# chapters

path: 11414212212111211212112111111111121121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Third Man
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Listen, you don't want to go," you tell Will. "It's a trap."<br/>
<br/>
"What makes you say that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I already met up with Chelsea this afternoon. Well, with her—"<br/>
<br/>
"What? Why didn't you tell me?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm telling you now. And it wasn't even her." Briefly you relate the text you got, and who was waiting for you inside the gym.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus," he murmurs when you're done. "Okay, thanks for warning me. But—"<br/>
<br/>
"But what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, nothing, I guess," he stammers. "Only I was really hoping—" He trails off.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, so was I. I'm sorry, man," you sigh. "I know you miss being really popular."<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up. It's not— Look, I don't wanna complain or anything."<br/>
<br/>
"But?" you ask when he doesn't continue.<br/>
<br/>
"No, nothing. I don't wanna complain. But it's just weird. I wanna be myself again, you know? And not just— Well, it's hard being myself when I feel like I have to be you."<br/>
<br/>
"So don't be me. Be yourself."<br/>
<br/>
"I'd have to get a haircut for a start."<br/>
<br/>
"So get a haircut."<br/>
<br/>
"And some new clothes."<br/>
<br/>
"So get some new clothes. <i>That'll</i> give my mom a thrill."<br/>
<br/>
"I just feel like I'd have to start all over again."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," you reply in a very dry tone. "I didn't leave you a lot to work with."<br/>
<br/>
"Shut. Up. You know that's what's making this weird. You think I'm judging you. You think I'm sitting in your bedroom, on your bed, looking at your stuff and looking in your mirror, and you think I'm <i>judging</i> you. You don't have it bad, you know."<br/>
<br/>
"It's just not what you're used to."<br/>
<br/>
"No. I mean, it isn't." He pauses. "And it's not what <i>you're</i> used to either, is it, where you're sitting?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, it isn't. But you're wrong, I don't think you're judging me. I just think I got the better end of the trade, and it's making me feel guilty."<br/>
<br/>
Another long pause. "Well, that's quite a confession," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"You think I didn't get the better end?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm just not used to, uh, not being myself," he stammers.<br/>
<br/>
<i>You're so goddamed diplomatic,</i> Laura complained to you this morning. You want to tell him the same thing. "Well, roll up your sleeves and start trying to get used to it," you say. "I got a feeling we're going to be here awhile."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You continue to field texts throughout the afternoon, and you have social media to check even as you get a head start on the weekend's homework. There's nothing very interesting until after dinner, when you get a text from "Clover Mystery." She introduces herself as Chelsea and begs you to come out to the school for a meeting. <i>I'm sorry abt Gordon n Steve that's not what I wanted pls come out so I can make it up to u.</i> But you just ignore her. You're not such a fool as to be burned twice.<br/>
<br/>
You're not in the mood to do anything else, though, not even to go dancing—though Parker and Wendy both try badgering you into coming out to Legends with them and some others—so you're still at home when you get the text from your old phone: <i>Will u need to come out ot the school now trust me get ur ass out here asap.<br/>
<br/>
The fuck?</i> you wonder. It sounds like another trap: What is Will doing up at the school when you told him not to go? And is it even Will sending the text? So you're uneasy as you grab your keys and head for the garage. <i>Ok b the n ten,</i> you reply.<br/>
<br/>
It's dark when you reach Westside, and your headlights sweep across the empty teacher parking lot as you pull in. You have your phone out, but keep the motor running as you thumb Will a text: <i>Here now out front cm find me.</i> You're watching from the direction of the portables, so you're surprised the figures come walking out from the direction of the gym. One you recognize from his clothes. The other you recognize from his being more than six and a half feet tall.<br/>
<br/>
It's Steve Patterson. You cuss under your breath. <i>A trap indeed!</i><br/>
<br/>
Patterson beckons you to get out. You hesitate until they've reached the sidewalk that skirts the parking lot. Then, without shutting off the lights or the motor, you open the door and step out. But you keep yourself inside the door, so that you can leap back in if Patterson makes some kind of move toward you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, what's going on?" you warily call. "I thought you weren't coming up here." The words are for Will, but you're watching Patterson.<br/>
<br/>
They both stop on the sidewalk, illuminated by the beams from your headlights. There's a moment of hesitation, long enough for you to read the dark expression of loathing on Will's face, and the taut expression on Steve's.<br/>
<br/>
Then Steve, to your alarm, sweeps his arms around Will and lifts him high in the air. The latter gasps and starts to struggle. Patterson mutters something at him, then shouts at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Will, can I get you to tell Steve here who you really are?"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Patterson has to make the demand a couple of different times in a couple of different ways, and even after he's blurted out, "It's me, Will! Jack! Chelsea did it to me again!" you're still unwilling to credit what he's saying.<br/>
<br/>
Finally, though, you shut off the motor and step out into the headlight beams to talk to them. It's the truculent snarl from Will—"Fucking faggots!"—that finally convinces you that Patterson is—maybe—being on the level.<br/>
<br/>
"I got another text from Chelsea," Patterson tells you, and the tremble in his voice also helps sell it, "and another one and another one, and finally I told her I wasn't going to be coming up here on account of what happened to you this afternoon." He pauses to give Will—who's seething beside him—a quick, dark look. Will, for his part, just listens with darting eyes and a fierce frown. "And she texted back to say she was sorry and didn't mean it, and that if we met up she'd 'fix' everything. And I thought <i>you</i> were coming out here too."<br/>
<br/>
"Pfah!" you exclaim. "She tried texting me, but I just ignored her!"<br/>
<br/>
"But I got a text from you," Steve says. He takes out his phone and scrolls through it. "Well, a DM through—" He freezes and looks up at you with an expression of alarm. "You didn't send me a DM?" You shake your head. "Oh, shit! She freaking hacked my x2z account!"<br/>
<br/>
You pull out your iPhone and log in to x2z. Sure enough, you find a short exchange of DMs from Jack's account to Will's, in which they agree to meet "Clover Mystery" up at the school.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, so anyway, I get out here and Chelsea is waiting for me by the gym side door. She tells me she's really sorry about what she's been getting up to, and says she found an old spell book that she's been messing around with, and something about some 'soul swapping' and how it's been getting out of hand and she wants to put things back to normal—"<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus!" Will mutters. He rolls his eyes and twists on his feet.<br/>
<br/>
"—and that she'd get me ready so that when you got here she could swap us back."<br/>
<br/>
"And you believed her?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what did I have to lose?" Patterson whines. "So we go out to the tennis courts, and she must've ambushed me or something, because—" He takes a deep breath and concludes in a rush: "I don't remember anything until I suddenly woke up and I was naked and when I stood up I was, like, standing on a pair of twelve-inch stilts." He gestures at himself.<br/>
<br/>
You stare at him, then turn to Will. "And what's your story, man?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't believe a fucking word of this," he snarls.<br/>
<br/>
Patterson grabs him by the head. "You were believing it after I got you to look at yourself in your own cell phone!"<br/>
<br/>
When they break apart, it's the one who looks like Steve who has to give you the other's story. "He told me he got a text from Chelsea asking him to come up here to talk about Gordon. Well, the text was from 'Clover Mystery', but she said she was Chelsea. Anyway, he came up here and Chelsea was here and while he was unlocking the side door for her he came over all dizzy and when he woke up— Well, when he woke up he wasn't wearing any clothes and he was looking like this." He points at Will. "And then I came along from the tennis courts, 'cos I was trying to figure out what the hell and all that, and—"<br/>
<br/>
Patterson kneads his forehead. "And I had to explain that I wasn't even really the guy who he got turned into but was someone else, and that all this had happened to me and you before. I said I'd get you out here so you could explain to him that— Well, so you could vouch for my story." He punctuates it with a shrug.<br/>
<br/>
You look Will. "Hey, I still don't believe a fucking word of this!" he snarls.<br/>
<br/>
"You believe what you see when you take a selfie?" you ask him. He glowers at you. To Jack you say: "Well, I don't see that it matters to him one way or another, what happened to you and me." To Will: "You can fucking believe that I'm really Will Prescott or that I'm really Jack Li. Point is, no one's going to believe that you're Steve Patterson, or that he isn't."<br/>
<br/>
Will glares at you, then wheels and stalks off into the darkness toward the gym. "Oh, let him go," Patterson says, even though you made no move to follow.</span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121121111111111211211
author_id: seuzz
title: Another Night of Holding Someone's Hand
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I don't want him running off," you tell ... Jack? Steve? ... the tall, rangy guy who helped beat you up this afternoon. But the personality isn't the same. "You should wait here, though," you add. "It's gotta be freaky for him, looking at you and seeing, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I get it," he glumly reply. "I'll hang out here."<br/>
<br/>
You jog off after the <i>new</i> new Will Prescott.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
He's standing in the breezeway between the gym and theater, staring out into the student parking lot, when you catch up. There's two vehicles parked nearby. One of them is your truck. The other, a sedan, you guess is Steve Patterson's.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," you say as you sidle up to him. "It's just me."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck off," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, lemme just say a few things and then I will. And don't worry, if you change your mind later you can come find me. We're all in this together." <br/>
<br/>
You give him space to reply. When he doesn't, you continue.<br/>
<br/>
"First thing is, you know anything about your new situation? I mean, do you know what your name is supposed to be? Or where you live, or who you live with?" When he doesn't answer, you ask, "Okay, so what are you planning on doing next?"<br/>
<br/>
He shifts on his feet. "I dunno," he admits.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I have a suggestion. Where you're standing, you know, that used to be me. And if it works like it did last night, when Chelsea did this to me and Jack—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm going to so fucking kill that bitch."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, hold your fire for a little bit. Until tomorrow at least. 'Cos I was going to say— I can give you a head start on what you need to know, but by tomorrow morning you should start to, uh, figure out on your own what your name is and all that. Jack, when he went to bed last night, he didn't know anything about, uh, me. But when he woke up this morning he could remember stuff. All the stuff he needed to know in order to, uh, pass himself off as me."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, <i>Jesus!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, I didn't say it was going to be fun. I'm just telling you not to panic if you don't, you know—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not panicking, you fucking—!" He catches himself. Then, after a mute moment, he mutters, "Go on."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, if you want to go home, I can tell you how to get there. Or you can come home and spend the night with me. That's what Jack and I did last night. His folks wouldn't be surprised if, uh, you spent the night at my place again tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you two fucking each other?"<br/>
<br/>
"No." You feel yourself stiffen all over. "I'm straight as a board, and I hear you are too. If you went with me, you'd take the bed, like he did last night, and I'd sack out in the living room. Or you can go back to my place and deal with my parents and brother. It's up to you." When he doesn't answer, you add, "I'll fuck off now, I'm done with what I wanted to tell you."<br/>
<br/>
"Wait," he says as you turn away. "Yeah, okay. That's fair. I wanna talk about this thing anyway."<br/>
<br/>
You nod and point to your old truck. "You can drive that thing around to the front, then follow me out." You're about to turn back again when you remember that Jack will need to know what to do and where to go. "What about the other guy? Do you want him to go back to your place? Or is there some other place he can go?"<br/>
<br/>
The other visibly bristles. Then he says, "He can stay here, in the gym. If he's got my clothes then he's got my keys. He can sack out in the loft." He pauses. "There's a lot of weekends when I don't go home."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll tell him. See you around front."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Jack doesn't like the idea of spending the night in the gym, but he agrees it's for the best. You and he talk over plans a little—where to go and meet up tomorrow, for instance—while Steve watches from the cab of your truck. Then you all separate, with you leading a two-car caravan back to Jack's place. His parents are understanding when you announce that "Will" is going to spend one more night with you.<br/>
<br/>
Your guest looks like he's nursing a headache as you settle down in the bedroom. "Just try to relax," you tell him. "Things'll be weird in the morning. But if it's like today, you'll be able to get through it okay."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't want to get through it," he growls. "I wanna fix this shit. And then I want to fuck up—"<br/>
<br/>
"We all do," you assure him. "But we don't want to run around with our cocks hanging out."<br/>
<br/>
Will flashes you a spiteful look, but says nothing.<br/>
<br/>
"What I can't figure out," you say, "is why Chelsea did this thing to <i>you.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"She's always had it in for me," Will mutters. "She hates me."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you and Gordon were best friends."<br/>
<br/>
"We are. That's how come she—"<br/>
<br/>
He hurls himself to his feet and paces the bedroom, like a jungle cat penned up in a too-small cage. "It's none of my business," you say.<br/>
<br/>
But he's already wound up. "She's bad for him," he says. "I mean, she's highly fuckable. Maybe <i>you</i> don't see it, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I see it," you retort. "I told you, I'm straight. Jack isn't, but I am. And even he knows when a girl has a hot bod and when she doesn't."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, Chelsea is highly fuckable, but she's psychotic. Unstable. She drives Gordon crazy 'cos you never know from one minute to the next if she's going to be normal or if she's going to start screaming. And Gordon—" Will sucks his lips in so hard that they disappear.<br/>
<br/>
"Gordon wants to fuck her," you suggest, "but he doesn't know how to handle her."<br/>
<br/>
Will shoots you a hot look.<br/>
<br/>
"No, it's worse than that. His dad's the same way. Except not fuckable, you know," he adds with acid sarcasm. "His dad's a raging asshole. He's a cop, I don't know if you knew that." You shake your head. "Well, he's a real shit. Just this far"—he pinches his forefinger and thumb together—"from being, like, an abuser. Or just that far on the other side of the line," he adds. "Close enough it's hard to tell.<br/>
<br/>
"And would you believe it," he continues, "that's the one thing me and Chelsea agree on? That Gordon needs to get out of his house, get away from his dad. But the fucking bint doesn't get that she does the same thing to him. And it's worse, 'cos he's actually in love with her. Naturally, 'cos she puts out for him like a sloppy whore, but then she'll turn around and scream at him because he— I dunno! Because he forgot it was their fourteenth-month anniversary and he didn't buy her a present."<br/>
<br/>
You say nothing, but listen alertly. What he says jibes with your—Jack's—impression of Chelsea as a selfish and high-maintenance personality, and with your—Jack's—impression of Gordon as a lunkhead with the emotional IQ of a cabbage. But it would be impolite, you sense, to vocally agree with Steve.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway, I've told him she's bad for him and I've told <i>her</i> she's bad for him, so she hates me. This would totally be her idea of a great joke, sticking me with—" He gestures at himself, and does a full-body flinch.<br/>
<br/>
Then he gives you a hooded look. "You guys said she already did this thing to you, right? So this—" He points to himself. "Is really you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"And that guy—" He points to you. "He's ... He's back at my place?"<br/>
<br/>
"Up at the school, probably. But yes."<br/>
<br/>
Will's grin is the grin of a man who feels he's about to throw up. "Perfect. That's <i>exactly</i> why she picked him and me! So he can—"<br/>
<br/>
"Jack's not going to do anything that'll embarrass you," you tell him. "He's going to take good care of you."<br/>
<br/>
That gets you a skeptical look. Then he kicks at the floor. "I guess you want the same thing from me. Take good care of it while I've got it."<br/>
<br/>
"If you can manage it, I'd appreciate it. Though there's not a lot you <i>could</i> do to fuck things up for me. But there is one thing you could do for me," you add.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" His tone is contemptuous.<br/>
<br/>
"Jack spent all last night and today freaking out. If you could just manage to keep your shit together, I'd really like that."<br/>
<br/>
Will makes a face back at you. But you can tell your message was received.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's getting fairly late, and you can tell your guest is done talking. Sure, up at the school, he said he wanted to "talk about this thing," but you decide that that was just a cover to preserve his pride—he didn't want to admit to wanting a safe place to go. So you make up the bed for him, and again unpack the sleeping bag in the living room. You settle in to sleep, hoping that during the night Steve will become better acclimated to his new situation, as Jack did.<br/>
<br/>
It's early when you wake, so early that the dawn is only a gray line on the horizon. You lay awake for a good long time, then get up with a sigh and make yourself some coffee. While that's brewing, you jump in and out of the shower—just enough to get the night sweats off you; you'll take a longer and nicer one later—then pad wetly outside to pick up the Sunday paper. It's as you're bending over to pick it up that you notice your truck is gone.<br/>
<br/>
You race inside to your bedroom and tap gently at the door with a fingernail. When there's no answer you peek inside.<br/>
<br/>
The rumpled bed is empty, and the floor is free of clothes. Will Prescott has gone.</span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211211111111112112111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Problems of Three People in This Crazy World
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>I have church,</i> Will replies after you text him. <i>U forgot that.</i><br/>
<br/>
You make a face, then shrug. Jack's family doesn't go to church, and it didn't even cross your mind last night that your houseguest would need to get home in time for church. In fact, you even forgot to set up an excuse for him with your dad. It gives you a tight feeling in your gut: <i>I hope he didn't get in too much trouble.</i><br/>
<br/>
And also: <i>I hope I'm not getting so used to "being Jack" that I actually turn into Jack!</i><br/>
<br/>
So, anyway, your houseguest bugged out early in order to get home, which is good for a lot of reasons, among them confirmation that he's now got your memories. Will it be the same with the other guy? You wait patiently until well after breakfast for word from the new Steve Patterson, and when you still haven't heard anything from him by nine, you send the new Will Prescott a text asking for his old phone number. With it, you reach out to Steve, asking if he wants to get together for a workout or something.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Prolly shldmt b seen w u,</i> he replies. Then he sends you an address—the intersection of two streets—with the request to meet him there at ten.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It turns out to be a crossroads of two country lanes way west of town, halfway to Lattyville. Horses are grazing in a fenced-off field nearby when you pull up, and there's only one house visible is off in the distance, on the crest of hill under a clump of trees. Steve Patterson, tall and dressed like a twenty-first century cowboy in jeans and jeans jacket, boots and trucker cap pulled down low over his face, is standing by his sedan, foot on the bumper, studying his cell phone. He looks up as you climb out of the minivan.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, not much chance of anyone spotting us out here," you remark. You can't keep a slightly spiteful tone out of your voice. "Your reputation as a gay-baiting asshole will be safe."<br/>
<br/>
He ignores the jibe as he slips his phone into his jacket. "So what happened last night?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. What did you think would happen? It was just a repeat of last night. He took the bed, I slept on the couch. He got my memories during the night, 'cos he left early when he remembered he had church this morning. How about you?" <i>You seem to be in character,</i> you silently add.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm fine," he grunts. "Spent the night at school up in the loft. It felt gross as fuck when I bedded down, but it was okay when I woke up. Felt natural, even. Jesus." He glances around, and shifts on his feet. "I don't know what I'm going to do."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean about Steve and ... girls?" Patterson has a reputation for coming on hard with girls, with not accepting rejection, and with badgering and bullying them until they give in. After which, he throws them away. So ... more or less the complete opposite of Jack Li.<br/>
<br/>
Your new friend gives you a surly side glance. "I guess he can take a break for a little while. I meant about him and his friends. About him and <i>Chelsea.</i> You know?" He gives you a meaningful glance.<br/>
<br/>
"Steve told me last night that him and Chelsea don't get along."<br/>
<br/>
"They don't. But they hang out in the loft together, with Gordon. What am I supposed to say or do with her?"<br/>
<br/>
That was a thought that occurred to you last night: By soul-swapping Jack with her boyfriend's best friend, she's exposed herself to his constant company and scrutiny. Why would she do that? Unless she felt safe.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm thinking of pretending with her that nothing happened," he continues as you mull his question.<br/>
<br/>
"You mean you're just going to roll over for her?" That doesn't sound like either Jack <i>or</i> Steve.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I mean— I'd act like the soul-switch didn't happen. I'd ask her how come she called me up to the school last night, and I'd act all pissed off at her—like I just woke up after and didn't feel any different." He pauses. "I'd ask her how come she took my clothes off. Maybe ask her that in front of Gordon." He snickers. "That'd be fun!"<br/>
<br/>
"Why do you want to do that?" you ask. "I don't—"<br/>
<br/>
"To make her think the soul-swap didn't go off. Then maybe she'd try it again on me and Steve, to do it right, and switch us back."<br/>
<br/>
That's an interesting idea. Except— "It still wouldn't get you back to—" You tap your own chest.<br/>
<br/>
"No," he sighs. "But it'd make Steve happier."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're not sure there's a point to making Steve Patterson happy. In fact, you think maybe you're stronger for being three people who have a grudge against Chelsea instead of just two. But you agree to let Jack handle it as he sees fit. From his current perch, he at least can spy on her.<br/>
<br/>
"Thing is," he says as you and he settle onto the hood of his sedan, "I don't figure Chelsea for someone who could pull off this kind of shit. I mean, she's a bitch and all, and I can totally figure her for wanting to fuck people up. But where would she learn how to do this kind of thing? She doesn't seem like she'd be into the, you know, occult. Spell-casting. She's just into parties and gossip and cheerleading and 'How's my hair' and 'Do you think I'm getting fat, Gordon?' and 'Pookie, don't you want to get together tonight to do our homework together' and—"<br/>
<br/>
"You mean she's acting out of character?" you interrupt. You feel your hair rising, like the quills of a porcupine as an awful thought starts to creep over you.<br/>
<br/>
"No," he replies after a moment's thought. "She hasn't been out of character, except when she gets together with us for this soul-swapping sh—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I mean—" You wet your lips. "What if she's not ... <i>Chelsea</i> ... anymore? What if," you continue as Steve stares at you in puzzlement. "You know, you're not you and I'm not me, and Steve isn't Steve anymore. What if <i>Chelsea</i> isn't herself anymore?"<br/>
<br/>
Steve's eyebrows go up, and his color fades. "You mean her and someone else got switched too?"<br/>
<br/>
"Or someone switched places with Chelsea," you say then shiver, "then started switching other people around." Your voice almost fades. "So what if we're not the only ones she's done it to?"<br/>
<br/>
Steve sucks in a deep breath. "So where's the real Chelsea?"<br/>
<br/>
"Stuck pretending to be someone else."<br/>
<br/>
"I can't picture Chelsea lying back and taking it."<br/>
<br/>
"So what would she say, what would she do? What are <i>we</i> doing? Like if Chelsea thinks she's the only one who had this happen to her—"<br/>
<br/>
"She'd still pitch a fit. A very public—"<br/>
<br/>
"Have you heard about anyone kicking up a fuss?"<br/>
<br/>
Steve thinks a moment. "No."<br/>
<br/>
"Neither have I."<br/>
<br/>
He hops off the hood of the car and paces. "Yeah, but maybe it really is Chelsea doing this. She acts like the real girl!"<br/>
<br/>
"We can act like the real guys we're stuck as, if we try. So if someone switched with Chelsea, she could act just like Chelsea. And if the real Chelsea thinks she's stuck being this other person, maybe she'd figure she has to do the same kind of act. Act like whoever it is she's—"<br/>
<br/>
Steve shakes himself all over. "This is just paranoia now," he says. "We know Chelsea's all mixed up in it, and that's enough."<br/>
<br/>
"So what are we going to do?"<br/>
<br/>
Steve thinks a moment. "I act like nothing happened," he says after a long moment's reflection. "Get her to try doing it again. But when she tries it again—" He flexes a strong hand. "You and Steve be around, and catch her in the act!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's mid-afternoon before you catch up to your replacement again, and it's just the two of you, for new-Steve says he should go back up to the school, where Gordon and Jason Lynch (and maybe Chelsea!) will be hanging out. You make no comment, but you suspect he just doesn't want to see the real Steve Patterson.<br/>
<br/>
It's probably just as well. Will is bristling all over when you see him. "Way to fuck me up with your dad," he seethes.<br/>
<br/>
"You get in trouble?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm grounded. Like it makes a fucking difference." He grabs a fistful of his t-shirt and yanks at it like he wants to tear it off. It's his own skin, you'd bet, that he really wants to strip.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Grounded, huh?</i> you think. That makes sense. It's actually a pretty light punishment for your dad to hand out, for getting home early on a Sunday morning after staying out all night and not sending any kind of text or excuse. It also explains why Will told you to come out to Acheson, to the old elementary school, when you texted to say you wanted to meet. He rode your bike out instead of driving, and says he can't stay long because he used "going for a bike ride" as an excuse to get out of the house.<br/>
<br/>
You tell him about your meet-up with Jack, and how he's going to play dumb with Chelsea. Steve scoffs. "Fucking pussy," he snorts. "Oh, why the fuck am I using the word 'pussy' with him?" He gives you a sullen, sidelong glance. "How you doing in there, Prescott?" he demands. "Got a hankering yet for dick?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't take it out on me, man. I'm not the one you're mad at."<br/>
<br/>
Steve clenches his—your—fists. "I will fucking tattoo his face with a sidewalk if he—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, so you're worried about what Jack's gonna do with your face and bod," you interrupt him before he can get <i>really</i> ugly. "Should I be worried about what you're going to do with mine?"<br/>
<br/>
It looks like he's going to make a very biting reply, but he catches himself. Then he smiles in a way you don't like.<br/>
<br/>
"I got a text from the fat chick you used to hang out with in middle school," he says. "She wants to do something later with me. I can't, 'cos I'm grounded. But how do you want me to handle her at school tomorrow?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fat chick?</i> You cringe. He must mean Laura.</span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112111111111121121112
author_id: seuzz
title: A Warning for Laura
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>How do you want me to handle that fat chick you hung out with in middle school?</i><br/>
<br/>
That's Steve Patterson's question to you on this Sunday afternoon, and he shows you a nasty grin as he asks it. But there's no point in telling him how to handle Laura MacGregor. He'll do whatever he wants, and he'll probably do the opposite of whatever you ask. So you just shrug and tell him to do whatever.<br/>
<br/>
As you turn to leave, though, you give him a caution. "You know, if Chelsea's behind all this," you tell him, "there's a pretty good chance you're going to be stuck as me for a really long time. Maybe forever."<br/>
<br/>
"Shoot me now," your reluctant replacement mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"Just saying you might want to make the best of it."<br/>
<br/>
He shows you the big, yellowed teeth he acquired from you in this hideous soul-swap. "Shoot me now," he repeats, and turns his back on you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There's no point warning him off of Laura, but you can maybe warn her off the asshole who is now wearing your face. You text her: <i>Hey, u up for meeting up smwhere to hang out?<br/>
<br/>
Who all?</i> she replies a few minutes later.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Just me. Don't feel like heavy lifting today.<br/>
<br/>
Oooo a date! Wear shorts!</i><br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes, and make a point of changing into heavy trousers and a windbreaker. You've got a cap pulled down low over your eyes when you head out to meet her at The Flying Saucer.<br/>
<br/>
Laura doesn't say anything about your legs when you slide into the booth opposite her, but she looks concerned. "Hey," she says, and leans across the table to bop the brim of your cap. "What's wrong?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing's wrong." You resettle the cap.<br/>
<br/>
"You're not making a party of it, and it looks like you're trying to hide." She ducks her head to look up into your face. "Something's up."<br/>
<br/>
"No, really." Suddenly you are restless. "Just want to spend some quality time with my favorite girl."<br/>
<br/>
"Tch, <i>awww!</i>" Laura turns a little pink, and grabs your hand. You stiffen, and stifle the urge to yank away. "Someone's got you down. You know, Leah was telling me you were all in the dumps yesterday at her place."<br/>
<br/>
"I was not!"<br/>
<br/>
"She said you took off early! You invited half the school over to her place even though she had a hangover, and then you just took off! She's mad at you."<br/>
<br/>
"Not really," you ask doubtfully.<br/>
<br/>
"No, but you did take off."<br/>
<br/>
"I had to go. I got a text."<br/>
<br/>
"You've got too many people to take care of. Well, you don't have to worry about me any more!" She brightens and smiles smugly at you. "Will and I got it all straightened out between us!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" You dodge her eye.<br/>
<br/>
Her face falls. "What's wrong? Don't you care I—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I care. I heard all about it. I talked to Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" Now her expression turns hopeful. "Wha'd he say?"<br/>
<br/>
You resettle your cap a couple of times, and turn sideways in the booth. You lunge for a sugar packet and twiddle it between your fingers. <i>How do I warn her off that asshole?</i> you ask yourself. "You can do better than him, Laura."<br/>
<br/>
A little color comes into her cheeks, and a muscle works in her jaw. "What are you saying?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm saying you can do better than, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"No! That's not—!" She snatches the sugar packet from you and tosses it onto the floor. "That's not what you're saying, Jack!" Spittle shows on her lip.<br/>
<br/>
Then she catches herself, and fear shows in her eye. "Did he say something? About me, when you talked?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. He told me you guys talked. He told me it was all fixed between you. But, uh, you know, you did hurt him when you—"<br/>
<br/>
"He said it was alright!" Laura slumps back in the booth and crosses her arms. "He said we were—! What do <i>you</i> think, Jack? Are <i>you</i> mad at me because I—?" She gulps.<br/>
<br/>
"No. I'm not mad. Why should I be mad, it's none of my—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, bullshit! You act all non-judgmental and shit, like you're everyone's best friend and trying out to help them do what's best, but you're really one of the most judgmental pieces of shit I—! No!" She catches herself again, and covers her face with her hands. <br/>
<br/>
From behind them she sniffs really hard a couple of times, and her face is mottled and red when she shows it to you again. The tears are standing out in her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," she says as she touches her puffy lids with her fingertips. "You're sweet and kind and— And—! And it really matters to me what you think!"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, I'm not mad at you." Jack is used to these occasional storms from Laura—and the other girls—so her outburst didn't bother you a bit.<br/>
<br/>
"But you have to be honest with me, Jack! Oh, keep your eyes to yourself!" she snarls at the occupants of a nearby table. It's a couple of guys in Eastman letterman jackets, and one of them has been staring at you and Laura with undisguised interest and amusement. The guy's jaw drops, and he turns away with a barely stifled laugh. "Be honest with me, Jack," Laura tells you. "In your heart of hearts—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not mad at you, Laura. Why should I be?"<br/>
<br/>
"But you think I did a bad thing!"<br/>
<br/>
"You mean what you told us about meeting up with Will? You said you just panicked."<br/>
<br/>
"But it really hurt Will, did it?"<br/>
<br/>
She is staring at you hard, like everything in the world depends upon your answer, so you hesitate.<br/>
<br/>
"Things were kind of weird for him," you say. "You knocked him off balance."<br/>
<br/>
"And now he's mad at me," she pouts. "That's why you're telling me there's better guys for me, 'cos he told you he's mad at me, and you're trying to let me down easy."<br/>
<br/>
"No! He didn't say anything about being mad at you. He—"<br/>
<br/>
"But he is, isn't he? 'Cos he wouldn't hang out with me, he told me he was grounded, but—"<br/>
<br/>
You're about to tell her that Will <i>is</i> grounded, but you catch yourself in time. You've had another wild idea.<br/>
<br/>
The kind of idea that would probably cause Jack Li to kick your ass and tell you not to be stupid. But times are crazy, so allowances have to be made.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he didn't tell me he was grounded when I saw him," you start to say.<br/>
<br/>
"You <i>saw</i> him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. I caught up to him before I texted you. So sue me, I wanted to hear from him how it went with you and him. He's not mad at you. But he was talking about some other girls."<br/>
<br/>
Laura's mouth twists into a sour frown. "Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not gonna say, Laura. But he was asking me about them, like if I knew them or ever hung out with them. Like if I could set things up so he could hang out with them."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?" Laura asks again in a tone of frozen fury.<br/>
<br/>
You give her a look. "You're not going to act like you're all jealous of ... Kendra Saunders, are you?" you improvise. "Because Will's got no chance with—"<br/>
<br/>
"Wait!" Laura's hands bunch up into fists. "Did Will say he—?"<br/>
<br/>
"He was asking if I ever hung out Kendra. Some of the other cheerleaders. He—"<br/>
<br/>
"He wasn't serious!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, maybe delusional. The point is— Well, you can do better than a guy who is delusional."<br/>
<br/>
Laura settles back in her booth and gives you a very long, intense, open-mouthed stare. You sip your coffee—which by now has lost all its heat—and glance around the cafe. Your eye goes back to table where those Eastman guys are sitting. They're not paying any attention to you—or they are being much more discreet—and you can't help doing a slight double-take at one of them. He is very tall and strikingly handsome, with an aquiline profile and dark, smoldering eyes under a thatch of dark hair. You get a thrill and a throb, and have to force your eyes off him. <i>He looks like Blake O'Brien,</i> you think. Jack likes his guys the way he likes his Cafe Grandes: tall, dark, and strong, with a bitter edge on them.<br/>
<br/>
"Basically, you're telling me that Will's not mad at me, he's just not interested in me."<br/>
<br/>
You turn back to Laura. "Huh?"<br/>
<br/>
She gets to her feet, smiling tightly at you. "Thanks, Jack," she says. "I'm sorry I made it tough for you."<br/>
<br/>
"Where are you going?"<br/>
<br/>
Your words seem to catch her off guard. "You still want to hang out? You told me what you wanted to say."<br/>
<br/>
"I wanted to give you a heads up. That doesn't mean it's the <i>only</i> thing I, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks, Jack." She comes around the table and leans over to kiss the top of your ball cap. "But I wanna go."<br/>
<br/>
"Laura!"<br/>
<br/>
But she's already walking away. She waves at you without turning around, and whaps the back of the eavesdropper's head as she brushes past the Eastman table. He laughs, which gets him a hot, sour look from his tall, dark friend.<br/>
<br/>
You can't help wondering what's going to happen next between Laura and ... Will Prescott. But that's a subset of your worries about what ... Will Prescott ... is going to get up to. Maybe you should try hanging around him at school tomorrow, to keep an eye on him.</span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121121111111111211211121
author_id: seuzz
title: Crises, Small and Tall
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Monday dawns with thunder and low, dark clouds—a foreboding start to a week that finds the unlikely trio of yourself, Jack Li, and Steve Patterson inhabiting each other's bodies and personas. You're up early, before dawn, and you catch yourself trembling as you wash, brush, scrub, tweak, polish, and primp yourself into shape. Jack likes to look his absolute best at school, and each time you turn from the mirror with the thought, <i>That's enough,</i> you turn back to make one more pass with the cleanser, the tweezers, the styling mousse, or the hairbrush.<br/>
<br/>
Then you pick out the clothes. <i>Earth tones today,</i> you decide. <i>And hiking boots.</i> The last thing you want is to get mud on yourself while wearing white.<br/>
<br/>
It's not until you're settled into the minivan, and rubbing at an incisor in the rearview mirror and wondering if it's worth going back in to give your toothbrush another short workout, that you face up to the real reason you're fretting in this very procrastinating way.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I have to be Jack Li at school today.</i><br/>
<br/>
It's funny that you didn't feel a tenth the pressure you feel now when you were working out with Parker and the girls Saturday morning, or talking with Laura or Leah, or eating with his parents. Those were very intimate encounters, and you should have been terrified of slipping up. But they went down very easily.<br/>
<br/>
<i>It's because it's like there's going to be an audience,</i> you finally conclude as the morning traffic coagulates around you as you approach school. <i>There's going to be hundreds and hundreds of other kids around, and I'm going to be putting on a performance in front of them. Even if they're not paying the slightest bit of attention.</i><br/>
<br/>
You can't help smiling faintly, though, with the kind of self-knowledge that you, an outsider to Jack's life, have on the guy you're impersonating. "It's always a bit of a performance with you, isn't it?" you murmur at yourself when you catch part of your face in the rear-view mirror. You're stopped in traffic, and twist the mirror around to give yourself a crooked, knowing smirk. <i>So it's just a day like any other,</i> you silently add when you push it back into place.<br/>
<br/>
You're surprised to see your truck already parked in the student lot when you arrive—so surprised, in fact, that you make a circuit to double-check the license plate to confirm that it's yours. <i>Why does Steve want to get up here so early?</i> you wonder. On the way into the school you fire off a quick text to him: <i>Hey have lunch w me and friends?</i> You expect a four-letter word in reply, but he actually says, <i>K where?</i> You tell him to look for you in the library at the start of fifth period. That's technically a study hall that Jack shares with Parker and Wendy, but in practice it bleeds in and out of the fourth-period lunch you all have.<br/>
<br/>
That will be the only chance you have in school to see him, for you don't have any classes together. But you make a detour before first bell to glance into Mr. Walberg's classroom. You pretend like you're looking for someone else, but it's "Will Prescott" you want to see. The sight unsettles you, as it would. It's not just seeing "you" sitting in your usual desk that bothers you, though. There's something ... <i>unnatural</i> ... about the way he's sitting in his desk, staring straight ahead with a tight, preoccupied expression. But it's not until you're in your own first-period class can you begin to put a finger on it. The clothes were slightly off, for a start. He was dressed up nicely in a red, long-sleeve denim shirt that you don't usually wear except out to dinner with your parents, and jeans. But even aside from that, there was the impression of <i>coiled energy</i> in his pose. He looked like a spring that had been tied down and was ready to bust loose.<br/>
<br/>
And he would cause damage if he did.<br/>
<br/>
"Good morning, Jack."<br/>
<br/>
You look over with a start at Wendy Terrill, who is seated across the aisle from you. She is grinning at you. "Oh, hey," you reply. "Happy Monday."<br/>
<br/>
"Boy, are you preoccupied with something."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
She answers by craning her neck and looking past you. You turn around. In the row opposite, two desks behind, Austin Dougherty—one of the soccer players—is distractedly unpacking his book bag. His dark, shaggy hair is dripping, and his white v-neck t-shirt is clinging wetly to his meaty torso. His skimpy shorts leave little to the imagination.<br/>
<br/>
You turn to make a sour face at Wendy, but she's staring past you, dreamily drinking in Austin and his powerful thighs.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You have Wendy, Kristina, and Parker, either singly or in combination, in almost all of your classes, so you are never without any of those close friends. And of course Jack has lots of other friends that you can put your head together with. So you make vague plans with Cody Schaefer to play tennis on some upcoming weekend; talk with Anthony Kirk about doing a round of golf at the country club sometime soon; ask Adam Dortch when he's next planning to be at the Legends dance club; and (when you should be working on a group project for AP World History) quietly gossiping with Naomi Batson and Genesis Lee about the new girl in school, Sydney McGlynn, who is really tight with the volleyball players when by all appearances she should be joining the cheerleader squad.<br/>
<br/>
"They'd all hate her," Genesis theorizes while casting slit-eyed side glances across the room, where Sydney is having an intense-looking conference with Kayla Shea and Kerri Mullen. "I hate her. I mean, look at her. Marcia Brady!" Sydney does have the lithe figure, the golden hair and tan, and slightly vapid good looks of a California beach bunny.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God, you weren't encouraging her, were you?" Brianna Kirschke cries out later when you flippantly mention to her what Genesis said. You're in a corner of the cafeteria with her, Kristina, Wendy and Parker. "Tell me you weren't egging her on!"<br/>
<br/>
"I was just letting her talk," you protest. You do feel a little flustered, and embarrassed that you said anything to others about how Genesis was carrying on. Jack usually is much more discreet. "And then she just started going on about—"<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't I hear her say something about putting gum in Sydney's hair?" Parker asks. <i>How would you know?</i> you want to ask him. He was in the class too, but got put in a group with Brooke Galloway and Randy Hodges.<br/>
<br/>
"Tssshhh!" Brianna exclaims.<br/>
<br/>
"Why are you all out of sympathy with her?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"She's just being stupid all of a sudden," Brianna says. She gobbles some of her chicken cacciatore without looking at you. "Since last Friday."<br/>
<br/>
"What happened last Friday?" Wendy asks. You're a little too surprised by Brianna's vehemence to have asked the question yourself.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. I don't wanna talk about it. She's had a bug up her ass since Friday." Brianna almost puts her face in her tray as she shovels her lunch down.<br/>
<br/>
You and the others can't help exchanging some shrewd glances, but Brianna doesn't want to talk about it any more.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Will is lounging in the hallway outside the library, studying his cell phone phone, and again you are struck by a sense of panther-like energy under his casual pose. His eyes are cold and watchful as he greets you with a chuck of the chin, and wordlessly invites himself to join you and Parker and Wendy. "Hey, let's take it outside," you tell the others, "so Will can eat." He's got a brown paper bag in his hand.<br/>
<br/>
You go out the nearest doors and spread yourself on in the wide, grassy spaces between the school and the open fields to the west. The ground is wet, so you sit on your windbreaker, but Will plops his skinny ass right down and pops open his lunch. "Any of you guys have a gym membership anywhere?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Up at Steel, close to the Starbucks on Twentieth," Parker says after a startled pause. "Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm looking for a place to start working out."<br/>
<br/>
You feel the glances from Parker and Wendy, but ignore them. You don't know what to say, but wish you'd thought of something when Parker says, "You could try using the equipment here at school."<br/>
<br/>
"Why don't you?" Will shoots back.<br/>
<br/>
"I do, in my P.E. class. I don't have any time, the rest of the day."<br/>
<br/>
"Steel's a good place," you interrupt. "Parker and I go out there Tuesdays and Thursdays after school, and on the weekends, when we remember. We can take you in as a guest tomorrow, if you want to look around there."<br/>
<br/>
You catch sight of Parker's expression from the corner of your eye. He's keeping a poker face, but you can still read the thought behind it: <i>WtF?</i><br/>
<br/>
Will nods. He flexes a skinny arm. "I decided I need to start getting in shape," he says. There's a scornful undertone to the statement.<br/>
<br/>
Parker starts talking about some of the other gyms in town—how they're not as nice but they're a lot cheaper and just as good as Steel—and how if you go into the school gym at the right hours you can get at the weights without much trouble, but Will listens with only a polite interest.<br/>
<br/>
Then you're interrupted.<br/>
<br/>
You're first aware that something bad is coming when Will does a slight double-take at something behind you, and his face goes gray and chalky. Then Parker and Wendy turn to look, and get very sober. Ripples of horror go up your spine, but you don't look behind you.<br/>
<br/>
A hard foot is planted into the small of your back. "Remember that little talk we had yesterday?" a hateful and familiar voice says. "I got some more I want to say to you."<br/>
<br/>
You twist and around and squint up into the cold and unfriendly face of Steve Patterson.</span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211211111111112112111211
author_id: seuzz
title: Who's Who at Westside High
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Oh, fuck you, Jack,</i> you think as you look up into Steve Patterson's glacial stare. <i>You know you're making this impossible for me. And</i>—you throw a side glance toward Will, who is staring up at the basketball player with undisguised anger—<i>all so you can piss Steve off.</i><br/>
<br/>
With a heavy sigh you clamber to your feet. "I'll be right back," you mutter at Parker and Wendy, who are watching with open mouths. "Where—?"<br/>
<br/>
