# chapters

path: 1112111321122222122222212212121121211
author_id: seuzz
title: Deeper Impersonations
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I knew you were dumb, Matthias, but I didn't know you had a fucking death wish," you hiss. The guy under your fist and knee is bright-eyed with anger. "You call the cops on me, who'm I gonna roll over on? Your cousin, that's who. Think Dwayne'll be happy with that?" You push your fist deeper into his throat. "You want me tellin' him what you just said about the heat? Whaddaya think he'll do to you? You know, when you fucked up last Friday, he told me I could put you in the hospital. Those were his exact words, you know." <i>Yeah, Chen will know you're speaking the truth on that.</i> "He said, 'You can put Dane in ICU if it makes you feel better, just don't send him anyplace worse than that.' He knows you're a fuck-up, but he likes you. He won't like you so much if he hears you were using the word 'cops' around me."<br/>
<br/>
You let it sink in, that you remember what Dwayne said to him last Friday, and by extension that you know everything else that he knows, and that you know how to act like him, too. <i>Let him get used to the idea that this Gary Chen is a perfect clone of the old Gary Chen.</i> Then you ask him, "What were you doing to my ride, Matthias? What were you doing under there?"<br/>
<br/>
It already seems to be having an effect. "Nothing," he mumbles.<br/>
<br/>
"What did you <i>think</i> you were doin'?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't believe you. I think you still need some hurtin' from last Friday." You put some weight on his breastbone, until his face is almost black. Then you relent enough for him to draw a breath.<br/>
<br/>
"I was looking for--" He doesn't finish.<br/>
<br/>
"You think there's something under my chassis? What do you think is there? Why do you <i>think</i> something is there?"<br/>
<br/>
He visibly struggles over what to say. "I heard Dwayne mention it," he says. "That you keep something under there."<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit. Dwayne didn't tell you nothing."<br/>
<br/>
"I swear, he said you keep some stuff under the chassis!"<br/>
<br/>
You'd bet it's confusion, rather than pain, that is provoking this confession; you'd like to think that, psychologically, Chen is more resilient to pressure, since you're relying an awful lot on his native steel to carry out stuff like-- Well, like this interrogation. Instead, it sounds like he's going to avoid accusing you with something like the truth: that he was looking for his stash because <i>he's</i> really Gary Chen and you're an (even more evil) impostor. <br/>
<br/>
And that's good enough for now, so you let him up. "You stay outta my shit, Matthias," you say, and shove him hard as he's just gotten to some wobbly feet. "I catch you fuckin' around with any of my--" You stop, as though just remembering something, and press close on him. "You been cultivatin' a interest in faggy Persian books?" He pales, and shakes his head. "Uh huh. Just stay outta my shit and outta my way until I need you again."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Which hopefully is never. You think about calling Dwayne to tell him that his cousin was trying to break into that strongbox, and to tell him about his cousin's threats to involve the police. But you're pretty sure your own threats have taken care of the latter, and you don't want to bother Dwayne anymore than you need to: it makes you look weak. But in three weeks, when it's time to place your order for next month's goods, you should tell Dwayne about today's adventure. Then you and he can cut "Dane" out of the system.<br/>
<br/>
But will you be playing Gary Chen for that long? It depends on what other spells you find in the grimoire.<br/>
<br/>
You got time to worry about that later. For now, you've got to get the stash to a safe place. After Matthias is away, you check the state of the strongbox, and find that the lock is badly scratched--he was apparently trying to pick it--but still operable. So you take off from school, heading over to the old elementary school, there to deposit the sorted weed and cash that Mendoza and Thomason had given you for their supplies. You keep out one set of six eighths to replace the one Matthias stole--it kills you to have lost it, but you were an idiot to have put it where he could find it--and two more eighths to return to Mendoza.<br/>
<br/>
Then it's back to the school. You've managed to miss most of the one blow-off class in your schedule--Fundamentals of Marketing--and use the extra time to find a new hiding book in the library. You'll have to find a better spot later, since Matthias knows about the old system, but for now you stick it in a book on butterflies of Africa.<br/>
<br/>
You let the rest of the day slide without trying to peddle any more packets, though you get Mendoza's two back to him, and make a note in sixth period to talk to Perry Small on the morrow. You also send a text to Gardinhire: "Let's talk about tip money," so he'll know you're ready for another exchange at the country club this evening. By three-forty you're on your way to the Panda House Chinese Buffet, whose owners--Chen's aunt and uncle--comp Chen a takeout meal three times a week from the lunch leftovers.<br/>
<br/>
You're wolfing these down and checking notes to yourself on the phone when the door to the school basement opens and Caleb comes in. He stops on the topmost step. "My favorite thing," he snorts. "Coming in here and finding <i>Gary Chen</i> waiting for me."<br/>
<br/>
"It's Gary Chen's favorite thing too, lookin' up see your sad little douchey--" You bite down on the rest of the insult, and stare at him critically. He's so mealy-mouthed and awkward, and so fucking <i>white.</i> Is there any way he could be that would make Chen like him, or at least tolerate him? You try to think of someone Chen likes and respects. There are lots of assholes he respects, at least to the extent he wouldn't piss them off if he could help it: mostly that's the jocks, whether bully boys like Black and Patterson and Lynch, or just the strong ones, like Cameron Huber and Laurent Delacroix. There are also those whose company he enjoys--like Adrian Semple and "Maize" Tsosie--that he doesn't respect. But both? About the only two names that come close to fulfilling both criteria are David Kirkham and Justin Roth.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fuckin' hard to tell Caleb to be more like them: strong, silent, and cool-headed.</i><br/>
<br/>
"I had a fuckin' day and a half," you say more mildly, trying to put Gary into a small box where he can't get out. "How was yours?" You brought an extra container--Aunt Sue is always pushing leftovers on her nephew--and you shove it toward him. <br/>
<br/>
"Normal," he says, slowly sinking into a chair and sniffing at the food. "I'm not sure I wanna know what counts as normal for Gary Chen. Or for Will Prescott these days." He discards the chopsticks for a plastic spork, and shoots you a dirty look at your (unintentional) snicker. "So, are we millionaires yet?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, we're out three-twenty, in fact, which just about wipes out what I hoped to skim from this fucker." You tell him about Matthias. "At least I've just about got him convinced he's going crazy and is just imagining that he used to be Gary Chen."<br/>
<br/>
"This isn't a permanent change, is it, Will?" Caleb asks uneasily. "Because if it isn't, you're going to have to let him out to be himself again eventually."<br/>
<br/>
"We'll see what the magic book has to say about that," you mumble through a mouth full of spicy pork. "Speaking of which--" You tap at your phone's keypad, then push it toward him. "That's the list of stuff for the next spell, at least that's how the internet translates it. Fuck, why couldn't the book have been written in Chinese instead of Latin?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because then we'd <i>never</i> have gotten this far?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck me," you gasp, and sit up straight. "Can you guess what I just thought of?"<br/>
<br/>
"If I could, I'm sure I'd regret it."<br/>
<br/>
"We should slap one of these brain things onto Mr. Leavey. He's the Latin expert."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb groans.<br/>
<br/>
"But it's perfect, man! Stick his brain inside yours, or mine, and then we won't have to guess at these fucking translations!"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't want <i>Leavey's</i> personality inside mine," Caleb exclaims. "I think the fucker likes little girls, and I don't mean 'little' as in 'Yumi Saito' little."<br/>
<br/>
Hearing the name is like having a scab ripped away. "Don't fucking mention--" you snarl. "You know what my mom-- Gary's mom, what she said and did last year when she saw Lin Pol courtside, the first time Lin went out as a cheerleader? She asked him how come he wasn't dating her. Jesus, bad enough being there with his mom, but then she drags him around to see Lin afterward, and basically shoves the two of them at each other, telling them they should go out on a date. And Lin, fucking cunt, she's nice about it, all dimples, and says yes. But the next day she tells Gary--who actually kind of got his hopes up--that he can tell his mom <i>anything</i> except that they had a good time on the date, because she'd dig her own ovaries out with a spoon before going out with him."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, tell me."<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, Jesus, you're actually sympathizing with Chen."<br/>
<br/>
"Look at where I'm sitting," you retort, and lean back to dump the last of the cold goop into your mouth. "But we should definitely do that brain thing on Leavey."<br/>
<br/>
Then, while Caleb is still bitching about the idea, an even better idea comes to you. "Gardinhire. Pack me up one of those things for Gardinhire."<br/>
<br/>
"He doesn't know Latin."<br/>
<br/>
"No, but he knows who he's distributing his excess ganja to. He's not smokin' it himself, and he ain't got that many friends who can be smokin' that much of it without it hurting their grades. He's definitely dealing it somewhere. And if we find out where--"<br/>
<br/>
"We're not going into the <i>drug trade,</i> Will," says Caleb.</span></div></div>


path: 11121113211222221222222122121211212112
author_id: seuzz
title: Unwilling Exchanges
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"We're not going into the drug trade," Caleb says again, as though saying it twice will make you more likely to listen to him.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't say we were," you reply. "Not more than we already are. Except maybe this month. Look, I'm not letting you keep all the money we're taking off Chen this month. But if we know where Gardinhire is selling his extra shit, maybe we could squeeze in and take some of his trade, keep the cash that woulda been riding around on <i>his</i> hip." You run a fast calculation in your head using extremely liberal parameters. "It could mean an extra twelve-hundred for us."<br/>
<br/>
"Dollars?" Caleb exclaims.<br/>
<br/>
"No, gumdrops. Jesus, of course I mean dollars."<br/>
<br/>
A look of extreme cupidity comes to Caleb's face. You open the drawer where you put Thomason's and Mendoza's deposits. "How much you owe your mom? Here." You give him five twenties. "Pay her back whatever she needs, the rest is fuck the world money for you, an advance on my share of whatever we're gonna personally skim. You can have mine. And here's another two hundred, which I figure should about cover the cost of the materials we need for the next spell. If you can buy it for cheaper than that, you can keep the trop as a bonus." You pick up one of the metal bands. "Is this one ready to use on Gardinhire?"<br/>
<br/>
"They're all ready to use," Caleb says weakly. <br/>
<br/>
"Good, be at my place, eleven-thirty, to pick it up."<br/>
<br/>
"That's too late for my Mondays. Why do you need me?"<br/>
<br/>
"You can be in charge of the Gardinhire side, I'm already too busy. How late can you be out?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ten-thirty."<br/>
<br/>
"Fine. Come up to the country club around then, as late as you can be out. I'll leave my car unlocked. It's the fucking country club, I could jack so much shit there 'cept they got security all over. It's fine if you get caught," you assure him as he blanches. "You just say you're my friend and you're picking something up from me, they'll call me out to vouch for you. But I'll leave the brain-band on the front seat after I get it off Gardinhire. Are you gonna finish that?" You point to the food you brought for him.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm suddenly not real hungry."<br/>
<br/>
"More for me, then." <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays kick your ass. You have to be up at the country club by four-fifty so you can start your shift at five; then comes six hours of work as a dishwasher and kitchen dogsbody; then home by eleven-thirty to do homework until probably two in the morning. So after gulping down the last of what Caleb left, you jump into it. Only the prospect of mind-raping Gardinhire offers any prospect of fun or reward.<br/>
<br/>
You make it to the club--a faux-colonial building west of the river with long, low wings that screen off the tennis courts and golf courses from public view--with a few minutes to spare; in the employee locker you quickly change into fresh, heavy cotton trousers, black loafers, and a white long-sleeve shirt; you also have to ditch the ski cap. Then into the kitchen, to run the first loads of plates and cutlery from the first of the night's five dinner seatings. A little after six you and Jose and Chris and Manny rush the McKinley dining room, stripping and replacing the table cloths, wiping down the chairs, fast-mopping the floor, and otherwise readying it for new settings, which the wait staff will take care of. Gardinhire is one of them, and he calls you over with a tilt of the head while hanging back by the door.<br/>
<br/>
Inwardly, you seethe. Gardinhire is one of the AP assholes: tall, thin, privileged, and very, very white. His brown hair is thick without being unkempt, and like his best buddy Mansfield he looks down at the world along a slightly elevated nose. The best that you--Will Prescott--can say about him is that unlike most of his friends he doesn't go out of his way to be rude and condescending to his social inferiors. The best that you--Gary Chen--can say about him is that he's your single best customer. "When's your smoke break," he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Nine thirty-five, same as always. Meet me at your car."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because that's the way I wanna do it tonight. You wanna do it some other way, find yourself another asshole to fuck."<br/>
<br/>
At nine-thirty, you and Manny take off for your daily smoke break, squatting behind the kitchen. He's a few years older than you, a high school dropout, but pretty cool in his way. You don't like the tats, though, which to your mind bespeak an idiot who's given up on striving for anything better than what he's got. You exchange a few abrupt words: He asks if you're watching the latest hot HBO show; "Ain't got time," you reply. You're almost down to the end of your first cigarette when you spot Gardinhire out of the corner of your eye, moving through the employee parking lot. "Tell Jose I gotta take a shit, man," you tell Manny as you take out another cigarette, and in the same motion pull out a tightly wrapped ten. "A long, fat, wet one," you add as you hand both to your companion.<br/>
<br/>
He smiles, pockets the bill and puts the cigarette between his lips. "Sure thing, soon as I--"<br/>
<br/>
"Save it for later, with the beer you're gonna buy."<br/>
<br/>
He nods again, and puts the cigarette over his ear, tucking his long hair over it. You wait until the door clicks shut, then trot over to the nearby dumpster. From just inside it you pull out a plastic bag: you'd taken the precaution of hiding the shit there in case Matthias got another bright idea to ransack your Jeep while you were working. A quick glance inside shows that the stuff is still there.<br/>
<br/>
Gardinhire is leaning against his car--a used Audi, of course--but he gets in when you tell him to check his glove compartment. Through the open window you pass him the bag, and turn around to study the flood lights on the nearby tennis courts. A minute later he twitches the back of your shirt. You turn and take the bag from him--<br/>
<br/>
--and in a continuous move slide the metal band you'd had in your pocket onto his forehead. He slumps to the side.<br/>
<br/>
A long and nerve-wracking ten-minute period follows, during which you crouch by his car door. You pass the time by peering into the bag and doing a quick-and-dirty count of the money. Gardinhire dresses down at school, but he knows to be anal when dealing with you, and his payments--bills which are all used and frayed and rumpled--are always sorted and rubber-banded into standardized packs. Forty-eight hundred, it should be, and looks like it is. You'll know for sure when you count it later.<br/>
<br/>
And when the brain-band reappears on his forehead, and falls into your waiting hand, you happily reflect that you'll soon know where he gets it from.<br/>
<br/>
"You're break's only for ten minutes, Chen, not twenty," Jose warns you when you return to work.<br/>
<br/>
"Want me to show you the turd next time I have to go?" you ask. He glowers, but says nothing more about it, and you work extra hard and fast the rest of the night.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Grandfather is in a bad mood the next morning, which puts everyone on edge. Not only do you have to deal with his physical needs of the morning, but he screams all during the meal; biting words are exchanged between mother, father and son during those moments when the old one isn't making noise. The mood is only slightly alleviated when you pass along forty dollars cash in "tips" from last night. But how the mood would change for the worse if they found the money you'd hidden inside the couch cushions last night.<br/>
<br/>
So your nerves are ragged when you arrive at school. You've a headache from the morning's chores, and you've only five-and-a-half hours of sleep; you've also the stress of thinking of a new hiding place for your stash and cash. The solution comes when you see Caleb drive by.<br/>
<br/>
You hang back until he's out of his car, and then you rush him, grabbing him from behind and hustling him toward the gym. He squawks, but you silence him with a curt word: "Shut up, I'm trying to make this look good." You get a few looks as you grimly force him along toward the portables, but no one interferes. You push him into the one you've been using and close the door. "First of all, did you try out Gardinhire's brain-band?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah, fuck us, Will, when I tell you--"<br/>
<br/>
"Save it. Second, you bring a brain-band to use on Leavey?"<br/>
<br/>
He makes a face, but nods.<br/>
<br/>
"Excellent, I was gonna fuck you up if you didn't. Meet me at his room after fifth, you know, in the middle of your big break. We'll get it on and off him then."<br/>
<br/>
"There's gonna be people around!"<br/>
<br/>
"We'll figure something out. Okay, last thing is I need you to meet me over at the clubhouse around five-thirty. I'll have some tools and shit, and we're gonna weld a strongbox onto the underside of your car, like Chen has on his. We'll use your wheels instead of mine as a ditching place."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's eyes bug from his skull. "I'm not gonna play drug mule for you, Will! If I get caught with-- Isn't it, like, a giant felony to be caught with that much weed on you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but who's gonna think to search Caleb Johansson's shit for something like that?" You grin and jab him in the breastbone. "Name like Johansson, look like yours, the worst they're gonna think is you're smuggling weaponized lutefisk."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not doing it, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Fine. Then we'll get some more mask supplies and you can spend the next month pretending to be Martin Gardinhire."</span></div></div>


path: 111211132112222212222221221212112121122
author_id: seuzz
title: Inside Dope
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Now Caleb's jaw really does drop. "What kind of sick, fucking fantasies do you think I've got going?"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, it's perfect," you say. "We need a place to put the cash and stash, someplace Matthias--Chen, I mean--won't think of looking. Gardinhire is made to order. I mean, he's already holding thousands in cash each month, so we just add our pile to his. And fuck, I'm sure he's got folding money to spare we can skim off, what with the tips that fucker makes at the country club." You spit on the floor. "And it's totes safe sticking him under your mask. He's already doing better than you in school, he can totally cover for you if we make him."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb can only gasp like a landed fish. And you--<br/>
<br/>
Well, you were originally just going to use this idea as a bludgeon to force Caleb into holding the stuff in his car. But now that you've articulated this second idea, you realize you like it a lot more than the first.<br/>
<br/>
So when Caleb, rather shrilly, starts to protest, you push in close to him. "We're going to do this, man. It makes too much sense."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you going to make me?" His voice quivers.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Ugh. He's starting to act like you're really Gary Chen and you're really threatening him.</i> Of course, you also realize that he's not wrong to, because that's pretty much what you are doing.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm not going to make you do anything, but I want you to think about it, because it makes too much sense. You wanted to skim money off of Chen, right? So what's wrong with skimming money off of Gardinhire? He can afford to lose more, right? You been in his head, how much can he spare? Enough?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb doesn't disagree, but he still argues. "Chen's making his money off <i>drugs,</i> man!"<br/>
<br/>
"So's Gardinhire, isn't he? I'm right about that, him and his friends aren't smokin' it all themselves? So how come he gets a pass and Chen doesn't? Because Gardinhire is fuckin'--" You break off before one of Chen's usual resentments bursts out. <br/>
<br/>
"But we didn't do this to Chen because we wanted his money, we did it so he wouldn't kill you!"<br/>
<br/>
"So that's how we got into it," you shrug. "Here's how we make it pay off better for us. We hijack Gardinhire, for as long as I'm playing Chen, and skim off <i>all</i> of his profits, maybe invest some of his fuck-around money in our projects too. How much is he making?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's making enough. But how long are you gonna be playing <i>Chen</i>? Because this is sounding more and more like--"<br/>
<br/>
"I play Chen until I don't gotta anymore, till we find something in the book that means we can let him and Black and Matthias loose. So there's an incentive to get to work. How much can we get from Gardinhire? What's his set up?"<br/>
<br/>
"You mean who's he--?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah yeah. Who's he sharing the shit with, who's he selling it to, how much is he making? You know, the fucking <i>set up.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't get short with me, Will. Okay, about a third of it he's sharing with his friends. Mansfield, Kirk, Garner--"<br/>
<br/>
"Marc Garner? Eva and Jessica's brother? You're fuckin' with me, Garner's using?"<br/>
<br/>
"Once a week. Saturdays, they all get together, the AP crowd, and they have a reefer party--"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, <i>shit!</i>" you howl. "They don't call it a 'reefer party', do they?"<br/>
<br/>
"What <i>should</i> they call it? But they get together at Kelsey's place, the bunch of them--"<br/>
<br/>
The horizon tilts. "They're doin' it at one of their <i>houses?</i>" you exclaim. The world is making less and less sense, and it's pissing you off more and more.<br/>
<br/>
"Kelsey's folks turn a blind eye. But it's pretty much the whole AP crowd, like I said."<br/>
<br/>
"And Gardinhire collects for them, right?" you ask. "So they don't have to soil themselves with Chen directly?" You spit again on the floor.<br/>
<br/>
"Will you stop that, it's freaking me out. But they don't even know where Gardinhire's getting it from, they only know he can get it, so they put in their shares and he buys for them."<br/>
<br/>
"But he buys for more than them, right?" This is what you really want to hear.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, you'll love this." He backs away. "Don't hurt me, man."<br/>
<br/>
"Why? What's he doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's selling nine ounces a month to Trantham."<br/>
<br/>
Now the floor does lurch beneath your feet. "Trantham, <i>Chris Trantham,</i> Chris Trantham the motherfucker who does dishes with me <i>every fucking Monday and Friday</i> at the country club?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yep. Gardinhire just puts the stuff in his club locker, and the next day Trantham gives him thirty-one-fifty for it."<br/>
<br/>
You run the sums in your head. "Thirty-one-fifty gross? That's twenty-seven dimes in profit! Just for holding it overnight at the <i>fucking country club?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"And that's not all. He's been telling his AP posse he's paying four hundred an ounce for their stuff—I mean, that's the rate Chen charges when selling eighths individually, so if they ask around that's what they'll hear. But since he's been buying in bulk from you at three-twenty an ounce, he's been collecting another four hundred in profit off his friends."<br/>
<br/>
The pressure inside your head is so great your ears close up. <i>Fucking Gardinhire is making six hundred and seventy a month, </i>almost as much as you make after loan payments,<i> just for picking up and moving a couple of plastic baggies between lockers.</i><br/>
<br/>
You dance up and down in a fury, punching the air. "Fucker! Oh, we are <i>so</i> fucking him over! You're gonna put his fucking mask on, Johansson, and you're gonna--! Nine months I been dealing with that goat-sucking bastard! I want seven thousand outta his trust fund, cover my loss on his carrying trade, plus a penalty! Then--!"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not <i>your</i> loss, Will," Caleb shouts, and now he looks deeply alarmed. "It's Chen's. You're not turning into Chen, are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! But the fucker's been cheating Chen! He could have paid off that fucking loan already if--!"<br/>
<br/>
You catch your breath, close your eyes, get a grip.<br/>
<br/>
"You're right, this isn't our business. But at the end, when we sort it all out--" The tremble you've been suppressing explodes in a violent shudder. "We'll figure out a way to make it all come out <i>fair!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The bell rang while you were arguing with Caleb, so you're a few minutes late for English. You slouch through class and concentrate on figuring out Gardinhire's various angles. You'll have him under your thumb soon enough, but you still seethe to think of the way he took advantage of--<br/>
<br/>
But, God damn it, Caleb is right, he didn't take advantage of <i>you,</i> he took advantage of Gary Chen, a guy you've hated and feared for years. You ought to be on Gardinhire's side. <br/>
<br/>
But you aren't.<br/>
<br/>
You ought to be thinking about how to get your own supply sold.<br/>
<br/>
But you're not. You're thinking about Trantham. He goes to Eastman, the other high school in town, and he must be dealing there. Chen never thought him the sharpest tool in the kit, more like the kind of guy who uses his own product, and he must be making some pretty thin margins if he's buying from a middleman who's buying from you. Of course, there's no reason to help him out by selling to him at a lower price than Gardinhire was giving him, if you forced the latter out as a middleman. But maybe it would be worth more to find a partner at Eastman, someone to replace both Gardinhire and Trantham, that way all of their profits would flow to you and this new partner, who'd be better able than Trantham to grow the business over there.<br/>
<br/>
But who at Eastman to use? A brain-band on Trantham might give you a lead.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
With that line of thought rounded off for the moment, you return to planning some more local sales. There's no point trying to sell any to Garner--though you have to laugh privately when you see him second period, playing the straight-arrow boss of the soccer team--and you don't want to fuck up the team by dealing to anybody else. You hear that the Molester sometimes uses, but you don't want to be in business with him.<br/>
<br/>
You have some business with Roth after third period: he passes you a book, and inside it you find five twenties. You like the implication that Small is covering at least part of the cost, and you invite yourself along, to hang out behind the music wing with Roth and Small, sharing gossip about the orchestra and other bullshit; and it doesn't take much pressure or teasing from you to get Small to agree to buy two eighths for the upcoming weekend: you'll make the trade when you see him in Physics. But you're only twenty minutes with them; on a subsequent circuit of the grounds you place an eighth with Cody Wooten and get a promise he'll buy three more tomorrow for himself and some friends.<br/>
<br/>
Fifth period is the blowoff Foundations of Marketing class, which is filled with dipshit freshmen and sophomores, and a couple of seniors (like yourself) looking for an easy grade.  Late last year, Evans claimed to have sold a joint to Darrell Parson, who sits in the back. So you slide into the desk in front of him. During class you pass him a note: a drawing of a marijuana leaf, followed by a question mark. At the end of class, you turn to cock an eyebrow at him. He shakes his head while avoiding your eye. "Sure?" you softly ask. He shakes his head again, but weakly. You shrug. It's okay, you know where to find him later.<br/>
<br/>
Then comes math. But first you need to stop at Mr. Leavey's room.</span></div></div>


path: 1112111321122222122222212212121121211221
author_id: seuzz
title: The Power of Compound Interests
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Caleb is already waiting outside Mr. Leavey's classroom when you arrive. "This is a bad idea," he says nervously.<br/>
<br/>
You glance into the room. It's empty, except for the teacher, who is just turning away from erasing the board. "Nah, it'll be easy," you mutter. "Gimme the band. Come on, hurry," you urge as he fumbles in his bag.<br/>
<br/>
Leavey is a dapper little man, with graying hair and horn-rimmed glasses, and he wears a bow-tie. It's probably the latter that's led people to make "pedophile" jokes about him, for it gives him an odd daintiness that one might associate with a collector of dollhouses--or a collector of those who like to play with dollhouses. He looks up from his desk with a dim and uncomprehending smile as you approach. "Yo, Mr. Leavey, think fast," you say, and strike quickly. The metal band briefly sizzles on his forehead and vanishes. His eyes go out of focus, and his head falls forward into your hands. You arrange it so that it looks like he's taking a nap.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb turns green as you roughly pull him over so he can help block the view of the teacher; together, you lean against the desk, you with arms insouciantly folded while Caleb more stiffly rests his skinny ass on the edge of the desk. <br/>
<br/>
You wait a terribly long time. Students soon begin to file in.<br/>
<br/>
Most of them just sit in their chairs and do their best to ignore you and Caleb and the teacher. Some crane their neck to see what's going on, but you daunt them with a glare; and, anyway, whatever the teacher is doing with his head on the desk is not their business.<br/>
<br/>
But one guy tries to make it his business: James Lamont. "What are you doing here?" he bluntly asks you.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuckin' your sister," you retort. He takes the hint, and retreats.<br/>
<br/>
The bell eventually rings. The students, who have been talking quietly, fall silent. Everyone turns toward the front, and they watch expectantly. You can practically hear the sweat dripping off Caleb. You just smile and ignore the stares.<br/>
<br/>
After you've calculated that the brain-band <i>must</i> have reappeared, you glance behind at the teacher. Sure enough, the band is on the desk, wedged between it and his forehead. You pull it out and slip it into your shirt pocket. "Look after him, okay," you mutter in Caleb's ear, and give him an encouraging clap in the shoulder. You don't look back as you saunter out into hall; then you run hard for Muniz's AP Stat class. He has a few sarcastic words for you after you've puffed and panted through the doorway, but you fall into a chair in the back without taking umbrage. You steal a glance at the strip: ROBERT EDMOND LEAVEY, it says in glowing blue letters.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So you're feeling good when you head into seventh period. You'd already picked up two eighths for Small, and you have a third on you that you weren't able to place with Wooten. It works out: Jonas Martin catches sight as you're making the sale to Small, and you bluff him into taking the third eighth by telling him his best bud Luke Bennett has agreed to go in halvsies on one; the two ballplayers might be pissed when they find out you lied to them, but the fact that Jonas so easily agrees, and even forks over the full cost, suggests they won't be too pissed. You enter the two of them down in your phone list as possible marks for development and exploitation.<br/>
<br/>
All that puts a swagger in your stride when you head into last period: Orchestra, in which you play the viola. Eva Garner plays in that section too. You were too angry and distracted yesterday to do anything but mutely play the notes set before you, but now you glance slyly at Eva as you sit down next to her. "I heard you have a new boyfriend," you say in a teasing leer.<br/>
<br/>
"That's news to me," she says after a pause.<br/>
<br/>
"You mean you and Johansson aren't doin' the nasty?"<br/>
<br/>
She hits you, and it's not a friendly punch either. "Shut up, you sick--"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm just yanking you, girl," you laugh. "You could do a lot worse than Johansson, you know. You could be doin' Pruitt over there." You jerk your chin at Brent Pruitt, a skinny, geeky, wet-looking violin player. "But you could do a lot better, too." You grin. "Give me a chance, show you how gentle I can stroke your strings?"<br/>
<br/>
She turns away. A few minutes later Mrs. Heinz takes the podium and calls everyone to attention.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Probably you shouldn't have teased Eva that way, but you decide it probably doesn't matter. So what if she decides that Caleb Johansson just didn't measure up? Pretty soon Caleb is going to be playing someone else.<br/>
<br/>
Which reminds you that you need to get that set up. You can take care of that while running some other errands.<br/>
<br/>
So, first thing after racing away from school, you swing by the elementary school and pick up the packages that are due at the university. It takes you an hour of driving around to get them dropped off to the four buyers, and you're pleased to see that you actually under-estimated the demand at the house where Ragland lives. "Yeah, we got a new roomie, took the old bedroom up in the loft," he tells you as you stand in a dirty living room. "Man, he puts it away like— Better add, like, at least another ounce to what we've been—"<br/>
<br/>
"Can do," you promise him, and you take the extra he buys off you out of Whitmore's package. That sends you back to the school to collect more from the individual baggies. You run into Caleb there. You just want to get what you need and get out, but he insists on bitching about the thing with Leavey. "I can't believe you fucking ran out on me," he yells.<br/>
<br/>
"So what happened," you ask, while paying only a little attention. At first you think you're just not hearing him, and turn around only after measuring out another ounce from the stash. His face is red. "What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," he admits. "I ran out right after you did. But I bet anything Leavey's gonna have it in for us!"<br/>
<br/>
"What do we care? We don't have him for any classes."<br/>
<br/>
"But if tells some of the other teachers—"<br/>
<br/>
"So he gets me in trouble. You won't get in trouble, you're gonna be Gardinhire by tomorrow afternoon. Thursday at the latest."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb changes color. "I was hoping you'd forgotten that."<br/>
<br/>
"Not likely. Hey, write down a list of what you remember we need to make a mask. I got the book at my place but I don't wanna stop back there before picking up supplies."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you going to make it," he asks.<br/>
<br/>
You don't like the way he asks it, and you look at him sharply. "Ain't no way I can make those things at my place. You're gonna have to do it here. I want it done tonight, okay, and no excuses tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
"You know, I do have a life," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"For the next twenty-four hours. Then you're gonna have a different one."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Caleb remembers some ingredients that you forgot, and has forgotten some that you remember, and after getting the last of the college transactions done—which leaves you driving around town with more than seventeen thousand dollars in cash. You don't have it for long, though. Your last stop is a billiard hall downtown. The sun is slanting low as you park in the alley behind it. Nervously, you rap on the metal door leading into the back, and a man in a dirty white apron lets you in. The back half of the building is divided into a small warren of storerooms and offices shared by the billiard room and the bar and the barbeque pit that occupy the converted two-story warehouse space. But you know how to find your way around. Chen has been coming here for years.<br/>
<br/>
Country music filters in from somewhere, along with the sharp clatter of billiard balls hitting each other. The door to Karol Mathis's office is open, but he's not inside. You hunt around, squeezing past open crates containing beer and cola bottles, and you even look out on the floor of the billiard hall itself, though you understand that Mathis is rarely to be found there. You finally track him down in the kitchen of his restaurant.<br/>
<br/>
He's a small man with a paunch; his arms are brown and leathery and covered with wiry hairs. The hair on his head is curly but closely cropped and gray. His eyes are an indefinable color, something between hazel and light blue; they seem empty and soulless. That could describe his whole demeanor, for Karol Mathis never blinks or raises his voice. He looks over now as you appear, and seems no more interested in you than in the pile of unscrubbed potatoes by your elbow; he returns to talking quietly to his cook, who is complaining very volubly in a thick accent about something you can't make out.<br/>
<br/>
You wait patiently.<br/>
<br/>
After a few minutes, Mathis says a few very quiet words to the man, which seems to satisfy him. Then Mathis turns to you. "Chen," is all he says, and you step aside to let him pass, then follow him back to his tiny office. It contains a small, scarred desk and two metal filing cabinets and a small bookshelf. There are no electronics except for an ancient calculator. As he sits in his chair, you set a satchel of money in front of him.<br/>
<br/>
He opens it and counts it out very carefully. It takes a long time, since it's mostly in fives and tens and twenties. You keep your eyes locked on the desk before you. Mathis once caught Chen glancing around, and had said a very sharp word.<br/>
<br/>
That done, he takes out a ledger, enters some numbers, and turns it toward you. You write Gary's name beside the number 19,000.<br/>
<br/>
Such is the power of compound interest at Mathis's rates, that even at four thousand a month, it will be two years before Chen can pay that sum off.</span></div></div>


path: 11121113211222221222222122121211212112211
author_id: seuzz
title: The Wrongs Things, Said to the Wrong Guys
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Karol Mathis has set aside four thousand in cash, but that leaves more than thirteen thousand more on the desk. He looks at you expectantly. "I need five hundred," you say.<br/>
<br/>
He counts out five hundred in small bills and hands it to you. He again counts the remainder, and scrawls the amount—13,285—in bold numbers onto a bill pad like they use in cafes. He shows it to you, and you nod. "How much more will you be depositing?" he asks in a voice so soft you can barely hear it.<br/>
<br/>
"Another two thousand, probably," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"You're not growing the business," he says in a very off-hand way.<br/>
<br/>
"I am," you protest. "I've spotted a seven hundred market I can go after. I just have to make sure it's actually there. Some of my regular guys might have to go a little short while I—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not your board of directors, Chen," he says. "I don't want to know." He turns away in manner that tells you you've been dismissed.<br/>
<br/>
So, now you don't have to worry about the real Chen getting his hands on a gigantic wad of cash, You've also disposed of all but four ounces of the monthly stash, and some of that will go to Evans tomorrow. You let out a huge sigh of relief as you get back into the Jeep.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
That leaves you another hour for shopping for mask supplies before you have to be home for dinner. You barely slide in under the deadline, and Mrs. Chen's temper—already stretched past the breaking point by an argument with the nurse—isn't improved when you announce you have to head out to study with friends. "We've got a test coming up," you plead. "The material is kicking our asses—"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't curse!" she shouts.<br/>
<br/>
"We're all trying to figure it out."<br/>
<br/>
She frowns fiercely. "I want to see your work when you get back. I don't want these boys wasting your time." Her eyebrows arch. "You are meeting with boys, aren't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes!"<br/>
<br/>
"What happened to that cheerleader? Lin Pol?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Christ!</i> "It didn't work out, I told you."<br/>
<br/>
"What did you do to her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing!"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe that's why it wasn't a good date."<br/>
<br/>
At last you manage to escape back to the elementary school. Caleb hunches his shoulders as you barrel in. "Did you have a look over the stuff for the next spell?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. It was a waste of time, you had it all translated good."<br/>
<br/>
"Ha! Well, now that we know, go around tomorrow after school and pick the stuff up. In the meantime—" You set bags of mask supplies in front of him. "Take care of this, will you? I got homework to do."<br/>
<br/>
"So do I."<br/>
<br/>
"Not after tomorrow you won't. Well, not <i>yours.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Do you have to keep joking about it," he says as he empties the sacks. "Anyway, I'm not leaving Gardinhire in a hole. Physics and Stats," he adds when you ask him what the homework is.<br/>
<br/>
"I can handle Stats for you. Maybe Physics too."<br/>
<br/>
"You're kidding."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm taking AP Stat now, you know. You're only taking—"<br/>
<br/>
"Chen's taking AP Stat?" Caleb's eyebrows go up and down and side to side. "Oh right," he adds after a moment's thought. "Look at him."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"It means—"<br/>
<br/>
Fortunately for Caleb, you're able to grab one of his arms before he can pull his eyelids sideways into slits. Doubtless he doesn't understand the enormous favor you've done by stopping him from making that gesture, for you'd be far more furious if he had succeeded in making it. As it is, he howls as you wrench his arm behind his back. "You think it's fucking genetics or something? Oh yeah, it's Chen, obviously he's a math whiz, probably a programming whiz too. Ain't no fucking way he can laid, though, 'cos—" <br/>
<br/>
The anger swells mightily, but you catch yourself before it breaks over you, and release him. "Sorry man," you say in a trembling voice as your best friend turns hurt, resentful eyes on you. "The thing about these brain bands is— Well, part of what makes them such a perfect disguise is that the instincts sometimes don't wait for you before kicking in."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not so sure about that," Caleb says as he rubs his shoulder. "I didn't get carried away when I had <i>your</i> brain band on the other night, and I sure as hell didn't go out and molest any little girls when I had—"<br/>
<br/>
"Ewww, don't talk about Leavey, okay? I dunno, maybe it's the combination of face and clothes and everything else. Look, lemme just do your homework for you, and we'll call it all good."<br/>
<br/>
He grumbles but agrees. You get far enough that you're not in a hole when you get home, and can do the two hours of practice on the viola that Mrs. Chen did <i>not</i> forget you owed.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The next day dawns earlier than it ought to, thanks to a screaming fit from the old man. He's so bad—so physically argumentative—that he leaves no time for any of the family to get into a bad mood over him. In fact, his fit is so bad that both the Chens send you out to school early, even before they've finally dealt with him. You've a gnawing sickness in your stomach, for you wonder if they're preparing to do something to him that they don't want you to see.<br/>
<br/>
You restock your hiding place in the library, then hunker down next to B wing with a cigarette to await customers. Your spot gives you an unobstructed view of the portables, so you can see quite clearly when Steve Patterson rounds into view, hustling a victim toward them.<br/>
<br/>
<i>That's funky,</i> you think. Oh, not that Patterson should be taking a victim there, but he's not in pre-class basketball practice.<br/>
<br/>
Then you notice the victim. It's Dane Matthias.<br/>
<br/>
You shoot to your feet and toss the unfinished cigarette away. You remember Patterson threatening you when you were under Dane's mask. Has the new Dane unwittingly crossed the line Patterson drew with you?<br/>
<br/>
They disappear around a corner; you move carefully around to get them back into view.<br/>
<br/>
Patterson has Dane pressed against a wall. His back is to you, but Dane is turned in your direction, and even at this distance you can read the smoldering fury on his face.<br/>
<br/>
He shifts to one side in a way that you recognize, but that Patterson won't. Time seems to slow: you jump forward, running toward the pair, but it's like your feet are caught in a mire. You've only take a few steps when Dane sucker punches Patterson.<br/>
<br/>
The ballplayer staggers, surprised, and Dane follows with more blows. But Matthias isn't as strong as he needs to be, and Patterson is very big and sturdy. Matthias needs to push him to the ground, but he fails.<br/>
<br/>
Then you're between them. You throw your entire body against Matthias, knocking him back against the wall, and with two fast, hard blows you double him over. Then you get behind him and get his arms locked. You feel the blows through Matthias as Patterson delivers them.<br/>
<br/>
Then he steps back. "Get the fuck outta here, Chen," the ballplayer says.<br/>
<br/>
"You sure?" you jeer. "Looks to me like you need some help."<br/>
<br/>
"This is between me and him," says Patterson coldly. "You better hope I <i>don't</i> have to come looking for you."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug as you release Matthias, who slips to the ground. "I'll be around the corner if you need rescuing again." You strut past Patterson, half-expecting a blow as you pass. But it doesn't come.<br/>
<br/>
You watch from the edge of the first portable as Patterson leans back in over Matthias. By his face the latter still has a lot of fight in him, but he's too hurt to do anything. You can't hear any words that get exchanged, but you're sure Patterson is threatening Dane, the way he threatened you last week.<br/>
<br/>
It disquiets you: Last week Patterson was warning Dane to keep away from Gordon, apparently under the impression that Dane had been getting Gordon high. Of course the captain of the basketball team won't have sobered up: it's still Dane under a mask of Gordon. So is Patterson just taking out his frustrations on the guy he blames for Gordon's sudden goofiness?<br/>
<br/>
Or did he catch Dane talking to Gordon?<br/>
<br/>
That's the possibility that chills you. "Gordon" tried talking to you when you were still wearing Dane's mask; it seems likely he tried talking to "Dane" after you'd moved on to Chen. If they're comparing notes ...<br/>
<br/>
If Gary Chen realizes he's not the only one who thinks he's suffered a body swap ...<br/>
<br/>
You're pulled out of these thoughts as Patterson strides past you. He doesn't say anything, or even look in your direction.<br/>
<br/>
You look at Matthias, who is sitting on the grass, back against the wall of the portable. His face is drawn, but there's a smirk on it as he stares back at you.<br/>
<br/>
You walk up to him, shaking your head. "Fuckin' stupid of you, Matthias, gettin' Patterson pissed at you. Dude don't take shit."<br/>
<br/>
Dane just stares at you from under hooded lids. "How'd you do it, fucker?" he asks in a soft voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Do what?"<br/>
<br/>
"You know what. You're doin' pretty good, got everyone fooled, it looks like. Almost had <i>me</i> goin'. But there's gotta be, like, better assholes you can do it to."<br/>
<br/>
A chill settles over you. <i>So much for making him think he's just gone crazy.</i> But there's no way you can confess anything to him. "Lay off the loco weed, Matthias. It's making you loco."</span></div></div>


