Chapter #24A Rapidly Developing Situation by: Seuzz   "I need you to make and polish me a new mask," you tell Fake-Will as you unlock the door to the elementary school basement. "I'd do it myself, but I'm busy and you're not."
"Speak for yourself," he grumbles as he follows you down the creaking stairs into the dusty basement. His arms are full with a box and two bags full of mask-making supplies.
It's Wednesday afternoon, and you've just gotten out of another trying day at Eastman High, another day of homework, classes, David and his friends buzzing at you, and a jumpy feeling every time you glimpse "Lisa Rickover." When is she going to come over and say something to me? you wonder. If it's really Prescott over there, eventually he's got to become interested in his old body and old disguise. Or at least interested in what his doppelganger has got up to. The longer it goes without your hearing anything from "Lisa", the more nervous you get.
And on top of that, now Logan Dupont has inserted himself into the Melissa-Adam mess. He leaned over during second period to ask you about them, and when you snapped back that you didn't know anything, he said he'd heard that you were asking people for advice about what to do about them.
"I hope you don't want this thing finished real soon," Fake-Will says as he starts unpacking things.
"As soon as you can get it done is soon enough for me."
"So, by graduation?"
"Don't be a smart-ass." You take out your cell phone.
Hey didnt mean to get u mad at me, Logan texted you after lunch. Just wanted to help. U seem worried. His text is liberally sprinkled with emojis that are weeping and emojis that are sweating.
Understand but nothing u can do, you type in reply, then hesitate before hitting "Send." What you'd really like to do is ask him how he found out about Melissa and Adam, and why it is he thinks you're having a shit fit over them.
It was probably Tina, you decide with a spiteful smirk. Or Maddy. Almost you open up a text to Alyssa, to warn her that they've been sharing confidences with Logan, who has been trying to worm his way into the Rumorati for at least a year now, despite Alyssa's firm efforts to shut him out. Oh, but I'm not Lisa anymore, I'm Dana, you remember. And then you remember how mad you are at Alyssa. Which is why—
"How you doin' over there?" you call to Fake-Will, who is glaring into the mixing bowl.
"I can't get it to light," he barks back. "Five fucking matches, and—"
"Lemme see." You hop to your feet. "You drop in the ash?" you ask him. "The quicklime? The—" You glance into the open grimoire and rattle off the ingredients. "Then let me see." You take the book of matches from him, check that the bowl is centered on the sigil, and set a flame to the ingredients. They flare, and a familiar stench rolls out and over you.
"You just gotta show it who's boss," you cough at him. "Tell you what, I'll work on the memory strip thing while you start polishing the mask."
"Keeping the easy work for yourself, huh?" he grumbles.
"The memory strips take concentration," you retort as you pick up the grimoire and thrust the steaming mixing bowl at him. "Besides, my penmanship is better than yours."
As he moves off to another corner of the basement, you flip to the spell that makes the memory strips. Then, with a jerk of your hand, you flip forward, to the spell that makes the fancy memory strips—the one that body-swapped you and Prescott. (If that is indeed what happened.) Maybe you should make another one, carry out Prescott's experiment again, but this time on two different people. Maybe that would give you a better idea of what the thing did to you.
Well, that's something to think about later. You flip backward to the earlier spell and set to work mixing ingredients.
But Logan texts you while you work—a very long and rambling explanation of why he tried talking to you about Melissa (the gist being that he was being nosy, though he tries dressing it up with gabble about being "concerned" that Adam was "exploiting" Melissa)—and then Melissa texts to demand who you've been talking to about her and Adam. With a long, hard sigh, you tell Fake-Will that you're going to go home. You can't concentrate with the interruptions, and home is the only place it is safe to turn your phone off.
* * * * *
But you turn it on again after dinner so you can deal with the accumulated texts in one big gulp. That's what you're doing when you get the text from Fake-Will: all dun what want me do now?
Learn how to text, you want to reply, but instead you ask what he means by "all dun." dun polshing mask, he replies. used car bufer.
So you call him to get the details. And the upshot is that an hour later you are back at the elementary school, attaching the newly finished memory strip to the freshly polished mask. Will Prescott's father, on finding him working on the mask, had suggested he use a buffer on it, and had taken him out to the garage to demonstrate. An hour later (instead of the days it took Will and Chelsea Cooper) he had the mask done. Fake-Will was as proud as though he had come up with the idea himself. He asks what you're going to do with it.
"None of your business," you tell him. "Except I'll need your help. I'm going to use this on another girl at Eastman."
"You're not tired of being this girl here, are you, boss?" he asks.
Boss. You like the sound of the word.
"No," you tell him. "There's just someone else I need to be for a little while." You hand him the mask and take out your cell phone.
An hour later—the sun has long since set, and there's only the glow from a lone streetlight and the houses across the street to illuminate the old school—a car parks on the street opposite the basement windows. That's just about where I parked, you think. You turn to Fake-Will, who is watching through the window with you. "Okay, go do it."
"Always up to me," he murmurs as he trots up the wooden stairs leading outside.
You hold your breath as he fades into the darkness, then let it out again when your phone chimes with a text: dun. You join him out by Summer Nguyen's car. "Did she say anything?" you ask Fake-Will.
"Just 'Are you the guy I'm supposed to mmgmphh!" His Cheshire-like grin is the only part of him clearly visible in the dark. You poke him, but can't fight down a smirk of your own.
"Okay, get in front," you order him as you climb into the back seat. "Sure you can handle everything? Getting the mask done when it's finished copying Summer?"
"I remember doing it before."
You nod vaguely—you can feel your voice starting to shake with worry and anticipation—and pull the door shut. In the dark cabin, you peel off Dana's shoes. But otherwise you remain dressed, for you went home to change into loose sweatpants and a sweatshirt, so that you wouldn't have to disrobe during the change. After checking to make sure that nothing is binding you any place, you lay a palm across your brow. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and pull.
* * * * *
The world feels upside down when you awake. It is dark, too, and you have to blink a couple of times before you can begin to make out some dim, blocky shapes.
You try to turn around. Head rush. And something bumps you. The world spins. You put out your arms and touch fabric that is firm but yielding.
Someone coughs nearby, and all at once the world clarifies. You're in the back seat of your car, staring at the roof. You sit up with a gasp.
Two people are sitting in the front seat. You instantly recognize the girl behind the wheel: Dana Pak, who called you out here for a secret talk about Melissa and Adam Karter. And the other is the guy she said was a friend of Adam, who had something to tell you about him.
His name is "Will Prescott." But how do you know that?
"You okay, boss?" he asks. "Remember, you told me to remind of who you really are and what's going on."
Who I am? The question frightens you. You know who you are!
And now fright completely overwhelms you. I don't know what I'm doing!
So make another one of those fancy memory strips, a voice inside you urges. Use it on someone. Use it to make a friend.
Use it to make a partner!
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