# chapters

path: 11331122121
author_id: seuzz
title: When Victims Meet
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Naturally, you're startled by the news that Jason Lynch is wandering around with your body and no idea what to do with it.<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck is wrong with you guys?" you demand. "If he goes out and gets hisself killed or—" You almost shit yourself at the next thought. "Or if he goes lookin' for Gordon or Steve and tries tellin' 'em that he's really me— I mean, if he tells 'em that he's supposed to be himself! Lynch, I mean!"<br/>
<br/>
But the others don't look too impressed. "What's the worst that could happen?" Small asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Like I said! He could—! Fuck!" You whirl on your heel. "I gotta get outta here!"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey! Prescott! Wait!" someone calls, but you're already out the door and sprinting down the hallway. You're at your truck—Lynch's truck—before Small catches up.<br/>
<br/>
"Where are you going?" he demands.<br/>
<br/>
"Gonna go find the fucking fool who's walkin' around with my face!"<br/>
<br/>
"And then?"<br/>
<br/>
You pause after turning the engine. "I dunno," you admit. "Play it by ear, I guess."<br/>
<br/>
He stares at you, then shrugs. "Well, come tell us how it goes. We're gonna be over at Maize's place. You know where that is?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but I got his number on my phone." You slam the transmission into reverse and barrel out of the driveway and into the street.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
For a mile or so you crackle with anger at the balls Roth and them have shown in pulling this "experiment" on you. Only when you catch yourself turning back into the school parking lot do you calm down and put some thought into what you need to do. Your truck—Will Prescott's truck, you have to call it, because names and personal pronouns have gone wandering—is gone.<br/>
<br/>
<i>If I was Jason Lynch and I woke up in Will Prescott's body, what would I do?<br/>
<br/>
Freak the fuck out,</i> you have to grimly conclude. But that's not helpful.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Think, Jason, think!</i><br/>
<br/>
You rest your forehead on the steering wheel with your eyes closed. You've got Jason's brain with you, so you shouldn't have any trouble thinking like him. But you're all goobered up.<br/>
<br/>
That probably means that Lynch is goobered up too. But once he got himself sorted out, where would he go?<br/>
<br/>
<i>Probably home,</i> you decide after some thought. <i>His house.</i> To scope it out, at least, and to see if there's a guy who looks like Jason Lynch there.<br/>
<br/>
You glance back at the gym as you turn the nose of the truck toward the parking lot exit. Gordon's VW Bug is parked by it, and the sedan that Steve drives isn't far away. You hope Jason at least had the wit to not go looking for his asshole friends while wearing your sad-sack body.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your truck isn't parked in front of Jason's house, and it's not parked in front of your own when you check there, and you haven't spotted it on the drive between. You're at a stop light, beating your fist against the steering wheel, when you bark with anger at yourself. <i>Fucking dumbass.</i> The answer was right in front of you.<br/>
<br/>
You dive into a parking lot and pull out Jason's cell phone. Your thumbs tremble as you tap in a text which you shoot off your phone: <i>looking for teh guy whoes phone ive got.</i><br/>
<br/>
You chew a thumbnail as you wait for a reply. Jason has had a lot more time to figure out this way of making contact. Why hasn't he texted his old phone, or called it? Has something happened to him?<br/>
<br/>
<i>And why haven't Gordon or Steve texted?</i> you then wonder. <i>Well, it's not a wonder that Steve hasn't. Fucking beanpole hates my guts. Jason's guts,</i> you correct yourself. <i>But Gordon ... Ah, fuck it! That's not something to worry about now.</i><br/>
<br/>
But still, the back of your brain—Jason's brain—is hot with concern.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart flips when the phone twangs. It's from an unknown sender, and your eyes water when you recognize your number attached to it. <i>whos lookin for me?<br/>
<br/>
look in mirror,</i> you reply. <i>im parked at canopies the grocery store where u?</i><br/>
<br/>
The answer is a long time coming. <br/>
<br/>
<i>lets meet at starbucks on orlando,</i> he finally replies<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
That's just down the road from where you are, so you are waiting outside when your truck pull in. You can't make out much of the driver except that he's wearing a white cap like yours.<br/>
<br/>
You pull at the crisp ball cap you've got pulled down smartly on your close-trimmed head. <i>Gonna be a real contrast between the hat and hair you're sporting now and the one he's got.</i><br/>
<br/>
The other guy spotted you, but he just sits in the cab of your truck while you sit in the cab of his. Finally, with a sigh, you dismount and walk slowly over to him.<br/>
<br/>
The window comes down, and a pinched face looks out at you. You quail a little at the sight of it.<br/>
<br/>
It's a longish face, with narrow eyes that peer out from under stiff blonde bangs that are barely controlled by a shapeless white ball cap. More hair, stiff and curled at the ends, explodes out from either side of the head to covers the ears. Skimpy whiskers show on the chin and upper lip and cheekbones.<br/>
<br/>
Is it a handsome face? There's nothing much wrong with it, you suppose, except for the way it's screwed up in a scowling glower. There is fear and hatred in the dark brown eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"So," he says in a sneering whine. "You think you some kind of bad ass motherfucker? Think you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Where you been?" you calmly reply.<br/>
<br/>
He licks his lips, and his Adam's apple bobbles as he swallows. "Been around. Went by my place, to see if—" He licks his lips again. His stare continues hard and hostile. "Where you been?"<br/>
<br/>
You temporize. "Same. Went by my place. Went by yours."<br/>
<br/>
He flares up. "How you know where I live?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>That's right. Jason hasn't got your memories, and he probably thinks that you haven't got his. Like Small—or whoever was looking like him—said, he probably thinks this is some kind of straight-up body swap, like happens sometimes in cheesy Disney Channel sitcoms, where kids have to pretend to be each other without knowing anything about each other.</i> You feel the corner of your mouth twitch. That gives you a definite advantage here.<br/>
<br/>
"I looked at your driver's license," you say, and tamp back that Lynch-like jeer you want to hurl in this guy's face. "Didn't you think to do that?"<br/>
<br/>
His lips disappear. "I was concentratin' on findin' <i>you,</i>" he retorts. You notice that he's filling your voice with more and more of his Texas twang. "So I can straighten out your fuckin' ass—"<br/>
<br/>
"What do you want to kick my ass for?" you ask. "I ain't done nothin' wrong."<br/>
<br/>
"Di'ncha?" he sneers. He blinks hard a couple of times—<br/>
<br/>
—and you realize he is coming real close to tears.<br/>
<br/>
"Naw, it was—" <br/>
<br/>
You catch yourself before you can incriminate Justin Roth and his friends. You're not sure yet what you want to do about all this. "It was's much a surprise to me as I guess it was for you. <i>You</i> didn't do this to us, did you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pf-fuck! You think I'd—?"<br/>
<br/>
"What makes you think it was me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Wasn't it? After—" He breaks off.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah? After what?"<br/>
<br/>
His eyes narrow, and all the color drains from his cheeks. When he briefly looks away, you can see the bruises on that side of his head. <br/>
<br/>
The bruises he himself put there.<br/>
<br/>
The bruises you remember receiving, and the bruises that (with his memories) you remember putting there. On account of the fact that he/you're a little rat-faced puke who is friends with James Lamont, who he/you caught lurking around back of the boys' locker room in the gym, which he ain't got no business hanging around.<br/>
<br/>
"You some kind of fuckin' warlock?" he says.<br/>
<br/>
"No. If I was a fucking warlock, you think I wouldn't of done something like this before? If I wanted to be like this—" You pat your chest. "You think I would've been walking around like that?" You jab him in the shoulder, and he winces hard. "Think I wouldn't turn myself int'a someone <i>better'n</i> you?"<br/>
<br/>
"So who did it?" he says. "How'd it happen? Why us and why now?"<br/>
<br/>
You know the answers to some of those questions, but you're still not ready to share them. In fact, the more you talk to him, the less you <i>want</i> to share what you know. There's fun to be had here.<br/>
<br/>
So you play for a little more time. "What do you remember?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno, what do <i>you</i> remember?" he retorts.<br/>
<br/>
"I remember seein' you just before last period," you retort in turn. "You remember that? What d'you remember after that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Goin' to class," he mutters. "Seein' Shep Tsosie after I got out, an' him callin' me over."<br/>
<br/>
His words match the recollection in your head: Exiting the Agricultural Annex and hearing a whistle; looking over to see Tsosie with a frozen face standing by the portables; sauntering over to ask him what's up; him saying he wanted to talk about something and gesturing you out behind one of the portables; him raising his hand and then something dark closing over your face ...<br/>
<br/>
"Think maybe it was Maize, he do some kind o' Cherokee body swapping trick on us?" your lookalike asks. He squints at you.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 113311221211
author_id: seuzz
title: Two-Faced Plans
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Shep Tsosie?" you reply. "I dunno. He's one of your friends, isn't he? I only talked to him a couple of times."<br/>
<br/>
"Might be Maize," your reluctant replacement mutters. "I dunno who else it might be." His eyes dart about before settling firmly on you. "We should go out and talk to him."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll go talk to him," you quickly intercede, and flex a fist. "I think I can be a little more persuasive. You, uh, you just camp out here. I'll call you if I find out anything." <br/>
<br/>
Then you remember to ask, "Where's he live?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's why I should come out too."<br/>
<br/>
"He's gonna think we're crazy if we come busting in and accusing him of doing something to us! Lemme just go out and show up and see what he says or does."<br/>
<br/>
He starts to argue, but you shove your hand past him and wrench the keys from the ignition. "Just stay parked here," you tell him as he glowers. "And the sooner you tell me where Shep lives, the sooner I can get back, maybe get us back to normal."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Right. Sure.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You call Maize and he gives you directions to his place, which turns out to be a broken-down little house by the river. There are two cars out front when you pull up. One of them you recognize as Tsosie's own. <br/>
<br/>
Perry Small answers the door when you knock. "Okay, who'm I talking to?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Me," he says as you push past him. "We took those things off, so we're back to normal."<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever counts as 'normal' with you assholes," you mutter as you look around.<br/>
<br/>
Most of the house is taken up with a single, small living room, with a dining alcove and a tiny kitchen directly behind. There's only one other door in the place, probably leading to a bedroom.<br/>
<br/>
A lumpy, broken sofa sags in the middle of the room. Roth is laying on it with his head propped up on the armrest. A cigarette dangles from his mouth as he taps at an iPhone with his thumbs. His eyes gleam when he looks up at you. "So where's the other guy?" he asks in that low, baritone rumble of his.<br/>
<br/>
"Left him back someplace. Told him—" You break off as the bedroom door opens and Tsosie comes out. "Hey man. Your friend Lynch thinks you're some kind of heap big Cherokee witch doctor." Tsosie's expression, already hostile, only darkens at your words. "He was gonna come with me and kick your ass, but I made him wait."<br/>
<br/>
"What did you tell him?" Roth asks. He takes the cigarette from his mouth and, without looking taps the ashes into the tray balancing by his ear.<br/>
<br/>
"Nuthin. Told 'im I didn't know what was goin' on, or why." You cock your head. "Mostly he wants to know, and I do too, why it happened to him and me."<br/>
<br/>
"You were available," Justin says. "And, uh, it looked like a fun prank." The corners of his mouth twitch. "How's your face look? Yours, I mean. The, uh—" He clenches his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. "The one with the bruises on it."<br/>
<br/>
"It looks like someone put some bruises on it. Is that why you picked me and Lynch? 'Cos o' what he did to me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, sure." Justin tries to shrug. "<i>You're letting the fucking flies in!</i>" he suddenly screams, and you jump. Small closes the front door. "So, did you give him any more bruises to go with the ones he put there?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. But, uh, long were you plannin' on leaving him and me this way?"<br/>
<br/>
"No plan," Justin says. You sense a movement behind you, and look back to find Perry staring hard at his friend. "I figure it's up to you guys. Well, maybe up to you." He rubs deeply at his eye with the heel of his hand. "Oh, fuck me. I didn't think this through. Because if we put you guys back to normal, and Jason knows it's us who did it—"<br/>
<br/>
"We told you it was a bad idea," Perry says. <br/>
<br/>
"Maize didn't say shit," Justin retorts. "Did you, man?"<br/>
<br/>
Tsosie doesn't twitch a muscle.<br/>
<br/>
"So you didn't say nothing," Justin says. The hand with the cigarette droops to the floor, and it occurs to you that he's been ingesting something more powerful than tobacco while you were gone. "That's good. That saves us some trouble." He stares at the ceiling. "When you're ready, we'll do it without letting Jason know what's ... what's ... " His eyes go out of focus.<br/>
<br/>
There's a pause. Then Perry plucks at your elbow and pulls you toward the door. Shep follows both of you outside.<br/>
<br/>
"We need to put this back," Perry says after rounding on you. "Get Jason out here."<br/>
<br/>
"You heard Justin, he wants to leave things the way they are," you protest.<br/>
<br/>
"Not forever. You don't want it forever either, do you?" Perry's lip curls in contempt.<br/>
<br/>
"I was thinking maybe we could leave it this way long enough that Jason Lynch learns a little fucking humility or something."<br/>
<br/>
Your words seem to have startled the other two, for they exchange a quick glance. "Sure," you continue. "I bet that's what Justin was thinking, or something like that, when he made this play. I say leave it go this way, for a week or so. I can manage." You shrug. "I got his brains."<br/>
<br/>
"But he don't got yours," Tsosie says in a low rumble.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't need any brains to be me," you retort, and you surprise yourself with the admission. "I only got a couple of friends to keep track of. No job."<br/>
<br/>
"What about your family?" <br/>
<br/>
You try to imagine how Jason Lynch would act around your mom and dad and brother. Jason lives alone with his parents, so he'd probably be decent to Robert if for no other reason than because he hasn't got any practice at being a dick to younger siblings. Your parents? Jason, you're discomfited to realize, is very polite and helpful with his parents, and is sure to be the same with your own. <i>Shit, Dad'll probably be in love with him after a week,</i> you ruefully reflect.<br/>
<br/>
But, "He'll be fine at home," is what you say, "long as he sticks to his room."<br/>
<br/>
"What about classes?" Perry asks.<br/>
<br/>
You rapidly review the classes that you and Lynch have. "I got a Calculus class I'm getting Cs in. I can maybe work with him there to make sure they don't turn into Ds. Nothin' else worth worrying about." You turn a leering grin on Tsosie. "Come on, man. Don't tell me you don't think Jason Lynch deserves to be taken down a peg or two."<br/>
<br/>
Tsosie says nothing. "Till tomorrow then," Perry says. "But if Justin tells you you're switching back—"<br/>
<br/>
You raise your hands. "Then it's okay with me. So long as I get a chance to pitch him on my idea about stayin' this way for awhile."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You talk a little more about it with them, and make sure that Tsosie understands that he's supposed to be totally in the dark about this "body swap" business. The story you'll tell Jason is that he blacked out suddenly, and that Shep ran to get the nurse, but that Jason was gone by the time he got back with some help. He doesn't take the plan very graciously, but he accedes to it after Perry points out that it'll be a lot "safer" if that's the story everyone tells Jason.<br/>
<br/>
Then, after arranging to meet up with Tsosie and Roth at the school at 6:30 the next morning (for Lynch has baseball practice there starting at 7:00), you part for the day.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Jason Lynch is in a fine fury when you catch up to him again at Starbucks. But since he is in your body, his anger is far from persuasive. Mostly, he just sits at a table and twitches while jabbing his fingers through his stiff hair.<br/>
<br/>
"He's lyin'," he snarls. "I don't 'black out'! I should'a gone along, I'd'a seen that he was fucking lyin'!"<br/>
<br/>
"So why'd he do it?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"He was there when it happened!"<br/>
<br/>
"That's doesn't answer how come he did it. Besides, who says you gotta be there to do something like this? Maybe it's like voodoo, and you can do it with dolls and needles at a distance. You know Braydon Delp?"<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Skinny kid, wears black. Silver rings and mascara. Like he's got a mild case of the goths."<br/>
<br/>
"Pff. Seen plenty of <i>them</i> fuckers around."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, maybe it was him. He's into magic. It makes more sense than it being Shep. You know—" You lower your voice and lean across the table toward him. "Maybe we're not the first. Maybe this is going on all around school." Jason's eyes get very hot, but you can see the fear inside them too. "Maybe there's, like, a coven, and—"<br/>
<br/>
Jason does a full-body twitch, so you stop.<br/>
<br/>
"I think we should hang loose, keep our eyes open, watch for anything funny. We can't just run around accusing people. If we find anyone else who this has happened to, talk to them, maybe then we can get a lead."<br/>
<br/>
Jason's eyes—your old eyes—are bruised with anger and frustration, but he sullenly agrees that you're probably right. "Damn straight I'm right. What we gotta do now is figure out how we're gonna get through tonight, at least, while lookin' like each other."<br/>
<br/>
You spend the next hour giving each other potted biographies. You're glad that you've got Jason's memories to guide you, for you're not sure you could fake your way through his life all on your own. You emphasize to him, meanwhile, that he should stick to being anti-social. You do pull up some pictures of Caleb and Keith, though, so he'll recognize them if he sees them tomorrow. Still, he looks very nervous when you finally part.<br/>
<br/>
And what do you do then? Jason does have more of a social life than you.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 1133112212113
author_id: seuzz
title: The OCD
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>If you went and hung out with Jason's friends, word would probably get back to him and he'd probably be pissed off, thinking you were screwing things up for him. Besides, it's not far off from dinner time, so you drive back to the Lynch residence.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Jason, apparently, was a "surprise" for his parents. They married young, but Mrs. Lynch was in her mid-thirties when Jason popped out. That puts her in her early-fifties now, and Jason's dad is actually in his late fifties.<br/>
<br/>
They raised him right, as far as being a dutiful, helpful son, full of "sirs" and "ma'ams" and "on its" when asked to do chores around the house. So it's a mystery to you how come he turned out to be such a shit among his peers. <br/>
<br/>
Maybe it's because he's short—scarcely more than five and a half feet tall—and has always been short for his age. Maybe it's because (you think, as you lay on Jason's bed and let your mind drift back to his elementary and middle school days) he always felt like he had to push himself forward in order to get people to pay attention to him and take him seriously. Because he's learned that people take him seriously when they're scared of him, and seem to ignore him when he's being polite.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe it's because of his cock, which is a tiny thing.<br/>
<br/>
You twine your fingers behind your head and go back to not thinking about Jason Lynch's cock.<br/>
<br/>
His family lives in a modest tract home near the river. Once upon a time it was probably a very nice subdivision, but these days it looks like the kind of place where blue-collar workers of modest means retire to in order to stretch out their pensions. It's a single-story house with three bedrooms—Mr. and Mrs. Lynch sleep separately—and a single bathroom for entire household. This would be a nightmare if it were you and the Prescott family having to make do, but everyone has been trained to keep things neat and dry and tidy and folded.<br/>
<br/>
Except for Jason. Apparently he didn't have to be trained.<br/>
<br/>
In fact, even now something niggles in the back of your brain. You try to ignore, but then with a muttered <i>fuck it</i> you leap over to the closet. You wheel out the mini vacuum cleaner—Jason's got one of his own; un-fucking-believable—and quickly suck up any dirt that you might have tracked in between the door and the bed.<br/>
<br/>
Then you straighten and smooth out the wrinkles you left on the bedspread. You sit in the chair at your desk and let your eyes rove the room. Everything has been dusted, swiped, straightened, folded, and even the titles on the bookshelf have been alphabetized. The desk is bare except for the laptop. You wake it up, and when the glow of the screen catches some dust, you take a cloth from the top dresser drawer and wipe it down. You go online to look for—<br/>
<br/>
You pause.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Porn,</i> you are tempted to call it, but there's a sharp rebellion at that. It's pictures of bodybuilders that Jason likes to look at. Part of his resentment of being so small is that he has become a fanatic about fitness, and he is built like a fireplug. Each day he carefully works out a circumscribed set of muscles, and keeps himself shaved and smooth and scrubbed.<br/>
<br/>
So no, it's not porn. It's ... inspiration. For what he could be. And the warm fascination he feels is anticipation of what he will be.<br/>
<br/>
You're still studying the images he has bookmarked, and puzzling about the feelings you're getting from them, when you are called in to supper. "How was your day, son?" Mr. Lynch asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Good as ever, sir," you brightly reply. You talk a little bit about the classes—Horticulture III and Business Technology being the most important to Jason this semester; Career Planning and Reading for Pleasure being less so. Jason is planning some kind of career in agriculture, not as a farmer but working for a commodity firm. (His highest ambition is to open his own small trading firm.) To that end he has already taken every business-related class that he can. But baseball figures in his plans as well, for an athletic scholarship would also be helpful, and you talk now with his parents about the progress of the Westside team.<br/>
<br/>
After helping clean up the table and the kitchen, you prep a little laundry for tomorrow, then return to the bedroom to do the little homework Jason has—for the English class—and to field a series of texts from your replacement: <i>room is filthy gotta clean it.<br/>
<br/>
leave it alone.<br/>
<br/>
gah! no!<br/>
<br/>
just dont vacuum. what you got vacum clener in your room for?<br/>
<br/>
for cleaning dumbshit dont you make things dirtythere!<br/>
<br/>
do i got to make your bed in morning?<br/>
<br/>
YES.</i><br/>
<br/>
You grin to yourself. It occurs to you that Jason's neatfreakery opens up a whole new way of torturing him.<br/>
<br/>
So the next morning you are careful to place a tiny spot of ketchup on the chest of your white polo shirt before packing it into your kit.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Baseball practice starts at seven, but Jason is always there early, and you arrive at 6:45. Maize Tsosie is already waiting for you. "How," you greet him as you hop out of your truck. Then you add, "Dee!"<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs. "Be as cute as you want, Prescott, won't bother me. Maize is back at his place, skipping."<br/>
<br/>
That stops you short. "Yeah? Who you be, then?"<br/>
<br/>
"Justin." He pushes Maize's long, black hair, which hangs to his shoulders, out of his long, narrow face.<br/>
<br/>
"So who's being you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nobody. I'm skipping too, in a way."<br/>
<br/>
"So why are you here and Maize is—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Part of the experiment. Keeping an eye on you, see how you do at being Lynch."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. "Think I'm gonna be fine. You gave me his memories and everything."<br/>
<br/>
"Can you pitch a baseballs?"<br/>
<br/>
"I assume so." Your eyes narrow. "So who's gonna be watching <i>me?</i> Uh, Lynch. Uh— God <i>damn</i> it!"<br/>
<br/>
"The guy who looks like Will Prescott?" Maize looks amused. "Dunno. We don't have any classes with, uh, him. What lunch you got?"<br/>
<br/>
"Who, Prescott? Fifth."<br/>
<br/>
"Then I guess I'll have a look in on him then."<br/>
<br/>
More cars have been pulling in all this time, for many of the school teams have pre-class practice. You wave at Gordon, for instance, when he clambers out of his ridiculously small VW Classic Bug, and you eye the girls on the swim team as they park near the natatorium. But it's the baseball team that keeps you occupied.<br/>
<br/>
They're in all kinds of different workout clothes as they arrive. Some in shorts, some in track pants, some in sweat pants. You alone are in actual baseball togs. (Jason washes and presses them each night after supper.) As is Jason's habit, you wait and greet each of them as pass you on the way to the baseball. "Noah." "Jacob." "'tonio." "Joe." "Luke." "Cam." "<i>Pay</i>-dro." Maize watches the reception for awhile, then falls in next to Ricardo Pedroza and trudges toward the diamond.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Mizz Sanchez," you sneer at the six-foot batter as he steps into the box. His biceps bulge, straining against the tight short sleeves as he crouches and takes a few careful practice swings. "When you're done stroking off—"<br/>
<br/>
"Like your teeth? Then keep your mouth shut," Antonio shouts back.<br/>
<br/>
You grin, and shout over your shoulder at the left fielder. "Put the blunt down, Massey!"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you!"<br/>
<br/>
You step back, raise your leg, and hurl the ball. It's straight up the middle, and with a hard crack Sanchez sends it arcing into the air. He doesn't run though; that's Delao's job, and the scrawny shortstop streaks toward first.<br/>
<br/>
But Alex Massey—shirtless as ever, regardless of the temperature—leaps to snatch the ball out of the air, and wheels to drive the ball to Noah Baker at second. He's stretched almost parallel to the ground, one foot on the bag, and catches the ball in the tip of his glove before spinning about to send it first. "Sweet!" you yell at Baker. To Massey: "The fuck was that? Do I gotta buy you a trampoline out there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you!"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't <i>wait</i> for it, go up and fucking <i>get</i> it!"<br/>
<br/>
"How'd it even get the fuck up there?" Massey hurls a bird at you. "Fuck you! Fuck you!"<br/>
<br/>
You bite a hard grin and turn back to the plate. Sanchez loosens up with a few swings, and Pedro returns to a crouch as the team's strongest batter steps back into the box.<br/>
<br/>
"Gone!" Cam shouts behind you.<br/>
<br/>
You wheel and hit Maize in the glove with the ball. Cam Shore, who's acting as first base umpire, squeezes his stopwatch. "Safe!" he shouts.<br/>
<br/>
You snort. "Bullshit!"<br/>
<br/>
"Then put a runner on and let's do it for real!" he shouts back. "Richardson's just picking his nose over there!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm writing a sonnet, goddamn it!" the poetical Irishman shouts back from behind the baseline.<br/>
<br/>
"There once was a redhead who jerked off—" Alex starts to chant.  Luke Richardson drops his bat and leaps into the diamond.<br/>
<br/>
You crack your teeth with a whistle and force him back with a pointed finger. "Save it for the locker room!" To Massey: "Put your goddamn shirt back on! Ain't no one here queer enough they wanna see your—"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you!"<br/>
<br/>
You catch Maize's lazy toss and turn back to Sanchez. He steps back into the box and Pedro falls back into a sprinter's crouch. "Ry-an!" you chant. "Ryyyy-an! Ryyyyyyyyyy! An!" Again, you aim it right down the middle.<br/>
<br/>
Sanchez sends it to center field. You chortle as Ryan Ness has to dive for it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>The locker room, end of first period:</i> You slap Alex Massey on his hard, firm back. "River? Beer? Four-thiry?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you," he snarls. "Only if you bring the stuff."<br/>
<br/>
You grin and swagger over to Jacob May to give him an invite too. Maize Tsosie smiles faintly as you pass him.</span></div></div>


path: 11331122121131
author_id: seuzz
title: The Traitor
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Second period is Reading for Pleasure, an English class stuffed with jocks and other underachievers. Noah Baker's in there too, and he and Jason walk there together every day after practice, even though Noah is one of those wholesome kids who wouldn't bully a fly. (But then, until you got to know him, you'd think to look at him that Jason was a preacher's boy too.) Today you ask him something that Jason's been wondering about for a long time. "You ain't no dummy, man, how come you in this bullshit class with me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Only English class I could squeeze into my schedule."<br/>
<br/>
"No way!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I could'a taken one fourth period, but I wanted to keep my fourth period free for study hall."<br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"A coupla girls have lunch then." He gives you a sly, sidelong smile.<br/>
<br/>
"No foolin'?" you chortle. "Which ones?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, a couple. Between that and fifth period, I can have lunch with any girl in school, if I want." He says this very quietly, even shyly, but the mad, bold glint in his eye suggests he's not just fantasizing.<br/>
<br/>
"Hooo! You bad mofo!" You clap his shoulder, and with your hip you ram an obstructing freshman face first into his locker. "I oughta thought o' that!"<br/>
<br/>
And when you steer into Ms. Gladstone's classroom, you boldly let your eye range up and down the girls already seated there.<br/>
<br/>
Deanna Showalter? <i>Fine.</i> Gloria Rea? <i>Succulent!</i> Stephanie Wyatt? <i>Scary but sexy!</i> Corale Weaver? <i>Moo!</i> Nell Hammond? <i>Sooo-ee!</i> And so on.<br/>
<br/>
With a contented sigh you settle into a desk next to Noah. There's basketball players in the room—Ryan Shuler, Dylan Lloyd, and Matt Nichols—but you steer clear of them. Gordon and Steve don't associate with any of the team except each other, and as you associate with Gordon and Steve you are careful to keep your distance too. But Noah is safe, even if he is a total pussy. But like Cam Shore and Michael Allen, he's a good, conscientious ball player who responds well to encouragement, so Jason never bullies him, and even treats him like a good guy off the team.<br/>
<br/>
It's just that he's not the type that someone like Jason can have "fun" with.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Third period is a study hall for Jason, which today—as Jason often does—you take outside on the field next to the baseball diamond, so you can watch the freshman baseball team practice. It looks like a good upcoming crop, and Jason typically has encouraging things to say to some of them when they go jogging back to the gym, or helpful criticisms or pointers to those who need them. It surprises, and discomfits you a little, to realize that Jason isn't a dumpster fire of sadism all the way through, but can be naturally, even thoughtlessly, generous with praise and even kindness in those moments when it doesn't occur to him to be nasty.<br/>
<br/>
But lunch isn't one of those periods when he's apt to be on his best behavior.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Wunner if he bounces," you giggle as you trail through the halls behind Gordon's left shoulder. He's a foot taller than you, and takes long strides, so that you have to trot to keep up with him. He and Steve Patterson, who's walking side-by-side with him, move through the lunch crowd like a snow plow.<br/>
<br/>
Your comment was in answer to a grouchy observation of Gordon's that one of the kids in his second-period class is amazingly fat. "You could make it a science project," you snigger. "Take all the obese motherfuckers we got around here—" One kids, shoved aside by Gordon, topples back into your way, and you grab and throw him behind you. "Take 'em all up onna roof and push 'em off. Calc'late how many bounce and how many jus' go splat!" You laugh.<br/>
<br/>
No one else does. Gordon squints back at you. "Where were you last period?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Oh, out watchin' the kids play. Why, you needed me?" Gordon also has a third-period study hall, and more often than not Jason spends it with him up in the loft above the gym. Today you skipped that, as Jason had cautioned you against spending too much time with his buddies.<br/>
<br/>
"Just wondered," Gordon says. "I got bored."<br/>
<br/>
Patterson mutters something, and you grimace at his back. "I'll come hang out after practice today," you promise Gordon. "I didn' hear nothin' from you yesterday, I got the impression you was, I dunno, spendin' some quality time with Chelsea." You wink at his broad back.<br/>
<br/>
Your trio enters the cafeteria and joins a line that is already snaking toward the double doors. But Gordon only has to touch the shoulders of the students in front for them to shift aside, so that the three of you advance rapidly toward the front. Only when you hit the wrestlers Eli Anders and Devin Haney do you stop advancing, for even Gordon and Steve know it's useless to try intimidating them.<br/>
<br/>
But your rapid advance means that you've mostly collected your trays—each of you carrying at least two of them—when Chelsea Cooper, Gloria Rea, Kendra Saunders, and Maria Vasquez come prancing in. The "alpha table" at the center of the room is completely empty, despite the rapidly filling cafeteria, and the four cheerleaders occupy the central seats on opposite sides of it. They're chatting gaily when you and the other two ballplayers approach with your—and their—lunches. You set your extra tray in front of Gloria as you sit down next to her; Gordon sets his extra trays in front of Chelsea and Maria as he sits and drapes a massive arm over her shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't do the reading for second, did you?" you chortle quietly at Gloria. Ms. Gladstone had asked her question about the day's reading assignment, and only got a stony silence in reply.<br/>
<br/>
"Bite me," she murmurs.<br/>
<br/>
"We could get together, you 'n me, and take turns reading out loud to each other," you say. "That'd be fun. Or, you could read aloud and I could give you a foot massage.  Rub your calves."<br/>
<br/>
"She's not anorexic," Patterson growls from the other side of the table. "Stop trying to make her throw up."<br/>
<br/>
"You pay him to say shit like that to me?" you ask Gloria. "'Cos I notice ever'time I—"<br/>
<br/>
Gloria abruptly stands, picks up her tray, and moves down to the opposite, far end of the table where she starts to eat in moody silence. "Well, sorry for tryin' to be friendly!" you jeer after her.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't mind her," Chelsea sniffs. "Lin just scored off her in practice today, and she's still tender." She titters. "Lin said—"<br/>
<br/>
You're distracted from whatever <i>mot</i> it was Lin Pol made at Gloria's expense by the clatter of a tray at your left. Seth Javits swings into the seat and hunkers over his meatloaf. "Hey man," you say. You look around. "Where's Cinders?"<br/>
<br/>
He slowly chews and swallows a great mouthful before answering. "Eating with someone else," he mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
Dalton Douglas, who drops his tray onto the table with a bang, answers. "She's pissed at him," he says with a grin. Seth glares up at him and mouths an obscenity.<br/>
<br/>
You hoot. "What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
"She caught him with a guy!"<br/>
<br/>
Javits half clambers over the table before you grab him. Patterson growls, "Siddown!" and Javits slowly backs away.<br/>
<br/>
"He was just teaching someone to show respect," Douglas chortles. "He was holding the asshole upside down when Cindy came out. She made him put him down."<br/>
<br/>
It's like a chilly hand has closed about your heart. "Who was it, this guy?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," says Douglas, and he slams back his chocolate milk.<br/>
<br/>
"It wasn't Keith Tilley again, was it?" you ask Javits.<br/>
<br/>
"So what if it was?" Seth snorts as he stabs at his food. "It's not like his friends even like him. One of 'em even told me where to find him."<br/>
<br/>
"Who? Who told you where to find him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you care? But he pointed me which classroom Tilley went in and asked if he could watch."<br/>
<br/>
You're silent the rest of lunch period.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Caleb Johansson ducks his head as you charge at him and his friend. Funny, the way these guys seem to think that playing ostrich can make any difference. If you had business with Johansson—<br/>
<br/>
But you don't. You grab Will Prescott up by his scrawny neck and drag him around the corner of G wing. You throw him to the ground and kneel with a brawny knee on his chest. "What'd we talk about yesterday, man?" you demand, and a froth fills your mouth. "What the <i>FUCK</i> did we talk about?<br/>
<br/>
He chokes and grimaces and kicks lustily without connecting. You knock his cap off, grab a great hank of his hair and force his head back. You lean over to mutter in his ear. <br/>
<br/>
"I'm trying to be nice to you. I'm trying not to fuck up your life. But every time you <i>fuck up mine—!</i>" You pound the grass next to his ear. "I will fuck up yours! Every time!"<br/>
<br/>
"What did I do?" he gasps. His face is red as a tomato, and he's having trouble breathing with all your weight on his chest.<br/>
<br/>
"What did Seth do to Keith, and how did he find him?"<br/>
<br/>
Will says nothing.<br/>
<br/>
"You like Gordon being your friend? 'Cos I can fuck that up for you! I don't care if he's <i>my</i> friend! He <i>ain't</i> my friend! And if we ever get back to bein' ourselves—" You grasp your double by the front of his shirt, and shake him until it tears. "Maybe he won't be your friend then.<br/>
<br/>
"So just remember, motherfucker! You be friends with my friends! Or you ain't gonna have any friends when you get back!"<br/>
<br/>
You stand up, and are so disgusted as the way he flops that you kick at him. Fortunately, your foot catches on a clump of dirt, so he escapes injury.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb ducks back around the corner as you barrel past, but you ignore him.</span></div></div>


path: 113311221211311
author_id: seuzz
title: The Drift
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You're really sore at Lynch, and you work out your frustrations on the weight machines in sixth period, during your second PE class of the day.<br/>
<br/>
The Westside weight deck sits on a mezzanine between the two full-size basketball courts that take up opposite sides of the gym, and it's a good thing the deck itself is very large, because there's a couple of different jock cliques that make use of it during the period.<br/>
<br/>
What your group—Gordon, Steve, Seth, and yourself (Lynch)—lack in numbers you make up in size, muscle and orneriness. Typically your quartet clusters around the machines, spotting each other and offering a mix of encouragement and trash talk as you take turns pushing and lifting large pieces of metal and machinery. But today you are mostly preoccupied with what happened at lunch, and you drift along in your own private thoughts, so that when it's your turn on the to press weights, your friends have moved on.<br/>
<br/>
So you whistle and gesture to Alec "Brownie" Brown, who is recovering at a nearby machine, and ask him to spot you. He lopes over.<br/>
<br/>
So how come you're the only ballplayer up here?" he asks when you're panting after the first set of reps.<br/>
<br/>
You're momentarily confused, as Gordon and the other basketball players are sitting in plain sight nearby. Then you realize he means "baseball player."<br/>
<br/>
"Others don't fit it into their schedule," you reply as you wipe your streaming face. "Figure they don't need it or do it on their own time. Ness has a membership at the gym down on Twentieth." You make a face. That pompous twat thinks he's better than everyone else on the team because his family has money. "Massey and some of the other guys work out here after school sometimes." Brownie grunts as you settle back and grip the bar again.<br/>
<br/>
By the time you're done, Gordon and Steve have moved even farther down the line, and your machines are closer to those that the wrestlers—Brownie, Laurent Delacroix, Eli Anders, and Derek Balaban—are using, so you hang back and wind up talking with them. They're a lot looser and more talkative—Gordon and Steve are nothing but concentrated strain, while Seth talks nothing but empty encouragements—and pretty soon you're talking and laughing along with them. You find them more your speed—relaxed and casual and funny—while still being serious about the work.<br/>
<br/>
You're surprised when the bell rings, for you've not finished your usual circuit, and you're alarmed when you look around to notice that Gordon and the others are already dismounting the mezzanine without you. Maybe it's rude, but you run off after them without saying goodbye to Brownie and the others. "Well, that was kind of a different day," you lamely observe.<br/>
<br/>
"There's something really gay about wrestling, if you ask me," Steve says, and he's the only one to say anything. You flush.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Seventh period. Career Planning.</i> A bullshit class mostly filled with sophomores, but which you share with Gordon. "What'cha doin' this afternoon?" you ask him as you patter after him to class.<br/>
<br/>
"Practice. After that, I dunno." He seems even grumpier than usual, and since Gordon walks around with a perpetual scowl, that says something.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, me and some of the other guys were talkin' about meetin' up down at the river, takin' some beers along."<br/>
<br/>
"That sounds great," Gordon says. "Bet you'll have fun."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I was fishin' to see if you wanted to—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll just hang out in the loft with Steve-o. We got beers up there and I'll flush a toilet if I wanna look at running water."<br/>
<br/>
"Wouldn't hurt you to get out, you know, and see some new people."<br/>
<br/>
Gordon doesn't reply. He just picks up a junior and sets him out of the way as he enters the classroom.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Eighth period. Horticulture III. Out in the Agricultural Annex, which sits near the portables.</i> "Lester," you murmur at the hulking soccer goalie who sits in the desk in front of you. "Lester," you murmur again, and he turns to peer quizzically at you. "Lester. Mo-Lester. Mooowww-Lester," you jeer quietly while grinning at him from under lowered brows. "Molester. Lester the Molester."<br/>
<br/>
Jason has never paid much attention to Lester Pozniak, the bully who, at least once a week will haul you outside for some light pain and humiliation. He's certainly never taunted Pozniak with the nickname that you and Keith and Caleb made up for him.<br/>
<br/>
His brow darkens. An ugly light flares in his piggy eyes. His lip curls. "Mooowwww-Lester," you continue to chant quietly. "Little Boy Molester." He shifts in his seat.<br/>
<br/>
Then he turns around and hunches in his seat. You snigger quietly to yourself. That's the benefit of having one of the nastiest reputations in school, you reflect. Even the Molester won't stand up to Lynch.<br/>
<br/>
Snickers break out behind you. You turn to grin at Tyler Purvis and Chuck Johnson. You put out a fist, and bumps are made all around.<br/>
<br/>
As you turn back around, your eye falls on a girl in the corner of the room. Jason has noticed her, but you actually look at her.<br/>
<br/>
She has long, flax-colored hair tied in a couple of loose braids and some flower stickers on her cheek near her ear. She wears a large, floppy gray sweatshirt and ragged, bellbottom jeans. Her feet are wrapped in rope sandals. <i>Hippy girl,</i> Jason's mind sniggers, but you think she's kind of cute.<br/>
<br/>
Too bad neither of you know her name, and Mr. Barrientos takes roll silently.<br/>
<br/>
But when the final bell rings, you do hear him call her over: "Ceres." You linger outside the classroom until she comes out. "You get all the notes for today?" you ask her.<br/>
<br/>
She turns eyes that are blue like cornflowers up at you. (She's a little shorter than you are.) "Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just checking, 'cos I thought I saw you spacing out in class."<br/>
<br/>
The light in her eye dims a little. "I got everything." She walks away.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Oh, God <i>damn</i> it!" you cry as your phone dings again. You pull it from your pocket with a grimace.<br/>
<br/>
"Price of fucking popularity, man," Alex Massey says. He lays back against the windshield of his car and stretches his bare legs—he's in cutoffs, and shirtless, too—across the warm hood of the car, and puts a roach clip to lips.<br/>
<br/>
You slap at it. "Put that shit away. I'm not lettin' you fuck us up like them stoners on the football team."<br/>
<br/>
Alex blocks your blow with his forearm. "I don't do it game days, fucker, and that's all you should fucking care about."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, see that you fucking don't!" You squint at the text on your phone. It's Jason, the real one, and you've been trying to dodge him. After the way you freaked out at him messing up with Keith, you don't want him freaking out by knowing that you're hanging around with his friends.<br/>
<br/>
It's you and Alex and Ricardo Pedroza and Pedro Delao down by the river. It's not rare for Lynch to hang out with the first two. Pedro is an odd addition. The shortstop is small and quiet, with big eyes and tousled black hair; were it not for the faint moustache on his upper lip, he'd look like the stereotype for a ten-year-old Mexican orphan boy. He hasn't said a word since showing up with the burly Ricardo, and has only listened to the rest of you with a watchful intensity while taking the occasional sip from a cola bottle.<br/>
<br/>
That's another difference—the rest of you are drinking beers, and Alex and Ricardo are passing the half-inch remnant of a blunt back and forth.<br/>
<br/>
You cuss under your breath as you read the message from "Will Prescott": <i>out with Cam Shore and Fred Hildown and buncha others if u wanto comeout.</i> The hell? You text back: <i>busy.<br/>
<br/>
doing hwat?</i> he wants to know. Then comes a big-ass text about how if you're at a party together with his friends he can watch you and give you tips about how to act with them.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh. That's right.</i> He doesn't realize you've got his memories to use.<br/>
<br/>
Then he texts: <i>everyone seems alright.<br/>
<br/>
wyh woundlt' they be?</i> you ask. (The misspellings reflect your impatience.)<br/>
<br/>
<i>none seem like theyre swapped,</i> he replies.<br/>
<br/>
"What's going on?" Ricardo asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Just dealin' with an idiot," you mutter and put your phone away.<br/>
<br/>
"Gordon?" Alex asks. He pulls off his camo cap and slides long fingers through his shoulder-length hair.<br/>
<br/>
You glare, but Ricardo snickers. "You'd think a guy with a girlfriend like Chelsea wouldn't stomp around looking mad all the time."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't know Chelsea," you retort. "Fuck. That."<br/>
<br/>
"That's the idea, ain't it?" Alex laughs. <br/>
<br/>
You blush at having committed that kind of error. "What about you, <i>Pay</i>-dro?" you ask Delao. You're feeling peevish, and heedlessly take it out on him. "When's the first you was ever with a girl?"<br/>
<br/>
He stares back without blinking those giant eyes. "Sixth grade," he says.<br/>
<br/>
A gasp runs around the car. Then laughter. "Bullshit!" Alex says.<br/>
<br/>
Pedro still doesn't blink. "I paid a girl twenty dollars to let me touch her," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Where?"<br/>
<br/>
"Behind the school."<br/>
<br/>
More laughter. "Where on her <i>body,</i> you moron," you jeer.<br/>
<br/>
" I put my finger inside her." Pedro says. He could be talking about a model airplane he built, his tone is so expressionless.<br/>
<br/>
You suddenly feel very uncomfortable, and the other two are silent as well. "That ain't bein', uh, intimate," you protest.<br/>
<br/>
"Then she gave me my twenty dollars back, and I let her kiss my dick."<br/>
<br/>
Silence. Then: "This was when you were in the sixth grade?" Alex says. Pedro nods gravely. "Which school was this and why the <i>fuck</i> wasn't I enrolled there?"<br/>
<br/>
The laughter breaks the tension. But Pedro doesn't laugh. He just looks searchingly between your faces.</span></div></div>


path: 1133112212113111
author_id: seuzz
title: Private Talks in Public Places