Patterson shuts you up with a hard finger to the back your shoulder, pushing you in the direction of the portables. <i>Freaking stereotype,</i> you think as you stumble along. Patterson keeps his finger pressed into your back, then transfers it to the back of your head. You flush hotly all over. The finger-to-the-back would be Patterson's way of showing that he's not "with" you, but he's forcing <i>you</i> to go with <i>him,</i> and without manhandling you. Not even a star player like Patterson would dare risk being hauled into the school office for "gay bashing," as he probably would be if he hauled you off by the seat of your pants the way he does others.<br/>
<br/>
Still, you don't hold it against him. It's really Jack back there, after all. And it must be mortifying for him.<br/>
<br/>
He prods you past knots of scruffy kids squatting near the old portables. They look up at you with nervous grins, and guffaw loudly after you've passed. Steve pushes you along an alleyway between rows of portables, which sag and smell like old box cars. <i>He's not really going to push me into one of them,</i> you try to reassure yourself. That would look too ... gay ... for Steve Patterson.<br/>
<br/>
And he doesn't. He pushes you past the portables and out the other side, into the wide, weedy field that's technically off of school property. Twenty, forty, sixty yards he marches you out, and when he halts you with a word you are standing on open ground under a cloudy sky, where anyone can see Steve Patterson glaring down at you, with hands on hips, to lay down the law in way that no onlookers will think is gay.<br/>
<br/>
Some of those kids did follow though, right up to the school property line, and are watching. It's for their benefit, you suppose, that Steve jabs you in the shoulder, knocking you back a step.<br/>
<br/>
"So I hung out with Gordon yesterday," he says, "and I got to talk to him and Chelsea and Kendra and a couple of people. Either they're all in on it, or we've got a problem."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"Gordon says he was with Chelsea all last night. And Friday night they crashed a couple of parties. Lots of people would'a seen Chelsea on the other side of town when she was up here with us."<br/>
<br/>
"But we saw her here!"<br/>
<br/>
"And other people saw her at Catherine's house."<br/>
<br/>
You think a moment. "No. She was <i>with</i> us!"<br/>
<br/>
"She was at Catherine's." He grabs you by the hair and forces you to look up at him. "That's why I'm saying we might be in a lot of trouble," he says as he puts a bony finger in your face. "If they're all lying, it's a lot of people to tell a lie, and why would they if they weren't in on it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, you made your point for those assholes who are watching us," you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
He pushes you away, and you stagger back another step.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, if they're all in on it ... Well, who would be in on it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Gordon for a start. I asked Chelsea this morning what the fucking deal was with her asking me up to the school last night, and I asked it front of Gordon and he got pissy at me and vouched for being with Chelsea all night. So <i>he'd</i> be in on it—"<br/>
<br/>
"He's too dumb."<br/>
<br/>
"Chelsea's too dumb."<br/>
<br/>
You feel your throat tighten. "So it's not really Chelsea. And it's not really Gordon."<br/>
<br/>
"Same as I'm not really Steve?" he asks. His tone is grim.<br/>
<br/>
"Speaking of whom," you mutter, for behind him, from the direction of the Music Annex, you see Will Prescott striding in your direction. "Would Steve be in on it?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"How do you know?"<br/>
<br/>
"I <i>know.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
You glance past him again at Will, who is coming up fast. "Do they maybe think you're still really Steve?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, that's what got Gordon so steamed at me. It's why I'm not having lunch with them. And it's why I'm—"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," Will calls out, "so what are you two queers doing coming out here and—?"<br/>
<br/>
Steve wheels and lifts Will off the ground by his belt. "You ever use that fucking word again in earshot of me, you little shit, and I'll teach you to be queer with your own cock, your own mouth, and your own fucking anus." <br/>
<br/>
Will stares back at him. Then, while you're still sucking in a shocked breath, he swings a fist his old body, catching him hard on the side of the head.<br/>
<br/>
Patterson staggers to the side, then falls, dragging Will down with him. There's a quick scramble, some grunts, but it's all over quickly with Will face down in the weeds with Steve kneeling over him, his knee in the small of the back. "Now," he growls, "if you want to know what we're talking about, here's the time to ask. Politely."<br/>
<br/>
"Get off him," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"No. This is the way to do it." Quick as a cobra he strikes, seizing you by the collar and dragging you close. "Steve knows he's got a reputation to live up to. Don't you, Steve-o? You wouldn't want Gordon thinking you—"<br/>
<br/>
"So what the fuck did you find out with him and Chelsea?" Will mumbles with his face in the grass.<br/>
<br/>
"You can ask your— You can ask Will after I've left." There's a red bruise rising on the side of Steve's face, and his eyes glitter like ice. "And if anyone wonders what I was talking to you about, tell 'em I was passing along a message from Chelsea." He gets to his feet, and Will turns over to glare up murderously at him. "The same kind of message she asked you to deliver to Jack Li yesterday. You can tell people I got the impression  it didn't take."<br/>
<br/>
He glowers down at Will for a moment, then stalks off.<br/>
<br/>
"You shouldn't have come out here," you tell Will after Steve is away. "And you shouldn't have hit him."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, that's exactly what you'd say," he retorts. "But I got the rest of my life to consider, and I'll be fucked if I'm gonna try living it like you." He blows a wad of spit at the ground, and scrambles onto his knees. "Check out those assholes over by the portables. I just scored me more cred in two seconds than you scored since you were in kindergarten."<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself stiffen all over. "Jack went light on you."<br/>
<br/>
"Lighter than I'd'a gone on you," he agrees. "And he knows what's up." But he doesn't explain himself further, and asks you to fill him in on what Jack told you.<br/>
<br/>
"It fucking makes sense," he agrees when explain that you think that neither Chelsea nor Gordon are who they are pretending to be. "But," he coldly adds, "are you sure <i>you're</i> not in on it?"<br/>
<br/>
You bridle. "What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, me, Chelsea, Gordon. Top choices for body snatching. Before they do the really smart thing and take off for California or someplace." He glances around with a snort. "And here I am. Body snatched too."<br/>
<br/>
"Jack and I had it done to us first."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." He snorts again. "Anyway, you don't got the brains for it either, no more than Chelsea or Gordon do. Man, though, if I could get my hands on whoever's doing this, or how they're doing it—"<br/>
<br/>
He seems to catch himself, and gives you a quick, hooded look.<br/>
<br/>
"So," he concludes, "they're saying Chelsea and them were out at Catherine's the other night. We can always check around, you and me. And Jack. Find out who says they saw her there. No way of checking up on Gordon and Chelsea last night, though."<br/>
<br/>
You agree that would be a plan. But you're not feeling very warmly toward him as you part for the day.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
A little discreet talk during your afternoon classes goes a long way toward confirming that lots of people saw Chelsea at Catherine Muskov's house on Friday night, when she was really (as far as you're concerned) meeting with you and Jack here at the school. It leaves you baffled. It can't be that dozens of people are in on a plot to give Chelsea an alibi. You can only conclude that, in addition to knowing how to soul swap people, Chelsea (or whoever she really is) has the ability to be in two places at once.<br/>
<br/>
At the start of eighth period, as you're checking a text, it remember that there's another way of confronting Chelsea other than face to face. That's through her "Clover Mystery" account. You elect to take the direct approach, as maybe you should have been doing all along. <i>I want to meet and talk to u,</i> you text her.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Lol I bet u do,</i> Clover texts back a few hours later, when you're at the grocery store picking up some odds and ends for your folks. <i>Ok if u do me a favor.</i> It makes you want to vomit, but you text back a row of question marks.<br/>
<br/>
The reply leaves you blanching: <i>Dig me up 400 pnds dirt from the masonic cemetery and take it to suffolk wilderness.</i></span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112111111111121121112112
author_id: seuzz
id: JRHMHWHTJ
title: A Night of Not-So-Fun Fun
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span><i>U there?</i> Clover asks after you've silently mulled her request for a few minutes.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Wat u want dirt for?</i> you reply, then turn to concentrate on finding a box of linguine amidst the supermarket's shelf after shelf of spaghetti. You'd rather do that than think about what a sorceress like Clover would do with four hundred pounds of dirt dug out of a cemetery.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Lol,</i> she replies, <i>every girl needs a big pile of dirt n her life.</i><br/>
<br/>
You grimace, but are stuck for a tart comeback. When she follows up with, <i>So will u do it for me?</i> and a string of heart emojis, you decide to charge right past her request. <i>I know ur not chelsea who r u?<br/>
<br/>
Lol how u know I'm not chelse?<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea was at party when u n me n jack met.<br/>
<br/>
Wait, i thot u were jack now! :p<br/>
<br/>
Why are u doing this?<br/>
<br/>
Fun aren't u having fun I am.<br/>
<br/>
How long? When r u put us back?<br/>
<br/>
Don't be grouch jack no one likes grouchy jack.</i><br/>
<br/>
With a snarl you hurl the phone into the shopping cart and charge off to find a frozen dessert. You ignore the phone when it chimes three times with incoming texts. But the itch in your palm won't be abated until you fish the phone back out of the cart to read them.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Srsly be like jack he likes fun have fun wit.</i> Then: <i>We go out have fun at club u dance like jack ok?</i> Finally: <i>Don't be mad pls I want have fun wu.</i> As you're chewing your lip over possible replies a fourth text comes in: <i>If u don't want b jack who u want be don't say urself.<br/>
<br/>
Talk later got stuff to do,</i> you reply. You blanch at the string of kissing-emojis Clover sends in reply.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Clover's texts aren't the only ones you get while at the store, and more come in after you're home, because Jack has a lot of friends and he is almost never alone. Leah wants to crash a Monday-night party that's happening at Josie Holden's, and Laura suggests getting a dozen people together at The Flying Saucer for a "study-thing-with-coffee-and-company," but you put them off by saying you need to sort through all the other ideas people are pitching at you. But in fact you feel like you'd rather stay in.<br/>
<br/>
Well, <i>you</i> would rather stay in. <i>Jack,</i> on the other hand, has a very itchy ass, and after a distracted hour after dinner of not being able to concentrate on homework because you keep checking x2z and other social sites to see what's going on in the world, you give up and text Brianna Kirschke: <i>Hey, u still want company? I'm suddenly free.</i> You can almost hear the squeal in her reply: <i>Come over!</i><br/>
<br/>
Brianna might not be the smartest girl you know—you suspect that Leah Simmons, if she could ever pull her act together, might have it in her to conquer the world before breakfast—but she is the most put together. She's a band girl, one of the pillars in the world of the band kids, and she has a dedication to the band, to her schoolwork, and to her friends that Jack admires. But she doesn't lack for a sense of fun, either, even if—with her curly hair pulled back into a tight ponytail; her black-framed glasses; and her chipmunk overbite—she exudes more of a "librarian" vibe. Not a dowdy librarian, but not quite "sexy librarian" either, even if you've seen her with her glasses off and hair down, swaying tipsily to dance music. But it's in character for her that, when she texted to invite you over, she admitted that it would just be the two of you.<br/>
<br/>
But when you pull up to her house, Hermione Gilbert's car is parked out front. You flinch a little at the sight of it. Jack doesn't dislike Hermione, but she's not his favorite person in the world; and you don't like her at all because of the things (you now know) she was saying about you behind your back. But you're here, and you know you can handle her, so you don't hesitate to ring the doorbell and let yourself in. "Hello?" you call when you find the living room empty.<br/>
<br/>
There's a rush of feet upstairs, and Brianna and Hermione appear on the staircase. Brianna beams at you, but Hermione's smile is more satirical. "I told you dangerous characters would get in if we didn't lock the front door," she tells Brianna.<br/>
<br/>
Brianna ignores her. "Oo, you bring me something?" she squeals as you drop your pack from your shoulders.<br/>
<br/>
"I brought my schoolwork. I was gonna stay in and do it, but I got bored."<br/>
<br/>
"Why didn't you go out to Josie's?" Hermione asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, you want me here not?"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up," Brianna tells Hermione. Then to you: "She was helping me with my French, but I was bored too. Come on." She tugs you into the dining room, where open books are spread across the table.<br/>
<br/>
"Your mom home?" you ask as you drop your pack on the table.<br/>
<br/>
"She's at an arts-council committee meeting, or something."<br/>
<br/>
"You should've invited a boy over."<br/>
<br/>
"I did." She tickles your stomach.<br/>
<br/>
"I mean for me. I'm kidding!" you add when Brianna and Hermione exchange gleefully scandalized looks. "I don't know what <i>we're</i> going to do together," you add as you pull Brianna into a hug, and smooch the top of her hair, "except work some more on your French."<br/>
<br/>
"What did you do this weekend?" Brianna asks as you unpack your bag. "Leah said you invited half the school to her place, then bugged out."<br/>
<br/>
"I got a text and had to go."<br/>
<br/>
"Who'd you go meet?"<br/>
<br/>
"Is that your business?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm only asking 'cos <i>everyone</i> was up at Leah's."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, not <i>everyone,</i> obviously, because I had to go meet—"<br/>
<br/>
Hermione barges in. "Did it have anything to do with Steve Patterson?"<br/>
<br/>
You give her a steady look, and out of the corner of your eye you see Brianna shooting her a dirty one. "Because," Hermione continues, undaunted, "I heard he hauled you out to the portables today."<br/>
<br/>
"It's none of your business," you mutter when the silence has gotten awkward. You concentrate on arranging your books, but you can't miss the significant glance that passes between Hermione and Brianna. "I did talk to Laura," you continue, loudly and unwisely, "if you want to know what else I did this weekend. About Will Prescott. If you two are dying so much for a bone to pick over."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, that," Brianna says as she falls into a chair. "I heard about <i>that.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Heard what?"<br/>
<br/>
"About her and him. How they met up that night when she said they didn't."<br/>
<br/>
"Did she tell you that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. She told you too, I guess."<br/>
<br/>
"Of course she did," Hermione says.<br/>
<br/>
"She's telling everyone," you say. "So be nice to her."<br/>
<br/>
"I am nice to her."<br/>
<br/>
"And be nice to Will, too." You look between them. "He was telling the truth about that, and neither of you believed him."<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't believe him either!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but I didn't burn up the social webs talking about what a creepy stalker he is." Hermione flushes at your words. "But if you want to talk about it, how about you trying saying it in French." You cup your chin in your hand and give Brianna Jack's most pointed look.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So it's mostly school business after that, though of course there's enough talk and gossip to so it isn't totally a grind. Brianna tells you about some of the stuff that happened at Leah's party after you left, and Hermione lightens the mood with the most recent stories about Susie Lekuawehe's air-headed antics. You hang out with them until ten, but you don't linger long after finishing your schoolwork. Hermione, to your discomfort (and to Brianna's surprise, judging by her expression) says she'll accompany you out the door. You're polite enough to walk with her out to the curb, but before you can wish her goodnight, she stops you with a blunt comment. "Look, about Steve Patterson and whatever business you two had—" She hesitates, and her eyes fall as you give her a direct stare. After taking a deep breath, she says, "If it was about Brendan Tummler, we all know. Or a lot of us do."<br/>
<br/>
"What about Brendan Tummler?" With more heat, you ask yourself, <i>And what the fuck do you think Brendan Tummler has to do with me?</i><br/>
<br/>
"Well," she stammers, "a lot of us— Most of us— There's talk online, in DMs—" She swallows. "About him being gay."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we assume you knew that too."<br/>
<br/>
"Why? Because all the gays know each other from the secret club meetings?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be like that, Jack!" Anger flashes in her eyes. "I just meant, you seem to know <i>everything</i> at school. Everyone <i>tells</i> you everything, it seems like, and I'm telling you that everyone— I mean, a lot of us— In DMs—"<br/>
<br/>
"Know that Brendan is gay," you finish for her.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay. So?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well. I don't know why Steve Patterson would be talking to you, especially not out at the portables, unless, you know, it had something to do with Brendan. Like he was, I dunno, was mad at you about Brendan."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus!"<br/>
<br/>
"I just wanted you to know what people are thinking!"<br/>
<br/>
You do your best to stifle the kindling anger you feel. "So who are 'people'? The people who are thinking this way?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not trying to get you to say anything, Jack! I just feel like you should know—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well thanks, Hermione. Thanks so fucking much. No, I mean that," you add as she whitens. "Because now I want you to go back into DMs and tell everyone what I told Steve, that I've never even talked to Brendan, let alone dropped my pants, bent over, and pulled my ass-cheeks apart so he could—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck you, Jack!" Hermione spins around and storms off back toward Brianna's front door. "I didn't mean that and you fucking know it!" she screams before slamming the door behind her.<span class="cpohbcpohbMK"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121121111111111211211121121
author_id: seuzz
id: PMFKLYYCZ
title: Oh the Drama
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>Your talk with Hermione has left you hot with anger on the surface but coldly bemused underneath. <i>You can be such a drama queen, Jack,</i> you muse to yourself, as though it wasn't <i>you</i> who got ugly with Hermione. <i>Even though you think you're above all that!</i><br/>
<br/>
But after brushing and flossing (and water-picking and gargling) and changing into pajama, you prop up in bed long enough to send a couple of texts.<br/>
<br/>
The first is to Hermione: <i>I'm sorry I said those things to you tonight,</i> you write. <i>I didn't really mean them but I was wrong to say them. I know you were only trying to be a good friend and I acted like an asshole. My only excuse is that you surprised me and frightened me. I don't like gossip about my sex life when I don't even have one and it scares me if people are talking like me and Brendan have something going. I know you didn't mean that but it scared me anyway. Please let me take you someplace after school or something to show how sorry I am and how much I love you as a friend.</i> You make a face as you reread it, because it's totally insincere, but it's good form and should hopefully smooth away any drama you have accidentally created. But you do backspace and replace "love" with "like" because the thought of "loving" Hermione, even as a friend, makes you want to puke.<br/>
<br/>
To Brianna you write: <i>I just sent Hermione a sorry for what I said at your house and I want to tell you I'm sorry too. I was stupid and scared by what she said so I lashed out even though I was wrong. I love you guys and don't want to go to bed without trying to make things okay again. Let's hang out tomorrow ok? BTW so you know SP wasn't talking to me about Brendan. He just heard I said some shit about him and because he's such a shit he had to take me out back and be a shit to me. It was just embarrassing that's why I didn't want to talk about it. Love you.</i> That one, being entirely sincere, is much easier to send.<br/>
<br/>
Last, to Clover Mystery: <i>Tell me what you want so I can think about it.</i> That's the scariest and hardest of the three to write.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wake early with wood, which you relieve in the shower without trying to think of anyone or any gender specifically, then put yourself through the morning grooming ritual. <i>I wonder if I should start doing this if I ever get back to normal,</i> you think to yourself as you work at your face. <i>I wonder if I'd clean up nice.</i> You wince as you picture your old face, with the oddball crop of zits, the long, stiff hairs on the chin and upper lip, the squinty eyes that peer out from under stiff bangs. <i>I'd have to change my whole look,</i> you ruefully conclude. And though with Jack's practiced eye you might be able to figure out a look, you doubt you'd ever be able to do it yourself.<br/>
<br/>
And, also, you'd probably get jeered at by your own friends.<br/>
<br/>
<i>No,</i> you reflect as you study your present strong, smooth, bare-chested form in the mirror. <i>This is probably the best I'll ever look. And it isn't even me.</i><br/>
<br/>
You get to school early, but bypass your locker and the library to head over to the music annex, where a dozen band kids are already swarming around the practice room. Brianna and Hermione are among them. Hermione, after you catch her eye, returns you a narrow but not unfriendly smile. Brianna, when she sees you, bounds over. "Where are you taking me after school?" she asks with a toothy, chipmunky smile.<br/>
<br/>
"Wherever you want. You didn't answer my text."<br/>
<br/>
"I wanted to talk to you, not your phone. Where are you taking me?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. Is Hermione going with us?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"Because I told her I—"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, you take her someplace on your own. It's just us this afternoon." She grins. "You promised."<br/>
<br/>
You peer down at her, and wonder how many other guys have girls so casually coming onto them. <i>Damn, I could score so easy,</i> you think. <i>Except it would freak Brianna out if I tried.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Well, let me talk to Hermione—"<br/>
<br/>
"I got dibs on you."<br/>
<br/>
"—and I'll talk to you later."<br/>
<br/>
"Promise me, Jack!" she calls as you saunter across to where Hermione is crouched over her phone.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," you tell her when she looks up at you from under her brows. "Am I forgiven? I am sorry."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," she says. "I'm sorry I freaked you out."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll take you someplace to make up for it."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to."<br/>
<br/>
"If I want to?"<br/>
<br/>
She ponders a moment before saying, "Raincheck."<br/>
<br/>
You wonder if she's still pissed at you, or if Hermione is naturally as cool toward Jack as he is toward her.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, raincheck. And, well, thanks for telling me about that thing. I'm glad you did, and I promise I won't freak out if— Uh— You ever have something to tell me again." You try not to flush.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe she doesn't actually like Jack that much, because her smile is satirical. "Sure. That's why I told you. Because I know you can't stand being out of the loop."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Yeah, just try to collect on that raincheck,</i> you think as you wander off back toward Brianna. "Well?" she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Meet me at my locker after last period. I'll take you for ice cream."<br/>
<br/>
She squeals and gives you a quick, hard hug.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The rest of the school day is like butter, mostly because you share most of your classes with best friends Parker, Wendy, and Kristina, so there's always a friendly face to smile at, chat with, and exchange secret, amused glances with. First period is an English class (Essays), followed by AP Calculus and AP World History, all of which Jack is acing so that you don't have to strain to keep up. Fourth period and fifth period is the study hall/lunch combo, when you get to see and talk to more friends and acquaintances as they filter in and out of the cafeteria and library: Leah and Laura and Philippa Hosford; Cody Schaeffer and Sean Wilcox; Adam Dortch and Sophie Van den Berg and even Carson Ioeger, who on his way to lunch out front detours through the library long enough to ask if he can peek at your AP Physics homework to check a problem that was giving him fits last night. "Number twelve?" you ask. "Yeah, I couldn't figure that one out. I don't think anyone could've."<br/>
<br/>
After lunch are the two P.E. classes that break up the academic monotony. The Dance class is Jack's favorite, because he so excels at it, but you are dreading it today. Chelsea Cooper is in that class, and though she skipped yesterday you are sure she will be in it today. All through it you watch her narrowly out of the corner of your eye, and you're sure she notices you but pretends to ignore you. She is certainly very stiff and doesn't talk to anyone, not even Gloria Rea, the cheerleader flunky she shares the class with.<br/>
<br/>
Then comes last period, AP Physics II. Steve Patterson is in there.<br/>
<br/>
He's hunched up in the back when you enter, studying his cell phone, but he lifts his brows long enough to give you a sturdy look when you come in. You return it with an equally sturdy stare, but say nothing as you drop into your chair and unload your bag. Nor do you have any reason to say anything to each other during class. But after the final bell, you linger in your seat, pretending to be absorbed in your own phone, as Patterson trudges past. He stops in the doorway, which you take as a signal. You finish packing up, and make like you're leaving. As you almost anticipated, he blocks your exit, then shoves you back a couple of steps.<br/>
<br/>
"Highway 37 and Morris," he says in a cold voice. "Five-thirty."<br/>
<br/>
"I got plans."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." His stare is glacial. "With me." He turns to leave.<br/>
<br/>
You catch Mr. Krohling watching you carefully, but blunt his silent query with a shrug.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Hey," you greet Brianna when she comes sliding up to your locker. "I can still take you out, but I have to be somewhere else at five-thirty."<br/>
<br/>
"So do I," she says, "so it's okay. Just as long as we get to talk."<br/>
<br/>
Something in her tone catches your ear. "Something special?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe." She pokes you in the gut. "But you gotta promise you won't get mad like you did last night."<br/>
<br/>
Your stomach promptly sinks.<br/>
<br/>
And, naturally, once you're at the Dairy Queen she refuses to come to the point, but chatters inanely about this and that and the other things that happened during her day while you listen with a lot of "Uh huhs" and "Whoas" and "Damns."<br/>
<br/>
Finally, though, she winds herself up to make her pitch. "How long have you known that Brendan Tummler was gay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus."<br/>
<br/>
"You promised you won't get mad."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't promise. You just asked me to promise."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, promise me now."<br/>
<br/>
"It depends on what you say. If you just want to ask me how long I've known he's gay— Well, okay, I promise I won't get mad."<br/>
<br/>
Her gaze narrows. "You can be such a jerk sometimes, Jack. But what do you think of him?"<br/>
<br/>
Your blood runs even colder. "I don't know him."<br/>
<br/>
She answers you with a look.<br/>
<br/>
"That's the only answer I'm going to give you, Brianna."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, would you at least like to get to know him?"<span class="cpohbcpohbMK"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211211111111112112111211212
author_id: seuzz
id: BHF5CHZLJ
title: Gossip Girls and Jumpy Jacks
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You sigh. "I'm not going to say yes, Brianna, but you've got something on your mind."<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes narrow. "Well, if you're going to be like that—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not being like anything. But tell me about him."<br/>
<br/>
She seems to weigh whether you're worthy of being told about Brendan Tummler. "Well, I guess we can just talk about him," she says. "First of all, how did you find out he was gay?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't. I just figured he was."<br/>
<br/>
"He doesn't act gay."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean he doesn't act like me."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he doesn't act like <i>Charles.</i> And if you're going to be all passive-aggressive with me—"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay."<br/>
<br/>
"You get this way, Jack, you get all offended—"<br/>
<br/>
"I said, 'Okay',"<br/>
<br/>
"—and you make everyone else feel like shit and we don't even get to be mad at you for it because you're so goddamned—"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I'm sorry!"<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever, you'll just do it again. But anyway, if he doesn't seem gay— Does he seem gay to you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," you sigh. "I just always got a vibe off him. And actually, someone did tell me he was gay. Crispin."<br/>
<br/>
"Crispin Fontana? I thought you didn't talk to him."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I talk to him. He just doesn't talk to <i>me</i> when Charles is around."<br/>
<br/>
"So how did he manage to tell you that Brendan is gay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, Charles wasn't around when he told me."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, you're so fucking cute. Anyway, when did he tell you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't remember. Last year sometime."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I had to find out from Leah."<br/>
<br/>
"How did she find out? Oh, don't tell me she tried getting it on with—!"<br/>
<br/>
Brianna leans across the Formica tabletop to give your shoulder a hard pinch-and-twist. "She found out from Scott Frazier."<br/>
<br/>
"Scott Frazier from the basketball team?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. So anyway, Leah was dancing with Scott last weekend and they got to talking, and Scott told her that Brendan's gay. He also told her that everyone on the squad knows Brendan is gay. Except Gordon and Steve."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, bullshit. No one on the squad would be okay with Brendan being gay."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, Scott says they are. But they all keep quiet about it because of Gordon and Steve. So, you know, you should keep it quiet. Scott even swore Leah to secrecy."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, <i>Jesus!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"So Scott swears Leah to secrecy, but here we are talking about what Scott told Leah?"<br/>
<br/>
Brianna turns pink. "Well, Leah only told me 'cos she wanted to know if we should tell you!"<br/>
<br/>
"And there's everyone else you and she told. Like Hermione, right? What?" you add when Brianna looks even more embarrassed.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, yeah, we told Hermione. I know Genesis knows, and Melanie. And probably—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck us."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm sure it won't go any further! 'Cos—" She shrugs awkwardly. "There's hardly anyone else to tell."<br/>
<br/>
"Only the rest of the school. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? How to put the toothpaste back in the tube?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! I— Well—" She looks discomfited. But even then she can't keep it bottled back for more than a few seconds. "Well, one of the things Scott told Leah," she says in a rush, "is that Brendan doesn't want Charles to know."<br/>
<br/>
Your eyebrows lift. "Excuse me? Scott told Leah about Brendan, because Brendan doesn't want Charles to know? How is telling Leah supposed to keep it a secret from Charles?"<br/>
<br/>
"It isn't!"<br/>
<br/>
"Shh! Keep your voice down!"<br/>
<br/>
"That doesn't have anything to do with— Scott added that bit after he told Leah. Like, 'Yeah, I told you this, but keep it away from Charles, 'cos Brendan doesn't want Charles knowing'."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Charles knows. Count on it. He's probably the one who told Crispin."<br/>
<br/>
"And it's because Brendan doesn't want to get lumped in with Charles because he can't stand Charles."<br/>
<br/>
"He can join our club."<br/>
<br/>
"And that's just it!" Brianna exclaims so loudly it actually makes you jump a little. "That's what we were talking about this weekend!"<br/>
<br/>
"Who was talking what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Us! What we were talking about! That Brendan doesn't like Charles, and <i>you</i> don't like Charles, and you're both, well, gay—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck!"<br/>
<br/>
"Shh! Now <i>you</i> need to keep your voice down!"<br/>
<br/>
"You're not serious," you growl at her. "Just because we're both— And neither of us likes—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it's worth thinking about!" Brianna blusters. "Neither of you like Charles and neither of you is <i>like</i> Charles. And, you know, you're good at being friends with everyone, Jack, so even you didn't, you know—"<br/>
<br/>
You knead your temples with your fingertips. "Okay, is this what you wanted to talk to me about? I mean, is this the whole thing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," she says in a small voice.<br/>
<br/>
"No other brain farts you want to squeeze out?"<br/>
<br/>
Brianna sticks her tongue out at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, now you've told me, and I know what Hermione was getting at, and I won't jump like a javelin-thrower who's sat on his own javelin if anyone else talks to me about it. But that's all I promised to do. And now I have to go."<br/>
<br/>
"Jack!" Brianna protests as you get to your feet. But you only return her a tight (though cheery) smile and march out to your car.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Highway 37 and Morris is the same spot you met Patterson over the weekend: a lonely intersection out in the countryside where you can see for half-a-mile or more in every direction and only the horses will return your stare. Will Prescott's truck is parked by the side of the road when you get there, and he's perched on the hood with his phone out when you pull up. "Hey," you greet him. "So he wants to talk to you too. What about?"<br/>
<br/>
Prescott waggles his phone. "Well, for a start, he wants a way of talking to us without having to— Fuck!"<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?"<br/>
<br/>
He only glowers and sighs, then says, "He's set up a couple of fake accounts for us online so we can DM each other."<br/>
<br/>
"How come we can't DM each other from our real accounts?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you."<br/>
<br/>
"Look, would you rather have switched into this body?" You throw your arms out. "You're attitude stinks, Patterson."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't want to be switched with anyone!"<br/>
<br/>
"None of us did. And I'm pretty goddamned sure Jack doesn't like being stuck where he is now. None of us like this, but <i>you're</i> the one making the most noise about it." Prescott glares. "Suck it up. That's what you'd tell the guys on the squad if <i>they</i> were bitching as hard about something as you are."<br/>
<br/>
Prescott bristles, but the color also washes from his face.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he doesn't want us using our real IDs," he says, "because he doesn't want anyone noticing that we're talking to each other. Or, at least, to him. Because"—he makes a face—"that guy doesn't usually talk to guys like us."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, so he's trying real hard not to ruin your reputation. And this pisses you off because?"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Because</i> he's acting like me!" He crosses his arms.<br/>
<br/>
You don't push him further, but you do wonder. Is it that Patterson doesn't like being treated the way he treats other people? Or is he just freaked out by seeing Jack Li do such a good imitation of the guy he's being forced to imitate? Maybe it's both.<br/>
<br/>
Prescott gives you the fake accounts the you and he and Steve are supposed to use, and you're checking the texts you've missed while you were talking to Brianna, when the third of your trio arrives. "Hey." He nods at you as he unfolds his lanky self from the sedan. "I set us up some x2z accounts—"<br/>
<br/>
"I already told him, gave him his and ours," Will says. His tone is brusque but polite. "How was practice?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was fine. I can fill you in later if you want. But the other thing I wanted to talk about is, I had a brainwave about what happened to us."<br/>
<br/>
You and Will exchange a glance.<br/>
<br/>
"This isn't like a soul-swap or a body-swap, or a thing like that. This isn't your body, Steve," Patterson says as he grasps the front of his t-shirt. "It looks like yours. But it's really mine. Just transformed."<br/>
<br/>
Again, you and Will exchange a glance. "You mean, like, morphed?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, like that disguise potion in Harry Potter. If I'm remembering it right. Chelsea morphed our bodies into copies of each other's bodies."<br/>
<br/>
"How do you figure this?" Will demands.<br/>
<br/>
"A couple of ways." Patterson ticks of a finger. "First, when we woke up, we woke up where we got knocked out. If our souls got swapped, or whatever, we would have woken up where our new body got knocked out. Next—" He ticks off another finger. "We were naked. As though we had to be stripped so our clothes wouldn't rip apart when the change happened. And third—" He takes a breath. "Chelsea. The fake one. She was in two places at once when these things happened. So it wasn't her. But it did look like her. So the person must've used the morph-potion on herself to disguise herself, then probably morphed herself back. Or himself back. Because it doesn't have to be a girl who's doing it."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You have to admit that Jack's hypothesis makes sense, though it leaves you in a worse place than before, since you can now be pretty sure that Chelsea has nothing to do with what's going on, and that eliminates your only suspect. But you don't have time to talk much, because Will has to get home for dinner.<br/>
<br/>
That gives you some time alone with Jack, which, if you want, you could spend telling him about your talk with Brianna.<span class="QbcRddgOKK"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112111111111121121112112122
author_id: seuzz
id: BR458PY68
title: A Text-Based Game
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>"There something you want to talk about?" Patterson asks after he's caught you studying him speculatively.<br/>
<br/>
"No," you reply after a fractional hesitation. "Only— Does Patterson know about Brendan Tummler?"<br/>
<br/>
His gaze freezes and sharpens. "What about Tummler?"<br/>
<br/>
"Does Patterson know he's— Thinks he's— Gay?"<br/>
<br/>
"No." All the muscles in his face tighten. "Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just curious."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you think I—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"How do you know what I was going to say?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. "Just a hunch. But what were you going to say?"<br/>
<br/>
He glowers at you, then says, "Never mind. Patterson doesn't pay much attention to the squad except when they're on the court. He—" A light shudder ripples through him, and he relaxes a little. "He just doesn't care."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh. Okay, I'm sorry, I guess I'm just being nosy." You eyeball him. "What's it like for you, man? Being there?"<br/>
<br/>
He shivers again, harder. "Like having spiders crawling all over me."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You didn't tell Jack about your talk with Brianna because you didn't think it would do any good, and it would just give him something else to worry about. But you get to talk about it with someone else. Laura MacGregor texts you just before supper, saying that she heard about your talk with Brianna. You would just ignore her except that she closes her text with a frantic <i>Don't do it!</i> So after supper you text her back to ask what she meant. <br/>
<br/>
She replies by calling you direct. "They're trying to set you up with Brendan!" she breathlessly informs you. "Brianna and Leah and them!"<br/>
<br/>
"Really."<br/>
<br/>
Something in you tone must have rung funny, because she seems to catch herself. "Are you interested?"<br/>
<br/>
"I haven't thought about it."<br/>
<br/>
"Pfah! That just means you're not ready to tell anyone that you— I don't think you should." There's a squirm in her voice.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't think I should ask Brendan out?"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, it's your business, Jack. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything."<br/>
<br/>
"No, go ahead. I wanna know what <i>you</i> think."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, as long as you don't listen to me." She hesitates. "I just don't want you to jump into anything. You're too careful for that."<br/>
<br/>
"If I'm so careful, why are you worried?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm worried you <i>won't</i> be careful."<br/>
<br/>
"What is there to be careful about?"<br/>
<br/>
Her reply is interrupted by a chime from your phone—an incoming text—and all you can make out is "—don't know Brendan, do you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, not really." You drop the phone from your ear long enough to squint at the text, and jump a little to see it's from Clover Mystery.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm just thinking," Laura says, "that if you tried talking to him to get to know him, it would look— Oh, God, never mind! Suddenly I sound weird and crazy!"<br/>
<br/>
"What? I don't even know what you're trying to say, Laura."<br/>
<br/>
"That's what I mean. Look, just forget I said anything! I just think— Oh, I'm just being selfish!"<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Never mind. Now I'm all embarrassed and I'm hanging up now!" The line goes dead.<br/>
<br/>
You drop the phone to stare at the screen. Laura has always been a little flighty, but that aborted talk is some kind of new record for her. You start to send Brianna a text asking if she's talked to Laura about Brendan, then erase it when you realize you're just procrastinating from dealing with Clover Mystery, but then retype it and send it anyway. Whatever is eating at Laura, she was probably more direct and open with Brianna and the other girls.<br/>
<br/>
Then, with sinking dread, you turn to the Mystery text.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>So u think abt my question?</i> Clover Mystery wants to know. <i>What question?</i> you reply.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Lol who u want be not urself.<br/>
<br/>
I want to be myself. I want all of us back to normal.<br/>
<br/>
Lol ur no fun.</i> You're typing in a tart reply when the followup comes: <i>If I put Jack and Steve back will u be someone else?</i><br/>
<br/>
You chew on the question, but it confuses you. <i>If you put them back I have to be myself.<br/>
<br/>
Pls play. Roleplay lol.</i><br/>
<br/>
You groan. <i>Ok, I be u.<br/>
<br/>
Lol no.<br/>
<br/>
I want to be me.<br/>
<br/>
No. But I make Jack be Jack and Steve be Steve. U have to be someone else tho.</i><br/>
<br/>
That's still bewildering, but also frightening somehow. <i>Who be me?<br/>
<br/>
Whoever u be. I make u them and them u.</i><br/>
<br/>
A jolt runs through you, and it's not only because your phone has chimed again with an incoming text. <i>I don't want that.</i> As you wait for the reply, you check the incoming text, and see it's a wall of words from Laura, which you push aside to return to Clover Mystery.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Lol fine then I leave you all like this.<br/>
<br/>
Stop hurting people.<br/>
<br/>
Not hurting people. Don't u like being Jack?</i><br/>
<br/>
There's no good answer to that question, so you deflect it. <i>I don't like being someone else. Jack hates being Steve and Steve hates being me.<br/>
<br/>
Lol Steve deserves it why I did it.<br/>
<br/>
Do Jack and me deserve it?<br/>
<br/>
No just having fun. I fix Jack but not Steve. U want be Steve?</i><br/>
<br/>
You stare in horror at the screen, but Clover keeps texting: <i>Or u be Steve Jack be u n Steve be Jack. Or Jack be Jack n u be Steve n Steve be u. Or Jack be Jack n u be someone new and they be Steve and u be new guy. What u think?<br/>
<br/>
You're crazy.</i> You could've added "And evil," but you don't want to risk pissing off this psychopath.<br/>
<br/>
<i>If u want fix Jack u have play. Pick new u. Steve stays u new guy is Steve.</i><br/>
<br/>
You want to vomit, but you put Clover off with a tepid, <i>I'll think abt it.</i> Then you follow with, <i>U still want help with that dirt thing?</i> Not because you want to help, but just to keep the line open a little longer.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Lol no got someone else help.<br/>
<br/>
Who?</i> you ask without hope. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Lol no cheating.</i><br/>
<br/>
You've no answer to that, and Clover sends no follow up, so after a hateful minute you switch to glance over Laura's text. Your eye takes it in, but you're hardly interested in it, and dismiss it with a grunt:<br/>
<br/>
<i>I have this nightmare where u try with brendan n its a disaster because he freaks out. That not fair I shouldn't say that u probably have same nightmare and I make it worse. That why I not want talk but I want u know I worry for you probly someone should talk to brendan first about u don't u think?</i><br/>
<br/>
But while you're reading it you get a reply from Brianna: <i>Why u want know abt Laura?</i> You reply with a curt <i>Never mind,</i> which provokes a string of question marks from Brianna, but that's all.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You toss and turn for an hour after going to bed. Clover refuses to change Steve Patterson back into himself (and part of you ambivalently sympathizes with Clover's desire to hurt him) but they at least sound willing to change Jack back into himself. But they also refuse to let you change back to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Does Clover hate you, like they seem to have Steve? It doesn't sound like they do. All they do is keep prattling on about "playing" and "having fun." But it's sadistic fun, so maybe they do hate you. But who? And why? You can't remember ever having hurt anyone.<br/>
<br/>
But eventually, before you fall asleep, you are forced to come to grips with the choice that Clover seems to have forced on you: Are you willing to make a deal with Clover to return Jack Li to his old self, even at the cost of continuing yourself in a different identity?<br/>
<br/>
It seems like a question that you should put to Jack. Or maybe not. You have the sinking feeling that Jack would nobly renounce the chance to return to his old life if neither you nor Steve got to return to yours. If you were to make a deal with Clover, Jack would have to know nothing about it.<br/>
<br/>
And, of course, neither would Steve.<br/>
<br/>
You pass the night in an exhausting sleep full of strangling nightmares that you mercifully don't remember when you wake.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's with a heavy sense of dread that you drag yourself to school the next morning. There are so many things to think about, and you don't want to think about any of them. Your mood isn't improved when you get a text from Brianna: <i>What u say to Larua?</i> she wants to know. <i>She's skipping today too embarrassed to see u.</i> Kristina notices your air of preoccupation, and asks you if anything's wrong, but you shrug her off. To Brianna you text, <i>Just stupid thing between her and me.</i><br/>
<br/>
But Brianna won't leave it alone. During fourth, when you and Parker and the girls are in the library, she comes in to ask about you and Laura again.<br/>
<br/>
"It's nothing," you sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not nothing. She says she'll probably never be able to look you in the face again."<br/>
<br/>
"Drama people," you mutter under your breath.<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"We were texting last night about—" You dart a quick, sidelong glance at Parker and the girls. "That thing we've been talking about. And she got embarrassed."<br/>
<br/>
Brianna's eyes narrow. "How?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because she was giving me advice about something that isn't her business."<br/>
<br/>
Brianna's eyes narrow even more. "Did you yell at her?"<br/>
<br/>
"No!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well," says Brianna, "she says she's never coming to school again." You roll your eyes. "Talk to her, Jack!"<br/>
<br/>
"How? You say she doesn't even want to look at me."<br/>
<br/>
Before she can retort, Melanie Saxon comes sliding in. "Oh my God," she giggles. "Did you hear about Rebecca and Chelsea Cooper?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, what?" Brianna asks, though she continues to glare sharply at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it just happened, so—" Melanie giggles again. "But I saw it. Rebecca just went up to Chelsea at her locker and started whanging at her with a hairbrush!"<span class="QbcRddgOKK"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121121111111111211211121121221
