# chapters

path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112121223111122225
author_id: gogostopgogo
title: Implanting Memories into the Family Brown
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“So is the mind band ready?” You say to your son who is sitting on his bed looking up at you, his own mother, who is wearing nothing but her silky red lingerie that she saves only for special occasions with her husband. But of course its not really your son but your girlfriend Sydney wearing the Alec Brown mask again. <br/>
<br/>
You are not really his mother either obviously, but either way you are going to really have to act like the person you are wearing the mask of completely, once the mind band goes on. Because once Sydney puts the mind band on, everything she will see and feel is everything that the real Alec Brown will see once he is restored from the golemized state he is in now.<br/>
<br/>
“ Yes’m. Its ready” Alec says as he gives you his signature thumbs and a wink<br/>
<br/>
What you are about to do terrifies your Will mind and your Heather mind alike.Because turning people into golems temporarily was bad enough as is, but messing with someones mind, which could effect them permanently, sounded down right insidious. <br/>
<br/>
But even though the Heather part of your mind begs you to reconsider what you are about to do, there’s a larger part of your mind that wants to get revenge on Alec Brown, more so then just taking over his family. <br/>
<br/>
 Revenge not only for hitting on your girlfriend Sydney behind your back but also because of his “douchy" type of attitude he always carried around the high school. The “fuck you” to all other "non-alpha" guys type of attitude. <br/>
<br/>
And this revenge of turning him into a guy who finds his own mother attractive sounds like such a deliciously good punishment for a guy of his type. As with the mind bands it would be possible to plant that seed deep into his subconscious mind through a very seemingly real “dream” Alec Brown will think he had once when he awakens with the mind band on. <br/>
<br/>
***<br/>
<br/>
You know its possible to implant these thoughts through the mind bands because Sydney already used its magic on his father Victor. After all it was her suggestion in the first place for changing the Brown family by implanting subconscious memories into their heads with the use of the mind bands. <br/>
<br/>
  Once you had golemized every member of the family Sydney had made it your next priority to create several minds bands. Then while wearing said bands you would implant your actions into them until taken off, then place the bands onto the real unconscious targets.<br/>
<br/>
 Upon awaken the real targets will believe they had dreamed of the very actions you have done with them. Unknowing that these experiences will be subconsciously placed there by you.<br/>
<br/>
***<br/>
<br/>
 While wearing the mask of Victor Sydney had placed the band over her head and for the next three hours sat in front of the family computer, watching hardcore pornography of wives cheating behind their husbands backs. <br/>
<br/>
She had then taken the mind band off and switched your “husband's" mask with your “son" Alec’s. Then once the golemized mask of Mr.Brown was off she had slipped the mind band with the memories of the pornography onto the real Victor Brown.<br/>
<br/>
 That night after restoring your husband to his un-golomized state with the mind band on, you had turned out all the lights waiting for him to awaken on his side of the bed. You remembered laying next to him pretending to sleep when he jolted up right when he gained consciousness and turned on his table side lamp. <br/>
<br/>
You pretended to be awoken suddenly and asked him what was wrong. <br/>
<br/>
He was in a groggy mood but only muttered “Bad Dream” before turning off his bedside lap again. <br/>
<br/>
 But a minute later he replied “Honey have you always been faithful to me?” <br/>
<br/>
You had turned over suddenly with feigned bewilderment in your voice, “Good Lord Victor, you are the father of my children and the only man I’ve been romantically involved with. What kind of question is that!” <br/>
<br/>
 Your husband then proceeded to apologize for even asking, and eventually you said you forgave him then turned back over in bed. But despite him thinking you were still upset you couldn’t help but grin to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
 The following morning he got up unusually early and retreated into his study before work at the Army Base. You made a note to interrupt him on his computer by bringing his breakfast directly to him that morning earlier than usual. <br/>
<br/>
Later when he had gone to work you found out that he didn’t have time to delete his search history and you found evidence of him back on those same websites looking at the same videos Sydney had looked at while wearing the memory band.<br/>
<br/>
Delighted by the success of experiment you had texted your finding back to Sydney who was back under the mask of Alec who was at Westside. She texted you back that Alec should be dealt with next once she got home from school. <br/>
<br/>
***<br/>
<br/>
Which is what leads you to the present of wearing Mrs.Brown's lingerie standing in front of Sydney under the Alec mask. <br/>
<br/>
You check your makeup once more in Alec’s bedroom mirror to make sure every detail of your face is perfect and your hair is curled perfectly to Alec’s taste, per Sydney’s request. <br/>
<br/>
“So you think this will really awaken something inside of him?” You ask Sydney. <br/>
<br/>
“I think we are good Will, even now looking at your body wearing that, with your face made up like that, makes his cock stiffen.” She smirks. <br/>
<br/>
"Apparently when Alec was young he had walked into his mother’s room while she was changing. He has mostly suppressed that memory almost entirely but whenever he think’s of the “first” naked women he ever saw the image of his mom without pants on always pops back in.” Alec reveals.<br/>
<br/>
“Okay well lets give Alec a memory he won’t ever forget then.” You smirk, before Sydney slips the band over her Alec head and closes his eyes.</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111121212231111222251
author_id: gogostopgogo
title: A Strip Tease for your Son
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A second later after the mind band disappears on his forehead, Sydney opens her eyes. “Mom! What the fuck are you wearing.” Sydney says channeling the natural reaction of Alec Brown upon seeing his own mother in red silken lingerie with her hands on her hips smirking in front of him. <br/>
<br/>
You point a stern finger “Language Private, and that’s Colonel to you! Now I want you to remain silent until spoken to, do you understand?” You say towering over Alec in a pair of Mrs.Brown’s tallest stilettos in her closet. <br/>
<br/>
Once again channeling Alec’s own mind Sydney says “This has to be a fuckin dream!” With a look of disgust that could only come from the Alec psyche she is playing for the mind band. <br/>
<br/>
“That’s it, you are getting Mr. Hand Private! Do you remember Mr. Hand? Its been years since you saw him, isn’t that right?” You say with the tone Heather uses when she gets especially angry in front of her family. <br/>
<br/>
You then step over towards Sydney still sitting on the end of Alec’s bed and say “Stand. Now.” <br/>
<br/>
  And with a hesitant mumble he stands. You then command him to turn around and Sydney complies. She turns bending Alec’s back with his ass in the air and you pull down his basketball shorts, then his briefs. <br/>
<br/>
With one quick motion you slap Alec’s bare hairy ass with your hand causing a loud smack. You do this several more times grinning as you do so. You can’t help but to put some needed weight into your spankings as you want the real Alec Brown to remember this humiliation as much as possible once he awakes with the mind band on. <br/>
<br/>
 But its not just you feeling the excitement, deep within your mind you can tell the Heather part of your mind is also getting some enjoyment out this as well. <br/>
<br/>
There was always “something” about her older son’s that turned Mrs. Brown on when admiring her sons in a motherly way. Of course she would never act on these actions but with her psyche out of her own control she finds these actions surprisingly erotic. <br/>
<br/>
“Damn you to hell William Prescott for what you are turning my family into! You and Sydney will burn in hell for this.” A stray Heather thought that pops into your mind. <br/>
<br/>
But it only invigorates you more. You begin to feel Mrs.Brown’s psyche split between your "sinful act" and on the excitement she is experiencing now. She knows whats to happen next will permanently cause a rift in her family, but the side where she is finding this enjoyable is only bolstered by Will’s need to have revenge against Alec Brown. <br/>
<br/>
Then without knowing if is you or her in charge you command your son to turn around, which Sydney does and you kneel down between your son’s semi flaccid cock and kiss its head. <br/>
<br/>
 Mrs.Brown’s pent up desire then comes forth and you swallow the rest of her son’s hardening cock into your mouth. What follows is the surprising reaction of Mrs.Brown taking the lead with pleasuring her own son. Even though she knows the real Alec Brown will remember everything she seems to be at peace with this inevitable outcome and gives it her all.<br/>
<br/>
You then feel hands on the back of your hair as Sydney pushes the back of your head into her thickening cock. <br/>
<br/>
What follows is “Mrs.Brown" finishing Alec within a minute. <br/>
<br/>
Sydney only gasps at her oncoming orgasm but determined to give it her all you shove your nails deep into you son’s ass preventing him from pulling his cock out of your mouth. What follows is Mrs.Brown getting a first hand taste of her son’s ejaculate. <br/>
<br/>
Once you have shallowed the Alec Brown’s load and licking the remaining discharge from is cock are you woken from your trance from the distinctive sound of Sydney laughing in Alec’s voice. <br/>
<br/>
“Will, I took the mind band off when I climaxed, like I said I would you don’t need to remain in character any longer.” <br/>
<br/>
Slightly embarrassed you get back up to your knees, “Sorry it seems Mrs. Brown enjoyed that more than she should have. She's been with the same fucker since she was seventeen, she wants new cock in her life. ”<br/>
<br/>
“Too bad we didn’t have an extra mind band for her.” She states. <br/>
<br/>
“Its probably best not for them to awaken with the same memories of oral sex though.” You retort “So when should we place that mind band onto the real Alec?” You add.<br/>
<br/>
"Probably best to wait to make sure your spankings didn’t leave a mark, that fucking hurt Will.” Sydney says back <br/>
<br/>
“Sorry but I want him to really remember that when he wakes up next.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh he definitely will, Mom.” Sydney grins back.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
****<br/>
<br/>
Two days have passed and you are again standing outside Alec Brown’s room dressed far more conservatively than before in Mrs.Brown’s usual at home garb. Since then the Sydney golem that contained the real Alec Brown was invited back to your house, Sydney herself also changed masks again from Alec Brown to his older brother Eric. <br/>
<br/>
In that time you also took many pictures of Mrs.Brown’s pussy, ass, and breasts and hide them throughout Alec Brown's porn collection on his password protected laptop computer. Of course none of the pictures would reveal its his own mother but it was an added bonus to Alec’s subtle brainwashing Sydney thought.<br/>
<br/>
But the moment of truth lies seconds before you, the Golemized Sydney mask has been removed and the mind band was slipped over the head of the unconscious Alec Brown. In a few seconds the real Alec Brown will awaken from a “dream” where his own mother had given him head in her red lingerie..<br/>
<br/>
You sudden hear him stir on the other end of his bedroom door. You knock and slowly open the door and enter, “Alec Honey how are you feeling? That was quiet a concussion on the football field yesterday.”<br/>
<br/>
The real Alec Brown's looks up from his pillow and give you his mother, the widest stare you’ve Mrs.Brown has ever seen on him.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112122
author_id: seuzz
title: The Smart Choices
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Sydney brings up the web pages for a number of the clubs, but none of them really light a fire for you. You notice after awhile that she's been avoiding the club names that she listed under the "academic" classification. But she doesn't flinch or wince when you ask her to show you some of them.<br/>
<br/>
First up is the Brainwave Club, which you're not surprised to see is dominated by some pretty geeky guys: Christian Knouse, Hugh Flake, Howie Baylor, Brent Pruitt. There's a lot more—it looks like one of the bigger clubs at Westside, which surprises you—but it doesn't excite you enough that you pick it right away.<br/>
<br/>
The Language Club is another big one, and it's dominated by a lot of snobs of the AP variety: Martin Gardinhire, Kelsey Blankenship, Amanda Ferguson, Ricky Golia, Anthony Kirk, and ... ugh ... Geoff Mansfield. Except ... hmm ... turning Geoff and his friends into worshippers of a goat-headed demon might be kind of fun. But there's a whole range of character types in it, including athletes like Catherine Muskov.<br/>
<br/>
The Creative Club is filled with the "artsy" types that Sydney said could almost come out as adherents of Baphomet. You know or have classes with several of the people in it: Tim Gerard, Karl Hennepin, and Andy Tackett. There's a little bit of overlap with the Language Club ...<br/>
<br/>
... but the Literary Society is where the AP snobs and the poetry guys really mix: Geoff, Martin, Kelsey, Amanda, Brooke, Ricky, Tim, Eric, Andy, Kevin Winkler ...<br/>
<br/>
... and Lisa Yarborough.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112123
author_id: seuzz
title: Gaming the System
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Let's look at the smaller clubs," you tell Sydney. "If we take over all of some group or other," you continue as she scrolls through websites, "it would be easier for us. Right?"<br/>
<br/>
She doesn't answer, and concentrates on pulling up club info.<br/>
<br/>
"This is the Constitutional Club," she says when she shows you the phone. "I know a couple of the people in it, but I don't know what it's about. Except it's got something to do with political science." When you grunt, she takes the phone back and resumes searching. <br/>
<br/>
"The Puzzle Club is a possibility," she murmurs a minute later. "It looks pretty small. There's only a couple of people in the picture." She shows it to you. You don't recognize anyone by name, only by face.<br/>
<br/>
"Ooh! The Murder Club!" she exclaims. "We could stalk them one by one," she giggles. "Killing them and replacing them."<br/>
<br/>
"We're not killing anyone, Sydney."<br/>
<br/>
"I know." She nudges you. "Killjoy. Or how about—! Do you guys have—?" She quickly scrolls and taps her way to a new destination. "Yes!" She throws her head back and laughs. "How about some role-players! There's an RPG Club at Westside!"<br/>
<br/>
Of course there is. You don't even have to look at the website to know who would be in that one.</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112124
author_id: seuzz
title: The Enlightened Ones
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You grin in sympathy with Sydney. Yes! You know exactly what kind of socially active snobs and sons of bitches they've got in those kinds of clubs! Set them all to worshipping Baphomet? <i>That would be awesome!</i><br/>
<br/>
You and Sydney excitedly search out the possibilities. There's a lot of overlap between them, you notice, so that infiltrating one would basically mean infiltrating all of them. The only real question is: <i>Which one to start with?</i><br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111121243
author_id: seuzz
title: Mentors! The Freshmakers!