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Wednesday morning. 7:00 A.M.</i> You fall in next to Cam Shore while jogging the outfield perimeter. "Whadja do yesterday?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hung out at the community fields." That would be the Morris Clevenger Community Athletic Fields, a complex of soccer/football fields and baseball/softball diamonds by Stewart's Hole. "Me and a bunch of other guys. Tossed some balls around, then had a cookout."<br/>
<br/>
"Sounds fun."<br/>
<br/>
"We texted you," he says. "Never heard back. What were you doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"I's out with Alex and Ricardo. Pedro the Pervert," you add in a lower tone.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"But I didn't get no text from y'all."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought someone sent you one. Will said he did. Will Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
"That little weirdo? I didn't know he was with you. I just ignored it."<br/>
<br/>
You catch Cam giving you a sidelong look. "You should'a come. He was pretty good with a baseball. If we had room on the team, I'd tell you to give him a tryout."<br/>
<br/>
"What spot?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pitcher."<br/>
<br/>
"We already got you and me," you remind him. Cam is the relief pitcher, and being a nice guy and having a professional attitude, he doesn't seem to resent that you take up the bulk of time on the mound.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he was good. Strained himself with some of his throws 'cos he hasn't got as much muscle as he wants. But he's got great form and he's almost good as you at putting the ball where he wants it."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh." It makes sense that Jason, even in your body, should be a pretty good pitcher.<br/>
<br/>
You ask a little more about who was at the cookout, and learn that besides him, the team was represented by Noah Baker, Michael Allen and Luke Richardson. In other words, the safe guys. The other attendees, like Fred Hildown, were of the basic cut.<br/>
<br/>
The Westside Dragons, like a lot of the school, basically, consist of three overlapping groups. Everyone on the team is serious about the sport—they would never have made it onto the team if they weren't—but Cam and Noah and Michal and Luke, along with Ryan Ness, are smart, clean-cut types who are also good at academics, and they bring their brains to the game. They're the one who talk about stats and how to use them, and they are almost as intent on their MLB fantasy league play as on their own. Jason, who for all his bluster is no dummy, spends a lot of time listening to them and taking their advice. (Well, except from Ryan, who is a smug, arrogant asshole of the Geoff Mansfield type.) If you—in your old body—were going to hang out with anyone on the baseball team, it would probably be them.<br/>
<br/>
The guys like you hung out with yesterday, though, they're the bad 'uns. They're scruffy and in some cases downright scary. Alex Massey? Drinker, drug user, foul-mouthed brawler. Antonio Sanchez? Got kicked off the wrestling team after his teammates had to pull him off a screaming girl at a wild party. Ricardo Pedroza? Another former wrestler, who always carries a heavy wrench in his back hip pocket and has quietly let it be known that if he will use it on Marcus Ansell of the lacrosse team if he ever gets that asshole alone. Jacob May? Hardly ever says anything, and only has to flex his meaty hands to get others to nervously shut up. These guys are good at the sport, but they have to make up in force and guts what they lack in finesse. Jason has to up his talk when he's around them.<br/>
<br/>
Then there are the screwballs, for whom the team is an escape from something else. Shep Tsosie, who seems to find a Zen-like peace in watching over first base even as his quick reflexes help keep it free of runners and other pests. Joe Ysleta, whose fine batting skills are marred by a dilettante attitude that irks Jason. Sebastian Clarke, who drifted onto the baseball team after quitting the marching band, and who might just drift off the team in order to join the chess club. And Pedro Delao, who was a completely mystery to the team captain until yesterday, and who you now rather wish was still a mystery.<br/>
<br/>
And, as noted, some of these groups overlap. Luke Richardson yearns to be a creative writer, which definitely puts him the "screwball" camp as far as Jason is concerned; when Joe Ysleta bothers to take the sport seriously he can be at least as smart about it as Noah and Cam; Ricardo is a top participant in the fantasy league; and Jason himself makes a point of keeping in close touch with everyone.<br/>
<br/>
You relax your pace and fall back until Tsosie has caught up to you. But is it Tsosie? "Wanna talk?" you mutter at him, and slow down further. After a pause, he does too, and over the next few minutes the rest of the team files past. You resist the urge to stick out a foot and trip Ness as he brushes past.<br/>
<br/>
When the last straggler is a good twenty feet ahead, Maize says, "Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"Who'm I talkin' to? Same feller as yesterday?"<br/>
<br/>
A grunt. "Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"You ever plannin' on comin' back to school?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not planning to graduate, so it's no loss if I don't. Shep, though ... "<br/>
<br/>
"What about Maize?" you ask when he doesn't resume.<br/>
<br/>
"He's got too many strikes against him without a diploma." You don't understand the implication until the other adds, "So I might spend a lot of time being here, getting him what he needs."<br/>
<br/>
"Shee-it. You can't graduate, but you can get Maize graduated? That don't make sense."<br/>
<br/>
"I just don't give a shit if I graduate. I do give a shit if Maize doesn't."<br/>
<br/>
"So you guys might switch for the rest of the year?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe not every day, not all the time. I dunno. I haven't talked to Maize about it. Just kind of got the idea now."<br/>
<br/>
You mull this awhile, and the team is coming up on the last leg of the last lap before you speak again. "So what if you do some other fuckers up this way? Like you did me and Jason. Like, instead of you taking over Maize's shit, you put Brent Pruitt or Martin Gardinhire or one of them in for Maize?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Or Geoff Mansfield?</i> You haven't forgotten your romantic rival, and fucking him up with a body swap would be a sweet, sweet thing. But even though you're pretty sure Justin doesn't know about your history with Mansfield, you can't bring yourself to suggest him as a victim.<br/>
<br/>
"And you could do the same for yourself," you continue. "You and Maize and Perry, swap out with Pruitt and Gardinhire and, I dunno—"<br/>
<br/>
"We're not going to do that," Tsosie's duplicate says sharply. "Maize won't go along with it. He doesn't even like what I'm doing now. And this is an experiment, we're not trying to fuck people up."<br/>
<br/>
"So don't do it to fuck people up. Listen, I wanna talk to you about it later," you say, for you're on your last few yards of the run. "But Jason's thinking him and me aren't the only victims of this, and he's gonna start thinking you and Maize are behind all this if you don't—"<br/>
<br/>
And then you have to break off because you've jogged into the milling crowd of ballplayers.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Break between the end of second and the start of third periods.</i> Keith Tilley is loitering with a stupid expression on his face next to Will Prescott as the latter changes books in his locker. Tilley sees you coming, and his eyes bulge. He hops back into the surging crowd, loses his footing, falls to the floor, and is buried under a heap of cursing students who stumble over him.<br/>
<br/>
Will turns, and has just time to see you before you grab his head and ram it into a locker with a ringing <i>WHAAANNNNGGGGGG!</i> Then you haul him backward by the neck into the nearest boys' restroom.<br/>
<br/>
"Whoever don't want a piece of what I'm selling, take it outta here!" you holler. Most of the guys—sophomores and freshmen—bug out. A few of the seniors give you a smirk, but they leave too. When they're gone, Will, in a voice strangled by the arm you have crooked around his throat, says, "The fuck are you doin', man?"<br/>
<br/>
"Havin' a conference and makin' in look real." You drop him. "How do <i>you</i> like bein' on the receiving end?"<br/>
<br/>
He scowls from the floor. "Fuck you! I di'n't never—!"<br/>
<br/>
You grab him by the chin and turn his face to reveal the still livid bruises he gave you. "You look inna mirror and jus' <i>try</i> sayin' you di'n't?" You snigger as he grimaces. <br/>
<br/>
"But that ain't the point o' this here," you continue. "Point is talkin' t'yas without us lookin' gay for each other." The door behind you starts to swing open, and you punch it shut. "What happened with Cam and them yesterday? At the park? When you texted me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothin'. We threw a ball around, had a cookout." His expression turns wary. "Why, they say somethin' about it at practice?" His eyes widen. "How is practice going?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm fakin' my way through it, lettin' Cam do most of the pitching," you lie, for Jason can't believe that you're naturally as good a pitcher as him. "An' they di'n't say nothin' about you, 'cept you was good with a ball and better as company." He looks pleased at the compliment. "But how come you went out there with 'em?"<br/>
<br/>
"I wanted to. I like 'em better'n <i>your</i> friends."<br/>
<br/>
"So I gathered, from the way you tried to help Seth fuck up Keith."<br/>
<br/>
"I won't do that again!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, don't go droppin' none of 'em, neither! They're the only friends I got! Mostly."<br/>
<br/>
He sneers. "That's really fuckin' sad, Prescott. Long as I'm here, maybe I can do something about that for you."<br/>
<br/>
His words are like a slap in the face.<br/>
<br/>
Then he licks his lips. "Also, like I told you, I wanted to check 'em out for weirdness. How about you? Anyone notice you actin' weird? Or notice anyone else acting that way?"</span></div></div>


path: 11331122121131111
author_id: seuzz
title: Dates Made and Plots Laid
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"How would I know if anyone on the team's actin' weird?" you ask. "I don't know 'em!"<br/>
<br/>
Will Prescott scrambles backward across the floor of the bathroom until he runs into the wall. "I didn't ask if <i>you</i> noticed anything funny! I asked if anyone else's noticed anyone acting funny!"<br/>
<br/>
"Pff. No." You stab at him with a finger. "And you just make sure my friends don't notice anything weird about <i>you,</i> 'cos I'll be checkin' up!" <br/>
<br/>
Then you get another idea. "How weird is Tsosie? I mean, naturally?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," Will says, and he squirms on the tile. "Injun weird? How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I just heard a couple of people say a few things, but I didn't know if they was thinkin' he was bein' weird in a new way. But whatever." You cock your head and chew on the inside of your cheek. "As far as who you're hanging out with— Aw, fuck it. Long as you spend at least a little bit o' time with my friends, go ahead and hang out some o' your old ones."<br/>
<br/>
"That's generous of you," he sneers.<br/>
<br/>
You grin. "And to pay you back, I won't hang out with anyone that'd make you embarrassed!"<br/>
<br/>
He scowls.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Yeah, I'll catch up to ya later," you laugh, and you clap Ricardo on the back as you exit your last class of the day. "I'm gonna stick around here, I gotta meet a feller."<br/>
<br/>
Ricardo raises an eyebrow, but doesn't linger. You're exiting the Agricultural Annex, which is right next to the portables, and the kind of people who are to be found in those places, and the ground between them, will not be respectable company.<br/>
<br/>
You rock on your heels and hum to yourself as you crane your neck and watch the passing students. You don't spot Tsosie, which is who you're looking for, but you spot someone just as interesting—Justin Roth—trudging away from the portables.<br/>
<br/>
You whistle at him through your teeth, then trot over to catch him by the arm. He gives you a dour, sidelong look as you steer him back around toward an abandoned corner of the campus. "Yo, man, what happened to Maize?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Oh. He, uh, he left early. I came back. I got a date later."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, with who? Never mind," you add when makes no reply. "Listen, to go back to what we were talking about earlier— Uh, do you remember what I was sayin'?"<br/>
<br/>
Justin rubs his eyes. "No."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, then let me give you the pitch, 'cos I been thinkin' about it." You force Justin back into an alley between two of the portables. He sighs as you press up close.<br/>
<br/>
"This experiment you say you're runnin'. What's it for?"<br/>
<br/>
He sighs again. "To see how people react when thrust into new situations, and to see how far other people notice the change and react to it."<br/>
<br/>
"Ho boy." You shake your head. "You can talk like that, but you still ain't graduatin'? That's a waste of somethin'. But so, what're you observin' about me and Jason?"<br/>
<br/>
He makes a face. "Not much," he admits. "You're fitting in pretty well, but you've got a, uh—" He points to your forehead. "So you can act like Lynch, so you're set." He blinks heavily. <br/>
<br/>
"What about Jason? You got eyes on how <i>he's</i> doin' at bein' me?"<br/>
<br/>
Justin shakes his head. "We don't hang out with, uh, Will Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
You grin. "Ha! You didn' think this experiment through too careful, did you?"<br/>
<br/>
Justin's mouth tightens. "Mostly in your case," he says, "I'm kind of interested in knowing how you and Lynch are getting along." He blinks again. "Except I haven't seen you guys when you're together."<br/>
<br/>
"And you ain't likely to, 'cos me and Jason don't cross paths 'cept when he's whalin' on me, which ain't very often. But I can give you reports of what we're sayin' if you're interested."<br/>
<br/>
Justin eyes you warily, and only shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay. And now, let me tell you how to run this experiment so's you <i>can</i> watch both sides."<br/>
<br/>
Justin visibly tenses. "How?"<br/>
<br/>
You explain it to him. And after he has finished frowning—but not rejected the idea—you tell him the dividend. <br/>
<br/>
"Lynch thinks Maize is in back of it all, and he'll fuck Maize up if you switch him and me back. I'm tryin' to help out there, tryin' to get him paranoid so's he's lookin' ever'place an' not just at Maize.  So what you gotta do is spread some, like, red herrings around. Make it look like Maize is a victim too, and that there's other people havin' this body swap problem. Make ever'thing all confused. Then, when you're done with your experiment, you put ever'body back, and no one knows who was doin' it 'cos it was too big a deal!"<br/>
<br/>
Justin pulls at his nose when you're done. "That's not a bad idea. I don't know if I can talk Perry into it. I know I can't talk Maize into it." He fixes you with a keen-eyed stare. "Would you be willing to help?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure! It's my idea!"<br/>
<br/>
Justin mumbles for awhile in the back of his throat. "I'm not still not sure," he says. "I'll have to think about it and how to do it. But I'll let you know."<br/>
<br/>
"You do that!" You clap him on the arm. "And you have fun on your date, too!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Your date too?</i> Does that mean that you've got a date?<br/>
<br/>
Well, you hadn't thought about having one, not until Ceres Kesey had brushed past as you waited outside the Agricultural Annex. You'd been briefly distracted by her butt while watching for Maize.<br/>
<br/>
She's long gone by the time you're done with Justin, and you've no idea where she might have got off to, but you're chewing your lip thoughtfully as you trot along to the gym for your—well, Jason's—post-class workout.<br/>
<br/>
It's only a light one, for Lynch does all the heavy stuff during his afternoon weightlifting class. But he likes to do lots of reps with light weights during the afternoon while watching the basketball team practice. Today, though, you concentrate less on Gordon's team and the weights than on Tony Peterson, one of the wrestlers, who typically does his working out after school too.<br/>
<br/>
Lynch normally ignores him—and he ignores Lynch—but today you drop down on a bench near him. "So how come you ain't in sixth period weightlifting with Laurent and them and the rest of us?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I got class then," he grunts as he shifts a barbell to his other hand.<br/>
<br/>
"What one?"<br/>
<br/>
His lips compress. "Environmental Science."<br/>
<br/>
You snort. "You a greenie?"<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a look and doesn't answer.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, whatever floats your boat, man, I ain't judgin'. Just wonderin'." You lean back and squint at him. <br/>
<br/>
Yes, it makes sense, you suppose. Tony looks hippie-ish, what with his curly brown hair heaped up in a sloppy faux-Afro, and now that you think about it he'd look completely at home with weenie-artist types (as Jason thinks of them) like Karl Hennepin and Tim Gerard, or stoners like Adrian Semple or (come to that) Justin Roth.<br/>
<br/>
So, following a thought, you ask, "You know Ceres Kesey?"<br/>
<br/>
He makes a face, maybe because of the question or maybe from the strain of lifting the weight. "Got her for English," he pants.<br/>
<br/>
"I mean outside class."<br/>
<br/>
He grunts and strains, and only after dropping the barbell and stretching his arm does he answer. "I see her around, see her at parties."<br/>
<br/>
"Got her number? Someplace to reach her?"<br/>
<br/>
Only now does Peterson look at you directly. "Yeah," he says, and that's all.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, if you don't wanna share it, don't share it," you tell him. "But ask her to call me? Text me?"<br/>
<br/>
Peterson mulls the request, then shrugs. So you give him your contact info, which he enters into his phone, and you take his. "Won't bother you again," you tell him, "if I hear from her."<br/>
<br/>
Then you move back to the other side of the weight deck to work out while watching the team below.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You haven't spent much time with Gordon Black and Steve Patterson since this "experiment" began. Before then, you'd had the impression that they and Jason were best friends, like you and Caleb and Keith. Now you know better. Lynch actually sees less of them than of his other friends. And he's actually only friends with Gordon; he and Patterson loathe each other.<br/>
<br/>
But they are still the most important friends he's got, if for no other reason than because of their position at the top of the school hierarchy, as signaled by the fact that they are the ones with keys to the fabled "fuck room" above the gym. And Jason treasures more than anything the fact that, though he hasn't got a key to that loft, he alone can enter without explicit permission or invitation from them.<br/>
<br/>
You head up there as soon as basketball practice ends, and are loitering outside the door when Gordon appears at the head of the stairs. "Lookin' good out there, man," you chortle. Gordon only grunts as he shoves the key in the lock, and Patterson gives you a baleful stare.<br/>
<br/>
Inside, from the dorm-size refrigerator, beers are shared out and cracked open. The others lounge on some old gym mats; you sit on a wooden crate, for the mess offends Jason's clean-freakery. Gordon and Steve relax with their phones; you joke and giggle and fight down the paranoid suspicion that they're intentionally cold-shouldering you.<br/>
<br/>
After thirty minutes of this, you get a text from Ceres. "Cool!" you exclaim. "Girl wants to show me her titties!"<br/>
<br/>
"She must be psychotic," Steve mutters.<br/>
<br/>
But Gordon cocks his head. "You want the loft tonight?" he asks you.<br/>
<br/>
You almost topple from the crate. Steve also looks shocked.<br/>
<br/>
Jason has never had use of the fuck room for its intended purpose, and he's never had it offered to him. Nor is tonight the night for it, as Ceres has only said, <i>hi.</i><br/>
<br/>
But Gordon seems to have taken your empty boast seriously. Should you try to transform luck into action?</span></div></div>


path: 113311221211311111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Lady of the Garden
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Well ... Sure!" you exclaim. Then, realizing that you've made yourself sound both desperate and surprised, you add, with a chortle: "It'll save me the trouble o' breakin' in here like last time!"<br/>
<br/>
"You've broken in here?" Patterson demands in a very cold tone. But Gordon slaps him on the side of the leg and leverages himself upright. "Let's get out of here," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you don't gotta go yet," you protest. "T'ain't gonna be till, y'know—"<br/>
<br/>
But Gordon and Steve are already shuffling out. Gordon flips you the key to the door; Patterson shoots you a hard, dirty look. The door closes behind them, leaving you with the loft all to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
And it also leaves you with a problem.<br/>
<br/>
Jason Lynch is just as sexually inexperienced as you are. Jason Lynch is probably even less experienced than you are, in that he hasn't even had a girlfriend—and you have, if you squint just right and look at it in a very charitable light. The only thing Jason Lynch knows about girls is that guys like him—alpha jocks—are supposed to have lots of experience with them, and so he has pretended to have a lot more experience than he actually has.<br/>
<br/>
With Jason inside your head with you, it's like there are two people trying to throw up.<br/>
<br/>
So the question now is, why the hell did you ask Tony to get Ceres to text you?<br/>
<br/>
And the only answer you get back is, <i>Because it seemed like a good idea at the time.</i><br/>
<br/>
You chew on your lip as your thumb hovers over the phone pad. <i>hey how u doing?</i> you finally text back.<br/>
<br/>
There's a long pause, which you fill by guzzling a beer.<br/>
<br/>
<i>k. Whats up?</i><br/>
<br/>
Desperation guides your thumb. <i>how u doing in horticutldr?</i> Too late you spot the typo, and cuss.<br/>
<br/>
<i>k.<br/>
<br/>
Kind of surprised yur in there, wondering if youre doing ok<br/>
<br/>
why surprised?</i><br/>
<br/>
You can't write, "Because it's an agricultural science class and you're a damned hippy," so you write: <i>you seem more like yoru into art not ag.</i><br/>
<br/>
You hold your breath for what seems like ages.<br/>
<br/>
Then Ceres texts back: <i>lol true.</i> <br/>
<br/>
You let out a sigh of relief. <i>meet sompelace to eat and talk?</i><br/>
<br/>
The reply, after a delay: <i>k.</i> Then, <i>where when?<br/>
<br/>
talk on phone? call me if you interetesed.</i> <br/>
<br/>
A minute later your cell rings.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Maybe you won points with her for suggesting Panera, or maybe she's just tolerant of assholes, but Ceres Kesey's got a relaxed smile on her face as you hold her car door open for her when she arrives. "Aren't you a gentleman?" she says. And though there's a little bit of sarcasm in her tone, it's more cheeky than serious.<br/>
<br/>
"My momma tried raising me right," you reply. "Neither of us is sure yet if it took." Ceres laughs at that, but she gets to the restaurant door before you can, and opens it herself.<br/>
<br/>
At the counter she orders a salad that is vegan. Nervously, you wonder if she picked it because she's a vegan or only because it's one of her favorites. "You mind if I get a sandwich?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"You can get whatever you want," she replies with a cheeky smile. "I'm not paying for it."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I wasn't planning on— Oh, and I'm paying for you, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't know that was the deal."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, can I?"<br/>
<br/>
Her eyebrows go up, and the tips of her teeth show inside a tiny smile. You glance between her and the clerk, who is still waiting for you to order with a very tired expression. "I'll pay," you tell Ceres, taking two twenties from your wallet, "and you can pay me back if want to." You order some kind of fancy ham and cheese on toast, then move back to a booth. The place is fairly busy, so there's not really any privacy as you slide in.<br/>
<br/>
"So, I hope I didn't offend you," you start, "when I said that thing about being surprised you're in Barrientos's class."<br/>
<br/>
"No." She smiles. "I'm practically the only girl in there."<br/>
<br/>
"But you're more into art."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." Her eyes twinkle. "I'm taking the senior art class with Mr. Trencher."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I had Mr. Trencher." Well, <i>you</i> had Mr. Trencher; Jason wouldn't be caught dead in the Arts wing. "My sophomore year. Uh, I wasn't any good at it."<br/>
<br/>
That breaks the ice, mostly. Ceres tells you about her arts projects and the rest of her schedule (mostly a dull mix of English, Statistics, History and Zoology) and you tell her about your schedule, which is mostly a mix of sports and sports-training classes. And why are you both taking Horticulture III?<br/>
<br/>
"I come from a farming family," you say with a shrug. "My uncle has a farm out west of town, and we used to have one, till my dad had to retire. Health. Oh, nothing serious," you add when Ceres's brow crinkles. "He just kind of wore out, so he sold the farm an' ever'thing. But I go out every summer to help my uncle. He don't got any kids, so it's likely I'm gonna get the property when it's time for him to retire. An' I like it." You resettle the cap on your head with a complacent flip.<br/>
<br/>
The food arrives just then, and after getting things straightened out, Ceres says, "I thought farmers all had big families."<br/>
<br/>
"Used to, maybe." You scrutinize the sandwich, which is unfamiliar to you and looks a lot fancier than what Jason likes. "Looks like I'm gonna get the farm on account of my cousin died in a motorcycle accident back when he was in college."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry to hear that."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug, and ask about her interest in the Horticulture class. She gets a kind of secret smile. <br/>
<br/>
"To piss someone off, originally," she says. "I took the first one, back in my sophomore year."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I remember you in it. And last year, too."<br/>
<br/>
"Funny, you never talked to me before."<br/>
<br/>
"You never talked to <i>me.</i> So why'd you take the class?"<br/>
<br/>
Ceres crinkles her nose at you. "To piss off a friend who has a big, organic garden, and is really into the whole healthy eating thing. You know, take a serious class in it while she's just running her little garden."<br/>
<br/>
"Isn't that what you're into, though?" You flick a finger in her direction. "Organic, all-natural stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
She is wearing a hoodie that looks like it's made out of hemp, and she's wearing rope sandals. For "jewelry," she wears braided strings and beads.<br/>
<br/>
"I got into it more after taking the classes," she says. She rolls her eyes a little. "Though my family always <i>was</i> into it. You don't get a name like 'Ceres' if your parents aren't." She giggles a little, showing tiny white teeth again. "But I was like Andrea, just going along with what my parents said and did."<br/>
<br/>
"Andrea?"<br/>
<br/>
"Varnsworth." Her face loses some of its animation, and you can tell that she's studying your reaction closely.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Her." You rub an eyelid as your forehead starts to steam. <i>Everyone</i> knows about the hot swim-team captain. "Well, I guess it does do a body good, based on— Uh—" You frantically scramble for a mid-course correction after seeing Ceres' eyebrows faintly arch. "Well, all the, uh, girls I know who are into the natural stuff are really fit and good looking." Your whole face starts to burn.<br/>
<br/>
Ceres bursts out laughing. "How many girls do you know who are into 'the natural stuff'?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, there's you and Andrea, now that you mention it," you admit with a shame-faced grin. "Don't know anyone else. And yeah, I'd say that <i>all</i> the girls I know who are into it are— Well—"<br/>
<br/>
Ceres takes a long sip from her tea while watching you with merrily dancing eyes. "And how do <i>you</i> try to keep in shape, Jason?"<br/>
<br/>
Now beam. "You notice I keep in shape?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," she says dryly. "I'm just asking how you <i>try.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
With that the conversation segues over into talk about sports and athletics and the possibility of athletic scholarships for you, and how Ceres isn't much for "organized sports" or sports in general. By the end of it, you're a lot more impressed with her—she's not nearly the "hippy dippy" airhead you mostly expected her to be—and prolong the evening with a stop at the Dairy Queen for dessert. <br/>
<br/>
And you extend the time there, somewhat because you are enjoying Ceres's company, but mostly—it has to be said—because you're scared both of trying to get her up into the fuck room and of <i>not</i> trying to.<br/>
<br/>
Eventually, she notices that you've gotten distracted, and asks you what the deal is. "You ever been inside the school at night?" you ask, and her eyebrows go up. "'Cos I got a set of keys that'll get us in."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Ooh! Spooky!" Ceres says after she has stepped into the darkened gym. The bleachers are but banked shadows, and each sound and footfall curls through the air like a muffled shout of a specter. You reach out to lay a comforting arm on her, but find that she's darted away. "Can you catch me?" she calls back with a laugh.<br/>
<br/>
You laugh too, and jump after her. She runs across the court and up the bleachers toward the mezzanine; you follow. She leaps the railing and vanishes amongst the equipment. For a moment you lose her, then hear her swearing after banging into something. "I gotcha!" you chortle as you lay hands on her. "You hurt yerself?"<br/>
<br/>
"I got my fingers caught in—" she starts to say, then breaks off. Her breathing becomes ragged. You stroke her and rub her—<br/>
<br/>
And she pulls away and puts one of the machines between you and her. "All better?" you ask. She doesn't answer. "What's wrong?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't ask you to touch me," she says, and her voice shakes.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, shit. Shit shit shit shit SHIT!</i><br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 1133112212113111111
author_id: seuzz
title: Pitches from Left Field
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I'm sorry," you say. "I didn't mean nothin' by it. I thought you hurt yerself is all."<br/>
<br/>
Ceres doesn't reply, and by the way her hair glimmers you can tell she's dodging and weaving in case you come around the leg press to get her.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't—! Seriously, girl! Ceres." You take a step back. "The stuff up here, if you bang into it, it can leave a dent. Are you okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm fine," she says at last, but there's no friendliness in it.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't mean to scare you." And you didn't, but you can't help feeling a certain resentment at this flirtation-gone-sour. "And you said you wanted to come up here, when I said I had a key to get in."<br/>
<br/>
"The school," she says. "You said you had a key to get into the school. Not the gym."<br/>
<br/>
"School, gym, it's all the same."<br/>
<br/>
Her labored breathing tells you that she disagrees.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, you wanna go home, go home. I'll take you out. Or I'll sit here, and you can take yourself out." You bite your lip at her continued silence. "Look, I'll go to the other side of the gym, if that'll make you comfortable."<br/>
<br/>
There's another long silence. Feeling miserable, you get up and start to shuffle toward the far end of the mezzanine, where the stairs will take you down into the other basketball court.<br/>
<br/>
Ceres's voice cuts through the dark. "Why did you bring me in here, if you didn't—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, why did you come?" you retort, "if you didn't?"<br/>
<br/>
And by the sharp intake of breath, you realize your mistake. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—! I wasn't planning—!" You want something to punch, but there's only empty air. "I don't know <i>what</i> I wanted! Except I didn't want things to wrap things up yet, and I didn't know what else to do!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well," she says after another long silence. "You can invite someone out, and you can take them out, and then you can take them home."<br/>
<br/>
"Am I still on step two?" you grumble. "Or are we someplace weird now?"<br/>
<br/>
"You can't take me home because I've got my own car, but I'm going to go home now."<br/>
<br/>
"Can't we meet up someplace else? Like, for coffee?" you plead.<br/>
<br/>
"We'll meet up tomorrow," she says. "In class."<br/>
<br/>
With that, Ceres—who in the gloomy gym is hardly more than a gray shadow on the dark air—glides over to the edge of the mezzanine and vanishes over the railing. Footsteps clatter on the bleachers, then echo on the floor. The side door opens and shuts.<br/>
<br/>
You slide to the floor with a groan.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"How about you handle the duties?" you tell Cam Shore the next morning at practice when you spot Will Prescott loitering at the edge of the practice field. "I wanna take in the big picture." With a shrug Cam accepts the baseball you proffer him.<br/>
<br/>
You jog out to the bleachers and clamber to the top, where you'll have a good view of the diamond. Prescott, after a few minutes, jogs over to join you. It's totally out of character for "Will Prescott" to do such a thing, but probably no one knows him well enough to notice.<br/>
<br/>
"Is this what you been doing all this time?" he asks. "Slacking?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe you and me should go and you can teach me how to pitch," you retort. "What are you doing here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Came to watch, duh. Hung out again with Cam and them, told 'em I'd show up today. That was <i>after</i> I spent part of the afternoon with <i>your</i> friends."<br/>
<br/>
You grunt. "They noticing anything different about you?"<br/>
<br/>
Now he grunts. "I guess. That's how come your friend Keith treated me to donuts."<br/>
<br/>
You wheel on him. "For what?"<br/>
<br/>
"On account of I laid out Brophy Maddox out behind the Science wing."<br/>
<br/>
You almost fall off your seat. "You what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, he came along and was talking smack at me," he says. "So I took a poke at him, and when he poked me back I let him have it." He stretches his arm. "You don't got a lot to work with here, but at least I know what to do with it."<br/>
<br/>
The news that he stood up to—and apparently got the better of—one of the minor bullies leaves you thunderstruck. <i>Yeah, no wonder Keith bought him donuts.</i> "Did Keith warn you what was gonna come next?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"They kept asking me what I was gonna do about the Molester, and I think your friend Caleb got kind of pissed when I kept saying I'd do the same thing to him. That was after they laughed, though." He pauses. "I didn't ask 'em who 'the Molester' was, though. I figured you'd know."<br/>
<br/>
"It's Pozniak," you tell him, and turn to study the effect the revelation will have on him.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh." Then, "Oh! Lester the <i>Molester.</i>" Then, "Tsht. He's big, but he's slow and dumb. I'd be more worried about Maddox."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, just know that he'll be comin' for you."<br/>
<br/>
Jason nods. "What about you, what did you do yesterday?"<br/>
<br/>
You're not about to tell him about your half-successful, half-disastrous date with Ceres. "Nothing. Stayed in. Uh, your friends Gordon and Steve aren't being real friendly." You tense for the explosion.<br/>
<br/>
But he just shrugs. "Yeah, Gordon gets kind of moody sometimes. Steve's just a SOB, don't worry if he treats you like shit." He pauses. "Don't get into it with him, though. Those arms give him reach, and he knows how to use 'em. But Gordon, just give him a couple of days to stew, then go find him when he's alone and be nice. You know, talk about stuff."<br/>
<br/>
"What stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"Doesn't matter. I find Gordon just likes to have someone talkin' to him sometimes, then he gets to talkin'. Doesn't matter what you say." He pauses. "Just as long it's not, you know, <i>gay.</i> Tsh, lookit that!"<br/>
<br/>
You turn your attention back to the practice. Jason, who surely suspects you know nothing about the sport, starts giving quiet color commentary so you'll know what to say, and at a couple of points he nudges you into standing up and yelling. "We need to figure out who did this to us so we can make them put us back," he mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm on it," you say. "I started talking to Maize yesterday," you stammer when Jason turns a bright stare on you. "He seemed kind of out of it, but he said some things— Look, I don't got any names, but there's some people I want to have a look at today, see if they're acting 'in character'."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?" Jason demands, but you put him off by telling him you'll have to talk later when you know more.<br/>
<br/>
When practice is over, Sebastian Clarke wanders over from right field. "So Prescott," he calls. "Jason teach you anything?"<br/>
<br/>
"Everything he knows!" your twin yells back. You shrug when Clarke laughs.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Who'm I talking to?" you ask Tsosie quietly in the locker room.<br/>
<br/>
"You want to talk to Justin," he mutters back. "Except you don't."<br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
He only mutters something back about "your soul" and shuffles out. So you skip your reading class to go looking for Roth. "Maize send you?" he asks when you catch up to him near the portables.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I had to pump him even to get that you were at school. So he's still not cool with any of this, huh?" you reply.<br/>
<br/>
Justin shrugs. "No, but Perry is. Come on, I got something to show you." He leads you around the back of the portables, and after trying a couple of handles he finds one that's open.<br/>
<br/>
The inside smells like sawdust and dirt, and the grimy sunlight reveals a sagging floor and battered desks. Justin perches the old teacher's desk and unzips his backpack. From it he takes one of those masks.<br/>
<br/>
"I decided I like your idea, and I want your help," he says. "We'll make the switches here in the portables, like we did with you and Jason. We'll bring people out here and <i>bam,</i> hit them with masks."<br/>
<br/>
"And then they'll know who did it," you point it.<br/>
<br/>
"No they won't, not with these." Justin takes out another mask. "When it's time to do the thing, you'll take Jason's face off and put this one on. Then you'll switch back."<br/>
<br/>
You take it. "So whose face is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"No one's. No one in particular, I mean," Justin says. "There's a way of making totally new faces, not faces of real people. So no one will recognize you."<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "And it'll be okay to go into the school looking like some weirdo?"<br/>
<br/>
Justin rolls his eyes. "There's, like, sixteen hundred kids in the school. No one's gonna notice a couple of strange ones. But I got a list here of people we're gonna switch. They're all people, like you say, who me or Perry or Maize know. The ones you know, or, I guess, Jason knows, since you've got his—" Justin taps his forehead. "You give me their names, then tell me when you can grab 'em and haul 'em out here. It'll need to be between classes or after class, though. And remember, you'll need to be inside this other mask when you do it."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know how to switch masks," you point out.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I'll show you that now. Here, lay back, 'cos it's gonna knock you out."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's actually fairly simple. Justin shows you where to grab your face—basically by spreading your hand over and grasping your forehead—and the nonsensical words you have to repeat while pulling. It knocks you out for a couple of minutes, and when you wake you can put another mask on—which will knock you out for a couple of minutes too.<br/>
<br/>
Then you part, you to the library to study the list, and Justin to skip another class.<br/>
<br/>
You're intercepted first by Patterson. "Gordon wants his keys back," he tells you coldly.<br/>
<br/>
"Then I'll give 'em back when I see him," you retort.<br/>
<br/>
Then Patterson grunts. "Heard you banged Ceres Kesey last night."<br/>
<br/>
It takes a moment for the comment to register. Then: "You heard what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well is it true, or just another bullshit rumor?"</span></div></div>


path: 11331122121131111111
author_id: seuzz
title: Losing the Big Game
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>At first you're at a loss to even understand how Patterson knows you went out with Ceres last night. You sure as hell didn't tell him—you didn't tell anyone. Would he have heard it from Ceres? That doesn't make any sense.<br/>
<br/>
And while you're trying to figure this out, the cocksucker just smirks coldly down at you.<br/>
<br/>
Then it hits you: He must have been in the gym last night, and seen you and Ceres come in, and seen what happened.<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself flushing all over. "Fuck off," you mutter, and turn away.<br/>
<br/>
"I bet Chelsea would like to know about what went on up there," Patterson calls after you.<br/>
<br/>
"None of her fucking business, either!" you yell over your shoulder, and you don't bother to keep your voice down, even though your words are echoing loudly up and down the empty corridor in front of the library.<br/>
<br/>
"Chelsea thinks everything's her business," Patterson says. "Better come clean if you don't want her making an issue of it with Gordon. So did you bang her?"<br/>
<br/>
That stops you in your tracks. "I didn't take her up to the loft last night."<br/>
<br/>
"That's not what I asked."<br/>
<br/>
"Not your business nor Chelsea's neither what I did or didn't do with her someplace else!"<br/>
<br/>
"She likes to keep tabs on Gordon's friends." That infuriating smile widens. "I know you don't like talking to her—I don't like talking to her either—so I'll do you a favor and pass it along to her. Did you bang—?"<br/>
<br/>
And at that you lose it. You fly at Patterson and hammer him in the gut with two hard blows. But the son of a bitch is tougher and faster than you'd guess, and he keeps to his feet and clocks you in the side of the head first with an elbow and then with a fist. You grab him about the torso and slam him weakly against the wall, but he twists a foot about yours and knocks you to the floor. Two punches to the gut drive all the wind out of you.<br/>
<br/>
That's all he does, and he gets off you. You glare up at him as you try to rise, but your knees have turned to water. Your only consolation is that Patterson also looks a little green in the face.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm done with your shit," he gasps at you. "And Gordon is too." He turns to stalk away, but he's stopped by a sharp word from down one of the hallways. Mr. Hartford appears, and you and Patterson are both taken in hand to the main office.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You listen with dull docility as Mr. Sagansky, the school principal, sternly lectures you and Steve about not fighting in the hallways. It's a pointless talk, for he's not going to do anything to you. No one was hurt enough to need looking at by the nurse—there wasn't even any blood—and he's not going to do anything to hurt two of the better sports teams at the school. So you spend the time thinking about Patterson's would-be parting shot. <br/>
<br/>
It panics you. Part of it is just Jason's own psychological reaction: he can't stand the idea of losing his friendship with Gordon. Most of it is your own fear of what Lynch will say or do when he finds out. Oh, you're not especially worried about him doing anything to hurt you physically, not with him in your body, even if he did get the best of Brophy Maddox. Whatever fighting skills he's got you can match (as you've got his brain) and this body of his vastly outmatches your own. But he can really screw up your life if he wants to.<br/>
<br/>
So you've got to keep things from getting screwed up between you and Gordon, or you've got to put them right. That's going to be tough, because Gordon is lot tighter with Steve than he is with Jason. But your pride—reinforced by Jason's—won't let you make any kind of apology to Patterson, and you only follow him wordlessly out of Sagansky's office when you're dismissed.<br/>
<br/>
You stop cold when you see Will Prescott sitting in the outer office. He grins at you. A reddish-purple bruise is spreading over one of his cheekbones.<br/>
<br/>
Dalton Douglas, who is sitting a couple of sits over with a deep glower on his face, looks even worse. His lip is busted open.<br/>
<br/>
You give your doppelganger a wide-eyed look. He shrugs and goes on grinning.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You take lunch, as Jason usually does, at the alpha table in the cafeteria, and you do the usual business of collecting an extra lunch for one of Chelsea's friends, even though Gordon and Steve have gone in and are already at the head of the line by the time you arrive. You find yourself exiled to the end of the table, and try to eat your lunch wordlessly.<br/>
<br/>
Patterson won't let you, though. "Lynch had a date last night. Finally found a girl who'd talk to him." You sense Kendra Saunders giving you a sidelong look. "Ceres Kesey," Patterson continues. "Jesus. Did you think to bring a flashlight and a machete?"<br/>
<br/>
Across the table, you notice a slight frown appear on Gloria Rea's face, and she lowers her head.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what did you find down there, man?" Patterson asks in a loud voice.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't go looking," you yell back. Something about Gloria's reaction has given you the courage to be truthful. "I bought her dinner and we talked."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck," Patterson jeered. "That's all, after you begged Gordon for the key to the place?"<br/>
<br/>
"I found out I liked talking to her! Some of us got manners, and don't just throw a girl to the floor."<br/>
<br/>
You like that line. It might be your imagination, but it feels like the whole table has gotten very quiet and watchful. For a wild moment you think you've won the sympathy of the cheerleaders, and it does shut Patterson up, briefly.<br/>
<br/>
But then he says, "I thought you told me and Gordon she sent you a picture of her titties last night," and you find yourself stuck for a response.<br/>
<br/>
"I's exaggerating," you admit after carefully chewing and swallowing a bite of the chili. Maybe all this honesty will win you points.<br/>
<br/>
But Seth Javits, who is sitting next to Patterson, snickers. "Like always," Patterson says, and raises his milk to his lips. A titter runs around the table.<br/>
<br/>
And you know then that you've lost.<br/>
<br/>
Confirmation comes during sixth period, when you enter the gym in time to see Gordon and Chelsea mounting the steps to the loft. You try to avoid Patterson on the weight deck, but he comes over. At least he doesn't gloat at you over his victory.<br/>
<br/>
"Chelsea says if you're not going to use the loft, then you don't have any business being up there," he says. He lets the words hang, then turns back to the weight set.<br/>
<br/>
You bunch your hands up into fists briefly, then go slack all over. You give it a couple of moments of thought, then wander over to the other side of the deck, where the wrestlers are. They give you some curious looks as you wordlessly start spotting them and asking them for help, but they don't turn you away, and by the end of the period you feel like you've been halfway accepted into their group.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Lunch and the weightlifting class were the worst parts of the day, but you still have the dread of going to Horticulture and seeing Ceres.<br/>
<br/>
She's already there when you arrive, and she surprises you by turning around with a bright, mischievous smile. "What are you doing tonight?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
You stiffen all over. "No plans. Not yet."<br/>
<br/>
She cocks her head, and her eyes narrow. "You're not going to let me pay you back?"<br/>
<br/>
"For what?"<br/>
<br/>
"You bought me dinner last night."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, that." You wave your hand dismissively. "You don't gotta pay me back, I said it was my treat." You shuffle past to take your seat.<br/>
<br/>
But a minute later she gets up and slides into the desk in front of yours. "Are you blowing me off?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
Your eyes widen. "No. I just said you don't have to pay me back."<br/>
<br/>
"So can I fix you dinner tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
Your throat tightens. "Fix?"<br/>
<br/>
She nods. "Meet me up here tonight? Seven-thirty?"<br/>
<br/>
"Here? The school?" You're swept by dizziness.<br/>
<br/>
"The parking lot. We'll go someplace else after that."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh." You kick yourself at sounding disappointed. "That'd be great!" you add with more enthusiasm than you feel. "Uh, I could pick you up if—"<br/>
<br/>
"Nope." Ceres hops out of the desk. "We'll meet like last night."<br/>
<br/>
And you can hardly concentrate on the lecture that follows.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You'd got a text from your old phone after lunch: Jason asking to meet and talk after school. He'd suggested the weight deck; you'd countered by suggesting the baseball diamond, as you have no desire to be in the gym during basketball practice. But he insisted, and when you climb the weight deck after the last bell, you find him already up there. He's in a t-shirt and shorts, looking like exactly the kind of scrawny kid that he would have jeered at and bundled into a locker. But he's already at work testing out several weights for a good heft. He looks a little grim as he settles on a thirty-pound barbell, and you don't rub it in by picking up one yourself.<br/>
