# chapters

path: 11312212211122222211
author_id: rugal
title: The Confession
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Take me back to my place. Cindy's place." you tell Steve. He gives you a weird look but you glower back at him. "I can do things on my own, alright? Just drop me off at Cindy's and then go, I know how to do this." Steve grunts an approval and drops you back off at the Vrendenburg residence before taking off.<br/>
<br/>
You put on your best "the world is ending" face, a mix of despair, sadness and anger, and trudge through the front door and up the stairs before your parents can say anything. As you turn to head to your room you see Lucy poke her head out. "Chelsea Cooper is a fucking cunt." you glare at her, predicting what it was she was going to say before entering your room and emphatically closing and locking the door. Looking through the room you grab a bag and the materials you've acquired, as well as the book and the two masks. You then make a call to Will and tell him to make his way over to Cindy's place giving him an address and telling him to text you when he gets there. As you sit around, you think to grab a set of clothes as well.<br/>
<br/>
Will finally arrives and you gather up your things and head out. "I've got someone I can talk with. I need to blow off some steam." is the vague excuse you give your parents. You hop into Will's truck and thinking have him drive out to the abandoned elementary school. You make your way to the hiding spot that you and Caleb have used much in the past and flip on a series of portable lamps you and Caleb keep down here to have some light. And now... it's the moment of truth. You could be gaining an ally, you could be making the biggest mistake of your life. You don't take Cindy's mask off; you wouldn't be able to get both of you completely changed before she wakes up you think so there's another risk.<br/>
<br/>
Taking a deep breath you tell Will to stand still. You then reach towards his face, chant the words and pull...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<br/>
"AAAAAAAAAAAGH!"<br/>
<br/>
Cindy's scream cuts through the small room and you're thankful it's out of the way enough to not alert anyone... hopefully.<br/>
<br/>
"Cindy, calm down I--"<br/>
<br/>
"What the fuck are you?!" she exclaims backing up, "I... I have to get out of here. I have to..."<br/>
<br/>
"Cindy, please!" you call out grabbing her arm. You stare directly into her eyes, her scared eyes, "I promise you I won't hurt you. Not again. Please just... just let me explain."<br/>
<br/>
She squirms, struggles to get out of her grip. After a point she realizes it's hopeless and seemingly gives up. "Talk." she demands, the tone in her voice is one of resignation and defeat.<br/>
<br/>
"First things first... by tomorrow you're probably going to be off the cheerleading squad." you sigh, "My name's Will Prescott and I've fucked up your life."<br/>
<br/>
A stinging sensation spreads throughout the left side of your face as it's hit by a hard slap after you've finished talking. "I deserve that." you admit and it's the truth. You've just finished telling Cindy about how you've systematically ruined and destroyed her reputation after all.<br/>
<br/>
"You deserve a lot more than that." Cindy glares at you; at her doppelganger. "I should call Seth over to kick your ass... but I can't do that can I? You saw to that."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry Cindy, I really am. It's just words but..." you look down, "I didn't mean for this to happen. Chelsea... she had me wrapped around her finger. She promised me... favors and if I said no I probably would've been on the end of a Gordon and Patterson beat down. Every day. For the rest of my life. She would've destroyed me the same way she did you. I was basically at her mercy."<br/>
<br/>
You look up, Cindy still glaring, "But that's why I told you this. I have all of this shit weighing on my conscience. You're not a bad person, you're just a girl. A girl who didn't deserve this. None of it. That's why..." you steel yourself, "That's why I want to team up."<br/>
<br/>
"Team up." she crosses her arms indignantly.<br/>
<br/>
"When I was... doing all that, I had a talk with Lin and Yumi. They don't like Chelsea. Neither do Eva and Jessica but you probably knew this." you state, "So we got to talking: that's five people who don't like Chelsea. Chelsea's got herself, Maria, Kendra, Gloria and probably Michelle. With you probably off of the team she'll fill the spot with someone she thinks she can bully into submission like she does with Michelle but..."<br/>
<br/>
"But you use one of those... masks that you used on me. And Chelsea's got a new girl that she thinks is under her control but is secretly working against her." Cindy states, a smile appears on her face. "This girl's life wouldn't be ruined, not like mine was, but Chelsea's... I'm in."<br/>
<br/>
"You're... in?" you ask in surprise.<br/>
<br/>
"Will... whoever you are, you fucked up my life. You did things to me that would be completely unforgivable. But you were the loser entranced by that... that fucking succubus." You're surprised she knows that word, "That doesn't absolve you but it's enough to get me to trust you. Just a little bit. It's all that bitch's fault. She needs to be slapped down and now we have the means. So I'm in."<br/>
<br/>
You nod. "Alright, thank you. Just... you can't tell Yumi or Lin or anyone else. We can't risk things getting out." you explain before adding, "Oh and... stay home tomorrow. You're gonna face a lot of shit and since it's my fault I'LL take the brunt of it. And I'll need to be you for just one more day to pull this off."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<br/>
And you're right. You get a lot of dirty looks, a lot of stares, a lot of whispers. Chelsea's already gone to work and hopefully she doesn't suspect what's really going on. You called Sean after dropping Cindy off and driving back to the school telling him pick you up from there in the morning; the story is that you and Lucy got into an argument over what happened and she kicked you out there just as Sean was passing by and offered you a ride. You also tell him to act like you around Chelsea... just tell her "you're" going to stay as Sean for a while.<br/>
<br/>
You're a bit surprised at lunch when Lin and Yumi seek you out and the surprises keep coming. Turns out that in the morning Chelsea held tryouts (she works fast, you think) and chose the new member: Jenny Ashton, Yumi's best friend. You're shocked at that but then again it makes sense. She's going to systematically destroy everyone against her and Yumi's next, you tell them, so she'll probably try and turn Jenny against Yumi... a thing Yumi insists won't happen but you tell her to be careful all the same.<br/>
<br/>
So now you've got a target, much as you hate using that word, but you need a way to get to her and make the switch. Then an idea strikes you as you drive out to the elementary school after school. "Ashton, get your ass down to the school." you say in a pitch perfect imitation of Chelsea's voice. You shake your head, that won't work you think, so you dial up Jenny's number (something you got from Yumi at lunch; you wanted to secretly warn Jenny was your excuse). "Hey Jenny, yeah it's me." you say, a perfect Yumi imitation, "Yeah, could you meet me at the old elementary school? I have stuff I need to talk to you about with the cheerleading squad and our... glorious leader. Yeah. 20 minutes? Alright, thanks!"<br/>
<br/>
You hang up the phone. It was a talent Cindy's had since childhood; imitation and making funny voices. She especially got good at imitating her fellow cheerleaders in her time on the squad. Once Jenny arrives she wonders where Yumi is and you tell her down in the basement along with a few others from the squad. It's an orientation thing set up by Yumi, Lin, the Garners and yourself (as the exiting member). And so you lead her down in there and before she has a chance press a mask to her face. It's not long until you're dressed out in the cheerleading uniform Chelsea gave Jenny as a temp thing (by Chelsea's decree new squad members are required to wear a uniform that day to inform others of their status). Well Jenny's uniform and as Jenny herself (who's now under the Will mask).<br/>
<br/>
As you sit in her car you take a look in the rear view mirror: unimpressive A-cup chest but her cute face and warm smile more than makes up for it. It's a face you'll have to get used to you think. And her memories bring complications: Chelsea told you to avoid Cindy. Cindy's a pariah now after all. You'll need to keep in touch with her and as you look into the bag you made last night you're struck by an idea.<br/>
<br/>
Get Cindy back on the squad. As Jenny you could get a mask of Yumi easily... or Lin. Or maybe even one of the Garners. Or perhaps you could find a way to get a mask of Gloria, Kendra or Maria. If you could get Cindy in there, into Chelsea's inner-circle, it'll definitely make a take down easier. And maybe all the more sweeter for Cindy.</span></div></div>


path: 11312212211122222212
author_id: seuzz
title: The End of One Farce ...
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You know you are being a coward, but you tell yourself that even cowards deserve to live past their eighteenth birthdays. "Yeah, back to the school," you tell Steve as you pick the phone back up. You call Mitchell and Prescott and tell them to meet you there. <br/>
<br/>
So thorough has Chelsea been in her planning that she'd even outlined exactly how to pull off the switches-to-come. So, in the bed of Sean's truck, where passers-by won't be able to see, you and the two golems disrobe. Sean slips as best he can into Will's things. To your dismay Prescott has to struggle into Cindy's clothes while you put on Sean's (very baggy on Cindy's tiny frame). As you're pulling on Sean's shirt, you hear a soft ripping sound, and as your head pops out you discover to your horror that the idiot Will has torn the clingy and revealing dress you'd been wearing as Cindy. <br/>
<br/>
You loudly curse Chelsea's name. Accident or intention on her part? Cindy's ripped attire would fit in perfectly with what Chelsea wants.<br/>
<br/>
Well, you're not going to give her <i>that</i> satisfaction. With a long sigh, you order the silently embarrassed Prescott to disrobe again. You then have him and Sean lay down so you can pull the masks off your two victims, revealing the real Sean (asleep, you note to yourself) and Cindy, and then switch the masks onto each other. This turns the Will-dressed Sean into Will (a much better wardrobe fit now) and turns the naked Cindy into Sean. After sending the new "Will Prescott" on his way you start over again, ordering Sean to put his own clothes back on while you put on Cindy's torn dress as best you can.<br/>
<br/>
You have Sean drive you back over to the Vredenburgs for one last visit. Affecting a nonchalant obliviousness to your state, you stride confidently past her parents and into the bedroom, where you change into much looser clothes and hide the torn dress back in the closet. You then gather up the <i>Libra</i> and the remnants of your supplies--including the sigils you've so painstakingly drawn--and return to Sean's truck. Another drive back to the high school for another clothing swap, and then you yourself (incongruously) take the wheel and drive the two of you back to the Vredenburgs.<br/>
<br/>
Sean has been sullenly silent all this time.<br/>
<br/>
At the Vredenburgs you finish the farce by pulling Cindy's face from your own; when you revive you drop it back behind the seat bench. You then pull Sean's face off Cindy and put it to your own. A black, airless void closes over your face; you struggle to stay awake; but then swoon under the sudden, suffocating presence of an alien mind ...<br/>
<br/>
You wake with a sudden grunt and take a few quick breaths, as you're wont to take after mastering someone in a wrestling hold. The impression of a titanic struggle against hundreds of meaty limbs fades, and you stretch your arms. <i>Taylor's cap ...</i> You paw for it in the seat next to you, and freeze as you catch sight of the other person.<br/>
<br/>
Cindy is staring at you. <i>Shit.</i><br/>
<br/>
It's probably Sean's own innate good-naturedness--and maybe those lessons in improv he's been taking in drama class--that save you. You suck in a deep breath and sniff. "I hope I wasn't out long," you mutter. "I shouldn't drive at night without my medicine. Narcolepsy's a bitch. But at least we made it." You duck your head to look past her at her house. "Um ..."<br/>
<br/>
This is the point in Chelsea's scheme where you're supposed to make a pass at the revived but amnesiac Cindy, scaring her into a pscyho frenzy that will be the cherry on top of her apparent mental breakdown. But there's no way you can do that. So when Cindy continues to stare at you silently, you just shrug lightly. "If you ever need rescuing from a bad party again, you've got my number. And, uh, if you don't mind some extra advice, don't get close to Jonas and them again. Even at Chelsea's. Maybe especially at Chelsea's," you can't help adding.<br/>
<br/>
Cindy continues to stare at you, then slowly gathers up  her stuff. She hesitates after opening the truck door, and you hold your breath, hoping her embarrassment at not knowing where she is or how she got there will prevent her from asking anything. How close she comes to speaking you'll never know, but after a pause of somewhere between three seconds and three eons, she dismounts and walks slowly to the house. You drop your forehead onto the steering wheel, swallowing hard, trying to stop the shaking.<br/>
<br/>
And then anger floods through you. <i>God damn that cunt!</i> You shove the gear shift into first and start the motor with a roar, then leap off into the night. The wheel jerks in your tight grip, for short, hard spasms are ripping through your muscles. Neither you nor Sean have ever understood how any man could murder a woman--at least not until now. But as Chelsea's gloating face floats in your mind you have to acknowledge the attraction of the idea, at least in this case. And not slow murder, either. Not throttling, though you want to feel your hands against her. A punch is what is needed. A single punch to the face, one so hard it caves her face in.<br/>
<br/>
You smile grimly. Yes, a life-crippling blow. Now you don't want to kill her. You just want to break her face, obliterate it, leave her without one of her great prizes. Oh, but it's a pretty face, and even though her face continues to gloat in your mind's eye you can still appreciate its beauty, its brutal and impudent beauty. You could save a copy before you broke it, and hang it on someone more worthy.<br/>
<br/>
You snort. Of course this is what it's all leading up to, this is where your rage had to lead: toward using the masks to do unto Chelsea as she had done unto others. Those masks you have: You laugh out loud. Sean is so brilliant. He's finished them with a power buffer, got them both done in less than hour. You can make more, almost as fast, faster than her. Surround her, trap her, destroy her.<br/>
<br/>
You should wait, though. The advantages are temporarily with her. Let her think you're still loyal. And she's got reason to think that: you went along with her scheme for Cindy almost to the very end. That wouldn't be the work of someone bent on double-crossing her.<br/>
<br/>
You hardly watch where you're going, but you get home safely.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're jerked awake by the ringing of your phone, and laboriously untangle yourself from under sheets that you've wound all around your head. You've been doing that to yourself in your sleep ever since Taylor's-- You jerk away from the memory, reminding yourself that it and the feelings of loss and desolation aren't even yours, just parts of your disguise.<br/>
<br/>
You blink stupidly at the number, then curse under your breath. Chelsea. <br/>
<br/>
"Where are you?" she asks querulously. "You didn't call last night, and I had to spend <i>hours</i> this morning tracking down this number."<br/>
<br/>
You blink at the clock. "You've been up since four?"<br/>
<br/>
"You know what I mean. Where have you been?"<br/>
<br/>
"Home. Sean Mitchell wasn't invited to your party."<br/>
<br/>
"You should have crashed it. Him and Gordon and Steve are gonna start being friends, you know." She pauses, perhaps expecting you to cum all over the phone in gratitude, but soon resumes in the face of your silence. "So?" she chirps, and that smile you were hating on last night reappears in your vision. "How did it go after you left?"<br/>
<br/>
"I got her turned loose. She was confused, but didn't say anything."<br/>
<br/>
"Even after you--"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, there are limits," you say roughly. "I just let her out at her house."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, alright," she simpers. "You <i>are</i> a nice guy, and I guess it would've been too much. But you got all the stuff out of her house first, right? Because we don't want her finding anything." You grunt an affirmative. "Good. Bring it all out to headquarters around noon. You can have the initiation then."<br/>
<br/>
"Initiation?" A headache forms behind your left eyebrow. "You mean after everything I've freaking done, there still has to be a--"<br/>
<br/>
"It's a joke. But bring out something to eat. Nothing for Gordon or Steve. I don't think these things eat. Gordon always used to get the munchies after we-- Um, what I mean is, don't bring anything for them. Unless, well, you think you'd feel weird eating in front of them while they didn't eat anything."<br/>
<br/>
"They can split an extra bag of tater tots."<br/>
<br/>
"That's the spirit. You're really funny. Is it Sean who's funny? Because Cindy was a real pill--"<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry, my mom's calling me," you lie. "I'll see you around noon."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll have a key for you!" she exclaims before you turn the phone off.<br/>
<br/>
Do you really want to go see her? She doesn't know Sean, so any excuse you invented she would have to accept. But is there anything else to do?<br/>
<br/>
The masks. Chelsea has Gordon and Steve and Kim and Charles. That's okay: You've got two of your own ready to go, and you bet you can get at least three more made this very morning. Then there's all afternoon to start spreading them around. Sean's a popular guy, and so is Cameron Huber and Laurent Delacroix and Danny Russo and--<br/>
<br/>
And with them you could easily score access to Chelsea's own unguarded backdoor: Gloria Rea and Kendra Saunders and Maria Vasquez.</span></div></div>


path: 113122122111222222121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Life (Such as It Is) of Sean Mitchell
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Briefly, a vision of empire rises, glittering before your eyes. And then--<br/>
<br/>
You fall back onto the bed. Those dreams of vengeance you'd last night nursed into a frenzied climax of self-gratification-- You sigh and reach into the sheets to pull out the sock. <i>Phew.</i> Well, you have to shower anyway.<br/>
<br/>
You pull on discarded boxers and tread into the bathroom, where you soak and rinse and wring out the sock while the shower water heats up. Under the nozzle you slap feeling into your body. Sean is seriously bulky, as befits a wrestler and football player, and you grunt and stretch as you lather yourself over with soap. Naturally, you'd had more fun doing the same thing as Cindy: so many soft and inviting places to touch and cup and gently stroke, but it's nice to return to a masculine form, especially one so much bigger and stronger than your old one. "Well, hello there, little fella," you gruffly murmur to the limp thing dangling between your legs. "You had an good time last night. Guess I missed having a pet like you more than I thought." You fondle it and flap at it briefly, before returning to shampoo and shave and brush your teeth under the hot water. After drying off, you return to your bedroom, where you dress in loose cotton shorts and flip-flops and t-shirt.<br/>
<br/>
Noises are coming from the kitchen as you emerge from your bedroom, and you find  your mother--<br/>
<br/>
Again, you have to tamp back the horrible surge of loss and terror that regularly afflicts Sean.  You gently grasp her by the shoulders and kiss her on the cheek. "How about you let me do that? Don't take it wrong, but I make better French toast."<br/>
<br/>
"Thank you, honey," she says through a tired smile. "But I'd rather stay busy."<br/>
<br/>
"I can go mess up the living room, if you want that kind of help."<br/>
<br/>
She laughs lightly, and a glimmer of happiness returns to her eyes. "That kind of help I don't need. You can keep me company, though." With a shrug you hop up onto the counter, like you used to do when you were ten. "Where did you go last night? You looked ... angry ... when you left."<br/>
<br/>
"Someone I knew needed a ride home. They ... Well, <i>she</i> got caught at a bad party." You rub your bicep absent-mindedly, and twitch at a sudden tingle it gives you. "I told her it was gonna be a bad scene."<br/>
<br/>
Your mom pauses with the spoon in the air. "Was everything okay," she asks in a careful tone.<br/>
<br/>
"I think so." You doubt news about Cindy could filter back to into this house unless it were through you, but you've no idea what kind of scene Cindy might cause. "She looked kind of shocked, but she didn't ... look bad or anything."<br/>
<br/>
She grunts softly and returns to making breakfast, and you tell her about some of the stuff going on at school--light, fun stuff with Sean's friends. But you're still thinking about Cindy and Chelsea.<br/>
<br/>
You are still extremely pissed off at Chelsea, but the morning light has brought a new and dispiriting sense of helplessness. Chelsea's great strength is her ruthlessness and utter selfishness. She won't just run over people, she'll back up and run over them again, then park on top of them.<br/>
<br/>
You can't do that, not to Cameron and Laurent and the others--you can't even do that to people you don't know--even to get Chelsea. You only did it to Sean, and were planning to do it to Christine and Gloria, because you'd not seen just how far things could go. Now that you have--<br/>
<br/>
"What did you say, Sean?"<br/>
<br/>
You jerk back into the present. "What?"<br/>
<br/>
"You were talking about some of your friends, then you got quiet and started mumbling."<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry. Just got caught up in thinking about things. Here, I'll get the plates." Breakfast is almost ready, and then you eat. <br/>
<br/>
It would have tasted better if <i>you'd</i> fixed it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Gordon tips his chin in greeting as he opens the door; you respond by tipping the open McDonalds' bag toward him. He dips in and draws out some French fries. "Thanks," he mumbles as he lets you in.<br/>
<br/>
You wonder what is going through golem-Gordon's head as he leads you back to the fuck room. Does anything go through their heads? Or is it all just pretended behavior, with nothing on the inside, behind it all? You cast your mind back to yesterday, during the hours that Sean's mask was acting as a golem. You remember actions. But feelings and thoughts? Well, you know what he would have felt, and it's hard not to imagine that feeling; you know what he would have thought, and you can't stop from imagining those thoughts. But are they real, or just retrospective illusions?<br/>
<br/>
You glance at Gordon's back as he mounts the steps in front of you. No point in asking <i>it</i>; of course it would <i>say</i> it was thinking and feeling, because that's what people say, and it's imitating a person. Well, imitating a rough-hewn sort of person. The real Gordon Black, you suspect, would just punch anyone who tried asking him a philosophical question.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea smiles up from the middle of the floor as you walk in. "Well, don't you look hunky." She cocks her head. "He looks a lot better now that <i>you're</i> inside him."<br/>
<br/>
You stumble a little over that very odd compliment--such a strange echo of the problem you were just pondering--before shrugging. "Thanks. Here, I got you a salad thing from the supermarket while I was out." You hold out a bag.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, isn't that thoughtful," she says. "I've actually been thinking about using these mask things on myself, maybe as a way to keep from having to eat. My boys don't look any thinner for not having much of an appetite, do they?"<br/>
<br/>
You glance at Gordon and at Steve, who is standing silently in a corner. "I think it's different with them," you say. "I kept getting hungry as Cindy."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh." She sounds very disappointed, then brightens. "Well, maybe I could have a spare mask of someone else I can use when I want to gorge out on hot fudge sundaes." At the mention of a hot fudge sundae, she glances down at the greens she's shoved onto the prongs of her fork, and her face falls again. "Oh, and speaking of spare masks," she continues as she drops the fork so she can pour great glops of salad dressing over the lettuce. "Did you bring all the stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
You set down the other sack and pull out the <i>Libra</i> and the supplies and Cindy's mask. <br/>
<br/>
"Excellent!" she chirps, and picks up the mask. Her eyes glint in amusement as she studies it and turns it over. "You really were a perfect copy of her. I had to keep reminding myself of who you really were. There were so many times I wanted to punch you right between the eyes."<br/>
<br/>
<i>The feeling was mutual</i> appears in a thought bubble over your head.<br/>
<br/>
"Sit down," she says, patting the mat. "Gordon. Steve," she says, biting down on a forkful of her lunch and speaking around the mouthful. "Sean is your friend. You like him. You like him so much that you're going to give him a key to this place and to the gym, and you're going to let him come up here whenever he wants. He's your buddy." <br/>
<br/>
Gordon tosses you a key ring with two shiny new keys on it. You easily catch it with one hand, and jump a little: Gordon winks at you and grins.<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't you get yourself anything?" Chelsea says. And since you don't feel like talking to her, you dig out the burger and fries. But it's awkward, for the future is preying on your mind. <br/>
<br/>
"So, you took care of Cindy real good," you say in a low voice. "What now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing, now," she says. But she looks up thoughtfully, and licks a little bit of dressing off her upper lip. "At least, not until something needs to be done."<br/>
<br/>
"Like what?"<br/>
<br/>
"It depends on what it is," she says in a slightly exasperated voice. "Kim and Charles are being real helpful keeping me informed of what's going on around here, but everything seems under control, what with Cindy and Seth taken care of. Oh, Gordon, not to mind your business for you, muffin, but are those two new guys going to be able to substitute for Seth, now that he's, you know, <i>pfft</i>?"<br/>
<br/>
"Whew!" Gordon says, and his eyes widen.<br/>
<br/>
"What does that mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, they're good, especially Joe."<br/>
<br/>
"He's the blonde one, right? I thought he was a moron."<br/>
<br/>
"Eh, I guess. But man, on the court--!" He and Steve exchange wide-eyed glances.<br/>
<br/>
"Hmm." She sniffs. "I thought he was kind of a flirt last night. Eva was especially into him. That might be something to keep an eye on."<br/>
<br/>
She continues to prattle about the new players, and about the party, and about the other cheerleaders, until you have both eaten. And then she gathers up your trash and passes it to Gordon for disposal. She dimples at you while he's gone, and won't speak, and when he's back she excuses herself with a "No peeking" to go off behind some crates.<br/>
<br/>
You sit cross-legged, chin cupped in your hand, puzzled as to what she could be up to. Only at the last minute do you anticipate what's coming, for it takes you that long to notice that she's taken Cindy's mask with her.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart and stomach exchange places as she steps out from behind the crates, completely naked, with Cindy's platinum hair cascading around her shoulders. "Look at me," she exults in a voice that combines sugar and steel. "Cindy Vredenburg. Alone with three gorgeous boys. All ready to be <i>fucked. Over. Hard.</i></span></div></div>


path: 1131221221112222221212
author_id: seuzz
title: Three Conversations
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Gordon lets out wolf whistle, and Steve growls appreciatively. But you step right over to her. "Come on, take it off," you tell her roughly.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea blinks hard. "What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Take it off. This isn't fun."<br/>
<br/>
"Well that's <i>your</i> opinion--"<br/>
<br/>
"It's wrong." You stare at her evenly. "You've done enough with that thing."<br/>
<br/>
"It's not like I'm taking it out of here--"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not about Cindy. It's about you." You lower your head to give her a level stare. "Is this really the kind of person you want to be? The kind of person who-- Who hates another girl so much you'll even let yourself be fucked, just so you can pretend it's her who's being fucked?"<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes widen.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, you won your fight against her. So totally she'll never recover. You don't need to put on her mask and let yourself be stamped on. Let things go. Enjoy your victory without spoiling it."<br/>
<br/>
She tenses, but lowers her head. Gently, you reach for her face. But she brushes you away, hard. "I can take it off myself," she hisses. "Fine." Abruptly she turns and ducks back down behind the crates.<br/>
<br/>
You turn back to the golems, to find Gordon and Steve staring at you. You expect them to yell at you, maybe even to hit you. But maybe Chelsea did her work too well in telling them that you are all friends, because they just look disappointed. "Aw, why'd you have to spoil it?" Gordon mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"It's better this way. Trust me." You glance nervously around the loft. You're not scared of them--Sean's persona won't allow that--but you don't like the scene. Neither he nor you like these guys, and the buddy-buddy stuff seems very fake. And now that you've ruined Chelsea's fun for the day, you wonder if it will last.<br/>
<br/>
Long minutes pass silently before Chelsea reappears, dressed again, and looking very subdued. "Let me have the mask," you tell her. <br/>
<br/>
She hesitates a moment before thrusting it at you. "I suppose you're <i>missing her</i> or something."<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, it's not about her. It's about you."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, maybe it's about Sean. I bet you'd have gone along with me if you were in <i>Jonas.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe. Jonas is an asshole. Wouldn't you rather me be a nice guy?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess," she grumbles.  She flops onto the mat. "Well, this has been a bust."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. "Maybe we should take a little vacation from each other. We've been real busy, and you said there's nothing really going on now."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." She falls onto her back, and from the way she's blinking you can tell she's really close to crying.<br/>
<br/>
"You can call me if something comes up." You start to leave.<br/>
<br/>
"Wait!" You turn, to see her sitting up again. "Did you get that next spell figured out? The one I said was giving me trouble?"<br/>
<br/>
"No." Actually, you hadn't even looked at it, and you're suddenly grateful for the chance to reclaim the book. "Want me to take it with me, tackle it again?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's okay. Maybe it's best to leave it all alone." She falls back onto the mat again, and after a brief pause, you leave her and her golem-boys behind.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Everything you said to her was completely true, but of course you'd had an ulterior motive in getting Cindy's mask off and away from her: If she chanced to mentally review some of the things you'd done while you were being Cindy--like making masks outside her presence--matters could have gotten really awkward really fast. <br/>
<br/>
And you had another reason not to play with her: You have to be at work at Salopek by two.<br/>
<br/>
The lot is relatively empty, as it's a Saturday, but naturally Caleb's car is there. No rest for the guys who do manual labor. "You seen Andy around," you ask Debra, the receptionist, as you duck into the main office to clock in. <br/>
<br/>
"He's off with your friend, I think," she says. "Maybe you could go rescue him."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't like Caleb, do you?" you grin.<br/>
<br/>
"Honey, I don't get paid to like or not like anyone."<br/>
<br/>
You chuckle as you leave. Sean certainly does get to see a side of Caleb that you as yourself only glimpsed indirectly: the enthusiastic engineer-to-be, the networker, full of questions and suggestions and half-baked ideas. The guy who wanted to disassemble that prototype engine, not because it would be easier to move out of the hanger, but because it would let him see its insides.<br/>
<br/>
You check out the hanger where he and Sean had been working on Friday, and then the office of Andy, your supervisor. But you only catch up to them as you're crossing over to one of the maintenance bays. Andy's tired face lights up with relief as he sees you approaching. "I'll be sure to mention it to him," he says to Caleb, who has been talking excitedly, and claps him on the shoulder. "For now, though--" He greets you, and directs the two of you back to the hanger, where a bunch of parts need sorting. "If you get through with that, come find me."<br/>
<br/>
"What's your latest scheme, Johansson?" You grin at him as Andy leaves. <br/>
<br/>
"No scheme," he says. "I just wanted another look at that engine assembly." You nod absent-mindedly as he continues to chatter, and only start paying attention again when you hear the name "Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
"What about Mr. Prescott?" you sharply ask him.<br/>
<br/>
He stops short. "Well, he's got the schematics. That's what I was asking Andy about, to see if maybe he could let me--"<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't you tell me his son is a friend of yours?"<br/>
<br/>
His face tightens. "Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, why don't you ask him to ask his dad, instead of pestering Andy?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's better to do it officially, you know." There's suddenly a furtiveness in his manner. "Anyway, Will--" He stops abruptly.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" You can't hide a smile. This is fun. "Will what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he's kind of an idiot about these things. I'd rather leave him out of it."<br/>
<br/>
If Caleb has noticed the descent of a sudden frost, he gives no sign. "Well, come on, you can fuck around with that stuff on your own time," you say. Sean is Caleb's immediate supervisor, and you spend the afternoon running him ragged.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The rest of Saturday and all of Sunday pass with you dreading another phone call from Chelsea, but you hear nothing. On Monday morning you drive out early to the school, and use the keys Gordon gave you to get into the gym and the loft. You're nervous about what you might find in the fuck room--more golems? more masks?--but it seems little changed from Saturday afternoon, except that the supplies have been stowed away. The <i>Libra?</i> It takes a bit of searching, but you find it by itself in a cabinet in the corner. Idly, you flip through it before putting it back.<br/>
<br/>
Hands on hips, you stand in the midst of the loft. There's no sign of mischief or industry, and yet you can't shake the feeling that there's something wrong. You don't know the space, so naturally you can't attribute it to anything being out of place. Probably it's your imagination, or a lingering feeling from Saturday's misadventures, but there's an air of brooding and expectation. You glance back at the cabinet that holds the <i>Libra,</i> but resist the temptation to take it with you.<br/>
<br/>
You hear voices as you descend from the loft, and when you appear on the gym floor are surprised to find those new guys, Frank and Joe Durras, there. Joe turns at the sound of your footsteps, and his face brightens. "Hey, there you are! We saw you come in, then lost you." He grins and holds out a hand. "I'm Joe, and this is Frank."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah, the new guys, right? Everyone's buzzing about--" You stumble a little, for something like a jolt of energy shoots up your arm as Joe grips your hand. "Buzzing about you."<br/>
<br/>
"Meh, you must have us confused with guys who are good. And you are?" You introduce yourself, and if possible Joe's smile brightens even more. "Oh yeah, Kevin McIlroy told us to keep an eye out for you. He says to tell you you're a piece of shit for never hanging out with him anymore. He misses you."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, nothing against Kevin." Even under Joe's sunny gaze you feel a cold fist close around your heart. "It's just awkward, you know, changing schools and leaving friends behind."<br/>
<br/>
"If you got a message for him, we'll be happy to pass it along," Joe says. "Oh, I know," he adds as you shrug. "We can tell him you said you've been sharing all of Eastman's secret signals with your new team, but it's okay because no one can believe how dumb they were." You laugh lightly, but he nudges you. "Go on. I can't tell him you said it unless you actually do say it."<br/>
<br/>
You sigh. "I'm sharing all our secret signals, and no one can believe how dumb they are." <i>What a stilted and stupid--</i><br/>
<br/>
"Kevin was also asking about Scott Bickelmeir," Frank says. He's been watching you with quiet gravity, but that's not the reason you flinch a little at the name. "Can you point him out to us?" <br/>
<br/>
"Scott Bickelmeier can suck my cock," you exclaim, to your own surprise. Joe's and Frank's eyebrows shoot up. "He killed my brother, you know," you blurt out, and Sean's ill-suppressed resentments twist inside you. "Look, I don't know how much you know about him and-- and Taylor--"<br/>
<br/>
You can hardly believe the stuff coming out of your mouth. But at that moment the side door opens, and Gordon and Chelsea appear.</span></div></div>


path: 11312212211122222212122
author_id: seuzz
title: Honesty Is the Worst Policy
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Oh, hey, looks like Gordon is here," you say redundantly. You stagger back, feeling dizzy. "And I gotta talk to Chelsea about--" You choke a little. "About a school project."<br/>
<br/>
"Stick around," Joe says. "Shoot some hoops before the other guys show up." <br/>
<br/>
Threads seem to pull at you, and your limbs jerk spasmodically as you back away. With a supreme effort you turn and stumble over to Chelsea, who is looking at you with cool surprise. "I have to talk to you," you say to her. You feel yourself toppling, and barely keep yourself from falling over.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you feeling alright?" she asks. She nudges Gordon, sending him along to Joe and Frank.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm just a little--" You shake your head, which is swimming. She grabs you by the arm and pulls you, tottering, back toward the side door. "I need some air."<br/>
<br/>
She leads you outside, where the sharp, early morning breeze revives you a little. "Alright, what's wrong," she asks. "You look like you're going to faint."<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno." You lean against the side of the gym. "I just suddenly felt funny."<br/>
<br/>
"Mmm. So what's the crisis? You didn't call me or anything yesterday."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you didn't call me either," you retort. "But I've got two masks back at my place, in case you--" You snap your mouth closed and rub your eyes with the heels of your hands. <i>Shut up, Will! What has gotten into you?</i> "I didn't tell you about them because I was--" Your head jerks, as though you've slapped yourself, which in a sense you have. "Because I was pissed at you," you finish lamely.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I could tell," she says dryly. She grasps you by your elbows. "Get ahold of yourself."<br/>
<br/>
You take a deep breath, and a tremble passes through you. Sean has been drunk before, and told people things he regretted afterward. But this isn't drunkenness. It's like an effervescence of honesty has uncorked itself inside you, and you can't get the stopper back in the bottle. <br/>
<br/>
You sniff, and stop yourself from speaking, and sniff again. "I don't want to use these things anymore, these masks and golems," you say slowly. "I don't like what we've done with them, and I don't want to do things like this anymore."<br/>
<br/>
There's neither anger nor surprise in her eyes, only coolness. "It's a little late for that now, isn't it, <i>Sean?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm willing to go back to being myself," you say. "If you let go of the people you've got."<br/>
<br/>
Her smile is sour. "That's not going to happen. It was a mistake letting <i>Cindy</i> go."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?" You look at her sharply.<br/>
<br/>
"She's making a mess of things, and not the way I thought she would. She called me last night. It turns out the last thing she remembers is going out to my house. She remembers <i>Will Prescott</i> being there too, although--" Her lips twist into a small smile. "Well, don't take it as an insult, but she didn't know your name."<br/>
<br/>
"What does she remember?" Your stomach sinks.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. She just pestered me with a lot of questions. I played dumb, and she didn't accuse me of anything." She glances back at the parking lot, which is beginning to fill up. "But I could tell she remembered <i>lots</i> of things." Her eyes glint. "I need people to think she's gone psycho, and that's what Charles and Kim can help with. The last thing I need is <i>them</i> backing up Cindy with stories about ... meeting me and Gordon."<br/>
<br/>
You see her point, and swallow hard. If you're not careful, she might decide she needs to bring the mask of Cindy back into play. Nor do you want her getting the idea that <i>you're</i> a loose end in need of handling. <br/>
<br/>
"Okay, do what you have to. I just don't want to be mixed up in it."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, you're not exactly in a position to help anyway." She looks you up and down with vague distaste. "If you hear anything, though--" Again she looks over her shoulder. "We can meet after school."<br/>
<br/>
"I have to work."<br/>
<br/>
"Then you can tell Kim and she can pass it along to me. She talks to <i>everyone.</i>" She looks at you expectantly, and you nod curtly. "Okay. Now, I gotta get into Cindy's gym locker before she shows up."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The rest of the school day passes in a blur of internal distractions. You feel slightly ill, something like the sweet, miasmic sickness after dragging yourself out of bed, directly from a deep sleep, when your brain feels steeped in a light syrup. There's Cindy Vredenburg, whose appearance those times she drifts across your line of sight is like that of an unlaid revenant. There's the jumpiness you feel around Sean's claque, especially when Scott Bickelmeir is near. Notwithstanding what you said to Joe Durras this morning, even Sean knows that Scott did not kill Taylor Mitchell: he was just the last person to see Sean's brother alive, and so it's easy to blame him for the mishap. That brief conversation with Joe has stirred up all that bewildered, resentful anger inside Sean's mask-stored persona, and it swarms and buzzes around you like a cloud of hornets. And there are the new guys, who seem to be everywhere you turn: pushing past in the hallways, loitering near doorways, lighting onto the fringes of the groups you're with. There is nothing to suggest they are stalking you--why would they be?--and despite their friendliness in the gym they don't even seek you out. But you can't shake the sense of invisible antennae brushing across your cheek every time you see or hear them.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Work ought to bring relief from the tensions of school. Instead, it brings worse.<br/>
<br/>
You don't even recognize the voices coming from the distribution center before they set you cringing. Joe Durras's eyes pop in delight as you step into the hanger. He quiets Caleb, who has been talking excitedly, with a gentle touch to his chest, and extends his hand to you. "Dude! Nice way to round off a first day, catching up with you again!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, how was it for you?" you reply, and prompted by some obscure caution deflect the handshake with a friendly tilt of the chin. "You looked popular."<br/>
<br/>
"I looked popular. Frank looked like shit." He points between you and Caleb. "So you two work together? Cool."<br/>
<br/>
"You looking for a job here?" you ask with a sinking heart.<br/>
<br/>
"Caleb was telling me about it in our AP Science class," Frank says. "Salopek sounds like an excellent place to get some hands-on experience if you want to get into engineering."<br/>
<br/>
"Or if you wanna drive a forklift!" Joe exclaims. "That's what got me excited."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Mmm.</i> "Does Andy know you're here?" you cautiously ask, and glance at Caleb. "You know, there's some, uh, sensitive stuff around here." Caleb turns red.<br/>
<br/>
"He's onto us, Frank!" Joe shouts, and ducks behind his brother. "We're here spying for Straussler's dad!" You blink, and Joe shrugs sheepishly. "Private joke. I know, I know. We'll keep our hands in our pockets and our eyes mostly shut." He turns to Caleb. "You were telling us about some the 'dead' stuff they keep here." Back to you: "That'd be okay, wouldn't it? Showing us castoffs and shit?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess," you hazard.<br/>
<br/>
"It's back through here," Caleb says, unexpectedly taking charge. He leads Joe and Frank into the cavernous distribution center, with you following more slowly. "It's all these boxes," he explains, leading them up to a forlorn set of shelves in the corner.<br/>
<br/>
Frank touches one beat-up box near the ground with the toe of his sneaker. "So what kind of stuff winds up classified as 'dead'?"<br/>
<br/>
"Beats me," Caleb says. "I've never looked through it."<br/>
<br/>
"What's behind those doors?" Joe asks, jerking his chin at three metal doors at the back of the center. His eyes brighten. "Is that where they keep the forklifts?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, that's where they keep the hazardous materials. But I can show you inside." Caleb already has a key out of his pocket and in the lock before he freezes and looks back at you with a terrified expression.<br/>
<br/>
As well he might. There is no way he should have that key.<br/>
<br/>
"Most cool!" Joe exclaims, and quickly lifts and ducks under the metal door. You stare daggers at Caleb, who seems in imminent danger of melting away from embarrassment. <br/>
<br/>
Inside, Joe and Frank keep their hands in their pockets as they glance around crates and canisters. But Frank finds something in the corner: a shelf that has been cleared away except for some incongruous plastic containers, some metal strips, and-- You swallow. It's a convex mirror, like the kind used to make magical masks. "What's this stuff?" Frank asks.<br/>
<br/>
"It's mine," Caleb says, and his chest seems to heave as though the words are being yanked out of him. "It's a special project I-- I--"  He swallows very hard.<br/>
<br/>
"Nice workspace," Joe casually observes. "Much nicer if you can get in through the door instead of having to use a window." He grins up at one of the windows set high in the back wall. One of the panes has been covered by a flattened cardboard box.<br/>
<br/>
"We better get out before Joe sets something on fire," Frank says. Caleb practically runs from the room. You and the other two follow at a more leisurely pace. "Did you know what your friend was up to in there?" Frank quietly asks you.<br/>
<br/>
"Nope." You clamp your mouth tightly around the word.<br/>
<br/>
Joe and Frank tease and josh a little more, but they don't linger, and soon take off, leaving you alone with Caleb.</span></div></div>


