Chapter #75When Worlds Collide by: Seuzz   You and Mendoza ignore each other until Kirkham comes back out. The latter only wishes you an off-hand "See you around, Prescott," before turning to the door. Mendoza, clearly surprised, grabs up what's left of his breakfast and scrambles out after him. There's just the briefest colloquy on the sidewalk outside the store, and then each one stumps off toward his respective car.
After they are gone, you realize that you feel like you've been holding your breath for the past half-hour. You toss back the last of your coffee—very cold by now—and after the other two have driven off hurry outside to your truck.
* * * * *
So, it sounds like Caleb has it planned out about as well as it could go. Not only is he, as "David Kirkham," going to lay off you, he's going to be semi-polite, at least. (You try not to dwell on his warning that it's going to be "rough" being his friend, and can only hope that the shit-talk he gave you and Mendoza is the worst you have to look forward to.) And it also looks like his friends (if Mendoza's behavior is anything to go by) will follow his lead, at least to the extent of also leaving you alone.
But will you and he be able to hang out together? Well, you'll have to see.
On the way in to school, you beguile yourself by imagining what it must be like from Caleb's perspective. He told you last night that he was actually kind of looking forward to the impersonation, as Kirkham's personality seems so different from his. He certainly seemed to be in character. This morning. But what was it like for him?
You can't remember much of Gordon's life, even while you were being him, but you do remember what it was like to walk around inside his body, and to have people look at you and treat you like you were the captain of the basketball team: What it was like to walk around looking down on the tops of people's heads, and effortlessly pushing them out of the way in the hallways, and to have them look up at you with fear and respect or with just a little uncertainty. As for the "personality" you wore, that you remember far less clearly. Mostly you remember just feeling tired of people and of school.
So does that give you any clues about what Caleb is feeling?
Well, he probably has the feeling—if Kirkham's usual behavior is any guide—of knowing he's a bad-ass. But is he enjoying it? If he is, is it because he's enjoying playacting as Kirkham, or because Kirkham enjoys it? Does Kirkham enjoy being a bad-ass? Or is that just the way he is?
I'm going to have to talk to him about it, you decide as you push with an absent-minded introspection through the hallways to your first class. But how will you set up your next meeting? (Surely he will want to get together—there's a new spell to look over.) Should you text him or go looking for him? Would it even be safe approaching him in his new guise? Or should you wait for him come to you?
That's what you're wondering when you turn into Mr. Walberg's classroom. You stop dead and nearly drop your books when you see Caleb himself sitting in his regular chair, looking back at you with a veiled but quizzical smile.
* * * * *
Silly you, it takes an absurdly long time to realize it isn't Caleb, out of Kirkham's mask and resuming his own existence, but the golem you and he released yesterday afternoon. Even then, you are so disoriented that you're still not sure it isn't the real guy, even when he leans over to whisper, "Everything go okay with the boss after I left yesterday?"
"Yeah," you stammer. "We went back to my place, hung out until ten or so, then he, uh, went off to do the thing. I saw him this morning, it's all working out."
"Cool. Um— Are we gonna start hanging out?"
"I dunno. We didn't talk about it."
Caleb nods. Then he leans over again to ask, "Is he okay with it?"
"With the—? With being—?" You feel a little green, as you remember the act he put on. "I think he's fine. If I see him this afternoon, you want to come along?"
He pales. "Nah, that's okay," he mumbles. "I, uh, think it would be a little weird."
You nod. It's weird enough for you talking to someone who looks and acts just like your friend, but who isn't.
* * * * *
You text Gordon—which you'd forgotten to do earlier—during the run-up to classes, telling him that Caleb is in place and everything is okay. You also tell him you won't be up in the loft third period. He texts back an acknowledgement, and suggests all three of you meet after school at the old basement to look at the next spell. You're about to text Caleb—the real one—with Gordon's suggestion, but he texts you first: Meet me after school on weight deck.
The rest of the school day is routine. After the final bell, you head to the gym, where you find David Kirkham waiting, in cotton shorts and a floppy t-shirt, on the elevated mezzanine where the weight machines are kept. He jerks his chin in greeting. "Was wondering if you were gonna be too chicken-shit to show up."