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"What's the Mentors' Club about?" you ask Sydney.<br/>
<br/>
She rolls her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know, Will," she says. "I'm not a member of it. But," she continues, "if it's anything like the kind of club we had back in Kansas, it's a thing for seniors who want to mentor freshmen and sophomores and like that. Like, help out with homework and activities. Life choices." She titters. "You know, we could use them to corrupt the younger kids at school. Is that what you want to do?"<br/>
<br/>
You don't answer right away. And when you do speak, it's to gruffly remark, "We should work on some masks and shit. We'll need 'em, whatever we do."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're both silent as you polish up three more masks and carve out two more mind bands, which you'll need in order to complete a first two impersonation. Not until you're finished with that and are packing it up for the night does Sydney ask if you've decided on who you want to use it on.<br/>
<br/>
"Not yet," you admit. It's stressing you out. You want a new identity <i>now</i> so as to get out of your shit life. But you don't want to lunge into any old life just for the sake of getting away.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney distracts you with a kiss after you've locked up. "Don't make yourself crazy, Will," she murmurs as she drapes her arms around your neck. "It'll work out. And I'll think about it too. I want to do what you want to do, sweetie. But I'll help you out." She kisses you again. "I'll help you out any way I can."<br/>
<br/>
Except she doesn't help you out the way you <i>really</i> want her to help you out, after that hot, luscious kiss. You have to help yourself out the solo way, at home, in the bathroom.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Sydney calls you later, after you've gone to bed. It's a wonderfully intimate feeling, you discover, talking to her in the dark, even if it's through the phone.<br/>
<br/>
"We were talking about the Mentors' Club last thing before we left the school," she says. <i>No,</i> you want to correct her, <i>the last thing is you were kissing me.</i> "That got me thinking— Well, we don't want the Brotherhood scattering after we graduate. You know? The school year's going to end, and everyone's going to go off after that. You and me even, we might not—"<br/>
<br/>
She breaks off, and you feel a lump forming in your throat. <i>We might not what?</i> you wonder.<br/>
<br/>
"Well," she stammers, "that's another thing to do with these, um, impersonations, you know? It's a way we can stay together. You know, even if not as ourselves?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." <i>Wow,</i> you think with relief, <i>this sexy girl is willing to give up her sexy self in order to be with me!</i> It makes you want to go along with whatever idea she's trying to get to, just to show how hard you crush on her.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that would make the Mentors' Club a perfect vehicle for us," she continues. "Because through it we could make recruits down in the other classes. Then when our, uh, senior selves graduated, we'd still have those, um—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah!" <br/>
<br/>
"Would that be okay?" she asks. "I mean, maybe you don't want to be stuck in high school, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I get what you're saying," you tell her. "Though, um, what happens when those <i>other</i>, uh, people graduate?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we just keep recruiting down in the lower classes. A new year, a new crop of freshmen, a new crop of, uh, brothers to recruit."<br/>
<br/>
You blink at the dark ceiling. "So we would stay in high school forever?"<br/>
<br/>
That provokes a pause. "I guess we could look at some college students instead. Or young adults, here in town, who won't be moving anywhere. Except— <i>Ohhhh!</i>" she gasps. "The teachers!"<br/>
<br/>
It takes you a moment to realize what she's suggesting.<br/>
<br/>
"The teachers!" she repeats. "We make the Brotherhood out of teachers! Or, we have at least a couple of them in the Brotherhood! The rest are, you know, students! That way we can be adults when we want to do the adult thing, but we can also be—! And the school will be our base!"<br/>
<br/>
"So we don't use the Mentors' Club as a base?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"We could still use them," she says. "We could use whoever the faculty advisor is. And a couple of seniors. But the rest of them—! Oh, gosh!" Her breath starts to come in quick gasps. "Let me think about this tonight, Will! We'll talk about it tomorrow, okay? Love you lots!" She hangs up.<br/>
<br/>
Her call has got you all stirred up. Though you were starting to doze when she called, you are awake for another hour with your mind in a whirl.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
it's Saturday, but what with one thing and another, it's early afternoon before you can meet Sydney at the old elementary school. She's sipping from a Styrofoam cup as she gets out of her SUV, and she's got a similar sized cup for you. "Kale smoothie for me," she replies when you ask what she's got. "Don't worry, I brought <i>you</i> a chocolate shake."<br/>
<br/>
You don't go down into the basement to talk, though, but sit outside under a tree, even though it's a cool October day, and the sun is skipping in and out from behind some low, heavy clouds.<br/>
<br/>
"I came up with two ideas for us, Will," she says after you're settled down and snuggled up with her nestled inside one of your arms. But she interrupts herself to shoot you an anxious glance. "Did you have some ideas?"<br/>
<br/>
"I want to hear <i>your</i> ideas. You sounded pretty excited last night."<br/>
<br/>
"Well," she continues, though sounding a trifle uncertain, "I was thinking we could still do the Mentors' Club thing. And we'd use it as a vehicle to, you know, like we were talking, stay at the school. But with the faculty advisor, maybe another teacher or two, to balance it out with some, like, adult lives. So we're not stuck as high school students forever, like you were worrying about."<br/>
<br/>
You didn't say anything last night, but maybe she was picking up on an anxiety you feel anyway. You've known nothing but school your entire life, and you always get a little frightened when you think about leaving it behind. So, despite what you hinted to Sydney last night, you wouldn't insist on having some kind of adult identity as a back-up.<br/>
<br/>
But she's still talking: "So, a faculty advisor or two," she says, "plus a couple of seniors to act like mentors, with sophomores and stuff to make up the balance. Then, after the seniors graduate, the juniors brothers move up and become the mentors, and we recruit replacements from the incoming class."<br/>
<br/>
"Right."<br/>
<br/>
"Or," she says, "we don't have to use the Mentors' Club as the cover. We could just have a couple of recruits in each of the classes. With a couple of teachers, too."<br/>
<br/>
"That's something to talk about," you allow.<br/>
<br/>
"Well," she says after a moment's silence. "Which idea do you like?"</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111212432
author_id: seuzz
title: Teachers and Students
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Having recruits spread out through all the classes in the school—freshmen through seniors—sounds kind of neat, but you would prefer not to be constrained by having to use the Mentors' Club. That's what you tell Sydney.<br/>
<br/>
"I was hoping you'd say that," she says, sounding relieved. "That's what I was leaning toward, actually."<br/>
<br/>
"So how do we get to any of the kids in the other classes?"<br/>
<br/>
"Do you know any?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not really."<br/>
<br/>
"Then we should use a couple of teachers," she promptly replies, as though she expected that to be the answer you were going to give. She takes out her phone. "I, uh, already did some research there."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Huh,</i> you think. <i>You really were set up to do it this way.</i><br/>
<br/>
"You know this guy?" Sydney asks, showing you a picture on her phone.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Mr. Hagerman? Dur!</i> "Sure. He was my English teacher last year."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he looks pretty good, right?"<br/>
<br/>
Sure, in the picture he looks fine, and you know he looks even better in person. Mr. Hagerman is a young dude, with strong arms, rugged good looks, and crinkly blonde hair. All the girls in your class had a hard crush on him, and there were rumors—how serious you were never sure—that he finger-banged at least some of them when they came to him for after-school tutoring.<br/>
<br/>
"I mean," Sydney continues, "you wouldn't mind being him, would you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," you admit with a small gulp.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay then. So he could get us some of the students in the junior class. And this one—" She slides screens around on her phone. "You probably remember her, too."<br/>
<br/>
The new image is of a <i>very</i> young and pretty Asian woman, with glasses and auburn bangs. <i>Hot teacher.</i> With a little more exaggeration, she could be an anime character.<br/>
<br/>
Of course you know who she is, because you see her sometimes in the hallways. But Ms. Cho started at Westside after you had already taken freshman English, which is what she teaches.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I never had her," you tell Sydney, and explain how she's new to the school. "But she teaches the freshman English class—"<br/>
<br/>
"Exactly." She scrolls back to the previous screen. "They'd be a cute couple, right? Her and Mr. Hagerman? I mean, they could be, even if they're not banging each other stupid already."<br/>
<br/>
You swallow and it goes down the wrong tube. Sydney only laughs with cruel amusement as you explode in a coughing fit.<br/>
<br/>
"So, I think that should be us," she concludes when you recover. "He can help us get recruits in the junior class, she can help us get them in the freshman class. We can handle the senior class ourselves."<br/>
<br/>
"And the sophomore class?"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney shrugs. "Maybe we'll skip them for now." She cocks her head thoughtfully. "Two teachers, two juniors, two freshmen. Four seniors. That would be the ten we need. But I'd rather it be two sophomores and two seniors instead of four seniors. That way it's two in each class, plus the teachers. But maybe we'll find a way of getting some sophomores."<br/>
<br/>
So the business is settled as far as you're concerned, particularly after Sydney suggests you start by capturing the teachers on Monday after classes have let out. "Or at least one of them. If they <i>are</i> banging each other—" She casts you a sly glance. "If they <i>are</i> banging each other, we can use one to catch the other. Mmm!" She shivers with obvious delight. "Come on, let's get to work on some more masks!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There's nothing else to do that weekend—no other friends to hang out with—so you finish it out by making a total of eight masks and eight memory strips, which is enough for four impersonations. "We'll probably take it slower than that," Sydney says on Saturday, while you're still making up the initial supply. "I think we'll want to spend a couple of days being each of impersonations before we make a new one." When you ask her why she says that, she shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
But maybe the answer comes on Sunday afternoon, when she meets you at the school to continue working on the masks. "Here," she says when you're down in the basement, and she unzips her pack. "It's about time I showed these to you."<br/>
<br/>
She is holding out two wooden rods, each about ten inches long. They are round and smoothly polished, with an inch-thick shaft. She is holding them by the carved handles at one end; the other end, each is tipped with a bulbous ball.<br/>
<br/>
Only after you've taken one does it hit you what it is. "Oh my God!" you exclaim as you drop it like it scalded your palm.<br/>
<br/>
She laughs. "Stop it, Will," she says. "That's not what it is, only what it looks like. It's a meditation wand."<br/>
<br/>