author_id: seuzz
id: MFYL9XJTN
title: Suspicious Sightings
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>All eyes at the table swing toward Melanie, who smugly drinks in the attention. "Rebecca and Chelsea?" Brianna asks. Melanie nods. Kristin says, "Rebecca Sykes and Chelsea Cooper?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's right." Melanie squirms with suppressed excitement. "I was heading toward class and I saw Rebecca coming the other way toward me. I was going to pass on by, but right there in front of me she suddenly swung over to where Chelsea was, at her locker, and— Oh, and Chelsea was in her cheerleader uniform. Anyone else notice that?"<br/>
<br/>
"I haven't seen Chelsea today," Wendy says.<br/>
<br/>
"What about the other cheerleaders, are they—?"<br/>
<br/>
"What did she do to Chelsea?" Brianna demands.<br/>
<br/>
"I told you. She must'a had her hairbrush out already or something, because suddenly she just started whanging on Chelsea and screaming at her. Hitting her on the head and shoulders and everything." Melanie gloats. "Then Chelsea started screaming—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God!" Kristina puts a hand to her mouth. "What did everyone else do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it wasn't crowded, but everyone gave them room to fight. I think some of the guys wanted to jump in. You know." Her lips curls into a leer. "So they could grope Chelsea while pretending to—"<br/>
<br/>
"Did a teacher break it up?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Chelsea got away and started running. Rebecca took off after her. Calling her a fucking witch and a lot of other things."<br/>
<br/>
"Wow!" Wide-eyed glances are exchanged around the table.<br/>
<br/>
Even if you hadn't blamed Chelsea for your predicament—and you still sort-of do, despite what Jack reasoned out yesterday—you are still sort of glad to hear that someone actually went off and slugged her.<br/>
<br/>
And if anyone was to do that, Rebecca Sykes might be in your top ten list of candidates. Rebecca is a party girl and a bit of a skank, and not one of your—well, Jack's—favorite people because she loves innuendo and gossip, particularly gossip about who is doing it with who, and how they're doing it; and she's an outrageous flirt. You never heard of her and Chelsea getting crossways with each other, and it's a little hard to imagine, because Rebecca seems like the kind of girl that Chelsea would ignore. You can only guess, as you try to fit the pieces together, that Chelsea said something nasty about Rebecca online, and that Rebecca decided to go nuclear.<br/>
<br/>
That's what you say when Wendy asks what you think. From there the gossip flowers, mostly about Rebecca because none of you know Chelsea all that well. Much but not all of it is new to you. So, for instance, you know—from Jack's memories—that Melanie bears a sharp grudge against Rebecca because she helped cause the break up between her and her ex-boyfriend, but you didn't know that she'd had a fling with Darrell Parson, or that Charles Hartlein had banned her from rehearsals of the school play for causing "problems" between the cast. What any of this has to do with Chelsea, you can't fathom.<br/>
<br/>
Talk about Rebecca and Chelsea at least briefly deflects Brianna, but as fourth period is wrapping up she pokes you in the shoulder and reminds you to talk to Laura. You promise to text her.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You yourself aren't interested enough in the Rebecca-Chelsea spat to follow it up. But Wendy and Kristina are. They, with you and Parker, share seventh-period Dance with Chelsea, and you can tell they are watching her closely all during class. (Just as you can tell that Chelsea has noticed and is pointedly ignoring them.) At least they have the sense not to say anything to her directly. But when the bell rings, they don't follow Chelsea immediately to the changing rooms but corner Christian Padilla instead, asking if he heard about Chelsea and Rebecca, and asking if he knows what it was all about.<br/>
<br/>
Christian is a friend of Rebecca's, but he's also one of Charles Hartlein's friends—a gay Hispanic who likes to dress in floral-print shirts and shell necklaces like he lives on a beach in Hawaii—and he gives you an amused look up and down before turning to Wendy and Kristina. "Oh my God," he laughs. "So you were dying all through class, too, huh?" Kristina demands again to know what happened.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," he admits, "I haven't talked to Rebecca since Sunday night." He has to digress to describe the louche and very elite gathering of musical and theatrical talent that descended on Andrea Varnsworth's place that night, and starts laughingly to tell a story about a lovers' spat between Charles and Adrian Semple, before he is pushed back on topic by Wendy. But it doesn't do her much good. Christian can only confess that he hasn't really seen Rebecca since that night, but <i>everyone else</i> has been complaining that she has been a bitch on wheels since coming in to school on Monday. He then excuses himself by saying that he has to get cleaned up. And he ends the conversation, before shimmering off for the boys' changing room, by giving you another very long and knowing look. Wendy prods you in the back, telling you to find out more from him.<br/>
<br/>
In the changing room, though, you ignore Christian, who wouldn't be one of your favorite people even if he wasn't one of Charles's minions. But Christian doesn't ignore you. Changed into his pants but still bare-chested he slides in next to your locker. "So it must be pretty rich," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"What is?"<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever the reason is Rebecca started beating on Chelsea for."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not really interested."<br/>
<br/>
"But it must be rich if you're letting Wendy and Kristina dangle like that."<br/>
<br/>
You do a double-take at him. His smile is smug and knowing. "I don't know what you mean," you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, man. What did Rebecca want to talk to you about?"<br/>
<br/>
"When?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sunday night."<br/>
<br/>
You try to recollect where you were Sunday night, and if you could possibly have talked to Brianna Gould. It doesn't ring any bells, but your social life has been bewilderingly complex since you got turned into Jack.<br/>
<br/>
"Fine," Christian smirks. "I guess I'll just have to tell Wendy and Parker and Kristina about—"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's Jack's nimble instincts that get you temporarily out of trouble with Christian, by bluffing him with the news that (a) there's nothing going on between you and Preston Spinks, and that (b) he's welcome to tell your friends all about your Monday-night coffee date with Preston. Inwardly, of course, you are bewildered and frightened, for despite what Christian says about seeing you at The Flying Saucer with Preston, you know you weren't there. And also, after a little more thought, you are clear in your own head that you never saw Rebecca Sykes on Sunday night, let alone talked to her. Using one of the dummy accounts that Jack set up, you quickly DM your two cohorts in misfortune, telling them that you want to meet out at that highway intersection again after school.<br/>
<br/>
This time you're the first to arrive, and you kill ten minutes or so parrying texts from Kristina and Wendy asking about Preston. (Which tells you that Christian has called your bluff.) So the matter is foremost in your mind when Will Prescott shows up.<br/>
<br/>
Well, he looks like your old self, and you have to assume it's the transformed Steve Patterson. He is driving your truck, and you recognize the clothes. But from now on you will have to wonder if it really is him. And if it really is Jack-as-Steve.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," you say when both have joined you. Now that it's come to the moment, you are reluctant to say anything, because you know you will be inspiring in them the same paranoia that you are starting to feel. "I got it confirmed today that, uh, Clover Mystery is a, um—" You gesture at Steve. "That Jack was right. She or he can—" <br/>
<br/>
It's so hard to say, because it still sounds screwy even after everything that's happened to you and the other guys. "Disguise themself as other people," you lamely conclude. When the other two only stare, you add, "Because some people saw, um, Jack Li at a couple of places on Sunday and Monday nights where I wasn't."<br/>
<br/>
"Where?" Will instantly demands.<br/>
<br/>
"Down at the river apparently. A bunch of people saw, um, <i>me,</i> there. And they saw ... <i>me</i> go off and have a private talk with Rebecca Sykes."<br/>
<br/>
Your eyes dart between them to gauge their reactions. Both they only continue to stare at  you hard.<br/>
<br/>
"That was Sunday. And on Monday—" This is the tough one, and you dodge their faces as you speak. "Monday night Christian Padilla and Ceres Kesey saw me at The Flying Saucer. Um, Preston Spinks saw me there too, because apparently we were having coffee together." You can't help reddening.<br/>
<br/>
They stare at you a little longer, then exchange sidelong glances. Are they worried about you specifically? Or has it just occurred to them to be worried about each other?<br/>
<br/>
At last, Will mutters, "We're gonna have to get tattoos. To tell the real us from the—" He grimaces instead of finishing the sentence.<br/>
<br/>
"Passwords, at least," Steve agrees. "At least we all know we're us. Here."<br/>
<br/>
"We do?" Will's stare turns truculent as he looks between you and Steve.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. We're here because Will DMed us, and he'd need the password to get into—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, alright. But fuck! It means this ... Clover person ... could pop up anywhere, be anyone—"<br/>
<br/>
"Probably not at school," Steve says. "Too much chance of getting caught. Or at home, either." He casts a shrewd glance at you. "I wonder how they knew you wouldn't be at the river or at the Flying Saucer."<br/>
<br/>
"They must'a heard where I was."<br/>
<br/>
"And where was that?"<br/>
<br/>
"What I wanna know," Will busts in, "is why they wanted to talk to Rebecca and to Spinks. And how come they wanted to be <i>you</i> when they did it."<span class="QbcRddgOKK"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211211111111112112111211212211
author_id: seuzz
id: TNZ5SQVM7
title: Views Askew and Interviews
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>There's a long pause. Then Steve says, "I'll talk to Spinks, find out what was going on with him and—" His expression tightens briefly. "Jack."<br/>
<br/>
"You?" Will asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Do <i>you</i> want to talk to him? So I'll talk to him," Steve continues when Will blanches. "You talk to Rebecca."<br/>
<br/>
"Fine," Will grumbles. "I'd rather try to get it on with her than with— Hrk!"<br/>
<br/>
Steve catches him up by the throat and belt, and hoists him into the air until his feet are kicking.<br/>
<br/>
"I told you what I'd fucking do to you if you ever talked like that in front of me again," he says. His voice is tight and icy. "I can start right now. Fuck me, but I actually <i>want</i> to kick your ass. So I'm going to put you down, and then I want you to <i>say it again.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Will is frothing when Steve drops him, and for a moment you think Patterson is going to kick his doppelganger in the balls. Instead, in a pinched and angry voice, he says, "I just meant it'd give me a chance to get it on with Rebecca. And if I'm going to get it on with someone I'd—"<br/>
<br/>
"He wasn't aiming it you," you jump in before your replacement can repeat his blunder. "He was talking about the kind of person <i>he</i> wants to fuck. That's all."<br/>
<br/>
"Then how about you get started," Steve coldly suggests to Will. The other's expression is sour as he climbs back into your old truck and drives off with an angry roar.<br/>
<br/>
"You know," you tell Steve in a pleasant tone, "this sexual tension between you two is going to have get discharged before all this is over."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you.  Just because you <i>look</i> like me— That's <i>not</i> my body, so if I feel like fucking it up—"<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't talking about <i>you,</i> Jack. I was talking about Patterson. Don't you see what it's doing to him, looking at himself from the outside?"<br/>
<br/>
Steve blinks. "What? You saying he's hot for himself?"<br/>
<br/>
You cock your head. "Aren't <i>you</i> hot for <i>yourself?</i>" Without meaning to, exactly, you straighten so that your pecs puff out and your toned legs tense.<br/>
<br/>
Steve's eyes narrow, then he looks away. "No. But you think Patterson—?"<br/>
<br/>
"At least a little bit. But he doesn't know it, and won't let himself know it. He's a guy getting horny by looking at himself. What would Steve think of that?"<br/>
<br/>
Steve sucks in his upper lip. "I see what you mean," he says after a reflective moment.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but <i>he</i> doesn't. So all he knows is that he's freaking out when he looks at you, and he doesn't know why. I mean, aside from the <i>obvious</i> reason he'd be freaking out."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh." Steve rakes you up and down with his cold, gray eyes. "Are <i>you</i> that perceptive, Prescott? Or is that—? I mean, that wasn't <i>me</i> who picked Steve up by the scruff of the neck. That was—"<br/>
<br/>
"I know who it was. And no, I don't think I don't got the idea from <i>my</i> brain. It must'a been yours." With some regret, you further admit, "It seems like something you'd say if you were standing where I am."<br/>
<br/>
"Hm." Again, Steve looks you up and down, but now there's sadness in his expression.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The conference has left you with no responsibilities, save those Jack would feel responsibility for. At the top of that list is Laura MacGregor. In fact, you feel strongly enough that you text home to ask them to keep your dinner warm in the oven because a classmate is going through a crisis and you don't know when you'll be through helping her.<br/>
<br/>
There's no point giving Laura any warning by texting ahead, so you go directly to her house. It's her mom who answers the doorbell. "I'll call her," she says with a warm smile when you ask if her daughter's at home. "Laura?" she hollers.<br/>
<br/>
She must have seen your minivan out of her window, because there's no surprise on her face when she appears at the foot of the stairs. Instead, she looks warily between you and her mom, then brushes past you both, pulling you out onto the front porch while pulling the door shut behind her. That done, she hesitates just a moment before throwing her arms around you and burying her face in your shoulder. You tenderly hug her back, and say nothing.<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes are watery when she finally raises her face to yours. "Thanks for coming over, Jack," she says. "I was so scared you wouldn't."<br/>
<br/>
"You really thought I wouldn't?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't know. You're so busy, you got so many friends, I didn't know if I—" She bites her lip.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus. You're going to hurt <i>my</i> feelings in a minute."<br/>
<br/>
She pulls back and squints up at you, her mouth twisted into a querulous frown. Then she shrugs and rubs her face in your shoulder a couple of times.<br/>
<br/>
"There," she says as she straightens up and steps back. "That's better. I promise I won't ask you about your love life if you don't ask me about mine."<br/>
<br/>
"I have a love life?" you dryly inquire.<br/>
<br/>
She punches you lightly. "You could. I shouldn't have been trying to save you from ... someone."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think I'm interested in Tummler."<br/>
<br/>
"No?" Her mouth pinches up into a mischievous smirk. "Who then?"<br/>
<br/>
"You said you wouldn't ask me about my love life. But you did, so I guess I get to ask <i>yours.</i>" You touch her nose. "Who?"<br/>
<br/>
She blushes. "Never mind."<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't give up on Will, did you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I said, never mind!"<br/>
<br/>
You study her. If she is still chasing after your old self, Patterson hasn't told you about it. And if she isn't— Well, you don't know whether to be relieved for her sake or jealous for your own.<br/>
<br/>
"Well." You fumble for her hand. "I actually have to go home, I have to eat in tonight. But," you hurriedly add as Laura's eyes widen into a shocked frown, "I'm looking for someone to hold my hand when I do my math later."<br/>
<br/>
"I'd rather hold something else of yours," she sniggers.<br/>
<br/>
You feel your brow lower, but Laura sniggers again. "You <i>know</i> I had to say it, Jack! Where do you wanna meet?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. Maybe I just changed my mind."<br/>
<br/>
"You can't bullshit me, Jack!"<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, you're right, I can't. Do you want it to be just us, or can I—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just us!"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay. Pick you up around seven-thirty."<br/>
<br/>
"Only if you can't get here earlier!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll get here as soon as I can." You brush her nose again, and turn to saunter back to the minivan before she can spot the erection she's giving you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Jesus, Jack,</i> you fume as you yank open the car door and slide in. <i>How come all the girls flirt so hard with a guy who doesn't want to flirt back?</i> Ruefully, you can guess the answer. It's <i>because</i> he's safe to flirt with.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The study session with Laura goes off fine and you get through your homework reasonably quickly, probably because you've just got each other for a distraction. So even with each of you hopping on and off your phones while checking texts and social media, you part for the night before nine o'clock. There are no more allusions to Brendan Tummler or the way Laura embarrassed herself, and she gives you a big hug on the way out.<br/>
<br/>
At home, you're getting ready for bed when a DM comes in from Jack's sock-puppet account: <i>Can u text Nathan Cruz n ask if Christian's been spreading rumors about you meeting with Preston for coffee?</i> You stare at the request, then ask, <i>Ok why?</i> He replies, <i>Tell u if n when it works.</i> With a shrug, you fire the text off to Nathan, even though Jack thinks that Nathan—who is an AP student, a member of the swim team, and the first chair violinist in the school orchestra—is an arrogant asshole. If it wasn't presumably for a good cause—and because Jack himself made the request—you'd have refused, because Nathan can almost certainly be counted upon to make a gleeful stink about your question, even if his answer is "No."<br/>
<br/>
When Nathan's answer comes the next morning—<i>Nope why u ask?</i>; you reply, <i>Nothing never mind</i>—you forward his answer to Jack along with a your own query in the form of question marks. But he ignores them.<br/>
<br/>
You don't hear anything from Will, though, until lunchtime, when he barges into the library during his lunch hour and dumps himself into a chair at the table where you and Parker and the girls are gossiping. "Rebecca Sykes is a cunt," he growls, a declaration that elicits a shocked a silence from everyone else. "What makes you say that?" Parker carefully asks.<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos she is. I asked her out and she told me to stuff myself."<br/>
<br/>
Another shocked silence. "Well, that was rude," Wendy says.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck this," Will exclaims, and storms off. He's got his phone out, though, so you're not surprised by the text that pops up on your phone a few seconds after he's out the door. <i>Come see me,</i> it says. You excuse yourself from the others.<br/>
<br/>
He is still in a temper, but is businesslike when you catch up to him at the T-junction near the library doors. "I can't get anything from Rebecca if she won't talk to me," he says. "Shit," he adds, "I figured I'd have a chance with her even looking like this."<br/>
<br/>
Sounds like you'll have to do the talking to her, to find out what she and "Jack" talked about Sunday night. Or you could get one of Jack's many girlfriends to do the interview.<span class="QbcRddgOKK"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112111111111121121112112122112
author_id: seuzz
id: D2235RJH9
title: Pickalittle Talkalittle
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You text Laura to meet you outside the gym after school lets out. You try to keep your request to her short and simple—find out what Rebecca Sykes has been saying about the private talk you and she had on Sunday night—but Laura of course wants to know what it's all about.<br/>
<br/>
"It's about Christian Padilla," you explain with an exasperated sigh. "He's being a pest, going around telling people how Rebecca and me, we, uh, went off together on Sunday night and had a talk."<br/>
<br/>
Laura gasps. "Jack! Did you and Rebecca—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what <i>did</i> you do?"<br/>
<br/>
"We <i>talked!</i> But—"<br/>
<br/>
"What about?"<br/>
<br/>
You give her a look. "I don't tell people what you and me talk about when we have a private talk, like we did last night, do I?"<br/>
<br/>
"We didn't have a private talk, we just studied together!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's what I tell people if they ask. But, you know, there were other things we did or kind of didn't talk about, and I don't— What's that look for?" A slow grin is unfurling across her face.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing," she says. "You just look so cute when you get flustered. But okay, I'll talk to Rebecca about— Wait, what do you want me to ask her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ask her what she and I talked about on Sunday when we went off together down by the river," you repeat with grinding impatience.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't <i>you</i> know what you talked about with her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes! But I don't know where Christian is getting his bullshit, and I want to know if he's making it up or if he's getting it from Rebecca."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh!" Her eyes light up. Then they dim. "I still don't understand. But don't worry, I'll take care of it for you!" She scampers away.<br/>
<br/>
"Just don't tell her that <i>I</i> was asking about what she said!" you holler after her. She replies by shooting a grin over her shoulder. It leaves you feeling like you've made a bad mistake.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You decide to tap a couple of more sources, so you arrange to meet up with Leah, Brianna, Hermione, and whoever they care to bring with them, for a homework session at the Crystal Cave coffee house after dinner. The "whoever they care to bring" turns out to be some guys from the school's chorale that you don't particularly care for: Robert Johnson and Landon Foley. Well, it's not that you don't care for them. But Leah has brought Landon along as a kind of date, and she seems to have brought Robert in as a potential date for Brianna (but without Brianna's knowledge, it looks like) so things get a little too awkwardly flirty for your taste. It also means that you don't get a chance to talk to Leah alone about what she might have heard indirectly about "Jack" and Rebecca on Sunday night.<br/>
<br/>
But it turns out to be an interesting night anyway, because of gossip that Landon brings, and because of who else you see at the coffee shop.<br/>
<br/>
Landon's news is that Brendan Tummler of the basketball squad is now officially out of the closet, and that it was Gordon Black, the squad captain, who outed him. There are shocked looks all around, many of them (to your intense discomfort) from the girls looking to you for a reaction. You, with a composed neutrality, ask what the story is.<br/>
<br/>
"I heard it happened at the end of practice this afternoon. Gordon pulled everyone into a circle and told them at the top of his lungs that he's not going to tolerate any 'homophobic bullshit' on the team, and that if anyone has a problem with any of their teammates being gay then they can just quit the squad right away. And he even said, 'And if you do quit because you're a homophobic asshole, I'm gonna find a gay all-star to take your place'." Landon looks around the table with a smirk and raised eyebrows to gauge the reaction to his story.<br/>
<br/>
"Whoa!" Hermione says. "But how does that, um, 'out' Brendan?" <br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, everyone already knows he's gay!" Leah exclaims.<br/>
<br/>
"Everyone doesn't know that," you correct her.<br/>
<br/>
"Everyone on the squad does!"<br/>
<br/>
"Then Gordon didn't 'out' him."<br/>
<br/>
Leah blusters, but is rescued by Landon. "Well, what I heard is that Brendan went storming off the court after Gordon said all that, 'cos, you know, he knew that Gordon was talking about him. And so everyone who was up in the bleachers watching also knew that Gordon must'a been talking about him."<br/>
<br/>
"So who all was there?" you ask. "Up in the bleachers?"<br/>
<br/>
"I heard it from Mitchell. He was watching practice with Audrey. I don't know who all else was watching and heard all that, but Mitchell and Audrey were all, like, 'Whoa!' and then they were like, Gordon must'a been talking about Brendan 'cos he's the one who went storming off."<br/>
<br/>
"I wonder why Gordon did that," Brianna says.<br/>
<br/>
"Because Gordon's a dumbass," you say, "and he doesn't know how to handle these things."<br/>
<br/>
"How would <i>you</i> have handled it?" Leah wants to know.<br/>
<br/>
"I wouldn't have said anything. Maybe gone to Brendan and told him, Look, I know you're gay but it doesn't matter, only thing that matters is the team, and if anyone ever gives you shit about it, tell me so I can take care of them."<br/>
<br/>
"I wish <i>you</i> were on the squad and running things there," Leah says.<br/>
<br/>
You give her a look. Inwardly, you wonder you'd have done if you had got switched with Gordon instead of Jack, and found out Brendan was gay. Which naturally leads you say aloud, "I wonder how Gordon found out about Brendan." But that leads nowhere, just a dribble of speculation about who might have said something in front of Gordon about Brendan, and some nasty, salacious imaginings (which you try to cut off) about what Brendan might have got up to with another guy and Gordon saw them.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
That's the gossip. The interesting sight—which sets off a mini-torrent of gossip of its own—is the study group that comes filtering in to settle at another table on the other side of the cafe.<br/>
<br/>
It starts with Nathan Cruz and his girlfriend, Madison Fortney. They wave to you and your friends, and you all wave back, but there's no attempt to bring them over, and they don't try. A few minutes later they are joined by Abigail Kane, who is a cellist in the school orchestra, and a couple of girls that you don't know. When Preston Spinks joins them you start to get interested. But the shock comes when Kennedy Palmer, like Nathan a violinist in the orchestra, comes in with Steve Patterson's lanky arm draped around her shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
That of course sets tongues wagging at your table, and there are lots of furtive looks and grins in that direction. Steve is a notorious player, always taking girls up to the "fuck room"—the loft above the gym where the elite athletes have made a kind of club house—while Kennedy, though a junior, is familiar to all the seniors as a girl who blew up her reputation, her credibility, and her social standing by spreading some false and ill-considered gossip around school last year. So there's lots of speculation that Steve is taking advantage of "damaged goods" as Kennedy desperately tries to raise her profile and her cred by going out with such a desirable stud. You keep silent, though of course you can't help shooting glances over too. Only in your case, you wonder what Jack is up to, and what is going through his head as he keeps leaning over to kiss Kennedy on the side of the head, or to surreptitiously cop a feel.<br/>
<br/>
You're given one uncomfortable moment as a result of the other guys' entrance. It comes  after your friends have gotten tired of gossiping about Steve, when Hermione bluntly asks you, "Why don't you go over and talk to Preston?"<br/>
<br/>
You cover your embarrassment by glancing between her and him. "Why would I do that?"<br/>
<br/>
You expect that to set off more talk, like the other night's talk about you and Brendan. But maybe Hermione has learned her lesson, and maybe so have the other girls. Because even though Hermione continues to give you a level stare, and even though Leah and Brianna exchange bright, brittle grins, no one says anything, and Hermione ends up only shrugging.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Naturally, Steve saw you, but he didn't acknowledge you, and you're just about to go to bed before Jack even DMs you with a report. <i>Nathan got Preston to talk about u n him the other night. Said he got text from u suggesting get together. U and him talked for long time about music and competitions and things. Sounds like nothing happened and no one thought it sounded gay.</i><br/>
<br/>
So you have to wonder: Why did Clover—for it had to be Clover Mystery—disguise themself as Jack and go on a chaste date with Preston Spinks?<br/>
<br/>
You could of course text Clover Mystery to ask. But it seems pointless, so you don't.<br/>
<br/>
The next morning, though, as you're getting ready for school, Clover texts to tease you about the situation: <i>Hey heard u and Preston maybe have a thing starting u would look cute tgether.<br/>
<br/>
I know it was u,</i> you text back. <i>Why u do it?<br/>
<br/>
Don't u like Preston? Bet Jack does. He and Preston look good together had fun time talking. I know they did!</i><br/>
<br/>
They didn't answer your question, so you don't bother to reply. Clover sends a follow-up, though. <i>U think abt new u to be yet? Make Jack him again but u be new u.<br/>
<br/>
No.<br/>
<br/>
U want date Preston uself? :p<br/>
<br/>
No!<br/>
<br/>
Ok meet and talk anyway?</i><br/>
<br/>
That catches your attention. Clover is willing to meet and talk? That could be a break.<br/>
<br/>
Unless it's a trap, like it was last time, when Jack and Steve met the person they thought was Chelsea, and got swapped.<span class="QbcRddgOKK"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121121111111111211211121121221121
author_id: seuzz
id: PRVK36P73
title: Thick as Identity Thieves
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>Clover Mystery wants to meet and talk to you. It could be a trap. But could you turn it into a trap for Clover? <i>Where and when?</i> you ask.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Get back to u,</i> Clover replies.<br/>
<br/>
It gives you a jolt when, only twenty minutes later, Jack DMs you to say he wants to meet you and Steve outside of town after school. <i>If Clover ever got inside our DMs,</i> you reflect (not for the first time!) <i>they could really fuck us up.</i><br/>
<br/>
Even though he's set up a meeting for later, Jack can't keep his thoughts to himself, but goes on to share what he wants to talk about. <i>I'm thinking Gordon got swapped too same as Steve,</i> he texts while you're driving up to the school. <i>Maybe Chelsea too.<br/>
<br/>
Who with?</i> you thumb back while waiting at a light. Maybe he's on the road too, for it's five minutes before he replies, <i>Don't know.</i> The delay gives you time to think.<br/>
<br/>
So it occurs to you now that you and the others have been too wrapped up in your own situation to think that maybe something bigger is going on. Clover has been teasing <i>you</i> for a long time now, but apparently hadn't been teasing Jack or Steve, so it was natural to assume that <i>you</i> were their target, and that Jack and Steve only got caught up in it accidentally. Even when Steve angrily talked about how he and his friends were "natural targets" for a body swap, you just thought he was just being an egotistical asshole. But maybe he's right. Maybe there are a lot more victims around.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Maybe,</i> you think with a shiver, <i>I wasn't even the first.</i> Maybe most of the school has been body-swapped, and everyone has just been pretending they haven't been, the way you and Jack and Steve have been pretending!<br/>
<br/>
And now that Jack has suggested that Gordon is also a victim, you see the logic, both his logic and Steve's: Gordon is an asshole, but he's the captain of the best high school basketball team in the state, with the head cheerleader for a girlfriend. He's a natural to have his life stolen. And that "no gay-baiting on my team" speech he made yesterday? No one at the table last night thought that sounded in character for Gordon. Doubtless it would have struck Jack—now impersonating Patterson—as out of character, and maybe he's seen other things out of character.<br/>
<br/>
You can also see how easy it would be for Clover to make a switch-up. They can transform themself into Chelsea, and with such a disguise they could lure Gordon into a trap the way they lured you and Jack and Steve into traps. And Jack has probably had the same thought you have now: If they could lure Gordon into a trap, they could lure Chelsea (another natural target of identity theft) into a trap as well.<br/>
<br/>
It's a gray and gloomy day of intermittent rain, and the school looks dismal and threatening when you pull into the student parking lot.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Because you've got all this specially on your mind this morning, you text Laura to ask if she has talked to Rebecca yet about that meeting she supposedly had with you. Her reply comes at the start of third: <i>Lol u owe me. She was snotty n said it was none of my business and said u two only talked. Want me to keep trying?</i> You tell her to relax.<br/>
<br/>
But you don't. If anything, you're even more jumpy. <i>Clover disguised themself as Chelsea to lure me and Jack and Steve into a trap,</i> you think with a leaden heart as you sink lower into your desk. <i>Why disguise themself as Jack, unless it's to trap and morph others?</i> Your stomach actually begins to heave as you imagine the scenes: a smiling and genial Jack Li meeting unsuspecting classmates, lulling them into lowering their guard, then striking—transforming and trapping them in new forms!<br/>
<br/>
You must look at least as ill as you feel, for Parker in the next seat over leans over to ask, "Are you okay, man?" You brush him off, and straighten up in your seat. But the nausea doesn't fade.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Toldja that's what they're up to," Will Prescott tells you later that afternoon, at your rendezvous out in the countryside. Jack DMed him as well, of course, and shared his theory with Patterson the same as he shared it with you. So you and him are already talking about it, even before Jack himself arrives.<br/>
<br/>
"Gordon, Chelsea, 'm sure there's others," he continues. His expression is grim and his teeth flash as he talks. "Fuck, I almost admire 'em. It's what I'd do, if I was a pussy like them."<br/>
<br/>
"You think there's more than one of them doing it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Whaddayu mean?" he asks, looking a little startled.<br/>
<br/>
"You said 'them', what 'they' are doing."<br/>
<br/>
"Well sure. They're swapping themselves into new situations. If they're doing Gordon and Chelsea, there's more than one of 'em."<br/>
<br/>
"But I mean, I've only talked to one of them, if there is more than one of them. Clover Mystery."<br/>
<br/>
"There's more than one of them, man," Will sneers. "No point in making all these swaps around if there's only one person."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what was the point of swapping us, then? Jack's popular, but I'm not— I didn't ask for this! And you didn't ask for ... <i>that!</i>" You point at the chest of the guy who now looks like you. "And Jack didn't ask for—"<br/>
<br/>
"So what do <i>you</i> think is going on?" he challenges.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I just thought— I <i>assumed—</i>" You pause. You have just been making assumptions, and a lot of them, it occurs to you. "I assumed they've been doing it to us as a prank. Or punishment, or something. That's what they've talked like in their texts to me. Aren't they texting you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Clover? No. Well, okay, a little bit." His expression turns shifty. "Of course I texted them right after all this shit went down, and they were all, like, el-oh-el, I'm just having fun, you should try to have fun too. Motherfucker. But—"<br/>
<br/>
"But that's what I mean. Like it's a prank."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be so fucking gullible," he says, then glances away as Steve Patterson's sedan appears over the crest of a nearby hill, speeding toward you. "All that 'prank' talk is just a cover. It's identity theft." He shivers visibly. "And we're just the start." He falls silent as his old sedan pulls up.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," Steve says as he unfolds his lanky self from the car. "So I told you guys what I'm thinking. Whadda you guys think?"<br/>
<br/>
"Makes sense to me," you reply, and Will nods. "Has Gordon been, uh— I mean, I heard about that talk he gave the team yesterday. Is that what got you thinking this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Solidified it." He turns a chilly glance onto Will. "You heard about that speech he made? Does that sound to you like Gordon?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Not that I got a problem with it," Will adds. "Team comes first, any bullshit about who does what with his cock—"<br/>
<br/>
"But Gordon wouldn't have made a speech like that," Steve says.<br/>
<br/>
"Is that the only thing that got you wondering?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"No, there've been some other little things that bothered me, but I was thinking it was just my imagination. You know, being paranoid." His expression tightens. "And I was thinking about what Steve was saying, about him and Gordon and Chelsea being, uh, natural victims for ... identity theft."<br/>
<br/>
You feel Will's glance upon you, but you don't react, and instead say, "Well, I think there's more going on. More of it, I mean."<br/>
<br/>
"How so?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I told you <i>I've</i> been seen in more than one place. And I was just thinking ... Well, when a fake Chelsea showed up, that's when we got switched. Maybe when a fake Jack  Li shows up—" You let the implication hang in the air unspoken.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh," Steve grunts. "So you think maybe Preston got switched?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's been to national competitions," you reply. Glancing at Will, you explain, "Some people might want to be champion basketball players. Others might want to be champion musicians."<br/>
<br/>
Steve's icy gaze sharpens. "You mean—?"<br/>
<br/>
"This isn't just pranking." You again glance at Will. "Like this guy's been saying, they're <i>stealing</i> identities of people they want to be. Like Gordon and Chelsea. And Preston, I guess."<br/>
<br/>
"<i>We're</i> being pranked," Steve points out.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe <i>we</i> are. I assume we are. But that doesn't mean it isn't ... more than that ... with the others."<br/>
<br/>
Steve mulls this. "You were seen with Preston. But also with Rebecca Sykes. Do you think <i>she's</i> a victim?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," you admit, for it seems unlikely. Then a thought strikes you. "Except— You hear she went after Chelsea in the hallways.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, you bet I heard about that," Steve drawls. "Up in the loft afterward, Chelsea was all—"<br/>
<br/>
"But it wasn't her." You snap your fingers excitedly at the sudden thought. "I bet it was <i>Rebecca</i> up there, <i>transformed</i> into Chelsea!" You turn to Will, who is listening intently. "If Chelsea got turned into Rebecca Sykes— If she got turned into <i>anybody,</i> like we did—! Well, what do you think Chelsea would do? We've been taking it pretty cool, but would Chelsea?"<br/>
<br/>
"You mean," Steve asks with grim amusement, "would Chelsea go after her with a hairbrush?" He too looks at Will, and a hard, conspiratorial smile passes between them. "Oh yeah, that definitely sounds like Chelsea," he says.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Jack says he'll approach Rebecca Sykes, to see if he can get her to confess to really being Chelsea Cooper. Then, all together, you can confront the fake one. You're so excited by this that you completely forget to tell them about your intention to meet with Clover.<br/>
<br/>
So when Clover texts after you and the others have gone your own ways, saying, <i>Suffolk wilderness twenty minutes,</i> you haven't set up an ambush.<span class="QbcRddgOKK"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211211111111112112111211212211211
author_id: seuzz
id: WPM54H44S
title: Closer and Clover
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You don't have time to properly set up an ambush for Clover Mystery, but that doesn't mean you don't try. <i>Meet me at Suffolk wilderness asap,</i> you DM Jack, for you figure he can bring muscle that Patterson, in your body, can't. Dinner is almost ready when you fire off this DM, but you're able to wriggle out of it by claiming you need to rush some schoolwork you borrowed over to a friend. Mrs. Li looks a little put out, but agrees to put your supper in the oven for when you get back.<br/>
<br/>
You shoot Jack another DM as you drive out, and even send him a text on Patterson's phone, telling him to check his DMs, but you've heard no answer before pulling into the parking lot at the entrance to the wilderness trailheads. <br/>
<br/>
The Suffolk Wilderness is a nature preserve on the very southeastern edge of town, bounded on one side by the military base (Fort Suffolk), and on another side by Lake Covington. It's a very small and hilly nature preserve, good for some leisurely hiking and not much else, but pleasant. Jack used to come out here all the time with Parker and some of the girls, but it's been awhile since he has been out; and you hardly ever came out here at all.<br/>
<br/>
It being evening, the small parking lot is almost entirely empty, save for an SUV you don't recognize parked near the tiny, faux-rustic visitors' hut. You carefully circle the area, looking for someone—anyone—else. But you seem to have it all for yourself. The place is silent, too, save for the swish and grumble of traffic on the nearby state highway. You perch on the hood of the minivan, and text Clover to say that you're here.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Great!</i> the reply comes a few moments later. <i>Come up main trail go left at split.</i> You set your jaw and comply, while DMing the same instructions to Jack for when he follows. You take the hike slowly, often casting your eyes back to the parking lot for signs of help, until the trail rounds a bend and plunges under the eaves of the scrubby forest that covers most of the park.<br/>
<br/>
Over hillocks and through hollows the trail winds around the base of the nearest hill, whose top is lit like fire and gold by the setting sun. But it is shadowy under the forest canopy; insects buzz and drone in the grass. <i>How far I go?</i> you text Clover, who doesn't reply. For a quarter mile ... then a half mile ... then maybe a full mile? ... you tramp, until you finally stop, angered by the feeling that you've fallen not into a trap but into a prank. <i>Clover is probably back in town, eating a burger and laughing at me,</i> you fume. <i>If I ever get my hands on them—</i> Before turning back to the parking lot, you text: <i>Where r u?<br/>
<br/>
Lol u passed me,</i> comes the reply. <i>Go back I stop u.</i><br/>
<br/>
You grind your teeth, but happily turn back the way you came.<br/>
<br/>
You've gone maybe a few hundred yards when a voice calls: "Hey! Jack!"<br/>
<br/>
You stop. "Clover?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah! Glad you made it!"<br/>
<br/>
It's a feminine voice, one that is familiar but which you can't quite place. It is floating in from no great distance from off the trail to your right, but otherwise you can't pin it down. "Where are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Here! Don't worry about trying to find me! We can talk like this!"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, what do we talk about?"<br/>
<br/>
"Anything you want! Oh, but I know! Let's talk about who I change you into next!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Not this again.</i> "I don't want to be changed into anyone else!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, you like being Jack? That's cool! Jack's cool, I'm glad you—"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, I want to be changed back into myself!"<br/>
<br/>
"Changed back into yourself," the voice echoes in a musing sort of way. "Okay! Maybe we can work with that!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah! Maybe! You know the story about the princess and the frog, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"The frog is a prince, but he can't change back until he's kissed by a princess!"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh."<br/>
<br/>
"So, which princess do you want to kiss you? Or—" There's a giggle. "Do you want it to be a prince?"<br/>
<br/>
That gets your dander up, both yours and Jack's. "Don't fuck around with me! I don't want a fucking prince <i>or</i> princess to—"<br/>
<br/>
"Then I guess you want to stay like you are!"<br/>
<br/>
Your heart seems to freeze in your chest. "Look, what do you <i>want?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"I want to have fun! I want <i>you</i> to have fun! Hasn't it been fun, being another person, getting to live someone else's life for awhile? Getting to have new friends, new experiences? I think it's been good for you, Will!  Being Jack, getting to think and feel like him. I've been watching you, you know, at school. You do a <i>fantastic</i> imitation of him! It's very natural! Almost perfect! It <i>is</i> perfect, as far as anyone else can—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, you're hurting people! You're hurting me, you're hurting Jack and Steve—"<br/>
<br/>
"Steve <i>deserves</i> to be hurt!" It startles you how fast the voice leaps to anger at the mention of Patterson's name. "Look what he did to you when you went to talk to Chelsea! I wanted to switch <i>you</i> and him, I wanted <i>him</i> to be Jack—that'd be sweet!—and I wanted <i>you</i> to be him! You'da been nicer than him. Wouldn't you? Wouldn't you of?" Clover asks you again when you don't answer.<br/>
<br/>
"I ... guess. I mean, I don't know—"<br/>
<br/>
"You wouldn't?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know! This is all so confusing—"<br/>
<br/>
"You're not an <i>asshole,</i> Will. You do a good job being Jack—" A note of uncertainty creeps into the voice. "Would you'd of done a good job being Steve? I mean, would you be the perfect asshole, like you're—"<br/>
<br/>
"That's not the issue!" you shout back. "What matters is putting us all back!"<br/>
<br/>
"Right. So Steve can be his asshole self again," the voice says, this time very dryly.<br/>
<br/>
You sigh. "I can't help that."<br/>
<br/>
"Jack can help it. He's not being the asshole that Steve was. That part worked out, I guess—"<br/>
<br/>
"Do you have some kind of plan?" you shriek. "You said you just wanted to have fun—"<br/>
<br/>
"My plan <i>is</i> to have fun," Clover says, petulantly. "And maybe I'm having fun switching up people who are assholes with people who aren't. Is that such a bad thing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I think it is!"<br/>
<br/>
There's a long silence. Then: "I'm sorry to hear that. I thought maybe you'd help me."<br/>
<br/>
"Not if it means hurting people. Besides," you add when the voice maintains a hurt silence, "it seems to me you don't need my help. Whatever you're doing, it's not just me and Jack and Steve you're doing it to. You did it to Gordon too, didn't you? And to Chelsea?"<br/>
<br/>
"What makes you say that?" There's a little gasp in Clover's voice.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not stupid. You did them too. Have you done any others?"<br/>
<br/>
Now she sniggers. "That's for me to know, and for you to figure out!"<br/>
<br/>
You sigh, and there's a silence between you. You check your phone, but there have been no replies from Jack. You really want to keep Clover here, distracted, until Jack can get here. But you have run out of things to say.<br/>
<br/>
At least, you've run out if you stick to your guns.<br/>
<br/>
"Look," you say, "there's gotta be some kind of compromise here, some kind of deal. Weren't you talking to me earlier, in your texts, about maybe switching Jack and Steve back if I, uh, if I let you ... switch me with someone else? What about—?"<br/>
<br/>
There's a crash and a crunch, as of something falling into or struggling through bushes off in the direction of Clover's voice. You pause to listen. Is Clover coming out? <br/>
<br/>
Not until the sounds have ceased do you call Clover's name. But there is no reply. You jump off the trail, only to find the ground under the trees treacherously pocked with hollows, bushes, and dead branches. You push through, still calling Clover's name. It has gotten very dark under the forest canopy, and you are starting to seriously worry about getting lost, when you bust through back onto the trail unexpectedly.<br/>
<br/>
Except, you realize as you look around, it's a different trail, separated from the trail you came up by only a thin screen of trees. And Clover has disappeared down it.<br/>
<br/>
That SUV is still in the parking lot when you find your way back; you photograph its license plate. But though you wait for thirty minutes, no one comes to retrieve it. At last, you give up and drive back into town.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I was with Gordon," Steve explains later that night when you finally meet up with him. You're at the school, in the parking lot, which is safely deserted for this meeting. "Well, with the guy who's now him. It's really tricky, you know, getting someone to confess that he's not the person he's looking like. So no, I wasn't going to run off in the middle of that," he truculently declares.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Not even for a chance to catch Clover Mystery?</i> you want to ask him, but you bite your tongue. You can see his point, even if you disagree with it and think his choice cost you plenty. Between the two of you, you're sure you could've trapped Clover and put an end to all this fuckery.<br/>
<br/>
"So, did you get it him to say anything?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. He knows what's going on with you and me and Steve. And we know what's going on with him. We're all supposed to meet tomorrow to talk about it."<br/>
<br/>
"Who is he? Really?"<br/>
<br/>
"Crispin Fontana."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, shit. So Gordon is now—"<br/>
<br/>
"Crispin Fontana," Steve repeats, grimly.<br/>
<br/>