path: 113122122111222222121221
author_id: seuzz
title: Revelations, Intentional and Otherwise
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Okay, what was that about?" you demand, rounding on Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
"I was just showing them around?" His grin desperate.<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"I just got to talking to them during sixth period," Caleb says.  "And the next thing I knew-- Uh--"<br/>
<br/>
There is something very odd going on here. You remember what it was like talking to Joe before classes--how even around Chelsea you felt helpless to talk with a self-defeating honesty. So: "How did you get the key to that secure room?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb chokes on his own words. "From Jack?"<br/>
<br/>
"He gave it to you? He told you where he keeps it?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I used a-- a--" His face twists up. "A kind of thing." He seems in imminent danger of disintegration.<br/>
<br/>
You stare at him hard. "Lemme guess. You used a little metal band about this big." You frame a small rectangle with your fingers. "You slapped it onto his forehead--"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's knees give way. "How do you--?"<br/>
<br/>
"What's going on in there?" a voice calls from the entrance. You look over to see Jack Weiland standing in the door.<br/>
<br/>
"We'll talk about it later," you growl at Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Caleb sits cross-legged on his bed, frowning at the mask in his lap. You sit in the chair at his desk. Sean's clothes drape lankly off you, for it's Sean's mask Caleb is holding.<br/>
<br/>
It was a long and angry conversation you had, but it's all out in the open now: Caleb has explicitly confessed to disguising himself as you and trying to score a mask off Gordon Black, and losing the <i>Libra</i> to him when the attempt miscarried. You've told him your adventures with Chelsea, and how you wound up pretending to be Sean.<br/>
<br/>
"I can't believe you didn't tell me what you were doing," he grumbles for about the tenth time.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have a right to be pissed at me," you retort. "Not after what you did."<br/>
<br/>
"I tried getting you to come in as a partner."<br/>
<br/>
"And you weren't very honest about it."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you weren't honest, doing ... <i>this</i>!" He brandishes Sean's mask.<br/>
<br/>
"You were dishonest first! Oh, this is stupid." You sigh. "What are we going to do?"<br/>
<br/>
He stiffens. "Oh, are we on the same team now?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, I don't like being on the same team as Chelsea. And now we've got those two new guys--" You twist in the chair. "What the fuck is with them?"<br/>
<br/>
"You think they know about this stuff? That book and what it does?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, they do now, I'd say. That was stupid of you, leaving the evidence behind after you lost the book."<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, did they know about it before?" Caleb says, ignoring your gibe. "Look, I dunno why I was telling them all the stuff I did. That was <i>freaky.</i> Do you think they're, like ..." His voice falters. "Magicians?"<br/>
<br/>
Joe Durras--blonde, goofy, seventeen-years-old--does not comport with your mental image of "magician." But the same description could apply to Caleb. For that matter, it could apply to you. And look what you've gotten up to.<br/>
<br/>
And appearances, when the <i>Libra</i> is involved, can be deceiving. Caleb must have had the same thought. "Maybe it's the guys the book originally belonged to?" he says. "Under some masks? Perfect way to infiltrate a high school."<br/>
<br/>
You shift uneasily in the chair. "We can't really ask them, can we? But I've got two blank masks at my place." Caleb's eyes widen. "They got inside our heads. Maybe we should get inside theirs."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're back home looking at the blank masks when your phone rings. You let it go for a bit, being preoccupied. If the Durras brothers are wearing masks ... Well, you're not sure what happens when you put a blank mask on someone who is already wearing a mask. On the other hand, you can't just grab their faces and try ripping them off. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Fuck, whoever is calling is really desperate to get ahold of you.</i> "Yeah, what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sean?" a timid voice says, and you don't recognize it until she identifies herself. "This is Cindy? Vredenburg?" <br/>
<br/>
<i>Crap.</i> "Yeah, hey. How are you doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"I've been better." You know for a fact she has. "Um, I was wondering ... Could we get together tonight? To talk? About ... Friday night?"<br/>
<br/>
You press a knuckle into your forehead. You really don't need this, but feelings of guilt lap all around you. "Uh, sure. Listen, I don't really know what all went down--"<br/>
<br/>
"Can we meet at the library? The university library, I mean? That's where I can get a ride, and I don't want to be ... around here."<br/>
<br/>
You're glad she can't see your face, for your expression says "Fuck no" even as your mouth says "Yeah, okay." You hang up with a groan.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Neither you nor Sean have spent much time at the Keyserling library, and Cindy herself seems very unsure of its layout. Eventually you find a secluded spot on the second floor, in a corner, at some tables. The air prickles with a scholastic air entirely missing from the dumpier and more comfortable municipal library. <br/>
<br/>
Cindy is very hesitant, and in marked contrast to Joe Durras is very bad at drawing information out of you. It's clear she wants to know what happened at Chelsea's house on Friday night, and based on what you said to her that night she thinks you're a sympathetic person who might tell her.<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't there," you tell her gruffly. "You won't catch me out at one of Chelsea's shindigs." You make a face. "I just got a call to come pick someone up."<br/>
<br/>
"Who called you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Chelsea," you stutter after a moment's hesitation: She's the only person who wouldn't contradict you if Cindy asks around.<br/>
<br/>
She rubs the table with the palm of her hand. "Did Chelsea say anything about ... why I needed to be picked up?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. I heard it had something to do with Seth." That seems like a safe thing to say. "You two had a, uh, a bad break up?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess," she says uncertainly.<br/>
<br/>
"Look," you say, desperate to find a way of calming her without drawing yourself into the quagmire of her life. "The best thing to do is just forget about it. Treat today as the first day of the rest of your life. Deal with whatever comes, and don't worry about what's going on behind it."<br/>
<br/>
She frowns, and gets the unfortunate idea that you're interested in "what's been going on" in her life--information that is at least a week out of date. You patiently listen to her for what seems like forever. <br/>
<br/>
You're not the only one feeling impatient, though. "Are you done yet?" a querulous voice interrupts. You look up to see Lucy Vredenburg looming out of the stacks. You blink, since the last time you saw Lucy it was through Cindy's eyes, and they acted like a filter blocking most of Lucy's finer points. "Because I'm done with the shit I have to do and've run out of ways to waste my time."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay Lucy," Cindy says quietly, and pulls her bag to her shoulder. "Oh, this is Sean Mitchell."<br/>
<br/>
Lucy grunts, and then does a double take. Her eyes harden. It takes you a moment to realize she's staring at your bicep. You glance down at it: Oh, yeah, Sean's tattoo, sticking out from under the short sleeve of your t-shirt.<br/>
<br/>
"Nice ink," Lucy says. "Where'd you get the design?"<br/>
<br/>
"You like it?" You can't help preening for her, and flex your thick arm. "I found it in some old papers that used to belong to my brother."<br/>
<br/>
"Your brother?" Her voice--her whole manner--is tense. "And where'd your brother get them?"<br/>
<br/>
She's poking a very sore spot in a very rude way. "I don't know," you snap. "He's dead." Reflexively, you resettle the cap on your head.<br/>
<br/>
You might have expected an apology from her, but her eyes blaze. "Come on, Cindy," she says, her voice tight with fury. "I got another stop to make before we can go home."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks, Sean," Cindy says, but before she can say more Lucy jerks her by the arm and hauls her off.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
And now you've got another mystery to process, for after Lucy's peculiar behavior you take a closer look at that tattoo.<br/>
<br/>
It's composed of intricate bands and circles, and you don't have to compare them to the drawings you copied out of the <i>Libra</i> to know that they are very similar. But at home you perch on the bathroom vanity with the papers you've copied, flex your bicep, and make a minute comparison.<br/>
<br/>
You can't find a direct correspondence between the tattoo and anything you copied from the book, but the elements, and the way they are put together, is too close to be coincidence. For the past two months, Sean Mitchell has been walking around with <i>Libra</i>-like tattoos. <br/>
<br/>
He found them in a stash of papers belonging to his twin brother, Taylor, who died a little over two months ago in a car wreck. Where Taylor got them, you've no idea. Your--or Sean's--best guess would be "Scott Bickelmeir," the asshole Taylor had been hanging around with.<br/>
<br/>
You pull your lip. Sean, Taylor, and Scott had been attending Eastman High School until last year; after Taylor's death in August, Sean moved to Westside, and Scott--to Sean's abiding anger--had followed. Joe and Frank Durras--though new to town--had been attending Eastman, and have now moved to Westside as well.<br/>
<br/>
Does all this have something to do with the late Taylor Mitchell?</span></div></div>


path: 1131221221112222221212211
author_id: seuzz
title: Witness to a Tragedy
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You dawdle the next morning, for there are lots of people--Chelsea, Cindy, Joe and Frank--you're not eager to run into, and quickly lose yourself in the crowded hallways and pre-lunch classes. Caleb, blessedly, is the only one who runs you to ground. "Hey, Sean," he calls to you at your locker. "Can you gimme a ride out to work after school?"<br/>
<br/>
"No problem. Something wrong with your car?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I just wanted some extra time to talk to you about, uh--"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah," you cut him off, for you think you see Joe Durras's blonde mop bobbing along in the crowd behind him. "I'm gonna have to tell Jack about all that, but if you wanna get some kind of story straight ahead of time, I'm cool with that."<br/>
<br/>
He pales a little, thinking maybe that you're serious about getting him into trouble over the restricted room, then nods and scoots off. The blonde guy turns out to be someone else.<br/>
<br/>
But now you're jumpy, and you twitch at the feel of an elbow in your ribs. "You guys in trouble at work?" Danny Russo grins at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Not me, and it's not your business," you retort. <br/>
<br/>
"That's how come you'll never catch me with a job," he laughs. "No chance of trouble I can't dance out of." He puts his hands over his head and shakes his booty. You smile thinly.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Third period is History, a subject neither you nor Sean excel at, so it's the basic class "for those condemned to repeat it," as Mr. Santiago morosely and obscurely says at least once a week. Gordon Black gives you a friendly clap on the shoulders as he enters after you've sat down. "Got a space saved for you at lunch," he cheerfully says. "Lotta fuckable girls at our table, served up on trays."<br/>
<br/>
"Save me a space for tomorrow," you say evasively. "I have to talk to someone."<br/>
<br/>
He leans in close to your ear. "How about after school? VIP room?" His voice softens and acquires an edge. "Chelsea wants to see you."<br/>
<br/>
"I have work." But a thought strikes you. "After that, though. Lemme have the place for me and a friend--" You smile at him, and he smiles back. "Between six and seven, private. After seven, though?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's okay with me, and I'll tell Steve," he replies. "But check your texts just in case."<br/>
<br/>
You drum your fingers and ignore the lecture--something about France and Germany; it's always about France and Germany, it seems--and ponder your plans. It would be awkward talking to Scott Bickelmeir at lunch (your original plan), but even though he knows Sean doesn't like him, he'd probably be willing to take a meeting in the fabled fuck room. If he won't tell you anything, you can get a mask on him in the privacy of the loft. And Caleb will be with you, since you'll be giving him a ride from work. Maybe you could even slip him in for Scott.<br/>
<br/>
So you make a brief stop by the footballers' table at lunch, where Scott accepts your cryptic invitation to meet him at the school at six with some mystification but apparent pleasure. Then you move on to the alpha table. Gordon and Steve both cheer you, and Gordon shoves Dalton Douglas aside, but Chelsea issues a curt word to Kendra Saunders, and you find yourself sitting next to her. "It's nice to see a new face," she says brightly. "There've been too many basketball players around here."<br/>
<br/>
"Sounds like a hint, Frank." You look over sharply at the voice: Joe and Frank are a few seats down, on the other side of the table. "Rock paper scissors for the right to stay," Joe continues. <i>One two three.</i> Every tray on the table bangs sharply as Frank's closed fist hits the table, and Eva Garner squeaks and giggles in surprise. <br/>
<br/>
Joe and Frank stare at each other, and then Joe wilts. "I don't know how come your rock always manage to beat my paper," he grumbles as he rises. <br/>
<br/>
"Look it up in a book sometime," Frank calls to his retreating back. "Oh yeah, you don't know how to read." Joe flips him off.<br/>
<br/>
Something tickles your ear. "Cindy's been looking for you," Chelsea whispers. "Hook up with her today. After school."<br/>
<br/>
"Why? I've got plans." She frowns fiercely. "I talked to her last night. She--" You sigh. "Seven o'clock?"<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever. Keep her happy," Chelsea says through gritted teeth. "It's either that or--" She doesn't have to finish the thought: There will be a mask in her future if she keeps making waves.<br/>
<br/>
You glance around the table. You've never paid much attention to the alpha table--beyond its existence--but it looks like there's been a social earthquake. Cindy, naturally, isn't there. Nor is Seth. Lin and Yumi are also elsewhere. So is Jason Lynch, come to that.<br/>
<br/>
Your eyes briefly lock with Frank's. "There any job openings at Salopek?" he asks. <br/>
<br/>
"I'll let you know if I hear anything." You bury your attention in your lunch.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Despite your promise to Chelsea, you don't go looking for Cindy. But you don't have to. You find her lingering near your locker, fighting off Danny Russo's attentions. She looks wanly relieved at your appearance. "Hey," she says, drawing close to you with a pale smile. "Thanks so much for last night."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think I helped you any."<br/>
<br/>
"You helped me more than you know. I was hoping we could ... um ...?"<br/>
<br/>
"I have to meet someone after school. If you come up here a little after seven, we could hang out."<br/>
<br/>
"By the gym?" You nod, and her smile is almost pathetically grateful. "I'll see you then."<br/>
<br/>
"The hell are <i>you</i> smiling at," you snarl at Danny after she's gone.<br/>
<br/>
"Like I have to tell you!" he exclaims, and tries to chest bump you. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Work at Salopek passes without incident, though both you and Caleb are on edge. You show him the tattoo and tell him about your suspicions about Scott Bickelmeir; he agrees that it would be best to investigate that avenue before tackling the mysterious Durras brothers. You've got the masks with you, so you go directly from Salopek to the school, but you make Caleb wait out in the parking lot while you check to see that the coast is clear: it would look very odd if you got caught taking him up to the loft. But even after confirming that it is empty, you have him hide behind some boxes while you wait outside for Scott.<br/>
<br/>
To your relief, he shows up early. You have to beat down Sean's overwhelming hatred of his very presence, but manage to be cordial to him. He himself is very low-key--not at all the cocky bastard that sets Sean to grinding his teeth--and doesn't even make any of the obvious jokes when you invite him up to the VIP room. "Dude, you're moving up in the world," is all he says as he glances around the loft.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, this is a private spot and I thought I'd take advantage of it. I feel like we need to talk about some important stuff." He shrugs compliantly. You take a deep breath. "I want you to tell me about the last time you saw Taylor."<br/>
<br/>
He tenses, and his eyes become shifty. "I told you before, I didn't see him that night."<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit!" You clench your eyes shut and breathe until you relax again. "Okay," you say. "Let's pretend I believe you. What about the last time you <i>say</i> that you saw him?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was at Salopek, I guess," he says. "Nothing special. He wasn't even there when ..." Again he turns shifty.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, he told me. You got busted for drinking on the job. Pfft." You shake your head. "I guess I should thank you for not spilling about Tom," you sigh. "The bottle's still there."<br/>
<br/>
He grins softly. "Glad to hear it. About Taylor, though. I wish I could tell you something to make you feel better about ... everything."<br/>
<br/>
"I wish you'd be honest with me." His face tightens again even as your voice hardens. "I don't know what he saw in you, and him and me were ... Well, we were twins."<br/>
<br/>
"You think it's easy for me, looking at you and seeing him?"<br/>
<br/>
You stare at him evenly. "Okay, I'm going to ask you one more question, and if you really were Taylor's friend, I want you to be totally truthful." He tenses, but nods. You push up your sleeve. "You ever seen him with designs like this? Did he ever have any papers with this kind of crap?"<br/>
<br/>
The blood drains from his face--practically a confession, you'd say--as he stares at the tattoo. He starts to shake his head, but then catches your gaze, and deflates. "Yeah," he says. "Where'd you--?"<br/>
<br/>
"Tell me about them. Where'd he get them?"<br/>
<br/>
He puts his hands to his hips and kicks at the floor. "Out at Salopek." He bites his lip. "We were pissing around, and--"<br/>
<br/>
There's a loud crack from the corner of the lounge, and Scott swings around. When he looks back at you, his glance is sharp. Without a word, and before you can stop him, he vaults over a couple of crates. A squawk tells you he's found Caleb even before he hauls your unfortunate friend to his feet. Scott slams him against the wall. <br/>
<br/>
"The fuck is going on here?" he demands. His head swings between you and Caleb. His grip on Caleb's shirt tightens. "I've seen you two together," he mutters. "You work at Salopek!"<br/>
<br/>
Any chance--however remote--of getting a truthful story from him seems blown. In was just in such an eventuality that you brought the masks--and Caleb--along in the first place.</span></div></div>


path: 11312212211122222212122112
author_id: seuzz
title: The Story from a Long-Lost Brother
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Okay, look, just calm down." You raise your hands placatingly. "I was asking about this stuff because Caleb and me found some stuff out at Salopek. Stuff like this." You point to the tattoo.<br/>
<br/>
"Cut the shit," Scott snarls. "We left all that stuff at--" He shuts his mouth with a snap.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, if we all want to be honest with each other, we should just talk."<br/>
<br/>
Scott glares at you, then releases Caleb. "Yeah, okay. You've been asking me questions. How about you answer some of mine?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug, and slowly move around the crates to join the other two. Your bag is there, and you draw out one of the blank masks. "Hold this for me, Caleb," you say mildly as you hand it to him, praying he can follow your plan as it unfolds. "You're right," you say to Scott. He's staring at the mask, so he doesn't react as you edge around him. "We didn't find anything at Salopek. But you wouldn't know anything about a book that was out at Arnholm's, would you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Arnholm's?" he says dully. Still, he stares at the mask, which gives you time to--<br/>
<br/>
You grab him from behind. "Caleb! Get the mask on him!" Scott snaps back to life, but you've had enough time to wrap your arms under and behind him. Scott twists, and the back of his head smashes into your face. You grunt but your grip doesn't slacken. Then Scott stiffens. As he slides down, you look up to find Caleb staring at him with a stricken expression. "Well, that should--" you start.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb points at Scott. "Is it supposed to be doing that?"<br/>
<br/>
You peer around to look at Scott. The mask, instead of sinking into him, is resting on his face and glowing a bright blue. It seems to hiss softly.<br/>
<br/>
"Shit!" The mask continues to brighten. You and Caleb exchange horrified glances. This is definitely not something you've seen before. Maybe it's hurting him. Fuck him, maybe it's damaging the mask. You pull it off him and hand it to Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
Scott's face reappears, staring blankly. His jaw works. <br/>
<br/>
You have a sudden hunch, and grasp his face. It's wet with sweat, and your fingers can't quite get a purchase. But you mumble the words that release a mask from a wearer, and tug. And just like that, you're holding another mask. A head thumps as it falls to the floor. You and Caleb both look down, and your heart turns upside down.<br/>
<br/>
"He looks just like you," Caleb whispers.<br/>
<br/>
Yes, it's Sean Mitchell's face. You lick your lips, and gently push his head to the side and pull at an ear. There's a purple birthmark--one that Sean doesn't have. <br/>
<br/>
"Is it-- Is it the real Sean?" Caleb asks fearfully.<br/>
<br/>
"No," you say numbly. "It's his brother, Taylor." You swallow. "He's supposed to be dead." <br/>
<br/>
"What?! Then how did--?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know!" you shout. A horde of feelings are tussling inside you: Your own bafflement and surprise, mixed with Sean's own shock. "He was in a-- a car wreck last August. I don't know how he--" You seize control of your emotions. "He's going to have to tell us himself."<br/>
<br/>
"Good luck getting a dead guy to--"<br/>
<br/>
You stop him with raised hand, and your mind works furiously. "Listen," you say. "This is gonna get weird. I'm supposed to be Sean, right? His brother. The guy who thinks his brother has been <i>dead</i>, and has just found him--" You gesture uselessly at Taylor and at the mask you're still holding. "I'm not gonna be able to tell him the truth about us and what's been going on. It'll be too weird, and Sean's the only person he'll probably-- Look, you need to get out of here. Go home. I'll catch up with you later after I've got the story out of him."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb looks dubious, until you shoot him a hard frown. "Just don't fuck things up," he grumbles as he leaves.<br/>
<br/>
After he's gone, you tamp back the urge to slap the life back into Taylor. He's breathing--he's only unconscious--and you drop the mask next to him and lean back against a crate. You compose your features into an expression of haggard surprise, which isn't hard to do.<br/>
<br/>
After a few minutes, Taylor stirs. He puts a hand to his forehead and groans. He rubs his eyes and raises his head. He peers at you darkly. "Mitchell?" he says muzzily. "The fuck did you--?"<br/>
<br/>
"Please tell me you're really Taylor, and not Scott pretending to be Taylor." You fold your arms.<br/>
<br/>
He freezes, then slowly rubs his face. His hand falls onto the mask, and he snatches it back as though he's touched a snake. Then, slowly, he picks it up and examines it. "Shit," he says. "Oh my God!" His face widens in surprise as he looks at you. "Sean?"<br/>
<br/>
"I got that thing off you," you say, pointing at the mask. "How long have you been-- Been under it?"<br/>
<br/>
His head falls back, and again he rubs his eyes. When he opens them again, you see they are wet with tears. "How did you--?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just tell me what's going on," you shout around the lump in your own throat. "Tell me I have a brother again."<br/>
<br/>
"Sean," he says. "It's me. Taylor." He sits up. "I-- I haven't been gone. I've only been--" He weakly brandishes the mask before it slips from nerveless fingers. "I've been here."<br/>
<br/>
"For how long? <i>Who died in that car wreck?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
He buries his face in his hands. "How much do you know? How much do I have to explain?"<br/>
<br/>
"I know about these mask things. How did <i>you</i> know about them?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't. Well, not much." He swallows, then lets out a deep breath. "Me and Scott. We were out at Salopek, pissing around--" He stops and blinks, perhaps conscious that he'd started telling you this story. "We were pissing around and started digging through this box on one of the 'dead' shelves. We found these things. Masks. An old notebook, some papers. This was before we got fired, you know."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"I wish you'd stop giving me the third degree. I'm your brother."<br/>
<br/>
"Ten minutes ago you were Scott Bickelmeir. Did you even know who you were while you were wearing that thing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Well, sort of." A pained look crosses his face. "Okay, it got a little weird, after being inside it for so long. Have you tried one on?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just go on. You and Scott."<br/>
<br/>
He groans. "Okay, we found this stuff. And then we got fired. So, this one weekend, right after that, we got together to look at the stuff. We'd taken it with us, because it looked, you know, weird and interesting."<br/>
<br/>
"Go on."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we wound up at the school--Eastman, you know--out at one of the practice fields. We were looking at the stuff. There weren't instructions or anything, but we seemed to get it figured out. There was a notebook, like I said, and it had some clues. Anyway, we got these two masks made. One of them wound up with Scott's name in it, and the other one had my name. Nothing happened when we put our own masks on, but we put each others' masks on, and--" He takes a deep breath. "Suddenly I was him, and he was me."<br/>
<br/>
"Why didn't you take them off?"<br/>
<br/>
"We couldn't. I said, there weren't any instructions. Then Sawyer-- Sawyer Harrison? He was there. He put one on, and--" He winces at a memory. "We had to call the paramedics, because he wouldn't wake up. And after that--" He wilts. "We couldn't get the masks off, so he went back home as me, and I went home as him." His face twists up. "Maybe there was something wrong with his mask, because he-- he--"<br/>
<br/>
"He was in a car wreck." You feel the ashen sense of loss again. "But it was Scott, not you."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." Tears begin to flow from him. "It really was me, under this thing, all the time. But I couldn't tell anyone. How could I?"<br/>
<br/>
"So you just went on being him, and you followed me out here, to Westside, when I moved."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." He lumbers to his feet. "Sean, I came so close, so many times, to telling you, to trying to tell you, but--"<br/>
<br/>
"I know. I only saw Scott." You step forward, and there's a moment of suspense. Then you grab him in a bear hug. "But you're back," you say, and as you squeeze him, tears start flowing from you. "You're back."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There are still details to clear up, and Taylor demands your story from you. You hedge, and only tell him you found some clues in the stuff he left behind. He seems dubious, especially when you brush off his question about where you got the new mask that Caleb shoved onto his face. You try to cut short his queries by telling him you're supposed to meet someone soon.<br/>
<br/>
His face falls in disappointment. "You haven't seen me-- We haven't <i>talked--</i> Bro!" He spreads his arms. "You're just gonna run out on me?"<br/>
<br/>
"I know where you are," you say. "We've got lots of time." You can't tell him your real reason for wanting to cut things short: He's going to keep asking you questions that you can't safely answer, at least not yet. "Look," you say nervously. "I had to get rid of Johansson, and he's going to be wondering what's going on."<br/>
<br/>
"So let's go find him. If he knows about this stuff-- How does he know about it anyway?"<br/>
<br/>
You look at your watch. Cindy will be showing up soon, if she isn't already waiting in the parking lot.</span></div></div>


path: 113122122111222222121221121
author_id: seuzz
title: A Story to Tell a Long-Lost Brother
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Okay, it's not an important meeting anyway," you tell Taylor. You stare at the floor, thinking hard. "I'll put it off. But I gotta talk to Johansson first. He was pretty freaked out when we pulled that mask off you. I'll go see him, get things explained, and then call you and you can come over. After that ..." You let further plans drift.<br/>
<br/>
Taylor doesn't seem very pleased, and he's still less pleased at going back under Scott's mask. You point out it's a bad idea for people to see a dead guy driving around. Taylor retorts, "They'll just think it's you. You know, like old times."<br/>
<br/>
"You're going to have to go back to being Scott anyway."<br/>
<br/>
He cocks his head. "I don't suppose we could, I dunno, <i>share.</i> We always used to, you know." He nudges you. "You be Scott for awhile, and I can be-- Come on, I really wanna see Mom again!"<br/>
<br/>
Inwardly, you groan. It's an obvious suggestion: Let him pretend to be Sean while his brother, he thinks, takes over for Scott. "We should talk about it later," you cautiously reply. "This is all pretty new and strange."<br/>
<br/>
At least he accedes, and with obvious distaste lays back to return Scott's mask to his face. While he's unconscious, you call Cindy. "Hey, it's Sean. Listen, something's come up. Can I take a rain check on our meeting? Maybe tomorrow?" There's a nasty pause, but when she speaks she sounds agreeable. "Yeah, I'm sorry about this. But listen, remember what I said last night? First day of the rest of your life? Just try to keep happy, and don't do anything stupid." She assures you she won't, and then asks where you are. "I'm at the school, but I'm getting ready to take off. See you tomorrow?" Her response is noncommittal. <br/>
<br/>
You frown briefly at the phone: Cindy doesn't sound like a girl who's stirring up trouble. Maybe just that brief talk will be enough to keep Chelsea happy, and you won't actually have to meet up with her.<br/>
<br/>
When Taylor wakes you get Scott's phone number from him, and you part with the understanding that you'll call him out to Caleb's house after you've got "Johansson calmed down."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Of course, your real reason for meeting Caleb is so you can get your stories straight. It doesn't take very long to agree on a general outline, but you insist on doing most of the talking. Taylor, when he shows up, doesn't disguise his curiosity. "You said you found some stuff at Salopek," he says. "What did me and-- and Scott leave behind?"<br/>
<br/>
"Actually, it's more complicated than that," you say. "The stuff you found at Salopek--did it include a book, leather bound, about this big?" You frame your hands in the air.<br/>
<br/>
"No. We found a notebook, but it was like an old school thing."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, Johansson here found a book at Arnholm's. Maybe it's the original. It's all in Latin, and looks pretty old. It has all kinds of stuff about making masks and other things."<br/>
<br/>
"Like what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Other stuff," you reply, conscious of how evasive you sound. "I only found out about it yesterday. Caleb had a little secret place at Salopek where he was-- What do you know about Joe and Frank Durras?"<br/>
<br/>
Taylor blinks at the corkscrew turn. "Those new guys? Nothing. I was actually supposed to meet up with them tonight--"<br/>
<br/>
"What? How come?"<br/>
<br/>
He frowns. "Just to get together. I was talking to Joe at lunch, and next thing I knew--"<br/>
<br/>
You snort. "Next thing you knew you were telling him your life story, right?"<br/>
<br/>
His frown deepens. "No, I just said we'd get together. I cancelled because I'd rather be with you." He looks at you closely. "They have something to do with this?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno." You tug at your lip. Getting Taylor on your side for a confrontation with them would be a definite advantage, which is why you brought them up. "Like I said, I didn't know anything about these masks and stuff until yesterday, when they showed up at work, and Caleb practically told them all about it."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor shoots Caleb a hard glance. "What? Why?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb turns red, but you continue to run the conversation. "Have you really talked to those guys? I mean, more than just to say 'Hi' or 'How's it hanging?'"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Just a friendly conversation, like at lunch today. They seem cool. Joe's a total moron--"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, they've got this trick, I dunno how they do it, but you wind up just blurting stuff out to them. I mean, secret stuff you wouldn't tell <i>anyone.</i> That's what they did to Caleb." Taylor cocks a skeptical eyebrow. "Well, anyway, to get back on track, I was there, so I got to see what Caleb was up to. That was the first time I heard about this stuff. But it got me thinking about -- You left some things back in your room. Designs and things." You raise the sleeve on your shirt. "I used them to make myself up a memento."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor gives the tattoo only a cursory examination. "Pretty sentimental of you, bro. But why'd you come find me? Scott, I mean."<br/>
<br/>
"Because it got me thinking about you and him. I made Caleb tell me about what he was doing. I looked through that book he found and made a connection to the things you left behind. I wanted to see if there was some connection between you and Scott and this book. It was a pretty freaky coincidence."<br/>
<br/>
He nods. "Okay, I get it."<br/>
<br/>
"My first thought was to--" You take a deep breath. "Well, it was to use a mask Johansson had--" you shoot Caleb a penetrating glance, so he'll pick up on the improvisation "--to make a copy of Scott so I could get inside his head, find out what he knew. That's how come we tried putting a mask on you. But it didn't work. I had a sudden hunch, and wound up trying to pull a mask off you. And it worked."<br/>
<br/>
"How'd you know how to do that? Was that in the book Johansson found?" You nod. "Can I see it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I confiscated it. I can show you later." You sigh. "And that brings you up to speed."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor grunts softly and sits back on Caleb's bed. He tilts his head, and it's clear he's pondering everything you told him. There are no obvious holes that you can see, but you hold your breath, hoping he doesn't find any. And when he speaks again, it's not to challenge anything you've told him. "So what do we do now," he sighs.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, there's still the Durras guys to worry about."<br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because there's something weird about them. I think they're mixed up with all this."<br/>
<br/>
"Why? So Johansson here tells them-- You're being awful quiet there," he says, turning to Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
"Because he knows he's fucked things up," you interject on Caleb's behalf. "I don't think it's really his fault, though. I told you those guys have this trick--"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't get what you mean by that," Taylor protests.<br/>
<br/>
"Here, lemme tell you what happened at Salopek yesterday. You know the restricted rooms at the distribution center?" He nods. "Well, Caleb got the key to one. That's where he was doing his stuff, inside one of them." Taylor's eyes widen. "Major rule violation, right? Instant firing offense. But yesterday, when they visited, Joe just had to say the word, and Caleb <i>opens it up</i>--" You glare at your friend. "<i>And shows them inside,</i> shows them where he was <i>making these things!</i>" You brandish the blank mask in Taylor's astonished face. "Johansson may look like an idiot, but <i>no one</i> is dumb enough to just openly incriminate himself that way.<br/>
<br/>
"And it didn't feel like an accident, either," you continue when Taylor says nothing. "They weren't there long, but they kept hitting things connected to this mask business. I got the strong impression Joe and Frank knew <i>exactly</i> what they were looking for. You said you and Scott found some stuff on the dead shelf?" He nods. "They were interested in the dead shelves, too."<br/>
<br/>
"That still doesn't--"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, we were at Eastman. They were at Eastman. We moved out here, and they followed. I think they think I'm mixed up in this because I'm-- I'm Taylor Mitchell's brother, and him and Scott Bickelmeir were screwing around with masks. Did you and Scott leave anything behind at Eastman, something they might have found?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but we hid it. And we didn't leave any clues behind. Stop the conspiracy theories, okay?" he says, interrupting you. "Number one, they couldn't have found the shit we left behind. Two, they couldn't have connected it to me and-- and Scott. Three, how would they even know about stuff out at Salopek? How would they even suspect there was stuff out there?"<br/>
<br/>
You tick points off your own fingers. "One, we can't be the only ones who know about this stuff. There's this book that's been floating around. Two, we're dealing with magic, right? There are probably lots of ways of tracking things down. I mean, I dunno, magical residues and radiances. Three, maybe they've been putting lots of pieces together, pieces we don't know about, and they've narrowed the search down. Four, they keep popping up when I'm around and when you're around and when Johansson is around. And they keep getting us to <i>say</i> things we don't want to talk about, stuff connected to this damn book!<br/>
<br/>
He looks far from convinced; and an unconvinced ally is probably no ally in a fight.</span></div></div>


path: 1131221221112222221212211211
author_id: seuzz
title: More Mysteries
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Look, even if it's all just a really weird coincidence, I wanna be sure," you say. "At the very least, we need to do a little snooping of our own." You rub the back of your head. "See if we can't trick <i>them</i> into giving something away, for once."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor rolls his eyes. There doesn't seem much more to talk about, so the meeting breaks up, with you telling Caleb you'll talk to him tomorrow. On the way out, Taylor again tries broaching the subject of "sharing" Sean's life. "Can we get all this stuff taken care of first," you plead. "I know how you feel--" You give him a quick, brotherly hug. "But I want to be able to enjoy it without having shit hanging over my head." Taylor grumbles, but doesn't argue. The two of you will try to corner Joe and Frank tomorrow, you agree.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You pass a restless night, feeling as though Sean's persona is wrestling with you. You feel his happiness at rediscovering his brother, and you also feel terrible guilt at the massive lie you've been telling Taylor by pretending to be Sean. And there's the fear of what will happen when you let Sean back out again, and have to explain things to the brothers. You'll have to explain things to them, right? Sean can't just reappear with no memory of finding his brother.<br/>
<br/>
You flip onto your back. Except, what if Sean came down with "amnesia"? Something bad and magical connected with the book? You try sorting through possible stories you might improvise, but they all seem very complex. And they would involve working closely with Caleb. Maybe you're just still pissed at him for getting you mixed up with all this; or maybe it's Sean's own disinclination to take him seriously. Whatever the reason, you don't have any faith that he can help you pull off any complicated schemes. That's why you stopped him from saying a single word during the meeting with Taylor.<br/>
<br/>
And then there are the Durrases. You drape an arm over your forehead. You're nervous about having to meet them, despite Taylor's attempts to quiet your suspicions. They might be very dangerous, even aside from their seeming ability to pull incriminating confessions out of people. Grimly, it occurs to you that a sudden attack of amnesia might be the least bad things to happen to "Sean Mitchell" when he meets them.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So you're groggy at wrestling practice the next morning, and Laurent Delacroix winds up pulling you aside. "Are you okay?" he asks. "Because it's like you left your brain at home."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't sleep good," you confess. He grimaces at your promise to do better, and you try, but even you feel like a 110% effort is translating only to 65% capacity, so you're glad when he sends you to the showers early, reminding you that you both have a quiz in Walberg you'll want to be awake for.<br/>
<br/>
But you're not even halfway across the gym floor before an unwelcome voice calls. Chelsea is by the door--apparently having just walked in--and with a curt jerk of her head she pulls you over. "Did you see Cindy last night?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. I talked to her on the phone, though. She sounded like she was going to be okay--"<br/>
<br/>
"Who <i>did</i> you meet with last night? Gordon said you wanted the loft to yourself."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," you say, looking everywhere but her face. "And it was kind of private, you know?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're a guest up there," she says in a tight voice, "and if I want to know who you were with, you will tell me."<br/>
<br/>
You take a deep breath. "Okay, I was up there with Scott Bickelmeir, and <i>don't give me any funny looks because it wasn't like that.</i> I had some private stuff to talk to him about."<br/>
<br/>
Actually, her expression hadn't changed a bit at Scott's name, and it remains hard. "Did it have anything to do with my book?" Something catches in your throat, and it's not because of the rude, proprietary lunge she's made at the <i>Libra.</i> "Did you take it with you when you left?" You shake your head. "Because I looked for it this morning, and it wasn't where I left it."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, where was it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nowhere." Her eyes flash. "I tore the loft up, and it's <i>not there!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
You blink. Parallel speculations run through your head: Why was she looking for it? And where might it have gotten to? "I didn't take it, Chelsea. I'm not stupid."<br/>
<br/>
"Did you lock up when you left? Because only you, me, Gordon and Steve have keys. And it wasn't me and it wasn't one of them who took it."<br/>
<br/>
"What about one of the coaches? Or a staff member?"<br/>
<br/>
Now it's her turn to blink. "Why would they go snooping up there?" she stammers. "And anyway, there's a lot worse stuff they could find. Gordon--" She rolls her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I didn't take it, and I locked up," you insist.<br/>
<br/>
She glares at you, and then smiles sweetly--poisonously, but sweetly. "Well, I'm sure it'll turn up. I'll look again tonight." She jabs you in the chest. "I won't ask any more questions if it turns up. I'll just assume I had a blonde moment."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So now you've got a new mystery. You confront Caleb and Scott, and each of them denies taking anything from the loft. You're especially rough with Caleb. "You need to keep your hands clean," you tell him after dragging him off to a private conference. "You don't know what it's like dealing with Chelsea, and if she finds out you're involved--" He swears he had nothing to do with the disappearance of the <i>Libra</i>; and you can tell he is very unhappy at having to suffer the accusation. Probably he's also unhappy at the way you've been sidelining him. Caleb, you know, likes to meddle in things.<br/>
<br/>
You're softer and more indirect with Scott, largely because you're certain he couldn't have taken the book, since he didn't even know it was up there, and you had your eyes on him the entire time you were together. He assures you he took nothing from the loft: "I don't want to touch any shit Gordon and them have up there." He also tells you he's set up another "get together" with Joe and Frank, timed for after you're off work. "You'll see," he says, and playfully slaps your cheek. "It'll just be fun."<br/>
<br/>
More fun, you hope, than the alternative: Cindy finds you just before lunch. "I missed you yesterday," she says. "That rain check? Can we pick it up tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
"I've already got other plans."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe Friday? That would be nicer anyway." Her face twists up plaintively, and she tentatively closes her arms around your torso. "It's so nice talking to you."<br/>
<br/>
You silently curse Sean for being such a nice guy, for you can't say no to her. "Okay, Friday it is. Pick you up at seven-thirty?"<br/>
<br/>
She presses her face lightly to your shoulder. "Seven-thirty," she repeats. "Thanks, Sean," she says softly. "It means a lot to me."<br/>
<br/>
"Just do me one favor?" She looks up, and you bend to murmur in her ear. "Stop coming to talk to me when Danny's around." She turns to look at Russo, and you can tell by the way his grin turns glassy that it's not a nice look she's given him.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Joe and Frank had arranged to meet with Scott over at the athletic fields at Eastman. "Scene of the original crime?" you mordantly ask when you pick him up. <br/>
<br/>
"It'll be okay, you'll see," he tries assuring you as you glide off into the dusk. "I had a good chat with them at lunch."<br/>
<br/>
"Say anything you regret?"<br/>
<br/>
He snorts. "No, we just talked. They're good guys, and I don't know why you're so suspicious."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe the guys they're pretending to be are nice guys," you retort. "If I'm right and they're mixed up with this, they might be wearing masks. No offense--" You glance over at the guy in the passenger seat. "But it was real easy for you to act like an asshole when you're wearing Scott's mask. Maybe it's easy for them to act like nice guys if they're wearing masks of the real Frank and Joe Durras. Whoever they were or are."<br/>
<br/>
"Then what's your excuse for acting like an asshole?" he says. "You're not wearing a mask, and the Sean I remember wouldn't be such a jerk."<br/>
<br/>
You can barely keep yourself from jumping. "Maybe I'm just paranoid," you grumble. "Lotta people running around pretending to be other people."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?" His tone darkens.<br/>
<br/>
"I just mean you and Scott," you say, regretting what you'd said. He continues to stare at you, and now you're sure you've planted in him a suspicion about yourself. After all, he knows that Caleb's involved, and it wouldn't take a huge leap on his part to wonder if "Sean" is really the person he's been claiming to be.<br/>
<br/>
Light is fading when you arrive, but Joe and Frank are out in the Eastman practice field tossing a football back and forth. "Shall we move to the gym?" Frank asks after you've joined them.<br/>
<br/>
"You have a key?" you ask in surprise. <br/>
<br/>
And then your surprise turns to shock when Scott speaks: "Hey, what do you guys know about magic?" The air between your quartet crackles, but he continues. "You know, masks and things that can make people look like other people?"<br/>
<br/>
Joe's and Frank's eyes widen with amusement. Joe grins, but Frank only smiles softly. "Are we going to be honest with each other, then?" he says.</span></div></div>