path: 111211132112222212222221221212112121122111
author_id: seuzz
title: Deeper Holes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>By eight-thirty you've had twice as much excitement as you think you can stand for the whole day, and that doesn't take into account some excitement you've got planned for tonight. Fortunately, the rest of the school day goes smoothly, though you skate through it on high alert. Tanner Evans finds you early, and with a lot of sniveling asks for the six eighths he's supposed to distribute; you hand them over; and you send Caleb a text—which he acknowledges—about picking up the supplies for the next spell and meeting you at the school by six o'clock; and that's pretty much it, beyond placing three eights with Cody Wooten and Spencer Osbourne and two more with Alex Massey.<br/>
<br/>
It's one of your days to work at the country club, which means it's one of your days to pick up supper from Aunt Sue, and you pick up enough for Caleb as well. He's not in a cheerful mood when he shows up with a couple of sacks of supplies, but he's not pissed off. "How much did it cost?" you ask him.<br/>
<br/>
"You wanna receipt? You want change?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nah, I told you to keep the balance. I's just curious."<br/>
<br/>
"A couple of hundred," he says. "That was some pretty weird crap, lots of volatile chemicals. You got the spell? I wanna see how they're all supposed to be combined."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll bring it in tomorrow, we'll get started then."<br/>
<br/>
"We can't get started now?"<br/>
<br/>
You shovel some food into your mouth and push a cardboard container toward him. "Nah, we got one more ingredient we gotta pick up," you mumble through a full mouth. "I didn't tell you. Which reminds me." You fish out your phone, and while balancing some noodles on a chopstick with one hand you punch up the number for the country club. "Yo, Jose, this is Gary. Man, I'm super sick or something, I'm not gonna be able to make it in tonight."<br/>
<br/>
Jose yells at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't blame me, blame this fucking stomach bug. I mean, you want me to come in, I guess I can come in, if you want me hurling all over the dinnerware."<br/>
<br/>
He yells at you some more.<br/>
<br/>
"So get Valencia to cover for me, one of those guys. I'll switch days with 'em, give 'em a ticket saying <i>I'll</i> cover for 'em the next time <i>they're</i> sick."<br/>
<br/>
Jose grumbles.<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks, bro, you're awesome. You're an <i>asshole,</i>" you add after you've got the phone off.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't <i>look</i> sick," Caleb observes as you slurp down the hanging wad of noodles.<br/>
<br/>
"I gotta get out of work, but I gotta get outta the house, too, so this is like stomping on two snails with one shoe. Shit, man, I don't got any free time in my schedule for anything like— Oh hey, you and your mom gotta coupla shovels at your house?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"Too bad. Then take your dinner with you while we run by Walmart or something. We need to pick up, like, a hundred sandbags or something, and we'll just get some shovels while we're at it."<br/>
<br/>
"Sandbags?" Caleb asks dumbly, and doesn't move.<br/>
<br/>
"Move it, Johansson. Sun'll be down soon, and I don't wanna make a late night of it where we're going."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I'm not going in there," Caleb says. "I'm not helping you dig up—"<br/>
<br/>
"We're not digging anything up," you tell him. He folds his arms truculently. "We just gotta get some dirt, man. We can get it from just inside the wall. I think."<br/>
<br/>
"You <i>think?</i>" He turns, and even in the dark of the cab you can see him thrusting an unhappy lower lip at you. "What did the book say, exactly?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't remember the Latin, but it translated pretty clearly as 'soil dug up from a graveyard'."<br/>
<br/>
"So we're getting into necromancy now."<br/>
<br/>
"It didn't say we had to—"<br/>
<br/>
"I think it's gonna have to come from of a grave, Will," Caleb says. "Why else would it want dirt from a graveyard?"<br/>
<br/>
"Then we'll find a grave close to the wall. Now come on." You open the Jeep door.<br/>
<br/>
"Will, I'm not—"<br/>
<br/>
The rest of his refusal is lost in the sound of you slamming the door, but you're not going to let him sit on his ass while you do all the work. You go around to the other said and haul him out. "Get the fucking shovels," you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
It's dark—it had better be, since you don't want anyone seeing you—and you're parked at the corner of the Masonic cemetery farthest from any street. There are a few low clouds, but it's mostly clear, though the lights of the city have completely washed out the stars in the sky. It's not cold, it's not windy, the only sound is the grumble of traffic from a hundred yards away as the occasional car drives past.<br/>
<br/>
But you're breaking into a graveyard. It doesn't have to <i>be</i> spooky for you to feel a little jumpy.<br/>
<br/>
"How much dirt do we have to get?" Caleb asks unhappily as he follows you over the low wall. <br/>
<br/>
"Four hundred pounds."<br/>
<br/>
"Four hundred--!"<br/>
<br/>
"Shhh, keep your voice down, fucker. We got a hundred sandbags, we don't even gotta fill all of them. I'll start digging, and you hold the bags open for me." You test a spot on the turf with the tip of the new shovel, and drive it in.<br/>
<br/>
"Are we even gonna be able to get four hundred pounds of dirt into your car?" Caleb asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Then we'll make a couple of trips."<br/>
<br/>
"I can't be out past ten."<br/>
<br/>
"Then we better get to work."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Caleb winds up being late getting home—seriously late, because it takes a very long time to fill up the bags. You don't even get all of them filled before you have to pile some of them into the Jeep and drive it back to the elementary school. Caleb helps you offload them into the basement, then goes home. You return to the cemetery, and after a lot of feverish work you get the last of ninety bags tied up. That should be four hundred pounds, plus some extra. It takes you two more trips to get it all back to the school, and by then <i>you're</i> late getting home. Late and filthy and sweaty. <br/>
<br/>
You have some luck though, for you're able to get into the house and into the bathroom and undressed and into the shower before you're cornered by the woman of the house. She's not shy about interrupting you in the altogether, and she yells at you for being late, but at least you don't look like you returned from manual labor. And, again, you're able to buy a little peace with forty bucks of "tip money."<br/>
<br/>
But you ache all over the next day at school. And when you catch sight of Caleb in the halls, he gives you a pale and dirty look.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I shouldn't be doing this," Molly Shaw says. She sucks very delicately on the end of the joint, and coughs.<br/>
<br/>
"Is my baby mama worried about getting in trouble?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not your baby mama," she says, and punches you hard in the arm. You gasp theatrically and fall to the side. "I'm not <i>anyone's</i> baby mama," she adds sulkily.<br/>
<br/>
"You could be. You could be mine." You lean in close to her with a small leer. She looks back at you with distaste.<br/>
<br/>
You're sitting out past the portables, close to the horticulture sheds and as far away from the school building as you can get while still being on school property. Westside backs into an agricultural pasture on this side, and you're sitting with her under a tree that droops over a culvert. This is the place that kids go when they <i>really</i> don't want to be found, which means almost everyone gives it a wide berth since it's a dangerous spot to stumble over anyone. It's fifth period, and you're skipping Marketing so you can spend this hour with people more entertaining than Mr. Peters.<br/>
<br/>
So far, that only means Molly Shaw, who you'd connected with after first period. But you're expecting more people to show up.<br/>
<br/>
"What happened to your friends?" you ask her.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno." She takes another very small and delicate hit. "I'm not going to finish this without them."<br/>
<br/>
"Not if you went in three ways with 'em to buy it," you agree. "But they can be late. I like being here with you, just the two of us."<br/>
<br/>
She peers at you around a thin stream of smoke, which makes her look cross-eyed. Molly has a broad, freckled face, and her hair is pulled back in a small, tight bun that make her face look even bigger and more frog-like than it usually does. There's no reason she should act like she's deserving of better than you. And it's not like she keeps herself aloof from the guys. Why, you heard her last scare was connected to—<br/>
<br/>
"Give me a discount," she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"For what?"<br/>
<br/>
She looks down her nose at you. "A little fun like you want to have."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Jesus, is she proposing to sell herself so cheaply? For seventeen dollars?</i> "You'd have fun too, babe," you reply. "Why should I give you a discount on a straight-up fair trade like—"<br/>
<br/>
"Suit yourself," she says, and takes another hit. She overdoes it, and falls into a long cough, which she tries delicately covering with her hand. <br/>
<br/>
"Give me that before you drop it." You pinch the joint away from her, but hold it away from you. She's fallen into a serious little fit, and begins to turn pink. You snort softly to yourself and check your phone messages. Sure enough, the two people you expect to turn up are scheduled to appear. In fact, one of them has just texted to say he's in position.<br/>
<br/>
Molly finally recovers, and takes the joint back from you. But she only does this to pinch it out. "I should wait for Faith and Mindy."<br/>
<br/>
"Anything you want to do while we wait?"<br/>
<br/>
She returns your steady gaze with one of her own. Then she shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
You're about to lean in for a kiss when you catch a movement out of the corner of your eye: Martin Gardinhire appears around the corner of the farthest portable. It looks like he hasn't spotted you.</span></div></div>


path: 1112111321122222122222212212121121211221112
author_id: seuzz
title: Change Your Partner
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You pretend that your phone has buzzed, and take it out. "Shit, I have to go see this guy," you mutter. You glance up at Molly, hoping that she'll be disappointed. She just looks away with a light shrug.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Well, fuck you too. Or not.</i><br/>
<br/>
"I'll catch up to Faith at the start of eighth period," you tell her. "It's fifty, remember?"<br/>
<br/>
"We won't forget," says Molly, and doesn't even look back in your direction. You swing your pack onto your shoulder and sprint off toward the portables.<br/>
<br/>
Gardinhire is just about to the other end of the portables on his way back to the main building when you catch sight of him. You loose a teeth-jarring whistle at his back. He turns; you jerk your head at a nearby portable—the one you keep using. "In here." He stares as you open the door to it, then slowly trudges back the way he'd come.<br/>
<br/>
It's dim and musty inside—an air that you've gotten familiar with over the past week—and the floorboards creak under your boots. You drop your pack into a desk and unzip it. You grimace and glance around, looking for some kind of distraction that you can use. It's remarkable enough that you could cajole Gardinhire to meet you here, since you've as little to do with each other as possible on school grounds, so you've laid no plans for getting the mask on his face. You glance at the broken ventilation cover. <i>Use that again? But with what excuse?</i><br/>
<br/>
But then Gardinhire comes in. He stops in the doorway.<br/>
<br/>
He's wearing a light blue button down shirt that drapes over the tops of his knee-length khaki shorts, and even in the dark of the portables he doesn't take his shades off. "Shit, man, how can you see through those things?" you ask him.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you want to talk about?" he asks. He's got his hands in his pockets. <i>Dude is scared,</i> you think. <i>But he's trying to play it cool.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Come in and close the door. I ain't talkin' to you where no one can hear."<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't immediately move. Either he's thinking of bolting, or he's trying to untangle all those negatives in what you just said. But he does shuffle in, finally. He leaves the door open, though. With a sigh you brush past him and shut it. You feel him stiffen.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, man," you say, improvising. "I don't wanna bust up your business, but I know that you don't use. At least, I know you don't use all the shit I been selling you. You're dealin' on your own."<br/>
<br/>
"No I'm not."<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit. Then you tell me what you're doin' with it, if you're not dealin'."<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't say anything not right away. "I've been sharing with some friends."<br/>
<br/>
"You got a lotta friends. And you gotta buy their friendship by comping them weed? Five thousand a month? Shit, man, what I could do with an allowance like you apparently got."<br/>
<br/>
"They pay me back."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. How much?"<br/>
<br/>
His Adam's apple bobbles lightly. "Why do you want to know?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because it's bad for my business if your friends are getting a discount relative to what everyone else is giving me. If word gets around that Gardinhire can set you up for less— You <i>are</i> setting your friends up for less than they'd pay if they came to me, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," he says. "I don't think so. You charge fifty dollars for a joint, don't you? That's what I've been charging them." He seems to realize too late that's not an admission he should have made, for he shifts on his feet.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, so you're making a profit," you softly observe. "That's okay, man. That's fair. You've tapped a market I can't reach. But you see, don't you, that that makes us partners, right?<br/>
<br/>
"I don't—" he croaks.<br/>
<br/>
"We're partners, because I ain't givin' you no discount, not if you're just usin' with your friends. Are you just collecting on behalf of your friends, and buying for them from me? In that case, you pay four hundred an ounce, same as I charge any other fucker at this school. But if you're my partner, if you're dealing right alongside me, then it's okay that you're paying me only thirty-two dimes an ounce instead of forty. The difference, that's your commission for handling that part of the market for me. Shit, I'm fuckin' impressed if that's what you're doin'. I got other guys doin' the same, buyin' at thirty-two and sellin' at forty. But I had to ask them to go in with me. But you? Fuck me, Princetonian gonnabe Martin Gardinhire set <i>himself</i> up without my needing to say a word. I'm getting a chubby I'm so fuckin' ripped by what you done. But those other guys, they're my partners. And so are you, since you're doin' the same thing they are."<br/>
<br/>
Gardinhire's nostrils flare. "If you want to look at it that way," he says, and his voice trembles.<br/>
<br/>
"It doesn't matter how I wanna look at it, that's the way it is," you say. "Either you start paying four hundred an ounce—right now, in which case tomorrow you bring me twelve hundred, to make up the difference on what you paid me Monday and what you <i>should</i> be paying me. Or we're partners. Which one is it?"<br/>
<br/>
He keeps very stiff and erect, hardly moving, hands still in his pockets. His shoulders shrug. "Okay then. Uh, partners."<br/>
<br/>
You grin. "Good. Now, the thing is that my other guys, they tell me who their market is, and I tell them about mine. That way we don't accidentally get in each other's way. So—" You reach into your backpack, feeling your way around the mask, to pull out a notebook and a pencil. "You write down who you've been selling too. I'll write down who I sell to. That way we don't get in each other's way."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think— I mean, my guys aren't the kind of guys that, uh, that you—" <br/>
<br/>
Obviously, he's trying to say and not say at the same time that you don't mix with his crowd so you're not likely to try selling to them. Inwardly, you bridle, but outwardly you remain calm. "No, see, here's the thing," you say. "I don't know that you're serving your market well. Maybe you're leaving some money on the table by not talking to everyone you could be talking to. I got a pretty good idea who you're selling to. If you don't tell me who they are, I <i>am</i> going to go nosing around to see if there's any crumbs you're not picking up. So you <i>need</i> to tell me." You push the paper and pencil at him. "Sit down."<br/>
<br/>
He does, though it sure looks like his knees don't want to bend. He takes the desk in front of the seat where you put your backpack, so his back is to you. And now he takes those sunglasses off.<br/>
<br/>
Swiftly, you pull out the mask and reach around to press it to his face from behind. Gently, you let his head drop to the desk. You've already got your phone out, and with your thumb you dial Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Jesus, is that the bell," Caleb groans. "I'm going to be late."<br/>
<br/>
"Then we're all going to be late. Stop thinking about yourself," you retort. "Anyway, it's not the bell. Christ, we've still got thirty minutes at least."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb is in Gardinhire's clothes, but he's not in his mask yet, for it's not come out of your latest victim. Together, you are struggling to get him into Caleb's clothes. Johansson is tying one of his shoes, when he glances up and does a double-take over your shoulder. "Who the fuck?" he says.<br/>
<br/>
You stare at him, then whirl to look over your shoulder. A dark shape vanishes from the dirty window. "Who was that?" you ask Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't see. They just—"<br/>
<br/>
You don't hear the rest. You're at the door in five strides, wrenching it open. Outside, you look wildly around. No one is in sight. You pound down the lane toward the main building, but when you're free of the portables you see no one running away. You circle through the portables again, but catch no sight of anyone, except for Molly and Faith Becker and Mindy McAdams, sitting under that tree way off.<br/>
<br/>
"Did you catch them?" Caleb asks when you get back.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I didn't even see them. Jesus, is that the mask finally?" You lift it from Gardinhire's face and give it to Caleb. "Get back across the way, get into it. Remember, you have to seal it up first. You <i>did</i> remember to bring that stuff, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I got it," he says impatiently as he goes to the door. "Just don't be in a hurry to get <i>that</i> guy finished up. I'll need a little while to get things ready."<br/>
<br/>
So, you impatiently crouch by Gardinhire, waiting for signs of returning consciousness while fiddling with Caleb's mask. Who was at the window? Just a random passerby? Someone trying to spy on you? Could it have been "Dane"? Or even "Gordon"? How much did they see? You don't much mind being a target; with Gary Chen's guts, you think you can survive anything they might try throwing at you. But if they figure out that Caleb is involved— Well, you don't have the same faith in Caleb's ability to withstand pressure, in either his own form or that of Martin Gardinhire. Fuck, you didn't even have to raise your voice, and you were scaring the shit out of Gardinhire.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, speaking of whom, his eyelids are starting to twitch.</i> You drop Caleb's mask onto him. His body briefly wavers, like it's a reflection in a pool that's had a rock dropped into it, and then it's Caleb Johansson lying on the floor next to you. He's breathing, but is otherwise perfectly still. Quietly, you pack up your bag and leave.<br/>
<br/>
Across the narrow lane you find someone who looks like Martin Gardinhire laying in the middle of the opposite portable. You pinch his nose shut. He chokes and sits up with a hard start. "Wake up, asshole," you say. "Better get to where you belong before someone tries stealing his old life back."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus," he gasps, and rubs an eye. "Where am I supposed to be?"<br/>
<br/>
"Beats me, that's your business. But meet me at the clubhouse at four. We got a new spell to start, <i>and</i> some old business to talk about."</span></div></div>


path: 11121113211222221222222122121211212112211121
author_id: seuzz
title: Piled Higher and Deeper
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You leave Caleb to get oriented inside his new mask, for you don't want to be seen with "Gardinhire", and you also don't want to be around the portables when the real Gardinhire wakes up in his new situation. The latter should be able to find his way around, for though you did not put any kind of brain-band inside Caleb's mask, you did put his class schedule and locker info at the front of his notebook. If Gardinhire is as smart as he is supposed to be—something you're not quite prepared to bet on, not after talking to him this afternoon—he shouldn't have any problem getting into Caleb's school life even without the benefits of your friend's memories.<br/>
<br/>
The moment of crisis comes pretty quickly, and you and Caleb are both witness to it. Sixth period finds you and the new Martin Gardinhire in AP Statistics. He is in one corner of the room talking quietly with Marc Garner, the way Gardinhire is supposed to be doing, with a smug grin on his face behind those shades; you're in the opposite corner, in the back, slouching with David Kirkham; all parties have a clear view of the door when Caleb Johansson peeks into the room and stares at the figure sitting where Gardinhire should be sitting; where Martin Gardinhire in fact <i>is</i> sitting. You only watch from the corner of your eye and are careful not to react when he turns to look at you.<br/>
<br/>
But Kirkham notices. "Faggot in the door's makin' eyes at you, man," he says. So you give Johansson a direct look, and when he doesn't break off staring at you, you blow him a hard kiss. He jerks backward, and hurries away.<br/>
<br/>
"Ask him out, man," Kirkham teases. "If he's hot for you, take him. Not like you're gonna get any pussy."<br/>
<br/>
"I only gotta ask and you'll lemme in <i>your</i> pussy."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Maybe Gardinhire <i>is</i> smart enough to go along with a gag: You make a point of passing Caleb's locker between the remaining classes, and each time you find a guy who looks like Johansson at it. You feel a little sorry for him the second time you check, for Tilley is leaning next to him, bantering about something. <br/>
<br/>
After school lets out you have to run an errand for your mom in answer to a text she sent, and it's just as well that you had to stop at home first, for you had to collect the grimoire anyway. So it's about four-thirty when you get to the elementary school, and half a grin slides up the side of your face to find Martin Gardinhire's Audi parked outside it. "Yo man," you call as you tramp down into the basement, where your friend is slouched in a chair. "How was the rest of your day? You get laid yet?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh Christ," Caleb says. "Why <i>didn't</i> we get masks of a couple of guys who are getting some regularly?"<br/>
<br/>
"Speak for yourself. I came <i>this close</i> to banging Molly Shaw before you showed up fifth period. And didja see that queer Johansson flirting with me at the start of Muniz's?" He flips you off; you catch him about the neck and lightly pummel him in the gut. "You gettin' smart with me? At least you lost those fucking sunglasses."<br/>
<br/>
It's true that he's dumped them—big, dumb things made of cheap plastic—exposing his eyes, finally. They're dark, which makes them a match for his mousy brown hair; maybe it's Caleb, or maybe he's channeling the real Gardinhire, but he blinks nervously as you release him. "How're you settling in," you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I guess," he says, and pauses. "It's like I have to concentrate to keep in character, though. Like, seventh period, in Chorale, this girl was talking to me, but I couldn't remember her name. I finally remembered it, and get this, Gardinhire— Well, he doesn't have a crush on her exactly, but he does have kind of a, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, like this, huh?" You laugh and thrust your hips. "Yeah, I can see that with Audrey."<br/>
<br/>
Martin gives you an irritated look. "Is it really that easy for you? Or is all this bullshit gangbanger stuff just <i>you</i> acting like you think Chen should act?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno, but it feels kinda natural to me. I guess it'll come to you once you get used to it." But then you cock your head. "Didn't you feel a rush when you woke up in his mask, like this stuff just pouring down over you and into you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. I just had kind of a headache."<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't feel like someone sneaking into your head and sitting down next to you and putting his arms and legs around yours?"<br/>
<br/>
Now he looks a little alarmed. "No. I've just got this sense like there's stuff I can't quite remember. You know, like you get when you know there's something you're supposed to do, but you can't quite remember it?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're saying you can't quite remember how to be Gardinhire?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, like I say, if I concentrate on it I can get it. Like, right now I should be out someplace with Geoff and Ricky, maybe getting coffee and doing homework. It's like I have to remind myself that I'm Gardinhire, and then things come. Whatever is relevant."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh. Maybe it's just working slower in your case. Or— I dunno. Come on." You nod at the stack of sandbags nearby. "Let's get this taken care of. You don't wanna be Gardinhire forever."<br/>
<br/>
Together you pore over the next spell in the book, making various alternate translations of the instructions and muttering in increasing disbelief. "No fucking way," your partner finally declares. "We're not setting fire to this place."<br/>
<br/>
"We don't gotta set fire to the school, asshole, only to the—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, if we set all those chemicals on fire, you better believe this whole place is gonna go up like a torch."<br/>
<br/>
"It's magic," you reply, though you feel far from certain yourself. "There's gotta be something to stop it from—"<br/>
<br/>
"Where are you getting this shit? We can't do it, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean not here? Then where?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not anyplace!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, come on! Look, if we don't do it here, there's plenty of spots we can do it. Out in Suffolk Wilderness if no place else. Or we just drive, like, twenty miles down the old highway, out to butt-fuck nowhere and do it three hundred yards away from the road. We pile everything up like it says—"<br/>
<br/>
"And that's another thing!" he exclaims. "We're supposed to pile all this onto a sigil and set it on fire. Are we gonna use the sigil in the book? Because we couldn't get the last sigil to work when we copied it out."<br/>
<br/>
You snap your fingers. "You know, I bet that's it! I dunno how come the sigils didn't work last time, but I bet it's the sigil that'll keep everything from burning down. You know, it's like a magical force field."<br/>
<br/>
He groans long and loudly. "How the <i>fuck</i> would you know that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, we have to try <i>something.</i> Stop that," you say when he starts chewing on a fingernail. "Try to stay in character, that's something <i>Johansson</i> would do."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb gives you dirty look, but drops his hand. "Maybe we could run an experiment," he says. "Like, try it on a sample—"<br/>
<br/>
Now you groan long and loudly. "If that's you being in character, get back out of it. That's fucking lame. If it was gonna work on less than four hundred pounds of dirt I think it woulda called for less."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You argue for a long time like this, then reach an agreement: He goes out to buy a fire extinguisher while you remain behind to copy the sigil onto a piece of paper.<br/>
<br/>
You're still not finished when he gets back. "Finish this for me, will ya," you say, pushing the sigil at him as you sit back and stretch the crick from your neck.<br/>
<br/>
"No way, that's your side of the deal," he says. "I sprang for the extinguisher—"<br/>
<br/>
"You're the one who wanted it."<br/>
<br/>
"—and your job is to draw the sigil."<br/>
<br/>
"Fine," you grumble, and bend back over the work. "Dish me some dirt while I'm working. Like, who goes to these reefer parties at Kelsey's?"<br/>
<br/>
"Gardinhire," Caleb says after a moment's thought. "Mansfield, Kirk, Golia, Amanda, Kelsey, Brooke—"<br/>
<br/>
"Galloway? You serious? She's such a fucking prissy little bitch."<br/>
<br/>
"She does everything Kelsey tells her too. Whoa!"<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>That</i> was instinct, what I just said." He blinks thoughtfully. "I just blurted it out, too."<br/>
<br/>
"Instinct, huh? I know what you mean. I look at your face and I wanna puke, that's instinct too. I'm talking about Gardinhire, don't give me that look. Who else is at these parties? They're every Saturday?"<br/>
<br/>
"Right. So who'd I say? Golia? Marc Garner?"<br/>
<br/>
"What about Eva and Jessica?"<br/>
<br/>
"Usually, but they're not really part of the group anymore. There's some bad blood between them and Kelsey. Marc's not coming as much as he used to, not since he hooked up with Hannah Westrick."<br/>
<br/>
"What about Pruitt?"<br/>
<br/>
"Brent? Oh, fuck no!" He laughs. "Douglas Canfield comes, though."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Adrienne Canfield's little brother. You remember Adrienne? She graduated a few years ago, kind of acted like a mentor or something to Kelsey and them." He makes a face. "She's at Stanford now. Anyway, Douglas is her little brother, he's a junior, and Kelsey kind of looks after him."<br/>
<br/>
"By getting him high on Saturday nights?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I think she kind of resents Adrienne. Kelsey's not someone who <i>likes</i> it when others help her out."<br/>
<br/>
"Speaking of which— Hey, hand me my bag. I wanna smoke."<br/>
<br/>
He clucks his tongue. "Take it outside if you're gonna do that. Jesus, you're a sick, fucking, degenerate lowlife."<br/>
<br/>
"Was that instinct?" You show him your teeth in a wide, sharp grin.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, and it was also deliberate." He stretches his legs and tilts his head back. "Gardinhire's been wanting to tell you that for a long time, Chen."</span></div></div>


path: 111211132112222212222221221212112121122111212
author_id: seuzz
title: Burning Dilemmas
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You don't actually need a cigarette, not badly, so you hunch back over the sigil. "We were talking about Kelsey. What's everyone in the group saying about her and Hennepin?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing," Caleb says after another long pause. "I think everyone is watching, and everyone is kind of embarrassed. Kelsey thinks it's a secret, but everyone in her group knows about it." He falls silent again. "So Chen knows about it, huh? I didn't think he'd be interested."<br/>
<br/>
"He's not. Actually, what I wanna know— Hey, write me down a list of all the guys who show up to Kelsey's pot parties."<br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just curious. Also, how did Gardinhire get hooked up with Trantham?"<br/>
<br/>
You're concentrating on finishing up the last few squiggles in the sigil, so you don't immediately notice Caleb's silence. You look up to find him regarding you thoughtfully. <br/>
<br/>
"Nothing," he says when you ask him what he's looking at. "But Trantham, he heard from someone about Kelsey's parties, that I— That Gardinhire was in charge of buying for them. He went to Gardinhire, said that his own guy had been busted and he needed a new supplier. He asked where Gardinhire was getting his stuff. I— He said he could take care of it for Trantham, get him the stuff and pass it along. So he went to Chen and added a bunch to his order. Started getting a serious discount 'cos he was buying so much in bulk."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I know. Fucker. Do Kelsey and them know that Gardinhire is also selling stuff into Eastman?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think so. He hasn't told them, and no one's said anything to him."<br/>
<br/>
"It would be fun if they found out," you grin.<br/>
<br/>
Silence for a little longer. Then: "Are you seriously thinking about fucking these people up when we let them back out again?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know what I'm thinking," you confess. "I guess we'll see when we get there." You straighten up from your work. "And I guess we can get started on that now."<br/>
<br/>
Together, you spend almost thirty minutes at it. You clear out a wide, open space on the concrete floor and get as much flammable stuff away from the spot as possible. You lay the copied sigil on the ground and—one bag at a time—cover it over with four hundred pounds of cemetery dirt. You douse the pile with chemicals and liquids. "We got hair like it asks for," you ask Caleb. "Whose? Yours or Gardinhire's?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mine."<br/>
<br/>
"Good, I don't want his shit mixed up in this." <br/>
<br/>
Caleb takes out a match while you stand by with the armed fire extinguisher. You look at each other.<br/>
<br/>
And look at each other.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, come on, fucker, do it," you exclaim.<br/>
<br/>
With a hand that is visibly trembling, Caleb strikes the match. It hisses and flares into life. Gingerly, he stands over the pile and drops it. Almost simultaneously he flings himself backwards.<br/>
<br/>
You're no chickenshit, and stand your ground.<br/>
<br/>
So when a massive, purple bloom of flame explodes off the pile, you get it full in the face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Jesus, man, are you okay?" Martin Gardinhire seizes you by the shoulders and stares into your eyes. He and the rest of the world seems to be enveloped by a sickly ochre haze.<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "Yeah, I guess I— Fuck!" You jump backwards and try batting out the flames that envelop your body.<br/>
<br/>
You are on fire, aren't you?<br/>
<br/>
No, you seem to be fine. You look over at the pile of earth. It's being licked by violet flames. "What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
"You got a face full of that crap," says Caleb. "Big ass mushroom cloud came off it." He peers closely at you. "Doesn't look like it burned you or anything."<br/>
<br/>
You push past him toward the burning earth. There is no heat. You even stick your hand into one of the petal-like flames. Nothing. "Fuck, this ain't gonna burn the place down or anything," you say. "Is it supposed to be this cool? I mean, naturally?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not with the shit we were pouring on it." Caleb puts his own hand into the flame. "Yeah, this is—"<br/>
<br/>
"Booyah, this is real magic," you exclaim. "Gotta be that sigil, man. I <i>toldja</i>—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah yeah," says Caleb, but he still looks worried. "You think it's safe to leave it?"<br/>
<br/>
"We can't babysit it. I can't spend the night here and neither can you, I bet. Not unless we find some poor fucker to hang Gardinhire's mask on so you can hide out—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not getting into the kind of trouble you got into," he says firmly, and picks up the grimoire and studies the spell again. "Right. We gotta relight the thing if it goes out, until it doesn't light up anymore. I wonder how long this is gonna take."<br/>
<br/>
"You can keep an eye on it. I gotta get home for dinner."<br/>
<br/>
"So do I." You look at each other. "We can't just leave this thing," Caleb says. "What if it turns nasty, starts burning stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"Then we keep our fucking mouths shut and pretend we were never here." You look around. "We should clear all our shit out first."<br/>
<br/>
It takes you longer than you'd like to gather it all together, and a lot of it is unlabeled. There are powders and liquids and mirrors and tools; things for making masks and brain bands and sealants and glues; raw materials and half-completed materials and things that are used to make other things and a few completed items, like a plastic tub of sealant and another of glue and a few brain bands. You and Caleb gradually get it all organized. And something nags at you until you finally remember it. You snap your fingers at him. "Where's that mask of Chelsea?"<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't reply, but bends his head to study the contents of a sack more closely.<br/>
<br/>
You ask him again.<br/>
<br/>
"Chelsea? Oh. It's out in my car. Gardinhire's car, I mean."<br/>
<br/>
"What's it doing there?"<br/>
<br/>
"I was moving it," he says in a voice that's almost inaudible. "You know, I couldn't leave it at, uh, at my house for Gardinhire to find."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck was it doing at your house?"<br/>
<br/>
His lips compress and disappear, and he avoids your eye.<br/>
<br/>
The penny drops. "You were getting in and out of— Oh, fuck me!" You explode with laughter. "You were putting on her mask every night and fingering her pussy, weren't you?"<br/>
<br/>
He turns so red so fast it's like watching a cuttlefish in action. <br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus, that's awesome," you gasp. "I wish I could do that! No wonder you didn't wanna get into Gardinhire's mask."<br/>
<br/>
"That has nothing to do with it," he sputters. "Not being Gardinhire, that's a totally—"<br/>
<br/>
"You're not taking it home with you now, are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?"<br/>
<br/>
"Christ, man, what if you get caught?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not gonna get caught, I'll do it in a locked bathroom like I was doing at—"<br/>
<br/>
"Were you taking bubble baths as her?" you ask with a grin.<br/>
<br/>
His face is almost black. "You can take it home too if you want, Prescott, if you think it's so funny and so awesome."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I can't, really, though I'd love to. I don't got the same expectation of privacy." You whoop a little more, then draw up close to him. "If you wanna put it on for me, though, lemme sample summa what Black's been—"<br/>
<br/>
He shoves you away, and you hoot and holler and stomp around the basement. "Oh, fuck me," you gasp when you're exhausted. "But you won't. I'll go get it. We should keep it safe with the other shit. But stay out of it, man."<br/>
<br/>
You run up the steps and out the basement door. You've just time to see a blur behind you when you hear a hoarse voice: "There, grab him!"<br/>
<br/>
You turn, and your vision fills with something big and burly barreling down on you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
He doesn't know what to do with his arms and hands, but it doesn't matter. He's too strong for you anyway, and he's got you pinned pretty hard. You can scuff at the ground, and you can grimace hard, but the guy with Gordon Black's body is not going to let you go.<br/>
<br/>
That would be bad enough, but Gordon keeps giggling and exclaiming, "This is so freaky!"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut it, Matthias." That hoarse voice sounds to the side, from a guy who looks like Dane Matthias. He's got his arms around someone who looks like Martin Gardinhire. <br/>
<br/>
And then there's the fifth of the bunch: Caleb Johansson, looking like he wants to throw up, sways on his feet in front of you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hit him, ya' fuckin' pussy," Dane yells. "Kick him in the balls. You gotta make 'im hurt."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, fuck you, Matthias," you shout back. "I get outta this, me and your cousin—"<br/>
<br/>
"This wasn't my idea," Gordon protests.<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't talking to you, Black!" you snarl.<br/>
<br/>
Voices rise and overlap. Then Johansson punches you in the stomach.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Talk about sad.</i> It makes you go "Oof", but that's about all.<br/>
<br/>
"Ah, Christ," Dane says. "You'll never— If you can't fuck a guy over better than that— Get over here and do it on this guy. You can break him at least."<br/>
<br/>
Johansson turns even whiter. "I can't," he croaks as he stares in bug-eyed horror at Gardinhire. "It's too weird! I mean, that's— That's <i>me.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Which is why you wanna fuck him over," says Dane. "So get over here and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, man," Gordon gasps. "How can you keep straight who's supposed to be who?" He giggles some more. <br/>
<br/>
Johansson totters over to Gardinhire. "Don't do this," the latter says. "Come on, Caleb, what are you doing hanging with these—?"<br/>
<br/>
At least your partner is trying to bluff the guy he trapped in his mask. It won't do any good, you suspect. You get confirmation when Johansson bends Gardinhire double with a blow to the solar plexus. <br/>
<br/>
Caleb is bound to give up the goods eventually. So why make him suffer? Shouldn't you just give up now and save him the pain?</span></div></div>


path: 1112111321122222122222212212121121211221112121
author_id: seuzz
title: Dealing with a Devil
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"You wanna talk, talk to me," you shout.<br/>
<br/>
Gardinhire and Johansson turn toward with looks of surprise. <br/>
<br/>
"So tell me something, asshole," Matthias yells back.<br/>
<br/>
"Just the two of us," you tell him. "We go off alone—"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you," he says. "Gardinhire, start punching yourself in the face. Hard."<br/>
<br/>
But the guy who looks like Johansson steps back from the guy who looks like Gardinhire. "No, talk to him," he says. "I'm not going to—"<br/>
<br/>
Matthias curses at him, but the other refuses to move. <br/>
<br/>
Tiny beads of sweat—like spiders—crawl all over your body as you wait.<br/>
<br/>
Matthias curses again, then orders Black to let you go. He shoves his own prisoner toward Johansson, who steps back as Gardinhire jumps to the side. It's like a field of mutual repulsion separates them.<br/>
<br/>
That leaves you to stare at Dane Matthias.<br/>
<br/>
His hair is matted and his eyes are feverish and his lips curl back to show yellowed teeth. His clothes are sloppy and casual, but there is nothing like Dane's goofy cheer in his face or pose. He looks like a wild, desperate animal. You wonder if he has a knife on him.<br/>
<br/>
You nod at the basement door. "We'll talk down there."<br/>
<br/>
"You first, fucker."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Okay.</i> He edges away as you approach the door, and you keep your eye on him all the way down the creaking stairs. He remains at the top of the stairs—high ground from which he can fall on you if he has to. "So whaddaya got to say," he asks.<br/>
<br/>
The new experiment is burning in the far corner, but Matthias doesn't so much as glance at it. That surprises you, until you realize he and his friends, in laying the ambush, must have been peeking through the windows and already seen it. And you and Caleb were too wrapped up in to notice them spying on you.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm waiting, asshole," Matthias says.<br/>
<br/>
Obviously it's no use bluffing anymore, so you counter with a question of your own. "What do you want?"<br/>
<br/>
"I wanna know—! What the fuck are you doing? Who are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"You don't know?"<br/>
<br/>
He blinks: He shouldn't have tossed away that advantage. "I know that's fuckin' Johansson up there, all dressed up like—" His breath turns ragged and he licks his lips. And now you see just how scared he is of you. A reciprocal confidence flows into you.<br/>
<br/>
"Then you know who I am," you gloat. "I'm Gary Chen. Chen Guangli. Son of—"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you!" shouts the real Gary Chen<br/>
<br/>
"Look, man, I'm not trying to screw you," you tell him. "I'm sure you figured out most of it." <i>No problem telling him what he already knows.</i> You point to him. "Before I looked like this, I looked like that. Before that, I looked like Gordon Black." You pause. You're not going to go back any farther than that; and maybe you should let him think you're really the bully-boy captain of the basketball squad. "Yeah, I made myself up to look like Matthias, and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"For reasons." You hold his eye. "I made myself up like him and accidentally screwed you on your shit. I didn't mean to, it just happened. But you got pissed at me, and Dwayne told me you were gonna break something. So I turned myself into the asshole who was trying to hurt me. I wasn't going to stick it out long anyway," you add. "Just until I could figure out someplace where you couldn't get me. Then I'd give you your shit life back again." <br/>
<br/>
You grin slyly at him. "You really want it back? Ain't it so much easier bein' Matthias, just chillin'?"<br/>
<br/>
He flushes. "Fuck you. Show me how you do this shit so I can change back."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not showing you shit. And I'm not changing you back until I figure out how to get away."<br/>
<br/>
Chen advances down the steps. "You put things back or—"<br/>
<br/>
"Or what? Listen, man." You put up your hands in a placating gesture. "I understand how you feel, I got your upstairs in my upstairs." He blanches as you grin. "But the thing is, we gotta work together. And we can, you know. Those dipshits out there, they're not your friends. Matthias is a goof-ball, and Gardinhire's been cheating you. Yeah, you knew he was sellin' on the side, but did you know who he was selling to?" <br/>
<br/>
Curiosity and loathing fight for possession of his face.<br/>
<br/>
"To some to his friends, but at school prices. He was sellin' to his friends at forty dimes an ounce, pocketing the profit that shoulda been yours. But most of it he was selling at a profit to Chris Trantham, at the club. Yeah, Trantham. He told me, and you can go sit on him and ask him yourself. He'd buy from you, drop it in his locker at work, next day turn around and sell it to Trantham at a markup.<br/>
<br/>
"He's not a good partner for you, man," you continue as Chen grips the edge of a bookcase. "But I can be. I'm not rockin' your life. I dealt to Gardinhire and up at the college, your mom and dad are gettin' your tip money, I gave Karol Mathis this month's payment, left the rest with him as the advance on next month's buy. I didn't know how long I was gonna be here, and I didn't wanna make any trouble for myself. You step back in and you won't find anything disturbed. But—" you raise a forefinger at him. "I'm not giving it back until I can make myself an escape hatch. And in the meantime—" You shrug. "We can work together."<br/>
<br/>
He stares at you a long time, breathing heavily. "And then you'll fuck me up, take all my shit when you bolt—"<br/>
<br/>
"Why would I do that? Why make you mad at me? Madder? I can't steal anything, I gave it all to Mathis. All I got is the shit you deal around school yourself every month."<br/>
<br/>
"How much?"<br/>
<br/>
"About three ounces. You lifted some off me Monday, right?" You grin, but he doesn't return it. "You deal it yourself? Keep it, it's your money anyway. Tell you what, everything I sell, I'll turn it over to you. In fact, here." You cross to the pile of supplies, which also includes the remaining bags of weed. One by one you toss him three of the bags, keeping one for yourself. "You deal those, they're yours, but this one I'll deal. I'll either give you the money or, if I run out of eighths, I'll use that money to buy some more supply off you. Between us, we'll get the stuff dealt fast. Of course," you add thoughtfully, "you'll have to give me an allowance, fifty bucks every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, as tip money for your folks."<br/>
<br/>
Nothing gets said for a long time. Chen's eyes glitter as he studies you. You can't be sure, but he's got to be weakening. What else can he do?<br/>
<br/>
"So I gotta stick it out as Matthias? For how long?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"A few weeks. What's wrong with that?" Then a thought comes to you. "Or maybe you could be Gordon Black. Let Matthias have his life back, and you could hang out with Chelsea, get some pussy time with her." You waggle your eyebrows.<br/>
<br/>
He gasps, then swallows, like a fish taking some bait.<br/>
<br/>
"Or maybe someplace else," you continue. "I put my friend in for Gardinhire, so he could help me out. We can put you someplace useful, that'll do you good for when you got your old face back. Bulk up your network in a couple of places, develop 'em when you're feeling like yourself again?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like where?" he asks. Wariness shows in his face, but interest does too.<br/>
<br/>
"Lotsa possibilities, man. The basketball team? I sold some to Martin and Bennett." Chen's eyes widen. "Yeah, you go in there, develop some contacts by playin' one of them. Or, we already got Matthias lookin' out for us from Gordon's perch, if we take care of Patterson—" You grin. "Can you see that fucker dealin' to his own teammates? It could be you doin' it.<br/>
<br/>
"Or the football guys. Fuck, we don't know where they're gettin' their weed, you could bust their supply from the inside, then step in to take it over. Or how about Roth? Cool cat like him would probably make an awesome salesman. You and your friends are too scary. Roth could talk fuckin' Sagansky into buying."<br/>
<br/>
A hungry look comes onto his face. But he surprises you with a riposte. "So why don't <i>you</i> take one of those guys, let me run things myself? <i>As</i> myself?"<br/>
<br/>
Well, it's true. Over the last few days it's become very easy to act like this, but you could still pry Gary Chen's face and head off of yours. <br/>
<br/>
Couldn't you?<br/>
<br/>
But you temporize. "You should set things up the way you want," you reply. "Besides, that's the place we're aimin' at, you gettin' your life back while I disappear. If you wanna keep your hand in, start dealing as Roth. Maybe go into Eastman, set up a network there. Or kick back as Matthias while I do the heavy work." You remember the mask Caleb had made. A grin breaks out on your face. "Or maybe you wanna relax as someone a little sexier? We got Matthias playing Black. That'd make it easy for us to get you in for Chelsea Cooper. Why beg for the chance to play with her tits when you could play with them yourself any time you wanted?"<br/>
<br/>
You meant it as a tease, but to your surprise he turns quiet, and his gaze goes distant. After a minute it becomes clear he's not going to answer right away. You move into a corner, and relax atop a table.<br/>
<br/>
Long minutes pass. But when he stirs, his words have no force behind them: "Yeah, a lot of that makes sense. Even Chelsea could deal some." Agony shows on his face. <br/>
<br/>
He lapses into silence. Clearly he's receptive to all the ideas you've laid out, but undecided beyond that. You can push him in whatever direction you wish.</span></div></div>