<br/>
"If I don't know how long we're gonna be like this," he says as he settles down with it, "I'm gonna have to do something about it. That okay with you?"<br/>
<br/>
So how long <i>are</i> you going to be like this? Justin has already told you how to get the masks off. You could go back to your old life this afternoon, if you wanted.<br/>
<br/>
But that would involve coming clean with Jason about a lot of things.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 113311221211311111111
author_id: seuzz
title: A Washout
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Before you start pumping too much iron," you say, "I found out who did this to us."<br/>
<br/>
Jason almost drops the barbell on his toes. Not that he'd have broken his foot or anything, because Will Prescott's skinny body can't handle serious weights. But he lets the barbell hang down as he gapes at you. "Who was it?" he asks. "An' how—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Turns out it's kind of a funky experiment," you reply. "An' the fella was high." You move over to sit next to Jason, as Tony Peterson's head has just appeared above the parapet. "It was Justin Roth."<br/>
<br/>
Color rushes up Jason's neck and into his cheeks. "So what's the story?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
You give him an expurgated version, one that doesn't include the fact that you've known all this for the best part of a week and kept it from him—or the fact that you're the one who sold Roth the book that let him do it all.<br/>
<br/>
"So this book he's got makes these magical masks," you tell him. "You can use them to turn people into a copy of someone else. He used them to turn you into me and me into you."<br/>
<br/>
"What for? And why'd he tell you?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was on account of some 'experiment' he was running, and he told me because he's winding it down. Well, winding it down for <i>us.</i> He wanted to see what would happen if you took two people who are, you know, not a lot alike—" You set one of your (Jason's) Popeye-like forearms next to his, and flex it. "And switch them. How would they start acting?"<br/>
<br/>
"Son of a bitch!" Jason looks away, and chews on his cheek for a spell. Then, when he turns back to you, he asks with a faint smile, "So what's he think he found out about us?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. I don't think he found out anything, 'cos he couldn't, you know, get close to me or you, not real close to see what we were doing. I think that's kind of why he came clean with me. He's okay with stopping it and putting us back to normal, and finding out what we did while we were, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"Fucker," Jason says. The funny thing is, he doesn't sound nearly as mad as you thought he'd sound. "So Maize wasn't part of this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh uh. He did himself up to look like Maize, which is why you thought it was him. But it was Justin. Maize isn't mixed up in it."<br/>
<br/>
Jason pulls off his ballcap—your ballcap—and scratches at his head. He looks briefly startled, and mutters, "I need a haircut." Then he sits up. "So are we s'posed to go find him, tell him we're ready to go back?"<br/>
<br/>
"Actually, he showed me how to put us back," you say. "So we don't even need to do that. But, um—" You jog your leg. For as bad as the previous confession was, this next part will be even worse. "Maybe I should try putting things back to normal for you."<br/>
<br/>
The flush that had rushed up Jason's face reappears there. "What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
So then you tell him about the date with Ceres, how it came about, what happened, what Patterson said to you that got you and him dragged into Sagansky's office, and the sequel at lunch and during sixth period. He takes it all very calmly, but when you're done he stalks over to the edge of the mezzanine to glower down into the basketball court where his friends—former friends?—are practicing. The knuckles on his hands whiten as he grips the railing.<br/>
<br/>
For several solid minutes he stands there, until a cold voice calls up, "The fuck are you staring at, asshole?" With a jerk he pulls away and returns to sit next to you again.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm really sorry, man," you say. "After all that shit I gave you about not fucking things up with my friends, I went and—"<br/>
<br/>
"It's okay," he says, but then adds, "No it's not. It's not," he continues thickly, "but I dunno what to do about it. Cocksucking beanpole's been trying to queer it 'tween me and Gordon forever now." He hunches forward with his elbows on his knees. "Probably would'a happened sooner or later." He rubs his eyes. "I s'pose I could talk to Gordon, but—"<br/>
<br/>
He looks up. "I guess we're s'posed to keep this 'experiment' thing a secret? Not tell anyone?"<br/>
<br/>
"Probably best to keep it quiet," you say. "It could cause a lot of trouble, and not just in the school, you know, if it got out about this. Besides," you add, "Justin also said something about, maybe, us helping him with another one of these experiments?"<br/>
<br/>
Jason's head goes up. "Like how?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like, finding some more people to make switches on. Helping him take notes about them." You pull out the paper Justin gave you, which you've been carrying around in the back pocket of your shorts. "To make up for doing it to us first?" You hold out the list.<br/>
<br/>
Jason studies it. Then he snorts. "And this is all for an 'experiment'?" he says. "Shoot, this would make for some first-class pranking."<br/>
<br/>
You can't help grinning. And he sees you grinning, and he grins too.<br/>
<br/>
"Tell you what," he says. "You got this date with Ceres." He pauses, and his gaze goes distant. "That's a fucked up thing you got going there. But anyway, since you got that going, and you say you want to try smoothing things over with Gordon—" Again he hesitates, and a pained look comes into his eyes. <br/>
<br/>
"No, let me try to do something about that," he says, "if we can change ourselves back. But let's keep going on like this for a little while." His lips twitch. "I think I can handle the Molester and them better'n you, and you can try to set things up with Ceres. Or someone else."<br/>
<br/>
"What about the baseball team?"<br/>
<br/>
His expression falls. "That's a problem," he says. Then he winces. "At least as much of a problem as your calculus class."<br/>
<br/>
After talking it over, you agree to get together each day from 3:45 to 5:45, with the first hour devoted to you showing him how to pass Calculus, and the second to him coaching you on how to throw a ball. You're pretty confident of being able to do the last, of course, but you'll have to pretend at first to be less competent than you actually are. But for the time being you'll continue pretending to be each other.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"What's that?" you ask Ceres as she hauls a box out of the car. You put out your hands to take it, but she keeps hold of it even as she pushes her car door shut with her butt.<br/>
<br/>
"Picnic basket," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Picnic?" you echo. "We gonna have a picnic on the gym floor?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Out on the baseball diamond. Come on." She brushes past you, and you hurry to keep up.<br/>
<br/>
"But it's dark!"<br/>
<br/>
"That's why I brought an electric lantern."<br/>
<br/>
"You're crazy, girl!"<br/>
<br/>
She laughs. "Who's crazier, the crazy girl who does the crazy thing, or the guy who goes along with her craziness?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think you're gonna wind up makin' me crazy!" You laugh in turn. "But why not have the picnic in the gym? I can get us inside—"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I want room to run if I have to run away from you again!"<br/>
<br/>
You stop short, and she races along another six or seven yards before she notices you've fallen back. She turns around. "What's wrong?"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I told you I'm sorry about what happened last night. I didn't mean—"<br/>
<br/>
"I know that!"<br/>
<br/>
"And I'm not gonna try anything like that again."<br/>
<br/>
"I hope you try something at least a <i>little</i> bit like that!" Her smile is bright enough that it floats like a ghost in the gloaming. "I'm giving you permission to get a <i>little</i> bit like that!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, okay then." You jog up to her. "But you slap me if I start to go too far."<br/>
<br/>
"You like the <i>Fifty Shades</i> stuff, huh?"<br/>
<br/>
She spreads out a tablecloth in the outfield just behind second base, and holds it down with an electric lantern and half-a-dozen Tupperware containers. Still, it's hard to make out most of the food items, except for the obvious ones like boiled eggs and pickles and carrot sticks. Not until you've made a dent in the "nuggets" does she tell you they're fried tofu, but even fried tofu tastes good if you slather enough sweet-and-sour sauce on it. She's got brownies for dessert, and she slaps your arm when you ask if they're marijuana brownies. "I'm not going to get you goofy until our fourth date at least," she says.<br/>
<br/>
You make another joshing comment, and when she goes to slap you again you catch her hand and squeeze it. It isn't long until you've pushed the food away and are lying together, side by side, gently kissing and squeezing and nibbling at each other. It surprises you a little that this should happen so easily and without much terror on your side, as Jason has no experience for you to lean on. Later that night, as you're thinking about it, you decide that not being <i>you</i> gave you enough confidence to not worry about it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Jason is late showing up the next morning—a Friday—so you get through most of practice without him seeing you. And when he does show up, you turn pitching duties back over to Cam and trot over to the bleachers to talk to him. He plunges right into business.<br/>
<br/>
"This 'experiment' that Justin's running," he starts to say.<br/>
<br/>
"Have you talked to him about it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nah, thought I'd let you take the lead there," he says. "I'd like to go with you, though." You nod. "But there's one name not on the list I'd like to put there."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Steve Patterson."<br/>
<br/>
You look over in surprise. His expression is very taut and grim.<br/>
<br/>
"Him and Chelsea, I think," he says. "I'd give my nutsack— Well, <i>your</i> nutsack, I guess," he corrects himself with a crooked smile, "to see them two trying to carry on inside each other's bodies."<br/>
<br/>
TL;DR: "<a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1942914/action/view/chapter_map/11221" target="_top" title="Interactive Story Chapter in Item # 1942914">A Face Graft</a>" <a href="https://www.Writing.Com/main/interactive-story/item_id/1942914/action/view/chapter_map/11221" target="_blank" title="Open in new window."><img border="0" height="12" loading="lazy" onmouseout="$(this).css('opacity', '.4');" onmouseover="$(this).css('opacity', '1');" src="https://www.Writing.Com/nw.gif" style="opacity:.4;" width="12"/></a></span></div></div>


path: 11331122123
author_id: seuzz
title: Another Researcher Joins the Program
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Naturally, you're startled by the news that Jason Lynch is wandering around with your body and no idea what to do with it.<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck is wrong with you guys?" you demand. "If he goes out and gets hisself killed, or talks to the wrong fellers—! Lips off to my folks!" You stammer and gabble.<br/>
<br/>
The guy who looks like Perry Small just snorts. "What's the worst that could happen?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
You're about to start yelling again when it hits you: <i>Yeah! What's the worst that can happen ... if you're not going to go back to being Will Prescott?</i><br/>
<br/>
You feel your manner change all over. Suddenly you are feeling very shrewd. "How long are you guys planning on me and Lynch being switched?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
The guy who looks like Small shrugs and glances over at the guy who is looking like Roth, who shrugs back. "A couple of days, I guess," Small says, though he sounds doubtful.<br/>
<br/>
"That's time enough for him to fuck things up for me," you say.<br/>
<br/>
Small sighs. "Well, I guess if you want to switch back now—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, hang on there a moment." You wave him back onto the bed. "I got a bunch of questions still. Like, if you wanted to see how me and Lynch would react, how come you weren't around watching us?"<br/>
<br/>
"We didn't want to get caught," Small says. "You had a pretty good idea it was us who did this to you, right? I mean, you came and you found me. And Jason probably does too. We didn't want to get caught, so we were going to wait until you settled in, then we'd get close to keep an eye on you."<br/>
<br/>
"How were you gonna get close to Jason?" you ask. "You guys don't exactly hang out with him." You grin. "I should know, I know what <i>he</i> knows."<br/>
<br/>
"Maize hangs out with him," Small replies, and jerks his thumb at Tsosie, who is still glowering in the corner of the room.<br/>
<br/>
"You told me he wasn't playin'," you retort. "And a'sides, how were gonna get close to <i>me</i>? Will Prescott? You definitely don't hang out with me and <i>my</i> friends. No offense, you fucking pothead, but we get nervous every time we see you coming!"<br/>
<br/>
Small blinks, and his mouth falls open. "You do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure! You can't sneak up on us. None o' you peckerwoods can."<br/>
<br/>
Small shifts on the bed as Roth snorts. "Well, okay," Small grumbles. "Then I guess this isn't going to work and we <i>should</i> put you back now."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I told you, just hang on." Ideas are burning in the back of your head. "I don't wanna switch back right away. If I know Jason—I think I kinda do—he'll tear me into Kleenex and wipe his ass with me if we switch back. He'll pro'ly blame <i>me</i> for what you guys did."<br/>
<br/>
"You can't stay like this forever," Roth says.<br/>
<br/>
"Can't I? Seems to me you fellers ain't thought this 'experiment' of yours all the way through."<br/>
<br/>
Roth scowls and turns to his friend. "Are we gonna let him keep talking shit at us?" But Small shushes him. "You getting ideas?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Mebbe." You pace the room. "What you need," you slowly say, for you're feeling your way through the buzzing cloud of half-suggestions, "is to switch people who you're both close to, but who'd be interesting to see swapped 'cos they're not close to each other. You know fellers like that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe. Sure," Small says, and Roth says, "Why's it have to be guys?"<br/>
<br/>
Everyone—you included—looks at him surprise. He shrinks under the stares. "Forget I said that."<br/>
<br/>
"No, that's in'eresting," you say, and snap your fingers. "Body swap <i>and</i> a sex change. Some horndog who can't keep his pecker in his shorts and some hot girl who's always gettin' hit on." You giggle. "That's awesome! But I got another idea to go with it." You drop onto the bed next to Small and rub your palms—which are suddenly sweaty—on your knees.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, so, you guys got kinda the right idea with swappin' me and Lynch, but it 'pears to me you jumped inna it with both feet b'fore thinkin' it through. You needed to get yourselves set up so you could watch, and you needed to do it with some guys who would make the swap <i>in'eresting.</i> I think you fucked up this first play, but I'm here to make it right for you."<br/>
<br/>
You grasp Small by the shoulder. "Gordon Black and Steve Patterson. Two top-o'-the-heap fellers. Gordon's dating the head cheerleader, and Steve swaggers around fucking everything in a skirt. They don't stand for no shit and they's pretty creative at finding ways to make you hurt when you cross 'em. They's naturals for this kind of swap. Like Jason was." <br/>
<br/>
Your grip on his shoulder tightens. "But <i>now</i> you got a way of watchin' 'em, because <i>Jason</i> hangs out with 'em, and you've turned <i>me</i> into Jason, and <i>I</i> know what the hell's going on!" You waggle your eyebrows.<br/>
<br/>
Small glances at Roth, then turns back to you with a faint but warm smile. "Okay. That makes them one end of a body swap. So who do we swap them with?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, there's a couple of possibilities." You leap to your feet and resume pacing. "The trick is findin' someone who one o' you guys is close to, so you can watch. An' the obvious guys I have in mind are ones I don't think you can hang out with a'thout it lookin' funny."<br/>
<br/>
"And who are they?"<br/>
<br/>
You tug at your lip. "Carson Ioeger and James Lamont."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The "character" of Ioeger and Lamont is well enough known that you don't have to explain the idea to Roth and Small. A pair of insolent, condescending STEM geeks—though cool in a laidback way, and nothing at all like the smug, stuck-up-their-asses AP crew that Geoff Mansfield and Kelsey Blankenship run with—they are infamous for their stealth bullying of the upper-echelon jocks, Black and Patterson and Seth Javits particularly. Gordon and Steve would be mortified to the point of suicide at finding themselves transformed into the stick-thin nerds they hate so much. And Ioeger and Lamont transformed into the hulking basketball players? There's no telling what would happen there, which is what would make the experiment dynamite to run.<br/>
<br/>
Small claps his hands and laughs long and loud over the idea, but he also agrees with your caution that he and Perry can't get close to those guys to watch the fun. It would set off too many alarm bells in their friends, particularly if, as you suggest, you only switch one of them. "Ioeger for Black or Patterson," you say. "Or Lamont for one of them. But not both." You grin. "The fun comes in watching Lamont trying to be pal around with Gordon up in the fuck room, and watching how Patterson deals with suddenly being Ioeger's best friend. And seeing how much Gordon and Carson notice the change."<br/>
<br/>
"You could watch what goes on up in the fuck room for us," Small muses. He shoots you a sharp glance. "You're really on board with this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maize ain't playin'. Put me in coach, I can handle it!" You giggle, and Small claps you on the thigh.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, you can watch up there. As for me or Perry watching the fun at the other end—" Small tugs on his lip. "If we did another switch, one of us could go in for one of Carson's and James's friends."<br/>
<br/>
Roth bolts up with an alarmed look on his face. "You mean put one of their friends inside of our masks? Are you fucking crazy?" he demands when Small nods. "We can't let 'em get into our memories or anything!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck no," Small says. "We'd make up new masks. Ones without that metal doohickey in it. They'd just look like us, that's all."<br/>
<br/>
"And fuck up our lives!" Roth yells.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you," you chortle. "You're trying to fuck up my life by shoving Lynch inna it!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll do the switch," Small says as Roth glares at you. "Whoever we put in can't fuck up my life more'n it's already fucked. Christ," he mutters, and rubs his face, "they might even fix it up a little. And there's another place where we can watch!" he exclaims. "While I'm watching the fun with Ioeger and Lamont, you and Maize can watch the fun with me and everybody else!" He wheels on you before Roth can answer. "So who are some of Carson's friends? Blinds I can watch from?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, there's Paul Davis, he's like their third wheel or something. I hang out with 'em some, but you got Lynch parked under my face at the moment. My friends Caleb and Keith. I think those are the only guys, but Jenny Ashton is their best girl friend, and Yumi Saito and Lin Pol hang out with 'em a lot."<br/>
<br/>
Perry's mouth falls open, and he starts to laugh. He cackles, and the cackle deepens into a gut-shaking howl. He falls back on the bed and covers his face with his hands. "Oh, fuck me," he gasps through streaming eyes when he's caught his breath. "Me switching with Lin. That would be per-fucking-fect!" He doesn't amplify on the thought, though, in the silence that subsequently descends.<br/>
<br/>
That almost sounds like a decision, but another idea has occurred to you as one thought will follow on another. You don't voice it, but: <i>Switch Keith Tilley and Geoff Mansfield.</i><br/>
<br/>
You don't know where that switch would be watched from, and you couldn't watch it from inside Jason Lynch, so maybe there's no point in even mentioning it. But you're still smarting from the burn you got at the restaurant on Friday night; and, of course, you'd particularly like to revenge yourself on Mansfield for taking Lisa away from you. And Keith—homely, maladroit, C-student Keith—couldn't help but fuck up the life of the smooth, handsome, moneyed AP god.<br/>
<br/>
While you're mulling this, the guy who is pretending to be Justin Roth speaks up. "I'd rather we switched a guy and a girl."</span></div></div>


path: 113312
author_id: seuzz
title: Bully Sessions
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I was going to put it in Walberg's time capsule," you tell Justin, "and I think that's still what I'm going to do."<br/>
<br/>
Justin shrugs. Perry looks amused. Tsosie? Well, if you thought you were going to earn any credit with him, you were wrong. He still glowers as you put the book back in you bag. "Thanks for the talk," you tell them as you stand. "Or maybe I'll give Walberg a bottle of cologne, like you said."<br/>
<br/>
"Do I get half your grade if you do?" Justin asks with a grin.<br/>
<br/>
Perry snorts. "What would you do with half of an 'F'?"<br/>
<br/>
"Add it to the rest of my collection," Justin laughs. "Later, uh, Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
And if you're going to give Walberg a bottle of cologne, there's no reason to go see him now. So you just go home.<br/>
<br/>
That evening you ask your dad if you can have his used bottle of cologne for the time capsule. He is, naturally, incredulous, and wants to know what the hell you're thinking. You try explaining it to him, using Justin's reasoning. Your brother, who is listening to all this, laughs hard; you shoot him a dirty look.<br/>
<br/>
"I just bought a new bottle," your dad says wearily. "Throw away your own money on this—"<br/>
<br/>
"Harris," your mother says reprovingly without looking up from her needlepoint. Your dad sighs, and tells you to fetch it. You dash off before he can change his mind.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But the next morning—a Saturday—you have second thoughts after seeing that freaky book lying on your desk. You weren't giving it to Walberg because it would be a smart contribution, but in order to get rid of it, to put it far from mischievous hands. It preys on you all weekend, though your friends don't seem to notice.<br/>
<br/>
"You're not still obsessing over Lisa, are you?" Caleb asks when you've gone a few minutes without speaking. It's Saturday, and you're at the Starbucks on 20th Street, a few blocks down from the donut shop where your other best friend, Keith Tilley, works. <br/>
<br/>
"Huh?" you say, retrieving your attention from the street scene you've been staring at through the plate glass window.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb turns to Tilley, who's bent over his cell phone. "You believe this guy and his 'Huhs'?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh?" says Keith, his eyes still on his phone.<br/>
<br/>
"That better be a fucking brilliant text, Tilley," says Caleb. "By the way, who are you sending it to? All your friends are sitting at this table."<br/>
<br/>
"James Brewer," says Keith.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, so you're not texting a friend."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," says Keith as he puts the phone away. "He had a question about our project for Current Issues. You know, we have a team project going there—"<br/>
<br/>
"If Brewer is relying on you, you guys are really fucked."<br/>
<br/>
Tilley flips him off, then sits up and looks around, nose high in the air, like a groundhog scanning the horizon. "Why do we even come here? There's never anyone here."<br/>
<br/>
"We're here," says Caleb, "because you don't want to hang out at your work after you get off."<br/>
<br/>
"That doesn't mean we have to come here," he says. "Let's go over to the Crystal Cave or someplace close to campus. Like, they always got these college chicks dressed like—Oh, shit!" He drops his head onto the table. "Shh, I'm not here," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck are you—?" Caleb looks where Keith had been staring, and his own eyes pop. "Fuck." He covers his face with one hand. "The ostrich act isn't going to work, Tilley," he says through gritted teeth.<br/>
<br/>
You look over your shoulder, just in time to see Seth Javits materialize by your side. "Is that Tilley?" he asks, and sits on the edge of the table. He grasps Keith by the hair on the back of his head and pulls your friend up. "Why aren't you making donuts?"<br/>
<br/>
"This isn't school, Javits," Caleb says. "They got rules here."<br/>
<br/>
"Wanna complain to the manager?" Javits says. "Let's find out what happens if you do."<br/>
<br/>
"It ends with you being kicked out," you say, leaping in with just as little wisdom as Caleb is showing.<br/>
<br/>
"That's how it starts, Prescott," says Javits. "But it ends with all of us back at Westside on Monday, where, as Johansson says, there are no rules." He smiles: an alarmingly strong and toothy thing in his long, horsey face. "In fact, that's where it ends even if you don't complain to the manager." He hops up, and gives Tilley's head on last, soft thwap. "Bring me some donuts on Monday, and maybe I won't make you eat your underwear." He swaggers off to the register. <br/>
<br/>
"This is why I hate Starbucks," Tilley says quietly.<br/>
<br/>
"This is why we hate hanging out with you," Caleb says. "You attract maggots."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
In truth, it's not Keith's fault, although he does have a special talent for pissing off Seth Javits, who is one of the bigger and nastier jock-bullies at Westside. But there are so many of them, and they are almost unavoidable.<br/>
<br/>
Case in point: Monday morning. You take the long, back way around into the school, avoiding the gym. This route—the same that you took on Friday when you tried returning to Walberg's room—again puts you close to the portables. And again you hear loud voices and laughter. Foolishly, you decided to follow the noise. After all, the portables are safer during the school day than after class, for there are more types of students to mingle in that area. Whoever is laughing, though, is around a far corner, so you are out of sight of the main building when you pull up short in front of the scariest bunch of assholes in Westside.<br/>
<br/>
Well, per pound they are not the scariest: that would be the basketball players, like Javits and Gordon Black and Steve Patterson. But these cocksuckers are bad enough, and there are a half dozen of them. You rapidly backpedal, and run into something hard and unyielding. You scramble round and—<br/>
<br/>
It is barely eight o'clock, and this already the worst day of your life. Joe Thomason grins down at you. "Hiya, Prescott," he says. He shoves you back into the circle of the others.<br/>
<br/>
Jeff Spencer. Joshua Call. Nicholas Horner. Jamie Rennerhoff. Rich Austin. Tanner Evans. They hoot and howl. "Siddown, Prescott," Thomason says as he pushes you to the ground, and to make his point he sits on your shoulders, clasping your face between his thighs. "Check out my chubby," he chortles, and slaps the sides of your head with his open palms. "Five inches and fat, too. Lessee how long it takes me to cum."<br/>
<br/>
He knocks your cap off, and through your bangs you see Spencer put it on. He has a fat face and dead eyes and bangs trimmed so short he looks like he's suffering from a receding hairline. He sniggers until Rennerhoff snatches it away with a whinnying giggle. A short scuffle ensues, ending only when Joshua Call, the brawniest of the bunch, grabs it for himself.<br/>
<br/>
There's no use fighting, even if all the blood in your veins hadn't frozen solid with fear. Thomason, Rennerhoff and Spencer are basically skinheads. Call, Austin and Evans are the kinds of brawny, oil-stained thugs you might find wielding a tire iron. Horner is a grinning suck up and wanna-be. The worst part is that even if they beat on you until the bell, they will likely beat on you afterward. They rarely show up in class, and are likely to ring you in for as long as it amuses them to humiliate you.<br/>
<br/>
"Any of you homos got my chubby in a class?" Thomason asks. <br/>
<br/>
"Spence and me got him third," says Horner. "Hey, I need a look at his homework. We haven't been in Peters in a week." He tears open your backpack with a shrieking laugh and empties it on the ground. He and Spencer paw through it.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, that cunnysack's almost big enough for me," says Thomason. "Give it here." He jams your backpack over your head. "Oh, yeah," he moans. "It's so hot and wet. Nnhn!" He strokes your cheek through the rough fabric.<br/>
<br/>
Then, with a shuddering blow, he topples off you. You fall over as well, tangled up with him. You bat your backpack off your head and blink up.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I'm calling you a bunch of cocksuckers!" Sienna Goldman screams at them; behind her, Jelena Petrovic also glares at them.<br/>
<br/>
Spencer scrambles up, his face a bright red, lunging at the girls. But he's misjudged the angle and the target: a solid kick by Sienna sends him rolling to the side. "Fucking bints!" someone hoarsely shouts.<br/>
<br/>
Things might have gone badly for the girls—notwithstanding everyone being on school property—but Mr. Barrientos suddenly appears from the nearby Agricultural Annex. He's like a Hispanicized Walberg: portly and tall, with a massive, drooping black moustache. "What's going on back here?" he demands.<br/>
<br/>
Arguments break out, which he silences in a rough fashion by demanding that everyone separate. As he sorts things out, you quietly pull your things back into your backpack. You keep your head down, and only once glance up, to find Rennerhoff—his face split into a Joker-esque grin, lit from above by gleaming eyes—staring down at you. After scooping everything up, you retreat even before the girls and Barrientos leave.<br/>
<br/>
You do linger by the corner of C wing, though, and mumble a thanks at your saviors. "They oughta throw 'em in a pit and cover it with a tarp": That's all that Sienna says; Jelena doesn't even say that much. Your sense of humiliation only deepens.<br/>
<br/>
And it deepens more during third, where Spencer and Horner—making a special appearance in class—pelt you with paper clips when Mr. Peters isn't looking. "Get your shit back?" Horner teases when they block you at the door after class. It's up to Nathan Hall—a football player—to break the logjam by shoving you through their barrier.<br/>
<br/>
At your locker you discover what they likely meant: That magic book isn't in your backpack when you go to swap out books at your locker.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121
author_id: seuzz
title: Whose Bully Stinks the Most?
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Coulda been worse," Caleb says. "Mendoza could have been there too."<br/>
<br/>
It's lunch time—fifth period—and you're sitting out on the front quad by the corner of the library. Normally you and Caleb and Keith would be on the grass between the Health and Music wings. That bit of real estate, though, is a little too isolated for your taste this Monday afternoon—the same day as your morning humiliation—so at your urging the three of you have joined some other friends at their more public location, between the front of the school and the teacher's parking lot under a sunny sky.<br/>
<br/>
"Mendoza's not so bad," Keith says. "I've never had any trouble with him."<br/>
<br/>
"Then how do you know how bad he is?" Caleb retorts. "I don't usually have any trouble with Javits, how'd you like if I said he wasn't so bad?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's so cute listening to you guys bitch about Thomason and his friends," says Carson Ioeger. He's leaning back on his elbows, gazing up at the blue sky through some shades. His long, frizzy hair—released for once from under the dirty bandana he usually sports—hangs off the back of his head like a matted bush. "Now, if you want to talk about an asshole with a fine bouquet, you have to seek out your Lynches, your Pattersons, your—"<br/>
<br/>
"Stop bragging," Caleb says. "Just 'cos you think you attract a higher class of bully."<br/>
<br/>
"I know we attract a higher class of bully. We're high-class kinds of guys. Word?" Carson puts out his fist, and his best friend, James Lamont, pounds it with his own. "World of difference, my friends, between being pantsed by a guy like Gordon Black and being pantsed by— I didn't even know Spencer was still in school."<br/>
<br/>
"They must've let him out of the dog pound at the end of summer," you mutter. "Anyway, whatever Black and Patterson—"<br/>
<br/>
"And Lynch," says Lamont. "Let us not forget Jason Lynch. He wouldn't like that."<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever they've done to you ain't worse than what Thomason's gang can do to you," you say. "Run over by a BMW or run over by a Hyundai, it's just the same."<br/>
<br/>
"On the contrary," says Carson. "Lynch and Patterson—"<br/>
<br/>
"And Black," says Lamont. "Let us not forget Gordon Black. He wouldn't—"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up," Carson says. "All of them—"<br/>
<br/>
"At least you don't have them whaling on you every day of the week," Keith whines. "Fuck, I can't even go to Starbucks without Javits showing up to—"<br/>
<br/>
"You've got something special with Javits," Caleb says.<br/>
<br/>
"And we've got something special with Black and Lynch and Patterson, let's not forget him," says Ioeger. "Our bullies give me and Lamont a quality of attention that yours—"<br/>
<br/>
"Do they give you quantity?" you retort. "Because I had seven of them jump me this morning."<br/>
<br/>
Carson looks over at you. "I'll trade one Patterson for any seven of— Hang on, were Kirkham or Chen there?" He pulls down the shades to fix you with a steady eye.<br/>
<br/>
"No, just Thomason and Spencer and Nicholas Horner and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Horner, pff. I'd give you my sympathy if Kirkham or Chen were characters in your story, but if you were just dealing with Horner—"<br/>
<br/>
"There were seven of them!"<br/>
<br/>
"Seven dumbasses," says Carson. "Mind you, Thomason and Tanner Evans can be pretty inventive, but the others are just— You can get rougher play down in the freshman class."<br/>
<br/>
"How would you like it if Thomason jumped on your back and squeezed your head between his thighs, like this—" You crudely indicate where he had you. "And he was slapping your head, shouting 'Look at my chubby, I'm gonna make it cum,' and then dumped your—"<br/>
<br/>
Carson and James gape, then burst out laughing. Even Caleb looks startled, and his lips twitch.<br/>
<br/>
"What?" you exclaim. "That's what they were doing!"<br/>
<br/>
"That?" Carson gasps. "He was pretending you were his dick? Oh, I'm sorry, Prescott, that's pretty messed up, but it's still hilarious."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sure it was horrible at the time, but did they hurt you?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was humiliating!"<br/>
<br/>
"But did they hurt you?" Lamont asks.<br/>
<br/>
"If you mean, did they punch me or—"<br/>
<br/>
"Was there any serious physical discomfort at any time?" Carson demands, mirth bubbling behind his eyes.<br/>
<br/>
You hang your head.<br/>
<br/>
"Psychically scarring, I'm sure," says Lamont. "We shouldn't laugh, but—" He and Ioeger lock eyes, fight to suppress their smiles, then burst out anew in a fit of laughter. They fall against each other.<br/>
<br/>
So you storm off to the library, where you sulk into a corner by the stacks. <i>Fucking pricks the pair of them, Ioeger and Lamont, so fucking proud of themselves for the way they mouth off at the jocks. They get to flatter themselves as heroes or some bullshit like that, which makes the pain and grief they get back seem heroic, like martyrdom.</i> Meanwhile you get trapped in a cage of rabid glee-monkeys, tossed about and humiliated, and there's no compensating glory in that.<br/>
<br/>
After a few minutes, Caleb comes in. He doesn't ask to be invited, he just sits next to you with a sympathetic sigh. "I'm sorry, man," he says. "They really shouldn't be like that, and they know it, and they'll be along eventually to apologize."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck 'em."<br/>
<br/>
"I agree. It's gotta've been horrible, stuck in a circle with those guys, and all you can do is wait for them to get bored, and even then— Say, how did you get away?"<br/>
<br/>
You sink very low in your chair and don't say anything.<br/>
<br/>
"Did they let you go when the bell rang?"<br/>
<br/>
You look to the side, and shrug.<br/>
<br/>
"Will, how long were out there with them?"<br/>
<br/>
"A really fucking long time, it felt like!"<br/>
<br/>
"So how did you get away? What?"<br/>
<br/>
"I said, some people showed up. Mr. Barrientos was one."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, that's cool. I guess he saw what they were doing, came out to stop it."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"They get in trouble? They did get in trouble, right? I mean, if he saw what they were doing to you."<br/>
<br/>
"There was a fight going on, okay? Some other guys showed up, and he saw they were fighting with Thomason and Spencer, and he came out to stop it. So no, no one got in trouble, he just broke it up."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, so it was these other guys. Holy crap, you got rescued. Who was it? Will?"<br/>
<br/>
You draw a deep, ragged breath. "Jelena Petrovic and Sienna Goldman."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's expression freezes. Then, wordlessly, he covers his face with his hands.<br/>
<br/>
"I swear to fucking God, Johansson, if you're laughing back there—"<br/>
<br/>
He gets up and, hands still to his face, stumbles back the way he came, tripping over chairs and bumping into tables as he goes.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You approach Astronomy—the last class of the day—with a deep sense of trepidation, for half of the assholes from this morning are also in that class. Usually they skip, but after the fun they had earlier, it seems highly likely they'll show up to torture you, the way Spencer and Horner did in third. Your feet drag as you approach Mr. Cash's classroom.<br/>
<br/>
But Rennerhoff is the only one inside. You watch him from the corner of your eye as you approach your desk, which is on the other side of the room. He doesn't react. And, a few minutes later, Joshua Call also ignores you when he comes in, to lean over Rennerhoff's desk and speak quietly to his friend. Neither so much as turn in your direction. And when class ends, Rennerhoff leaves without once, that you can tell, even noticing you were in the room.<br/>
<br/>
Which is both a blessing and a bit of an insult. Apparently the morning's session, which felt so traumatic to you, was just a bit of high-spirited fun to them, so trivial that they've completely forgotten it by the end of the day.<br/>
<br/>
But the reason they can bang you around is the same reason that they'll forget about it and you immediately afterward. You are such a bug to them that you're only good for a little momentary amusement, and that's all.<br/>
<br/>
Fucking hell, but Ioeger and Lamont are right: They do attract a higher class of bully. Even Keith Tilley does, in the form of Seth Javits. And somehow that gives your friends a mark of distinction that you (and Caleb; if you're going to be miserable you will claim some company) don't have.<br/>
<br/>
You exit G wing through the back doors, the ones facing the baseball field, and glance to your left. You spot two persons of interest. One is Justin Roth, sauntering off toward the portables, probably for another post-class session with his friends. He was interested in that book, and wanted to buy it from you; and it now occurs to you that maybe you could work through him to retrieve it.<br/>
<br/>
For suppose you told him that Thomason and his friends had it, and that he could probably buy it from them. That would at least get it out of the hands of those guys: if your suspicions about the book are well-founded, then those lowlifes are the last people you want to see playing with it. And if Justin got it from them, you could probably buy it back from him. <br/>
<br/>
So that's one way you could get it back, and without having to approach those creeps directly.<br/>
<br/>
But you spot another way, maybe, of getting it back: Mr. Barrientos, walking between C wing and the Ag Annex. If you told him that those guys this morning had stolen some of your property, he might be able to get it back for you. That would be a cheap, direct, and eminently fair way of going about it. But those thugs would also understand that it was you who got them in trouble. And that might put you on their radar permanently.</span></div></div>


path: 11331211
author_id: seuzz
title: Hired Help
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Hey Justin!"<br/>
<br/>
Roth half turns at the sound of your call. He's dressed very causally, in a tie-dye t-shirt and jeans; around his neck hangs a long strand of cheap plastic beads—probably a playful gift of some female admirer. "Hey. Prescott," he says in a warm, gruff tone as you pant up next to him. "Lookin' to hang out some more?"<br/>
<br/>
"Actually, I have somewhere I have to be, but could you do me a favor? You remember that book I showed you last Friday? You wanted to buy it?"<br/>
<br/>
His expression is blank for a moment, then he shrugs. "Yeah, I'm not that interested," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Well, the thing is I don't have it anymore. Yeah," you continue as his eyebrows knit together. "I got in a fight with some guys back here at the portables this morning. Joe Thomason and a few other guys." You raise your chin and throw your shoulders back, like you're the kind of bad-ass who might get in a fight with them. "So all my shit got tossed around on the ground while we were fighting? Anyway, Mr. Barrientos came out and stopped us," you hurriedly press on as a slightly amused smile creeps into the corners of Roth's mouth. "And I got all my stuff back except for that book. It was in my backpack and it must have fallen out someplace and I can't find it."<br/>
<br/>
"You want me to help you look?" Justin says.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm pretty sure Thomason's friends have it. Probably Rennerhoff."<br/>
<br/>
"So, why don't you ask them?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, they're not gonna give it back. Because we had that fight, you know? They'll just pretend like they don't have it."<br/>
<br/>
"That's a bitch, man, but I don't know what—"<br/>
<br/>
"You could ask them about it for me? Like, offer to buy it from them? Don't mention my name to them!"<br/>
<br/>
An incredulous look slowly creeps onto Justin's face as you continue to babble.<br/>
<br/>
"Here's what you could do," you improvise. "You could go to them and tell them that I had this book, it's bound in red and gold leather, and I was showing it to you on Friday, and you wanted to buy it but you didn't have any money. So I was bringing it back today for you, but I lost it in that fight. So when we talked, I told you I thought Rennerhoff had it, so you're going to him to try buying it from him?"<br/>
<br/>
By now you're blushing deeply. Roth is grinning at you, and his shoulders are shaking with suppressed laughter. But, humiliatingly, you can't resist adding, "And I'll reimburse you, even give you, uh, ten percent more than you pay them for it? If you get it from them?"<br/>
<br/>
For a moment, Roth only stares back, then he falls back a step and throws his head back in a howl of laughter. "Oh, fuck me," he gasps when he's recovered himself. "Okay, I'll get your book for you, Prescott. Or, I dunno, I'll ask around for it." He brushes at his eyes, which are streaming. "And you can straight up reimburse me, I won't take a commission or nothing. We can go up into Sutton or someplace, split a beer and a joint." He claps you on the shoulder. <br/>
<br/>
With a burning face, you watch as he trudges off, chuckling, toward the back of the portables.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The rest of the week passes without much excitement. Spencer and his gang of low-IQ lowlifes haven't touched or spoken to you since last Friday. Yes, it was a one-time thing with you, a bit of horseplay borne of boredom, taken up quickly and forgotten just as quickly. <br/>
<br/>
For the time capsule you take in that bottle of aftershave; Mr. Walberg accepts it and enters your contribution into a notebook without comment. You talk to some of the other students about what they contributed or intend to contribute. Caleb, naturally, has the most insane plan: "Porn," he tells you with a grin when you ask. "Actual pornography."<br/>
<br/>
"You can't give Walberg porn!"<br/>
<br/>
"I can and I already have," he says. "I just couldn't tell him I gave him porn."<br/>
<br/>
"Fine. So what did you tell him were giving him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what I gave him was a thumb drive, and he didn't ask me about it."<br/>
<br/>
"He'll look on it," you say. "And then you're gonna—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but I buried it," he says carelessly. "I made, like a hundred or two hundred folders. Just kept hitting the 'create new folder' key so they're all nested in each other. Then I duplicated them about a hundred times. So there's something like ten or twenty thousand folders he'd have to look through before he found the one that has the porn in it."<br/>
<br/>
"And the point of all this is?"<br/>
<br/>
"To put one over on him." He snorts. "It's a hell of a lot better than Mansfield and his iPod full of political speeches."<br/>
<br/>
"Anything is better than whatever Mansfield does," you say.<br/>
<br/>
And you mean it. Fucking Geoff Mansfield.<br/>
<br/>
He's one of the AP snobs, along with his butt buddies Martin Gardinhire and Anthony Kirk and Ricky Golia, and bitches like Kelsey Blankenship and Amanda Ferguson and—<br/>
<br/>
No, Lisa isn't one of them. She's just started hanging out with them.<br/>
<br/>
Lisa Yarborough.<br/>
<br/>
It had started over the summer as a light flirtation. No, not even that. You'd just run into each other a few times. Lisa is curvy and soft and bosomy, and her brunette hair falls in gentle curves to her shoulders and her blue eyes are like pools, and you just couldn't stop yourself from thinking of and about her in these terribly clichéd ways, whether she was about or not. You'd risked making a pest of yourself with her by calling her up and inviting her out or inviting yourself along. And bit by bit you'd drifted closer and closer until, by the end of July you were holding hands and sitting on the grass at parks or by the river and leaning against each other, and once you'd even kissed her on the top of her head. She'd looked up quizzically at that, and dimpled.<br/>
<br/>
Then came that dreadful day, not long after school had started up again. You'd come up to Lisa at her locker and casually put your arm around her shoulder. She'd turned around and wriggled out of it and told you, in a very cool way, that, you know, it's not like you'd ever agreed that you were going out together. Then she'd turned back to her friend—it was probably Kelsey; Kelsey is always standing nearby when someone drops an anvil on your head, and she always looks so goddamned pleased when it does—and said nothing more to you. She'd moved off with Kelsey—if it was Kelsey—without saying another word, and had left you gaping and gingerly touching your chest to see how big the hole was she'd torn in it when she pulled your heart out.<br/>
<br/>
And then she'd started hanging out with Mansfield. Bleagh!<br/>
<br/>
Anyway, that was something else you'd dealt with over the week, bothering Caleb and Keith with your obsessive autopsy of where the relationship had gone wrong. Maybe you were overdoing it, for by the end of the week even you were noticing a certain hunted expression on their faces when you came round.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Friday. Start of lunch period. You turn at the sound of your name. "Where are you going?" Caleb calls down the hallway.<br/>
<br/>
"Just around the corner to see a guy," you shout back. "I'll be along in a minute."<br/>
<br/>
"Good, 'cos I gotta talk to you!" The swirling crowd of students cuts him off from view, but you know he's ducked outside. You turn back toward another set of doors.<br/>
<br/>
These lead out onto a square patch of land bound on one side by the Health Wing and on the other by the Music Wing. It's an isolated bit of ground: only the windows from A Wing look out onto it, and it's in the middle of this patch that your Sociology class only this morning buried the time capsule. But you're not interested in that. You'd seen Justin going out these doors just a minute ago. You glance around: there are some students sitting in small clumps, but none of them is Justin. Probably he's around the corner of the music wing, where it's even more isolated. On long legs you lope in that direction.<br/>
<br/>
You're about to turn the corner when you hear his characteristic, asthmatic laugh. <i>Good, he's probably just hanging out with Small and Tsosie again,</i> you think. You go round it and—<br/>
<br/>
Oh fuck. He's there all right, but he's with Joe Thomason, Tanner Evans, and George Mendoza.<br/>
<br/>
Which is the worst of the bunch? Well, it's like the old joke. When you think of spending time alone with one, you think you'd rather spend time alone with one of the others. <br/>
<br/>
Thomason is tall and skinny with a skull-like head. He's tan from the summer, but there's a pallor beneath, like he's a sun-dried corpse. His blonde-white hair is shaved so close to the skull that he looks bald. His long fingers work restlessly, and he gives the impression that he's constantly squeezing bugs to death between them.<br/>
<br/>
Tanner Evans has a square, almost box-like head; under his short dark hair he almost reminds you of Frankenstein. His eyes are alive, however, with malice and cruelty, and they glint harder when he lowers his beetle-brows over them. His mouth curves naturally into a sour sneer.<br/>