Gingerly you pick it up again. Even after you've got it clasped by the hilt, which fits comfortably into your hand, you regard the thing with disdain. It is too close in size, heft, and shape to a dildo.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't worry, it will come naturally to you," Sydney says with undisguised amusement. "You hold it like that, and—" She cups her wand and rubs it up and down, squeezing and releasing it. "Like this."<br/>
<br/>
You blanch. "Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told, you it's a meditation wand. Something the Brotherhood uses. For novices, to start with, but there are really advanced techniques that adepts can use. For now, you need to learn how to use it so you can get, mm, <i>synchronized</i> with—" She squints thoughtfully. "Well, with the plane wherein Baphomet dwells. At least," she adds, "that's how my dad's old notes put it."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't understand."<br/>
<br/>
"Like I said, it's a meditation technique. See—"<br/>
<br/>
She cocks her head. You wait patiently for her to find the words.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I don't want to spook you, because I can tell this stuff kind of makes you jumpy. So I won't talk about, um, opening a doorway for Baphomet. Because this is all just psychology. It's just a method for self-actualization. You see, most people don't get what they want because they can't picture it, and even when they picture it, they can't picture themselves going out and getting it."<br/>
<br/>
She interrupts herself to give you a narrow look. <br/>
<br/>
"That's the difference between someone like you and someone like Blake, you know," she says. "You know how come he's on the football squad, and gets girls, and is someone not to fuck with? Because he pictures himself being that kind of person, and he goes out and he <i>works</i> at doing the things that makes him that kind of person. Working out, playing football, fucking over guys who he gets pissed at. Whereas <i>you,</i> Will—"<br/>
<br/>
She breaks off, probably because he has noticed the flush that you feel creeping up your neck and cheeks.<br/>
<br/>
"I mean," she says when she resumes, "Did you ever say to yourself, 'I want <i>that</i>' about something, and then fight like hell to get it? Or did you just noodle around and daydream? I'm not trying to imply you are anything, like, a loser," she says. "No more a loser than ninety percent of everyone out there. But to be honest, Will, until you got into this stuff, I get the impression you just drifted along like everyone else."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well," you admit.<br/>
<br/>
She smiles. "But then you've changed. Changed since you got into this stuff, changed since you met <i>me.</i> And you met me <i>because</i> you were changing, right?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>That's right,</i> you want to say. <i>I saw you and I said, "I want </i>that<i>" and I used magic to get you.</i><br/>
<br/>
But you say nothing. From her expression, you guess she can read your thought.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway," she says, "these wands are part of a technique to get you to think in a, um, fruitful way. That's what the Brotherhood is about, at bottom. It's a way of unlocking all kinds of potentials inside you, so that you get the willpower to go out and get what you want. Though first you have to know what you want. Then you have to make yourself <i>hard</i> enough to go after."<br/>
<br/>
<i>I'm plenty hard now, you vixen!</i> you want to growl at her. But you just listen and stare at her from eyes that are watering with desire.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
She explains to you how to make a "doorway for Baphomet," which is part of the technique for empowering your imagination, and then describes how to meditate by holding and stroking the wand as though masturbating it. Her instructions are clear enough that you are certain that you've done it correctly when you go home and, inside your closet, behind your hanging clothes, you trace on the wall with the bulbous tip of the wand the outline of a doorway and inscribe the edges with symbols. That night you take the wand to bed with you, gripping it with both hands. But you fall asleep very quickly, so you don't get a chance to do more with it.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney is waiting for you in the school parking lot on Monday morning. "Ready for the first day of your new life?" she asks as she leans in through the driver's side window of your truck to kiss you. "Why don't you skip school today and come back after class. That's when we'll get Mr. Hagerman for you."<br/>
<br/>
That sounds good. And yet, before you can send an acknowledgement, you vividly remember the dream you had woken from, then promptly forgotten: Yourself, in a flimsy silk dress, smiling into a mirror that showed Ms. Cho's face. You—the freshman English teacher—were holding the meditation wand.<br/>
<br/>
Was the dream telling you that <i>that</i> was what you really wanted? To be Ms. Cho rather than Mr. Hagerman?</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112124322
author_id: seuzz
title: The Cho-sen One
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Hang on a minute." You hesitate as you open your backpack and pull out the masks you brought with you to school. "Get in with me."<br/>
<br/>
Sydney gives you a funny look, but goes around to climb into the truck with you.<br/>
<br/>
"I had a dream last night." You tell her of the fantasy that awakened you: You as Ms. Cho, clutching the meditation wand. "Do you think it means anything?"<br/>
<br/>
"It means something if you want it to," Sydney replies in a very diplomatic tone.<br/>
<br/>
"What does <i>that</i> mean?"<br/>
<br/>
She hesitates.<br/>
<br/>
"Dreams are just dreams," she says. "Sometimes. But if you <i>think</i> they mean something, then I think maybe they do."<br/>
<br/>
You raise your eyebrows. "Is that something you read in the Baphomet manual?"<br/>
<br/>
You meant it sarcastically, but she nods.<br/>
<br/>
"Brothers often have dreams," she says, "and my dad's notes say that you have to be careful when interpreting them. Sometimes they mean something, but sometimes they're just, you know, garbage that your brain is spewing out. You have to <i>ask yourself,</i>" she concludes in a very earnest voice, "if it feels like it means something." She gives you a direct, steady look. "Do you think it does?"<br/>
<br/>
You have to shrug. On the one hand, dreaming about a hot Asian teacher is about par for the course for you. On the other hand, you were dreaming that you <i>were</i> her, on the night before you and Sydney are supposed to hijack a couple of new bodies—including hers—for yourselves.<br/>
<br/>
Still, you're on the point of shaking your head—<i>No, it was just a lot of garbage</i>—when you remember the wand that you were holding.<br/>
<br/>
"I think," you stammer, "I think it—" You can't quite bring yourself to utter the words.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney takes your arm in hers and pulls herself close.<br/>
<br/>
"It's okay, Will," she says. "There's nothing funny about it if you think you want to be Ms. Cho. We're going to recruit other brothers, and if you want one of yours to be"—she titters—"Ms. Cho, well, there'll be plenty of other brothers for you who, uh, won't be her!"<br/>
<br/>
You blush despite yourself, and deflect with the other question that made you hesitate: "What about Mr. Hagerman?"<br/>
<br/>
"What about him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, who—?"<br/>
<br/>
"He could be one of your other brothers." <br/>
<br/>
"But then what teacher do we get for you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know, Will." Sydney laughs. "Maybe we get a different teacher instead of Mr. Hagerman for me. Or I don't get a teacher. Or—" She bites down on a smile. "If you get to be Ms. Cho, maybe <i>I</i> can get to be Mr. Hagerman!"<br/>
<br/>
She laughs at the face you make, then lets go of your arm. "I need to get into class," she says, "and <i>you</i> need to scoot before one of Blake's friends sees you. Come back when school is letting out, and text me when you get here. Tell me whose classroom I need to meet you in."<br/>
<br/>
She hops out, but pauses before closing the door. "I'll love you no matter what, Will," she says with a shy, dimpled smile.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God,</i> you think, and have to take in and let out a couple of long, deep breaths before you've collected yourself sufficiently to drive off.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The day started cloudy, then develops into a steady rain. You drive out to a coffee shop, where you hang out with your phone for an hour or so, then drive back out to the old elementary school to work on some more masks and memory strips. It's a tedious and boring day, so empty and drawn out that you actually regret not going in to school. The hours are even more agonizing because you keep anticipating the change to come.<br/>
<br/>
What will it be like to be Ms. Cho? Who is she? Does she have a family? What are they like? Does she have a lover? Will you have to convert her lover (if she has one) into a "brother of Baphomet"? You've no answer to these questions. But the fact that you're asking them, you decide, means that you've settled on Ms. Cho as your alias.<br/>
<br/>
Which leaves ... who? ... for Sydney?<br/>
<br/>
You'll let her pick her own, you decide, the same as she's letting you pick yours. Although, if you had to have a preference— Well, there aren't just that any appetizing choices among the teachers, and you freak yourself out good when you have a sudden picture of Sydney wearing Mr. Walberg's portly body and scowly face. <i>I told you I'd love you no matter what, Mr. Prescott,</i> she barks at you. <i>Now you come over here and show me the same thing!</i> Yikes!<br/>
<br/>
Okay, so you'll let Sydney pick her own. But you'll reserve the right to <i>veto</i> who she picks.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The hours stretch out and the rain continues, and finally you can't stand it anymore. You now have a total of twelve masks—all that you'll need—but only ten memory strips before you drive back to school in time to catch your last two periods of the day, though you take them in the library in the form of an extended study hall. So you're on school grounds when Sydney texts you right after the bell has rung: <i>Are you on your way?<br/>
<br/>
Already here,</i> you reply. <i>Meet you outside ms chos room.</i><br/>
<br/>
You have to loiter a long time before Sydney appears, during which you watch the crowded hallway (which is very slow in thinning out) for wandering assholes, and peek into the classroom to see what's happening in there. Ms. Cho has some late-visiting students, but they have packed it in and left before Sydney shows up to meet you.<br/>
<br/>
"Are we ready for this?" she asks with a wide smile. "Wait here," she adds while craning her neck to peek into the classroom. "I'll fetch you when we're ready for you."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you going to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Get close to her. Closer than <i>you</i> probably can without setting off alarm bells." Sydney strides into the classroom.<br/>
<br/>
But she's hardly taken more than two steps in when a dumpy-faced Asian girl in a trucker cap and a backpack the size and heft of a dorm-room refrigerator barges in after her. You peek in, and spot Ms. Cho looking between the two girls with a quizzical smile. <i>Shit,</i> you think, and backpedal into the hallway.<br/>
<br/>
A minute passes, and your heart nearly bursts when Sydney waltzes back out. She smiles, winks, and murmurs <i>Hang loose, Will,</i> before sauntering down the hallway to the water fountain. Another minute passes, and then another, and Sydney steps into the girls' restroom. You're on the point of screaming with frustration when that Asian girl comes barging out and half-runs, half-lopes off toward the front of the school. Your hand darts to your phone, but Sydney is already returning before you can tap a text in to her.<br/>
<br/>
She says nothing to you but goes straight into the classroom. You pace the hallway for the longest minute of your life. Then Sydney appears at the doorway, and beckons you inside with the crook of a finger. You hop over the threshold and Sydney closes the door and snaps off the light. "Help me close the blinds," she says, gesturing at the industrial-grade Venetian blinds that hang over the windows. The room is very dark—light slants in through the cracks in the blind, and through the window in the door—when you're done prepping the room.<br/>
<br/>
But as soon as you set foot inside, you had glanced over to see the teacher, at the front, folded across the top of her desk with her head down.<br/>