path: 11121113211222221222222122121211212112211121213
author_id: seuzz
title: A Change of Partners?
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Luckily, you keep from laughing out loud: <i>Gary Chen wants to turn himself into Chelsea Cooper, but has to pretend it's so he can deal drugs to her cheerleader friends.</i> "That's sick, awesomely sick," you exclaim, and hope your grin looks enthusiastic rather than manic. "Girl like Chelsea's got lots of cred, with her we could have the whole fuckin' school buyin'!"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," he says, in a slightly dreamy voice. Then he shakes himself. "So how does it work? How do we do the, uh, the—"<br/>
<br/>
"You mean the mechanics? That's a trade secret. As for getting our hands onto Chelsea for the switch?" You rub an itchy spot under the brim of your ski cap. "We can use that fuck room of theirs. Her boyfriend can talk her into it, and you or me can take it from there." You want to see Chen take this bait—Chelsea seems like a spot he can't hurt you from—so you bite back any jokes you might make about his acquiring a fake Gordon Black as a boyfriend.<br/>
<br/>
"When would this happen?"<br/>
<br/>
"Depends on when Matthias can get Chelsea up there. But first we better deal with everyone else."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You start with Caleb and Martin. You still want to protect Caleb's identity from them, and you certainly want to hide how the "body-swap" trick works, so there's some negotiations about the switch-back. At the end of them, Chen withdraws a safe distance; the real Caleb goes down into the basement; and the real Gardinhire gets in the back seat of his own car. Hidden from sight this way, the two guys disrobe. Gardinhire gives you a beady-eyed glare of hate and fear as you lean in the car window toward him. "Close your eyes," you tell him. "No peeking." You grip his forehead, say some magic words—which are amazingly easy to remember—and pull Caleb's face off him. As his head falls forward, you wrap the mask in his clothes and hustle them over to the basement. Caleb is already out of his mask and clothes, the latter of which he has left at the top of the stairs. You pick them up and drop them into the car next to Martin.<br/>
<br/>
Then you gesture Chen back over, but meet him halfway. "We'll let Gardinhire get on his way," you say. "Then you can talk to your man Matthias. Tell him we want Chelsea alone up in that loft in the gym. You stick close to him, so he doesn't fuck up, and when he gets it set up, give me a call. Whatever time, wherever I am, I'll come running. Except tomorrow night, I got the country club," you add. <br/>
<br/>
That off-hand reference to his work, and your need to keep at it, seems to disarm him further. "How much prep time do you need?"<br/>
<br/>
You clench a fist. "It's all set, man. Sometimes these things take time, but this one's ready to go."<br/>
<br/>
His nostrils flare hungrily and he looks over his shoulder at Gardinhire's car. "How long's that fucker gonna sit there?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's unconscious, it'll be about five, ten minutes. It's hits a guy hard." An awkward silence falls. "Listen, once you got Chelsea in hand, you know you're gonna be able to get into the girls' locker room, shower, all that with no problem. If you could see your way to—" You mime snapping a picture. "Lots of them, of lots of—"<br/>
<br/>
"Why don't you come in with me?"<br/>
<br/>
But you shake your head. "Tempting, but let's wait and see. Some good snaps, though, they might melt the ice between us quicker."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Within ten minutes, everyone has left: Gardinhire to go home, Chen and Matthias to catch Chelsea. You call down into the basement: "They're gone!"<br/>
<br/>
The only reply is a lot of thumping and banging. Caleb, looking very pissed off, is loading himself up with the supplies you'd started packing before being interrupted. "What are you doing," you ask as he comes up the stairs. You ask him again after he's passed you without reply. You shout at him as he stalks toward his car. "Hey, the fuck are you—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm getting the fuck out of here," he shouts back.<br/>
<br/>
You swear at him, and charge over to his car, wrenching open the passenger's side door before he can stop you. "We have to fucking talk," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Save it for your new best friend," Caleb snarls back. "Whoever <i>he</i> is, because I don't know who <i>you</i> are anymore."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck do you mean by that? You don't even know what I told him or what we're doing with him!"<br/>
<br/>
"Is that any of my business? It sure doesn't seem like it, since you're not asking my opinion about anything!"<br/>
<br/>
"Will you shut up and listen? It wasn't like I could fucking <i>consult</i> with you, dipshit, not while they had us in those headlocks! I had to talk to him and straighten things out before he beat your guts into bloody mush and pushed them out your sphincter!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, thanks, man!" He grips the steering wheel and stares straight ahead. "It's not like I'da been in that position except you <i>keep! Fucking! Up!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
You come very close to punching him in the side of his head, but manage to keep your temper. "When was the last place I fucked up? Huh? Explain it to me. Yeah, it's been one fucking disaster after another, but when was the last one that was my fault? And anyway, what is the big fucking problem <i>right now</i> that's my fault?"<br/>
<br/>
He says nothing, only stares straight ahead while breathing heavily.<br/>
<br/>
"Because I got Chen off our asses. Off mine, at any rate, and off yours too, since he isn't even sure that you <i>are</i> Caleb Johansson. If you're worried about that, fuck, we can handle that, we'll just stick you in for—"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>That's</i> where it went wrong!" He turns on you with flashing eyes. "When I let you bully me into doing that fucked up switch with Gardinhire. We're right back where we were, except now we've got that psycho even farther up our asses!" His eyes narrow. "And one of us has him even farther up than that."<br/>
<br/>
All the organs in your gut churn and boil, but still you don't lose it. "I bought us time to straighten things out. And anyway, you're out of it now. Look in the mirror."<br/>
<br/>
"But we're not out of it, Will," he says, and visibly struggles with your name. "We're not out of it until everyone's back where they were. And even if that happens, Chen's going to know it was us." He blinks, and his eyes are suddenly bruised with tears. "My life is fucking over, no matter what. Either Chen puts a fucking gun to my head, or I have to run away under some God damned mask to hide!"<br/>
<br/>
"He's not going to— Look, lemme tell you what I've done." You get in the car and close the door behind you. "I've got him right here, man." You point to the center of your cupped hand. "He doesn't know it works, he doesn't know it's masks or any shit like that. But he's workin' with us, now." Caleb's eyes widen with incredulity. "I'm movin' him, talked him into swapping Matthias for a new face. He wants his old one back, or so he says right now, but we'll see how long that lasts after he's had a few days to play around with his new body." You grin. "He can't hurt us, not where he's going to be, and he might not even want to go back, in which case he's more or less going to be on <i>our</i> side goin' forward. And even if he does get his old face back, he's going to be totally simpatico with us after his vacation."<br/>
<br/>
You let the promise hang until Caleb snaps at it: "What? What are you doing with him?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, I'm gonna swap him out." You chortle hard. "Gonna swap him out for Chelsea Cooper."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's eyes almost pop from his skull. "You're giving him that mask? You said you didn't tell him about—"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't! I'm putting him <i>in</i> the mask—"<br/>
<br/>
"And what about when he needs to take it off?"<br/>
<br/>
The question puzzles you, until you realize his mistake. "No, man, it's a swap like we did with you and Gardinhire! We'll put Chelsea inside Dane's mask— Oh, man, can you imagine what that'll be like for her? Ha! And we're putting Chen inside Chelsea's mask, permanently! We'll have to get one of those brain bands so he can imitate her like we were doing—"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb throws his head back and screams. "I can't believe it!" he yells after he's run out of air and sucked in a new supply. "You just can't help yourself, can you? You keep having to fuck people up by putting them inside masks!"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, fucker, <i>you started it!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"And you keep doing it!"<br/>
<br/>
"And this is how we keep him from fucking us up anymore! Anyway, it was <i>his</i> idea!"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb looks you up and down. "Yes," he says. "I'm totally sure it <i>was</i> Gary Chen's idea."<br/>
<br/>
That tears it, but instead of hitting him, you grab up the sacks of supplies and leap from the car. He's already cranking the engine before you can slam the door on him. He takes off, and in a choked voice you curse after him.<br/>
<br/>
You throttle back your fury while unloading the stuff again in the basement; that weird fire is still burning in the corner, but you can't take the stuff back home. You check that you managed to keep the important stuff: the book, the unfinished brain bands, the supplies for making masks. Chelsea's mask.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Wait. It's not here.</i><br/>
<br/>
You blink and try to remember where it is. Caleb sent you outside to get it, that's right, because it was in his car.<br/>
<br/>
He was driving Gardinhire's Audi at the time.<br/>
<br/>
You groan. It's still got to be there. If it isn't, then Gardinhire has got it.</span></div></div>


path: 111211132112222212222221221212112121122111212131
author_id: seuzz
title: A Missing Mask
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You beat yourself on the side of your head. How could you be so stupid as to let Gardinhire drive off with the mask of Chelsea Cooper in his car?<br/>
<br/>
The answer is obvious: You and Caleb were so preoccupied with Chen that you forgot it was there.<br/>
<br/>
After five hard blows to your own skull, you decide there's nothing to do but try to get it back before he finds it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
From your phone you get the addresses for two families named "Gardinhire", and they're on opposite sides of the city. Naturally, you visit the wrong one first.<br/>
<br/>
But Martin's Audi is in front of the other one: a big, two-story slate house on a deep lot with leafy trees, out in one of those subdivisions right on the edge of town not far from Suffolk Wilderness. You case out the Audi's front and back seats, in case you can snatch the mask without having to talk to Gardinhire. You don't see it.<br/>
<br/>
Your lips twitch into a ghastly grin as you mount the steps to his front door. What if his mom answers, and you ask to talk to him, and she finds Chelsea Cooper up in her son's bedroom?<br/>
<br/>
It's Gardinhire's father who actually answers, and you very politely introduce yourself as a classmate of Martin's and ask whether you can speak to him. He lets you inside the foyer and calls to Martin, who in answer comes down a set of stairs tucked into a nook next to a very large dining room. He stops halfway down and looks at you guardedly. "Hey," you call to him cheerfully. "I gotta couple of follow up things to talk to you about, from our study session this afternoon."<br/>
<br/>
Gardinhire hangs back, then curtly nods and takes a step back upstairs. But you gesture outside, and to show him you mean business, you actually go back out. You don't wait for him either, and stride back down the pebbled walk to his car. You're standing by the passenger-side door when he catches up. "Mind if I check out the inside of your car," you ask. "It looks nice." Without waiting for a reply, you get in.<br/>
<br/>
Slowly, he circles around to the driver's side door. You quickly glance about. The mask isn't on the seats, or in the foot wells that you can see. Fuck, did Martin find it already? He's not acting like he's guessed what you're looking for. Maybe Caleb hid it under the seats? You bend to feel, but the door opens, and you straighten back up again.<br/>
<br/>
Gardinhire says nothing. He's not wearing his sunglasses, and he looks very worried.<br/>
<br/>
"So it's all straightened out," you say. "You had a little adventure today, one nobody would believe, but it's all good again." He doesn't reply. "You hear from Matthias?"<br/>
<br/>
"Which one?"<br/>
<br/>
You laugh. "Good point. I suppose I oughta call him 'Chen'. He wouldn't like it, probably, to hear me calling him by some other name."<br/>
<br/>
Gardinhire just looks ill. <br/>
<br/>
"Look, you're out of it," you tell him. "That thing that happened this afternoon, it wasn't personal, it was just a little thing we needed to do to get some info. We got it so you don't need to worry anymore."<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't look reassured.<br/>
<br/>
"But what we talked about in the portable, about being partners?" You break off and look all around, and look into the back seat, down into the floorboards, as though afraid someone might be hiding there, listening—<br/>
<br/>
No mask in the foot wells back there either. You hope Caleb didn't put it in the trunk.<br/>
<br/>
"What I was saying about us being partners, that still stands. You see, Chen and me reached a kind of partnership of our own, and I'm gonna be running his end of the business a little longer. I gotta run it the way he would run it, and what I told you, that's what he'd tell you. So, we're still partners." You punch the glove compartment button with the side of your fist, as though making an emphatic point. It opens. Nothing in it but papers and vinyl envelopes. You close it. "So you still okay with that?"<br/>
<br/>
No reply. You look over at him. He seems frozen in place. He doesn't nod, doesn't shake his head, doesn't blink. Is he still alive?<br/>
<br/>
You jump out of the car, and quickly slip into the back seat. Now Gardinhire's expression changes to one of deep alarm. "What are you doing?" he asks in a very weak voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Giving you some space. You seem kind of freaked out," you say from the back. "Did you hear what I said, about us being partners?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes."<br/>
<br/>
"And the deal still stands?" You duck down and feel rapidly under the front seats, and under the back. "What did you say?" you ask when you come back up.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, I think maybe I don't want to be buying anymore?" he says quietly.<br/>
<br/>
If you weren't in front of his house, you'd grab him by the head and convince him he'd said something very different. But you just get very quiet yourself. "You don't want to buy any more? Not for your friends? You've already talked to them about this?"<br/>
<br/>
He licks his lips. "Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"In the last hour? All of them? Mansfield and Kirk and Canfield and Kelsey and Amanda and all the rest? You talked to all of them? And Trantham, you talked to him too?"<br/>
<br/>
His jaw sags at the revelation that you know who he's been selling to.<br/>
<br/>
And since you've had a moment to think, you see that his pants-shitting regret at being in business with you is probably for the best. So you nod. <br/>
<br/>
"That's okay then," you say. "It was good doing business with you, but all good things and shit like that. D'you already sell Trantham his stuff? Is that a yes? Okay, as I understand it, you were giving him nine ounces. I'll want the profit you got on it, the difference between what you paid me and what he paid you. What was it? Speak up."<br/>
<br/>
"Two hundred and seventy."<br/>
<br/>
"Then bring me two hundred and seventy bucks tomorrow at school. You also bring me one of your friends at school, one of those guys you've been having reefer parties with." You don't snicker over the lame term "reefer party." "I'll start selling to him, so your friends can still throw them. You make the introductions. Don't worry, I'll treat him nice, the way I treated you nice. Only difference is, I'll be charging him four hundred an ounce, the way I shoulda been charging you. So don't tell him you were paying less than that. I don't think you would, though, since you <i>didn't</i> tell them you were making a profit on those parties. Right?"<br/>
<br/>
His head wobbles up and down.<br/>
<br/>
"Excellent. And since we're not partners, you can also bring me the profit you made on dealing to your friends this month. By my calculations, that's another— Four hundred. Got that? Good, I'm real glad we had this talk. Everything's all sorted out." You pat him on the shoulder. "You've nothing to worry about, as long as there's nothing you haven't forgotten to tell me. Uh, <i>is</i> there anything you've forgotten to tell me?" <i>Like, something about a dinner-plate-sized porcelain mask that has the ghostly image of Chelsea Cooper floating in it, that you found in your car after me and partner let you take it back, you cocksucker?</i><br/>
<br/>
"No," he says.<br/>
<br/>
You stare at him. But you can't challenge him without tipping him to the mask, and if he doesn't know about it, that would tell him about it. So you clap him on the shoulder, tell him you'll see him tomorrow, and slip from the car. He's still sitting in it as you drive off.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * * </div><br/>
You've no fucking idea where Caleb put the mask, and you're not going to call him to ask. Chen could be calling at any moment to say that Chelsea is in position. You've no choice, then, but to rush back to the school and try to get another mask ready before he does. Luckily, you've one last brain-band ready to go.<br/>
<br/>
It's a game effort, but you're still buffing the new mask when the phone rings. You recognize the number. "Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
You recognize the voice, too. "We got her up in the loft," says Dane. "Get over here."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean you've got her in the loft? You mean tied up? You're sitting on her?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, Matthias managed to talk her up there. They're up there now, I'm down in the changing rooms."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, he's just going to have to keep her entertained until I can get there. That won't be for another—" You look the mask over. "Forty-five minutes?"<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck? You said you were ready to go!"<br/>
<br/>
"I forgot one thing, I'm getting it ready now. Dane's just gonna have to stall her."<br/>
<br/>
"Fucker doesn't know how to talk to girls!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll be up there as fast as I can! Faster if you let me get back to work!" You hang up.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Frantically you work, but not so frantically as to be careless, and you actually get it done—including a brain band glued to the inner surface—ten minutes before you'd promised. Your heart races during the drive to Westside, and you pray your phone won't ring again. It doesn't, and when you're in the parking lot you call Dane's number. "I'm outside the gym," you tell Chen. "Lemme in?" The door opens a minute later.<br/>
<br/>
"I can't believe it," he says as the two of you run across the darkened court. <br/>
<br/>
"Hey, these thing happen, fucker. I got it done as fast as—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I mean about Matthias. He's managed to keep her occupied. Even—" He motions you to silence when you come to the foot of the stairs leading to loft. Quietly you ascend. At the top, you put your ears to the door.<br/>
<br/>
Soft voices sound within, a guy's and a girl's. <br/>
<br/>
She's giggling.<br/>
<br/>
You turn a wondering glance on your new partner. He nods curtly.<br/>
<br/>
Then business reasserts itself: "We just bust in on 'em?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
Well, no. It's best that Chelsea not even see you. But do you let Chen see that the magic trick uses masks?</span></div></div>


path: 1112111321122222122222212212121121211221112121312
author_id: seuzz
title: Chelsea Chen
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>There's too much pressure for you to think clearly: You want to keep the masks hidden from Chen, but you also want to keep your own face hidden from Chelsea; and you can't see how to do both. You decide to risk showing the masks to Chen.<br/>
<br/>
"Call Matthias on his cell," you murmur to Chen. "Tell him to pretend like he has to go downstairs to meet someone. After he's gone, we wait a minute, then you go in." From inside your pocket you draw out the blank mask. "This thing, you put it on Chelsea's face. Just grab her and shove this onto her face." You mime putting it to Chen's face, and he jumps back. "Like that. You catch her as she falls, and then you call me in. I'll do the rest."<br/>
<br/>
"What is this thing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Doesn't matter. Just call Matthias."<br/>
<br/>
He does so. It takes a few hissed imperatives before you hear raised voices inside the loft, and the creak of approaching footsteps. You and Chen hide around a corner as the door opens and closes. Footsteps go downstairs. <br/>
<br/>
You draw a deep breath, and hand him the mask.<br/>
<br/>
He holds it, and stares at it. It dawns on you that he's thinking about using it on you.<br/>
<br/>
But then he turns to the door, opens it, and goes inside.<br/>
<br/>
A harsh, female voice sounds. "The fuck are you—" Then comes a shrill shriek, abruptly cut off.<br/>
<br/>
Then a hoarse shout, which you assume is your signal. You bound into the loft.<br/>
<br/>
It looks much like the last time you were up here: boxes and crates and disused exercise equipment that's been shoved into corners. An old gym mat, rolled out in the middle of the dusty mess. On that mat, a tableau: Chelsea Cooper, her head lolling, sagging in Dane Matthias's arms. His eyes are wide with terror. "That plate thing," he says. "It— It melted into her or something!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, it'll do that," you say, and help settle her onto the mat. "Was that Chelsea's car we saw out front, next to Gordon's Bug? Then call Matthias, tell him he can split. I'll start getting her undressed." Your palms are already sweating in anticipation, and they're not the only part of you that's tingling. <br/>
<br/>
She's dressed in light-blue culotte-style shorts that fall to the middle of her thigh and a sleeveless checker-board blouse; slim sandals adorn her feet. You unbuckle and discard the latter, then unbutton and pull down the shorts, exposing white panties. With a mix of high excitement and a little repulsion, you discover the latter are slightly damp. <br/>
<br/>
You're unbuttoning her blouse from the bottom when Chen bends next to you. "Don't hog her," he says as he starts undoing the blouse from the top.<br/>
<br/>
"You'll have her all to yourself, you lucky fucker, and not just the clothes," you mutter back. Once the blouse is off, you lift her up and pull her toward you as Chen undoes the bra. And so, when you drop her back, she is entirely naked.<br/>
<br/>
And she is glorious. Rounded calves and knees and thighs that join in bowl-like hips that balance a curved stomach above which bloom firm breasts like ripe cantaloupes. Her arms are slim but shapely with hands ending in tapered fingers. Her neck is a little thick—everything about Chelsea seems compressed downward a little—topped by a head draped by golden, shoulder-length curls. And all over, with no visible lines, she's a golden tan—not too brown, so that a glow still shows from underneath.<br/>
<br/>
Her face doesn't bear looking at in the circumstances, though: it's slack and shapeless, and her mouth has fallen open.<br/>
<br/>
You stare with hurting eyes, and you know that Chen is staring too. Then your eyes lift to meet his. "You are one lucky motherfucker," you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
"What now?" he asks hoarsely.<br/>
<br/>
"Get outta your clothes. We gotta get them onto her." It doesn't take him long, for he's in Dane Matthias's usual wardrobe: flannel shorts, greasy T, shabby sports coat and sockless tennis shoes. Naked, he is much less inviting to look at than Chelsea. But such is her luster that she still looks achingly beautiful even in Dane's shabby and smelly clothes. <br/>
<br/>
Next part?<br/>
<br/>
Inside Chelsea's purse you find a set of keys, which you pass to Chen. "Get downstairs and into her car. I'll be down in a few after I've got things wrapped up with her."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean run down like this?" he exclaims, and gives you an eyeful of Dane's hairy nakedness.<br/>
<br/>
"Then get some of your gear outta your gym locker, your soccer stuff. I'll be along in, like, five minutes."<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a skeptical look, but hustles out when you glare at him.<br/>
<br/>
You've got several minutes free while the mask is still inside Chelsea. Time enough to think, but nothing comes to you. Having gone this far, you've nothing to do but to keep to the plan. You're not sure what advantage Chen thinks he sees in taking Chelsea's place, and Chen isn't the sort, you judge, to pursue a plan without an angle. Maybe he just recognizes that you hold all the cards, and is knuckling under to you as he knuckles under to Mathis and Macauly and even to Kirkham. In which case, you need to keep showing him that you're the alpha in this relationship.<br/>
<br/>
As you ponder this, you organize and fold up Chelsea's clothes, set her purse on them, and make sure you haven't overlooked something. You also confiscate a case of beers from the mini-fridge. Finally, the mask reappears on her face. Gingerly you pull it off her; from an inside pocket in your jacket you take out the small container of sealant and a brush. You keep a very careful eye on her while coating the inside of her mask. <i>So her middle name is 'Courtney',</i> you reflect as you work, for her name floats in blue letters over its inner surface.<br/>
<br/>
She is still unconscious when you finish blowing the mask dry. But will she still be unconscious after you've run down to get Matthias's mask off Chen? You look around nervously; then, for lack of a better idea, you drop her mask back onto her. Again, it vanishes.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Good enough for now,</i> you pray, and sprint downstairs, taking the stairs five at a time while making a tremendous racket.<br/>
<br/>
Dusk has deepened almost to night as you race over to the ghostly figure sitting in the passenger-side seat of Chelsea's red Nissan Sentra. "Last thing, man," you pant after he's got the window down. "I gotta get you out of Matthias. Close your eyes." He doesn't even blink. "Come on, man, you've come this far with me. It's not like you'll see anything anyway." His glare of skepticism deepens. "Fine, it doesn't even really matter. Just don't fight me. Hold still." You clasp his forehead between your fingers, and as softly as you can mutter the magic words. You pull. A mask comes away in your hand.<br/>
<br/>
It gives you a queer turn to see the face of Gary Chen lolling unconscious there. You've gotten used to seeing it in a mirror.<br/>
<br/>
<i>You're not turning into Chen, are you?</i> Caleb kept asking you.<br/>
<br/>
No, you're sure you're not, and the sight of his face brings back a lot of the fear and hatred you'd felt for him since your freshman year brought you together. Still, you've no choice but to work with him, and to keep on being him until you can get this nightmare unraveled. You sprint back into the gym.<br/>
<br/>
You find the mask back on Chelsea's face. You lift it, tuck it and the sealant back inside your jacket, and lay Dane's mask on her. Her form wavers, and is replaced by that of Dane Matthias.<br/>
<br/>
You'd dearly love to see her reaction when she wakes up. Instead, you make one last hard sprint back down into the parking lot.<br/>
<br/>
Chen is still passed out, and you're glad for whatever force of habit led him to leave the driver's seat empty: You drop into it, fish the keys from his loose grasp, start the car, turn on the lights, and peel out of the parking lot. A dippy pop song wails out of the car radio—it's a style both you and Chen hate, and you snicker to think of him trying to pretend he loves it. You search for a good changing spot, and finally settle on the parking lot of a nearby shopping center. You pull into a dark corner near the back.<br/>
<br/>
Last step: You put Chelsea's mask to Chen's face. Even in the dark, the golden hair glows as Chelsea Cooper fills out Gary Chen's soccer jersey and shorts.<br/>
<br/>
You stare at the figure, trying to get used to the idea that Gary Chen's intelligence is now operating Chelsea Cooper's body. You shiver.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're leaning against the passenger side of the car, smoking a cigarette, when you hear the window come down. You turn and drop next to it. Chelsea Cooper, with eyes wide, stares back at you. Her mouth is slack. "Hey there, you sexy thang, how you doin'?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
She says nothing, and after a moment reaches tentatively for the cigarette. You hand it to her. With trembling fingers she puts it to her mouth. She chokes and gasps on it a little before drawing down a good lungful. She blows it out, and swallows. "I thought you said I'd have stuff on the inside, too."<br/>
<br/>
"Memories, you mean? You should. Don't you?"<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes narrow as she shakes her head.<br/>
<br/>
"Try. Where do you live? Concentrate. Remember, you're Chelsea Cooper."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, check out her driver's license. It'll come eventually. After it does, just remember who you are."<br/>
<br/>
You take the cigarette from her, draw some smoke into your lungs, and give it back. She does likewise. Your eyes lock onto each other as she passes it back to you.<br/>
<br/>
In this way, you silently finish the smoke.</span></div></div>


path: 11121113211222221222222122121211212112211121213121
author_id: seuzz
title: The New Girl
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Your brain is full of bees and your legs are made of hard, bouncy rubber as you stride toward the school the next morning. You want to sprint into school, but you keep it in check. As it is, you can barely keep your feet on the ground.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Is this what it's like when you first get a girlfriend? The heart-stopping crush of anticipation at seeing her, the excitement at knowing she'll be waiting, the giddy incredulity at having a girl who is that close and important to you?</i><br/>
<br/>
No, you haven't got a girlfriend. But you are so keen to glimpse Chelsea Cooper, to see the new head cheerleader in action, that it's like the feeling of having one.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Nothing much happened between you and the Chelsea-fied Chen last night. After finishing a cigarette between you, you'd gruffly told her to start getting changed into her new clothes; as she'd struggled into them, you'd driven back around to the high school, to park briefly in the teacher's lot. "Don't hang around," you'd told your new partner. "Get back to your place, get into your new life. Maybe you better hide out in your room until you get your new brain better locked onto yours. See you tomorrow." You'd barely held back the overpowering desire to lean in and tear a kiss from her lips.<br/>
<br/>
After watching her drive off, you'd run back around to the student lot to collect the Jeep. Matthias's car was there, which suggested to you that Chelsea was still upstairs, probably freaking out. You'd almost left her to it, but decided to check on her in case she did herself some harm. So you called Dane's cell. After five rings, a very tentative voice answered.<br/>
<br/>
"Yo, I'm here, where are you?" you said. No answer. "Hey, <i>fuckface.</i> I asked you a question. Where the fuck are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, I'm at the high school? In the loft over the gym?"<br/>
<br/>
You look up at the dark windows high up over the gym. "You're fucking with me. You see me?" You wave. "I'm down here."<br/>
<br/>
"Where?"<br/>
<br/>
"Down in the fucking parking lot, dipshit, where you wanted to meet. Fucking liar, I knew you weren't—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. I see you. Uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"The door to the gym open? I'm heading up there to kick your lying ass." You hung up and ran for the side door to the gym, which was still open. "Yo, Matthias!" Your voice reverberated in the dark gym. "Where the fuck you hiding?" But you didn't wait for an answer, and sprinted for the stairs. At the top you found the loft door ajar, and peeked in. A hunched figure stared back at you.<br/>
<br/>
You let out a low whistle. "The fuck are you doing in here?" you asked. "Jesus, I gotta give you credit for balls. If Black or Patterson or one o' them caught you up here— Tch, but your ass ain't worth the hospital bill they'da stapled to it, no matter how gentle they was." You advanced into the room and looked around, stopping on the mat. You kicked at it with your foot. "You think this is where they do it? Where Black's cock meets Chelsea's cunny?" You laughed.<br/>
<br/>
The figure said nothing.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, come on, we should get outta here. I don't got time to waste, and anyway the thought of them doin' the nasty makes me wanna puke. Something wrong over there, Matthias?" You stepped forward and pulled the figure into the light.<br/>
<br/>
It was Dane, of course, and he was trembling all over.<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck? You on a bad trip or something, man?" You clicked your fingers in his face. "Snap out of it."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. I—"<br/>
<br/>
The best thing, you judged, was to get him in motion and home. "Come on, I don't got time, like I said." You pulled him out of the loft and down the stairs, outside to his car. "So where's the shit?"<br/>
<br/>
"The what?"<br/>
<br/>
"The shit, man, the stuff you said you had for me." He just stared at you, so you whapped him on the side of the head; he returned a wounded and frightened expression. "You called me, man, said you had the shit and we should meet up at the school parking lot. Is it in your car?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" he mumbled.<br/>
<br/>
Rolling your eyes, you crawled into the car and searched about until you found the baggies you'd passed on to Chen earlier. You pocketed them and turned back to Matthia. "So are you going home now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
You seized his head between your hands. "Go home, Matthias. You know where you live?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"You got a wallet? A driver's license?"<br/>
<br/>
After a moment's thought, he took it out.<br/>
<br/>
"Very good," you said with exaggerated patience. "Look on your driver's license. It'll have an address. Go to that address. Go inside." You slapped him hard. "And sleep it off."<br/>
<br/>
With that, you left him.<br/>
<br/>
You got in a lot of trouble at home for missing dinner, which you did your best to deflect by throwing yourself into homework. You were up until one-thirty, then fell into an exhausted stupor.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But now it's Friday, at last. Amazing to believe that you've been playing the part of Gary Chen for less than a week. It's been so full. And even now you've got a ton of stuff to sort out.<br/>
<br/>
Besides scoping out the state of "Chelsea Cooper," you've got "Dane Matthias" to spy on. Martin Gardinhire and Caleb Johansson to keep an eye on. Normal business to transact.<br/>
<br/>
So after hiding a baggie in the library, you go to the gym to watch pre-class basketball practice. Westside was built at one of the peaks of a physical fitness mania: the gym actually has two full-size basketball courts inside, separated by a high mezzanine where all the weight equipment is kept. From up there you briefly watch the freshman girls' basketball team practice on one court, then cross over to gaze down at the boys' varsity squad. They're dressed out and running hard: Steve Patterson is yelling at them, but Gordon Black is nowhere to be seen. No surprise there, since Dane Matthias hasn't got Black's skills with the ball. You wonder how long he can last as captain of the team if he's been skipping all the practices.<br/>
<br/>
You manage to catch Luke Bennett's eye, and nod at him. At this distance, you can't make out his reaction.<br/>
<br/>
You only have to wait ten minutes before Patterson calls an end. The rest of the team returns to the changing rooms, but Bennett runs up into the mezzanine to meet you. "What happened to Black," you ask. <br/>
<br/>
He ignores your question as he pushes in close and grasps your t-shirt. "I didn't agree to buy anything from you, motherfucker," he says, obviously in reference to the eighth you'd peddled to his friend Jonas. <br/>
<br/>
"That's cool, I don't hold it against you." You grin and grip his wrist, pressing a small baggie holding an eighth of an ounce of weed to his hand. "Here's some more, gratis, my treat. Just wanted to see if you and your boy were interested, that's all," you say as he glares at you. "Turns out Martin's interested. You're not?"<br/>
<br/>
Bennett shows you his clenched teeth. "I'm not fucking around—"<br/>
<br/>
"Neither'm I. Come on, man. Today's Free Ganja Day, tomorrow's the weekend. Who you hangin' out with, Martin, maybe Green? Two eighths gonna be enough for you? Look, that first one, that was just me breakin' the ice. Fuckin' Patterson's got you all too-shittin-in-your-pants scared to ask. But I drop some on your boy Jonas and he snaps it up hard. This one's free—" You push the baggie again on him. "Show I'm your friend, only wanna cultivate a relationship." You wink. "You want another one, make sure you're well stocked for the weekend? Talk to me."<br/>
<br/>
Bennett's stare wavers, then he steps back and stalks away. But you grin at his back, for he's taken the baggie with him.<br/>
<br/>
With a happy sigh you turn back to the gym. Ten minutes until the bell, for you've no place better to be, and one good reason to linger. It comes five minutes later, as the ballplayers are starting to troop out, when the main doors open and three girls come in.<br/>
<br/>
One of them is Maria Vasquez, the dusky, shapely, bird-brained cheerleader. Another is Kendra Saunders, the light-skinned African-American cheerleader with the track runner physique. Between them is Chelsea Cooper. You catch your breath in surprise.<br/>
<br/>
She's dressed in skin-tight blue jeans whose cuffs are rolled up above dark-grey high-heeled boots. Her midriff is exposed but her bosom is tightly clasped into a light blue sports top over which hangs a crisp white blouse, unbuttoned and draping to the mid-thighs. She wears a choker with a bright stone right at the top of her breastbone. And her hair is tucked under a cherry-red knit ski cap.<br/>
<br/>
Even in this new guise, Chen can't lose the ski cap.<br/>
<br/>
You loose a rafter-rattling whistle from on high. "You're smokin' today, Chelsea," you yell, and she lifts an imperious chin in your direction. "Gotta special booty call set up witcha boy toy?" You grin as Kendra stares back at you with shock and horror; Maria looks vaguely puzzled; Chelsea smiles very faintly. The trio don't break stride on their way to the changing room.<br/>
<br/>
You let your erection settle a little before turning toward the stairs. But before you reach them, your phone buzzes with a text.<br/>
<br/>
It's from Chelsea Cooper: <i>Fuck room in ten min. Skip first.</i><br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 111211132112222212222221221212112121122111212131211
author_id: seuzz
title: Faces Behind Faces
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Maybe "Chelsea" only wants to yell at you for wolf-whistling at her on the gym floor, but more likely she's got something important to say. And, anyway, you really want to see and talk to her up close. This is the gap between periods when you can get up the loft stairs without being seen, and you make it in a quick dash. The door is still unlocked from last night, and you slip inside. You take care to stand out of sight, though, in case someone other than Chelsea comes in first.<br/>
<br/>
So there's a moment when she has to look around with a puzzled air while you stare at her from behind a pillar. It was ten minutes before she appeared, and she's dressed out in the school's crimson-and-gold cheerleader uniform: colors that might have been chosen to bring out her hair and complexion. You whistle softly as you step out, and after jerking in surprise she twirls about once for your delectation. "How you settling in, girl?" you ask hoarsely. "I see you got the wardrobe figured out."<br/>
<br/>
"It took me a little while," she says. She does a double take at the door, and locks it. "It's not as easy as you're making it look."<br/>
<br/>
Maybe, maybe not, but she is very easy on the eyes. "You remembering everything you need to remember? Class schedule, locker combo, how Gordon likes his blow jobs? Oh, speaking of which, what's going on with him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you asking about his quitting the squad?" <br/>
<br/>
"He quit?" you gasp. "Really? When? Did you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Last night, and it wasn't my idea." She puts her hands on her hips; between that and her wide stance, she's suddenly copped a very butch attitude. "Patterson caught up to him last night, tried giving him some bullshit intervention." Her tone turns clipped: a contrast with the chirp of her voice. "Said the wrong fucking thing, and Matthias told him to shove the squad up his ass. Moron. Patterson came 'round to see me afterward, which was a bitch and a half, since I was still settling in." She shrugs. "I didn't know what to say, just told him it was Black's business, which I guess he thought was a fuckin' strange thing for his girlfriend to say 'cos he gave me a look." She twists her face into a goofy expression. "Then an hour later I started getting texts from Chelsea's gangbangers, all squealing about Gordon quitting, 'cos Patterson sent a text around to the other players, and then <i>they</i> started—" <br/>
<br/>
Something dings. Chelsea growls as she takes her phone out. "Driving me outta my fucking mind," she says as she checks a text. "Like I give a fuck, you cunt!" she yells at it, and puts it away. "You have any ideas what I should do about it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Isn't that Chelsea's specialty? Boyfriend wrangling?"<br/>
<br/>
She glares at you. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about her anyway, the real girl. I guess she got away from here okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"I made sure she did. She was freaking out hard, but to anyone watching, it woulda just looked like Matthias having one of his fits. You know."<br/>
<br/>
"And if she comes nosing around me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Do whatever Chelsea would do. Like I tried doin' to you when <i>you</i>—"<br/>
<br/>
"Alright," she sighs, but still looks worried. "It's just not coming naturally yet or anything—"<br/>
<br/>
"Relax, stop worrying about it. You're letting your own brain get in the way." With an inward pant of delight lay your hands on her shoulders. You knead them, and she gives your hands a doubtful look. "Just go with the flow. Remember, you're Chelsea Cooper. 'What would Chelsea do,' that's what you gotta keep saying. 'I'm Chelsea Cooper, what would I do? I'm Chelsea Cooper—'" You lapse into a singsong as you massage her. "I'm Chelsea Cooper, the hottest girl in school. I'm Chelsea Cooper, head cheerleader, I date the hottest guy and I crack the meanest whip, everyone thinks I'm hot and I don't let anyone put a finger up my cunny unless—"<br/>
<br/>
The doorknob rattles. You and Chelsea both jump. "Hide," she hisses, and you scamper behind some crates. A lock slides back and the door opens with a creak.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, hey." The voice is soft and a little hoarse, with a twang in it. "I didn't see you downstairs, so—" <i>Jason Lynch. Ugh.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Aren't you supposed to be out on the diamond?"<br/>
<br/>
"I had to come back in to get something, that's when I saw— I thought you might be up here with Gordon—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm not."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. I guess you're thinking about—"<br/>
<br/>
"Have you got a fucking point? Gordon's not here, if you wanna find him try looking in— Where the fuck is he now? Spanish? Or wait until you can see him later."<br/>
<br/>
The door slams. There's a knock.<br/>
<br/>
"Go the fuck away!"<br/>
<br/>
You can hardly contain your amusement at the entirely unladylike way Chen is conducting himself inside Chelsea's skin. You don't know what would be funnier: Chen being out of character with all the cursing, or Chen being totally <i>in</i> character with all the cursing.<br/>
<br/>
But all your mirth dies at her next words: "You can come out now, Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You look over the crate. Chelsea stares back at you with a look of dull hate, but it doesn't look like she's mad at you: it looks like her reaction to dealing with Lynch.<br/>
<br/>
But forget Lynch: "What'd you just say?" you ask with a smile you hope is quizzical.<br/>
<br/>
"I said you could come out. Or were you asking why I called you by your real name?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I was wondering why you called me 'Prescott'."<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos it's your real name, dipshit. You think I wasn't ever gonna figure it out?" Whatever of Chelsea's mannerisms Chen had managed to mimic fall away, and you can see your alter ego behind Chelsea's face.<br/>
<br/>
"<i>That's</i> who you think I am?" you laugh. "You must have one hell of a theory."<br/>
<br/>
"Well it's fucking obvious now that I think about it," she says. "You were hanging out with Johansson, and though I never gave a shit about you 'cept when you were in my way, I do remem—"<br/>
<br/>
"Johansson's just where I happened to have my man when—"<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit. Second is the way you bumper-carred me and Matthias around. Follow the fucking ball. You put me in Matthias's body, you put Matthias in Black's body. So where's Black? You sayin' that <i>you're</i> Gordon Black? Bullshit." She spits on the floor, and somehow it's even more alarming when she does it than when one of Chen's thug friends does it. "Would fuckin' Black do this to his girlfriend, let me help undress her last night? Fuck no, that motherfucker's a psycho about Chelsea. You ain't Black, which means you put him someplace else. Wherever you were before."<br/>
<br/>
"That doesn't mean—"<br/>
<br/>
"And just now Jason Lynch comes scratching at the door. I open it up, look at his face, the face that a sad little douchey mama's boy named Will Prescott tattooed all black and blue last week. Fuck, that was impressive, I was fucking impressed with the little prick for all of the five seconds I spent thinking about it. Prescott could never do that. But Black could, I bet. So put it together. Johansson's butt buddy Prescott jams Black into his body, Matthias into Black's, me into Matthias's, and himself into mine. If that ain't the way it worked, I'll lick out my man Kirkham's asshole every day for the next month." She arches her eyebrows.<br/>
<br/>
You say nothing, not right away. She's right: When spelled out that way, it's obvious. <br/>
<br/>
"Hey, if that's your fuckin' theory, sweet thing," you say when you do reply, "more power to you. But don't think I'm gonna confirm or deny anything," you add with a grin.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea cocks her head and stares at you. Her words had been contemptuous, and her expression baleful, but there's nothing like hatred in her eyes. Nothing like respect, either. Only a measured kind of regard.<br/>
<br/>
"I will say I've got a little more respect for you now, Prescott," she says. "I always thought you were a sad little douche. Oh hell, you know <i>exactly</i> what I always thought of you, when I ever thought of you, which was as often as I could get away with <i>not</i> thinking about you. Even Knouse and his little gang of elf fuckers got more going for them than you and your friends, at least they've got the balls to let their stupidity hang out in public. But this trick you figured out, it's pretty impressive, I gotta say. You got balls going for Black, and trying to play me. Keep it up, and maybe I won't spit on you the next time I pass you in the hall."<br/>
<br/>
By the time she finishes, your nerves are vibrating on about three different frequencies. You are very frightened that Chen has figured out your identity, and means to treat you accordingly. Meanwhile, the part of Gary Chen's psychology that you've borrowed is quivering with rage, and would like nothing more than to knock this asshole about for disrespecting you. But there's a third vibration, an excitement at having this beautiful girl talk so dirty at you, and an ardent desire to prove to this person—whoever exactly he or she might be—that you're worth respecting.<br/>
<br/>
All three vibrations come together to produce your reply: "Does Gordon like it when you suck him off with a potty mouth?"<br/>
<br/>
She colors hard.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen, man," you continue. "However I got here, from wherever, you gotta deal with me as I am, and as I am <i>this—</i>" You point to your face. "Get used to it. And you get used to being Chelsea Cooper. You asked for it, you got it, and if you wanna be half the bad-ass, motherfucking shapeshifter <i>I</i> am—" You step close to her. "You will strive for a perfect impersonation of this almost perfect girl."<br/>
<br/>
Her nostrils flare, and you can't suppress the fantasy that she wants you to crush her in your arms. The fantasy isn't entirely dissipated when she says, "I want to see you fifth period. Up here again."</span></div></div>