path: 11312212211122222212122112112
author_id: seuzz
title: The Tale of the Two Brothers
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Your hand instinctively goes to the zipper of the kit you've got slung over your shoulder, but then you pause. Maybe it's a trick of the encroaching darkness, but Frank seems to loom in a very threatening way, and Joe's grin has a hint of nitroglycerin in it. The moment stretches, like a limp noodle held taut, until it snaps and sags.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, okay," you say, and nudge Scott sharply. "Toldja they knew all about it."<br/>
<br/>
Frank cocks his head toward the gym, and ushers you along. Scott is silent, and you can tell it's the silence of someone who has surprised himself into a bad position.<br/>
<br/>
Inside the gym, Frank and Joe lead you over to some folding chairs, and arrange them into a rude circle. "So," Frank says, as he and his brother settle back with an ease that further discomfits you. "I guess me and Joe weren't really very subtle at nosing around. That, or you have a really bad conscience."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't have a bad conscience about anything," you snap, and feel the lie well up onto your face as a bad blush. "Look, who are you guys, and what do you want?"<br/>
<br/>
Frank's eyes glitter. "You know who we are. Frank and Joe Durras." You snort, and he shrugs. "We could tell you more, but if you don't believe our names, why would you believe anything else we told you? As for what we want--" He lets it hang. "I assume we're all familiar with the <i>Libra Personae?</i>" It takes you a bit of effort, but you nod. "We want to help you guys fix the mess it's gotten you in. You're in a mess, aren't you?"<br/>
<br/>
You and Scott exchange surprised glances. "What makes you think we're--?"<br/>
<br/>
"What happened to Sawyer Harrison? Why is he in a coma?" Frank's blunt question leaves Scott shifting uneasily. "And is he the only one in trouble?"<br/>
<br/>
Scott licks his lips, and you can tell he's about to say something, but you forestall him. "Why do you want to help us? Why be such good Samaritans? How do you even know about all this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Professional interest," Joe says, but falls silent as Frank makes a small gesture.<br/>
<br/>
"We've been tracking the <i>Libra</i> since it left upstate New York a few months ago," Frank says. "It was supposed to go one place, but it got diverted here. To Salopek Engineering, to be precise." He looks at you and Scott carefully, then leans back and steeples his fingers. "As my brother says, we have a professional interest in it. So we followed it here, made a few light inquiries at Salopek, but didn't get what we wanted. We did hear that some guys who worked there had gotten fired, but didn't think anything of it until--" He jaw tightens, and he seems to choose his words carefully. "Until we found out that one of them was in a fatal accident, and another one went into a very mysterious coma." He holds your eyes, as though daring you to make a sudden confession. "We enrolled at Eastman--undercover, you might say--even though--" He looks at Scott. "Even though it looked like the third of the three had moved out to Westside. But we knew we were dealing with the <i>Libra,</i> and that meant that looks could be deceiving."<br/>
<br/>
He falls silent. Neither you nor Scott say anything. Frank's expression gradually loses its expectant quality, and his mouth falls into a frown even as he brother's smile widens into a grin. Joe ducks his head and stifles a soft chuckle. <br/>
<br/>
"So anyway," Frank finally resumes, sounding irritated. "We started nosing around. Eventually we found something interesting in the sub-basement under the gym. Aah!" His eyes light up again as Scott flinches. "We decided to take another look at Salopek, this time when there wasn't anyone around. We got into the distribution center, and what did we find in one of the rooms but a bunch of stuff that could only have been made by the <i>Libra.</i>" In a flash you remember the cardboard box set against a windowpane, and Joe's comment about it being "easier" to come in through the door than the window. <br/>
<br/>
"After that," Frank continues, "We just had to find out who had access to that room. It wasn't a promising search, until we found out that the brother of one of the guys who got fired still worked at Salopek." He looks at you keenly. "We talked to him and another guy who works there, and one of them basically confessed to everything we wanted to hear."<br/>
<br/>
Again, silence falls. You feel like you've been doing well just by being quiet, so you're in no hurry to fill the dead air; again, Frank is the one who has to speak. "I don't think you have any secrets from us," he says. "We just need to know <i>exactly</i> what happened, so we can know how to help you."<br/>
<br/>
Scott casts a pleading expression at you, but you fold your arms. "You said you had a 'professional' interest in the <i>Libra.</i> Why would you want to help us?"<br/>
<br/>
"You have the <i>Libra?</i>" Joe says. "We want it. If we scratch your back, will you scratch ours?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, I don't think you can help us." Their eyebrows shoot up. "Bro," you say, turning to Scott. "Lemme borrow your face a moment." He rears back, but then relaxes at the grave expression you've turned on him. He smiles ruefully, and settles back. You touch his brow and cheek, murmur the releasing words as quietly as you can, and pull. He slides down in the chair as he falls unconscious, but you catch and prop him back up again.<br/>
<br/>
"This is my brother, Taylor," you tell Frank and Joe, who lean forward with keen interest. "You know. The guy who was supposed to have died in a car wreck."<br/>
<br/>
"What happened to Scott?" Frank asks.<br/>
<br/>
You tell them what Taylor had told you, and when Taylor revives he tells it again, with more detail. Frank and Joe listen closely and ask many questions. You have no real fears about them learning Taylor's adventures, for they are only loosely connected to your own. But then they find a gap--<br/>
<br/>
"Hang on," Joe says, his brow furrowing. "You found some masks and an old notebook and some papers at Salopek, but you didn't find the <i>Libra</i> in that box?" Taylor shakes his head, and he turns to you. "Did you and Caleb find it there afterward?"<br/>
<br/>
"I never knew about it," you say. "In fact, I only found out about this shit on Monday, when you guys visited. I got Caleb to tell me about it afterward." Joe's laugh is a bark. <br/>
<br/>
"So when and how did you get the <i>Libra</i>?" Frank asks. <br/>
<br/>
You hate the way you're going to have to start picking through your answers so carefully. "Caleb told me he got it from Arnholm's Bookstore a few weeks ago."<br/>
<br/>
"Before or after these accidents with Sawyer and Scott?"<br/>
<br/>
"After." You kick yourself for answering so readily and confidently. "He told me he found it after school started," you stammer out afterward. "Taylor's accident happened during vacation.<br/>
<br/>
Joe and Frank frown at each other. "A used bookstore?" Frank muses.<br/>
<br/>
"Someone at Salopek found it and sold it?" Joe suggests. "After Taylor and his friends--"<br/>
<br/>
"The box you found the masks in," Frank asks Taylor. "Did you go all through it? Me and Joe went through it when we--" He smiles wryly. "When we broke into Salopek two weeks ago. There was still some stuff in there."<br/>
<br/>
"Just junk, that's all we left," Taylor says. "Like, little metal strips?" Frank nods. "We dug all through it. We wouldn't have missed a book. The notebook was at the bottom. If this Libra book was inside, someone took it before we got there. The box was open. That's why we went through it."<br/>
<br/>
"It was already open?" Joe exclaims. "You didn't think to mention that?" Taylor turns red, and Joe turns to Frank. "You know who our number one suspect is now, doncha, Frank?"<br/>
<br/>
Frank's lip curls in exasperation. "Our number one suspect is sitting right in front of us, Joe. Alright, Sean," he says. "Where's the <i>Libra</i>?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," you say, quite truthfully. "Are you sure you guys don't have it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pretty sure," Joe laughs. "Otherwise we wouldn't be--"<br/>
<br/>
"Because it disappeared some time last night," you say. "I didn't take it from its hiding place. Caleb didn't. Taylor didn't. That leaves <i>you guys</i> as <i>my</i> number one suspects."<br/>
<br/>
Frank cocks an eyebrow. "A convenient excuse, pretending it got stolen," he says, and there's something in the inflection of his voice that warns you he is a dangerous person to lie to. "Where was it?"<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate. "In the loft above the gym."<br/>
<br/>
"Where Black and them hang out? So why couldn't one of them have found it?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was somewhere they wouldn't have found it." Frank continues to regard you skeptically. "Just trust me. There's no way one of them took it."<br/>
<br/>
They continue to stare at you, as though daring you to continue in a lie, but since you're not lying--not completely--they can't daunt you. Then, to your immense shock, Joe turns to Frank and says, "Could still be Prescott. It was his name on the box."<br/>
<br/>
"What? Who?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"Harris Prescott, at Salopek. The box was addressed to him."<br/>
<br/>
The prospect of these guys dragging your father into this mess fills you with primitive, childhood terror. The thought of coming clean with them, even in front of Taylor, seems far preferable to having to face your father with the truth of what you've gotten yourself into.</span></div></div>


path: 113122122111222222121221121121
author_id: seuzz
title: The VIP Room and What You Found There
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You don't say anything right away; you can only frantically (but uselessly) try to come up with some diplomatic way of confessing the deeper lies you've kept hidden. You also have to keep an ear cocked toward to the others.<br/>
<br/>
"Prescott's an avenue worth pursuing," Frank is saying. "Even if it's only academic at this point. What we need to do is find the <i>Libra.</i>" He turns his gaze back on you, and it's like an iron spike driven between your eyes. "That book is very dangerous. You've already seen what happened to your brother, Sean, and he wasn't even playing with it, just with some of the things it makes." He smiles thinly. "You really want to give it to us."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that a threat?" You feel yourself bridling.<br/>
<br/>
"No, it's a caution. Though if you insist on hanging on to it--"<br/>
<br/>
"And if it's so dangerous, what are <i>you</i> going to do with it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sean," Taylor says, but you quiet him with a gesture.<br/>
<br/>
"We're professionals, even if we don't look like it," Frank says. "We know how to handle it."<br/>
<br/>
"Did it belong to you?" you ask. "Are those your faces, or are they masks?"<br/>
<br/>
"They're our faces," he says with a wry look. "And the book never belonged to us. It doesn't belong to anyone, except maybe to itself."<br/>
<br/>
"What does <i>that</i> mean?"<br/>
<br/>
But Frank ignores the question. "We should go now. Thanks for all the honesty. We'll have to think about what comes next. Though it will be easier if the <i>Libra</i> shows up." Again he smiles, and he and Joe stand.<br/>
<br/>
"So what are <i>we</i> supposed to do?" Taylor asks.<br/>
<br/>
"For now, you're going to have to keep being Bickelmeir," Frank shrugs. "The <i>Libra</i> might have some things in it that can help, though. So, again, you guys should find it."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor looks down at the mask and grimaces. You can see his reluctance at putting it back on--probably in part because of the crowd. "We'll meet you outside, bro," you tell him, and move off toward the door. Frank and Joe follow. <br/>
<br/>
And when you're outside you turn to them. "Listen," you say in a low voice. "There's a lot more that I need to tell you, but I couldn't say anything in front of Taylor. After I drop him off, can I meet you guys back at Westside?"<br/>
"How come?" Frank's tone is rough.<br/>
<br/>
"So I can tell you about it," you snort. "Also, I'll show you where the book was, and you can help me look for it." You don't trust them, not a bit, but a show of helpfulness might persuade them to go easy on you by ignoring your father.<br/>
<br/>
Frank and Joe exchange a very long glance, before Frank agrees. "Outside the gym?" he says, and you nod. "I said you needed to give the book to us, and that wasn't a threat. But this <i>is</i>: Don't think for second you can fuck with us."<br/>
<br/>
Such is Sean's self-possession that you don't blink at the hard stare he directs at you, but your eyes do water. After Frank turns to leave, though, Joe gives you a friendly clap on the shoulder, and winks at you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Taylor, now back under Scott's mask, is quiet until you're back on the road, and then he speaks bluntly. "Okay, what happened to that book?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, it disappeared."<br/>
<br/>
"Does Caleb have it?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"You're not telling me everything, Sean. I can always tell when you're holding something back."<br/>
<br/>
His tone is ugly, and you wince. You hesitate a good long time, and his frown deepens before you speak again. "Look, just leave Caleb out of it," you say. "It's bad enough for him with just <i>me</i> riding his ass."<br/>
<br/>
"What's going on?"<br/>
<br/>
"He got in some trouble with it, something I haven't mentioned. I wanna help him sort it out. You and me can handle those two assholes. But I like Caleb, and I don't want to see them do a number on him."<br/>
<br/>
"You said the book was in the gym loft," Taylor says. "Gordon's in this, isn't he?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't want <i>you</i> doing a number on Caleb either, so don't keep asking me." You give his arm a reassuring grip. "Once it's all sorted out, and no one has a reason to be pissed at anyone else, I'll tell you all about it."<br/>
<br/>
Taylor is quiet for awhile, until you're near Scott's house. "You know one thing I like about Frank and Joe?" he says. "They work together. They don't keep secrets from each other."<br/>
<br/>
You've no reply to that, and just let him out with a gruff "Talk to you tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The Durrases are waiting for you in the dark Westside parking lot, and wordlessly you lead them inside the gym and up the stairs to the loft. You stop as soon as you step over the threshold, though, for in the dim light you make out two figures on the mat in the middle of the room. They are moaning softly.<br/>
<br/>
You freeze, for the last thing you want is to bust in on Chelsea and one of her golems in the throes of sexual adventure. But then one of them speaks, and you recognize Patterson's voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry, dude, it's me, Sean."<br/>
<br/>
"Get the fuck out," he growls. <br/>
<br/>
"Take it somewhere else, Patterson," Frank says from over your shoulder. <br/>
<br/>
The second, smaller figure scuttles off the mat, to quickly crawl behind some crates. "Durras?" Patterson says. "You really don't want to fuck with me."<br/>
<br/>
"Chelsea says the loft is mine tonight," you interject, trying to head off a fight.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't give a fuck about that cunt," Patterson says. "But if you want a place on my shit list too, Mitchell, I can pencil you in at the top.<br/>
<br/>
A hand tugs at your shirt, and Joe whispers in your ear. "Let Frank handle this," he says.<br/>
<br/>
To your own surprise, before you quite realize it, you're following him back down into the gym. "We should be up there with Frank," you find yourself protesting.<br/>
<br/>
"No, we should be down here," Joe says, and drapes a friendly arm about your shoulder. He tugs you so that you're facing away from the stairs and the outside door. "There's a girl up there. This is gonna be bad enough for her without <i>three</i> of us staring."<br/>
<br/>
You find yourself looking him in the face. His eyes are bright and clear and guileless. He's a marked contrast to his brother. There is something wolfish about Frank, but Joe is like a golden retriever: friendly and restful. "I should've called to make sure the coast was clear," you say.<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs without lifting his arm from around you. "There's a lot of things you should've done. Lotta things <i>we</i> should've done. You play the hand you've got at any moment. Right now you can just relax and let Frank wipe up after that asshole."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't know Patterson."<br/>
<br/>
Joe laughs. "Ain't nothin' complicated about Patterson. Met him four days ago, and that was three more days than <i>anyone</i> needs to see through him. And you don't know <i>Frank.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
There's a hard thump from behind you, and you look back. Joe draws your head back around, but not before you see a wad of clothes arc gracefully from the landing by the stairs and plop softly onto the gym floor behind you. A few moments later you hear footsteps on the stairs. They pad softly on the gym floor, pause, and then retreat. The side door opens and closes.<br/>
<br/>
You swallow. <i>Impressive.</i> You've seen how daunting Frank can be, but for him to dispose so quickly of Patterson-- <br/>
<br/>
You frown. <i>I don't give a fuck about that cunt,</i> Steve had said. Possibly that was just golem-Steve acting in character, but it's still odd that he should have reacted so strongly and negatively to Chelsea's name.<br/>
<br/>
A minute later Frank materializes next to you. "Give it a few minutes, and we can go back up there," he says. His whole demeanor is calm and confident.<br/>
<br/>
"Are we still on the team?" Joe chortles.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess we'll find out tomorrow," Frank smiles. <br/>
<br/>
"I wanted to get at least one game in," Joe says.<br/>
<br/>
"And I want to get this business wrapped up before the season starts." He glances briefly over his shoulder and then ostentatiously turns to stand in line with you and Joe. "Just wait till she's out the door," he murmurs.<br/>
<br/>
"Who was it?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"None of our business."<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, was it Chelsea?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. And Chelsea is Gordon's girlfriend, isn't she?"<br/>
<br/>
"That wouldn't stop her. And you should tell me who it was. It might be important."<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself pinned between twin sidelong glances. "Well, tell us what you have to tell us, and then we'll see if it's important," Frank says.<br/>
<br/>
Whoever she was, she walks quietly, for you only know she's gone when you hear the side door open and close again. "I'll tell you up in the loft," you say.<br/>
<br/>
They follow you up, and the three of you sniff and wince at the disorder when you switch on the light. You lead them over to the cabinet. "The book was in here," you say. <br/>
<br/>
"Not the best hiding place," Frank says. "Why couldn't Patterson or Black have found it?"<br/>
<br/>
"First, because you saw what they like to do up here. They're not going to go looking for things. Second--"<br/>
<br/>
Your cell phone rings. You pull it out and see that it's Chelsea. You raise a finger to silence Frank and Joe, and answer. "Something's come up," she says. "I need to meet with you. Now."<br/>
<br/>
You suck on the inside of your cheek. Maybe all this would be easier if you explained it all with Chelsea there. You're going to have to tell them about her and Gordon anyway.</span></div></div>


path: 1131221221112222221212211211211
author_id: seuzz
title: Is It Witchcraft?
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Yeah, okay," you reply. "Are you at home?"<br/>
<br/>
She demurs and gives you another address. "This is really important, so don't waste time."<br/>
<br/>
"That was Chelsea," you tell the others after hanging up. "We have to go meet her. She's mixed up in all this," you explain as they raise their eyebrows, "so it'll be faster if we do it all at once."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The three of you pile into the brothers' truck--you're stuck between them, to your own discomfort--and you give them the address. You don't remove Sean's mask on the drive out, but you give them a quick and dirty account of your own history with the book and with her: who you really are; how you found the book at Arnholm's and passed it on to Caleb, and how you got drawn into partnership with Chelsea after Gordon got the book and had himself an accident. They ask how you came to be wearing Sean's face, but you put them off. "I can explain all that later. I want <i>Chelsea</i> to explain it, since it was mostly her idea."<br/>
<br/>
"Does she have the <i>Libra?</i>" Frank asks.<br/>
<br/>
"She says she doesn't," you reply. "She kept it up there in the loft, but she's the one who told me it was missing."<br/>
<br/>
"You sure Patterson couldn't have taken it," Joe asks. "It doesn't sound like he likes her."<br/>
<br/>
"Patterson had an accident like Gordon did," you say with a wince. "Except, well-- It wasn't an accident. Chelsea did it to him on <i>purpose.</i>" You shrink as you feel their eyes bore into you from opposite sides of the cab.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The address Chelsea gave you is on the outskirts of town, and proves to be a large villa ensconced behind a large stone wall. The three of you dismount in the dark before a large iron gate, and the other two move much more slowly than you. Even in the dark, you can tell they are regarding the house with a palpable sense of disquiet. "You know this place?" Frank asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Nope. But there's her car--" You nod at the little economy two-door. "So it's the right one."<br/>
<br/>
They continue to stare over your head at the house. "Joe, do a recon," Frank says quietly. Joe nods and vanishes into the darkness--<br/>
<br/>
--Except he doesn't. You blink. For although you have the distinct impression that he has darted away, he's still standing in front of you. He catches your puzzled expression, and winks.<br/>
<br/>
"I really don't like the idea of walking in there with our cocks hanging out," Frank says. He fixes you with a piercing gaze. "We all go in there, or none of us do, you get me? We walk up to the front door together, and she invites all three of us in. If she doesn't invite me and Joe in, <i>you</i> don't go in."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I <i>want</i> us all to go in," you grumble. "That was the whole point of bringing you out."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm serious, Mit-- Prescott," Frank says. "I don't care what she says to you. If she doesn't invite us in, you turn around and walk away with us. Also," he adds as you stare. "Once we're inside, if I tell you to get out, then you get out, and don't stop running until you get back to our truck."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?" You're suddenly aware again that you don't really know these guys, and instantly have the suspicion that they are going to try something dirty and underhanded.<br/>
<br/>
"Never mind," Frank says. "Just remember that we've got a lot more experience with this kind of thing." He pushes past you, leaving you to trot along behind.<br/>
<br/>
In the dark, it feels like a very long walk from the gate to the front door. The upper floors are dark, and only a dim light through a side window suggests there is anyone home. You swallow at the sight of the doorbell: it sits inside the gaping mouth of an ornamental wolf-head. You're still staring at it when Frank knocks at the door: a sound that booms unexpectedly loudly.<br/>
<br/>
Long minutes seem to pass before the door silently swings open, to reveal a portly, middle-aged man with a moustache and goatee and a bad comb over. He blinks heavily at the sight of the three of you. "Yes? May I help you?"<br/>
<br/>
"We're looking for Chelsea Cooper?" you inquire. "She told us to meet us out here, and her car is--"<br/>
<br/>
"Ah yes," the man says. "Except I was expecting only one visitor, not, ah--"<br/>
<br/>
"They're with me, we're all together," you stammer. "Can we come in?"<br/>
<br/>
He hesitates, then steps back to let you in. The entry way is dark, and he gestures you down a short hall to a more open and well-lit foyer. A hallway continues down the center of the house; up one side a large staircase leads to a landing before curving back to the upper floors; opposite is a wide, open doorway through which spills light that seems heavy without being illuminating. It's through this door that the man directs you.<br/>
<br/>
The room is a library, with tall walls lined entirely with bookshelves rising to a very high ceiling. Several large desks occupy the floor, which gives it the air of a reading room in a very posh academic library. From one of the corners comes an irritating, discordant ticking sound.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea is sitting behind one of the desks, and she smiles brightly as you enter; indeed, she seems to be gloating. But then her face abruptly falls as Frank and Joe appear behind you. "What are <i>they</i> doing here?" she demands.<br/>
<br/>
"We were all hanging out, so I asked them to come along," you reply.<br/>
<br/>
"It's only supposed to be the two of us," she snaps. "Get rid of them."<br/>
<br/>
"We all need to talk," you reply. "About the book. And other things."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, it's like that, is it?" she says, and her voice turns very cool and very poisonous.<br/>
<br/>
"Hang on," Frank says. "Who does this house belong to, you or to him?" He jerks his head at the man who let you in.<br/>
<br/>
She hesitates just fractionally. "It belongs to Professor Aubrey Blackwell. He's a friend of mine." <br/>
<br/>
"Thanks," Frank says. "Now let's talk about the <i>Libra Personae,</i> and what you've been doing with it."<br/>
<br/>
She stares at him with a startled expression on her face. And then she smiles. "I've seen you at practice, Frank. You're really good." She reaches into a drawer. "Catch!"<br/>
<br/>
Her hand moves very fast, and something flies like a blur through the air. But Frank is faster, and his hand darts out to clutch it. You look over to see an expression of dumbstruck surprise wash over him. He looks down at the object in his hand--a little white ball--and then he falls heavily forward, to face plant hard onto the floor.<br/>
<br/>
"And as for you, Joe--" Chelsea snarls, then gasps. You wheel just in time to see Joe vanish into thin air. You turn back, open-mouthed, at Chelsea. Her face mottles with surprise and anger. "Find him, you idiot!" she shrieks, and it takes you a moment to realize she's talking to the fat, bald man. She leaps up and strides to you, glowering fiercely. She stabs a finger at the prone Frank. "You are <i>not</i> welcome in this house!" She then turns on you, and with a stinging blow slaps you across the face. Tears spring into your eyes, and as you peer through them you see her raise a hand and blow something into your face. The world swims into blackness.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're wakened by another hard blow across the cheek, and a groan blasts its way out of your chest. "Don't fuck around, Prescott," a rough voice says. "Get up."<br/>
<br/>
You blink hard in the dim light, and Frank Durras's grim face resolves itself. Stiffly, you sit up to find yourself sitting on a hard surface. Concrete, it feels like, and you glance around to see bare walls of cinderblock rising to a high ceiling. Frank holds out his hand, and pulls you to your feet. "Where are we?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Some kind of basement," he says. "We need to get out."<br/>
<br/>
Not that you're inclined to argue the point, but you're still feeling weak and fluffy in the head. "Where's Joe?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. With luck, he got out over the wall, and he'll be okay if he did. But we---"<br/>
<br/>
"He just disappeared," you exclaim. "Really! I mean, he just--"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, he does that sometimes," Frank says impatiently. "If he's half-smart, he got out through one of the upper story windows. Sometimes he likes to play hero, though--" He glowers briefly, then shakes himself. "Okay, you recovered? Come on."<br/>
<br/>
You stagger over to an iron-wrought circular staircase that leads up to a door set high in the wall, but Frank pulls you toward the opposite wall. "Not that way," he says. "Here. Mind the glass."<br/>
<br/>
High up in the wall is a window--or the space for a window. The glass has been broken from it--and there are many shards on the floor--and the frame of a small, cot-like bed has been set on end to serve as a make-shift ladder. "Why can't we take the stairs," you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't argue," he says. "Just get up and out. Once you're out, don't wait for me. Sprint as hard and fast as you can for the nearest wall, and get on the other side. <i>Vault</i> the fucker."<br/>
<br/>
But now you're feeling rebellious. It's not fear of trying to clamber through a small, glass-encrusted window frame. You've only been with Frank and his brother since earlier this evening, and you are suddenly and sharply aware of how little you know about them. Even if Chelsea is suddenly acting psycho, you've known her longer and better. <br/>
<br/>
"Maybe we should just wait and see what happens next," you cautiously suggest.</span></div></div>


path: 113122122112
author_id: imaj
title: Too Dumb to Hold Tight
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“No,” you say.  It comes out brittle and high pitched, forcing its way out your mouth urgently.  Chelsea’s face clouds over for the briefest moment and you realise you have made a terrible, terrible mistake.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not gay,” she says, her expression hardening.  “I’m the head cheerleader. Whoever heard of a gay head cheerleader?”<br/>
<br/>
This scene is starting to veer into an unpleasant look inside the landscape of Chelsea’s psyche. It is not a pleasant locale.  You realise that if you are not careful you could make things even worse.<br/>
<br/>
Unfortunately for you, you are a tactless and insensitive idiot.<br/>
<br/>
“I can’t,” you stutter and bolt for it.  Chelsea yells something after you as you flee but you do not hear what it is.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">*****</div><br/>
<br/>
It’s nearly a week since the night at the Fuck Room. You still can’t get over just how stupid you were.<br/>
<br/>
Stupid, stupid, stupid.<br/>
<br/>
The next time the head cheerleader decides she wants to make out with another girl, if there ever is a next time, you are going to damn well say yes.  As it was, you barely made it home, half naked as you were, not to mention the issue of getting as far as your own doorstep before you realised you were still in the guise of Kelsey Blakenship.<br/>
<br/>
So that’s that bridge burned.  You spent the weekend kicking yourself over it. That and sulking in your room on your XBox.  There was no immediate fallout when you returned to school on the Monday.  On the couple of occasions you did see Chelsea in the corridor in school she simply ignored you and walked briskly on.  You tentatively started hanging out with Keith and Caleb again and things seem to be back to normal.  In fact you’re almost at the point where you’ve convinced yourself the whole thing was a dream.<br/>
<br/>
Then you round a corner on Friday just after last period and walk straight into Steve Patterson.<br/>
<br/>
Literally, as it happens.  You almost bounce off his massive frame and he pushes you to the ground.  You lie on the floor for a few seconds, able to make out Keith running away out of the corner of your eye before Patterson looms over you.  After a few seconds he is joined by Gordon Black.  <i>The golem Gordon Black</i> a small voice in your head reminds you.<br/>
<br/>
“Get up Prescott,” snarls Patterson menacingly.  You have just enough time to reflect that Patterson knows who you are, and that this is a very bad thing, before Black hauls you brusquely to your feet.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m sorry,” you blurt, purely on instinct. <br/>
<br/>
“I’m sure you are,” says Patterson with relish.  You glance at his face, spotting the unpleasant grin.  You stare firmly at your feet, hoping that whatever beating he intends to administer will be mercifully short.  “You got a lot to be sorry about.”<br/>
<br/>
“You’re coming with us,” adds the Black golem, wrestling one arm behind back before levering it cruelly to coax you into motion.  Your mind drifts back to the time Seth Javits hung Keith on a tree by his underpants and you don’t doubt that Chelsea has instructed the golem to inflict something equally mortifying on you.  Keith himself is no where to be seen and you can only hope that he’s gone to get help.<br/>
<br/>
You doubt it though.<br/>
<br/>
Black starts marching you through the school, his friend falling in beside him.  You don’t dare look up, afraid that you will see someone you know.  You’ll be seen, of course, but so long as you don’t make eye contact with anyone you can pretend this never happened when you next talk to your friends.  You hear the other students fall silent as you walk past, with only a muffled whisper or snigger as you go past.  Patterson shoves you through some doors and then herds you up a flight of stairs.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Up</i> a flight of stairs?<br/>
<br/>
That can’t be right.  Humiliations are usually meted out on or around the football field.  You look up, to try and guess where you are.  It takes a few moments to work it out – you’re in the Gym Block.<br/>
<br/>
“Where are we,” you begin.<br/>
<br/>
“Shut up Prescott,” interrupts Patterson.<br/>
<br/>
“But I,” you try again.<br/>
<br/>
“You heard the boss man,” replies Black, giving your arm another twist.  You yelp in pain and the Black golem laughs unpleasantly.<br/>
<br/>
In fact, you are beginning to have an inkling of where you are going.  Humiliation by proxy, it seems, isn’t enough for Chelsea.  She must want to do it in person.  As Patterson herds you up another flight of stairs, you realise that your destination is the Fuck Room.  Black pushes you down the last corridor towards the loft, with Patterson opening the door ahead of you.  Black throws you to the ground with a snort of delight as you enter.  You hit the old mats that serve as bedding but land awkwardly and painfully.<br/>
<br/>
You lie on the ground for a minute.  It’s got to be better than what comes next.<br/>
<br/>
Black pulls you up by your hair and you squeal in pain again. Chelsea is standing at the end of the room, looking at you blankly.  Patterson is a few feet to the side, arms folded and impassive.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m sorry,” you say quickly to Chelsea.  “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to insult.”  The words stream out in a torrent as you desperately babble.  Chelsea doesn’t so much as blink.<br/>
<br/>
The Fuck Room is deathly quiet as you finish.  The silence hangs in the air then a very quiet voice speaks.  “I’m over here Will,” says Patterson, almost silently.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 1131221221121
author_id: imaj
title: Chelsea's Nine
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Your jaw drops and your brain turns a loop as you try to process what has just happened.  You try to vocalise a question, to ask what happened, but all you can manage is an incoherent squawking sound and gesturing at what you though, up until a few seconds ago, was Chelsea.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s Steve,” says the imposter Patterson.  “I had to do it.  He was asking questions, figured out something was up with Gordon. He’s never liked me. Fucker. So I had Gordon spring on him, get a mask. And now he won’t ask any more questions.”<br/>
<br/>
“Did you…” you manage, finally gaining control of your voice.  You feel the blood draining from your face as you contemplate the idea that Chelsea has turned Patterson to stone, just like she did with Black.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea must catch your meaning, because she shakes her Patterson head quickly.  “No, he’s just asleep under there,” she explains.  Or should that be he?  You aren’t really sure which pronoun to use.  “It’s like the next spell.  I put the golem stuff inside a mask and it’s, I don’t know, put him to sleep or something.  He really thinks he’s me now.”<br/>
<br/>
“I am me,” says the fake Chelsea unhappily.<br/>
<br/>
“See what I mean,” replies the real Chelsea.  Patterson’s voice sounds almost ridiculous without its characteristic growl.  “Give me and Will some time alone.”<br/>
<br/>
You watch as the fake Chelsea and fake Black troop out the Fuck Room, leaving you and the Patterson masked Chelsea alone.  “You aren’t going to do that to me too are you,” you ask nervously.  With Patterson’s strength available to her, there’s no way you could stop Chelsea if she wanted to.<br/>
<br/>
“I thought about it,” admits Chelsea with a shrug.  “But I changed my mind.”<br/>
<br/>
“Thank you,” you say quietly.  “I guess.”<br/>
<br/>
“Don’t thank me,” says Chelsea.  She walks to one side and opens a cabinet, pulling out a mask.  “Thank her,” she finishes, gently throwing the mask for you to catch.<br/>
<br/>
You look at the name in the mask and recognise it instantly.  “Cassie?  Why her.”<br/>
<br/>
“Because I wanted to know if you were really that dumb,” replies Chelsea.  “To be so, so… unable to see when a girl is interested in you.  It turns out you are.”<br/>
<br/>
You frown in confusion for a few seconds.  “Are you saying Cassie…”<br/>
<br/>
“Totally hung up on you,” interrupts Chelsea.  “Has been since she was moved next to you in Math.  You really are an idiot Will Prescott.”<br/>
<br/>
“I guess I am,” you laugh in relief.  Chelsea joins in, her light laughter sounding disconcerting in Patterson’s tones.  It peters out after a few moments and Chelsea looks at you expectantly.  “Wait, do you want me to put this on,” you say, indicating the mask of Cassie Harper.<br/>
<br/>
“I was going to give you a choice,” replies Chelsea.  She pulls a small pile of masks from the cabinet and sets them on the floor beside you.<br/>
<br/>
“How did you get so many,” you ask, idly picking up one of them.<br/>
<br/>
“A little trick Gordon worked out,” she replies, sitting on the floor opposite you cross-legged.  “Use a power tool to polish them up quickly.  I’ve been collecting them all week.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yumi Saito,” you mutter, examining the first mask closely.  Yumi’s petite Asian frame is clearly visible in the surface of the mask.<br/>
<br/>
“She’s always talking about me behind my back,” growls Chelsea.  You doubt that.  You’ve talked to Yumi more than once, and are friendly with some of her friends.  She’s the nicest person you could hope to meet.  “I’ve got to think of the team.”<br/>
<br/>
You put the mask of Yumi to one side.  It’s very tempting, but it would feel too much like invading her privacy and you respect Yumi too much for that.  The next mask is a surprise though.  “Jenny,” you ask.  “Jenny Ashton.  Why?”<br/>
<br/>
“It was easy to get close to her when I tried on the Yumi mask,” shrugs Chelsea.  “I though I might get a better idea about how to put Yumi in her place.”<br/>
<br/>
You shudder at the thought of what Chelsea is suggesting.  She narrows her eyes, an expression that reminds you all too much of the real Steve Patterson.  You quickly put the mask to the side and pick another.  “Another mask of Kelsey,” you comment after examining it.  “I’m sorry, I think the other one is in the bushes outside my house.”   You nervously laugh and place the mask to the side and pick another.  “I don’t recognise this one,” you say turning it over.  The image of the girl in the mask is pretty enough but you’ve never heard the name Cara Fuhrman before.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea leans over and looks at the mask.  “Oh, Cara, yeah.  She’s a junior.  I thought she might be fun to hang around with.  Got to plan for the future and everything.”  You don’t even want to know what she means by that and hurriedly pick up the next mask.<br/>
<br/>
You recognise the image of the redhead before you even look at the name.  Kim Walsh is the student council president and another girl who doesn’t deserve what Chelsea can visit upon her with these masks.  You drop it and consider the few remaining masks.  “I think I recognise this one.  She’s in one of my classes” you say, looking at the next mask.  You turn the mask over to reveal the name.  “Sienna Goldmann?  I don’t recognise the name.”<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea shifts uneasily.  “Her little clique needs watching,” she lies.  You know better now than to call her out on it.<br/>
<br/>
There are only two masks left now.  You take the first one and examine it closely.  The girl, woman really you suppose, looks about college age – an athletic looking brunette.  “Who is Elise Turner,” you ask, reading the name on the reverse.<br/>
<br/>
“Jordan’s girlfriend,” mutters Chelsea.  “Bitch.”  She spots your blank looking expression and explains.  “Jordan’s my brother.  And Elise is a total bitch.”  You try really hard not to think on the implications of Chelsea getting a mask of her brother’s girlfriend.  You fail.<br/>
<br/>
“Who’s this last one then,” you say with a brittle smile, dropping the mask of Elise.  You pick the last mask up, spotting name first – Elizabeth Alison Warrington.  It takes a few moment for you to realise who it is.  “Ms Warrington,” you exclaim.  “Really?”  Everyone in the school knows the pretty young Math teacher.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea grins sheepishly.  “She’s tutoring Steve.  Coach Porter insisted.”  She leans forward again.  “So which one do you want?”<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea’s left you with a lot of options.  Almost too many.  You don’t want to make a mistake and pick the ‘wrong’ mask, although you have a feeling that the ‘right’ mask is going to be one that you really would rather not use.<br/>
<br/>
Then it hits you – why not let Chelsea choose?  Surely it would help mend fences between the two of you.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 11312212211211
author_id: imaj
title: Chelsea's Fork
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You set the last mask down carefully and look Chelsea directly in the eyes.  She radiates and honest interest that looks out of place on the Patterson face she is wearing.<br/>
<br/>
“I can’t decide,” you say quietly.  “Which one would you like me to put on?”<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea’s eyes go wide and she raises her hand to her chest, just below the collarbone.  “You’ll let me pick,” she asks, her surprise evident.<br/>
<br/>
“I guess it’s my way of making it up to you,” you shrug.<br/>
<br/>
“That is <i>so </i>sweet Will,” she replies.  Her blushing looks completely incongruent of Steve Pattersons face.  “Let me see which ones I like.”  Chelsea starts looking carefully through the pile of discarded masks.  Your heart sinks when she picks up one of the first masks you looked at.<br/>
<br/>
“Yumi,” you say flatly, wondering if you’ve made a mistake.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea looks at the mask thoughtfully.  “She can be such a…  bad influence on the rest of the team, you know,” explains Chelsea.  You don’t know, or at least don’t understand what drives their rivalry, but you think it best to nod in agreement.  “It would be so good if I didn’t have to worry about her, but…” she drifts off.<br/>
<br/>
“But,” you repeat hopefully.  Maybe Chelsea doesn’t want you to replace Yumi.<br/>
<br/>
“I could give you this mask and you be like, totally like her,” says Chelsea with a devilish grin, an almost natural Patterson expression.  She taps the side of her head.  “It’s <i>so </i>kinky, being inside someone’s mind like this.  You could be Yumi and no one would suspect anything.  You could spy on the others that aren’t team players too.”<br/>
<br/>
“But,” you say again.<br/>
<br/>
“She wouldn’t <i>know</i>,” replies Chelsea.  “She’d be asleep under a mask like Steve is.  I’d like Yumi to be a team player, but it’s <i>Yumi </i>I’d like to be a team player.”  She hiccups nervously.  “If you get what I mean.”<br/>
<br/>
You do, more or less.  She doesn’t just want to beat Yumi, she wants to humiliate her as well.  The idea of Yumi escaping Chelsea’s attention because she’s too much of a bitch to go for the easy option is almost funny.  Almost.  You now know better than to laugh at such a thing.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh,” says Chelsea, dropping the Yumi mask.  “Oh,” she squeals with delight.  She scrabbles through the pile of masks and pulls one out triumphantly.  “You know what would be really cool?”  She thrusts the mask into your hands before continuing gleefully.  “If her best friend screwed her over.”<br/>
<br/>
It’s the mask of Jenny, you realise, even before you look at it.  You sigh inwardly and examine the mask, aware that Chelsea is watching you closely.  Jenny is pretty in a girl next door kind of way.  She has a slim figure, almost tomboyish.  Thick brunette locks tumble to her shoulders.  The image in the mask looks pale and impassive, robbed of Jenny’s natural energy.  That’s what makes her attractive you realise.  The girl in the mask is just a weak copy of the real thing, and that puts you off just as much the idea of stealing the life of someone you consider a friend.<br/>
<br/>
“Are you ok,” asks Chelsea, noticing your hesitation.<br/>
<br/>
“I just feel a little bad about the idea of being Jenny,” you admit, forgetting the lessons of the last week momentarily.  “I sometimes hang around with her”<br/>
<br/>
“I see,” replies Chelsea disappointedly.  She bites her lip.  “How about if I pick out another one?  You can decide which of the two you want to wear.  I can always make another one of those golem things to be Jenny for me,” she adds softly.<br/>
<br/>
It’s a threat, you think.  A very soft and subtle one, but a still a threat.  Chelsea is going to replace Jenny one way or the other.  At least if you become Jenny you’d have the chance of reducing some of the damage caused.  “Thanks Chelsea,” you reply, your voice wavering a little.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s nothing,” beams Chelsea, thoroughly back in control again.  She shifts through he pile of masks again.  “How about this one,” she adds awkwardly, passing another mask to you.  <br/>
<br/>
You put the mask of Jenny to one side and take it.  It’s the Sienna girl.  “I don’t know her very well,” you admit.<br/>
<br/>
“She’s one of those loser girls,” explains Chelsea.  “Uh, no offense.”<br/>
<br/>
“None taken,” you reply through gritted teeth.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea either doesn’t notice or ignores you.  “She friends with some little terrorist girl I don’t know, oh… and… uh… Andrea Varnsworth.  You know how these loser types can be.  I mean you do because…  Um…  Well, they’re never interested in the sports teams so I need to keep an eye on them.”<br/>
<br/>
There’s something that strikes you as not quite right about Chelsea’s argument.  You would have thought that this girl would be underneath Chelsea’s notice.  Then again, you thought that you were underneath Chelsea’s notice yet here you are conspiring with her in the Fuck Room.<br/>
<br/>
You don’t know Sienna well at all, despite sharing a History class with her.  But the one thing you do know is that she’s all attitude – sneering disdain for everyone around her except her friends.  The image in the mask doesn’t replicate her habitual expressions but it captures her other features:  The curvy body that she makes no effort to hide under her distressed clothes.  The boyishly short bleached blonde hair that still shows dark at the roots.  Compared to Jenny, Sienna is much more overtly sexy, but much less sweet as well.<br/>
<br/>
“What do you think,” asks Chelsea.  “Would you prefer Sienna?”<br/>
<br/>
So that’s your choice.  Betray your friend by stealing her life or betray your friend by abandoning her to whatever Chelsea has planned for her.  You lose either way, and you guess that Chelsea knows it, but you don’t see any way out of the choice.  Not without becoming one of Chelsea’s victims yourself.<br/>
<br/>
You sigh as you place the mask of Sienna down.  It’s cowardly, you realise, but rather one of them than you.  If you choose Jenny, at least you can try and stop Chelsea from damaging her life too badly.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 113122122112111
author_id: gigantorzzz
title: Choose Jenny
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Your hand hovers above Sienna's mask. It's an easier way out. You don't know the girl that much and from the few times you actually see her, she could definitely afford to be dragged down a peg or two. Whether Chelsea's the best person to organise such a thing, is an entirely different matter. Just as you are about to put your hand on it though, your glance falls to Jenny's mask and a wave of guilt passes over you.<br/>
<br/>
If only Caleb hadn't screwed up. If only he hadn't tried to pull that move on Gordon. If only he hadn't been meddling with that magical book. Then you probably wouldn't have to be here with Chelsea, picking someone that she is going to screw. <i>Fuck</i>. <br/>
<br/>
A stray thought enter your mind. If only you hadn't take part in Caleb's stupid experiment, perhaps he'll simply give up or at least no one will know that you're involved. If only you throw the book away instead of giving it to Caleb. A chill runs up your spine. <i>If only you hadn't found it</i>. <br/>
<br/>
Your head is still swimming when you feel something cool touches your hand.<br/>
<br/>
“Made your choice,” says Chelsea, leering at you. There is a feral Patterson-like hunger in her expression. “Go on, put it on and we’ll take her for a spin,” she adds ominously. You look down and to your surprise, discover that your hand is resting on Jenny's mask.<br/>
<br/>
You look at her. Does she mean… You bare your teeth in disgust at the implication, but a little fragment reminds you that this wouldn’t be the first time you and Chelsea have played role reversal. You idly wonder if the stories you’ve heard about Patterson are true, then you blush deeply and completely as you realise just what it is you are thinking about.<br/>
<br/>
“Haven’t got all day,” growls Chelsea, effortlessly in character.<br/>
<br/>
You lie down on the floor and carefully lower the mask onto your face before Chelsea has the chance to complain any more. Everything goes black.<br/>
<br/>
You sit up unsteadily as you come to. The first thing you notice is how loose your clothes are on you, they seem a size too large - Jenny is slightly smaller and slimmer than you are. <br/>
<br/>
You look down and examine yourself. Jenny’s hand are slim and delicate. You run them round where her breasts make some noticable outline your shirt. They are not as impressive as Chelsea's or the Garners', but they are a nice handful. You grin like an idiot undo the top buttons, easing the pressure on your chest and letting you a better view of your new cleavage.<br/>
<br/>
“Enjoying yourself there,” grins Chelsea, without a trace of Patterson in her voice any more. “Honestly, you guys can’t think at all when boobies are involved.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not much of a guy now,” you grin, cupping your new assets - a nice handful, soft and supple. <br/>
<br/>
Chelsea giggles at the mention of her rival. “You’re still acting like one, you know.”<br/>
<br/>
She's right, so you feel for Jenny's persona. It's warm and feels very close to you and but to reach it there's a deep chasm that you have to plunge into. As you were in two mind about whether you should jump down, your gaze rises up to Patterson and feel colour rising to your cheeks.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Jenny has a crush on Patterson</i><br/>
<br/>
It's Jenny's thought you realise - her mind is already leaking into your own. You inwardly gasp. That's simply not possible. Getting more and more curious, you take the plunge into the unknown. <br/>
<br/>
To your surprise, you aren't falling for a long time, before finding yourself calm and in control. Jenny's confidence gently boosts yours and you easily bring yourself into focus. Her memories drop into place and you immediately remember how exactly Chelsea managed to get a mask of Jenny. You are however, still curious about what you found out earlier.<br/>
<br/>
You shared many lunchtimes with Jenny's gang and the times Patterson's name is spoken, it is usually spoken with much loathe, disgusts and mocking. Yumi absolutely hates his guts, so it's a surprise that her best friend doesn't share her sentiment, not entirely anyway. Jenny hates Patterson's womanizing traits too, but she always hold the thought that she is the one who can change him.<br/>
<br/>
Patterson meet your gaze with a knowing grin. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
Soon you find yourself staring at the ceiling, basking in the afterglow, totally spent. All the rumours and hushed whispers about how good Patterson in the sack turns out to be better than expected. He just seemed to know when to be gentle and when to squeeze hard, but of course, aside from Patterson's own know-how, you found out that Chelsea had actually spent a considerable amount of time inside Jenny's head. It was a mutually satisfying experience.<br/>
<br/>
''Want a beer?'', you hear Patterson call out to you. While you're still resting, he had taken the time to dress himself up again. <br/>
<br/>
Slowly you rouse yourself up and nod at him. A small part of Jenny's mind deep within you begins to fill with anxiety and regret about what she just did. Sleeping with Patterson? What would Yumi and Lin say?! What would James say?<br/>
<br/>
<i>James Lamont</i>. A guy in Yumi's clique whom you always suspected of actually in a weird, if not a little bit twisted relationship with Jenny. They never admit to be together and your one-off attempt to pester James with that issue was swatted away. Although their behaviour together in public say otherwise, much to everyone's frustration. <br/>
<br/>
''So what do you think?'', Chelsea asks, dropping Patterson's persona aside. ''We could make the switch this weekend .''<br/>
<br/>
''This weekend?'', you gulp.<br/>
<br/>
''And on Monday, we'll announce Westside's new couple.'', a very Patterson-esque grin reappears as Patterson points at himself and then, to your horror, at you.<br/>
<br/>
''But... it's going to destroy Jenny's friendship with Yumi and the rest of her gang.'', your mind is filled with dread.<br/>
<br/>
''Exactly.''<br/>
<br/>
Instantly you feel sick. You had hoped that Chelsea would be take into consideration that it's you under Jenny's mask, but apparently that won't happen. This is no better than if she had just put one of those golem things on Jenny. <br/>
<br/>
''Now take that mask off, I'm going to make a mask of you.'', Patterson growls. <br/>
<br/>
A puzzled expression must have momentarily fleet across your face as Patterson opens his mouth, '' We're going to switch you with Jenny, and 'Will Prescott' still has to be around.'' <br/>
<br/>
He brings his hand close to your temple and the next thing you know, everything is shrouded in darkness.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
That night, you are tossing and turning in your bed. As soon as you come to, Patterson unceremoniously tossed your clothes at you  and sent you off quickly. When you ask him about when the switch is going to happen, he just waved you away. ''I got your number.'', he growled. You spent the rest of the day in a daze, and flipped off Caleb when he called you that afternoon.<br/>
<br/>
Sleep doesn't come naturally, but when it does, nightmares refuses to give you even a moment of peace.</span></div></div>