<br/>
She doesn't look asleep. She looks dead.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Ms. Cho is dressed in a knee-length grey skirt and a floral-patterned silk top. She wears white hose and high-heeled shoes, and her hair is done up in a small bun on the back of her head. She wears a gold choker around her neck, and a thin gold chain around one wrist.<br/>
<br/>
That's what you see when you and Sydney have pulled her out of her chair and laid her on the floor.<br/>
<br/>
Working together, you pull Ms. Cho's clothes off, until she is a thin, naked, gray-skinned thing lying cold and shriveled between you. Her breasts are quite small, and her hips narrow. Her arms and legs are thin. Sydney must have caught your expression, for she says, "It's the light in here, Will."<br/>
<br/>
Then she tells you to take off your own clothes and to lay down next to the teacher. "We hafta hurry, I don't want us getting caught in here," she murmurs. <br/>
<br/>
"Who's gonna be in trouble if they catch us here?" you retort as you hop out of your shoes. "You or the naked guy?"<br/>
<br/>
"I <i>am</i> thinking of you, sweetie," she says.<br/>
<br/>
The tile is freezing on your butt and shoulder blades as you lay down. Then Sydney is kneeling next to you. "I'm going to put Ms. Cho's mask straight on you as soon as I get it made," she says . You nod. "See you on the other side, Will." She lowers a second blank mask—the one that will copy you, and which she will transfer onto Ms. Cho—onto your face.<br/>
<br/>
Just like that, with hardly any chance to imagine or anticipate the change to come, all the light in the world winks out, and you know nothing more.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wake with a hard shiver and a headache. With a small gasp you reach up to nurse your forehead, then lever yourself up. <i>What in the world is going on?</i> you ask yourself.<br/>
<br/>
You're given no time to come up with an answer before you do a double-take at the two figures leering down at you.<br/>
<br/>
One is the girl who came in with a question just as you were packing up your things to go home.<br/>
<br/>
The other is you.</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111121243221
author_id: seuzz
title: Win, Place ... Cho!
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You suffer a momentary crisis of identity, like when you put on Blake O'Brien's mask. But it clears up fast. It helps that you're being stared at by someone with a very familiar face.<br/>
<br/>
But although you know who you are, you don't have your own skull to yourself. There's someone else up there with you, and she is shrieking inarticulately. Maybe that's how come you've got a screaming headache.<br/>
<br/>
"Will?" Sydney asks. "How are you doing there?"<br/>
<br/>
"I've been better," you mumble. "My head—" You put your fingertips to a temple and grimace.<br/>
<br/>
"Will," Sydney says. "Can you speak English?"<br/>
<br/>
You look up at her in surprise. <br/>
<br/>
And then you realize you were answering her in Korean. Your tongue feels very thick in your mouth as you try to wrap it around the English equivalents of the words you are thinking.<br/>
<br/>
"I've got a headache," you carefully reply. "I feel like I got banged in the head."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay. And I'll say I'm pretty impressed with your language skills," your girlfriend replies. "But can we get moving? I really want you to get dressed."<br/>
<br/>
"Speak for yourself," the boy standing behind her chortles. You shoot him a dirty look.<br/>
<br/>
And you find you can't look him in the face. He's leering at you from beneath messy bangs that jut out from under the brim of his cap, and he's standing at stiff attention while bobbing on his toes. <i>Fucking little pervert,</i> you find yourself thinking.<br/>
<br/>
"Sweetie," Sydney tells your replacement in a cool voice, "would you mind waiting for us outside? In fact, how about you go wait in the parking lot, in your truck."<br/>
<br/>
But he doesn't move. Instead, his grin widens. "You hear that?" he asks you in a gloating voice. "I'm still 'sweetie'."<br/>
<br/>
"Will," Sydney says to him in a warning tone.<br/>
<br/>
The fake you shifts on his feet. "Okay, just don't be long," he says, then after a hesitation he wraps his bony arms around her in a fumbling hug. "Catch ya later, boss," he tells you. <br/>
<br/>
"God," you sigh from the floor after he's gone. "Are you really going to hang out with <i>that?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"He's just nervous. Scared. You would be too, if you were him. I mean, think about it. He's acting just like you."<br/>
<br/>
You wince. <i>If that's true, what the fuck does she see in me?</i> you ask yourself. It's another variation on a question you've been asking yourself ever since you met Sydney<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway," she continues, "I'm not going to be hanging out with him, am I? Not the real me, not after we get me a new face. But, um—" She points to you. "I woke you up so you could get a move on."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Right.</i><br/>
<br/>
Sydney had folded Ms. Cho's clothes into a messy bundle as you undressed her, and you shake them out one at a time as you put them on. Panties. Bra. Hose. The floral-patterned blouse (silk!) and the gray skirt. As you put them on, Sydney asks if you're getting Ms. Cho's memories.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes." Your pulse is pounding. "I'm having a hard time concentrating on them, though." You don't want to tell her that your mind is racing fast, and that you're fighting to keep from shaking. <i>Get a grip, er, Hannah,</i> you silently chide yourself. <i>You know what's going on, you know it's okay.<br/>
<br/>
There's nothing wrong here, except that a teenage boy has hijacked your body and is going to be impersonating you from here on out. That's all.</i><br/>
<br/>
You do feel better after dressing, but you also feel sloppy. On an impulse you march from the room and into the nearby girls' restroom. You do a double-take at yourself in the mirror.<br/>
<br/>
Ms. Hannah Cho stares back at you. <i>Hot teacher.</i> But she looks miserable and frightened. You close your eyes and take a deep breath before opening them again.<br/>
<br/>
<i>That's better,</i> you think. You look more centered, maybe from getting the shock of seeing your new reflection out of the way. As you stare, that reflection seems to come into better focus. <i>This is my face,</i> you think as you gently touch it. <br/>
<br/>
<i>And—!</i> it comes to you in a rush, <i>I know how to fix it!</i><br/>
<br/>
It's like something has unlocked inside you. You march back to the classroom, to fetch the makeup bag from the bottom desk drawer, where you keep your purse. (<i>My purse!</i> you think with a thrill.) Back in the restroom, you balance the bag on the sink, study your face a moment, then go to work. A little powder, a little blush, a little pale pink lipstick. Working on your face calms you, giving you something to do and think about that something other than <i>My God, someone just stole my body!</i> You shake out your clothes, then straighten them out and cinch them up again. You undo the messy bun, letting the auburn-dyed hair fall to the nape of your neck. You brush it all out, then bind it neatly back. You tuck and straighten your bangs, and tease out little strands of hair to hang over your ears.<br/>
<br/>
Last, you take out the narrow, red-framed lenses that you'd put in your pocket, and slide them back on, nudging and fixing them until they settle into the comfortable grooves on your nose and over your ears.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hot teacher indeed!</i> you think as you take a step back to regard yourself with a softly parted smile.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney has followed into the bathroom, and has been silently watching you every step of the way. Now she asks, "Are you better now, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, yes, thank you," you reply as you turn your head this way and that, checking for flaws in the mirror. Then you turn to Sydney. "Thank you for asking. Oh, and my name is Hannah Cho," you continue, putting out a slim hand for Sydney to take. "Now, what did you want to see me about? Er— I didn't catch your name earlier."<br/>
<br/>
Sydney turns very pink, even as she grins and takes your fingers in a limp handshake. "Nice, Will," she says in a dry tone. "Very nice."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Michael," you muse as you sip a cup of hot tea. "He's still probably the best choice."<br/>
<br/>
You and Sydney are sitting across from each other in The Crystal Cave, the coffee shop next to Arnholm's, where you had your first date (though you were in disguise). She's sipping coffee from a mug.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Michael,</i> of course, is Michael Hagerman, the junior-class English teacher at Westside, and Sydney's first choice for you as an impersonation. At the time you thought he would be an attractive identity. Now you just think he's attractive.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you want to have two teachers for aliases?" Sydney asks. "I could take someone else."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know who else there is," you admit. "I mean, I don't really know— I haven't been teaching very long at Westside."<br/>
<br/>
"Only since this afternoon, Will."<br/>
<br/>
You give her a look. "Do you want me in character or don't you? If I start using my own pronouns instead of, uh, Hannah Cho's—"<br/>
<br/>
And just as you predicted, you feel yourself slipping out of the comfortable groove you got yourself into in the restroom at Westside. Now you're Will Prescott again, and you're wearing women's clothes because you're inside a woman's body. It gives you a thrill, but it also makes you self-conscious and a little itchy. You squirm.<br/>
<br/>
"Do whatever makes you comfortable," Sydney says. She tries to look composed, but can't completely hide a sly smile of amusement.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, this is my first year teaching at Westside, however you want to look at it," you resume. You falter a little, but strengthen as you continue. "So it's only been a few months for me, and there's a lot of staff, most of whom I don't really know. Like the agricultural teachers, and the P.E. teachers. There might be some people there—" <i>But probably not,</i> you silently add as you break off. <br/>
<br/>
Sydney looks into her mug. "So you get two teachers, and I only get students?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, why can't <i>you</i> be Michael Hagerman?" you retort, to your own surprise. "I mean, look at <i>me,</i> look at what <i>I</i> did for, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
Now Sydney gives you a big, lopsided, sidelong grin. "Are Ms. Cho and Mr. Hagerman—?" She leaves the question dangling.<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself redden. Deeply.<br/>
<br/>
"No! He's—! Well, I don't know what his situation is! He's not married, I know that." You rub a temple. "I don't really know anything. Except the usual kind of gossip," you mumble.<br/>
<br/>
"What gossip is that?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. "That he plays the field. Outside of school. But like I told you, I'm new to Westside, so I don't really know— And it's not like I go <i>looking</i> for gossip—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I guess we <i>could</i> keep Mr. Hagerman in mind for me," Sydney says. She settles back in the booth with a dreamy-but-wicked smile. "That could be a lot of fun. In the meantime we could kill time by staffing ourselves with some senior class recruits." She shifts her gaze onto you. "Or freshman recruits. Right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. That would be easy." Ms. Cho hasn't given anyone detention yet, but it's not for a lack of opportunity. Some of the boys in her classes—<br/>
<br/>
"And Mr. Hagerman, we talked about using to get into the junior class," Sydney continues.<br/>
<br/>
"And I know how to get us into the sophomore class," you tell her. It's like you've suddenly remembered something very obvious.<br/>
<br/>
"Really? How?"<br/>
<br/>
"That was my sister, Lindsay, who barged in while you were still trying to get the mask out of your bag. Coming in to tell me that our mother was cancelling dinner tonight. That's why I can have coffee with you now." You sip from your tea.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney looks intrigued. "And your sister, Lindsay—?"<br/>