<br/>
Then there's Mendoza. He ought to be the least scary of the trio. He has a youthful, almost baby-like face under a thatch of black hair. Unlike the others, whose skin is disfigured by zits, warts, stubble or pallor, his is smooth and free of defects. Even the shadow of a mustache on his upper lip makes him look like he's too young to shave, which furthers the impression of innocence. But you know from experience that he is the most skilled at finding ways of causing pain that don't leave obvious marks; and his insults, softly whispered into the ear, cut deeper than Thomason's crude japes ever could.<br/>
<br/>
Justin's back is to you, but these three look over as one as you stagger to a sudden halt before them.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 113312111
author_id: seuzz
title: Empty Hands and Empty Heads
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Something is sticking to the back of your throat.<br/>
<br/>
It takes you a moment to realize that it's your voice.<br/>
<br/>
Not that you've got a lot of words stuck back there. You're not sure what you'd say here, now, before the dead-eyed gaze of George Mendoza, Joe Thomason and Tanner Evans. So when your voice finally breaks free, all that comes out is a noise like, "Gyuuuhmmm."<br/>
<br/>
Luckily, they don't look like they're much interested in you. Evans' expression suggests he's trying to remember where he's seen you before. Thomason, you're pretty sure, recognizes you and is weighing you're worth bothering about. Mendoza just looks expectant. <br/>
<br/>
"Hey. Justin." Your voice—to your mortification—breaks in a squeak. You put out a foot to nudge him in the back, and almost lose your balance.<br/>
<br/>
Roth turns. His eyes are a little red, and he looks kind of pissed off. His sour frown doesn't relax when he sees that it's you.<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't even look like he recognizes you.<br/>
<br/>
You wish you could just run away. You came out here to ask Justin if he'd got that old book back from Rennerhoff and his friends, and it's totally not a good idea to ask him that question in front of the guys who took it from you. <br/>
<br/>
But it's too late now. If you ran, they'd chase, like hyenas after wounded prey.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, so, hey," you stammer. Your eyes water as you keep them locked on Justin. "You remember that thing we were talking about the other day?" You stare at him intensely, willing him to understand what you're talking about.<br/>
<br/>
"No," he rasps.<br/>
<br/>
"There was a book you wanted to buy from me," you remind him. "You wanted to buy it, but you didn't have enough money."<br/>
<br/>
His eyes freeze, and his jaw tightens. "I don't remember any—" Then he blinks. "Oh. Yeah." His jaw works. "I'm, uh, not interested in that anymore."<br/>
<br/>
"I know." You seriously want to blink—your eyes are starting to hurt—but your eyelids seem stuck in the "up" position. "But I told you I don't have it anymore anyway, and if you wanted it you'd have to talk to some other guys? Because they had it?"<br/>
<br/>
Evans murmurs something at Thomason, who snickers. But Justin only furrows his brow. "Yeah, but I'm not—Oh!" He passes his hand over his eyes and shakes his head. "Right. Who did you say has it?"<br/>
<br/>
You moisten your lips. "Rennerhoff. I think."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh. Well, I—" He swings around to question the others. "You guys know anything about any book that Rennerhoff's got?"<br/>
<br/>
"Rennerhoff doesn't read," says Thomason.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck, I know that," Justin retorts. "But this is a book— How big is it?" He twists around to look at you, and fumbles with his hands. "It's like, this big? And it's all in leather, right, and it's got— I dunno." He turns back to the others. "It's, like, really old."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Christ, what's the point of this?</i> You should just ask them about it yourself.<br/>
<br/>
But Mendoza has started to laugh. It starts low, somewhere near the bottom of his belly, and rolls out in a series of heaving sniggers. "Hrgh hrgh hrgh hrgh hrgh. Yeah, I know the one you're talking about," he says, and turns a sly, sidelong look at you. "You wanna buy it back from him? Rennerhoff?"<br/>
<br/>
Justin squints up at you.<br/>
<br/>
You give up. "Sure," you say, and you give the grunt no more enthusiasm than it deserves. <i>How much is this going to cost me?</i> you wonder.<br/>
<br/>
"Can't," says Mendoza, and he smirks. "He don't got it anymore. You remember the book he means," he says to his friends. "That old book he picked up after those bitches came at us." He falls back on his elbows and laughs openly at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," you say. "So who—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I took it from him," says Mendoza. "So he can't give it to you. Not like he could do anything with it. He can't read." He holds out his fist, and Thomason pounds it with his own.<br/>
<br/>
You suppress a deep sigh. "So what about you, would you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"You want it back, huh?" His smile seems infinitely menacing.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. I guess."<br/>
<br/>
"Should'a talked to me before Saturday. I don't got it anymore either. Sold it to a guy."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay. Who?"<br/>
<br/>
Mendoza makes a great show of searching his pockets before reaching over to snag a cigarette from Justin. "Gimme two Ben Franklins and I'll tell you," he says.<br/>
<br/>
All your muscles sag. "I don't have two hundred dollars," you say, "and even if I did—"<br/>
<br/>
"Then you don't get your book back."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be a prick, man," says Justin. "Tell him who you sold it to."<br/>
<br/>
"Bet they don't wanna sell it back anyway," says Mendoza.<br/>
<br/>
"Whose book is it, exactly?" Justin asks, but Mendoza just concentrates on his cigarette.<br/>
<br/>
"Did you sell it to one of your friends?" you ask. <i>Please say no,</i> you pray. <i>Please tell me you didn't sell it to Call or Kirkham or Chen or someone like that.</i><br/>
<br/>
"How much money you got on you?" Mendoza asks.<br/>
<br/>
You're searching your pockets before you can stop yourself, and pull out a couple of dirty ones. "Three. And change."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be a fucking douche," Justin snorts. He glances between you and Mendoza, so you're not sure who he's talking to. Maybe both of you.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, for three bucks I'll tell you if I sold it to a friend," Mendoza says.<br/>
<br/>
You almost tell him to go fuck himself, but good sense prevails. You almost toss the money at him, but better sense prevails there, too. You lean over, like a scarecrow bending before a high wind, and hand him the bills. He straightens them out and folds them before slipping them into his jacket pocket. "Well?" you say.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm friends with everyone," says Mendoza. "So yeah, I sold it to a friend."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Their harsh laughter is still ringing in your ears. It's three hours later and you're three dollars poorer and you're no nearer getting that book back. The final bell has rung, and you're pushing your way to your locker through the surging crowds. They're already infected with weekend fever so that a nervous energy thrills through them. It's like a rave or a riot might break out at any moment.<br/>
<br/>
You're swapping out the books you need for weekend homework when a skinny figure leans into your peripheral vision. "Dope," says Keith Tilley.<br/>
<br/>
"What?" you snap at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Dope," he repeat with a heavy-lidded grin. "You know. Wassup?"<br/>
<br/>
"Where do you pick up your slang?"<br/>
<br/>
"Where do you pick up yours?" he retorts.<br/>
<br/>
"Not in the discount bin." Someone pushes you in the small of your back, almost pitching you inside your locker, but to your relief it was only a short girl straining under a giant backpack.<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't see you at lunch," says Tilley. "What are you doing now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Getting out of here."<br/>
<br/>
"Me too."<br/>
<br/>
"Obviously." You'd be more patient with Keith—who is, after all, your second-best friend, after Caleb—but you're still edgy from that dumb, dumb, <i>dumb</i> scene at lunch. "Gonna go home and work off some rage on the Xbox, or something."<br/>
<br/>
"What you got to be raged up over?" Tilley's got his ball cap on backward, and he resettles it as he leans back to study the crowd down the bridge of his nose.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing," you mutter. "Just sick of this place."<br/>
<br/>
"Dope," Keith agrees with a nod.<br/>
<br/>
And the repetition of that word is what does it. You were just about to ask him if he wanted to join you, but now you add him to the list of people you're mad at. "See you Monday," you mutter, and slam the locker shut and push yourself into the crush of bodies.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Friday afternoons aren't meant to be productive, but this Friday it's like you've set a new record for lack of effort. Not until Caleb calls at around eight—by which time you've thrashed a score of video game bozos, hustled your bike around the neighborhood, and methodically kicked the walls of the garage until your toes were numb—do you acquire plans. And even then they're not what you'd call "productive." A little after eleven you sneak out of the house to meet Caleb at the school so he can dig up the time capsule and substitute items. He's got some bullshit excuse for this caper—something about how he has to replace a thumb drive full of porn with a CD full of music, on account of Mr. Walberg making the class write papers about what they put in the capsule, and why, and he can't confess to having contributed a couple of gigs of pornographic jpegs.  "You wanna do something about that bottle of aftershave while we're here?" he asks when he's got the metal box out and opened, but you only shrug.<br/>
<br/>
"You ever think we're in a rut?" you ask when you're shoveling dirt back into the hole.<br/>
<br/>
"We were in a hole, but we took care of that," he says. "Or I did, at least. You've still got to explain to Walberg why you're sending a bottle of aftershave to the future."<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, don't you ever feel like it's the same stuff with us, all the time?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, it feels like I'm out here every night, digging up shit."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck it. What do you wanna do tomorrow?"<br/>
<br/>
"I wanna wait until tomorrow before making plans," he says. "In case you can't tell, this has <i>not</i> been my ideal kind of Friday night, and I'd just as soon get home and put it behind me."<br/>
<br/>
"So what <i>is</i> your ideal Friday night?" That seems like a hook to get back to what you wanted to ask—is you and your friends' existence in a rut?<br/>
<br/>
"One where I don't have to ask myself what my ideal Friday night would be, because I'm already doing it. What's your malfunction tonight, Will?"</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112
author_id: seuzz
title: The Girl Most Likely to Kick Your Ass
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"So why are you moaning and groaning?" Caleb demands as he stomps down the freshly turned dirt. "And why now, when we're done? You're bitching more now than when we started."<br/>
<br/>
You just grunt, and Caleb grunts too, and wordlessly the two of you trudge back to your vehicles. You sneak back into your house, and it's nearly ten the next morning before you raise your face from your pillow to look at the clock.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Actually, it's no great mystery why you were bitching last night. It was a reaction to your frustrated boredom on Friday afternoon, which was itself a reaction to running into Mendoza and his friends.<br/>
<br/>
But a night's sleep has restored your equilibrium, more or less, so over a brunch of cereal and microwaved bacon you phone Caleb to see what he's got planned for the day. "Cleaning house," he gripes. "Maybe we can catch up around supper time."<br/>
<br/>
So you call Keith, who should be almost done with his Saturday morning work shift at Don's Donuts. "Can't," he says. "Plans with my peeps."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not one of your peeps?" you retort. You're used to doing stuff without Keith, but much less used to the idea that maybe he does stuff without you.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, you can come."<br/>
<br/>
"Gee, thanks." You roll your eyes. "What's the plan?"<br/>
<br/>
"Exhibition fight over at the Christian school. Mixed martial artists thing."<br/>
<br/>
"At <i>Agape</i>?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. 'Kickboxing for Christ,' or some shit like that."<br/>
<br/>
"You're kidding."<br/>
<br/>
"Come and see if I'm kidding."<br/>
<br/>
"Who's going to be there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fairfax, Hollister, Montoya. Oh yeah, it's Carlos's cousin who's giving the exhibition."<br/>
<br/>
"All by himself?"<br/>
<br/>
"Dunno. You in?"<br/>
<br/>
"Meh, it's just going to end with someone witnessing."<br/>
<br/>
"Dude, it wouldn't kill you to go to church."<br/>
<br/>
"I go to church! Every Sunday, dipshit! My parents make me."<br/>
<br/>
"Bet they don't got kickboxing there."<br/>
<br/>
He's right, but you beg off anyway. Keith doesn't sound that broken up by your decision, which miffs you a little.<br/>
<br/>
It's a little after one before you finally find someone to hang out with, and it winds up being something of a fourth choice—the last thing you'd do before giving up totally.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"It was this or a chemistry experiment," you explain to Paul Davis, and you have to tell him again when a shout from the crowd drowns out your voice. "Chemistry experiment," you yell in his ear as a wave of applause goes up. Perfunctorily, you join in.<br/>
<br/>
The grass of the soccer field is seared at its tips—the consequence of a late-summer drought and heat wave—and the air is dry and smells of dust and clippings under a brilliant blue sky. Even with your sunglasses on you have to shade your eyes against the glare of the sun. Girls in shorts—big girls with meaty thighs—thunder back up the field from the far end, where the Westside squad has just made a goal.<br/>
<br/>
It's not a regular game or a scheduled match, but an <i>ad hoc</i> collision, held at the municipal soccer fields, between the Eastman and Westside girls' varsity teams for a fundraiser. It cost you three bucks to buy this patch of ground where you're sitting at the sidelines, and you glower sourly at a trio of middle school students who are watching for free from a sidewalk only thirty yards away. <br/>
<br/>
"What kind of chemistry experiment?" Paul asks. He doesn't have to shout it because the applause has finally died down.<br/>
<br/>
"Beats the fuck out of me. All I know is that Carson was all, like, what do you know about ammonia sulfide, or something like that."<br/>
<br/>
Jenny Ashton, who's sitting in front of you, glances back. "Who was this? Carson and James?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I called them up to see if they wanted to do something. They started throwing chemistry shit at me like I was their lab partner. After that's when they told me to call—" You nudge Paul.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, it surprised me when you showed up," Jenny says.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, they said it was also supposed to be—" You break off and make a face at the back of Jenny's head, as she's turned back to the game. The ball is in play again, and the Eastman girls, in their green and purple, are driving deeply into the crimson-and-gold side of the field.<br/>
<br/>
"They said Yumi and Eva and Jessica were supposed to be here," you tell Paul.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess they're late," he replies, and his face is a neutral mask.<br/>
<br/>
It was the promise of their presence—far more than the soccer game, about which you couldn't give a shit—that brought you out here. All three are Westside cheerleaders, which is nice enough, and are friends with Jenny, which would explain why you might run into them by hanging out here with her and Paul. But the great draw was that maybe you could finally have a talk with them about Lisa.<br/>
<br/>
The Garner girls—Jessica and Eva—are friends of hers, after all, and through her you got to know them at least a little bit. You're sure that if anyone knows why she decided to break up with you, it would be them. You'd twisted Caleb's arm to get him to ask them about what happened, but he kept putting it off with excuses until you finally gave up. This will probably be your last good chance of getting some kind of explanation out of them.<br/>
<br/>
So when the time passes and they don't show up—<br/>
<br/>
And when you glimpse spot their brother, Marc, twenty yards to your left—<br/>
<br/>
Well, if they're not with Jenny and they're not with Marc, then they are probably not coming. <br/>
<br/>
When Paul lets out a deep sigh, you reflect it probably sucks as much to be him as it does to be you. It's an open secret that he has a massive crush on Yumi Saito, and judging by the drawn look of his face, he's having no more fun watching this soccer game than you are.<br/>
<br/>
<i>So bored. So very, very bored.</i><br/>
<br/>
So you have to stifle a yelp when a voice sounds in your ear. "Hey, what's the score?"<br/>
<br/>
You whirl, and swallow a startled <i>eep</i> as Stephanie Wyatt plops onto the grass beside you. She crosses her legs and pulls her knees up to her breasts.<br/>
<br/>
Her strong, tan knees up to her large, firm breasts.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh?" You gulp. "Oh. I don't know."<br/>
<br/>
"What, 'dju just get here?"<br/>
<br/>
She's staring past you, a taut, watchful expression on her face as she follows the game. "Shit," she snarls softly, and you glance back in time to see the ball shooting like a cannonball toward the Westside goal.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I lost track."<br/>
<br/>
Her head shifts just a little toward you, and though her eyes are hidden by shades, you can seen the contempt on her lip. She reaches behind you to punch Paul. "What's the score?" she demands.<br/>
<br/>
"One-zero. Westside."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah!" she roars, and leaps to her feet. "Go Westside!" she yells through cupped hands at the field, and follows with a couple of teeth-rattling whistles and a fist-punch at the air. "You could show a little more school spirit, Prescott," she says as she flops down next to you.<br/>
<br/>
Frankly, you're surprised she even remembers your name.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You've known Stephanie since you were in the fourth grade. You shared elementary school teachers with her that year and the next, and many of your middle-school classes overlapped as well. But Stephanie has <i>never</i> had anything to say to you. As long as you've known her, she's been one of those athletic girls who was better than you at basketball, softball, volleyball—<br/>
<br/>
—and this is so embarrassing to have to admit—<br/>
<br/>
—and football, and she made it worse by being openly scornful of you and your efforts.<br/>
<br/>
And she hasn't changed since fourth grade, except perhaps to become <i>even more</i> like the way she was. She's on the Westside basketball team, and you don't think you've ever seen her when she hasn't been dressed like she's on her way to or from the gym. Right now, for instance, she's in white shorts and an emerald green jersey that show off limbs that are smooth, tawny from the sun, and tight with muscles. She wears her light-brown hair in a business-like bob that curls up over the top of her neck, the top of her ears, and over eyes that droop a little sleepily at the far corners.<br/>
<br/>
In fact, about the only thing you could say against her, physically, is that she hardly ever smiles, and that her gaze is uncommonly hard and piercing, as though she's trying to trying to decide whether she needs to elbow drop you, or whether a crippling kick to the knee would suffice to get you out of her way.<br/>
<br/>
But maybe it's just you that she looks at that way. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So you make no reply to her gibe about not having enough school spirit, and return to not-watching the game.<br/>
<br/>
A minute later, though, she nudges you again. "Hey, you seen the Garners around here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Marc's down that way." You wave off to your left.<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie gets up on her knees and stares off in his direction. And because you're in her way, she pushes you to the side.<br/>
<br/>
You take it, because you're not supposed to fight with girls. Especially with girls who could kick your ass without even realizing that's what they're doing.<br/>
<br/>
Then she drops back and hunches over her cell phone. After some typing, her cell rings and she puts it to her ear. You can't help eavesdropping.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah ... Dunno, I'm not sitting with him ... 's'fine, I don't care, DQ's fine. I'll see if Anita wants to come ... No, I wanna talk to you and Eva ... Okay, four, the one by Mellon Village, right? Okay."<br/>
<br/>
Sounds like Stephanie is meeting Eva and Jessica after the game. You could contrive to be there too. </span></div></div>


path: 11331211121
author_id: seuzz
title: Six Little Dairy Maids, All In a Row
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Crashing in on somebody else's afternoon party would be a really needy and ungracious thing to do. It would look especially bad if you just followed Stephanie directly over there.<br/>
<br/>
So you wait a couple of minutes—to give yourself some cover—then pull out your phone as though it's vibrated with a message. After pretending to study the blank screen, you lean over to tell Paul you have to go. "Yeah, where?" he asks, with a hopeful, pleading expression.<br/>
<br/>
"Just a message." At any other time you might be inclined to throw him a lifeline, but he would just be in the way at the Dairy Queen.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Forty minutes later you're slouched in a back booth at the DQ, jogging a leg and watching the door and wondering if you still have time to bolt before the girls arrive. Your plan had been to get Caleb or Keith or Carson or <i>somebody</i> to meet you at the so it would look like you coincidentally had a meeting there as well. But Caleb was still busy re-shingling his ass (or something) and Keith was still with his "peeps" (whoever they were) and Carson yelled at you for calling instead of texting right when he and James were in the middle of a delicate scientific maneuver. You tear at a fingernail and kick yourself for not bailing out earlier.<br/>
<br/>
So when a half a dozen girls pile in through the front door, you can only do one thing: Pretend to be absorbed in your cell phone, and fake a double-take when you look up.<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie is in the lead, and she favors you with a quick, expressionless glance as she strides through the entryway. Eva and Jessica Garner—almost identical, but for the fact that Eva wears her blonde, curly hair long while Jessica wears hers in a short bob—follow, with Anita Nuevo, Bonny Trask, and Dominique Hughes taking up the rear. The latter three were on the soccer field, and they look both blown and sunburned from the game. <br/>
<br/>
None but Stephanie so much as looks at you as they cross your eye line to disappear around the corner where the order stations are. You grimace and lower your head. <br/>
<br/>
Stephanie seems to be in charge, for after several long minutes, she looks into the section where  you're sitting. Again, her eye rakes briefly over you. "Yeah, there's no one back here," she calls over her shoulder. "Get me some ketchup too, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>There's no one back here.</i> If that doesn't totally capture what she thinks of you ...<br/>
<br/>
In twos and threes the rest appear, jabbering at each other and carrying cups and condiment packages. Your heart beats faster when they throw themselves into the booth directly behind yours, and when Jessica and Eva walk past, you make a point of trying to catch their eye. When that doesn't work, you call out. "Hey Eva! Jess!"<br/>
<br/>
But even though they're only a few feet from you, they look all around the restaurant to find who called their names. "Oh hey, Will," says Eva—Jessica says nothing—when she finally spots you, though you're only three feet from her. Then she and her sister slide into the booth, presenting you with the backs of their heads.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Jesus.</i><br/>
<br/>
With a kind of desperate sally, you poke Eva in the shoulder, and you have to poke her again before she turns to face you. "Sorry I missed you at the soccer game," you tell her.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh," she says. "We didn't go."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I know. I heard you guys and Yumi were going to be there."<br/>
<br/>
"We changed our plans." She turns back to the table.<br/>
<br/>
"I noticed. Yumi—" <i>Is she even listening?</i> "Yumi wasn't there either," you press on. "Paul noticed that." You poke her again. Her expression is very puzzled when she turns around. "I said, Paul noticed that Yumi wasn't there either."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. She wasn't?" Now she looks little anxious—even a little frightened. <br/>
<br/>
"Did something happen to her?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. Why are you asking?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because Paul missed her. You know—" You sit up on your knees so you can face Eva directly, and do your best to ignore the look of blank incredulity that Stephanie is giving you from across the table. "He really likes her. Do you think he has a chance with her?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," she says again. "Why are you—?" She suddenly looks very vexed. "Were you at the soccer game?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. That's why I said I missed you there."<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie speaks now. "You left early," she tells you, as though you didn't know.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I got a text." You're absurdly pleased to use the excuse you'd improvised. "Tilley wanted to meet me here, but it looks like he's failed. Typical. Pfft."<br/>
<br/>
And then the conversation slips from your grasp, for a second later someone starts shouting out order numbers, and the girls pile out to get their food. You anticipate the chance to renew the conversation when they reappear, but after a short wait only Stephanie and Anita return, and then only to pick up drinks and mustard packets. "Something happen?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"We decided we wanted to sit by the front window," Stephanie says without looking at you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"What is fucking <i>with</i> everyone?" you demand of Caleb after hurling yourself onto his bed. The springs yelp as your weight hits it, and you half-roll off it lest it collapse beneath you.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, you're buying me a new one of those if you bust it," he says, then turns back to his laptop. "What are you torqued up about now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, nothing," you sigh. "But shoot me in the face if I ever suggest going to the DQ again."<br/>
<br/>
"Why? Ice cream headache?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just a headache. Shit." Now that the topic is half out of your mouth, so to speak, you'd like to reel it back in. "I wound up there this afternoon because— Well, just because." You shrug, even though Caleb has his back to you and can't see. "I wanted to talk to some people I knew were going to be there."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" Your best friend doesn't sound interested, and is occupied in scrolling down the YouTube page and opening windows in new tabs.<br/>
<br/>
"It was Eva and Jessica. I wanted to talk to them about—" You lean forward and spitefully slap the back of his head. "Wanted to talk to them about Lisa, since you won't talk to them about her for me."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb spares you a brief, over-the-shoulder glare. "You should've talked to them yourself to start with. Like I told you. Except you shouldn'a done it even then. Let it go, Will. It was anti-kismet, wasn't meant to be. Fool's paradise. Wet dream with the usual gross and humiliating climax."<br/>
<br/>
"You know, if I ever become a friendless, sociopathic serial killer, and they catch and psychoanalyze me, I'm pointing the finger at <i>you,</i> asshole, as the one who drove me to it."<br/>
<br/>
"Long as you spell my name right," he retorts. "So what did Eva and Jessica tell you that's got you so stupid-mad? <i>And</i> stupid."<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. That's just it. Stephanie Wyatt was there too, and she made everyone move before I could get Eva to talk about it."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean she made everyone move?"<br/>
<br/>
"They all moved, what's not to understand? They all moved to another table and left me at mine."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb rolls his eyes. "I would've too."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, bite me. Anyway, that's not the worst. Jeff Spencer came in not long after, so I started to go. I was getting out of there without him seeing me, but I heard him giving the girls some shit or other, and I heard Stephanie say something like, 'You want me to kick your ass, or do you want me get Jelena out here so <i>she</i> can kick it again?' So, like, you know. <i>Jesus.</i>" Then you add "What?" when Caleb turns around with a mirthful expression.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh that. Sick burn on Spencer, her referencing that ass-kicking. That's cool."<br/>
<br/>
"It is <i>not!</i> It means everyone's heard about it now, and how they had to rescue me!"<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit. Probably none of the gossip even mentions you were there. Face it, Will, no one gives a shit about you, so stop worrying that they're giving you shit behind your back when you know they're not."<br/>
<br/>
As an attempt to buck you up, Caleb's comment falls woefully short, but you let it drop. And he continues: "Anyway, I'm sure Stephanie has her own reasons to want Jelena around."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah? Why's that?"<br/>
<br/>
"They're both dykes, dude!"<br/>
<br/>
You feel your eyes pop. "No! Where'd you hear that? I mean, I know all about Jelena, but <i>Stephanie?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, it stands to reason. Butch athlete like her. She's going to be a girls' PE teacher when she graduates college. Just look at her, always in those t-shirts and shorts. All she needs is a whistle around her neck." He puts his feet on the edge of the bed and spreads his legs. "That's what makes it so hot fantasizing about her. She's sexy, <i>and</i> I can so easily picture her munching on another girl!"<br/>
<br/>
You suck on your lower lip. You'd agree that Stephanie is definitely sexy in a vigorous, Germanic-Valkyrie kind of way. Like, it's real easy to imagine you and her rutting in a green, sloping, Alpine meadow with the Matterhorn and a boiling waterfall in the background, eagles circling in the cold air up above. <br/>
<br/>
Trouble is, it's also too easy to imagine her breaking your back between her thighs, then biting your head off at the climax of sexual congress. "Whatever. What are you looking up online?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I got a dumb text from Tilley. He says he's got a cameo in a YouTube video that I should check out."<br/>
<br/>
You snort. "This is special?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb shrugs. "He wants my opinion." He clicks the play button.</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211
author_id: seuzz
title: The Cheese Channel
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The video opens with some cheesy spinning effects, then dissolves to two guys sitting in front of a beige wall. They look familiar—you've had them in classes but you can't immediately place their names. <br/>
<br/>
No worries, because they quickly introduce themselves. "Hey all you guys out there in internet land," says the sandy-haired kid with the faux-hawk and the tomato-colored face. He points to the other. "He's Carlos."<br/>
<br/>
"And he's Mike," says his Hispanic friend. He too has his hair spiked, and his aquamarine t-shirt binds itself tightly to his pecs and shoulders. "And together we are—"<br/>
<br/>
They touch fists, and pause. "Who did we say we were going to be, again?" Mike asks as Carlos cracks up. "Mighty Morphin' ... Wonder Twins?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, jeez." Carlos slouches in his chair, giggling, and wipes an eye. "It's going to be one of those shows."<br/>
<br/>
You glance at Caleb. "Who are these fucks?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mike and Carlos. Weren't you listening?"<br/>
<br/>
"They go to our school?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb squints back at you. "We have them in fourth-period English."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh." You snap your fingers. "Right."<br/>
<br/>
They recover their composure, and you shut up just in time to hear Carlos say that on this episode they'll be talking about <i>The Fly</i> with Jeff Goldblum—a movie about a scientist who transforms himself into a hideous mutant insect with all kinds of goopy, skin-peeling results. "Oh hey, that sounds like that could be good," you say. "Is there a trailer? When's it coming out?"<br/>
<br/>
That gets you another glare. "Nineteen eight-five. Or six. It came out thirty, forty years ago, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"So why are these guys—?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's a move re-review show. Or something. Aren't you taking a 'Film as Literature' class this semester?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pft. Yeah. But what's that got to do with—?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's like that, Prescott. They talk about old classic movies."<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes and hop back on the bed, to slouch against the headboard and watch the laptop from across the room under half-closed lids. "And you know these guys?"<br/>
<br/>
"I've talked to them. They've got, like, a couple of dozen videos up on their channel."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh. So I guess these are Tilley's peeps."<br/>
<br/>
"His what? Never mind, let's just watch this."<br/>
<br/>
So you do. It's silly, amateurish, boring, and you concentrate more at picking at the hole in the knee of your jeans than on their movie talk. Keith's cameo comes at the very end, though you wouldn't know it was him if you didn't recognize the t-shirt. He comes dancing into the background while wearing a gorilla mask, which sparks some not-at-all funny fake screaming and running away by the hosts, and the video ends with Tilley putting his masked face into the camera and making a kind of muffled roar. "Well, that was dumb," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Meh," says Caleb as he closes the window. "At least it made me wanna stream the movie."<br/>
<br/>
"You wanna do that tomorrow?"<br/>
<br/>
"Only if we do at your house and you pay for it."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug and change the subject.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Later that evening, in your bedroom, you decide it would at least be polite if you told Keith that you'd watched the video with Caleb. <i>Saw ur video with mike n carlos,</i> you text him. <i>Preety good,</i> you lie.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Thx,</i> he replies a few minutes later. <i>planstmorow?</i> It takes you a minute to decipher the word.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Watching the fly w caleb probly<br/>
<br/>
Cool nvr seen it myself carl n mkie make it sound good<br/>
<br/>
U want to come over too?<br/>
<br/>
Cant plans w peeps again</i><br/>
<br/>
Well, good for Tilley, you suppose. You wish him a good night and weekend, and toss your phone away.<br/>
<br/>
To be truthful, though, the discovery that Keith has a batch of friends that doesn't overlap with you and Caleb—that you barely know of or even about—leaves you feeling equivocal. On the one hand, it means that you don't have to feel guilty when you make plans without Keith—which, now that you think about it, is something it seems like you're constantly doing. On the other hand, you can't help wondering if Keith has been keeping you at arm's length from Carlos and Mike because ...  maybe Keith thinks you're kind of lame? Or he thinks they might think that you're lame?<br/>
<br/>
Though how you could be lamer than a couple of dipshits who spend their weekends making amateur movie review videos for YouTube, you can't imagine.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
On Sunday afternoon Caleb comes over and you stream that movie. The special effects are kind of dated, and it's slower than you'd like, but it's a pretty good movie, and when you and Caleb watch the Mike-and-Carlos show again you're more interested in what they have to say about it. They make a couple of smart points, and you feel a little more impressed with them, even if the Keith-in-a-gorilla-mask gag is still cringe.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I subscribed to their channel," says Carson Ioeger when mention it to him Monday morning before school. You'd spotted him lurking in the small quad out front of the gym, and loped over to say hi and to bullshit about the weekend. "We're talking about Hollister and Montoya, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mike and Carlos. Blonde guy and a Hispanic guy?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's them." Carson continues to stare past your ear at something behind you. "Not that I watch their videos, but I subscribed to them as a favor. I think they're trying to make a business of it, and if they can make something off it without me having to give them money, we'll all be happy as pigs in shit, amiright?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess." It hadn't occurred to you that maybe you should subscribe to their YouTube channel as a courtesy. "So that was the high point of my weekend. How was yours? You get that thing done?"<br/>
<br/>
"What thing?" Quick as a mongoose, Carson fixes a sharp look at you.<br/>
<br/>
"The thing you were doing when I called Saturday. Chemistry, you said."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. That. Yeah." He goes back to staring at the entrance to the gym. "Fucked things up a little because someone doesn't know how to write clear instructions. But we're on track again."<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't blow anything up, did you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, we didn't blow anything up, Prescott. Just made a stink is all. James's mom kicked us out of the house." He glances around the quad with an uneasy expression. "We need to find a workroom, or something," he mutters.<br/>
<br/>
You're about to ask him why he needs a workroom, when he clutches you by the shoulders and pushes you gently to one side. "I'd love to stay and tell you all about it—eh, not really—but I see somebody I have to talk to now." He snatches up his backpack and flies across the quad toward the gym. James Lamont has just come out of it, and he and Carson are soon in quick, excited conference as they dart through the breezeway back toward the student parking lot.<br/>
<br/>
It must be some new scheme they're cooking up to torture the basketball squad.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Yeah, that was my idea," Keith says when you see him second period. Which—as it happens—is the Film as Literature class. He's got his nose proudly in the air and slouches with one arm over the back of his chair. "I was all, like, that's the movie where the guy winds up with the head of a fly, isn't it? And I didn't have a mask like of a fly or anything, but I still had that old gorilla mask from that Halloween in— Was that when we were in seventh grade or eighth?" His brow furrows. "That year me and you helped run the 'haunted house'—" He makes air quotes around the phrase. "For the elementary school? Remember, I put on pajamas and that gorilla mask and called myself Tae Kwan Kong and scared that second-grade girl into pissing herself?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't remember." And you don't, not clearly, thanks to a massive exertion of willed amnesia. "But yeah, now that you mention it, I can totally see how you came up with that idea on your own."<br/>
<br/>
"Word that," says Keith. "And I was, like, telling them they should add a puppet character, and he could be their third, and I could be the puppeteer. Or muppeteer. Is that what they call them?"<br/>
<br/>
You shoot a quick glance up at the front of the room, to see if Mr. Hawks is <i>finally</i> ready to start class.<br/>
<br/>
"—be like their smart-aleck sidekick. I'd have to come up with a catchphrase," he adds thoughtfully.<br/>
<br/>
"Sounds dope," you offer.<br/>
<br/>
"So word," agrees Keith, and he bobs his head gravely. You turn around so he won't see you rolling your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
But a moment later a bony finger jabs you in the shoulder blade. "You thinkin' about, like, tryin' to get in on this too?" Keith asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Get in on what?"<br/>
<br/>
"What Mike and Carlos are doing. Their thing, their scene?"<br/>
<br/>
"You mean like making YouTube videos?"<br/>
<br/>
Keith snorts. "What would <i>you</i> make videos about? No, I mean, like me. Like, how I showed up in their last video. That."<br/>
<br/>
You blink at him. "Are you worried I'm going to take a <i>gig</i> away from you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," he mumbles. "Not like that. But it's like you're making a big thing out of it, like you kind of want in on it."<br/>
<br/>
You're about to tell him that you didn't think you were making a big thing about anything, but that's when Mr. Hawks coughs, and in his bass-fiddle drawl calls the class to order.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Third period you have the bullshit "Career Planning" class, and today Jeff Spencer and Nicholas Horner disgrace it with their presence. They're only a few seats over, and when they catch you eavesdropping on them they start whispering obscenities at you. "You wanna fuck yourself, man? Want some help fucking yourself? Wanna lick my balls?" And so on.<br/>
<br/>
Then it's English, and the first thing you do is glance into the corner where Mike and Carlos are sitting.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112
author_id: seuzz
title: When the Bullies Come Out to Play
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>You tryin' to get in on this too?</i> <br/>
<br/>
Keith's question comes back to you, and you shy away from Carlos and Mike. You weren't that impressed with their video, and you don't want it to look like you were. Whatever "gig" Keith has found with them, he can keep to himself.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's the start of a bad day and of a worse week. Horner catches sight of you on your way to the library for study hall, and he and Rennerhoff—remoras to the bullies rather than full-fledged bullies themselves; experts in verbal and psychological abuse because they haven't the upper-body strength to get more physical—swing in behind you in the hallway, talking and sniggering loudly about "faggots" who need girls to rescue them. When they follow you into the library, you humiliate yourself further by walking through it and out the into the quad beyond. They still follow, only veer off when a harsh voice—you don't turn around to see whose—calls them.<br/>
<br/>
But you've got Rennerhoff again the last period of the day, in Astronomy. He's lounging by the door with Joshua Call, and an evil gleam flares in his eye when he sees you coming. You affect not to notice, but as you're crossing the threshold, your feet tangle in something and you pitch face forward into the room. You hit the hard floor with hands and knees, and your bag flies away. "Oh, Christ! What the—!" someone yells.<br/>
<br/>
From the floor, with burning face you look up. Your book bag has burst at the feet of Stephanie Wyatt, of all people, and she is glaring at you with feverish eyes and bared teeth.<br/>
<br/>
Rennerhoff laughs. "Need training wheels, asshole?"<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie hurls herself at you, and you fling yourself away, covering your face with your arms. <br/>
<br/>
But the blow doesn't land. Suddenly it's Rennerhoff yelling, and when you look up he's sprawling on the floor—how did he get there so fast?—with Stephanie standing over him with clenched fists. <br/>
<br/>
Call makes a noise, then backs up a step and raises his hands when Stephanie whips around at him. Rennerhoff scrambles up, and when his head is in range Stephanie grabs it and cracks it against the doorjamb. He squeals, and squeals again when Stephanie shoves him into the hallway. Passersby fall over him, adding their yells to his.<br/>
<br/>
"Get your shit up," Stephanie snarls as she stomps past you. She picks up her desk and slams it back to the floor a couple of feet from where your stuff has scattered. She drops into her seat, and green fire flares in her eyes when she looks at you.<br/>
<br/>
The rest of the room has gone absolutely quiet, and you try to hide your face as, with blood rushing and pounding under your face, you gather up books and papers and pencils and erasers.<br/>
<br/>
"Something happen here?" Mr. Cash asks from behind you—he must have heard the disturbance and come back into the room just in to time to witness the aftermath.<br/>
<br/>
"I dropped my stuff," you mumble, and look up fearfully at Stephanie. Her face is red—red like a cherry bomb—and there's still a fell light in her eye as she watches you. Without bothering to pack everything up again, you retreat to the opposite corner of the room, where your assigned desk is.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So that was Monday. On Tuesday Rennerhoff leaves you alone, but Horner follows you through the hallway during one break, murmuring "Pussy" into the back of your neck. At the start of Astronomy, Stephanie's face visibly tightens when you meet her at the classroom doorway.<br/>
<br/>
On Wednesday Lester "The Molester" Pozniak, the soccer goalie and bully who makes you and Caleb his special sport, recommences a round of physical hazing that recurs each day for the rest of the week. Nor are you the only victim. "Is he gone?" a plaintive voice calls from one of the restroom stalls when you stop by a urinal Friday during seventh period.<br/>
<br/>
"Who? Who's that?" you cautiously reply.<br/>
<br/>
"Will, is that you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Keith?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Are you the only one out there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. What the fuck?" You hastily tuck yourself back up and glance under the stalls. Tilley's cheap black Converses dance under one of them.<br/>
<br/>
"Javits put me in here," Keith says. "He called it 'home base'. Said I was safe as long as I didn't come out."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus! When was this?"<br/>
<br/>
"At lunch?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck! Have you been in here since—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. He took his study hall in here with me. Kept calling me dirty names and giving me stat problems to solve. I'm not even taking stat!"<br/>
<br/>
"Why didn't you leave when he did? And why don't you come out now?"<br/>
<br/>
The stall door creaks open, and Keith edges out. "I didn't know he was gone. He said he was going to get some water, and then a little later the door opened and someone came in and used the head, then they left, and some other people came in—"<br/>
<br/>
"Why didn't you ask <i>them</i> if it was clear?"<br/>
<br/>
Keith's eyes get big. "'Cos they sounded even worse than Javits. I think Kirkham was one of them."<br/>
<br/>
"So you just kept your head in the toilet."<br/>
<br/>
"What would <i>you</i> do, Prescott?" Keith sneers. "Wait for a <i>girl</i> to come in and save you?"<br/>
<br/>
You grab him, aiming to put his head in the sink if you can't maneuver him back into the toilet stall, but he grapples you to a standstill. "See?" he says when you've separated, panting. He straightens his shirt. "If you can't take <i>me,</i> what chance have you got with <i>them?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"It's like someone sent a memo around," you grumble to Caleb on the following Monday as you're heading out to eat on the quad in front of the library. "It's like Pozniak and the rest of them know they've only got one nine more months left, and they're trying to squeeze it all in."<br/>
<br/>
The immediate impetus to this complaint is a meeting you had with the Molester after third period, during which he held your face in his arm pit while questioning your heterosexuality. <br/>
<br/>
But Caleb has his own issues. "It's fucking Ioeger's fault," he says. His eyes glint and his jaw thrusts as he shoves open the front doors to the school. "And when I find him—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, what happened? You were just saying he disappeared on you, and then Gladstone started class."<br/>
<br/>
"He disappeared on me when he saw Patterson coming our way." Caleb's stride lengthens as he crosses the quad diagonally toward where Jenny Ashton and Paul Davis are already sprawled. "We were just coming out of Chem and he's asking me where I think he could find some—I dunno, some chemical he and Lamont need. Anyway, I'm telling him he should try a greenhouse, 'cos I know they got some pretty weird shit in the fertilizers, and when I look over there's some girl with braces standing where he'd been. Which is okay with me, she was better looking than Ioeger anyway."<br/>
<br/>
You're almost on top of Jenny now, but Caleb keeps talking.<br/>
<br/>
"And then there's Patterson right in front of me, and when I step to go around, he steps in front of me, grabs me, and hurls right into the lockers. Then I think he kneed me in the back. Anyway, it was like a sledgehammer hit me back there, and then I'm on the ground and that girl with the braces, I swear to God, was laughing at me when I looked up."<br/>
<br/>
Jenny shades her eyes and looks up at you. "What are you bitching about now, Caleb?"<br/>
<br/>
"Your boyfriend," Caleb says. "Ioeger and your boyfriend."<br/>
<br/>