path: 1131221221121112
author_id: gigantorzzz
title: Follow Chelsea's plan
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>''William! Your friends are here.'', you hear your mom shouts from downstairs, instantly alerting your muddled mind. <br/>
<br/>
Your dreams last night was filled with nightmares. So vivid were your nightmares, you swore that they might be an omen of some kind. One was particularly horrifying, you found yourself alone, standing in a wanly lit corridor much similar to the numerous identical corridors in Westside. You remembered wondering how you could get there, when you hear faint murmuring of voice.<br/>
<br/>
Curiously, you inched closer and closer towards the source of the voice, hoping you'd find someone. The murmurs turned into chatters as you keep going for what seemed like an eternity. The chatters got louder and louder, into some sort of organised rumbling. <br/>
<br/>
Much to your surprise, you can faintly see someone just up ahead. <i>Caleb? What's he doing here?</i> His back was turned against you, but even in the dim light, you recognized his favourite t-shirt. You gripped his shoulder, but just as you do it, his head turned to face you and what you saw filled you with dread.<br/>
<br/>
His face. It bears resemblance to Caleb's face, but in the dim light, it reflected a haunting metallic blue sheen... as if... as if it was a polished mask. But instead of sinking into the person's face, it just sat atop, in this case, Caleb's face. Their eyes looked into you, two pitch black holes where the pupils should be... In surprise, you gasp and wheeled backwards, just in time to see more being similar to Caleb standing nearby. You can recognize them from the clothes they usually wear. <i>Keith</i> your eyes spun wildly <i>Lamont</i>. Quite a distance away, you can see Yumi and Lin, both were wearing their cheerleader uniform, but their faces looked like masks. <br/>
<br/>
You felt yourself bumped against something, or rather, much to your horror, someone. <i>Gordon</i>. He caught and restrained you, as you tried to break away, a figure walked towards you. <i>Jenny</i>.<br/>
<br/>
The being that looked like Jenny inched closer and closer to you, stopping just a breath away from your face. Her visage looked cold and mechanical as your gaze met hers. She drew her hand to her temple and ripped off the mask-face to reveal pitch black darkness as if you're staring into the edge of oblivion itself. After a period of time, she fixed the face-mask back onto her, before raising her other hand and she was holding something you had already known so well. <i>A polished mask</i>. <br/>
<br/>
You looked in terror at the Jenny lookalike. Her mouth curved as if she was smiling, the next thing you noticed, was the mask very close to your face.<br/>
<br/>
That's when you jolted up from your bed, with your forehead covered in beads of sweat and you cursed between ragged breaths. <br/>
<br/>
''William!'', you hear your mom shouts again. The second time around, you are actually quite grateful as it brings you back to reality. <br/>
<br/>
<i>What the...</i>, you thought to yourself as you spring from your bed. You don't recall making any arrangements to meet up with Caleb or Keith. Neither you have any arrangement to meet anyone at this time of the day. Then your mind is filled with dread. <i>Chelsea</i>. Scrambling for your phone, there isnt't any miscall or messages. <br/>
<br/>
''Oh, hi Will.'', Kim Walsh beams at you. <br/>
<br/>
Yumi quips, ''We shouldn't let Jenny waiting.'' <br/>
<br/>
You suck in a deep breath.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 113122122112112
author_id: imaj
title: Taking Sienna for a Spin
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You can’t do it.  You can’t take Jenny’s life from her, even if it is the ‘better’ option.  You’ll just have to let Chelsea switch her for a golem and pray that she doesn’t mess up her Jenny’s life too badly.  It’s a coward’s way out, you reflect as you pick up the mask of Sienna again, but it’s not like you are some brave hero from a trashy novel.  You look at the reflected image on Sienna in the mask and try to convince yourself that she deserves what is about to happen to her.<br/>
<br/>
“Made your choice,” says Chelsea, leering at you.  There is a feral Patterson-like hunger in her expression.  “Go on, put it on and we’ll take her for a spin,” she adds ominously.<br/>
<br/>
You look at her.  Does she mean…  You bare your teeth in disgust at the implication, but a little fragment reminds you that this wouldn’t be the first time you and Chelsea have played role reversal.  You idly wonder if the stories you’ve heard about Patterson are true, then you blush deeply and completely as you realise just what it is you are thinking about.<br/>
<br/>
“Haven’t got all day,” growls Chelsea, effortlessly in character.<br/>
<br/>
You lie down on the floor and carefully lower the mask onto your face before Chelsea has the chance to complain any more.  Everything goes black.<br/>
<br/>
You sit up unsteadily when you come too.  The first thing that strikes you is how badly your clothes fit, they are too large – Sienna is much shorter than you.  At the same time, in some very specific areas, they are too tight and you feel constrained at the hips and chest.<br/>
<br/>
You look down and examine yourself.  Sienna’s hand are slim and delicate.  You run them round where her breasts stretch your shirt.  They are anything but small and delicate.  More than a handful in fact.  You grin like an idiot undo the top buttons, easing the pressure on your chest and letting your new boobs spill out.<br/>
<br/>
“Enjoying yourself there,” grins Chelsea, without a trace of Patterson in her voice any more.  “Honestly, you guys can’t think at all when boobies are involved.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not much of a guy now,” you grin, hefting one of your new assets in your hand.  “She’s so much more… uh… developed than Kelsey was.”<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea giggles at the mention of her rival.  “You’re still acting like one, you know.”<br/>
<br/>
She’s right, so you feel for Sienna’s persona.  It’s close and you can practically feel it as if it were a raging torrent of water.  The sheer energy scares you, and for a moment you are afraid to pull it close in case it drags you under.  As you are thinking on what to do, you absentmindedly try to clack your tongue piercing against your teeth.<br/>
<br/>
<i>You don’t have a tongue piercing.</i><br/>
<br/>
It’s a Sienna mannerism you realise – her mind is already leaking into your own.  At the same time the lack of the familiar feel of the piercing in your mouth unsettles you.  The roar of her emotions grows closer and you dive in.  At least this way you might be better able to steer her than if she creeps in entirely.  <br/>
<br/>
To your surprise you find yourself calm and in control.  Sienna’s own cocky confidence bolsters you and you easily cow the excesses of her feelings as they snap at your mind, demanding your attention.  Her memories drop into place and you immediately remember exactly how Chelsea managed to get a mask of Sienna.<br/>
<br/>
You stand up and smile wryly as you place your hands insouciantly on your newly ample hips.  “You back for more Patterson,” you grin.  “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea’s face goes through a range of emotions:  Shock, surprise maybe?  Certainly anticipation and excitement as the last of Chelsea’s own persona fades from view.  Patterson, and it is wholly Patterson now, not Chelsea, matches your confidence with his own.  “That’s usually my line.”<br/>
<br/>
“Come over here and take it back then,” you fire back quickly, your eyes sparkling.  You lean back against one of the crates.  “If you’ve got the balls to try.”<br/>
<br/>
Patterson laughs  “Yeah I got the balls,” he replies, undoing the buckle of his belt.  He lets his pants fall to the floor and steps neatly out of them.  “Got them right here,” he adds as he advances slowly towards you, his shorts clearly starting to tent.  <br/>
<br/>
You feel Sienna’s emotions quicken as your gaze lingers on him.  You slip your own hands down to your waist and undo the top buttons of your jeans.  You sigh loudly as you pull them down and the tightness on your hips finally fades away.  “Round two then,” you say lightly, letting yourself be carried away by Sienna’s feelings.<br/>
<br/>
“Round two,” agrees Patterson and you leap at him.<br/>
<br/>
He stumbles and you pull him to the ground before he recovers.  You sit on top of him, legs astride and push him back down to the floor as he tries to get back up.  “My turn to go on top,” you smirk as you rip open his shirt, barely taking the time to undo the buttons properly.  At least one goes flying across the room.  Patterson breathes sharply as you dig your nails in and rake them down his chest, drawing blood.  “How does that feel,” you ask as you grind your hips against him hard.<br/>
<br/>
“Good,” he admits, his breathing shallow.  You can feel him continue to harden beneath you.<br/>
<br/>
You dive forward and kiss him, hungrily devouring and sucking at him.  It’s almost as if you are trying to remove the Patterson mask by the efforts of your mouth alone.  Patterson, in turn, is just as aggressive.  He explores you mouth thoroughly and with a sense of urgency.  <br/>
<br/>
At the same time his hands explore your new body, moving with a tenderness that you wouldn’t have thought possible.  He knows just when to be gentle, and just when to squeeze hard.  Sienna’s body responds to his touch and you feel something akin to a melting sensation centred at your groin, a warm and wet tide, ready to flow.<br/>
<br/>
You pull your mouth away from Patterson’s lean back, teasingly inching away from him as he tries to close on you again.  Patterson sits himself up and crawls towards you.  “Hold the fuck still,” he growls, grabbing you by the arms and pinning you to the floor.  You spread your legs wide, wriggling out you shorts.<br/>
<br/>
You grin as Patterson takes one hand away from your arms and uses his free hand to feed his cock inside you.  He pushes in deep and you cannot help but shriek as your body turns to jelly as he reaches your innermost depths.  “Get a fuckin’ move on,” you moan.  You wrap your freed arm around his back and pull him close until his body mashes up against yours.<br/>
<br/>
With a juddering, slow movement he starts to thrust in and out of you.  You dig your nails into his back, scratching him again and causing him to tense up.  The momentary disruption in his rhythm sends you closer to the edge.<br/>
<br/>
You roll over and the pair of you are no longer two separate entities, but single mass of writhing limbs:  Your movements erratic and unpredictable, underscored only by the slow grinding of your hips against each other.  You moan and growl and nibble at Patterson as he pushes you steadily towards a crescendo.<br/>
<br/>
You yowl your pleasure as the first wave crashes down, a tingling feeling that runs from the tip of your toes to your head and back again.  Patterson’s movements gain more urgency, becoming faster and more ragged.  You feel him go rigid and spasm just as he tips you over a second time.<br/>
<br/>
You both lie there, breathing rapidly and moaning quietly for a few minutes.  You hold each other tight and still, enjoying the near perfection of the moment.  Then Patterson disentangles himself from you, sitting back on the gym mat that served as your bedding.<br/>
<br/>
“Fucking hell,” he murmurs, wiping a sheen of sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.<br/>
<br/>
“You weren’t fucking bad either,” you grin back at him, hugging yourself.<br/>
<br/>
“Want a beer,” he asks, nodding in the direction of a small cooler.<br/>
<br/>
“A beer,” you sneer, entirely on Sienna’s instinct.  “You’ve got a fucking cheek calling that pisswater you drink booze.  You need to get some real hard stuff up here.”<br/>
<br/>
There is one of those hanging by a thread moments as Patterson stares at you goggle eyed then you both descend into fits of laughter.  By the time it subsides you have both let go of the personas you were playing.  Chelsea gain sits in front of you, her girlish mannerisms looking out of place on Patterson’s body.  You are yourself once more, no longer Sienna.<br/>
<br/>
“That was pretty intense,” giggles Chelsea.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah,” you agree.  “You wouldn’t expect those two to be so…”  You gesture expansively.<br/>
<br/>
“She’s a wildcat,” repeats Chelsea.<br/>
<br/>
“They have real chemistry,” you add.<br/>
<br/>
“So what do you think,” asks Chelsea.  “We could get Sienna out here and make the switch easily.”<br/>
<br/>
“We?”<br/>
<br/>
“Steve could get Sienna out here,” replies Chelsea with a characteristic smirk.  “Or maybe we could try someone else?  Kelsey maybe?”<br/>
<br/>
You think back a week to when you were Kelsey to Chelsea’s Karl.  That didn’t feel anywhere near as good as Sienna, but maybe that’s a good thing.  It would be too easy to get lost in Sienna’s feelings.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 11312212211212
author_id: imaj
title: The Shortlist
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Letting Chelsea choose which mask is a bad idea.  You’d likely end up as Yumi, forced to wreck her life for Chelsea’s amusement.  No, it’s far better to make the choice yourself, and to steer Chelsea away from people you consider friends.<br/>
<br/>
“Well,” asks Chelsea a little impatiently.  Some of Patterson’s growl creeps into her tone.<br/>
<br/>
“I need to think,” you squeak nervously.  “You’ve given me a lot to choose from.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well don’t take to long,” she replies, channelling Patterson again.<br/>
<br/>
You start by identifying the masks you definitely do not want to wear and put them to one side in a small pile.  Yumi’s is the first to go down, she’s far too nice to deserve any of this.  You add the masks of Jenny and Kim to the pile.  The former is a friend who’s only crime is to be friend of Yumi as well.  The later might be a bit of a busybody, but she usually acts in everyone’s best interest and you don’t want to let Chelsea ruin that.<br/>
<br/>
“Is that a shortlist,” ask Chelsea, craning her neck to see which masks are in your pile.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s the ones I don’t want to wear,” you answer without thinking.<br/>
<br/>
“You <i>don’t</i> want to wear,” repeats Chelsea, narrowing her eyes.  “Why not?”<br/>
<br/>
“Well,” you say, stalling for time by picking up one of the masks and looking at it closely.  It’s the one of Yumi.  “I um…  I don’t think she’s very pretty,” you lie lamely.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea looks at you for a few, long, seconds before her adopted face cracks into an evil looking grin.  “Yeah,” she agrees.  She lifts her hands up to her eyes and pulls back at the side of each one with a finger.  “Who would want to be a slit eye.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah” you agree weakly, appalled more at your own cravenness than Chelsea’s casual racism.  “The other two aren’t very attractive either,” you add slowly and quietly.  You almost wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole.  “Jenny’s kinda plain and Kim’s got those glasses.”<br/>
<br/>
“I totally understand,” replies Chelsea, smiling insincerely.  “I wouldn’t want to be any of those three either.  “What about the others?”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m still thinking about it,” you say quickly.  “Let me look at them all again.”<br/>
<br/>
You take another mask, examine it briefly and then immediately start a new pile with it.  It’s Ms Warrington’s mask and there’s no such qualms with her.  There isn’t a boy in the school who hasn’t dreamt of getting inside the stunning, could be on television if she wanted, teacher’s panties.  You’d just be taking a different route, that’s all.  You try to ignore the pure Patterson leer on Chelsea’s face when she sees the mask.<br/>
<br/>
The next mask you pick is the one of Cassie.  “You said she was crushing on me,” you ask.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea nods.  “Totally.”<br/>
<br/>
“Too creepy,” you reply, dumping the mask unceremoniously in the discard pile.  “Can you imagine, feeling her feelings for me?  Do not want.”  You shudder as you pick up the next mask.<br/>
<br/>
“Kelsey,” grins Chelsea as she spots the mask.  “You’ve been her already.  Trust me, you’ll be satisfied this time.”  Chelsea pats at her crotch.  You almost feel like throwing up, but that doesn’t stop you piling the Kelsey mask next to the Ms Warrington one.  You remember what it felt like with the fake Karl Hennepin after the party, after all.<br/>
<br/>
The next mask, Sienna, goes on the discard pile quickly.  You’ve only spoken to her a couple of times.  Once, she told you to politely get lost, the other times she was not so polite.  That sours you on the idea of being her.  You do the same with the mask of Cara.  She looks nice enough.  More than nice enough, and you find yourself wondering just why you haven’t spotted her in the halls before.  It’s just that the idea of dropping back down a year and repeating some of school just doesn’t appeal.<br/>
<br/>
That just leaves the mask of Elise.  Examining the mask closely she looks lithe and athletic, with a cute enough face.  A shiny curtain of dark brown hair falls to her neck.  You’ve never met her, but Elise seems just intriguing enough to be worth it.  You are just about to place the mask beside the ones of Kelsey and Ms Warrington when Chelsea reaches out and grabs your hand.<br/>
<br/>
“No,” she says abruptly.<br/>
<br/>
“No?”<br/>
<br/>
“I changed my mind,” she explains firmly, taking the mask out of your hand and placing it on the discard pile.<br/>
<br/>
That leaves you with a shortlist of two:  Kelsey Blankenship and Ms Warrington.<br/>
<br/>
Now that you’ve had time to think about it, Ms Warrington seems less appealing.  Chelsea seems a little to keen on getting Patterson inside her panties, and that’s just the icing on the cake of squick that would be any kind of relationship Chelsea wanted to form with the teacher.  On the other hand, there are some very good reasons for trying on the mask of Ms Warrington.  You can think of two very good ones, peaking out from behind her blouse, tantalisingly round and ample.  And now so close too.<br/>
<br/>
You try to dismiss Ms Warrington’s cleavage from your mind and focus on Kelsey.  You’ve been inside her before and had a good time to boot.  Having had a look inside her memories, you’re also aware that she could afford to be taken down a peg or two as well.  You are unsure, however, if Chelsea is the right person to organise that.  If nothing else, the idea of letting Chelsea-as-Patterson close to Kelsey is much less unpleasant than letting her close to Ms Warrington.<br/>
<br/>
Time to make a decision.</span></div></div>


path: 113122122112122
author_id: gigantorzzz
title: Pick Ms Warrington
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Your hand hovers between the two masks that you are finally dealt with. No escape now, not with Patterson breathing down your neck. You think about your current condition and how you have managed to somehow entangle yourself in this situation, being a pawn in Chelsea's quest to wreck people's life. Then again, it could be you under a mask, sleeping, an unknowing golem. At least this way, you are aware of whatever Chelsea's planning, well, as far as she would allow it and partake in it. Quietly, you remind yourself to be thankful of your current situation. There are two good reasons too, as you grab the mask of Ms. Warrington.<br/>
<br/>
''Ms. Warrington? Not bad.'', Patterson grins when you take the mask from the pile. He proceeds to stash the mask of Kelsey with the rest of the masks. He pats his crotch. ''Go on, put her on.''<br/>
<br/>
You sigh, not looking forward to be given hints about what you are sure you are about to do. Ms. Warrington seems to be a better choice than Kelsey, but at the end of the day, you are forced to choose between two evils.<br/>
<br/>
Lying down on the hard floor, you slowly bring the mask closer to your face. Stopping briefly just to see Patterson moves closer towards you, urging you to get a move on. You take a deep breath and slam the mask on your own face, leaping to oblivion.<br/>
<br/>
When you wake up, you realise that your clothes are too ill-fitting, constraining against the ample breasts that are attached to your chest. Ms. Warrington has been known for her assets and her intelectual capacities, but the latter are often known only to a small proportion of students and even, teachers. You undo the top two buttons of your shirt, letting your boobs spill over and exposing Ms. Warrington's infamous cleavage. You trace the round outline of her ample bosom with your hands. <br/>
<br/>
''Enjoying yourself there.'', Patterson smirks.<br/>
<br/>
Hefting your new assets with both hands, you just managed a perverted grin. ''I can't help it. She's much better than Kelsey too!''<br/>
<br/>
You can feel Ms. Warrington's persona near you, so you reach out to it and much to your surprise, taken by it, like a whirlpool. ''Steve, you need to put more effort on those differential equations, instead of... fucking all the girls you see.''<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea giggles, which sounds rather wrong in Patterson's voice. <br/>
<br/>
''Whoa, this is really kinky... I could ace all my Maths test now.''<br/>
<br/>
''Let's get a move on,'' Patterson grins ''You got a switch to make.''<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
''Sorry Kim, the decision is final.'', you calmly state, not stopping the motion of marking the paperworks in front of your desk to look at the girl you're talking to. Numerous counts of illegible handwriting and even some creative doodle you have seen. Some thinly veiled flirting attempts are far and few in between. Might as well you don't look up to see the expression etched in Kim's face, you're not sure you would be able to continue with Chelsea's plan.<br/>
<br/>
Kim stands still, motionless. You try to sneak a look. The student president's face is one of shock, disbelief, frustration and to a certain degree, anger at the decision that has been made. Never before you've seen anyone flip her switch like this. <br/>
<br/>
''I feel that you are burning yourself out.'', you re-iterate the logic behind the decision. ''You're doing a superb job as student president, you're involved in a lot of school activities, you read to children and you even have a part time job.'' you finally steel yourself enough to look at Kim in the eyes. It is as though you're staring right at a hurt puppy. ''But'', you deliver the blow ''It is not what high school is all about.'' <br/>
<br/>
''I don't understand.'', Kim manages a whimper.<br/>
<br/>
''Believe me when I say it's not an easy decision Kim.'', you sigh, it is truly heart-wrenching for you to deliver the message from Chelsea. While Ms. Warrington's mind is constantly screaming against every words you utter. ''But you need to spend more time with your friends, not as a student president, not because you need to rehearse an argument. You only go to high school once and trust me, you want to really enjoy it.''<br/>
<br/>
There is silence in the office, since other teachers are having their classes and Kim is too dumbfounded to argue with your logic.<br/>
<br/>
''Who's going then?'', Kim finally mutters. <i>Even after getting expelled she's still thinking about the debate team </i>. <br/>
<br/>
''I want you to take your mind off the debate team, starting from today.'', you say sternly. ''But just to give you comfort, we might take Ricky Golia. He should be as equally capable as you are.''<br/>
<br/>
You aren't able to see the colors drain from Kim's face as her face pales instantly as soon as your sentence sinks in her mind.<br/>
<br/>
''But...'', Kim's is interrupted by three sharp knocks on the door. Chelsea - as - Patterson, right on time.<br/>
<br/>
''Come in!'', you shout, and Patterson enters the room, with his distinctive leer. <br/>
<br/>
''Look Kim, just take the time off.'', you persuade the crestfallen student president, putting your arms around her shoulders and turning her around towards the door. ''You can still join the President's Cup.'', you point out the the most prestigious annual high school debate competition. ''But now I need to talk to Patterson about... his grades.'', you give some comforting pat on Kim's back and send her off.<br/>
<br/>
''Did you see her face?!'', Patterson beams, ''That's going to totally screw her.''<br/>
<br/>
''Yeah...'', feeling drained yourself with the whole ordeal, you just mumble an approval. <br/>
<br/>
''I wish I could've done it myself.''<br/>
<br/>
''You should... and where were you?'', you say irritably.<br/>
<br/>
''Just keeping an eye out for everyone.'', there's a Chelsea-esque chill in his tone. ''Stopping some people from hurting others.''<br/>
<br/>
You are just about to return to your seat when you feel a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist. Followed by something poking against your shapely arse. ''Chels-...'', involuntary gasps escapes your lips as Patterson tweaks expertly at your nipples. <br/>
<br/>
''We didn't get to do it yesterday.'', he grins wolfishly. It's true, you were too grossed out and Ms. Warrington is just as appalled at the prospect of having sex with a student but apparently your luck run out. He pats his crotch before snaking his hand to your pussy.<br/>
<br/>
You don't recall the whole romp, as too often your world would burst in a bright flash. But it ends with Patterson cumming inside you. Twice. <br/>
<br/>
''Guess that's why those girls keep coming back to him huh.'', the Patterson impostor smirks as he looks down on your dishevelled state. ''But now that Ms. Warrington has served her purpose, I can move on to Kim and Yumi. '', a feral grin appears on his mug.<br/>
<br/>
''And I'll let you choose which one you want to be a part of.''<br/>
<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 11312212212
author_id: seuzz
title: A Conversation with Caleb
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Could be interesting," you say, "but it's getting kind of late. Kelsey can stay out, but I can't."<br/>
<br/>
"Poor Will," Karl says. "We need to get you a life that you can have more fun with." He strokes your thigh. "You have to come up anyway, to change."<br/>
<br/>
"I brought my clothes with me. Remember?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mmm. Maybe you're right." He pats your thigh. "I'm not in the right state for you to be with me." <br/>
<br/>
<i>In more ways than one,</i> you agree. <br/>
<br/>
The still-intoxicated Karl clambers out when you arrive at the school, and with a regretful wave stumbles off toward the gym. You hope Chelsea has enough sense not to try driving in this state. You yourself drive back home, stopping only briefly at the elementary school to change. <br/>
<br/>
You pat the clothes you borrowed before putting them back in your bag. You weren't Kelsey for long, and you didn't do much as her, but you feel colder and lonelier back in your own skin.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You spend the next morning in a state of suspended anxiety, wondering if Chelsea will call. After last night ... <br/>
<br/>
Well, you're of a mixed mind about getting together with her. On the one hand, it's <i>Chelsea Cooper,</i> and though she can be brusque and thoughtless and stupid, her company is intoxicating. Even though you are not publicly associated with her, it is still exciting to be close to her--and the pair of you are united by an occult secret. <br/>
<br/>
On the other hand, you're not sure what you should or could say if she again broached the idea she had last night. You are very conscious that you're not the driving force in this partnership. Maybe it's not even a partnership.<br/>
<br/>
So you're surprised but not unreceptive when Caleb shows up on your doorstep a little after noon. "I'm not taking you away from a secret life, am I?" he asks, and he holds himself rather stiffly--maybe because, oddly, he has his backpack with him.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't have any plans right now," you reply. But still you take your cell phone with you when he suggests a walk around the neighborhood.<br/>
<br/>
It must be important, because it's not a nice day out. It's the middle of October and the temperature is hovering in the low fifties. It's also been raining off an on all day.<br/>
<br/>
But whatever's on Caleb's mind, he has to ease into it. "So, we haven't talked, really, in, like, a couple of weeks," he says as you stroll along. "What have you been up to?"<br/>
<br/>
"This and that," you reply. "By the way, you're the one who stopped hanging out with me. I was just repaying the favor."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I've had work," he says. "And that ... other project you set me up with." <br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, what happened with that?" <br/>
<br/>
"It turned into bullshit," he says after a pause. Then he adds, "I can't get the things to work anymore."<br/>
<br/>
"What, they're broken?" Your ears prick up.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I guess they still work. But I didn't make a lot of them, and I can't make any more. The, uh, the book isn't helping anymore."<br/>
<br/>
"Hard to believe it got away from you." You kick yourself mentally at the unfortunate choice of words, for Caleb glances over sharply at you. "I mean, you're smart, so if anyone could figure it out, you could," you explain lamely. <br/>
<br/>
He hesitates a moment before continuing. "You know I asked you earlier about doing a partnership with me on it. Would you be interested? I mean, between the two of us, maybe ..."<br/>
<br/>
He sounds like he's in a lot of pain, but you're not inclined to help him out--not with him having been (and still being) so dishonest with you. Why can't he just come out and confess what he did? <i>I copied your face and got in trouble when I used it around Gordon and Chelsea.</i> Okay, it would be awkward and humiliating, and he's probably worried that you'll be really pissed at him--<i>and he should be worried</i>--but confession is supposedly good for the soul.<br/>
<br/>
Then you get a truly mischievous idea, a way that will give him a chance to come clean with you, and that will torture him if he doesn't. <br/>
<br/>
You stop in your tracks and turn to face him four-square. "How about I just buy the book back from you?" you offer.<br/>
<br/>
He blinks. "I'd rather it be a partnership," he stammers.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll give you forty bucks for it. The forty you paid me to help you get your job at my dad's work. Actually--" the light goes off over your head. "The forty you never paid me, even though you said you could."<br/>
<br/>
He reddens. "I paid three for the book, and I'm still good for the other thirty-seven."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll forgive it if you give me it back."<br/>
<br/>
"Will--" he starts, but you press your advantage.<br/>
<br/>
"Two hundred. That was the original price. I'll pay you two hundred for it."<br/>
<br/>
His eyes widen, then narrow. "Why are you suddenly so keen to get it back?"<br/>
<br/>
"I haven't got two hundred"--and he hasn't got the book--"but I'll get two hundred if you tell me you'll sell it to me. You said it isn't working for you anymore."<br/>
<br/>
"And it won't work for you!"<br/>
<br/>
"How do you know? Besides, I don't care. I'll still pay you two hundred, if you bring it over and I look it over and I like what I see." <br/>
<br/>
He looks away. "Look, the thing is," he says, "it's a really dangerous thing. I don't want it out of my sight." He leans in close to you. "It's really bad news, and I don't want to feel responsible if--" He struggles. "If something bad happens to you if you've got it."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, give me a fucking break,</i> you want to scream at him. <i>Something bad really did almost happen to me, and it would have probably happened if I wasn't able to fast-talk my way around Chelsea. And it's </i>your fault,<i> cocksucker, for using my face to try to steal Gordon's.</i><br/>
<br/>
Instead, you just smile. "That's real thoughtful of you, dude. I appreciate it. If you care so much about me, though, I guess the smartest thing for me to do is turn you down on that partnership." You clap him insincerely on the shoulder, then turn to trudge back toward your house. <br/>
<br/>
"Will!" he calls, but you just shake your head.<br/>
<br/>
And then something heavy hits you in the back, knocking you face-forward to the ground. You struggle up in a daze, before a suffocating blackness overwhelms you.<br/>
<br/>
You're groggy when you come to, and find yourself flat on your back on the sidewalk. A very pale Caleb squats next to you, watching you carefully. "Jesus, Will," he gasps. "Are you okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck," you groan.<br/>
<br/>
Then you lunge at him. "The fuck did you do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, you pissed me off, so I threw my backpack at you," he gasps as he fights you off. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to knock you down."<br/>
<br/>
"Cocksucker! Just leave me alone!" You leap to your feet, and with a glare back at him stumble on toward your house.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're in a black mood when you arrive, but your college-age cousin, Umeko, has shown up while you were gone, and that drives all thoughts about Caleb and Chelsea and the book from your mind, as you and your little brother compete for her amused attentions. An hour after she leaves, though, you're drawn back to old matters when Chelsea calls.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God," she says. "I feel so embarrassed. After last night, I mean. I hope I wasn't a jackass or anything. Are you mad at me because of, you know, what I ... said at the end?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," you stammer. "Actually, I was kind of flattered, I guess."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, those things are kind of ... strong ... when you're inside them. Anyway," she continues, saving you the trouble of thinking up a reply. "Do you have Kelsey's mask there? Can I come by and pick it up?"<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea Cooper, <i>at your house?</i> You don't even bother to ask what she wants with it. "Sure. When? Now?"<br/>
<br/>
"If that's okay. Um, where do you live?" You give the address. "See you in a few."<br/>
<br/>
You make sure to stay up in your room, so that your dad has to call you down when she arrives. It's a thrill to see her standing in your living room, smiling brightly and chatting amiably with your parents. <i>I guess she can be charming when she has to be,</i> you think. "Hi," she calls up as you rattle down the stairs. "You have that, uh, art project?"<br/>
<br/>
"Right here." You hand the mask over, and take great satisfaction at the way your brother stares open-mouthed at her and at you. "Are we getting together tomorrow?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe. I'll give you a call?" You agree, and shiver all over when she squeezes your arm before leaving. Robert is a satisfactory shade of green when you glance back over at him.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Will!" your dad calls out the next afternoon, about an hour after church. "Another visitor!" You bound down the stairs. "You're getting popular," he observes as you rush through the living room, and you flash him a grin.<br/>
<br/>
You stop cold at the foyer, though. It's not Chelsea. It's not even Kelsey or Karl. Hell, it's not even Gordon or Caleb. It's just Keith Tilley. You nod numbly at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey there," he says quietly. "I heard you and Caleb got in a fight yesterday. Wanna talk about it?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I do. Come on." <br/>
<br/>
You sigh. This is not something you need. But Keith seems uncharacteristically serious.</span></div></div>


path: 113122122121
author_id: seuzz
title: A Chance to Change Partners
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Keith has driven over to your house, of course, and you climb into it with him. Better than walking, for though the rain has stopped, it has turned even colder. <br/>
<br/>
"So, yeah, me and Caleb got into a fight," you say as he reverses out of the driveway and into the street. "What makes this shit any of your business?"<br/>
<br/>
In seeming answer, something plops onto the seat between the two of you. To your astonishment, it's a mask. <br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, Will," a voice says behind you. You whirl to find that Caleb has materialized in the back seat. Apparently, he had been hiding there. He gestures at the mask. "I can't believe it. You and Chelsea Cooper. And you weren't going to tell your friends?"<br/>
<br/>
"What the fuck--" you start, but Caleb interrupts.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't try denying anything, man. Me and Keith know everything you know, up through yesterday afternoon. Including the stuff with Kelsey and Karl. Wow." He crosses his arms as you glare at him. "So are you going to share her with us? I mean you're gonna make a mask of her, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Son of a bitch!" You twist in your seat to throw a punch at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey hey hey!" Keith yells as you try hurling yourself into the backseat. The car swerves, throwing you against Keith. He curses both you and Caleb out, and slams on the brakes, pitching you back hard against the dashboard. <br/>
<br/>
"Calm down, Will!" Caleb shouts.<br/>
<br/>
"Or at least take it out of the car," Keith yells.<br/>
<br/>
You throw the door open and stagger onto the sidewalk. "Yeah, come on, you piece of shit!" you yell at Caleb. "Get out here so I can kick your fucking ass!"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb stares at you, his face taut and pale, through the window. "Calm down!" he repeats, his voice muffled. "Let's just talk!"<br/>
<br/>
You swing at the window, but pull your punch at the last moment, so that you only bang your knuckles sharply against the glass. "You wanna talk, come out here!"<br/>
<br/>
"We're gonna have the cops here in a minute!" Keith shouts.<br/>
<br/>
You swerve and pace in a tight circle, muttering curses and glaring at Caleb. He rolls down the window, but pulls back when you lunge at him again. "You wanna hit me?" he says. "Fine. But let's do it somewhere we won't get arrested!"<br/>
<br/>
You want to tell him to go fuck himself, but a small voice in your head finally makes itself heard, and you decide to at least let them have their say. After that ...<br/>
<br/>
"The old elementary school," you tell them. "You remember where it is?" Caleb thinks a moment, then nods. "Meet me over there." <br/>
<br/>
You whirl and strike off down the street, hands in pockets, striding furiously along. A few moments later, Keith's car crawls up beside you, then passes, picking up speed. You lurch down an alleyway and start sprinting hard, so you can beat them there.<br/>
<br/>
You don't make it, and, red-faced and breathless, you have to stagger the last few dozen yards across the grounds to the car, where your erstwhile friends are waiting. They eye you warily. <br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I'm gonna give you five minutes until I catch my breath, and then I'm gonna beat the shit out of you," you tell them.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb and Keith exchange nervous glances. Then Caleb starts to talk.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, it was a shitty, shitty thing to do to you, and I'm sorry. Really fucking sorry. I didn't know anything was going to happen like what happened. But since you've figured out that fucking book and what it does--"<br/>
<br/>
"No, you confess it all first, cocksucker," you snarl. "I want you to tell me to my face what you did to me!"<br/>
<br/>
He flushes and hangs his head. Then with a sigh, he begins.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I used the book to make a copy of you. I figured you were the safest person to try it on because ... well, you already knew about the book, and I thought you still might come in as my partner at some point. I really shouldn't have done it without telling you what I was doing, but I figured if you didn't know, it wouldn't hurt you." <br/>
<br/>
You snort. "Yeah. Go on."<br/>
<br/>
"But you know the-- Oh, fine." He makes a face. "I did myself up as you and tried to get a mask of Gordon. But Chelsea tripped onto me, and Gordon woke up too fast. They cornered me, and--" He hunches his shoulders. "Gordon beat it all out of me, and they wound up taking the book from me." He glowers. "And then I guess they got all into it, and Gordon--" He suppresses a smile. "Well, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"So how come you dressed up as me when you went after Gordon? Why not do it as yourself, you chickenshit!"<br/>
<br/>
"Because if something went wrong--and I didn't think it would!--I wanted to be safe. I mean, even if they came after you, you wouldn't know what they were talking about, and they wouldn't be able to squeeze it out of you."<br/>
<br/>
"No, Gordon just would've broken some of my bones." Your choler is rising again. "And then on top of it, yesterday--"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I didn't know what was going on with you!" he protests. "I didn't even know if it <i>was</i> you, the real you, and not someone in a mask! And you wouldn't tell me anything--"<br/>
<br/>
"So why didn't <i>you</i> tell me what was going on, instead of knocking me cold and copying my face all over again?  That's what you did yesterday, right?" He doesn't answer, but he doesn't have to. A movement by Keith draws your eye toward him, and you flush harder. "And you told <i>Keith</i> about it all?"<br/>
<br/>
"I had to have someone I could trust!" he says. "Look, I told you, I didn't even know if it was you! I didn't know what else was in that book! I heard about Gordon dragging you into the school restroom, and I figured he must've wanted to talk about the book. But you told me he didn't say anything about it, so I thought maybe he'd done something to you, like turned you into some kind of zombie slave or something!"<br/>
<br/>
You ball up a fist, but you have to admit that what he says makes sense. In fact, given what you know now about the masks ... You'd probably do the same thing to someone, if you had doubts about who they were. "Alright, I'm still really pissed at you, but I won't ... kill you."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks for small favors," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Anyway, you're now all up to speed. And the point to all this is--" He ducks his head and peers at you meaningfully. "You've got this perfect in with Chelsea. I mean, it looks to me like she totally trusts you."<br/>
<br/>
"And what do you want me to do with that trust?" you warily ask, as though he hadn't already told you.<br/>
<br/>
He raises an exasperated eyebrow. "Come on, use your imagination. Get a mask of her, dude. Get that one she made of herself."<br/>
<br/>
"And who gets to play Chelsea while the others take turns fucking her?"<br/>
<br/>
He rolls his eyes. <br/>
<br/>
"We make one of those statue things," he says. "Or--" He turns shifty. "There's that new spell. I was-- Not to rub salt in the wound, but I spent most of last night inside your mask, thinking about all the stuff you've figured out."<br/>
<br/>
You swallow. He stares at you evenly.  But you want him to say it. Out loud.<br/>
<br/>
Which he finally does, quietly. "We replace her. We make masks of ourselves, spread that new gunk inside it, put her in one, and she disappears into a new life. Then we take turns keeping her life warm. <i>Being</i> Chelsea Cooper."<br/>
<br/>
You freeze at the words, at the idea.<br/>
<br/>
You, not friends or partners with Chelsea Cooper. You <i>being</i> Chelsea Cooper. <i>Being</i> the queen bee, the head cheerleader, the prancing blonde show pony who tells boys to stop fucking ogling her or her boyfriend will make them sorry. You, with her boobs and pussy to play with whenever you want.<br/>
<br/>
But Caleb's not done. "Think about it," he says, as though that's not exactly what you're doing. "That gives us control of Gordon too, gives us what we-- okay, what <i>I</i> was going for, originally."<br/>
<br/>
"You want to be Gordon while one of us is Chelsea, while you're fucking us?"<br/>
<br/>
He winces. "At least we'd have him on a leash, the way Chelsea has him on a leash now. We could get him to change, to stop his bullying. Use him to stop Patterson and Lynch and the Molester and all the rest. We'd make everyone's life at the school better. And we'd be nicer while we were pretending to be her."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you wanted to bang her."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that too." He shrugs. "But during the school day, we'd have to live her life." He leans forward and clenches his fist in excitement. "And we'd be partners, the three of us. Which is a hell of a lot more natural than what you've got going with Chelsea."<br/>
<br/>
You look at the ground, shielding your eyes, as though thinking it over.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll have to think about it more, see if it's practical," you reply. Then you look up. "Or did you make plans for me while you were--" You point to the car, where the mask of you still sits.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb turns red. "I was using it to figure out what you knew, and to make some notes for myself. About the book," he hastily adds.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, hand the goddamn thing over," you say. "You don't need it now."<br/>
<br/>
His expression darkens, but he trudges over to the car to fetch it.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you think?" you ask Keith.<br/>
<br/>
"Dude," he groans. "Cut me some slack. I only found out about this shit this morning. Fuck," he adds. "It's like I don't know you guys anymore."</span></div></div>