<br/>
"She's a sophomore."<br/>
<br/>
"Nice!"<br/>
<br/>
Except Lindsay isn't. Not very nice, that is. She's a dumpy, grumpy lump of a girl, full of adolescent resentments.<br/>
<br/>
But maybe that would make her the perfect recruit for a black-magic cult.<br/>
<br/>
"You have any instincts, Will?" Sydney asks.</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111212432211
author_id: seuzz
title: The Good Teacher
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Michael is still probably the best choice," you muse, and take another sip from your tea.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney's eyes glint. "Oooh! Is that really what you think?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, yes. I—"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't think you'd really go for it." Sydney dimples at you. "Kinky! I like it!"<br/>
<br/>
You give her a startled look. Then you realize your mistake.<br/>
<br/>
You thought she was asking <i>in general</i> who should be your next recruit, but she must have been asking who you thought should be <i>her</i> recruit. You are about to correct her, but pause. She sure seemed to leap at the suggestion—it sounds like she <i>wants</i> to play Michael Hagerman to your Hannah Cho.<br/>
<br/>
You promised yourself that you would let her make her own choice, just as she let you pick yours, so you turn your surprise into a smile.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," you say. "Kinky." You give her a twinkling smile over the rim of your tea cup.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you think you could help me get him tomorrow? After school, same as we did today?"<br/>
<br/>
"That shouldn't be a problem. We're always popping into each other's classrooms with something to talk about."<br/>
<br/>
Because although Hannah wouldn't admit it to herself, she really would like to find herself underneath her colleague.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You were half-hoping that Sydney would follow up her "Kinky!" remark by inviting herself over to your place for the night. But she makes no moves, and you don't press her. Only after you've parted do you remember something she said once about preserving her virginity because of the "power" it gave her. You wonder if she is going to try preserving that virginity once she's inside a mask.<br/>
<br/>
So you are alone when you drive home to Hannah Cho's apartment. It's a small, cleanly furnished place on the north side of town in a complex that has seen better days. But Hannah is just taking her first fledging flight into the world, and doesn't want to spend any more money than she can help.  You slip off your shoes just inside the door, then go into the bedroom to change clothes. You strip completely, putting on new panties and brassiere before getting into some loose cotton shorts and a floppy t-shirt. You give yourself an admiring glance in a full-length mirror while naked, though. Hannah Cho is skinny and her breasts are small. But she's tightly built all over, and highly flexible from doing yoga.<br/>
<br/>
For supper you fix stir-fried beef and vegetables over rice, with a side of Mrs. Cho's homemade <i>kimchi</i>, and settle onto the futon in front of the flatscreen TV. Netflix is Hannah's one real luxury, and you scroll through the offerings until you find some reruns of <i>House</i>, with your dinner in your hands and your iPhone balanced on your knee, open to her social media. Hannah has lots of friends on Instagram and other places, and you relax deeper into her personality by shifting your attention between their posts and the drama on TV.<br/>
<br/>
When you finish dinner and the episode, you wash up then move into the dining room, where you take out the day's assignments and settle in to do your grading. It's a disappointment to find that teachers also have homework, and that there's more of it, and that it's even more tedious than the kind that you are used to.<br/>
<br/>
It's a little after ten o'clock when you finish, and after stretching the stiffness from your limbs you get up to get ready for bed.<br/>
<br/>
You feel the sensation creeping over you as you wash your face, and floss and brush your teeth. But it's not until you step back into the bedroom and cross to the closet to get the nightgown that it fully seizes you: The sense of <i>strangeness</i> that comes from being in another person's bedroom, and preparing to get into their bed. Yes, you've got Hannah Cho's memories, and the room and everything in it (including yourself) feels very familiar. But a feeling of homesickness comes over you as well. <i>These are not my things,</i> you find yourself thinking. <i>This is not my room. This is not what I do.</i> Your skin is cold and it prickles as you slide in between the cool sheets.<br/>
<br/>
<i>This isn't my body, either.</i><br/>
<br/>
As you lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, you gently squeeze one of your breasts, and the thought <i>This isn't my body</i> wrestles with the thought <i>Yes it is, it's mine now!</i> and a reluctance to take advantage of your position wrestles with the temptation to give in and pleasure Hannah's body as Hannah herself does. The match doesn't last long, though. <i>I should be in character,</i> you think, and that adds the decisive weight. <i>I am Hannah Cho. I am Hannah Cho,</i> you tell yourself as you bite down hard on the knuckle of your left index finger as you dig and rub at the tender spot between your legs, through the fabric of your gown and underthings. Both the thought and the action excite you: <i>I am Hannah Cho.</i> Soon your breath is coming in quick gasps, and you burrow under the folds of the garments to push your fingers directly into the flesh. You don't even need any fantasies to get yourself off, and when you bring yourself to climax it's through the sheer pleasure of grinding it out of you. You turn on your side afterward and try cuddling with yourself. When you're not looking, you fall asleep.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
As is usual for Hannah, you pick up Lindsay the next morning. Neither of you talk. You've nothing to say to Hannah's little sister, and she is concentrated on her phone. At the school, you part from each other with a cheery "Have a good day" from you and a distracted grunt from her.<br/>
<br/>
Although it is not quite eight o'clock, Willa McBride is already waiting outside the classroom, sitting crosslegged on the floor and bent over her iPhone. But she scrambles up when you greet her with a "Hello, Willa!"<br/>
<br/>
"Morning, Ms. Cho!" she exclaims. Willa is always early and she always comes straight to your classroom, where she camps out with her phone, waiting for her friends Courtney and Sage to show up. (That would be Courtney Ireton and Sage Hambrick, respectively.) You unlock the classroom door and go in.<br/>
<br/>
The first twenty minutes of the day are spent getting your notes in order and psyching yourself up for the day. You have a long and repetitive slog ahead of you: Three periods of English I, with two more periods of it after lunch, and only the even more tedious and challenging Grammar for Writing class to break up the monotony of spelling/vocabulary quizzes, writing-journal assignments, and class readings and discussions of <i>To Kill a Mockingbird</i> that is teaching freshman English. Ms. Cho has tried jazzing it up with a few curveballs—some creative writing exercises—but most of the students don't respond. It's pretty clear that except for a few students here and there—Willa is one of them—none of them want to be taking this class.<br/>
<br/>
Well, you didn't want to take it either, when you were a freshman.<br/>
<br/>
But you put your head down and power through.<br/>
<br/>
You distract yourself as best you can by taking notes on which of the students you might convert to the Baphomet cult that you and Sydney are building. Among the girls, you are most intrigued by Willa in your first-period class, and by Caitlyn Smart in your eighth-period class, for both of them are in gymnastics and talk quite openly of their plans to try out for the cheerleading squad later in their careers. Another one you put down—possibly in a moment of madness—is Shelly Nolan. She can't seem to stop talking about Harry Potter, and it would be amusing to convert her into an adept of actual magic.<br/>
<br/>
The real challenges come from the boys, most of whom seem to be born trouble-makers, and they seriously try your patience. You look on the bright side, though: It shouldn't be too hard to bust some of them and give them detention, where you could get a mask onto them. And just as you're attracted to Willa and Caitlyn because they plan to be cheerleaders, you find yourself eyeing those boys who seem destined to become football or basketball players. It helps that these—Austin Ritter, Steven Groom, Elijah Denton, the Daniels brothers (who are twins), among others—would be the easiest to punish with a life-changing after-school detention.<br/>
<br/>
But first things first. You have to help Sydney with Michael Hagerman.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
She comes to find you shortly after the bell rings, and you're well on your way to getting packed up. When she asks, "How are we going to do this?" you say, "Leave it to me. Just have the mask ready."<br/>
<br/>
After you've got your things packed up, you lock your door and lead Sydney down the hallway to Mr. Hagerman's room. He's alone, doing some work at his desk when you look in. "Got a minute?" you ask him with your coyest smile.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, what's up?" It vexes you a little that his gaze falls away from you and goes straight to Sydney when she follows you in.<br/>
<br/>
"This is Sydney McGlynn," you tell him. "She came to me to talk about starting up a book reading club at school, but I decided I wanted to talk to—"<br/>
<br/>
You catch sight of a girl peering into the classroom from the hallway—spying on Mr. Hagerman obviously. But that's all for the good. It gives you a chance to march over and shut the door on her.<br/>
<br/>
"I wanted to talk to you about it," you continue. But when you turn around you see that Michael isn't paying attention to you anymore. He's fallen back in his seat with a vacant expression on his face. And Sydney is just straightening up from bending over him.<br/>
<br/>
"I had a whole story worked up to tell him," you complain. But she just gives you a look and says, "Kill the light, Will. And help me move him over where no one can see us."</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112124322111
author_id: seuzz
title: Teachers Two
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Together you and Sydney roll Mr. Hagerman and his chair over to the far corner of the room, where he can't be glimpsed through the window in the door. And as you did in Ms. Cho's room yesterday, you flick off the lights and lower the blinds.<br/>
<br/>
Reflecting back on it now, you're surprised at how lucky you are that none of the other teachers came barging into Ms. Cho's room yesterday, to find you and her naked on the floor. But you now know better how these things work, so you fish through Mr. Hagerman's pockets and his work satchel—a leather case like a cowboy might carry—until you find his keys. With these, you lock the classroom door.<br/>
<br/>
"You sure you don't want him for yourself, Will?" Sydney asks you in a low voice. You bend to study the unconscious teacher.<br/>
<br/>
Up close, Mr. Hagerman not quite as devastatingly handsome as he was in your mind's eye. The bones in his face are very strong, but they are almost too strong, giving him a slightly Neanderthal look. His hair is wavy, but very stiff. As for his body— Well, he's dressed in a thin polyester shirt that's open at the neck and with the sleeves rolled up over the elbows, disclosing strong forearms and the top of a deep chest. The form of his shirt and jeans suggests muscles all over, so he's still a great physical specimen.<br/>
<br/>
But you shake your head. "I already picked Ms. Cho. You can have him."<br/>
<br/>
Sydney doesn't hesitate. "Can I leave you to take care of the rest?" she asks as she starts to unbutton her blouse. "So, there's another blank mask is in my purse," she continues as you try not to swallow your tongue. "The rest of the stuff is in my pack." She says nothing more, and dodges your eye as she finishes throwing off her clothes and settles onto the floor. "Make it a good copy, Will," she says, and shuts her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