path: 1112111321122222122222212212121121211221112121312112
author_id: seuzz
title: Jujitsu
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You don't reply to Chelsea's demand to meet fifth period, and she doesn't wait for one. "I have to get back down to deal with my bitches," she says. "Give me a minute to distract them, and then you can get out." She leaves.<br/>
<br/>
And she's as good as her word. You sneak down the stairs, and when you get to the bottom you find the cheerleaders—all dressed out—standing in a semi-circle at the far end of the court with their backs to you. You use the opportunity to get into the boys' changing room, where you switch into your soccer clothes. You spend the rest of the period jogging and walking around the field, thinking.<br/>
<br/>
So Chen has figured out who you are. What can he do? Turn Chelsea's mean girls on you? As long as you're running his life, he has to do whatever you say, and if he makes your life hard, that just gives you a greater incentive to hunker down inside it. <i>He's just trying to put himself over you,</i> you decide. You can survive that. You just have to make sure he can't lay his hands on the grimoire or any of the toys it can make.<br/>
<br/>
You'll need a hiding place for them, though. He knows about all of his hiding places, and your hiding place at the elementary school too.<br/>
<br/>
Speaking of which, you need to check on the progress of the latest spell after school.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You put all these thoughts from your head during soccer practice, and concentrate on exhausting yourself for two periods with exercise. Then comes lunch, and you decide to scour the school for signs of Caleb, Martin Gardinhire, and/or Dane Matthias.<br/>
<br/>
They all seem to be in class, for you see no sign of them in fourth-period lunch. You're heading back around A wing, looking for some other company, when up ahead you spot Erik Carstairs, squatting in the grass with his fingers to his lips. He gives you a sharp glance at your approach, then with a smile takes another hit off the toke.<br/>
<br/>
You don't remember ever seeing so much weed consumed as you have during the last week.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, right, when you were still yourself you always avoided places where it was done in the open.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Weekend's comin' up, man," you say to Carstairs. "Set you up for some more?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm good," he says. He wets his fingertips and extinguishes the joint.<br/>
<br/>
"Set your friends up?"<br/>
<br/>
"We're all good. Next time we're short a little, we'll talk to you."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay. Hey, you seen Matthias around?"<br/>
<br/>
"Dane?" Carstairs looks around, as though it's a trick a question. "Yeah, I think. Maybe a day or two back."<br/>
<br/>
<i>And Carstairs is one of the smart football players. No wonder this season is shaping up as a disaster.</i> "You see him, tell him I'm lookin' for him."<br/>
<br/>
"Why don't you text him, Chen? I'm not your fucking messenger boy."<br/>
<br/>
"Fucker's too wasted most times to check his phone. And if you <i>were</i> my messenger boy, I'd tell you to smack him around. That's what I need to see him about."<br/>
<br/>
Carstairs laughs, and you leave him.<br/>
<br/>
You are briefly stymied, until on a hunch you slip back around outside B wing and peer through the window into Walberg's class.<br/>
<br/>
And there he is, staring straight ahead with a look of intense concentration. You can't make him out clearly, but he seems to be wearing full-length pants and a button-down shirt. You don't remember Matthias even having a button-down shirt. And where's his sport coat?<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, can you fuckin' believe it?" a gruff voice says behind you. You jump and spin.<br/>
<br/>
It's Gordon Black, gazing with boggle-eyed fascination into the same classroom. He glances down at you, then returns to staring at Matthias—or, rather, the apparition that has replaced him. "I saw him coming out of Mr. Peters' class second period, you know, 'cos I was comin' out of Boykin's?" He pauses, and giggles. "Boykin," he says again, and giggles. "What was I saying?"<br/>
<br/>
"How are you doing in your classes, man?" you ask him.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," he says. "Is that even me in there? Doesn't look like—"<br/>
<br/>
"Not him, you." You poke him in the chest. "The classes you're going to, how are you doing in them?"<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
A cold feeling forms in your chest. "Who are you?"<br/>
<br/>
Gordon's eyes go vacant, and his face goes slack. "Fuck if I know any more, dude," he says softly. For a moment he ruminates on that very profound question, then trudges away. He's only gone a few steps, though, when he stops to look over his shoulder. "Oh yeah, Chelsea sent me to find you. She said to remind you about seeing her this afternoon." And he turns back toward the building.<br/>
<br/>
<i>So she's pretty goddamned serious about.</i> You decide to oblige her, and even go so far as to eat your lunch at the top of the stairs leading to the loft.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You don't have to worry about being caught out so close to the loft during the lunch periods because the gym courts are taken up with freshman and sophomore classes; and today the class that normally occupies this court is out jogging around the school track. The only danger would be if Patterson or Lynch or someone else with semi-official access to the loft came up and caught you loitering. But when the stairs creak, it's Chelsea coming up. She only gives you a sidelong glance as she unlocks the door and walks in. You follow and close it behind. Her ass, in those skin-tight Lees, is delectable. So is her face when she turns around, though she's wearing a stony expression. Your heart beats and your cock rises.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, to business," she says. "And I know you got the brain for it, Prescott, 'cos it's my brain in there with you, apparently. First, we're going down to see Karol Mathis tomorrow morning. Starting today, you'll give me all the money from your sales, and <i>I'll</i> deposit it with him."<br/>
<br/>
<i>What?</i> "I don't think he'll like that," you stammer.<br/>
<br/>
"I've been dealing with him longer than you, I know he'll be fine with it. He only cares about the money, not the package that delivers it. You just explain that you won't be able to come in anymore, but that you trust me to turn the money over to him."<br/>
<br/>
"Why would I trust you? I mean, look at you."<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, look at me," she says. "<i>That's</i> why you trust me. And if you play ball with me, Prescott, I'll make sure that tomorrow he sees <i>exactly</i> why you trust me with the money."<br/>
<br/>
She smiles, and you almost swallow your tongue.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, that's first. Second, you're gonna start getting <i>really</i> aggressive about dealing. No more of this six eighths a month from the dipshits. I want Evans and them pushing at least three ounces a month. Each."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fuck?</i> "They haven't got the stones!"<br/>
<br/>
"They will, because you're going to put them behind some new faces, better faces, smarter faces. Like you were telling me yesterday, about growing the business by moving into some other position, some other—" She pauses. "Some other identity. You're going to do that with them. Like you did with me, you're going to put them inside—"<br/>
<br/>
"That's impossible!" you explode when you finally find your voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Why? You did it with me."<br/>
<br/>
You take a deep breath. <br/>
<br/>
"Okay, first, where do I put the people they replace? Like, right now you're pretending to be Chelsea, so Chelsea is—"<br/>
<br/>
"You do like with you did with Gardinhire and Johansson. Johansson became Gardinhire, and Gardinhire became Johansson. Switch them."<br/>
<br/>
"But Gardinhire didn't know the first thing about how to be Johansson! And it wasn't going to be a permanent thing, it was only for a little while, only to get some— And Gardinhire was smarter than Caleb, he couldn't fuck up Caleb's academics, so it wasn't going to hurt Caleb's life. I can't swap Evans and them for just anyone!"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't give a shit about anybody's academics, Prescott, least of all the dipshits. They're dumbasses. Anyone can take their classes, pass them. Fuck, swap the dipshits in for smart people, and the smart people can pass their classes for them."<br/>
<br/>
And while you're choking on that, she continues. "I'm thinking that one of them needs to go in for Trantham, I like the idea of building a network in Eastman. Another one needs to go down in the sophomore class, start setting up a network there. Last one can go in for Roth. I think you said he could be a good—"<br/>
<br/>
"And what if I just tell you no, I'm not going to do it?"<br/>
<br/>
She smiles mirthlessly. "Ask what happens if you say yes. If you say yes, then I don't fuck you up after you give me my life back."<br/>
<br/>
"That just gives me an reason not to give it back," you retort.<br/>
<br/>
Her smile widens. "Fine. Keep my old life for yourself. I'll keep this one. Why wouldn't I want to keep it?" She thrusts her bosom out. "Look at me."<br/>
<br/>
You do, and groan.<br/>
<br/>
"And the third thing," Chelsea continues, "you and Johansson are going to swap yourselves out with some of those rich fucks, like Gardinhire and those guys again. Just one-day jobs, long enough to lift all their loose change and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Leave Caleb out of this," you say firmly. "This is just between you and me."<br/>
<br/>
"If it's just between us, what was he doing with you at that school yesterday?"<br/>
<br/>
"He fucking quit on me. He couldn't handle it anymore."<br/>
<br/>
"Then <i>make</i> him handle it, Prescott. If you can't, then you're an even bigger pussy than him, 'cos you at least got <i>this</i>—" She jabs you in the chest with a sharp fingernail. "As a crutch."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not doing it," you say firmly. "Caleb is out and he stays out."<br/>
<br/>
"That's too bad," Chelsea says. "Because that means you have to go see Kirkham, show him all this shit like you're going to show Evans and them, and then you and <i>him</i> start fucking over the rich twats."<br/>
<br/>
You lurch on your feet. <i>Kirkham?</i> If you don't use Caleb to steal from the rich kids, you'll have to pair up with <i>Kirkham?</i></span></div></div>


path: 11121113211222221222222122121211212112211121213121123
author_id: seuzz
title: Whose Life Is It Anyway?
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It figures that a fucking Oriental like Gary Chen would know how to jujitsu you: If you don't do as he demands, he'll stick the responsibility for his old life onto you permanently.<br/>
<br/>
And now you know why he picked Chelsea's face yesterday: He can force you to do all that work for him; he doesn't have to lift a finger; and he'll be happy where he is if you decide to "punish" him by leaving him where he is. Fucker.<br/>
<br/>
But the worst part is the way Chen is now trying to rope Caleb back in.<br/>
<br/>
"It's Kirkham or Johansson," Chelsea continues. "I'm being really fucking nice, like blow-job-with-Chelsea-Cooper's-mouth nice, by giving you Johansson as an option. I figure as long as he knows all about this shit, you can use him. If you don't use him, you'll have to tell Kirkham about it all, and how we can use it to suck trust fund money out of the rich twats."<br/>
<br/>
"How long do I have to decide?" you ask thickly. You just want this interview to be over with.<br/>
<br/>
"You can say 'yes' anytime. I'll still be here." She smiles sweetly. "And you can say 'Fuck you sideways, asshole' as many times as you want, right up until the moment that you say 'yes'. I won't hold it against you, as long as you say 'yes' eventually."<br/>
<br/>
You groan and writhe in place. <i>How the hell did you manage to fool yourself into thinking you could outfuck Gary Chen?</i><br/>
<br/>
"You can do that someplace else, Prescott," she says. "Right now I've got a fucking cheerleader squad to run, and a boyfriend everyone thinks has blown his brain on goof weed."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Everything is blown on goof weed,</i> you decide as you stumble back downstairs. You want to get off someplace by yourself, unscrew your head from its shoulders, and let the world spin about without you for a little while.<br/>
<br/>
Your passage back to the portables is like a review of all the crazy shit that's happened to you since finding the grimoire. As you exit the library you almost run into Lin Pol, and feel a sympathetic stab of Chen's anger at the way she treated him last year when he asked her for a date. In front of the cafeteria you spot Gardinhire in the company of Mansfield and Kelsey Blankenship and Anthony Kirk and others from the AP gang. Dane Matthias, incongruously, is only a few feet behind them, following them toward the cafeteria, and behind him are Kevin Hall and Erik Carstairs. Hall is a football player, but a junior, so you're helpless to dodge the thought: if Chen wants to set up a network in a lower class, Hall would be an obvious recruit. As you pass the office: "Hi Gary," a female voice calls, and you look over to see Molly Shaw, Faith Becker, Mindy McAdams and Elle Moore. They grin and giggle at you. You lower your head and press on.<br/>
<br/>
Then comes the worst, after you charge out the front doors: On the quad between the office and the library are sitting six figures. Four of them are Jenny Ashton and Yumi Saito and Paul Davis and Keith Tilley. The fifth is Caleb, which causes a hard enough twinge.<br/>
<br/>
But it's the sixth figure that stops you short.<br/>
<br/>
It's Will Prescott.<br/>
<br/>
He's in a long-sleeve shirt and jeans, wearing your cap, hunching forward and hungrily devouring a sandwich while listening intently to the others. No one seems to be paying special attention to him, though Caleb might be leaning in to talk to him more often than to the others. <br/>
<br/>
During the last week, while he was suspended for pasting Jason Lynch in the face, you had gotten very used to the idea that you were both yourself and Gary Chen, that you could pretend to be Chen while not losing your own claim on your own identity. But the sight of someone with your face, sitting with your friends, occupying your space, now rocks you on your heels. <i>This is what Dane Matthias felt when he saw that other Dane in the classroom; it's what Gary Chen felt when you pulled him from under the Jeep on Monday.</i><br/>
<br/>
Bad enough that you feel your own claim to your own self weakening. But after your talks with Chen this morning, it feels as if <i>both</i> the identities you've been sporting for the last week have been challenged and usurped. How can you be either Chen or Prescott when both of them—in spirit or body—are so obviously manifesting?<br/>
<br/>
You stumble, and almost sprint backwards toward the main doors of the school. Steve Patterson—another unwelcome reminder—looms, but you dodge him at the last moment. You rush down the hallway and explode out the entrance between the Vocational and Music wings. You're heading toward the portables, and are just passing the first, when you hear voices.<br/>
<br/>
You're exhausted, more mentally than physically by now, and can't resist their siren call, though you recognize them. So you fetch up helplessly in the company of Jeff Spencer, Joshua Call, Jamie Rennerhoff, Jonas Martin, Luke Bennett— <br/>
<br/>
And David Kirkham.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
No one says anything as you slide into their circle. Maybe they're preoccupied by the subject of the conversation.<br/>
<br/>
"That's why you keep that shit under control," Kirkham is saying in his soft, sneering baritone to the two basketball players. "Ain't no one gonna cross Black over what he done, but either of you cost us a game 'cos you're gettin' baked—" He's fiddling with something, but you don't recognize it until he raises it to his lips and seals it with his tongue: a joint. He holds it out to Martin, who takes it and hands back some folded bills in return. "You blow a game, and me and my friends—" He jerks his head at the cluster that includes Spencer, Rennerhoff and Call. "We'll take you out to Suffolk Wilderness and take turns folding each of you up into a dildo and using you to ass-fuck the other. That right, man?" he says, turning slightly toward you. <br/>
<br/>
"Fuckin'-A," you reply. "We talkin' about the way Black's popped his screws all over the place?"<br/>
<br/>
"And who was selling him this shit," Martin asks. He stares hard at you as he tucks the joint into his sock.<br/>
<br/>
"Not me. You think I'm a dumbass," you reply. "I caught Patterson out here a day or two back, trying to beat some kind of sense into Matthias." You take a cigarette and lighter from your backpack. "My bet is it was him."<br/>
<br/>
"Fucking Dane, there's <i>another</i> one's lost his shit," Rennerhoff says with a laugh.<br/>
<br/>
"Why the fuck would Black be hanging out with Matthias?" Bennett asks. "They're same planet, different worlds types."<br/>
<br/>
"Because that's who he was looking to score from," you reply. "If you're lookin' for bash and don't know where to get it, who do you go to?"<br/>
<br/>
"You?" Bennett says.<br/>
<br/>
"I said if you <i>don't</i> know where to get it. Matthias stinks of weed from ten miles away. Me," you say as you suck down a lungful of tobacco smoke. "I wouldn't put that poison to my lips if Chelsea Cooper stuck one up her cunny and told me to pull it out with my teeth."<br/>
<br/>
A deep, reflective silence falls over the group as every guy—you included—visualizes the image you've just delivered. When Bennett speaks, his voice briefly cracks. "Funny to hear a salesman run down his own product."<br/>
<br/>
"Eh, some people like it," you shrug. "You guys, Matthias. Some people can't handle it. That'd be Black, apparently. I don't especially like it, but the thing is I can't afford to get mixed up with it, even if I can handle it. I wonder if you assholes can afford to get mixed up with it either." You peer narrowly at them through cigarette smoke. "But I'm willing to bet I'm wrong. And I'd like seeing you prove me wrong. Anyways," you add as you pat your pocket. "After the pasting Patterson gives you during the week, everyone needs a little recreational shit to dull the edge."<br/>
<br/>
"You know what pisses me off," says Kirkham. He plucks the cigarette from your fingers and takes a drag. "Cunts like Kelsey and Kirk, and the way they look down on— You should try placing some there," he tells you. <br/>
<br/>
"Those fuckers won't even jam on Pop-Rocks," you snort.<br/>
<br/>
"Kelsey does it with Karl," Rennerhoff sniggers. "That's what I hear. Does with some of the stuff you've been selling him, too," he adds with a sly wink at  you.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, I can see <i>that,</i>" you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
"I heard Anthony Kirk got caught with a joint," says Kirkham, turning to you. "Remember Connor Hutchison? You know him, he caddied at the country club."<br/>
<br/>
"I remember him, but I never see him out there."<br/>
<br/>
"He's working at a Starbucks now. Anyway he told me Kirk got busted out there with a joint. That's why I say—"<br/>
<br/>
"What happened to him?" Bennett asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Kirk? Nothing, of fucking course. It was only half a joint anyway. But that's how come I'd like to see you them set up. Think what you could take offa them rich fucks." He snaps a finger in your face; you brush it away. "I'd fuck 'em over too, extra surcharges, lots of loose stuff, make it hard for 'em to hide it, they'd lose a lot of it trying to roll it, pile up so much on them they can't keep track of it, so when you slip a little more into their locker and leave a tip in the office— <i>Bam!</i>" He claps his hand, and the bang of it resounds. "They can't deny it 'cos they think they did leave it there. 'Course I'd wait till I'd sucked as much cash off 'em as I could."<br/>
<br/>
That settles it, you're not bringing Kirkham into Chen's plot.</span></div></div>


path: 111211132112222212222221221212112121122111212131211231
author_id: seuzz
title: Taking Care of Business
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>When you get right down to it (you decide later after thinking about it) Chen isn't asking you to do anything that you weren't proposing to either him or Caleb. The only difference is that you'd be using Evans and Mendoza and Thomason to do it. And you're pretty sure you can pull their strings. As Chen, you already are. <br/>
<br/>
So you'll go along that far with his scheme. Before lunch is over, you've shot each of them a text, telling them to make no plans for Saturday afternoon. <i>Meeting,</i> you tell them.<br/>
<br/>
Seventh period: Gardinhire is waiting for you right outside the door of Muniz's classroom. "I got someone to talk to you," he stammers. "I also brought—" He fumbles inside his backpack.<br/>
<br/>
"Not here, man," you mutter, and glance around.<br/>
<br/>
"The restroom?" he suggests.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be a fucking moron. Meet me outside." You nod at the nearby doors. "I'll be hanging out, and you and your friend can find me."<br/>
<br/>
You saunter outside and lean against the wall. <i>Restroom,</i> you snort. <i>Fucking Gardinhire should know better than that.</i> Restrooms are the most dangerous spots at the school. Mostly on account of guys like Chen and Kirkham, but even they can't singly take on the roving packs from the lower classes that sometimes erupt into them. Your already low opinion of Gardinhire's intelligence falls—<br/>
<br/>
And it craters further when he appears with his "friend." It's Marc Garner. His face freezes when he sees you, just as yours freezes at the sight of him. Obviously, Gardinhire has already told him that he's to meet the AP gang's "dealer" so he can take over the purchases.<br/>
<br/>
"This is Marc Garner," Gardinhire tells you. "He—"<br/>
<br/>
"I know who he is," you snap. "Hey man," you say to Marc. He doesn't reply. "So I guess he told you what we need to talk about."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," Garner says through clenched teeth. "He didn't tell me with who, though."<br/>
<br/>
"Obviously." You turn to Gardinhire. "Wait for us inside."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. I also got—" He takes out an envelope.<br/>
<br/>
"Put that away. Put it in a book and hand me the book at the end of class. I'll pass the book back when you're coming out of the music wing after seventh. Now fuck off."<br/>
<br/>
He scampers away. You jerk your head to the side, and Garner follows you off a little way. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised it's <i>you,</i>" he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Love you too, man" you retort, then decide it's better to relent. "Listen," you tell him, trying to keep your tone mild and friendly. "Coupla things I wanna get straight. One, I don't 'deal', whatever Gardinhire said. I procure. People tell me what they want, and I'm able to get it for them. Sure, I make a profit, but that's 'cos I'm moving it from one place to the next, like a trucking company."<br/>
<br/>
Garner snorts.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, second, I don't procure for anyone on the team. I wanna be straight on that. <i>You</i>—" You jab him in the breastbone. "You are the only guy I know on the team I will be doing this with. And I'm not thrilled about it. I don't use this shit myself, and to be fucking frank with you, Garner, I'd like it better if I knew you didn't either."<br/>
<br/>
"Pozniak uses," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Pozniak's a fucking loser and you should use your pull with Gellman to bounce him from the team, him and Maddox both. I know he uses but I wouldn't sell to him even if he came to me."<br/>
<br/>
"So I'm a disappointment to you," Garner says with a sneer.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not saying anything. If you can handle it, you can handle it, I won't say anything about it to anybody. Naturally I won't, 'cos you're our best guy, and I'm not gonna fuck the team over by putting your dick in a wringer. I just don't want you lookin' at <i>me</i> like I'm a lowlife when <i>you</i> and your friends are the ones who give assholes like me a way to scrape a few nickels together."<br/>
<br/>
His face tightens, and his eyes drop. <br/>
<br/>
"So here's how it works, the fifteenth of every month at the latest, you get me word how much you and your friends wanna buy. Price is four hundred an ounce, you knew that already, right? You give me an amount, and by the last day of the month, no later, I'll have it for you. We'll figure out an exchange point where I'll trade you the product for the cash. Sweet and simple. Talk to Gardinhire about how he sorts and binds the money, he's good at it, I like how he does it."<br/>
<br/>
"And that's all?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's all. You can get it cheaper on the street if you know where to look, but you and your friends don't know where to look, right? So all you're doing is hiring me to get it off the street and bring it to you. If you wouldn't have a problem buying it on the street, you shouldn't have a problem buying it from me, 'cos I'm not even the street."<br/>
<br/>
"Alright then," he says, and with that apparently swallows your bullshit story.<br/>
<br/>
The bell rang while you were talking, and you quickly return to class. "Soccer stuff," you tell Kirkham when he asks what it was about; after class, Gardinhire hands you one of his textbooks. At your locker, you extract from it an envelope containing six hundred-dollar bills and seven tens. At the next break, outside the music wing, you return him the book with a firm clap to the arm and a cheerful thanks.<br/>
<br/>
And that marks the climax of the day. After school you pick up your customary meal from Aunt Sue and go by the elementary school. You wonder if you'll find Caleb there, but you don't; and besides, he never called or texted you during the day. You feel a strong twinge of regret. And inside the basement you find that fire still burning, and still giving off no heat.<br/>
<br/>
Then it's up to the country club. Work there is exhausting and boring, but after the excitement at school, it comes as a relief.<br/>
<br/>
After that: Home, where the old man is screaming in the living room, and though you are almost too tired to move your limbs, you help your parents clean and change and quiet him.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"You look like you're having fun," says Chelsea Cooper as she gets out of her car. It's noon, and you're downtown in front of Ben's BBQ. "How's my grandfather doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"You look like you're having fun too," you retort. "How's Gordon's cock doing?" She only grins at that. She does flinch, though, when you yank the black ski cap off her head. "Don't be so fucking obvious."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you, I can wear—" She lunges for the cap, but you put it behind your back.<br/>
<br/>
"Later. After we talk to Mathis. You'd just look lame in it. Even more lame. Christ, where did you find that shit? Don't tell me—"<br/>
<br/>
Somewhere in Chelsea's closet, apparently, Chen found some heavy green work pants; a short, black, midriff-exposing t-shirt; and an overlarge green-camo jacket. For accessories he's got black boots, a black leather belt that's three inches wide, and that ski cap.<br/>
<br/>
"I bought it yesterday. I've got a credit card with no credit limit," she brags. "Well, in practice no limit. Mom and Dad pay for everything I put on it, and this girl hasn't hit a limit yet. Her mom says that as head cheerleader she has to look good." She sniggers. "If you're nice and let me wear my new cap I'll take you shopping when we're done."<br/>
<br/>
"You turnin' queer in there, 'cos I'm not. You even look at yourself in the mirror?"<br/>
<br/>
"I look good!" she bridles. <br/>
<br/>
"You look like a fucking doctor's daughter on her way to a costume party. Mathis is gonna take one look at you, and then he's <i>not</i> going go along with this gag about you bringing him the money. So here." You jam the cap back onto her head, pulling it halfway over her face. "Wear it in fucking health, you bint."<br/>
<br/>
She yanks it off, and her hair flies all over. "You're really starting to—!"<br/>
<br/>
"It was your idea to do this, so come on." You take her by the elbow and pull her into the restaurant.<br/>
<br/>
Ben's BBQ is a local landmark and semi-legend, being over seventy years old. It's in the middle of downtown, close to the railroad tracks, and inside it looks like what it is: converted warehouse space. It's all part of a cluster of businesses owned by a local businessman, Karol Mathis, who quietly collects his revenues and rents and makes no splash on the local scene.<br/>
<br/>
Probably because he's also the banker to the local underworld.<br/>
<br/>
Inside, a short, fat girl just this side of thirty looks up cheerfully from the register and asks for your order. You take a sandwich and fries; Chelsea a diet cola (she'll have part of your meal, she says); as an almost casual afterthought, you ask if you can speak to the owner. The girl shouts back into the food prep area, and takes your money. You and Chelsea stand off to the side.<br/>
<br/>
Mathis comes around a corner. His calm demeanor doesn't flicker when he sees you, nor when his eyes light on Chelsea. You try moving your head in a way that suggests you want a private conference in the back; Mathis leads you down a narrow corridor to one of his offices. He doesn't sit.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, if it's alright," you stammer. "I'm not going to be able to come in here anymore, it's complicated, but— This is, uh, Chelsea, and she's a friend, and she's going to be bringing you the, uh, the payments I owe and passing messages?" You hate the interrogatory lilt you end your request with.<br/>
<br/>
Mathis studies you and he studies Chelsea for a long time. Then he shrugs, as though the whole thing bores him. You mumble a thanks, and pull Chelsea back out. Your order is already waiting at the front.<br/>
<br/>
"He thinks you're my fucking bitch, you know that," you say as you settle into a booth with her.<br/>
<br/>
She laughs. "And what he doesn't know is that you're <i>my</i> bitch."</span></div></div>


path: 1112111321122222122222212212121121211221112121312112311
author_id: seuzz
title: Chen's Boyfriend Trouble
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Chelsea nibbles on some fries while you tear chunks of juicy brisket out of a sandwich. "You doing any better at the character stuff?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"When it matters," she says. "You're right, it's like the longer you do it, the more of a habit it is. I still have to remind myself, though—" <br/>
<br/>
Her cell phone chirps; She looks at it, and stabs it with a finger. <i>Not very dainty,</i> you reflect. <i>Is that how Chelsea does it, or how Chen does it?</i> Then you wonder what tiny little things of Chen's you've managed to miss.<br/>
<br/>
"How about Matthias?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Which one?"<br/>
<br/>
"Either."<br/>
<br/>
"I haven't seen the one who <i>looks</i> like Matthias. Have you?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. "What about the other one?"<br/>
<br/>
She sighs, says nothing, then leans forward to talk quietly and urgently. "You know what sucks, what <i>fucking blows</i> about being here? All these fucking cunts just <i>waiting</i> for me to fuck up." She scoots forward, puts her chin in her hand, to speak in a quiet murmur.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm the fucking head cheerleader, right? I sure as fuck had better be dating the head of the basketball squad, you know? 'Cos the way everyone around here feels about the squad—"<br/>
<br/>
You remember the threats Kirkham levied against Jonas Martin and Luke Bennett yesterday.<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, we're talking huge fucking prestige. So when the captain of the squad throws it all away, turns himself into a—" She snorts. "I dunno. Maybe it's this cunt's instincts running all over me. I mean, I could give a shit. But it crawls all over me, knowing what they're thinking. I oughta be able to keep him in line. Look at me, look at this fucking body, this perfect body to fuck. If I can't make him shape up, if I can't whip him back into line, what does that say about <i>my</i> desirability?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're pretty fucking desirable, dude. I'd throw you down on this table right now—"<br/>
<br/>
She flips you off. "Isn't there something you can do about Matthias?" she asks. "Something to give him so he can do Black's stuff on the court? 'Cos that's what he told me, that he can't do any of that shit, can't even dribble a—"<br/>
<br/>
"All that stuff's on the inside somewhere. He's just got the looks."<br/>
<br/>
"Can't you give him implants?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's complicated," you lie. "I don't know."<br/>
<br/>
"What about undoing and doing it again, to give him a full package?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's complicated. I'd have to figure something out. By the way, should we be seen in public together?"<br/>
<br/>
She looks around, and catches sight of what you've glimpsed: Half a dozen tallish guys standing at the register. Most of them are in letterman jackets, the imperial purple and emerald green of Westside's crosstown rivals, Eastman High.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think they know who I am," she says, but pulls the ski cap down to her eyebrows and puts her chin back in her hand. "But what can you do about—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. I'd have to think about it. What can <i>you</i> do about it?"<br/>
<br/>
She buries her face in her hands, ignores another ping from her cell.<br/>
<br/>
"I can't let my boyfriend go wandering off," she says. "He's hanging out with Hennepin and them, you know. <i>That's</i> something you could do, you could scare him off of guys who are giving him—"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think I can scare off <i>Gordon Black</i> from anything he wants to do."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure you can, he's not Black. He's got the parts, but he doesn't know what to do with them."<br/>
<br/>
"He doesn't?" You grin. "Is that something you've found out, him not knowing what to do with his parts when Chelsea— Aigh!" You pull your foot back and nurse the spot where she kicked you. "There's no use me talking to him. <i>You</i> gotta be thinking about what <i>Chelsea</i> would do."<br/>
<br/>
She finishes your fries, and you finish your sandwich during the long silence that ensues.<br/>
<br/>
"You want some gossip about Chelsea?" she says at last. "I know you would, 'cos I know I would, but you keep your fucking mouth shut and don't make any stupid jokes about who I'm looking like, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"I won't say 'em out loud."<br/>
<br/>
She glowers. "Alright. You know how we heard her giggling the other day, when we caught her up in the loft?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Oh, no way. They were doing it?" <br/>
<br/>
She raises a claw at your face. "No, did they have their fucking clothes off when we busted in on 'em? No, they were laughing because, God damn it, Chelsea was actually having fun with him."<br/>
<br/>
"I bet."<br/>
<br/>
"I mean," she says, turning red, "that she was actually liking the goofy Gordon Black more than the old one."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, Matthias is a lovable guy."<br/>
<br/>
"I guess. Gordon's got this power, you know, big guy, takes no shit, stomps on the plebes, and Chelsea gets off on that. But he's got these goddamned moods, hates to go out, hates to party, just sits around and makes faces at everyone. Chelsea likes to party, and <i>I will rip your fucking balls off if you don't stop smirking.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
You adjust your expression.<br/>
<br/>
"But Matthias <i>loves</i> being with people, so suddenly Gordon loved being with people. So he was driving her crazy because he wasn't doing all the things she was telling him do, and he was fucking up the squad, and she was screaming at him over it, but all the time she was also digging the fact that he was finally fun to be with." She shudders all over. "He was <i>cute</i> all of a sudden."<br/>
<br/>
You suck thoughtfully on a tooth before speaking. "I gotta tell you, man, this isn't the kind of gossip I'm really into. I was hoping you were going to tell me about all the dyke sex Chelsea's been secretly having with Kendra."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Kendra!" She shudders again. "Never mind that. I guess, being where I am now, maybe I'm more interested in Chelsea's fucking moods than normal. Reason I told you, I guess, is because you asked what Chelsea would do."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean she might stick with the new Gordon, have fun with him even thought he's—"<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea's expression grows very pinched.<br/>
<br/>
"Or do you mean she'd break up with him? Is she that cold?"<br/>
<br/>
"Listen," she hisses. "I'm only telling you what Chelsea would do, not what <i>I</i> would do, or want to do. But this bitch wouldn't just dump him. She'd start going out with <i>Patterson.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
You rear back with surprise. "You're fucking—"<br/>
<br/>
"Shh!" She pulls you forward. Her cell pings again, but still she ignores it. <br/>
<br/>
"Not one fucking word, Prescott. Not one smirk, or joke, or even a fucking <i>thought.</i>" She pushes you back. "But she'd do it. To punish Black, to show everyone she's all about punishing people for fucking up the team, <i>and</i> to keep herself at the top, because Patterson's the new captain of the squad, and all the birds at school are perched and leaning forward, waiting to see if it sticks, if Black's gone for good. Then they'll all jump on Patterson—" <br/>
<br/>
Her eyes blaze. "Oh, that fucking beanpole's gonna have three helpings of pussy a day for the rest of the year. He's gonna audition every fucking cunny in the school and give every one of them a call back just to be sure his dick remembers them right. That's what all these calls are about—" She gestures at the cell. "Chelsea's gangbangers telling me who's been doing what and saying what, how they're jostling to the front of the line so they can be in position when the gun goes off. By Monday morning—"<br/>
<br/>
She makes a little noise in the back of her throat. It sounds like she's trying not to vomit. When she raises her face, she's gone very pale.<br/>
<br/>
"By Monday morning," she says, "I'm gonna have to decide if I'm gonna take Patterson off the market pre-emptively."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You can't say you really sympathize with Chen, but you understand where he finds himself. And you don't tease him about it: it's not a good idea to piss him off. In fact, you tell him you've got a present that will make him feel better. He stares suspiciously when you hand over the ornately wrapped gift box you'd prepared just before this meeting. He gasps girlishly, though, on opening it. "Where did you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"From Gardinhire, yesterday," you say. "That's this month's profit he made off the Westside trade. I told you I could take care of things." <i>You don't mention the two-seventy you held back from his Eastman profits.</i><br/>
<br/>
"You've got other things to take care of," Chelsea says slyly, but smiles as she slips the box into a pocket. "But this is a nice gesture. I'd kiss you, but—" She glances at the Eastman crew. "Those guys <i>might</i> recognize me. They play for the Eastman squad." You glance over at them; it must be Chelsea's memories that recognize them, for their faces mean nothing to either brain inside your head. Bad luck for Eastman, though, you reflect; one of the guys has his arm in a sling.<br/>
<br/>
You leave soon afterward, and drive to the school to check on the fire; it's still burning. Your old house is nearby, and you find yourself thinking about Black.<br/>
<br/>
You could, actually, transfer Black's memories and abilities into Dane's mask; you just didn't want to tell Chen that, at least not right away. It would be complicated, for you'd have to get Black alone, and get your mask off him, and use a brain band on him.<br/>
<br/>
And as you think about it all, you find yourself wondering what's going on with him. He wasn't with Chen when he and Gardinhire and Matthias attacked you and Caleb. Of course, Chen didn't know at the time that "Will Prescott" was a fake. He knows that now, though. Does he care? Has he talked to Gordon? And if he has, what has Gordon said?</span></div></div>


path: 11121113211222221222222122121211212112211121213121123112
author_id: seuzz
title: Making New Made Men
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You wrestle with the idea of talking to Gordon Black—the guy you've trapped in the role of "Will Prescott"—for you wonder what he's been thinking and how he's been adapting to his role. You wonder if Chen has said anything to him, about the masks and who victimized him. You're tempted to sound him out.<br/>
<br/>
But you decide to leave well enough alone. Bad enough that "Will Prescott" got suspended for a week for beating the crap out of Jason Lynch; you don't want him suspended for a month for doing the same to you if you got him pissed at you.<br/>
<br/>
So you return to the job that was interrupted by lunch: making some brain bands. If Chen wants to put Evans and Thomason and Mendoza under some other faces, you can oblige. In fact, you've figured out a way to do so that won't disrupt things too badly. It'll be tricky, but—<br/>
<br/>
Actually, the trickiest part is that you have to work at home. To save money, you have to play nurse on Saturdays to your grandfather. Back at the house, you sit by his bedside and hunch over a metal strip, carving runes into it; the old man makes gabbling noises, and his arms sometimes flail, but he's mostly quiet, being distracted by the TV and the Chinese tele-dramas playing on the DVD player. Your mom asks you at one point what you're doing; you tell her it's for Marketing class, a fake product you have to invent and develop an ad campaign for. That wins her approval, though she plainly has no idea what kind of product you think you're developing.<br/>
<br/>
It's long and tedious work, and by five o'clock you've only got two of them done. You text the three motherfuckers who help you deal, and tell them you're postponing the meeting until tomorrow afternoon. Your dad relieves you of nursing duties after supper, and you grab up homework—so the excuse of a study session looks legitimate—and race back over to the elementary school. There you're able to finish the third band and to make and buff three masks before knocking off at eleven.<br/>
<br/>
Kirkham calls at one point, interrupting you while you're still carving runes into the last brain band. "The fuck are you doing?" he asks. "Thomason's on his way over here."<br/>
<br/>
"Then what do you need me for? You think my cock's tastier than his?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't want this fucker over here. Come hang out here too, or take him off my hands."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm busy."<br/>
<br/>
"So'm I. I'll come over and we'll get our shit done together."<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry, this is solo work."<br/>
<br/>
"How long does it take you jack off?"<br/>
<br/>
"Longer when I've got your voice in my head. This weekend is shot for me, man."<br/>
<br/>
"You got time for chollos like Mendoza. He told me you're supposed to hang out with him tomorrow, were supposed to hang out with him today."<br/>
<br/>
"That's business, and what I got going on is kicking my ass so hard I had to put it off. Next weekend I'll have a chubby you can blow, promise."<br/>
<br/>
He signs off, grumbling.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Thomason and Mendoza, believe it or not, have church the next morning, so you won't be able to set up the meetings with them until two. You put the time to use, though, with another trip to the elementary school. Your heart leaps when you see that the fire is out, but the grimoire warned that it might need to be relit: the spell won't be complete until the pile doesn't relight. You toss a match onto it, and to your disappointment purple flames bloom off it. They continue to burn for the next five hours as you make and polish three more masks. <br/>
<br/>
Then it's time to meet with the dipshits. <br/>
<br/>
You'd staggered the meetings times in half hour increments, so that Evans arrives at two o'clock, thirty minutes before Mendoza is due, and an hour before Thomason. You're lurking by the corner of the gym when Evans pulls into the lot, and with a jerk of the head you lead him back past the tennis courts toward the portables. "So, what's the deal?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"We're changing the network around, gonna set you guys up with some new markets."<br/>
<br/>
"I already have a good market," Evans says.<br/>
<br/>
"You're only selling six eighths a months," you tell him. "You're gonna start selling three ounces."<br/>
<br/>
He gasps. "I can't!"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure you can, when you see how I've got it set up. In here." You open the door to the infamous portable for him. He goes inside.<br/>
<br/>
You follow, and when you're over the doorstep you catch him from behind with a brain band.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You catch Mendoza the same way at two-thirty, and Thomason at three. In Evans's and Mendoza's cases, after they recover to glare confusedly about, you tell them to "go get a shake or a blow job someplace" and to be back at three-fifteen. They're punctual, banging on the door to the portable just as Thomason is sitting up on the teacher's desk and looking around groggily. They look at you suspiciously as you beckon them inside.<br/>
<br/>
"Shake it off, fuckers, and sit down. You're about to have your minds blown," you tell them from the front of the room. They look at each other, and shuffle into some desks.<br/>
<br/>
"Never mind where I found this stuff, or how I figured out how to do it," you continue. "You ask me any questions like that, I already got an answer. The answer is 'Fuck you'. Understand? Your job is to do what I tell you, to fuck who I tell you, to fucking deal and roll like I tell you. You're gonna have fun, but you're working for me. I own your fucking souls now, with or without your permission."<br/>
<br/>
Their eyes narrow, except for Evans, who just looks confused.<br/>
<br/>
You hold up a brain band. "You see this? You fucking see this, Mendoza? What is it?"<br/>
<br/>
He glowers. "A metal strip?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's what it looks like. Check out the other side." He catches your toss, and his eyes widen as he looks down at it. The other two, who flank him, lean in. Soft murmurs go up, and they take turns trying to touch the name GEORGE EDUARDO MENDOZA that floats in blue letters above its surface.<br/>
<br/>
"You know what that is?" you ask them. "That's your fucking brain, Mendoza, what there is of it. It's every memory you ever had, from the first birthday party you remember to the last time you jacked off, all the way up until two-thirty, when you walked through that door. That's what I did to you when you came in, I slapped that little motherfucker on your head. It's like a fucking memory stick, and it sucked up everything you got inside here." You point to your temple. "It's a portable installation of George Eduardo—nice middle name, by the way, asshole—Mendoza. And I got one of you, and one of you, too." You toss brain bands to Evans and Thomason. Thomason hangs on to his. Evans drops his on the desk, and recoils from it.<br/>
<br/>
"And that's not all I lifted from you ass clowns." You hold up a mask, one of three that you made when you had them. "Check it out, pretty cool, eh? Take a close look at it. You see a face inside it?" You hand it to Mendoza, and the other two scoot in close to peer into it too. When their expressions change, you speak again. "That's right, it's Thomason. I put a copy of his face in that thing. I put a copy of his whole body inside it. I'm an artist. Except I'm not.<br/>
<br/>
"This is magic, you faggots. What you're looking at is a magical disguise."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So then you explain it to them, in broad terms, and answer the good questions you care to answer, and the bad questions with "Fuck you, that's what." You explain that the brain bands copy brains and the masks copy bodies; that you can put the two of them together to make a perfect disguise; and you let Mendoza, who's the smallest of the trio, put on the mask of Thomason, who's the tallest. "Go on, touch him, feel him, rub him, like you want to, you homos. Feel yourself up, Thomason, give yourself a blow job." They all look very green, but also fascinated.<br/>
<br/>
"Now here's what we're going to do," you tell them. "These brain bands, they're only good up until three o'clock. They don't got any of your memories after that, which means they don't got any memories of what I just told you. Now, what we're going to do is, we're going to put Thomason's brain band and Thomason's mask together, and we're going to put it on someone else. Not one of you faggots, but on another poor asshole at this school. And he's gonna wake up and find that he's got Thomason's body and Thomason's brain, and he's gona have no choice but to go around jacking off like he's Joseph Terrence Thomason. He's gonna take your place, fucker, and for lack of anything better to do, he's gonna act like you." <br/>
<br/>
You poke Thomason in the chest. "And <i>you</i> are going to take his place, because we're going to make a mask and brain band of that poor fucker. We're going to turn <i>you</i> into him. You're gonna replace him, and you're gonna start dealing as him. Dealing more than you ever did, because he'll be in a better position to make us some serious cash."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?" Thomason says in a voice that is very weak. "Who am I—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Part of that's your choice." You gaze around the room. "One of you is gonna transfer to Eastman, turn himself into a fucker over there named Chris Trantham. Another one of you is gonna move down to the junior class, take over for Kevin Hall. The last one of you—"<br/>
<br/>
You haven't quite decided, for you're torn by two choices. One is Justin Roth, who you'd already identified as a good potential dealer. But if you can get away with it, you'd really like to turn the third guy into Andrea Varnsworth.</span></div></div>