You can't help but laugh. Gordon Black, transformed into one of Charles Hartlein's gay mobsters.<br/>
<br/>
Then you shiver. What does it say about you that suddenly Clover's words are beginning to make sense? That some people might deserve this fuckery? And that this fuckery might be ... fun?<span class="cpohbcpohbMK"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112111111111121121112112122112111
author_id: seuzz
id: VFGJYKLQZ
title: Party Tardy
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>It's Friday night, which means it's a party night for you and your friends. Because you were going to meet with Clover, though, and then because you did meet up with Jack, you've had to dodge all the girls (and guys) trying to pull you into their plans.<br/>
<br/>
Far and away the most popular party will be the big one being thrown by Maggie Crenshaw, the captain of the girls' softball team. That's the one that Leah and Brianna and Genesis and their friends have been pulling for, and it's the one you bet most of the school—or those who go out for such parties—is going to attend. The other big party is being thrown by Meghan Farris, a girl who has been trying hard since she was a sophomore to make herself popular, but who always just manages to miss a step. For tonight's party, for instance, she's engaged a local band; unfortunately, it's Tiger Driver, which is a band of juniors and sophomores and so not very popular with the senior class. Speculation is, in fact, that she engaged the band because it's fronted by Jody Lepley, who is the sophomore sister of Noah Lepley, a popular guy on the lacrosse team, as a way of blackmailing her brother and his friends into attending her party. The fact that there is such gossip says a lot about how little respect people have for Meghan. But maybe it's because Meghan is the underdog that Parker and Wendy and Kristina want to put in an appearance there.<br/>
<br/>
You ask Steve what he's doing. "Going to Maggie's," he says. "Gordon and Chelsea—well, the fake ones—are going out there, and he told me that's where they were going even before we had our talk. So I'm going out there with them, so him and me can keep an eye on Chelsea. If it is her."<br/>
<br/>
You can't help smiling. "I wonder what Crispin's going to do if Chelsea tries getting affectionate with him."<br/>
<br/>
But Steve doesn't smile. "I dunno what he'll do," he says, and squints off toward the city. "Try asking me what <i>I'm</i> going to do tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"What are <i>you</i> going to do?"<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't answer for a very long moment. Then, with his gaze still locked into a thousand-yard stare, he says, "I don't know."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Because he's going to Maggie's, you decide to go to Meghan's. It also seems more in character for Jack, who has always felt a little sorry for Meghan even if he's never paid much attention to her otherwise. You text a wide circle of friends to see if anyone else is going to Maggie's and needs a ride. Laura's the only who takes you up on your offer, but she asks you to swing by Elle's to pick her up as well.<br/>
<br/>
"You know," Laura says as she buckles herself in, "I'm only going out there because you are."<br/>
<br/>
"How come is that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because no one's going to be there and I'll have you all to myself. I'm joking," she adds when you give her a steady look. "But I wanna go where you're going."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm flattered."<br/>
<br/>
"I was <i>joking</i> about no one being out at Meghan's party," she insists.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't say anything."<br/>
<br/>
"But are you <i>really</i> going out there just because you're trying to be nice?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm going out there because Parker and Kristina are going out there. And Wendy."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought they were going out to Maggie's!"<br/>
<br/>
This startles you, and you tell Laura to check your texts as you navigate the streets. "Oops, I was wrong," she says after scrolling through. "Parker does say they're going to Meghan's. Guess I got mixed up 'cos everyone else is going to Maggie's. Wow, you get texts from so many people." Out of the corner of your eye you see her scrolling through your messages. Before you can stop her—not that it would have occurred to you to stop her—she settles on one thread and asks, "Who's 'Clover Mystery'?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Oh, it's no one."<br/>
<br/>
"No one?" Laura asks. Then she gasps. "Jack! Have you got a secret boyfriend?"<br/>
<br/>
"No!" You reach for your phone. "Give it back, Laura," you growl when she holds it out of reach.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I wanna read it! Who is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's no one you know."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what's their name? Maybe I do know them!"<br/>
<br/>
"It's none of your business, Laura," you add in a warning tone.<br/>
<br/>
"Fine." She pouts as she hands the phone back. "Why all the big mystery? About someone named 'Mystery'? Come on, tell me their real name."<br/>
<br/>
"It's none of your business." You slip your phone into your shirt pocket.<br/>
<br/>
She grins. "Oh, you really are making it sound like you've got a secret boo-boo bear!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, okay, maybe I do."<br/>
<br/>
"You do?" she squeals.<br/>
<br/>
"I said 'maybe'. Because, you know, it could be. Anything's possible."<br/>
<br/>
She's silent for a long time, and you try to ignore the gleaming stare she has turned on you. Then she says, gleefully, "Is it maybe a <i>girl?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe," you admit, to keep the bluff going. This provokes gales of laughter from Laura.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Elle is hefting a large, carry-all bag when she climbs into the minivan, which reminds you that Laura was hefting a carry-all of her own, which you forgot to ask about. "We're going  in character," Elle says when you ask. "Laura and me. Our parts in the school play."<br/>
<br/>
"Brought our costumes," Laura say.<br/>
<br/>
"What, are you playing a zebra?" you ask. "Is it one of those two-part zebra costumes? Which one of you is the ass end?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, you're a scream," Elle says. Then, "Didn't you just turn the wrong way?"<br/>
<br/>
"This is the way to Meghan's."<br/>
<br/>
"Meghan's?" Elle sounds aghast. "I thought we were going to Maggie's!"<br/>
<br/>
"I got confused," Laura confesses. "Is that okay?" <br/>
<br/>
In the rear-view mirror, you can see Elle scrambling for her phone. "I told Christian and Dean we were going to Maggie's!" She thumbs at her phone. "Christian wants to do the sarcophagus scene!"<br/>
<br/>
"Sarcophagus scene?" you echo, but Elle ignores you to put the phone up to her ear. You casually eavesdrop as she argues with one of her co-stars about whether she should meet him at Maggie's, or he should meet her at Meghan's. He gives in, apparently, and so does the other one when she calls him. She sighs when she drops her phone again. "We're probably going to wind up at Maggie's anyway," she says, "but I guess we'll start off at Meghan's."<br/>
<br/>
"It'll be fun," you assure her. "I'll be there." You mean it as a joke, but if the girls take it as one, neither of them laugh.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The first sign that it's <i>not</i> going to be a fun scene at Meghan's comes when you arrive. The Farrises live in a pleasant neighborhood close to the river, with lots of space on the streets for casual parking, but you have no trouble parking close to the house. The music that sounds from the backyard is slow, quiet, melancholy: the soundtrack for the scene in a teen melodrama where the angsty female lead is contemplating cutting her face with a razor blade.<br/>
<br/>
It's not much better inside. The rooms on the ground floor are large and spacious—it looks like lots of furniture got moved out—and there are little side tables set up everywhere with snackage conveniently placed. But the lights are up way too bright; there's no dance music (just the muffled echo of the suicide sonata playing in the back yard); and though there are other kids here, they seem lost and disconnected, like marbles rattling around in an empty box. Elle and Laura excuse themselves to change into their costumes while you go looking for Parker and the girls. You find them in the kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
"Has it started yet?" you ask them.<br/>
<br/>
"Shh," Kristina says. "Don't let Meghan hear you say that. It started an hour ago."<br/>
<br/>
You look at your phone. "It's not even ten. Lotsa time for—"<br/>
<br/>
"She was telling people eight. So they could show up here <i>before</i> going to Maggie's." Kristina's face curls up with pity. "But by now everyone will be on their way to the other party."<br/>
<br/>
"She could still get people who aren't even going to Maggie's." But even you feel no conviction in the hope.<br/>
<br/>
A few more people do show up, including Dean Stratton and Christian Padilla in 1920s vintage clothing, like the costumes Elle and Laura emerge wearing. But whatever the "sarcophagus scene" was supposed to be, they are too cowed by the dreary mood to attempt it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your drama friends bail early for Maggie's, and they take Wendy with them, leaving you and Parker and Kristina to represent. At least the two of them have ways of amusing each other, even in a house that seems more haunted than festive. You have moved onto the back porch and are listening vaguely to the sounds of Tiger Driver as they listlessly perform on the stage erected there.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," a voice sounds behind you, and you turn. It's Leah Simmons, a huge grin on her face.<br/>
<br/>
You smile back. "Hey yourself. You're late. Or, I dunno." You look around. "Maybe things are about to get started."<br/>
<br/>
"Heh. I heard from Elle and them it was a disaster out here, but you were going down with the ship." She nods her chin at Tiger Driver. "Maybe if we got them to play something upbeat, we could dance."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think they know anything upbeat. I don't think they know anything <i>with</i> a beat."<br/>
<br/>
She touches your shoulder. "We could dance anyway. Something slow and old-fashioned, nothing to do with the music."<br/>
<br/>
That sounds nice, so you pull her close, and clasp one of her hands and put the other on her hip, and sway like it's the 1940s and Benny Goodman is playing. Leah smiles dreamily into your face.<br/>
<br/>
"You know," she says after a few minutes, "you were really spun up earlier. Now that you've calmed down, can I get you to change your mind?"<br/>
<br/>
"About what? And where was I spun up?"<br/>
<br/>
"Out in the wilderness, when we met to talk." She rubs your back, and her smile widens. "Don't think about trying anything cute, Will. There's people here, and I can scream."<span class="QbcRddgOKK"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112111111111121122
author_id: seuzz
id: DM28Q8KNT
title: Falling Into Clover
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>"You there?" Will asks again, after you've let the silence string out for a very long time.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," you say. "Did she say what she wants to meet about?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, she just wants to meet. I assume it's because—" He breaks off, then says, "Well, I hope it's because she wants to ... undo things."<br/>
<br/>
"She could've said something when we saw her up at the gym." <i>She could have not sent her boyfriend to beat me up,</i> you silently—and bitterly—add.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, there were other guys up there," he says. "Maybe she wants to talk about it alone with us. Maybe she changed her mind after thinking about it."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. Well, get a time from her. I'll go with you."<br/>
<br/>
"She didn't text you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Well, not yet."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe she only wants to see me."<br/>
<br/>
"She's going to see <i>both</i> of us, Jack."<br/>
<br/>
There's a pause. Then he says, "Nice to hear someone use my real name again."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, hopefully after tonight it'll be a regular thing. I'll keep you posted if you keep me posted."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Jack texts you a little later with word that Chelsea wants to meet at the school at around eight. He texts again an hour later to ask if you've heard from her, but you haven't. It's giving you a very bad feeling: The fact that Chelsea apparently wants to meet him alone now convinces you that she plans a replay of the trap that she set for you.<br/>
<br/>
Instead of telling him about your suspicions, though, you text Chelsea at her "Clover Mystery" number:<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hey I know what ur up to with Jack. He told me he's meeting u.</i><br/>
<br/>
Her reply comes twenty minutes later. <i>Lol none ur buiness!<br/>
<br/>
He won't come if I tell him what u did to me this afternoon.<br/>
<br/>
What I do u this afternoon?</i><br/>
<br/>
You can barely restrain yourself from hurling the phone at the wall.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Gordon and Steve</i>, you reply.<br/>
<br/>
After a lapse of a minute, she replies: <i>Gordon and STeve what happened?<br/>
<br/>
Wtf u think happen? What u wanted.</i><br/>
<br/>
There's another laps. Then: <i>Omg that not suposed to happen.</i><br/>
<br/>
You snort. It's a rhetorical question, not a real one, when you ask, <i>Then why u ask me up to school see u and they are waiting for me?</i><br/>
<br/>
She doesn't answer, and why would she?<br/>
<br/>
Instead, an answer of sorts come through Jack, telling you that she's just texted to cancel the meeting. And that, to your mind, confirms that it was supposed to be a trap. You take at least some satisfaction in having sprung it before Jack could get hurt.<br/>
<br/>
But then at a little before eight, Chelsea texts you back, saying that she does want to see you and Jack both right away. <i>Pls,</i> she says, <i>im sorry n I want to fix everything.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's dark when you reach Westside, and your headlights sweep across the empty parking lot as you pull in. You have it all to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Or do you? There's a bicycle balanced against the wall of the gym, and as you approach, a shadow detaches itself from the corner of the building.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh thank God you came!" Chelsea Cooper exclaims, and she runs up and throws her arms around her. She buries her face in the crook of your neck.<br/>
<br/>
You freeze, your arms extended and your palms hovering over her back. Your insides seem to be melting into a sweet syrup, and your head spins. <i>Chelsea Cooper is hugging me!</i> a strange voice screams inside your head.<br/>
<br/>
But deep inside your unwarmed core, a cold shudder also through you. This is Chelsea Cooper hugging you. But she is also Clover Mystery, and she used black magic or some shit to switch you and Jack into each other's bodies. Her embrace is not an embrace of love, and the longer she holds you, the more it feels like the embrace of something cold and slimy and foul.<br/>
<br/>
She sniffs and snorks into your shoulder, then abruptly pulls away.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on," she says, and tugs at you. "We better get started."<br/>
<br/>
"Started with what?" You plant your feet.<br/>
<br/>
"Putting things back," she says. "I told you I'm sorry and— and— I want to fix things!"<br/>
<br/>
You can't help hanging back a little, even as you let her pull you, stumbling, toward the gym. "First of all," you say, "what the fuck have you been doing?"<br/>
<br/>
She titters, then covers it with a sniff. "Kinda obvious, isn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fu— Look, how are you—? Why—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, Will!" she urges.<br/>
<br/>
You let her pull you past the gym and the natatorium, but you plant your feet again and refuse to budge when she unlocks the gates to the tennis courts. "Tell me what the fuck you've been doing," you demand. "And don't say, 'It's obvious'!"<br/>
<br/>
She sighs.<br/>
<br/>
"I found this old book," she says, "and it had magic spells and stuff in it, and I've been playing around with it. That's all. And, well, one of them, I used it on you and Jack."<br/>
<br/>
You gape. "That's <i>all?</i> You're playing around with fucking black magic—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh don't be such a little church-boy! No one got hurt! And I told you, I'm going to—"<br/>
<br/>
"You fucked up me and Jack!"<br/>
<br/>
"I was just teasing," she insists, and tickles your stomach. "I'm going to fix it all now."<br/>
<br/>
"Why fix it?" you growl. "Why now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because," she sighs, "you're right, it got out of control. I see that now."<br/>
<br/>
You glance into the parking lot, and into the street beyond, searching for headlamps that belong to Jack. "So when Jack gets here—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes!" She is beginning to sound aggravated. "But we don't need him to get started. So come on!"<br/>
<br/>
You relent, and let her pull you into the tennis courts.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you going to do?" you ask. "How does this work?"<br/>
<br/>
"I got the magic circle and stuff drawn here. Don't bother looking for it, it's all in invisible chalk. Um—" She halts and puts a finger to her mouth as she studies the ground.<br/>
<br/>
"If it's invisible, how can you find it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up! I know where it— Hang on." She extends her hand, palm down, and mutters some words under her breath. Then she hops alertly over to grab your arm, and pulls you a couple of feet to the side.<br/>
<br/>
"Here," she says. "This is the center! Now take your clothes off and lay down."<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"You have to do it, Ja—! Will! You have to take your clothes off for it to work!"<br/>
<br/>
You glare at her, then with a deep sigh start to comply. Off comes your t-shirt, then your shoes and socks, and finally your shorts. "Everything," she says, and so at last you strip off the boxers, and drop them onto the pile. She touches your side—your skin prickles under her fingertips—and then with her warm palm she pushes you down, and you lay out flat on your back, face turned toward an overcast sky that glows with the reflection of the city lights. It's very chill, and you shiver.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea squats beside you, and the warmth of her presence radiates over you.<br/>
<br/>
"Tell me you had at least a little bit of fun," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"None of this was fun."<br/>
<br/>
"But there were compensations, right? You got to be Jack for a little while." She lays her palm on your stomach, and runs it lightly over your abs. "That's got to count for something."<br/>
<br/>
You stiffen all over. "It's freaky."<br/>
<br/>
"But he's so good looking." She continues to stroke your stomach, even as her other hand finds yours, and lifts it to her face. "It's really kind of a waste, you know," she says in a soft whine. "He won't give himself to a girl, and he can't even find himself a boyfriend." She kisses your knuckles, and her fingertips trace down through the bush to the root of your cock. Despite yourself, you begin to stiffen down there as well.<br/>
<br/>
For a long moment, neither of you says anything, as she caresses you with fingertip and lip. Then with a grunt you say, "Is this part of the ceremony, putting things back?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ohhhh! Don't be such a shit!" She throws your hand away, but bends over your face. Her hot breath briefly washes over your nose and mouth, and then she is kissing you.<br/>
<br/>
But she doesn't dwell on it, and a moment later has moved down and is kissing your chest while smoothing your abs with one hand and resting a hot palm on your (perspiring!) forehead. You are shivering hard now, torn between arousal and repulsion.<br/>
<br/>
But you don't have long to struggle. She raises her head abruptly, and you hear the grumble of a car engine, and the growl of tires on asphalt. You have just time to think <i>Great! That must be Jack!</i> before something seems to tear inside your head, and the world goes blank.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
 You are shivering violently all over when you wake, and your temples are hot with a sharp headache. You groan and try to turn over while pulling the covers up over you. But there are no covers, and your skin scrapes painfully on a hard, rough surface.<br/>
<br/>
You pry your eyes open with a grimace and push yourself up. Your head screams, and you clutch it: it's like something is trying to push its way out from behind your right eyeball, and is hacking at the inside of your skull. "Jesus! Fuck!" you gasp to yourself, and sit all the way up.<br/>
<br/>
Abruptly, the pain vanishes, leaving only a numb (but vivid) memory of its presence. You roll your eyes around and blink and work your jaw, which had been in danger of freezing into that rictus of pain. <i>God damn!</i> you mutter to yourself, and look around.<br/>
<br/>
It takes you a moment to recognize the chain link fences, and to place yourself in the school tennis courts. <i>Oh, right,</i> you think. Chelsea called you up to the school, wanted to talk about Gordon, and when I got here—<br/>
<br/>
You freeze. That seems wrong.<br/>
<br/>
But not until you stagger onto your feet, and the world drops vertiginously away, do you realize just how wrong things are.<span class="fmjggefefim3711"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121121111111111211221
author_id: seuzz
id: YDKGMHQT7
title: Patty-Cake with Patterson
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You totter and sway on legs you are unaccustomed to, at a height you've never achieved without a stepladder. Then a sense of familiarity sweeps over you again, and you steady yourself. For a long moment you hold yourself very still, lest that sense of vertigo overwhelm you again.<br/>
<br/>
Then you let out your breath, and your lips compress into a hard line.<br/>
<br/>
<i>God damn it!</i> you fume to yourself. <i>She did it to me again!</i> In a cold rage you scoop up ad sort through the pile of clothes folded neatly at your feet: loafers and wool socks; Levis; and a black t-shirt. You are angry enough for two as you dress. Angry enough for William Martin Prescott, and for Steven Perceval Patterson.<br/>
<br/>
There's not much point in looking for Chelsea—she's long since flown, if she's smart—but a quick glance around the corner of the gym confirms that that bicycle is gone. With a hard grimace you wheel toward the side door and yank it open.<br/>
<br/>
The interior of gym is dark, lit only by the glow of the city filtering through windows high up under the rafters. It is silent too, when you pause to listen. Then your shoes squeak on the hardwood floor as you stalk for the stairs to the loft. These you take two at a time, making as much noise as you can. You pause outside the rough-hewn door, then rap on it twice with a knuckle before twisting the handle and kicking it open with your foot. You have to duck your head in order to enter.<br/>
<br/>
You blink in the half light from the single bulb that hangs in the middle of the loft, and a stink of sweat, unwashed clothes, and grungy male bodies washes over you. It's like perfume, and for a moment you savor the musk. Then you charge in.<br/>
<br/>
A naked and disheveled Jack Li is half-standing, half-crouching on the other side of the loft. His eyes go wide, and his hair visibly crawls atop his head, as he looks up at you. Then, his face a mask of shock and horror, he straightens all the way up and faces you head on.<br/>
<br/>
You can't stop yourself from face-palming. "Oh, God damn it," you mutter aloud.<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck?" Jack says in a horrified whisper.<br/>
<br/>
"Is it just you up here," you demand, "or is there someone else?" You glance around the loft, peering around and over the crates and cabinets, the discarded gym equipment, the junk of decades that has slowly migrated up those narrow steps. "Hey," you snap at him when he just stares at you without answering. "I asked if there's any other motherfuckers up here, or it just <i>you?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Even by the light of the one bulb, you can see him turning green, and his lips peel back into a rictus. His eyes glitter.<br/>
<br/>
But you just pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm going to make two guesses as to what your real name is," you say. "No, fuck that, I'm only going to make one guess, because you wouldn't be looking at me like that if you were who you look like." You drop your hand to your hip and give him the hardest, don't-fuck-with-me stare you can muster.<br/>
<br/>
"Your name is Steve Patterson, isn't it? And this"—you point to your chest—"used to be your body."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
He is almost feral, and you have to be hard with him. A couple of times he almost flies at you, but you deter him by leaning into his rage with a cold fury of your own, and by looming over him with his own body. He sweats all over as you talk, and you can tell that he would like nothing better than to rip the skin off your bones with his fingernails. But fact by fact, revelation by revelation, you force him to accept the situation—and to accept that you are his only hope of getting out of it and back to normal.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm going to fucking kill her," the still-naked Jack Li hisses as he paces the loft like a caged tiger. "I'll grab her by the fucking throat and beat the back of her head—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, get in line," you interrupt. "But it's not gonna do any of us any good if we can't get ahold of that book she says she's using."<br/>
<br/>
You glance around. And though you know it's pointless, you start opening up the cabinets and looking inside them.<br/>
<br/>
"So first we get the book," Jack says. "And then we—"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up. No one's killing anybody. First we get the book. Then we figure out what the fuck we're going to do with it."<br/>
<br/>
"What? Like what?"<br/>
<br/>
You straighten up, and glare coldly down at him. <br/>
<br/>
It's hard to believe that this is Steve Patterson you're talking to, and not just because he now looks like Jack Li. His anger and confusion you can understand. His thirst for vengeance burns in your chest too.<br/>
<br/>
But the way he is boiling over, his bad discipline: It doesn't just make you anxious, it makes you embarrassed. It makes you want to bark, <i>Get a motherfucking grip!</i> at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Just what I said," you tell him. "First we get the motherfucking book. Then we motherfucking figure out what we're going to motherfucking do with it." You advance three steps on him, and it both gratifies and humiliates you a little to see him take half a step back. "And if you don't stop panicking like a queer with a gerbil stuck in his asshole, I'm going to slap you until you remember who you're supposed to be."<br/>
<br/>
He shows you his teeth, but he's trembling all over too.<br/>
<br/>
"Now, first of all, get dressed," you tell him. "You've freaked out long enough, and I'm sick of it. You need to get home and get to bed. If this works the way it worked with Jack and me—"<br/>
<br/>
You pause.<br/>
<br/>
<i>But why is it working this way?</i> you wonder. <i>Why do I right away get Steve's memory and personality</i>—because, you recognize, you are certainly not acting like yourself—<i>and he doesn't? Like Jack didn't get mine?</i> It makes you uneasy.<br/>
<br/>
"If it works like it did with Jack and me," you resume, "you won't get Jack's, you know, upstairs shit until tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck do I want his upstairs shit for?" the other demands. But at least he has moved over to where Jack's clothes—neatly folded, as Steve's were—even if he makes no move toward putting them on. "I don't want his gay shit—"<br/>
<br/>
"You don't want to get in any trouble—"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't I?" His chin tilts.<br/>
<br/>
You regard him levelly.<br/>
<br/>
And then you shrug.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck yourself, then," you tell him. "Frankly, I don't give a shit. I don't even like you, man, so if you wanna go hang yourself from a rafter because now you're a gay little ass-clown, go ahead. Won't hurt me any, and Jack, well— He'll learn to cope. He's already learning to cope with being 'Will Prescott'. Only thing I ask, if you do jump in front of a tractor trailer, is leave a note behind saying that Chelsea gay-baited you into it."<br/>
<br/>
You scratch your nose and turn for the door.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm gonna head down, but I'm gonna text Chelsea before I go, so you'll have, like sixty seconds to get dressed and down and catch me before I drive off, if you change your mind about killing yourself and want some tips about getting through the night. Otherwise, fuck off, and if we see each other at school, don't make eye contact, unless you want your asshole screwed down onto something bigger, sharper, and a hell of a lot less sexy than some football player's cock."<br/>
<br/>
You go out the door without waiting for a reply.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You are in fact tapping in a text to the real Jack Li—the one with your old phone—when you hear the gym side door close, and from the corner of your eye glimpse the shadowy figure emerge. It pauses at the corner of the gym, then shuffles over to where you are leaning against old family sedan that Steve Patterson drives.<br/>
<br/>
He stands very sullenly there, until he finally loses patience at the way you're ignoring him, and asks, "Where are you going now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Out to the Two of Clubs," you mutter back. "Score a little action, maybe go home with a cougar." You grin at the frosty silence that is his reply. "z'what you were gonna do, right, before you got that text from Chelsea?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you, you—"<br/>
<br/>
"This is what we gotta do, you fucking numbskull," you retort, straightening up to your full height. "It's why we gotta get you home and into bed so you can sleep yourself into your new—" You flick a finger at him. "Because we're gonna fix this, and we don't want any problems for ourselves after we fix it. Do we? You wanna get your life back, Steve, and find out I fucked it up while you were gone, 'cos I didn't act like you were supposed to act? I know how to be you, douchebag, and I'm going to be you, so when this is over you can look around and say, 'Yeah, I'm back and it's like I never left.'<br/>
<br/>
"But it works both ways. I'll take care of you, and Jack'll take care of me, and that means <i>you</i>—" You punch him in the chest with a hard finger. "Have to take care of Jack. And don't worry about it. Jack hasn't got a boyfriend, and the fact is, the hardest part of being Jack is gonna be playing gay with all the girls that are going to be all over you."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The strain of acting like Patterson in front of the guy leaves you with the shakes after he's gone, but it also leaves you aroused. You weren't really planning to hit a club, but your speech about "acting like" each other has left you jazzed.<span class="felfmnhfhh3710"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211211111111112112211
author_id: seuzz
id: WJSMSNJBQ
title: Seduced by Steve Patterson
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You drape yourself over the roof of the sedan and shiver all over until the shakes have passed. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.<br/>
<br/>
And that's what it was, you realize after you are properly back on your feet. That was a fight you had back there, and though you came out on top, it was a hard and close-fought one.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I am Steve Patterson.</i><br/>
<br/>
The thought is a cold one, and it's not a natural one, and it fills you with a certain grimness—even a little self-loathing.<br/>
<br/>
But if you're not <i>used</i> to being body-swapped (and probably never could get used to it), you are not as freaked out by this second time as you were by the first. And just as you had an instant hold of Jack's personality when you woke in his body, so too you at least have a firm hold of Patterson's.<br/>
<br/>
And Patterson, thank God, is not the type to get rattled.<br/>
<br/>
But he was rattled, after you found him in the loft, so you had to be "Steve Patterson" enough for the both of you. Which freaked him out even more, so you had to be even more stern with him.<br/>
<br/>
Not that you were exaggerating, much, when you told him you wouldn't care if he went out and killed himself. Those were pretty much your feelings. But they were Patterson's feelings, and you instinctively leaned into them, willing yourself to <i>be</i> him as you confronted the real one. But you weren't just fighting the real Steve Patterson, the one soul-swapped into Jack Li's body. You were fighting—for control—the ghost he had left behind in his old shell.<br/>
<br/>
And you won. You ground the one down to the point where he accepted the need to return to Jack Li's house, and to act the part of Jack Li. And you rode the other like a high-spirited stallion, turning its strength against its former possessor.<br/>
<br/>
You can't help congratulating yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Just as Patterson frequently can't help congratulating himself.<br/>
<br/>
And what better way to celebrate your triumph than by extending the run with the kind of victory party he'd give himself?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The Two of Clubs is a old bar in downtown Saratoga Falls: a sooty brick building that advertises itself only with a small neon sign that is almost swallowed up in the brickwork. But it's a landmark, so it doesn't have to advertise.<br/>
<br/>
There are two entrances: one into the newer (but still old) dance club where the under-age set can party in an alcohol-free zone, and one into the original bar. You don't even glance at the first one as you make for the second. You've already got Steve's fake ID out by the time you hit it. The bouncer only gives it a cursory glance before letting you in.<br/>
<br/>
Of course he knows you're underage, because he knows who you are. Steve is on the Westside basketball team. That practically makes him a local celebrity. And that's also the reason he lets you in.<br/>
<br/>
Inside, from atop your six-and-a-half-foot frame, you take in the dusky, neon-lit interior with a long, slow swivel of the head. There's the bar that runs down half the length of the room before turning a corner and running down the other half. There are the scattered two-top tables, and the booths that take up the walls. The dance floor and the stage. There's no band tonight, but a blaring beat pounds the air, and lights glitter over the floor and the walls. The place is crowded, but not all the tables are full, and there's plenty of space at the bar.<br/>
<br/>
"Hofbrau Dunkel," you order, and lean sideway against the bar so you can more slowly take in the place. Lots of young professionals, but also lots of heavy, bearded guys in work shirts and seed caps; and also a good smattering of college students. You hand the bartender a ten, and drop a one and some change into the tip jar. Then you lean back with the beer and make a very slow circuit of the place with your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
The older crowd are all here to drink, it appears, and the college crowd is all parties of six or seven, all mixed company. Some of the girls are probably unattached, but you find your attention drawn to the young professionals. These are mostly in pairs—men and women—but there are tables that have two or three men crowded around them, and some with two or three women. Unattached singles looking—like you—for Friday night entertainment.<br/>
<br/>
You've just picked one out for yourself—a trim woman in a red dress, with bobbed blonde hair—when a heavy-set bearded man in a blue work shirt waddles over and plants himself in front of her. He bends over her, and her expression tightens as she looks everywhere but at him as he clumsily tries offering her a bottle. Her eyes rake past your face, and momentarily lock onto yours, before racing on.<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate maybe half a second, then push upright and saunter over.<br/>
<br/>
"Ms. Adams?" you shout over the music and the burble of the crowd, and lay a hand on the man's hand to lean past him. "Ms. Adams?" you repeat as she stares, frozen-faced, up at you. The man half turns to peer at you over the top of his frizzy beard. <br/>
<br/>
"You prob'ly don't remember me," you shout at the woman. "I'm Jack Larson, I had you for math about ten years ago?" As she stares at you, you give her a single slow, heavy wink.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh!" She almost comes out of her chair. "Jack!" She puts out a stiff hand. "Hi!"<br/>
<br/>
Your hand is still on the man's shoulder, and without looking at him you slowly but firmly push him back and slip in between him and her. <br/>
<br/>
"I saw you over here!"—you still  have to shout—"and I was like—! Dang, it's weird seeing your old teachers in the grocery store, but seeing them in a bar!" You laugh, and take a step back, forcing the man back. "Mind if I sit down?"<br/>
<br/>
"Please!" she says, and you pull an empty chair from the next table over. You push two more steps back, and you've successfully pushed the other guy out of range. You lower yourself into the chair, and smile at her and at her two girlfriends. "What are you all drinking?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Ohhh! Haiiii! Wheeengh!" She groans and wheezes and whines as she rides your long, hard cock, making noises like you've never heard a woman  make before. "Hyyyurgghhm!"<br/>
<br/>
You can't help smiling up at her from below, but it's not just the noises she's making that give you a grin. She is really throwing herself into it: her fingernails dig into your shoulders as she bounces herself more firmly onto your cock. She is hot and she is wet, so hot and wet she's practically foamy. You are all the way up inside her, and you chase her on every rise, trying to drive yourself still more deeply inside her, finding extra centimeters in your boner that you didn't even know you had.<br/>
<br/>
At last there comes a hanging moment when she pauses, arcs her spine, throw her head backwards ... and with a choking cry rams herself even more firmly down on you. Her squeals are now like squeals of pain as she rhythmically impales herself more and more deeply on you. You grip the sides of her hips and push up with a force at least as great.<br/>
<br/>
She drapes herself bonelessly over you when it's done, and snores in your ear. You wrap your arms around her and hold her in place.<br/>
<br/>
You must have dozed off, because your head is muzzy when the alarm on your phone goes off, and she has rolled off you. You grab for the phone and turn the alarm off, then lay there for a few seconds before slowly throwing the sheets back and sitting up.<br/>
<br/>
You glance over, and find that she's turned her back to you.<br/>
<br/>
Well, that's good. It spares awkwardness all the way around. You grab your clothes off the floor and creep into the bathroom, where you dress in the dark. Only after you've peed and put your shoes on do you put on the light, to lean over the vanity to wash your hands and study your face in the mirror.<br/>
<br/>
It's a lean face, regular rather than handsome, with a strong jaw, a firm mouth, a bold nose, and a wide smooth brow under brown hair that is trimmed short without being shorn. Its strongest and most striking feature, though, would have to be the eyes, which are a cold grey: the color of a fog bank floating over a frozen Arctic sea. When your face relaxes all the lines vanish from it, leaving your mouth a straight, hard line in a firmly set jaw, under eyes empty of pity or doubt; when you glare, your eyes freeze and your face hardens into a glacial mask; and even when you smile, there is a cold, predatory watchfulness behind the eyes.<br/>
<br/>
Has Steve Patterson ever noticed this about himself? Maybe not—at least you have no internal sense that he has ever studied his reflection with an interest other than in the neatness of his hair, the closeness of his shave, or the clarity of his skin. But you've seen his face in school enough times over the years to have learned to be terrified of it.<br/>
<br/>
And now it's yours, you marvel again. And you used it and the body it goes with to score. You straighten up and stretch the last of the kinks out of your back. And because Steve Patterson never smirks to himself, you don't smirk either, but only hold your own eye for a lingering moment before putting out the light again.<br/>
<br/>
It's four in the morning when you get home, and the house is dark. But Steve doesn't have a curfew, and his parents never ask where he's been on a Friday or a Saturday night. So if you make a very stealthy way to your new bedroom, it's out of courtesy to them, not secrecy.<span class="fmjggefeegie3711"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112111111111121122111
author_id: seuzz
id: ZY24SQV5N
title: The Morning After
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You're woken with a start by the alert on your phone, and have pulled it out from under your pillow almost before you are awake. You shake yourself all over and glare at the screen. It's a text from Will Prescott, and a soft <i>fuck</i> escapes your mouth.<br/>
<br/>
You texted him last night before heading to the bar, to tell him what happened at the school. He texted back to say that he had never gotten a message from Chelsea after she cancelled the original meeting—which only confirms (to your mind) that the meeting was a set-up for a trap for <i>you</i>. You shut the conversation down after that, telling Jack there'd be time to talk in the morning. Then you turned Steve's phone off.<br/>
<br/>
Now Jack wants to meet—undoubtedly so he can wail and whine about having Steve Patterson stuck inside his old body.<br/>
<br/>
<i>The shed thirty mins,</i> you reply, then push yourself out of bed.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Temperatures are in the forties, but you are dressed in no more than long workout shorts and a hoodie when you saunter into The Shed, a diner/coffee bar in Acheson's little business district. It occupies the old post office—a brick building of little distinction—and is run by a seventy-something hippie couple, so all the coffees are fruity and organic and expensive. But the bakery goods are homemade and tasty.<br/>
<br/>
Will—that is to say, Jack—is hunched at a table in a corner when you come in, and his face whitens as you approach with your coffee and mutton."Can you believe this shit?" you snort as you hook the chair opposite him with your foot to draw it back and plop into it.<br/>
<br/>
"What shit?" he guardedly asks.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you think what shit? Look at me. Chelsea's got <i>Patterson</i> mixed up in it now."<br/>
<br/>
His expression is pinched. "So wha'dju even go out there for?"<br/>
<br/>
"She texted me! I thought she texted you, I thought we were going to have that show down! Lemme see your phone." You put out your hand.<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, she didn't text me! But what was Patterson doing out there?"<br/>
<br/>
"She texted him too, told him she wanted to talk to him about Gordon. Said she'd had another fight with him." You snort to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
"He told you this?"<br/>
<br/>
"I remember! Fuck, I remember everything." You rub your temple.<br/>
<br/>
Yes, you remember. You remember the three texts from Chelsea, pleading to meet on account of the fight she'd had with Gordon. (He'd even taken her phone from her, she said; that's why she was having to borrow Maria's.) You remember the clipped and brutal texts Patterson had sent back, telling her to take a cold shower and sleep on it, and you remember the gloating satisfaction over the crisis. And you remember thinking, on the drive up to the school to meet her, <i>What can I tell her to do that'll really get Gordon mad at her, that'll really bust them up?</i><br/>
<br/>
And you remember her standing outside the gym, crying that Gordon had even taken the key from her, and that she needed to get up to the loft to get her stuff because this time, maybe, it really was all over. And you remember letting her in and leading her up to the loft, and smirking as she sniffled over the bag she'd brought to pack her shit up in. And you remember how she took something from it and leaped at you and smashed something into your face and then—<br/>
<br/>
Well, then you remember waking up naked on the tennis courts.<br/>
<br/>
You describe all this to Jack between sips of coffee. He asks if it really was Maria's phone that Chelsea was using, and you double-check to confirm that it was "Clover Mystery" whose phone she texted Patterson from. Jack wonders if that means Maria is also in on it, but you reply that an airhead like her can't be.<br/>
<br/>
"So what did you and ... Steve ... wind up doing last night?" he asks, an expression of loathing on his face.<br/>
<br/>
"I sent him back to your place, after I finished slapping him around."<br/>
<br/>
He starts. "You didn't."<br/>
<br/>
"Well I didn't slap him physically—<br/>
<br/>
"No, I mean—" He grips the edges of the table. "You didn't send him back to my place." His voice is strangled. "Did you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course I did. The fuck did you want me to do with him?"<br/>
<br/>
"But does he have my—? Does he remember—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not last night. He'll have 'em this morning, if the same thing happens with him as happened with you."<br/>
<br/>
"But what if he doesn't?"<br/>
<br/>
"Then he'll call and tell me and I'll go get him, and then you'll have to tell him—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, come on! Does it really make that much of a fucking difference if it's him or me who's—?"<br/>
<br/>
But you're distracted by a figure flashing past a nearby window. You think you recognize her, but you turn in your seat to confirm when the door opens and she comes in. It's Stephanie Wyatt.<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie is a jock, and she's a scary one, the way Patterson is a scary jock. In fact, they're like sex-swapped versions of each other. The only difference, aside from the sexual characteristics, is in the color of their eyes: Where Patterson's eyes are a cold grey, Stephanie's are a hot green.<br/>
<br/>
She's dressed out for exercise now, in purple running shorts that show off her strong, well-tanned thighs and calves, and an off-white t-shirt that shows off her large, firm boobs. Her auburn hair is bobbed short. Her face, turned in profile as she orders at the front counter, is regular and handsome rather than pretty, with deep-set eyes under a strong brow. Her cute little pug nose is the only real concession to female beauty that she makes.<br/>
<br/>
But she's got a body to die for, and Patterson has frequently suffered a "little death" in the still watches of the night after fantasizing into a sock over her firm breasts and hips and legs. If she's not a dyke—and there's lots of speculation that she is—she is probably an absolute tigress in the sack.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, shit," Will murmurs, and you turn to cock an eyebrow at him. "Don't you have church?" you ask him.<br/>
<br/>
He makes a face, and knocks back the rest of his coffee.<br/>
<br/>
"I wanna get together this afternoon," he says as he rises. "I guess I should meet with the um— other guy."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, we'll do that." Your legs are stretched out, and you don't withdraw them, so that he has to high step over them as he goes. He shoots you a quick and dirty look as he does, and almost bumps into Stephanie, who is coming over. "Hey Stephanie," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Prescott," she says. "Where you going?"<br/>
<br/>
"I gotta get home, get ready for church."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh, well I'll see you around." She watches his back as he shuffles for the door, then turns to you. "I never see you around here, Patterson," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"I never see you around here either, Wyatt. My bad luck." You hold each other's eyes, and you don't bother to shift to hide the swelling erection she's giving you. "How's your brother?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's fine."<br/>
<br/>
"He still holding that spot open for me?" Stephanie's older brother, Kevin, attends Duke, and plays on their team.<br/>
<br/>
"I haven't talked to him about you in a long time."<br/>
<br/>
"We're going to state this year," you remind her.<br/>
<br/>
"He can read about it online if you do."<br/>
<br/>
You feel a muscle in your jaw twinge—with that last remark she at last got to you.<br/>
<br/>
Not that you're going to admit it. "Why don't you sit down?" you offer, and glance at your plate. "I still got a whole muffin to get through."<br/>
<br/>
She holds up the paper bag she's clutching. "I just stopped in to get something to go."<br/>
<br/>
"You live around here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Down by the river. You don't live around here, I know that much."<br/>
<br/>
You grunt. "I wanted to try someplace new."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, so <i>that's</i> how come you've never seen me around." Her eyes glint with light triumph. "You're a virgin here."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," you drawl. "But if you're a regular, maybe I'll start coming here regular too."<br/>
<br/>
"It's kind of expensive."<br/>
<br/>
"It's only money, Wyatt. What am I supposed to do with it if I don't spend it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, don't spend it all in one place." She glances down, obviously at the giant boner you're pointing at her, and flushes slightly. "And don't get any ideas about spending it on me."<br/>
<br/>
"Gonna do you a favor one of these days, Wyatt," you call after her. "Gonna sink a three-pointer in your basket an' make you cheer like you never cheered before."<br/>
<br/>
There's real anger in the look she flashes over her shoulder at you, but you only chuckle.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The Pattersons don't attend church, so you've the late morning to yourself, which you fill  by jogging around the neighborhood: nothing serious, just enough to warm up and get the blood pumping good. Back home you shower and scrub and shave and dress in fresh shorts and a fresh hoodie, then pack up school books in your bag. It's almost noon, which makes it time to do what Patterson usually does on a Sunday: go up to the school, ostensibly to study, but really to hang out for a couple of hours in the loft with Gordon, Steve's best friend and the captain of the basketball team. If you're lucky, it will only be him and Jason Lynch won't be there too.<br/>
<br/>
But on the way out to your car you're interrupted in your private thoughts by a text. It's Will, telling you that he's set up a three-way meeting with you and "Jack" for twelve-thirty at the shed.<br/>