You gulp, and move over to her things. The mask is all ready to go—polished up, with a memory strip already attached to its inner surface—and you kneel to set it on Sydney's face. She must have sensed your presence, for her brow furrows. But she doesn't open her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
Then her forehead clears as the mask vanishes into her, and she's just a slim, tanned, lovely girl, lying unconscious on the floor.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Some of Hannah Cho's prim embarrassment must have influenced you, for you don't linger to ogle Sydney, but settle into a nearby student desk, to patiently watch the clock and idly wonder what you'll find out about Mr. Hagerman after Sydney has assumed his form and memories. Hannah is not privy to most of the gossip at school, but she has the impression that Mr. Hagerman likes to play the field outside of school. Did he used to play it <i>inside</i> the school, with the other teachers? Did he get a stern talking to? Or was he just waiting for the right colleague to come along? Maybe Hannah Cho is the right colleague?<br/>
<br/>
You blush a little at the thought. Then you blush harder when you think that, yes, with these two body swaps, Hannah and Michael will be made for each other.<br/>
<br/>
Once, during your wait, you think you hear someone outside the door. But no one knocks or tries the knob.<br/>
<br/>
After about ten minutes, the mask appears on Mr. Hagerman's face. You have unpacked the rest of the supplies from Sydney's pack, but you're still applying the <i>pedisequos</i> layer to his mask when the other mask appears on Sydney's face. You finish up with the first mask—hurrying a little—before picking up and sealing Sydney's mask with another layer of <i>pedisequos</i> paste.<br/>
<br/>
Then you lay it against Mr. Hagerman's face.<br/>
<br/>
The transformation is over before you have a chance to see it start. One moment it's Mr. Hagerman slumping in the rolling chair. The next, it's Sydney.<br/>
<br/>
Her face and head and arms, at least. The rest of her is hidden by the clothes that now billow and deflate over her much smaller frame. She lifts her eyelids, and does a slight double-take at you.<br/>
<br/>
Then she looks down, at herself, then over at ... herself, the girl lying on the floor. She leans forward in the chair to study her. Then she lifts her eyes to yours. "Well, this is freaky," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"You better get changed," you tell the <i>pedisequos</i>, and reach over to pick up the clothes that Sydney had dropped. "And I'll get the other mask onto, um—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, leave her like that," the new Sydney says with a smirk. "Don't you want to get us in stereo like this?" she adds as she pulls open the shirt she's wearing. Her bare boobs pop out.<br/>
<br/>
You stiffen as you feel the blood flow to your cheeks. "I need to get her changed so we can get out of here," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Fine," she snorts. "I gotta say, Will," she adds as she pulls off Mr. Hagerman's wardrobe, "you really surprised me by going along with these assignments."<br/>
<br/>
You feel your eyes water with embarrassment and anger.<br/>
<br/>
"No, really, I'm impressed," she continues as she changes. "It's very— Well, I was going to say 'open-minded' of you, but that's the wrong word. But it does show a lot of confidence. You know, I think this stuff we've been doing—the exotic and the metaphysical, I mean—has done you a world of good. Don't take this the wrong way—" She breaks off as she pulls her dress (a sheer, dark-purple thing) down over her head. "But I get the very strong impression that you freak out kind of easily. Or you used to. I don't think a month ago you'd have been caught dead in a dress, let alone in a body that has boobies." She winks at you. "But they're very becoming. And seriously, I <i>like</i> a guy who's got confidence."<br/>
<br/>
You can't find any words for a reply.<br/>
<br/>
Once settled into the dress (but still barefoot), the <i>pedisequos</i> gives you a long, twinkling smile. "Now tell me what you think about me," she says. "I promise I won't tell <i>her.</i>" She gestures at the naked girl on the floor. "Although, it now suddenly occurs to me that that's one of the great things about these fake versions of ourselves. We'll be able to tell each other <i>all kinds of things</i> we'd never tell each other usually. Because it won't be <i>them</i> and it won't be <i>us</i> telling them. We'll all be fakes."<br/>
<br/>
Whatever she means by that, she's left you baffled, embarrassed, and a little angry. Ashamed, too, at listening to this ... creature ... prattling on, sharing confidences that the real girl never did. Is this really Sydney talking? Or is this some kind of mind-fuckery from a fake version of your girlfriend?<br/>
<br/>
So you ignore it to kneel next to the real Sydney, settling the other mask onto her face. You snatch your hand back as Mr. Hagerman's strong, masculine features replace Sydney's.<br/>
<br/>
"You gonna slap her awake now?" the <i>pedisequos</i> asks. "That's what she did to you yesterday. You should anyway, if you want to get out of here fast."<br/>
<br/>
It makes sense, so you shake the sleeping figure hard. When he doesn't respond, you slap him across the face a couple of times. The <i>pedisequos</i> pushes you aside with a snort. "Let me," she says, and with a resounding <i>WHACK!</i> lays a red welt across Mr. Hagerman's face.<br/>
<br/>
He flinches, gasps, and opens his eyes in a squint. "Ungh?" he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Sydney, can you hear me?" you ask. It's like the question she asked you yesterday.<br/>
<br/>
"Ungh?" he says again, and slowly sits up. With a deeper, longer groan, he lays a strong hand over the crown of his head. "I feel like shit," he mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, Sydney, we should get out of here. You'll feel better once you start moving." He only grunts again, and puts his face between his bare knees.<br/>
<br/>
The <i>pedisequos</i> casts you an amused glance. "She's even worse than you were," she says.<br/>
<br/>
Mr. Hagerman raises his face to frown at her. His eyes widen and his lip curls with disgust. "Oh God," he moans. "You kept it around instead of sending it home."<br/>
<br/>
"Go home," you tell the <i>pedisequos.</i><br/>
<br/>
She looks amused. "You're not the boss of me, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Go home," Mr. Hagerman growls.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I guess I know when I've been given my marching orders," the girl says, and turns to gather up her things. "I'll leave it to you two love birds to make it a couple." Mr. Hagerman glares balefully at Sydney's doppelganger until it has gone. <br/>
<br/>
Even then, he is slow to gather up his clothes and start pulling them on—it's as though he's suffering a hangover. "You getting any of the memories?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Ask when I feel human again," he mutters.<br/>
<br/>
So you stand back and watch as he dresses. As you'd guessed, he has strong legs and a meaty chest and flat stomach. His biceps flex and relax as he pulls his things on. After he's dressed and on wobbling feet, he shakes himself loose inside his clothes. "How are you doing?' you ask.<br/>
<br/>
He blinks and says nothing, then turns with a mystified frown toward the desk. He totters over to it and looks through the drawers, then half-gathers his stuff before stopping with a longer frown. You're starting to get worried.<br/>
<br/>
He is still frowning when he stalks from the room, walking as though his feet hurt. You follow and watch as he goes into a restroom. You wait for several long minutes for him to come back. When he does, his face is flushed, but he looks more alert.<br/>
<br/>
"Problem, Will," he quietly tells you. "I don't know a fucking thing I think I'm supposed to."</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111121243221111
author_id: seuzz
title: A Test for Teacher
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Will," Mr. Hagerman says. "I don't know anything I think I'm supposed to."<br/>
<br/>
The statement staggers you.<br/>
<br/>
"How long did it take you to start getting Ms. Cho's memories?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh ... Almost right away?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm not getting anything." He looks around with an angry frown. "I don't— Dammit!"<br/>
<br/>
"Sydney, just relax," you urge him. "You know, you just got into it. And I woke you up instead of letting you, you know, wake up on your own. Maybe that messed things up for you."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe so," he says, but he sounds unconvinced. He looks around with his hand on his hips, then stalks over to grab the rolling chair and move it back behind the desk. He slumps into it.<br/>
<br/>
You give him a few seconds to collect himself, then quietly clear your throat. "Maybe we shouldn't stick around here. In case someone comes looking for you and wants to talk."<br/>
<br/>
He makes a face, then heaves himself up with a sigh, touches the things on his desk, then puts his hands back on his hips.<br/>
<br/>
"Trouble is," he says, "I don't know what I'm supposed to take home." He blinks. "I don't even know what kind of car I drive!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I can help you with that, at least. As for the rest of it— Well, take everything!"<br/>
<br/>
He grimaces again, but gathers up every loose piece of paper and notebook he can, and stuffs them into the leather satchel. Together you walk out to the parking lot. Fortunately, no one stops you or calls to you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Sydney follows you back to Hannah's apartment in Mr. Hagerman's late-model blue Mustang. "Would you like something to drink?" you offer once you're inside.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know if this guy drinks," she mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I don't have any alcohol anyway. I meant, water or a soda or—"<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever." She sighs and trudges into the living room while you move into the kitchen. She's sitting on the futon when you join her with a club soda and lime for each of you. She takes it with a grimace.<br/>
<br/>
"You know we had this problem with your friend Caleb's mask," she recalls. "What if these things don't work for me?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're panicking too quickly."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not panicking at all. I'm just saying, what if—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't even say it. You don't want to give yourself a psychological block." You surprise yourself with the diagnosis—it must be something that Hannah would think. "Just relax. Here." You set your drink aside and get up to perch on the back of the futon behind her, straddling her shoulders. "You're probably still tense. Does your head still hurt?"<br/>
<br/>
"A little," she grunts. "What are you—? Oh!"<br/>
<br/>
You tuck her collar back and start kneading the base of her neck. The muscles are very hard and tight, and your fingers haven't the strength to really dig into them. But you work at them the best you can. "Can you take your shirt off?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you want to move into the bedroom?"<br/>
<br/>
You gulp. "What?"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, if you really want to— You don't have to, Will. But I could lay down and you could work on me there, if you're trying to give me a massage. It would probably be easier for you."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, okay." Still, your heart is fluttering as you and Sydney get up. For the first time, as she strips the shirt off, exposing a bare and muscular torso, you realize just how much taller and stronger she is than you.<br/>
<br/>
She keeps the jeans on, though, as she lays face down on the bed. You go to work on her, pushing your fingers and then your knuckles up and down Michael Hagerman's strong back, and digging them into his beefy shoulders. His skin is warm beneath your touch. Sydney groans to start with, but she soon falls quiet as you loosen her new muscles up.<br/>
<br/>
After twenty minutes, she mumbles that she feels a lot better, and turns over onto her back. Shirtless, with his strong features and wavy hair, the shirtless Michael Hagerman in his rugged Levis looks like he's posing for the cover of a romance novel. His lips twitch as he returns your stare with an amused one of his own. "We probably look like quite a couple," he says.<br/>
<br/>