path: 111211132112222212222221221212112121122111212131211231122
author_id: seuzz
title: Mystery Date
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"We're going to make the last one a mystery guest," you tell the three assholes sitting before you. "Whoever picks the mystery guest gets a further choice, but I'm not gonna say who it's a choice between. Now, here's how you're gonna pick a place."<br/>
<br/>
You rip a piece of paper into three pieces, and pass them to the others. You also give them each a pencil. "You're gonna write down your choices in order of preference. Who you want most is number one, who you want least at number three, middle guy in the middle. You're gonna have eleven votes to split among them. So if you <i>really</i> want Kevin Hall—" You lean over Mendoza. "You put him at the top and give him eight votes. You give your second place choice two votes and your last place choice one vote. Or zero points, give his point to Hall, whatever. If you're evenly split, give two of them four votes and one of them three votes. Understand?"<br/>
<br/>
Dumbasses that they are, you have to explain the concept of weighted voting to them again before they get it. You also remind them that this project isn't voluntary. "I know where you fuckers live," you say, brandishing the brain bands. "And if you think <i>this</i> is scary, think about how I can fuck you up if you don't do what I say." By the time you're done, Evans looks like he's going to cry.<br/>
<br/>
But you also try bucking them up and encouraging them after they've separated into different corners of the room, to get used to the idea of what you're making them do, and to make their choices.<br/>
<br/>
"I hear Trantham plays in a band," you murmur to Mendoza, and clap his shoulders. "Fucking musician, he's gonna have <i>chicas</i> hanging off his cock. Or Hall, man, fuckin' hero of the gridiron." You make the latter promise to Evans too. Also: "Think about movin' to Eastman, man, put some distance 'tween you and this shithole." You suggest to Thomason that he should be a gambling man, aim for something big with the "mystery guest."<br/>
<br/>
After ten minutes of fraught and agonized and silent pondering they give you their ballots. "Don't look so sick, man," you tell Evans. "Your life'll still be there when you're done, this is just till the end of December, maybe a few weeks into January. That's how come we give the other guy your brain, so he knows how to be you. It's just a vacation for you man. Or a secret mission." You grin. "Don't you wanna be a spy, go undercover? Fuck, man, at the end of this maybe you won't even want to go back to bein' yourself."<br/>
<br/>
Evans doesn't look much comforted by this, but Thomason perks up a little.<br/>
<br/>
You open their ballots. They're not much of a surprise. Evans put all of his votes toward escaping your influence: eleven for Trantham. Mendoza split his six for Hall and five for Trantham. Thomason voted five for Hall, four for the mystery guest, and only two for Trantham.<br/>
<br/>
"You win Trantham," you tell Evans. "Keep your phone on, I'll call with the plan for how we're gonna pull off the switcheroo. Probably tomorrow after classes, in here, so don't make plans for four o'clock or anything. Mendoza, you got Hall, I know you can talk to him. Call him tonight, try to set up a meeting with him in the morning. Tell him you want to talk to him here at the portables around eight or eight-fifteen. Call me back with what he says. <br/>
<br/>
"Okay, you two can go, I got more business with Thomason here. And remember," you warn them as they reach the door. "Not a word about this to anyone, and don't think you can get away from me."<br/>
<br/>
"This is fucked up," says Thomason when they're gone.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but you're interested, I saw it in your eyes," you reply. You sit on the desk in front of him. "Now, I told you you're gonna have a choice. Both of 'em are nice, you'll like 'em, but one of 'em's kinda weird." <br/>
<br/>
Thomason stiffens.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, first choice is Justin Roth. You know Roth, good-lookin' fucker, smart, but hangs out with a bad crowd, hangs out with fuckers like you and me. But he gets laid, man, I hear he's got pussy coming and going. I ain't a faggot, but I look at him and I can believe it." You poke Thomason. "You, I know <i>you</i> know a good-lookin' dude when you see one." He flushes as you grin.<br/>
<br/>
"That's the dividend for you," you continue. "The point is I want him to start dealin' for me. You and Evans and Mendoza, you don't got charm, you 'specially, you're kinda scary lookin'. You look like a fuckin' skin-head." It's true: Thomason is tall and thin and white and blue-eyed, but there's a cadaverous look to his eyes, and his white-blonde hair is shaved almost to the scalp. <br/>
<br/>
"But Roth," you tell him. "People love Roth, they think he's cool. If he offers to sell them something, they think, 'Man, how cool is that that Justin wants to sell me something, he'll think I'm cool if I buy it.' You'd be popular, man, more popular than Trantham or Kevin Hall." You wink.<br/>
<br/>
And Thomason does look intrigued.<br/>
<br/>
"And the other one," you continue. "The other one is cool too. Great body, great face, lots of fuckers just dying to rub up against 'em. Almost as popular as Roth, even better looking. 'Specially in the boobage area." You mime fondling some hefty funbags. "Andrea Varnsworth."<br/>
<br/>
Thomason rears back as though slapped.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, don't think I'm gonna think you're queer or anything if you go for Andrea," you tell him. "The way I see it, the way I <i>think</i> about it, what straight motherfucker wouldn't want to be Andrea? You ever fantasize about playing with those tits, fingering that pussy?" You slap him in the chest. "You could do that, every night and five times on Sundays, if you were her. Layin' in her bed, runnin' your fingers up and down her body." You moan with erotic anguish. "And in the daytime, too. Pulling on that swimsuit, sliding through the water, having it rub all up and down your body, then washing it off in the showers, squeezing it off your boobs and ass and legs. In the girls' shower, too, with the other girl swimmers." You massage his shoulder. "Gets you hot and bothered just thinkin' about it, right?"<br/>
<br/>
He swallows.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, mystery choice is the right one, there ain't a wrong choice to be made here. I'll leave you to think about it for a few minutes." You retreat to the back of the room.<br/>
<br/>
And you wait for only about two or three minutes before you decide: He wants Andrea, but he's too shy to say so.<br/>
<br/>
He half-turns as you come up beside him. "You decided yet?" you ask. His shoulders jerk. "I think you should take Andrea. It'd be a hell of a lot of fucking fun, more fun that your sad little friends are gonna have."<br/>
<br/>
Thomason looks up at you. His eyes are wet. And they seem filled with gratitude.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But you still have to capture these targets, and you call Evans after Thomason has left, to give him Trantham's contact info, which you'd looked up. "Tell him you want to meet him at Westside, in the student parking lot, at four tomorrow afternoon," you tell him. "Tell him you need to talk to him about Gardinhire. He'll know what you're talking about."<br/>
<br/>
But you do wonder as you put the cell away: Evans is easily the dumbest of the bunch; can he possibly handle Eastman the way you know it needs handling?<br/>
<br/>
Well, it's something to worry about later. After talking to him you race back to the elementary school. You pause as you look the basement over from the top of the stairs. You can't put your finger on it, but you've a feeling that someone has been inside; things aren't quite the way you remember leaving them. Maybe it's just paranoia. But instead of working here, as you'd intended to do, tending the fire, you return home. First, though, you stop at an office supply store, and make a phone call.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You have to wait forty minutes behind a shopping center a few blocks from downtown before Dwayne Macauly shows up. You don't say anything to him, though, for you're sitting about fifty yards away, watching from your Jeep, as he pulls up next to a dumpster. He gets out of his car, goes behind it, and reappears with a brand-new metal briefcase. He gets back in his car. Your phone buzzes with a text: "What's this?"<br/>
<br/>
You reply: "Gear, not 4U. Need out of house. 5 days max."<br/>
<br/>
A long pause. Then: "OK". He drives off.<br/>
<br/>
It's a risk giving the grimoire to Macauly, even locked in that metal briefcase, but you think you can trust him. Even if he busted it open, he'd just find an old book that he'd regard as probably nothing but a valuable artifact. He might demand some money from you, but that's all. In your text to him, you promised him a hundred bucks just to hold it: money you'd put in an envelope taped to the side.<br/>
<br/>
You don't drive off immediately after he does; paranoia has too great a hold on you. You spend five minutes pretending to text, then go inside the comic book shop you're parked in front of. The owner is a Korean-American, a fact known to you though not to Gary Chen, and you affect surprise and pleasure at making his acquaintance. Eric Kim is the dopiest guy you've ever met, and you don't have to talk to him long to sense that Chen's psyche is forming the same opinion, but you keep it friendly, and even buy a handful of titles that he recommends to you.</span></div></div>


path: 1112111321122222122222212212121121211221112121312112311221
author_id: seuzz
title: Sacking a Ballplayer
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Eight-ten, Monday morning. You're at the corner of the gym nearest the tennis court, gulping down hot, bitter coffee and chain-smoking cigarettes. Exhaustion claws at the bags around your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
You didn't go to sleep last night. After tearing through your homework while babysitting your grandfather, you'd retired to the "bedroom" to polish off what remained of your schoolwork with no qualm about its accuracy, then shoved it away and until six-thirty carved runes into the three brain-bands you'd prepared. With the container of glue you attached them into three blank masks, and attached the bands of Evans, Mendoza and Thomason into their masks. You were reeling, but a hard, cold shower revived you enough to propel you through breakfast and out the door. You were at the school by eight.<br/>
<br/>
Now you're waiting impatiently for fucking Mendoza to show up. In that time you see Jacob May, and arrange to sell him three eighths at lunch.<br/>
<br/>
Mendoza finally shows, and with heavy feet and ankles and legs you lead him back to the first portable. "Bring him back here," you tell him, referring to Kevin Hall. "You do like I did to you yesterday. You let him go in first, then grab his chest from behind and bring the mask around like this." You demonstrate, clasping his chest from behind with your left arm and putting your right palm over his face. "Lay him down, whistle for me. I'll be over there, waiting." You give him a querying look—surely he can pull this off—and hand him one of the blanks when he nods. An encouraging clap on the arm sends him back toward the gym while you duck around a corner. You squat in the grass, set the coffee to the side, and light another cigarette.<br/>
<br/>
<i>This is brutal, man,</i> and you're not thinking of your victims. Trying to get this shit done in one day? Fucking brutal. But if not now, when? You got maybe two hours after school before you have to be up at the country club, to work until midnight. And homework after that. You exhale a stream of smoke and rub your nose. Then what? Five hours sleep, if you're lucky, before Tuesday starts. If you don't take care of business today, Tuesday would be the earliest you could do it, and that's too much time for your bitches to dig in their heels. Hustle 'em into it, that's the only way.<br/>
<br/>
Even then you won't be done, because today you can only get Trantham and Hall. You could probably get Roth too, if you'd pushed Thomason in that direction. Luckily, it looks like he's beguiled enough by the idea of Andrea Varnsworth that you can let him dangle a bit longer. You close your eyes, pondering how to get her. Your head droops.<br/>
<br/>
You jerk it back up as you feel yourself fading. Also, there are voices.<br/>
<br/>
Guys' voices. You raise up, alert. Cheerful, laughing voices. They don't sound like Hall and Mendoza.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Aw, Christ, not this.</i> Adrian Semple and Keith Hennepin appear around the corner. You fly into their faces. "Hey, faggots, who the fuck said to come back here?"<br/>
<br/>
Semple blinks in surprise, but his grin doesn't fade. It does vanish, though, when you shove him into a wall. Hennepin steps forward, but you slap him across the cheek with your left hand and show him the bunched up fist you've made with your right. "I asked who the fuck told you to come back here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, we can—" Semple starts to stutter.<br/>
<br/>
"And I said you fuckin' can't. We got a fuckin' campus big enough for twelve hundred assholes, you gotta be back here?" You grasp Hennepin's skinny throat and force him backwards. "You walk back where you came from, you little shit-dribble, and you go put your fucking head in a fucking toilet, and you flush it till you got yourself a perm. You do that now, cocksucker, or I'll do it to you every day for the rest of the month." You shove him away. "Semple, same goes for you."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, man, you don't gotta— Okay, I'm going!" He runs past, shielding his face and head.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothin' personal, man, see you at lunch," you call after them, but they just hurry away.<br/>
<br/>
They pass Mendoza and Hall.<br/>
<br/>
You step back around the corner to your waiting spot. The confrontation with Keith and Adrian jammed some adrenaline through you, but it's left you weak and shaky, for your exhausted constitution can barely handle the rush. You swallow most of the rest of the coffee, and make a face.<br/>
<br/>
You hear Mendoza and Hall talking gruffly. You wonder vaguely what story Mendoza told Hall to get him back here. Hall uses, but Mendoza isn't his supplier. Do they share a class? That would be awkward after the switch.<br/>
<br/>
Your meditation is interrupted by a low whistle; you jog around the corner and into the portable as Mendoza holds the door open for you. Hall is just inside the doorway.<br/>
<br/>
He's a junior, and he's not especially big, but like his brother Nathan he plays for the varsity football squad. His hair is honey brown in color; it's short and straight, but twists away into curls at the ends. His features are regular, and his face is thinner than his brother's, and he wouldn't be a bad-looking son of a bitch except that his expression settles rather too easily into a scowl; and he has a reputation for being mean—gleefully so. He's dressed in half-assed gangbanger attire: floppy shorts that drape below the knee, socks that come right halfway to the hems of the shorts, gaudy sneakers, a t-shirt that hangs past the end of his butt. "Take your clothes off," you tell Mendoza as you seize one of Hall's feet. "Then help me get this fucker undressed.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You've had so much practice by now that it almost goes as clockwork: Undress the victim, redress him in your partner's clothes while your partner dresses in his; send your partner to another portable; take the mask from the victim when it reappears on his face; seal it up while he's still unconscious; before he stirs, drop your partner's mask onto him. Within ten minutes, George Mendoza, looking just as he did when you met him at eight-fifteen, is sprawled on the floor as you shut the portable door on him. You rap on the door of the portable opposite and let yourself in. Mendoza, looking perfectly at home in Hall's clothes, looks up at your entrance. He's much calmer than you'd expected him to be. "Drop on the floor, this'll only take a minute." He obliges, and you drop Hall's mask onto him. Then you pinch his nose shut; a moment later he's up again, sputtering and coughing. But it's Kevin Hall gasping for air.<br/>
<br/>
"It's gonna take you a little while to get used to your new brain," you tell him as he blinks manically at you. You squat by him and grab him by the hair. "You hear me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Yeah, take me a little while to, uh, get used to—" He blinks. "My new brain."<br/>
<br/>
"Right. You gotta concentrate on it, use it, make it your own. So you go over there, under that desk—" You point to the teacher's desk. "You hide there until the start of second period. You think about all the classes you're gonna be taking. Who you see in them, who your friends are, what your homework is. You think about your brother, you think about your parents, what you did this weekend. You think about the football team and who's on it. Also, and this is important, you think about where they're gettin' their weed from, who's using, who's paying, how much, to who? I wanna know the demand structure of the football team, inside and out. Make notes, practice your penmanship." You kick Hall's bag. "When second period bell rings, you go to class, go to classes the rest of the day, you <i>be</i> Kevin Hall, as much and as hard as you can. You send me a text if there's an emergency. Otherwise, I don't wanna hear from you for at least twenty-four hours." You slap him lightly. "Make this work, pendejo, I'm counting on you."<br/>
<br/>
He nods dutifully, and you leave him as he scrambles over to that desk.<br/>
<br/>
Outside, you glance around. No one is in view. You swing your pack onto your shoulder, and as the warning bell for first period rings you trudge off toward English, where Ms. Gladstone doesn't let you sleep, no matter how boring the subject matter.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You do catch a break second period. You cannot possibly make it through two periods of soccer practice, but you're not going to show yourself weak in front of Garner. But he notices the sag in your shoulder while changing out after first and pulls you aside to ask what the trouble is. You confess you didn't sleep last night; he regards you gravely, then goes to talk to Coach Gellman, who gives you a pass to the library for the two periods. You gratefully accept, and pass out for a hundred minutes in a back corner, waking only briefly at the changeover to fourth when May shakes your shoulder and swaps three fifties for three baggies; you go back to sleep, and sleep through fifth as well. That gives you enough rest to get you through AP Statistics and Physics II, which are dry, serious classes of sustained concentration.<br/>
<br/>
You almost skip Orchestra practice, but suck it up. <br/>
<br/>
And that's where you hear the news.<br/>
<br/>
It's the girls chattering about it, of course: Eva Garner, Danielle Davis, Audrey Briscoe, others. Brent Pruitt lurks near the little knot, listening intently. At first you pay no attention, but something about their enthusiasm for the subject finally draws your interest. It takes you awhile to piece it together, for you don't interrupt to ask them what the news is. But gradually it dawns on you:<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea Cooper has dumped Gordon Black's sorry ass curbside.<br/>
<br/>
You chuckle quietly to yourself and listen some more, but there's no mention of Steve Patterson. Did she not ask him out, as Gordon's replacement, as she told you Saturday she'd likely have to do? It would be hilarious if he rejected her.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 11121113211222221222222122121211212112211121213121123112211
author_id: seuzz
title: A Musician's Transposition
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Evans had texted you during the day to say that Trantham would be over to the school at a little after four. You meet him outside B wing at three-forty. "What did you tell him," you ask as you lead him toward the portables.<br/>
<br/>
"What you told me," he says, looking very anxious. "That I wanted to talk to him about Gardinhire. He wanted to know why."<br/>
<br/>
"And you didn't tell him? Good. Well, when he gets here—" <br/>
<br/>
Then you hear voices coming from the portables. <i>Fuck.</i> You peer around a corner and spot Justin Roth, Shep Tsosie and Tim Gerard. Laughing, passing around a joint, and blocking your way. There's no telling how long they'll be there. You pull Evans back to where no one can see you. <br/>
<br/>
"Okay, when Trantham gets here, tell him that Gardinhire is getting out of the business, but that you can step in to keep him supplied. Ask him what he's paying, for how much. No matter what he says, tell him that if ups his order by three ounces, you'll cut his price by a ten percent an ounce. He'll probably argue he can't do that, 'cos he's incompetent, but you just keep making promises and negotiating with him. Doesn't matter what you say. But all the time you're talking—don't stop for <i>nothing</i>—you lead him back here, back to the portable where we had our conference yesterday."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"Then when you get him inside and the door's closed, you take him from behind like this." You show him the move, like you showed Mendoza. "Lay him on the floor and take his clothes off. God, don't be such a fucking pussy about it, okay?" You sneer at his expression of distaste. "I'll give you ninety seconds exactly to pull this shit off, then I'll come in and join you."<br/>
<br/>
"Where are you going to be?"<br/>
<br/>
"Depends on what Roth and them are up to. If they're still here, I'll be yukking it up with them. Otherwise I'll be in another portable. But I'll be watching and I'll join you, help you finish up. Okay? Go wait for him." You push him back toward B wing. Then with a deep sigh you walk out to meet the other three.<br/>
<br/>
Roth looks up with a friendly smile as you approach; Tsosie, who is always a lot more circumspect than his friends, only gives you a flat, mica-colored glance. Gerard leans away. "Ladies," you say as you squat next to them. "How's the pussy business?" Roth guffaws, and hands the joint over to Shep. You take out a cigarette. "Likin' school so much you can't leave it?"<br/>
<br/>
"What're you still doing here?" Roth asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Waitin' for someone. Business. You know."<br/>
<br/>
Silence. Roth takes the joint back from Tsosie, takes a deep toke, muses on it. "If we're in your way, we can take off."<br/>
<br/>
"I'd appreciate it. You don't gotta go yet. It'll be fifteen, twenty minutes before he shows."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?" Gerard asks, like the utter tool he is.<br/>
<br/>
"Franny Upshaw," you reply. "Know her? Hot little number. Smoking body."<br/>
<br/>
He looks confused. "I thought you said it was a guy."<br/>
<br/>
"You weren't paying attention," you say. Out of the corner of your eye you notice Roth grinning to himself. "Lemme explain. Franny Upshaw. That's short for Francine Upshaw. Initials F. U." You draw down a solid quarter inch of the cigarette and expel the smoke in Gerard's face. "Ever heard of F.U.?"<br/>
<br/>
Roth laughs hoarsely as Gerard looks away. "You are one fucking funny son of a bitch," Roth says. <br/>
<br/>
"Maybe. But I ain't got nothin' to contribute to this conversation. You guys carry on. Sounds like you were having fun."<br/>
<br/>
But you've killed the talk and the mood. When it resumes, it's classes and teachers and homework. Only at the end does a note of gossip catch your interest. "You gonna go find Dane,\?" Roth asks Gerard.<br/>
<br/>
"He's being weird," Gerard says. "Weirder."<br/>
<br/>
"How so?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's being <i>sober.</i>" That causes Roth to gasp asthmatically with laughter. "I'm serious. Today, in History, he was raising his hand every couple minutes with questions. And they were show-offy questions, like he already knew the answers and just wanted everyone to know it. Like, isn't it true that Georgia was originally a penal colony, like Australia? I mean, who asks shit like that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Penile?" asks Tsosie. "You mean like <i>cock?</i>" And with much laughter the subject shifts again.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Eventually there are footsteps, and Tanner Evans and Chris Trantham come into view. "Hey, I know that guy," says Gerard, and waves at Trantham.<br/>
<br/>
"Dudes," you say in a heavy voice. That at first draws bewildered stares; then Roth sighs deeply, and with a groan gets to his feet, dusting himself elaborately off. Tsosie and Gerard follow his cue; and only a minute after Evans and Trantham have disappeared into the portable, you are alone on the grass. You nurse the last of the cigarette, grind it out, and walk into the portable.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Chris Trantham isn't fat, not in the conventional sense, but he is pear-shaped, with a wide bottom and a paunch that droops toward his dick. He is blonde, with long hair that he pulls back over his ears and down to the bottom of his neck. He dresses down in sloppy khakis and long-sleeve shirts, has a weedy moustache, and wears glasses. His ears are too big.<br/>
<br/>
All in all, he'll be a step up for the pimply-faced, beetle-browed Tanner Evans. Evans, though, is looking a little sick as he squats nakedly beside the naked Trantham. "Smart of you," you say. "I didn't tell you to get undressed, but you did."<br/>
<br/>
"I talked to, uh, Kevin Hall—" He pauses with evident confusion about which name to use for his friend. "After first. He told me basically what would happen."<br/>
<br/>
"Good. Then help me get him dressed in your stuff."<br/>
<br/>
Since Trantham is quite a bit bigger and heavier than Evans, that's a formidable task, but you get it done before the mask comes out of him; then Evans gets in Trantham's voluminous clothes. You tell your fellow conspirator to keep an eye on Trantham for reviving consciousness while you creep into a corner, out of sight, to seal up the inside of the mask. You end by dropping Evans's mask onto Trantham, Trantham's onto Evans; and you wake the latter quickly with the standard suffocation trick. He looks very confused as he rises—and to prevent worse confusion, you shield the sight of the Tanner Evans on the floor—and push him outside. In a tight space between two neighboring portables you give him a lecture like the one you gave Hall. <i>Go someplace quiet and lonely, concentrate on getting memories back, review Trantham's life, rehearse the fact that he is now Chris Trantham.</i> To your surprise, he asks one very penetrating question, albeit in a tone of quiet horror: "Am I going to forget who I really am?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think so," you tell him. "Anyway, we'll be getting together, and I'll keep reminding you." <i>Like Chen keeps reminding me that I'm Will Prescott.</i> "By the way, you're going to see me tonight at the country club."<br/>
<br/>
"I am?"<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, yes. Don't be late. Oh, and when we have our smoke break, I want you to hand over a list of everyone that Trantham's being selling to over at Eastman. And the next time after that we talk, I want you to tell me about the whole social scene over there. Who's connected to who, who might be interested in buying, everything. Full web."<br/>
<br/>
He nods, and you push him away. You yourself return via A wing to the front of the school, and take the long way back around to the student lot.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're very tired by now, but not loopy as you were during first, and you get some energy at the Panda Garden, where you eat in. It may be the largest Chinese restaurant in the city, with a massive open dining room and buffet space, but at four forty-five, just before the dinner time crowd starts showing up, it's comparatively empty. Aunt Sue personally brings out some lunchtime leftovers for you. "How is your grandfather?" she asks with brusque interest.<br/>
<br/>
"Same old same old," you shrug. It's never been explained to you why Aunt Sue and Uncle Lee don't help support the old man. So far as you can gather, it goes back to some kind of bad business relationship between the your dad and uncle (who are only brothers-in-law). Whether Mr. Chen has refused help, or whether Uncle Lee has refused to provide it, you don't know.<br/>
<br/>
"Where you going after here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Work."<br/>
<br/>
"That's right. The country club. When you getting a job on wait staff there?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>When I can pass as a fuck named Chip Havenhurst,</i> you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think only kids whose parents are members get hired as waiters."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe your mom and dad could join," she says. "Or your uncle and I."<br/>
<br/>
<i>That would be hilarious,</i> you think bitterly. Especially in your Aunt Sue's case. Her accent is still easily detectable, especially when she starts cursing the kitchen help. <br/>
<br/>
She chats with you a little longer, then leaves you to play with your phone.<br/>
<br/>
There's one message from Thomason: <i>Everything OK?</i> You text back, <i>Sure, hang loose.</i> Nothing from the Mendoza or Evans numbers. You decide to wait until tomorrow before inquiring after your bitches' replacements. <br/>
<br/>
And there is one message from Chelsea Cooper. You tense all over at the sight of the sender's name.<br/>
<br/>
Chances are she's just checking up on progress. It'll just be gossip, right, about the way "she" dumped "Gordon Black" as her boyfriend. It's gotta be bullshit, you can safely ignore it until tomorrow.<br/>
<br/>
Can't you?</span></div></div>


path: 111211132112222212222221221212112121122111212131211231122112
author_id: seuzz
title: Criss-Cross Consequences
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Chris Trantham is in the locker room of the country club when you arrive, and he does at double-take at your entrance. He turns back to his locker, and looks very shy. You ignore him, and to drive the point home even more, you move into the restroom to do most of your changing. Then it's into the kitchen, where everyone is too busy for much talking.<br/>
<br/>
You watch him closely, though, to see how he's doing. The real Trantham is always quiet and a little slow, slower than Jose likes when a crush of dishes comes in or when you have to sweep into a dining room to help with a change. Version 2.0 is slower still, and you keep close to him, burning your last reserves so you can help him out. It grinds on your patience to do this, and you snap at him hard when he drops a tray full of knives on the floor.<br/>
<br/>
Nine-thirty comes, and it's time for your smoke break with Manny; you postpone it, though, and tell him you'll stick it out to ten-thirty, when Chris takes his. "Trantham don't smoke," Manny says. <br/>
<br/>
"His not-smoking break, then. Come on, I'm helping cover for him, he's being a fucking butterfingers tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"He's on thin ice. Tell him so from me."<br/>
<br/>
So at ten-thirty you squat behind the kitchen with your new confederate. "Get your head where it needs to be, man," you tell him as you light a cylinder. "Trantham's always on the edge of losing his job here. You need to be better than him."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll try," he murmurs. "Except—"<br/>
<br/>
"Except what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, nothing," he stammers. His head sinks. "I'll try to get you that list you wanted tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
"I told you I wanted it tonight. Now."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't got it."<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?"<br/>
<br/>
His head sinks further, and he reaches for you cigarette. You snatch it away. <br/>
<br/>
"You don't fucking smoke, man. Get in character. Jose and them are noticing."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm trying," he says. "But— I thought I was supposed to get, like, his memories and stuff."<br/>
<br/>
"You are. Whatsamatter?" you ask in alarm.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not getting them."<br/>
<br/>
"None of them?" Your own heart sinks.<br/>
<br/>
"Not really. I try to remember stuff that he should know— Like his birthday. Shit, man, I don't— Is it working for the other guys."<br/>
<br/>
You don't answer, but instead pop out your phone.<br/>
<br/>
"Get back in, get back to work," you tell him. "Do the best you can, don't cause any trouble. You'll be okay. The face is ninety percent of— No one's gonna think you're a fake, not looking like that. People believe the face. You fuck up, they'll just be mad at you. So don't fuck up."<br/>
<br/>
"I think I'm supposed to have band practice tomorrow! I don't know how to play the ... whatever!"<br/>
<br/>
"We'll worry about it tomorrow. Call me in the morning, tell me how you're doing." Now get inside."<br/>
<br/>
After he's gone you make a quick call to the new Kevin Hall, and learn to your dismay that Mendoza is also not getting the memories he's supposed to be getting. You curse long and hard, and come near to breaking stuff when you go back on duty inside.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Being utterly worn out by work and worry, you fall asleep as soon as you get home. It's a shorter night than you'd like, being behind by a full night's sleep, but you're at eighty-five percent, you feel, as you head out the door the next morning.<br/>
<br/>
You'd checked the message from Chelsea late last night: <i>Call me, urgent.</i> You'd cussed. If Chen wanted you to see an urgent message he should have put "urgent" in the subject line. Does he expect you to leap just because he's got boobs now?<br/>
<br/>
And your exasperation doubles when the phone buzzes on your drive to school. <i>Never mind,</i> says the new text from Chelsea. Great, does that mean the problem went away or that Chen is passive-aggressively baiting you for being late? You swing by the old elementary school on your way out, and as you sit outside the door you text her back: <i>Didn't read texts till midnite, busy all day w/ your hos then work. Things OK or not?</i> The reply comes a minute later, after you've relit the pile of dirt. <i>OK, mayB best u not c txt.</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>Fucking cunt.</i> Must be seriously turning into Chelsea if he's going to be such a ditz.<br/>
<br/>
You study the burning pile, which still gives off no heat. The mass of dirt has congealed into a rough cylindrical shape, and some rents and fissures have opened up in its sides and at one end. You hope that doesn't mean the thing, whatever it's turning into, is defective.<br/>
<br/>
But the news is better from the two new cunts. Both Mendoza and Evans report that after a deep sleep, they both woke with the memories that go with their impersonations. Evans is still worried about his band practice, but at least he'll be able to get into his locker at school.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>First period.</i> You stop dead in the classroom door as Faith Becker, Molly Shaw, and Mindy McAdams swivel at your entrance. Their eyes pop and shine, and they giggle, and Mindy runs her tongue over her lower lip.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Are they serious?</i> you gasp to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Turns out they're not. Not about you, anyway. A rough blow almost sends you sprawling into Fred Hildown's lap, and only some quick footwork keeps you upright as you stagger against the back wall. "Move it, stir fry," says Steve Patterson as he swaggers into the room. The eyes of all the girls are upon him, but he coolly ignores them in a way that still acknowledges their admiring stares.<br/>
<br/>
Justin Roth and Adrian Semple give you a commiserating glance as you drop into a desk in their company. Luke Bennett's expression is stony. Hildown just looks down into his book.<br/>
<br/>
Carson Ioeger stares back at you with pale, quivering horror, but turns abruptly away before you can rebuke him.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Soccer practice.</i> George Mendoza is there. Or, someone who looks like him is there. In reality, it's Kevin Hall (trapped under a mask) a few lockers down in the changing room, keeping his eyes straight ahead as he ignores the horseplay around him. You're relieved to see that Hall is following Mendoza's instincts and memories, and going to his classes without prodding. But you need to test him, to see how far he can play his new character.<br/>
<br/>
Your chance comes about halfway through practice, when the ball is down at the other end of the field. You drift over to Mendoza. "How's your supply holdin' out?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
He flinches as though touched by a hot match. "It's holding out," he stammers.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't want it holding out, I want it moving," you tell him. "You want it too, the more you move, the more cerveza-and-lime money you get. How many you sold?"<br/>
<br/>
"Two."<br/>
<br/>
"Who to?"<br/>
<br/>
"Chuck Johnson."<br/>
<br/>
"You sold him two?" You spit when he nods. "You're fucking lying to me, Mendoza, you sold one of 'em to yourself. Which is okay, I don't mind how much you smoke so long as you give me twenty-four a month for your bag. But you make sure Chuckie Johnson and Bucky Penis or whoever the fuck you're blowing out in the animal pens is buying too. I'm raising your fucking quota next month, from six to twenty-four."<br/>
<br/>
"What? I can't—"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure you can. You just gotta convince Chuckie and Bucky and Muckie that ganja tastes better than cow anus. Watch out, here they come." The game returns to your part of the field.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You go off by yourself at lunch for a think, for you need to find an angle that'll let you swap Thomason in for Varnsworth. Thomason seems vexed too, for he comes looking for you, and finds you behind the music wing, smoking and chewing on a sandwich. He just nods in greeting, though, as he slides down the wall and opens his own sack lunch. "You seen Evans's ugly face around?" you ask him.<br/>
<br/>
"Which one?"<br/>
<br/>
"His face, not his ass. And I'm not talkin' about the asshole hanging out at Eastman," you add in a lower voice.<br/>
<br/>
He chews thoughtfully. "I don't have him until seventh. By the way, how are we gonna talk about each other, keep from being confused?"<br/>
<br/>
"We call people by their faces. The guy I saw at practice this morning? That's George Mendoza. The fucker I'll talk to later this afternoon after ball practice? That's Kevin Hall. The sorry shit I work with at the country club, that goes to Eastman? That's Chris Trantham. The guy you'll see in seventh, that's Fuckface Evans. So you haven't seen him?"<br/>
<br/>
"No." He swallows. "When does my name change?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm trying to think of a way. You have her for any classes, ever bump into her regularly, got any friends in common?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Am I shit out of luck?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not yet. I gotta friend maybe I can call in a favor from." You're wondering if Chen, from his position as Chelsea, could help. "Meantime, you play it cool with Evans and Mendoza, like nothing's changed."<br/>
<br/>
"It's creepy. That's why I left 'em, came looking for you."<br/>
<br/>
"Naturally, they're a coupla creeps, just like you. Wait, they're eating together now? Alone? Fuck." You jump up. "We better go sit between 'em, make sure they're not comparing notes."<br/>
<br/>
Reluctantly, Thomason puts away his lunch and follows. As you walk toward E wing, where you know they like to lurk, Thomason asks in a low voice, "Are you gonna be switching faces with anyone?"<br/>
<br/>
"Can't. Can't leave my face on autopilot like I did with you fuckers. Got too much stuff upstairs I can't leave lying around." <i>Like where the real Gary Chen is, for a start.</i><br/>
<br/>
And why you probably need to get his help with the last switchover.</span></div></div>


path: 1112111321122222122222212212121121211221112121312112311221121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Queen, in Her Parlor
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You know exactly what Chen is going to say, because it's what you/he would say in his place: <i>Forget about Andrea, stick Thomason someplace else. Also, talk to Kirkham about swapping in and out of rich fucks and stealing all their candy money. And where's today's sales receipts?</i><br/>
<br/>
But you text him anyway. The reply comes only a few minutes later, stating a time and an address.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's a big house in a nice subdivision not far from Gardinhire's, and it contrasts nicely with the cramped quarters that Gary Chen is used to flopping in. <i>Fucker must be living it up hard,</i> you think as you pass Chelsea's car on your way to the front door.<br/>
<br/>
The bell is answered by an unshaven blonde guy in a tank top and track pants; you recognize him after a moment as Jordan Cooper, Chelsea's older brother. He was a lacrosse star at Westside a few years back, but right now he looks like he's just woken from a nap. "Yeah?" he demands while giving you a hard but puzzled stare. You have the impression he was expecting you to be delivering a pizza.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, I'm lookin' for Chelsea. Got a invite from her, if that makes a difference."<br/>
<br/>
Jordan blinks hard, as though you've just told him that you're here to blow his sister at her request. But he opens the door wider. "Yeah, sure," he says. "Come in. She's in the back, by the pool."<br/>
<br/>
"Isn't it kind of cold for that?" It is, after all, the second week of October.<br/>
<br/>
"Did you say you know Chelsea?" he snorts. "Straight on through the den there, out the sliding doors. Getcha anything?"<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks, no."<br/>
<br/>
Jordan follows you into the den—a large but disordered room—and throws himself onto a sloppy sofa after picking up a cell phone. You go out a sliding glass door and down a short pebbled path to a swimming pool shaped like a kidney bean. Under a wide patio umbrella, facing the west, sits a shapely girl in a reclining patio chair. She's wearing short shorts, a halter top under an open blouse, huge sunglasses, sandals, and a floppy hat. She smiles up at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hi Gary," she squeals. "You've never been out here, have you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nope." You pull a chair over and fall into it. "I'm gonna start coming out here more?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck no," she giggles. "And who let you in? Jordan? You know, my brother's got this major hard-on for Asian girls. Chinese, Japanese, Korean, doesn't matter. Guys like him are how come <i>you</i> can't get it on with a girl like Lin." Her titter turns into a hiss.<br/>
<br/>
"Nice fuckin' family. Maybe I'll start wearin' a dress, a blonde wig, shave myself all over, and teach Jordan the pleasures of takin' a ladyboy anally. Do that if I can't get it any other way."<br/>
<br/>
You can't see her eyes behind the sunglasses, but her grin tightens noticeably. "What did you want to talk about?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"You ever hang out with Andrea Varnsworth? She ever get wet in your pool?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Andrea and Chelsea don't get along. Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"No reason, I guess." You get up. "Sorry to waste your—"<br/>
<br/>
"Sit down. Talk to me." Her phone buzzes. "Distract me from the train wreck that is my life."<br/>
<br/>
<i>That bad?</i> You sit again. "I heard you and Gordon went mucho busto."<br/>
<br/>
"I said distract me. Why do you want to know about Andrea?"<br/>
<br/>
"Has to do with moving your homies around. I want to put Thomason in for Andrea."<br/>
<br/>
Her jaw drops. "Eww, why? I mean, is it so you can get a blow job from her finally?"<br/>
<br/>
"Eww, no," you mimic. "It's about moving product. I figure Andrea's got contacts where I can't reach. Also, she's good advertising. She does it with her friends, pretty soon they're in the market to be smart and cool like her."<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea's grin widens. "Ooh, I like it. It must have been one of <i>my</i> ideas. But you can't get to her, is that it? So you want my help?"<br/>
<br/>
You shift in the chair. Chelsea asks, "What are you going to do about Evans and Mendoza?" when you don't answer.<br/>
<br/>
"Already taken care of. Evans is handling Trantham and Eastman for me, and Mendoza's steering Kevin Hall around."<br/>
<br/>
"Hall? He's a junior, I said I wanted—"<br/>
<br/>
"He's in a lower class, he'll set you up someone to sell in the school next year. Also, he gets us into the football squad, gets a clue about where who's supplying them."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Smart. That's fast work, Prescott, good work. You know, I only had to look at you to know I was turning the business over to a guy with a good head. I like the Andrea thing too, and I can help there. But what about the <i>other</i> thing I want from you? That idea for a little light larceny?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not doing it. Too fucking dangerous to get Kirkham mixed up in it. You know Kirkham. Fuck, even <i>you</i> can't handle him."<br/>
<br/>
"Then get Johansson to handle it. He was hot for Gardinhire, wasn't he?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, and he won't do it."<br/>
<br/>
"Make him."<br/>
<br/>
"He's out of it, man, face it. And better that he be out of it, that it's just me, 'cos then you just have to deal with <i>me</i> and not worry what <i>he's</i> getting up to."<br/>
<br/>
"Then forget Andrea, put Thomason on those jobs."<br/>
<br/>
"I already promised Thomason he could be Andrea, and he's got his heart set on it."<br/>
<br/>
"Vomit. So unpromise him. If you want me happy, Prescott, happy enough to give up this and start wiping my grandfather's ass again, you will find someone to do that job."<br/>
<br/>
You throw your head back and slouch in the chair. It's exactly as you knew it would be. It's about grabbing enough cash to retire the debt to Mathis, and then more to set aside for college, and then more so college can be comfortable, and then more because those rich fucks like Gardinhire and rich cunts like Kelsey could stand a good financial fucking. Chen wants it hard, and the thought of it makes him hard, and you know that because you can feel the same hardness inside yourself.<br/>
<br/>
At least this argument proves that you're not turning into Gary Chen, despite what you've feared.<br/>
<br/>
Or maybe it doesn't, because if there's one thing Gary Chen hates, it's being pushed around and forced to do things.<br/>
<br/>
"You're going to do this, Prescott," Chelsea says after a long silence filled only by the sigh of the occasional wind gust. "And I really don't like the way you're fighting me. Best to get it started sooner rather than later. But there's one thing you can do in the meantime that'll make me happy."<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
She doesn't answer immediately. Then she leans forward. "Take care of Seth Javits for me."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Javits? The basketball player?</i> "How do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
She stares at you from behind those sunglasses. "I don't care who you use," she says. "Use Thomason or Johansson or Kirkham. And keep my name out of it, obviously. My real name. As far as they're concerned, I'm Chelsea Cooper, and you're trying fuck me over somehow. You'll have to make up that part, too."<br/>
<br/>
"You're not making any sense, man."<br/>
<br/>
"I want you to swap Javits with an imposter, like you did with me and Black and Matthias and the others."<br/>
<br/>
You have no love for Seth Javits—an alpha-jock brute and bully like Patterson and Black and Lynch—so you've no immediate objection. "Okay. But I don't see what advantage that gives us."<br/>
<br/>
"Doesn't give <i>you</i> one," she retorts. "But do the swap, and afterward you tell him that he—the new and improved Seth Javits—that he has to dump Cindy Vredenburg. Dump her cold and dump her hard, right away. And after that—" She settles back in the chair. "After that he needs to make a play for me." She wriggles her fine ass into the seat. "Don't tell them I'll say yes, but I will."<br/>
<br/>
You stare at Chelsea. "You're a sick fuck, man."<br/>
<br/>
"This isn't about—" she snarls, then catches herself.<br/>
<br/>
"This is about keeping what I've got," she says when she's calmer, but the anger still burns in her voice. "But if I'm gonna be stuck like this, I'm gonna enjoy every fucking bit of it, everything that should be coming Chelsea Cooper's way." Again she has to master herself, but now her rage is at a steady boil.<br/>
<br/>
"It's fucking Patterson's fault," she seethes. "Smug, cock-sucking scumbag. I went to him last night, told him Gordon was through, on his way down, not coming back, for the good of the team and the school we had to cut him loose totally, and we had to make it hurt him. Told Patterson he and I needed to be the new couple, even showed him my fucking tits so he'd—"<br/>
<br/>
She turns purple.<br/>
<br/>
"And the cock-sucker just laughed at me! Told me if Gordon was through then so was I. We were up in the fuck room, talking, and he even took my key away. Said it was Gordon's to share, but Gordon was out so I was too. That's why we're talking here instead of— Anyway, Patterson's got all the keys to up there and he's redistributing them, raising up his own favorites. One of 'em, naturally, is <i>Javits,</i> so he and Cindy now get to go up there and <i>I don't</i>, and that means—" She starts shaking all over, violently. "Cindy the cunt'll call a snap vote for team captain of the cheerleading squad, and if I lose it—"<br/>
<br/>
She hiccups. And hiccups again. Hard. She gasps and swallows and with a trembling hand grabs up a fruit drink that's sitting by her side. When she's recovered she settles back, but grips the armrests of the chair. "But if Seth is my boyfriend, if he dumps Cindy for <i>me,</i> then she can sit and spin on the quad flagpole and no one will give a shit about her."<br/>
<br/>
She smiles at you: a hard, bright, glinty thing. "Do this for me, Prescott, and I'll mostly forgive you for the fucking over you're giving me."</span></div></div>


