Chapter #81Spit Takes by: Seuzz   Whose spit do you want, Will Prescott's or Casey Sennik's? That's the question you need to ask. But you can't ask it aloud, because of the "playacting" you need to do.
So you stare at him, thinking furiously, while he stars back with glittering eyes of his own. "Sure you don't want me to piss in a cup for you?" you jeer back when an idea has finally come to you.
"Just spit, young man."
"Have it for you in a jiff." You grab the dish from him, and push past into the downstairs bathroom. You can feel his glare on your back, and through the door after you've shut it.
Hey professor, gotta question for you Call me back thx bye! Lucy you text him. You hear his phone chirp outside the door, but there's no immediate reply. While you wait, you amuse yourself by spitting in the dish and watching the saliva evaporate. Casey is easily amused.
Your phone rings. "Wha's 'is about, Presc'tt?" Bob demands.
"You want Will Prescott's spit or Casey Sennik's?"
"Ngh. Both, I s'pose."
"Hard to give you Casey's. It'll evaporate."
"Huh?" So you explain things to him. "So gimme Casey's, an' leave yours inna kitchen."
You grunt at the complication, and at the mystery. After counting to two hundred, backwards and forwards, you spit in the dish, flush the commode, and saunter out of the bathroom. You find Blackwell in the library, sitting and blinking stupidly. You set the dish before him.
He snatches it up. "You can go now," he says.
You make a face and go into the kitchen, where you pull off Casey's mask and hock a big loogie into the dish before letting yourself out through the kitchen door.
* * * * *
"It's not so bad," you say as you bounce the soccer ball on the side of your foot, then heft it over to Andrew. He catches it one hand and bounces it on the grass, then tries spinning it on his finger. You snicker as it topples off. "The guy's a major league weirdo, but Stephanie's being a baby."
Andrew throws the ball at your head, but you easily catch it. "She's talking about quitting."
"So let her quit." You spin the ball on your own finger, keeping it easily balanced. "She doesn't need the tutoring, and I can handle it."
It's Friday afternoon, and you're due at Blackwell's in about thirty minutes. You were happy that Andrew wanted to get together with you, until you found out he wanted to talk to you about Stephanie and the job at the professor's.
"Can I go with you today?" he asks.
"I don't know. I guess you can go, but I don't know what the professor will say." You bounce the ball a couple of times on your knee; it spurts away when you catch it at a bad angle, and you dash after it with shirt tails flying. "Why do you wanna go?"
"See if it's safe."
"Oh, fuck you!" You sneer hard at Andrew. "I can take care of any shit that happens out there, you don't need to be along to babysit!"
"She's really freaked out, man. I wanna see what--"
"And what could you do if something happened? Algebra him to death?"
He flushes. "What could you do, you little twerp? I can take you, so what makes you think--"
"You can't take me, Andrew. I let you win."
His eyes narrow, and black spots show in his cheeks. "If you think you can take me, take me now."
"Okay." Quick as a flash you fling the ball at his face. He flails and bats at it, so he's wide open as you tackle him, knocking all the air from you both as he hits the ground with you atop. You pin him with your knees on his shoulders and gloat down at him. He thrashes, but can't get any leverage. "How's that?"
"You little cheater, let me up and I'll--"
"Okay." You get off him. He scrambles up, but as soon as he's raised himself you punch him hard in the nuts; as he hunches you kick his feet from under him and pin him again, this time with his face in the grass. "Wanna try for three out of five?"
He puffs and blows. "If that professor dude went for you first--"
"Okay." You get off him again. He rises very slowly, still hunched in pain, and you stand back with a smug smile as he glares at you. After a few seconds he charges at you, hands grasping for your face. You leap back a step; he stumbles, and you connect a hard fist to his jaw. He tumbles sideways, and you knee him in the side of the stomach, following it with a hard kick to the same spot. He collapses, and you leap on his back, pushing him down. You pull his hat off, loudly pretend to spit in it, and twist it back onto his scalp. "Fuck, you're almost as bad as Milky Legs," you jeer.