<br/>
You suck in a cheek and give the matter some thought.<br/>
<br/>
You do need to meet with the other two guys, and you probably should be there to act as a buffer between them. But you're also supposed to meet Gordon. Sunday afternoons are a boys'-only thing, but there's a pretty good chance that Chelsea—feeling safe in Gordon's company—will attend today, to gloat silently over you and your predicament if nothing else. So you'd like to be there for that, in case there's a chance of getting her alone.<span class="ijkkhjfe258"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121121111111111211221111
author_id: seuzz
id: VG9JS2YK6
title: Conference Play
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span><i>Going up to school maybe see chelsea there,</i> you text back to Will. <i>Lets meet after four.</i> You throw your bag into the car and fold yourself into the seat behind the wheel.<br/>
<br/>
It's a relief when Will doesn't argue, and only texts back a thumbs up emoji.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Gordon's orange VW Bug is already parked by the gym when you arrive. There are some other cars there as well, but it's Lynch's car or Chelsea's car you are on the alert for. You don't see them, though.<br/>
<br/>
The gym is locked, but the lights are on when you enter, and Gordon is practicing free throws. He gives you a brief over-the-shoulder glance before resuming.<br/>
<br/>
Gordon Black and Steve Patterson are best friends, insofar as either one of them will admit to having a best friend. They started hanging out late in middle school, less because they liked each other (it seems, based on Steve's memories) than because they were both hassled by the bigger kids, and could silently commiserate with each other.<br/>
<br/>
But they remained close even after they each hit a growth spurt early in high school, and began to work out and to fill out, so that the hassling stopped. And they stayed close—well, closer than they are to anyone else—even after they were big enough that they could hassle their old bullies, along with anyone else.<br/>
<br/>
Looking at Gordon now, and trying to cast Steve's instincts into words, you suppose it's a sibling-like loyalty that they share. Gordon is a dumbass—taking blowoff classes and letting his girlfriend lead him around by his willie—but Steve has stuck with him and by him for so long that— Okay, maybe Steve has some real affection for his friend. At least, it would leave a real hole behind if Gordon disappeared; and Steve would never forgive himself if he didn't stand by Gordon, and try to help him.<br/>
<br/>
"You're gonna go blind if you do too much of that," you call out as you saunter across the gym floor to join him.<br/>
<br/>
He glares at you in puzzlement. "What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Jerking off solo like this. You need to do it with someone." You raise your hand, inviting him to throw the basketball to you, and hurl your bag halfway across the court. It bangs into the bleachers and falls onto them with a thud.<br/>
<br/>
Gordon's expression darkens, but he tosses you the ball. You dribble it a couple of times, getting the feel of it, then hunch to calculate how you're going to get it past him to the basket. He hunches too, guarding you watchfully. You drive to the left, but he jumps over to block you, so you feint to your right before ducking around him again to the left. But he's too quick and you have to jump to loft the ball for the net. It bounces off the rim, and Gordon wheels to retrieve it ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"We are so fucked."<br/>
<br/>
You're at the Acheson Community Center with your two fellow victims. Jack and Steve. Or, to put it like they're looking, Will and Jack. When you texted the former to set up a meeting, he suggested meeting at The Shed again, but when you got there the place was closed. (Weird hippie hours.) So you went down a few blocks to the old elementary school, and are seated now in a nook between two wings of the old school.<br/>
<br/>
"So I just got back from hanging out with Gordon," you continue. "He told me he was with Chelsea all night last night. And he was with her all night Friday night."<br/>
<br/>
Will shifts. He's sitting on the ground, his crane-like legs folded up at awkward angles before him. "'All night' all night?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be a dumbass," Jack says. Where Will is dressed in cargo pants and a t-shirt, he's dressed up in slacks and a button-down shirt—no skin showing below the neck or above the wrists. It seems like an odd get-up for the weekend, and you wonder why Patterson chose it. To you he says, "What were they doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, Friday they were over at Catherine Muskov's, he says, and last night they were at her place. They watched a movie with her parents.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck," Jack says.<br/>
<br/>
"But she was with us!" Will protests.<br/>
<br/>
"Gordon says she was with him."<br/>
<br/>
"Then he's lying!"<br/>
<br/>
A muscle flexes somewhere in your brain, but you stifle the urge to punch him, and glance over at Jack. But he doesn't move either, and just says, "Why would he?"<br/>
<br/>
"Gordon wouldn't lie," you say after Will has stammered himself into a silence. "Not to, uh, me."<br/>
<br/>
"But if they're in it together," Will says.<br/>
<br/>
His expression is blank and a little confused. You and Jack hold each other's eye. "Why would Gordon do this to you?" you ask him.<br/>
<br/>
"He wouldn't."<br/>
<br/>
"If Chelsea did it and he didn't know—"<br/>
<br/>
"He wouldn't be doing this."<br/>
<br/>
"Would Chelsea be doing it?"<br/>
<br/>
Jack looks away and mutters, "There's nothing I'd put past that bitch."<br/>
<br/>
"The point is," you say, now addressing both of them again, "we have to go through both of them, because they're either in it together, or—"<br/>
<br/>
But you don't know how to finish that sentence.<br/>
<br/>
"They wouldn't be in it together," Jack says.<br/>
<br/>
"Then what are we going to do?" Will asks.<br/>
<br/>
No one says anything for a minute or two. Then with a sigh you say, "I can keep an eye on them. I can try to talk to Chelsea alone."<br/>
<br/>
"Any of us can try to talk to Chelsea alone," says Jack.<br/>
<br/>
"We tried that," you retort. "Jack and me." You hold his eye. "She sent you and Gordon to fix it so we wouldn't try talking to her again." He flushes and looks away.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess we can keep on like this," Will says. He doesn't sound happy, but he doesn't angry either. "Until we think of something to do. I can pretend."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I can pretend too," you say. You try not to look at Jack, but your eyes flick in his direction anyway.<br/>
<br/>
He catches the glances that you and Will are shooting him, and he flushes hard.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll make do," he growls, and clambers to his feet. "But if nothing changes before next week—"<br/>
<br/>
"Something'll turn up," you assure him, but he gives you a very black look. "It's like she can't leave us alone. She'll try fucking us up again, but she'll fuck something up, and then we'll—" You close a fist, and wrap your other hand around it.<br/>
<br/>
It's like a signal has been given to break up and go your own ways. Will rode his bike over, and after lingering a moment as he pretends to check on the tires and frame, he rides off. Jack, his face a tight mask of anger, loiters near his minivan. You are about to get into your car when he blurts out, "There's one way Gordon could be in on it."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a steady look. "It's not really Gordon."<br/>
<br/>
A cold streak runs down your spine. <i>It looks like Gordon, but it isn't really Gordon?</i> He's Steve's friend, not yours, but you have a horror of the idea anyway.<br/>
<br/>
You turn it aside with a question of your own: "And Chelsea?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not really Chelsea."<br/>
<br/>
"So where are they? The real ones?"<br/>
<br/>
"Stuck someplace else, wondering what happened to them." He pauses. "Pretending to be other people because they don't know what happened to them."<br/>
<br/>
"But why switch us all around?" you ask. "Just as a prank?"<br/>
<br/>
His eyes glitter. "Maybe one of <i>us</i> is in on it too."<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself flush, but there's no retort you can make, so you just glower at him, then climb into your car. He is still leaning against his minivan, head downcast, when you drive away.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Keeping an eye on Chelsea</i> is a defensive play, and Patterson is not a defensive player. And shaking something loose from her would be the best—maybe the only—way to convince Patterson that you're not secretly her partner.<br/>
<br/>
Fortunately, you don't have to wait until tomorrow to get in contact with her. You've got two phone numbers you can reach her at.<br/>
<br/>
You start by texting her real number: <i>U busy tnte want to talk to u abt Gordon.</i><br/>
<br/>
The reply is half an hour in coming: <i>What about?<br/>
<br/>
Stuff. His dad. School.<br/>
<br/>
Sorry busy,</i> she replies, and you can tell there's no point pushing.<br/>
<br/>
But you try the Clover Mystery number anyway: <i>I need talk to u.</i><br/>
<br/>
Again, there's a long wait for the reply, so long you figure that she's now ignoring you on both her phones. So it's a surprise when the reply comes back: <i>Lol sure tonight at school like usual?</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There's a bike again by the gym when you arrive, and this puzzles you, for you know (now) that Chelsea lives nowhere near the school, so why would she be riding a bike instead of driving? You're tempted to carry the bike over to the trash dumpsters, but leave it where it is.<br/>
<br/>
The gym is dark and empty. You're halfway to the stairs when your phone buzzes with a text. It's from Chelsea—"Clover Mystery." <i>Ur not mad at me r u?</i><br/>
<br/>
You mull your response for a long minute before thumbing in, <i>I'm keeping my temper.<br/>
<br/>
Lol I did this for u!</i><br/>
<br/>
You can only blink at the screen. Then a row of dots tell you she's typing in a new text.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Now we can be together when we want.<br/>
<br/>
U don't even like me Chelsea.</i> Then you add, <i>You don't like Steve.</i><br/>
<br/>
More dots. You find you are holding your breath.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Lol I'm not chelsea!</i><br/>
<br/>
Well, that's a start, you tell yourself.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Go up to loft wait for me.</i><br/>
<br/>
You glance around, uneasy. Is she here, hidden in the bleachers, watching you?<br/>
<br/>
<i>We can talk here,</i> you reply.<br/>
<br/>
Dots.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Talk later,</i> she says. <i>Fuck me then we talk.</i><span class="fmjggefeffeg3711"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211211111111112112211111
author_id: seuzz
id: GJ7LLB4LZ
title: Some Naked Truths
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span><i>Yeah, I'd like to fuck you,</i> you think. <i>Fuck you over and then—</i><br/>
<br/>
But you're caught short by the hard thrill that runs through you. It's like a thread has been pulled in your guts, and your sinews are unraveling.<br/>
<br/>
Your mind goes back to Friday night, in the portables. Chelsea, naked, with your fingers inside her. And then you, unbuttoned, as she took you in her mouth. <br/>
<br/>
You shake your head, trying to force the temptation behind you. <i>Y u do this to us guys?</i><br/>
<br/>
Dots. The suspense of waiting is terrible.<br/>
<br/>
It is worse after they disappear, and no text appears.<br/>
<br/>
You're thumbing in another message when your attention is caught by a shadow high up in the bleachers on the far side of the gym. Lightly the figure hops down the creaking bleachers until it stops, wobbling on its feet, on the lowest bleacher.<br/>
<br/>
It's Chelsea.<br/>
<br/>
And she is naked.<br/>
<br/>
She really is glorious, even in the shadow-draped gym, and your imagination and memory can fill in what your eyes can't quite make out. Her silhouette is small, with strong but shapely legs under wide, bowl-like hips, and a curved stomach. Her breasts are invisible in the dark, but in your mind's eye they are large and ripe and firm. Her face is lost in shadows, but streaks of gold glint where her loosely curled hair tumbles around her shoulders.<br/>
<br/>
"Will," she mewls across the gulf that separates. "I'm here for you."<br/>
<br/>
"You're not Chelsea," you croak back when you've found your voice. Your legs ache as you rock rigidly in place.<br/>
<br/>
She spreads her arms. "No," she says. "Except for all practical purposes."<br/>
<br/>
For a long moment neither of you move. Then you wrench a foot from the floor and take a step toward her. What you intend, you do not know, for your mind is a whirlpool of lust, anger, bewilderment, and fear.<br/>
<br/>
But she hurls herself from the bleacher and rushes at you. You just have time to open your arms when she throws herself at you and hugs you tightly. She buries her face in your chest.<br/>
<br/>
You don't know what to do with your hands, so you rest them lightly on her shoulders. Your cock rises stiffly to attention, poking at her.<br/>
<br/>
She raises her face, and in the dark you can just make out her wide, smiling mouth, her button nose, and her half-closed eyes. "Take me upstairs, Will," she murmurs. "Take me upstairs and ... take me!"<br/>
<br/>
Instinct—but whose? yours or Steve's—overwhelms you, and even though you can't quite believe it, you sweep her up into your arms. She gasps, then shrieks with laughter and clasps her hands around your neck as you carry her to the stairs, and up them to the door. "Hang on," you mutter at the top, and drop her so you can get the keys from your shorts pockets. You unlock the door and are about to usher her in, but she clasps her hands around your neck and pulls at you.<br/>
<br/>
So you pick her up and carry her like a bride over the threshold.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Oh my God," she moans afterward as she is resting atop you. "Oh my God." She she slides down your torso by an inch or so, and mumbles pleasurably as your cock, still turgid, slips back up inside her by that same inch. You lift your hips and try a little throb. But you're too spent.<br/>
<br/>
She didn't waste time, but lurched from your arms after you had her over the workout mat. She didn't let go of you, though, and dragged you down with her, and pulled you onto the mat while shrieking and giggling with delight. "Now, let me unpeel you," she purred, and slipped your clothes off you one shoe and one sock—and hoodie and t-shirt, shorts and boxers—at a time, gasping and cooing. Then she stroked you up and down your inner thighs while you laid back and reached for her. But she held back as she worked at you until you had risen, then used a single fingertip on the underside of your shaft until you were aching with anticipation.<br/>
<br/>
Then, when you were good and stiff, she hopped over to straddle your stomach and giggle down into your face. You touched and pinched and plucked at her breasts and their hard, erect tips, and tickled the small of her back with your bobbing prick. After a little of this, she got up on her knees and let you slide your fingers in and out of her while she groaned. After she was loose and wet and warm, she scooted back and lowered herself onto you.<br/>
<br/>
She wasn't too shy to scream when she came, throwing her head back and really putting her diaphragm into it.<br/>
<br/>
And now here she is, resting her cheek on your matted chest and fingering the hair over one of your ears. You loosely rest your palms on her back and stare at the dark ceiling.<br/>
<br/>
"You like this, don't you, Will?" she murmurs sleepily.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," you admit in a drawl. "But—"<br/>
<br/>
"Mm-hmm?" She lays very still, but she doesn't tense.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you like me or do you like Steve?" And when she lifts her head to peer into your face: "Or do you like Jack?"<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"If you wanted <i>me</i>, like the other night—" You have to swallow; the words seem to be thick and sticky and they cling to your throat. "Well, why'd you do the thing to me and Steve? Why'd you do it to me and Jack?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be jealous," she says, and lays her head back down. "It's just convenient this way."<br/>
<br/>
"Steve wouldn't screw you," you muse. "Well, he wouldn't screw Chelsea."<br/>
<br/>
She giggles. "He wouldn't now. He might wanna Gordon, maybe."<br/>
<br/>
You ignore her joke. "So why ... switch them?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't switch <i>them</i>, I switched <i>you!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, why me?"<br/>
<br/>
"So we could be here like this!"<br/>
<br/>
You're silent. She lifts her head to peer down at you again.<br/>
<br/>
"Why are you confused?" she asks. "This way, like this, we can come up here anytime we want!"<br/>
<br/>
"When you can get away from Gordon." When she stares, you add, "Or is he in on it too, and giving you permission."<br/>
<br/>
Still she stares. Then she bursts out laughing.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, God!" she gasps. "You think that—! Why do you think that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Think what? That Gordon—?"<br/>
<br/>
"That I'm Chelsea! Jesus!"<br/>
<br/>
"I know you're not Chelsea! But you switched with her—"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't switch with her! I only <i>look</i> like her, Will! I don't know where Chelsea is. Probably at home figuring out new ways to make the other cheerleaders cry!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
She quickly explains: There is no "body swapping" or "soul swapping" going on. Just some magical metamorphing.<br/>
<br/>
"So I just made myself look like her, for you," she concludes, "and I'll have to change back before I go home."<br/>
<br/>
"Can you change me back?" You and the others, too, have only been metamorphed.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I could," she says. "But I'm not going to."<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?"<br/>
<br/>
She giggles. "Because there's already someone at your house who looks like you!"<br/>
<br/>
"I know th—! So change us all back!"<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"So we can be ourselves again!"<br/>
<br/>
She sits up, but continues to straddle you.<br/>
<br/>
"But I told you, Will," she says. "This way we can hang out here whenever we want. <i>I</i> can't get us in here. I don't have a key! But <i>you</i> can get us in here, because Steve does! And he's <i>always</i> messaging Gordon, asking him to have the loft so he can— Pfpt!"<br/>
<br/>
"How do you know?"<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a look.<br/>
<br/>
"Because Gordon's always telling Chelsea that 'Steve-o' needs the loft some night or other. And I know what she knows!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, how does that work?" you ask. "You made us look like each other, but how come we have each other's memories?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. Mm!" She hunches over to kiss your chest. "Just the way the spell works, I guess."<br/>
<br/>
"But you gotta change us back sometime."<br/>
<br/>
"Do I?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure!"<br/>
<br/>
"How come?" When you don't answer—because the answer seems obvious: she just does!—she says, "Wouldn't you rather stay like this? Be all tall and—" She slides backward, over your junk, to sit on your knees. "On the basketball team and—?" She cradles your balls and gently strokes your cock. "Be one of the big, popular guys?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oof.</i> You're starting to harden again, and not just from her touches. Steve has seduced a lot of girls—especially since moving into the loft his senior year—and when he wants he goes out and gets laid at a bar, like you did last night. No one hassles him—rather, he hassles whoever he wants—and he's even known around town as one of the high school stars who is probably going to take Westside High to the state championships this year.<br/>
<br/>
And Steve is smart, smarter than you. When you packed his books this afternoon, there was both a chemistry and a physics textbook, the latter for an AP class, when the only science class you're taking is the blow-off Astronomy class. Steve is confident, he's ambitious, and when you asked Stephanie if her brother is saving a place for him at Duke, you were only half joking.<br/>
<br/>
No, only a quarter joking. Duke is on Steve's list of places to try to get in to, and he's arrogant enough to think he's got a solid shot at it.<br/>
<br/>
Why would you want to give this up, and return to what you were before?<br/>
<br/>
But Chelsea apparently thinks you're only thinking about the girls.<br/>
<br/>
"There's only one way I'll ever change you back, Will, and if I do change you back, it'll be into a frog. And that's if you cheat on me. It's gotta be me, Will," she says, and lifts herself so she can guide your member back toward her clit. She teases your tip with it. "You've got to be exclusive to me.<br/>
<br/>
"And why would you want any other girl anyway?" she adds when you say nothing, for your throat is in danger of closing up. "When I can turn myself into a copy of any girl you'd want?"<span class="fmjggefeegig3711"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112111111111121122111111
author_id: seuzz
id: TXBLB965P
title: Dreams and Temptations
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>"Oh Jesus, are you serious?" you gasp. You are hardening fast, despite yourself.<br/>
<br/>
"God, yes!" Chelsea groans. She drops forward to brace herself against your shoulders, and lowers herself gently onto your shaft. "Mmm!" she says. "I can see you like the idea too!"<br/>
<br/>
Actually, you're concentrating on the rush of blood that is boiling into your cock, and the electric thrills running up and down your thighs and calves. You clasp her by the hips and push up and into her again.<br/>
<br/>
"Every. Pussy. You could ever. Want. Will!" she gasps as she falls deeper onto you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
She admits afterward it would take some doing. "I can't just wave a magic wand and make myself into ... I dunno. Maya Cottrell!"<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maya Cottrell. She's an influencer on— Oh, never mind! I have to ... get something ... physical ... off them," she stammers, and she turns a little coy. "If I'm going to turn myself into them."<br/>
<br/>
You feel your eyes narrow. "Have you been turning yourself into other girls, who I know?"<br/>
<br/>
She titters. "I will neither confirm nor deny."<br/>
<br/>
"But you could turn yourself into anyone from school?"<br/>
<br/>
"Probably. Like I say, I'd have to get something, um, physical off them. Are you interested?"<br/>
<br/>
Of course you're interested. You're just not sure if your code of ethics will allow it. More weakly than before, you ask again if she will please change you and the other guys back.<br/>
<br/>
"No," she sighs. "And I wish you'd stop asking me."<br/>
<br/>
"But if I'm myself again, we could still—"<br/>
<br/>
"We couldn't do it up here, then."<br/>
<br/>
But an idea comes to you. "What if I made a deal with Steve?" you ask. "You change us back, but I get a key to the loft?"<br/>
<br/>
She lifts a skeptical eyebrow.<br/>
<br/>
"You, with a key to the loft?" she says. "Do you think Steve would go along with that? Because Chelsea wouldn't!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we don't tell Chelsea. Or Gordon, or Lynch. It's a side deal with Steve. He gives me a copy of the key, and when you and me want the loft, I tell him, and he fixes it with Gordon. In return, we'd all get switched back."<br/>
<br/>
"You think he'd go along with it? You can answer for him," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes." But you're not certain, and it must have come through in your voice, for Chelsea snorts. "Of course he will!" you protest. "If it means he can stop being Jack!"<br/>
<br/>
"There's nothing wrong with being Jack!" she retorts. "And maybe he'll learn a lesson from it. In fact, I'm thinking of— Er ..."<br/>
<br/>
"Thinking of what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Never mind. But give up on making a deal with Steve. He'd tell you anything to get turned back, and then he'd stab <i>you</i> in the back. Just ask yourself if he wouldn't."<br/>
<br/>
Your mind's eye turns inward ... And you see what she means. Steve must be beyond furious. And if he had to make a deal with you—for a key and access to the loft—it would probably confirm his suspicion that you were in on the whole thing.<br/>
<br/>
"But I can't just leave them there," you protest.<br/>
<br/>
"They'd leave you there, if it was you."<br/>
<br/>
"Jack?"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, Jack wouldn't, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"So switch Jack back!"<br/>
<br/>
"And where would I put Steve? Would I turn him into you?" She smooches you on the lips. <br/>
<br/>
"I can't tell them I made a deal with you."<br/>
<br/>
"Of course you can't."<br/>
<br/>
"But I'm supposed to help them get back to normal."<br/>
<br/>
"Of course you are." She smooches you again.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, so what am I supposed to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"We'll think of something," she says between kisses. "Don't worry about it. For now. We'll think of something. Later."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
She's the one who actually breaks things off, when an alarm goes off on her phone. She leaves you to dress while she scampers into the gym. She's dressed in a big, floppy, figure-hiding track suit when you meet up again with her at the side door.<br/>
<br/>
"Am I gonna see you at school?" you ask as she mounts her bike.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll see you," she says. "But you won't see me!"<br/>
<br/>
"Do I <i>know</i> you?" you plead, but she just smiles before pedaling awkwardly away. <br/>
<br/>
You watch her go, steering onto Borman and then—<br/>
<br/>
You frown as she swerves down a side street. Is it possible, you ask yourself, that she lives around here? Could you actually follow her home and find out who she is?<br/>
<br/>
You sprint for your car, twist the key in the ignition, and throw it into reverse before you've even got the door closed.<br/>
<br/>
The street you follow her down is dark, with few streetlights, and the reflector on the back of her bike is only just visible far ahead of you, and it weaves in and out of sight as she vanishes around the street's gentle curves. You don't dare follow too closely, in case she notices, but each time she swerves from view you gun the car a little faster, so that you won't lose her.<br/>
<br/>
But then you come around a corner, and find yourself plunging into a cul-de-sac. Porch lights are on, but there's no sign of anyone going in or coming out. Did she disappear between two houses? You idle for a minute, then with a muttered curse swing around to leave. There's an intersection just before the cul-de-sac, and you realize too late that she might have turned off in either direction.<br/>
<br/>
So you've lost her.<br/>
<br/>
Still, you prowl up and down the streets for a few minutes, on the off chance of picking her up again. But she has vanished into the dark.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You pass a restless and sleepless night, preoccupied with the temptations that "Clover"—for that is how you've got to think of her—has laid before you. Awake, you tell yourself you've got to resist, that you've got to force her to change you and the others back. You'll promise her that she'll be your girl. You'll tell her that you'll find some way of being with her even if you can't get into the loft. You'll threaten to refuse to see her if she doesn't change you all back.<br/>
<br/>
Or you'll at least make a deal with her to change Jack back. That would be an acceptable compromise. Wouldn't it?<br/>
<br/>
You toss in your sleep, waking yourself up more than once from dreams where you pick a girl up in a bar or at a party and take her home or to the loft or to a motel, but when you get alone with her she turns into Chelsea, and giggles that you'll never get away from her. And in one dream you're eating breakfast with your parents—are they your real parents or are they Steve's? they seem to be both—and Chelsea joins you at the table. She's in pajamas but everyone thinks this is normal, and when she asks <i>Who do you want me to be today?</i> they all think that is normal too. In fact, your mother suggests a name to her, but you can't remember who she suggested, only that you were shocked.<br/>
<br/>
You wake early, as Steve always wakes early on weekdays, but are so exhausted that you lay in bed, groaning, for twenty minutes longer than you should before getting up and stretching and taking an invigorating jog around the neighborhood while it is still pitch black. Back home, you gobble down a protein shake while taking a quick shower. Then you dress in shorts, tank top, hoodie, and ratty sneakers, while packing fresh socks, boxers, and Levis, a blue t-shirt, and a rugged white cotton button-up shirt into your gym bag. Your dad is up by the time you come out of your bedroom, and talk briefly to him while rinsing out your shake glass and putting it in the dishwasher.<br/>
<br/>
Then, with the eastern horizon only beginning to pale with the approaching dawn, you drive out to school for pre-class basketball practice.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Richards!" Gordon barks at the most hapless member of the team. "Seven more laps! And if I catch you cutting even one more corner, and it'll be twenty!"<br/>
<br/>
Jeremy Richards flushes before lowering his head and powering through yet another lap around the gym.<br/>
<br/>
There's only a handful of players still straggling around the court; most of the rest are in the changing room, showering. You're panting and walking off the last of your own laps: you did two more than Gordon demanded, so as to lap the stragglers, like Richards, and scream them into picking up the pace. Gordon is watching Richards and Green with a hard scowl.<br/>
<br/>
"Our faggot friend still watching?" he growls as you pace by his elbow.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. Guess he must'a 'joyed that little party we gave him Saturday, wants another one." Out of the corner of your eye you glance up at the bleachers, high at the top of which Jack Li has been watching practice.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck. If he goes to the administration—"<br/>
<br/>
"He won't. He knows what we'd do to him, and how careful we'd be not to leave any bruises."<br/>
<br/>
Gordon's jaw clenches. "If he thinks he's gonna start hanging out here before classes, eye-fucking us—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll go explain it to him."<br/>
<br/>
You run up the bleachers, two at a time. The stitch in your side, which had faded, threatens to tear itself open again. At the top, you glower down at Jack, who glowers coldly back.<br/>
<br/>
"Want me to repeat the things Gordon is saying about you?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I can guess."<br/>
<br/>
"Then you know that he's—" you bend to pinch your fingers together in his face—"this close to hauling you off and telling you himself."<br/>
<br/>
"You're the one I wanted to talk to."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I figured. That's why I—"<br/>
<br/>
"Steve!"<br/>
<br/>
You turn at the bellow from the floor. When he's got your attention, Gordon glances to his left, and you look up to see Coach Brooks emerging from under the mezzanine, to "coach" the final few minutes of class. "We'll talk after class," you mutter, and hop back down to the floor.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There's a text from Clover Mystery when you check your phone after showering. <i>Wanna be my friend?</i> it reads. <i>Help me move some dirt.</i><span class="felfmnfii3710"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121121112
author_id: seuzz
id: Z4C9KHF3F
title: Forage and Storage
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>Chelsea continues on to the condiment station, then returns to her table without so much as glancing at you. Your hand is trembling as you carry your coffee back to where Caleb is waiting.<br/>
<br/>
"Let's get out of here," you mutter at him.<br/>
<br/>
He rears back. <i>"What?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"Let's just go. You're right, it's just gonna be Rennerhoff and them who show up."<br/>
<br/>
"We just fucking got here!"<br/>
<br/>
"Keep your voice down, okay? I just— I suddenly don't wanna be here."<br/>
<br/>
"Will, we—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll get our coffees to go," you say, and rise to take the mugs back up to the front.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb is frosty to you all the way out to the parking lot, and doesn't even thank you for paying for his drink.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're a bundle of nerves the next day at school. Clover Mystery texted you last night, shortly after you got home, to complain about being stood up at The Flying Saucer. <i>I wanted to talk to u!</i> they complain. You replied that <i>something came up,</i> then shut off your phone.<br/>
<br/>
What was it that so bothered you about Chelsea? It's  hard to put your finger on, and you almost regret having run out of the place without talking to her.<br/>
<br/>
But only "almost." It's not only that your nerves turn to water in the presence of the head cheerleader. It's knowing her reputation. Chelsea can be a nasty piece of work (as the previous night, when you went up to talk to her, proves), and there are stories of her sicking her psycho boyfriend on people. After the fool you made of yourself in front of her and Maria the other night, you wouldn't put it past her to do something like that to you.<br/>
<br/>
Still, you're more than a little sick at heart for having run out. That's what happens when cowardice trumps curiosity.<br/>
<br/>
It's no surprise that Caleb is still disgusted with you the next day, and Keith doesn't know what to say to you, so you are lonely and miserable as you trudge out to the parking lot after school. Up in your bedroom, you fling yourself onto your bed and cover your face with the pillow, on the off chance that you'll accidentally suffocate yourself. When your phone chimes, you groan and try to ignore it.<br/>
<br/>
But that decision crumbles: you are so feeling so down that even a text from Clover Mystery might cheer you up. You force yourself to get your phone from your bag.<br/>
<br/>
You perk up a little, though, when you see it's a DM, coming through x2z, from Jack. Is he talking to you again? Apparently. It's a very short DM, asking if you remember seeing him at the coffeeshop yesterday with Chelsea. You reply in the affirmative.<br/>
<br/>
<i>So glad,</i> he replies. <i>Can u meet me at eastman asap? Want to talk to u.</i><br/>
<br/>
You feel a small stab of spite: <i>Oh, now that he needs me, he wants to talk to me!</i> But you tell him you're on your way. As you head to the truck, you tell your mom that you probably won't be home for supper, as a friend wants to see you. You say this more out of hope than real expectation, and the price you pay is a look of deep exasperation.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Jack had DMed a follow-up, explaining that he is meeting Elle and Laura at the drama department storage facility behind Eastman, and that after he helps them there he wants to take you out someplace to talk. So after parking in the teacher's lot, you make the long hike back around to the annex. Idly, you wonder if that book you bought and lost—which you and the others had searched for in this annex—ever turned up. Maybe you can ask Laura and Elle about it.<br/>
<br/>
Neither of them is there, though, when you arrive. Instead, the lone figure waiting in front of the blue sliding door is Chris Love.<br/>
<br/>
Chris is a soccer player at Westside, and you only know him vaguely from having shared a couple of a classes with him over the years. He is a good-looking guy with a strong, suntanned frame who dresses sloppily in loose shorts, tank tops, and sneakers, and he usually keeps his fine blonde hair tied down under a floppy bandana. He's relaxing now against the side of the annex, bending over his phone as you approach, and he doesn't look up until you are almost on top of him. There's a look of recognition—and a little surprise—on his face when he glances up, but he only says, "Oh! Hey!"<br/>
<br/>
"Are Elle or Laura here?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"No, not yet," he says. "You come out to help too?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm supposed to meet Jack Li here. He said he was meeting them here."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus! How big is the thing we have to move?"<br/>
<br/>
"What are you here for?"<br/>
<br/>
"We're supposed to get something out of storage." He glances past you. "Maybe Leah knows."<br/>
<br/>
You turn. Leah Simmons, looking very crisp in blue jeans, a flannel shirt, and suspenders, is approaching. A light dances in her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Chris!" she exclaims. "Look at you!" She walks right up to him and puts an arm around his waist, pulling herself close. He just as casually puts his arm around her waist, and puts his face almost into hers. "It's October," Leah says, "what are you dressed for like it's still August?"<br/>
<br/>
"Summer's not over till I say it's over," he replies. "I like your shirt," he adds as he rubs her back with his palm. "So soft."<br/>
<br/>
Her glance is filled with an appreciative gleam as she nestles in the crook of his arm. But then she pulls away and turns to you. "Hey Will, didn't expect to see you out here."<br/>
<br/>
<i>I bet you didn't,</i> you think. "I'm supposed to meet Jack here."<br/>
<br/>
"Really? We having a party?" She glances around. "Laura texted me about meeting up here. She wanted to do something afterward." She turns back to Chris. "You free after we're done here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure."<br/>
<br/>
You shift on your feet and grind your teeth. Though Leah is being polite, you're pretty sure Elle and Laura won't be. They won't want you along, and will probably cold shoulder you the whole time if you tag along.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what are we standing here for?" Leah asks.<br/>
<br/>
"We're supposed to get something out of the storeroom," Chris says.<br/>
<br/>
"You got a key?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"So open her up. Let's get started.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know what we're getting."<br/>
<br/>
"Well I'm bored. And I've never been out here before. I wanna snoop."<br/>
<br/>
So with a shrug, Chris fishes some keys from his shorts pocket, bends to unlock the annex, and lifts the rattling door.<br/>
<br/>
It's musty inside—the smell of dust brings back a brief but vivid memory of your earlier search of the annex—and the three of you shuffle in. Sofas, wingback chairs, free-standing cabinets, and lots of other furniture and home furnishings occupy a good part of the space, only some of them covered in sheets. But most of the space is taken up with big wooden crates. It's these that occupy most of your attention, for you're thinking again of that book, and you lift and lower creaking lids as you glance inside them. But they seem to be filled only with dishes and picture frames and other bric-a-brac.<br/>
<br/>
"I wish we went to Eastman," you hear Leah say from the other side of the annex as you are searching. "Then if we had a key would could hang out here after school. Some of these sofas are really comfortable." Chris says something in reply, and she says, "Sit down and try it out if you don't believe me."<br/>
<br/>
<i>They're so comfortable with each other,</i> you think. <i>I was comfortable with them, for a little while. And then all this shit happened.</i><br/>
<br/>
"What are you looking for?"<br/>
<br/>
Leah's voice, sounding so close by, makes you jump. "Sorry," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I'm just— Snooping."<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes glint. "Yeah! Hey, what's back there?"<br/>
<br/>
She points over your shoulder, and you turn. There's a couple of very tall and very skinny crates, rising from the floor to the ceiling, that cut off the back of the annex. For some reason, the word <i>flats</i> comes to you, for you remember seeing them on your first visit, and asking about them.<br/>
<br/>
You're just turning back to Leah when you catch a flurry of motion from the corner of your eye. You have the impression of her grinning at you, and then something touches the side of your head. As though struck by a bolt of black lightening, you fall off your feet, and the world goes dark.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The back of your head is throbbing when next you know anything, and you gasp and pant with pain. Slowly you push yourself up off a sheet-shrouded sofa. Gingerly you touch the back of your head.<br/>
<br/>
But the pain quickly fades, and after you straighten up and get to your feet, it is only a shadow, which flees as you roll your neck and shoulders. You blink and look around.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh yeah, the annex. What was I supposed to help move?</i><br/>
<br/>
A memory comes back of picking your way over and through shrouded couches and cabinets, trying to figure out which pieces Hartlein wants moved back to the theater for the production. You were here with Leah and that guy—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Will Prescott.</i> The name is like a dagger to the brain, and that headache flares briefly to life again.<br/>
<br/>
Then Leah was saying something about how much fun it would be if you all went to Eastman so you could sneak into this storage bay and hang out. She pulled you into an embrace and then something was touching the back of your head ...<br/>
<br/>
Another black wave rolls over you. <i>That's all wrong</i> is your last thought before sinking onto a sofa and putting your face between your knees. You want to vomit.<span class="ghfgnkifhe269"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211211121
author_id: seuzz
id: LRKXVDQFW
title: Surprises in Store
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>The sound of feet shuffling nearby sends your heart down into your stomach. You raise your head.<br/>
<br/>
You can't help flinching when you see him, swaying on his feet, behind a row of sofas. That guy who met you out here. <i>Will Prescott.</i><br/>
<br/>
His face is a sickly white, and his jaw hangs open, and his eyes twist up into a terrified squint. His muscle shirt drapes over him like a shroud.<br/>
<br/>
But then, you're pretty sure you're as pale as he is, and you feel your own face twisting into a petrified flinch.<br/>
<br/>
<i>How fucked up is this?</i> you think. <i>Because I'm here ... and I'm over there, too!</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
For what seems the longest time neither of you move. You desperately want to look away, but you can't tear your eyes from his, and his eyes remain locked on your as well.<br/>
<br/>
Finally, he breaks away. "Dude," he croaks.<br/>
<br/>
And just like that, it's as though as spell has been broken. "Okay," you sigh as you rise. Your knees creak. "You have any idea what's going on?"<br/>
<br/>
His eyes roll, and he flinches. "No," he says. "Where's Leah?"<br/>
<br/>
"Leah?" Then you remember. "Right!" You look around, then hurry to the storeroom door to look out. You see no one, and when you look back inside the storeroom, it appears to be empty of anyone but you and ... him.<br/>
<br/>
You make a quick search of the place anyway, tugging your cargo shorts as you do, for they bind you about the hips uncomfortably. The other guy helps with a desultory search of his own. You note that he has to clutch his shorts to keep them from drooping off him.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, first things first," you say after finishing a round of the storeroom. "What's your name?"<br/>
<br/>
He jerks a little in surprise, and a look of loathing passes over his face. "Chris," he says, his lips twisting around the name. "Chris Love."<br/>
<br/>
You nod. "Yeah. And me, my name is—" You hesitate. There are two names you could claim, and both of them feel intuitive. But only one of them, you feel in your bones, is the correct one. "Will Prescott." You look down at yourself. <br/>
<br/>
You are in your own clothes—burgundy t-shirt, cargo shorts, ankle socks and sneakers. These feel tight, and you squirm in them. You touch your head, feeling for the shapeless white ball cap you usually sport, but it's gone. You glance around, and spot it on the floor next to the sofa where you woke up.<br/>
<br/>
Your eye catches the cluster of full-length mirrors collected in the corner, and with a flick of your hand you gesture the other guy to join you at them. He edges in, flinches, and you have to grab and pull him off reluctant feet so you can look at each other—and yourselves—in a large mirror.<br/>
<br/>
You've got two reflections.<br/>
<br/>
The one that goes with your real name is tall and skinny, and his muscle shirt looks more like a poncho. He is wearing flip flops. His grin is a sickly rictus, and his eyes are filled with horror and fascination both.<br/>
<br/>
The reflection that mirrors your own small, spasmodic movements is a shade shorter and more filled out with muscles. His face is also pale, but his skin is a golden tan. He's got strong calves, and strong forearms. His hair is blonde and very fine. His name—it's not yours—is Christopher William Love.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's hard to talk, because it's hard to know what to say. How do you ask him what happened when he is clearly as bewildered as you?<br/>
<br/>
"Look," you finally say, "what we gotta do is find Leah. She was here when ... Well, she was here. If she knows what's going on, she can tell us." The other guy has gotten very quiet since looking in the mirror, but he nods. Separately, you return to where you woke up to retrieve your phones.<br/>
<br/>
You're scrolling through your contact list, looking for her number, when the other guy calls out, "What do we tell Elle and Laura when they get here?"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" In the moment of the crisis, you had totally forgotten about them. "Oh, we—"<br/>
<br/>
You stop when you see the same question on his face: Where are they? Shouldn't they be here by now?<br/>
<br/>
For that matter, where is Jack? You hurry again to the door to look out. The field of grass that separates the annex from the parking lot is empty. You look at the clock on your phone. It's after five, plenty of time for them all to have shown up.<br/>
<br/>
Well, you'll worry about it when and if they do show up. You scroll down to Leah's number, punch it, and put your phone to your ear.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, hey," she says when she picks up.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Leah, this is"—you hesitate for a millisecond—"Chris. Where are you?"<br/>
<br/>
There's a long pause. Then she says, "This isn't your phone!"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? No, it's— Look, where are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Chris who?"<br/>
<br/>
Through a clenched jaw, you reply, "Chris Love."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh!" she gasps. "Hey! What's up?"<br/>
<br/>
"Where are you?" You pinch the bridge of your nose.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm at Brianna's, but I'm getting ready to—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, can you come out and meet us?"<br/>
<br/>
"I gotta get home," she says doubtfully. "But where are you?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Where are we?</i> you echo, incredulous. You glance at the other guy, who is watching you closely. "We're up at Eastman still. At the drama department storeroom."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it's kinda out of my way. What are you doing up there?"<br/>
<br/>
You seem to be losing all the feeling in your hands. "We're still up here," you reply. "From when we met?" You put a little steel in your voice. "Why'd you ditch us?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ditch you?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, we were all up here, you and me and ... Will Prescott. And then you ditched us. Why?"<br/>
<br/>
There's another of those long pauses.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno what you're talking about, Chris. I been hanging out here with Brianna and Susie since school got out."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's a tedious and aggravating conversation that follows, on both sides. Leah soon gets angry when you keep insisting that she met you and Will up at Eastman, and you just as quickly lose your patience with her. You ask her to put Brianna on, and you are further bothered and bewildered when Brianna also insists that Leah has been with her all afternoon. You finally end the conversation by snapping Leah's head off, though telling her you'll talk to her later.<br/>
<br/>
The other guy, meanwhile, has been having just as thin a time of it. He calls both Laura and Elle to ask if they're coming up to the storeroom, and both of them ask why they would want to do that: there are no plans, they say, to meet anyone up there. After that, you tell him to call Jack, to ask if he's still coming out. Jack, too, denies having DMed anyone about meeting at Eastman.<br/>
<br/>
That sparks a thought, and with a feeling of dread you check your x2z DMs, and you also check those on the other guy's phone. A cold, sickly anger swells in your gut as you recognize the latter as the same fake accounts that fooled you earlier; and although the DM you got from Jack uses his x2z handle, the account name is different.<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck is going on?" the other guy asks. He seems to have recovered his balance enough that he's starting to get angry.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you know?" you snap at him. "We're being catfished. Or something."<br/>
<br/>
It's right about then that someone shouts "Hey!", and a groundskeeper appears in the doorway. "You guys gotta get going," he says.<br/>
<br/>
You glance at "Will" and answer, "Yeah, we're about done, can you give us five minutes?"<br/>
<br/>
"Five minutes," he replies with a dark, warning glance of his own.<br/>
<br/>
You sigh and summon the other guy over. He nods glumly when you tell him there's no point in putting it off any longer.<br/>
<br/>
You're going to have to switch clothes.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There's no denying that you feel better, and in some sense "more like yourself," after you've switched into baggy jogging shorts and muscle shirt and flip-flops, and have tied your hair down under a pink-and-lavender silk bandana. The other guy also looks more natural.<br/>
<br/>
It also feels more natural to call him "Will Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
"Listen," he says as you walk out together, with a couple of feet of empty air between you. "I don't wanna go anywhere there's people. I can't go back to my place, and I don't want to—" He swallows. "Go to yours."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I know. But you might have to. Right?"<br/>
<br/>
He tenses.<br/>
<br/>