path: 11121113211222221222222122121211212112211121213121123112211211
author_id: seuzz
title: Caleb Johansson Returns
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Get me a boyfriend, Prescott," says Chelsea Cooper. "I don't care who it is. Just make sure he looks and acts like Seth Javits."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll see what I can do," you say after recovering your voice. "And if I do that, you'll get me close to Andrea?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll do that anyway, if you need it done. Now, how soon can you get me that new boyfriend?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll have to think about it," you say, getting up. "Talk to you Thursday, here, same time?" She nods.<br/>
<br/>
And so you leave her. She's already checking her cell again as you're walking to the sliding glass door.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You think about it on the way home. It would be rich irony if you put Kirkham in for Javits; the thought of Chen having to sexually satisfy his friend leaves you salivating. Problem is, that would bring Kirkham into this scheme, and you shudder at the thought of what he might wind up wanting to do with the masks. That leaves either Thomason or Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
You're almost resigned to diverting Thomason away from Andrea when it occurs to you that a swap in for Seth Javits, with Chelsea Cooper as a girlfriend at the other end of it, might be just the thing to smooth things over between you and Caleb. Moreover, it would put your friend in close to Chen, where he might be able to strike at Chen if the opportunity ever arose. More than that, Chen would be leaving himself vulnerable. He's trying to hide himself out as Chelsea, using you to manipulate everyone else, so he wouldn't expect "Seth" to know who he really is. And then he wouldn't be prepared for "Seth" to move against him.<br/>
<br/>
You are in such awe of this idea by the time you get home that you've given yourself an erection.<br/>
<br/>
It flags when Mrs. Chen meets you at the door. "Your grandfather is very sick," she says, blocking you. "Go study someplace."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you need my help?" you blurt out.<br/>
<br/>
"No. Go study someplace. Your father is here." Her jaw is set and her expression firm.<br/>
<br/>
Slowly you go back to the Jeep. They've sent Gary away before, sometimes, when the old man is very ill. Such incidents seem to be becoming more frequent. That gnawing sensation you got the other morning, when they sent you to school early, returns.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You go to the elementary school, and find that fire has died out again. Again, you relight it. <i>God damn it.</i> Six days. How long is this fucking spell going to take? You peer in at the shape that is gradually taking form. The pile has definitely tightened up into a cylindrical figure, and those fissures have lengthened. That worries you greatly, until your eye falls on a blob-like protuberance at the far end. The tableau blinks into focus: It almost looks like a human figure, like a badly damaged mannequin.<br/>
<br/>
Your sphincter squirms.<br/>
<br/>
That's exactly what it looks like. Those fissures halfway up the sides are like arms attached at the shoulders to the main trunk; the fissure up the middle is like the gap between the legs.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Is the spell making another human being?</i><br/>
<br/>
You pull out your phone and call Caleb. It takes five minutes of increasingly violent threats before you talk him into coming out.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Congratulations, you're a father," he says as he straightens up from peering at the burning mess.<br/>
<br/>
"You think that's what it is," you gasp.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck if I know. What's the book say? Where is it? Or does Chen have it?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, he hasn't got it. I do. Except I don't, I put it someplace where he can't get to it. And the book doesn't say anything about it, remember? We have to finish the spell before the page will turn. Jesus, if that thing gets up and starts coming after us like Frankenstein—"<br/>
<br/>
"We'll deserve it, probably. Or you will. Jesus, Will, we were having so much fun, too, until—" He looks you up and down, and sighs deeply.<br/>
<br/>
You don't feel like rehashing ancient history, or you'd bring up the way he started it by shanghaiing Gordon Black. Then you remember that's something you'd like to know about. Your path doesn't cross Will Prescott's during the day, and you've not seen him around casually. "How's my old meat sack doing? I saw you having lunch with him Friday."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb gives you a long, sideways glance, then sits on a desk. <br/>
<br/>
"He's doing okay," he says. "To be totally honest, I'm kind of having a hard time remembering he's <i>not</i> you."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck? That's Gordon Black in there, how can he be—?" Your guts clench at an awful thought. "You didn't slip him that brain band you made of me, did you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be an idiot, of course I didn't. I just mean— Well, he's real quiet, but he's kind of loosened up. He doesn't sound like you, exactly, stuff is a little off with the way he talks, and Tilley's asked me if he's doing okay. But we got together last weekend, played around on your game console, had a lot of fun with that. He's got a lot more energy than you did, talked me into playing some ball, and naturally he beat the pants off me. Gave me a lot of trash talk, too, but in a fun way. He's been doing some running, too, I think he goes jogging in the mornings now, and I know he's doing weights up in the mezzanine after classes."<br/>
<br/>
"How's his schoolwork?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's all caught up, got caught up while he was suspended. He's asked for my help on the calculus, but— Face it Will, you weren't taking a lot of challenging courses anyway." Caleb digs under his pits and looks embarrassed. "Except for him being a lot quieter than you usually are, he's passing himself off pretty good."<br/>
<br/>
"But he doesn't know anything about me! Are you coaching him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not anymore, not much. Like I said, he's just quiet. Oh, and he hates Ioeger and Lamont, but that's not a surprise, right? Black was always going out of his way to kick <i>their</i> asses."<br/>
<br/>
This news ought to please you, for it means that, once you're able to reclaim your life, it should be easy to slip back into it with minimal disruption. But at the same time it deeply alarms you. Is it really possible that your personality is so flimsy, so vanilla, so bland, so interchangeable with everyone else's, that <i>Gordon Black</i> of all people could fake his way through as you?<br/>
<br/>
"Has he said anything about Chelsea and what's going on there? With, uh, Gordon Black quitting the squad and all that?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, not a word. Jenny and Yumi and Lin have been buzzing about it, naturally, and I've caught him listening really intently to them when they're talking, but he hasn't said anything." He shrugs. "I figure it's a sore point with him, so I haven't raised the subject. After what he did to Lynch, I figure he's pretty dangerous when provoked."<br/>
<br/>
Silence settles in the room. Even the fire is noiseless.<br/>
<br/>
"Probably I don't want to know," Caleb says in a tone tinged with acid. "But what are <i>you</i> getting up to these days?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're right, you don't want to know," you say with a wince. "Except maybe one thing. Seth Javits is going to break up with Cindy, start going out with Chelsea."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb lurches off the table. "Whoa! Is that official? And how do <i>you</i> know?"<br/>
<br/>
"Where do you think Gary Chen is these days?"<br/>
<br/>
His brow crinkles. "You told me you were going to swap him in for Chelsea. You telling me he's in Javits?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, he's in Chelsea. I told you that, and—"<br/>
<br/>
"But how did you manage it," he asks. "I've still got her mask at my place."<br/>
<br/>
"You've got—?" Your jaw drops. "You fucker, you've had her mask all this time?" His head bobs up and down. "I was going nuts, I thought you left it in Gardinhire's car."<br/>
<br/>
"You think I'm an idiot? That day, when he and Chen showed up, I smuggled it out, I've got it at my place." He reddens, then shrugs. "Been popping in and out of it, you know— But how did you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I made a new one, then Chen and I went up to the school and ambushed Chelsea. She's inside Dane's mask now—"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb guffaws hard.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, it's hilarious, but Chen is inside Chelsea's mask, and he's going crazy or something. I thought I was being smart, like I was sidelining him, but he turned it against me." Briefly, you describe how Chen is threatening to stay as Chelsea, leaving you stuck with Chen's shit life, unless you work for him. "So now I'm stuck as Chen, <i>and</i> I've got him as a boss."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb can't help grinning. "Serves you right, I'd say. I'm glad I'm out of it." He turns to go.<br/>
<br/>
"You sure you wanna be out of it? I got an offer for you." <br/>
<br/>
Your question doesn't stop him. "Not interested," he says over his shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
"Just listen to it."<br/>
<br/>
"Not interested. Chen's got you well and truly fucked."<br/>
<br/>
"How'd you like to be fucking Chelsea Cooper? I mean, how'd you like to fuck her, be her boyfriend?"<br/>
<br/>
That stops him, and he turns.<br/>
<br/>
"That's how I know about Seth breaking up with Cindy. It hasn't happened and it's not going to happen, not until I set someone up as a fake Javits. Then that lucky asshole gets to become Chelsea Cooper's new boyfriend. With all the rights and privileges that go with the job."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb stares back at you for a very long time. "Chen's not going to put out, not for a fake boyfriend."<br/>
<br/>
"But he has to," you say. "See, the fake boyfriend can't know that Chelsea's also a fake. Only I know that Chelsea isn't Chelsea. Chen wants it that way, keeps him safe from all the shit I have to pull for him. But if 'Seth'—" You put the name in air quotes. "If 'Seth' doesn't know Chelsea's a fake, then she has to act like the real Chelsea with him. And that means pussy and more pussy."<br/>
<br/>
You grin around the question: "Still not interested?"</span></div></div>


path: 111211132112222212222221221212112121122111212131211231122112111
author_id: seuzz
title: One Fire Lights, Another Goes Out
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Caleb says nothing for a very long time. You keep very still. His eyes leave yours, travel about the room, drop to the floor. He shifts on his feet. "Javits would have to take my place," he says quietly.<br/>
<br/>
"He's an asshole, but he's not a dummy. You have some classes together already, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Statistics, yeah. He wouldn't be able to handle my calculus class."<br/>
<br/>
"Would you be able to handle Chelsea Cooper?"<br/>
<br/>
He looks up at you. His eyes are watering.<br/>
<br/>
"And it gets you up in the fuck room, man," you continue. "Up there with Chelsea. Hell, what I heard this afternoon, Seth is <i>already</i> up in the fuck room, Patterson gave him a key, him and Cindy are probably up there right now—"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb groans. "Stop it! I can't throw my life away just for—"<br/>
<br/>
"For a week. Maybe ten days, that's all it would take. Chelsea— Chen, I mean, he just wants Seth to break up with Cindy and hook up with, uh, with him. So we swap you in for Seth. You give Cindy one, maybe two days of hard, hard lovin'. You know, memories are made of this." You thrust your hips. "Then you dump her. Chen wants it done viciously, smash her heart and all that. Then you hook up with Chelsea. She gives you lots and lots of loving, sets you up as Gordon's replacement at the top of the pyramid. Then after ten days—" You shrug. "That's all we need. You swap back out, go back to being a sad little virgin, and Seth, with a dopey look on his face, finds himself up in the fuck room, his cock up Chelsea's cunny, Chen's got himself—"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up, just shut up!" Caleb clenches his eyes and covers his ears. He breathes heavily. He grabs a desk and kicks it hard and methodically. "Alright, I'll do it. At least long enough to set up this—" His face contorts. "This <i>thing.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Attaboy." You draw him into a bro-like hug, clap him on the back. "You'll see, man, gonna be sweet, you're gonna be fuckin' and fuckin' and fuckin'—"<br/>
<br/>
He pushes you away.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Caleb leaves soon after that, and you follow him out shortly thereafter, winding up at Kirkham's. For two hours you studiously do your homework—<br/>
<br/>
It's the weirdest thing about these two, David Kirkham and Gary Chen. They're thugs, drug dealers, douchebags, and terrorizers of everyone smaller than them and many people bigger than them too. But they do take some hardcore classes and work doggedly at them. They're both in AP math classes—Kirkham in Calculus, Chen in Statistics—and in complementary science classes—physics and chemistry. Both of them play instruments. Chen is only competent at the viola, but Kirkham plays cello in the school's elite Chamber Orchestra group, and he helps Chen out with some of the finer points of dealing with a stringed instrument; Chen repays him by helping Kirkham in his Asian Alphabets class.<br/>
<br/>
And yet the two of you, while bending over your math and science homework, will compete as well with elaborate fantasias about how you would satisfy your frustrated sexual urges upon various female classmates. Not even the arrival of the pizza that you ordered interrupts you.<br/>
<br/>
But by ten o'clock you're finished, and you've also practiced the viola in harmony with his cello. With a clear conscience you return home.<br/>
<br/>
You are met at the door by a loud, wordless wailing, punctuated by the occasional Chinese epithet. All the blood rushes from your limbs, and you stand frozen in the doorway. A moment later Mrs. Chen charges in, looking far more harried and grim than she had a few hours ago. "Go stay with a friend," she barks. "Spend the night.  Go out." Her purse is sitting on the small dining room table; she yanks it open and from it gives you two twenties. <br/>
<br/>
A guttural cry rises from the next room.<br/>
<br/>
You scramble backwards out the door, and try shutting the noise from your memory.<br/>
<br/>
You think about returning to Kirkham's house, to crash there, but you don't often have this kind of a chance for privacy. You drive out to the old highway and check into the deeply dilapidated Donna Motor Court. The room stinks and the bed is soft and saggy, but it's quiet and there's no one to interrupt you. You jack off twice before falling asleep, once again when you wake in the middle of the night, and a last time when you wake in the morning with wood.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Wednesday.</i> One of your busy days. You wake late in a strange motel room and barely make it to school on time. <br/>
<br/>
You only share one class with Mendoza—soccer—and no classes with Evans, but you pop up and surprise them at their lockers throughout the day, testing their reactions. Evans jumps when you tap him on the shoulder after first, telling him you want to talk to him at lunch, and his eyes widen with alarm. Mendoza has lost the hunted expression he wore at practice yesterday; today he just looks vexed, even a little pissed off, but he rolls over easily enough when you remind him that starting next month he'll be buying more weed off you. Evans takes that news with worse grace when you tell him at fourth period lunch, and collapses when you grab him by the hair. It disgusts you, and it worries you at the same time: maybe Trantham—the victim struggling beneath the mask of Tanner Evans—isn't strong enough to sustain the pretense. So you leave him to finish his miserable lunch and go looking for other amusements.<br/>
<br/>
You don't find them, so you just text Chelsea: <i>Got a taker 4 job u advertised Tues.</i> She texts back: <i>Who?</i> You reply: <i>Y, 2C his face when he cums in you?</i> She replies <i>:o=</i> and that ends the query. She says nothing about Andrea, but you'd already agreed to meet her again on Thursday.<br/>
<br/>
You text Caleb once: <i>Wait for it.</i> You fear the reply will be "Never mind," but he texts back <i>OK.</i><br/>
<br/>
After school to Panda Garden, where you do a fast set of homework while slurping down fuel for the night. Then, more out of duty than hope, you go by the elementary school. The fire is out, and you toss another match onto it.<br/>
<br/>
It doesn't catch.<br/>
<br/>
You try again. Still, it doesn't catch.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
With mounting excitement, you take out your lighter and try lighting various portions: the head, the feet, the chest, behind the shoulders, even the crotch (which thankfully has no representation of genitalia). Nothing. It will not relight.<br/>
<br/>
You whoop and punch the air.<br/>
<br/>
It has left a figure, maybe six and a half feet in length, that looks like a crudely carved megalithic representation of a prone person. Massive chest and arms that taper down to rude, mitt-like blobs at the end; trunk-like legs that taper to knob-like feet; a cabbage-like ball at the upper end. It's dusty, and you take off your t-shirt and wipe it down all over. Underneath that layer of fine, white talcum is a rough surface that is off-white in color.<br/>
<br/>
You grin over it, though you have no idea what you've made.<br/>
<br/>
<i>The book, the book.</i> You whip around, searching—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Shit, you gave it Dwayne Macauly for safe keeping.</i> You take out your phone.<br/>
<br/>
A foreboding comes over you as send him a text: <i>Need case, please return by usual route.</i> You haven't heard anything from him since you gave it to him: no demands for money for its return, or for information on what kind of a thing he's been holding. That could mean he's been content to leave the case locked. In Chen's experience, Dwayne—though a violent and tough-minded criminal—respects the boundaries, so there's an excellent chance he hasn't broken it open to see what's inside.<br/>
<br/>
But then, he wouldn't tell you if he did. And if he pulled out the book, and started experimenting with it, he wouldn't tell you either, not after his excitement over it had had a chance to take hold.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Don't turn into a fruitcake,</i> you tell yourself as you pace the basement. And why are you waiting to hear back from him? It's like watching a pot come to a boil, you'll just make yourself crazy.<br/>
<br/>
Still, instead of leaving for work, you examine the new dingus all over, speculating on what it might be. It doesn't seem to be alive, and there are no switches. Your finger brushes something underneath the giant gargoyle, and with the held breath of trepidation you yank it loose.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fuck your nerves.</i> It's just that paper with the sigil on it. Totally unsinged, too. Well, it worked. Again, you've cause to wonder why the sigil for the brain bands was so troublesome.<br/>
<br/>
But there's nothing more to keep you, so you turn to the stairs. As you put your foot on the bottom-most, your cell vibrates. Message from Dwayne: <i>Deliver today, get it tomorrow.</i> You let out a huge sigh of relief, though one that doesn't entirely dissipate the tension.<br/>
<br/>
For now you have to trust that Dane Matthias—the hijacked Chelsea Cooper—can get it to you. You remember what happened the last time Dwayne Macauly gave "Dane Matthias" something for Gary Chen.<br/>
<br/>
And so, with renewed foreboding, you return to your Jeep.<br/>
<br/>
One last call to make, you decide, before turning the key. To Caleb, to tell him that the dingleberry is finished.<br/>
<br/>
Or will you tell him? The dipshit tried quitting the project last week, and he wasn't too happy to be tempted back into it. Given all the cards in play, shouldn't you try keeping some of them back for yourself?</span></div></div>


path: 1112111321122222122222212212121121211221112121312112311221121112
author_id: seuzz
title: An Old Song with Swapped Singers
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Fuck him,</i> you decide. Caleb may have volunteered to start helping you again, but it was only because you dangled Chelsea Cooper's cunny in front of him, not because he's interested in helping you out.<br/>
<br/>
You go the country club and work like a dog until closing. At least Trantham has a list of his Eastman customers for you when you see him.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Thursday morning.</i> Soccer practice has ended and you're prowling the halls like a shark after a scent of blood. Walberg's class is in this wing. Matthias's locker is in this wing. Matthias has Walberg this period.<br/>
<br/>
Matthias will be somewhere here, and he's got something you want.<br/>
<br/>
You glimpse him up ahead, and the lust for blood throbs to life, with no more need of stroking.<br/>
<br/>
He's at his locker. But is it Matthias? Jesus, he's had a haircut, and it's neatly trimmed and combed into place. He's shaven, too, and that sport coat, is it covering a button down shirt?<br/>
<br/>
He's half turned and smiling down at another student. It's a girl, and her hair is long and brown. She half turns as someone jostles her. <i>Huh, Katie Byrd.</i> No surprise seeing her talking to Dane Matthias, they move in the same circles of underground music and tattoos and casual drug use. Bitch never paid any attention to you, though. <br/>
<br/>
She never paid attention to Will Prescott either.<br/>
<br/>
But she's paying attention to Matthias. Oh God, she just tucked her hair back, and stroked it as she did. She's <i>flirting</i> with him!<br/>
<br/>
Someone jostles you, but instead of rounding on them, you push forward toward Matthias. He'll regret your intervention, though not because it interrupts the flirtation. He'll probably be glad of that. It's got to be mortifying for Chelsea Cooper to have this nobody from the underbelly of the school <i>flirting</i> with her. God only knows how she's dealing with having a dick. <br/>
<br/>
Your smile widens.<br/>
<br/>
And it freezes as Dane Matthias tweaks Katie on the shoulder. He grins and puts his face close to hers.<br/>
<br/>
You stumble, and the crowd pressing behind almost pushes you to the ground.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Chelsea Cooper is flirting back with Katie Byrd?</i><br/>
<br/>
You almost abandon your plan in favor of watching how things play out. But you're saved from making that choice by the sound of the bell. Dane glances up, then gives Katie another tweak. She edges around him, putting her palm on his back as she passes him. He turns to watch her go, and she looks back at him with shining eyes. Briefly her eyes meet yours, but your stare doesn't register, and she turns around again to head to class.<br/>
<br/>
Dane pulls a book from his locker, then closes it and twists the lock.<br/>
<br/>
You jump forward, slam one hand on the back of his neck and seize his belt by the other. He shrieks like a little girl as you hustle him hard and fast through the crowd. You hurl him at the doors, battering them open with his torso, and force him toward the portables at a trot. He burbles incoherently.<br/>
<br/>
On reaching the third portable on the south end you shove him face first into the wall and punch him hard in the kidney. "Where's the shit, Matthias?" you hiss in his ear.<br/>
<br/>
"B'gah!" he shrieks, sounding just like a chicken.<br/>
<br/>
You punch him again. "Where's the shit, Matthias? Where'd you put it, you fucked-up shit-for-brains?" You wheel him around, knee him in the balls, and kick his feet from under him as he bends double. You grab the hair on the back of his head and pound his face into the grass. "What did you do with it, asshole?" you scream at him one last time before letting go.<br/>
<br/>
He scrambles back weakly and looks up with tears in his eyes. A bloody stream runs down his upper lip, and he snorts and chokes. "Gary?" he says.<br/>
<br/>
Savagely, you kick the wall next to his head. "Yeah, it's me, you think it was Katie Byrd asking for a blow job? Where is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Where's what?"<br/>
<br/>
He shrieks again as you kick him in the crotch, then kneel beside him with your hands at his throat. "I'm gonna ask one more time, you bubble-headed <i>bai chi!</i> Your fucking cousin, you see him yesterday? The fuck did he give to you to give to me?"<br/>
<br/>
Understanding dawns in his eyes. "Oh, you mean that briefcase?"<br/>
<br/>
You punch him in the chest. "That's right. Did you shove it up your ass, that's how come you didn't give it to me?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't know—! I mean, I just hadn't seen you yet!" He bites his lower lip and gazes back at you in terror.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you're seeing me now, so how come I haven't <i>got it?</i>" You slap him, hard.<br/>
<br/>
"It's in my car! We can go—!"<br/>
<br/>
You haul him up and force him back toward the parking lot. No one stops you.<br/>
<br/>
The briefcase—the same one you gave to Dwayne—is in his front seat, and you tear it from his hands as soon as he's picked it up. "Next time," you tell him in a hoarse voice, and lean in close. "Next time your cousin gives you something to give to me, you fucking send me a text the moment you fucking shut off your car. Then you wait for me to show up. You get it?" He nods vigorously. "Good. This is the second time you've nearly fucked me over, Matthias. Third time it happens, I'll tear off your cock and your asshole, swap 'em out, and you can learn to shit through your cum pipe and fuck like a girl." You punch his car door with your knee, and he quails so hard he nearly folds in half.<br/>
<br/>
<i>God, that felt good,</i> you think as you strut back to the main building, to deposit the briefcase in your locker.<br/>
<br/>
It might be two weeks too late, but you finally got back at Chelsea for siccing her psycho boyfriend on you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"You still need someone for Andrea?" Chelsea asks. She takes a demure sip from her diet cola. "I guess that means Thomason will be happy."<br/>
<br/>
A cold front came through last night, so instead of meeting poolside, you and Chen are back at Ben's BBQ. She's barely sipping the cola she ordered. You're ignoring the slab of carrot cake you bought.<br/>
<br/>
"Let's just say I got someone to cover for Andrea, and someone to cover for Seth," you say. "You don't wanna know more than that."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuckin' truth, bro," she says. "But here's how I figure you can take Seth." She leans forward. "Everyone on the squad is shitting themselves about Gordon, how he got on the stuff. Call Seth, tell him you can tell him all about it if he meets you out at the portables."<br/>
<br/>
"Not bad," you muse. "Except I don't want him knowing I'm mixed in this."<br/>
<br/>
"If it's Thomason or Kirkham who's taking over for him, they can make the call instead of you," she says shrewdly. "Of course, if it's Johansson—"<br/>
<br/>
"Someone can make the call," you counter. "Only it won't be me."<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes narrow. <br/>
<br/>
"Mm-kay," she says. "So that's Seth, and you can take care of him anytime. Tomorrow during school would be barely too late, as far as I'm concerned. For Andrea, you'll have to wait for the weekend."<br/>
<br/>
"Why's that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because that's when she comes up to the school, to the natatorium, to swim."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck, I didn't know that. You didn't either, man, must be—"<br/>
<br/>
"Chelsea knows fucking everything," she says. "You and your guy can bust in on her there. Here's a key." She extends you a ring with three keys on it.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you said Patterson took these away from you," you say as you take it.<br/>
<br/>
"He took the one to the fuck room. I still get to keep the ones to the gym, and the natatorium, and the tennis courts."<br/>
<br/>
"Must be fucking nice. Is Andrea going to be alone in there?" <br/>
<br/>
"Maybe. I don't know. You'll just have to be careful going in." She dimples at you as she sips at her cola.<br/>
<br/>
And you eat the carrot cake thoughtfully. It's not a bad set of plans; and any improvements you can make won't be any of her business.<br/>
<br/>
"You're going to take care of Seth tomorrow, right?" Chelsea suddenly says in a very biting tone.<br/>
<br/>
"I can't set up for it by then."<br/>
<br/>
"You sure as fuck better, Prescott. Cindy is already sniffing around. That snap vote could come any day now. If not tomorrow, then definitely on Monday at the start of practice." The gleam in her eye turns into a fell flame.<br/>
<br/>
"Then I fuck Javits over the weekend."<br/>
<br/>
"Tomorrow," she says firmly. "If this glorious ass of mine gets booted curbside while you're still fucking around, I will make you regret it until the day you're as old and crazy as that old man crapping up your living room."<br/>
<br/>
You push the cake at her, and rise. "Then I better get started thinking of a way to make it work."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Fucking crazy cunt,</i> you fume to yourself as you fire up the car buffer. You always knew Chen was psychotic. You were pretty sure Chelsea was psychotic. You had no idea how psychotic the combination of them could be.<br/>
<br/>
The buffer whines as it rubs over the surface of the mask. You need to make two of them, at least. That was the improvement you saw to the plan. You don't want Javits to connect either your face or Caleb's to his sudden body swap. Hence, you need a dummy face for Caleb to wear to that meeting. Best choice would be Kirkham, since  he'd be believable as a thug with a secret to tell about Gordon's addiction.<br/>
<br/>
Then you remember that Caleb has that original mask of Chelsea. Surely Seth would be willing to meet with Chelsea in the portables, if she called him.<br/>
<br/>
And wouldn't it be to your advantage if Seth had a grudge against Chelsea Cooper, thinking she was behind his sudden transformation into Caleb Johansson?</span></div></div>


path: 11121113211222221222222122121211212112211121213121123112211211121
author_id: seuzz
title: Jumping Javits
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You whip out your phone and dial Caleb. "Hey, I know you got that mask of Chelsea, but do you got any clothes to go with it?" you ask as soon as he answers.<br/>
<br/>
A pause. "Hang on while I double check that I'm <i>not on speaker phone.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Huh?</i> "Since when do you have a speaker phone, fucker?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't, but can you be a little more careful about blurting shit out?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you. The Chelsea mask and some suitable clothes. Bring them to school tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"To do the thing to Javits. You don't want him seeing <i>your</i> face when you try humping that mask onto him, do you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Tomorrow? We can't do it tomorrow!"<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?"<br/>
<br/>
Another pause. "Well, I guess we could, but it's really sudden."<br/>
<br/>
"Sudden makes it sweet. Oh wait, don't bring any clothes, just the mask."<br/>
<br/>
A hard gasp, then: "You want me walking through the school halls as Chelsea Cooper <i>naked?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Reality swims. "Well, that'd be great—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes it would. What time do you want me to streak?"<br/>
<br/>
"But we can't. I just mean I can get some clothes from Chelsea. I think. Talk to you tomorrow if not later."<br/>
<br/>
You cut him off in mid-sentence, but apparently it wasn't important, for he doesn't call back. You call Chen, and though you refuse to tell him why you need the clothes, you bluff him into agreeing to bring some in the morning: "It's the only way I can guarantee you Javits," you tell him. "And you need to call him yourself, set up a meeting between you and him at the portables." He grumbles but agrees.<br/>
<br/>
Then it's back to finishing the mask and brain-band.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Blank mask and brain band? Check. Bag of Chelsea's clothes, left under your Jeep just before first period? Check. Mask of Caleb Johansson? Check. Dipshit Johansson himself? You thrust your way liquidly through the crowded halls of the science wing in search of him. Even before you spot your co-conspirator coming out of Mr. Gelding's classroom, you spot Javits coming out of Mr. Cash's. Cindy Vredenburg is with him.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Not for long,</i> you grin.<br/>
<br/>
Then you spot three lanky figures come out of Geldings' room. You shove one—Anthony Kirk—aside and lay hands on Caleb's neck and belt. He goes rigid, but you've too much practice at this, and use his face and body to batter your way through the crowd. <br/>
<br/>
And behind you comes a jeer from Javits: " Hope you like lo mein on the down low, Johansson!"<br/>
<br/>
Hustle, push, rush. "You brought that fucking thing, Johansson, you brought what you were fucking <i>supposed to bring me,</i>" you yell. Lowerclassmen scatter; Caleb doesn't reply. Up the path to the portables you jog, puffing hard, and when you reach the portable you want, you push him into the door. "Get it open, get inside." His hands scrabble over the weather-beaten wood, and when he finally pushes the door back, you knock him inside with a blow to the shoulder. "You better fucking have brought that thing, man, 'cos I'm only playacting now, and you don't wanna see—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes I brought it! Jesus!" Caleb rips open his backpack. "Did you bring—?"<br/>
<br/>
You've already yanked the plastic grocery bag from your own backpack. It's a cheap-ass wardrobe Chen passed along to you—sweatpants and shirt, but it'll do. Also: "Here's the blank mask for Javits. Snap it up, your new body's gonna be along any minute." You only give Caleb time to squat before you smash Chelsea's mask to his face. She falls backwards—for it's suddenly Chelsea Cooper in Caleb's clothes—and as soon as her head hits the floor you clamp her mouth and nose shut. Three seconds later she explodes upward, swinging her arms and coughing.<br/>
<br/>
"Get changed," you tell her as she glares at you with streaming eyes. "I'll watch outside, delay Javits if it looks like he's coming up too fast." You're out the door before Caleb can move or reply.<br/>
<br/>
You light a cigarette and lean on the corner of the portable opposite, where you can intercept your victim. Adrenaline surges through your body, and you find yourself lightly squeezing a fist and tapping your foot in a syncopated rhythm. <i>This is fuckin' good, man, this is gonna fuckin' </i>work<i>, you can feel it!</i> Gradually the rhythm increases in tempo and complexity until it's a wordless rap, and most of your body is subtly grooving in several different directions simultaneously.<br/>
<br/>
Javits must've had business with Cindy before he could break loose for the meeting, for a fake Chelsea flashes you a quick thumbs' up through the broken blinds of the portable before Javits appears; and even then it's several minutes before he comes, moving slowly. <br/>
<br/>
He looks a little lost, as though he's not sure what he's supposed to be doing here. He comes almost to a halt when he sees you, then just jerks his chin at you. "Whatdja do with Johansson?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Shoved him up your ass when you weren't looking," you retort before you can think better of it.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Bad move.</i> Javits stops dead and turns a cold glare on you. <br/>
<br/>
Javits isn't one of the kings of the basketball court, not like Patterson is and Black was—not yet. He's not much taller than you: maybe an inch and a half. He seems much taller, though, because he's got a long, horsey face and broad shoulders that taper to a narrow waist. (His junior year he was voted "Best abs" in the class.) But as one of the better varsity players, he isn't shy about demanding respect; and he's strong, fast, and mean enough to make his demands stick. <i>Just ask Keith Tilley how bad it is to be on the receiving end of Javits' temper.</i><br/>
<br/>
Now he's in your face. "Funny," he says. "How'd a fortune cookie like you learn to talk smart English like that?"<br/>
<br/>
"From the same teacher who taught you how to French kiss Patterson's asshole," you retort. "He does good work, you just gotta know which classes to skip."<br/>
<br/>
He swings: hard, low, and fast. But you're not to be taken unawares. You parry his blow—though it sets your arm ringing from the tip of your pinky past your elbow—and jam in one of your own. But he's turned, and it only glances off his side. You're readying your feet for a little action when the cocksucker head-butts you in the nose.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Son of a bitch!</i> The world expands like an accordion, and it feels like your nose is trying to figure out what your brain smells like. Something hits you in the back of your head, and only when you realize the entirety of your body is resting on something firm do you understand that you've been knocked to the ground with Javits atop you.<br/>
<br/>
Luckily, he seems to have knocked himself badly too with that head butt, for his hands only weakly grasp the front of your shirt. With a grimace you try to twist out from under him. You see his fist go up—<br/>
<br/>
"Seth!" a girlish voice shrieks. You and Javits both freeze. He looks over his shoulder. You peer around him.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea Cooper is in the door to the portable. She gazes back, aghast at the sight of you and Javits fighting. Then she quickly gestures at him to follow her into the portable.<br/>
<br/>
He stares, then turns around to stare down at you. You grin at him, and sniff back a trickle of blood. His lips peel back, and he leaps from your chest.<br/>
<br/>
But instead of going in with Chelsea, he stalks back down the alley toward the school.<br/>
<br/>
You and Chelsea stare at each other for just a moment, then you scramble wildly for the door, your hand out. Caleb—bless him!—understands your thought, and from around the corner pulls the blank mask and shoves it at you. Javits has only gone a few yards, he hasn't reached the edge of the portables area, when with five very long strides you catch him and leap onto his back. You wrap the mask over his face, and both of you tumble hard to the ground. He nearly swallows a mouthful of grass, but you tuck and roll away. You glance around wildly.<br/>
<br/>
There are voices, of course, but they're not close. They should be coming closer, though, people like to hang out at the portables during the lunch hours. You grab Javits by the ankles and drag him toward the portable, his face making a groove in the grass. Caleb shrinks back, and dances ineffectually in place as you pull him inside.<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck was all that about?" she demands of you.<br/>
<br/>
"Just two guys horsing around," you retort with a sour laugh. "God damn it, I let my fucking mouth run away with me." You laugh again. "But it felt good. Oh!" You take a moment to nurse your nose and regret the headache you know you'll soon have. "Just don't demand a rematch when it's you, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're squatting at the corner of the music wing with Justin Roth and Perry Small, grinning and laughing about all the times you or them have gotten a bloody nose, when you spot Seth Javits coming out of the portables. His face is an expressionless mask, but he turns this way and that with darting, watchful eyes. You stare at him until he spots you and swings in your direction. Justin doesn't react, but Perry shifts backwards when he sees Seth coming.<br/>
<br/>
Then he's staring down at you. "Hey Chen, what was that you were saying earlier about my asshole?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was Patterson's asshole, and I was asking how much you love French kissing it."<br/>
<br/>
Justin covers his sudden grin, but can't fully stifle his laugh.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Roth, you wanna see something <i>really</i> funny," Javits says to him. "Come around here about five o'clock and watch as I teach Chen how to pee through his nose and shit through his ears. You're gonna be here for that, aren't you, Chen?" He tilts his chin.<br/>
<br/>
"Wouldn't miss it," you chortle. "Be hilarious watching you teach me that trick by doing it yourself first."</span></div></div>


path: 111211132112222212222221221212112121122111212131211231122112111211
author_id: seuzz
title: Romances in Disguise
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A five o'clock meeting with Caleb will cut things close for you at work, but Javits has basketball practice after school, so it will have to be that way. You run over to get your usual Monday-Wednesday-Friday meal from the Panda Garden, then hurry back to campus. You're alone at the portables with a fat cardboard box of noodles and vegetables when the new Seth Javits comes around the corner. "You're late," you say as you put away your phone.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't fuck with me, man, this wasn't a good afternoon."<br/>
<br/>
"Having trouble with the memories?"<br/>
<br/>
He starts. "How'd you know?"<br/>
<br/>
"You'll be okay tomorrow morning. You'll wake up with Javits's memories and Javits's erection. Tilley better watch himself."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm in a fuckload of trouble in the meantime. I had to skip basketball practice because I couldn't trust myself with the ball, and Patterson called to yell at me. There's some kind of tryouts on Monday to replace Gordon, and it sounds like <i>everyone</i> has to try out again, including me."<br/>
<br/>
"You'll be okay tomorrow," you assure him. "Chelsea says—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, how is this supposed to work?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's what I'm explaining to you. Jesus! Okay, so, remember, you're supposed to think that Chelsea is really Chelsea, the real deal. You think that you're breaking up with Cindy in order to be with Chelsea. A good fight with Cindy will help that."<br/>
<br/>
"Do I get to have makeup sex with her after we fight?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's your business. You just need to break up with her. But for the rest of it—" You gather your thoughts.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, the pretend story is that you're a friend of Chen's, I won't tell you which one, just one of his little ass-buddies, and I caught Javits for you—for him—and swapped you in for Seth because, you know, I thought it would be good for business. By sheer coincidence, Chelsea is going to call you tonight, and you'll go on a date and— Yeah, you're gonna get laid," you say as Caleb's eyes widen. "And based on that, you—the guy who's taken over for Seth—you are gonna call me back and ask 'What am I gonna do about this?'"<br/>
<br/>
"Why," Caleb interrupts. "Why would Seth's substitute call <i>you</i> for advice?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because Chen hangs out with dipshits who don't change their underwear without permission from Chen and-or Kirkham, that's why. And I'll say 'Go for it man, dump Cindy hard'. And that's what you'll do. Also, you have to make it hurt."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb gazes up into the sky thoughtfully. "I thought Chelsea was gonna think I was the real Seth."<br/>
<br/>
"No. You supposedly think she's the real Chelsea. I swapped you in for Seth, but you don't know that Chelsea is Chen."<br/>
<br/>
"But Chen knows that I'm really—"<br/>
<br/>
"He knows you're a fake. But he doesn't know which one of the dipshits you are. And he can't ask you, because you can't know that he's really Chen. Look," you say when he frowns. "Just pretend that she's really Chelsea, and talk only to me. That's what you'd do anyway, right? The rest will take care of itself."<br/>
<br/>
"Why is Chen doing all this?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Because Cindy's planning to vote Chelsea out as head cheerleader, and busting up her and Seth, and grabbing Seth for herself, is the only way Chen can keep in the job.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb stares at you, then doubles over with hard laughter. <br/>
<br/>
"Chen is doing all this so he can <i>stay on as head cheerleader?</i>" he gasps.<br/>
<br/>
You can't help grinning too. "Sure. It's fucking sick, isn't it? But just you get a look at what he's wearing and where he's sitting, and then tell me you wouldn't do the same."<br/>
<br/>
He grunts and adjusts his jeans, which are bulging in the front. "Okay, just as long as he knows he has to put out."<br/>
<br/>
"He does. Okay, you can get the fuck out of here. I got a crappy-ass job out at the country club I gotta get ready for. Call me around midnight."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The evening passes with bone-wearying work at the country club. At your smoke break Chris Trantham asks if you've looked over that paper he gave you. "Haven't had time," you confess. "That's my project for tomorrow. I hope." Given the way demands are piling up—you've still got the Thomason-Varnsworth swap to pull off—you wonder when you'll get anything done.<br/>
<br/>
"I've got some more notes," Trantham says in a tentative tone.<br/>
<br/>
"Awesome, bring 'em Monday. Just keep chilling until you hear from me, okay? You're doing great."<br/>
<br/>
Back home, you find your grandfather asleep and are able to hide in the bedroom/living room. You quickly and carelessly finish off a pile of math, then turn to the "To Do" list you've been running in your phone mailbox:<br/>
<br/>
<i>* KHall: Talk about f-squad supply, disrupt, replace; junior class<br/>
* CTran: Talk about EHS market<br/>
* AVarn: Thomason<br/>
* Chen: Javits<br/>
* Book: Chk on spell.</i><br/>
<br/>
Until you hear from Caleb—it surprises you that you haven't already—you can work on the grimoire. You look over the just-completed spell, in case you missed something earlier. But there's only the sigil and the list of ingredients and directions for combining them. You pull at the corner of the page. Nothing happens.<br/>
<br/>
You carefully peel at the corner. It refuses to come away. <i>The fuck?</i> Does this mean the spell didn't actually work?<br/>
<br/>
For about ten befogged minutes you cuss silently at the book and the universe before it comes to you: In the other spells you'd had to touch the book to the thing you'd made, and you've not touched the new dingus with book. <i>Fuck, something else for your tomorrow to-do list.</i> <br/>
<br/>
Maybe. If your fucking partners will let you. A little after twelve-thirty your phone tweets. "Braaahhhh," Seth Javits groans. "I got a new girlfriend!"<br/>
<br/>
"Great, I'll talk to you about it tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you wanna hear? It was sick and it was <i>awesome!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Fantastic. You can tell me tomorrow. I'll call you when I'm free."<br/>
<br/>
"'sfine. Gives me time to find the words to describe it. I think Cindy's matched that performance only ten or fifteen—"<br/>
<br/>
You slap the phone off.<br/>
<br/>
It rings again ten minutes later, as you've just put out the light. It's Chelsea. "Did you hear from Javits yet?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, and he's in love and he'll break up with Cindy, like, tomorrow or something."<br/>
<br/>
"Good. For the work I put into it—Yeaugh."<br/>
<br/>
"I've done my part," you say."Can I go to bed now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. But I also was going to remind you that Andrea will be at the natatorium tomorrow morning. She'll be gone by noon."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay." You turn onto your back and stare at the dark ceiling. "What about Sundays? Does she go up to the school on Sundays?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck if I know. I got church."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
If Gary Chen had a decent life, he'd be able to sleep in on Saturdays. But you're up early, both because of medical chores and other responsibilities, and because you've got things to do that only two weeks ago Gary Chen never would have believed were even physically possible. <br/>
<br/>
At least you're ready to tackle them by ten.<br/>
<br/>
You'd given it thought while dealing with the old man's shits and medicines and changing of bedclothes and washing of sheets. Thomason is now a week overdue as far as laying hold of Andrea, and though he's been patient and not said anything the few times you've run into him, you know that you really need to take care of it: After all, beyond it being a promise to him, it's to your advantage to turn Andrea into a sexy spokesmodel and saleswoman for the narcotic wares you're offering the student body of Westside High School.<br/>
<br/>
But that's part of Gary Chen's life, and you've been working to find a way out of it, and that means working your way through the book. Sure, maybe you could tackle the grimoire in the afternoon, but things have a way of popping up and destroying your plans.</span></div></div>


