says when he does speak.

"What's that?"

"I haven't said it yet. Because it's so dumb. But in a million years I never figured I'd find myself standing here, doing this."

"I'm glad we are."

Then you break out in violent trembles, and snot turns loose behind your tear ducts. "Oh, God!"

"What's wrong?" Will asks, sounding alarmed.

You snuffle and sniff. "Now it's my turn to be scared!" You fumble for you purse to find a tissue, but you left your purse downstairs, and you can only pinch at the tip and bridge of your nose to stem the hot snot and tears. "You were the one who was so scared at first, remember? Back at the old school that first night? But now—" You break off.

"What are you scared of?"

"I don't even know! I just am!"

You are scared, suddenly, and it was feeling Will at your side, inside your arm, that made you realize it. You've been getting through each day one at a time by following Kelsey's instincts. But always, in the back of your mind, has been the thought that you'd somehow get back into your own body, and that even if you didn't, Kelsey would be in the same pickle that you're in, so there's be at least two of you fighting this "curse" or whatever it is.

Is that what you're scared of? Of being left all alone?

Because if Kelsey has shown anything tonight and over the last few days, it's that she doesn't need you or your help. She doesn't need your help to be "Will Prescott," anymore than you need her help being "Kelsey Blankenship." But she's proved that she can be even better than you.

That wasn't envy I felt downstairs, you now realize. I wasn't jealous because she was better with the girls than I was. I was scared, scared that she'd go off and leave me behind because she's got this new life she can make.

She's going to go off and leave me here, in her old life. And then it will just be me, dealing with this curse.

"You don't have anything to be scared of, uh, Will," the new you says. "You've got lots of friends. And, you know, if you can be, uh, me—"

"I don't want any of your friends!" Your breathing turns haggard. "I'm not talking about them! I'm talking about—"

Then you can't fight it anymore. You throw yourself against him, wrapping your arms about him, and crying into his shoulder. You shake and shiver and weep and gasp as he hugs you back.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says.

Oh God, she knows what I'm thinking! You shake harder. "Promise me?" you snuffle.

"I promise you."

You hold him for a very long time, until you can finally lift your face without snorting. (Though you have to poke at your eyes with your fingertips to stem the tears.)

"We're going to be friends, right?"

"Sure." He sounds puzzled.

"No, I mean—"

Don't be bossy, you tell yourself. Except if I'm not bossy, how is he going to know what I want?

"What I mean is, you're going to start coming out to my place. Tomorrow night! For my— your Saturday night parties," you correct yourself. "And not just there! At school too, and— Oh, Jesus!"

"Sure," he says. "That'll be interesting for lots of people."

You snort, because now you don't care. "I hope you don't mind if I tell you that I don't like your friends, because I don't think you liked them a lot either, and I don't want to be friends with them anymore!"

"So who do you want to be friends with?" Will asks. He sounds shocked.

The word is impossible to form. But then it does form, and when it rushes out it carries almost all the air from your lungs with it. "You."

You stare him in the face, and he stares back. Your legs are stiff, and your limbs frozen. Neither of you move.

Then Will pushes his face toward yours, and you lean forward to meet him.

You kiss.

* * * * *

"No, a cheesecake would be too heavy," you jabber into your cell phone as you impatiently study the shelf in front of you. Where have they moved it now? "And we don't want anything we have to slice, that's just asking for trouble. If they don't have the pecan pie miniatures, do they have anything that's like a tart?

It's Brooke that you're talking too. She's over at Cherry Brook Bakery, picking up some of the supplies for tonight's party. Kelsey has a "social" every Saturday night at her house for her country-club friends and a few more. Very small, very exclusive, and very civilized. For entertainment: board games and cards and movies playing softly in the corners of the room. For drinks and snacks: wine and cordials and hors d'oeuvres and pastries from the most expensive bakeries in the city.

Oh, and weed. It wouldn't be a party at Kelsey's without the weed that Martin Gardinhire procures from where you don't want to know.

It's the job of Kelsey's friends to help set it up, and Amanda and Brooke Galloway are running around town getting stuff for it. You are also running errands around town, but you have come to this particular grocery store—Eagle Foods, on the southwest side of town—as a favor for your father. It's the only store that carries his favorite brand of coffee.

Only now it looks like they've stopped stocking it.

You blow a strand of hair from your eye, and after telling Brooke that, yes, okay, orange-glazed scones are probably the best of the available choices at Cherry Brook, you hang up and march off in search of a stock boy to help. You find one in the next aisle, kneeling in front of the lowest shelf and moving boxes of chicken broth around. "Excuse me," you say.

The stock boy turns and looks up at you. You take a step back and almost shit yourself.

It's Steve Patterson. The biggest asshole on the Westside basketball team. For an instant you are yourself again, and you know that in a minute Steve is going to stand up, pick you up by your neck, and hang you from one of the fluorescent lights overhead.

Instead, he smiles and his eyes light up. "Oh, hey Kelsey," he says.

Oh yeah, that's right, I'm Kelsey Blankenship now. Steve has nothing against me. But you can't keep from grinning stupidly and gasping back at him. "Hi Steve! Um ... Do you work here?"

"Substitute work, sometimes," he says. He straightens up, but remains kneeling. The motherfucker is so tall that, even on one knee he can almost look you in the eye. "My dad's the store manager, and when someone calls in sick, sometimes I have to come out and cover."

"Oh, that's gotta suck."

"I get paid."

"Still, on a Saturday. Um, how long do you have to work here?" You shove away a strand of hair that falls into your face.

"Just still the start of the evening shift. Eight."

"Oh, that's good! You, uh, don't want to ruin your Saturday night."

He holds your eye, and you feel yourself daunted by the gleam that comes into it.

"Well, I didn't have any plans," he says. "Except maybe to find a hoop and a backboard someplace, practice my free throws."

You grimace. "Is that your idea of Saturday night fun?"

"No. But I don't know where any parties are happening." That gleam in his eye deepens. "You know of any? What are your plans?"

Oh my God, he's coming onto me! you think, and again you almost shit yourself. "Well, I'm, um, having some friends over at my place," you stammer. "Just a little— You wouldn't have any fun at it." Shut up, Kelsey, shut up, don't tell him that! "We just, we just hang out and play cards, talk—"

"What, like poker? You guys play poker?" That gleam turns hungry.

"Well ... yes. If people want to."

"What kind of stakes?"

"Oh, no you don't!" You cover your mouth to stifle the laugh. "I've heard about you! You're a card shark!"

"I'm not a card shark, Kelsey. I just know how to play." He finally smiles, and the whiteness of his grin belies his claim to not be a shark. "You scared your friends won't be able to handle me?"

"I know they won't be able to handle you!"

"So what about you?" He straightens up a little more. "Think you could handle me?"

Your heart almost seizes up. "At what? Poker?"

"No, just me. Do you think you could handle me, Kelsey?"

Oh, Jesus, he's asking me out! you realize. Which would almost be a dream come true for Kelsey.

Next: "The First Temptation of Kelsey Blankenship" 

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