"But until we don't got a choice," you continue, "until we get this straightened out, talk to Leah, whatever— Well, let's hang out someplace and figure something out." You can tell that doesn't please him any more than it pleases you. "Someplace no one will find us, come looking for us."<br/>
<br/>
In a flash, you know exactly the place, and tell him. He nearly jumps out of his skin, and fear shows on his face. "Yeah, I know," you tell him. "Sorry."<br/>
<br/>
"How do you know about—?" he asks in a voice thick with horror.<br/>
<br/>
"I just do," you reply. "I guess because—" You point to your face.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?" he demands. His expression is hard.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I just do. Don't you know, um—?" You point to his face.<br/>
<br/>
"Know what?" His eyes glitter with anger. "Shit about you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't even remember your name!" he shouts. "And that's even after you told me!"<span class="kvmmzbajub"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112111211
author_id: seuzz
id: C2DJKNPXR
title: Where No Body Knows Your Name
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You stare at him. Does he really not even know your name?<br/>
<br/>
"Do you know what I drive?" you cautiously ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, I don't even know—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, alright! Fuck. Look, that's my truck over there." You point. "Let's just meet at ... where I said. We'll talk there."<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a sour look, then stalks over to your truck. You watch as he fishes keys out of his pockets, and tries one or two before finding the right one.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Now you're more nervous than ever. Not that you'd like for him to know all about you, inside and out. But you know <i>him</i> inside and out—easily, naturally, intuitively. It would have been awkward enough squatting in the old storm drain, with you knowing its history, and him knowing that you know its history. But at least he would have known all of your history too, all the things that you wouldn't like other people knowing about, even if they're not as ... awkward ... as some of the things you know about him.<br/>
<br/>
But now ... It's going to be really hard looking him in the eye.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So when you reach the old gulch that runs through his neighborhood, you gesture him over to where you've parked.<br/>
<br/>
"Look," you tell him, "let's not—" You nod at the metal grill that covers the mouth of the culvert. "Let's just talk here. What do you know about me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing," he replies with a sulky glower.<br/>
<br/>
"You know where I live? My family? My birthday? Not even a hint?" He shakes his head. "And not even my name. Fuck."<br/>
<br/>
"What about you?" His voice is dark with anxiety. "You know this place."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. And I know about ... Well, I know your name and family and everything. Your address. Your locker number and combo." You lick your lips. "Last Saturday, up at the Warehouse. I'm not spying on you!" you protest, though he hasn't said anything. "I just ... know?"<br/>
<br/>
"How?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know! How did I get like this?" You press your hands to your chest. "How did you get like—?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's got something to do with Leah."<br/>
<br/>
"No shit! Except she says she was with Brianna all afternoon, and Brianna says—"<br/>
<br/>
"Then Brianna's lying."<br/>
<br/>
"I guess," you sigh. But even though it's the only possible solution, Brianna Kirschke, you feel, is a very truthful girl.<br/>
<br/>
<i>How do I know that?</i> you wonder. <i>Oh, right. </i>Chris<i> feels like she's a very truthful girl.</i><br/>
<br/>
"So we go find Leah," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Except she's eating dinner now. She said she was on her way home." You take out your phone. "Afterward, though. I'll tell her we want to meet her after dinner."<br/>
<br/>
He's silent as you tap in a text—having swapped clothes, you are also texting from Chris's phone—but when you're done he says, "Look, I'm trying not to freak out, but I really want to know how come you know about ... where I live and stuff, and I don't know anything about you."<br/>
<br/>
"We have to ask Leah."<br/>
<br/>
"What if she doesn't tell us?"<br/>
<br/>
"She has to," you reply, though feeling less certain than you would wish. "If this is some kind of ... prank ... there's no point in playing it and then not 'fessing up."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But it looks like you're not going to find out, at least not anytime soon. Leah texts back to say that she has to stay in the rest of the evening to do homework, and when you ask if you can stop by, she tries putting you off by saying that she'll talk to you tomorrow. When you insist, she finally relents and says that you can come over for "a few minutes."<br/>
<br/>
But she cuts it short when you finally do meet. "I don't know what you're talking about!" she insists while leaning against her front door as you and Will glower at her from the patio. "I was with Brianna all afternoon! And Susie!"<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit," you insist. "You were at Eastman with us. In the drama storeroom. With Chris and me!"<br/>
<br/>
"Chris who?"<br/>
<br/>
You sigh. "With him and me," you say, pointing to Will. "We were all gonna meet Jack and Elle and Laura there, and you showed up too—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I didn't! And so what if I didn't? Brianna and me—"<br/>
<br/>
"Leah," Will says in a heavy voice. "Change us back."<br/>
<br/>
Her face twists up in bewilderment.<br/>
<br/>
Then she shakes her head and says, "Guys, you won the dare, or whatever the frick this is. I'll see you tomorrow at school."<br/>
<br/>
"Leah!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll see you tomorrow!" She shuts the door in your face. You ring the doorbell a couple of times, but it's her father that answers, and one look at his face tells you that it will be the police you talk to next if you don't get off his patio. You and Will turn and leave.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess we talk to her tomorrow," he says. "She's gonna make it stick."<br/>
<br/>
"Then we better get ready for it." You grip him by the arm and pull him back to your vehicles.<br/>
<br/>
This time you drive out to Acheson, to the community center, you taking the lead and him following. There, you climb into the truck with him, and after taking a deep sigh you start to give him your biography. "Your name, I guess, for tonight at least, is William Martin Prescott. You live at—"<br/>
<br/>
You go over it all a couple of times, in bite-size chunks, quizzing him on what you've told him as you go. Thank God he has a quick and retentive memory, at least when he focuses on using it.<br/>
<br/>
"Caleb Johansson," he instantly answers after you ask who he sits next to in Mr. Walberg's class. "I've also got him for English, fourth period, Ms. Gladstone's class. Him and me and Keith—"<br/>
<br/>
"Keith who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Tilley. We usually eat lunch together behind G wing during fifth period. He—Caleb—wanted me to get him a job at his dad's work—"<br/>
<br/>
"Which is?"<br/>
<br/>
"Salopek. And your brother's name is Robert and he goes to Schuyler Middle School."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, now let me tell you about Carson Ioeger and James Lamont, in case you wind up having lunch with them tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
You don't want to separate for the night—that would mean committing to your new "roles" as Will Prescott and Chris Love—but it is undeniably a relief when you watch him drive slowly away. You sit for awhile longer, your forehead resting against the steering wheel. But when a text comes in from Chris's mom—<i>Are you staying out all night?</i>—you turn the engine over and head for his house.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Chris and his brother Patrick live with their mom near Hochstetter Park, in one of the older and poorer neighborhoods in town. Patrick, who is twenty-six, makes a decent living as a pesticide control man, but it's his fifth job in as many years because he seems congenitally incapable of settling into any kind of steady job or role in life. Their mom, who is in her fifties, works retail at the mall. Between the two of them, there would be enough income to live someplace better. But no one is much inclined to move.<br/>
<br/>
Patrick is apparently out drinking with his buddies—his drinking has cost him two of his last three jobs; the other two, he just told his boss to go fuck himself and walked out—so it's just Christina Love in the living room when you get home. "Were you out studying?" she asks without looking up from the TV.<br/>
<br/>
"Some," you reply, and hoist the book bag higher onto your shoulder. "I still got some stuff to finish up." Her lips press together primly, and you duck down the short hall to the bedroom that Chris and Patrick still share.<br/>
<br/>
Luckily, some French homework is all you've got to get through for tomorrow, so you scribble that out—marveling a little that you can imitate Chris's handwriting perfectly—and then you brush your teeth and undress, pull on some loose-fitting pajama bottoms, and get in bed. You're awoken some time later by the rumble of Patrick coming in—he reeks of beer and weed—but pretend still to be asleep as he fumbles in the dark. He is snoring hard long before you've fallen back asleep, though.<br/>
<br/>
He's dead to the world—not even snoring—when you wake the next morning. It's early, and you want to get out of the house quickly, so you pack a gym bag with shampoo and soap and a change of clothes, then sneak out while it's almost still dark. At the school, you are tapping a text to Chris's mom, explaining that you left early, when you get a text from "Will Prescott":<br/>
<br/>
<i>Remind me again what your locker combo is.</i><span class="fmjggefeffen3711"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121121112111
author_id: seuzz
id: GD78SH2DM
title: Love, Prescott Style
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You text him your locker combo, then arrange to meet him outside the cafeteria.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
He's dressed like you dressed yesterday, in cargo shorts and an electric blue t-shirt. You ask him how he did last night.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay I guess," he says. His eyes dart about the hallway, which is almost empty at this early hour. (The doors were unlocked only about fifteen minutes ago.) "I told your folks I had a bunch of homework to do, then went and hid in your room and went to bed early. Got up early, too. You don't go jogging or anything in the mornings, do you?" You tell him you don't. "I might start," he says, "if we don't get this fixed. Something to get me out of the house early. What about you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Same. Did homework, then went to bed. Your brother came in late and woke me up—"<br/>
<br/>
"Shit, I forgot to tell you about him."<br/>
<br/>
"It's okay. You remember everything else I told you?"<br/>
<br/>
He runs quickly through your schedule and the basic facts about your friends, and you only have to correct him at one point—your study hall is seventh period, not sixth. "Don't fuck anything up for me," he warns you as you part. You smile tightly back at him, and refrain from remarking that he's more likely to fuck something up for you.<br/>
<br/>
Having snuck out early, you go to the gym to shower. Some of the basketball players are already in there, dressing out for pre-class practice. "Love, love, love," Dylan Lloyd sings as you pass. You shoot him a slit-eyed grin, but say nothing.<br/>
<br/>
The locker room is empty when you emerge from the shower to dress. You pulled out one of Chris's standard wardrobes: baggy shorts, loose muscle shirt, bandana, and sneakers. It's the kind of wardrobe that is both summertime comfortable and calculated to show off his frame, and you grimace with embarrassed pleasure as you pull the clothes on. If you weren't already semi-used to having this body, showering would have been a mortifying experience. As it was, as you only note enviously to yourself that Chris has strong, well-muscled limbs, a sleek stomach with well-defined abs, and a strong chest and shoulders. <i>Why leave anything to the imagination?</i> is his philosophy when dressing.<br/>
<br/>
And it has had the desired effect, you suppose. At your locker—showered now and dressed like him, with his deodorant, it is easy enough to slip into thinking of yourself as "Chris Love," and into thinking that all of his stuff is yours—you are goosed in the small of the back and whirl. Josie Holden grins at you.<br/>
<br/>
"We're having a party at my house Monday night," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Monday?" you echo, confused. "A party?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, a bunch of us are getting together with all our books. You gonna come?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, sure!" Unconsciously, almost, you put out a hand and quickly stroke her side with your open palm. A little flush comes into her cheeks, and her eyes glisten before she turns and walks away. Your eyes fall to take in her ass, and the silly grin you feel on your face brightens even more. Your loins engorge pleasurably. Only after you've turned back to the locker do you realize how easy it was to slip into Chris's persona. A brief wave of dizziness washes over you, and you're in a thoughtful mood—almost one of trepidation—as you approach his first class of the day.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, this is stupid,</i> you tell yourself as you hesitate outside the door. <i>You did it with Josie just now without even thinking. And Chris isn't going to let you forget who you really are.</i><br/>
<br/>
You force yourself to relax. And as soon as the faint smile is on your mouth, the rest comes over you in a rush. Loose-limbed and casual, you saunter into the classroom.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You'll say this for Chris: He has one easy-peasy class schedule. He has slid through high school taking classes even less challenging than you ever did, and even in his senior year his classes are so backwards that most of them, like first-period French for Reading Knowledge, are filled with underclassmen. Second and third period are soccer practice, but even there is often able to take it relatively easy. Chris is a backup player—he gets put into any position where the first-string player is starting to fade—so while Coach Gellman puts most of the other players through serious, specific drills, you get to have fun keeping multiple skills sharpened by playing in free-form scrimmages. <i>We got it so sweet,</i> Chris likes to say to Nathan Ford and Brophy Maddox, the other backup players, and you use the line again today during a break when you all are staggering around, catching your breaths.<br/>
<br/>
Fourth period is US History with Mr. Walberg (ugh, you just can't get away from that guy!) where again almost everyone is a freshman, and as is usual with Chris, you shoot a finger gun at Brett Landon (a player on the freshman soccer team) when you come in, before slapping palms with Dane Matthias and flopping into a desk next to Shane Hilburn and Kyler Zook. And that's your only really serious class of the day. Sixth period is Intro to Acting; seventh is Visual Journalism; eighth is Creative Writing. <i>I should have so much fun in my old classes,</i> you marvel to yourself as you tramp out History on your way to lunch. <i>I hope the other guy's doing okay with my classes!</i><br/>
<br/>
Then, as though thinking of him has summoned him, he intercepts you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Hey, you got time to talk?" he asks. His expression is vexed.<br/>
<br/>
"I got lunch this hour, you know that," you reply. "I got nothin' but time." With a kind of mischievous glee you drape an arm over his shoulders and steer him for one of the exits. "I'll tell you your troubles and you tell me mine."<br/>
<br/>
"You got in trouble?" he asks in a voice so low you can hardly hear him over the roar of the crowded corridor.<br/>
<br/>
"Nah, I'm chill. How about you? How'd your classes go?" You flash a peace sign at Jorge Rivera, one of the players on the JV soccer squad, as he passes going the other way.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't have any of the homework done."<br/>
<br/>
"Bumzetron." You feel him tense. "Josie's having a study party Monday night—"<br/>
<br/>
"I talked to Susie Pineapple last period," he says. "She says she was with Leah all afternoon yesterday, over at Brianna's."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh." You guide Will through the double doors leading outside. "And that's got you nutted up?"<br/>
<br/>
"Susie doesn't know how to lie." He stops and turns to look you direct in the face. "<br/>
<br/>
"Ay-yah." You grimace past his ear, at the portables, where the stoners and slackers like to hang out. "When Susie tries to lie, she just gets the giggles."<br/>
<br/>
"She was totally serious when she was talking to me. She was looking at me like <i>I</i> had a pineapple for a head."<br/>
<br/>
You suck in a cheek.<br/>
<br/>
"But we saw Leah," you observe. "At the storeroom. We <i>talked</i> to her!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah! So why do you think I'm nutted up!"<br/>
<br/>
You look him in the eyes. His face is screwed up with anxiety. Probably a normal look for Will Prescott, but not one for Chris Love.<br/>
<br/>
"Dude," you say, and drop a hand onto his shoulder. "You need to destressify. We'll figure this out. Just get through the day, keep your mouth shut, listen for my name. We'll get together after school—"<br/>
<br/>
"You have rehearsal."<br/>
<br/>
"We'll get together after rehearsal. Until then, treat it like— Oh!" You snap your fingers, and he winces a little, for you snapped them right next to his ear. "Treat it like that improv challenge La Ella gave you. You got your character—me. Name, clothes, quirty bio. Roll with it until this afternoon, when we'll get together."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you doing now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Going to lunch." You smile at him. "Wanna come with?"<br/>
<br/>
You can see the wheels turning behind his eyes: a chance to dodge your friends—who he doesn't know—for some of his.<br/>
<br/>
But then he's seemingly caught by a thought, and his gaze shifts and darkens as he looks at you. You're not telepathic, but you can guess the thought: <i>I'll be with my friends, but they won't know it's me. They'll think </i>this guy<i> is me.</i><br/>
<br/>
But he covers it with a tight smile of his own.<br/>
<br/>
"I got a character," he says. "I should work on it. I'll see you after rehearsal."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Chris wasn't interested in acting—hadn't even thought of it!—until last year, while hanging out Elle Moore. She was taking drama classes, and one night she got him to prompt her while she was learning her lines. He really got into the character, and she told him he was really good, and how he should try acting. He laughed it off, but then she got him to help her and Laura and Christian Padilla and some others to rehearse some scenes, and he had fun. He found it real easy to memorize lines, and to toss them off in a couple of ways, and to move while speaking. And when they started improvising, he fell into it with an easy spontaneity. Again, they urged him to take some drama classes, and again he laughed it off, but less certainly. He continued to help them out, and found the acting more and more fun. It didn't hurt that they told him that with his looks and physical presence, he could easily hold an audience's attention.<br/>
<br/>
So he signed up for the baby acting class this semester—Intro to Acting—and even auditioned for the mid-semester play. To his surprise, he got the part.<br/>
<br/>
Intro to Acting is sixth period, and you're on your way to the drama wing when you're intercepted by Laura MacGregor.<br/>
<br/>
"Chris," she mutters, and grips your bicep so hard that her nails threaten to break the bare skin. "Skip sixth period and hang out with me."<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't do my Latin homework, and if I just skip I'll feel like I'm lazy, but if I'm with you we can practice a scene."<span class="fmmkmiffnf369"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211211121111
author_id: seuzz
id: Y5SZ6HML6
title: Enter Acting
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>Go to Intro to Acting class, or practice a scene with Laura?<br/>
<br/>
You ought to go to class, but "rehearsal" is just too juicy an excuse to pass up.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, sure," you tell her. "Where do you wanna go?"<br/>
<br/>
"One of portables, I guess," she says after a moment's thought.<br/>
<br/>
You feel a rise. The old, abandoned portables are a hang-out, make-out spot at the school, and there are plenty of stories of sexy shenanigans out there during school hours. No way Laura has that kind of thing in mind, but your own mind can't help going there.<br/>
<br/>
The portables—there's almost a dozen of them—are arranged in a double-row horseshoe, and as usual, there's a couple of knots of kids hanging out in the "courtyard" between the two arms. You recognize the guys in the biggest group: Justin Roth and his cronies. Perry Small. Spencer Osbourne. Ben Gunnison. And Jamie Rennerhoff.<br/>
<br/>
Your neck muscles tighten at the sight of the latter. Not too long ago, he plopped his skinny ass into a seat next to yours, smirked, and asked, "What was in the coffin?" And even if the weirdness around "Clover Mystery" has shrunk massively in significance in the last twenty-four hours, you've not forgotten. If you were yourself, you might try steering Laura in another direction. But you forcibly remind yourself that Chris likes most of these guys, and though he thinks Rennerhoff is annoying and even a little creepy, he's definitely not afraid of him.<br/>
<br/>
"Love, love, love," Spencer chants when he sees you. (It's the usual greeting that Chris gets from fuckwits who only know him casually. It used to aggravate him, but now he just ignores it.) "Siddown, man, and share the love."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm busy," you say. "But the fuck are you doorknobs up to?" Justin is smoking a cigarette, and looks too stoned to really be paying attention to anything, while Small restlessly rakes his fingers through tufts of grass, pulling at them. Gunnison, a husky, cheerful soul, grins emptily up at you. But Jamie wears a cunning grin as he glances you and Laura up and down.<br/>
<br/>
"We're doin' the thing out at Colson's after school," Spencer says. He's not the psycho asshole that Rennerhoff is, but his grin is nasty enough, and you've always felt that, if he's not as awful as Rennerhoff, it's because he's just a lot more subtle about it. "You and Laura should come out and do the thing with us."<br/>
<br/>
"We got rehearsal after school," you reply. "We got rehearsal now."<br/>
<br/>
"Now?" Gunnison asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Scene's not going, and Laura wants to work on it."<br/>
<br/>
"What, here?" says Spencer.<br/>
<br/>
"We're gonna use one of the portables. There's a class using the theater."<br/>
<br/>
There's a hanging moment. Then a ripple of amusement runs through the group. (Except for Roth, who has put his head back and shut his eyes.) You ignore it, and touch Laura on the shoulder to propel her forward.<br/>
<br/>
"The thing?" Laura asks in a near whisper. "What's 'the thing' they're doing at Terry's?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ah, nothin'. That's just Osbourne trying to sound big. They're gonna hang out, do some weed, maybe order a pizza." You point down the alley leading between two of the portables. "Let's take one of the ones in the back."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe we shouldn't have—" Laura starts to say, but you've already rattled the door of one of the portables, and it swings open. She looks very doubtful, then plunges past you, up the short wooden steps and inside. You follow and close the door behind you.<br/>
<br/>
A stench of mildew, rotten wood, and rat droppings envelops you. Some portables are in better shape than others—or so Chris's memories tell you—and this is one of the worst. It is empty of furniture—others still have desks and chairs in them—and the floor in one of the far corners has rotted away completely, leaving a gaping hole. "We can find another one," you suggest, but Laura shakes her head and says, "We're already here, let's just do it."<br/>
<br/>
She ponders a moment, then crosses to the center of the portable. "Audience," she says, pointing to a wall pierced by a row of dirty windows. "You enter from there." She points to the door, and you cross to stand expectantly in front of it.<br/>
<br/>
For a long moment Laura stands stock still, head down, in a furious concentration. Then with a quick, sharp breath she raises her head and declaims, in a voice dripping with poisonous courtesy:<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, hello, Maggie. I knew you must be around somewhere. How are you, my dear? <br/>
<br/>
"Blah blah blah," she then adds in a quick, bored voice. "Who's that? Bert? Come in, Bert. Miss Lorraine Sheldon."<br/>
<br/>
That's your cue, and you saunter up as though returning from a walk around the block. <br/>
<br/>
"How do you do, Miss Sheldon?" you say. You grin, cocking your head and lifting your chin so as to show the "audience" your profile. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you glimpse shadows moving across the windows, but you ignore them.<br/>
<br/>
"How do you do?" Laura says, returning to her earlier style of delivery. "I didn't quite catch the name— Jefferson?"<br/>
<br/>
Out of the corner of your mouth, you growl in a low voice, "That's right, pet."<br/>
<br/>
Laura gasps deeply—much more deeply than she ever has in a rehearsal before. Her eyes flame with surprise and lust, and she takes half a step back. Then she charges at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Why, Mr. Jefferson!" she exclaims in a deep, throaty growl. "You don't <i>look</i> like a newspaper man! You don't look like a newspaper man at all!"<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" you squawk, for she has caught you off guard with this over-the-top delivery. "I thought it was written all over me in neon lights."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, no, not at all!" She looks you up and down greedily. "I should have said you were a— an aviator or an explorer or something!" She puts out her hand as though to touch your chest, but only hovers it there. "They have the same kind of dash about them! Oh, I'm simply <i>enchanted</i> with your town, Mr. Jefferson," she cries out, "it gives one such a— a warm, gracious feeling." She hugs herself. "Tell me, have you lived here all your life?"<br/>
<br/>
You stare at her. She stares brightly back.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you doing?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm doing the scene," she says. The hunger on her face hangs there.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh— Did Charles tell you to dial it up all this way?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pah! Just play it, Chris! Skip to 'suppose I drop you?'"<br/>
<br/>
You bite your lip, then decide that if she's going to play it like a burlesque skit, you should too.<br/>
<br/>
"Thank you!" you exclaim, and clasp your hands to your chest before sweeping one arm through the air, like a machete through a bamboo patch. "But I've got my car! Suppose I drop <i>you?"</i><br/>
<br/>
Ice crystalizes in Laura's eyes, but she presses on. "Oh, would you?" she says, with much less melodrama than you put into your reading. "That'd be lovely. See you in a little while, Sherry." She slips her arm into yours before glancing over her shoulder. "Goodbye, Maggie!"<br/>
<br/>
"Farewell, Maggie, farewell!" you exclaim to the same empty spot that Laura addressed. "Perchance I'm invited back for—"<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, Mr. Jefferson!" Laura almost pulls you off your feet. "I want to hear <i>more</i> about this charming little town." With her free hand she paws your shoulder as you walk offstage. "And I want to know a good deal about <i>you</i>, too!"<br/>
<br/>
You both stop short at the portable door. After a moment, you ask, "Okay, what was that?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was the scene."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, don't you think it was a little too much?"<br/>
<br/>
Laura shrugs. "Well, sure. But I'm trying to find the emotion. And then I'll cut things back."<br/>
<br/>
"What emotion?"<br/>
<br/>
Her face falls.<br/>
<br/>
"Lorraine's emotions!" she exclaims. "For Bert!"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't think— Lorraine's just <i>acting</i> with Bert."<br/>
<br/>
Laura's eyes pop.<br/>
<br/>
"She is not!" she exclaims. "Where did you get that idea?"<br/>
<br/>
"But it's just a scheme. By, uh, Sheridan Whiteside." You point to an empty spot, as though Charles Hartlein—who is taking the title role of the play—were sitting there. "You know, he's trying to bust up me and Maggie, and he brought you in to—"<br/>
<br/>
"But Lorraine loves Bert!"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought she loved Lord Bottomley."<br/>
<br/>
Laura returns you an exasperated look.<br/>
<br/>
"She loves his money, Chris, and his title. But Bert— Well, it's there in the line." Laura dances her fingertips up your chest. "''You look more like an aviator or an explorer!' Bert gets her— Mm!" She shivers all over. "Going."<br/>
<br/>
Your skin prickles all over. "Did Charles—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck Charles! And fuck you guys!" she yells at the window as she flies at. Shadowy faces have been bobbing outside it for the last minute or so. They vanish in a ripple of giggles and squawks. "It's <i>my</i> scene and <i>my</i> character," Laura says as she turns back to you, "and this is what <i>I</i> say!" She stares at you, breathless.<br/>
<br/>
Then her expression turns grim. "But yeah, after rehearsal yesterday, Charles told me I was underplaying. So I'm trying to find the— the emotion. The reason—"<br/>
<br/>
"Did Charles say anything," you interrupt, "about needing to get something out of the Eastman storeroom? Yesterday."<br/>
<br/>
She blinks. "No."<br/>
<br/>
"He didn't tell you to meet me and ... and Elle and Jack Li out there, to help get some stuff out?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," she says. A wariness comes over her.<br/>
<br/>
"Or Leah? Leah Simmons? Did you text her about—?" <br/>
<br/>
"What are you talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
Is it worth telling her about the DMs that you and Chris got yesterday, from her and others? She'll just deny sending them, the way Leah denied being out there. That's why you haven't bothered to bring them up yet.<span class="fmjggefeffjf3711"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112111211111
author_id: seuzz
id: W2Y88V7HQ
title: What Laura Had to Say
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span><i>Oh, it's nothing.</i><br/>
<br/>
That's probably what you should say. Instead, you pull out your phone.<br/>
<br/>
"I got these DMs yesterday," you tell Laura, and feel a momentary touch of vertigo as you call the guy who got them "I". "And I went out to the storeroom." You bring up the message from "LauraMacG" and show it to her. "I got another one from Elle."<br/>
<br/>
She frowns at it, and with her fingertip she scrolls up and down. "I didn't send this," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, you told me."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't send this," she repeats. She touches the screen at a few places, then in a sharp tone exclaims, "This isn't me!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, if you didn't send it—"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, this isn't my account! See?" She turns the screen to you. "It came from 'Laura MacG'. I'm 'Laura Lorraine Sheldon' now. And the account name is wrong. Where's the one from Elle?" You find it for her on the phone. "Yeah, that's not Elle, either," she says. "Meryl Elle? Even Elle wouldn't—"<br/>
<br/>
She catches herself, and gasps deeply as her eyes pop. You ask, "What is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ohhh!" she cries. "Those <i>shits!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
She wheels for the door and yanks it open so hard she bangs herself in the nose. She clutches her face, and makes little whistling whines and snorts as she nurses it.<br/>
<br/>
You reach out to touch her, but she slaps you off.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, go away!" she shrieks. "Go to class! I—! No, hang on!" Tears are dribbling from the corners of her eyes, but you can't tell if it is pain, anger, or some other emotion causing them. She sniffs a couple of times and touches her nose.<br/>
<br/>
"After rehearsal," she says, "let's go out to Terry's."<br/>
<br/>
"Terry Colson?" you ask, bewildered.<br/>
<br/>
"Ye-es, Terry Colson!" You back off a step, lest she hit you. "I need to talk to—! And I want you there!"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay. But—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, go away, go to class!" She tries pushing you toward the door. "Tell Mr. Wilkes I kidnapped you 'cos I was having a crisis over my part! Ohhh!" She puts her back to you, and resumes gingerly touching her nose.<br/>
<br/>
"Laura," you say, and put a gentle hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it off. "Okay," you say, "I'll see you in English." But she doesn't reply.<br/>
<br/>
You ignore the mirthful expressions of the others as you pass them on the way back to the school. All of them are grinning, save for Roth, who appears to have passed out with a burning cigarette between his fingers.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Mr. Wilkes glowers when you appear in class, and very grumpily dismisses your excuse that Laura wanted to practice a scene, but you don't otherwise suffer. In seventh period you get Elle aside and show her those texts, to see how she will react. She is just as bewildered as Laura but doesn't go to pieces. When you ask if it could have anything to do with Terry Colson, and the people who hang out with him, she gets kind of a guarded look and says, "I don't think so." And in Creative Writing, the last class of the day, Laura just dismisses your tender queries by saying that she'll talk to you all about it later.<br/>
<br/>
Roth, you notice, has deigned to show up for last period, and though he relaxes in a corner with his arms crossed, you can't help suspecting that he is watching you and Laura from under heavy lids.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You don't have much to do at rehearsal: Charles, who is playing the title role of <i>The Man Who Came to Dinner,</i> devotes the day to working with Elle, who is playing the female lead. For once, he keeps his snide, gay sarcasm in check, so that they get a lot done, and you actually see Elle's delivery improving. You do get the distracted Charles aside at one moment to ask if he is going to need anything fetched from the storeroom at Eastman after class. He only returns you a disdainful look, and loftily replies that if you'd rather work for a moving company than a theatrical troupe, he won't try talking you out of a career change.<br/>
<br/>
That gives you plenty of time to conference backstage with Laura. You are both watching the action on stage, and the bitchy Kaufman-and-Hart dialogue comes drifting through as you talk in low voices.<br/>
<br/>
"It was those guys at the portables," she says. She doesn't look at you, but concentrates on the action on stage. "Spencer and them. I bet they're the ones that sent those DMs."<br/>
<br/>
"What makes you say that?"<br/>
<br/>
She doesn't answer right away, not even when you repeat the question.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," she says, "do you remember a week or two back, a school time capsule got dug up?"<br/>
<br/>
That was when all this crazy stuff started, so you nod.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, the day after it happened, a whole bunch of us happened to bump into each other. We were all out at the old quarry—"<br/>
<br/>
"Who's 'we'?"<br/>
<br/>
"Me and Adam and Catherine— And Ell—"<br/>
<br/>
"Adam Dortch?" you ask. She nods, so "Catherine" would be Catherine Greathouse, his girlfriend. "Where was I?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," she snaps. "Prob'ly off with some other girl. But we were all hanging out and Adam wanted to go out to the quarry 'cos he hadn't been in forever. And we ran into those guys out there."<br/>
<br/>
"What guys?"<br/>
<br/>
"Spencer and Jamie ... I don't remember who else. But they—Spencer and Jamie—had this video they'd shot, and they were all giggling over it. They'd been hanging out near the school the night before, and they saw these guys digging up the capsule, and they filmed it."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. But they were all talking about how they could get those guys in trouble. Which wasn't cool, but they were talking about it."<br/>
<br/>
Knowing Spencer and Jamie, you can imagine.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway," she continues, "they were talking about going back out to dig up whatever those other guys had dug up—it was the school time capsule, but I think they didn't know it—and how they could post that video online so people would think it was those guys in the video who did it. Oh, and—" She snaps her fingers. "Justin was there too, 'cos he told them he'd kick their asses if they did, said he'd even go to the administration and tell them it was them, if they did. But Adam told me later—"<br/>
<br/>
"Are those rats in the walls?" a cruelly snide voice exclaims from the stage, and you glance up to see Charles glaring at you. "Or is it possible that another, even more scintillating conversation is being conducted elsewhere in this dismal abode?"<br/>
<br/>
Laura flushes and makes a face at him, but tugs you father back offstage, where you are less likely to be overheard.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
"Adam said," she says in a near whisper, "that Jamie and Spencer were talking about making some fake identities online to get Justin in trouble, if he tried to get <i>them</i> in trouble. 'Cos you can do that on x2z."<br/>
<br/>
"What's this got to do with those DMs I got?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well ... I dunno, maybe nothing. But they're fakes, and Jamie and Spencer were talking about making some fake online IDs."<br/>
<br/>
"But why make up fake x2z accounts for you and Elle?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we were also telling them that they shouldn't get those guys in trouble. And that they shouldn't dig up anything up and get those other guys in trouble."<br/>
<br/>
"Who were those guys? Who were doing the digging?" You're not sure why you ask, unless it's to see what Laura has to say about you.<br/>
<br/>
She looks uncomfortable.<br/>
<br/>
"Caleb Johansson and Will Prescott," she says. "You know them?"<br/>
<br/>
"I know who they are."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, whatever. Anyway, I bet it's Jamie and Spencer. Making up fake IDs and going online to screw with people."<br/>
<br/>
"Why would they want to get me to go to the storeroom?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. Did they show up there?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Leah did." Then, with a beating heart, you ask, "Do you know anyone who posts under the name 'Clover Mystery'?"<br/>
<br/>
Laura stares, puzzled. "No. I don't think so. Did you get a DM from them?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it's something else. Maybe connected, but I dunno."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I don't try to get mixed up in all the shit that goes on on x2z." She turns back toward the stage. "Except I wanna talk to Spencer and Jamie, find out if they—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, you don't wanna wind them up," you tell her. "Those are the kind of guys, if you tell them not to do something, they'll do it just for shits and giggles."<br/>
<br/>
Laura makes a face. <br/>
<br/>
Then she snaps her fingers.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I know where I know that name from!" she says. "Clover Mystery! Yeah, it's—"<br/>
<br/>
"You two just can't keep your hands off each other," a lazy, insolent voice interrupts. From behind the bundled curtain steps Christian Padilla. "You know, 'Bert'," he says,  "it's Maggie out there who's supposed to be your true love." He turns to smirk at the brightly lit stage, where Charles and Elle are arguing. (Whether in character or as themselves, you can't tell.)<br/>
<br/>
"But don't let me interrupt," he continues. "I just came to tell you, Chris, that your groupie is back."<br/>
<br/>
Your heart skips. He must be talking about Maria Vasquez, who has been haunting the theater since rehearsals began. Unconsciously, you take a step toward the curtain.<br/>
<br/>
Laura whirls and stalks off. You freeze. Christian laughs, nastily. <i>Fucking homo,</i> you can't help seething silently at him.<br/>
<br/>
Did he read your mind? For he asks, "Oh, hey, you ever hear from Mike Henderson any more? Or, did you finally drop him after he posted about his new girlfriend on Insta—?"<br/>
<br/>
You shove him away and charge toward the doorway that leads into the auditorium. Only after you are through do you realize that Laura went in quite a different direction.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I should find her,</i> you think, <i>hear what she has to say about 'Clover Mystery', maybe go out with her to Terry Colson's.</i> But you also promised Chris that you'd meet him after rehearsal.<br/>
<br/>
And part of you yearns to talk to Maria, to find out what her interest is in Will Prescott.<span class="fmjggefeegie3711"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112112
author_id: seuzz
id: G3MG7QWNS
title: The Faltering Will
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You glance between the two tables. At one: Elle and Leah and Laura and Jack and their friends. At the other, Maria and Chelsea.<br/>
<br/>
No one seems to be paying attention to you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>What does it mean?</i> you wonder. <i>If I'm being catfished by Clover Mystery, how come all the people I DMed showed up here, just like I asked?</i><br/>
<br/>
A dreadful thought occurs to you: <i>What if it's </i>all<i> these girls who've been doing it to me? What if they've </i>all been in on it, all<i> been lying to me, have </i>all<i> been—!</i><br/>
<br/>
You clutch your head and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to yell, you want to upend the table, you want to punch someone or something hard.<br/>
<br/>
But you find you can't even move. All your muscles are locked up too tight with fury and horror.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Gradually, the tension drains from your limbs, but it leaves you exhausted. You slump in your booth, and when you lift your coffee to your lips, you find it has gone cold.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fuck this,</i> you mutter to yourself, and heave yourself to your feet. You hadn't even bothered to unpack your bag as you waited, which at least saves you the trouble of packing it up again. But you are so drained that you almost pull yourself down when you try hefting it to your shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Prescott," a jeering voice calls, and you turn. It's one of Jack's friends, the one with the <i>Trolls</i> hair. <i>Adam,</i> you vaguely recall his name is. <i>Adam Dork,</i> or something like that.<br/>
<br/>
"You taking off?" he calls. "Where's your study date?" he adds when you reply by making a face at him.<br/>
<br/>
"They didn't show up."<br/>
<br/>
"You sure?" His grin is like a leer. "Maybe they're just invisible, like some of the girls you've been seeing!"<br/>
<br/>
You glare murder at him, but he doesn't see, for he's whirled suddenly. "What?" he demands of the table, where people are gasping. "I'm just giving him shit."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Everyone's giving me shit,</i> you bitterly reflect as you trudge out of the coffee shop.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You spend the rest of the evening curled up on your bed, paralyzed with shame and horror. You rouse yourself enough to send DMs to Meryl_Elle, Laura Mac, and the rest of the crew, asking why they never showed up. You figure their replies, whatever they say, will be informative. Maybe they figure the same thing too, for they keep silent.<br/>
<br/>
You drag yourself to school the next morning, and all the way there you rehearse arguments you could give your mom and dad for why you should be withdrawn from Westside, to transfer to Eastman, or to the Christian school, or to be homeschooled, or to be sent away to another city where no one knows you. You can hardly bear the sight of the place.<br/>
<br/>
So it's a surprise—not a pleasant one, but a surprise nonetheless—when you hear your name called in a cheery voice as you're shuffling across the parking toward the gym. You can't help wincing as you glance back in answer, though, and you're not cheered to see that it's Laura MacGregor calling.<br/>
<br/>
"Wow, don't take this the wrong way, Will," she says as runs up to join you, "but my dad would say you look lower than whale shit."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks," you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"No, come on," she says as she pokes you. "It's not that bad."<br/>
<br/>
"Who says?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what's it about, then?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing."<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, Will," she pleads. "Is your dad or mom in the hospital or something?" She grabs at you as you start to turn away. "Don't be mad at me!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not mad at you."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you sure? Why didn't come over to our table last night? When your study date didn't show up?" She peers at you when you don't answer. "Is that what you're mad about? You got stood up?"<br/>
<br/>
You turn and stalk off.<br/>
<br/>
But she's not to be put off, and hurries after you.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen, you should've come over. We were studying ... Well, having fun pretending to study, and you could've—"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't want to crash your party. And you didn't ask."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we shouldn't have to. Will!" She grabs and pulls you to a stop. "Come on," she cajoles you. "Let's do something after school, at least."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm busy."<br/>
<br/>
"Doing what? Moping?" <br/>
<br/>
She grabs you by the shoulder and hauls you around to face her. <br/>
<br/>
"Will," she says, "if someone's trying to friendly, don't be unfriendly back, or they'll stop trying to be friendly with you."<br/>
<br/>
You can't help rolling your eyes. Why does she think you stopped being friendly with her and her friends, except because they stopped being friendly with you?<br/>
<br/>
But you listen without arguing when she suggests getting together with just a small group. "I'll pick 'em out, no one from last night," she promises you, "in case you're mad at one of them. You're not mad at me, are you?" she asks in a small voice.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm not mad at <i>you,</i>" you assure her with a sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"Then I won't ask who you are mad at. I'm really sorry what you've been going through, lately," she says, and her eyes fill with a liquid concern. "You know, I liked us reconnecting, and I don't want to see it go, you know, kerfluiey!"<br/>
<br/>
You nod vacantly at her.<br/>
<br/>
"Great! Listen, keep your DMs open. I got rehearsal after school, but I'll let you know what we're doing. And don't worry, it'll be something new!"<br/>
<br/>
She turns and flies off toward the theater wing. Only after she's gone do you remember that you should have told her to text you. You don't want to get any more DMs through x2z.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The day passes listlessly and without distinction. Caleb and Keith are decent to you, and continue to say nothing about that "intervention" the other day. Your heart continues to be heavy, even after you get a text—not a DM—from Laura, telling you that meet-ups have been planned at the old State Theater on Adams Boulevard. <i>Christian Padilla is setting up hope u don't mind him,</i> she says. You only shoot her a short acknowledgement. You're not real fond of Padilla—he's one of the gay drama queens who hangs around Charles Hartlein—but you can't help but feel heartened when you get a DM direct from him, telling you of the same arrangement. You reply that you already heard from Laura, and that you'll be there; he replies that he's surprised she remembered to tell you.<br/>
<br/>
Given that the meet-up is at the State Theater, and that Padilla is involved, you figure it will be a drama club thing, so you're not actually looking forward to it. But by five-thirty you are parked behind the theater and are searching for a way in.<br/>
<br/>
Which is hard to do because, to your astonishment, the building appears to be abandoned.<br/>
<br/>
You didn't really know the place, which is why you were grateful when Padilla gave you the address. It's a withered, decrepit building of tan brick, very old, and built in a vaguely Art Deco style, with a spike-like decorative pillar shooting up from behind a red-and-white marquee: dangling bits of iron suggest the pillar once flaunted a sign. But the lobby doors are all closed off behind faded red plywood; a circuit of the building reveals some emergency exits lacing external handles, and one side door above a narrow stoop.<br/>
<br/>
You're not sure you're at the right place, so you DM Padilla. <i>Lol already here,</i> he replies not thirty seconds later. <i>Come in.</i> So you pull at the handle of the side door, and it pops right open. <br/>
<br/>
It leads into a small space that must have once been an office: there are still some metal-frame cabinets in one corner. After propping the exterior door open you look behind the one interior door. A stench of old, dry mildew rolls out, and you gag and retch. It's almost pitch dark on the other side, and there's just enough light for you to make out a tattered red carpet on the floor.<br/>
<br/>
"Hello?" you call out. "Christian?"<br/>
<br/>
There's no answer, which leaves you feeling ill. If he's here—and he said he was—why doesn't he come out to meet you?<br/>
<br/>
<i>Shit,</i> you think after mulling the possibilities, for the obvious answer is that he's probably hiding in the auditorium, and he's going to pop out and surprise you and think it's a big joke.<br/>
<br/>
Unless he's <i>not</i> here, and this whole thing is another goof at your expense.<br/>
<br/>
Neither answer leaves you feeling happy, and it's with gloomy presentiments of persecutions to come that you shuffle down the hallway. The gloom deepens, until it's so dense that only the breath of cold air on your cheeks, and the rasping echo of your feet on creaking wood, tell you that you've stepped into an open space.<br/>
<br/>