path: 1112111321122222122222212212121121211221112121312112311221121112112
author_id: seuzz
title: Shanghaied!
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You would need to go by the elementary school anyway in order to make a blank mask; and after swapping Thomason for Andrea that would be one more distraction to keep you from working through the grimoire. Between those two considerations—which you weigh as you drive off from the house—you decide it's best to work on the book.<br/>
<br/>
The day is cool, but you've dressed down in giga-floppy shorts, a long-sleeve pullover, and flip-flops: the kind of wear that's easy to change out of if you get old man squirts all over you on these mornings. You've even tossed aside the ski cap for a backwards turned ball cap. But in skinny sunglasses and the banged-up Jeep, you still look like the kind of guy assholes should avoid unless they're looking to get fucked up.<br/>
<br/>
Down in the school basement you examine the dingus from a couple of different angles, then take the grimoire from the briefcase. After the shit that's gone down you're not real hopeful that it will work, but you open it to the latest spell and lay it face down on the thinglehickey.<br/>
<br/>
You count to five—then to ten, just to be sure—and pull it off. When you turn the book over, the page flops over to the next spell.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Awesome!</i><br/>
<br/>
With the browser on your phone you settle down to translating.<br/>
<br/>
There's not a lot of text, but the grimoire's glitchy influence causes the browser to freeze several times as you try working out a translation. Eventually you are able to puzzle out that you should place a mask on the thing, and that doing so will create a servant or slave.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Cool!</i> It would be nice to finally have someone who would follow your orders for once. And you could definitely use the help.<br/>
<br/>
But right now you need a mask.<br/>
<br/>
Gardinhire's mask is in the briefcase, but even as you pick it up you change your mind. You've got several places to go, but also jobs to do here. Wouldn't it be smarter to use the mask you're wearing now—Chen's mask? If this thing works the way it's supposed to, you could send it out to talk to Caleb or to Thomason or to run errands; meanwhile, you could stay here, in your own face for the first time in weeks, to work on a blank mask to use on Andrea.<br/>
<br/>
That's perfect!<br/>
<br/>
For the first time in a week you feel like things are really starting to break your way. You stretch out on a table and grip the sides of your face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're very relaxed and more than a little groggy when you wake again, and you stretch and scratch when you sit up. Your hands and legs look a little weird at first, but you quickly re-accustom yourself to the Prescott appendages. You run your hands over your face, then look at yourself in the mirror. Everything seems to normal and unchanged. The whiskers on your chin and lip haven't even grown.<br/>
<br/>
So, on to phase two. The book doesn't specify where to place the mask on the "servant", but you lay it on the front of the thing that looks like a head. The result is exactly what you hoped, and quicker too. Gary Chen—a naked Gary Chen, but you can't have everything—turns his head to look at you.<br/>
<br/>
His eyes freeze, and for a moment you forget that he's your servant, and all the terrors of facing this asshole come flooding back. Maybe you even change color, for his lip curls into a sneer.<br/>
<br/>
Enough courage comes trickling back that you're about to order him to get up when he pre-empts you, swinging up into a sitting position. He looks you up and down, and glances at his own nakedness. "The fuck is this bullshit?" He looks back up at you, eyes gleaming with murder. Then he blinks, looks around, seems to realize where he is. "Oh, right," he says. That grin reappears, and your courage ebbs away again.<br/>
<br/>
He hops lightly to his feet, and you back away, knocking your knees against the edge of a desk. He snickers and leans into your face. "Boo," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Stop it. I mean, fuck you," you stammer. "You're my fucking slave, right? The book says—"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, I remember all that," he says. "I was sitting right there just a minute ago, wasn't I?" He thwaps your forehead with a contemptuous finger flick. "Pretty fucking humiliating having <i>you</i> up my ass, telling me—"<br/>
<br/>
This is not going at all the way you imagined it would. <i>Well, maybe it's good he's acting like the real Gary Chen.</i> You don't want some kind of monotone robot going out in public, chanting, "I. Am. Gary. Chen. Click. Whir. I. Am. An asshole. Click. Fuck. You. Dumbass. Boi-oi-oi-oi-oing."<br/>
<br/>
"Is there a point to this, Prescott, or did you set me up this way just so you could jack off two cocks at once?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Oh, right. So—" <i>What did you need doing?</i> "I think you need to call Caleb, catch up with him. You'll find him at Seth Javits's place, you know, because—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I remember all that, you fucking doorknob, you think I wasn't there when you were setting things up? Jesus."<br/>
<br/>
You glare at him. "Would you shut up and stop it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Would you get out of my fucking clothes so I can go take care of business?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Well, he's got a point.</i> You kick off the flip-flops and peel off the three articles of clothing you're wearing; just as quickly, he gets them on. You shiver and glance around. That sleeping bag is here still, but there doesn't seem to be anything else to wrap yourself in. "Hey, before you see Caleb," you tell your servant, "go home and bring me something to put on."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I'll get right on that," he says as he tosses the grimoire in the briefcase and closes it.<br/>
<br/>
This surprises you, naturally. "What are you doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Packing," he says, and bounds over to the steps. "Have fun, asshole," he calls. "If you get hungry, maybe you can catch some cockroaches. If you're lucky maybe they'll taste like popcorn."<br/>
<br/>
"What the— Come back here!" But he's out the door, and even as you run up the stairs you hear the padlock closing. "Hey!" You pound on the door. "Come back! I order you— I command— Open sesame! Cumum backum! Uh, returno expresso por favor!" A car engine turns over. You jump to the floor and peer out the window. Chen, at the wheel of his Jeep, peels away.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
For almost five solid minutes you can only rage impotently. <i>What the fuck is it with the grimoire that it keeps setting you up this way?</i> You've no clothes, no phone, no way out.<br/>
<br/>
Gradually you settle down and make a careful search of your resources. There is nothing magical left: all of that was packed in the box. You do have supplies for making magical stuff, but you can't see how a mask or brain band or glue can help. You open all the desk drawers and cabinets: dust and dirt and grime and a few tools that you yourself had stocked the basement with. <br/>
<br/>
But you make one discovery: some track pants inside the sleeping bag, the detritus of your last sleepover here.<br/>
<br/>
So, if you got out you wouldn't be running around naked. Only half-naked. But where could you go?<br/>
<br/>
You don't know anybody who lives nearby. There's only your house, which is currently inhabited by a fake version of you.<br/>
<br/>
But there's no place else to try for.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It takes about ten minutes with a combination of tools and a few cuts, to get one of the windows removed from its casing so that you can squeeze out of the basement. It's a chilly day, but the work has warmed you up, and you try to keep warm by jogging back to your house. At least maybe then you won't look like a total doofus, running along in only some saggy track bottoms. But you're not wearing shoes either, and—<i>Ow ow ow!</i>—the stones so bite your feet that you're limping within only a minute.<br/>
<br/>
But how the fuck are you going to get into your house without being seen? Worse, without being caught by the guy who's been stuck playing you for the past—<br/>
<br/>
You try to calculate the time that's passed. Two weeks? Three weeks?<br/>
<br/>
Ten, fifteen minutes after setting out, you're two houses down from where you live. There's a fire hydrant at the corner where you're standing, and you kneel beside it and pretend to be fascinated. Your dad's car is out front. And so is your truck.<br/>
<br/>
<i>What does Gordon think of the truck?</i><br/>
<br/>
You shake the dumbass thought from your head. <i>Focus, Prescott!</i><br/>
<br/>
There's an alley behind the house; if you got back there and over the wall, where everyone could see you from the living room—<br/>
<br/>
Okay, that won't work. There's the garden trellis at the side of the house under your bedroom. If you could get up it to look through the window, it would break beneath you, probably—<br/>
<br/>
That won't work either. There goes Keith Tilley, driving slowly past, toward your house—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Keith!</i> "Hey!"<br/>
<br/>
He jams on the brake, makes a sudden stop. You run up and jump in. He stares at you with wide eyes. "The fuck are you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I had an accident," you say. "I was out jogging and I had an accident and I don't want my folks to find me like— Will you put it in gear and get us out of here?"<br/>
<br/>
"What were you out jogging for, you called me only, like, fifteen minutes ago!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Shit!</i> "It was a fast jog," you improvise, "I didn't know you'd be here so soon, you're usually so slow. Get off this street, Tilley!"<br/>
<br/>
He puts his car in reverse, slowly backs up, turns, drives back the way he came. Meanwhile, you're plotting furiously. <br/>
<br/>
You need to call someone. Caleb, probably. Unless the robot is with him, which is where it said it was going. Or you could call Chelsea. Unless robo-Chen decides it wants to meet with the real one.<br/>
<br/>
"You got a phone?" you ask Keith. He looks at you skeptically, but pulls his from his pocket.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 11121113211222221222222122121211212112211121213121123112211211121121
author_id: seuzz
title: Dealing With a Chenbot
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You'll call Caleb. But Caleb is at Seth Javits's number. You have to get his number off the internet, because Javits is one person who once upon a time you'd be even less likely to call up than Gary Chen.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you need my phone for?" Keith asks. "And what was this accident you had?"<br/>
<br/>
"Butterscotch, she <i>said</i> she was eighteen, and I don't remember what I got for number ten."<br/>
<br/>
"Did you have a stroke or something? What the fuck are you talking about butterscotch for?"<br/>
<br/>
"I was giving you answers. They're not the answers to the questions you were asking, but they're the only answers you're gonna get."<br/>
<br/>
The line has rung three times by now, and only now do you remember that it'll be Tilley's number that shows up on the other end. Javits hates Keith, and beats on him at least once a week. <i>Why the hell would Tilley be calling me?</i> he'll be thinking, even if it's with Caleb's brain.<br/>
<br/>
But the line picks up anyway. "Yeaahh?" comes a hoarse drawl: skeptical, hostile, dripping with malice.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey man, you'll never guess who this is, but it's me, Will. You haven't heard my voice in awhile, right, but remember what we were talking about last night, that girl you went on a date with and she was so awesome and you couldn't wait to tell me about her?"<br/>
<br/>
Dead silence. And in that silence a single voice speaks nearby: "The fuck does he want?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Chen's voice.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I know you're dying to know what's going on," you say into the phone.<br/>
<br/>
Keith says, "Sure as fuck I wanna know what's going on." You flip him off.<br/>
<br/>
"So if you wanna know," you continue, "we should get together, just the two of us—"<br/>
<br/>
"Where are you?" Seth demands.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm with Keith. Obviously."<br/>
<br/>
"When was the last time we talked," he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, yesterday, little after midnight, after your date—"<br/>
<br/>
Keith interrupts in a choked voice: "Who the fuck do you know who had a date after midnight?" He leans in close to listen at the phone; you elbow him away.<br/>
<br/>
"And before that, out at the portables. We were making jokes about Patterson's sphincter."<br/>
<br/>
Another pause, except for Seth speaking to someone else: "Shut up. Okay," he says when he comes back on. "Shake your friend and meet me at the Mickey Ds on Borman."<br/>
<br/>
"I can't, he's giving me a lift, and I also don't have a shirt. Or shoes."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck? Alright. Can you meet me at Hochstetter Park?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'd rather meet you at the school."<br/>
<br/>
"Not the portables again."<br/>
<br/>
"No, the other school, the one where we were working on that project." You avoid looking at Tilley.<br/>
<br/>
"That place has bad memories."<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, it's important. And just you, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Right," he says in a way you don't like.<br/>
<br/>
Tilley is practically in your lap by this point. "Who was that?" he pants as you close the line.<br/>
<br/>
"It wasn't a girl, so back off."<br/>
<br/>
"You were talking about a date. Could be a girl, could be hot lesbian action," he says. "Come on, tell me, I'll just check the phone log later if you don't."<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't talking to the guy who's number it was." <i>What an idiotic thing to say,</i> you tell yourself even as you say it. "Just take me back over to the, um, elementary school. You know, the one where we—" You break off before you compromise yourself by mentioning the basement.<br/>
<br/>
"Where we what?" he asks. "Pssh," he says when you don't answer, and puts the car back in drive. "Everyone's so mean to me lately."<br/>
<br/>
"Have <i>I</i> been mean to you lately?" you ask, suddenly feeling guilty.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, no, not till just now. Have you decided what movie we're going to see?"<br/>
<br/>
"What? Is that—? I mean, uh, no. You can pick."<br/>
<br/>
"I told you <i>you</i> could pick 'cos I didn't care. Are you gonna get dressed or anything? You know, they keep those auditoriums pretty fucking chilly these days."<br/>
<br/>
"That's why I need to go over to that school, that's where my things are."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, what happened?"<br/>
<br/>
"None of your business, it's embarrassing."<br/>
<br/>
"Everyone's being mean to me lately," he says again in a sulky tone. "Yesterday it was <i>Caleb</i> lighting into me for no good reason."<br/>
<br/>
"Just tell him to fuck off and see what happens. You can let me off here," you say as he turns onto the street where the old school sits.<br/>
<br/>
"Am I waiting for you or fucking off?"<br/>
<br/>
"Neither, you're gonna go get something to eat, then call me at my number or go by my place. If I act like I have no idea what you're talking about, that I was home all this time, it's because I wanna forget this whole fucking thing happened, and that means pretending that everything between twenty minutes ago and twenty minutes from now got lost in a cosmic computer crash."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, someone suffered <i>some</i> kind of crash," he grumbles as you clamber out of the car. He sits idling the motor, until you show him both middle fingers, then drives off.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Fifteen minutes later, Seth Javits drives up. You had no idea what direction he'd be coming from, or where he'd park, so you are huddling ineffectively by a corner of the building when his white truck pulls onto the little patch of ground where you've been parking. You're horrified to see that he's brought Chen—the one who imprisoned you—with him. <br/>
<br/>
"Hsst! Hsssstt!" Seth either ignores or can't hear the noise you're making as he gets out and swaggers over to the basement. At least Chen remains in the truck cab. "Hey!" Finally, you loose a whistle.<br/>
<br/>
Javits and Chen both swing their heads at the noise. Javits just stares; you can't make out Chen's expression from inside the truck cab, but he doesn't move.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb hunches slightly as he edges toward you. "The fuck are you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's not me in there!" you hiss at him, pointing to his truck. "This is me and that's a fake!"<br/>
<br/>
"How the fuck did—?" He looks between you and Chen, realizing that he's caught between you, and that Chen has spotted you as well. He gazes at you piercingly. "Gordon?" he asks in a low voice.<br/>
<br/>
"No! It's me, you dumbass! Will! That spell we were working on, it finished up and I accidentally made a Chenbot! It took my clothes, locked me in the basement, and ran off straight to you!"<br/>
<br/>
"A <i>Chenbot?</i>" Seth exclaims. "What he fuck is a—? Hey!" He calls back to his truck. "Come out and help me deal with this—"<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus Fuck, Caleb!" you yell, jumping and trying to run backwards as Chen explodes from the truck and races toward you, his face contorted with rage. "The fucking thing's gonna kill me!"<br/>
<br/>
He seems to sense the same murderous intention in Chen, for he grabs your would-be assailant about the torso as he flies past. Chen struggles, and tries kicking at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Stop that," Caleb yells, and Chen abruptly stops, though he still glares haggardly at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hold him while I get the mask off him!" you yell.<br/>
<br/>
"No one's taking any masks off anyone," Caleb yells back. "Or I'm gonna take 'em off both of you! Will, whichever one of you is Will, just hold tight!"<br/>
<br/>
Chen instantly wriggles from his arms and charges at you. "Stop!" Caleb yells.<br/>
<br/>
And Chen, his hands only inches from your face, crashes to a halt. His lips peel back and his mouth froths.<br/>
<br/>
You can only stare back while cinching your sphincter shut.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know which one of you is which," says Caleb as he comes up, looking between you. "But—" He frowns at Chen. "The fuck is your problem?"<br/>
<br/>
"My problem is this asshole!" Chen roars. "You too, shitbag! Make up your goddamned mind what you want me to do!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Why the fuck wasn't it obeying me?" you wail.<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos it knows which of us has the brains," Caleb snickers. "You should've waited for me."<br/>
<br/>
You're in the basement, and the clothes and mask are off the thing and laying on a desk. Before disassembling it you'd tried a few tests, all with the same results: Chen would follow Caleb's orders with a kind of literal-minded precision while replying to yours with obscenities.<br/>
<br/>
"I own the book," you mutter. "I mixed up the ingredients."<br/>
<br/>
"<i>I</i> mixed up the ingredients," says Caleb, still in Javits's mask.<br/>
<br/>
"I dug up most of the dirt, set the fire, looked after it. And it fucking turned on me. Now I know how my dad felt after making <i>me.</i> I even made the sigil!"<br/>
<br/>
"There's one thing you didn't contribute," says Caleb, who has been poring over the spell. "Hair. We used <i>mine.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"You think that made a difference?"<br/>
<br/>
"Could be. You know how hair and fingernail clippings and shit like that is supposed to be, like, magical or something."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck! That means I can't use it as a Chenbot!"<br/>
<br/>
"With all due respect, Will, that was <i>not</i> your brightest idea. You should have used Chelsea's mask. Oh, man! Hey, this means I get to tell you all over again what we did last night!"<br/>
<br/>
"No it doesn't! Is that what you were talking about when you were with it? Never mind, I've got things I have to do. Things I wanted my Chenbot to do for me."<br/>
<br/>
"You could always tell me what they are, and I could order him to do them."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I better do them myself." You look at Chen's mask. Now that you're out of it, you don't want to get back into it again.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you have to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Stuff with his grandfather," you lie.<br/>
<br/>
"You mean that sick old man you were telling me about?" Caleb says. "Dammit, Will, you're not thinking of using <i>him</i> in the next spell, are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"What are you talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
"I was glancing at the next spell," he says. "It calls for using a body. Like, a sacrifice, I think."</span></div></div>


path: 111211132112222212222221221212112121122111212131211231122112111211211
author_id: seuzz
title: When a Body Needs a Body
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"What do you mean it calls for a body? How would you know?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, I was looking at the next spell."<br/>
<br/>
"It's in Latin. You can't read Latin."<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a look, one that combines a very Caleb-like exasperation with a very Seth-like impatience. "Javits took AP Latin last year, okay? Oh, and you're right, I got the memories last night. Anyway, it's not like the ingredient is hard to decipher once you spot it." He taps the page. "Corpus humanum can only mean one thing. 'A human body'."<br/>
<br/>
"Would a corpse work?"<br/>
<br/>
"Eugh! It was gross enough getting that dirt, I'm not helping you dig up a maggoty dead person!"<br/>
<br/>
"It just says 'body'. Couldn't that mean—?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's an academic question because I'm not buying whatever it's trying to sell me! And if it is a real person—" He yanks the book away from you and sits on a desk with it in his lap.<br/>
<br/>
It looks like he's gonna be awhile. So with a certain amount of loathing, you pick up Chen's mask and lay back on the table.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wake with a headache: not a severe one, just a low-level buzz all up in your head, like a lot of bees. Angry bees, it feels like. Yes, definitely angry. Lots of them, and all very angry. You sit up and catch sight of the track pants you're wearing. The bees roar.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, right.</i> Fucking Prescott, that's who you're angry with. (You <i>are</i> those bees.) Having Prescott up your ass, doing your shit for you, is the most motherfucking humiliating thing ever. You hunch over and wrap your head in your arms.<br/>
<br/>
"You okay over there?" calls Javits. He doesn't look up from the book. "You're not going to start cutting yourself, are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you," you mumble. <i>And that's another thing, having Javits—who's actually that pussy Johansson—brag about all the shit he did to Chelsea—who's another version of </i>you— "G'yod! Fuck! <i>Fuck!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"What is your deal?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing." You sit up straight and get smartly to your feet. The clothes you put on this morning are bundled into a messy pile, but you flap them out and are soon changed.<br/>
<br/>
By then, you've got your brain wrapped solidly around Gary Chen's again. All it took was a little willpower. <i>Heh. "Will Power."</i> But he's <i>your</i> slave again now, entirely docile, responding to every tiny flicker of command, and giving you instantly what you want: his memories, his instincts, his reflexes, his personality, to whatever degree you demand. You can hide behind him, or put him away, as you see fit.<br/>
<br/>
Right now you don't need him, but you let him ride shotgun as you lean in next to Caleb. "So what did you figure out?"<br/>
<br/>
"Left the work to me, huh? It looks just like the last one. Same ingredients, same amounts, same fire. Only difference is, it doesn't call for so much cemetery dirt, but it does call for a human body."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you doing with Cindy these days?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, <i>God.</i> That's not funny."<br/>
<br/>
"It's hilarious. But seriously, have you broken up with her yet?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. That's not really your business, is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Chen is making it my business." You pull the book from him. "And it will be until I find something in here that lets me deal with Chen."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb says nothing. Then, very quietly, he says, "You have a Chenbot now. Doesn't that let you deal with him?"<br/>
<br/>
The hairs on the back of your neck go up. "How do you figure?"<br/>
<br/>
"We put the Chenbot in for you. I make it leave you alone. You go back to being yourself. Chen doesn't know where you are, and the Chenbot does what I tell it to."<br/>
<br/>
"And what happens to Gordon?"<br/>
<br/>
"He goes back to being himself, of course."<br/>
<br/>
"But Dane's playing Gordon."<br/>
<br/>
"And Dane goes free, like all the rest."<br/>
<br/>
"Does Chelsea go free? But then what happens to Chen? He's playing Chelsea right now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he—" Caleb pauses. <br/>
<br/>
Yeah, that's the flaw. The Chenbot would have to replace Chen. And if you could bring yourself to put him out of the way like that, you wouldn't be in this jam.<br/>
<br/>
"You could use <i>Chen's</i> body in the spell," says Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
That's not what you were expecting him to say. "Dude, you were just saying we couldn't use somebody in this spell!"<br/>
<br/>
"No I wasn't. Anyway, I'm just pointing out the possibility."<br/>
<br/>
"It's a pretty fucking horrible suggestion, given who I'm looking like. It's basically murder!"<br/>
<br/>
"You're his doppelganger now, and doppelgangers are always trying to get rid of their originals. Maybe you should get with the program."<br/>
<br/>
You gasp.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I'm not serious," Caleb says. "Or, I dunno. Maybe I am. It's only Gary Chen we're talking about."<br/>
<br/>
You jump up and pace a narrow open space on the floor. "I dunno, man," you mutter. "And anyway, like you say, we're not even sure it will kill the person." You stop cold with a horrible thought. "Like , what if it gives them superpowers? You wanna see Chen get superpowers?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not going to give him superpowers."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't know that!" You resume pacing.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I have to think about this," you finally tell him, "and until I decide, I do have some stuff to finish up here." Caleb cocks an eyebrow. "Nothing horrible, just some stuff to help out with the— Well, with the drug trade. Brain bands to figure out who might be in the market," you add in a mumble. "I won't do anything about the next spell without you."<br/>
<br/>
"Right, same as you didn't fire up the Chenbot without me," Caleb snorts. But he leaves you to it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You do make up a brain band, which takes four very exacting hours. Then you make a mask, which takes another hour. Then—it's the middle of the afternoon, and you're way overdue for a meal—you try cadging a free meal at Aunt Sue's. "I'm not gonna be able to make it on Monday," you tell her by way of an excuse.<br/>
<br/>
"Come in anyway," she says. "It go to waste if you don't eat. Your mother not feeding you right. Sit." She goes into the back to bring you a plate. You've your backpack with you, and you take out the notes that Evans, in his guise as Trantham, had worked up for you. Aunt Sue asks what you're working on. "Just some stuff a friend gave me about Eastman," you say. "Just gossip about some of his friends there."<br/>
<br/>
"We get lots of student from Eastman," Aunt Sue says. "Not so many from Westside."<br/>
<br/>
"How do you know they're from Eastman?"<br/>
<br/>
"Their jackets. Eastman closer than Westside."<br/>
<br/>
<i>True.</i> Eastman is more or less up the road from here. <i>Lucky bastards over there.</i> That school—the older of the two high schools in Saratoga Falls—is close to several major business districts, while Westside sits almost on the edge of town, with residential districts and a bad industrial area between it and the same establishments. You glance around now, but the buffet is even more deserted than usual at this time of day.<br/>
<br/>
Aunt Sue chats with you a bit more, then leaves you to Trantham's notes. You bend over them with your phone at the ready, to make notes for yourself. It'll beat trying to decipher his crabbed and childish handwriting next time you need to consult them:<br/>
<br/>
<i>Trantham (me) buys about 9 oz./mo. from Gardinhire, I think. He keeps around four joints for himself, maybe a little more depending. He's not good at dividing it up so I can't really say if he's selling eighths or whatever to everyone or how much to them. He tries to sell at about four hundred an oz. because that's what Gardinhire told him it goes for and he's almost buying at that price from Gardinhire already so mostly he's just selling to his friends and trying to not lose money and sharing with them so its not really like a good business set up.<br/>
<br/>
Mostly he shares with his friends in the band the Hi Hats. That's the band Chris Yves set up (She's a really hot lesbian by the way if you don't know that you should totally go to their next gig.) She doesn't do any and I think she'd kill her bandmates like Trantham (me) if she found out but Trantham sells a little bit maybe 4 eighths to THOMAS GILLIMAN and four eights to TERRY FITZGERALD they get together on weekends down at the river and blow off a lot of steam and smoke so their not heavy users or anything and I don't think we could sell anymore to them.<br/>
<br/>
Theirs another band Trantham and them hang out with and Trantham (me) sells almost as much to them but its only to PAUL ZAMETTI and KENT FARRELL. I don't know if Adam Karter who runs that band gets any from them but there the only 2 in that band I sell to, about  1 1/2 oz. a month maybe.<br/>
<br/>
There's also JOSHUA CHESWICK who Trantham likes to hang out and he's a heavy buyer about 1 oz. a month. Also another 3 or 4 oz. to his friends DYLAN BRIGGS, NATHAN POOLE, BRENDON O'CONNELL, GABE SUNSTEIN and SAMUEL BLEVINS. Trantham gets together with them once a week or so in Joshua's basement and they're always using.<br/>
<br/>
It's pretty casual, like Trantham does this with his friends, the only guys he sells to that aren't friends are 2 guys on the basketball team and that's BEN PAXON and TONY RODRIGUEZ. They heard Trantham could sell them some so they went to him, he doesn't like to look for people to buy.<br/>
<br/>
OK, I guess that's all.</i><br/>
<br/>
You fold it up after digesting it. As you suspected, Trantham is pretty useless, and Eastman needs a pro.<br/>
<br/>
But that's not what you're thinking about as you return home. No, you're preoccupied by the need for a "corpus humanum."</span></div></div>


path: 1112111321122222122222212212121121211221112121312112311221121112112112
author_id: seuzz
title: This Old Man
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It's the thought of the old man waiting at home that decides it for you. The worst that could happen is that you accidentally kill him, and that would be far from a tragedy.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, how about I take him for a ride," you tell your parents when you catch up to them in the sick room. They are sitting on opposite sides of the bed, looking harried, as grandfather burbles and shrieks.<br/>
<br/>
"Take him for a ride?" your mother demands. "What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, put him in my Jeep, let me drive him around. He doesn't get out any. It might quiet him down."<br/>
<br/>
"You can't just drive him around," Mrs. Chen says, looking horrified.<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?" you and your father say simultaneously. "It's not a bad idea," he continues. "A little change of scenery—"<br/>
<br/>
"What if he grabs your wheel, causes an accident?"<br/>
<br/>
"He won't do that," you insist.<br/>
<br/>
"You're not taking him out!"<br/>
<br/>
But Mr. Chen has already stood  and pulled over the wheelchair. "Help me move him," he says to you.<br/>
<br/>
Mrs. Chen argues and flutters about uselessly as you get the old man into his wheelchair and out the door. Grandfather slaps his hands about until you get outside, and then he does calm down, at least to the extent that he stops fighting. He sits up and looks around with sharp interest, and docilely lets you get him into the passenger side of the Jeep. "Be careful. Don't drive fast. Be back soon," your mother says as you buckle him in.<br/>
<br/>
"We'll be fine," you assure her. "Look at him, he's having fun already."<br/>
<br/>
It's an uneventful drive out to the old school, though it is also something of an agony: You take it slow, and you are worried that grandfather will start flailing. But he seems very happy, actually, and cranes his head about and makes excited, chirping noises punctuated by only the occasional shrill cry.<br/>
<br/>
At the school you park as close to the entrance as you can. And since you don't have the wheelchair and you're not about to try carrying him downstairs while he's conscious, you take the blank mask from the backseat and press it to his face. This is also insurance: If something goes badly wrong with the spell, you can put the mask onto that stone robot and take <i>it</i> back. But it also means you can carry the old man down the stairs in your arms without him fighting you.<br/>
<br/>
You lay him on the book—opened to the sigil for the new spell; no time for making a copy—and start pulling together the ingredients. He wakes under the mask long before you're done, but you let him scream until you can't take it any more, and then you quiet him a little longer by putting the mask back on him.<br/>
<br/>
At only one point do you run into a question about the new spell. Caleb is right, it uses the exact same ingredients as the last spell, which you still have on hand. But that includes a bit of hair. You almost just pluck some from your head, but then you pause: If you do that, would that make the new 'bot obey you, or would it obey Chen? You play it safe and risk the dangers of temporary unconsciousness by pulling Chen's mask off your face long enough to pluck some of your own hair.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It takes longer to put things together than you would like, and the old man is shouting and wriggling on the desk, like an upside down beetle, by the time you get all the stuff poured over him. You grit your teeth, light a match, and duck as you drop it on him. Like last time, a purple flare fills the room.<br/>
<br/>
And only then—<i>God damn it!</i>—do you remember that the last time you set fire to a thing down here it took a week for it to burn itself out. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Well, that's what the insurance is for.</i> With a sigh you hunker down with the mask of the old man and start to seal it up. You use up the rest of the sealant as you do so. <i>So much for getting Andrea this week,</i> you reflect. The list of ingredients is in the book and the book is under the—<br/>
<br/>
You glance over your shoulder and do a double take. The fire is out. <i>The hell?</i> You lunge over with your lighter and light the hem of the old man's bathroom. It smokes acridly, but there's no more purple flame. All the stuff you'd piled on his chest is gone. <br/>
<br/>
<i>It's finished? That's all?</i> You look at the old man's face.<br/>
<br/>
And you hiccup with horror.<br/>
<br/>
He's been turned to stone.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There's really no other way to describe it or explain it. His skin is hard and cool, like granite, and nowhere that you press it does it give or yield; even his hair is like a pompadour carved from rock. His limbs are frozen—his back is arched and his hands claw the air—and his eyes are squeezed shut. He could be a very life-like statue, and the detail is amazing, with the finest wrinkles captured and preserved by whatever magic you performed on him. <br/>
<br/>
His clothes are unchanged, however. That's good, as you've no idea how you could explain how his robe and pajamas became petrified.<br/>
<br/>
And you do still have his mask. You're pretty sure you know what will happen when you put it on him, but you still tense against unpleasant surprises as you drop it onto the face of the statue.<br/>
<br/>
He comes to life in mid yelp, scraping at the air and twisting wildly. There is no intelligence in his eyes, only the angry, wounded-animal expression he's always got. You grab onto his shoulders. "Calm down," you hiss, though such expressions never do any good.<br/>
<br/>
But now they do. He instantly ceases to struggle, though he still yells, and that continues only until you say, "Be quiet." After that he says nothing, and only twitches a little. His eyes dart about fretfully, though.<br/>
<br/>
You pull the mask off, and he reverts to stone.<br/>
<br/>
Well, maybe you've killed him. But you've got a perfect copy you can take back home. Better than that, it's a copy that apparently you can manage and control. You sit back heavily onto a table top with a sense that is 20% horror and 80% relief.<br/>
<br/>
You're still in this attitude when your phone rings. "Where are you?" your mother shouts as soon as you answer.<br/>
<br/>
"Still out driving," you reply. "Yeah, he's having a great time, it's really doing him a lot of good." You stare at the statue on the desk.<br/>
<br/>
"You'll have an accident! Come back home, now!"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, okay! It'll be a little while, though, we're way out west of town, way out past the airport even. He really likes the countryside!"<br/>
<br/>
"Come back home! Watch for your father, I'm sending him out to meet you."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to do that, I'm turning around now."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not going anywhere," Mr. Chen says in the background. "That's the silliest—"<br/>
<br/>
"Just come home!"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. I gotta hang up now, you know it's a bad idea driving and talking. I could have an accident." You slap the phone off.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Okay, what can I work on at home?</i> You pack up the book, and supplies for making brain bands, and write out a shopping list for stuff to make more sealant and masks. It's almost six o'clock, but maybe after you drop your new and improved grandfather off you'll have time to hit a few supply stores.<br/>
<br/>
There's a dolly in the back of the basement, and you use that to pull grandfather up the stairs and to the Jeep; you prop him against it before putting the mask back on him, and catch him as he falls. He's still docile, though, as you bundle him into the car and lock up at the basement. Again, he is alert and interested on the drive back to the house.<br/>
<br/>
They're very pleased when you get back—Mrs. Chen with relief that you survived the adventure, and both of them are delighted that the old man is so tractable after the afternoon jaunt. "He must be exhausted," your father says as the old man has fallen asleep in his bed; he didn't catch you whispering "Go to sleep" in grandfather's ear as you helped tuck him in. <br/>
<br/>
Neither objects when you tell them you've got some errands to run, and neither one says anything when you stagger back in at ten o'clock, having bought up the necessary supplies <i>and</i> made another stop at the school basement to make and polish a mask, mix up some sealant and some glue, and otherwise prepare another disguise. "Meet me at the school tomorrow at eight," you tell Thomason when you call him. "We'll see if we can't catch you a mermaid." That's the only call you make, and you ignore the missed calls you didn't pick up from Kirkham and others. You've still got more work ahead of you this evening.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But you do pick up two calls that come in after eleven. The first is from Seth Javits. "Well, it's done," he says in a very sober tone. "Cindy will never speak to me again, but I guess it doesn't matter since we're busted up."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't sound so disappointed," you tell him. "In the first place, you're picking up a hotter girlfriend. In the second, how sweet is it to set fire to Javits's life and then piss on the flames?"<br/>
<br/>
He grumbles but admits that you're basically right.<br/>
<br/>
Thirty minutes later comes a call from Chelsea Cooper. "Nicely done, Prescott," she coos. "I knew you wouldn't fuck it up. Javits came through. How'd you manage?"<br/>
<br/>
"You managed it, man. The sex blew his mind, and I just told him he should try to make it a permanent thing. Better plan on putting out a lot for him."<br/>
<br/>
"Meh, probably not, not after the way he shat all over Cindy, it sounds like. Like, where could he go? But how's the rest of your assignments coming? Thomason and them."<br/>
<br/>
"Still working on it."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, what were you doing today?"<br/>
<br/>
"Dealing with your grandfather," you say through gritted teeth.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, right." He laughs. "Git 'er done, cowboy, or you'll be dealing him a lot longer."</span></div></div>


path: 11121113211222221222222122121211212112211121213121123112211211121121121
author_id: seuzz
title: Deepening the Talent Pool
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The problem with getting a mask onto Andrea Varnsworth, you've thought ever since you turned your mind to it, is getting close to her. She's not going to go off alone with either Gary Chen or Joe Thomason, and if she sees either of them coming for her when she's alone, she's going to think the worst and act accordingly.<br/>
<br/>
But you had a similar problem with Javits, and that worked out because you had an extra disguise laying around. You still have it laying around.<br/>
<br/>
"So here's what you're gonna do," you tell Thomason when you rendezvous with him at eight o'clock Sunday morning at the high school. "You're going to unlock that natatorium over there with this key here, and go inside with this backpack here." You hand him the key and backpack while pointing. "Ours are the only cars here, so probably Andrea isn't in there. But if she is, you tell her you've got the stuff that Chelsea asked you to deliver."<br/>
<br/>
"What stuff is that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Cheerleader stuff. Like, a packet of information or— I dunno. Just tell her it's cheerleader shit. Andrea's probably going to be confused, ask you what you're talking about. Then you get confused and ask her if Chelsea talked to her. She'll probably say 'no', and then you can sigh and cuss out Chelsea. Just repeat that Chelsea sent some stuff over for Andrea. Make sure Andrea gets out of the pool or comes over to get it, tell her something about how there's something she has to sign, because Chelsea's this obsessive cunt or something. Anyway, just get Andrea close to you. When she's right up close to you, you take this mask out of the bag—" You open the backpack and half-pull the mask out. "You pull it out and jam it <i>fast</i> onto her face. Don't give her a chance to look at it, just get it on her. She'll faint or pass out, and you catch her and set her down." You stare at him. "Can you do that without fucking up?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think so," he says, but you walk him through it a couple of times. Then you send him to the natatorium while you lurk by the tennis courts. <br/>
<br/>
He comes out only a minute later. "She's not there."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, Plan B. Gimme your phone. I'll be back in twenty minutes." Thomason looks a little lost, but remains where he is as you jump into your Jeep.<br/>
<br/>
You only go a few blocks, around the corner where you can park without being hassled. From your backpack you pull out the Chelsea mask that you and Caleb used to catch Seth. After pulling off Chen's mask, you put it to your face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Yeah?" Andrea Varnsworth's tone is tentative, guarded, suspicious.<br/>
<br/>
"Andrea, thank <i>God</i> you picked up," you gush. "I was sure you wouldn't because—Well, I can't say anything because he's standing right here, but you saw his name and number on your phone, right? Anyway, how are you? Where are you?"<br/>
<br/>
A pause. "Who is this?"<br/>
<br/>
You gasp. Probably Chelsea would gasp in answer to question, but in your case the surprise at your voice not being recognized is genuine. "This is Chelsea! Chelsea Cooper! You know, from school? I'm sorry I'm calling you this early, but are you up at the school? I heard you like to swim up there on weekends."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. No, I'm not."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's too bad, because I know you don't want this guy coming out to your house. Can you meet him up at the school? Will you be going swimming anyway?"<br/>
<br/>
"Chelsea, what are you talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
"I've got some stuff here for you, cheerleader stuff, like a packet for signing up, and the requirements. I'd really like you to look them over because I want you to try out for the squad. Hello?" you add when the line seems to go dead.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not interested."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean you're not interested? Don't say that, I'm counting on you, Andrea!"<br/>
<br/>
You've no idea if this is the way that Chelsea talks or treats people, but it's the way you imagine her doing it. Maybe it's the boobs helping you get into character. You really like the feel of the taut and firm boob under your left palm as you plead with Andrea.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not trying out for the squad. I'm not interested and it conflicts with—"<br/>
<br/>
"But would you just look over the material? I'm desperate, Andrea! Coach, uh, Tesla has been riding me about getting some new people on the squad, I told her I'd talk to you and she said that was fantastic! Would you please just look at the package, just take it? You'd have to sign for it, don't ask me about all the legal thingamajigs and doohickeys, but if you get the package you have to sign a piece of paper that says you do. And then I could just show Coach Tesla that you're thinking about it, and that's all."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not signing anything that has to do with—"<br/>
<br/>
"You're not joining the team, like I said, it's like when the UPS man gives you a package, you have to sign for it. That's all, I promise!"<br/>
<br/>
She sighs deeply and unhappily. "Fine. I can just take it and dump it in the garbage?"<br/>
<br/>
"As long as you sign for it, I don't care. Except I'd really like you to look over it, 'cos I really want you on the squad."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, when will you be over?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, see, I can't, but I thought you'd be up at the school? Are you swimming this morning?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know."<br/>
<br/>
"Because I can't get out, but I ran into this guy, you know, Joe Thomason, I was out jogging and he saw me and we started talking, and he said he's going up to the school to play tennis this morning, around nine? And I said, Great, can you take this package up there and give it to Andrea, she'll be up there, and he said he could, which is really sweet of him, because I can't get out today and I need to get this thing out to you, and I was outside without my phone which is why I'm calling with Joe's?" You take a very deep breath.<br/>
<br/>
Now there's a very long pause, followed by a very weary. "Okay, I'll be up there at nine. It gives me an excuse anyway."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, thank you, Andrea! I owe you so much and we'll have so much fun together! I'll see you at nine! I mean, Joe will! Love you, bye!"<br/>
<br/>
You hang up before she can change her mind, and toss the phone away. You catch sight of Chelsea's glorious face in the rearview mirror as you reach up to pull the mask off. You sigh. <i>No wonder Chen wants to keep his current position.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Okay, I made a phone call," you tell Thomason on your return. "Andrea will be along in about thirty minutes or so. You got a tennis racket with you?" He shakes his head. "Never mind."<br/>
<br/>
You glance around. It's all very exposed out here, at the corner where the school gym meets the natatorium, with the student parking lot on one side and the track and athletic fields on the other. There's no one about, but you don't want to tackle Andrea under the wide open sky. It sounds like she'll coming in for a swim anyway, if you can contrive to not be around when she arrives—<br/>
<br/>
But you need to be able to spot her.<br/>
<br/>
"Let's move our cars around to the teacher's lot," you tell Thomason, and that's what you do.<br/>
<br/>
After that you take up a position around the corner of the theater wing, where you can look across the student parking lot and down Borman Road in the direction Andrea will be coming from. She comes early, in fact. You and Thomason scamper to the other corner of the theater and watch from the covered walk that separates the theater from the gym as Andrea gets out of her car and disappears toward the natatorium. She looks tremendously sexy, being dressed already in a one-piece swimsuit over which she's thrown an over-large, flannel long-sleeve shirt. Trailing at a distance, you follow and watch until she unlocks and goes into the natatorium.<br/>
<br/>
You count to thirty, then hand the bag to Thomason. "Same as before," you tell him. "Only she'll be expecting you. Get the mask on, then come wave to me. Don't fuck up."<br/>
<br/>
He takes a deep breath and runs after Andrea.<br/>
<br/>
You start counting again. You get up to fifty before the door opens, and Thomason waves at you. You sprint toward him.<br/>
<br/>
Andrea is lying halfway between the door and the side of the pool, on her back, her proud face—slightly pinched—turned up. <i>Oh God,</i> you groan to yourself at the sight of those strong, shapely legs. "Go move your car next to hers," you tell Thomason. "Fast."<br/>
<br/>
The door has barely slammed behind him when you've got the shirt off Andrea. Quickly you unpeel the black Lycra swimsuit from her. She's even better underneath than you'd even dreamed: firm and sculpted and almost polished. She's got tan lines, though, which Chelsea didn't. She must not swim where there's enough privacy.<br/>
<br/>
You fold up her clothes and lodge them next to her bag, and wait. A minute later Thomason returns. He stops dead just inside the door, staring at Andrea with a slack mouth. "Get over here, dumbass," you bark. "Get out of your clothes and into these." You hurl Andrea's gear at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you serious?"<br/>
<br/>
"It'll feel less weird once the mask is on you. After that, go get in her car. I assume her keys are in her bag."<br/>
<br/>
Thomason turns very red, but complies. You keep burning eyes on Andrea, not him, as you pull her into Thomason's clothes, then pull her just outside the natatorium and prop her just next to the door, which you lock. When her mask reappears, it drops into her lap. You scoop it up, pop Thomason's onto her, and run back to the lot. "Meet you at the Mickey D's," you tell him. "That's where we'll finish." You jump into the Jeep.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Go someplace and get centered," you tell the new Andrea twenty minutes later. She stares gravely back. "Better yet, find someplace you won't be disturbed, and try to take a nap. Sleep is what you need to get the memories and stuff. And once you get them—"<br/>
<br/>
You swallow hard. "Then you'll be Andrea Varnsworth inside and out."</span></div></div>