"I'm up for whatever, man."
"Yeah, don't be so sure about that. Anyway, if you're gonna keep on like you say you want to, you're gonna have to put on some more mass. I ain't gonna be your fuckin' trainer or nothin', but I figure I—"
He stops dead, his gaze directed over the restraining rail to the gym floor below, where the basketball team is beginning to trickle out from the changing room for post-class practice.
"Lookit them fuckin' queers," he sneers. "You wouldn' never fuckin' catch me down there doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Team fucking sports, that's what."
"You don't play basketball?"
He turns to give you the same kind of level stare that Mendoza favored you with this morning.
"I know how to handle a basketball, dipshit," he says. "Fuckin' Coach Brooks, my freshman year? He wanted me on the JV squad, right alongside them cocksuckers down there, 'cluding Black and Patterson. But I told 'im where he could put his basketballs, and any other balls he didn't know enough what to do with." He shakes his head. "One on one, man. That's the only fuckin' way that matters how you do anything."
Jesus, you think. Caleb's getting into it. That's the only reason he'd act this way when it's only us up here.
But then it isn't just you and him up there. Jason Lynch is suddenly there with you.
"Hey there, Willie-boy!" he calls out cheerfully from the head of the stairs. His glance cools as it settles on Kirkham. But he doesn't address him before turning back to you. "Y'up here fer a workout?"
"Yeah. Oh, um, Steve showed me on Saturday how the, uh—"
You can't help swallowing as Jason, with a tight but cheery smile, closes in on you and Kirkham. He ignores the latter to concentrate on you, even as Kirkham stares at him hard.
"Well that was nice of Steve-o," Lynch says. "Gordon put him up to it?"
"I— Yeah, Gordon asked him to show me, I think he said."
"Yeah, that's the only way that cocksucker'd do anyone a favor. But if yer here fer a workout, I can spot you."
Kirkham, silent to this point, jumps in. "The fuck you think I was up here for?"
Jason only glances at him. "I 'unno. What was you up here for?"
"Look," Kirkham says, "you wanna have yourself a workout, there's lots of room over there. Me and Prescott—"
Jason's eyes glint as he glances between you and Kirkham. "Am I in'erruptin' something private here? You guys want some alone time wi' each other?"
Your heart plunges as Kirkham yanks the toothpick from his mouth and flings it at the floor. With one hand he shoves Jason in the shoulder.
At least you have the presence of mind to spring between them before Jason can hurl himself at your other friend. "Hey hey hey! hold up—!"
"Outta the fuckin' way, man!" Jason yells as he tries to claw past you.
"You wanna fuck with me?" Kirkham hisses back.
"Stop it, both of you!" You push a red-faced Lynch back, then wheel to shove Kirkham in the chest as he rushes in. They both glare past you at each other. "You wanna fight, take it outside, not here! Someone'll fucking crack his skull on a machine!"
"Front quad," Kirkham tells Lynch. "Now. So everyone'll see."
"Happy to!" Lynch snarls.
"That wasn't—!" you start to protest, but both guys are already hustling for the stairs. You start to follow, but glance first down at the gym floor first.
Half a dozen guys in Westside basketball uniforms are looking back at you. Gordon isn't one of them—he must still be changing out—but Patterson is down there. He's watching you with a gnomic but speculative look on his face.
You feel yourself flushing as you hurry after Lynch and Kirkham. Halfway down the steps you ask yourself, How did I manage to get myself in the middle between these two guys?
* * * * *
There's nothing you can do to stop the fight, so you only watch anxiously—along with a few dozen other students—as Lynch and Kirkham, who seem evenly matched, wrestle fiercely. Neither is able to get the upper hand before Mr. Staufford comes out to break up the fight. He instantly gives each of them a one-day detention, starting tomorrow, after school.
And then he lays a tight grip on your shoulder, and reminds you that you were supposed to be in your detention ten minutes ago.
On the way to the office, with him still gripping you by the nape of the neck, you get a text from Kirkham: That was fucking awesome! You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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