"Get off," he says in a low growl.
"Four out of seven?" you ask as you get up.
He's very slow about rising, and he's shaking all over. "Go fuck yourself, Casey," he says, and stumbles away.
"Oh, come on, Andrew! You don't gotta be better than me at everything!"
He flips you off, and--hunched over badly--half-crawls back to his bike. He has to rest and recover before he can pick it up.
You blink back tears of anger and resentment, and trudge over to help him. He weakly pushes you away as you grasp his bike to lift it. "Well, fuck you too, Andrew," you scream at him. "If you're gonna be a fucking pussy!"
He clambers onto the bike, and very slowly pedals away. You hop up and down, punching the air with rage and confusion and an acute sense of loss.
* * * * *
"It'll just be us today," Blackwell says as he leads you into the library. "The girl called a little while ago to say she won't be coming in any more."
"She quit? Doesn't surprise me. I kicked her boyfriend's ass a little while ago." You look around the bookshelves. "Where do you want me to start?"
"Shelf A1." He hands you a legal pad. "Write the titles and authors here. Keep at it until I call on you."
Fucking tedious. You wish you were doing this job from inside Lucy's body. Then you could at least play with your boobs while— You grit your teeth and hunch over the table. You put your hand between your thighs and blink with sweet pleasure as your cock unfurls and throbs. Oh Jesus, one thought of Lucy and you could so totally cream your shorts. Desperately, you wonder if you can make it into the bathroom. Jack off in there. That'd be a sweet little prank to play on Blackwell. Jerk into his hand towels.
You bite hard on your lower lip until your willie starts to die. But it still pulses a little, and you feel a tiny wet spot in the front of your shorts. God damn it. Shame washes over you. You swallow hard, and return shakily to work.
"I'm not going to be able to tutor you this afternoon," Blackwell says an hour later. "Here's ten dollars for your trouble, and I'll give you a double session next time." He presses a bill into your hands, and stalks from the library.
You blink at the offering: there's note wrapped around it. "Go out, wait a minute, then come back in." Fuck. Bob wants a conference.
But you comply, spending a minute gazing at the wintry landscape before going back in. "Hey professor, I think I forgot something! Professor?" No reply, so you search, and find Bob slumped in the living room. You perch on the arm of the sofa opposite until he revives.
"Roight," he says when he sits up, blinking. "Gotta talk."
"So I figured. Is it about Stephanie?"
"Nah, tha's cool. Go'a talk t'Jamie." He leans over a landline and jabs at a lot of buttons. He puts it on speaker phone, and falls back to stare at you darkly as it rings.
"Hyde-White." The voice of your distant boss rings clearly in the dead air.
"Bob an' Presc'tt 'ere," your supervisor says. "Got sumfin t' say t' th' sprog?"
"Ah yes, Mr. Prescott. My associate tells me you show rare talent. I've looked over the test results myself. I confess myself startled, but maybe I shouldn't be surprised."
"What test results?" you ask.
"Never mind. You'll learn in due time. That will be part of your new training, in fact. I want you to return to London."
You fall off your perch. "You want me to what?"
"You are well placed there, but I've decided you would be better placed here. You will leave in the morning."
"What am I supposed to tell my parents?"
There's a pause, which is enough to answer your question, which you now realize was very stupid. "Nothing, of course," Hyde-White chuckle. "I am sending a new agent out to assume your current impersonation. Meet him at Professor Blackwell's in the morning and turn your mask over to him. No need for you to pack, either, except for whatever clothes you need for the trip. All will be arranged for you when you arrive."
So that's that. You won't regret leaving Casey Sennik's life, but you can't help worrying about this sudden change of plans, and what it might portend. "What's going on," you ask Bob when the professor has hung up.
"You're th' fair-haired boy now," he says, and doesn't hide his anger.  You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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