Her lip curls. "I don't have a boyfriend, Caleb."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe if you did, you could keep him and Ioeger out of trouble."<br/>
<br/>
Now Paul pipes up. "Did Carson and James do something to you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not directly—"<br/>
<br/>
"Then stop bitching," Jenny says. "Or at least don't get all shirty with me. I didn't do anything. You can kick Carson's ass when he— Oh, but he's not showing up to lunch today. Him or James."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?" Caleb demands. "What the fuck?"<br/>
<br/>
"They can do whatever the fuck they want, Johansson," she snaps back. But she also looks vexed, and gets up on her knees to stare off in the direction of the gym. Or maybe it's the parking lot. "They had to go off campus. Said they'd left something burning somewhere and needed to check up on it."<br/>
<br/>
"'Tsssssss'yup, ya'll?" You turn at the drawled greeting. It's Keith, looking even dopier than usual. He lazily resettles his backward-turned ballcap and drops his pack to the grass.<br/>
<br/>
Jenny wrinkles her nose. "Are you wearing <i>shorts?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Tilley is indeed wearing black shorts, showing off his ugly knees and hairy calves. "It's a nice day," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"For some people," you mutter. "And for you until Javits shows up."<br/>
<br/>
"Like, whatever." Keith takes out a sandwich, then lays on the grass using his pack for a pillow. He pulls out his cell phone, fiddles with it, turns it sideways, and starts watching it while pushing the sandwich into his maw.<br/>
<br/>
"What are they up to, Jenny?" Caleb asks. "Ioeger and Lamont. It's like, ever since the year started they've been pushing it past eleven."<br/>
<br/>
"Beats the hell out of me," she says, still staring off toward the gym. "They don't tell me anything."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb snorts, and elbows you. "Come on, there's no point hanging around here." He toes Keith in the hips. "You coming?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nah, I'll hang out here," he says.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb looks at you, but you're looking past him, in the direction that Jenny is gazing. Eva Garner is coming this way.<br/>
<br/>
It's not unusual for Eva to eat with Jenny and her friends, though it's not very common either, and maybe she's coming out to join Jenny and maybe she's just passing by. But you're tempted to remain behind, in case there's a chance to ask her about Lisa. You've pretty much given up on reviving that relationship, but you're still in the market for a post-mortem.<br/>
<br/>
But maybe that would be pathetic.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb nudges you again.</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121
author_id: seuzz
title: Two Consultations Without Answers
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Caleb nudges you again. You turn so you can mutter at him without Jenny hearing. "Let's stick around here," you tell him. "I think Eva's coming this way."<br/>
<br/>
"Garner?" Caleb's eyes flash, and his head twists around to search the horizon.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, control yourself," you murmur. Then you drop cross-legged to the grass and unpack your lunch. It's leftover meatloaf and green beans that were cold when you took them out of the fridge, but which achieved room temperature in your locker. You watch Eva approach.<br/>
<br/>
All the Garners have great legs, but Eva and Jessica improve on their brother Marc by also have trim hips and curved stomachs and pronounced boobs. Things that look great in a cheerleader uniform, and which are only improved by the sun-washed hair and healthy glow in their cheeks. But Eva's expression is wary as she approaches your quintet—you and Caleb and Keith, Jenny and Paul—though you're relieved that she gives you a quick smile, so it's probably not you that's got her bothered.<br/>
<br/>
 "Tell me you're mad at me and aren't speaking to me," she says as she kneels on the grass and plucks a white jicama stick from Jenny's lunch. <br/>
<br/>
"Uh, I'm mad at you and not speaking to you?" Jenny replies. "How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I lost the coin toss, and if you're mad at me then Jessica will have to talk to you when you have her in math class. Don't ask her about it in front of Marc, though."<br/>
<br/>
"Ask her what?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're mad and not talking to me, remember?" Eva pops the jicama stick into her mouth as she gets up. "So you can't—"<br/>
<br/>
Jenny drags her back down by the hem of her shorts. "I am <i>so</i> talking to you. About what?"<br/>
<br/>
Eva grimaces. "How friendly are you with Gillian Kiefer?"<br/>
<br/>
"Friendly enough, I guess."<br/>
<br/>
"Enough to be like a go-between? Introduce someone to her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not sure. Bonny Trask, maybe? Almida? Stephanie or Tara Weston or—?" Eva's complexion—normally the color of a healthy peach—gets a little wormy.<br/>
<br/>
But Jenny seems not to notice. "What are you talking about? What's the deal? None of them know Gillian but they want to?"<br/>
<br/>
Eva shrugs. "It's her boyfriend they want to meet."<br/>
<br/>
<i>"Braydon?"</i><br/>
<br/>
Behind you, Keith bursts out laughing. You glance back, but he's still absorbed in his cell phone. It must be a really funny video.<br/>
<br/>
"—don't know anyone who knows Braydon," Eva is saying, "except Gillian, and they don't even know her. I said I thought you knew Gillian pretty well, so they asked me if I'd ask you—" She sighs. "I don't know why I want in the middle of it."<br/>
<br/>
"Why all the complication?" Jenny asks. "Why can't—? Oh, screw it, if they want to meet up with Gillian or Braydon, I can set it up."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks. I just don't want to be there when they start talking about ... stuff." Eva rubs her nose as she gets up.<br/>
<br/>
"I can do it for you," Caleb says, and he thrusts himself past you. "I can handle it."<br/>
<br/>
"Handle what?" Both girls swivel toward him.<br/>
<br/>
"Make an introduction. I know Braydon, and these girls—"<br/>
<br/>
"I can handle it," Jenny says. She looks rather cross at the way Caleb has inserted himself.<br/>
<br/>
You find your own voice: "How do you know Braydon?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's glance is withering. "We have him for English, haven't you noticed?"<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. "Fuck me, yeah, I've noticed him, all gothing it up in the third row—"<br/>
<br/>
"So I'll do it tomorrow," Caleb tells Eva. "I'll talk to him tomorrow, fourth period. Have one of your girls text me when they can talk to him after lunch, and I'll set it up."<br/>
<br/>
Eva raises her eyebrows, then looks at Jenny. Jenny shrugs and tears another bite out of her sandwich. "Okay," Eva says. "Thanks, I'll tell them, and then you can—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, hang on," says Caleb. "What do they want to talk to him about? So, you know, I can tell him what it's all about?"<br/>
<br/>
Eva makes a face. "Braydon type stuff. Isn't he into, like, black magic?"<br/>
<br/>
Jenny's jaw drops. "The fuck? What are they interested in that for?"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>They</i> say it's for Halloween," Eva replies. "They want to ask him about— But they were also all talking about hair clippings and fingernail clippings and stuff like that. You're not going to have <i>that</i> stuff in a haunted house attraction, are you?"<br/>
<br/>
But Caleb is unfazed. "Okay, I'll tell him it's research. These are who again? Almida Jones? Tara Weston?"<br/>
<br/>
"That group, yeah. Do you have any of them in class?"<br/>
<br/>
"Got a couple of them in English."<br/>
<br/>
Paul has been quietly listening all this time, but now he speaks up. "Didn't you say Braydon's in there too? So why don't they just go talk to—?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb punches him in the shoulder. "I said I can handle it, Davis."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I'll leave it in your capable hands," Eva says. "You gonna be around after school?" she asks Jenny.<br/>
<br/>
The two girls talk a bit about late afternoon plans while you anxiously search for a place to insert yourself into the conversation. No chance comes, then Eva turns to walk back the way she came.<br/>
<br/>
You lunge to your feet and chase after her. "Hey Eva, you gotta minute?"<br/>
<br/>
"I left my lunch tray with Chelsea and them," she says. "If I don't get back they'll throw it in the trash."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Well, I'll just ask you real quick. Um, you know how me and Lisa were, like, going out over the summer?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh?" Eva keeps her eyes forward as she power-walks her way back toward the school.<br/>
<br/>
"And then, right after school started, suddenly we weren't?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, did Lisa say anything to you about that? About, uh, <i>why</i> suddenly we weren't?"<br/>
<br/>
Eva doesn't answer right away, and keeps her eyes forward. "Well, maybe you weren't, you know? Going out over the summer."<br/>
<br/>
You flush. That's exactly what Lisa said that day she threw your arm off her shoulder: <i>We never really said we were going out.</i> "Well, I <i>thought</i> we were."<br/>
<br/>
"It's funny, people sometimes see the exact same thing in totally different ways."<br/>
<br/>
You're moved to recklessness. "So, did she <i>tell</i> you why we weren't going together?"<br/>
<br/>
Eva makes a face. "There's lots of people she's not going out with, and she hasn't told me why she's not going out with <i>them.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"You know what I mean!"<br/>
<br/>
Eva stops so hard you have back up a couple of steps.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, Will," she says, and her large blue eyes are filled with sympathy. (But behind the sympathy you can also see the impatience.) "Don't worry about Lisa. About you and Lisa, I mean. She's got her thing, and you've got yours. Or you should get yours. You know? You and Lisa, you're in the past, and the past is all back there." She waves her hand in the direction of the school office. "Someplace where you can't get to. So stop trying to get back to it."<br/>
<br/>
She sighs. "Sometimes you don't win," she says, "but you can always go off and try to win someplace else. <i>With</i> someone else."<br/>
<br/>
You glare at the ground. "Did anyone ever tell <i>you</i> that?" you demand of one of only ten girls judged beautiful enough and fit enough to be a Westside cheerleader. "To stop thinking about someone you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, and I have to get back to my lunch," she snaps, and now the impatience fully bursts forth. "If you really want to talk about it, I'll tell Jessica, and <i>she</i> can give you some advice." Without waiting for your retort, she spins on her heels and strides off.<br/>
<br/>
Briefly you debate taking her up on that suggestion, but decide not to. Jessica, in your experience, is much tarter of tongue than even her sister. Your spirits crumple like a Styrofoam cup under a steamroller as you trudge back to the others. If Eva is telling you to look to the future, it's probably because she is diplomatically trying to avoid telling you what she knows about the past.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb is getting up with his trash as you approach, and as you've lost your appetite you gather up your own trash and follow him to the library, leaving the others to laze about on the grass. "Why are you so hyped about doing that thing for Eva?" you ask him, since you want to get your mind off the other business.<br/>
<br/>
"It's a chance to get an in with some sexy girls, dumbass," he says. "Think about it," he continues. "Think who Eva says it is. Almida and Tara and Stephanie and Bonny. They look almost as good in shorts as Eva does." He darts a quick glance over his shoulder. "Some of them look even better, in my opinion," he adds, leaning so close you can practically hear his eyebrows squeak as he waggles them. "So I do this favor for them, and then, like, I can go up to them afterward and be all, So, wassup, you get that thing you wanted from Braydon? Need any help with it?"<br/>
<br/>
You give your best friend a sidelong glance up and down. The idea that those girls—a bunch of trim, fresh-faced, soccer- and basketball-playing athletes—would have anything to do with his long-nosed, droopy-eyed, dork-on-stilts ass— Well, it's ludicrous. They'd be more likely to pay attention to <i>you.</i> After all, despite what Eva said, you <i>did</i> have a beautiful girlfriend for a couple of months over the summer.<br/>
<br/>
Oh, and you do share a sixth-period class with one of the girls mentioned: Stephanie Wyatt. You could totally pre-empt Caleb by talking to her first about this thing with Braydon.</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211
author_id: seuzz
title: Awkward Invitations
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Pfft!</i> Caleb thinks he's so smart, using this "go between" trick to break the ice with some girls who wouldn't even glance in his direction. Two can play that game!<br/>
<br/>
Still, you quail a little when you step into Mr. Cash's classroom at the end of the day. Stephanie's already in her seat, feet planted firmly, head bowed slightly as she concentrates on her cell phone. In her cherry-red polo shirt and white gym shorts, she looks even more like a gym-teacher-in-training than usual.<br/>
<br/>
The expression "screw up your courage" never felt more descriptively apt than as you shuffle up to her. Your insides feel like they're twisting and rotating. This is the girl that almost kicked your ass last week when you accidentally spilled your bag at her feet; who tried to brain Rennerhoff; and who did frighten Joshua Call away.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," you say when you're standing over her. She doesn't respond. "Hey. Stephanie."<br/>
<br/>
She looks up sharply, just in time to catch you bending sideways to awkwardly wave at her. She stares at you like you're a crazy person.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey. Hi. Stephanie." Still she stares at you. Hard. If you poked her in the eye, you'd probably break a finger.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, I was talking to Eva at lunch today," you stammer. "Eva Garner? You know?"<br/>
<br/>
Obviously Stephanie knows Eva. You clear your throat and try to lower your pitch into the tenor range, at least. <br/>
<br/>
"And she mentioned that you and some friends, like Almida? And—? You wanted to hook up— I mean, meet up with Braydon Delp?" You hate the way your voice keeps squeaking at the end of each sentence, turning them into questions. "And Eva was going to try to find a way to, you know, through Gillian, you know, Braydon's girlfriend, to—"<br/>
<br/>
You have to break off. A crease has appeared in Stephanie's forehead. Eva did mention Stephanie's name when rattling off that list of girls, didn't she? What if she didn't, or was mistaken? What if Stephanie has no freaking clue what you're gabbling about?<br/>
<br/>
Worse yet: What if she does know, but can't figure out what the fuck you're bugging her about it for?<br/>
<br/>
"I was just gonna say, I know Braydon"—you don't, not really but you can fix that—"and I can set it up for you guys to get together to talk to him."<br/>
<br/>
Still, Stephanie stares at you like she's trying to calculate the precise angle at which a kick to your head could separate it from your neck and send it sailing through the window. <br/>
<br/>
Then she opens her mouth, just enough to say, "Uh huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"So, if you could give a time that it would be, you know—" You shrug; it feels like a shoulder spasm. "Convenient for you to meet up with him, I could set up—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I dunno," she says. "Any time after school, probably."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Well, if you could give me, like, your number or some way to text you after I talk to—"<br/>
<br/>
To your absolute astonishment, she clicks a pen, scrawls on the corner of a piece of paper, and tears it off to  hand you. Gingerly—so as not to touch her fingertips with yours; who knows how violent she might get if you did—you take it. "Cool, thanks. I mean, uh, I'll be in touch." You swallow as Stephanie's stare hardens just a little more. "Uh, one more thing, what do I tell Braydon this is about?"<br/>
<br/>
"Professional consultation," she says. "We wanna hex someone."<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" It comes out as a squeak.<br/>
<br/>
"No, not really, it's none of your business. Just tell him we're interesting in finding out what kind of stuff he knows. You know, about that stuff he's into."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Alright. I won't mention the, uh, hex thing." You pretend to zip your mouth shut, and Stephanie's eyes widen like she really does now think you're crazy. "I'll be in touch with you, you know, when I—" You retreat three steps—<br/>
<br/>
"Ow! Jesus Fuck!" You spin around as you bump into something. A girl—a freshman—glares up at you, then kicks viciously at your shin. "Watch where you're putting your stupid fat feet, you fuck!"<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry! Sorry!" You stumble back, and narrowly avoid falling into the lap of a guy who's smirking at you. "Sorry!" You toss off a quick, sloppy salute at Stephanie, whose lip and left eyebrow have twisted up into an expression halfway between horror and incredulity. "Catch up to you later, uh, Stephanie!" You hustle your way back to your own seat, where you can slump and fantasize about quick and merciful deaths.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
After that disaster, you don't want the Stephanie thing hanging over your head, so you hustle off to see if you can find and talk to Braydon. Before that, though, you stop at your locker to swap out books, and Keith corners you there. "So, what are we doing this afternoon?" he drawls at you from under heavy lids.<br/>
<br/>
"Dunno about you, I have to go find Braydon."<br/>
<br/>
"Cool," he nods. "Wait. Delp? What for?"<br/>
<br/>
"Set up a thing with him and some girls."<br/>
<br/>
"Awesome. What girls? Hot ones?"<br/>
<br/>
"Weren't you paying attention at lunch? Oh, right, you weren't, you were watching videos or something."<br/>
<br/>
"'At's right. But what's this about hot girls and Braydon?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing to do with you," you snap as you slam your locker door. You glance around the seething hallway, in case Delp's head happens to be bobbing by. "It's with Eva. And you really weren't paying any attention to her?" You spare Tilley a snort. "That video was better-looking than her?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was a new one with Mike and Carlos. Pretty fucking funny." He grins.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah? Were you in it again? Under another mask?" You push into the crowd, straining to see around and over heads and backpacks. From behind, Tilley's reply—which sounds vaguely affirmative in tone—is muffled. "Well, I won't bust in on it next time you make one." His reply is again indistinct, but you don't care. "Right. Later. Call me, text me, whatever."<br/>
<br/>
You have a vague idea that Braydon's locker is in C wing. It seems like that's where you've seen him lingering before, but maybe that's because he has a class there, or maybe it's because you associate the math wing with other things that are as gross and off-putting as Braydon, like calculus. But that's where you start your search. It turns out to be an inspired choice, not because that's where his locker is, but because you pass him on your way.<br/>
<br/>
But he's not alone. Caleb is trailing at his elbow. You turn and trail right alongside them, earning you a quizzical glance from your friend. But no one says anything until you exit the double doors facing the back of the gym and the tennis courts.<br/>
<br/>
"Awright," drawls Braydon once you're all outside. He saunters a dozen yards or so, then drops his pack and crouches next to the wall. "You were saying something about setting me up with some girls?" He grins at Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
You can't imagine a girl like Stephanie—or like Stephanie's friends—hanging out with Braydon Delp. He's skinny and ghostly pale all over, a pallor that his dark jeans and black short-sleeve t-shirt only emphasize. His tousled hair looks like he oiled it with black shoe polish, and his large, dark eyes are set off with mascara. As he zips open his pack, you see that he's painted the nails of his index and pinky fingers black; the former also sports an ugly silver ring of gargantuan size.<br/>
<br/>
"Right," says Caleb. "Almida Jones and Tara Westson."<br/>
<br/>
"And Stephanie Wyatt," you interrupt. Caleb frowns at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" Braydon's eyebrows shoot halfway up his forehead. "I got a couple of those girls in my classes. If they wanna talk to me—"<br/>
<br/>
"Outside class," Caleb says.<br/>
<br/>
"After school," you add, and now Caleb glares at you.<br/>
<br/>
"So?" Braydon says. He's dug out a cigarette—hand-rolled, by the looks of it—and he puts it in his mouth. "They can always set it up with me in class," he mumbles around it, and raises a lighter to its tip.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess they will," says Caleb. "They just don't want to barge up to you."<br/>
<br/>
"Give us a time you can meet them after school," you tell Braydon, "and we'll pass the message along, and then you can just meet them then."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb shoves you.<br/>
<br/>
Smoke curls over Braydon's head, and a scent of cloves hits your nostrils. "Yeah, sure, whenever," he mumbles around the cigarette. "Tomorrow's fine with me. Oh wait, I got a campaign tomorrow. Eh, what the fuck, for Tara and Almida and ... Stephanie?" A sly grin spreads across his face. "Yeah, I'll skip it to meet up with them."<br/>
<br/>
"Time and place?" you ask before Caleb can say anything, and you take out your cell phone. Caleb grabs at it, and you wrestle with him.<br/>
<br/>
"Say four o'clock?" Braydon's voice seems to float from far away. "At Besandwiched. I like to land there anyway, won't be a waste if no one shows up."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll make sure they do," Caleb snarls over his shoulder as he wrestles with you. As he's slightly distracted, you succeed in tearing away from him. "Someone'll be there," you gasp.<br/>
<br/>
Braydon's eyes crinkle up as he draws on the cigarette again. "You guys getting a commission for setting this up? A percentage of—?" He licks a fingertip and strokes an eyebrow. "'Cos it seems like maybe you are."<br/>
<br/>
"Prescott's trying to horn in on something that isn't his business."<br/>
<br/>
"It wasn't <i>your</i> business until <i>you</i> horned in on it!"<br/>
<br/>
"You guys gonna be there?" Braydon asks. "'Cos it sounds like there's gonna be enough girls for all of us."</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111
author_id: seuzz
title: Messages into the Dark
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Maybe I will meet you guys out there," you say before Caleb can volunteer on his own. "Could be fun."<br/>
<br/>
Actually, Besandwiched—an eatery near the university that decks itself out with New Age crap—gives you the creeps, but if there's a chance to be seen by those girls, in a situation where they might feel some obligation to you, it would be worth it.<br/>
<br/>
Then, as one thing will naturally lead to another, thinking about Besandwiched reminds you of that book you lost to those guys. The question comes blurting out of you: "Oh, hey, have you picked any new magic books or anything recently?"<br/>
<br/>
The corner of Braydon's mouth lifts into a half smile. "You mean like David Copperfield?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I mean like your kind of stuff."<br/>
<br/>
Braydon taps the ash off his cigarette. "Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just wondering. Well ... " You hesitate as there washes over you some of that old anxiety about that book you found at Arnholm's. "It's just that I heard George Mendoza talking about how he had this, like, old book of magic. He was talking about selling it, and I just thought, you know—" You shrug.<br/>
<br/>
"Mendoza?" Braydon makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. "Oh, fuck me, if <i>Mendoza</i> starts getting into this kind of—" He shakes his head. "Well, maybe I should talk to him about it, look at it in case it's something worth buying."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he already said he sold it to someone. I just thought maybe you were the one that bought it."<br/>
<br/>
"Nope, not I," says Braydon. "Which is too bad if he did find something good, because it's really hard to find any books that are worth anything." He wipes his nose with his palm. "Did he say anything about it? Like what kind of—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not really." You didn't want Mendoza and his friends being interested in that book, and it was something of a relief when he said he'd sold it. But Braydon is someone else you're not sure you'd like to see it attached to.<br/>
<br/>
"So why are you interested in it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not. It just reminded me is all."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. Well, no, I haven't talked to Mendoza about anything. But I'll keep my ear to the ground."<br/>
<br/>
"No biggie." You fumble at your phone. "I should go anyway."<br/>
<br/>
"Right," says Caleb, who's been watching you intently. "We both should." He hangs an arm around your shoulder. It would feel like a friendly gesture, but you can feel the muscles in his arm tense.<br/>
<br/>
"Tomorrow at four, then," Braydon calls as you turn. "Besandwiched. Be there, or—"<br/>
<br/>
"Be turned into a toad," Caleb mutters under his breath. He keeps his arm on you as he pulls you toward the tennis courts. "The fuck are you up to, Prescott?" he hisses when you're away from Delp.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing."<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing? Crashing in on the thing I set up—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm helping out! I had Stephanie last period, thought I'd help out by talking to her instead of waiting 'til tomorrow like you—"<br/>
<br/>
"Right, because you're all about helping out Eva. What were you talking about with her today at lunch when you ran off with her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Lisa."<br/>
<br/>
He drops his arm like you just said you'd been rolling in shit. "Lisa?" he exclaims. "Well, whatever— And why are you showing up at the place tomorrow?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why are you?" you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't say I was! But you're trying to get in on what I was talking about, when you didn't know why I was!"<br/>
<br/>
"Did you just have a stroke or something? What did you just say?"<br/>
<br/>
"You know what I meant!" He shoves you. "You just stay away from—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll go wherever I fucking please!" You shove him back.<br/>
<br/>
"Then I'll go too!"<br/>
<br/>
"Fine!" You feel your eyes bulging, and your breath comes in short pants. Caleb glowers. Then his eyes turn shifty. "You wanna go out there together? One car?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." You catch your breath. "I'll text Stephanie—"<br/>
<br/>
"You have her number?"<br/>
<br/>
You flare up again. "She gave it to me! Okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Alright," he grumbles. "Make you a deal. You get to talk to Stephanie, I get to talk to whoever else shows up."<br/>
<br/>
"That's not fair!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll be texting the other girls! They won't even know you're—!"<br/>
<br/>
Well, the argument goes on tediously all the way out into the parking lot, and nothing gets settled, except that Caleb won't make any moves on Stephanie. "Like you'll get anyplace with her," he sneers. You yell something back at him—you're not even sure what—but on the drive home the cold reality sinks in:<br/>
<br/>
At Besandwiched tomorrow, you'll only be giving yourself another chance to humiliate yourself in front of a girl that you don't even like all that much, and who scares you half to death anyway.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You add Stephanie's number to your contact list—which is a bit of a thrill—but can't bring yourself to throw out that scrap of paper she gave you. Her handwriting is surprisingly girly. Lots of swoops and curls in it, and you toss it onto the mess atop your desk, where you'll be able to forget about it and then rediscover it (to your delight) later on.<br/>
<br/>
You're not sure why you're making such a big deal out of getting her number. She only pays attention to you when you do something stupid, and she's totally out of your league anyway.<br/>
<br/>
But is that really true? You lean back in your chair—teetering dangerously—and rest your feet on the edge of the desk.<br/>
<br/>
There are lots of different ways that a girl can be out of your league, it now occurs to you. (And what a depressing thought it is to realize that fact, but there it is, and now that you've had it you can't stop yourself from worrying at it, like probing a canker sore with your tongue.) There are the beautiful girls of the school, for instance. You would have put Lisa in that category, and you still do, but since your talk with Eva you feel that old fascination oozing away. The Garners belong on that list, too. There's no way you'd be brave enough to ask Eva or Jessica out. Andrea Varnsworth belongs there too, certainly, for her body if nothing else, though her facial features are a little severe. Olivia Byrne is a serious hottie. Catherine Muskov makes you want to sink to the floor and weep when she goes by.<br/>
<br/>
Then there's the girls that just through their social class are far above you. Kelsey Blankenship and Amanda Ferguson look good (from certain angles, at least) but they're too snooty to even talk to you. Most of the cheerleaders belong on that list, even the ones like Yumi who sometimes smile when they see you coming, because "cheerleaders" are reserved for guys with serious weight at the school. At the other end of the scale, a girl like Jelena Petrovic, who thrashes guitars and sings in scary party places like The Warehouse, wouldn't look twice at you because you're just not dangerous enough.<br/>
<br/>
And where does a girl like Stephanie Wyatt sit? Well, she sits with the other girls who are seriously into sports, at least. Almida Jones, who captains the girls' basketball team. Anita Nuevo, who captains the soccer team. Other players on the squads, like Barbara Powell and Bonny Trask and Dominique Hughes and Kristy Suffolk and Jamie Bornholm. (Well, maybe not Jamie so much.) Girls who can outclass any except the most egotistical jocks in confidence. Girls who don't take any shit and aren't interested in any shit that gets flung their way. Girls who go at school like it's a job, and maybe go at parties the same way.<br/>
<br/>
<i>What must it take to get and hold Stephanie's attention, let alone her affection?</i> you wonder with a spasm of irritation. You try to picture her being affectionate with a guy—laughing at his jokes and cuddling up close to him and making cute little gurgling sounds. <i>Impossible.</i> You try to picture her looking at a guy and being impressed with him. <i>That's also impossible.</i><br/>
<br/>
No wonder Caleb says she must be a dyke.<br/>
<br/>
And that's the girl whose number you're keeping. Your eye falls on that scrap of paper. Almost you pick it up to throw away.<br/>
<br/>
But you don't.<br/>
<br/>
With a quivering sigh you text her a message: <i>Braydon will be at Besandwiched tomorrow at 4 if you want to talk,</i> you type, taking care to spell everything out correctly and grammatically. For a solid minute you wait for a reply. When nothing comes back right away, you kill a few more minutes by going online.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Keith's video.</i> You search for the most recent upload from Carlos and Mike, to see what he found so fascinating.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm Mike," says Carlos with a grin. "No, I'm Mike," says Mike. He slaps at the other. "That's right, I'm Carlos," Carlos gasps and laughs. "Stop it!" Mike hisses. "Anyway, today me and Mike are gonna be—" "Dude you just said I'm Mike!" Carlos covers his face and slips out of the chair, laughing. Mike jumps over into the vacated chair. "Yeah, this is my chair, I should be—!" "Get out of there!" Carlos yells, and he reaches up from out of frame to pull at his friend. "That's mine!" "Dude, it's—!"<br/>
<br/>
And they're like that all through their discussion of another old '80s movie, <i>Like Father, Like Son.</i><br/>
<br/>
Except you don't finish watching it. Your phone dings, and it's a reply from Stephanie: <i>K thx.</i><br/>
<br/>
You take a walk afterward, just to keep from curling up in a fetal position with embarrassment.</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111
author_id: seuzz
title: Appointments Broken and Accepted
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You wake the next morning to a text from Keith: a street address. No explanation, and you don't reply since you're trying to get breakfast and books together in a last-minute rush because you overslept. But Tilley himself explains things when he hops up next to you in the student parking lot. "So, we'll see you around five?"<br/>
<br/>
"See me for what?" you ask. "Does it have to do with that stupid text you sent me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, for the video shoot." He blinks. "That's Carlos's address. Well, it's the address for—"<br/>
<br/>
"What are you talking about? When did we talk about a video shoot?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yesterday."<br/>
<br/>
"No we didn't!"<br/>
<br/>
"I was right there with you! I remember!" He makes a queer, snuffling noise in nose, like he's trying to hold in a sneeze and it came out like a fart.<br/>
<br/>
"When? Anyway, I got plans for after school today."<br/>
<br/>
He stops cold, and gets a wounded-puppy kind of look. <br/>
<br/>
"At your locker yesterday," he says. "Right after classes. I stopped by and we talked about—mI don't remember, but I said, 'We're shooting another movie review tomorrow, you should come by,' and you said, 'I'll see you tomorrow'."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't hear any of that, man, and I wouldn't have—mLook, isn't this thing with Mike and Carlos <i>your</i> thing?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's <i>their</i> thing. With Fairfax and Shank."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, God. Josiah Shank?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, he does the editing and visual effects."<br/>
<br/>
"Look, how long have you—?" Someone blasts a car horn, and you jump to the side, pulling Keith with you. "How did you start hanging out with these guys?"<br/>
<br/>
"End of last year, more over the summer." Keith looks you up and down reproachfully. "When you and Johansson are off butt-banging each other, which is all the time these days, it seems like, I call them up—"<br/>
<br/>
You push him in the shoulder. "Christ, stop with the— Does it really seem like me and Caleb are doing stuff without you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Seems like it," he mumbles.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm sorry it seems that way. But I don't want to take <i>these</i> guys away from you, so maybe I should—"<br/>
<br/>
"You're not taking <i>anyone</i> away from me, Prescott," Keith says, and he rolls his eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Point is, you're doing this thing with them and you're having fun, and I'm not much interested in doing YouTube stuff."<br/>
<br/>
Keith sighs and slumps and rolls his eyes. "So what've you and Johansson got planned for today that's so much cooler than our dorky movie reviews?"<br/>
<br/>
"We're going to Besandwiched—"<br/>
<br/>
"Thphbt!" says Keith. Then he suddenly looks thoughtful.<br/>
<br/>
"—because Braydon Delp asked us along to meet with him and—" <br/>
<br/>
Suddenly you're shy about telling Keith that it'll be a bunch of girls there. He'll definitely feel left out.<br/>
<br/>
"—uh, a couple of basketball players."<br/>
<br/>
He jumps back a step. "Javits?" he asks sharply.<br/>
<br/>
"No! God, no! <i>Fuck,</i> no! Girls' basketball squad. Almida Jones and Kristy Suffolk and— And a couple of others like that."<br/>
<br/>
Keith's eyes boggle. "The fuck?"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I gotta get to class. But we have to show up at Besandwiched to be polite is all, Caleb and me, so it's a commitment. I'd'a told you about it yesterday but I was distracted." You turn toward the school, then stop when Keith doesn't follow. "What's wrong?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, nothing," he says. "Just that I said 'Javits' out loud, and that's, like, invoking Satan, so I think I'll take the long way around."<br/>
<br/>
"Suit yourself," you shrug, and jog off toward the gym.<br/>
<br/>
And at the last minute—when you see the gym doors burst open and see Javits himself, along with Gordon Black, Steve Patterson, and a whole crew of brutish, hulking louts come swaggering out—you dive backward out the breezeway. A couple of girls pass and give you a queer look, but you remain hidden around the corner until the basketball squad disappears into the double-doors leading into the school proper. <br/>
<br/>
You're halfway down the breezeway when a pair of figures dart across your path, rip open the gym doors, and jump inside.<br/>
<br/>
Carson Ioeger and James Lamont. Clearly up to no good. James was clutching a package to his chest.<br/>
<br/>
Well, it's none of your business, and God willing it never will be.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Braydon is talking to Kristy Suffolk and Barbara Powell when you walk into fourth-period English. He gives you a quick nod, and the two girls glance briefly back at you, but there's no interest in their eyes.<br/>
<br/>
But Mike—who's sitting a row over—shoots his hand up and calls to you. "Will! Will!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Urgh.</i> Guess you'll just have to explain to him what you explained to Keith. You shuffle over toward him.<br/>
<br/>
Michael Hollister's hair has more gold and less red in it than shows up on camera, but his eyebrows are almost white against his ruddy complexion. He looks like a tomato about to burst, the way he's grinning at you. "Hey, Michael," you say. "Uh, I ran into Keith in the parking lot, and he—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I talked to him just before class," he says. "What's the deal? How come you're welshing?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not welshing! I didn't even hear him yesterday when he—"<br/>
<br/>
"You said you'd do it, said you'd see us today."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe I did say that, but it's not because I heard what he said. We were in the hallways and it was loud. I didn't understand him."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh." Mike blinks.<br/>
<br/>
And when Michael Hollister blinks, it's with practically his whole face. Everything from his scalp to his chin kind of folds inward.<br/>
<br/>
But he doesn't sound broken up, because he grins again. "But can you make it after class? At lunch?"<br/>
<br/>
"For what?"<br/>
<br/>
"You can still be in our next video. We got a bit planned, we're gonna shoot it today in one of the old portables. Won't take you more than a minute, and we can eat lunch there."<br/>
<br/>
You're about to say "No," but decide not to be so hasty. "Is Keith going to be there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, sure." He blinks again, and this time—as if a shutter had snapped shut and opened again on a new scene—a frown has replaced the smile. "You don't have a problem with Keith, do you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! That's why I wanna know if he'll be there. 'Cos—" You shrug. "I feel like I should do something with him," you say without enthusiasm. "On account of—"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, awesome." His grin returns. "Right after class. I'll have to meet you there because—" He glances behind you, and you move out the way as Carlos Montoya squeezes past. The latter gives you a querying look. "Will's gonna meet us at the portable for that thing at lunch," Mike tells him.<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" Carlos does a double-take. "Cool."<br/>
<br/>
"That's what I said." Mike turns back to you. "Portable G, okay? We already made sure the door's open, so just go in." He waggles an eyebrow. "You'll wanna keep out of sight there, on account of some of the douchebags that hang out there then, you know?"<br/>
<br/>
And that almost causes you to back out. But a promise is a promise, so you nod and retreat.<br/>
<br/>
As you back up, you almost step on Josiah Shank. He's a small kid, rabbity, with huge, staring eyes behind his glasses and an unnervingly large smile. Your sophomore year he once cornered you in the library, and breathlessly recounted the entire plot to an anime series, with particular attention to the breast sizes of the various girls. Since then you've tried to keep out of any groups that include him.<br/>
<br/>
"What's going on over there?" Caleb asks when you drop into your seat next to him.<br/>
<br/>
"I think you're having lunch with Carson and them," you reply. "I get to hang out with <i>them</i> at the portables for lunch."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, God," says Caleb. "Shank? <i>Shank?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"I owe it to Keith," you reply, and don't explain further.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You haven't been out to the portables since the day of your humiliation at the hands of Call, Mendoza, Spencer, Thomason, et al., and approach them in a sidelong manner, making a wide curve away from them while hugging the side of the music wing. There's a crowd on this side, but it looks mostly like juniors and sophomores.<br/>
<br/>
Trouble is, it looks the kind of juniors and sophomores who grow up to be seniors like Call, Mendoza, Spencer, Thomason, et al.<br/>
<br/>
So you keep your distance and keep your head down as you approach the portables, keeping that gang to your right. You're less than a dozen yards off from them when one makes a raucous shout. Your heart thuds, but the shout isn't repeated, so it must not have had anything to do with you. You manage to keep from sprinting the last few yards around a corner and out of sight, though your knees are trembling.<br/>
<br/>
But then you're past, and cut off entirely from view of the school and anyone else.<br/>
<br/>
Which could be bad if there's anyone lurking back here.<br/>
<br/>
Cautiously you approach the other end of the portable you're skirting, and peer around it. No one. You cross the space to the next portable, and again cautiously approach the far corner.<br/>
<br/>
Again, no one.<br/>
<br/>
You let out a sigh of relief.<br/>
<br/>
Now, if you remember correctly, Portable G will be the last one at the farthest corner, and indeed that portable has a faded black "G" above its door. You mount the two weathered wooden steps to the door, and fumble at the knob.<br/>
<br/>
It opens. You look inside. It's dark and dusty, for all the window blinds are down.<br/>
<br/>
You consider waiting outside for Mike and them to show up, then decide that it would be safer to wait inside. You step into the portable, and push the door shut behind you.<br/>
<br/>
You don't hear it latch.<br/>
<br/>
For a fatal few seconds you dumbly wonder at not hearing a click. Then the door explodes behind you, and someone catches you in a powerful embrace. There's a quick "Ha!" and the world goes dark.</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111
author_id: seuzz
title: Knuckleheads
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It's like coming up from deep water, but you didn't know you were in deep water until you breach the surface.<br/>
<br/>
But there it is: Suddenly you're bolting upright, flailing your arms and puffing hard. Something heavy, with claws, is dragging at your brain. The sensation dissolves into something like an acrid smoke as you blink and blow.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, Will, you alright?" an anxious voice says. You rub your eyes and stare into the white face that is pressed close to yours. It takes you a moment to connect a name to it.<br/>
<br/>
"Mike? Uh—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't move. Jesus, you scared us. Lay back down." You briefly resist the hand that pushes at your shoulder, then fall back onto your elbows. Dust shoots up your nose, and you stifle a hard sneeze.<br/>
<br/>
Now that you're awake again—but were you asleep? unconscious?—you see that you're laid out on the grimy floor of a deserted portable. Portable G, that's right. You were creeping into it, then something slammed into you and ... And what? You have the vague impression of an immense weight falling onto you, but it's only a vague, hazy impression, not a memory, and you've no idea what it's an impression of.<br/>
<br/>
"Can you feel this? Does this feel bad?" Mike is asking, and you flinch as he presses at your legs in various spots. "That hurts?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, you're touching me is all," you retort. "Quit it. What are you doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Checking you for— We found you sprawled out here like you hit your head or something."<br/>
<br/>
<i>We?</i> Oh yeah, Mike isn't alone, and as you twist around you find Carlos—also looking very anxious—and Josiah huddling around you. Carlos speaks: "We checked your head to see if you got hit, but we couldn't see anything."<br/>
<br/>
"You should go see the nurse," Mike says. "You were out for a couple of minutes. If you got a concussion—"<br/>
<br/>
"Or you broke some bones," says Carlos. "What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," you mumble. "I think someone mugged me."<br/>
<br/>
The three boys exchange worried looks. Then they look up as a fourth figure steps into the doorway.<br/>
<br/>
It's Philip Fairfax, a guy you know only by reputation. A science brainiac, but not an AP dick. His crimson hair is cut short and he wears black frame glasses like a hipster, but he has no affectations—no tats or facial hair or anything like that. His pale face always seems drawn up in an expression of studious concentration, and his wardrobe—insofar as you've noticed he has one—seems to consist solely of white t-shirts and tan khaki slacks.<br/>
<br/>
He looks at you, and looks at his friends. "Did you wake him up? You're not supposed to move him."<br/>
<br/>
"No, he just suddenly popped up," says Carlos. "If he broke anything—" He squints back at you. "The way he tried jumping at the ceiling, I think he's probably okay. So where'd those guys go?"<br/>
<br/>
"B wing," says Fairfax. "They weren't running or anything, and if Will's okay, I don't think the administration can do anything about them."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you talking about?" you ask, and despite the cautions about broken bones, you sit up. Once the blood has cleared your head, you feel completely normal, only a little stiff. Mostly you're aggravated by all the fuss that's being made.<br/>
<br/>
"Lester Pozniak and Joshua Call," says Mike. "We saw them coming back from the portables when we were heading this way. We dodged them, took the long way around, then found you."<br/>
<br/>
"I took off after them, to see where they went," Fairfax says. "In case they—" He bites his lip. "I mean, it kind of looked like they ... knocked you out?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't remember," you mumble. "I think someone grabbed me when I came in, and then—" You rub a temple. "I think something hit me in the head? But I'm not sure?"<br/>
<br/>
"Could be the air in here," Carlos says. "It's pretty rank. Maybe it was carbon monoxide?"<br/>
<br/>
"Psht," says Fairfax. "But you should go to the nurse's office, Will. We'll do this video thing some other time. Someplace else." He and the others watch you carefully as you get to your feet.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You feel fine once you're under your own power again, but you do go the nurse's office, where Nurse Shaffer harrumphs over you and declares you perfectly fit. As for that fainting spell: "Don't go into those portables," she says. "They're filthy and they're off-limits."<br/>
<br/>
"You think that was it? Bad air?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," she says, but you're certain she says it so you'll stay out of the portables, not because that's the reason you fainted. "If you feel faint again, come back to see me." She grabs your wrist as you get to your feet, and feels at your pulse. "I wonder if you're not borderline anemic."<br/>
<br/>
Later, after school, Caleb has something to say about it: "Serves you right for leaving me to have lunch with Ioeger and Lamont," he says as you walk side-by-side out to your cars. "I almost let them talk me into using my garage for their evil experiments."<br/>
<br/>
"What experiments?"<br/>
<br/>
"Beats me. But they were asking if they could use my garage for some stuff, but then Jenny comes along and asks them if there was much fire damage at their place. Lamont's, I think. Turns out they almost burned their garage down, and now neither of them have a place to work because their parents put a stop to whatever they're doing."<br/>
<br/>
"They got something special planned for Gordon and them, that must be what's going on." You tell Caleb about seeing them scamper into the gym earlier. "Maybe we should change schools. It's gotta be safer at Eastman than here."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div> <br/>
To save time on getting to Besandwiched, Caleb drives you both out there. There's a parking space right in front, and since Caleb drove, you pay for the meter.<br/>
<br/>
You never much liked Besandwiched, and you don't know how they keep in business. The walls are painted black or dark purple or navy blue, with white and yellow symbols all over them. The absolute creepiest is a gigantic white moon-face that takes up most of one wall. It's like seeing a demonic version of Thomas the Tank Engine barreling out of a dark tunnel at you, and you can't bear to sit facing it, or with your back toward it, or with it looming in the corner of your eye. <br/>
<br/>
But you don't have much choice on where to sit, for Braydon has beaten you to the restaurant and is already looking up at you with droopy, amused eyes from a booth. Caleb slides into the seat opposite him. You hesitate, then slide in next to Caleb. But he shoves you back. "Other side," he snarls.<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I want someone who's not <i>you</i> sitting next to me, dumbass," he says. "And Braydon doesn't need one of those girls sitting next to him anyway. How's Gillian?" he pointedly asks the third of your company.<br/>
<br/>
