Chapter #38The Mind of Monique by: Seuzz   You stare down at the masks. "You mean, we're going to—?"
"Do to them what they tried doing to you? Oh yeah!" Joe smiles so wide you can see his back teeth. "It's only for a day, two at the most, so we can round them up. But it'll be fun. Now, you have be careful who you pick," he continues, turning more serious. "Kyle's a big, strong guy, and if you pick him, you and I'll probably split up so we can get through our list faster. If you pick Monique, we'll stick together, and you can help me lure the bad guys out into the open."
"You're going to play Jonathan Straussler? Isn't Monique his girlfriend?"
"Yeah," Joe drawls. "And we'll have to be in character. Well, enough in character. But that's part of the fun."
That gives you a turn. And then you remember: "But I'm not dressed for playing a girl."
"We got her clothes too, and some of Kyle's, if that's your choice."
And with that you now really get what he's saying: They got the clothes and masks off the doppelgangers, and you'll be stepping in for one of them to trap the others. "Who were they?" you ask faintly. "Who was it under the masks?"
"Beats me. They were from your school." And before you can ask again, a cell phone rings. Joe answers it.
"Yeah? We're halfway back to town now. Prescott's being an indecisive little cunt about it. Personally, I think he wants to be the girl but is scared to— Well, I dunno, I guess he could switch off. True, but there wouldn't be anything funny about Straussler coming around to see Jenny. Anyway, given the story we're telling them, it shouldn't matter. No, I like the way we divided up the list, I got most of the girls. Hey, why don't you save Hannah and Tina and Elizabeth for last, try to lay 'em a couple of times before— Of course you could do it, Carpenter's only about five fucking times better looking than you, so—" He roars with laughter, and hangs up. "Oh, Frank is so funny. And by that I mean he is so much fucking fun to laugh at. Now, which is it gonna be, Prescott? The pretty one or the hunky one?"
Since you're not sure what's going on, you think you should stick with Joe, and choose Monique. "Recline the seat," Joe tells you. "That way you don't fall face forward into the dash. Ready? Okay, just lower Monique's mask onto your face. Turn it the right way, dum-dum."
The blue of the mask envelops your vision. Again, you have the sensation of something heavy resting on your face, and sinking into you, and filling you with a golden, drowsy warmth ...
* * * * *
"Oh my God!" You quickly turn your head, burying it in Sara Alvarez's shoulder. He's so beautiful you'll go blind if you stare at him! You peek up. He's still there, way down on the gym floor, at the far end of the varsity squad. Of course, he's not looking at you. How could he, since he's down there and you're way up here in the bleachers, surrounded by hundreds of other eighth graders from Colfax Middle School? But he's facing in your direction, and smiling, and maybe as his eyes rake the crowd they might chance to light on you—
You gasp and bury your face again.
"What's your deal, Monique?"
"Him," you say, covering your terrified, joyful grin your hands. "Down there, way over on the left."
"Who? That blonde guy?"
"Number 17."
"What's wrong with him?"
You giggle. "Nothing."
The crowd is cheering and hooting and stomping, with everyone getting into the Eastman High spirit, though it'll be five months—not until August—before they (and you) are officially Eastman students. The administration has brought out the drama and chess clubs (yawn) and the baseball and wrestling teams (mmm), and the football squad (wow!) and now the basketball team, which won the state championship two years ago and might make it this coming year too.
There are some really good-looking guys down there—being short, you've always liked the tall ones—but that one on the end, number 17—
You moan a little.
He has a longish face under a careless but beautiful mop of hair so shiny blonde it's almost white. Though the town is just coming out of the depths of winter, he still has a tan. His mouth is cherry red, and it's curved in a little half smile; and with his gently sloping eyes it gives him an air of dreaminess. The principal says something, and now he steps forward—like the other players have been doing—to raise his hand in a lazy wave. And when he shows his teeth behind that smile, you puddle.
"Jonathan Straussler," says Sara into your ear.
"What?"
"His name's Jonathan Straussler. He's going to be your boyfriend, right?"
You lean back, scandalized. "He's a junior," you shriek. "I'm only a freshman!"