path: 1131221221212
author_id: seuzz
title: Half Truths and Fake Friends
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Even before he'd started you had decided to reject  any proposal he made. And yet, Caleb had almost won you over. <br/>
<br/>
Until he made the mistake of implying that your partnership with Chelsea is "unnatural."<br/>
<br/>
Well, maybe it is. She's the alpha queen of the school, and you're one of the invisible people. But here the two of you are. You can't shake the memory of her squeezing your arm yesterday. Or the way you and she--albeit in disguise--came <i>this close</i> to doing it.<br/>
<br/>
And on the other side is Caleb, who has lied and taken advantage of you. If anyone had looked at the last few weeks, they'd easily conclude that Chelsea was your friend, and that Caleb wasn't.<br/>
<br/>
You can't betray Chelsea. Even if your relationship with her has been "unnatural" over the arc of your high school careers, maybe this is the start of a new and "natural" relationship.<br/>
<br/>
Well, as "natural" as it can be when freaky magic stuff is involved.<br/>
<br/>
But what to do about Caleb and Keith? <br/>
<br/>
You toss restlessly on your bed. You have to talk to someone, and for the first time in years it can't be your two best friends. It can't be anyone, in fact, except--<br/>
<br/>
It seems like a breach of protocol, but you call Chelsea. "Are you free?" you ask without preamble. "Because I really need to talk."<br/>
<br/>
Your heart skips at her silence, but when she speaks she doesn't sound angry. "It's not really a good time for me. What's it about?"<br/>
<br/>
"I just need to talk about ... What we're doing. What we're going to do," you mumble. <i>Really, what can you tell her? That you've got friends who want to do to her what Gordon did to himself?</i> "It seems like a good idea to have a plan."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, okay," she says, sounding slightly surprised. "That makes sense. But not tonight. Tomorrow night, around seven?"<br/>
<br/>
"Up over the gym?" She agrees. "I'll see you there."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You do a lot of thinking overnight--sleep is short--so that when Caleb brushes up next to you Monday morning, you're prepared.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not saying yes or no yet," you say. "But what have you got left from when you had the book?"<br/>
<br/>
"A mask of myself," he says cautiously.<br/>
<br/>
"Can you make another mask? For Tilley?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not without the book."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, as long as you've got one of yourself, that should make it quicker. I need to see what I can make without Chelsea getting suspicious." That seems to satisfy him. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, when I know more." <br/>
<br/>
He nods, and says he'll keep Keith up to date. That makes you happy. Keeping two people half in the dark would be easier than keeping three of them semi-misled. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Chelsea and Gordon are both upstairs when you arrive that evening; she's cuddled next to him, and he has his arm around her. He looks at you darkly, but says nothing as you close the door.<br/>
<br/>
"So, um, plans," you say after taking a ragged breath. Her eyebrows go up expectantly. "Do you have any ideas about what to do with these ... things we've made?"<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes wander away from your yours. "Not really," she says slowly. "Little ideas, for this and that. Like what we did the other night. That was fun." Now she looks at you. "I think you had fun."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I did. In fact--" You take a deep breath. "I had so much fun I decided I wanna change my situation. I don't wanna be Will Prescott anymore. I wanna use those masks to get another life."<br/>
<br/>
Absolute silence falls. Then Gordon sniggers loudly. Chelsea, without taking her eyes from yours, pops him in the face with her fist. "Shut up. Not you, Will," she adds. "You tell me exactly what you mean."<br/>
<br/>
"I mean what I said," you reply. She is very intense all of a sudden, in a way that leaves you feeling defensive.  "I'm sick of what I've got. Other people have it better than me, and I want some of it."<br/>
<br/>
"You can't have it that bad," she says. "I told you you've nothing to be ashamed of." <br/>
<br/>
<i>Easy for you to say.</i> But the calculated appeal to her sense of greed doesn't seem to be going over well, so you change tack slightly. "Maybe if I put it like this. Life is short, and it would be nice to sample different kinds of lives. Not just a stolen evening here and there, worried about getting caught. I mean, a few weeks, a few months at a time. And I don't want to screw up anything for anyone. I'd let them out afterward. I guess they'd be confused, because they'd have missed a lot of time, but ... They'd get over it." You shrug. <br/>
<br/>
Her brow furrows. "What do you mean about 'letting them out'?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's the way it would work." You flop onto the mat. "You know how I 'disappeared' when I put on Gordon's mask?" She grunts. "Well, I make a mask of myself, and put the same stuff inside it. I put it on a person, after I've made a mask of <i>them.</i> They turn into me and take over my life, without realizing it. I take over theirs, for a little while. Like, we put my mask on Kelsey, and I become Kelsey."<br/>
<br/>
"You want to become Kelsey?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, not Kelsey. In fact, no one at Westside." You lick your lips. "I'm tired of Westside. I was thinking that maybe I could ... replace someone over at Eastman."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Because I want to run away--far away--so Caleb can't use me to get to you, and so I don't have to try stopping him from doing anything to you.</i> "Because I'm sick of Westside."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you know who you'd, um ..."<br/>
<br/>
"No. I don't even really know anyone at Eastman." You fidget. "I was hoping you could help." <i>And if I don't know who I'll be replacing, Caleb can't squeeze it from my own replacement.</i> "And the sooner the better," you quietly add.<br/>
<br/>
Her eyebrows arch in alarm. "Are you in trouble?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. I'm suddenly just very tired of being myself."<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, there's nothing wrong with who you are."<br/>
<br/>
You can't stop from rolling your eyes and clenching your fists. <i>If she knew what it was like being an insect at this school, having people like </i>her<i> lording it over people like you--</i> Suddenly, the prospect of taking over someone's life is appealing even without the need to escape from Caleb and his plots.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea puts her hand on your knee. "Will, you're smart and you're sweet and you're going to have a good life." You snort softly. "And Lisa Yarborough is a blind bitch if she doesn't see that." You flinch back, startled at her words, and she smiles mischievously at your surprise. <br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well ... Maybe if I saw my life through someone else's eyes for a while, I'd have an easier time believing it."<br/>
<br/>
"Pff," she says, but smiles. "Alright. It'll take me a little while to figure out somewhere for us to go."<br/>
<br/>
"That's fine. We need a few days to make up new masks." You lunge over to the cabinet with the supplies, then stop. "Us?"<br/>
<br/>
Her expression is amused. "I like your idea. And maybe I'd like to stick close to you."<br/>
<br/>
A lop-sided smile creeps up the side of your face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Four masks need making: one each for you and Chelsea, and one each for your two victims. Chelsea and golem-Gordon each take one. You take the other two, not because you can get them done faster yourself, but because you know you can get Caleb to polish up one for you. He's highly gratified when you press it upon him Tuesday afternoon, and even makes a quick trip home to fetch the mask of himself so you can treat it with a golem shell. "I've talked Chelsea into making a mask of herself," you tell him. "As soon as she's done, we'll put your mask on her, and that will take her out." He grins in a way that makes you shiver.<br/>
<br/>
You take his mask home. That will keep him disarmed, and give you some insurance.<br/>
<br/>
Everyone works diligently, and by Friday morning all the pieces are in place. And yet, at this very nearly last moment, you insist on going off with Caleb and Keith at lunch. "Are we really sure we want to do this?"<br/>
<br/>
They exchange glances. Caleb folds his arms. "What's up?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. Everything's ready to go. It's just-- It's a big thing, stealing someone's life. Stealing Chelsea's life."<br/>
<br/>
"She's not doing anything worthwhile with it," Caleb sniffs. "Pushing people around, making life miserable."<br/>
<br/>
"I heard from Jenny that Yumi was in the bathroom crying yesterday because of Chelsea," Keith says.<br/>
<br/>
"What about?" you frown.<br/>
<br/>
"Cheerleader stuff," Keith shrugs. "Jenny says that Chelsea is a total terror, and she apparently has it in for Yumi and Lin."<br/>
<br/>
You suck on the inside of your cheek. Chelsea's well-earned reputation floods back to you. Have you gotten so bewitched that you've forgotten what she can be like? Or have you gotten close to the real girl? "It's still a huge thing to do to her," you protest, even though you can tell you're not budging them. The topic quickly peters out, and you wander off by yourself, leaving them to mutter to each other in your wake.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe you've not thought all this through--you made that decision about running off pretty quickly, under pressure from Caleb. Maybe you could just tell everyone to stop and chill. As for the new masks--<br/>
<br/>
Caleb is right--Chelsea can be a real bitch. Maybe if those masks were used to copy some of her victims, and you talked her into donning them briefly--for one-night only excursions--she'd get a good look at herself through someone else's eyes, and change her act.</span></div></div>


path: 11312212212121
author_id: seuzz
title: A Hairpin Change in Plans
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You text Chelsea to ask of you can meet and talk after school about "the project"; she tells you to by in the loft at five, when she will have thirty minutes she can spare you.<br/>
<br/>
"So I've got someone all picked out for you at Eastman," she announces as you step through the door. A mischievous smile dimples her cheeks. "Do you want to know who? Were you the kind of kid who peeked at his Christmas presents early?" <br/>
<br/>
"That's actually what I want to talk to you about," you reply. "Um, do you mind changing plans around?"<br/>
<br/>
Her face falls. "What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, changing schools is what I mean. I still want to do the 'life borrowing' thing."<br/>
<br/>
"But we are changing schools. I've got it all lined up for you to—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I mean, make the switch with someone here at Westside instead of at Eastman."<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes widen. "But I thought you wanted to <i>get out</i> of Westside!"<br/>
<br/>
"That's what I changed my mind about."<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea stares at you, then throws up her hands. <br/>
<br/>
"Oh, honestly, Will! I go through all the trouble of setting a thing up with—"<br/>
<br/>
"Was it really that hard to set up?" Chelsea seems so upset that you almost back down then and there.<br/>
<br/>
She glowers. "Well, I had to make a really embarrassing phone call! Practically got down on my knees and pleaded with— It's Alyssa Randal, if you want to know. The head cheerleader at Eastman? You were having so much fun being Kelsey that I thought—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what about being a cheerleader here at Westside?"<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea does a double take at you. "What?" she again demands.<br/>
<br/>
"What about switching lives with a cheerleader here at Westside? I, um, like the idea, but could we make it one of the girls out here?"<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea's eyes narrow. "Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that I still want to be a surprise. But someone here at Westside."<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea puts a hand on her hip and gives you a very close stare. "Is something going on?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," you lie. "It's just that I got to thinking that, you know, I don't really have to move to Eastman to get a new experience. And in fact, if I was here at Westside, I might even get a better perspective on things."<br/>
<br/>
A new angle on this very awkward proposal suddenly occurs to you.<br/>
<br/>
"It was something you said last Monday," you blurt. "You know, when I got this idea, you said something about how I actually have it pretty good, and if I could see myself from the outside, it would help me appreciate it better."<br/>
<br/>
"Hmm. I don't remember saying that. I'm pretty sure it's something <i>you</i> said."<br/>
<br/>
"Well—"<br/>
<br/>
"But it's a good idea," she declares with sudden excitement, "and I'm glad you had it." She steps up to squeeze your forearm and beam at you. "Okay, that's what we'll do."<br/>
<br/>
"Great," you sigh with relief. "And maybe you can—"<br/>
<br/>
"Except, does it have to be one of the girls on the squad?" she interrupts you. "Can't it be, I dunno, Kelsey again, or someone like her? Only," she continues, "the girls on the squad are either friends of mine, so you know, so I'd, uh, rather not—" She grimaces instead of coming out and describing you and she are about to do to someone. "Or they're not my friends, and then, you know, it would be really awkward for us to get together."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Not my friends,</i> she says. Is that Chelsea's way of saying <i>Girls who hate and who I hate back?</i> It would be a powerful objection if it didn't play exactly into what you want from her.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you're going to switch places with someone too, still," you point out. "Right? So why can't we both be on the cheer squad? Both of switch with someone on the squad, I mean. And if you don't want to switch places with one of your friends," you add as Chelsea opens her mouth, "we could both switch with some of the girls who aren't your friends. Then it wouldn't be, uh, awkward for us to meet up."<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea freezes with her mouth open. Then she shuts it with a snap. "Like who?" she says through frozen lips.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I dunno. I don't want to name anyone, because I want it to be a surprise. So you pick. Someone for me, and whoever you could stand to be. There is one, isn't there?"<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea blinks, then looks down at the floor. She starts to pace, slowly, with her head down. You hold your breath for what feels like two, three minutes.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," Chelsea finally says.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, there is one," she says. "A couple, actually." She stops in the middle of the loft and looks up at you. <br/>
<br/>
"I like the idea, Will. It took me a minute to get used to it. But I think—" She sucks in a cheek. "But I think it'll be good for you, I really do. And I'm totally willing to help."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh." A hot flash rolls up your spine. "Thanks."<br/>
<br/>
She smiles—a tight, hard thing. "No, thank <i>you,</i> Will. In fact, I think I can get us set up tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"That soon?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. If we've got everything ready to go. Do we?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, I think." The masks are all made, and everything else was on hand. "I'm really sorry to have sprung all this on short notice."<br/>
<br/>
Her smile warms.<br/>
<br/>
"It's alright, Will," she says, and hops over to squeeze your arm again, this time with both hands. "You've been such a good friend to me since Gordon's, um, accident. This is just me repaying you just a little bit for everything you've done."<br/>
<br/>
You return her smile with a rather more sickly one of your own. It's with relief that you receive her confession that she has to break things to go home for dinner.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Well, things went a lot better—a lot easier—than you were expecting. She practically lunged at the idea of switching places with one of the girls that she abuses on the cheerleading squad. It certainly helped that she was already planning to switch you with a cheerleader (even if it was one over at Eastman), and that she herself ruled out the idea of switching with one of her friends. So there was almost nowhere else for her to go but the place you wanted to steer her toward anyway.<br/>
<br/>
So why does it feel like <i>she</i> wound up maneuvering <i>you?</i><br/>
<br/>
There was something almost smug about her smile and the end, and the way she thanked you. And she got very cagey, too. It reminded you of the first couple of times you met her up in the loft, where she acted like there were secrets that she wanted to keep from you.<br/>
<br/>
She couldn't have had the same idea as you had, could she? It doesn't seem like she did, because you did have to argue her into it, at least a little bit. No, the more you think about it, the more it feels like she liked your idea because she saw something in it for herself.<br/>
<br/>
But what could that be?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Hours pass with no word from Chelsea. You do hear from Caleb, though, and put him off with the (true as far as it goes) excuse that you're having a hard time connecting with Chelsea. By ten o'clock, you text Caleb to tell him that you've given up for the evening on getting to Chelsea and that you'll try again tomorrow; but you text Chelsea to ask what is going on.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Do u want to b suprised or not?</i> she texts back. When you reply that you'd rather be surprised, she tells you that she'll see you tomorrow with your new identity.<br/>
<br/>
The night passes slowly after you've gone to bed—a mix of the anticipation of the night before Christmas with the dread of the night before a make-or-break finals exam. You wake early, though it's a Saturday, and churn the bed sheets for an hour or more as you wonder uselessly at what the day will bring.<br/>
<br/>
A break in the suspense finally comes at a little after ten, when Chelsea texts to tell you to meet her up at Nirdlinger's Department Store at eleven. <i>Bring ur mask,</i> she adds.<br/>
<br/>
You've already got the blank packed. But as you pick up your bag, on an impulse you snatch up the mask that Caleb made of you, to take it out too, for it occurs to you that you can recycle it, giving you an extra blank on hand for when you next need a mask.<br/>
<br/>
"Is this where we're doing it?" you ask Chelsea when you catch up to her in the women's shoes section.<br/>
<br/>
"It's where <i>you're</i> doing it," she replies. "Over there, actually." She nods at the entrance to the changing rooms.<br/>
<br/>
"What about you, when do we take care of you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I took care of myself last night." She covers her giggles with her fingertip. "Can't tell the difference between me and the real me, can you?"<br/>
<br/>
You stare, then flinch. <i>It's a fake!</i><br/>
<br/>
"I was told to send you along when you got here," she continues. "Off you go." She pats you on the butt. And does she give you a little pinch, too? You're very lightheaded as you totter off toward the changing rooms.<br/>
<br/>
Voices sound from behind a half-open door, and as you pass it, someone calls out your name. Yumi Saito—the cheerleader that Chelsea caused to cry last week—steps out of one of the rooms.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey there," she purrs. "Shopping for a new look?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh—" You can only boggle at her.<br/>
<br/>
Her smile sharpens. "I know one that would suit you. Just go in there." With a firm hand to your shoulder, she propels you into the room across the hall. "Be with you in a minute."<br/>
<br/>
Your hands break into a hard sweat, and you tremble as you wait. A minute later, Yumi steps in to join you. She has a mask in her hand. "Sit on the bench and close your eyes," she says, "and you'll get that big surprise."<br/>
<br/>
You comply, and something warm covers your face.<br/>
<br/>
Then you know no more.</span></div></div>


path: 113122122121211
author_id: seuzz
title: Another Hairpin Curve
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It's the crick in the neck that wakes you up. That, or the chill.<br/>
<br/>
You shiver and grimace and pry your eyes open. <br/>
<br/>
It's beige world that greets you.<br/>
<br/>
A very beige world.<br/>
<br/>
You're in a closet, it looks like. A very well-lit closet—a blue-white bulb burns and sizzles in the ceiling above. But the walls close in and loom over you, so that there's hardly room for you and the low bench that's the only feature of the room. A yellow carpet scratches your bare thighs and calves as you lever yourself upright.<br/>
<br/>
<i>The hell?</i> You're naked!<br/>
<br/>
You have to stare and blink for a few moments before it all comes back to you. <br/>
<br/>
You're in a changing room at Nirdlinger's—that's righ!—where you were trying on clothes. But it's not like you were trying on underwear, so why are you naked? Did you faint? You do feel shaky, as though you've woken from a deep sleep. Maybe Yumi—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Yumi!</i><br/>
<br/>
You grind the heels of your hands into your eyes. <i>Sit on the bench and close your eyes, and you will get a big surprise!</i><br/>
<br/>
That's what she said just before she pushed something into your face. Until that moment you were fluffing out the lilac-colored blouse she'd found on the sale rack, but when you turned around—<br/>
<br/>
You have to put out a hand to keep from falling, and catch yourself against the wall. <br/>
<br/>
Because the <i>other</i> last thing you remember was being sent into the changing rooms by the fake Chelsea, where Yumi met you, and then she—<br/>
<br/>
You swallow, thickly.<br/>
<br/>
And then she gave you a new identity.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your name is Will Prescott, and you are a senior at Westside High School. <br/>
<br/>
And, at the same time, your name is Dana Pak, and you are a senior at Eastman High. You are also Yumi Saito's cousin.<br/>
<br/>
You can feel the taut, thoughtful expression on your face as you pull on panties and with well-practiced fingers hook and twist the bra into place. But a thrill runs through them as you tuck your boobs into the cups, even though it's a familiar action.<br/>
<br/>
Yumi was in a chipper mood when she called you up this morning and invited you out to lunch (you remember). She had news (you had the impression) and then she suggested you go shopping together before eating. You didn't have any money for new clothes, you told her, but she laughed and said she had cash burning a hole in her pocket book, and she would help cover the cost of whatever you bought, because it would be a lot more fun if it was the two of you together. It wasn't exactly out of character for her to make the offer, for she and Dana are pretty close.<br/>
<br/>
No, it's Will Prescott who is puzzled. Didn't you ask to be a cheerleader at Westside? You wonder about Chelsea's improvisation as you finish dressing: warm, gray stockings under cut-off jeans short-shorts; a thin, long-sleeve shirt under a jeans jacket; black, high-top Converse sneakers. You tug and twist the clothes until they cling comfortably to your slim body, and pull back the long, straight hair that flops across your face. You look around for your cell phone. <i>Oh, right.</i> Chelsea must have moved Dana's clothes into this stall; it and your other things will be in Dana's stall. You nervously rub your nose as you open the door and step out; you can't shake the feeling that there's something wrong with your face.<br/>
<br/>
But the other rooms are empty when you check, except for a few discarded items—that lilac blouse being one of them. Not until you go out onto the main floor do you find ... Yumi? Chelsea?<br/>
<br/>
She's seated with her head bent over her cell phone, and she does a double-take of alarm when she looks to see you approaching. For a moment she stares in horror. <br/>
<br/>
Then a wide smile breaks across her face. "Hey there!" she exclaims. "You look good!" She titters. "How does it feel?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel like you're walking on needles. "I'm a little confused," you confess.<br/>
<br/>
"Give it a while and the memories will start to come."<br/>
<br/>
"No, that's not the problem. I only thought—" You catch and push a long bang from your face. "I thought I was supposed to be, you know—" You drop your voice to a whisper, and mouth the word at her: "A cheerleader."<br/>
<br/>
Yumi smiles in a motherly way. "We'll talk about it over lunch," she says as she gathers up her stuff. "You want sushi? Or would that be—?" She giggles. "Too on the nose for us?"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wind up at Besandwiched. That restaurant is a little "on the nose" too, though in a different way. Who was it who decided that an occult-themed sandwich shop, one with freaky moon-faces and astrological figures painted on the walls, would be a good idea? It gives you the shivers as you settle into a booth across from Yumi. What if this place really does have mystical vibrations or something, and they cause the masks to fall off you and your tablemate? Your nerves aren't improved when the waitress stops at the table to get your drink order. You have to chat with her a little, for her name is Ursula Jensen, and she's a student at Eastman that Dana knows.<br/>
<br/>
"So, here we are, Dana," Yumi says as she studies a menu after Ursula has left. "What do you think?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, I thought I was supposed to be on the Westside cheerleader squad with you."<br/>
<br/>
"You said you wanted to be surprised. Aren't you surprised?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"You also told me you wanted to get a look at yourself from the outside," she retorts. "You told me you wanted to see if you really had it so bad."<br/>
<br/>
"Which is why I wanted to stay at Westside."<br/>
<br/>
"You'll get to see yourself, Will," Yumi assures you. "This was supposed to be a double date. Well, a trio. You and me and, uh, <i>you</i> along also. But you ran off after getting dressed."<br/>
<br/>
"I what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Your twin, I mean. He ran off. I told him I wanted him to go along with us to lunch, but he said that would be weird, and took off."<br/>
<br/>
That does sound strange. On the other hand, you're not too surprised when you think about it. You'd probably want to run off too. And if he is <i>you—</i> <br/>
<br/>
"We should get him to meet up with us. Tomorrow maybe," Yumi says. She closes the menu and looks across at you brightly. "I don't want you getting the idea that I'm trying to set you up, Dana," she says with a twinkle in her eye. "But I think you'll like Will when you meet him."<br/>
<br/>
You stare at her. "Set me up? What are you trying to—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm trying to get you to get a good, objective look Will Prescott," she says. "Dana doesn't go to Westside, so she's not going to have any prejudices against, um, him."<br/>
<br/>
You start a little. Is Chelsea saying that kids at Westside <i>would</i> have prejudices against you?<br/>
<br/>
"Besides," Yumi continues, "you don't want to be in the middle of all that cheerleader shit back at Westside." She sniffs. "Trust me, I think I know what you want, and this is the best way to get it.<br/>
<br/>
Ursula materializes at that moment with your drinks, and you order your food, and then Chelsea insists on being in character as Yumi and talks about family business.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I'm home!" you call out as you come in from the garage via the laundry room. <br/>
<br/>
"How's Yumi?" Dana's mother calls from deeper inside the house.<br/>
<br/>
"She's fine! We're on the same diet, or something!" You enter the kitchen and out of habit—your own—glance inside the refrigerator before Dana's instincts force you to shut it.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you on a diet, Dana? The first I've heard. What is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's—"<br/>
<br/>
But you're interrupted by the sound of running feet. You look over with astonishment as Chelsea Cooper runs into the kitchen to join you.<br/>
<br/>
Oh, but it isn't Chelsea. This girl is shorter, and her face is the wrong shape, and her hair is a little darker and its curls are a little looser. But if there's a "Chelsea Cooper type," this girl belongs to it. Her eyes even have the same slightly manic shine behind them.<br/>
<br/>
"You had lunch with your cousin!" the girl exclaims. "That's what Sarah told me!"<br/>
<br/>
"That's right, uh—" You stumble a little before the girl's name comes to you. <i>Carrie Carmichael.</i> She's a freshman at Eastman, like your—Dana's—sister, Sarah.<br/>
<br/>
"And she's a cheerleader at Westside?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." You have the urge to back slowly away from this blonde maniac.<br/>
<br/>
"Next time you meet up with her, do you think I could come along?"<br/>
<br/>
Sarah now appears behind her, a look of exasperated disgust on her face. "Carrie got excited when she heard who you were meeting up with today," she says in an apologetic tone. She plucks at Carrie's elbow. "Come on."<br/>
<br/>
"It's only that I'm going to be trying out for the cheerleading squad next year," Carrie says, "and I want to talk to her about it all."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, sure, I can get you together with Yumi," you tell her. "Next time I see her," you nervously add.<br/>
<br/>
Apparently satisfied, Carrie suffers to let Sarah pull her away. You go into the living room to tell Mrs. Pak about your shopping date with Yumi, and what your cousin had to say.<br/>
<br/>
Then you go upstairs. Again, you feel like you're walking on sharp needles as you edge into "your" bedroom.<br/>
<br/>
So you jump when your cell phone goes off. It's a text from David Johnson: <i>Tina Branson party tnite. Going with Caleb. Interested?</i> <br/>
<br/>
You jerk at the name "Caleb," until you realize he's talking about his friend Caleb Ryerson.<br/>
<br/>
But that reminds you that you've got a twin that you need to connect up with—if for no other reason to find out if Westside's Caleb has made any moves in the last few hours.</span></div></div>


path: 1131221221212112
author_id: seuzz
title: Vanishing Tricks
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Interested but have other plans,</i> you text back to David Johnson.<br/>
<br/>
And maybe you should have just ignored it—though that would have been out of character for Dana Pak—because your reply provokes a round of texts from him asking what your other plans are (<i>family thing,</i> you tell him) and proposing other excuses for getting together this weekend.<br/>
<br/>
A weight of dread settles over you as you bat texts back at him. David has a crush on Dana—has had a crush on her for a couple of years, maybe even longer—and he has only gotten more insistent since school started at wearing down her reluctance to go out with him. <i>What a time to step into her life,</i> you sigh to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Then once you've dealt with him, you text Will Prescott: <i>Hey Will this is Dana Pak. I was with Yumi ths afternoon at Nirdlingers and just missed you. I really want to see you tonight to talk about the project.</i><br/>
<br/>
The jerk sure takes his sweet time before replying.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So Chelsea double crossed us?" Will Prescott says after climbing into the Pak family SUV with you. It's dark already, and you can't really see his expression. But you'd bet his eyes narrowed into a suspicious, cynical—or maybe amused—squint after you introduced yourself to him under your new name.<br/>
<br/>
You're parked by the old elementary school down the street from your house. It should be a secret meeting, you felt, and this seemed like the safest and most convenient place for this rendezvous.<br/>
<br/>
But you don't like having two vehicles—Dana's SUV and your truck—parked here, one behind the other, so turn over the motor and put on the headlights, and pull back out into the street to drive slowly around the neighborhood.<br/>
<br/>
"I wouldn't call it a 'double cross'," you tell your duplicate.<br/>
<br/>
"But she was supposed to get a Westside cheerleader for, uh, you," Will objects.<br/>
<br/>
"I wanted <i>her</i> to switch places with one of the other cheerleaders," you remind him. "I— We— Got what we wanted. Just not the way we wanted it. Have you heard from Caleb?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, the fucker's accusing me of stalling him." He pulls your old cell phone from his shirt pocket. "You know, I'm starting to think one of us didn't think this plan all the way through," he adds. "What am I supposed to tell Caleb when I don't get him that mask of Chelsea?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what would <i>you</i> tell him?" you retort. "You're supposed to be at least as smart as me." There's something eerie about sitting next to and talking to yourself, and it's getting on your nerves.<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't answer right away, and you struggle for an idea as well. But maybe you and him really do think alike (as you should) because the thought he finally gives voice to is a lot like the one you were groping toward.<br/>
<br/>
"I could tell him I changed my mind. That I talked Chelsea into getting rid of the book and the things, because they're—" He pauses. "Evil."<br/>
<br/>
"Mm-hmm," you agree, then push the idea a little further. "We could tell him Chelsea was talking about swapping places with people at school, and that we—"<br/>
<br/>
"We?" your doppelganger interrupts.<br/>
<br/>
"You," you correct yourself. "You could tell him you had to talk her out of it. And that you talked her into burning the stuff," you add as you warm to the idea. "And you talked yourself into burning it, too. Because, yeah, it's bad stuff." <br/>
<br/>
You shift in your seat; you're getting a feeling like there's fire ants crawling over your butt.<br/>
<br/>
"He's gonna want proof," Will says.<br/>
<br/>
"But you burned it all."<br/>
<br/>
Your double sighs. "I'll tell him that," he says, sounding unconvinced. You don't feel very convinced either, but it's the best you can come up with.<br/>
<br/>
He asks you about this girl you're pretending to be, and you tell him about her—a senior at Eastman, a good handful of friends, but far from being the most popular girl at the high school—until you have circled back to where he is parked. "Did you bring the rest of the stuff like I asked you to?" you ask as you pull up behind your truck.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, and I picked up some more," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"From where?"<br/>
<br/>
"Chelsea. The other one. The one that's like me." It occurs to you that this … thing … is as uncomfortable in your presence as you are in its. "We, uh, got together this afternoon, and she told me—"<br/>
<br/>
"What did you get together for?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," he mumbles. "It was something to do, right? Anyway, she said that she had some stuff left over, and I got it from her. Do you think that's going to cause any problems with the, uh, real Chelsea?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. I don't think so, I think it just means we'll have everything in one place."<br/>
<br/>
"For what?"<br/>
<br/>
You can only shrug in answer. He grunts, and gets out.<br/>
<br/>
A minute later he's back with a couple of plastic sacks that clink when he hands them over. "Why couldn't Chelsea have swapped you with Jenny Ashton?" he asks in a peevish tone as he shoves the bags through the open car window at you. "Because," he answers when you ask him why he's asking, "Jenny is friends with Yumi too, and she hangs out with Caleb and Keith—and me—sometimes, and then you'd be along to help me out with them."<br/>
<br/>
It is a point, you allow, but it's too late now.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, there's that extra blank mask, right?" he says. "It's in there with the other stuff. You could still use it on someone. Like Jenny."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought we agreed this stuff was really bad."<br/>
<br/>
"If we thought that," he retorts, "how come I'm driving home in your truck and you're driving home in this Dana chick's SUV?"<br/>
<br/>
You make a face at him, and tell him to keep alert for texts and phone calls from you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Back home, you lock your bedroom door and unload the loot you got off your doppelganger. It makes a surprisingly large pile.<br/>
<br/>
Most of it is stuff you had in your bedroom, or carried with you up to Nirdlinger's. The blank mask for instance. (Apparently Chelsea trapped Yumi's cousin under the mask that Caleb had made of you.) There's also the book, of course. But it looks like Chelsea had been trying to make some spare crap as well, because there are a couple of extra containers of sealant and glue, and some metal strips. One of them, you're amused to see, is fashioned from a tarnished metal ruler: numbers and tick marks on one side, and runes on the other.<br/>
<br/>
You set the extra crap aside and turn to the book. You've been too busy with Caleb and Chelsea to worry any more about finding a cure for Gordon. Is Chelsea even interested any more? You decide to do some research just in case.<br/>
<br/>
You open the book, noting again that you can only open it as far as the last spell you completed; the rest of the pages are tightly sealed shut. You compare the thickness of the portion you've completed with the portion you haven't: you're only a fraction of the way into it. What other spells could it contain? What more could you do?<br/>
<br/>
On a whim you pick up the metal ruler and lay it against the spine of the book, to measure its thickness.<br/>
<br/>
The ruler twists and writhes in your fingers. You suck in a sharp breath and drop it.<br/>
<br/>
It vanishes.<br/>
<br/>
You blink, and for a moment you can only stare. <br/>
<br/>
It's like you pulled a conjuring trick on yourself—and you don't know how you did it. You look at your empty hand. You look at the spine of the book.<br/>
<br/>
The flesh atop of your skull starts to crawl. It's like the book sucked it from your grasp. It's nowhere in your lap, and it's not under your legs or ass. You look around, under the bed and desk. It would have fallen on carpet and wouldn't have bounced away. But it's nowhere to be found.<br/>
<br/>
Carefully, you lay the book on the floor and stare at it. With your fingertips, you pull back the cover, then flip one page at a time through it.<br/>
<br/>
But even though it felt exactly as if the book had pulled that metal strip from you and sucked it inside itself, the strip isn't inside the book.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Unless it is </i>inside<i> the book the way a mask goes </i>inside<i> a person,</i> you think with a shiver.<br/>
<br/>
So, somehow, you are not really surprised when, with a soft plop, the strip falls out of the spine of the book onto the carpet.<br/>
<br/>
You stare at it and drum your finger on your knee before gingerly picking up again. It looks unchanged—a metal ruler—until you turn it over to examine the runes.<br/>
<br/>
Blue letters are floating there, the way they float over a metal strip that's been attached to the inside of a mask. But you don't recognize these letters—they are no alphabet that you know. In fact, they make your eyes hurt to look at them.<br/>
<br/>
You lay it aside, rune-side down, and turn back to the book. With the same gingerly care you open it and go through it page by page again.<br/>
<br/>
It seems to be unchanged. Silently, you tick off each spell as you pass it. The one that makes a mask. The one for sealing up a mask, so it can be worn. The one for making a mind strip, and the one for attaching a strip to a mask. The one for making a lumpy statue-thing, and the one that Gordon used to petrify himself. The one for making the sealant that you and Chelsea used to get yourself some new identities.<br/>
<br/>
That was as far as you'd gotten before. But now, to your surprise, you find that it has turned loose. Something has happened to release the page, allowing you to continue deeper into the book.<br/>
<br/>
You hold your breath as you turn the page to the next spell.</span></div></div>


path: 11312212212121121
author_id: seuzz
title: Dramas, Public and Private
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Even at first glance, the new spell differs from the earlier ones. All the earlier spells—like the recipes in a cook book—start with a list of ingredients and directions at the top of the page, and conclude with a wheel-like sigil covering the bottom half.<br/>
<br/>
But this one doesn't contain a sigil, only a lot of blurry words and symbols where the sigil should be. Actually, "blurry" doesn't even begin to describe it. It's not like the paragraphs are badly printed or smudged; instead, they seem to shift and skitter across the page, as though deliberately trying to dodge your gaze. Your eyes start to water and cross the longer you stare at them. <br/>
<br/>
Well, maybe it's just late. You lay the new mind-strip across the new spell as a makeshift book mark, and close it for the night.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The next day is a Sunday, but there's no Sabbath for the wicked as you and Sarah Pak get dragged to church by your parents. Your cousins go to the same church, so you get to see Yumi there. You have to act in character with her, though, and she with you. You ask if you're going to get together this afternoon, but with a laugh she tells you she can't—she's got a date! <i>Well, it's not a serious date,</i> she adds, <i>not like </i>that!<i> But she's getting together with a guy, and so—</i><br/>
<br/>
You press her for details—Dana would, and you yourself feel a pit of dread in your stomach as you wonder what Chelsea is getting up to—but she turns impishly mum. You feel your fingernails digging into the palms of your hands as you part for the day, and for the rest of the weekend.<br/>
<br/>
Which leaves you only with Dana's own friends for distraction.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"We need to find a new study place," David Johnson says. You're only listening with half an ear as you stare across the IHOP at the table where Shawn Gregory and his friends are huddling. Like you and your friends, he and his have school books and papers scattered in front of them; and like you and your friends, they don't seem to be doing much studying. Too much grinning, and laughing, and flicking of pieces of trash at each other.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong with here?" Caleb Ryerson asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Too many distractions."<br/>
<br/>
Something in David's voice causes you to turn around. He's giving you a hooded look from under lowered brows.<br/>
<br/>
David's a good-looking kid, you'd have to admit. He's tall and spare without being skinny, with dark hair and a narrow nose. And he's smart and sweet-tempered, with a dry sense of humor. Dana wishes that he dressed better, or at least not like he was still a sophomore. Right now, for instance, he's in a t-shirt, wind-breaker, and shorts, with a trucker cap perched atop his head.<br/>
<br/>
Of course, Shawn Gregory is dressed almost the same. But David's nerd, while Shawn's a basketball player, with legs and chest and arms that bear looking at.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, crap.</i> Dana was at the wheel again, wasn't she? Once you go into the act, it's so easy to go farther with the impersonation than you need to.<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't distracted," you protest. "I was just thinking about—" You tap the math problem in front of you.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," David snorts. He holds your eye. Then with a visible wince and an audible sigh, he heaves onto his feet and trudges to the restroom.<br/>
<br/>
You feel the expression of guilt on your face as you glance over at Ryerson. His face and features are smaller than Johansson's—smaller nose, smaller mouth, closer-set eyes behind Coke-bottle glasses—but he's got the same shock of curly hair, and the same hip-nerd ego. <i>Is there a character type that goes with the name?</i> you wonder. <i>Or is Eastman like an alternate-universe version of Westside, with WHS equivalents?</i> If Ryerson is alt-Johansson, would that make David alt-you? <i>Except he looks more like Geoff Mansfield,</i> it shocks you to think.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong, you cold?" Ryerson asks, for you jumped and jerked.<br/>
<br/>
"No. I'm just— I don't know."<br/>
<br/>
Ryerson takes a long drink of water. He doesn't look at you when he says, "I get excited when I stare at my crushes, too."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So that's what your day is like: Dana's little melodramas. <br/>
<br/>
It's late before you return home to your bedroom, and later still before you open the book back up again. And when you do you, you spend a good few minutes staring silently at the new spell. Were you seeing things last night? Or are you seeing things now?<br/>
<br/>
Where's all that blurry text that covered the bottom of the page? Last night you could hardly look straight at it without getting a headache, because the bottom of the page was a blurry, shifting, skittery mass of indistinct lettering.<br/>
<br/>
But now it's blank. The bottom of the page is a creamy and unblemished white.<br/>
<br/>
And that mind-strip you made and used as a book mark? It's gone. Just plain vanished, it seems. You search everywhere and can't find it.<br/>
<br/>
Almost you storm over to Dana's sister's bedroom, to accuse Sarah of snooping through your stuff. But Sarah, unlike Robert at home, has always been one to respect a sibling's privacy. Besides, you had the book hidden on a shelf in the closet, behind some spare bedding, where someone would have to look hard and purposefully to find it.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Okay, whatever,</i> you gulp to yourself. <i>As long as I can turn the page to the next spell.</i> You damp a fingertip against you tongue, and pull at the corner.<br/>
<br/>
It turns. Again, you gulp.<br/>
<br/>
Yikes! A solid wall of text glares up at you from the next page, without a line break, paragraph break, or even a sigil for relief. You grimace at it, then take out your cell phone and a pencil, and get down to the business of translating it, one word at a time.<br/>
<br/>
An hour later you lift your head and push the crick out of your neck. In a minute you'll fetch some aspirin from the bathroom to deal with the headache that's begun to grip your temples.<br/>
<br/>
Individually, the words are translatable, but they make no sense when put together into sentences. Some of them appear to be ingredients. Others are the names of runes, like you put inside mind bands. But there seems no logic to putting them all together. There are complete, grammatical sentences, let alone a set of instructions.<br/>
<br/>
But the ingredients mentioned are the same as those for a mind strip, so on a hunch you dig through the bag of supplies you got from your double last night, for you found more than one mind-strip in it last night. You idly wonder why Chelsea made so many as you pull out a blank one, and set to work carving into it the runes that the new spell seems to mention. <br/>
<br/>
But you can't find a way to rearrange the remaining words of the spell into a set of instructions. And there's still no sigil.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hmm.</i><br/>
<br/>
You set a bowl on the page, and fill it with the new band and the remaining ingredients. You strike a match and drop it into the bowl. Nothing happens. <br/>
<br/>
A second match. Again, nothing. Nor on the third time. <br/>
<br/>
Okay, so this looks like really advanced stuff; it's like the book has started to assume that its reader knows a lot more about magic than you do.<br/>
<br/>
It's probably a really bad idea to experiment with magic when you have no idea what you're doing. But you're starting to feel impatient, even a little angry. (That headache doesn't help.) You lay the metal strip you just made across the page, as you did with the strip last night. Again, nothing happens. You lay it against the spine of the book. Still nothing.<br/>
<br/>
What about an ordinary mind strip, like you used last night? Again you go looking, hoping to find one that already has rune-work on it. And again you have to wonder why Chelsea made so many extras. Was she practicing at making them? <br/>
<br/>
You get the answer, maybe, when you find your own name blaring up from one of them in bold blue letters: WILLIAM MARTIN PRESCOTT.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
For a long time you hold it, staring at it, as your nerves twitch all up and down your spine, like little spiders. Chelsea had a copy of your brain—just the way Caleb had a copy of it.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Why? And when did she make it?</i> You chew your lower lip, trying to figure out when she would have been able to use it on you. The only time you can remember being unconscious around her was at the department store, during the switch with Dana. And if that's when she made this memory strip—<br/>
<br/>
You feel your face twisting up into a hard grimace.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, she would have learned quite a bit if she put it on afterward. She would have learned that it was Caleb, not you, who actually tried using the masks against her and Gordon; and that Caleb still wants to use the masks against her and Gordon. She would also learn that you are trying to protect her from him and Keith. But that's cold comfort—she would likely still feel threatened and betrayed. And she would also learn the real reason that you wanted you and her to switch places with a Westside cheerleader.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart sinks in your chest, weighed by fear and guilt. But is there anything to be done? Could you even confront Chelsea with the strip, and ask her about it? Or should you just pretend like you didn't find it? Chelsea is bound to hear soon that her doppelganger passed it on to your doppelganger, and thence to you. Maybe you should get rid of it, so that she won't know that you know what she knows.<br/>
<br/>
You're stretching for the waste paper basket when you have a sudden thought. The last time you laid a memory strip across a troublesome spell, it (the strip) disappeared. Maybe the same thing will happen now. And you were looking for a memory strip to experiment with anyway.</span></div></div>