"She's fine," Braydon says. He seems very serene. "She might join us later, if she can get away. I don't know if there's going to room for you guys here, what with all the—"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb sputters. "Then why did you ask us to come along?"<br/>
<br/>
Braydon smiles. "I didn't know it was going to turn into a party."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb mutters under his breath as he struggles to his feet. "Come on, Will. We'll sit over there."<br/>
<br/>
Truth to tell, you're not terribly disappointed to have to sit at another table. You don't have any business with Braydon or the girls, and in eighth period you noticed that Stephanie didn't even glance in your direction. But Caleb mutters to himself and plays with the sugar packets after you're both slumped in the booth directly across the aisle from Braydon. "Oh, come on," you mutter. " What where you gonna say to them when they showed up and we were sitting there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Great of you to show up?" Caleb retorts. "Here, come sit by me?"<br/>
<br/>
"And get yourself punched. Actually, that'd be awesome," you continue when he glowers at you. "Go on, go sit over there."<br/>
<br/>
"You heard what Braydon said, there's not enough room."<br/>
<br/>
"Coward. Here, in fact, I'll give you—" You dig inside your pockets and pull out a fistful of garbage. "Two dollars and seventeen cents. <i>And</i> this old mint if you go sit over there with them when they show up."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb's lips whiten. Then, when you smile at him, he grabs it off the table—all but the mint, which he flicks back at you—and stomps over to sprawl across from Braydon, who stares at him with a slack jaw. Caleb says something you can't make out, and Braydon glances at you. "He'll come back over if there's room," Caleb says.<br/>
<br/>
You don't have long to wait. The front door opens and a clutch of high school girls—the sight of them leaves you momentarily dizzy, so you don't count their heads—come in. Mostly you're aware of them as a bunch of tanned limbs in shorts and t-shirts, and flashing teeth, and glinting hair.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart starts beating hard as they come over to stand at Braydon's table. There's an awkward moment, then they start sliding into the booth. Two slip in next to Braydon, and two more next to Caleb. That leaves one girl without a seat, and after kneeing one of her friends in the side of hip without success, she raps the tabletop with her knuckles.<br/>
<br/>
It's Stephanie.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey." It's your voice, though you're not conscious of deciding to call to her. It's more like someone put their hand up your esophagus and worked your throat and mouth for you, like a muppet. "You can sit with me."<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie stares back at you. Her lip is set in that characteristic quarter-snarl that shows the tips of her two front teeth, but her eyes are blank. Then she sighs and throws herself into the booth opposite you. She takes out her cell phone even as she casts a furious glance at the other booth, where her friends are already leaning in toward Braydon.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111
author_id: seuzz
title: An Unexpected Date
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You wipe your palms on your knees—a nervous, pathetic tic, you realize before you catch yourself. <br/>
<br/>
Not that Stephanie is paying any attention. She's thumbing away at her phone.<br/>
<br/>
You glance back at the other table, where Braydon and Caleb are squeezed in by four girls: Anita Nuevo and Bonny Trask on Braydon's side, and Kristy Suffolk and Almida Jones on Caleb's.<br/>
<br/>
Anita and Bonny are soccer players. Anita is very dark of hair and complexion, with the aquiline features of an Hispanic-Indian mix. You wouldn't call her husky—certainly not to her face—but she exudes a physical power, and her expression when resting is a lot closer to a scowl than it is to a smile. Though seated next to Braydon, she is staring straight ahead, over the heads of her friends, at a distant wall.<br/>
<br/>
Bonny Trask is almost her opposite. Though her hair too trails past her shoulder blades, it is a light chestnut color, and Bonny looks built more for speed than power. She has a willowy quality and her complexion is very fair. When she smiles, which is often, her entire face lights up. And while Anita is hunched in her seat like a stone on a log, Bonny is squirming and twisting around and checking out the restaurant.<br/>
<br/>
But Almida and Kristy are concentrated on Braydon. Almida is African-American, and her skin is very dark and her hair pulled into a top-knot that geysers up like a splashy fountain. Her brow and her lower lip are very heavy. Kristy—a blonde with a shock of coarse hair pulled back in a loose ponytail—is also wearing a very serious expression, though with her big eyes she doesn't look quite so dour as her friend.<br/>
<br/>
And Stephanie? Today she's wearing a teal polo shirt, and her arms look very dark in the diffuse light of the restaurant. Her short, chestnut curls seem to spark with static electricity, and her lip twitches in and out of a cold sneer as she taps at her cell phone. It would obviously be a mistake to try talking to her.<br/>
<br/>
But you can't stop yourself from babbling at her.<br/>
<br/>
"So, I'm sorry there's no room for you over there," you say, and swallow to get the squawk out of your voice. "I dunno why Johansson thinks he has to sit over there with them," you add as Stephanie ignores you.<br/>
<br/>
"Doesn't matter," she snaps without looking up from her phone. She sucks on a tooth. "You're friends with Delp, huh?" she says.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Whoa!</i> At least she added something of her own to the conversation.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, I know him, hang out some with him. When I heard you guys—"<br/>
<br/>
"Coffee," Stephanie says. You do a double-take at the waitress who has apparated at your table. "Separate tickets," Stephanie adds, then snorts softly down at her phone.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh—" You gawp at the waitress, for you gave up all your cash to Caleb. "Nothing for me." You shoot a glance back at Stephanie, but she's absorbed in texting. "I just came along to keep a seat warm, I guess."<br/>
<br/>
The waitress leaves, and you hold your tongue until Stephanie drops her phone with a clatter and raises her face to sigh at the ceiling. <br/>
<br/>
"I never pictured you guys—" you start to say, but Stephanie fixes her chilly, gem-like eyes on you, and your throat briefly closes. "Being into Braydon's kind of stuff."<br/>
<br/>
She grunts and looks back up at the ceiling. "Research," she says. "Group project. Got some questions he can maybe help us with."<br/>
<br/>
"Really? For what class?"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you always this nosy with everyone,?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself blushing all over, and your embarrassment is so deep it actually flares into anger. "I'm just trying to make conversation."<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie lowers her chin. Her glance is still chilly, but there's something like surprise in it now. "Fine, what do you want to talk about? Seen any movies lately?" She glances around like she's already bored with you.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, no, not really." But mention of movies has reminded you of Carlos and Mike. "Did you know there's a couple of guys in our class who have their own YouTube channel?"<br/>
<br/>
"Anyone can make their own channel," she sighs.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I mean this one is— They do movie reviews, talk about old movies, stuff like that. It's Carlos Montoya and Michael Hollister."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah," she says. "I know that channel, I know them."<br/>
<br/>
"Really?"<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a look. "I pay attention," she says. "I know what's going on in school. I know those guys."<br/>
<br/>
You blush again. "Well, did you see the one, like, a couple of weeks ago? They were reviewing <i>The Fly?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I don't check it out that often."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, a friend of mine had a cameo in it. I think I'm going to do a cameo in their next one. Yeah, they asked me to be in it, we were gonna film it today out in one of the portables, but, uh, something happened."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah? What?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Are you always this nosy, Stephanie?</i> you almost blurt back. "I had, um, kind of an accident." You avoid looking her in the face.<br/>
<br/>
"What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
You squirm. "I'll tell you about it if you tell me about this project you got going with Braydon."<br/>
<br/>
She looks away. "I'm not that interested, Will."<br/>
<br/>
Again, it's like a rabbit punch to the jaw. Either you take it and wilt, or you stand up to her.<br/>
<br/>
"Why do you treat me like this, Stephanie?" says someone speaking from deep inside you. You continue in the same too-loud voice even as she looks back at you in surprise. "Like I'm gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe? Am I really just a bug to you?" Your voice rises in volume and pitch, and you catch Kristy looking over at you now, too. "Do I annoy you? Do I—?" You break off as the waitress drops off a cup of coffee and a ticket at the table. <br/>
<br/>
Stephanie turns sideways in the booth. "You got my attention now," she says while gazing off at Braydon's table.<br/>
<br/>
You scowl. "I'm not a performing monkey!"<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie turns to give you a long, slow look. A grin creeps onto her face, and a glint comes into her eyes. It's almost scarier than when she scowls at you. "You wanna pretend we're on a date?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
<i>"What?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"You heard me."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't wanna go on a date with you! Or pretend like—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Why not? Am I not good enough for you?" Her grin sharpens.<br/>
<br/>
Suddenly you find yourself wishing you were with Rennerhoff and them instead of with her.<br/>
<br/>
"I just wanna <i>talk,</i> Stephanie, like we're—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not asking you to make out with me, Prescott," she retorts, and shoots an annoyed glance at the other table when one of the other girls titters. "What do <i>you</i> do on a first date?" she asks you. "Don't <i>you</i> talk?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well ... Yeah!" Actually, you don't date.<br/>
<br/>
"So pretend we're on a date. And talk to me." Stephanie lifts her chin in a challenge.<br/>
<br/>
A tingle runs all over you, starting at the base of your spine and traveling up your back to the top of your skull, and out and down to your fingertips and toes. <i>A date?</i> You should treat this like <i>a date?</i> You never acted like you were on a date when you were hanging out with <i>Lisa,</i> even when she was your—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Shit.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Is that what Lisa meant when she said you'd never even been dating? Did she mean that you never even treated her like you were dating? And maybe if you <i>had</i> treated her more like someone you were dating—That if you'd acted with her like you were on a date, instead of just hanging out and being stupid with her—?<br/>
<br/>
Oh, but what should you have done with her? What do you <i>do</i> when you're on a date and are trying to impress—?<br/>
<br/>
You glare back at Stephanie. She lifts her eyebrows fractionally.<br/>
<br/>
"I've never been on a— On a <i>real</i> date before," you mumble.<br/>
<br/>
"No shit?" says Stephanie. Whatever is the opposite of surprised, that's the way she sounds. "Not sure that's something you should confess at the start of a—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, how do guys act when they're on dates with <i>you?</i>" you demand. "I mean, you do go on dates, don't you?" <br/>
<br/>
"Guy I go out with act like themselves," Stephanie says. "Only better."<br/>
<br/>
A cold hand grips your gullet. <i>So how does Will Prescott act, and how does he act when he's being better than himself?</i><br/>
<br/>
No answer comes.<br/>
<br/>
You hang your head.<br/>
<br/>
"You got nothing for me?" Stephanie says, and there might be the tiniest note of sympathy in her voice. "That's too bad. Because until you gave up, I had nothing better to do today but hang out with you." She glances back at the other table. "Apparently nothing better to do," she snorts softly.<br/>
<br/>
She scoots from the booth and feels through the pockets of her shorts. "Have something on me," she says as she drops a crumpled bill on the table. Then she raps her knuckles on the other table and mutters at her friends. There are some nods and smiles, and she high-fives Kristy before striding off. You half expect her to execute a layup at the front door.<br/>
<br/>
She left a ten-dollar bill. After getting change from the waitress, you put a five in your pocket and leave the rest on the table. You finish Stephanie's coffee, and ponder the uselessness of your existence.</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Most Boringest Guy in Town
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You don't see any point in sticking around the restaurant, and not long after Stephanie has gone you bolt as well. You rode with Caleb, but the five dollars Stephanie left will pay for a cab back to the high school, so you tell Caleb that's what you're doing and leave him with a baffled look.<br/>
<br/>
At home you try to leave your thoughts and self-doubts behind by throwing yourself into dinnertime prep chores. You're sufficiently distracted to get the place settings wrong, though, and you catch your dad frowning at you a couple of times over the meal. You realize you're hunching over and gobbling the food, so you sit up and slow down and make a feeble stab at conversation. Then you help clean up.<br/>
<br/>
Your behavior is odd enough that your mom asks if anything is the matter. "No, just thinking about school stuff," you reply.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not a math problem or an English paper. I can tell that much," she replies, and leans against the countertop with her hand on her hip. She cocks an eyebrow.<br/>
<br/>
"Me and Caleb—"<br/>
<br/>
"Caleb and I," she corrects you.<br/>
<br/>
You grimace. "Caleb and I went to a place over by the university. You know, for coffee. We, uh, met up with some other people from school. One of the girls who was there—" <br/>
<br/>
You really wish now you hadn't started talking. Is there anything more embarrassing or pathetic than telling your mom about your lack of a skill set with girls? "Well, she told me I wasn't very interesting."<br/>
<br/>
Your mom's face falls and her voice cracks. "Oh, honey." You cringe.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, she's a basketball player, one of the girl jocks, friends with all the other girl jocks, so she's got pretty high standards for what counts as 'interesting', I guess, like unless you've been to the state championships, you're not interesting." You shift from one foot to the other and wish your phone would beep or ding or catch fire in your pocket.<br/>
<br/>
"Girls who say things like that have really narrow interests themselves," says your mom. "I know that doesn't make it better. And she actually blurted that out?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. No, Stephanie didn't blurt it out. You dragged it out of her. And she didn't say you weren't interesting, she just got up and left after giving you every chance to prove that you were.<br/>
<br/>
But you're not about to admit any of that to your mom.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you can't please everyone," she says. "There's always going to be someone, some people, who just don't get you. It was just your bad luck to run into one of them when she felt like saying it out loud."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I know," you reply. Actually, you're not paying much if any heed to her. You just want to shut down the conversation, so you'll agree to anything she says. "I'm trying to tell myself that, but I guess it takes awhile to sink in."<br/>
<br/>
She takes a few steps closer to you. You steel yourself.<br/>
<br/>
She stops before she reaches you, though. "Can I give you a hug? It would make <i>me</i> feel better."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," you murmur, and smile feebly. She puts her arms around you and pulls you close. More for form's sake, you hug her back. She squeezes you once, twice, then lets you go. "You know, <i>I'll</i> always think you're interesting. I just try not to show it because I know it embarrasses you."<br/>
<br/>
"Aw, jeez." You hide your face so you can roll your eyes. She laughs and slaps your skinny butt as you retreat.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>You're not very interesting.</i> Actually, Stephanie didn't say anything like that. It's only that she acted that way. She's always acted that way with you.<br/>
<br/>
But it was still the subtext—you realize when you're in your bedroom, propped up on your bed, holding your cell phone between your knees and staring at it with unseeing eyes—when she challenged you to treat her like you were on a date with her.<br/>
<br/>
Because that's what you do on a date, isn't it? First comes when you pretend to be interested in the girl, and she pretends to be interested in you, and then comes the touching and petting and kissing and undressing and all the other things that you fantasize about, except you'll never fantasize about them again because Stephanie Wyatt has so crushed your ego that now even <i>you</i> can't imagine that any girl could possibly look at you a second time <i>ever again.</i><br/>
<br/>
You dig the heel of your hand into an eye socket.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, first on a date comes the pretending to be interested. It's easy enough to pretend to be interested in a girl. You just pretend that's she's talking about her boobs—which <i>would</i> be fascinating—when she's actually talking about her bracelet collection or pesto or what she learned from caring for her grandmother while she lay dying in a nursing home. Right?<br/>
<br/>
But as for making her interested in you? Maybe if you're a star athlete (like Seth Javits) or an AP-fuck bound for Harvard (like Geoff Mansfield) or a sensitive poet with long eyelashes (like Tim Gerard) then you can be fascinating without effort. But you? What have <i>you</i> got?<br/>
<br/>
Hell, what do any of your friends have?<br/>
<br/>
A hard resolve—a sensation of iron—starts entering your soul. <i>Maybe I can make myself interesting.</i><br/>
<br/>
Because maybe the problem is that you've done nothing that would make you interesting. What hobbies or talents do you have? You can't sing, you don't play an instrument. Every rhyme you ever tried constructing uses either "roses" or "Nantucket" in the first line. A six-year-old would be ashamed of your finger-painting skills. You don't play sports, you don't have a part-time job, you shudder at the idea of charity work, and you study only to get good grades. Politics bores you. For awhile last year you hung out on some gamers' message boards and got into arguments on Twitter about music and movies, but you gave up on those because you felt stupider for engaging the nitwits instead of ignoring them. So these days you only use the internet for school research, to find porn, and to rewatch action-snippets from recent blockbusters.<br/>
<br/>
Basically, it seems like your life consists of playing video games, doing homework, watching online crap, and tramping around town with Caleb and Keith while arguing over trivial shit.<br/>
<br/>
So what would you <i>like</i> to be doing?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
And fifteen minutes later, after nothing comes, it's a relief when Caleb texts: <i>Wtf hapened u run off?<br/>
<br/>
Mad at stephnie whats deal w braydon?<br/>
<br/>
Nada whats deal w stephanie?</i><br/>
<br/>
You sigh, and call Caleb directly. He picks up instantly. It's like getting electronic feedback: You both say at the same time, "What's the deal—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't tell me it's nothing with Braydon," you talk over Caleb until he shuts up. "You were there with them in the middle of it. What did they want?"<br/>
<br/>
"They just wanted to ask questions about, like, spells and how they work. Like, what does hair do if you include it in something, and does it matter if you burn it. They also had some symbols and stuff they'd copied down and wanted to know what they meant."<br/>
<br/>
"So what did he tell them? Did they say what they wanted to know it for?"<br/>
<br/>
"He just made up bullshit, I could tell, and I think they could tell too. He asked them what it was for, said he had to know if he was going to help them, but they just clammed up." He sighs impatiently. "They weren't there that long, they took off a little after you did. But what happened with you and Stephanie?" His tone turns mischievous. "Did you try flirting with her, and she shut you down?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, she tried flirting with me," you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, you're so full of shit, man!"<br/>
<br/>
"No, it's true! And I couldn't flirt back, so she left."<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit! In your dreams! I mean, I can totally believe you couldn't flirt back, but the idea that Stephanie—<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up! It was <i>not</i> fun! Okay? Like, that was the reason she tried flirting with me," you grumble, "because she knew I'd freak out. It was a form of bullying.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb howls. "So what did she do? Footsie under the table? Did she undress you with her eyes? Did she get all cute and—"<br/>
<br/>
"No!" You come real close to hurling the phone against the wall. "She went at me like my head was a soccer ball and she was trying to score the winning goal. She made it a challenge." You hide your burning face under your hand. "She was all, like, 'Make me interested in you, Prescott. Do something that keeps me from walking out.'"<br/>
<br/>
"Bwa-ha! That's awesome! But that's not flirting, you know. That's just, uh ... "<br/>
<br/>
"What would you call it if not flirting?"<br/>
<br/>
"Total and perfect humiliation?"<br/>
<br/>
"Exactly!" You hunch over to bury your face in your knees. "So that's how come I left."<br/>
<br/>
"Went home to sulk, huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you! Fuck! You!" Your fingers tremble so hard you hit almost every spot on the screen except where you need to turn off the phone.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Over the next thirty minutes Caleb sends you texts telling you he's sorry, and you finally shut him down by telling him you're not mad, at least not at him.<br/>
<br/>
You've gotten yourself a headache, but you've also got a plan. Maybe.<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie said she and her friends were doing a project, and it doesn't sound like it's for school. So maybe that's what you need if you're going to become "interesting." If you can't come up with a hobby, maybe you can join someone else in theirs.<br/>
<br/>
Unfortunately, except for Stephanie's friends—which isn't a place to go looking—you can only think of two groups that have something like a hobby.<br/>
<br/>
The first is Mike and Carlos and the gang making the YouTube videos. They said they wanted your help on one, and you could probably parlay one cameo into joining their group, the way Keith seems to have done.<br/>
<br/>
The other is Carson and James. You don't know what they're doing, but maybe they'd let you help.</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113
author_id: seuzz
title: Braydon Builds a Time Machine (Of Sorts)
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You went to bed full of resolve. You wake the next morning feeling listless and ragged. With slumped shoulders you pack your things for school. With head drooping you eat your breakfast. With ass dragging you drive to school and trudge through the parking lot.<br/>
<br/>
Things will never change. Nothing exciting ever happens to you, and you're too much of a slug to go out and do anything.<br/>
<br/>
So you're silent and mumbly in your morning classes, and with your friends at lunch. You bomb a minor Calculus test in sixth period, which only deepens your gloom. Your feet feel weighted with lead as you shuffle to Astronomy. <br/>
<br/>
That used to be your favorite class—insofar as you had any classes you liked—because the material was moderately interesting, wasn't very challenging, and it was the last class of the day. Now you can only think about the fact that Stephanie will be sitting in the far corner, probably staring at the back of your neck and silently despising you.<br/>
<br/>
No, worse: She's probably <i>not even</i> thinking about you.<br/>
<br/>
It's funny—you never paid any attention to her before. Insofar as you ever noticed her in that classroom, her presence was just a reminder that she'd <i>always</i> been aggressively uninterested in you.<br/>
<br/>
Which had never meant anything before. The vast majority of the kids at Westside are uninterested in you, just as you're uninterested in them.<br/>
<br/>
But after yesterday's pathetic showing at Besandwiched, she's got even better reasons to be uninterested in you, and that needles you.<br/>
<br/>
So as you push into Mr. Cash's classroom—and it's almost like there's a force field trying to repel you—you sneak her a quick glance. Today she's wearing track pants and a t-shirt, and she has her feet up on the chair in front of her, texting intently and slowly chewing on a piece of gum. You flinch and turn toward your seat—<br/>
<br/>
And for a wild moment an ardent flame sears your inner core. You imagine her catching sight of you, and coming over to apologize for being so rude yesterday, and asking if you'd like to hang out and maybe—<br/>
<br/>
Just as quickly the fantasy dissolves. What a stupid thing to imagine. It's like your own brain is trying to mock you.<br/>
<br/>
But as you slump in your chair, you can't help watching her out of the corner of your eye, in case she actually ...<br/>
<br/>
She doesn't. She puts the phone away as Mr. Cash approaches the lectern, and alertly takes up her pencil for note-taking.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So you and Stephanie bugged out early," Braydon says. He's leaning against the locker next to yours, and his eyebrows arch over his glinting eyes. But his expression isn't lecherous. If anything, it looks hopeful.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, she had things to do. So did I." You continue changing out books.<br/>
<br/>
"Mm. Sorry if we all weren't as, uh, hospitable as—" He trails off. "But I got a question for you."<br/>
<br/>
"'bout what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you were telling me the other day about this book, you thought maybe I bought it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"So—" He draws a deep breath. "I might be in the market for it. Seriously." His face lengthens. "Can you tell me what was in it, what kind of, uh—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno, I didn't get into it. I found it for super-cheap at Arnholm's—"<br/>
<br/>
"Wait," he says. "<i>You</i> found it? I thought you said Mendoza had it."<br/>
<br/>
"It's complicated. But I found it at Arnholms', and then I lost it here at school. I heard that Mendoza had it, but he told me he sold it to someone."<br/>
<br/>
Braydon's brow darkens. "So you're actually trying to get it back."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I don't know," you admit. "Maybe. I mean, I'm not interested in <i>buying it back</i> or anything."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, can you tell me what was in it? What kind of stuff it was about?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know, I didn't have it that long."<br/>
<br/>
"So what was it called? Who wrote it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't remember." You shut your locker. "Look, I have to go—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll walk you out."<br/>
<br/>
He follows closely as you squeeze through the crowded halls, and not until you're in the parking lot does he resume questioning you. Not that you've got much to tell him. It was an old book, with no author that you can recall, written in Latin. The cover was of red leather with gold lettering, and there were drawings of faces on the inside pages. You say nothing about the stuff that creeped you out about it, like the way the faces seemed to shift and change. The way the pages seemed to unlock one at a time.<br/>
<br/>
The way it asked you to give a little blood before it would let you go any further into it.<br/>
<br/>
But even the little bit you've said get Braydon excited. "Real Latin, that's pretty—Whoa!" His eyes glimmer. "I'd sure love to get a look at it. Where did you lose it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I ran into Jeff Spencer and some of those idiots out by the portables." It gratifies you to see a small flutter of panic cross Braydon's face. "They got into my stuff and by the time I got it back that book was gone. You'd have to talk to Mendoza to find out who has it."<br/>
<br/>
His face tightens. "Well, maybe I can put some queries online, see if I can scare up who has it. If you don't want it back—" He cocks his head. "How much did you pay for it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Two dollars. Originally it was two hundred, but it turned out it was damaged."<br/>
<br/>
"How?"<br/>
<br/>
"Some of the pages were stuck together."<br/>
<br/>
"Hmm. Well, how about this." To your astonishment he pulls out his wallet. "Here's two bucks, just to reimburse you for what you paid for it. If you find it, let me see it so I can make you an offer for it. And if I find it, I'll either give it back to you or make you an offer for it. For like, real money. Deal?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," you say in a daze. "Except I don't know how I can find it, I don't have any idea—"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe you'll think of something." His brow crinkles. "But we have a deal?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll see what I can come up with," you stammer, though without any conviction.<br/>
<br/>
It's enough to satisfy Braydon, though, and after clapping you on the arm again, he walks back toward the school.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Even though you don't really like the idea of Braydon getting his hands on that book, the prospect of his being after it does motivate you to action. Whether it's so you can get some money for it, or in order to keep it out of his hands, you're not sure. You can decide that when the time comes.<br/>
<br/>
Inspiration—mild though it is—comes when you're halfway home, and you cut off a Prius, which beeps angrily at you, to make a sudden left-hand turn. Ten minutes later, you're parked at Arnholms'.<br/>
<br/>
Ted Arnholm is at his usual station, thumbing through and marking books, when you enter, and he lets you cool yourself waiting before turning his watery eyes up you. "Yahp?" His voice is a dusty rasp.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey." You smile weakly. "You, um, you probably don't remember, but I was in here a couple of weeks ago and I bought a book—" You wince as his tangled eyebrows go up. "It was from the special collections shelf, and it cost two hundred dollars, but the pages were all glued together, it turned out, so you marked it down to two and sold it to me as a, uh, paperweight?"<br/>
<br/>
He stares at you. "Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"You remember that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hard to forget bullshit that costs you that kind of money." His eyes are watery, but his stare is icy.<br/>
<br/>
You tug your ear. "Yeah, I guess. The thing is, and I know this is a weird question, but do you remember the name of the book? See, the thing is," you hastily add as his eyes widen, "it got stolen from me, and I'm trying to replace it, and I need to know the name of it so I can look it up online? To find another copy? You know?"<br/>
<br/>
The bookshop owner stares. For a moment you think he's going to grab you by the neck and heave you to the curb. But with a rattling sigh he gestures you to follow him over to a locked door.<br/>
<br/>
There's a cramped office behind it, with shelves and cabinets piled over with folders and papers. Arnholm paws briefly through some of these, then opens a cabinet drawer. He wets a finger, rifles some folders, and pulls one out. He jams some half-moon spectacles onto his long nose. "Got a pencil and some paper?" he asks. "It's a long one and it's in Latin." He snorts when you pull out your cell phone instead. "Summa—that's S-U-M-M-A, not S-O-O—Libra—" Again he spells the word.<br/>
<br/>
It's a very long title, more of a sentence than a title, and he ends by telling you that "Libra Persona" is probably the name it would be listed under <i>if</i> it were rendered online. He also warns you that there was no author credited, and that it contained no publication information. "It was a very old book, or at least it looked like it," he snaps. "If we could have found out more about it, we would have charged more. But it looked like a fake, even before we— Don't know <i>how</i> we missed the fact that its fool pages were glued together." He glowers at you. "But it got stolen?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes sir."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh." He doesn't add to the remark, and only rubs his chin. <br/>
<br/>
You thank him for his help, and retreat home.<br/>
<br/>
And now that you've got that information on the book, do you pass it along to Braydon, or do you do some research of your own on it?</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111132
author_id: seuzz
title: Unexpected Social Scenes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The more you hesitate, the less you want to help Braydon. The full Latin name of the book has brought back to you the prickling fear you had when handling it. You're naturally reluctant to credit it with actual magical powers, but in case it does ... Well, it's probably less dangerous in the hands of whoever has it now than it would be in Braydon's. After all, there's a pretty good chance that its current owner has just tossed it into a corner of the room with his dirty clothes.<br/>
<br/>
Which, coincidentally, is where you find your English book when you go looking for it later that night.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Braydon comes looking for you the next day, and the day after that, and each time you tell him you've tried remembering what you can about the book, but you can't. Caleb is standing nearby during the second conversation, and after Braydon has gone he asks you what that was all about.<br/>
<br/>
"A book I lost. About magic. I told you about that, didn't I?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe you did." Caleb shrugs. "But Braydon's like your friend now?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, he's just after that book. What are we doing this weekend?"<br/>
<br/>
"Tilley's staying at my place Friday night. You wanna stay over too?"<br/>
<br/>
"Two's company, three's a crowd. But I thought he wasn't one for staying over with people. I've never had him over."<br/>
<br/>
"He was moaning about never seeing us," Caleb says. "So I told him he could stay with me Friday night and we'd go in to his work together on Saturday. He could give me free donuts. We'll see if <i>that</i> happens."<br/>
<br/>
"Right. He was giving me the sad song a week ago. You know he's started hanging out with Carlos Montoya and Mike Who-the-Fuck? I told you about that too, didn't I?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe you did," Caleb says tonelessly.<br/>
<br/>
So that talk reminds of Montoya and Hollister—that's right, it's "Michael Hollister"—and in English you ask them if they're still going to do that video bit they wanted you for. "Yeah, I think we're doing something else," Carlos says evasively. He seems very shy and doesn't look you in the face. "If we want to use you in something else, though, we'll talk. Okay?"<br/>
<br/>
So <i>that</i> feels like a window closing. And Carson and James are similarly noncommittal when you talk to them at lunch about whatever "project" they're working on. "Oh, we're all done with that," Carson says. He's lounging on his side, and he leans over to high-five James, who's sitting cross-legged behind him. "A raging boner of a success. In fact, I'm getting a hard-on just thinking about it again."<br/>
<br/>
"You guys are so gross," observes Yumi, who is taking lunch today with the group.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, the next time you guys are gonna do something—" you start to say, but Carson interrupts.<br/>
<br/>
"I think we'd like to keep all our ops at the two-man level," he says. "More secure that way."<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "You don't trust me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't trust you not to squawk if Black or Patterson puts the squeeze on you. You're lucky they haven't paid much attention to you so far."<br/>
<br/>
"And that could change at any moment," says James. "After this last one, they're gonna start getting paranoid, I bet."<br/>
<br/>
You change the subject before they can start bragging again about how high-class their bullies are.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So the week ends on a note of dissipated drama. When you get home, you do a web search on that crazy title you got from Ted Arnholm. You only turn up one place on the internet where it looks like there's some talk about the book, but it's only mentioned in passing, and what it says makes very little sense, so you flush the title from your iPhone. And then, since you're at home, when you raise your head it's to confront the teetering mess atop your desk. The urge to do a little cleaning overpowers you, and you start sorting the garbage.<br/>
<br/>
The slip of paper with Stephanie's contact number flutters to the floor. The sight of those loopy curls—like balloon-animals—gives you a pang. You pick it up.<br/>
<br/>
Before you can stop yourself, you're back on your bed with your iPhone out.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Sorry I am pathetic and stupid and not interesting n don't know how to b better than I am,</i> you type, but then you delete all that and replace it with a simple, <i>What do you do on Fridays?</i><br/>
<br/>
Because it is Friday afternoon, and you're facing a bleak and empty night. You're so miserable that you are texting Stephanie Wyatt.<br/>
<br/>
Then because you can't stop yourself from being pathetic, even though you can stop yourself from saying so, you send a follow-up text: <i>Sorry to bug u. Just looking for ideas</i><br/>
<br/>
The next five minutes pass with mounting horror and regret. <i>Why doesn't real life come with check points and auto-saves and possible reloads?</i> It's not the first time you've wondered that.<br/>
<br/>
Your phone dings, and your heart tries to stand on its head. Your hand loses all feeling when you pick up the phone.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Party at catherine muskovs tonite try there.</i><br/>
<br/>
The phone slides from your nerveless hand. <i>Jesus. Oh, Jesus!</i><br/>
<br/>
For the first time it occurs to you that you could actually fall in love with Stephanie Wyatt. For beyond the fact that she has sexy boobs and sexy legs and a no-nonsense attitude that—yes, if you're going to be honest with yourself—arouses you a little even as it terrifies you a lot, she has this one <i>amazing, astounding, unbelievably incredible</i> quality going for her:<br/>
<br/>
Maybe she doesn't hold your stupid, pathetic shit against you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Ok thx,</i> you'd texted back to her. (You worried that you'd look even more needy if you replied, then worried you'd be <i>worse</i> than you actually are if you didn't respond at all.) Then you take a long shower that, despite the water being just short of boiling, leaves you shaking and shivering all over.<br/>
<br/>
A careful consideration of her text had shown that she didn't say that <i>she</i> would be at the party, and you certainly wouldn't put it past her to send you to a party that she knew she wasn't going to be at. And you thought that maybe you should treat her text as a reason to text around to some other people to see if they knew of any parties going on—of which there had to be many, you were sure.<br/>
<br/>
But on more mature reflection, you decided that it would be best to hit this one. <br/>
<br/>
Your reasoning was simple. If Stephanie <i>wasn't</i> going to be at it, then you need not worry about her and how it would look to her if you showed up at it. And if she <i>was</i> there, you could show her that you're mature and confident enough—<br/>
<br/>
<i>As if!</i> jeers a malicious part of your psyche. <br/>
<br/>
—to show up at a party where she is and not try to hang off her. You could simply be one of the guys who goes to things like this and has the confidence to contact an acquaintance—and Stephanie is certainly an acquaintance—to find out where the happening stuff was happening this Friday night, and then she'd see that you're not obsessed with proving you're not a skinny dork because you've got the confidence to <i>Oh Christ Christ Christ Christ </i>Christ<i> just get on with getting ready and stop rehearsing all these dumbass excuses that even </i>you<i> don't believe!</i><br/>
<br/>
You change into fresh Levis and a white denim shirt before going down to dinner. Your dad asks why you're dressed up, and with some trepidation you tell him you were wanting to go to a party later this evening. He just grunts and tells you to be home by eleven-thirty.<br/>
<br/>
Which is probably when the fun will really be starting, but oh well. If it does, you'll just come home when you damn well please and pay the consequences then.<br/>
<br/>
Back upstairs you kill a few hours by getting ahead on your homework, then shoot a few texts around to other acquaintances to get Catherine's address and a clearer idea of when the party will get going. <i>Nine o'clock</i> is the consensus, and as it's almost eight-thirty by the time you get it, you put the books away and finish getting ready. That means experimenting by putting a tie with your ensemble. You eye yourself critically for a bit in the mirror, trying to decide if it makes you look hip or stupid. With deep ambivalence you decide to give it a try—you're already diving head-first out of your comfort zone by even attending this party—and are pleased when simply by jamming your shapeless ball cap onto your straw-like hair you give the ensemble exactly the look of studied, sloppy edginess you were hoping to achieve.<br/>
<br/>
Your mom does a double-take at you as you reach the door, but you run out it first before she can say anything that could spoil the self-pleased mood you've put yourself in.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Catherine Muskov lives in the southeast part of town, not too far from where your aunt and uncle live, actually, and it doesn't take you long to get there. "Consensus" either got the start time wrong, or people are so excited for the party that they started showing up early. The street is already crowded with parked vehicles.<br/>
<br/>
It's a nice part of town, with leafy yards and large houses, and a soft but insistent beat is already thudding away as you cruise by Catherine's, looking for a place to park. The presence of a police cruiser nearby is either a coincidence or a caution, but whichever it is, you take it as a sign that things won't get too rowdy.<br/>
<br/>
On the other hand, maybe it won't have to get rowdy to make you feel uncomfortable.<br/>
<br/>
Catherine is on the track team, and if Stephanie is recommending her party, you shouldn't be surprised if it's overflowing with jockstraps. But the sight of big guys in letterman jackets lounging on the porch gives you serious pause.</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321
author_id: seuzz
title: One Party, Two Girls, Some Assembly
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>For only a moment are you tempted to retreat. Then shame and anger overwhelm you. You didn't come out here, prepared to face off against Stephanie Wyatt, only to scurry away with tail between your legs at the sight of some jocks. You circle the block once and manage to parallel park in a spot only two houses down from Catherine's.<br/>
<br/>
You're relieved to see you read the porch scene wrong. Only three of the guys are wearing letterman jackets, and they're the wrong colors anyway—the green and purple of Eastman High rather than the crimson and gold of Westside. Their loud, deep voices carry all the way to the end of the walkway, but they're talking calmly and mostly without obscenities about a teacher and her killer tests.<br/>
<br/>
Just inside the front door is an entryway with a large living room on one side, and a smaller living room on the other. Stairs go up to the second floor, and from an arched doorway just beyond these you glimpse the end of a table laden with snacks and drinks. The beat of dance music bounces off the soles of your feet.<br/>
<br/>
A quick glance into the living room shows a dozen people standing or leaning against furniture with drinks in their hands—plastic cups or soda bottles. Most of these faces are familiar. Again, most of them are sports players, but you also spot a couple of people you associate with nothing more dangerous than the marching band: Daniel Luhan, Aaron Flood, Randy Hodges. Someone brushes past you—a girl whose crown barely reaches the top of your shoulder. You can't place a name to her, not even after she briefly looks back to flash you a quick smile, but you figure that if she feels safe here, you should too.<br/>
<br/>
And that thought makes you realize just how much of a shell you've created around yourself. Why?<br/>
<br/>
You get the answer when you look into the other living room. The Molester is sitting on the arm of the sofa, scratching under his pits and casting a pig-like scowl at a lithe Hispanic kid who's talking a mile minute at him while slicing the air with his slim hands. You quickly retreat toward the dining room.<br/>
<br/>
Jocks. Bullies. Fuckheads. All your life at school you've been surrounded by them. You've heard they're not so bad at Eastman, and you've heard that once they weren't so bad at Westside, either. But for whatever reason, your class and the classes immediately around you have always been thick with them. And to keep from running into them you've constructed a smaller and smaller circle around yourself, until now you can't even go to a party without shitting yourself.<br/>
<br/>
You brush down your tie and stifle a quick tremble. <i>This is someone's house, </i>God damn it!<i>, not the school. There are </i>rules<i> here, and Catherine won't stand for any shit if the Molester starts any.</i><br/>
<br/>
So you reason to yourself, but your sphincter isn't in much of a mood to be reasoned with, and you keep walking until you're in the dining room.<br/>
<br/>
You can't help flinching. It's much more crowded in here. A line of kids snakes around a giant table, but clustered at the far end are a bunch burly, barrel-chested guys in t-shirts and jackets. It's the wrestling squad. Laurent Delacroix with a grin is threatening Austin Mull with a giant spoonful of potato salad. Alec Brown is piling some pink goop onto a paper plate even as he ogles it skeptically. Devin Haney and Eli Anders are jabbering at Sean Mitchell, who is trying to jabber back. A couple of girls are squeezed in between the guys, and Haney breaks off long enough to pull one of them close to kiss her.<br/>
<br/>
You quickly look away, as you don't much want to stare at such a public display and you certainly don't want to be caught staring at it. You edge through another doorway into a large kitchen. This is where the drinks are, and where most of the girls seem to collecting.<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie is one of them. In fact, she's the first one you almost bump in to.<br/>
<br/>
She's filling a clear plastic tumbler from two bottles, and if you had your wits you might be able to tell more than that one of them is 7-Up (unless it's Sprite) and that the other one is red. Stephanie does a double-take at you. "Hey, Will," she says as she turns back to her work. "You made it."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Yeah. Thanks for telling me about it."<br/>
<br/>
She doesn't reply, but finishes her mixology and screws the caps back on. You look around the rest of the kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
Girls from the track team, girls from the swim team, girls from the soccer team. Tall and lean, most of them with long, straight hair and fresh complexions. Eyes pop and sparkle excitedly, and cries of "Oh my God!" and "Don't I know!" and "Get serious!" bubble and tumble over each other. Hands are raised and fingers twist, and Jamie Bornholm leans in to laugh loudly in Christine Coolidge's face. In something like a sympathetic reaction, you step back.<br/>
<br/>
That bumps you into Stephanie again. You apologize. She looks at you, and through you, then goes back to staring into the dining room. She takes a long sip from her tumbler.<br/>
<br/>
"What's that?" you ask, and ask her again when you can't even hear your own voice over the giggling girls. Stephanie alone seems uninterested in the gaggle of overlapping crosstalk.<br/>
<br/>
"This?" She points to the tumbler. "Cranberry juice and club soda." She turns back to the dining room. "And a secret ingredient no one needs to know about."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh really." Too late, you realize you're smirking at the implication of alcohol.<br/>
<br/>
That draws from her a full-on stare: cold and blank, encompassing the infinite distance. In her eyes you can almost see the reflection of her thoughts. She's pulling you apart like a string of wet, limp pasta, and finding you just as bland and dull.<br/>
<br/>
But then her eyes harden and her brows work. Before you can gasp, she has snatched the cap off your head and stepped back to look you up and down. You're too shocked to redden as her lip curls slightly at your tie.<br/>
<br/>
Not that she's dressed up. She's in her usual ensemble of jeans and t-shirt, but she's covered it with a cheap lavender windbreaker. And—is it possible? does she wear it often but you've never noticed?—a thin silver necklace about her throat.<br/>
<br/>
You jump again as she slaps the cap back on your head, and settles it by tapping the brim. She smiles faintly. "Come with me," she says, and pulls you close to say it again in your ear. "Come with me."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, sure." You're too conscious of the goose bumps rising on your skin under her palm as she pulls you through the girl cluster with a clipped, "Coming through." You flash Olivia Byrne a fast, apologetic smile as she jumps out of your way.<br/>