There's a rustle behind you. But before you can react, something lightly touches the back of your head. You briefly have the crazy impression that someone has silently slammed a window shut nearby, and you know no more.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wake with a grunt and a grimace, and blink at the darkness. <i>What the fuck?</i> you wonder with no little irritation.<br/>
<br/>
You are laying on your back on a hard surface, and are quite chilly. With a hiss you sit up and rub your face and eyes, hoping that a little circulation will get the brain working again, so you'll remember where you are and why—<br/>
<br/>
You freeze, then look down at yourself.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Why I'm not wearing any clothes.</i><br/>
<br/>
You loose another seething hiss. <i>Okay, this is now totally fucked up.</i><br/>
<br/>
Then something soft touches your back, and you whirl. Two realizations hit you at once.<br/>
<br/>
The first—and it's a relief—is that it's only your hair and not a spider web that is settling about your shoulders. It does that at the end of the day, when all the hold has gone out of the spray.<br/>
<br/>
The second—and this is hardly a relief—is that only Adam Dortch has hair like you just felt settle onto your back.<span class="fngigffkflh3610"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121121121
author_id: seuzz
id: AVPHMWX54
title: Four in the Dark
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You whirl and grope at the darkness that surrounds you, expecting to grab someone. Who? Adam Dortch, of course, whose hair is brushing across the top of your back.<br/>
<br/>
But how can that be, when <i>you</i> are Adam Dortch?<br/>
<br/>
You gape and gasp, struggling to turn your world right-side-up—or in some direction that makes sense.<br/>
<br/>
The last thing you remember—and it's a fight to remember it, because you are so confused and frightened you can hardly think straight—is coming out to the old State Theater. You were coming out there to meet people because there was going to be some kind of party—Padilla was going to bring beer and weed—that Laura MacGregor had invited you out to. You didn't especially want to go— No, wait, it was <i>Catherine</i> who didn't especially want to go ... So you went inside by yourself after texting Padilla ... except Catherine was with you ...<br/>
<br/>
<i>G'yah!</i> You fall into a crouch and cover your face with your hands. You want to retch, both with fear and with disgust at the hair that bounces, like a heavy cobweb, across the top of your back.<br/>
<br/>
Slowly, your thoughts separate and resolve into two parallel streams of memories.<br/>
<br/>
In one, you came out to the State Theater alone to meet Laura and Padilla and maybe some other people, and you came in alone after texting Padilla, and it was dark inside and it seemed deserted ... and then something touched you on the back of the head.<br/>
<br/>
In the other, you came out to the State Theater with Catherine, to meet Christian Padilla and probably some other people, and there was a white truck outside (Catherine asked who it belonged to, and you had to confess you didn't know) but all the lights were out on the inside. You barged in anyway, because you know the place, and when you came out where the stage is—<br/>
<br/>
You lift your face and peer into the gloom. By the feel of the air, you're sure you're on the stage now.<br/>
<br/>
—you called out. Then Catherine gave a little gasp, and her hand went limp in yours and you felt her tumble, but as you turned to catch her something touched you on the side of your head.<br/>
<br/>
And each of these opposed memories connects up to a stream of others, running back in time, back and deeper into the lives of Will Prescott and Adam Dortch.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart is beating hard as you reach up to touch your scalp, and the immense mane of frizzy hair that floats there in a giant cloud. <i>That's my hair,</i> you think. Then, with a shiver: <i>No, it's Adam's hair.</i><br/>
<br/>
But how did Adam's hair get onto your head? For that matter, how did things that feel like his memories get into your head? Why does part of you feel like he is Adam Dortch?<br/>
<br/>
Gingerly, with fear and loathing, you run your palms over your chest and arms and torso. The spread of wiry hair you expect to find across your chest is gone, replaced by a narrow patch between your pecs; and yet you'd expect to find that too, if you've got Dortch's 'do. Your torso and limbs are firm with wiry muscles, and you run fingertips across an unfamiliar, yet also completely familiar, six-pack at your stomach. You stop the exploration before you can touch pubic hair, though.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, the fuck is this?</i> you pant to yourself with a mix of exasperation and fear. <i> Where the fuck are the lights? Where the fuck are my </i>fucking clothes!<br/>
<br/>
You find them a moment later, as with shuffling feet you push your way across the wooden floor of the stage, feeling for a way out. Your toes touch and push something soft and heavy but yielding, and when you crouch to explore with your hands you find it's a pile of clothing. You paw through it until you find the cell phone. The screen lights as you touch it, and you quickly turn on built-in flashlight. A glance confirms that it's Adam Dortch's clothes you've found.<br/>
<br/>
But you find more. As you shine the light about, you spot three naked figures splayed on the theater stage, each one next to a pile of clothing.<br/>
<br/>
All of them you recognize: Laura MacGregor. Adam's girlfriend, Catherine Greathouse.<br/>
<br/>
And Will Prescott.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Everyone is very cross and very frightened after you've woken them up. At first they are confused and angry at finding themselves naked. The horror doesn't start until, by the dim light of cell phones, they get a look at themselves.<br/>
<br/>
Literally, they find themselves <i>looking at themselves.</i><br/>
<br/>
It's a fucking body-swap is what it is, man, like out of Disney Channel sitcom or some shit like that. Catherine is now in Laura's body, and Laura is in Catherine's. And just as you are in Adam's body, he is now in yours.<br/>
<br/>
There's a lot of yelping and crying by the girls, of course, and Catherine (in Laura's body) even starts screaming hysterically. Adam (in your body) tries grabbing and holding her to calm her down, but she bats him away viciously. But when you, on some instinct that you share with Adam, reach out to embrace her, she accepts it, and wilts inside your arms and sobs with her face in your chest.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, first thing we do," you tell them all grimly after Catherine has mostly calmed down, "is get dressed and get the fuck outta here before anything else freaky happens."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe if we wait it'll all switch back to normal," Laura (in Catherine's body) suggests, but her tone is hollow.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not staying here," Adam says. "Where's my fucking duds, man?"<br/>
<br/>
"You better put on mine," you tell him grimly even as you continue to nurse Catherine. "They'll fit you better."<br/>
<br/>
Eventually you get the clothes sorted out, though you and Catherine are the last to get dressed, for she clings to you, and even after you are dressed she is very slow to pull on Laura's stockings and skirt and blouse. And she cleaves to your side again, shuddering and shaking, as you all grope your way back outside into the parking lot.<br/>
<br/>
The sun sitting on the horizon, casting a lurid, dying light across the ruined parking lot behind the theater, when you emerge, to stand awkwardly and eye each other.<br/>
<br/>
It's creepy and surreal. The girls at least look normal, but only until you look them in the eye and face, and that's when you see the eye-rolling horror they must feel. They stand very stiffly, and Catherine in particular shrinks up as though loathing the very touch of Laura's clothes. But even Laura only looks like she's barely holding her shit together. Both of them, you notice, try to look anywhere but at each other—but at the same time they can't help sneaking quick, horrified looks at the girl who now looks like them.<br/>
<br/>
You understand, for you've the same reluctance to look directly at the guy who now inhabits your face and body. He is scrawny inside a billowing t-shirt and cargo pants that look a couple of sizes too large for him. He is twisting his shapeless white ball cap in his hands, and his stiff, straw-like hair seems to stick out in all directions. His mouth peels back in an angry, frightened rictus, exposing big teeth, and his dark eyes dart about.<br/>
<br/>
Someone's got to take charge. To your own surprise, you find that it is you.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, what does everyone remember?" you ask. "About what happened?" When no one answers, you point at Adam.<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a quick, seething glare, then says, "Nothing. I just came out here with—" He glances between Laura and Catherine, as though trying to figure out which one counts as who. "Me and Catherine. We went in, lights were all out, and then it was like something hit me in the head."<br/>
<br/>
You nod, for that accords with the memory you have of his arrival. "Catherine?" you ask. She has nestled up inside your arm again, and you squeeze her. "Hey," you say, but she just flinches and buries her face in your shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
"She was with me," Adam says. "Same thing happened with her." His tone and expression are hostile, and judging by his expression he'd very much like to hit you.<br/>
<br/>
You ignore him, though, and turn to Laura. "How about you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Same thing," she says in a weak voice. "I was late getting out here, saw the cars—" She glances about vaguely, and you follow her gaze. There are three vehicles parked in the small lot: your white truck, Adam's gray VW Jetta, and a cherry-red four-door sedan that must be Laura's. "I went in. It was dark and I got kind of freaked out. I was going back outside, to text and see where everyone was, when I heard someone come running up behind me." She shivers violently. "It was a guy, I know that, but—" She shivers again. "I couldn't see who it was, and he, like, hit me in the face or something." She swallows. "And that's all."<br/>
<br/>
You grimace. There seems only one thing to do, though it scares you.<br/>
<br/>
"I've got a flashlight in my truck," you tell Adam. "I'll get it, you get the one out of your car, and we'll go back inside and look around."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, don't so that!" Laura exclaims. "What if they're still in there?"<br/>
<br/>
"That means we can catch them!"<br/>
<br/>
But before you can turn for your truck, you're caught and held by the glare on Adam's face.<br/>
<br/>
"How the fuck do you know what I got in my car?" he demands.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean, how do I know?"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean," he repeats, "how <i>the fuck</i> do you know I got a flashlight in my fucking car?"<br/>
<br/>
You blink at him. What a stupid question. "I just do," you reply. "Don't you know what I got in my truck?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't even know who the fuck you are, man!"<br/>
<br/>
And that's the first inkling you have that, although you know all about Adam Dortch, none of the others have the first clue about the people they now are.<span class="fmjggefeegie3711"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211211211
author_id: seuzz
id: QK87PVYQY
title: The Emerging Backstory
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>It's embarrassing—mortifying!—to have to confess that you know and can remember everything that Adam Dortch knows and could remember, when it becomes soon apparent that he can't say the same about you.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean you don't, uh, know anything about me?" you stammer after he has as much as told you so. "You— you're in my body! You've got my brain!"<br/>
<br/>
"Do I not fucking speak English, cocksucker?" he retorts. His manner is very hostile, and his eyes—eyes that were once yours—burn with anger. "How the fuck do you know about my car and what's in it? What the fuck else do you know about me and my shit?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Only everything,</i> you think with a wince. Unbidden, images of Adam's house, his family, his friends, come flooding in.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, we can argue about this later," you tell him. "If we can go back inside, find the asshole who did this to us—" You lick your lips as you look between Adam—clenched with anger—and Laura—who looks bewildered—and wish you hadn't said anything.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I want this out now!" Adam hisses. He springs forward to grab at the collar of your shirt. But Catherine is still clinging to you, so he can't fully grapple with you, and you manage to push him off. "The fuck do you know about all this?" he yells, "and how come the fuck you don't want to talk about it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I do want to talk about it!" you holler. "But I also wanna catch—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Stop it! Both of you!" Laura screams. She then wheels and runs for the red sedan. Beside you, Catherine moans.<br/>
<br/>
Adam thrusts a finger in your face.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm'a giving you ten seconds, motherfucker, to explain the fuck you're up to, and then I'm gonna—!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But you can't explain yourself. You can only insist that, yes, you know a bunch about him, including (when he asks, through grinding teeth) "private things," but you're at a total loss to explain why he doesn't know the same about you. Catherine only shakes her head violently when you ask if she knows anything about Laura (but it also seems like she's hardly able to think at all), and Laura, when you talk to her through the rolled-up window of her car, also says she doesn't know anything about Catherine.<br/>
<br/>
Adam doesn't follow through on his threats, though. He only yells and hisses and glares murderously at you. And he point-blank refuses to go back into the theater, not after accusing you of wanting to lure him back into the dark so you can "fuck me up some more!"<br/>
<br/>
You are at last able to get him to calm partway down—or maybe you just outlast him—by repeatedly asking what he wants to do now, what <i>any</i> of you can do now. Even then, he only paces and wheels in place, acting like a pot that's violently boiling under a heavy lid. Eventually, from the way he keeps glaring first at you and then at Catherine, who insists on binding herself to you, you realize that at least part of his anger is due to seeing his girlfriend curled up in the arm of the guy who is now inhabiting her boyfriend's body.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," you say to her as you try to pry her off. "Catherine." She doesn't want to let go of you, and her eyes are wide with terror when you at last succeed in unclamping her from your arms and torso. You have to hold her by the arms to keep her from reattaching herself to you. "I know," you start to say, then catch yourself. "That's Adam over there," you tell her, and nod at the guy who now looks like you. "I know I look like— But he's the one who—" You can't finish the sentence for the horrified look she gives you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey man," you call to Adam. "Can you please come—?"<br/>
<br/>
That's all the invitation he needs, and he bounds over. She flinches and bats at him, but he holds onto her, and you do too.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen, just go talk to him," you urge her. "He's the one— You know what's going on. <i>He's</i> the one you need to be with."<br/>
<br/>
Catherine blinks at you, and tears of confusion and hurt show in her eyes. Then something like realization seems to break there, and with a gasp she turns to Adam. He holds onto her, looking deeply into her face. "Catherine," he says softly, "it's me." Then he draws her off a little ways.<br/>
<br/>
You turn, but are still watching them from the corner of your eye, when you're startled by the sound of a car door slamming. You look around to see Laura advancing on you. But for a brief moment you don't recognize her for who she is, for she is in Catherine's body, and in that moment you are Adam Dortch looking at his girlfriend.<br/>
<br/>
Her cheeks are tear-stained, and she looks dirty and unkempt and frazzled. But her expression, though melancholy, is calm.<br/>
<br/>
"God," she says as she watches the other two as they draw off. "This has got to be just <i>awful</i> for her!"<br/>
<br/>
"How are you doing?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Better than her. Jesus!" She twists around and looks away.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?"<br/>
<br/>
"Look at her! She's such a lard-ass now! <i>I</i> was such a lard-ass!" she wails.<br/>
<br/>
"No you weren't. No you're not." Instinct takes over, and you pull her to your side. Catherine's body feels very natural and comfortable there. "There's a lot of girls who are, you know— And you weren't one of them."<br/>
<br/>
"I was too! Look at me over there!" She shudders. "I didn't know! I mean, I sort of did, I can look in a mirror! But looking at ... me ... from the outside—!" She shudders again. "That's why I say it's got to be so awful for her! She's so pretty! And now—"<br/>
<br/>
"You were pretty too, Laura."<br/>
<br/>
"I feel almost guilty."<br/>
<br/>
"It's hard for all of us."<br/>
<br/>
A pained silence descends on the both of you. Then she asks, "You really, like, remember and know all kinds of stuff that Adam knows?"<br/>
<br/>
You can't help stiffening. "Uh huh."<br/>
<br/>
"That's frigging weird, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know why," you insist. "I mean, if I've got his brain— I mean, if I'm in his body, if I'm in his brain, shouldn't I—?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not the same thing!" Laura asks. She looks up to peer at you suspiciously. "I mean, if it's our <i>souls</i> that got moved around—"<br/>
<br/>
"But if I got moved into his brain, shouldn't I remember?"<br/>
<br/>
"Then how come I can't? Why can't he?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know."<br/>
<br/>
Her expressions tenses, and you can't help seeing the accusation—more doubtful, more reluctant, but the same that Adam had—forming there. <i>Are you the one that did this to us?</i><br/>
<br/>
So you pre-empt it. "You're the one who got us all to come out here," you remind her. "You're the one who set it up."<br/>
<br/>
"I did not!" she protests in shock. "It was Christian—"<br/>
<br/>
Then she whips around. "Where is he?" she asks. "Why didn't he ever show up?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because that was him waiting inside the theater for us?" you grimly suggest. Now that she has mentioned Padilla, it all seems totally obvious. "Anyway," you assure her, "I only meant it was your idea that we all get together out here."<br/>
<br/>
"But it wasn't," she replies even as she continues to look around with a preoccupied gaze, as though expecting Padilla to pop out from under a man-hole cover and shout, "Surprise!" "It was all Christian's idea."<br/>
<br/>
"But you're the one who got the ball rolling. This morning at school, remember, when we met?"<br/>
<br/>
Now she turns to look at you, puzzled. "When at school?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"In the parking lot. Before class. You were waiting out there—"<br/>
<br/>
"I was waiting at Salvation Donuts all morning for Elle to show up and she never did," she says. "This is the first time I've seen you today."<br/>
<br/>
She winces as she glances you up and down. "And you don't even look like yourself anymore!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
After a little questioning, and some looking through cell phones, it all becomes clear. Laura was lured out to Salvation Donuts by "Meryle_Elle," one of Clover Mystery's accounts, and almost didn't get to school in time for first period. A little digging also discloses that the DMs you all got from Christian Padilla came from an account that was spoofing his. Laura is incredulous at your story that you saw and talked to her in the parking lot at school, for it sounds too much like the stories of meeting her and Elle and others where they insist they never were, but you retort that it's less strange than this "body swap" you are all now suffering, and she doesn't doubt that that has happened.<br/>
<br/>
Adam and Catherine have drifted back by then. She looks very wan but is much calmer, and doesn't cling to him like she was clinging to you. (But she also doesn't look you in the face, and never addresses you, either.) Everyone in fact is much calmer, and after desultory talk it is agreed that you'll head to a burger place or somewhere more comfortable to talk.<br/>
<br/>
You feel a little better once you've got some food in you—though you have to pay for your doppelganger's meal; but you're using his money so it's okay—and in the quiet, pained conversation that follows it is reluctantly agreed that of course you will all have to go home "as each other" for the night. Catherine and Laura withdraw to another table so they can privately explain to each other what to expect and what they should do. Adam doesn't need to explain anything to you, but you explain to him what he'll find at the Prescott house. Mostly, you advise him to go home late (just before ten) and head straight for his bedroom.<br/>
<br/>
He is pale, and quiet, but baleful as he listens. "I didn't do this to us," you are driven to insist.<br/>
<br/>
"That's what you'd say if you did," he retorts. <br/>
<br/>
He clenches and unclenches a fist. "If I promise not to fucking kill you," he says, "will you tell me what you're doing and why you're doing it?"<span class="fenlefeeg3610"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112112111
author_id: seuzz
id: K9BLC3KV6
title: Madam I'm Adam
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>Laura is very quiet as you drive her to Catherine's house—Catherine came with Adam, so you have to give her a ride home—and you don't know what to say either. Not until you are in front of her house do you tell her not to worry, that things will be alright.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know how," she says in a very low voice. "But maybe you're right." She is quiet for a moment, then exclaims, "What if this kind of thing happens all the time? But no one says anything because they think no one will believe them?"<br/>
<br/>
You don't know how to answer that, so you brush past it. "Just don't worry too much about it," you tell her. "Just remember everything Catherine told you to, um, expect here, I guess." You have to fight the instinct to palm and squeeze her thigh, like Adam likes to do. "I'll pick you up in the morning, around eight, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe we'll change back to normal during the night?" she suggests. She seems reluctant to leave you.<br/>
<br/>
Then she leans over to give you a fast but hard kiss on the side of the mouth.<br/>
<br/>
"Thank you, Will," she gasps. "This is all so frigging weird, and you're being so solid about it!" She leaps from the car before you can react further.<br/>
<br/>
That spot on your face where she kissed you burns all the drive home.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Adam's family lives in one of the older and more tired parts of town, not far from your friend Caleb, in fact. This is more than a little strange, it seems to you, because Adam's family owns the Dortch Oil Co., a local gasoline wholesaler, and half a dozen convenience store/gas stations. Adam himself has never paid much attention to the business, and understands only that it's a racket (the markups on junk food are outrageous) but overall not a very lucrative one. His father, Michael, who is in his mid-forties, is basically a blue-collar worker with a sideline managing other blue-collar workers; his mother, Kaye, also in her mid-forties, is the company bookkeeper. With his friends, Adam acts embarrassed and horrified by his family's grossly anti-environment friendly business, and brags that he's going to use his college degree (in whatever it turns out to be) to get a position with an environmental non-profit. But he also accepts the generous allowance his dad gives him, and when he's not showing off his green bona fides to friends, he never gives the Dortch Oil Co. a second thought.<br/>
<br/>
His mom is in the living room when you come in, huddled up on the sofa with a paperback and a cigarette and a whiskey. She's a short, fat woman with a baggy face. Adam gets his hair—that great mane of frizzy hair that bunches up in tight little kinks and wavelets when it grows long—from her, along with his green-gray eyes. His height (he is about six-one) and his physique (strong but lithe and wiry) he gets from from dad. Or, at least, he looks like his dad does in the old family pictures, before he got a pot belly and his shoulders slumped.<br/>
<br/>
"You have fun with your friends?" Mrs. Dortch asks without looking up from her book. "You get something to eat?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. I got a little homework I have to finish still, so I'll be in my room."<br/>
<br/>
She doesn't answer, being completely absorbed in her book. A couple of Adam's friends have observed how weird it is that she reads instead of watching TV.<br/>
<br/>
Adam's room is down the short hall, on the left, across from his parents' door. You heft his book bag onto his bed and chew your lip. You know what you'll see if you look in a mirror, and you have no doubts in your mind—in either of them—what you look like. But you still feel like you have to make it official.<br/>
<br/>
So you go in the bathroom, put on the light, and turn to study your reflection.<br/>
<br/>
Yep. It's Adam Dortch staring back at you, alright.<br/>
<br/>
Adam is tall and rangy. His face is narrow but it has planes and a shape, tapering gently from a broad forehead past some barely visible cheekbones to a lean jaw and chin. It's handsome enough, but it's also got a kind of ugliness that gives it character: the nose is just a little too beaky and pocked with pores; the tight muscles of the cheeks are just a little too pronounced; the eyes are just a little too deep-set under a jutting brow and a little too satirical. Most prominent of all are the slightly buck teeth with the just-too-large gap between them. When he grins—which you do now, to test the effect—he looks like a bold and impertinent rabbit.<br/>
<br/>
But his most notable feature has to be the hair.<br/>
<br/>
It is a dark brown, and when it lays flat, as it does now, it falls just past his shoulders and the nape of his neck. It isn't curly, but it bunches up in little tight wavelets that ripple with reflected light. He's got great, heaping bunches of the stuff, with a natural body that makes it easy to manipulate, being as stiff as a 'fro but as pliable as a white person's hair. His 'do can hold whatever shape he pushes it into with only a little chemical help.<br/>
<br/>
And so Adam shows it off by wearing it up, teasing it into a great, tapering bush that adds at least eleven inches to his height. He works on it every morning at school, just before class, and lets it slowly collapse across the course of the day, before repairing it if he's planning to go out to any parties. When walking down the hall, he looks like a candle with a giant brown flame burning atop his head.<br/>
<br/>
You've noticed him, of course, but intentionally ignored him as a freak trying to get attention.<br/>
<br/>
Which is, yes, pretty much the reason he does it.<br/>
<br/>
You clap your hands to your face and open your mouth in something between a yawn and a silent yowl. <i>Oh, frick,</i> you sigh to yourself. <i>Oh, frickety-frick fuck frickety fuck fuckity fuck.</i> Unless a miracle occurs during the night, you're going to have to go to school tomorrow as this clown.<br/>
<br/>
Not that you're in a hurry to get there. But back in your bedroom you tell Adam's homework to go fuck itself to hell and back, and flop onto the bed with his cell phone, to review the day's social media and confirm to yourself that, yeah, you are now one of <i>those</i> people, one of those fucks who makes x2z the toilet bowl that it is. You glower over some of the posts, and fight down the anticipation of hot, sour joy it would bring to continue a couple of those threads—particularly the one where, under the name <i>JessicaGarnersTampon</i> you relate a lot of blood- and other fluid-soaked adventures putatively taking place inside Jessica Garner's panties—before closing the phone and flopping onto your back and closing your eyes. You are suddenly getting wood, and a lot of it.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Catherine,</i> you think. <i>God fucking damn it. That's going to be a problem.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It gave you no pleasure the next morning, only an intense relief, to spend yourself violently into Adam's jerk-off rag after waking up. He has a long and skinny schlong, one that from its base to its tip is as long as the span from the heel of his long, skinny hand to the tip of his long, skinny middle finger (he's measured and compared them), and it's even wilder and more rebellious than your own. There's no way Adam could have kept his technical virginity as long as you have, not with that angry serpent restlessly coiling and uncoiling in his underwear. Under the hot water of the shower, you almost get another erection.<br/>
<br/>
After showering and dressing in jeans and a gray silk shirt bought second-hand at a thrift store (Adam is partial to castoffs, and trying to make them look stylish), you slurp down a quick bowl of cereal before returning to the bathroom to brush your teeth and blow-dry your hair. Something seems to have happened during the night, but it's not the reversion that Laura had hoped for. Instead, Adam's spirit seems to weigh more heavily on you. Yesterday you only knew what you knew about him. This morning, you feel like you have to fight to keep from acting and even thinking like him.<br/>
<br/>
Though maybe you shouldn't fight the urge too hard, not if you're going to have to be him at school. A lot of Adam's friends are tougher than yours.<br/>
<br/>
Mom and Pop—it's more natural, too, to think of them this way this morning—are getting their own breakfast when you come striding out the back at about seven-thirty with your bag bouncing on your skinny shoulders. "Bye," you wish them, kissing your mom lightly on the top of the head and giving your dad a quick wave and an impudent smile. Then at a bouncing walk you're out the door to the car. The dark-gray Jetta was bought for Adam as a necessity, not a gift, and it's a rattletrap whose rear fender still bears the deep scars of the collision that knocked more than a thousand dollars off the price it was fundamentally worth.<br/>
<br/>
Laura is standing outside when you pull up to her house, but it is even harder now not to think of her as Catherine, for of course she looks like Catherine and is dressed like her, in the green, sack-like shift that drives Adam wild with desire. (All he would have to do is loosen a zipper, and whole thing would fall off her to the floor.) Again, you have to throttle the urge to grab and kiss her as she clambers into the car with her book bag.<br/>
<br/>
"How did it go for you last night?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," she says mutely. "I still don't know what I'm doing, though."<br/>
<br/>
"You hear from, uh, Catherine?"<br/>
<br/>
She nods. "Same thing." She closes her eyes and groans. "Oh God, how am I going to do this?"<br/>
<br/>
You haven't heard from your replacement, so as you pull back into the street you hand her your phone and ask her text him.<br/>
<br/>
She frowns a few minutes later when the reply comes. "He says," she reports, "that he knows what you did last Friday."<span class="ijnjfknghe259"></span></span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121121121111
author_id: seuzz
id: GZX68WRSR
title: What Adam Knows
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span><i>I know what you did last Friday.</i><br/>
<br/>
That's the text that Adam has sent to you. But what does it mean? It sounds threatening.<br/>
<br/>
"What did you do last Friday?" Laura asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," you admit. You've got brain-lock, and at the moment can't even remember what today is. "Ask him if we can meet up."<br/>
<br/>
She taps a reply back into your phone. You're pulling into the student parking lot when his reply comes in.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I'll see you at the start of fourth," you tell Laura a little later, in the hallway, when it comes time to part.<br/>
<br/>
"Why, what's fourth?" she asks, a look of panic in her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Your physics class. Ms. Gambetta?" you remind her. "You got a schedule from Catherine, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes!" she snaps. "But where'm I going to meet you?"<br/>
<br/>
You have to remind yourself that she doesn't know her way around Catherine's day the way you know your way around Adam's.<br/>
<br/>
"I have Ms. Gambetta third. I— He always hangs around outside there 'til Catherine gets there. So I'll see you then."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh." Relief floods her face. "That'll be nice."<br/>
<br/>
"And I'll pick you up outside there at the end of fourth and we'll go have lunch, just us."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, thank you, W— Adam," she corrects herself, then leans in to give you a quick hug, which thrills you all the way to the tip of your cock. She turns off into B wing and you watch until she disappears. Only then do you proceed to the A wing boys' restroom, which is where Adam said he'll be waiting for you.<br/>
<br/>
That makes sense, of course, because it's also where you need to go to get your hair fixed up for the day.<br/>
<br/>
The restroom isn't full, but there's a couple of guys in there, peeing at the urinals and chortling near the sinks. A couple of them recognize you, of course, because they are semi-regulars in here the way Adam is, and they all nod and grin at you; you jerk your chin back at them. You take the last sink, dropping your bag at your feet and bending over to take your kit out. When you straighten up, Will Prescott is standing at your elbow, leaning against the wall.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey man," you greet him as you straighten up, but you concentrate on the mirror. You study your reflection a moment, then push up some of your hair and go to work on it with a metal hair pick. "How was your night?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was okay. I was better when I woke up."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" You are trying not to show any panic, though you still can't think of anything you might have done last Friday to be ashamed of. "You said you know what I did last Friday."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." He lowers his voice. "I remember everything now."<br/>
<br/>
You catch yourself in mid-tease, and squint over at him. "Yeah, whaddayu mean 'everything'?"<br/>
<br/>
"Everything. Schedule, friends, everything. Friday night with Maria. Monday afternoon up at the wilderness with—" He hesitates. "Caleb and Keith."<br/>
<br/>
You hold his eye, then go back to pushing up your hair. "Huh. What, you just woke up remembering everything?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"Cool." You pick up and shake the can of hair spray, and apply a little to the heap of hair you've pushed up. "So you know none of it's my fault."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't remember anything that's your fault."<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos there's nothin' to remember." You touch your hair to make sure it will stay up, then go to work with the pick again on another spot. "You remember Clover Mystery?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. I haven't figured everything out about that—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, me neither," you snort. "But it was that cocksucker that got us all out to the theater yesterday. You get that, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess it makes sense," he admits with obvious reluctance.<br/>
<br/>
"Those fake DMs. Those goddam spoofs." <i>I gotta remember to use that trick,</i> you think. <i>Use it to spoof some of the a-holes I like to jerk around.</i> Then you dismiss it and go back to work. "We find that motherfucker, we find out who—"<br/>
<br/>
"Do you remember everything?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh?" You glance at him, then pick up the spray can again. "I told you yesterday—"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean that video that Clover Mystery sent you. You remember that?"<br/>
<br/>
You blink at him, puzzled.<br/>
<br/>
Then you remember. "Shit!" you exclaim.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
First period is Current Issues. Your friend Keith is in there, but you ignore him (as Adam would and does) as you swagger in and slide into a desk between Lee Reynolds and James Brewer. Lee asks anxiously if he can see your homework; you tell him you took the day off yesterday from bullshit. That's what you tell Mr. Santiago, too, in those exact words, when he comes around the room to collect. He gives you a hard, angry look, but says nothing else.<br/>
<br/>
You don't pay much attention in that class—which is a blowoff class anyway, in Adam's opinion—and sink into your chair to try dredging up and knitting together some memories that he has half-forgotten and never regarded as important to begin with.<br/>
<br/>
It was a week or two ago—which means it might as well have been a month or a year ago—on a Saturday. Adam and Catherine were hanging out with Elle Moore and Laura MacGregor. It was turning into a fucking hen party, so Adam bullied them all into going out to the old quarry on the east side of town, because he figured there he might run into some guys that would be more fun. And indeed there were: Justin Roth and Jamie Rennerhoff and Spencer Osbourne and Shep Tsosie and Perry Small. They were all glad to see him, though the girls were much less delighted to have stumbled over them. <br/>
<br/>
Spencer and Jamie, though, were especially happy to see Adam, because they had something they knew he'd like: a video they had shot the night before, up near the high school. (What were they doing there? They'd met up there with Christian Padilla, who lives nearby, and were goofing off in the empty field across the street from the school.) They had spotted a couple of figures getting up to mischief near the corner of A wing: digging, it looked like. These they had filmed, and were chortling about how they could get those assholes in so much trouble if they wanted to.<br/>
<br/>
Adam, also seeing a chance for mischief, had asked them to DM him the video, which they did. (He found out later that they'd also sent a copy to Catherine, in case they'd gotten Adam's handle wrong; he has a couple that he uses, for pseudonymous mischief.) He never did anything with it, because he couldn't recognize the figures in the video, and he forgot about it soon after.<br/>
<br/>
So that gives you an idea of where the video originated, and it would give you the shivers if you didn't have Adam's nerve to steel you.<br/>
<br/>
As you turn all this over in your mind, your eye continually strays to Tanner Evans, on the other side of the room. He's an acquaintance of Adam's—one of the assholes he hangs out with—and also a friend of Spencer's and Jamie's, and is a troublemaker like them as well. You've no reason to suspect that he's involved in any of the weirdness that has afflicted you recently, but the sight of him reminds you that Spencer and Jamie could have spread that video very widely—after all, if they sent a copy to Catherine, of all people, they could have sent one to him. So although you would love to be able to pin all your troubles on those two, you have to caution yourself that the web of suspects is very big indeed.<br/>
<br/>
In fact, as you glance sidelong at Lee and at James, who are also friends with Spencer Osbourne, the list of suspects could encompass half the senior class, or more.<br/>
<br/>
It would chill the blood if it didn't make you hot with anger instead.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Got your hair up, I see," Catherine says when you see her outside Ms. Gambetta's class.<br/>
<br/>
And she is so nearly, perfectly Catherine—in the calf-length purple dress with the gold belt at her waist; the sandals; the reddish-gold hair that drapes in twin tresses over her shoulders and hangs past her elbows—that you almost forget that it's really Laura. You have to stop yourself from putting out a hand to catch her about the hip and pull her to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," you grunt. "Oh, and I talked to, uh, Will while I was working on it." It's weird to call him by your own personal name, and the slight twitch in Catherine's eye tells you that she finds it odd as well. "He says he remembers everything now."<br/>
<br/>
Her brow furrows. "What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, everything." When she still stares, you put both hands on her hips and pull her close. "He remembers everything that Will Prescott is supposed to know and remember," you whisper into her ear. "You know, like I remember everything he's supposed to know."<br/>
<br/>
She looks confused and alarmed when you straighten back up.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's great for him," she stammers. "But me and— and the other girl! We—! We don't!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, just relax and maybe it'll come."<br/>
<br/>
"And maybe it won't! What if—?"<br/>
<br/>
"How are you doing so far this morning?"<br/>
<br/>
She makes a face.<br/>
<br/>
"My last class was kind of a mess, and this one—" She casts a fearful glance at the classroom door, on the other side of which will be her Physics class.<br/>
<br/>
"I can help you out, we can do your homework together." <i>That'll be fun!</i> you can't help gleefully thinking, and you are suddenly aware that you're still holding her, and patting her, and rubbing her, up and down the small of her back and the sides of her hips. Her flesh is very firm beneath the smooth dress.<br/>
<br/>
"But I gotta get to my own class," you reluctantly conclude, and withdraw. "I'll pick you up here in an hour."<br/>
<br/>
Her expression began to sag the moment you took your hands off her, and she makes a small face as she nods. You surrender to the natural urge, and lean against the doorway and leer at her ass as she walks into the classroom and over to her desk.<span class="lmfigfmgfn269"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211211211111
author_id: seuzz
id: UY493R4ZN
title: Questions With No Answers
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>Fourth period is Adam's lunch period, but he has a study hall fifth, so that's when he eats. Fourth is when he typically hangs out with a dozen other seniors out by the portables.<br/>
<br/>
It's quite the cross range of people there. Sports is represented by the swimmers Michael Wilson and Christine Coolidge, and by second baseman Noah Baker; the cow-fuckers (Adam's bullying term for the agricultural students) by Tyler Purvis, Faith Becker, and Molly Shaw; the weed-smokers by Adrian Semple and Dean Stratton; the skanks by Brianna Gould and Rebecca Sykes; fashion by Mia DeWitt; and Adam's own personal posse by Ben Gunnison. Not everyone is always there every day—the girls tend to rotate in and out, depending upon what crisis they are having, with each other or with one or another of the boys—but more often than not there's more there than are not.<br/>
<br/>
Today looks like a light day, with only about half the usual crew laughing in a circle when you come stalking out. There are quick greetings all around, for this is the first that you've seen any of them today, and Ben Gunnison—a roly-poly kid with short, dark hair and the face of a satirical cherub—lights up when he sees you coming. He scoots over a little so you can flop down next to him.<br/>
<br/>
"How was the show last night," he asks with a giggly leer.<br/>
<br/>
"What show?" You're hardly paying attention to him, for had your phone out even before you sat down.<br/>
<br/>
"You know." He giggles again. "The show. Out at the State Theater."<br/>
<br/>
"Where's Tyler?" Dean asks no one in particular.<br/>
<br/>
"Prob'ly beating himself off," you answer in preference to dealing with Ben. "Sydney McGlynn was wearing a skirt in Calculus today, one that came up practically to <i>here</i>." You slide your hand across the top of your thigh. "I nearly popped my zipper."<br/>
<br/>
The guys all snigger; Rebecca and Christine offer only very tight smiles. Dean and Adrian and Noah, naturally, start talking about Sydney, and speculating about which guy on which sports squad is going to finally nail the sexy new girl at school.<br/>
<br/>
Ben, though, wants to know what you're doing, for you are concentrating furiously on your phone. "Izzit about Ysleta and his bitch?" he wants to know. "I bet it's about Ysleta and his bitch."<br/>
<br/>
"No." You come up for air. "Hey, anyone see or get sent a video last week, of some shit-for-brains digging up something around A wing at night?"<br/>
<br/>
There's a quick silence all around before Dean asks, "Is this about that time capsule thing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I guess. It was some guys digging something up."<br/>
<br/>
Furtive glances are exchanged before Dean says, "It was George Mendoza and s'mn else dug it up, but you didn't hear it from me."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't ask who dug it up, I asked if anyone's seen a video of it. Or hear about it."<br/>
<br/>
A deeper and more furtive silence, this time ended by Michael Wilson. "Nobody gonna say they did, not if they don't want Mendoza—"<br/>
<br/>
"Fucking sake, it wasn't fucking Mendoza in the video!" you holler as you lose all patience. "Not the one I'm talking about! Jesus!" You bend back over the phone to do a rapid search for Adam's copy of the video in question, and when you find it you thrust your phone into the middle of the circle. "Here! Do either of these jack wads look like Mendoza to you?"<br/>
<br/>
Michael glowers at you before taking the phone and pushing play. Rebecca Sykes and Noah Baker lean over to study the screen while Ben and Adrian Semple glance at you warily.<br/>
<br/>
"No," Michael admits, "that doesn't look like—"<br/>
<br/>
You grab the phone back from him, and he jerks in surprise.<br/>
<br/>
"That's what I fucking said! It's not him! So has anyone seen this fucking thing being passed around? In chats or DMs or on fucking x2z?"<br/>
<br/>
You're getting some black looks by now, but Noah asks, "What's the fucking deal?" and Rebecca asks, "Was this some other guys doing something?"<br/>
<br/>
"Rennerhoff and Osbourne've been stirring the shit with this thing, that's what it's about," you retort, "and I wanna know how far it's got."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck's it to you?" Adrian asks.<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos I wanna know." You turn on him. "So you wanna be friendly, or you wanna be a dick?" He replies by making a face at you.<br/>
<br/>
"First I've heard of it," Michael says. No one else says anything.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, if any of you hear anything about it," you say as you lurch back to your feet, "I wanna know."<br/>
<br/>
"Why don't you ask Spencer and Jamie?"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos they turned it loose, but I wanna how far it's got from there."<br/>
<br/>
"Frickin' good luck with that," Michael mutters under his breath.<br/>
<br/>
You pass Faith Becker heading out to the portables as you're heading back to the school. "Hey, where you goin'?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Inside. I got some stuff to do."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, can I touch your hair for luck?" she asks with a sly grin. "I got a test later today."<br/>
<br/>
You smile tightly, but duck your head so she can pass her palm across the side of your 'do. "Oh my God," she groans, "I wish I had hair like yours!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
In the library you spot Keith Tilley again, but again you ignore him and instead hurl yourself onto a table in the back, to bend over your phone and make the most exhaustive search you can online at x2z for copies of that video. After a quarter-hour you nearly give up, when you realize that if it has been posted in a thread, then literally anyone with access to the site could have downloaded and privately circulated it—in just the way that Spencer privately passed it on to Adam by DMing it to him. You must have said the bad words you thought out loud, for there was a flutter amongst the girls two tables overs.<br/>
<br/>
But you push on, figuring that if you do find a copy online, you might also find some names of commenters and thereby a set of suspects. In fact you don't find a copy of the video in any of the public threads, so you take out your frustrations by posting some nasty comments of your own in various places. <i>But how come their dykes are hotter than our dykes,</i> you reply in a thread debating the merits of Westside's Slow Fast Hazel band against Eastman's The Hi Hats. <i>And you're a pinhead puts his whole head up his bitch's gash and she still can't feel you lol,</i> you inform David Scofeld when he says something negative about the last <i>Challengers</i> movie. <i>Your fuckin speakinspell the cow said blow me when you were kid not moo is that how come you blow evertying in the barnyard,</i> you tell Bradley McCollum when you spot his name in a thread you randomly opened. Obviously, you post these comments pseudonymously.<br/>
<br/>
Catherine is a chalky-white when she comes out of Ms. Gambetta's classroom, and her "Hey" when she sees you is very wan. Instinct again takes over, and before you know it you have wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close. She is warm, and fits against your body as though you'd been contoured for each other.<br/>
<br/>
Then you remember, and let go. "Sorry," you tell her. "Habit."<br/>
<br/>
"No, it's okay," she says. "I liked it. You can— you can do it whenever you want," she stammers. So you pull her close again, and squeeze her. "Mm, that's nice," she murmurs in a voice barely audible above the chatter of the crowd. "You make me feel—" A shudder ripples through her. "Safe."<br/>
<br/>
So you squeeze her more tightly to you. And yet you can't help watching and following Barbara Powell, a soccer player with possibly the best legs in school, with your eyes when she comes out of the classroom.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You and Laura end up behind G wing, looking out toward the baseball diamond. You didn't bring a lunch—Adam eats every day in the cafeteria—so you have to make due with some of the celery sticks and cottage cheese that Laura brought. "Maybe if this is what I ate every day for lunch," she grumbles, "I wouldn't have turned into such a blimp."<br/>
<br/>
She was upset when she came out of Ms. Gambetta's, she says, because there was a pop quiz, and she wouldn't have just bombed it, she would have got a zero. "I'll just have to give you a crash course," you offer her. You are splayed on your side, and are taking advantage of her need for comfort by stroking her silky thigh up and down, just like Adam would have done with Catherine.<br/>
<br/>
"That's not what I'm thinking of," she says. "I'm thinking— Well, what if we're stuck like this for a week, or a month, and <i>then</i> we switch back?"<br/>
<br/>
"That'd be awesome. Like we got a vacation in the middle of the fucking semester."<br/>
<br/>