You have a sudden picture of yourself putting your lips to his, then pulling his mouth into yours. You push the image aside with a question: "Are you feeling better?"<br/>
<br/>
"A lot better. Practically human." He sits up and stretches. "Thanks."<br/>
<br/>
"Memories?"<br/>
<br/>
He sighs. "Not a one."<br/>
<br/>
You also sigh, and get off the bed. "Well, I can think one way of testing it," you say as you undo the belt that cinches your dress to your waist.<br/>
<br/>
His eyes widen. "Wait. Are you serious?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm going to take off Hannah's mask," you retort, "and put Michael's on. We'll see what happens then.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The mask will put you under Sydney's control, for you sealed it up with the <i>pedisequos</i> paste, but you're willing to hazard the experiment anyway. After disrobing, you lay onto the bed and let Sydney pull Hannah's mask off you. When you wake, you find Sydney back in her own face, passed out beside you. She is a little groggy after you wake her,  but she wastes no time reaching for Mr. Hagerman's mask and dropping it onto you. You just have time to regret not getting to spend time with her in your own skins before the world goes dar, <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div> <br/>
All of the afternoon and most of the evening has passed when you wake again, naked, back in Hannah's face and skin. It is dark outside.<br/>
<br/>
"I tested everything out," Sydney reports. "I put Mr. Hagerman's mask onto you, and he was himself when he woke up. Except under my control, of course. And he acted just like himself. Answered all my questions. He was a little ticked off, though. Then I put on Ms. Cho's mask and—"<br/>
<br/>
"And found out that you didn't have any of her memories," you finish for her, for it all comes back to you, what happened when she put on Hannah's mask. You remember the questions she put to the fake Mr. Hagerman, and the questions that she had him to put to her: Questions about Ms. Cho's teaching schedule, and about the school and the English department. Questions that she couldn't answer. You also remember her puzzled explorations of the apartment. You remember her sitting on the futon, watching TV as she waited for the memories to come. But they never did.<br/>
<br/>
The only thing you don't feel is the vexation she must have felt at the mask not working.<br/>
<br/>
So that's a puzzle: Hannah Cho's mask works for you, but not for her. And Mr. Hagerman's mask has his memories and personality inside it, because the <i>pedisequos</i> worked perfectly. It—you under the mask—took her to its house, where it fed and walked his dog while she wracked her brains for some of Hannah's memories.<br/>
<br/>
Only one thing puzzles you: "Didn't you put any of that stuff inside Hannah's mask? The way we put it into Mr. Hagerman's?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. I didn't want to waste time yesterday. Besides, I still wasn't sure you'd really want to keep Ms. Cho for yourself. I thought you might change your mind, want to give her mask to me." She looks at you closely. "Do you?"<br/>
<br/>
You ponder. "No, I'm fine with her. If you're fine with Mr. Hagerman."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not fine with either of them," she grouses. "They don't work for me."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe if you sleep on it," you tell her. It's the only suggestion you've got. She sighs, then gets up and pads into the bedroom. When you look in on her a few moments later, you find Michael Hagerman, stark naked, passed out on your bed.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
At least you both learned from the <i>pedisequos</i> that he doesn't have someone waiting at home for him, and you also have an address for him. Sydney goes back to his place. "I'll text my other self," she moodily declares on her way out, "and tell her to meet me at his place early tomorrow morning so I can switch back. At least we'll be able to order him around if I wind up putting this mask on him." But she is clearly vexed at not being to disguise herself, the way you can.<br/>
<br/>
So that's where things stood when you parted Tuesday night. Early the next morning, though you're woken by a phone call. "Hey," a gruff and manly voice says. "Guess who I woke up with this morning?"<br/>
<br/>
You have to check the number on the screen, even though the voice is familiar from yesterday. "I thought you only had a dog over there, Sydney," you sigh.<br/>
<br/>
She laughs. "It too. But I woke up with Michael Hagerman. All of him."<br/>
<br/>
You sit up. "What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean he came to me last night. While I was sleeping. I woke up with his memories, Will! <br/>
And with his <i>wood.</i> Nngh!"<br/>
<br/>
"You think you can be him at school today?" you ask in a squeak.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah, no problem. I just wanted to call to let you know where you could find me. That I was going to be, you know, him."<br/>
<br/>
Well, that's a relief. You ask if he wants to meet for breakfast someplace.<br/>
<br/>
"That would be out of character," he reminds you. "But I definitely want to get together with you this evening. Either at your place or at mine."<br/>
<br/>
"For what?" you ask with your heart in your throat.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you think? But I need to get ready, Hannah, I give myself a session on the elliptical every morning. See you at the school."<br/>
<br/>
That's not the last thing he says before hanging up, though. The last thing he says is far more jarring, and it gives you quite a turn:<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hail Baphomet.</i></span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111212432211111
author_id: seuzz
title: Breaking Bodies
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Why do you think I want to get together with you tonight?</i> Sydney—a.k.a. Michael Hagerman—asked you this morning. It was a question that leaves you fluttering with anxiety.<br/>
<br/>
Because it's a question that pulls both of your two personalities—your own, and the one you've borrowed from Hannah Cho—in opposite directions. Hannah gets an erotic twinge of appreciation every time she sees Michael Hagerman, but she is also extremely virginal—she is, in fact, a virgin—and the thought of tumbling straight into bed with a guy, even one as attractive (and now as "safe" to be with as the new Michael Hagerman) fills her with a fearful reluctance. As for yourself, you would be even slower to get in touch with another guy's sausage. But it's not Michael Hagerman you'd be making out with, it would be Sydney McGlynn, and you'd be giving yourselves to each other, even if it is from inside some borrowed bodies.<br/>
<br/>
So you're jumpy all day, especially during those moments when you step out between classes. You can't help spotting Michael Hagerman lurking in his classroom doorway just down the hallway. He is tall and strong and broad-shouldered, and he always seems to be looking in your direction, and his eyes light up and his mouth curves into a soft grin when he sees you. His gaze makes you melt.<br/>
<br/>
The worst moment, though, comes when Nora Goretsky catches you in the teacher's lounge during your lunch break. She flashes you a private smirk as she prepares herself a sandwich, looking like the proverbial "cat that caught the canary." After she's let you prickle with worry and confusion for several long minutes, she comes out with it.<br/>
<br/>
"So I saw you leaving school with Michael yesterday," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"What?" you exclaim. "Oh. Yes." You look away.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh," she echoes. "Just happened to be leaving together?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes."<br/>
<br/>
"I <i>love</i> coincidences like that," she says, and walks off with a private laugh.<br/>
<br/>
You grit your teeth and cuss to yourself. The last thing you and Sydney want is people gossiping about Hannah and Michael.<br/>
<br/>
Isn't it?<br/>
<br/>
Mr. Leopold, who is sitting at the table, ostentatiously keeps his gaze locked onto his iPad.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You make a point of texting Michael that you'll be leaving separately and that he should call or text when he's ready to come over to your place. He replies with a pouty-face emoji. You text him that Nora saw the two of you leaving together yesterday. That provokes a laughing emoji. You make a face and toss your phone away. "Austin! Eyes on your own paper!" you snap at the boy who's raised his head and is pretending to stare out the window while actually scoping out the spelling test of his neighbor. He gives you a tired look, and goes back to scribbling on his own test.<br/>
<br/>
You're grateful that Michael doesn't show up at your place until six-thirty. "I had to do my workout anyway," he says as you let him in. (His hair is damp, and he looks freshly showered and laundered in a plaid shirt and fresh jeans.) "I missed it yesterday, you know. And how are you?" He drops his satchel to the floor and with one strong arm pulls you to him. "I brought my toothbrush," he adds after he's kicked the front door shut behind him. "Dog is fed, but I'll have to go out sometime this evening and tomorrow morning to let him out."<br/>
<br/>
Then his mouth is over yours, and his tongue goes for your tonsils.<br/>
<br/>
You tense all over. But as he hugs you close, and digs even deeper inside your mouth, the tension leaks and dribbles off you. He moves down to your neck, biting and nibbling while caressing your lower back and butt, leaving you a soft and nerveless thing in his arms. "I need to drain the noodles," you sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"Mmm. That sounds like dirty talk."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm talking about dinner."<br/>
<br/>
"Mmm, good," he says between bites. "I'm starving."<br/>
<br/>
Starving for more than food, it seems like. It's many long moments before you're able to pull away from him and lead him back into the kitchen. He follows close behind, and nestles you into the curves of his body as you finish dinner. You almost drop a pot when he reaches around and goes for your cooch. "Jeez!" you exclaim.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Is this you being in character?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess." He nuzzles the back of your neck.<br/>
<br/>
"I mean—" You jump a little as he nips at you. "Is this what he does on a first date?" you squeak. <br/>
<br/>
"No. But I wasn't thinking of this as a first date. We've been on lots of dates already, Will."<br/>
<br/>
You stiffen. "Oh. Is that what we were doing?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel him pull away from you, but you concentrate on the noodles.<br/>
<br/>
"What did you think we were doing, Will?" he says. "You know, I'd have jumped your bones weeks ago, except— Besides," he interrupts himself, "it'll be more powerful, do us more good in the long run, if we do it this way, under the gaze of Baphomet."<br/>
<br/>
The invocation of that name gives you a thrill. Whether of horror or of excitement, you're not sure.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You were going to prepare a fairly elaborate meal of herbed pasta with Italian sides, but Sydney is so anxious to relieve herself that you content yourselves with some buttered noodles and a salad pack before moving into the bedroom. Sydney whips off her clothes and has one knee on the bed while you're still peeling off your underthings. Then you're between the sheets with her atop you.<br/>
<br/>
She begins with a fast deflowering of you, ramming a hard cock deep inside you and not waiting for you to warm yourself before cumming. She doesn't even pause to recover before turning you over and putting you on your knees to take you doggie-style. You're astonished to find she's hard again. But then she changes position, and that's when you realize she's slowly pleasuring you with a dildo.<br/>
<br/>
Actually, it's her meditation wand she's using on you. She works it into you slowly. Now that you're warmed, you do come, crying out silently as you grip the wooden rod with unpracticed muscles. <br/>
<br/>
She doesn't let up. Overall, she—or Michael—prefers the missionary position, but the wand is always part of the game, and she slides into various orifices (including anally, inside herself) or between your breasts. It starts as a toy or a tool, but by the time you are lying in the dark, panting from multiple exertions, with the wand between your hot, sweaty bodies, it has become almost the third in a three-way.<br/>