path: 111211132112222212222221221212112121122111212131211231122112111211211211
author_id: seuzz
title: Business Before Pleasure
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It was hard leaving Thomason—or "Andrea Varnsworth," as you must now call him—at the McDonald's. <br/>
<br/>
Oh, the actual parting wasn't difficult. You just got back in the Jeep and drove off. Nor did you especially wish to stay behind with him. Yes, that meant leaving behind someone who was shaped like Andrea Varnsworth, a girl with steady eyes under a smooth brow, set over high cheekbones that narrow to a skeptical mouth and a strong chin that tilts provocatively up from a slim neck; a pair of large, rounded breasts clasped tightly within form-fitting Lycra; a swimmer's trunk and a swimmer's tummy and scissor-like swimmer's legs that begged to have the swimsuit peeled off them. But it wasn't hard to remember that beneath it all was Joe Thomason's pale, skull-like face, and only brain bleach will remove the image of his skinny body—tufted with chest hair—inside that swimsuit. You'd moved fast to get the mask onto him; reality had flickered in the driver's seat, like the briefest hiccup in a video feed; and then it had been Andrea Varnsworth, her eyes shut and chin drooping to her breastbone, sitting there. You'd lifted her head with one hand and delicately pinched her nose shut with the other, and she'd come out of the swoon with a gasp and cough. Fear and confusion showed in her eyes when they came into focus.<br/>
<br/>
That's when you'd given her your instructions. <br/>
<br/>
She'd said nothing, just stared at you, and you'd stared back until she'd nodded and quietly asked, "Am I supposed to do anything else?"<br/>
<br/>
"For now, just become Andrea Varnsworth," you reply, and your heart beats as you say it. "That's your homework. Tomorrow morning, I want it so that <i>no one</i> can spot the change. You are now Andrea, except—" You raise a finger. "You are my bitch now. Treat me normal in school, but show proper respect when we're not." <br/>
<br/>
She holds your eye, and you hold hers, and only the revolting thought that it was really Thomason under a mask keeps you from touching her, and caressing her, and pulling her into an embrace. Andrea Varnsworth has never been this available to you before; and at the same time has never been more unavailable, for the attraction of her face and figure are perfectly balanced by the repulsive truth about who "she" now really is.<br/>
<br/>
And that was the peculiar gravitation that so warped the McDonald's parking lot that your legs wobbled, making it very hard to walk away from her.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's only nine-thirty in the morning, so you go back to the house. Grandfather is still sleeping, and both parents are sitting with him. Mostly they look relieved that he's not woken up yet, but they also look a little disquieted. He doesn't usually sleep this long.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Go to sleep,</i> you'd told him last night. He'd complied. Will he stay asleep until you rouse him?<br/>
<br/>
What if you told him <i>Die already</i>? That thought causes you to stumble a little as you come into the sick room. "I can sit with him for a little while," you offer. Mother and father look at each other, then let you take over.<br/>
<br/>
While they do some household chores, you hunch over in the chair and text George Mendoza—well, the poor bastard who has Mendoza's face. <i>Meeting at the water towers, two o'clock,</i> you tell him. <i>Tell Evans and Thomason. If they say no, I want to know why.</i> Then you text both Chris Trantham and Kevin Hall. <i>Meeting at Hochstetter Park, three o'clock.</i><br/>
<br/>
Shortly after that, Grandfather comes to life again.<br/>
<br/>
He shrieks and caws and throws out an arm. You grab him and hush him, and he settles back. Your father comes in, and together you put the old man onto the toilet, and while he's there you change the sheets on his bed. You volunteer for duties about the house while others look after him: That, you figure, will earn you enough credit you can get out of the house for a couple of hours in the middle of the afternoon.<br/>
<br/>
You calculate correctly, and after four hours of hard, brisk work in the bathrooms, with the vacuum cleaner, with the duster, and with a mop in the kitchen, you are given permission to leave again while grandfather docilely clucks to himself. You wonder if he's happy. <br/>
<br/>
Then you wonder if there's even a "him" in that bed that's capable of being happy.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Where the fuck is Thomason?"<br/>
<br/>
Evans and Mendoza look at each other and shrug. So convincing are Trantham and Hall at playing these dipshits that you almost congratulate them. "I told you to call him," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"I sent him a text," says the one who looks like Mendoza.<br/>
<br/>
"Fucking call the douchebag next time. Call him now."<br/>
<br/>
You're on the far eastern edge of town, near a group of small lakes—glorified ponds, really—where some creeks gather and drain. It's a kind of natural reservoir for the city, which the authorities have augmented with a cluster of tall, toadstool-like water towers. There's a nearby subdivision, but the closest houses are a couple of hundred yards off, separated from the towers by a chain-link fence and a wide field choked with grass, weeds, and junk. The neighborhood children would probably like to play here, but for as long as anyone can remember this area has been reserved for the town's more thuggish element: teen boys who come out to swagger and yell and strut in front of the girls they've dragged along as a flushed and eager audience.<br/>
<br/>
There are quite a few cars scattered in the improvised parking areas, but you're off at the edge of one of the ponds, by yourselves, in a corner where you're unlikely to be observed or hassled. You're not surprised that Joe Thomason—who just this morning was a gorgeous girl named Andrea Varnsworth—is not answering her texts, and you're not especially keen to have "him" at this meeting. Mostly you wanted the new Thomason to realize that, so far as his friends are concerned, there's been no change in him; and you wanted Mendoza to handle him so that you wouldn't have to deal with him directly if he proved recalcitrant.<br/>
<br/>
As he's proving now. "Dude says he's sick," Mendoza tells you after a few gruff words have been exchanged via phone.<br/>
<br/>
You grab it from him. "The fuck is your deal?" you demand of poor, confused Andrea Varnsworth. She probably is sick—sick beyond empathy or understanding—at finding herself suddenly and bizarrely trapped inside Thomason's body. But you can't act like you've any idea of what has happened. "You got a tummy ache, asshole?"<br/>
<br/>
"I just can't go anywhere," comes the reply.<br/>
<br/>
"I wanna see you after school tomorrow," you say. "And I want a note from your doctor if you're not in class." You toss the phone back to Mendoza.<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, I'll just deal with you two fuckers," you tell them. "I said I wanted more sales out of you two, you been slacking with only six a month. That goes up to three ounces each next month, so you better start figuring out how you're gonna place it if you don't wanna start smokin' it yourself. Where you been placin' yours?" you demand of Evans.<br/>
<br/>
"Most of it with Nicholas Horner," he stammers. You can't tell if it is Trantham stammering, or Trantham doing a bang-up imitation of Evans stammering. "Like, three to him. The rest to Joshua Call and Jordan Fry. Justin Roth, sometimes."<br/>
<br/>
"How many a month to Roth?"<br/>
<br/>
"One?"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you asking me?"<br/>
<br/>
"One a month, at most."<br/>
<br/>
"Fucker smoke a hell of a lot more than that. And fucking Call and Fry don't only do one joint a month, do they? They turn you down when you offer them more?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't—" He turns very red. "I, uh, sometimes turn <i>them</i> down when I've—"<br/>
<br/>
You punch him. "Cocksucking dumbass, how much money have we been leaving on the table? You <i>always</i> give it when they ask, and you offer it when they don't! Christ on a stick! Has anyone else ever asked you and you've turned them down?"<br/>
<br/>
"Jimmy Brewer? But he said he was doing research for a part in a play, so—"<br/>
<br/>
"Pro tip, moron. If a guy offers you a blow job or asks for a joint, he's not 'doing research'. He just doesn't want you to know he's desperate for it. Get out your phone, text me <i>every single fuck</i> who ever asked you for some weed. Yo, Mendoza, tell me something that doesn't piss me off."<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs helplessly. Close questioning shows that he also doesn't push as hard as he could. "Keep after them," you tell him. "Castillo, Vargas—"<br/>
<br/>
"They don't have the money."<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos they don't know what they can get from you!"<br/>
<br/>
You dismiss them soon afterwards, for you've the other meeting to get to. You hope the disguised originals of the dipshits aren't as useless.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I don't think I can do it," Chris Trantham says quietly. "I mean, I don't think Trantham could. No one would buy him as a seller, not a serious one. He's too much of a dude. You know. 'The Dude'." He makes air quotes.<br/>
<br/>
You stare at him with dull frustration. But he's got a point. Trantham is soft and round and flabby, an unbaked roll of biscuit dough that sags to the touch. "So who over there <i>would</i> be believable as a hard-core dealer?"<br/>
<br/>
He thinks a bit. "Terry Fitzgerald, maybe. More than Trantham would be. Paul Zametti. Adam Karter, maybe. Or one of the basketball players. Uh, are you thinking about giving me a <i>new</i> identity?"<br/>
<br/>
Honestly, you're not sure. It might be best just to pull Evans back into Westside, and to develop a brand-new contact over at Eastman. First, though, you'd have to figure out who that could be.</span></div></div>


path: 1112111321122222122222212212121121211221112121312112311221121112112112111
author_id: seuzz
title: Too Many Dumbasses
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Okay, you remember those metal strips I showed you last week," you tell Trantham. "I'm going to bring you—" You silently groan at the work you'll have to do. "Three of them. All you have to do is get them onto people, onto their foreheads, the same way we got these masks onto them."<br/>
<br/>
"Onto whose foreheads?"<br/>
<br/>
"Lemme see that list again." You study the creased paper describing the students at Eastman. <br/>
<br/>
You wish you didn’t have to do their thinking for them. You wish Evans—the idiot who's pretending to be Chris Trantham—could use Trantham's brain to figure out who's worth copying. Above all, you wish you didn't have to waste time with this meeting at Hochstetter Park.<br/>
<br/>
But, dimly, you recognize that if they were smart enough to think on their own, they'd be smart enough not to let you bully them around.<br/>
<br/>
"This girl, this guy and ... oh, one more of your choice," you say. "What I want are people who hear things, who know things, the gossip and the rumors, the underground stuff. The people who can guess who at Eastman is dealing and who is using, and most of all who they <i>suspect</i> is dealing. We need to find someone <i>plausible</i> for you to be, and besides the ones you mentioned—who sound about as plausible as my Aunt Sue—we need a list of who that might be. You get those strips back to me by Friday, and we'll dig into them to see who might work, because these guys' brains will have that info." Then, since he'd warned you he had a gig to practice for, you dismiss him. <br/>
<br/>
That leaves you with Hall. "Okay, make me happy. Where's the football team getting their shit from?"<br/>
<br/>
"You'd have to ask Carstairs. Or get inside his brain," says Mendoza, the guy playing the junior football player. "He's the one who brings it in, parcels it out."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck. And what do you mean he parcels it out? He's <i>giving</i> it away?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but he says, ' Today you can buy, but you can't,' you know, telling people when and how much. He doesn't let Kevin do it that much, only as a reward for sometimes."<br/>
<br/>
"So why don't the other guys come to us when Carstairs stiffs' em?"<br/>
<br/>
"They do, sometimes, right? Even Erik sometimes buys from me. From Mendoza, I mean." He looks very uncomfortable for a moment. "Also, he sells it for cheaper than we do." His discomfort deepens. "Thirty-three for an eighth."<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Thirty-three?</i> Are you—? You can't get it on the <i>street</i> for less than forty, even with a discount for bulk!" A horrible thought hits you. "Is he getting it from a distributor direct? He can't be subsidizing the whole fucking team at ten, fifteen an eighth! Fuck, the way they're playing this season, they're smoking a bale of the stuff a week!"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, you know I'm playing on the varsity squad these days."<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up." You grip your forehead. "It's gotta be— Wouldn't be my guy supplying him, he's too careful for that shit."<br/>
<br/>
"So put Carstairs under questioning, find out how it's working."<br/>
<br/>
You look at him. Mendoza isn't as reckless as Thomason, but he's the smartest of the trio, and he's probably nailed it. But you've another question for him: "What would Carstairs say if Kevin Hall—" You jab him in the breastbone with a knuckle. "If you were to start distributing on your own down in the junior class?"<br/>
<br/>
He blinks, and stammers. "I don't think he'd like it. It's not a money-maker for him. Like, it's about team rewards, not—"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I get it. So if you can't deal, who down there can? I mean, if you had to guess which of the juniors was—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, that's easy. Ethan Wade."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know him."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure you do. We had him in that stupid General Business class last year."<br/>
<br/>
"I only got so much room in my brain, I flushed that shit out while I was in it. But this Wade guy, has he got the guts to handle a set up?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he walks around all the time like this." Hall straightens up and struts about like a rooster with a massive boner. "Kind of like you, actually."<br/>
<br/>
"I should fuck you up for that. But it sounds like he might work."<br/>
<br/>
Hall's reaction is studiously neutral. "Are you moving me, like you're thinking of moving—"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't say I'm moving anyone, and I don't think I'm moving you. No, what I'm thinking is—" But you haven't thought it yet, and it takes you a few moments to think it out. "I'm thinking we want him to do the work, we'll just supply him and help out. We'll sell him eighths at forty and tell him he can sell them at fifty. Like, you and Thomason and Evans have been doing."<br/>
<br/>
"Am I still supposed to be selling three ounces a month—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, your job'll be to help Wade sell three ounces a month. Not instantly, either, but help him ramp it up, quick. You're gonna be the one supplying it to him, not me. He'll believe it, coming from you. Fucking football team, the crowds at your games get a contact buzz when you run out on the field. You sell him the stuff and you help him move it, but not by selling it direct, you just sound people out if they're interested, point them toward this Wade fuck if they are. That way your hands are clean if Carstairs gets wind of it. Oh, and tell Wade that if anyone asks where he's getting it, he should tell them to go fuck themselves. But if he really gets put on the spot, like giant screws are being twisted into his eyeballs, he can tell them it comes from Matthias. We'll even set up a little dump, a place Matthias likes to go to—"<br/>
<br/>
"You mean that loose board under that portable?"<br/>
<br/>
You start. "You know about that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Whole football team knows. Matthias puts his own stash there."<br/>
<br/>
"God damn it, that idiot."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, what's the deal with him these days? Is anyone really gonna believe it's Matthias selling into the junior class? He's cleaning himself up."<br/>
<br/>
"That's why they'll believe it. He's still getting it but he's sworn off it, so he's selling it. But you show Wade that loose board and tell him he can blame Matthias if it gets really hairy. I think that'll cover us."<br/>
<br/>
"Why are things suddenly so complicated?" Hall asks, and his voice acquires a whine.<br/>
<br/>
"You think this is complicated? You got no fucking clue."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
When you're done at the park you make a run to the grocery store, but after that you're released from further family obligations until eight o'clock. There are things you should be doing, but when you get to the elementary school, where you were going to look over the next spell in the book, you discover that you've left it behind at the house. <i>Fuck it,</i> you decide. You call Kirkham, but he's busy. <br/>
<br/>
And that, for what it's worth, is how you wind up back at the water towers with Call and Spencer and Horner.<br/>
<br/>
That'd be Joshua Call, Jeff Spencer, and Nicholas Horner. Not three guys Gary Chen often hangs out with—and Will Prescott never in a million years would—but your itchy butt took you back to the towers, and this trio of dropout delinquents were the only faces there you recognized. "Whyncha bring a party," Call jeers at you. "You always got a baggie of fun with you."<br/>
<br/>
"Or a fortune cookie at least," laughs Horner. He's the smallest of the bunch—the designated butt-kisser—and his grin falters when you glance at him.<br/>
<br/>
But you let it drift. Call takes a swig from his flask and pointedly doesn't offer it to you when he passes it around to his friends. Not that you'd take a swig anyway. The cigarette is enough for you, and the flask looks greasy. Call does too. It's easy to imagine black grime under his fingernails and motor oil between his fingers, probably because, with his tight skin and ropey muscles, it's easy to imagine him wielding a tire iron. Doubtless the stains—of oil or of blood, depending on the particular job he made of it—wouldn't show on his black t-shirt. <br/>
<br/>
You just grunt. "Well, when you guys are in the market next time, talk to my boys," you tell them.<br/>
<br/>
"They never have anything," Horner says in his sneering whine; the rat must be feeling brave because you didn't chastise him a moment ago. But he does flick a nervous glance at Call; he never says anything, that you've ever noticed, without looking to his bruiser pal for permission or approval. "I asked Tanner if he had a toke, and he said—"<br/>
<br/>
"When was this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Coupla weeks ago. And he said—"<br/>
<br/>
"They're gonna start having some anytime you ask, starting next month," you say. "We picked up some more supply, gonna—"<br/>
<br/>
Call laughs hoarsely: a bark like an elephant seal. "Sounds like some of those bullshit business classes are starting to kick in for you, Chen. Shit, I coulda told you—"<br/>
<br/>
Spencer interrupts: "Why don't you get a whore, start pimping her out?" he asks you. His tone is sullen, as is his stare.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck, man, I like the way you think," Call says, and laughs again. "Make yourself fucking useful, Chen, set up a stable of ponies for us to ride." He claps a hand to his crotch. "Fuck, if you could talk Jelena Petrovich into—"<br/>
<br/>
"She's gay!" Horner whinnies.<br/>
<br/>
"So? Gimme fifteen minutes with her and—"<br/>
<br/>
The repartee that follows is obvious and boring. But your are thinking about Spencer's suggestion: between the stone -bots you've made and the masks, you've basically got an instantly deployable "build your own whore" kit.<br/>
<br/>
2. That's too skanky (non-canonical): "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/2236945/action/view/chapter_map/1112111311222221222222122121211212112211111113111121111211211121121121112" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 2236945">A Meeting with Mata Hari</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/2236945/action/view/chapter_map/1112111311222221222222122121211212112211111113111121111211211121121121112" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 11121113211222221222222122121211212112211121213121123112211211121121121111
author_id: seuzz
title: An Army of One
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Build your own fembot? It's a really tempting thought, so tempting that after only a minute or two of feverish speculation, you mutter "Later" at the three asshole-amigos and run for home.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You don't have a lot of homework, so after getting that out of the way and practicing the viola, you make an early night so you can make an early start in the morning. <br/>
<br/>
In fact, your start is so early that your parents have been in bed only ten minutes before you're stealthily dressing again. You leave a note for them to find when they get up, saying that you had to go out for an early soccer practice, then sneak out with the grimoire. You make a beeline for the old elementary school, and set to work as soon as you get there.<br/>
<br/>
You had looked over the next spell as soon as you got home from the water towers, in case it had features that would help with your burgeoning plan for a squad of fembots, and it intrigued you enough that you wanted to try it out as soon as possible. You already have all the ingredients, and it's the work of only two minutes to dump them into a bowl and set the bowl onto the open book. You light the pile, and after it fizzles and burns for a minute you find you've made a black, tar-like paste. You lay back and pull Chen's mask off your face—<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
—and wake with a start. When you have rubbed away a sudden rush of exhaustion, you coat the inside of the mask with the paste, then snip off some of your own hair (as the spell prescribes) and burn it inside the mask. It flares and burns out, and when it's done the masks' inner surface is the color of the stony thing you made with four hundred pounds of graveyard dirt. It's still standing in the corner, and you glance speculatively between it and the mask before setting the mask onto the book. <br/>
<br/>
The page now turns. There's a large paragraph on the reverse side. After you've hashed out a crude translation—<br/>
<br/>
Okay, the book doesn't use the word "rockbot," but that's the name you privately give the kind of thing you've been making the past couple of weeks, and this spell (as you suspected) has made a new kind of one.<br/>
<br/>
So a "rockbot" is a servant that has to obey its maker (assuming its maker was smart enough to use his own hair in the spell) and it now comes in three varieties. The basic model, which took you a week to make, is just a lumpy thing onto which you set a mask. It then turns into the person whose image is inside the mask, and that "person" will obey you. The first variation, which you used on Grandfather, transforms a person into a rockbot, but otherwise it behaves exactly like the first kind.<br/>
<br/>
The third kind, though, is a lot more compact and convenient. It's a rockbot-inside-a-mask. When the mask is placed on someone, it turns them into the duplicate of the person copied by the mask. But because there's also a rockbot inside the mask, they have to obey you the way a rockbot would.<br/>
<br/>
So now you don't have to spend weeks making rockbots after hauling thousands of pounds of dirt around. Nor do you have to petrify your victims or otherwise get them out of the way. All you have to do is carry a rockbot-mask around, find someone who can conveniently disappear and—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Pop!</i> You put the mask on them, they go away, and in their place is a doppelganger who will obey you.<br/>
<br/>
At least, that's the way you interpret the spell. You'll have to test it out, and on a hunch you work until three in the morning making a new mask and a new brain band. Then you crawl into the abandoned sleeping bag for a few hours of sleep.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You feel ragged and bleary the next morning as you trudge into school. But despite your exhaustion, there's a quickness to your step, for you are keenly anticipating the minutes between 9:00 and 9:10, when the apparition of Andrea Varnsworth is due to appear outside the windows of E wing. Yes, it's Joe Thomason now inside that lovely body. But still, that means you'll be able to talk to that body now, to stare at it openly when you meet to talk about business. So with increasing impatience you shift in your seat as the clock edges closer to the usual time. The tension become nigh intolerable.<br/>
<br/>
And then she appears. Walking slowly, eyes down. She's wearing light purple shorts and flip flops and some kind of sweatshirt. Her hair, as always, gives the impression of being damp. <i>What's her schedule?</i> you wonder, for now you can ask why she always appears this way at this time of day. Does she have study hall first period, and she spends it in the natatorium? But if so, why does she always take this route back into the school? It would be the long way around, wouldn't it?<br/>
<br/>
"Gary, Steve," says Ms. Gladstone. "Put your eyes back in your heads and turn them this way."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
She's not the only girl that you watch for. You watch for all of them, any of them, and your cock passes the day in a tense state of trembling anticipation for what you plan to do.<br/>
<br/>
You're going to make a fembot. Lots of them. And you're going to sell their services in the Warehouse.<br/>
<br/>
<i>The Warehouse!</i> That's a party scene that Chen has been to only a couple of times, even though it's exactly the kind of place where he'd fit in. It is what its name implies, a looming, abandoned warehouse in the city's decrepit industrial district, that has been taken over by the wilder elements of the city's youth and turned into a depraved party spot. Raves, underage drinking, illegal drugs, fights ... it all happens there, outside of all and any adult supervision. Armed security (such as it is) is provided by the high schools' athletic squads—football players, mostly, but any beefy kid who can swing a heavy stick can get a job as a bouncer there—and all the foods and drinks and drugs are sold by underage vendors. Music is also provided by high school garage bands and dee-jays.<br/>
<br/>
But it's the sex angle that has you slavering. There's a row of private rooms upstairs—spaces that used to be offices, you suppose—furnished with grimy, crusted, disgusting mattresses that can be rented (along with a clean set of sheets) for thirty minutes by up to two people at a time. (For three persons or more, the charge is extra.) How much does Oscar Cantu, who runs the operation, make off the rentals? You've no idea, but you assume it's at least several hundred dollars per night.<br/>
<br/>
He could make more—a hell of a lot more—if the rooms upstairs were furnished with beautiful whores. Then there'd be a line to get up and in and out of the second floor instead of a trickle of couples looking for a place for a drunken fuck.<br/>
<br/>
And it would be safe as could be. The masks—you haven't forgotten—allow you to mix one or more body/face types inside of them, to create "new" people. So ... Mix Lin Pol and Yumi Saito, or Lin Pol and Cindy Vredenburg, or Andrea Varnsworth and Eva Garner ... or mix Lin and Yumi and Cindy and Andrea and Eva all together ... and you would have a completely "new" girl inside of a mask. Outfit the mask with a copy of the brain of a girl who likes sex—a Molly Shaw or a Faith Becker, say—and you'd have a gorgeous, eager-to-fuck whore ready for taking up the ass. You'd just have to put the mask onto a rockbot, and it would come alive and obey you, and at your command it would sell itself a dozen times in a single night and pass the money to you. At fifty bucks a pop ... or seventy-five ... or if you set up a bidding system or a lottery ...<br/>
<br/>
You lean back in your desk, eyes shut and a smile stretching across your face, as you think about it. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Seven rockbots, cold and lifeless, lined up in the elementary school basement. One by one you go down the line, putting masks onto them, and they come to life as a line of soft, sexy, sexually eager girls. They smile at you, and giggle and caress you lovingly, then get dressed. They troop out to an SUV you've borrowed for the drive out to the Warehouse. Each is given a stack of clean sheets, and they march upstairs to wait, each in a room of her own. A line of sexually eager boys starts forming at eight each evening, and all night long they sprint upstairs for their turn, pressing a hundred dollars each into your hand as you direct them to a room. They emerge twenty minutes later, weak and groaning with sexual satisfaction, and telling everyone they know how hot and luscious and awesome was the fuck they bought.</i><br/>
<br/>
Seven customers every twenty minutes, for seven hours a night. A hundred and forty-seven customers, at a hundred per, for two nights, and you wake up Sunday morning with twenty-nine thousand, four hundred more dollars than you went to bed on Thursday night with.<br/>
<br/>
You prop your feet on the back of the desk in front of you, and let your knees fall apart as your cock makes a hard fist inside your shorts.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But that's a long-term play, one to start after you've deployed some rockbot-masks. Because if those work out, you won't even have to share the loot with Oscar Cantu.<br/>
<br/>
Or with the original Gary Chen.<br/>
<br/>
But you need to test it out first.</span></div></div>


path: 111211132112222212222221221212112121122111212131211231122112111211211211111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Pleasant Phucker
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You start lunch by making a circuit of the school, keeping an eye out for the various fakes. There's a lot of them in the school now. Not only you and Chelsea and Seth, but fake versions of George Mendoza, Joe Thomason, and Tanner Evans; imposters impersonating Kevin Hall and Andrea Varnsworth; and confused versions of Gordon Black, Dane Matthias, Caleb Johansson, and Will Prescott.<br/>
<br/>
You spot Gordon in the cafeteria at a table with some football players—including Kevin Hall—laughing and making goofy faces, apparently without a care in the world. At the alpha table Chelsea Cooper sits wrapped inside the arm of Seth Javits, laughing and talking a mile a minute.<br/>
<br/>
Outside, you peer into classrooms for those who don't have fourth period lunch. You spot three of them inside Mrs. Gladstone's classroom: Will Prescott, Caleb Johansson, and Andrea Varnsworth, all gazing attentively at the front of the room. So is Matthias when you scope out Walberg's room. Today's he's wearing a snazzy-looking sweater, taking him even more out of character.<br/>
<br/>
You catch up briefly with Evans and Mendoza—the fake verions—behind the Music Annex. "Where's Thomason?" you ask, but they only shrug.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fucker.</i> He's the only one you haven't been able to track down. Is Andrea so freaked out by the body swap that she's skipping school? You hope not for her sake, or else you're going to have to do something about it. So you skip your bullshit fifth-period Marketing class to make another circuit, looking for her. It's for this reason that you happen upon a curious scene out at the portables.<br/>
<br/>
There's a big cluster of students there, many you recognize. Losers and class-skippers like Spencer Osbourne and Brad Murphy and Kyle Kent. Scruffy artist types like Karl Hennepin and Tim Gerard. But there's also a lot of girls there, and even some sports guys like Noah Lepley and Nathan Cruz. And at the center of the group is Gordon Black.<br/>
<br/>
He's blushing and laughing hard, his deep guffaw rolling out over the chattering laughs of the surrounding crowd. As you approach, drawn by curiosity, he raises a palm and shouts, "No! No, I can get it! Fuck you, I can get it!"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you pleasant! Fuck you pleasant!" Spencer hoots at him.<br/>
<br/>
"No! Shut up!" Gordon grabs Spencer by the neck and hurls him backward into the crowd with a laugh. "No, listen! Listen!"<br/>
<br/>
An ear-splitting whistle rends the air. "Give him a chance!" an even deeper voice booms out, and the crowd settles down.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not the— What?" Gordon grabs his stomach and giggles hard.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not the pheasant plucker," prompts another voice.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not the pleasant fucker— Oh, shit!" Gordon exclaims as laughter engulfs the crowd again. "I'm not the pheasant plucker," Gordon begins again as his face blackens with suppressed hysterical laughter. "I'm the pheasant plucker's son," he continues in a choked voice. "I'm only— Only—!" A rising chatter of laughs threatens to drown him out. "I'm only <i>fucking pleasants till the fucking peasants cum!</i>" Gordon roars, and the whole crowd collapses in laughter.<br/>
<br/>
It's quite a sight, seeing the normally mulish Gordon Black enjoying himself in a big crowd. But of course, it's really Dane Matthias disguised as Gordon.<br/>
<br/>
You should pass on by, but decide instead to pull Gordon from the crowd and use him as your test subject.<br/>
<br/>
So when Gordon glances in your direction, you catch his eye with a nod of the head, and hold up one of the joints you're carrying around for sale.<br/>
<br/>
His eyes widen, and with a vast grin he stands and puts his hands out for it. For the first time, you get a good look at the belly that Dane has been adding to Gordon's waistline. If he keeps eating that way, he's going to wind up as wide as he is tall.<br/>
<br/>
The crowd scoots and scatters as the grinning Gordon shambles at you with his arms out, like Frankenstein's monster. You jog backwards, drawing him to follow.<br/>
<br/>
Then your eye is caught by two figures who have stood up in the middle of the crowd.<br/>
<br/>
The taller of the pair has dark hair and dark eyes set in a pale, watchful face. He stares at you hard—or is it Gordon he's watching?—with an unfriendly look. The other, shorter one is blonde, and his eyes and smile are very bright, so that you feel yourself impaled as though on a sharp spear. He restrains the dark-haired one as the other takes a step forward.<br/>
<br/>
It's not until later that you realize why you noticed them, and were bothered by them. You've never seen them before, but they were wearing Westside letterman jackets.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Gordon wants the joint, of course, but you murmur that he can't have it unless he follows you back to your Jeep. "It's a freebie, but I need to talk to you," you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
"Talk about what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Tell you when we get there. What was going on back there?" you ask as you jog along behind the school toward the parking lot.<br/>
<br/>
"Just hanging out."<br/>
<br/>
"No, that pheasant fucker stuff."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh." He laughs. "Just a tongue twister some guys were trying to get me to try out."<br/>
<br/>
You doubt Dane Matthias could get a simple tongue-twister out while sober. Stoned, he wouldn't have a hope. No wonder "they" were trying to get him to repeat a really rude one.<br/>
<br/>
You direct him to get in your Jeep, and he's hardly gotten himself settledbefore you lean over to grab at his face. "What the—? Shit!" he yells as you grapple at his brow. But then you have it between your fingers, and you are muttering an arcane phrase from between gritted teeth, and pulling. Something tears loose, and then you have a bone-like mask in your hand, and Dane Matthias is passed out in the seat beneath you.<br/>
<br/>
From your backpack you dig out the brain-band you made, and press it onto his forehead. His head lolls, as though he is sinking into a deeper sleep. You settle back with a sigh into the driver's seat, jam a key into the ignition, and rocket out of the parking lot toward town. You park behind the first strip center you come to for the privacy, and wait for the brain-band to finish copying Dane's mind and memories.<br/>
<br/>
It's a two-fer experiment you're running, both to test out the new rockbot paste you made, and the mixing and matching of bodies and brains. First, you want to confirm that the paste, if put into a mask and set onto a person, will turn them into an obedient rockbot. Second, you want to test that you can mix the bodies and minds of different people into a single mask. If both experiments are successful, then not only should you be able to make fembots that combine minds and new bodies, you'll be able to use the masks to enslave and hide anyone you want. If not ... Well, that's why you picked the Dane-ified Gordon. He's such a goofball that no one will pay attention to him anyway, and he won't care what you did to him.<br/>
<br/>
You brought all the materials that you want and need, so after the brain band has fallen out of Dane (with his name, THOR DANE MATTHIAS—<i>Jesus, really?</i> you think—blazing across it), you glue it into the Gordon mask, then coat it with the raw, pitch-like rockbot paste. Into the mask you burn some more of your native hair (you snipped off a good quantity this morning, while prepping stuff for school) and return the mask to Dane's face. Gordon appears where Dane had been, and his head rolls as he raises it. His eyes go wide, and he says, "G'duh?" when he sees you.<br/>
<br/>
"What's your name?" you ask him.<br/>
<br/>
He blinks hard. "Uh ... Dane. I think." He blinks again, then with a gasp claps his hands to his face, to pull and squeeze the flesh.<br/>
<br/>
You sigh. "No, your name is Gordon Black. Remember?"<br/>
<br/>
His brow furrows. "Uh ... I guess. If you say so. Oh!" He looks over his arms and hands and body. "Right. I <i>am</i> Gordon. Now." He giggles. "I'm a pleasant fucker's son!"<br/>
<br/>
"Who's the boss of you?"<br/>
<br/>
"You are," he says, without seeming to realize what he's said, for he's too busy plucking at his shirt in a wondering way. "Oh wow. Yeah!" He looks around. "Where are we?"<br/>
<br/>
"Never mind. Punch yourself in the balls."<br/>
<br/>
For just a moment he doesn't react, as though he didn't hear you or the words didn't register. Then, he bunches up a meaty fist and punches his groin. "Unh!" he gasps. "The hell?"<br/>
<br/>
It would be tedious to give him further tests, so you take that as proof that the rockbot paste is working as advertised.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," you tell him. "Remember, you're Gordon Black. You've always been Gordon Black if anyone asks. Forget you were ever anyone else."<br/>
<br/>
"When was I someone else?"<br/>
<br/>
"Exactly. What's your name?"<br/>
<br/>
"Gordon Black," he says without hesitating, and there's no giggle behind the reply.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I'm taking you back to school," you say as you start up the Jeep.<br/>
<br/>
"Ah, fuck. Bummer."<br/>
<br/>
"And if anyone asks, you came with me because I promised you one of these." You dig out the joint again and show it to him.<br/>
<br/>
He snatches at it, but you pull it away. "What's your name? What's your name? What's your name?" you ask, and he answers correctly each time. "I thought you were Dane Matthias."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck are you talking about?" he demands, and he sounds annoyed.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Just fucking excellent,</i> you think to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You were always worried that Dane would say something compromising while stoned, but now you feel pretty sure he's no longer any kind of danger to you.<br/>
<br/>
But someone still is. It occurred to you last night, as you worked, that with the rockbot paste you can finally get out from under that cocksucker's thumb.</span></div></div>


path: 1112111321122222122222212212121121211221112121312112311221121112112112111111
author_id: seuzz
title: Chens and Chelseabots
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Chen is going to make stink about the money if you go through with making a bunch of fembots, and there's no way you're going to share them or the profits with him, so you are going to have to deal with him eventually. You have the materials with you, so you decide that there's no time like the present.<br/>
<br/>
After Rockbot-Gordon has wandered back toward the school, you sit a few minutes in the Jeep, texting Chelsea and telling her to meet you in the fuck room during the next class she can afford to skip. Her reply comes after the next bell has rung: <i>Lol y fuck I want do that?</i> To your reply <i>Emergency,</i> though, she relents. <i>Last pd,</i> she says. That's when you have Orchestra, one class you absolutely cannot skip, so you bully her into skipping seventh period instead. You are tardy getting to your AP Statistics class, but at least you are set up for the period after.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You beat Chelsea to the fuck room by less than a minute, and are waiting for her outside the door as she comes clambering up the stairs. "God," she growls as she clomps her way up. "This better be important."<br/>
<br/>
"It will be," you promise her. "So, I guess you got a key to the place again."<br/>
<br/>
"It came with Seth." She makes a face. "I fucking <i>hate</i> having to ride his ass, and every other fucking part of him, but—" She huffs out a short, sharp breath as she draws up next to you. "Tell your guy he might be moving."<br/>
<br/>
"Moving? You mean out of Seth? How come?" You don't care what the answer is—Chen's not going to be in charge much longer—but you are curious enough to ask while waiting for her to unlock the door.<br/>
<br/>
"On account of I might have a better place for him, dur! Frank Durras hasn't got a key to this place yet, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"Who's Frank Durras?"<br/>
<br/>
She does a double-take at you. "Are you serious?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, the fuck do I care? Just get the door open so we can—"<br/>
<br/>
"One of the new guys? Don't you pay attention, you fucking freak?" she demands as she fumbles inside her pack for the key.<br/>
<br/>
"I pay attention if it matters. Does this Frank Durras fuck matter to me?"<br/>
<br/>
"He matters to me. Maybe. God, are you <i>really</i> that clueless? Oh, fuck me, look who I'm talking to. I know <i>I</i> wasn't that clueless when <i>I</i> looked like that."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Just keep talking like that, dickface,</i> you think. <i>I'll take you out someplace quiet after you're a rockbot, and I'll fuck you up the ass for each time you cuss at me. No, make that twice up the ass for each cuss word.</i><br/>
<br/>
"He's one of the new basketball players. Jesus, I thought <i>you</i> of all people would have been paying attention. 'Cos a fucking little douchebag named 'Will Prescott' also made it onto the team, you know. Lemme guess." She turns a shrewd stare onto you as she sticks the key into the lock. "It's really Gordon."<br/>
<br/>
You are very confused by all this, but mention of the person who has taken your place has at last gotten your attention. So after she unlocks the door and pushes it open, you hold back from tearing her face off long enough to put some questions to her. She can hardly believe you're that oblivious, but she explains:<br/>
<br/>
After Gordon got cut from the squad, word went out that there would be tryouts to replace him. Initially the tryouts were only open to guys on the JV squad. But then word came that two Eastman High students would be moving to Westside: Frank and Joe Durras. Both were stars on the Eastman High basketball team, and so naturally the Westside coaching staff (and Steve Patterson) wanted them on Westside's team. Because (for reasons that you don't understand) the basketball team is strictly limited in the number of players that can be on it, there wouldn't be room to add both of them without cutting another player, so the squad opened up the tryouts to everyone, and forced everyone currently on the squad to try out again. The upshot was that three players got cut, and four new players added: Frank and Joe Durras, Adam Dortch, and Will Prescott.<br/>
<br/>
"I got to see Frank and his brother in action today," Chelsea concludes. "I'll get to see them tonight, too, 'cos we're having a cookout at my place, just for them and the rest of the team. Including Will Prescott. Pssh! But they're going places, I heard that they're both even better than Patterson. I can believe it, because <i>Jesus,</i> he was acting at lunch like someone had stepped really hard on his dick. Anyway, they don't have keys to this place yet, but if they're really that good, Steve's gonna have to give 'em one, and when he does I think I'm gonna trade Seth in for one of them. Probably Frank." Her gaze goes distant. "There's something about him that—"<br/>
<br/>
Okay, she's satisfied your curiosity and you don't need to hear more. You grab her around the waist with one hand, and grab her face with the other. She yelps, and tries to struggle, but you've got too firm a grip on her, and a few seconds later she goes limp in your arm.<br/>
<br/>
It's Gary Chen who you lower to the floor.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You had to strip his shoes—Chelsea's shoes—off his too-big feet when he started to groan, but he's small enough and Chelsea's clothes are floppy enough that he didn't bust anything after materializing inside her things. You work quickly to get the rockbot paste-and-hair combo into Chelsea's mask, then you set it back on him. Her eyes instantly blink open, and she sits up with a start. "The fuck?" she exclaims, then reddens when she sees you. "What did you—?" She throws a weak-ass punch at you as you squat over her.<br/>
<br/>
"Stop that," you say, and with a gasp she pulls back from a second punch. "What's your name?"<br/>
<br/>
"Chelsea Cooper," she says. Then she frowns. "Except—"<br/>
<br/>
"That's right, you're Chelsea Cooper," you tell her. "That's who you are and who you've always been. Do you understand?"<br/>
<br/>
"I understand <i>that</i>," she grumbles.<br/>
<br/>
"And who's your boss?"<br/>
<br/>
Her mouth works silently for half a second, as though trying to hold back the answer. "You are."<br/>
<br/>
"That's right. And who am I?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're my boss." Her brow furrows. "Gary Chen. Except—"<br/>
<br/>
"That's right," you tell her. "I'm Gary Chen. I've always been Gary Chen. Of course I've always been Gary Chen. I mean, look at me. Who else would I be? So, who am I?" you ask again, and you ask it three more times, until her answers are confident and unquestioning.<br/>
<br/>
It's interesting to learn that it looks like you can reprogram her knowledge and memories. You'd seen a hint of it with Rockbot-Gordon, but thought maybe that was just Dane being spacey. Now you settle down with Chelsea, and bit by bit you systematically convince her that she has always been Chelsea Cooper, that she has nothing to do with the sale of drugs inside Westside High, that she has never talked to or hung out with David Kirkham, Tanner Evans, George Mendoza, or any of the other lowlifes that are Gary Chen's close companions, and that she <i>never</i> talks to you and <i>never is</i> to talk to you, unless you call or text her ahead of time. She is also not to disclose to anyone that you are her (secret!) boss.<br/>
<br/>
"And tomorrow," you inform her at the end of it all, "you will bring me <i>all</i> the cash you have at home."<br/>
<br/>
"Yes sir," she says in a small, hurt voice.<br/>
<br/>
You stare down at her, and for a moment you are sorely tempted to tear a bloody kiss from her quivering mouth, and to tell her to come find you after school. But until you get things set up to your satisfaction, it seems better to leave things as normal as possible.<br/>
<br/>
"One last question," you ask as you back up toward the door to the loft. "Where's Gary Chen?"<br/>
<br/>
She looks confused and even a little disgusted. "<i>You're</i> him," she blurts out. "What are you asking me these questions for?"<br/>
<br/>
"You wanna buy some ganja off me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Eww, no!" She looks deeply insulted.<br/>
<br/>
<i>That'll do,</i> you decide, and tell her to go to class and then go home and have her party for the new basketball players.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>New basketball players.</i> It gives you reason for thought.<br/>
<br/>
Oh, not on account of the guys from Eastman, who Chen was jizzing all over himself about. You couldn't give a fuck about them.<br/>
<br/>
No, it's on account of a guy who looks like <i>Will Prescott</i> getting onto the squad. Why didn't Caleb—who is currently being Seth Javits, <i>basketball player</i>—tell you? You text him on your way out to the parking lot after school. <i>Ditch chels n call me.</i><br/>
<br/>
You're on your way to the Panda Garden for your usual Monday-afternoon meal when he rings. "Yo, what's the fucking deal with the basketball squad?" you bark as soon as you've got the phone to your ear. You glare at the traffic as you hurtle down Borman Road, when you'd rather be glaring at Javits.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you know? Don't you pay attention?" he peevishly asks.<br/>
<br/>
"No I don't. I had to hear about it from Chelsea. She told me that <i>Will Prescott</i> got on."<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," Javits sighs. "I didn't text you or anything 'cos I figured you heard and would want to gloat."<br/>
<br/>
"Was he good?"<br/>
<br/>
"Good enough to get one of the slots. But, you know, it was Gordon powering his carcass. Oh, and Jeremy's off the squad. You know, Richards."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck, but that makes me so happy I'm hard." Jeremy Richards is a former friend of yours and Caleb's.<br/>
<br/>
"So, what are you gonna do?" Seth asks.<br/>
<br/>
That's what you were going to think about while eating.</span></div></div>