<br/>
Then you're being dragged down a short dark hall into the big living room. The music is louder here, and Stephanie doesn't bother to talk. Instead, she spins you about and pushes you onto a large sofa. You barely miss sitting on the girl huddled at one end.<br/>
<br/>
It's the same girl as brushed past you earlier. She has mousy brown hair that falls straight to her elbows, and large brown eyes that stare with a mousy intensity at you from a pale, freckled face. <i>Yes, "mousy" is a good word all around.</i> She is small like a mouse, and cute like a mouse, and in the glint of her eyes you catch a quivering curiosity like you've seen in the eyes of tame mice.<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie leans between the two of you. "Will, this is Bailey Keane!" she shouts over the music. "You know her? Bailey, this is Will Prescott!"<br/>
<br/>
You look at Bailey and she looks at you. The fear in her eyes probably matches that in yours. "If you two don't already know each other," Stephanie is saying, "you should make a start!" Then she vanishes back into the kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
You turn back to your erstwhile couch-mate. "Er, hi!" You rub your hand on your knee and put it out. "I'm Will!"<br/>
<br/>
Her mouth is hanging open, but there's a kind of incredulous smile on it too. "I heard!" She takes your hand. "I'm Bailey!" You shake her hand once, and are pleased that her suppressed laughter matches your own.<br/>
<br/>
"So, um, I'm sorry if I don't know you, but I don't actually remember you from any of my classes!"<br/>
<br/>
"Me neither! God, that's a relief, isn't it? I mean—!" She titters. "That we're in the same boat, you know?"<br/>
<br/>
"Definitely!" You put your hand out again. "So, I'm Will Prescott, and I have Ms. Gladstone for fourth-period English!"<br/>
<br/>
"Bailey Keane, and I have Mr. Hagerman for second-period English!"<br/>
<br/>
That confuses you, until you get it sorted out that you're a senior but she's a junior. "I know Stephanie through her brother, Craig!" she explains. "He's around here someplace!"<br/>
<br/>
You didn't know Stephanie had a brother. More to the point, you don't know what to make of the fact that she is apparently trying to set you up with a junior who looks like she could still be a freshman. Is this her judgment about your maturity? Or is she genuinely trying to do something nice for you?</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113211
author_id: rugal
title: Keen On Ms. Keane
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The questions play themselves over and over in your head: is this an insult? Is this what she thinks of you? Well, maybe Stephanie's just trying to be nice to you and do you a solid... but how does that make sense? When has Stephanie Wyatt ever done anything nice for you? Why would she do anything nice for you? So obviously this is an insult to you right? This <i>is</i> what she thinks of you isn't it? She's not just doing you a solid right?<br/>
<br/>
Round and around it loops until you catch sight of Bailey once more.<br/>
<br/>
She's a small thing: her height, her body (thin and not particularly "big" in other areas), her face; all of it gives an impression of someone tiny. Tiny and young. You wouldn't be blamed for thinking that she was a sophomore if not a freshman as opposed to there being only, presumably, a one year age gap between the two of you. So you want to feel all the more insulted by her. You want to tell her to go away, that you're not interested and she can go find someone else.<br/>
<br/>
But you see eyes, large brown eyes, that look at you with a sense of hopefulness. There's a smile on her face and it's one of "oh please keep talking to me" more than anything else. She's tiny and youthful but also very, very cute and you can feel your resolve and anger melting away. It's not Bailey's fault so why should you take it out on her? It'd make you look, and feel, like an asshole to just stand her up right now, come up with some lame excuse (because you're not going to tell her you feel insulted) and then bolt towards the door.<br/>
<br/>
So instead you return her smile. "Oh, Hagerman for second period huh?" you ask with as much surprise as you can muster. "So, uh, you're a junior then?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's right," Bailey says before her eyes go wide. "Oh god, that's not a problem is it?! That I'm, uh, and that you're, well... I'm assuming --"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not a problem!" you say in an attempt to reassure her and you notice a wave of relief wash over her. "I mean it's not like you're still in middle school or whatever!"<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a more sincere, less apprehensive, smile this time. "Right!" she declares though she starts to shift uncomfortably.<br/>
<br/>
"Anything wrong?" you ask as you notice her. "I'm not bothering you or anything am I? I mean I know this is kind of awkward and all but --"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh no! You're definitely not bothering me at all!" she replies and there's a bit of surprise followed by some more nervous tittering. "No it's just, um, this isn't my typical environment! Like crowds and parties and things like that? I don't go to them a lot so it's just really weird!"<br/>
<br/>
"You and me both!" you declare and give her another warm smile. "That's why I'm kind of surprised to find myself here!"<br/>
<br/>
"You too?" she asks with surprise.<br/>
<br/>
"Well yeah I, uh, helped Stephanie with something so she's the one who invited me out here," you tell her, "well not invited per se but mentioned it so I thought --" you then give a shrug of the shoulders. "So is that what brought you out here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Something like that!" she answers as she gives you a rather coy look.<br/>
<br/>
As the song changes and more people get up to dance Bailey motions for you to follow her. "Um, I mean, I'm not really much of a dancer but --"<br/>
<br/>
But you don't want to dance. Oh sure with Bailey, with any girl really, it might be nice but you're too self-conscious to join in with the crowd and go for broke with a girl on there. Besides you still want to talk to Bailey first and get to know her a little better. "Well, uh, I was thinking we could," you start and you notice her expression become more inquisitive. "Well, we could just go somewhere quieter, you know? Like so we can talk and not have to shout over a bunch of noise!"<br/>
<br/>
Bailey's eyes go wide with surprise but eventually she starts to giggle and you wonder if she's laughing at your suggestion. Instead she holds out her hand and you look at her for a second confused. "Lead the way!" she says.<br/>
<br/>
So without a second thought you take hold of Bailey's hand and head back through the kitchen and as you try and find somewhere less crowded and more quiet you think you catch sight of Stephanie though whether or not she sees you you do not know.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Somewhere less crowded and more quiet turns out to be your truck as it seems that all available space in the actual Muskov residence is taken. "Sorry we had to go kind of out of the way," you say apologetically, "and that it's my truck too but --"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh no, it's...it's fine!" Bailey declares and you note that there's a nervousness in her voice at that. "I just didn't think... oh, but don't worry! It's alright!"<br/>
<br/>
"You seem kind of jumpy," you tell her. "Hopefully I'm not imposing on you or anything. Stephanie just kind of dragged me over without really telling me what was going on."<br/>
<br/>
"I told you earlier it's fine, really," she insists. "Like I said parties aren't really my thing so I just feel kind of awkward."<br/>
<br/>
"So what <i>did</i> bring you out here?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
This causes Bailey to shift nervously. "Okay, um, promise you won't laugh or think it's goofy or anything?" she asks and you give her your word. Not like any reason she has could be worse than your own. "Well, I told you that I know Stephanie through her brother right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, so is he your boyfriend or something?"<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes go wide but very emphatically she shakes her head. "Oh no, we're friends and all and he's nice but, um, no," she states. "Actually that's why she told me to come out here though. Because there <i>is</i> someone that I like and she said that he'd probably be out here so I should come out too because I might meet him."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, that's... really nice of her actually," you reply. "But that's good though. So did you see him here or anything?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh," she answers and fidgets a little more nervously. "Um, I mean I know we just met and all but I feel comfortable saying it so I'll even tell you who it is."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, sure, lay it on me," you tell her. Bailey, however, folds her hands in her lap and looks down at them for a moment. You know what she said but you know that telling anyone about who you like is going to make you nervous. Especially when you're talking to somebody you didn't know a few minutes beforehand.<br/>
<br/>
You notice her take a breath. Then another. Then close her eyes and take a third. Finally she opens them and those large brown eyes are pointed back at you. "Okay so don't laugh or anything but," yet another breath, "it's you."<br/>
<br/>
You look at her confused for a moment, then look around the truck to make sure nobody else snuck in with you. Then it's back to her. "It's... me?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"It's you," she answers this time with a little more confidence and you notice her biting her lip nervously and it's very cute you think. But that doesn't stop your confusion.<br/>
<br/>
"Me? But... I mean... we don't even know each other," you tell her, before quickly adding, "not that I'm not flattered! But, uh, this is just surprising because, well, it just is."<br/>
<br/>
"I've seen you around plenty of times," she says, "though I don't think you've ever seen me or noticed. But the comic shop? I've seen you up there before with some of your friends when I go to buy my stuff and I guess I thought you were cute so..."<br/>
<br/>
You can't make it out in the faint light but you imagine that she's probably as red as you feel you are right now.<br/>
<br/>
"I mean I know we've never met and all but, uh, you don't think that's dumb or anything do you?"<br/>
<br/>
Dumb? Hell no! How could you think it's dumb? Well maybe dumb that she likes <i>you</i> of all people but if that's what she wants... "Of course I don't think it's dumb," you tell her. "Actually I'm more surprised than anything because... well, because! This just isn't anything I expected you know?"<br/>
<br/>
You can see, in that faint light, a smile form on her face as she casts her gaze downwards. You sit there awkwardly for a little bit not sure of what to do or what to say. But then you stop thinking, well over thinking anyway. You're in your truck with a cute girl, a junior girl but still a cute girl nonetheless, it's just the two of you and she just confessed that she likes you. So what do you do? Sit here like an idiot? Definitely not. Instead you do the only thing that seems to make sense to you.<br/>
<br/>
You grab Bailey's hands in your own and pull your face in close. You hear her gasp in surprise but it's not one that tells you to back off so slowly, awkwardly, you push forward and eventually, for just a brief second, your lips meet her own and quickly you pull back.<br/>
<br/>
"Um, sorry if that's not," you start, "but I got caught up in --"<br/>
<br/>
But Bailey just giggles and then its her turn to lean forward and bring her lips to your own. This time it's more forceful and confident than what you had done and this time she doesn't immediately pull away.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wake up on Saturday and pinch yourself as you wonder if what happened last night was a dream and if so are you still in one. Well you're not in a dream now and after shutting off the alarm on your phone you open it up to the gallery and look through. Sure enough there are some of the pictures you took with Bailey last night before you'd dropped her back off at her home so it seems like last night did in fact happen.<br/>
<br/>
So you practically float to the shower and get ready and eagerly pull out your clothes to get dressed. You'd made sure to set your alarm for early because you'll be meeting Keith and Caleb at Don's Donuts this morning and you don't want to miss it.<br/>
<br/>
After all you can barely believe it yourself so you can't wait to tell them that you've got a girlfriend.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111132111
author_id: rugal
title: La Di Da Di
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You double check everything you one more time in the bathroom. All your clothes are in place, clean and fresh is your body and hair, and satisfied with that you practically blow by Robert on your way out of the bathroom. You tell -- mutter really -- your parents that you're going to hang out with Caleb and Keith today and then head out the door, hop in your truck and head out to Don's Donuts. It's definitely a bit of a drive, on the northern end of 20th and clear on the other side of town and while Saratoga Falls isn't the biggest place around, it's big enough and traffic is plentiful enough even for a Saturday morning that it still takes longer for you to get there than you'd like.<br/>
<br/>
In fact Caleb and Keith are already there by the time you come in and take your group's usual seat. Not that coming here is a weekly thing but it happens every so often and because Keith's an employee that means using his discount to hook you up with some donuts and coffee for cheap. Cheap is good too since your reserve from the summer is starting to dwindle.<br/>
<br/>
"Well aren't we chipper this morning?" asks Caleb sarcastically as you reach for a donut and go to grab the cup of coffee that's been left for you. "What gives? You have a nice fantasy last night or something?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you," you say while flipping him off. "What'd you do last night then because I'm sure it was definitely exciting. A real adventure even!"<br/>
<br/>
"You bet," he replies flippantly. "See I got together with Eva and Cindy and Brooke to help them study right? And it just so happens that me dashing good looks and oh-so-hilarious wit charmed the pants right off of all three of them and before you know it I was a very, very happy man."<br/>
<br/>
"In other words you didn't do shit," you counter. "Probably just played video games and jerked off."<br/>
<br/>
"Half-right," interjects Keith trying not to laugh. "We did play some games and then streamed some movies."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you acting so smug for anyway?" asks Caleb. "Not like you did any better."<br/>
<br/>
"In fact I did pretty damn good," you counter proudly. "Went to a party last night. At Catherine Muskov's. Have either of you ever been to Catherine Muskov's?" That gets no response beyond some rolled eyes and grumbling. "Yeah, Stephanie was all 'hey there's a party at Catherine's tonight' so I went. I met a girl there too."<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, time out," Caleb says as he makes a T-symbol with his hands. "I call bullshit on all of this. You did not go to any party, especially not a party at Catherine Muskov's, and you sure as shit did not meet any girl there."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah I'm finding it a little hard to believe myself," adds Keith.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck the both of you. Here, take a look," you say. You dig out your phone and go through the gallery until you find a selfie with yourself and Bailey giving you a peck on the cheek. Proudly you give the phone to Caleb who studies it for a moment or two before handing it to Keith who whistles and hands it back to you. "I wasn't bullshitting you."<br/>
<br/>
"You're hooking up with freshmen?" Caleb finally asks and you almost want to pop him.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not -- Bailey's a junior!" you protest. "It's only a year difference. Less than that even because her birthday's in December."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, well, you know, way to go sport," he replies and you groan at that.<br/>
<br/>
Talk continues about your new girlfriend, the extra credit that Keith's doing with Mike and Carlos and other things from school before Keith eventually says that he has to go get ready since he'll be doing some things with his Youtube pals today. He asks if you want to come along but you demure and when you ask Caleb he's pretty emphatic about having nothing to do with them.<br/>
<br/>
So Keith bids goodbye and the two of you that are left decide to hang out at Caleb's place. But it's around that time that you receive a text from Bailey: <i>hey will! not botherin u 2 early i hope!</i><br/>
<br/>
You text her back that it's fine and you've been up for a while anyway. She asks if you're free and you tell her that you're hanging out with a friend but then quickly feel dumb. "Hey, uh, that's Bailey," you tell Caleb. "Is it cool if she hangs out with us?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb, for his part, just shrugs and gives a rather pithy "whatever" so you text her back asking her if she wants to hang out with you and Caleb today. The positive response is quick in coming so once the two of you have had your fill of donuts you decide to beat it. You drop by Bailey's place to pick her up first and she's very quick to plant a kiss on you as she hops into the truck. You make sure to tell her she looks nice and that leads to a bit of nervous blushing on her part, then you drive off to Caleb's.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So no, tell me, what is it that you <i>really</i> like about Will?" Caleb asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Um, I mean, well, he's cute?" Bailey says. "And he's really nice as well. And he can be funny... well, he made me laugh a few times last night anyway."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, okay, see that's where I'm getting mixed up," he replies. "Because let me tell you I've known him for a long time and none of those things really apply to him. Maybe you're thinking of a different Will Prescott and just got him confused for this lump of meat?"<br/>
<br/>
Bailey giggles at that. "Caleb's pretty funny too," she tells you cheerfully.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, a laugh riot," you reply in an icy tone that's directed at Caleb and not her.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I'm just playing the heel okay? Don't take anything I'm saying seriously," he tells you.<br/>
<br/>
You hadn't been particularly enthused about Bailey meeting Caleb for exactly this reason. He's your best friend and has been for a long time but some times it feels like the two of you are oil and water. Caleb is much more collected out of the two of you and is definitely far more acerbic. Not that he doesn't have his own negative qualities because that acerbicness can get him into trouble at times and while you fantasize over someone like Lisa he's fantasizing about close to half of the female population of Westside High.<br/>
<br/>
He's one horny son of a bitch you know that. He even had the gall to put a thumbnail full of porn into the time capsule Walberg has his sociology class doing.<br/>
<br/>
And despite all of that you can't help but feel a bit envious of him. Much as he might fantasize about some of them he does occasionally have study dates with girls like Eva Garner and Brooke Galloway and every so often you wonder if he actually would have a chance with any of them though quickly you brush those thoughts aside.<br/>
<br/>
Besides for all that you could say negatively about him he's always had your back when it's counted and any arguments and fights the two of you may get into burn themselves out quickly. The back and forth jabs can some times cut but never too deeply and neither would ever step over the line when unleashing them.<br/>
<br/>
So even with your initial and current misgivings you don't actually regret letting Bailey hang out with Caleb and yourself because if she's going to be dating you then she's going to see a lot of him. So some time is spent at Caleb's, then the three of you head out to get some lunch before heading back to Caleb's. Most of the afternoon is then spent talking about school or hobbies or playing video games. Stuff you've done a thousand times before but that feels more comfortable when you have Bailey scooched up right next to you and gives you these flirty little glances.<br/>
<br/>
At one point during the day your phone goes off with a text from Carlos asking you what you're doing tomorrow because he wants to get together to do some stuff with the videos. You tell him that you've got church in the morning but maybe later in the afternoon, you're not sure but you'll see what's up and text him tomorrow if you can come out.<br/>
<br/>
Eventually Bailey notices the time and tells you that she has to get ready to go to work spending the late afternoon and evening hours most of the week flipping burgers part time at a fast food place. So excusing yourself you agree to take her back home. As you're driving her back she tells you that she'll have to work tomorrow too but will be free in the morning and early afternoon if you want to get together. Like with Carlos you tell her you've got church but you'll text her all the same to tell her what's up.<br/>
<br/>
When you're back at Caleb's you groan as you tell him about missing out on a date with Bailey due to church.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I mean, just skip it," he tells you. "Just tell your dad you've got to help me with some school project or something. I'll back you up on it."<br/>
<br/>
"Why are you trying to get me out of going to church?" you ask him skeptically.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I bust your chops a lot but I'm glad for you, I mean it," he says. "Bailey's a nice girl and I mean, I fucking cares if she's a junior or whatever you know? Shit she could be a freshman, so what? Fact is she seems to match up good with you and I'd rather you be in a good mood than continuing to mope over Lisa. So just put Lisa out of your mind, tell your dad you can't go to church because you have to help me with something and spend some time with your girl."</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321111
author_id: rugal
title: Fooling Foolers and Their Foolery
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You wake up early on Sunday shuddering from anticipation. Anticipating that you might get to spend the first half of the day with your new girlfriend but also anticipating the dreaded battle that will likely ensue when you try to convince your parents -- your father more specifically -- about letting you stay home from Church. You go downstairs and it's as you're eating a simple bowl of cereal that the moment finally presents itself.<br/>
<br/>
"Morning son," your father says gruffly as he goes into the kitchen pour himself a cup of coffee while your mother gets to work preparing breakfast. "You about ready to start getting dressed?"<br/>
<br/>
"I am, yeah, but," you'd worked up the nerve to bring it up but suddenly that nerve is faltering. Quickly you try to regain it however. "Well, I was wondering if I could stay home today. Um, well not home but..."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't want to go to church, dear?" asks your mother from the kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not that I don't want to but Caleb needs some help in finishing up the project that Mr. Walberg has us doing," you say going into the excuse you and he had worked out, "so I was going to go over to his place to help him out with it."<br/>
<br/>
"And this project is...?" your father asks as he moves to sit down at the table and open up a newspaper.<br/>
<br/>
Your father, straight to the point as always. "Well, it's a time capsule. There was something that Caleb wanted to put in but Walberg told him it wouldn't fly so he has to scramble now," you improvise.<br/>
<br/>
"And he can't do this on his own?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I mean, he could I guess," you say as you feel yourself wilting, "but he's stumped and wants me to help him out. Plus there's an essay portion to go with it and I've always been better at that stuff than he is so he wants me to help him with that too."<br/>
<br/>
"It's not your responsibility to help Caleb with his school work," he declares sternly, emphatically even. "Knowing you I half-suspect that you're really just looking for an excuse to goof off with your friend."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not looking for an excuse to goof off with my girlfriend!" you exclaim and then immediately catch yourself. "Uh, I mean my friend."<br/>
<br/>
But it's too late because your father's now ey6ing you over the top of his newspaper and you can see an eyebrow begin to raise. It's not him who says anything, however, but your mother. "Did I hear that right? A girlfriend?" she says in that way that's motherly and doting. "Are you back together with Lisa?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not," you start. You want to say that it's not a girlfriend and you just misspoke but what's the point. They'll see her around anyway and you can't hide her forever. "It's not Lisa," you say in a resigned manner. "Her name's Bailey and I met her at," you hesitate to say it but press on, "at that party I went to on Friday."<br/>
<br/>
"So you're going to skip out on church to hang out with a girl that you just met?" asks your father skeptically. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of opportunity after church to --"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, she works in the afternoon so I actually won't," you protest. "Um, that is, if I was going to hang out with her which I'm not. I'm going to help Caleb."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, <i>she</i> works does she?" he replies and the implication is obvious and feels like a blow to the gut.<br/>
<br/>
"Come now, honey, Will just got himself a new girlfriend and I'm sure he'll be in church next week," your mother says to her husband before turning to you and adding, "Won't you, dear?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um, yeah," you say but continue trying to stick to the now thoroughly destroyed excuse, "but I told you, I'm--"<br/>
<br/>
"Besides, I remember the excuses you told me you would give <i>your</i> father when we first started dating," she says with a small laugh, "so surely you can understand our son's position."<br/>
<br/>
"I can, Martha, but," your father starts but he's cut off by a look from your mother. Eventually his resolve breaks and he slackens a bit. "Just this one time, Will, you understand? But you better be in church next Sunday and you'll make up for it next weekend in chores as well."<br/>
<br/>
You want to groan at that but realize that's probably as lenient as you'll ever get from him and you're thankful about your father's seeming longstanding inability to triumph over your mother's own iron will. You especially want to groan at his followup.<br/>
<br/>
"If you've got a girlfriend then you're going to need money."<br/>
<br/>
The implication is clear as day: take the job offer at Salopek. So you tell him that you'll seriously consider it now which seems to at least partially mollify him and you finish your breakfast before heading back up to your room to get ready.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You meet up with Bailey at the Northgate Mall a little before eleven and like yesterday she's quick to great you with a quick kiss. The height difference is still stark as she looks up at you and smiles. It's cute though and you're quick to take hold of her hand as you enter. "So when do you have to work?" you ask trying to come up with something to start a conversation<br/>
<br/>
"Around three so I should probably get back home closer to two," she tells you.<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, well, we'll make sure to leave before then," you say. "So where do you work exactly? I think all you said yesterday was a fast food place."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, did I?" she asks in surprise. "Um, sorry, I guess I thought I'd mentioned it so it must have slipped my mind. You know Burger Palace out near the library? I just do cashier stuff there. Five hours five days a week and I've got off Tuesdays and Fridays, uh, in case you were going to ask that too." She giggles a bit at that.<br/>
<br/>
"Ah, yeah I don't go there that often," you say before trying to suavely add, "because I'm sure I'd definitely remember you if you I had seen you there."<br/>
<br/>
That causes some more giggling. "Well maybe you <i>should</i> start coming up there more often," she says teasingly, "and maybe I'll hook you up if I do."<br/>
<br/>
"Hook me up or hook up?" you joke and almost instantly regret that due to how dumb it sounds.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my god, Will, you are so lame!" she laughs before squeezing your hand a little tighter. "Hmm, but maybe a little bit of both?"<br/>
<br/>
It's at this moment that you're thankful that Stephanie, whatever her intention was, threw you down next to Bailey on Friday. When Stephanie or another girl thinks you're lame, they mean it negatively but when Bailey says it you can tell it's done with affection. Probably because Bailey isn't one to talk if you're being honest. Right now she's dressed in short denim overalls and a black and white striped shirt something, she tells you as she leads you into a clothing store, she got from some seeing some K-pop singers wear similar stuff.<br/>
<br/>
Which kind of cements it as a good match for you since you can't imagine Lisa or anyone being that much of a geek as to openly dress like some Korean singer but Bailey is and it's why, when she calls you lame, it doesn't bother you because you know she's not being judgmental.<br/>
<br/>
You spend a good chunk of the next hour going to various stores with her though in the end she only buys a few things. You use some of the money you have left from the summer to treat her to lunch at the food court and she tells you a bit more about her classes. Most of them are fairly normal though a few, namely Art III, stand out to yeah. She tells you it's because she's always liked to draw and really wants to get into making comics or webcomics and makes sure to throw in a plug for her Tumblr so you can check her art out.<br/>
<br/>
There's also her taking Intro to Dance since you don't picture her as the dancing type going by what she said on Friday. She reiterates that she's never really been but admits, a little more bashfully this time, it's because of her being a fangirl for all of the Korean and Japanese singers and liking how they dance and do all of that so it gave her the inspiration to try taking it up as well. She does admit, a little less bashfully, that she finds it fun.<br/>
<br/>
You're enjoying your lunch with her and finding out more about her as the more she mentions stuff the more at ease you feel and the easier you find it to talk about things even if you're own geeky interests differ at times from her own. However it's while you're enjoying the conversation that you notice something that first piques your curiosity; something disconcerting.<br/>
<br/>
You mention it to Bailey and then point it out and she gives it a curious glance but then tells you that maybe you're being a little weird and imagining things. But still you can't help but keep what you see on your mind and you keep casting glances over in that direction to the point where you're starting to feel distracted. Thankfully the both of you finish your lunch not long afterwards and as Bailey and yourself go to throw away your trash you walk by the distraction and turn to get a good look.<br/>
<br/>
It's a person and you don't think he sees you, you're maybe a little too far away, but you sure as hell see him. How can you not see it and notice it? Because it's a boy and he bears a very, very strong resemblance to you... like some kind of evil twin.</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113211111
author_id: rugal
title: Things Similar and Different
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Hey, uh, so I think I'm gonna do it," you say to Bailey as you dump your trash into the can.<br/>
<br/>
"Do what?" she asks as she follows suit. You've turned back towards the person who looks an awful lot like you and she follows your gaze. "Oh! Um, well, I mean, do you <i>really</i> think you should?"<br/>
<br/>
"Bailey, come on!" you say excitedly. "We look alike!"<br/>
<br/>
She squints at him. "Maybe? Like a little bit," she replies. "But some times people look kind of similar. Not twins like Paris and her sister but, you know, you can kind of see the similarities even though they don't look exactly the same."<br/>
<br/>
You don't know who this Paris is but if she has a twin that does make you think about the Garner twins, well triplets really, but Eva and Jessica specifically which just riles you further. "Yeah but I'm not talking about that," you tell her. "I'm saying this guy looks exactly, and I mean <i>exactly</i> like me."<br/>
<br/>
"I just think you're maybe seeing things," she says a little uncomfortably. "Evil twin stuff only happens in comic books and sci-fi novels and things like that.'<br/>
<br/>
"Well maybe I want to see for myself if I am," you say as you start walking over.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, wait!" Bailey calls out as she bounds after you. "You're not going to, I don't know, fight him or something are you?"<br/>
<br/>
Though you don't plan on fighting him you don't respond to her and just continue your march towards the person who you think looks like you. He's busy stuffing some fries into his mouth as start getting closer and he finally looks up. He doesn't say anything for what seems like an eternity but his eyes go wide as he seems to register what's going on and very quickly  he's up and making a dash out of the food court.<br/>
<br/>
It seems dumb and kind of goofy to do so but you give chase. You hear Bailey call out and it's not long before you hear her coming up. You think she's going to grab you and tell you to give up but she darts past you to your surprise -- both because she's not stopping you and because she's faster than you -- and she's able to, with effort, reach out and grab your doppelganger by the wrist just outside of the food court.<br/>
<br/>
"Wha--?!" he cries out and you can't mistake that voice at all. He turns back towards the two of you and your eyes nearly bulge out of their head and even Bailey lets out a surprised yelp and jumps back a bit letting go of his wrist.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh god, you were right!" she exclaims as, wide-eyed, she looks at you and then back at him and back to you once more. "It's... there's two of you! Um, I mean, I'm not complaining, kind, of," she blushes, "but it's so... so..."<br/>
<br/>
"Freaky?" you ask her not taking your eyes off of your double.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I'm a little freaked out right now," she replies as she practically shrinks back and wraps herself around your arm.<br/>
<br/>
"Not as freaked out as I am right now, I can assure you," the double replies. "I got caught after all."<br/>
<br/>
"You got," you sputter, "you're dam right you got caught! Wait got caught doing what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Doing... well, shouldn't it be obvious?" he asks and both Bailey and yourself give him blank looks. "Okay, well, it's... I'd say you wouldn't believe me but given what you're seeing I guess you'd have to. But I can't talk about it."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh you're gonna talk about it," Bailey says as she moves from your arm and takes a more assertive posture in a manner that surprises you.<br/>
<br/>
Your twin just looks at her with surprise and then eventually shrugs his shoulders in a "what are you going to do" gesture. "Fine, I guess we were going to talk about it to Will eventually. We didn't plan on..." he says as he gives another look at Bailey, "but I guess it can't be helped. But we can't do it here."<br/>
<br/>
"And why not?" Bailey asks with even more indignation.<br/>
<br/>
"Because," he says and makes a motion towards the food court where some of the people out on the fringes are looking at you. "We need some privacy so meet me at the Top Shelf storage facility, you know where that is?" he asks and you shake your head. "Okay then," he says as he takes out a phone. "What's your number?" he asks and you can only stare at him blankly. "I was going to text you the address and the keypad number you'd need to get in."<br/>
<br/>
You're hesitant to give him anything, maybe he's some weirdo trying to steal your life and giving him your number would be a bad move, but your desire to know what's going on gets the better of you so you give your number to him. He's then tapping away at his phone and not long after you hear a chime. You take out your phone to check it and almost want to groan.<br/>
<br/>
It's on the complete opposite end of town, near the outskirts on the south end.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So that was kind of nuts," you say on your way up to the storage facility.<br/>
<br/>
"I know!" Bailey exclaims. "I mean... you don't have a twin brother or anything do you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Unless my parents have been keeping secrets from me then no," you reply. "But I wasn't talking about that. I meant the way you, well, you seemed more worked up about it than I did. Like you were real quick there and then you just kind of stood up like you were going to mess him up or something."<br/>
<br/>
Bailey's face turns red. "Well, I wasn't going to do anything because I don't think I could've even if I wanted to," she states. "I guess I just got worked up though. Things were really fast and I just kind of reacted without really thinking about it." You glance over again to see her now looking down slightly as she quietly adds, "I've been doing that a lot lately"<br/>
<br/>
"Something wrong?" you ask."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh?! Oh, no," she says as she brushes off your concern with a nervous giggle. "I was just thinking that's all. You know that I was just happy to talk to you on Friday because I thought I'd be too nervous to say anything but I just kind of decided on a whim to tell you and..."<br/>
<br/>
"You're not regretting anything are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No way!" she exclaims. "It's just that this is kind of a change that I decided I needed to make over the summer so I'm still getting used to it and kind of surprising myself."<br/>
<br/>
"You're not regretting it?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
Her only response is a less nervous, happier laugh which tells you enough.<br/>
<br/>
"But, I guess, back to the bigger issue."<br/>
<br/>
"God, that was so freaky!" Bailey squeaks excitedly. "But it was kind of neat too. And, um, I'm not going to say I wasn't unhappy to see two of you."<br/>
<br/>
That causes you to turn red yourself but you don't say anything about that. "It's just really weird," is all you can say, "because he was way too similar to just be a case of someone who looks kind of like me. Everything was spot on."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe it's a clone or magic or something," she suggests.<br/>
<br/>
You're dismissive however. "Come on, none of that stuff exists you know that," you tell her before sighing. "Well, whatever, I guess we'll find out what's up when we get there."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Hey man, glad you could make it!" Carlos Montoya says as he steps out of a building near the end of the facility. But you're not sure why he's greeting you or what he's doing here.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, thanks?" you reply in confusion. "I was invited out here by, uh, some guy I met at the mall earlier. You've got stuff out here or something?"<br/>
<br/>
"You could say that," he grins, "and trust me I know the guy you're talking about. He's a good friend of mine." He then takes a look at Bailey, sizes her up for a second, and then turns back to you. "She your girlfriend?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," you reply a little more guardedly, "we just met on Friday."<br/>
<br/>
"Nice! Well good for you man, she's cute."<br/>
<br/>
Bailey's eyes go wide and she shrinks back a bit more towards you at that while Carlos pulls out his phone and, you presume, sends off a text. It's an assumption that's confirmed a minute or two later when his phone goes off. "Alright, cool, everything should be ready," he says as he holds open the door and motions towards Bailey. "Ladies first," he says.<br/>
<br/>
She eyes him a bit oddly but Bailey takes the suggestion and goes into the building while you follow after her and Carlos closes the door behind you.<br/>
<br/>
"It's my uncle's place," he tells you as he comes up and past you walking briskly. "He owns it, I help out, he gives me two units in return. One has the video stuff that Mike and I use. The other, well, you'll see."<br/>
<br/>
He stops at one of the blue sliding metal doors, bends down and opens it. Inside you see a weight bench and not much else though there are two people in the small unit: Mike Hollister, Carlos' buddy that you recognize from the videos, and another guy you recognize as Philip Fairfax. Something about Fairfax is triggering your deja vu and you can't quite place it.<br/>
<br/>
"Look who's here!" Carlos exclaims as he walks into the unit.<br/>
<br/>
Bailey follows suit and you follow her. You're not more than a few steps in when something catches your eye. Bailey's walked past Mike and is looking around, getting a feel for the unit, when suddenly Mike creeps up behind her in a way that's triggering alarm bells. You try to call out to Bailey or at least ask Mike what he's doing but before you can say anything Bailey spins around... just as Mike takes an object he has in his hand and jams it on her face.<br/>
<br/>
You can only watch in horror as your girlfriend collapses right into his arms.</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212
author_id: seuzz
title: A Flight and a Capture
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Bailey Keane is very cute, and if you were still a sophomore or even a junior you'd be pretty interested in getting to know her better. She has a small mouth and a button nose and large brown eyes filled with a hopeful gleam. One cheek dimples when she smiles.<br/>
<br/>
But she looks so young ...<br/>
<br/>
Again, that wouldn't be a problem, except for the way you got paired with her. This girl, who is barely a junior, and who looks even younger and more immature than that, is apparently Stephanie's idea of a good match for you.<br/>
<br/>
And as that implication sinks in, it can't help but poison your impression of this girl. <br/>
<br/>
The word <i>Bitch</i> forms in your mind, and attaches itself to Stephanie.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Not that you act out on these feelings. You don't jump up and stalk off. But all your interest in Bailey drains away even as you're talking to her. After only five minutes or so—during which you exhaust everything you have to say about school—you fall into an awkward silence.<br/>
<br/>
It doesn't help that Bailey herself gets rather twitchy after the silence has descended, and starts avoiding your face. When that ear-pounding musical beat shifts to something a little faster, she perks up, though. "I think they're starting to dance in the other room!" she shouts over the noise. "Do you like to dance?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm not really good at it!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not either, but—" She folds and twists her hands, and squirms.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you want something to drink?" <i>A desperate expedient, but desperate times and all that ...</i><br/>
<br/>
Her eyes widen. "Sure. I'll—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll get it!" You flee into the kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie has gone, but most of her friends are still there. You have to squeeze through them to reach the counter with the sodas and juices, and you shut your ears as best you can against their conversation, though you hear enough to gather that they're talking about the Eastman basketball squad, and how those guys are <i>much</i> better-looking and more personable than the Westside crew. Or, as one of them puts it, "I'd love to bite him back if he bit me first." You almost spill 7-Up all over the place when you hear <i>that</i> one.<br/>
<br/>
You have your cell phone out when you rejoin Bailey, and pretend to be absorbed in one-thumbed texting as you hand her a cup. "Where's yours?" she asks. <br/>
<br/>
"I think I have to go!" you shout. "I got a text!"<br/>
<br/>
"Is something wrong? At home?"<br/>
<br/>
"No!" You're not so lame you'll pretend your <i>mother</i> is calling you. "I think I showed up at the wrong party! Yeah!" you continue, warming to the improvisation. "I was supposed to meet a friend, but he wound up someplace else! Either he's the dumbass or I am!"<br/>
<br/>
"So you're leaving?" Bailey's brow wrinkles up hard.<br/>
<br/>
"I might be coming back! I dunno! But he wants me to come out! He can't come here because he got a ride with someone else!" you hastily add. "So I have to go out there and— Um, I'll try to talk him into coming back here, but I might not be able to!"<br/>
<br/>
Bailey's eyes drop, and you flatter yourself that she's crestfallen at your leaving. At the same time a sour feeling—guilt—invades your stomach. "Look, don't wait for me to come back!" you tell her. "If you find a guy to dance with, dance with him!"<br/>
<br/>
Then, on a violent impulse, you dart down do to peck her on the cheek. She jumps. "It was nice meeting you and, uh, if I don't see you later, I'll see you around!" You give a quick salute, and hop out of the room before she can try roping you down.<br/>
<br/>
An hour later, after driving around and letting your emotions seethe and sizzle, you are seriously annoyed at yourself and your headlong flight. You went to a party and was there for maybe fifteen minutes before bailing out. And for what? Because you didn't want to deal with a girl. <br/>
<br/>
A girl that Stephanie Wyatt foisted on you, to your humiliation.<br/>
<br/>
The whole mess only deepens your resentments of her.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Saturday morning you oversleep, so you're not able to meet Caleb and Keith at Don's Donuts, and when Keith begs off the afternoon with the excuse he needs to be with Carlos and Mike, that leaves you with Caleb. "Meh," he says when you ask about his Friday night. "We played some mobile games, and he streamed us a couple of movies. What about you?"<br/>
<br/>
By this point you're so embarrassed by your performance at the party that you just say you stayed home.<br/>
<br/>
Early that evening you're surprised to get some texts from Carlos Montoya: <i>Wats ur sked Sunday? Time to meet for vid talk maybe shoot? Want to do sthing wit u.<br/>
<br/>
Got church in morning, after two maybe?</i> you reply. You're not enthusiastic, but it would be something new.<br/>
<br/>
<i>PERFECT</i> He gives you an address and a four-digit number "for the gate."<br/>
<br/>
 You don't picture Carlos as living in a gated community, but you forget about it until the next afternoon, when at a quarter to two you pull into a parking lot and check the address again. No, it seems to be correct. And there's the gate.<br/>
<br/>
But it's a self-storage complex.<br/>
<br/>
You pull up to the entrance and punch the code into the keypad. With a buzz and groan, the chain-link gate draws back. You gun the engine impatiently.<br/>
<br/>
You park just inside and text Carlos: <i>Im here I think where r u?</i> A few seconds later a door at the end of one of the rows of storage sheds opens, and Carlos steps out. He points to a parking space next to him, and you jack-rabbit your truck into it. "Seriously, is this where you live?" you ask as you jump out of the cab.<br/>
<br/>
He laughs. "Practically. It's my family's business. Well, my uncle owns this one, my step-dad owns another one over in Parsonboro. I help out here, and my Uncle Phil lets me have two units to keep my stuff in. Come on in." He holds punches a four-digit code into the keypad by that door he came out through.<br/>
<br/>
You're confused until you step inside, and then you understand. It's a set of temperature-controlled storage units, with their doors on the inside of the building instead of the outside. The air is very cool—almost chilly.<br/>
<br/>
There are some handcarts in the corner of the entryway, and a long hallway that plunges straight down the center of the building. It's lined up and down both sides with sliding metal doors painted blue. Carlos bangs a fist on one of these as you pass. "Got my weight set in this one," he says. "Cheaper than a gym membership." Now you notice you broad and strong his back is.<br/>
<br/>
Two doors down is a unit that's open. It's small, and dominated by a large desk set against its back wall. Before this stands a video camera on a mount and a couple of photographers lamps that brilliantly light the space. In one corner is a mobile stand with a flat-screen TV mounted on it; in another, a saggy futon. "Welcome to our studio," Carlos says.<br/>
<br/>
His "us" encompasses the company already there: Michael Hollister, Josiah Shank, and Philip Fairfax. The first two, who are perched on the edges of the desk, look up brightly at your entrance, and Mike raises his hand for a high-five; Fairfax smiles in a reserved way.<br/>
<br/>
"Ay, Will, finally!" Mike hollers, and his yell bounces off the floor, the ceiling, and all the walls to meet again directly at your head in a way that makes you wince. "How you feeling? Any side effects from the other day?"<br/>
<br/>
"What? Oh, you mean out in the portables? No, I'm fine, I almost forgot about that, actually. So, uh, are we doing that thing here, today?" Memory of being mugged last Tuesday suddenly makes you feel rather shy.<br/>
<br/>
"Nah, I think we're just going to watch a movie," says Mike. He looks around. "Right? A movie?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's right," says Carlos. He rests a heavy but friendly hand on your shoulder. "We're thinking about bringing in, like, a rotating band of guest hosts to help out, so if you're interested, you know—" He shrugs. "This could be like an audition for joining."<br/>
<br/>
Your chest tightens. "Well, I've never done anything like that before," you admit. "And I don't talk about, or, you know, analyze—"<br/>
<br/>
Carlos looks mirthful. "You don't talk about movies with your friends after getting outta one?"<br/>
<br/>
Philip Fairfax speaks up. "I thought you were taking Hawks's film class this semester."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"You could probably get extra credit with him for doing this," says Carlos. "We did, when we took him last year."<br/>
<br/>
