The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)

Secret Agent Girl

Previously: "Picking a Brain the Old-Fashioned Way" 

You can't resist the idea of crashing Yumi and her friends' party at the Dairy Queen, especially when you have a foolproof way of doing it without their knowing it, and after giving Yumi a chance to get clear of the place, you skedaddle for your base.

It's already after seven as you dash for home, but you stop by the house long enough to pick up some homework—to score some credit by telling your parents that this weekday social outing is a study session—before racing over to the old school. You find that the fire is still burning in the basement, and you grimace at it hard—why the fuck doesn't the book warn you about how long the farging thing's going to take?—as you pull out your disguise for the evening: clothes, mask, and brain band.

This is going to be the real deal, you find yourself thinking with a beating heart as you spread out the things. The last time you went out in public as Cathy Schell, it was a solo thing at her gym, just to see what it was like. But this time there is a chance you'll wind up talking to Yumi and her friends—depending on who is out there—and then you will have to be Cathy Schell.

* * * * *

Seven-thirty. You regard your stolen alter ego in the dusty mirror.

Your foundation garments feel grimy and itchy, on account of you exercised in them at the gym and obviously haven't washed them, but your borrowed consciousness would still give your appearance a passing grade. You yourself think you look great.

The jeans are dark and tight. The white blouse is cut to complement your shape—billowing out at the bosom, curving inward over your stomach—and though part of you wants to cover it with the denim jacket that Cathy Schell keeps at the front of her closet, you would fight the urge even if you had it here, for you like the way it blatantly advertises your figure.

You could do with a hair tie, but with a wry smile you acknowledge that you'll just have to manage with your curtains of blonde hair draping down around your shoulders. You tuck a long, heavy strand of it behind one ear, and settle the end so that it falls just over one of your breasts.

Your nose is bold, your mouth full, your gaze bright and direct as you look into the mirror and picture the evening to come. You could do with some make up, but Cathy doesn't wear that much of it anyway. You could also do with a purse or gym bag slung over your shoulder, and you could really do with some identification—it occurs to you that you'll be in a lot of trouble if you get caught driving without a license.

But the risks are worth it, and you enjoy the waggle of your hips as you saunter out to the truck ...

* * * * *

"Coach!" a familiar voice calls. You look over. Stephanie Wyatt, her eyes shining and her mouth split into a huge grin, waves as you saunter into the Dairy Queen twenty minutes later. You grin and wave back, even as inwardly you seethe. Stephanie has never so much as smiled at you that you can remember in the seven years you've known her. "You here on a date?" Stephanie's grin widens as you detour over to her table.

You can't help blushing just a little. "No, just for a treat. What about you?" You wink at her. "Are you here on a date?"

Her face shines, but she doesn't blush. "No, just meeting friends."

"So can I keep you company till they come?" You sit. "Is this a study night for you guys?"

"I dunno. Friend of mine wanted to get together. Talk."

"About boys?"

Stephanie rolls her eyes, but her grin doesn't fade. "How's your classes this semester?"

"Oh, pretty good. You know I'm coaching the volleyball squad this year."

"Yeah! Lacey told me. She says it's looking pretty good for them!"

So you talk some more about the volleyball team, and its chances this year, and the players. You have to keep reminding yourself that Stephanie is someone that you—Cathy Schell—like even though you don't know her well.

But the other you—Will Prescott—has known her since elementary school, though thankfully you have shared few classes with her since middle school. She was a jock-girl from early on; hell, she probably popped out of her mother with a baseball in her hands and a kickball between her ankles. She played on the soccer teams from the moment she was eligible to join one, and played softball and basketball too. She was even one of the best runners and catchers and tacklers at impromptu games of flag football, a fact that shamed you because it seemed like she was the one getting the flag off you every time you managed to get the ball.

You're not bothered by the fact that she whomped your ass even though she's a girl. (Most of the guys were even worse than her.) It's the way she treats you off the field, the severe lack of interest that she shows in you, that rankles—the way she ignores you, or looks through you when she does look in your direction. It's like she thinks you're a bug—a bug that's too trivial to pay any attention to.

And when she does pay attention to you—like she did at lunch, when she told you to sit down and wait for Jenny to finish copying Carson's homework—she treats you like you're still in the fifth grade.

But as you talk, you notice Stephanie losing her exuberance. Indeed, an anxious cast begins to cloud over her face, and her talk grows distracted. She begins glancing over your shoulder at the door.

"Is something wrong?" you ask. "Are your friends late?"

"Huh? No. I just—" Her jaw works, and her gaze goes distant.

Then she straightens up. "You were asking about guys," she says. "Would you be, uh, willing to give me some advice?"

"About boys?"

Her expression tightens. "Well, sort of. Indirectly."

Ooh! Girl talk! Cathy is intrigued. And you are gleeful at finding that maybe Stephanie has a chink of vulnerable humanity after all.

But before you can say "Yes," she rears back and her expression freezes. You glance over and see Yumi coming in the door. She greets both of you with a smile, some short introductions are made, and Yumi sits.

The chatter that follows is friendly but shallow, and it doesn't take long for you to figure out that your presence is crowding the girls. "I guess I'll go get my sundae," you say, and move to the table behind Stephanie after getting yourself a small ice cream. This allows you to eavesdrop without being obvious about it as you stare out the window at the passing traffic.

Which is good, because Yumi is talking to Stephanie about Katy Conlee ... and about you!

"Prescott?" Stephanie is saying as you settle into your seat, and you stiffen all over at the note of disbelief in her voice.

"Yeah. What do you think?" Stephanie must have made some kind of face, for Yumi says, "What's wrong with Will?"

"Nothing's wrong with Will, I guess. If he asks her out, he asks her out."

"What do you think she'll say?"

"I dunno. She'd go out with him at least once, probably." Your heart thumps at that.

"Does she know him?"

"I dunno if she knows him or not." Stephanie's tone turns shrewd. "Did he put you up to asking me about her?"

"No. But I talked to him a little and it got me thinking. He noticed Katy at lunch, you know."

"Noticed her how?"

There's a pause in the conversation, and you have to fight from looking over.

"You seem really skeptical, Stephanie," Yumi says.

"Well, Prescott's kind of a light-weight, don't you think?"

Next: "Gossip at the DQ" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 3)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)"