path: 113122122121211211
author_id: seuzz
title: Like You Know What You're Doing
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>What's the worst that can happen if you try using the memory strip on the book? If it does something, then that's a step forward. If it doesn't, you can still get rid of the strip.<br/>
<br/>
So you lay it across the open page. Nothing happens. You turn it over, name-side down. Still noth—<br/>
<br/>
No, wait! Silvery, spidery writing has appeared on the band. It is very faint, like moonlight filtering through clouds. The lettering is unrecognizable. But something about it seems familiar ...<br/>
<br/>
You peer at it closely, but the writing is milky and indistinct. Maybe if you trace it!<br/>
<br/>
You snatch a sheet of notebook paper from the desk and lay it over the band, pressing down. The lettering is now more distinct, but you can't make anything of what it says. <br/>
<br/>
And then you gasp: Like cthulhian ink seeping into the paper, line work weaves through the paper, twisting and twining and bending around itself. It forms a circle and fills itself in.<br/>
<br/>
When it has stopped, there is no mistaking the result: It's a sigil.<br/>
<br/>
You hand is numb as you set the bowl and its contents in its center. You strike and drop a fourth match into the bowl.<br/>
<br/>
This time it easily, even hungrily, catches fire.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It still looks like a memory strip when you gingerly lift it out of the bowl with your fingertips, but something about it seems off. It weighs a little heavier in your hand, you think, and the rune work has a ruby, not sapphire, glow. So you lay it across the page. When you lift it again, the page flutters, and you turn it.<br/>
<br/>
Alas, there is nothing on the other side to describe what the spell or this new band does. <br/>
<br/>
You make a face as you regard the two mind-strips you've been playing with. The one with your name on it, which you used to make the sigil, has returned to its original form, with those milky, silvery letters faded away without leaving a mark on the band. Yet you are now reluctant to get rid of it, even though it contains a copy of your brain. For if it unlocked one spell in this most unexpected way, might it help with other spells?<br/>
<br/>
As for the other strip—<br/>
<br/>
Well, without any instructions as to its use, there's nothing else to do but try it out.<br/>
<br/>
But not yourself—you remember what happened to Gordon when he did that. So it seems best to try it on someone else.<br/>
<br/>
On Dana, for instance. It would be simple to meet with your back-up double, take the mask off, and try this thing on her. Or on Sarah, her sister, who sleeps in the room next door. <br/>
<br/>
Or you could try it out on Chelsea. Or Caleb. At this point (you figure) they might deserve to have something awful happen to them.<br/>
<br/>
Well, there's no getting to any of these people tonight, except maybe Sarah, and there will be lots of night coming up when you can get to her. You glance ahead at the next spell, even though you haven't really got the mental energy to deal with it.<br/>
<br/>
And you sag when you see it. <i>It's official now, the book is just fucking with me,</i> you think. <br/>
<br/>
Last time it was a spell with ingredients and instructions, but no sigil. With this one, it's the opposite: a sigil, even more complex than those that came before, squats in the middle of the page, unadorned with any text. Without hope, you pull at the corner of the page, but of course it is stuck. You lay first one mind-strip and then the other, in every possible position and orientation, across it. Still it doesn't budge.<br/>
<br/>
You grunt softly to yourself, then close the book. It's nearly eleven, and you've done more than enough for the evening. You hide both memory-strips in the closet under some bedding, and pack everything else away in the bottom drawer of the dresser. A buzzing from the bathroom tells you that Sarah is getting ready for bed; you drape yourself across your own bed and stare at the ceiling as you wait for her to finish.<br/>
<br/>
What a mess everything is in! And none of it is your fault, you feel. You didn't want to play around with that stupid book. You tried getting rid of it! And it wasn't your idea to get involved with it again, and when you did it was only to help out a friend.<br/>
<br/>
No, scratch that, you weren't even helping out a friend, you were helping out Gordon Black and Chelsea Cooper, who are— Okay, it wouldn't be fair to call them "enemies." They didn't pay enough attention to you before this disaster to count as that. But they never would have been your friend, not under normal circumstances, and if your path ever crossed theirs, they would have been far more likely to run you over like a dump truck splattering a rabbit.<br/>
<br/>
And now here you are, despite everything, stuck in the body of a teenage girl who goes to a different school. Okay, "stuck" isn't the right word. "Stuck" would make it sound bad, and it's not ... unpleasant ... having the body of Dana Pak.<br/>
<br/>
Your hands fall across your bosom, to lightly cup your breasts. They aren't huge, but they're big enough—the size and shape of large oranges. Gently you squeeze them, and feel a thrill, seeping like juice through you. <br/>
<br/>
She's slim, too, and you twist your hips around, digging into the bed. <i>Mmm!</i> You release a breast and push a hand down to touch and rub at the spot between your legs. Dana doesn't do that very often, but she's not shy about it when she gets the itch. And, you remind yourself, it's not like you're molesting <i>her</i> body with <i>her</i> fingers. This is your body; it's just been, er, <i>modified</i> to look like Dana Pak's. You can do whatever you like with and to your body; and you don't even need a sock to do it with this one.<br/>
<br/>
But then the buzzing from the bathroom ceases, and a minute later you hear footfalls in the hall outside, and the soft thud of Sarah's door closing. The "juice" that you felt earlier drains away, and the weight of heavy limbs takes its place. For another few minutes you stare vacantly at the ceiling, trying to work up the will to do <i>something</i> or other.<br/>
<br/>
Finally, with a long, deep groan, you lever yourself upright and pad into the bathroom to brush your own teeth and get ready for bed.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>The next morning.</i> You have the cell phone in your hand when the bathroom door finally opens and Sarah comes out. You make a face at her and show her the screen: 0:34 seconds, and counting down. You say nothing, and Sarah only makes a face back at you as she passes on her way to her bedroom. You roll your eyes and step into the bathroom, to take your turn at the appointed time to get ready for school.<br/>
<br/>
With two high school girls and only one bathroom, it's the only way to get things done: with a timer and a schedule. So you waste no time in the shower, soaping and scrubbing your smooth, firm body and shampooing your long, draping hair. You methodically towel yourself down afterward, then turn a brush and hand dryer against your hair. Only one change to Dana's routine do you allow yourself: you don't wrap yourself in a towel as you work, so that you face yourself head on in the mirror, giving yourself an eyeful of her face and neck and shoulders and boobs and bellybutton. You try to keep yourself sober, but it's not long before your eyes are dancing with suppressed pleasure, and a small smirk is pulling at the corners of your mouth.<br/>
<br/>
It's easy to dress on the weekends; harder to dress for school. For though Dana is no social butterfly with an image to cultivate and maintain, she does like to look good. You hesitate as you slide clothes along the rack, and contemplate possible ensembles. <i>Keep it simple,</i> you tell yourself. But this will be your first day at Eastman as Dana, and her own instinct to play it for all its worth is too much.<br/>
<br/>
Too long, almost, it takes to get into the things, for your phone is chiming while you are still pulling on the blouse. You are almost three minutes late getting back into the bathroom, so for makeup you keep it very simple—lipstick and mascara—and trust to clear skin to carry the rest. That puts you back ahead of schedule as you come downstairs to breakfast, where you exchange pleasant greetings with parents and with Sarah at the table, and inquiries as to how everyone slept. You have just enough time to eat a bowl of muesli and a slice of bacon before Mr. Pak gets up with the customary sigh to put his things together for work. You and Sarah follow.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Eastman High! It's like a punch to the stomach to step out onto the front quad of the school. It's an older building, built of tired, weather-stained stone, with a three-story central section and flanked by two two-story wings; newer, more modern wings are hidden in the back. <i>I'm going to a new school,</i> you think with the same feeling of panic as on your first day at elementary school, at middle school, and at high school. You have the overwhelming urge to flee.<br/>
<br/>
"Sarah!" someone shouts. Your sister looks over, and so do you. It's Carrie Carmichael, waving from the corner where she's huddled with friends against the morning chill. She cocks her head and grins. Sarah swerves and trots off toward her.<br/>
<br/>
But you stride on into the school building, confidence growing as Dana's familiarity with it and her schedule fills you. You unload your books at her locker, arranging them inside according to class period, before refilling your bag with the books you'll need for the first three periods of the day.<br/>
<br/>
As you reorganize, you open the side pocket where you stashed the new, experimental memory strip. Lotta people here at Eastman you could try it on, too.</span></div></div>


path: 1131221221212112112
author_id: seuzz
title: Back to the Drawing Board
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It's probably the fight with Dana's mom that decides things for you. Your own mom never gets in your way the way with demands that you get your homework <i>and</i> chores done <i>and</i> put in an appearance for some stupid cousins <i>and</i> ... well, other stuff you're too furious to think about. Upstairs you have to still your trembling hand before you can dial your own cell phone.<br/>
<br/>
It's busy. <i>Christ, get off the phone with Kendra or whoever it is, already!</i><br/>
<br/>
It's thirty minutes before you're able to get through. "This is your boss," you snap. "I need you to come out here."<br/>
<br/>
"My boss?" the fake Chelsea Cooper says, sounding nonplussed.<br/>
<br/>
"You know who I'm talking about, and you know who you're talking to! Come out to ... to Dana Pak's house. Now."<br/>
<br/>
"What's the address?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, for-- You're fucking impossible, you know that?" You give her the address, and before you can hang up, she hangs up on you.<br/>
<br/>
You pace the room furiously, but the delay actually gets you to thinking. You're stuck in Will Prescott's body, and you used his hair inside the mask of Sarah Pak. That probably means ... Shit, that probably means that control of golems is tied to bodies, and that means that the golem-Chelsea that's on her way out will only obey the person under Sarah's mask. Luckily, golem-Sarah is home, and a smart rap on the door is enough to draw her out and downstairs, where you tell Dana's mom that you'll be waiting outside for a friend to stop briefly by. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's a great relief to see your darling little subcompact pull up, and you're actually a little startled by the girl behind it. God, you'd forgotten how gorgeous you are. You lean at the window. "Hi," you say with brittle enthusiasm. "I want my life back."<br/>
<br/>
The golem-Chelsea's eyes narrow. "Who says I have to give it up?"<br/>
<br/>
"My sister does," you say triumphantly, yanking Sarah close. You nudge her. "Say it."<br/>
<br/>
"Take your clothes off," Sarah tells golem-Chelsea quietly.<br/>
<br/>
"Pfft. Not fucking likely," golem-Chelsea says. "Anything else? I have to get back to Gordon."<br/>
<br/>
Your jaw drops. "You have to do what she says!" you sputter, pointing to Sarah.<br/>
<br/>
"No I don't! Get out of the way." She reaches over to put the car in gear.<br/>
<br/>
You gape, but you've the presence of mind to dart around and jump into the passenger-side before  your double can speed off. "What are-- Get off me!" she cries as you grapple at her face.<br/>
<br/>
"Help me out here!" you yell at Sarah. She leans in uselessly at the window. "I'll hold her down and you get her face off her!"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know how to do that," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, you are so--! Open the door! Sit on her while <i>I</i> get the mask off her!"<br/>
<br/>
The fake Chelsea is making shrill noises, but Sarah manages to get onto her, and you manage to get a grip on her face. You imagine you hear a sucking sound as the mask comes off in your hand, revealing the original Dana Pak. She's asleep, but she won't be for long, not with the two of you clambering around all over her.<br/>
<br/>
You blink rapidly, thinking furiously. You need a mask to put on her, to control her, and the only one that can do that is: "Get in the back seat," you snap at Sarah. She complies, and in the dark you're able to get the Sarah mask off her, revealing ... sight ... the Will Prescott-possessed body of Chelsea Cooper. You slap Sarah's mask onto Dana Pak. "Get out of those clothes," you tell the new Sarah. From your bag of magical implements you draw the blank mask you'd made this week and push it onto the face of the girl you once were: Since the mask you'd made of yourself isn't obeying you in your new body, you'll have to sacrifice this new mask to make a new copy of yourself.<br/>
<br/>
It will keep her asleep for a while yet, so you have time to pull Dana's mask off yourself. You fight to stay awake, and mostly succeed, but fully recover yourself only to find--<br/>
<br/>
<i>Gross. Gross gross gross gross gross.</i> Will Prescott's body has materialized inside Dana Pak's clothes. It's loathsome to have to touch "yourself" as you peel her clothes off and hand them to Sarah. "Start putting these on." You're breathing heavily as you try to anticipate what comes next: "Get in the back," you tell golem-Sarah after she's dressed. The new mask of yourself comes out as she's making the shift, and you lay it aside. You pull Sarah's mask off Dana and put it onto your old body, and put the old Chelsea mask onto Dana. Both wake instantly, and you lick your lips as you struggle to keep hold of which girl is under which mask. "Sarah," you tell her, "get dressed in your old clothes. And keep that girl back there still while I finish up here."<br/>
<br/>
"You're not going to get away with this, Will Prescott," the golem-Chelsea spits. <br/>
<br/>
"I wish you'd help me. <i>I'm</i> Chelsea Cooper." You are scrambling to pull out the small jar of mask sealant.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God, you are such a pervert!" she cries.<br/>
<br/>
"Will Prescott's a pervert," you retort, hating the sound of Will's voice in your ears. "He stole my body. <i>Our</i> body. <i>My</i> body. I'm trying to get it back!"<br/>
<br/>
Silence falls like a clap of anti-thunder; you bless the respite as you seize it to finish sealing up the mask. "You are so delusional," the golem-Chelsea says in a quiet voice at last.<br/>
<br/>
"Andrea Varnsworth!" you snarl. "Andrea Fucking Varnsworth! Does that prove who I am?" There's a hard gasp from the back seat. "Go on, ask me anything."<br/>
<br/>
"You <i>prick! You cock-sucking ... stupid ... gross ... perverted ...!</i>" She reaches around the headrest to claw at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, stop her!" you yell, and the car rocks as Sarah grabs at the other passenger. <i>Screw it, you need to get this finished now</i>! Again, you have to reach past scrabbling hands, to grab at the face of the fake you. And again the mask comes off, revealing Dana. "Just get her out of the car," you order Sarah. Though you're naked and in a boy's body, you scramble out of the passenger-side door, hunching down to cover yourself as best you can. You help Sarah drag the groaning Dana out onto the ground. You then leap back into the car.<br/>
<br/>
"What do I do now?" Sarah wails as you slide over behind the wheel.<br/>
<br/>
"Tell her a story. Any story. It was nice knowing you!" You turn the key, shove the gears into 'Drive,' and peel away.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You drive several blocks until you find a dark spot away from any streetlights, and there you park and finish sealing up the new mask of yourself. You don't allow yourself even a hint of anticipation before slamming it onto your face.<br/>
<br/>
Your limbs are stiff and heavy when you wake, and hair falls in your eyes. You rub at your face dumbly, then sit up very straight. It's still dark out--by the car's clock, it appears you were only out for ten minutes. But you really can't get caught like this.<br/>
<br/>
Oh, how wonderful it is to have your old body back. The proportions feel exactly right, and there's a comforting sense of familiarity as you pull on the panties and bra and jeans and blouse. You're probably a mess--your hair feels particularly disordered--but there's a mirror back at the loft in the school gym. The golem said something about "getting back to Gordon"; chances are that's where it had come from, so that's where you drive out to.<br/>
<br/>
It's a cumbersome load you have to take out of the car when you arrive, but your guess appears to have been right, for the lock is off the gym door. Gordon is inside, playing "ninja basketball" in the dark. "Sweetie, I'm back," you call.<br/>
<br/>
"Cool," you hear him say. "Where'd you run off to?"<br/>
<br/>
"False alarm. Now, where were we?"<br/>
<br/>
The basketball slaps hard onto the ground, and slaps again in diminishing increments as it bounces off into a corner. "We were upstairs," he says, and his looming form swims out of the dark. "You were gone forever. I was afraid it was Kendra again."<br/>
<br/>
"What about Kendra," you ask, perking up.<br/>
<br/>
He stares down at you. "I don't know," he says with a little acid in his tone. "You never tell me about that shit, and I don't ask."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Well, maybe I'd better--" He groans. "Don't start with me, Gordon! I've had a rough night!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, is that what you call hanging out with me since supper?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck this," you shout. "I'll see you tomorrow." The big galoot can be so stupid sometimes. You stomp out of the gym.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You spend the rest of the night feeling lost. You spend several hours catching up on text messages and emails and social site updates, and mostly it just tells you how much you've missed out on over the past few days when you were at Eastman. Meanwhile, your head is a little clearer for ditching Dana, but you've still got Prescott inside you. So why do you feel lonely?<br/>
<br/>
You finally decide that you miss having someone to share these adventures with. You're back to being yourself, but what's the point now of having that magic book? Confederates ... you've always done better by having people vying for your favor. Well, this book now gives you some real prizes to hand out. Who should you use? Your old friends ... or Prescott's?</span></div></div>


path: 11312212212121121122
author_id: seuzz
title: Chelsea's New Team
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Why in the world would you need to bring Kendra or Gloria (or Maria, for that matter) into your confidence? They already have a place in your world, and that's to help you run the school. Bringing Will Prescott's old friends into it, though ... Well, that's a way of extending your control. <br/>
<br/>
And you have the perfect "in" with them. It really does chafe that Caleb Johansson and Keith Tilley wanted Will's help in "replacing" you. But that's one side benefit to that "body swap" trick Will managed to pull on you: Now that you are inside Will's body, you can easily pretend to be him, and by being their friend you can get them to help out with your own schemes.<br/>
<br/>
So even though it's nearing midnight, you call up the fake Will Prescott: "We need to meet tomorrow. Be at the gym by six."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," it says slowly. "Can't we make it seven?"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Six</i>," you repeat, and hang up.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It wouldn't have to be six, except that you're planning to get your morning exercises in while you're at the school, and because you want time to deal with the golem if it proves recalcitrant. Fortunately, it appears that your deductions were right: control of golems goes with the bodies, and since you're in Will's body and the golem was under his control, it is now your slave. "What's been going on with Caleb and Keith," you demand of it. It would be faster to just switch masks, but after the trouble you went through to look like yourself again, you don't want to slip out of your body for any reason--at least, not for awhile.<br/>
<br/>
The golem shrugs. "We haven't been talking. They're pissed because I said I wouldn't help them ... uh ... get to Chelsea." It gives you a penetrating look. "That <i>is</i> you under there, isn't it, boss?"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course. Well, here's--"<br/>
<br/>
"So you and Chelsea--" He grins. "You guys arranged a swap?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself turning crimson. "Something like that. What I want--"<br/>
<br/>
"Whoa. She's a lot more, uh, <i>giving</i> than I'd've pegged her for."<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever. You need to--"<br/>
<br/>
His face splits into a huge grin. "So, are you guys, like, uh, doing it? Is Chelsea all into fucking herself or--?"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up!" Its mouth claps closed. "You tell them that you've changed your mind about working with them, and they're to meet you at the old elementary school by your house after school." The golem cocks an eyebrow. "Yes?" It cocks its other eyebrow. "Oh, don't be stupid. Talk."<br/>
<br/>
"Caleb has work after school."<br/>
<br/>
"Then tell him to meet you there after work. Jesus. Anything else?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Think you can talk Chelsea into letting me join you guys for a three--?" You slap it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Since you've been away from Westside for the better part of a week, so you spend cheerleader practice sitting on the sidelines watching while Gloria Rea runs the session. Maria Vasquez and Kendra Saunders sit next to you. "You get that date set up with the new guy," you ask Kendra after things are under way.<br/>
<br/>
"I told you last night, yes," she says. <br/>
<br/>
"Don't get snippy with me. You're looking forward to it, aren't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Joe is very yummy," she agrees.<br/>
<br/>
"Have fun. Make sure he has fun too," you smile. "But remember the real point is to let him now how things work at this school. After what happened Wednesday--" <br/>
<br/>
What happened Wednesday, a review of your accumulated messages told you, could foretell a crisis. On Monday two new students joined the Westside senior class: Joe and Frank Durras, transfer students from Eastman. They were basketball players at the other school, and they've already made a splash at Westside with the promise of further strengthening what is already a championship squad. That would be great, but they seem to have a strong independent streak, and on Wednesday they intervened to stop David Kirkham from hassling a couple of students. You don't give a shit about Kirkham--a creepy scumbag who likes making life difficult for losers--but you and your friends tolerate him because he helps keep the lines of authority clear. If Frank and Joe get it into their heads to play hero, it could make life complicated for Gordon and Steve and Jason, who also like to throw their weight around the hallways. "Make sure Joe knows that if him and his brother want to be popular," you repeat to Kendra, "that they have to play by Gordon's rules. And if they don't want to be <i>unpopular</i> with Gordon or Steve, that they'd better fall into line and <i>help keep</i> people in their place."<br/>
<br/>
"Joe's sweet," Maria says vacantly.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't care if he's sweet. Just as long as he's not stupid."<br/>
<br/>
"I get the impression they don't respond well to threats," Kendra says.<br/>
<br/>
"So you need to convince him that there will be lots of, um, <i>advantages</i> to being a team player." You take Kendra's arm in yours. "You'd like to kiss him all over, wouldn't you?" you giggle. "And any boy in his right mind would love to do the same to you."<br/>
<br/>
But she seems to stiffen at the compliment.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You spend a lot of time after school preparing for your meeting with Will's friends. You want to make the right impression, so you try on lots of different outfits. Unfortunately, the really sexy ones--like the cut-off shorts and halter top--make you look like a trailer-park tramp (which is fine for Gordon, but not for these guys); and the fancy ones--like the designer jeans and the crisp white blouse--make you look like you're going to a party. You finally settle on the spare cheerleading outfit: It's sexy, and it advertises exactly who you are and what you can promise them.<br/>
<br/>
So you're running late when arrive at the old school near Will's house, where you recognize his friends' cars outside. From inside the basement you hear raised voices, and as you approach the door it opens. An angry-looking Caleb Johansson steps out--and freezes as you smile at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Where are you going, Mr. Johansson?" you coo sweetly. "Didn't Will tell you I'd be showing up?" He says nothing but his mouth works. Behind him, Keith Tilley appears, head bobbing idiotically, to gape at you. You press a fingertip into Caleb's chest and push him lightly, and all unresisting he backs down the stair case. You close the door behind you.<br/>
<br/>
You put a coquettish thumb to your mouth and let your dimples show. "I guess I've been kind of naughty this past week. Telling little white lies. Will over there told you he wasn't going to help you out, didn't he?" You nod at the golem-Prescott, and Caleb and Keith shoot dark looks at it. "That was to stop you from doing anything stupid. But I finally got Chelsea out of the way, and--" You hug yourself and giggle. "She's all ours. Or <i>mine,</i> actually."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's eyes bulge. His lips quiver. It's left to Keith to squeak out the name: "W-- Will?"<br/>
<br/>
You laugh and sway your way over to the table, where you perch and draw up a sexy leg. "In the flesh. Or Chelsea's flesh. I'd take the mask off and show you, but--" You pout. "I don't want to ruin her outfit. Isn't it darling?"<br/>
<br/>
"For fuck's sake!" Caleb explodes. "Why didn't you fucking tell us?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, to stop you from being stupid. It was really complicated and I really don't want to have to explain. Maybe it's just 'cos I'm blonde--" You grab your hair and shake your head. "But long explanations make my complexion break out."<br/>
<br/>
"But-- But Chelsea's-- Um--" Keith just can't get his jaw to work right. Which is good. Their talk of getting rid of you makes you angry.<br/>
<br/>
"She's out of the way," is all you say. "I had to ditch her over at Eastman. Like I said, it's a long story. Oh, and one of the side effects is that only <i>I</i> get to be Chelsea Cooper." You wave your hand in front of your face. "I put some of that stuff in her mask, and I'm the only one who can wear it."<br/>
<br/>
"God damn it, Will," Caleb says. "We were supposed to share."<br/>
<br/>
"Unkink your cock, Johansson," you snap. "There's still lots of girls you can be. You just don't get to be <i>this</i> one."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb frowns, but Keith leans forward. "Like who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, like--" You pretend to think, though you've got it all planned out. "Oh, how about Cindy? Cindy Vredenburg?"<br/>
<br/>
Keith looks like he's about to swallow his own tongue. "Dude, Cindy!" He shoves Caleb hard.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb shoves him back. "You wanna be Cindy? Suck Javits' cock?"<br/>
<br/>
Keith's face craters.<br/>
<br/>
"She doesn't have to be doing that," you observe with a smile. "You don't have to fuck Seth if you don't want to, Keith. But how about fucking him over? Break his heart by breaking up with him?"  Keith's expression gradually shifts from disgust through horror and wonder to delight. "Cindy it is for you, then. Caleb?" Your eyes shift to him, and you follow his name with a lilting "Dude?" <br/>
<br/>
He just stares at you until you cock an eyebrow. "Is that really you under there?" he asks skeptically.<br/>
<br/>
You throttle the urge to smack him. Instead, you strip off your tunic and unclasp your bra, letting your prize assets pop out. "Would Chelsea let you touch her tittie with your tongue?"<br/>
<br/>
He stares until his eyes begin to water. "You can pick a place for me," he mutters hoarsely.<br/>
<br/>
You have a mask of Kelsey Blankenship ready to go. But maybe Caleb would be more tractable if you put him under a guy and implicitly promised him "privileges."</span></div></div>


path: 113122122121211211221
author_id: seuzz
title: Kelsey for Caleb
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Kelsey Blankenship," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Kelsey Blankenship," Caleb mutters tonelessly. His retinas must have an image of your nipple seared into them by now. Abruptly, you lower your tunic. He blinks. " Wait-- <i>Kelsey Blankenship?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Something wrong with Kelsey?"<br/>
<br/>
"She's a bitch!"<br/>
<br/>
"I know. Well, so's Chelsea," you say, letting the little Will Prescott inside your head squeak out an opinion of its own. "And let me tell you something. Being a bitch is <i>fun.</i>" You put out your arms, latching your hands onto the shoulders of your "friends." "Between Chelsea, Cindy, and Kelsey, we will <i>run</i> the school."<br/>
<br/>
Keith gets kind of a lop-sided grin, but Caleb still looks dubious. "I dunno. I mean ... <i>Kelsey.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, if you don't mind waiting, I suppose we could get you someone else. But we've already got a mask of you, and I've already got one of <i>her</i>--"<br/>
<br/>
"So we could make the switch tonight?" Caleb suddenly perks up.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." You take out your cell phone, then pause. There's something in his tone-- "You don't want to switch with Kelsey, but you want to make the switch tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, there's no point in wasting time," he says, and the furtive look in his eye deepens.<br/>
<br/>
"If you want to wait to get someone else," you offer. You actually want him to take Kelsey, but this sudden haste has you intrigued.<br/>
<br/>
"No, Kelsey is fine." He motions you to make the call.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you in some kind of trouble?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! Jesus!" His face churns with a mix of pallor and pink. "You got me convinced is all. As soon as you said 'We can get her tonight,' I thought 'Oh hell, yeah!'"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hm.</i> You're going to have to keep an eye on him.<br/>
<br/>
You call up Kelsey; the conversation is short and sweet, even though the two of you cordially dislike each other. You hang up with a snort. "I'm so glad I don't have to give a shit about grades," you say. "Get this, she's got a <i>study</i> session. Well, that'll make it easy to crash."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you sure it's actually a study session," Keith says cautiously--an improbably astute observation you would have to respect if he hadn't accompanied "study session" with air quotes.<br/>
<br/>
"Please, it's a debate team thing. No one ever got horny while arguing." <i>Well, some of those humdinger fights with Gordon left you drenched and throbbing with desire.</i> But it's a good excuse to throw a veil over what Kelsey told you. You're actually pleased at the identity of Kelsey's "study date," but don't want to spring the second part of your plan on Caleb until it's too late for him to back out.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Hi guys," you say brightly as you drop down into a seat at the table. "I hope you don't mind me crashing you like this."<br/>
<br/>
Kelsey smiles that small smile she gets every time you show up (announced or unannounced). Frank Durras blinks and smiles much more warmly. "Not crashing anything," he says. "What brings you up to the library on a Friday night?"<br/>
<br/>
"My mom asked me to return some books." You roll your eyes. "I don't know how places like this stay in business. I mean, if you want a book these days, you can just download it."<br/>
<br/>
"It's not a <i>business,</i>" Frank says. "It's a municipal service."<br/>
<br/>
"Some place for the old folks to hang out, I guess," you say, looking around with a sniff. Even factoring the three of you in, the average age of the clientele is probably around seventy-five. "Wouldn't it be more, you know, cozy, if the two of you were at home or something? That's where Gordon and me go when we have to, um, study."<br/>
<br/>
"It's not a date, Chelsea," Kelsey says. "I told you on the phone we're prepping for debate class. Frank's on my team."<br/>
<br/>
"I'd <i>love</i> to have Frank on my team. You know, Frank, Gordon loves having you and brother on the team. He says you're really good. Although--"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, tonight it's debate," Kelsey says firmly. "The topic is immigration."<br/>
<br/>
"What's <i>your</i> opinion, Chelsea," Frank asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Immigration? Pfft. Plenty more where <i>they</i> come from."<br/>
<br/>
Frank and Kelsey exchange a glance. "I don't know if that counts as pro or con," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, don't mind me," you carelessly reply. "I'll just hang out and be quiet. Me and Gordon sometimes get in these huge fights, and maybe if I watch you guys I'll pick up some tips on how to win."<br/>
<br/>
Your tablemates share another glance. Then Frank shrugs and bends over the papers he has in front of him.<br/>
<br/>
And you do your best to keep quiet as they return to their discussion. It's extraordinarily boring and full of words and phrases like "amnesty" and "path to citizenship." You have lots of time to look at them, singly and together.<br/>
<br/>
Kelsey is one of the AP girls: smart, ambitious, and seemingly impatient with anything that isn't going to get her into a good school. Not that she should have much to worry about. Her father owns the largest chain of car dealerships in the city, which makes them extremely rich. You'd ignore her as just a "brainiac," but she has alpha tendencies, and ever since middle school she has run her own tight little clique of upper-middle class, snobbish, hyper-ambitious girls. She's got style, too. Tonight, for instance, she's wearing a black sleeveless blouse and tight blue jeans. You can't see her feet, but she's undoubtedly wearing those purple velvet boots. Her silver earrings--an Anasazi pattern, she'd told you once--glitter from beneath her dark, silky hair. Her makeup is understated, but subtly highlights her cheek bones. Her teeth--which must have cost a fortune--are even and very, very white.<br/>
<br/>
Frank is relatively underdressed, sporting a plain white t-shirt with a v-neck that discloses the top of his well-developed chest. His arms look strong: well- but not over-developed muscles that bulge beneath the skin without a trace of fat or padding. Like Kelsey, he has dark hair cut at a rakish angle, and dark eyes that glitter over an aquiline nose. His cheeks and jaw look very sinewy, and you imagine that he doesn't kiss a girl so much as devour her. But he seems very modest and low-key, an impression amplified when you "accidentally" drop your pen and get a look at your tablemates' undercarriages when you bend to retrieve it. Yes, Kelsey has those boots on. Frank is dressed in very nice blue jeans, and he's wearing brown loafers.<br/>
<br/>
Together they look very good. They both seem very smart and poised and well-spoken. Kelsey can be pushy and impatient, but Frank is firm with her without being obdurate, and polite without being deferential. For her part, Kelsey seems a little daunted by his manner: when he makes a point, she doesn't argue back, but only hunches a little as she jots down what he says into her own notebook.<br/>
<br/>
Yes, they make a very natural, good-looking couple, and they totally should be going out with each other, and not just because such a pairing would be useful for you. In fact, they look so good together that it even frightens you a little. If Gordon is right about Frank being such a good athlete, then the pairing of the AP queen bee and this up-and-coming basketball star could be a threat.<br/>
<br/>
Apparently you've been making noises while thinking all this through, for eventually Frank shoots a piercing glance in your direction. "You have something you want to say, Chelsea?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? No." But this is a good opportunity. "I just want to freshen up a bit. Come with me, Kelsey?" You pick up your purse as you stand.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't need to freshen up," she says bluntly.<br/>
<br/>
Frank hides a small smile. "She wants to talk to you," he murmurs.<br/>
<br/>
Kelsey sighs deeply, and the way she stands up is very graceless. Girl could do with some gymnastic lessons.<br/>
<br/>
You lead her out of the stacks toward the front, where the bathrooms are. "My God, he is so handsome," you gush as you pass the table where Caleb has been sitting; out of the corner of your eye you see him raise his head. "You should totally turn this study session into a date," you add as you push into the women's restroom. A quick look around shows that it's empty.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, if I <i>was</i> interested, it would still be hard with there being <i>three</i> of us."<br/>
<br/>
You drop your purse into a sink. "Promise me you'll make a play for him, and I'll totally get out of here."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think it's any of your business--"<br/>
<br/>
"Give me a chance to change your mind?" You slap the mask onto her face, then grab her and pull her into a stall as she faints. After propping her on the toilet you hurry out and gesture Caleb inside. "Take the stall right there," you order.<br/>
<br/>
"Why is she hanging around with that guy?" he demands, and makes no move toward obeying you.<br/>
<br/>
"It's a study session," you say evasively. "Get moving."<br/>
<br/>
"Are they going together? Are you trying to push them together?"<br/>
<br/>
"What does it matter," you snap with rising impatience. "You wanted to get into Kelsey, and now we're doing it."<br/>
<br/>
"Not if it means being close to that guy," he says firmly.<br/>
<br/>
You gape. "What is your fucking problem? You were hot to get going only an hour ago!"<br/>
<br/>
"Tell me what's going on here."<br/>
<br/>
You could try forcing Caleb to make the switch, but that might seriously backfire. But you need to deal with Kelsey, and if Caleb isn't going to step in for her, it means that you will have to.</span></div></div>


path: 1131221221212112112211
author_id: seuzz
title: The New Squad
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Nothing is 'going on', Caleb," you snap. "I'm just getting you a girl, like you asked."<br/>
<br/>
"And what about Frank Durras out there?" he asks in a voice dripping with suspicion.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you afraid you're going to wind up giving him a blow job?"<br/>
<br/>
His lips peel back, but then he steps into that stall. It looks like he's forced himself into a decision before he can change his mind.<br/>
<br/>
"Finally," you snort. "Start getting undressed. And pass me that mask of yourself." You step into the stall with Kelsey and start undressing her. There's something very satisfying about tearing the clothes off the bitch, and you have to force yourself to stop halfway through before you become too excited. <i>Andrea Varnsworth.</i> The name forms itself in your head, along with an image. <i>Oh, stupid Chelsea! Stupid, stupid,</i> stupid<i> Cheslea!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You'd put a golem shell--using some of his own hair--inside Caleb's mask before returning it to him, so when the new Caleb appears in the toilet stall with you, it is under his control. You make a dirty face at it before exiting the stall.<br/>
<br/>
You touch up your own makeup until you hear the new Kelsey stirring in her own stall. "You want me to wait for you, or just go back to Frank," you call to her as you twist your hair this way and that with a pout.<br/>
<br/>
"You should probably go back. I'm a mess," a very disgruntled voice replies.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, don't take too long to make yourself presentable. I might start flirting with him." You give yourself a nice little once-over to confirm that you are very sexy and adorable, then skip back out into the library.<br/>
<br/>
"Well I'm done, but I'm low maintenance," you dimple as you plop down breathlessly in your seat. You can't miss the tiny gleam of satire that appears in his eye, but you ignore it. "Kelsey had a little more business to transact." You bite down on your smile. "You know, we spent all that time in there talking about <i>you.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
He tugs an earlobe. "That explains the burning sensation in my ears."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you have a rash?"<br/>
<br/>
His Adam's apple wobbles. "You remind me of my brother. Kind of."<br/>
<br/>
"Your brother is so cute," you gasp. "Kendra is-- Well, maybe I shouldn't say. Oh, what the hey. She <i>really</i> likes him."<br/>
<br/>
"Joe is popular," he replies in a noncommittal tone.<br/>
<br/>
"Gordon is really impressed with you guys too. Oh, not <i>that</i> way." You hide a playful snicker. "I mean, he says you're both just so good on the team." He smiles modestly. "Of course, the <i>team</i> bit could use a little work. Oh, never mind me."<br/>
<br/>
"Joe and I would like to get together with him, maybe tomorrow, to talk about things."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he'll tell you anything that concerns him. He's <i>very</i> honest when it comes to the team." Gordon is no longer under your control--a side-effect of that stupid body-swap with Will Prescott--but you're sure you can goad him into telling these two that they need to be "team players" everywhere in the school. "Oh, and <i>here's</i> Kelsey. Finally." You roll your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a slit-eyed glance before turning to Frank. "I'm sorry, but I'm getting a headache. Is it okay if we knock off for the night?" Frank murmurs an assent and some concerns for her health, but she just gathers up her stuff. You can't stop yourself from pouting, and when she starts toward the entrance you hurry after her.<br/>
<br/>
"What is your problem with that guy?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"I haven't got a problem, except that he's a guy and I'm not interested in him," she snaps back.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, whoever said you had to be," you crossly retort. "Listen, if we're going to run the school, we're going to have to be nice to each other and work together."<br/>
<br/>
"Then be nice to me. Stop being so much like--" He points you up and down.<br/>
<br/>
You feel your face turning red. "Well then you stop being so much like--" You point up and down her in an even more exaggerated way.<br/>
<br/>
She give you a very weary look. "How about we just wait until tomorrow at school, when we're both feeling better."<br/>
<br/>
"I feel fine."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I <i>do</i> have a headache." She marches out the door.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Luckily, you're the kind of girl whom nothing can keep down, so you're bouncing up early the next morning, full of plans for the day. You are extravagantly nice to Cindy Vredenburg at practice the next morning, so much so that she actually looks a little freaked out by the end. She can only stare and stammer out an acceptance when you invite her over to your house after school.<br/>
<br/>
During the break after second period you catch sight of Tilley at his locker; Javits is nearby, and you subtly nudge him in your friend's direction. The last you see of them, Seth is bending over the luckless Keith and bawling him out as the loser he is. It's your gift to Keith: something to make taking Cindy's place this afternoon sweeter.<br/>
<br/>
During third period you make a point of sitting next to Kelsey and engaging her in whispered conversation. It's a blind--you're just gossiping with her about stuff--but it's a cover for when you pass her a note inviting her over to help secure Cindy for Keith. She returns it with a scrawled "OK."<br/>
<br/>
At lunch, you manage to get Gordon alone by telling him you'd like to eat in the fuck room. His grunts appreciatively, and hugs you close all the way to the gym and up the stairs. And once the fuck room door is closed, he immediately starts to strip. "What are you doing," you demand.<br/>
<br/>
He throws his hands in the air. "I thought we were gonna fuck."<br/>
<br/>
"I want to talk to you."<br/>
<br/>
"You can talk. I can--"<br/>
<br/>
You slap his hand away. "Stop it. I want to talk to you about those two guys, Frank and Joe." He sighs and drops to the floor. "They want to get together and talk to you. Tell them how we do things at this school, and not just on the team. Tell them that you and me and Steve run things, and that they need to keep their heads down if they don't want trouble with you guys."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that an order?" he asks with a dangerous tone in his voice. You nod. "Well, you're not my boss anymore." He reaches for your blouse.<br/>
<br/>
You dart your hand in and grab his face. Apparently he thinks you mean to be flirtatious, for he doesn't stop you, and a moment later the mask comes away in your hand. You frown at it and at the golem that has suddenly reappeared. If only there were some way to--<br/>
<br/>
Oh, but there is. The rest of lunch break is taken with you shifting in and out of masks while hiding Gordon's remains. He will wind up missing the rest of the day at school, but no one will care, least of all you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Keith and Kelsey appear at your house shortly after school, and you take them up to your room, where you shove Keith into the bathroom with orders to call his parents and tell them he'll be spending the night at Caleb's. Then you outline your plan to Kelsey; luckily, between her brain and Caleb's, it doesn't take long to explain.<br/>
<br/>
Cindy isn't late, and you hug and giggle over her all the way up to the bedroom. "I know we've had our differences, Cindy," you tell her. "But all that is going to change starting today. I've had just such a terrific idea that will make us best friends!"<br/>
<br/>
"What's that?" she asks in a guarded tone. She does a little double-take when she sees Kelsey sitting at your desk and regarding her with an appraising stare.<br/>
<br/>
"We're going to get replace you with a duplicate. Isn't that great?" You throw your arms around her in a tight hug. "Kelsey?" you call.<br/>
<br/>
She rolls her eyes and crosses over to the flabbergasted Cindy and slaps a mask on her--a mask that you'd made yesterday and terrorized the stupid Will Prescott golem into polishing up today. You'll have a second one out of him tomorrow.<br/>
<br/>
You and Kelsey pull Cindy's clothes off until she is only in her underthings. Then Gordon's mask--which you've treated with a golem shell that puts it under your control--goes onto her while Kelsey seals up Cindy's mask. She passes it to Keith in the bathroom while you toss the new Gordon some of his old clothes that you've kept hidden in your closet.<br/>
<br/>
"You're really getting into the whole Chelsea thing, aren't you?" Kelsey says.<br/>
<br/>
"Jealous?" You turn this way and that, admiring yourself in the mirror. She just snorts and sits back down.<br/>
<br/>
Ten minutes later the bathroom door opens and the new Cindy Vredenburg steps out uncertainly. You squeal and hug her again. "How does it feel, Keith?" you ask after you release her.<br/>
<br/>
"It feels pretty okay," he says, and tucks a strand of that lovely platinum hair behind his ear.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm so jealous," you say. "Caleb is jealous of me, and I'm jealous of you." You pull an invisible bit of lint off the front of her blouse, then tug her over to the mirror. You gesture Kelsey and Gordon to join you in admiring your new bodies. You grin, and even the two girls have to smile. You are all so sexy and smart looking.<br/>
<br/>
"This is just so awesome, isn't it," you exult, and hug your new teammates. "Now we just have to get Keith back in circulation. We'll do that tomorrow. And then we will--"</span></div></div>