"But our grades! My grades and Catherine's! It's all flipping fine for you! And for Adam, I guess, you and him can get through each other's classes. Like, what is <i>up</i> with that?" she cries. "You and him getting all the— the— the <i>brain stuff!</i> And me and Catherine—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe you'll get it tonight. Maybe it takes longer for you. Girls have more complicated brains than guys."<br/>
<br/>
"Do they?" she asks, sounding dubious.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Ninety-eight percent of a guy's brain is about only one thing." You leer at her, then lean over to wetly smack the inside of her thigh. "The other two percent's him thinking about how to get summa what he's thinking about with the other ninety-eight percent." You scoot up closer, so you can wrap your other arm about her butt and nuzzle the side of her stomach.<br/>
<br/>
"Is this what Adam's like, or is it you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck me, it's both of us. But more him, I guess," you confess. "He's like, ninety-nine percent sex, one percent how do I get some. 'Cos he's got Catherine, he can— But me, I'm—"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, now you've made it gross. But what I'm thinking about is, what if Catherine and me flunk all our classes, and a month later things go back and we're stuck with grades the other one got for us? Fs and zeros?"<br/>
<br/>
But you're wondering instead what kind of sex life Adam might have set up for you if there is a switch back.<span class="geimnkmg358"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112112111111
author_id: seuzz
id: HS8THDYR5
title: Some Will Act Where Others Dare Not
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>"Will, are you listening to me?"<br/>
<br/>
Catherine voice jerks you from the sexual reverie you had fallen into. "Huh? Oh. Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
She looks skeptical. "So you see what I'm talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, it makes sense. If you flunk your classes— Uh." You struggle to get your mind back onto matters academic. "But, if you and Catherine, like, crash study your classes— And I said I'd help you with Physics—"<br/>
<br/>
"You can't crash study art, Will! I'm taking a three-D art class, and creative writing—" She scowls at you. "And do I have to remind you I'm supposed to be in the school play?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm one of the leads! Well, one of the leading supports. We've got, like, less than a month until the performance, and I'm already word perfect, but— Oh, Jesus!" She pales. "We've got rehearsal after school, and I'm supposed to be there. Catherine's not going to know any of my lines! I don't even know if she can <i>act.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"She'll do her best."<br/>
<br/>
"What if no good? Oh my God!" She begins to wail. "Charles already thinks I'm not good enough, even though I'm better than him! What if Catherines goes up there—? On stage? And she doesn't know her lines? And she—? And he—? <i>What if he fires her?"</i><br/>
<br/>
She buries her face in her hands.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You do your best to comfort her, suggesting that Catherine just has to avoid being pinned down in rehearsal for a couple of days. <i>If she can just get a few days breathing space,</i> you say, <i>so she can learn your lines and practice them a bit, maybe she can get through.</i> Laura, though, is hardly to be comforted, and her eyes roll with horror as she imagines all the ways that Catherine could screw up her stage debut.<br/>
<br/>
She's still a wreck when you walk her to her next class, and she begs you twice to be sure to pick her up afterward so you can walk together to the one class—seventh-period English—that Adam and Catherine share. You promise her you will.<br/>
<br/>
Your own sixth-period class is AP Computer Science—despite his louche ways, Adam has a brain for math and logic, which is why he's taking not only an advanced computer class but also AP Calculus—but you don't pay much attention in it, and fall back into that sexual reverie that Laura interrupted.<br/>
<br/>
<i>What could Adam get up to sexually with your body? What kind of sex life might you return to, if you returned at all?</i><br/>
<br/>
The subject of sex—and particularly of Adam's sex life—is not one that you have dwelled on. In fact, you have flinched and thrust it from you every time the thought of it has drifted across your mind: it was hard enough touching Adam's junk in the shower this morning. But now you plunge into it, and muddy yourself with it. The subject of sex—the sex he's had, the sex he's wanted to have, the sex he's fantasized about having—swells to choke you.<br/>
<br/>
Though Adam may give the impression that he lost his virginity in middle school—he never comes out and says so, but he strongly hints at it—in fact it was only last fall that he graduate from poseur to veteran. And it was a terrifying experience, for he only did it on a dare.<br/>
<br/>
It was at a party at Brianna Kirschke's house. The night before he had gotten mildly drunk and stoned at Terry Colson's apartment. Bragging and fantasizing with Terry and Spencer Osbourne and Kyle Kent had gotten out of control, and they had wound up pushing Adam into a corner where he felt he had no choice but to try—and succeed—in fucking a girl at the party.<br/>
<br/>
It was slow business, which is probably why he had ultimately succeeded. After cornering Leah Simmons—the girl he finally chose to pursue—with some talk of this and that, he had pushed up close and started touching her. Then, on the back porch, to the delight of onlookers, he had slowly begun to maul her with kisses. She was slow to relax, but the fact that she didn't push him away at all gradually boosted his confidence, and when he felt she was ripe he pulled her back into Brianna's bedroom and thence into her bathroom, where he did it to her, standing up, between the sink and the toilet. Of course, Spencer and Kyle and the others had to take his word for it. But the fact that he had pulled her into the bathroom for a quarter hour, and that she had emerged glassy-eyed and disheveled, was proof enough for them.<br/>
<br/>
That was the night Adam Dortch not only secured his reputation as a bold sexual conquistador, he had made it unassailable.<br/>
<br/>
And with his confidence so bolstered, he followed it up with similar exploits with Molly Shaw and Mindy McAdams and Mandy Tiller.<br/>
<br/>
It was through Mandy that he met Catherine.<br/>
<br/>
He was immediately intimidated by her, and it was the first time realized that he spent most of his time with girls that he felt he could easily seduce (if he wanted to). But Catherine carried herself like one of the alpha girls, like a Kelsey Blankenship or a Chelsea Cooper. Not that she was a snob and a bitch like they were. She only held herself aloof, though not so aloof that she wouldn't talk to him. In fact, it seemed like she liked to talk to him, and after a couple of chance meetings at parties, she started seeking him out at school. At first, Adam told himself that she was hot for him, and settled back to let himself be seduced. But when nothing happened and still nothing happened, he switched over to offense. But she slipped away time after time, without ever actually turning him down, until it became an actual challenge to him. By the end of their junior year, he knew that it wouldn't be enough to score with her. He was going to get her to be his girlfriend.<br/>
<br/>
Finally, at the start of August, on a moonless night out by the old quarry, she slipped off her panties and sank herself onto his hard, thrusting spike. They have been together since.<br/>
<br/>
Oh, the sex is isn't a constant—they've only done it three times since then—and Adam has found himself in the odd and uncomfortable position of telling his friends that he and Catherine have only done it once, and that he hasn't put any pressure on her since, because what they have is special. But the very rarity of sex is keeping him still fascinated and enthralled by her. Each of the subsequent times they've done it has been like a seduction and conquest from scratch.<br/>
<br/>
But now that he is— Well, now that he is <i>Will Prescott,</i> he has a chance to slip off and start over again, maybe with new girls, or maybe with girls like Leah and Mandy and Molly he seduced before.<br/>
<br/>
It almost gives you a headache to think of what he might do with your body, and what choices and opportunities you might return to—if return to them you do.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
When you see Laura again after class, she is again "Catherine" to you, and after your time together at lunch you are more comfortable putting your hands on her. She responds, tucking herself close as you walk to English, and trembling a little under your touch. Almost eagerly she accepts your suggestion that you stay after school to watch the play rehearsal together. "I don't want to," she admits, "but as long as you're their with me, I think I'll be okay."<br/>
<br/>
She allows herself a little optimism as you make your way to the theater, but she becomes increasingly tense and agitated as the players gather on stage, and confesses that she might puke all over herself if it winds up as bad as she fears; and she moans audibly when the girl who looks like Laura MacGregor comes tottering onstage, looking pale and stricken.<br/>
<br/>
"Laura," Charles calls from the pit in a snide voice, "where's your mark?"<br/>
<br/>
"My what?" Laura stammers.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God!" Catherine buries her face in your shoulder. You pat and stroke the back of her head, though you yourself feel a sympathetic wave of nausea. But of the three of you, the girl onstage looks likeliest to throw up.<br/>
<br/>
Charles yells at her some more, and she wanders about the stage until she finds the spot he wants. But when he tells her to put down the script she is clutching like a lifeline, she refuses. Charles's reaction—of stunned and furious disbelief—is obvious even though he is completely silent, and is sitting a dozen rows down with his back to you. Catherine, who has lifted her face to watch, shoves her face back into the crook of your neck, and starts to weep.<br/>
<br/>
So preoccupied are you, that not until he's almost upon you do you notice the skinny figure in the white ball cap who comes hurrying up from the wings. "Hey," Will Prescott murmurs after settling the seat behind, to murmur in your ear. "I gotta talk to you a minute."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"Alone?"<br/>
<br/>
But you have to shake your head, for Catherine has you pinned in place as she sobs into your shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, well," Will says, "I got a lead on 'Clover Mystery.' You can forget about her, she's got nothing to do with any of this. Well, not the way you think."<br/>
<br/>
You twist around as far as you can, to look at him. "What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"I found out about the name," he says in a worried tone. "Where it comes from. Who it is."<br/>
<br/>
His voice is tense with unease, and he leans forward to whisper directly into your ear. "It's Catherine."<br/>
<br/>
<i>"What?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I asked her about it," he says, unhappily. "She told me about it. I mean, she doesn't know anything about those texts you got, she didn't send those. But the name, it's the name she used to write 'Twilight' fanfiction under in middle school. She posted it online under the name 'Clover Mystery'."<span class="fenlefeek3610"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1141422
author_id: seuzz
title: Heists and Hustles
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You blink in stupefaction. "You want me to buy that book back?" you ask your dad.<br/>
<br/>
"Isn't that what I just said?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug broadly. "I'll try. You'll pay fifty bucks for it?"<br/>
<br/>
His glare hardens. "You'll pay fifty bucks. I'll reimburse you forty. The extra ten you pay out of your pocket for ransacking my office without permission."<br/>
<br/>
You keep your face studiously neutral, but your spirit hardens. "I know where to find the guy, I'll try to get it back from him," you tell your dad. But you know that you won't.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So you don't even go looking for Sean Wilcox when you get to school. But on your way to lunch you spot Jack Li pushing through the hallway in front of you. "Hey Jack!" you call. "Jack!" He looks around, then hangs back as you shove your way up to join him. "That book I gave you yesterday, the one Sean was interested in," you say. "Would Sean be interested in selling it back?"<br/>
<br/>
Jack Li. "Huh? No, actually it turned out he didn't want it."<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" That surprises you, considering the kind of money he was waving at you to take it off your hands. "So you still got it?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I sold it to the drama department." He blinks at you again. "You want your share of the profit?"<br/>
<br/>
"Profit?" That's a nicer surprise. "How much?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I sold it to 'em for eighty, so I guess that's ... twenty to you?" He digs his wallet from his back pocket.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, cool! Yeah, if you're offering. What'd the drama department want it for?"<br/>
<br/>
"A prop. Huh," he adds after sorting through his wallet. "I don't got twenty I can give you. What are you doing after school?"<br/>
<br/>
"Meh, nothing."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, meet up with me, we'll go do something with some other guys, and I'll get some cash for you. That sound good?" He smiles—a warm, friendly thing. You agree, and he asks where you're off to now. You shrug and tell him you're having lunch with friends. "Well, shoot me a text after school," he says, "so I don't forget, and so I can tell you where to meet us." He gives you his contact info, and you give him yours.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But it's Jack who texts you right after the final bell has rung, to tell you to meet up with him in the school theater. But Caleb grabs you in the hallway first, and reminds you that you agreed to help him rifle Mr. Walberg's desk for that thumb drive that he wants to get back. You text Jack that you'll be delayed and will get in touch when you're free.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's idea is to wait for the teacher to waddle down to the bathroom or the teacher's lounge or <i>someplace.</i> Then you'll act as lookout while he ducks in to ransack the desk. But though Walberg does leave at one point, Caleb chickens out at the last moment.<br/>
<br/>
"Fucking Matthias," he fumes after he's ducked back out to rejoin you in the hallway. "He's gonna blow it for us."<br/>
<br/>
You glance inside the classroom, where the uber-stoner Dane Matthias is perched in a desk with a glassy grin on his face. "You knew he had detention," you remind Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but I figured he'd be passed out. We're gonna need a third person, someone to distract Dane while I get into the desk and you act as lookout."<br/>
<br/>
"Where're we gonna find a third person?" you ask. <br/>
<br/>
Caleb chews his lip.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we're not gonna find one today, not in time," he says. "We'll try again tomorrow. I'll talk to Tilley. Shit." He grumbles as he shuffles away, and you're just as glad to have made afternoon plans with Jack, because Caleb looks like he would be miserable company.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Fucking Tiger Woods of frisbee golf," the girl mutters, and she shoves Jack in the chest. It's a hard shove, but Jack is solidly built, and she forces him back only a step. "You oughta be ashamed, taking money off one of your best friends."<br/>
<br/>
Jack chortles. "Don't play if you can't pay." He puts his palm out. The girl grabs his hand and tries to bite it, and he yanks it away. "Jesus!" he exclaims. "Even Parker doesn't pull that crap when I take the pot at poker, and he's the sorest loser I know!"<br/>
<br/>
It's the game of frisbee-golf she just lost that has Leah Simmons so irate. When you texted Jack, he called you back to say he was trying to round up a group for a game and he had two girls committed—would you like to be the fourth? You agreed without even knowing who the girls were, and drove out to meet them at the range, which is located in an undeveloped corner directly across the river from the country club. It's scrubby land still thinly planted with the primeval woodland, so that on the more difficult baskets you have to sail your frisbee between the boles, and you spend more time searching out for frisbees lost in the brush than in actually playing. But it's a fun, relaxing time, even if one of the girls has gotten herself wound up over it.<br/>
<br/>
"A friggin' hustler is what you are!" Leah accuses Jack. "I never seen you play this good before!" Jack has in fact shown almost preternatural ability to send his frisbee floating straight and flat through some very narrow corridors to land in or near the chain-link baskets. "It was a trap!" she snarls. "It was your idea to come play in the first place!"<br/>
<br/>
"You're the one who wanted play for stakes, five bucks a basket," Jack reminds her with a grin.<br/>
<br/>
"You tricked me into it!"<br/>
<br/>
"Leah," sighs the fourth of your group, a short, pert girl named Wendy Terrill. "Stop pitching such a fit about it."<br/>
<br/>
"You're not down forty dollars!" Leah hollers back.<br/>
<br/>
"We'll do another round when we're done with this one," Jack says. "You can play against Will. Win your money back that way." He winks at you.<br/>
<br/>
Leah whirls on you. "It's a scam!" she yells with eyes blazing. "You're in on it too!"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey!" You raise your hands. "You seen the way been playing?" You are, in fact, dead last in score.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway," Jack tells Leah, "I'm only taking your money 'cos I owe Will. And I never played this good before, I don't know what's up with me."<br/>
<br/>
"Friggin' hustler," Leah mutters again. "Come on, let's do the last basket and get it over with." She stomps off.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't play mad," Jack tells her as he follows. "That's half the reason you're losing. You're so mad you can't throw straight."<br/>
<br/>
You follow at a distance, and find that Wendy has fallen in beside you. "Leah's so competitive," she titters. "She can't stand coming in second at anything."<br/>
<br/>
"She shouldn't make bets, then," you reply.<br/>
<br/>
"She says that's what makes it fun to win."<br/>
<br/>
Leah is balancing carefully on the balls of her feet when you catch up to her at the next basket, and it's a good toss with aim that's true. But it's also her undoing, for her frisbee sails just inches over the top of the basket and vanishes into the woodland beyond. She curses, then cackles when Jack's follows the same trajectory. So does yours, though it veers off to the right. Wendy's toss at least lands short.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll get yours and mine," Leah tells Jack as she trots off to retrieve her frisbee. You follow, and are concentrating on searching the underbrush when you hear Leah give a low whistle. You look over to find her beckoning to you. She glances off toward the others, who are obscured by a screen of trees, as you edge over to her.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen, whatsyername, Will?" she says in a low voice. "I wanna get back at Jack. You wanna help?"<br/>
<br/>
"How?" you cautiously ask.<br/>
<br/>
"He's got a doobie in his glove compartment. Go break into his minivan while you're pretending to look for your frisbee, and take it."<br/>
<br/>
You gasp. "I'm not going to—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be such a mama's boy."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't want to steal from him!"<br/>
<br/>
"You're not stealing. Here, didn't he say he owes you money? How much?"<br/>
<br/>
"Twenty."<br/>
<br/>
She smirks. "So, the doobie's worth twenty. Take the doobie, then tell him he doesn't owe you, to forget the debt. Then he's not out anything."<br/>
<br/>
"Except a doobie."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll make it up to him, I'll buy him another one out of the money that <i>I</i> owe him. In fact, I'll buy the doobie off you for twenty, so you'll get your money, then I'll sell it back to him, he'll have his doobie, and no one'll be out anything."<br/>
<br/>
Something doesn't add up. "But wait," you protest, "why—"<br/>
<br/>
"Just go do it!" she hisses, and she grabs your ass cheek and squeezes hard. "I'll cover for you!" Before you know it, you're scampering off to where Jack parked.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Yeah, this is nice," Leah says. She crinkles her eyes against the wafting smoke. She takes only a quick hit, then hands it to  you. "Now all we need is some beer."<br/>
<br/>
It's just you and her, down by the river, sharing the joint that lifted from Jack. He hasn't missed it yet, but he will. Leah is still laughing about it. "He's gonna freak 'cos he'll be so scared his parents'll find it. So, when you think about it, we're actually doing him a favor, 'cos this way they won't!"<br/>
<br/>
No, you suppose they won't, not after you and her have smoked it.<br/>
<br/>
You're not entirely sure how you wound up by the river with her, now, at sunset. Like the prank itself, it all seemed to happen in a rush. But she's a fun girl, and it occurs to you that she'd probably love to help you and Caleb stage your raid on Mr. Walberg's desk tomorrow.</span></div></div>


path: 11414221
author_id: seuzz
title: The Pirate Princess
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"So what do you guys need me to do?" There's a bright, mischievous gleam in Leah Simmons's eye as she asks the question.<br/>
<br/>
It's Thursday, and the final bell rang ten minutes ago. Tomorrow Mr. Walberg's class is set to bury the time capsule, so this will be the last chance that you and Caleb have to get into the teacher's desk in order to swap out thumb drives. Leah is on hand to help.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh God, yes,</i> she said yesterday, at the river, when you asked if she wanted to help you and a friend break into a teacher's desk. <i>Who is it and what's it for?</i> So you explained the situation, which left her laughing.<br/>
<br/>
Then she got the munchies and busted open a bag of Doritos she'd bought on the way out to the river.<br/>
<br/>
So you weren't sure if she'd remember, let alone keep her promise to help, when you slid over to talk to her in English. She did look blank for a moment. Then her eyes lit up and she said, <i>When and where?</i> You gave her Mr. Walberg's classroom number, and asked her to be there after the final bell.<br/>
<br/>
She was waiting there for both you and Caleb when you finally made it out of your own last-period classes.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb gives you a quick, skeptical glance. "Dane Matthias is in there," he tells Leah. "He's got detention."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God." Leah snickers and covers her mouth with her hand. "Of course he does."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we need someone to distract him after Mr. Walberg leaves. If he leaves. You need to get behind Dane and talk to him, keep his back to the teacher's desk, while I sneak in and jimmy his desk."<br/>
<br/>
"And Will?" Leah glances at you. Her open-mouthed smile is very wide.<br/>
<br/>
"He's lookout, he lets us know when Mr. Walberg is coming back."<br/>
<br/>
"Alright!" Leah claps her hands. "Sounds like you got a plan." She glances over Caleb's shoulder, toward the classroom door, then sidles past. She waves him off as she looks in through the doorway. To Mr. Walberg's rumbling query, "Can I help you, young lady?" she replies, "Just looking for someone." She hops back over to join you and Caleb. "So how are you going to get the teacher out?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb blinks. "We were gonna wait for him to go to the bathroom or something."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, pfhbt! What if he doesn't? You're gonna need another distraction. You're gonna need a bigger crew." She springs away, sprinting down to the end of the wing, and hangs a left into the school's main corridor.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb gapes after her, then gives you a look. "Where did you find her?"<br/>
<br/>
"We have her in English. You saw me go over to talk to her."<br/>
<br/>
"You never talked to her in English before."<br/>
<br/>
"I played frisbee-golf with her and some other guys yesterday. We got to talking. Shared a joint," you add under your breath.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb stares at you, even as you dodge his eye, then he turns to join you in watching for her return. "She is cute," he says.<br/>
<br/>
She is, in a tomboyish way. She wears her hair in a short blonde bob, shorter even than yours, and today like yesterday she is dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and suspenders. Her Converse sneakers are covered in stickers. She is wiry with breasts on the small side, but her torso has a pleasing, hour-glass curve. And she's got a butt that, in those tight jeans, is just begging to be palmed. She also quivers with bottled-up energy. She puts you in mind of a compound bow, cocked and taut, ready to release a speeding arrow.<br/>
<br/>
It's nearly ten minutes before she returns, a delay during which Caleb grows noticeably impatient, and he gives you a hard, feverish look when Mr. Walberg heaves himself out of his chair and lumbers out of the classroom. "If your girlfriend flaked on us," he mutters in your ear, "and we miss our chance here—"<br/>
<br/>
You nudge him, and he turns to follow your gaze. Leah is sauntering down the hallway from the other direction she left in, and she ignores Mr. Walberg as he passes her. But her grin is glinting as she passes you and Caleb and saunters straight into the classroom. "Come on, fellas, get it in gear," she says.<br/>
<br/>
You and Caleb look at each other. Then Caleb follows.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It was a call from the office that pulled Mr. Walberg from his classroom, and it was Leah who arranged for that call—she knows the office aide who works there last period, and got her friend to call in the teacher on some bullshit excuse.<br/>
<br/>
Not that it does you much good. Though Leah succeeds in distracting Dane, and Mr. Walberg is gone long enough for Caleb to get into his desk, the desk drawer where he was keeping the time capsule items is empty. Apparently Mr. Walberg had already taken the stuff out and transferred them to the time capsule at some earlier point in the day or week. Caleb boils with frustration and anger.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh come on, man, at least you had fun," Leah chides him afterward in the parking lot. "And what's the worst that can happen? Why did you even need to get your doodad back out of it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I'm gonna have to write a paper about my doodad," Caleb tells her, "and I can't turn in a paper where I tell him that I turned in a thumb drive full of porn."<br/>
<br/>
Leah stares, then explodes with laughter. Caleb reddens.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, in the first place," she tells him, "aces on what you gave him. But how come you have to write about that in your paper? Tell him you gave him a thumb drive full of, I dunno, Wikipedia articles."<br/>
<br/>
"Because he'll check."<br/>
<br/>
Leah's brow furrows. "When's he gonna do that? When's the paper due? Aren't you guys burying the capsule tomorrow?" She glances at you for confirmation.<br/>
<br/>
"They're gonna dig it up—" Caleb starts to say.<br/>
<br/>
"Of course they are. But in, like, a hundred years."<br/>
<br/>
"No, next week. Or sometime," Caleb says. "They don't leave those things buried, not actually. They dig them up—"<br/>
<br/>
"Who says?" Leah exclaims.<br/>
<br/>
"I've got my sources. They dig them up and put them in a warehouse someplace or something. And then Walberg will be able to check my thumb drive and he'll be able to see—"<br/>
<br/>
"Dude!" Leah explodes. "You're spazzing out over nothing! He's not gonna check, 'cos he's not gonna care, 'cos it's just a dumb—"<br/>
<br/>
"It's a risk I can't run," Caleb snaps, and he wheels and stalks away.<br/>
<br/>
"Dude!" Leah calls after him. "What's his name again?" she asks you in an aside. "Caleb!" she yells when you tell her. But he just shakes his head and stomps over to his car.<br/>
<br/>
Leah laughs. "Your friend's a lot of fun," she tells you, "even if he is a spastic dingleberry. So what are you doing now?" she asks with a crinkly smile.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You'd love to go down to the river and smoke another joint with her, but she shrugs the suggestion off when you make it. "I wanna get with some people," she says. "Get with Jack, see if he's sweating over the doobie he lost yesterday." She takes out her phone. "You should text around, get some of your guys to come out too."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll hang out with whoever you get." You don't feel like telling her that Caleb by himself is basically half of your friendship circle.<br/>
<br/>
It's Thursday, so there's no chance of a real party developing, but between them Jack and Leah put together a study party that meets at a large back table at a Mexican restaurant, where homework sort-of kind-of gets done while everyone noshes on chips and salsa, nachos, and quesadillas. You meet a couple of new people, put some names to faces you've seen in school, and get reacquainted with one girl—Laura MacGregor—who you knew and hung out with in middle school.<br/>
<br/>
In fact, the night is so successful that the next day, in English, when Leah summons you over to ask if you want to go to the Warehouse with her and some friends, you instantly agree. You don't even quibble when she casually mentions that you'll all be getting donuts together the next morning, even though staying out all night would be a catastrophic violation of your curfew.<br/>
<br/>
"You making a date over there?" Caleb asks when you return to your seat. His tone is subdued, but there is acid in it.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, what of it?" you mutter back. "Gonna go to the Warehouse tonight. You wanna come?"<br/>
<br/>
"You've never been out there.<br/>
<br/>
"Neither have you! And there's a first time for everything."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb visibly bites his tongue. Then he says, in a mulish tone, "I was hoping you'd help me out tonight. I was gonna come up to the school and dig the time capsule up. Make the switch then."<br/>
<br/>
You stare at him. Is he serious? Apparently he is. The capsule got buried first period, and he was snappish and angry all during class. He still is.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry, I already have plans," you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
"So I see."<br/>
<br/>
A frosty silence settles between you.</span></div></div>


path: 114142212
author_id: seuzz
title: Wild Things
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You want to go out with Leah to the Warehouse—you feel like things are really developing between you—but you also don't want to screw things up between you and Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen," you tell him, "I'll help you out tomorrow night. Okay? We can come up here and do it tomorrow night. It doesn't matter which night we do it, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess not," he mutters back. "Promise?"<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, man. Do I have to cross my heart and hope to die?"<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a look.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're antsy all through school. It's not just the adventure to come, but the problem of how to swing it with your dad. You've got an earlier curfew than anyone you know, and there is no way that your hard-ass father is going to let you spend the night out partying, let alone partying at the Warehouse. You wind up spilling your problem to Jack Li when you meet up with him after class.<br/>
<br/>
He texted you just after the day's final bell, to ask how you were planning to get to the Warehouse. (Leah must have told him you were going.) You were texting him back to say that you didn't know, when you bumped right into him (also texting) in the crowded hallway.<br/>
<br/>
"I got the dumbest curfew!" you shout at him over the Friday-afternoon cheers and shouts that echo down the roiling hallway. "Eleven o'clock! Even on weekends!"<br/>
<br/>
"And you can't blow it off just this once?" Jack shouts back.<br/>
<br/>
"I like staying on my dad's good side!"<br/>
<br/>
Jack gives you a querying side glance. "So I guess this'll be your first time out to the Warehouse!"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I wasn't planning on staying long tonight anyway!" he tells you. "I was basically gonna drop by, hang out for just a bit! If you think you can stay out till one, I can get you home by then!"<br/>
<br/>
You talk a little more about it as you accompany him to the parking lot. By the time you part, not only has he arranged for picking you up and taking you home, he's also given you an excuse to leave with your dad—you'll be out star-gazing for your Astronomy class. He's amazingly forward thinking, and also cautions you to bring along a change of clothes so that your dad won't pick up any stink off you when you do get back home.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Hey, watch this!" Leah shouts in your ear. She has to yell in order to make herself heard over the pounding thump of the music. She pokes the girl in front of you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Genesis!" The girl turns. "I think I see Blake over there!" She jerks her thumb off to the side.<br/>
<br/>
Genesis Lee's eyes pop and she jumps. "Eeep!" she squeaks. Leah laughs, and falls against your shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
You're just inside the entrance to the Warehouse, with a cluster of a dozen or so kids, only a few of which you know from the Mexican restaurant the other night. From a gaping doorway off to your left pounds the driving rhythm of a techno beat, and a shrill, repetitive melody that sears your eardrums. Another doorway opposite leads into what looks like a makeshift saloon. There seems to be some about whether to get refreshments first, or to go ahead and hit the dance floor.<br/>
<br/>
You all rode out together in Jack's minivan: you and Leah and Jack and Genesis, along with two other girls and two guys whose names you caught but didn't retain when introductions were made. (One of the girls had to sit on your lap on the drive out, but she spent the whole time giggling and gossiping with her friends, and completely ignored you.) There were more of their friends waiting just outside the Warehouse doors when you arrived.<br/>
<br/>
The place is, as its name conveys, a warehouse, a giant box built of decaying brick and sagging corrugated metal in the heart of the city's rotten industrial district. Acrid floodlights blaze down into a parking lot ringed by a cinderblock wall and razor wire, and an abandoned grain elevator, looming like an alien war machine, stands guard. The air of post-apocalyptic ruin continues on the inside, for the Warehouse is an improvised party spot where high school kids not only party but also sell each other alcohol, drugs and food Security comes in the form of hulking football and lacrosse players. It's like a world where the adults have all been stricken dead by plague, leaving the surviving teens to waste their own remaining time away in drunken revels and despairing fornication.<br/>
<br/>
But maybe you're reading too much into the music and the location. Only three of the girls in your group are showing so much as a midriff, and Jack and the other guys are dressed in Dockers and polo shirts.<br/>
<br/>
The decision is finally made to split the group up, with half of them heading into the dance floor, while the rest, including you and Leah, move into the saloon. It's furnished with makeshift tables and chairs and booths that look like they were rescued from the city dump; alongside one wall, behind an improvised bar of planks and sawhorses, a line of kids hawk beer, colas, packaged snacks, and probably harder stuff.<br/>
<br/>
"Gimme your money and tell me what you want," Jack says as the rest of you pack yourselves into a dumpy, semi-circular booth. The orders he collects, along with the cash, are mostly for beer, but Leah asks for a "bump" of whiskey with hers. Not wanting to come off like a noob, you tell Jack you want the same. Leah directs a quick laugh at you, then leans over to talk to her friend Brianna.<br/>
<br/>
You're distracted by a moan from the other side of you. It's Wendy Terrill. "Oh, God. Jack!" she whines as she gazes off toward the bar. You follow her glance. Jack is talking to a shirtless, dark-haired kid, who is grinning impudently at him. As you watch, Jack executes a quick but spectacular dance move—half gymnastics, half break-dancing—that involves a moonwalk <i>and</i> using his own left leg as a jump rope. Then he hands over some cash and collects a tray of beers from the guy.<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't have to do that," Wendy snaps at him when he returns.<br/>
<br/>
"It got me a discount," Jack says.<br/>
<br/>
"It's humiliating! And they're gonna make you do it every time now!"<br/>
<br/>
"What was that?" you ask, but Jack has already returned to the bar.<br/>
<br/>
"It was freaking Lane being an asshole," Wendy tells you. "It's sick the way he won't leave Jack alone."<br/>
<br/>
"That dance move? It was pretty spectacular," you say.<br/>
<br/>
Leah asks, "What's spectacular?"<br/>
<br/>
"Lane's making Jack flirt with him again," Wendy tells her.<br/>
<br/>
"Fucker." Leah cranes her neck to look past you at the bar.<br/>
<br/>
You don't follow what they're talking about, so you just repeat that Jack's move was pretty amazing. "He was just warming up," Leah tells you. "Wait'll you catch him on the dance floor. Hey!" she calls to Jack as he returns to set two shot glasses in front of you and Leah. "Will was just talking about how sexy your dance moves are!"<br/>
<br/>
"They should be," Jack says as you gasp and sputter. "I only been working at 'em for ten years." He pushes Wendy, who pushes you, who push Leah and the others down so he can squeeze into the booth with you. "Ten years of gymnastics and dance."<br/>
<br/>
"Jack wanted to be on the cheerleader squad ever since he was in middle school," Leah tells you.<br/>
<br/>
"I changed my mind when I got to Westside," Jack says. "Not my kind of bitches."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You do wind up on the dance floor a little later, with Leah, but you don't get to see Jack in action, for there are far too many other people on the floor. You don't linger long either, because you're not an especially good dancer, and though Leah is lithe and can shimmy nicely she also doesn't want to put you on the spot. Mostly you spend the evening lurking in the corners of the saloon with a kaleidoscope of booth-mates, not only those who came out with you and Jack and Leah, but other classmates who slip in to say "Hi" to you as though you belong: Marc Garner and some of the wrestlers; Rachel Burton and some of the other gossipy girls. No one seems surprised to see you, and no one makes a big deal of your presence, and by the time Jack has plucked your shoulder and told you it's time to hit the road, you are wondering how all the stories about the Warehouse as the world's most dangerous party spot ever got started. You tell Jack much when you're in the minivan.<br/>
<br/>
"Tonight was pretty calm," he replies. "The really rough trade wasn't there. I wouldn't count on it always being that laid back."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Laid back</i> is not how you'd describe it. Your head is still ringing from all the noise.<br/>
<br/>
Then Jack surprises you by adding, "Same thing goes for Leah."<br/>
<br/>
"What about Leah?"<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to shout, Will," he tell you. "I meant that she can get kind of wild."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" You're not sure you like his implication, that you're not man enough to handle a wild woman.<br/>
<br/>
"You know what she was getting ready to do when we left? She was gonna go upstairs and throw some firecrackers into some of the rooms."<br/>
<br/>
Those would be the rooms with the mattresses and couples in them. You don't know what to say, so you say nothing.<br/>
<br/>
And you don't know what to say the next afternoon, when you get a text from Leah basically inviting herself to hang out with you.</span></div></div>


path: 1141422121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Digging Party
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Okay, so me and Will brought shovels," Caleb says.<br/>
<br/>
"I brought a shovel too," says Leah.<br/>
<br/>
Jack says, "I didn't know we were supposed to bring a shovel."<br/>
<br/>
"No, but you brought a couple of friends," Caleb retorts.<br/>
<br/>
"We were supposed to bring shovels?" asks one of the friends that Jack brought.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't ask any of you to even show up!"<br/>
<br/>
"They're here for moral support," says Jack.<br/>
<br/>
"We can all take turns shoveling," you suggest.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck that," says another of Jack's friends. "What are even doing here?"<br/>
<br/>
It's ten o'clock on a Saturday night, and you and Caleb are up at Westside High, huddling on a patch of ground by the music wing, to dig up the time capsule so Caleb can swap out thumb drives. Leah is here because you figured she wouldn't mind tagging along if there was mischief to be done. Jack is here because Leah invited him along, and Jack's friends are here because Jack trails people wherever he goes. <br/>
<br/>
Leah's explanation is more pithy. "We're here to help out Caleb," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Who's Caleb?"<br/>
<br/>
"Who wants to take the third shovel?" Caleb asks. Leah brandishes her shovel. "Fine," he says. "The three of us will start shoveling out the dirt. The rest of you can, I dunno, stand over there next to the wall and shovel good wishes at us or whatever." He adjusts the electric lantern he brought, shining its beam onto the low pile of bare earth that marks where the time capsule was buried two days ago.<br/>
<br/>
While he and you and Leah start stabbing at the earth, the others shuffle off, murmuring. At least Jack says, "Lemme know when you get worn out and want someone to take over for you." You're pretty sure he's talking to Leah, but Caleb says, "Thanks, I will."<br/>
<br/>
"So we're still after that thumb drive, huh?" Leah says as you scoop out the earth. "Who gets the porn when we've got it out?"<br/>
<br/>
"What's this about porn?" someone asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Caleb's digging up—"<br/>
<br/>
"There's nothing about porn!" Caleb yells back. "We're swapping out some things in the school's time capsule."<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, man," you chide him as the muttering from the others turns dark and angry. "They're here to help. Be nice."<br/>
<br/>
"They can't have my porn."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you have copies of it?" Leah asks. "You didn't copy it onto the thumb drive and delete it from your hard drive, did you?"<br/>
<br/>
"What are you doing burying porn for?" someone calls out.<br/>
<br/>
"We're digging it up!" Leah shouts back.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, then it's my turn to help," says the troublemaker. He marches up to wrestle the shovel from her, and there's a momentary struggle before she relinquishes it to him. "How far down to we have to dig?" he asks as he throws himself into the work. Caleb doesn't favor him with an answer.<br/>
<br/>
You don't understand why he's so grumpy. You're here and you brought help. It should make the job go faster—and it better go fast, because although your dad didn't punish you for breaking curfew last night, he told you tonight not to let it happen two nights in a row—so why is he acting like a grizzly bear with a toothache?<br/>
<br/>
You dig in silence and leave the talking to the others. Leah explains that Caleb is swapping out some items for a class assignment. The others ask some pointed questions that you wish you had asked Caleb—like, why doesn't he just pretend it's something other than porn on the thumb drive when he goes to write his paper for Mr. Walberg—that Leah doesn't know how to answer. Caleb just digs while you feel more and more embarrassed on his behalf. The guy helping you dig, though, just throws himself harder into it like it's a pot of leprechaun gold that you're chasing.<br/>
<br/>
With the three of you concentrating, though, it only takes about ten minutes before your shovel blades strike something solid, and the others huddle around to watch as you widen the hole and bring the capsule to the surface. Not until you've busted it open and Caleb has searched out the contents for his thumb drive, do you look around and discover that your expeditionary party seems to have gotten larger. <br/>
<br/>
And Caleb doesn't notice until you've filled in most of the hole again, when he straightens up and says, in a strangled voice, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"<br/>
<br/>
You glance over and do a double-take. Someone has their cell phone out and is recording the scene. "What the fuck?" Caleb demands again.<br/>
<br/>
"Just makin' a video," the guy says. "You know, for posting."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb hurls his shovel away and lunges for the phone. "Give me that!"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, ge'back! Watch it!"<br/>
<br/>
A babble of voices breaks out. You jump in to pull Caleb off the guy. "What are you doing?" Caleb hollers. "The fuck are you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, look, just everybody calm down!" Jack roars out. "What's the deal?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, what's your deal, Jojo?" another voice jeers.<br/>
<br/>
"What's the deal?" Caleb yells back. "We're busting into school property, and one of you dipshits is recording it and going to fucking <i>post it,</i> and you ask me what the deal is?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey man, you weren't really gonna post it online, were you?" Jack asks the guy who was wielding the phone. <br/>
<br/>
"I dunno, maybe" he says. "What are you guys doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just hand your phone over, we'll get it sorted out later," Jack says. "That okay with you?" he asks Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
"Long as he deletes the file," Caleb says.<br/>
<br/>
"Shit, you really busting into school property?" that jeering voice sounds again. "Pretty ballsy of you, Jojo."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, everyone just back up and give the guys some room. Here, I'll take that." Jack takes the shovel from the guy who was helping you dig. "Everyone just back up. In fact, just go back out to the parking lot, wait for us there."<br/>
<br/>
The others just mill about, then with murmurs and snorts the crowd shuffles off. Jack sighs, then starts shoveling dirt back into the hole.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry about that, man," he tells Caleb. "I didn't know Christian and them were doing that."<br/>
<br/>
"Who was that?" you ask. "Where did they come from?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess you didn't see 'em, huh? They were hanging out behind the Music wing, saw us, came over to see what was up."<br/>
<br/>
"Fucking Osbourne," Caleb mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"What were they doing back there?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Just hanging out, I guess. Personally, I don't get it." He falls silent for a bit as he shovels the dirt in. "I'm sorry, man, I shouldn'a brought anyone else along. I thought we were just gonna be goofing off around here, maybe getting in a little trouble. I didn't know you had actual work you were doing."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
After you finish filling up the hole and patting down the dirt, you carry the gear back out front to where the others are waiting. It's like they've started a party, for a bottle of liquor is being passed around, cigarettes (or joints) are being smoked, and the air is loud with laughter. Leah beckons you over and pulls you close.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry about the mess," she says. "Did Jack delete the video?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno."<br/>
<br/>
"It was supposed to be fun," she says. "I thought it would be fun."<br/>
<br/>
"I had fun," says the guy with the sneering voice. By the light of the parking lot, you can now make him out. It's Spencer Osbourne, one of the shabby lowlifes who spends most of his school day skipping classes and hanging out at the portables. His eye falls on you. "It's your friend Jojo who needs to learn how to have fun."<br/>
<br/>
You'd retort, but your voice dies when you see Jamie Rennerhoff grinning at you from over Spencer's shoulder. Jamie—a sociopath who hangs out with the worst elements in the school—is even worse news than Spencer.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you doing now?" Leah asks you.<br/>
<br/>
"I have to get home."<br/>
<br/>
Spencer snorts. "It's not even eleven!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, come on, you can stay out later," Leah urges you. She plucks and pulls at your t-shirt.<br/>
<br/>
You'd love to, but your dad is waiting. You counter with, "We could do something tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm supposed to do something with Brianna and Genesis. Like, maybe talk about you behind your back." She pokes you in the stomach. "Have lunch with me Monday."<br/>
<br/>
You look around for Caleb, and try to ignore the grins and nudges that Osbourne and Rennerhoff are exchanging. You find him off in conference with Jack and the guy with the phone. They're just wrapping things up with some grudging handshakes, so when you jab Caleb in the side and ask if he's ready to go, he nods.<br/>
<br/>
"What a clusterfuck," he growls when you're in your truck and buckling up.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, we got your dingus out and replaced, that's what matters, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"We could'a done it without your girlfriend and her friends along."<br/>
<br/>
"She's not my girlfriend!"<br/>
<br/>
"Then why did you drag her out here?"<br/>
<br/>
"She wanted to help!"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>You</i> wanted her to help. Listen, man, I'm glad you've got a girlfriend and I'm glad she's cool and is up for shenanigans, and maybe we can do some cool shenanigans sometime that <i>don't</i> involve a major part of my grade and breaking into school property. Until then, can you try not tossing her into my life for shits and grins?"<br/>
<br/>
You grumble something about she's not the one that was going to film and post the night's adventure online.<br/>
<br/>
"Damn straight. Good thing your boy Jack was there to get it straightened out with Padilla."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Christian Padilla. The guy with the phone. He promised to delete the footage."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Christian Padilla?</i> Wasn't that the prop guy that Jack sold that crazy book of yours to?</span></div></div>