<i>}Extra credit? Hmm.</i> That is one of the classes you're nervous about. You signed up for it thinking it would be a blow-off class—what's so hard about watching movies?—but Mr. Hawks is making you work. So you shrug. "Yeah, okay. What do you need from me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just your eyes and mouth," says Mike. His ruddy face turns even redder, maybe from excitement, though you have no idea why he should be so excited. "See, we'll watch this movie this afternoon, then we'll talk about it, you know, just to get our ideas out there and get used to them. Then tomorrow, after school, we'll get together here again and do a shoot. That way you can think over what you want to say."<br/>
<br/>
"And we'll figure out some gags," says Carlos. He grins. "You know. Something to humiliate you."<br/>
<br/>
It sounds like a joke, but the shrill way that Mike laughs makes you flinch. Only Fairfax, resting casually with his hand on his hip, remains sober as he regards you from behind his black-frame glasses.<br/>
<br/>
You agree, so the large flat-screen TV gets wheeled into the middle of the room and  Josiah is sent out to pick up some snacks. Then you all settle back on the sofa to watch <i>Lawrence of Arabia.</i><br/>
<br/>
All three hours and forty-eight minutes of it.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111132121
author_id: seuzz
title: Four Offers
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It's not a bad movie, you grudgingly admit when it's over, though you almost bolted when, after two hours, Carlos told you it was only half over. It's long and sprawling and there was some gorgeous shots in it. But on the whole you'd have much rather watched a comic book movie or a video game movie. Something with leather-clad girls somersaulting through the air while firing guns. <br/>
<br/>
"Well, think about something to say about it," Mike says when you announce during the end credits that you really have to go. "And we'll get together tomorrow to do a bit or a spot."<br/>
<br/>
You nod, even as you hope your dad will tell you he needs the garage cleaned out after school.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So I bet Mr. Hawks'll be pretty stoked when he hears you're doing stuff with Carlos and Mike," Keith says the next day when he falls in next to you and Caleb after fourth period. The corridor, as usual, is boiling with students on their way to lunch.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," you retort. You don't mean to be rude, but your attention is elsewhere: The Molester is approaching, and you turn around so he won't see your face. Caleb and Keith aren't so quick. Caleb's expression tightens just a little, but Keith is oblivious, as he usually is until it's too late, and he just keeps blathering. Fortunately, the Molester passes by without stopping. You let out a sigh of relief.<br/>
<br/>
Keith plucks the back of your shirt as your trio disgorges itself through an outside door. "D'ju hear me?" he says, "I said let's go talk about it."<br/>
<br/>
"Talk about what?"<br/>
<br/>
"About if you're gonna—"<br/>
<br/>
"You guys go talk about whatever you want," Caleb says. "I'm eating with Jenny and them, in case Eva or Yumi shows up again."<br/>
<br/>
You're inclined to follow, but Keith takes your arm and steers you off around the back of the school. "Come on," he says. "Didn't you have fun with those guys yesterday?"<br/>
<br/>
"We watched a movie, and there wasn't a lot of fun involved," you say. "It was about twenty hours long."<br/>
<br/>
"It was not!"<br/>
<br/>
"Felt like it. Anyway, I don't got anything to say about it for a video."<br/>
<br/>
"You better find something to say, if you're going to get any extra credit out of Hawks."<br/>
<br/>
You sigh. There is that. "Are <i>you</i> doing anything for extra credit in there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure! We recorded a bit on Saturday, <i>and</i> I was fucking brilliant if I say so myself." He tugs at the front of his shirt and preens. "Talked about <i>Jaws</i> and the, uh, sym—Symbolo—Symbol<i>ol</i>ogy of the chaos of the ocean as a, um, primeval—" He breaks off, and starts chewing on his lip in a worried way.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I bet you sounded really smart." But much as you'd like to mock him, you're thinking that's what you'd sound like, and you have to scratch under your ball cap when the thought makes the sweat springs out on your scalp.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, come on, you're always doing stuff with Johansson. This can be <i>our</i> thing together. Right?"<br/>
<br/>
You sigh again. "Look, I just don't want to make a fucking fool of myself." You get a brainwave. "Here, if I record some stuff for them, can't I talk about some of the shit that we've talked about already in Hawks's class? Instead of stuff like—"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe," says Keith, though he sounds dubious. "But Hawks isn't going to give extra credit if it's some of the shit we've already talked about in class. That's what makes it extra credit!"<br/>
<br/>
"Can I at least pick out the stuff I want to see and talk about?"<br/>
<br/>
Keith shrugs. "It's up to them. It's like, their stuff, they're in charge."<br/>
<br/>
"It should be something I've got something to say about, right? Stuff I can talk about without sounding like a moronic dipshit?"<br/>
<br/>
Keith suddenly laughs. "You won't sound like a moronic dipshit, Will. They'll make sure you sound good, like you know what you're talking about."<br/>
<br/>
You snort. "Like they made <i>you</i> sound like you knew what you were talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure! I told you, I was practically making a college-level type presentation about the symbology—" He stumbles over the word again. "Of the ocean as, um, devouring chaos of man's hoo—Hoobris?" He crinkles his brow.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, God.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You shake off Keith with the promise that you'll <i>probably</i> meet up with him and the other guys after school. While he traipses off in one direction, you continue circling the school until you come all the way around the long way to the front quad. Caleb is lounging there with Jenny and Yumi and Paul. You pause before going off to join them, though, for while the two girls are in intent conversation, the two guys are staring off silently in the other direction. with bored expressions on their faces.<br/>
<br/>
You're about to join them anyway when someone jabs you in the shoulder. "You bolted out of Gladstone before I could catch you," says Braydon. His eyelids droop even as his eyebrows shoot up. "What are you doing after school?"<br/>
<br/>
You'd much rather hang out with Carlos and Mike and Keith than with Braydon, but you're careful not to lunge for that excuse. "Not got plans for sure yet," you reply. "Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Come run an errand with me? About that book?" Braydon rubs the side of his nose, and that giant silver ring he wears on his forefinger flashes in the sunlight.<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, I don't remember any more about—"<br/>
<br/>
"I found a guy, a professor at the university, who knows about this stuff," he says. "He says he maybe could help identify it, if you could describe it to him."<br/>
<br/>
"I already—"<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, Will," he says. "He's pretty sure he knows what book it is, but you gotta ID it for him." He draws up close to you. "He says it could be really valuable. He says he'll pay us, like ten percent of the value if we help him find it."<br/>
<br/>
"How valuable?" you ask, despite your trepidations.<br/>
<br/>
"He says it's a one-of-a-kind book, the only copy in existence, if it's the one he's thinking of. He said it might be worth twenty or maybe even thirty thousand dollars."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Holy shit! You paid two dollars for a thirty thousand dollar book and then let it get away?</i><br/>
<br/>
Greed would have overwhelmed you right then and there, but you're checked by a sudden thought. "Wait, what makes him so sure it was this valuable book? I could hardly describe it."<br/>
<br/>
"That's why he needs you to identify it for sure," says Braydon. "I got the title from Ted Arnholm." He purses his lips, and you can see it in his eye: He knows you were at Arnholms', and that you got the title and didn't tell him. "He also told me who they bought it from, that it was this professor, so I went and talked to him about it, to see if he could tell me what was in it, and where I could find another copy, and if it was worth looking at, or anything. And he said it was really valuable and that—"<br/>
<br/>
"Wait, wait!" You raise your hands. "The book belonged to this professor, and he sold it to Arnholms' even though it's so fucking valuable?"<br/>
<br/>
"He said it was an accident. That's why he wants it back."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh." This is sounding very fishy, all of a sudden.<br/>
<br/>
"So you should come with me and talk to him," says Braydon.<br/>
<br/>
"You should get him to describe this book he wants," you retort. "Then I'll tell you if it's the book I lost. Anyway, I can't help more than that, because I don't know where it is now."<br/>
<br/>
Braydon's brow clouds over. "This guy will give us, like, three thousand dollars if we find it for him, Will—"<br/>
<br/>
"So get him to describe it for me so I can—! Look, Braydon, I gotta go, I'm meeting someone." Without waiting for a reply, you hurry off toward the library, just to get away from him, and wind up hurriedly swallowing your meal back in the stacks.<br/>
<br/>
You're hustling in to Calculus—tardy—when your phone dings. It's a text from Braydon, and you've just time to glance at it before diving into the classroom: <i>atleast come talk to the guy.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're pretty ambivalent about going out with Braydon after school. The prospect of several thousand dollars is really tempting, but you're held back by a sense that there's something very odd going on with this offer. It seems very strange that someone should accidentally part with a super-rare and valuable book, which leaves you doubting the offer.<br/>
<br/>
You're also ambivalent about hanging out with Carlos and Mike and Keith. Their company is certainly preferable to Braydon's, and Keith is correct that you could get some extra credit for it. But it doesn't sound very interesting.<br/>
<br/>
So when you bump into Paul Davis in the math wing after Calculus, you ask him what Carson and James are up to. "Dunno," he says. "You thinking of hanging out with them again today?"<br/>
<br/>
"Again?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like yesterday."<br/>
<br/>
Did you mishear him? The hallway is crowded and noisy. "I didn't see them yesterday."<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't?" Someone jostles you hard, and you catch only the end of what Paul says: "—with them at the mall Sunday." You're quickly separated by the crowd, so you don't get to ask him about it. But Paul's remark reminds you that Carson and James offer possible escape from both Braydon and the YouTube crew.<br/>
<br/>
And to your immense surprise you get a fourth option at the start of Astronomy. Stephanie does a double-take at you as you come in, and after a moment's hesitation she gestures you over. Your nerves quicken. <br/>
<br/>
"You own a truck, right?" she says. And when you nod she says, "Can you give me some help moving something after school?"</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321211
author_id: seuzz
title: Special Effects
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Sorry, I've got some other stuff I have to do this afternoon," you tell Stephanie.<br/>
<br/>
You'd really like it if she begged, and you wouldn't mind if she got mad, but she only nods and shrugs it off. Someone trips you as you make your way over to your chair, but you swallow the snarl when you see it's Rennerhoff.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You expect to find Keith loitering at your locker when you get out of class, but instead you have to go find him. He raises an eyebrow when you lean in next to him. "So are you going to be joining us for this video thing?" you ask him.<br/>
<br/>
His eyes pop. "So you're going?"<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't I say I would?"<br/>
<br/>
"You sounded like you weren't." He frowns as you shrug. "Lemme guess. You didn't get a better offer."<br/>
<br/>
"No, it's not that," you insist. "I got other offers." <i>Sort of.</i> "But you talked me into it."<br/>
<br/>
"Awesome!" He grins and grips your arm. "So, when you get out there— You're driving yourself, right? I mean, you know how to get out there?"<br/>
<br/>
"I was out there yesterday and I didn't get lost."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you should probably go land someplace for a little while first. Like, for thirty minutes, so they can get ready for you. Oh, I know!" He snaps his fingers. "If you get, like, some chocolate shakes from Mickey D's and bring them out, they'll be all happy with you."<br/>
<br/>
You didn't know it was <i>your</i> job to make them happy with you, rather than their job to make you happy with them, but you agree. Keith impresses upon you that there's some technical work that has to be set up out there, and that you shouldn't be in a rush to get out because you'll just be bored otherwise. "I'll tell Carlos and them you'll be out around four-thirty."<br/>
<br/>
He hops around excitedly, and you eagerly back off to give him room. You weren't that enthusiastic about the afternoon's plans, and now you're even less so.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You kill time at the McDonald's with school work, and kill a little extra time just for the hell of it, so that it's closer to five when you pull up to your destination. You'd texted your mom with the news that you'd be eating with and spending the evening with classmates on an "extra credit" assignment—an excuse that, besides getting you out of dinner at home has the merit of actually being true. But you don't have any chocolate shakes for anyone—you haven't the budget for it—and are hoping someone else will spring for something to eat. If for no other reason, than because your mom, in her reply to your text, had mentioned leftover split pea soup "if you want it."<br/>
<br/>
"So what exactly is the name of this place?" you ask Carlos after he's met you outside at the same spot as yesterday. You point to the sign over the gate: "Top Self Storage" it says, but an "h" floats between the "S" and "e" in "Self," like a textual correction. "Top Self or Top Shelf?"<br/>
<br/>
"Both. Either. It's supposed to be in-between," he says as he ushers you into the climate-controlled unit. "Top Shelf, like a shelf for storing things, but also 'top' as in best. And 'self' like 'self storage' and it's tops at self storage."<br/>
<br/>
"But how do people <i>pronounce</i> it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, lots of ways, I guess. My uncle sometimes talks about changing the name, because the checks that come in get all kinds of things written on them and the bank sometimes makes a problem about it." He pauses in front of one of the blue doors, and takes out a key. "I wanted to show you something before we get started in the studio." The door rattles loudly as he slides it up.<br/>
<br/>
It's his gym—you remember him mentioning that he keeps his exercise equipment on site—and there's a weight bench and bunch of bars and iron plates scattered about. One wall has a large mirror balanced against it. There's also a footlocker.<br/>
<br/>
But there's another item, in the middle of the floor, that you can't make much sense of.<br/>
<br/>
It looks like a crude statue, about the size of a man, laying on its back. At least, that's your first impression, but when you look at it more closely you're not at all sure what it is. The impression of "humanity" is entirely a matter of its gross shape: a trunk about the size of a torso with two leg-like limbs at one end and a bulbous blob like a head at the other. Coming off the trunk, just below the "head," are two other limbs, like arms. But there are no features—no face or muscular definition, no suggestion of joints. All in all, it looks like a blob that a small child might have shaped from clay. It's grayish-white all over, like ash, and you are briefly tempted to bend over to dust it off.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, that's what I wanted to show you," says Carlos, "before we go into the other unit." He nudges it with his toe. "What do you think?"<br/>
<br/>
"What is it?"<br/>
<br/>
He tugs his ear. "Well, we think it's a golem, but we're not sure. 'Golem' seems the best word for it, but it doesn't act exactly like an old golem, the legendary kind."<br/>
<br/>
You don't even know what the legendary kind of golem is, but you nod as if you did. "This is for the video?"<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a funny look, like you've surprised him with plausible suggestion. "No, that's probably not a good idea. You know what a golem is, right?"<br/>
<br/>
You grimace. <i>Busted.</i> "Not exactly."<br/>
<br/>
"A golem is like a living statue. Like a magical robot. Like, it moves around and takes orders and performs tasks. Not an android, like Data in <i>Star Trek.</i> It doesn't have a personality or talk back. Well, this one can." He nudges it again. It doesn't even wobble, so it must be heavy. "But they don't have moving parts. You use magic to bring them to life."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. But this isn't for a skit or anything? You're not reviewing a movie that has a golem in it, and this is—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but that <i>is</i> an idea." He tugs his ear again. Then he swings around and pulls the sliding door down. "Don't panic or anything. I just don't want anyone coming in and seeing this next bit. I'm, uh, I'm going to turn it on."<br/>
<br/>
You have no idea how you "turn on" a statue—even one with genitalia—so you take it very calmly when Carlos suggests you sit on the weight bench. "I don't want you falling over or anything," he says. "We all kind of freaked out the first time we, uh, started it up." He opens the footlocker and takes out a towel and a bluish object. He hands you the latter with the words "Take a look at this" as he drapes the towel over the golem's midriff.<br/>
<br/>
It's a mask. It's very thin and shaped like a classic "tragedians" mask, with bulges for the nose, cheeks, lips, chin and forehead, but with blank spots for the eyes so that you'd blind yourself if you put it to your face. You do lift it close for a look, and Carlos gently restrains you. "Don't get it too close," he says. "Check out the other side."<br/>
<br/>
You flip it over. The front of the mask—the convex side—is a brilliant, reflective blue, with odd patterns shimmering over it, but the concave side is a dull white. Still, you almost drop it with surprise.<br/>
<br/>
For floating over the inner surface, like a 3D effect, is a name: CARLOS FELIPE MONTOYA. You blink and screw your eyes up, to try to get the letters to reattach to the surface. You try touching them with your fingertip, and that <i>almost</i> nails them to the surface: you can't push your finger through them, and when you press them to the inner surface of the mask you obscure some of the letters even as the uncovered letters seem to float about your knuckles. You clench your eyes and shake your head. "Wow, that's a pretty wild effect," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, it is," says Carlos. His voice has dropped to a near whisper. "But that's not the really amazing thing." He gently takes the mask from you. "Now, for the next bit, I really don't want you to freak out. I mean, I'm the one who should freak out, and I did freak out the first time we, uh—" He swallows, and you notice he's not looking you in the face. "The first time we did this. But I got used to it. There's nothing dangerous about it. It's just, well, freaky."<br/>
<br/>
He squats next to the statue and holds the mask over its head. He pauses, and gives you a keen-eyed stare. "I'll warn you ahead of time, so you can sort of prepare. This is magic. Like, real magic. <i>Real.</i> Magic," he repeats. "We found a book, me and Mike. A book of magic, like a real grimoire."<br/>
<br/>
<i>A book of magic.</i> A mass of goose bumps goes rippling along your spine, starting in your tailbone and running up between your shoulder blades. Your tongue cleaves to the roof of your mouth as he continues.<br/>
<br/>
"We've been playing around with it. We've been keeping it secret, for obvious reasons. But Keith—" He sucks on his lower lip. "Well, he talked us into letting you see."<br/>
<br/>
You grip the edges of the weight bench until your fingers hurt.<br/>
<br/>
Carlos drops the upturned mask onto the "face" of the statue.<br/>
<br/>
For a moment you're confused by what you're seeing. Then, even after it's cleared up, you don't want to credit your senses.<br/>
<br/>
Carlos is now crouching over another Carlos Montoya—a brown-skinned, dark-haired kid who looks exactly like the guy who ushered you into this unit. He's naked, though, save for the towel draped over his crotch.<br/>
<br/>
The recumbent Carlos opens his eyes, and turns his head. He blinks at you, and grins. "Hey, Will," he says as he sits up on one elbow. "Glad you showed up!"</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212111
author_id: seuzz
title: Doubles for Pleasure
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A long time ago, when you were a little kid, you saw a cartoon—you think it was <i>Scooby Doo</i> but you're not sure—where a dog fell into a "duplicating" machine, and out came dozens, even hundreds, of identical dog clones, all shouting "Help!" <br/>
<br/>
In retrospect, you realize it was supposed to be a comic scene, but it gave you nightmares for a couple of months. It was always the same. A TV or movie character you liked fell into some kind of machine, and out came demonic duplicates with red, gleaming eyes and white, scissor-like teeth. They'd chase you. You'd kick at them, and wake to find yourself kicking the bedclothes off.<br/>
<br/>
So when a fully-dressed Carlos Montoya stands up and turns toward you, and at the same time a naked Carlos Montoya sits up and grins at you, you yell and kick at the air separating you from the horror. "What the <i>fuck</i>?" you exclaim.<br/>
<br/>
"I told you," says Carlos. His eyes are wide. "It's magic. It's a golem. This one looks like me."<br/>
<br/>
"Like <i>you?"</i> you yelp like an idiot.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Don't you see the resemblance?"<br/>
<br/>
"The <i>fuck?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"Dude," the naked Carlos says to the clothed one. "Didn't you warn him about—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I did my best!" says the clothed one. "Will, I told you—"<br/>
<br/>
You tumble off the weight bench and scramble up against the wall of the unit. "How—? How—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Will!" The clothed Carlos dives at you. You quail, and he pulls back. "It's okay! That thing there—" He points. "It's like a robot, that's all. It's totally under control. It can't do anything I don't tell it to do."<br/>
<br/>
"Well," says the other Carlos. "That's not technically true."<br/>
<br/>
"Quiet. Will," the clothed Carlos continues as the other one shuts his mouth with a sour expression. "I really, <i>really</i> need you to not freak out. I'll shut it down, if that will make you feel better."<br/>
<br/>
The bolus in your throat prevents you from replying, and you really doubt anything would make you feel better at this point, but you nod once. Carlos turns back on  his twin, who mutters something under his breath and lays back down. Carlos grasps the other's face with one hand, and his lips work. He pulls at it—<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The mask burns in your hands, and only the fear that Carlos will yell at you keeps you from flinging it away. But as you gingerly shift it from one palm to the other, you gradually become more comfortable with it. It is, after all, only a mask.<br/>
<br/>
Just one that's imbued with spooky magical powers.<br/>
<br/>
From the same footlocker he got the mask from, Carlos pulls the book he used to make it. And yes, it's the same book you got at Arnholms', and which you lost in a scrum behind the school portables. You say nothing about this to Carlos, and just listen dumbly as he explains. What's the point of saying anything? Either he bought it off Mendoza, or he bought it from the person who Mendoza sold it to, or from—<br/>
<br/>
Well, whatever. The point is that it's come full circle back to you. Except that Carlos is the one who has been experimenting with it. Well, him and his friends. <br/>
<br/>
"There's me and Mike and Keith," he says. "We were all hanging out when we started going through it, playing with it, figuring out what we could do." He's sitting on the weight bench next to you, flipping the heavy parchment pages. "We brought in Philip right afterward, because he's, like, really smart about things, and then we showed it to Josiah, since he's part of our group too."<br/>
<br/>
<i>And me?</i> you don't ask aloud. <i>You're showing it to me because—?</i><br/>
<br/>
"Anyway, here are the spells we've done, so you'll know how it works." He explains them slowly, and even though you barely comprehend what he's saying, just the fact of having them explained makes you accept things a little better. <br/>
<br/>
The first spell, he says, makes a mask that can copy the faces and bodies of people. The second spell seals up the mask so that it stops copying and can be worn. "Then you can put on a mask of someone else, and it will turn you into an exact copy of them. Well, except for their memories," he says.<br/>
<br/>
That's the job of the third spell: it makes a kind of headband that copies brains and so gives the wearer all the memories and personality traits of the copied person. "But you still know who you are. It's just like wearing a disguise over your brain, to help you pretend better." A fourth spell makes a kind of glue so you can attach a headband to a mask. "Then you have a complete disguise." The fifth spell makes that golem thing. "You put a mask on it, and it turns into a copy of the person who is copied in the mask. It obeys me," he says, "I think because we used my hair to make it. But you can put any mask on it to turn it into copies of other people. They still have to obey me, though."<br/>
<br/>
The sixth spell— He brushes past that one, saying it's just a variation on the golem. And the seventh spell? That's another one he's vague on, though he promises to tell you more about it later.<br/>
<br/>
"So?" he says after closing the book. "You think you can handle the golem again? Because, you see, it's just—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, lemme see it," you say, and lick your lips. You hand him the mask.<br/>
<br/>
But after hovering over the golem he puts the mask in the foot locker and takes out another. "Maybe it'll be a little better if we use someone else's mask," he says. "There being two of me was probably a little too shocking." He drops it onto the golem.<br/>
<br/>
Again, there's a moment of confusion. Then Michael Hollister—his limbs and torso are pale even though his face is as tomato-red as ever—sits up on one elbow. "Oh Christ," he moans. "You change your mind, or is it another school day?" Then he does a massive, horrified double-take at you. "The fuck is <i>he</i> doing here?"<br/>
<br/>
"We're showing Will how all this stuff works," says Carlos. A smile twitches at his lips. "You don't have to go to school, but maybe you'll need to go home for Mikey today. Here." He dips into the footlocker and pulls out a green t-shirt, some jeans and some underwear. "Get dressed."<br/>
<br/>
"So where is fuckface, anyway?" Michael asks as he drops the towel and pulls on the underwear.<br/>
<br/>
"You mean Mike?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Fuckface."<br/>
<br/>
"The golems have the same personality as the original," Mike tells you. "Mike has a real problem with his duplicate, so his duplicate has a problem with—"<br/>
<br/>
"He don't got a problem with me," the fake Michael Hollister sneers. "He fucking <i>loves</i> having me to fuck around with. I should know, I'd get a chubby too if I had a fucking doppelganger I could send to school to do my shit for me. That's how come I—" He briefly shuts up as he pulls the shirt over his face. "If he didn't <i>laugh</i> in my face," he continues as the referred-to face grows redder and redder, "I wouldn't have a problem with—"<br/>
<br/>
"But you'd do the same to thing to your beta if you had one."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck, yeah!" the fake shouts impatiently. "That's how come I know—"<br/>
<br/>
"Shh. See?" Carlos says to you as Michael glowers at him. "Total, perfect copy of the personality, so no one can spot the difference when he goes out."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh." You wipe your hot face with your shirt. "You said— He said something about going to school?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's right. We've been taking turns putting our masks—we each have one—putting them on the golem and sending it to school to cover for us. No one's caught on— What?"<br/>
<br/>
You'd jumped back. "You mean Keith has—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. I don't remember which days they were, but I think we've sent each of our betas in at least twice. But I don't guess you noticed. You okay?"<br/>
<br/>
Now you've fallen back onto the weight bench. You breathe deeply. <i>At least one day in the last week or two, you'd been hanging out with a fake Keith. A robot Keith. A magical copy of Keith.</i> "That's ... pretty freaky," you gasp when you recover your breath.<br/>
<br/>
"But fun. There's even been some days when—" He kneels to peer into your face, a look of concern on his. "Um, you understand some of the things you can do with these things, right? Like, I told you that people can put on the masks? So, you're not going to pass out, are you, when I say that we sometimes—?" He shrugs. "We've put on each other's masks, and gone to school as each other."<br/>
<br/>
You get another bunch of goose bumps, but at least you don't feel faint. "Any of you gone to school, um, as Keith?"<br/>
<br/>
"Michael did, once. I don't remember what day. We've all done some switching around, for fun. We were, uh, hoping you'd want to have fun too." He raises his eyebrows.<br/>
<br/>
And that does almost cause you to swoon. They're inviting you to ... switch places with them?<br/>
<br/>
You're really not sure what this invitation entails, and Carlos doesn't say any more about it, not for a solid minute, during which time he continues to peer into your face. He must have been waiting for you to say something, because after awhile he says, "You look like you've got about a million questions."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I don't know what to ask! I mean, this is—" You rub your arm. "It's a pretty fucking big deal!"<br/>
<br/>
"I know. We want to share it with you, and we've got some plans for having more fun. New fun. But if you don't want to, if this is too weird, just say so. Oh, and promise not to tell anyone about this."</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111132121111
author_id: seuzz
title: Carlos Explains It All
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I won't tell anyone," you say.  <i>Who'd believe me?</i> "And, uh, sure, I'm up for some fun," you add.<br/>
<br/>
Well, someone adds it. It's your voice that croaks out the words, and you're vaguely aware that it's your mouth that was moving. But it feels like the impulse to speak was coming from outside you. Carlos wanted an answer, and you gave it to him. But it is as if you are standing outside yourself, watching and fumbling through this very strange scene.<br/>
<br/>
"Awesome!" Carlos grins. "So, I guess at this point—" He glances behind him to stare at the fake Michael, who has been watching all this time with a grimace. "I don't guess we need you anymore, so—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck you!" the other yells. "I just got my shit together, and now you're—" But as Carlos snaps his fingers, Hollister drops onto the ground and starts pulling clothes off. "It'd be nice to hang out and goof off for once," he grumbles, "instead of only popping in long enough to—" The rest is lost as it pulls the shirt off. Once he's undressed, Carlos kneels beside him, and with some softly spoken words pulls at his face.<br/>
<br/>
Mike vanishes, and the golem appears in his place.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you going to let me wear that mask?" you cautiously ask, and point.<br/>
<br/>
"If you want," says Carlos. He rummages through the foot locker again. "First, though, you'll want a mask of your own. We all have them, you know, it's what makes you a member of the club." He pulls one out, then pauses. He studies it, and you keep quiet as he does.<br/>
<br/>
"You know, I gotta confession to make," he says. "And I really hope it doesn't change your opinion of us." He looks at you from under a troubled brow. "You have to understand, we were experimenting with these things, and we picked you because, well ... Even then, we were thinking about asking you to join, and so it was just convenient to, um." He trails off.<br/>
<br/>
"What did you do?" There's a pit in your stomach, and it has nothing to do with the hunger that has been slowly overtaking you.<br/>
<br/>
"You remember that day in the portable, when you got knocked out? That was us. Me, actually. I tackled you from behind." At least he has the grace to look very embarrassed. "We got a copy of your face, in a mask. We wanted to—" He scratches deeply at his scalp. "We wanted to see how hard it would be to copy someone who didn't know about the, um—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>"You mugged me?"</i> The accusation comes out as a shriek, and Carlos winces hard.<br/>
<br/>
"We knew you'd be okay," he insists. "We'd all done it to ourselves, it was totally safe. We just wanted to know how someone would react if they got knocked out and then came to again. And then, well ... "<br/>
<br/>
"What else?" Your voice cracks.<br/>
<br/>
"Then we had a little fun with it," he says, sounding properly miserable. "Again, just as an experiment. Philip put it on and—this was yesterday—because you had church he was able to get into your house and get some of your clothes—"<br/>
<br/>
You feel the flush rising up your neck to your face.<br/>
<br/>
"And then while you were here with us watching the movie, he went out— That was the golem that was with us yesterday, that wasn't Philip— Anyway, he got dressed as you and went up to the mall. He ran into Carson Ioeger and James Lamont while he was there, and he hung out with them. They never caught on, but he didn't do anything that'd get you in trouble with them." His brown face has now acquired a purplish hue. "We just wanted to see if we could go out as other people without getting caught."<br/>
<br/>
You cover your face with your hands and breathe in and out. From far away, it seems, Carlos is still talking. "And after that's when we really decided we needed to make it up to you, by showing you all this and letting you join. Because it wasn't fair to you, we realized—"<br/>
<br/>
"And Keith was mixed up in all this? He was hanging out with a fake me, sometimes?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh." Carlos's voice is very small.<br/>
<br/>
"And he was doing all this without telling me about it?"<br/>
<br/>
"He wanted to, but we wouldn't let him. Until now."<br/>
<br/>
Okay, that does put a slightly different spin on it, so your mounting anger recedes, even if only slightly.<br/>
<br/>
As for the rest of it ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It was probably for the best that Carlos didn't say anything further for a very long time after that. It gave you time to acclimate to the facts he has confessed to, so your head is much cooler when he starts explaining some more things, like the plans that he and his friends have for these masks. "So what we did to you," he concludes, "it's what we want to do to other people, and we needed a trial run."<br/>
<br/>
Your temper cools as he speaks. Indeed, it feels like ice is forming in your chest as he outlines the plans he and his friends have. <br/>
<br/>
They're going to be using these masks to impersonate other people.<br/>
<br/>
Not just disguising themselves as other people. Not just turning themselves into perfect duplicates of those people, and going out to act like those people in front of other people—like they did with you.<br/>
<br/>
No, they're planning to <i>impersonate and replace</i> other people.<br/>
<br/>
And they want you to be in on it. They'll put in a golem to replace you at home, so you won't be missed, same they will put golems in for themselves.<br/>
<br/>
"So, to help set things up," Carlos says, "you need to put this mask on. It's already got a copy of you inside it, so don't freak out when you see your name is already in it. But we need to put a copy of all your most recent memories into it."<br/>
<br/>
"Do I need to do anything special?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, it's automatic. Also, after you put it on, you'll have the memories of what, uh, what Philip did while he was wearing it. It's like syncing with the cloud, or something like that. Everything you've got up here—" He points to his forehead. "It goes into the mask, and everything that's recorded in the mask goes in you. So, when you wake up, if you concentrate, you'll remember meeting Carson and James up at the mall."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh. That's going to be kind of weird, isn't it? Remember stuff I didn't do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but it feels just like a real memory. You can't really tell which ones are real and which are fake." He holds the mask out to you.<br/>
<br/>
You take a deep breath as you accept it. "Do I need to take my clothes off?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, it doesn't copy clothes. That's how come we needed to steal some of yours."<br/>
<br/>
"What's going to happen when I put it on?" You're staring at the name that floats inside it: WILLIAM MARTIN PRESCOTT. "When you put it on me in the portable—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, it'll knock you out, like it did the day we— But it's like going to sleep. Right? It didn't hurt that day. No bumps or headaches. You just get really relaxed and—"<br/>
<br/>
"For how long?"<br/>
<br/>
"About ten minutes. Twenty if we let you sleep until you wake up. See, it takes ten minutes for the mask to copy, and then you're asleep for another ten minutes or so afterward. We woke you up early that day by holding your nose shut."<br/>
<br/>
"You put on a pretty good act," you tell him. "All acting like you had nothing to do with—"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you nervous? It's like you're delaying."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Do you blame me?</i> "No, I'm not nervous. This is just—"<br/>
<br/>
"Put it on and I'll call the other guys, tell them it's okay to come out." He takes out his cell. "It's just us here, right now. They'll bring some takeout, it'll be here when you wake up."<br/>
<br/>
It's funny, the way the prospect of food washes away the last of your reticence. You lay back on the weight bench, and lower the mask to your face.<br/>
<br/>
It's like an anvil settling onto your face, flattening you before sinking into the earth beneath you, sinking and sinking dragging you along with it into a deep, deep hole ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"We can divide up into teams, if we want," says Philip Fairfax. Expertly he spears up a chunk of sweet-and-sour-chicken with his chopsticks. (The takeout was Chinese food from the Panda Garden Chinese Restaurant.) "Anyone who doesn't want to participate in the long-term play can handle the short-term plays as members of the team."<br/>
<br/>
Fortunately, you know what he's talking about, because he and the others have explained it to you.<br/>
<br/>
To you and Keith, that is. Tilley is here as well. He was looking rather smug at having had something on you, until Fairfax started talking about "long-term plays," and then he realized that he was practically as much an outsider as you are, because he has to have it explained to him too.<br/>
<br/>
"Short-term plays" means impersonating members of the gang: yourself, Keith, Josiah Shank, Michael and Carlos, and Fairfax himself. It means going to school and going home as them, possibly for days at a time.<br/>
<br/>
"Long-term plays," though, are impersonations of other people. And they are "long-term" because, as he explains it, they would involve <i>replacing</i> them, probably for the rest of the semester and maybe for the rest of the school year.</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321211111
author_id: seuzz
title: How to Hide Someone in Plain Sight
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Long-term play" versus "short-term play." Impersonating one of these guys—Fairfax, Montoya, Hollister, or Shank—versus impersonating an outsider. <br/>
<br/>
There's a big difference between using this magical stuff to have fun with friends, and using it against other people. <br/>
<br/>
And if it were up to you—<br/>
<br/>
If it was still your book, and your decision—<br/>
<br/>
If you were in charge—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Whew!</i> You're kind of glad you're not.<br/>
<br/>
But if you were, then you'd probably do the "short-term play." It seems a whole lot less scuzzy.<br/>
<br/>
Yet it doesn't matter in the current case. Fairfax, Montoya, and Hollister, at least, are going for the "long-term play."<br/>
<br/>
They're going to kidnap some of your classmates and use magical masks to take their places.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I wouldn't call it 'kidnapping'," Fairfax tells Keith when your friend uses that word. He points his chopsticks at him. "It's not like we're going to be locking them up in a basement somewhere."<br/>
<br/>
"But you have to get them out of the way," Keith insists. He's put down his own chopsticks, because Tilley is a dumbass and can't manipulate his chopsticks while arguing. "You can't go out and pretend to be these people if—"<br/>
<br/>
"I know that," says Fairfax patiently. <br/>
<br/>
He says everything patiently. He's a red-head, and you're used to the old cliche about red-heads being excitable and fiery-tempered. Hollister has reddish-gold hair, for instance, and he squirms and bounces and grins even as he slurps down chow mein. Cassie Harper, another red-head at your school, talksfastwithallherwordsjumbledup that it's hardly worth trying to pay attention to what she says.<br/>
<br/>
But Fairfax is so low-key he's practically monotone.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe it's that whole "serious science nerd" thing he's got going. His hair is red, but it's shorn in a close crew cut, and his black-frame glasses shout "Kennedy-era rocket scientist," not "urban-core hipster." His face and arms are almost as pasty as his bleached t-shirt, and there's not a smudge of dirt or grime on his khaki trousers (which are, to be fair, rumpled and creaseless). Even his black Converse high-tops seem like a throwback to the 1950s. <br/>
<br/>
So when he starts tossing around phrases like "long-term play" and "sociological investigation" and "experimental form," he makes this hinky scheme for replacing and impersonating classmates sound a lot more reasonable than it really is.<br/>
<br/>
"You see, the real genius behind this layer," he continues in his low, quiet baritone, "is in the way it is able to hide the victim of the impersonation, unharmed, in plain sight." He lays aside his chopsticks and picks up the mask of Carlos Montoya. "You'll notice," he says as he points to its white, inner surface, "that this layer is the exact same color as the golem." He points to the statue, which is laying up against the opposite wall. "Now, I can't say for sure that this is what is going on, because the author of the book doesn't explain the theory, he only says what it does. But I think—"<br/>
<br/>
He directs a withering glance at Hollister, who has just noisily slurped up some messy noodles. "What?" says Mike.<br/>
<br/>
"I know you understand this," Fairfax says, "because we've talked about it. But can you keep quiet long enough for me to—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah yeah. But—" Mike half-hurls himself across the communal space to grab the box of white rice. "Can you make it fast? I told my mom I'd be home by seven."<br/>
<br/>
"You can go home now, if you want," says Fairfax coldly. "We don't exactly <i>need</i> you."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Will," says Carlos. "Did you want to record a video bit? For the movie we watched yesterday? Keith mentioned you might need the extra credit—"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? No, I wanna hear about this."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we don't need <i>you</i> either," says Hollister. He hops to his feet and dusts his knees. "In fact, let's go do that now." He slaps Carlos in the shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
You stare. "What? What are you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"They're gonna use your mask, dude," Keith says as Mike winks at you. "That's what they did with me for my bit on <i>Jaws.</i> Mike put it on and pretended to be me, that's how come—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus!" Your mouth falls open.<br/>
<br/>
"Right, and we got some of your clothes already," Mike chortles. "So I'll just use your face and shit and make you sound like a genius." Carlos is already rummaging through the foot locker, and you catch your breath when you see your sky-blue t-shirt and a pair of slacks come out.<br/>
<br/>
Fairfax gnaws on a little Peking duck until they're gone, then lays it aside and picks the mask back up. "Okay, so as I was saying, the color of the layer inside this mask matches the color of the golem—"<br/>
<br/>
You attention briefly wanders as you stare at him. That wasn't him here yesterday, when you watched the movie, even though you saw the same pale figure with red hair and glasses and white t-shirt and khakis. That wasn't him, even though that person talked in the same low-key manner and quietly ordered his classmates about as they set up the TV. That wasn't him, even though that guy's eyes were also alive with deep-plunging intelligence as he asked you how you were doing in Mr. Hawks's "Film as Literature" class.<br/>
<br/>
That wasn't Philip Fairfax with you. It was a fake. This guy, the guy lecturing in the droning monotone, was up at the mall with Carson Ioeger and James Lamont, where he was goofing off and being very, very stupid.<br/>
<br/>
He was up at the mall being <i>you.</i><br/>
<br/>
And you "remembered" all that after waking up again to the smell of Chinese food. <br/>
<br/>
<i>You remembered driving Fairfax's car to your house, where you climbed the trellis outside your bedroom and popped through the window you usually keep cracked, and confidently put your hands on a t-shirt and slacks and boxers and socks and an old, semi-discarded pair of running shoes. You remembered driving up to the mall and changing clothes in the back seat. You remembered strutting through the mall and making small talk with Bethany Lewis at a kiosk, bragging casually about how brilliant you are in your classes and shrugging when she mentioned seeing you getting manhandled by the Molester one day. "That's just one of those things you gotta put up with," you said. "Like, I don't even feel sorry for him, 'cos, you know, it's all just—" You sniffed and smirked. "I'm sure it's 'cos he's got a tiny wiener." She tittered, and you laughed coarsely.<br/>
<br/>
Then James and Carson went by. You leaped on Carson's back with a cry of "Hey guys, what's up?" then slid off with a laugh when he cursed you. "Heard you guys almost burned down a garage. What's'a matter, can't finish a job half started?"<br/>
<br/>
And James said, "I need to stop telling Jenny about these things," and Carson said, "Where's your hat?" and you laughed and ran your fingers through your hair. "Tryin' to break the habit," you'd had to say, since the real Will had it with him with the guys at the complex ...</i><br/>
<br/>
It's very queer, imagining the very sober Philip Fairfax as the capering jackaninny you "remember" from Sunday. But he pulled it off. No one had suspected it wasn't you.<br/>
<br/>
If you do this thing, no one will suspect that you're not ... some other person.<br/>
<br/>
"—it encases the victim, thereby effectively hiding them. Will," says Fairfax. "Are you zoning out on me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Oh. No. I was just—" You snap your fingers. "You were saying that this stuff inside the mask, when you put it on another person, it wraps around that person. So, you've got the person on the very inside, like a butterfly in a cocoon—" That had been Fairfax's metaphor. "And around that person is a layer like that golem thing over there." You point. "And on top of it is the face that's inside the mask."<br/>
<br/>
"Correct," says Fairfax, and he sounds impressed. He turns back to Tilley, whose jaw is hanging open. "So, we're basically turning the person into a golem, like that one over there"—he points—"when we put this mask on them. The person underneath disappears. They're still walking around, but they're hidden, and the beta intelligence takes over. And when you take the mask off them, it turns them back to normal, but they don't have any memories of what happened. It's like they went to sleep when you put it on them."<br/>
<br/>
He goes back to eating. You raise a hand—it's hard not to treat him like a teacher—and ask, "How do you know this for sure?"<br/>
<br/>
"We tested it," he says around a mouthful of egg roll. "On me, in fact. I put on this very mask after we'd coated it with the new compound. I turned into Carlos." He swallows. "We recorded the experiment—but we purged the file—no point leaving evidence around—or I could show you. I turned into Carlos and acted like him and had no idea where 'Philip' was. Then they took it off me. When I woke up I didn't remember anything. It was pretty strange, watching the video and knowing that the Carlos in the video, who was acting so confused, was really me."<br/>
<br/>
"So we do that to these other people?" you ask. "For the long-term play?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's right. We'll treat all our masks with this compound and put them onto the subjects. By putting our treated masks onto them, we will create duplicates of ourselves so we don't disappear from school or from our homes. Simultaneously, we will be hiding the originals, leaving us free to replace and impersonate them."<br/>
<br/>
"And have to impersonate a cheerleader?"<br/>
<br/>
"Have to?" Tilley echoes with a snigger. "Dude, don't you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, not necessarily," Fairfax interrupts. "Not if you don't want to impersonate a cheerleader. But that's the obvious impersonation, given that that's who most of us will be." He turns to Keith. "You guys can go ahead and pick your own. Or you can wait for us to suggest something after we've inserted ourselves into our new situations."<br/>
<br/>
Keith gives you a querying look.</span></div></div>