"Not yet. And by the time you are, he'll be a senior." Sara grins at you. "But you've got a crush!"
"No I don't! I've never seen him before! It's just that he's so—!"
"Go talk to him when school starts. I dare you!" She shoves you playfully. You shove her back with an emotion more like anger.
But an hour later, when you're roaming the Eastman halls alone, snooping out the classrooms where you'll have your classes next semester, a figure comes sharply around a corner, bumping into you. "Oh hey, sorry," says—
You step back, jaw hanging open, and stare. It's him. And now that you're close you see that his eyes are a deep but creamy blue, and he's got little dimples at the corners of his mouth, and the most adorable little birthmark on his chin, and Oh my God he's looking at you and as he looks at you his eyes sharpen and narrow and his smile gets a little wider and he puts his head to one side and says, "Huh?"
Oh, wait, it was you who said that.
"You're in the freshman class, right?" he says again.
"Uh, yeah?"
"I'm Jonathan." He puts out a slim hand. You swallow and give him yours. His hand is warm and soft, except for a few calluses which are totally masculine and sexy as they rub against your skin. His eyes crinkle merrily, and you realize you haven't been blinking. You couldn't blink to save your soul. "You checking out your classrooms already? Lemme see." You give him the schedule sheet, and stare at him as he studies it. You can't look away from his face. His eyes twinkle when he looks back at you. "I could show you around. Uh, what's your name?"
"Huh? Oh. Monique."
"Nice to meet you, Monique."
* * * * *
Jonathan looms around the corner, and you almost collide with him. He's got three Coke bottles in each hand, and he raises them out of the way. "Where are you going," he asks peevishly.
"I called my mom to come pick me up."
"I can take you home."
"That's okay, you don't want to leave your party."
"Bull, I'll just give these to Carpenter and grab my keys."
"I don't want you to— Why do you want to drive me home if you're mad at me?"
"Who said I'm mad at you?" His tone is brusque, his face flushed.
You die a little more. "I'm sorry for whatever I did, I won't— I won't bother you anymore." You duck and rush past him. He calls, but you keep running.
And you get totally lost inside his gigantic house. Tears are streaming down your cheeks when he finds you. "There you are. How the hell did you get—? What's wrong?"
"Nothing! Just let me go home!"
"Sure, I said I'd take you."
"Thank you," you say quietly, staring at the floor.
"What's wrong? Monique?"
You shake your head violently, for when you try to speak, a little sob comes out.
Gently, he lays his fingertips on your shoulder. "Whatever it is, I'm sorry. Can I fix it for you?"
"It's not. Your. Fault," you say around the hiccups.
He puts his arms loosely around you. You keep your arms at your side. "You know I love you," he says very quietly.
"What?"
"Why do you have to go home?"
Your gut twists. You must have been hearing things. "You don't want me here. They don't want me here. They're all seniors, and I'm—"
"Of course they— Everyone likes you, Monique. And what do you mean I don't want you here? I hung out with you all summer, and I wanna keep hanging out."
"You're just—" Hiccup. "Saying that."
He grasps the sides of your head and tilts it up. Through your tears, you see his cheeks are wet too. "I wouldn't say if it wasn't true." His Adam's apple bobbles. "I wanna go steady with you, Monique. I wanted to ask you all week, but it's hard to ask that."
"You—? What?"
He puts his nose by yours, and your tears mingle as your lips touch.
* * * * *
"There's my sugar pop!" Jonathan calls as you come into his private suite. He drops the game controller and puts out his hand. His smile crinkles, and his eyes are so gentle and dreamy and ardent as he gazes at you.
But you're more ardent still. "Rrff!" You fall into his lap and playfully gnaw at his shirt.
He laughs and pulls you close. "You are so cute! You're gonna make someone really happy, you know?"
"I'm going to make you happy!" You bite at the side of his face.
"And someone else." He turns you around and holds you close. "Here, I got something for you." You frown as he presses something big and blue to your face.
* * * * *
"Oh, fuck me!" you scream as Jonathan thrusts harder. "Yes! Oh, Christ, your cock is so—! I'm gonna—! I'm gonna—!" You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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