path: 1131221221212112115
author_id: seuzz
title: Schools of Fishiness
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>First thing, after off-loading books, is to find a restroom to change in. You knew Dana's parents would pitch a fit if you went in dressed the way you wanted, so you are wearing two layers of clothes.<br/>
<br/>
The first restroom you check is crowded to bursting with freshman and sophomore girls, jostling to get at the mirrors with their makeup cases. So is the second. By the time you look into the fourth restroom, you've given up on privacy, and content yourself with a stall while the girls outside shove and scratch at each other for a position at the sinks.<br/>
<br/>
Off comes the floppy sweatshirt, and with it the heavy skirt that draped past your knees. You fold them up, and exchange canvas sneakers for black, high-heeled shoes. You pull at and straighten the filmy, red silk dress that falls just to the middle of your thighs, and cinch the pencil-thin black belt that marks your tight stomach off from your hips and ass. With a hair brush you adjust your hair as best you can without the benefit of a mirror, and you use your cell phone to check out the look when you're done. A pleasant shiver rattles every nerve in your body as you scope out the body and dress you've given yourself, and admire Dana's high cheekbones and oval face. And you feel the glances in the halls as you stride off to first-period Calculus.<br/>
<br/>
Whitney Hoang—already in her desk—flinches and groans as you slide into the seat in front of her.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, God, Dana," she moans. "This is <i>Monday!</i> What are you saving up to wear on <i>Friday?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh I was just thinking," you gaily reply, "that today's the first day of the rest of my life. So I decided to make it good. Besides," you add in a low growl. "I hate Mondays. I'll turn every dirty trick I can to make it go better."<br/>
<br/>
"Way to make the rest of us feel worse," she pouts.<br/>
<br/>
You try not to wince at her self-pitying reply. Whitney is pudgy all over: pudgy thighs, pudgy ass, pudgy face. She's got a huge bosom, but no contour between it and her hips. But she does have a boyfriend, so it can't be a real handicap. You change the subject to him, to ask what she and Dennis did this weekend. Talk swerves when another friend, Melissa Swenson, slides into the chair across from Wendy, and swerves again when David plops into the chair across from you.<br/>
<br/>
Then it's derailed completely by Lisa Rickover, who comes over to squat in the aisle in the midst of your group. "Hey, so anybody got any news of the weekend?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
You blink at her: It's like having double vision.<br/>
<br/>
Lisa Rickover is the hatchet-faced girl with the blonde bob you talked to at Joshua Cheswick's party last weekend, when you and Chelsea went out in costume. She struck you then as intelligent and sharp-tongued. Now, with Dana's eyes and memories, you see her as one of the key members of the "Rumorati," a group of girls who scoop up and disseminate gossip like a wet-ware version of the internet.<br/>
<br/>
"I stayed in this weekend," you reply when the others shrug.<br/>
<br/>
"That sounds like a news flash," Lisa says. She rakes you from ankle to neck with her sharp gaze, and you can tell she's trying to find a way to fashion your ensemble into a news item: <i>Dana is all dressed up today, you think she's showing off for a guy?</i> maybe; or <i>Dana was slutting it up in a short dress this morning, maybe she's getting desperate.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Wanna hear about our study session at IHOP yesterday?" You reach across to grasp David by the wrist. He pales, then reddens when you add, "Me and David held hands under the table while doing our homework."<br/>
<br/>
"That's so sweet," Lisa retorts with an acidic smile. She returns to her own desk. As you glare at her back, you notice that Melissa is looking very ill.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You find out why on the way to AP French IV, which you also share with her. She says nothing as you push your way through the halls, but just outside Madame Leclerc's classroom she quails and pulls you aside. "Look, were you trying to cover for me, last period, with Lisa?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Cover for you how?"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean—" She gulps and glances around the hallway, the whites of her eyes showing with terror. She leans in close to whisper. "Did you hear about my weekend?"<br/>
<br/>
"No." You grab her by the arm with a premonition of horror. "What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
She squirms, then tugs you out the nearby exit, where the cold wind's rustle can help smother your conversation.<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't hear anything?" Melissa asks. "Nothing?" she presses when you shake your head. She bites her lip and hesitates.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I was out at the Warehouse last Friday," she sighs.<br/>
<br/>
"The Warehouse!" you exclaim. Only once has Dana been to that infamous party spot, and you've never been yourself. You can hardly picture Melissa—sweet, innocent Melissa—at one of its debauched raves. "What were you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I went to hear Slow Fast Hazel," she says, sounding miserable. "I went with Liam and Kelly, some other people. Anyway—" She sniffs. "I wound up dancing with Adam Karter." She turns a terrified, pleading face toward yours.<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "So?"<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a look. "You don't think that's bad?"<br/>
<br/>
"Adam's danced with lots of girls," you assure her.<br/>
<br/>
"But we didn't just dance."<br/>
<br/>
Now a pit does form in your stomach. "What <i>did</i> you do with him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we sat together, and we wound up kind of— Um." Her eyebrows peak and she fumbles with her hands. "Got kind of physical?"<br/>
<br/>
You heart skips. "How physical?"<br/>
<br/>
"Eww! Not like <i>that!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, if you don't tell me—"<br/>
<br/>
"You want me to paint a picture? Show you a selfie?"<br/>
<br/>
Now you gasp. "You took a <i>selfie?</i> Of you and him—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No!" She rolls her eyes. "Look, our tongues touched. Okay? Does that tell you enough, or—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, that's enough. And no, I didn't hear anything about it. Why are you freaking out?"<br/>
<br/>
Her mouth twists into an ugly shape, like an open wound. "Don't you think it makes me sound, like, a slut or something?"<br/>
<br/>
You stare at her. Melissa has great clouds of fluffy, copper-colored hair, and the eyes of a fawn. She's one of the most trusting and naive girls in the senior class. Even Dana has more scars than she has.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, Adam Karter is a man-whore," you start to say.<br/>
<br/>
"I know! So what does that make me, if he—?"<br/>
<br/>
"It just makes you another, I dunno, notch on his belt. Look, don't worry about it!" You squeeze her arm. But then another thought comes to you: "Has anyone been talking about it? Online, I mean? Instagram or x2z or—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I've been too scared to look."<br/>
<br/>
The bell rings.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll look around," you tell Melissa. "And I'll listen. And you know, if Lisa didn't ask you about it last period—"<br/>
<br/>
"Do you think she was fishing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, she was fishing for something. But it didn't look like she was fishing for something to do with <i>you.</i>" You pull her toward the door. "I suppose I can talk to one of her friends."<br/>
<br/>
Melissa clutches at you. "Oh, God, don't!"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean—" You pry her fingers off your shoulder. "I'll talk to them about something else. And if they want to know about you and— Well, then they'll probably ask me. Won't they? Because we <i>are</i> friends, Melissa."<br/>
<br/>
Melissa only mutters in reply. She flinches just as you cross the threshold into Madame Leclerc's classroom. <br/>
<br/>
Alyssa Randal—head cheerleader, and the self-appointed head of the Rumorati, looks up at you from her desk. Her eye is alert, and you can't help noticing that she watches Melissa very closely as she shuffles across the front of the room to her desk.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your promise to Melissa notwithstanding, you find it a hard subject to broach with anyone. Few of your friends are much interested in gossip, and it's hard to find a way to bring the subject up. You make a quick scan of social media over the lunch break, and find that someone did post pictures of Adam and Melissa making out in a dingy booth. The comments are ugly, of course, but there aren't many of them, and they're at least as nasty about Adam as they are about Melissa. <i>Picking up Joe's sloppy seconds,</i> is their general tenor.<br/>
<br/>
And, just before last period, Melissa is able to bring you the glum confirmation that people are talking about her and Adam. "I heard it from Ursula," she sighs. That would be Ursula Jensen, the would-be mystic who waited on you at Besandwiched; Melissa has been tutoring her in French. "She came out and <i>asked</i> me about it. What am I going to do?" She gulps back tears. "If Lisa and them get ahold of it—"<br/>
<br/>
You try to assure her that it will be alright, that even if the Rumorati do anything with it, it's all just chum for them, and they'll be on to something else not forty minutes later.<br/>
<br/>
But it's food for thought last period, in your World Literature class. Karter shares it with you, as does Joshua Cheswick, the guy whose party you and Chelsea crashed last weekend. You watch Adam out of the corner of your eye. He's an interesting fellow, quite the successful flirt despite his ragamuffin appearance. He's good at it, the way some people are just naturally good at playing musical instruments, or at sports.<br/>
<br/>
You have that new memory strip to try out. At least, you suppose it's a memory strip. If it is, it could be useful as a way to score a copy of someone's brain. Of Karter's, for instance. Or Lisa Rickover, to find out what she knows. Maybe Ursula, since she's into magic?<br/>
<br/>
David, who is also in the class, leans over: "I heard Sarah talking to her friends. They're going to hang out at your place after school. You wanna head someplace with me and Caleb, get away from them?"</span></div></div>


path: 11312212212121121151
author_id: seuzz
title: Of Two Minds About Almost Everything
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It is sweet that David thought to rescue you from Sarah and her friends, so you thank him with a smile. "But I've got some errands I have to run after school anyway," you add.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" His eyebrows go up. "Like what? Anything I can help out with?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, just running around."<br/>
<br/>
He tenses, and you tense too, waiting for him to offer to tag along. <i>Don't ask me,</i> you silently plead. <i>I know you're trying to work up your courage. But don't. Please.</i><br/>
<br/>
He sags, then looks up to give you a sad, shy smile. "Well, maybe tonight we could get together," he says. "I mean, you, me, Matt, Kevin. Caleb."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll have to see," you tell him. "My mom's being weird."<br/>
<br/>
You swing back around in your seat. <i>That God he's as much of a coward with girls as I am,</i> you think.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But is it what you really think? On the drive out to Acheson afterschool, you feel a growing sense of disappointment at David's failure to pursue Dana.<br/>
<br/>
No, it's not that you regret his hand not being in yours. It's pretty clear you can have that any time you want it—and you don't. No, the regret comes at seeing the guy fail  the same way you've felt yourself fail with girls so many times before.<br/>
<br/>
Lisa was your first girlfriend (and God willing won't be your last), but she's not the first girl you've harbored feelings or hopes for, and she wasn't the first that you'd ever felt like you might have a chance with. You had a crush on Rachel Burton your sophomore year; and when you were partnered with Meghan Farris on an English project your junior year, you had the distinct impression that she was interested in you, and you toyed with trying to start something with her.<br/>
<br/>
The one that got away, though, was Julia Watson. She was another crush your sophomore year. Okay, "crush" puts it a little too strongly. But you liked everything about her, from her coppery hair and bright green eyes, to the tight blouses she wore that showed off her plump, mango-shaped breasts. And yes, you liked her personality, which was smart and peppery without being mean. She was friendly with you too, and her eyes would light up and she'd smirk a <i>Hey Will, how's it hanging?</i> at you when you bounced up beside her in the hallways.<br/>
<br/>
And she did seek you out, once. It was during a charity drive—she was taking theater classes, and they were doing a fundraiser thing—and she asked you to go with her and Chris Love to canvas a couple of neighborhoods for canned-goods donations. You figured that she'd be more interested in Chris, who was a soccer player with bouncy blonde hair and a wide, white smile; but then Chris invited another girl along. Julia didn't seem to mind that, and she was the one who suggested splitting your quartet into two twosomes so as to cover more ground, and it was you and her who went off together. She didn't say or do anything that seemed to hold out hope that there might be more between you. But you thought about it afterward, and decided to try asking her out again on ... Okay, it wouldn't have been a <i>date.</i> Just a you-and-her study session.<br/>
<br/>
But she had something else going on.<br/>
<br/>
And you never asked her again.<br/>
<br/>
Then of course she moved away last Christmas, so it wasn't to have been, anyway. Still, maybe it was a memory of that missed opportunity—anger with yourself at having crumpled so quickly in the face of what probably wasn't even intended as a snub—that led you persist with Lisa over the summer.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, it's not like <i>that</i> worked out either. You blow a bang out of your face with a heavy sigh.<br/>
<br/>
Anyway, all of that is why you can't help sympathizing with David and his inability to handle his crush on Dana, and why you find yourself wishing he had pressed himself on you a little harder. He wouldn't have gotten anyplace. But you'd have wanted to high-five him for his effort.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So preoccupied are you with that you overshoot your turn and have to come back around again into Acheson. A lank, straw-headed kid is idly bouncing a basketball in the driveway of your old house when you pull up to the curb. "Hey Will!" you shout to him through the open window of the car. "Come hang out with me?"<br/>
<br/>
He rolls his eyes and tosses the basketball back into the open garage, where it knocks something over with a loud clatter. You unlock the passenger-side door as he trots over to hop in. "Thing is in the side-pocket of my bag," you tell him as you pull back into the street.<br/>
<br/>
"Tell me again why you need my help?" he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Because I don't want Lisa knowing I had anything to do with it."<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a sidelong look. "This isn't our Lisa, is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! It's Dana's. Lisa Rickover. She goes to Eastman."<br/>
<br/>
"Is she hot?" he asks as he takes out and examines the new memory-strip.<br/>
<br/>
"No. She's a friggin' busybody, is what she is. It's why I don't care if it works on her or doesn't."<br/>
<br/>
Lisa's sedan is already parked in the street by the elementary school, and you point it out to your double before cutting down another street to let him out.<br/>
<br/>
"Just slap it on her forehead," you tell him as he gets out, "then hang with her until it's done doing whatever it's supposed to do. Then bring it back here."<br/>
<br/>
"We gonna hang out after?" He leers at you. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Jesus, I hope I never gave </i>that<i> look to any girl,</i> you think. "No," you tell him. Then: "You got any news about Caleb or Chelsea?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, yeah." He smirks.<br/>
<br/>
You sigh. "Then send me an email." You give him Dana's school address. "I'm gonna have to go hang out with Lisa after you're done with her."<br/>
<br/>
"Our Lisa?" he asks. "Or—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just get going!" You lean over to yank the door closed on him.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's fifteen minutes before he returns, and he has a frown on his face. Your pulse quickens with worry as he trudges up. But there's no bad news, it turns out. He got the memory strip, and everything went as usual. He's only puzzled that Lisa's name glows a ruby-red rather than the sapphire-blue that the other memory strips do. You tell him it's a new kind of memory strip and not to worry about it. Maybe he takes your injunction a little too much to heart, for his brow clears up instantly, and he flirts with you one more time for you chase him off.<br/>
<br/>
Then you drive around the block and park behind Lisa.<br/>
<br/>
You have to tap at her window a couple of times before, with a furrowed brow she opens her eyes. She blinks stupidly, then sits up with an alarmed expression on her face. "Jesus!" she exclaims at you through the window.<br/>
<br/>
"Caught you napping?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I—" But she doesn't know how to finish that sentence, and impatiently gestures you around to get in the car with her.<br/>
<br/>
<i>What happened to that weirdo,</i> she is clearly wondering as you settle in beside her, <i>and what happened to me?</i> But she only says, "So what's up, Dana? What's with the secret rendezvous?"<br/>
<br/>
She sounds impatient, even angry, so you don't waste a lot of time. (Not that you want to; the "thing" you texted her about right after school was only a set up for the just-concluded ambush.) You show her those pictures from the Warehouse that Melissa was worried about, and tell her the story, and ask on Melissa's behalf if there's talk about going around school about her and Adam. Lisa just grunts and tells you that sure, some people are bound to be talking about them, but it doesn't seem very interesting. She sighs impatiently when you beg her to keep the thing under wraps for Melissa's benefit.<br/>
<br/>
She does have a stinger for you: "You like to dress comfortable after school, don't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pardon?"<br/>
<br/>
Her lips twist into a satirical smirk. "You changed your clothes."<br/>
<br/>
You glance down at the sweatpants and overlarge t-shirt you changed into right after school. "Oh. Yeah." You can tell by the look she's giving you that she's still speculating about how and why you were dressed up at school the way you were. You do your best to ignore it, even though you feel yourself flushing. "Well, thanks for coming out to talk to me," you stammer. She only says "Pfuh" and takes out her cell phone. You've got that tingling feeling in your feet as you walk back to your car, and you imagine Lisa's eyes boring into the back of your head. She's still parked as you drive off.<br/>
<br/>
But you don't drive far, and pull into an alley a couple of blocks away, parking behind a trash dumpster. After glancing around to confirm that there's no one around, you clamber into the back seat, kick off your shoes, and pry Dana's mask from your face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're disoriented when you wake—of course you are, you're hopping in and out of other people's bodies and brains!—and it takes you a moment of confusion before you place yourself. Your heart is in your throat as you study your fingers—they seem very knobby in comparison to Dana's—and gingerly grope the rest of your body to confirm that all the important bits are in place again. (They are.) You flinch as you check yourself out in Dana's phone, but though your face is bonier and hairier than her, it's a relief to see that familiar, straw-headed chucklebrain grinning back at you with a snaggle-toothed smile.<br/>
<br/>
You take a few more minutes to catch your breath before picking that memory strip back up again. Lisa Rickover's name blazes up at you.<br/>
<br/>
But now that it's come to the point: Maybe instead of putting it on yourself, you should continue to experiment by putting it on someone else.</span></div></div>


path: 113122122121211211511
author_id: seuzz
title: Who Comes Here?
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You wrestle with the question for a good long while: To try this new memory strip on yourself, or on someone else?<br/>
<br/>
It's not hard to find reasons for testing it on someone else. You've no idea what it does, or even if you've made it correctly, and you've got Gordon Black as a example of what can go wrong. But if you test the strip on someone else, it might reveal things to the person you were testing it on, leading to awkward questions.<br/>
<br/>
It's a narrow-run thing when the former choice finally wins out over the latter one, and you feel your face tightening into a rictus of fear as you raise the ruby-red memory strip to your face. You hesitate, grit your teeth and shut your eyes, then slap it against your forehead.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wake with a long, hard gasp and bolt upright. <i>Am I drowning?</i> you ask yourself. You certainly feel like you've popped to the surface from the bottom of a very deep lake. <br/>
<br/>
Your heart races and your nerves vibrate, and you tremble all over. <i>Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK! What is going on?</i> You were parked by that old school where Dana asked you to meet her, and you saw this skinny kid ambling toward you. You were only puzzled when he bent to tap at your window, and you rolled it down with an impatient frown.<br/>
<br/>
But before you could ask what he wanted, his hand shot out and—<br/>
<br/>
Oh, Jesus, it was like a thing with teeth biting your forehead.<br/>
<br/>
You look around now. It's gotten a lot darker. Did you get knocked out? That kid has gone, and you're all alone in—<br/>
<br/>
You blink.<br/>
<br/>
This isn't your car. This is an SUV or minivan or something, not the old, hand-me-down sedan that your grandmother left you. The fuck? You grab the wheel and twist in the seat.<br/>
<br/>
That's when you notice that your clothes have changed as well. You're wearing sweat pants and a floppy t-shirt. Your feet are bare.<br/>
<br/>
The thought <i>date rape drug</i> flits across the forefront of your mind.<br/>
<br/>
Gingerly, with a mounting dread—a premonition, horrible, of the deformity you will find—you lay an open palm over your crotch.<br/>
<br/>
There's a <i>thing</i> there, inside the sweat pants with you.<br/>
<br/>
It moves, and you scream.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Of course, you jumped when you screamed, and banged your head into the roof of the car. Maybe it's a good thing that happened. It jogged something loose in your head.<br/>
<br/>
More particularly, it jogged loose the memories of a kid name "Will Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
Not you've ever heard of before. Which made it very weird—okay, it was absolutely terrifying—when those memories, sizzling like the current running through a high-voltage power line, crackled through your brain, lighting it up with images, sounds, feelings, and desires that you have never had. Even worse was when the electric <i>newness</i> of it faded leaving you with Will Prescott inside your brain—<br/>
<br/>
And inside your body.<br/>
<br/>
And inside your <i>soul.</i><br/>
<br/>
—like a living, breathing, <i>dripping</i> presence. When you raised your hands, you felt his hands inside yours. When you squirmed in the seat, you felt his skin prickle and quiver inside your own.<br/>
<br/>
The real horror came when you realized <i>that you had his body</i> in addition to his mind. It was <i>his</i> hands you were raising, and <i>his skin</i> that was itching, and <i>his</i> ... thing ... that was twitching between your legs inside the sweat pants.<br/>
<br/>
The only comfort was that, with his memories, you at least <i>understood</i> what was going on.<br/>
<br/>
Sort of. Even Will Prescott is confused by it all, when you grapple at the issue with his thoughts, his memories, his knowledge.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, so, he got himself a book of magic, and thanks to a lot of very confusing things that happened over at his high school—Westside—he disguised himself as Dana Pak and moved over to your high school. He made himself a new magical whatsahootsie, and he decided (<i>like a real son of a bitch</i>) to test it out on you. And when he did—<br/>
<br/>
Well, somehow it seems to have body swapped you.<br/>
<br/>
Not like he was doing with the masks he was making, which just had the effect of disguising him. No, the result was a full-on body swap. <br/>
<br/>
Because, as near as you can tell, he pulled your mind—maybe your very soul, the soul of Lisa Frances Rickover—out of your body and put it into his.<br/>
<br/>
Which means—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh God.</i> You shudder and shiver all over.<br/>
<br/>
—his soul must be inside <i>your</i> body.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You spend the next thirty minutes fighting down the need to vomit.<br/>
<br/>
It's fear, of course, rank and dank. It fills your lungs and courses through your heart and befogs your brain. You feel as though you are drowning again.<br/>
<br/>
It's boredom, of all things, that first cracks the terror so that you can start to think clearly again. You can hunker in the cold cabin of Dana Pak's SUV for only so long before your brain starts looking for something else to do besides cowering.<br/>
<br/>
So, for a start:<br/>
<br/>
If you and Will Prescott swapped bodies, he must be going through the same thing you're going through. Except he won't be panicked by it all. He would be confused, but no more confused than you are. And he'd be bound to realize that if he's in your body with your memories, then you must be in his body with his memories. <br/>
<br/>
So there wouldn't be any reason for him <i>not</i> to call you. He'd know that you know just as much as he does.<br/>
<br/>
So why hasn't he called or texted you yet?<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh God!</i> You shudder all over. What if the body swap happened while you were driving down a busy thoroughfare, and that Prescott (in your body, driving your car) was in an accident?<br/>
<br/>
But then—<br/>
<br/>
You press your forehead against the steering wheel. You're getting a headache from trying to figure it all out.<br/>
<br/>
The last thing you remember, just before waking after the body swap, was that skinny kid—Will Prescott—tapping at your window. But that wasn't when the body swap happened. That kid—it was actually some kind of clone of Prescott, not Prescott himself—took the magical thingamabob back to the real Prescott, who was waiting around the block, and Prescott couldn't have done anything with it until after you drove off. The swap only happened when he put that thing onto his forehead.<br/>
<br/>
So why don't you remember waking up, and talking to Dana, and driving off—stuff that happened before the body swap?<br/>
<br/>
<i>That thing he put on his forehead.</i> He called it a "memory strip" because it looked like a thing he had made before: a thing that copied other people's minds. Well, the new one did something like that. Only it yanked your mind—your soul—out of your body when he put it on you.<br/>
<br/>
But then, if your mind, your soul, was ripped from your body, how come your body was able to talk to Dana when she ambled out to talk to you, and to drive off afterward? Was it only some kind of robot until Prescott's mind and soul went into it? <br/>
<br/>
Or—! <br/>
<br/>
(It's a good thing you like science-fiction; it's helping you come up with ideas about what's happened.)<br/>
<br/>
Or what if your body really was only a wet, meaty robot when it drove away—because your soul was gone from it—and it is still only a wet, meaty robot now, because Prescott's soul is still in here with you? What if you have only sort of smothered his soul with your own?<br/>
<br/>
<i>What if you have now possessed his body, leaving yours as a kind of zombie?</i><br/>
<br/>
Would it reverse if you pulled that memory strip off yourself? Gently you pat and rub your forehead, as though you might feel the metallic strip under the skin.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I should take it off,</i> you think. <i>If I take it off, maybe it will reverse the possession, and things will go back to normal. Yes, that's what I should do!</i><br/>
<br/>
But when you raise your hand again—<br/>
<br/>
It freezes in mid-air. It's almost as if another hand has seized yours by the wrist. Sweat breaks out all over your body as you struggle to grasp yourself by the forehead. You tremble all over with the strain of forcing Prescott's body to obey your will.<br/>
<br/>
And when something cracks, it isn't the resisting force. Your hand drops into your lap.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Goddamn you, Prescott,</i> you mutter. <i>God DAMN you.</i><br/>
<br/>
Your only consolation is that he is probably in the same shape as you are. If you <i>have</i> been body swapped. If you haven't, and you've just possessed Will Prescott—<br/>
<br/>
And that's when the heavy clouds of depression are first pierced by something like a ray of hope.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I'm back!" you call as you stride in from the garage.<br/>
<br/>
"Did you eat?" Dana's mom calls back.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes! I texted you!"<br/>
<br/>
"Just making sure."<br/>
<br/>
Mrs. Pak looks up with a small but warm smile as you walk into the living room. You smile back. You exchange light chit-chat—the sort Dana and her mom would—then go up to Dana's room.<br/>
<br/>
It was a fraught moment when you put Dana's mask back on, but it fitted perfectly, giving you her appearance and her memories, even as you retained hold of your own and Will Prescott's.<br/>
<br/>
And why not? If you've possessed Will Prescott's mind and body, then you've got everything he's got.<br/>
<br/>
Including all that magic gear he picked up. It your gear now. To do with whatever you wish.<br/>
<br/>
"So tell me, Ms. Lisa Rickover," you murmur at Dana's reflection as you puckishly scope out your disguised body in the mirror; you twist a strand of her long, coarse hair between your fingertips. "What <i>are</i> you going to do with it all?"</span></div></div>


path: 1131221221212112115112
author_id: seuzz
title: A Dana's-Eye View
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You brandish the timer at Sarah as she charges from the bathroom. "Thirty seconds!" you chide her. "You owe me a minute tomorrow!" You snort as she slams her bedroom door on you, and take your turn in the bathroom.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Damn,</i> you think as you scope yourself out in the mirror as the running shower water heats up. <i>I think I hate you, Dana.</i> You grab a breast and thoughtfully flick the hardening tip. <i>You have a body like this and don't do anything with it? You should be arrested.</i> With another soft snort you get under the water and wet yourself down all over.<br/>
<br/>
You can't help resenting the tight, clear skin and the bulging boobs and the taut muscles as you soap yourself down, even though they belong to you now. Your own body was—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Is,</i> you correct yourself. <i>My own body </i>is<i> still out there. I don't know who's in it or running it, but it is still out there.</i><br/>
<br/>
Anyway, your own body is flabby and white with a tendency toward acne, no matter how much you scrub. Dana also has to work to keep her complexion clear. But when her complexion clears up, it leaves her face smooth and glowing. It leaves yours looking like bleached soil awaiting a new crop of zits.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Jesus, if I had a body like this,</i> you mutter to yourself, <i>I'd do more with it than fight off David Johnson and moon over Shawn Gregory.<br/>
<br/>
Yeah, Shawn Gregory.</i> A light smirk settles on your lips. How satisfying to have confirmed your intuition about Dana's crush. Alyssa shot it down when you mentioned it during a study group, but you could tell that she thought you were right. She just didn't want to have to deal with the drama that would ensue if it ever came out.<br/>
<br/>
But there's a deeper smile behind your smirk. <i>If I had a body like this,</i> you said. Because, of course, you do. Now. And it's not just "like" Dana's body. It <i>is</i> Dana's body.<br/>
<br/>
You're going to be Dana Pak at school today.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Can I look at your homework?" David says as you sit down in front of you. He twirls a pencil between his fingers, and there's a wet, worried look behind his eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"I did it okay," you retort. "You don't have to check it."<br/>
<br/>
He flinches. "I wanna check that <i>I</i> did it okay."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Liar,</i> you think, but dig your homework out and shove it at him.<br/>
<br/>
<i>But did I do it right?</i> you wonder. In addition to her other strengths, Dana is better at calculus than you are. At first you felt giddy as you worked at it—the problems seemed to sort themselves out as you looked at them. But now you feel panic: Dana isn't actually <i>that</i> good at math—she's a B student, whereas you're a C student—and maybe you felt overconfident because for the first time almost in your life you felt <i>minimally</i> confident at math.<br/>
<br/>
And yes, David grunts and sits up to point an error out to you.<br/>
<br/>
You pretend to concentrate on the correction as Lisa Rickover brushes past you.<br/>
<br/>
A sweat breaks out under your clothes, all over.<br/>
<br/>
<i>That's you!</i><br/>
<br/>
It's as creepy as if your reflection busted out of a mirror and got loose in the world. The thing that should mimic you, that should follow you, that should <i>be</i> you, is now walking around, muttering under its breath and throwing itself into a desk—into <i>your</i> desk—and taking out a cell phone—<i>your</i> cell phone—and pawing through <i>your</i> book bag. What an ugly expression it has on its face, too! Pinched and angry and flushed. Its hair is even brushed the wrong way, left to right instead of right to left. <br/>
<br/>
You have to retrieve your attention when David pokes you and plucks your homework away again.<br/>
<br/>
You watch "Lisa Rickover" out of the corner of your eye. She doesn't look like she's paying any attention to you, but she also doesn't look like she's deliberately ignoring you, either. You were dreading this moment since arriving at school. What if "Lisa" wasn't at school? What if she came over and demanded to talk to you? What if you caught her eyeing and spying on you?<br/>
<br/>
But after five minutes of nothing happening, you just start to feel ... bored. Should you go over and confront her, and  to talk to her? Maybe she's waiting for you to make the first move, same as you're waiting for her to. But then, wouldn't you at least notice her waiting, giving you surreptitious looks? If that's what she's doing now, she's doing a really good job of hiding it.<br/>
<br/>
So your instinct for caution soon wins out. If there's been a real body swap, if that's Will Prescott over there, pretending to be you, maybe it's best if you pretend like you don't know what's going on, the way the real Dana (hidden under a mask of Will Prescott) doesn't know what has happened to her.<br/>
<br/>
With all the body-hopping going on, it just seems best to keep still and quiet, at least for a little bit.<br/>
<br/>
Especially when you're the one in possession of that grimoire and all the tools that it can make.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Missed you at lunch," Matt Isaacs says next period as he squeezes himself into the desk across from yours. He's just getting fatter and fatter; maybe (you think unkindly) he should miss some more lunches himself. "You finish that homework you had for this afternoon?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>What homework?</i> you start to reply, then remember the excuse you gave David and his friends for skipping lunch with them. (You were actually reading and digesting the email from Fake-Will about the situation at Westside with Chelsea Cooper and his friends.) "Did I miss anything?"<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs. Then, with a quizzical frown, he says, "Maddy Caron and then Tina Branson came over to our table to talk to Melissa. She looked freaked out afterward." He turns to give you a direct look. "Is something going on with her?" <br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. What did they talk to her about?" Your pulse quickens even as your blood chills.<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs again. "Just, like, weekend plans and stuff, I think."<br/>
<br/>
"So what makes you think something's going on with Melissa?"<br/>
<br/>
He deflates. "Beats me," he mutters. "It's all over my pay grade anyway."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Everything's over your pay grade,</i> you think. <i>Except chemistry, math, and Spider-Man.</i><br/>
<br/>
But he's given you food for thought. If Maddy and Tina are interested in Melissa, it can only be because someone told them about her and Adam Karter, and the only person who would have done that is "Lisa Rickover." But you weren't actually that interested in Dana's bit of gossip when she shared it; so what have they heard since then to get them interested?<br/>
<br/>
All such preoccupations flee, though, when Frank Durras, one of the hot new basketball players, slides with a panther's grace into the desk behind Matt. Tall, dark, and ripped sure contrasts favorably with fat, sweaty, and easily winded. You wish you had the nerve to talk to him.<br/>
<br/>
So does Dana.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Instead, you settle for having a talk with Alyssa.<br/>
<br/>
Alysssa Randal is the captain of the Eastman cheerleader squad: a strong, buxom, African-American girl with a forceful personality but a cheerful, friendly manner. Talking to her is like being flattened by a battering ram made of rose petals.<br/>
<br/>
At least, that's how it seems to be with other people. You long ago lost patience, and now just find her bull-headed when she doesn't listen to you, and patronizing when she does.<br/>
<br/>
But in addition to running the cheerleader squad, Alyssa runs the "Rumorati," the unofficial, seven-girl clearinghouse for news and gossip at Eastman High. Up until yesterday, you were one of them.<br/>
<br/>
As Eastman's own walking, talking Reddit board of rumor and commentary, Alyssa (no surprise) is busy talking to people outside the door to her Yearbook class when you catch up to her. Summer Nguyen, the most junior member of the Rumorati, is standing deferentially at her elbow as Alyssa talks a mile-a-minute at Mandy Simpson, a more senior member. Your lips twitch a little to see Ian Carpenter, captain of the basketball squad, looming nearby with an interested expression on his face. Rhianna Miller—who is only a cheerleader but one of Alyssa's close friends—is also there.<br/>
<br/>
"—how come she's gonna ruin everything for them if she's not careful," Alyssa is saying. There's a hot gleam in her eye, but a smile at her lips. Whatever she's mad about, she's enjoying it too. "Never mind that she's ripping her own team apart, but it's none of her business how her boyfriend runs things on the—"<br/>
<br/>
It irks you that she ignores you, even as you barge right up to stare her directly in the face. It irks you more to see Summer give you a direct, blank look. <i>If I were still me, she wouldn't dare look at me that way,</i> you think.<br/>
<br/>
"Why were Maddy and Tina talking to Melissa at lunch?" you blurt out when you are finally sick of being ignored.<br/>
<br/>
Alyssa freezes in mid-sentence, and turns slowly toward you. The others look equally startled. You just put out your lower lip and raise your chin.<br/>
<br/>
"Beg pardon?" Alyssa says. You repeat your question. "Beg pardon," she repeats, putting a harder edge on it.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not begging anything from you Alyssa," you exclaim. "I just want to know—"<br/>
<br/>
You flinch and twist as Ian tries taking you by the elbow. "Don't touch me!" you yell.<br/>
<br/>
Alyssa snorts—audible over the noise of the hallway—and gestures the other girls to follow her into the classroom. Ian blocks you from following.<br/>
<br/>
You seethe. <i>Who the fuck is Alyssa Randal to ignore you?</i><br/>
<br/>
Except you know there's a colder question underneath: <i>Who is Dana Pak that Alyssa would pay attention to her?</i><br/>
<br/>
But you've got the tools to give yourself a new identity. Maybe you should use them.</span></div></div>


path: 11312212212121121151122
author_id: seuzz
title: A Carpenter Tries Mending Things
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The bell rings, so you don't stick around to argue. "Dana!" someone shouts as you wheel and march off for class, but you ignore them.<br/>
<br/>
A hand grabs you by the elbow as you're turning onto the A-wing stairwell. You jerk away but spin around to glare at your assailant.<br/>
<br/>
It's Ian. He grins down at you.<br/>
<br/>
You have to catch your breath.<br/>
<br/>
Ian Carpenter is tall—of course; he's the captain of the boys' basketball squad—and his chocolaty summertime tan still glows in his face and on his limbs. His chestnut-brown hair, chopped into short spikes, glints with highlights. His smile, under peaked eyebrows, is elfin; an impression amplified by the slight point in his ears. He leans and looms over you, and you have the momentary impression—which sucks the air from your lungs—that he's going to put his hand around the back of your shoulder and pull you to himself.<br/>
<br/>
"H'wuh?" you say when you realize he said something you didn't catch through the rush of blood in your ears.<br/>
<br/>
"What did you want to talk to Alyssa about?" he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh." You feel yourself flushing all over again with anger. "Nothing, I guess."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, don't go away mad. Why don't you just tell me—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm going to be late to class, Ian."<br/>
<br/>
"So am I," he retorts. "But I got all the time you need."<br/>
<br/>
Your heart skips as his white, gleaming smile widens.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen," he says when you don't reply. "What are you doing after school? I got practice, but after that I can hang out." He leans in a little closer.<br/>
<br/>
"With Alyssa?" Your throat closes around the words, so that they come out as a choke.<br/>
<br/>
"No, with you. If you don't want Alyssa around, we won't have to have Alyssa around. Come hang out in my rec room. We'll get Kyle and Jenny, maybe a couple of other guys. Eat cookies, put on some music, have fun."<br/>
<br/>
You blink—it's like your eyes are stuttering. <i>How come?</i> you want to ask. <i>What's the catch?</i> "Well, I'll have to see," you stammer.<br/>
<br/>
"Good," Ian says. The tardy bell rings. "Unless you want to skip class, hang out now."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I— I got to get to class."<br/>
<br/>
"Where you off to?"<br/>
<br/>
"Physics."<br/>
<br/>
"I got History. I'll text you after practice."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to."<br/>
<br/>
"You'll text me?" His eyebrows go up. "Promise?"<br/>
<br/>
Now you feel trapped and blushing. "Yes, I promise." You turn and hurry up the stairs. At the top, you risk a look back down.<br/>
<br/>
Ian has gone, but you can still feel his presence near you, like the lingering scent of his aftershave.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Calm the fuck down, Dana,</i> you chide yourself as you wait at the crosswalk in front of the school. <i>It's not like Ian asked you out on a date,</i> you remind yourself. There's a pack of kids around you, all chortling and poking at each other, and they jostle you. <i>He's just being nosy on Alyssa's account.</i><br/>
<br/>
But you can't make it stop: the butterflies in your stomach, the trembling in your joints, the helpless panic like you're being tossed over churning rapids.<br/>
<br/>
To make it worse, you know it's not Dana who feels this way. It's you, Lisa Rickover.<br/>
<br/>
The signal changes, and you lurch across the street.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, sure, Dana also likes Ian, admires him, would love to hang out with him. But that's mostly because she's got a crush on Shawn Gregory, Ian's best friend. You're the one with a thing for the captain of the basketball team. A "thing" that goes all the way back to middle school, when Ian was only half a head, not a head-and-a-half, taller than you.<br/>
<br/>
He was cheeky and charismatic even back then, one of the leaders of the boys' pack. You got to share a P.E. class with him in seventh grade, and you've had classes off and on with him ever since, and he's always been friendly with you.<br/>
<br/>
It's just that he's always been more cheerful and a lot more friendly with other girls, it seems like. Even if he knows your name, and talks to you when you're sitting next to him, it's like you're a stranger he's being polite to. Certainly, he never chased <i>you</i> between classes, or badgered you into coming out to his house to hang out with friends. Certainly, he never acted like <i>you</i> were someone to be conciliated when you got crossways with Alyssa.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Alyssa.</i> Your toes curl with anger as your thoughts pair Ian and the head cheerleader.<br/>
<br/>
Because he's got a crush on her. It's been an open secret for a year now, at least, a secret that Alyssa herself knows and ignores. As hard as David Johnson moons after Dana Pak, so too does Ian Carpenter moon after Alyssa Randal.<br/>
<br/>
And she does nothing about it.<br/>
<br/>
Hence the blurry fantasy you've sometimes had, of shoving Alyssa off the top of the Mobley Building (Saratoga Falls' tallest structure). Ian would be there. "Alyssa!" he'd shout, and reach out to save her, but she'd bounce off the street below and go bouncing off across the skyline, like a hard rubber ball. And then Ian would freeze and look at you, as though seeing you for the first time. And he'd grin that elfin grin—only it would be a little lopsided, on account of the erection (yes, the fantasy is that vivid)—and he'd ask if you'd like to hang out someplace.<br/>
<br/>
But now it's happened. Ian has finally given you a direct look, and smiled at you as though he likes what he sees.<br/>
<br/>
And all it took was being body-swapped with a scruffy teenage boy who has disguised himself as your classmate, Dana Pak.<br/>
<br/>
You always knew it would take a miracle to get Ian to notice you.<br/>
<br/>
You blink in anger and confusion and look around. You're standing in the parking lot of Redway Plaza, across from the high school. Why did you come here?<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh yeah. To kill time inside Paris Baguette while waiting for Ian to finish basketball practice.</i> You stride into the bistro and get yourself a coffee.<br/>
<br/>
It gets cold long before you finish it, as you stew over your circumstances.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Oh, fucking Karter." Ian laughs. He's splayed across a beanbag chair, face turned at the ceiling, his legs spread wide as he twirls a basketball on a forefinger. "Sucks to be him."<br/>
<br/>
You'd love to spread yourself atop him, pinioning his hips between your knees and digging your arms under and behind his shoulders. But it's not the two of you alone here, in his knotty-pine-paneled rec room basement. Besides him and you and the beanbag chair and the futon (and the pinball machine and the Galaga arcade game machine and the flat screen TV and the refrigerator and mini-bar) there's the lumpy brown sofa and its two occupants.<br/>
<br/>
Jenny Taylor, captain of the girls' soccer team, winces even as she smiles. "Just because he lives in a trailer park," she starts to say.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't mean that," Ian interrupts. "I mean, sucks to be him since Joe Durras moved to town." He laughs again—a clear, bell-like peal—as he tosses the ball lightly from one hand to the other.<br/>
<br/>
"Who's Joe's latest?" asks her boyfriend, Kyle Lakewood. He's the captain of the boys' soccer team.<br/>
<br/>
"He's still on Becky, last I noticed," Ian says. He raises his head to grin at Jenny. "But maybe you should tell Penny to watch out. I caught Joe scoping her out in Cussler's class the other day."<br/>
<br/>
"Penny who?" you blurt out.<br/>
<br/>
"My Penny?" Jenny gasps. Her eyes narrow. "I thought Joe was working his way through the cheerleader squad."<br/>
<br/>
"Like a combine through a corn field," Kyle chortles. Jenny punches him in the leg.<br/>
<br/>
Ian laughs too. "Can you imagine if Frank was as bad as his brother?" He goes back to twirling the ball. "It would be like the wounded after a battle, except it would be girls, all laying on their backs, moaning."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus, you're disgusting!" Jenny exclaims. But her eyes are shining, and her face glows.<br/>
<br/>
Ian catches you staring at him. He raises his head, and tosses the ball off his fingertips to Kyle. <br/>
<br/>
"I don't think you have to worry about Melissa or her reputation," he says, for you've told him by now what you wanted to talk to Alyssa about. "Karter should be worried about his."<br/>
<br/>
"You make it sound like Melissa is a sloppy second or something," Jenny objects.<br/>
<br/>
"Isn't that what it said on x2z?" Ian lifts a hip to dig out his cell phone. "But I didn't mean it like that."<br/>
<br/>
"What did you mean it like?"<br/>
<br/>
But Ian doesn't answer. He peers at his cell phone and grunts. "Summer's on her way over,"  he says.<br/>
<br/>
Your blood chills. <i>The hell?</i> you want to ask.<br/>
<br/>
Instead, you get to your feet. "I should be going." The others look at you in surprise. "Thanks for talking things out," you tell Ian. "You don't have to get up," you add as he struggles upright.<br/>
<br/>
But he insists on accompanying you out. "Listen," he says, catching you at the door by the elbow. "Don't worry about Melissa," he says. "And don't worry about Lisa and them."<br/>
<br/>
"Lisa?" you echo.<br/>
<br/>
"Alyssa," he corrects himself. "That's why you're running out now, right? 'Cos I said Summer is coming over?"<br/>
<br/>
"I have to go anyway," you murmur, and pull away. Again, you look back after you're away. And again, Ian has left without waiting for you to disappear.<br/>
<br/>
<i>But you said 'Lisa',</i> you hiss to yourself as you grip the SUV's steering wheel.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
A new identity. That's what you want. And you want one that can hurt Alyssa.<br/>
<br/>
How would she feel if Ian stopped chasing her? As another of the Rumorati, you could sabotage her. Jenny Taylor has a lot of pull at school, and could be a dangerous (if secret) adversary.<br/>
<br/>
Or you could turn yourself <i>into</i> Alyssa.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 113122122121211211511221
author_id: seuzz
title: A Rapidly Developing Situation
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"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."<br/>
<br/>
"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.<br/>
<br/>
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."  <i>When is she going to come over and say something to me?</i> 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.<br/>
<br/>
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.<br/>
<br/>
"I hope you don't want this thing finished real soon," Fake-Will says as he starts unpacking things. <br/>
<br/>
"As soon as you can get it done is soon enough for me."<br/>
<br/>
"So, by graduation?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be a smart-ass." You take out your cell phone.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hey didnt mean to get u mad at me,</i> Logan texted you after lunch. <i>Just wanted to help. U seem worried.</i> His text is liberally sprinkled with emojis that are weeping and emojis that are sweating.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Understand but nothing u can do,</i> 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.<br/>
<br/>
<i>It was probably Tina,</i> you decide with a spiteful smirk. <i>Or Maddy.</i> 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. <i>Oh, but I'm not Lisa anymore, I'm Dana,</i> you remember. And then you remember how mad you are at Alyssa. Which is why—<br/>
<br/>
"How you doin' over there?" you call to Fake-Will, who is glaring into the mixing bowl.<br/>
<br/>
"I can't get it to light," he barks back. "Five fucking matches, and—"<br/>
<br/>
"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. <br/>
<br/>
"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."<br/>
<br/>
"Keeping the easy work for yourself, huh?" he grumbles.<br/>
<br/>
"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."<br/>
<br/>
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.<br/>
<br/>
Well, that's something to think about later. You flip backward to the earlier spell and set to work mixing ingredients. <br/>
<br/>
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.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
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: <i>all dun what want me do now?<br/>
<br/>
Learn how to text,</i> you want to reply, but instead you ask what he means by "all dun." <i>dun polshing mask,</i> he replies. <i>used car bufer.</i><br/>
<br/>
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.<br/>
<br/>
"None of your business," you tell him. "Except I'll need your help. I'm going to use this on another girl at Eastman."<br/>
<br/>
"You're not tired of being this girl here, are you, boss?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Boss.</i> You like the sound of the word.<br/>
<br/>
"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.<br/>
<br/>
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. <i>That's just about where I parked,</i> you think. You turn to Fake-Will, who is watching through the window with you. "Okay, go do it."<br/>
<br/>
"Always up to me," he murmurs as he trots up the wooden stairs leading outside.<br/>
<br/>
You hold your breath as he fades into the darkness, then let it out again when your phone chimes with a text: <i>dun.</i> You join him out by Summer Nguyen's car. "Did she say anything?" you ask Fake-Will.<br/>
<br/>
"Just 'Are you the guy I'm supposed to <i>mmgmphh!</i>" 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.<br/>
<br/>
"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?"<br/>
<br/>
"I remember doing it before."<br/>
<br/>
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.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
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.<br/>
<br/>
You try to turn around. <i>Head rush.</i> And something bumps you. The world spins. You put out your arms and touch fabric that is firm but yielding.<br/>
<br/>
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.<br/>
<br/>
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.<br/>
<br/>
His name is "Will Prescott." But how do you know that?<br/>
<br/>
"You okay, boss?" he asks. "Remember, you told me to remind of who you really are and what's going on."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Who I am?</i> The question frightens you. You know who you are!<br/>
<br/>
And now fright completely overwhelms you. <i>I don't know what I'm doing!</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>So make another one of those fancy memory strips,</i> a voice inside you urges. <i>Use it on someone. Use it to make a friend.<br/>
<br/>
Use it to make a partner!</i><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 1131221221212112115112212
author_id: seuzz
title: The Summer of Our Discontent
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>But your sense of panic doesn't last. Even as you frantically gulp down deep draughts of the cool night air, the world—and your place in it—comes into focus.<br/>
<br/>
"You okay, boss?" Fake-Will asks as you ball up your fists and press them into your face.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," you gasp. "Just give me a minute."<br/>
<br/>
The seconds tick by as Summer Nguyen steps behind you like a shadow and Lisa Rickover oozes to the fore. "Nngh," you grunt.<br/>
<br/>
"Does it hit you hard?" asks Dana Pak. "Changing into other people, I mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah," you groan. "Do you remember anything from when it was, um, you?" She shakes her head. "What <i>do</i> you remember?"<br/>
<br/>
"Up until when?" she asks. "I remember texting Summer and going home to change, and waiting for her with, uh—" She glances at Fake-Will. "Then getting in the back of the car. I kind of remember grabbing my own face."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you remember being a real cunt to me?" Fake-Will says.<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up!"<br/>
<br/>
"There, you see?" Fake-Will exclaims. He points at the other doppelganger. "I was gonna tell you, boss, all the time we were waiting, she was all, like—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, shut up, both of you," you snap. "I have to get home. I think. Except first— Ow!" You bump your head on the roof of the car as you sit up. "I have to change clothes. Come on." You open the car door. "Not you," you tell Fake-Will as he opens his own door. "Just us girls."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, I already know what you look like under there!" he retorts. "Under the clothes <i>and</i> under the mask!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>But you don't know what's under the face that's under the mask, do you?</i> you think. <i>You think I'm Will Prescott all the way down.</i> "Was he a lot of trouble while you were waiting for me?" you ask Fake-Dana as you pick your way over the side yard toward the basement door.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah. He kept telling me we should start hanging out together, said it would give him 'major cred' back at Westside."<br/>
<br/>
You probe at Will Prescott's memories, like searching for cavities with your tongue. <i>I'm pretty sure he wasn't serious,</i> you could tell Fake-Dana. But what's the point?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You feel their eyes on you as you slide into the school library the next morning; your skin prickles under their gaze, as though under a heat lamp. <i>Every guy in here are looking at me.</i><br/>
<br/>
Well, you spent a lot of time admiring yourself this morning too. Summer's skin is darker than Dana's; her face is narrower. But it shares the same exciting tinge of the exotic. Her face itself is like a mask.<br/>
<br/>
Maddy Caron and Mandy Simpson are sharing the table at the center of the library; they've reserved the other chairs by laying their backpacks in them. But Lawrence Farmer and Terry Fitzgerald, at the next table over, lean back to chat with them.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," you greet Maddy softly, and prod at the pack in the chair next to her. "You hear back anything about Brad and Irene?"<br/>
<br/>
Maddy glances up, and pulls her bag into her lap so you can sit. "No," she says, and flips her cell phone over, screen down. Your heart thumps. <i>She's keeping something from me. She doesn't trust me. I've fucked up somewhere.</i><br/>
<br/>
"What's the good word, Summer?" Terry says. He stretches a skinny arm toward you. You shyly slap at his palm. "You hanging out with Chris this afternoon, or can we practice?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself blush. "I don't know."<br/>
<br/>
"Speak up, Summer," Mandy chides you. But you only hang your head and try to shrink up inside yourself.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Poor Summer!</i> you think as a secret smile creases your soul. She's one of Alyssa's projects, a shy, sweet girl who "just needs bringing out" in order to blossom. Or so Alyssa told her friends. But to be part in Alyssa's group is to be included in all the Rumorati's projects. And Summer has no talent for gathering, digesting, analyzing, and disseminating the rumors, gossip, and news that buzzes and crackles through Eastman High. <br/>
<br/>
Which, you've found, makes her the perfect tool for causing mayhem. Just spin her around and point her in the wrong direction, and she'll run off and—with nothing worse than sweet, clumsy naivete—cause a clown-car pile up.<br/>
<br/>
"Morning, all." You flinch at the familiar bray, and scoot over as Lisa Rickover dumps Mandy's pack from a chair and takes it for her own. "What's the Brad-Irene situation," she asks Maddy.<br/>
<br/>
"We should wait for Alyssa," Maddy says, her eyes flicking in your direction.<br/>
<br/>
"She's going to be late. She was up all night with Ian."<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" Lawrence's eyebrows go up.<br/>
<br/>
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Farmer," Lisa snorts. "Ian was only slipping her some bad advice."<br/>
<br/>
"Ian?" Mandy squeaks. Her eyes widen. "About what?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel it, rather than see it: Lisa glances at you from the corner of her eye. "Talk about it when Alyssa comes," she says. "Until then— Brad and Irene."<br/>
<br/>
Your gut seizes up, and you bolt to your feet. You and the contents of your stomach both wobble, and you totter out of the library to the nearest restroom. It's packed with sophomore girls checking their makeup, but you only need a toilet. You lock yourself in a stall and steady yourself over the bowl until the nausea passes.<br/>
<br/>
<i>It's all your fault, Lisa!</i> you think as you dig your nails into the palms of your hands.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
And yet you have to admire the finesse of the move. It was so subtle that Summer shouldn't have been able to spot it, which makes your dash to the restroom out of character. Only the fact that you're the real Lisa Rickover, and that you yourself set it all in motion before this body swap, gives you the insight to understand how she set Summer up so perfectly.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hey, next time you see Chris Yves,</i> you told Summer on Monday, <i>ask her if Adam and Melissa Swenson have a serious thing going.</i> Summer said that Chris wouldn't want to pry, so you suggested that Summer ask Karter directly.<br/>
<br/>
Summer had, and swallowed Karter's brag that he banged Melissa over the weekend. A shocked and gullible Summer had texted the word back to you.<br/>
<br/>
Which is entirely as you anticipated. There's no need to ask Adam Karter what he did with a girl, because he <i>always</i> brags of hitting a home run with them.<br/>
<br/>
Then the body swap happened, but you can guess the consequences, because they were part of the plan. Lisa—or who or whatever "Lisa Rickover" now is—passed the news along to the other Rumorati, crediting it to Summer. By the time it got to Alyssa—who would have squelched it as unreliable brag—it was filtering all through the school.<br/>
<br/>
So with one deft move, you had (without leaving fingerprints behind) created a real mess for Alyssa to deal with, and undercut Summer with the rest of the Rumorati. Alyssa will have rapped the other girls across the knuckles fuck up, and they'll be taking it out on Summer.<br/>
<br/>
Which actually complicates your existence now, doesn't it? Even if Summer recovers her footing—and you, as Summer, can certainly do that—it will be awhile before Alyssa or anyone else again trusts Summer or her judgment. <br/>
<br/>
Which means that if you're going to make trouble using Summer, you're going to set up some carefully stage-managed "accidents."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But maybe there was a flaw in your original plan. Because when second period comes, Tina Branson has a question for you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," she drawls in her soft, Southern accent before class starts. "You know, about Adam and Melissa?" She turns all the way around in her chair to settle her elbows on your desk. "Did you talk to Adam direct? Or did you talk to Chris?"<br/>
<br/>
All your mental machinery whirls into action. <i>What would Lisa have told Tina and them? Should your reply now match Lisa's? And which answer—Adam or Chris—would do you the most good?</i><br/>
<br/>
"Chris," you stammer. No time to game it all out—this is what quick calculation and instinct tell you to reply.<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" Tina's eyebrows go up. "What did she say exactly? What did you ask her?"<br/>
<br/>
"It just came up kind of randomly," you quaver. <i>Leave out that it was Lisa's idea that you poke around and ask about Adam and Melissa.</i> "I, um, we were hanging out, and she was talking about things. She mentioned him." Tina stares, so you continue. "She mentioned that, um, Adam and Melissa had—" You hesitate over what verb to use. "Gone out over the weekend."<br/>
<br/>
Tina's eyebrows go up again. "That's all? They just went out?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, she said— Chris was mad about what he did with her. She said, um—" You gulp and break off.<br/>
<br/>
Tina leans forward, her eyes, usually so soft, hardening. "What exactly did she say, Summer?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself blushing to the roots of your hair. "I don't remember <i>exactly.</i> But she sure made it sound like, um—"<br/>
<br/>
"Did she <i>mention</i> them going upstairs at the Warehouse?" Tina's tone has now turned prosecutorial.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, yes," you say in a small voice. "That's why I was so, you know, like—" You swallow again. "Wow. Because it doesn't seem like Melissa would, you know—"<br/>
<br/>
Melissa sighs and silences you with a wave of her hand. "Alyssa wants to talk to Chris," she says. "So, you know, maybe you should tell Chris what's heading her way." She gives you a prim look before turning back around.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Well, that kind of meeting could blow things up real good, because Chris Yves will deny talking to Summer about Adam and Melissa. But does Alyssa have to meet up with the real Chris Yves?<br/>
<br/>
Hell, now that you think of it, Summer's girlfriend might be an even better place to hide and manipulate things from.</span></div></div>


path: 11312212212121121151122122
author_id: seuzz
title: The Problem Solver
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>She gives you a very hard and direct look as you shuffle up the driveway to where she's waiting. A tremble passes through you. <i>Maybe she's already heard from Alyssa,</i> you think. <i>Maybe I'm already in so much shit I'll never dig myself out.</i><br/>
<br/>
But then the smile blazes across Chris Yves's face. "There's the cream for my coffee," she says. She stills the squirm in your shoulders by putting her arm around them.<br/>
<br/>
The sun has already set, so that it's by the fluorescent lights of the garage that you and Chris embrace. She kisses the side of your head. "I didn't think you were ever going to show up," she murmurs.<br/>
<br/>
It is later than you wanted. But you had to make a new memory strip and glue it into one of the masks that Fake-Will had polished up for you.<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't you have anyone to hang out with, talk with?" you ask her. You press your fingertips into her back, and indulge Summer's thrill at having this sexy, powerful girl as a lover.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, we had a band practice."<br/>
<br/>
"No one else?"<br/>
<br/>
"Was I supposed to hang out with anyone else?" Chris's tone is very neutral.<br/>
<br/>
You let the shiver out. "I thought Alyssa was supposed to talk to you."<br/>
<br/>
Chris says nothing at first, which is all the reply you need. "Let's go inside," she says.<br/>
<br/>
You drop your own hand from her, but she keeps an arm around your torso as you pass from the garage into the house. It's a big house, sitting on the northeastern side of town, for her father is an executive at an aerospace firm. You glimpse him and Chris's mother in the den where they are watching a big screen television; to your relief, they don't see you and Chris as you cross the wide entryway.<br/>
<br/>
"So what's this about Alyssa?" Chris asks when you're upstairs in her bedroom. If you didn't have Summer's memories, you'd be surprised at how pink and girly it is, for Chris Yves cuts her hair butch-dyke short, and front a punk band. <i>Well, I'll have her figured out soon enough,</i> you tell yourself as you drop your shoulder pack onto her bed.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm in trouble with her," you tell Chris in a small voice as you unzip the pack.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh?"<br/>
<br/>
You nod, and sniff. "I talked to Adam about something the other night. And he told me something, and I told some of the other girls, and now it's all around school."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, Summer." Chris sighs. "You shouldn't be talking to Karter anyway, and you sure as fuck shouldn't be passing along anything he says to Alyssa and them." She makes a face.<br/>
<br/>
"You'll help me out, right?" you say as you tug the blank mask from the bag.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know if I can," Chris says.<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't asking." You turn and thrust mask into her face. The blow jars your arm up to the shoulder as her head jerks back. She falls onto her bed with a hard bounce. "I was <i>telling</i> you," you continue as you clamber atop her and stare gravely down into her vacant expression. "You're going to help me out, Chris. A lot."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You tug the boot laces tight, then snatch up the halter top, pulling it down over your head and shoulders in one quick, tight snapping motion. You throw back the closet door so you can scope out your new reflection in the full-length mirror that hangs on its inner surface. Chris Yves glares back at you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Christ, but I like this,</i> you gloat even as your glare deepens.<br/>
<br/>
It's almost like being back in your original body. Chris Yves is almost as pasty as Lisa Rickover, but with light freckles instead of incipient acne, and with a Koosh-ball brush-cut of dark hair. But in the white top, black canvas pants, and laced-up boots, it's a much more bad-ass look. It doesn't hurt that Yves (as she's more commonly known among her friends) has a glare that makes football players swerve.<br/>
<br/>
And the fact that she fronts the best garage band in Saratoga Falls—The Hi Hats—gives her even more cred. She doesn't have to tie herself to Alyssa Randal's pom-poms in order to get people to respect her.<br/>
<br/>
You have to wince just a tiny bit at the utter contempt that Yves feels for the Rumorati (except for Alyssa herself, and Summer).<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus Christ, honey," you snort at Summer, who is curled up on the bed with her knees under her chin and her feet clasped in her hands. "You are in deep shit, you know that?"<br/>
<br/>
"I know," she says in a small voice. "I told Tina that <i>Chris</i> told me about—"<br/>
<br/>
"And when Alyssa called me after school I told her I didn't know jack shit about it all." You climb onto the bed and put your nose into Summer's face. You breath softly into it, then briefly pinch her lower lip between your teeth before pushing her onto her back. "So Alyssa is really furious with you." You straddle her, and pin her at the shoulders. "You are in so much shit."<br/>
<br/>
Then you fall atop her, searching out her mouth with yours. She resists at first, then relaxes as you kiss her all up and down the side of her neck and face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Yo, Yves!" Adam Karter jerks his chin at you and grins as you stomp up to him. "How's it—? Yeaaaagghhh!"<br/>
<br/>
He gasps and flails as you grab him by his shock of white-blonde hair and haul his skinny ass around the corner of the school wing. Other kids turn and laugh.<br/>
<br/>
"Last weekend," you snarl as you throw him against the wall. "You and Melissa Swenson. At the Warehouse. What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
He only gapes at you.<br/>
<br/>
So you pin him by the shoulder against the wall and raise a knee. He throws his hands across his crotch and grins weakly at you. <br/>
<br/>
"S'matter, Yves?" he chortles. "Jealous I didn't hang out with you instead?"<br/>
<br/>
"You cocksucking son of a bitch! Just answer the fucking question!"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know what you're asking! Whaddaya wanna know? The sticky details?"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Was</i> it sticky? You take her upstairs or anything?"<br/>
<br/>
Karter only grins and rolls his eyes. He jerks his narrow shoulders in a shrug.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm pissed at you, Karter! Really pee-oh'd!" You knee him in the groin—not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to make him gasp and pale. "I had to <i>lie</i> to someone because of you!"<br/>
<br/>
And that gets his attention. His eyes widen as though he's been slapped, and his lips whiten. "What's the deal?" he asks, and there's a sober unhappiness behind the question.<br/>
<br/>
"You tell me first what happened between you and Melissa. Last weekend."<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs again. "We hung out. Danced. Made out." He rolls his tongue around in his cheek. "You know."<br/>
<br/>
"You danced. Standing up or horizontally?"<br/>
<br/>
His lips twitch. "We didn't get horizontal."<br/>
<br/>
"You told Summer you did." You set your jaw and glare hard at him.<br/>
<br/>
He grins over your head. "Yeah, sure I told her that," he says. "If someone asks me, it's not like I'm gonna— I mean I got a reputation to keep up."<br/>
<br/>
"A reputation as a fucking man-whore. Jesus, Karter!" You release him, and stifle a sniff. "You know, there's other kinds of reputation worth having."<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs, looks away, grins.<br/>
<br/>
Every one of Chris Yves's misplaced maternal instincts rush to the fore. You want to seize Karter's face between your hands, force him to look at you, and scream <i>Grow the fuck up!</i> He's still just a puppy, and maybe there's still time to housebreak him ...<br/>
<br/>
"Well, don't worry," you tell him, your voice rough with choked-back emotion. "As far as the <i>whole fucking school</i> is concerned, you just nailed another one. Maybe you should think about the <i>girl's</i> fucking reputation, though. Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? Look who I'm talking to!"<br/>
<br/>
Karter looks hurt. But when he speaks, he doesn't ask about Melissa. He asks about you: "But what's this about you having to lie because of me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like you give a fuck." You wheel and stalk away.<br/>
<br/>
But he runs after. "No, Yves, really, what—?" He touches your shoulder, and you slap him away. "I wanna make it up to you, whatever it was you had to do!" he hollers.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe you should stop worrying about the lies <i>I</i> have to tell because of you," you yell back at him over your shoulder, "and start worrying about the lies you tell <i>other</i> people!"<br/>
<br/>
You practically rip the nearest door off its hinges and barge into the school, searching out the nearest restroom. It's one of the relatively empty ones, and you only have to shove one girl out of the way so you can get at the sink. She makes a noise, but backs away when you glare murderously at her reflection.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It is a shit show, you confirmed that last night after turning yourself into Chris Yves. Alyssa now believes that Summer lied to Tina about hearing that gossip from Yves, which more or less destroys Summer for good as a member of the Rumorati. As Lisa Rickover, you feel spiteful pleasure at seeing Summer so destroyed—she never had any business being part of the group. But of course, that also destroys her as a tool for making mischief against Alyssa; and as "Chris Yves" it rouses your fury against "Lisa Rickover."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hmm. "Lisa Rickover."</i> You repeat the name to yourself, emphasizing the quotation marks you put around it every time you think of the ... person ... who is walking around inside your old body. Maybe there's a way of deflecting all the blame onto "her." Which might have the effect of smoking out the real ... person ... inside it.<br/>
<br/>
Or instead of trying to solve the problem, you could make things even worse for Alyssa. Stir the crisis up so that it gets even hotter?<br/>
<br/>
Or set a fire someplace else?</span></div></div>


path: 113122122121211211511221223
author_id: seuzz
title: The Fire Starter
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"So who's this cheerleader you set me up with?" Will Prescott asks with cheerful insolence. "Is she hot?"<br/>
<br/>
"She's very hot," you reply. "And everybody hates her," you add as you bend your face toward the memory strip. "Now shut up." You don't need any useless chatter from Fake-Will as you rush to finish up the new mask, and getting the runes right takes up most of your concentration.<br/>
<br/>
Fake-Will snorts but otherwise obeys. He is perched on a table under one of the basement windows, watching for the girl you told him would be showing up soon. Nearby lie the remnants of the meal you sent him out to fetch: a box of fried rice for himself, and vegan wraps for you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Every day the same thing,</i> you mutter to yourself as you push a crick out of your neck. Here you are again, at the old elementary school after nightfall, waiting for a girl to show up so you can copy her. Maybe you should give up on making more masks, and just use the ones you've made and inherited. <br/>
<br/>
Or maybe you should set aside an upcoming day this weekend to make a whole bunch all at once.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, I think she's here," Fake-Will chirps, and you bolt upright in a sweat. "No, wait, they're turning into a driveway across the street. Does she live around here? This girl who's coming out?" He turns a squirrel-like face on you.<br/>
<br/>
"You know any cheerleaders who live around here?" you retort. "Besides, she goes to Eastman."<br/>
<br/>
"And she's a cheerleader everyone hates," he says. "How does that work?"<br/>
<br/>
You wish you knew.<br/>
<br/>
But for some reason, Jessica Pearce, who is one of the hottest girls on the cheerleader squad—she's got strong, tight thighs and calves; an ample bosom; luscious brunette hair; and a bow-like mouth in a baby face—is a loner with no obvious friends, either male or female. It's like someone put a curse on her.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Someone named Alyssa Randal,</i> you think.<br/>
<br/>
You squirm in your seat, and the knife slips between your fingers as you think of Jessica. You're not into girls, and you made out hard with Summer Nguyen last night only because fingering a fleshy fake of the girl you resent was like scratching a maddening itch. But you're sharing a mind with a horny teenage boy <i>and</i> a very out lesbian, and the thought of Jessica Pearce makes Will Prescott stiff and Chris Yves wet. Yves even approached Jessica, before snagging Summer as her latest, thinking that Jessica might share Yves's leanings—or would at least be grateful for the attention. Jessica's reply stung like a whip across the face. But that rejection in no way cooled Yves's interest in the girl.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The time ticks closer for Jessica to show up, under the misapprehension that she'll be meeting Summer. You finish the mask with ten minutes to spare, and give it to Fake-Will. He is dressed out in a t-shirt, jacket, and track pants, and after tucking the mask into an armpit he goes outside to jog around the school. When Jessica's SUV pulls up to the curb, he trots out onto the street to approach it from behind. You watch with increasing irritation as he talks to Jessica without making a move against her. Finally, he gestures you over.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry," he says as you trot up. "She wouldn't roll down the window."<br/>
<br/>
"How'd you finally talk her into it?" You peer inside the cabin, where Jessica has slumped halfway over into the passenger-side chair.<br/>
<br/>
"I asked her if she knew a girl named Summer."<br/>
<br/>
"Shit." You punch him in the arm.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey! It was the only way! Anyway, like it matters. You're going to turn yourself into her, aren't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not this one. I just want her face for a little while. To meet up with someone."<br/>
<br/>
"A hot date?"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut! Up!" You kick him in the ankle. "I know you think you're funny, but you're not!"<br/>
<br/>
"So what's that say about you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fucker!" You pull out your cell phone and signal Summer that it's okay to drive out. "I guess I'll just have to tell Summer to tell Jessica that she sometimes comes out here to— Oh, fuck!" It all just seems like so much busywork, suddenly.<br/>
<br/>
Fake-Will sticks his head in through the SUV window to ogle Jessica more closely. "Man," he groans. "How can anyone hate anything that looks like that?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's something I aim to find out." You grab him by the ear and haul his head and shoulders back out of the car.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The bell on the coffee shop door chimes softly, and you lift your hand to wave at the classmate who has just come in. He turns at your gesture, and pulls off his sunglasses. You almost melt as he blisters you with an intense but thoughtful frown.<br/>
<br/>
You'd rather have Frank Durras glare at you than have almost any other guy at school smile at you. His white t-shirt spreads tightly over his pecs—as big as the plates on a barbell—and the heels of his boots drum on the hard, parquet floor as he stumps over to your booth. Just across the way, at the table where they're perched over their coffees, cell phones, and books, Maddy and Mandy and Natalie and Summer (who at your instruction set up this meeting of the Rumorati)—fall into a quivering silence as this tall—<br/>
<br/>
—strong—<br/>
<br/>
—dark-haired—<br/>
<br/>
—intensely sexy slab of lean top sirloin—<br/>
<br/>
—settles into the seat across from you. "Hey Jessica," he says, and rolls his shoulders around in his letterman jacket. "So what's up?"<br/>
<br/>
You fold your hands on the table in front of you, and let your eyes fall. Now that it's come to the point, you can hardly talk.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Wow. And you think that </i>you<i> have a crush on Frank. Jessica nearly chokes on the knot in her tongue.</i><br/>
<br/>
It's Saturday afternoon, and you have no idea where the real Jessica is. Probably at home, killing time (and her own soul) with homework in the dark, silent house where she lives. You almost feel sorry that she's not here; almost you feel sorry that she has no idea how easy it is to call up Frank Durras and arrange for him to meet up for coffee with ... a girl he thinks is Jessica Pearce.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe he likes her, as secretly as she likes him? Your hands twitch.<br/>
<br/>
"I wanted—" Your voice dies in your throat, and you clear it with a soft cough. "Thanks for coming out to meet me."<br/>
<br/>
He grunts, and glances around. "You like this place?"<br/>
<br/>
"Is there something wrong with it?"<br/>
<br/>
He snorts as he plucks up the little wire geegaw that holds the card with the table number on it. Except it's not a number. It's some kind of astrological sign. "It's pretentious," he says. "New Age crap."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry."<br/>
<br/>
Frank seems to catch himself, and his own eyes fall. "No, I'm sorry," he says. "I'll meet you wherever."<br/>
<br/>
There is utter silence at the table where the Rumorati are sitting. It's like they're all holding their breath. And Frank doesn't notice?<br/>
<br/>
"It's about your brother," you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
"Joe?"<br/>
<br/>
"Have you got another one?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pfft. No. Thank goodness. If I had another one like him—" Again, he seems to catch himself. "What about Joe?"<br/>
<br/>
"Is it serious between him and Becky?"<br/>
<br/>
Frank stares, then sucks in his upper lip and glances back over his shoulder. "I don't involve myself with my brother's, um, dates."<br/>
<br/>
"Because she's not serious about him."<br/>
<br/>
 Across the way, the Rumorati—and their table—practically levitate.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," you continue as Frank only stares at you. "Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this. I mean, if you don't like being mixed up in your brother's, um, dates. And when I say Becky's not serious about him—" <br/>
<br/>
You bite your lip, and feel Frank's gaze boring straight through you, straight through the back of the booth, straight through the back wall of the cafe. You've never met anyone who could so cleanly gut and shish-ke-bab you with a look.<br/>
<br/>
"It's the whole squad," you tell him. "Well, not the <i>whole</i> squad. Not me and not Alyssa and not—" You scramble for a third name. "Not Nina. But most of the rest of them. They're taking numbers to go out with him. Like, they've got it all scheduled out." You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Each of them gets a month with Joe. As his, you know." You stare into your open palms.<br/>
<br/>
Frank says nothing. It's so silent you can hear the two baristas talking in the next room.<br/>
<br/>
"I just thought you should know that about them," you tell Frank. "Or Joe should."<br/>
<br/>
Frank snorts again. "Yeah, well, Joe would have some say in the matter."<br/>
<br/>
"Would he?" You look up into Frank's face. "I mean, if Becky stepped aside and—" Your heart goes into your throat. "Rhianna Miller, um, came onto him, would Joe, like—?"<br/>
<br/>
Frank pushes back from the table. "My brother can take care of himself," he says. "He's been taking care of himself for—" His jaw clenches. "Since he was thirteen."<br/>
<br/>
"I just don't want to see him get hurt," you whimper.<br/>
<br/>
"Pfaw!" The explosive squawk startles you. Is that what Frank sounds like when he laughs?<br/>
<br/>
He pushes himself to his feet. "Thanks for thinking of me, Jessica," he says. "But I'm the wrong guy to tell this too." He gives you a cold, searching look, then turns and stumps off toward the door.<br/>
<br/>
<i>No, but those were the right girls to eavesdrop as I told you.</i></span></div></div>


path: 1131221221212112115112212231
author_id: seuzz
title: Arsenic from a New Face
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You've got your cell phone out even before you hit the street. <i>All set?</i> you text Fake-Will. <i>Be there in 5.<br/>
<br/>
all ok here,</i> he replies while you're still looking for your car in the tiny parking lot back of the cafe. It takes you a moment to remember you are looking for Chris Yves's car. Between Jessica's memories, your own memories, Will Prescott's memories, and the fading influence of Chris's and Summer's memories, it's easy to get confused.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The Koffee Kauldron, where Fake-Will is waiting, is only a few blocks away, and he gives you a quick thumbs up through the glass-fronted door as you approach before vanishing into the interior. By the time you catch up to him in the deserted back room, he is already leaning over the unconscious Rhianna Miller as she slumps in her booth. "Hey, I'm gettin' pretty good at this, don't you think, boss?" he says with a smirk.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't get cocky."<br/>
<br/>
You pick up Rhianna's cell phone, which she has out on the table in front of her. It takes only a minute send Alyssa a text from it, and to then send a text to Rhianna from Chris's phone, cancelling the meeting you were supposed to have with her here at the Kauldron. That gives you a couple of minutes to kill before the mask comes out of her, which you spend fielding replies from Alyssa. The other Rumorati must have already got word to her about the conversation they overheard in the Crystal Cave, for Alyssa instantly accepts Rhianna's supposed invitation to meet over at Nirdlinger's for an impromptu shopping trip.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you going to do for clothes?" Fake-Will asks as you slip the new mask into your bag and turn toward the door.<br/>
<br/>
"That's why I'm meeting up at Nirdlinger's." Chris Yves may hate her father's job and the money it brings her family. But it means she's got a credit card of her own with a healthy credit limit that she's never come close to touching.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You get to Nirdlinger's a full hour before you're supposed to meet Alyssa there—time you need to complete another transformation. You have to guess at Rhianna's measurements, and you hesitate long and hard over choices of outfit, but at last settle on a simple jeans and blouse combo, and some cheap tennis shoes. In one of the changing rooms, you switch from Jessica's mask to Rhianna's and try on the clothes. After swapping out the shoes for a larger size—and swapping back into Jessica's mask—you buy the clothes and retreat to the parking lot, where you change back into Rhianna's face and wardrobe in Yves's car, with only fifteen minutes to spare before Alyssa is to show up.<br/>
<br/>
She shows up ten minutes early.<br/>
<br/>
You're thumbing through the racks again, pretending to be absorbed in the choices, when you look up to see Alyssa marching toward you. She's wearing an expression that Rhianna doesn't often see on Alyssa's face.<br/>
<br/>
Saratoga Falls does not have a large African-American population, which makes it slightly remarkable that two of the Eastman cheerleaders should be black. Alyssa and Rhianna have been friends for a long time, with Rhianna cheerfully accepting the supporting role in the friendship. Where Alyssa has the stronger, more dominating personality, Rhianna is chipper and cheerful and more giggly. Alyssa treats Eastman almost like a job—running the cheerleader squad, managing the Rumorati—while for Rhianna it's a playground. But their friendship is such that Rhianna knows better than to try telling Alyssa what to do, while Alyssa refrains from treating Rhianna like an employee.<br/>
<br/>
So it's remarkable to see Alyssa frowning at you like a boss who has just caught one of her food handlers coming out the bathroom without washing her hands.<br/>
<br/>
Your first, panicked thought is that Alyssa has just come from talking to the real Rhianna, and is here to unmask you as an imposter.<br/>
<br/>
She sets her jaw and fixes you with a hard look. "Is everything okay between you and Kevin?" she asks. That would have to be Kevin McIlroy, Rhianna's football-playing boyfriend.<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself blanche—partly Rhianna's own native reaction, and partly your own fear at being unmasked. "Sure," you stammer. Then you gasp and clutch at Alyssa. "Why, what have you heard?"<br/>
<br/>
Alyssa shakes you off. "What about Leslie and Nick?"<br/>
<br/>
"What? Oh, I ... think so?"<br/>
<br/>
"You think what?" Her eyes harden.<br/>
<br/>
"That everything's okay between them?" You grin in embarrassment.<br/>
<br/>
"What about Becky and Joe?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel your first wave of relief. Alyssa's just pissed because of the gossip she got from her friends. You glance around furtively, then lean in toward Alyssa. "You mean, like, how serious is it getting between them?"<br/>
<br/>
Alyssa's eyes narrow. "Sure."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God!" All your mental circuitry blazes to life. You weren't expecting her to hand you <i>this</i> kind of a chance to pour more poison in her ears. Almost faster than you can make them up, you start to improvise lies.<br/>
<br/>
"So, like, that's something you need to talk to Ian about, Alyssa," you temporize. "I'm serious. I've been, like, <i>dying</i> to talk to you about it. But you know, it's not exactly my business?" You giggle nervously.<br/>
<br/>
"What <i>is</i> it, Rhianna?" Alyssa glares.<br/>
<br/>
"Joe is really playing with dynamite there. In my opinion. Like, Becky is practically picking out a wedding dress? In my opinion?" You arch your eyebrows and give Alyssa a very knowing look.<br/>
<br/>
She stares, then throws her head back to bark at the ceiling. "Oh, for fuck's sake!"<br/>
<br/>
"I know! Because Joe, he's not—"<br/>
<br/>
"Becky's not that serious about him!"<br/>
<br/>
"Excuse me, girl? I was there, I think I know—"<br/>
<br/>
Alyssa hauls you by the wrist over to a corner where you can sit knee to knee. "What kind of talk is going around about them?" she demands of you. "On the squad?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's what I'm trying to tell you! Becky's getting serious about him!"<br/>
<br/>
Alyssa rolls her eyes. "She's not <i>picking out a wedding dress!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but she's starting to get jealous. Last, um, Thursday? It was just a couple of us in the changing room, everyone else had gone? But Becky was there, and she just sort of blew up, 'cos she said she caught Joe scoping out Penny Stricker. And the rest of us were, like, <i>girl,</i> Joe's not—"<br/>
<br/>
"Who?" Alyssa interrupts. "Who was there with you and Becky?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, Lorena? And Nina? Except they took off real fast, 'cos they didn't like the scene. But Becky, she tried shutting up about it, 'cos she knew I was right—"<br/>
<br/>
"What did you <i>tell</i> her?" Alyssa sounds like she wants to strangle you.<br/>
<br/>
You blink in affected surprise. "I told her Joe was, like, you know, not gonna tie himself down to any one woman, and she need to—"<br/>
<br/>
Alyssa leans back with a loud groan. "Well, it's true, right?" you exclaim. "But that's how come you need to tell Ian that he needs to talk to Joe—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll talk to Joe myself. I'll talk to Becky, too."<br/>
<br/>
You clutch her by the arm. "Don't tell her what I told you! She was all, like— She knows what it's all about with Joe. But she can't help it, he's been paying too much attention to her if you ask me." <br/>
<br/>
You pause for Alyssa's retort—<i>No one's asking you, Rhianna, it's not your business</i>—but she has retreating into a frowning thoughtfulness.<br/>
<br/>
So you push harder at the idea. "You know, if Joe's not ever gonna be serious about no one—and you know he's not—maybe you should tell him it's time for him to find some other girl to bother than Becky."<br/>
<br/>
Alyssa leaps in her seat, like you've touched her with a live wire.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh really," she snaps. "That's what you think?"<br/>
<br/>
"Girl, if it keeps him from—"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe <i>you</i> want to go out with him?"<br/>
<br/>
You gape and squeal. "Me? Me and Kevin—! I mean, him and me, we're—!"<br/>
<br/>
"What about Leslie? Lorena? Kyra? Ann?" Alyssa purses her lips into a hard line.<br/>
<br/>
"Ann?" you gasp. "Our Ann? Ann Sibley?" Alyssa doesn't answer. "Ann and Joe?" You burst out laughing. "Oh my God, Joe would love that, wouldn't he? Just think how he could brag about—"<br/>
<br/>
"Rhianna." Alyssa grips you by the wrist. "Are you and the rest of the girls on the squad talking about taking turns with Joe?"<br/>
<br/>
You let your jaw drop open. "Taking turns with—?" you echo. "What do you mean by that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Taking turns going out with him. Becky breaks up with him so Lorena can go out with him, and then Leslie goes out with him, and then <i>you</i> and then Ann—"<br/>
<br/>
"What are you talking— <i>Ohhhhh!</i>" You pretend to remember. Alyssa's eyebrows go up. "When did you hear about that?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
So Alyssa tells you what Jessica was overheard telling Frank. You squawk and protest. "It was just a joke!" you plead with her. "We knew she was listening in on us, so we were just making shit up. You know, to get her going!" She demands to know who "we" was. You give her Ann and Kyra's names—neither of <i>them</i> is going to like being accused of what you're accusing them of. <br/>
<br/>
Alyssa doesn't look much mollified as she gets up to leave. "I think I managed to put a stopper in it," she says grimly. "But you guys need to cut that kind of thing out." You grovel and apologize and promise never to do anything like that again.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So there's bound to be a shit show once Alyssa talks to Kyra and Ann, and a worse one when she catches up to the real Rhianna. <br/>
<br/>
Which gives you just enough time to use Rhianna's mask to visit Joe Durras—the playboy basketball star who has so riled the dating scene at Eastman since his arrival—and stir things up on his end.<br/>
<br/>
Or to find some other place to stir things up.</span></div></div>


path: 113122122121211211511225
author_id: rugal
id: WJPX62RQH
title: Free Floating Identity
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You lay in bed with Dana's—your—phone in your hand as you scroll through her—your—social media. You've had a little bit of time to calm down since the events of this afternoon had gotten you so worked up and you can now assess things rationally the way that you like to do. You are Lisa Rickover, you know that much, but physically you're this Westside nobody named Will Prescott. The thought makes you shiver. Prescott knew what he had but not what he was doing which is why you're occupying his body. You'd initially thought it a body swap but your real body seems to be operating as normal so it must be some sort of possession.<br/>
<br/>
Yes, your real body... but it might be better to say your <i>original</i> body instead. At first you'd been confused, disgusted and horrified over what had happened. You didn't want to be a guy, you wanted to be yourself; you wanted to be Lisa Rickover. But the more you think about it, the more you question the idea that you somehow aren't Lisa Rickover. Because what is Lisa Rickover but the thoughts and desires that drive her? Her sense of identity, of who she is, is mental and so you are Lisa Rickover, you are <i>yourself</i>, in all of the ways that truly matter.<br/>
<br/>
So that person walking around can look like Lisa Rickover all she wants because in the end she is <i>not</i> Lisa Rickover, you are. That you are one hundred percent sure of in spite of your body being that of a teenage boy. Except it's not the body of a teenage boy, is it? Right now, it's the body of a teenage girl, one the same age as you. Dana Pak is a lovely girl, there's no denying that, but her physical gits are squandered, wasted on someone without the drive or smarts to use them to their full potential and you curse that it's only <i>now</i> that you've ended up like this because if you had been Dana Pak a year or two ago, if you'd been born as Dana Pak, then how different would things be for the both of you now?<br/>
<br/>
But as it stands right now, all the physical charm in the world won't raise Dana's—and thus your own—social standing to the point of being someone that Alyssa will have to pay attention to. Or as someone who could knock her down a peg or catch the attention of someone like Ian Carpenter. Yes, you could just become Alyssa yourself but what would be the point? Because you want Alyssa toppled from her pedestal, unable to act as the overseer of all that is right and good at Eastman while simultaneously and pompously looking down on everyone else.<br/>
<br/>
Because it's that arrogant, self-righteous attitude that you can't stand. You don't want to necessarily ruin her and turn her into a pariah but bringing her back down to Earth, for someone like her, would possibly be just as bad. If you were her, then it would be Alyssa in control  and Alyssa that Ian sees regardless of who's actually puppeteering her. And Ian... you want to be with him, not <b>be</b> him. Jenny, too, has many of the same markers that make you dislike Alyssa.<br/>
<br/>
No, you're Dana now which means you can make things better for both her and you and once you've hit graduation you can then stick it out as Dana... or move on and start building on the foundation you've laid, grooming a junior or a sophomore or even a freshman to take her place like a chain of succession. You feel your lip curl into a wicked smirk. Yes, Sarah Pak and her friends are already fairly popular down in the freshman class and one of them could, eventually, make for landing spot should you decide to remain in high school.<br/>
<br/>
Because a part of you thinks it'd be a shame to spend so much time building up a good domain for yourself and not actually sticking around to rule it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You continue to browse various social media sites—Instagram and x2z and the like—as you look for good candidates to change yourself into; shells to house your mind. As you do, you begin to feel almost thankful for what's happened. Yes, you were initially concerned about getting back to your body but now you realize that it would accomplish nothing besides putting you right back where you started. Lisa Rickover is a girl who nobody trusts, whose presence is merely tolerated and who doesn't stand out physically.<br/>
<br/>
But if you can be anyone then who should you be?<br/>
<br/>
Well you want to be a girl for one because, duh, you already are one even if the body under Dana's face would say otherwise. But while there are girls with looks and charm, you want one also well positioned to counter, challenge and undermine Alyssa and to possibly elevate Dana should you decide to move back into her body when you're done.<br/>
<br/>
So you continue your search as girls come up and you dismiss them. Most of the cheerleaders, for instance, are cowed by Alyssa or don't quite have the social cachet needed to challenge her. Or they're Ann Sibley, a pretty redhead who's too outspoken and abrasive for her own good. If you wanted to be a firebrand then school paper member Jordyn Arbour is at least much more pleasant... albeit she's also transgender which is a minefield you have no interest in walking through.<br/>
<br/>
The sports teams, though, offer more potential however. Teagan Cross for instance, a tall and tanned Californian transplant, is a member of the volleyball team. She'd caused an immediate stir after moving here last year when she'd been a major reason for the team's championship. Her popularity shot up and when Catherine Muskov had moved over to Westside, Teagan's easygoing beach bum demeanor allowed her to fit rather well into that Catherine-shaped void. She's popular, attractive, exists outside of Alyssa's influence and Dana shares a class with her. You wonder why you didn't immediately think of her as she's such an obvious choice.<br/>
<br/>
So, too, is Shelly Osterman. Shelly is, along with Cody Raines, the co-captain of the swim team. She's an outgoing girl with a personable nature and a bright smile; the type of person who tends to light up a room and who people gravitate towards. Even better, Shelly is a part of Teagan's group of close friends meaning she falls outside of Alyssa's sway. If you didn't want to be Teagan, then Shelly is a good and possibly safer choice. Shelly, in a roundabout way, also connects you back to Alyssa and her group despite being outside of it as she's friends with tennis team captain Alyx English who in turn is friends with Maddy Caron, a former member of the team, which gives you another angle to use to disrupt things.<br/>
<br/>
But if you think about girls who Alyssa holds little to no sway over, then none of them looms larger than Alex Day... funny given her height. She's a tiny firecracker of a girl, an artist who's as inclined to paint the side of a building with a spray can as she is a canvas with a paintbrush. Among the underground and bohemian set, she's a huge deal which already puts her in a position that Alyssa would have a hard time touching. But it's also well known that her family is filthy rich and that prior to Eastman she had attended St. Xavier, the ultra-elite boarding school just outside of town.<br/>
<br/>
Not that Alex seems to care much about the things that <i>you</i> do but she's such a ball of chaotic, disruptive energy that moved this way or that she'd upend everything Alyssa's tried to build. Plus, there's not much could do to her. She's practically ungovernable.<br/>
<br/>
But if a wealthy counterbalance to Alyssa is what you want, then Audrey Doyle is the another obvious choice. She's the orchestra's first chair violinist and comes with all of the ego you'd expect a girl with brains, musical talent and country club money to possess. But she's still worked hard to achieve her position and as a leading figure in the AP and orchestra sets has a rather large orbit that includes people like Susie Maitland and Julianna Seaton, girls dating Ian's friends and teammates.<br/>
<br/>
You've about settled on the list and are ready to make a decision when one girl on x2z catches your attention and you're quickly drawn to her. Becca Alford is a complete wild card. Like Teagan she's also a transplant, having arrived from Toronto during summer break. She's only been here a short time but that means she hasn't yet fallen in with any particular group... which means she has yet to fit neatly into Alyssa's system. She's got pretty looks and a tomboyish attitude but her personality is bold yet welcoming and you've seen her converse with all sorts—from AP types to the likes of Chris Yves—with little issue.<br/>
<br/>
She talks to Dana as the two share both first period (a blow off Marketing class) and second (a study hall) and is always friendly she does. She's an unknown variable who could make things as easy or hard for Alyssa as you'd want to make them. In fact, all of the names on your list could but only one of them will get the honor and privilege of being chosen.<br/>
<br/>
Ending up in that idiot Prescott's body has proven to be a boon as with the equipment and knowledge he possesses, you no longer need to be shackled to the old you, a body and an identity with so much baggage attached to it. Oh you'll still be you, for sure, you'll just happen to look a little different and answer to a different name. Let whoever is in that body be Lisa Rickover and let Lisa Rickover be whoever she damn well pleases.<span class="fmjggefefflm3711"></span></span></div></div>