<br/>
The clock is showing eleven, and you have been grinding at each other for hours, when he leaves—briefly, he tells you—to run home to let the dog out. You can't stop yourself from falling asleep. You wake only once during the night, to find arms wrapped around you. "Spooning" it is called. But under the circumstances, it is more like "wrapping a carcass" about yourself.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Michael wakes you briefly at five-thirty when he crawls from bed to go home, and you're up an hour later when he texts. <i>I want two new recruits by tomorrow afternoon,</i> he writes, <i>so we can have the weekend to break them in.</i> It seems like a rush—you barely feel like you've gotten used to Hannah, and Sydney has only had a day as Michael. But you dutifully text back, <i>Okay. Who?<br/>
<br/>
Think about it today, talk over ideas ths afternoon,</i> he replies. As today is Thursday, that will only give you tomorrow to capture and replace a pair of students.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney could pick out some juniors from the classes that Mr. Hagerman teaches, but you've got a list of possible freshmen already going. And you've not forgotten that Hannah's little sister could act as your passport to the sophomore class.<br/>
<br/>
But you realize you've been going at the job half-assed when Sydney sends you a longer text: <i>We should keep the genders balanced,</i> she writes. <i>Pick four boys and four girls, two to a class. Do we want them BF/GF in all classes or mixed?</i> When you ask her to clarify, she sends some abbreviations: <i>bb, gg, bg, gb.</i> It takes you a moment to decipher her meaning: Pick two boys in one class, two girls in a second, and a boy-plus-girl mix in the other two, presumably with one of you taking the boy role in one class and the girl role in the other.<br/>
<br/>
You mull this over breakfast, and text back: <i>Start with a boyfriend and girlfriend, see from there.</i> She replies, <i>Okay, I'll take the girl. Got any good picks in your classes?</i></span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112124322111111
author_id: seuzz
title: Freshman Frolics
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Good morning, Willa," you chirp at the girl sitting and reading her cell phone (as she does every morning) outside your classroom door. Her head shoots up, and she scrambles to her feet. "My goodness, what time does your bus get here?" you ask as you unlock your classroom door. "You always get here before me!"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't ride the bus," she says. "My mom drops me off every morning on her way to work."<br/>
<br/>
"She must have very early hours."<br/>
<br/>
"Her job's in McGuffey. So she has to leave early. And school is on her way out of town." Willa shrugs beneath the weight of her backpack.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Interesting,</i> you think, and make a note.<br/>
<br/>
Willa McBride is one of the top candidates on your list of girls. She's a gymnast with a bird-like figure ... but if you were being honest, you'd also have to admit that her beaky nose also gives her a bird-like face. Still, with the freshmen you have to think long-term, and long-term Willa stands a good chance of turning into a cheerleader.<br/>
<br/>
You watch her out of the corner of your eye as you start sorting out the material for today's class, but you're soon distracted by the entrance of other students you've been watching. Foremost of these has to be Addison Ricci, who really should be in the Advanced Placement class. Or maybe it's only on account of her style that you peg her as an AP student. She is tall and slender, with long, honey-colored hair, and you don't need Hannah's eye to tell you that her sweaters and skirts and shoes set her parents back a fair amount of money. She would make a comfortable home for Sydney.<br/>
<br/>
Neither she nor the other girls seem to notice as you watch her coyly flirting with Andrew Hudson, who is far and away the "cutest" boy in class. He has doe-like eyes and a shy smile, and he blushes easily under the girls' compliments.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Austin. Steven. I'm not telling you guys again," you snap at the two worst troublemakers in second period. Steven giggles as he knocks away the paper football he and his friend had been flicking between them, but Austin gives you a tired glower as he turns back around in his desk.<br/>
<br/>
You had some grading you needed to catch up on before next period, so you were having the class read quietly to itself. Naturally, Austin Ritter and Steven Groom, who are on the freshman football team, had found an activity more to their liking. A row over, Grady Wisner, another freshman player, flashes you a brief glance of sympathy before lowering his head to resume his reading.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Why can't they be more like Grady?</i> you wonder, who is polite and studious and never makes trouble, even though he shows up every other day wearing his football jersey to class. You're particularly peeved at Austin, who when he applies himself is actually a better student than Grady. You wouldn't expect any better from Steven, who with his squint, his smirk, and his pug nose, reminds you of a mischievous piglet, and has the spelling ability of one as well. (I mean, <i>really.</i> It's almost like he's trolling you when he spells <i>malice</i> with three <i>s</i>'s at the end instead of a <i>c</i> and an <i>e</i>.) But it's Austin who seems to be the one always starting things, and he never protests his innocence when you call him on it. He just gives you <i>that look</i>—the look that says, <i>I can't believe I have to put up with your bullshit.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Maya, why are you daydreaming?" you ask the girl who's leaning back and staring at the ceiling. She gives you a dirty look before returning to her reading. "Shelly," you warn the giggling girl next to her. She turns pale and quickly lowers her face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Third period is the "fun" period, as far as you're concerned. The students are pretty good and they never give you any trouble. (Although you do get a little attitude sometimes from Chase Weir, who is tall and awkward on his feet and likes to hunch up inside his gray hoodie with the brim of his ball cap pulled down low.) But they're the class you can play games with without worrying that the fun will get out of control or cease to be educational.<br/>
<br/>
Today, for instance, you're set the class to playing a version of Password using their vocabulary list. At the front of the room, Tristan Moore is currently trying to get Hailey Branson to guess "accomplish." His first try (<i>do</i>) only elicited a terrified grin from Hailey, and the guess "Dominate?" Her reply to his second stab (<i>fulfill</i>) went even farther astray: "Mail?" which of course isn't even a word on their list. Hailey blushed a deep red and tried hiding behind her long blonde hair as the class busted out laughing.<br/>
<br/>
After you rule Tristan's third try—<i>get done</i>—out of bounds, he shuffles back to his seat, to be replaced by Emily Yates. Maybe Hailey was just tongue-tied by Tristan, who is tall, skinny, and handsome, because the cool and confident Emily only has to say one word—<i>achieve</i>—for Hailey to snap her fingers and exclaim, "Oh! Accomplish! Dur!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But sixth period is probably the best of the classes you teach. The kids are a little too intense for it to be a "fun" period, but they are diligent, and frequently Hannah will divide them into study groups so that she can get a head start on her afternoon grading.<br/>
<br/>
It's also a class with two Korean-American girls in it. That (you would think) would be a commonality between Hannah and Helen Kim and Mee-Kyong Lee that they could bond with over, but in fact it makes things a little awkward. It doesn't help that both girls—who play in the orchestra—are very intense. Hannah can't help feeling that she has been judged and found wanting by two girls who plainly expect to get a better job than "English teacher" when they graduate.<br/>
<br/>
But the other students are more relaxed, and you feel yourself relaxing as you watch them. Kelly Morris and Caden Bradshaw have their heads bent close together as they study the poem you set the class to dissecting, while Jackson Rhyne frowningly compares the pages of his book with something he has found on his cell phone (an online dictionary, you hope). You're glad you paired Caden with Kelly. Aside from the fact that they seem to like each other, it gets Caden away from—<br/>
<br/>
"Elijah. Brett. Settle down," you warn the two boys. They're popular, good-looking boys, and are usually studious, but they tend to get loud when put together. "The poem isn't <i>that</i> funny."<br/>
<br/>
"It's hilarious!" Elijah protests. Brett almost loses it.<br/>
<br/>
"Brady," you admonish another student who is trying to edge his desk toward Elijah's. "Those aren't your study partners." He grins with embarrassment, and scoots back to rejoin Helen and Mee-Kyong. The two girls give you a dark look for saddling them with the dumbest cluck in the class.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Seventh period is the one period you get a break from teaching freshman English ... but it's an even worse and more challenging class: Grammar for Writing. Hannah Cho grew up bilingual, and with Korean to compare it to, she is very sensitive to just how illogical and challenging English grammar can be.<br/>
<br/>
But if she could master it, why can't kids who mastered it at an early age also get it? It makes your head hurt to read the paragraphs that the students in this class struggle to compose. <i>Just write like you talk,</i> you tell them. That wouldn't be "good writing," but it would be leagues ahead of the stuff you have been reading from behind Ms. Cho's eyes. Like, <i>He so wanted the ice cream he mouth were watering.</i> Really?<br/>
<br/>
That's a sentence by Julian Martinez. There aren't many freshmen in the class—it's a net to catch juniors and seniors who have fallen off the regular track—and none of them are attractive. Julian sure isn't. He lurks in the back of the class, hunkered up inside his desk, peeping out with a surly expression from behind the dank coils of dark hair that trail over his brow and down his neck to his shoulders. He's got muscles, which he shows off in tank tops. He looks like a thug, and he's got the disposition of a wounded rattlesnake.<br/>
<br/>
So why does your eye keep reverting to him every time you glance around the room, looking for a likely recruit for the Brotherhood of Baphomet?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
By last period you are exhausted and only want to go home. A lot of it is the strain of trying to gauge and weigh which of the two hundred or so students who have passed through your classroom would make a good recruit to the Brotherhood. In the morning you were carefully weighing the pros and cons of each one as you ticked your eyes down the rows. Now, though, you just glance over the throng with a mental <i>Meh.</i> You don't even bother to jot down any names as the final bell rings, and the students rush forward to turn in their quick-writing compositions.<br/>
<br/>
"Can I get you to read my paper now?"<br/>
<br/>
You're startled out of a brief stupor by the question. It's Caitlyn Smart who asked it. She's a red-head with pink skin and a puckish smile, and she wobbles on her feet as she grins at you. You blink at her, then take the proffered essay for a quick read.<br/>
<br/>
"It looks fine," you mutter at her after scanning it.<br/>
<br/>
"An A?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why does it have to be an A?" you ask. When her face falls, you stammer, "Sure, it's good enough for an A."<br/>
<br/>
She dimples at the boy standing next to her: Aedan Finnegan, another redhead. "Toldja," she says, and prances out. He follows closely behind.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Sydney wants us to be boyfriend and girlfriend,</i> you think. <i>I wonder of those two ...</i></span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111121243221111111
author_id: seuzz
title: Five Little Maids from School
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Sydney wasn't much interested in talking about potential recruits when you got together with her after school. Instead, she passed the hours both before and after dinner by rutting inside you, furrowing Hannah Cho with Michael Hagerman's cock and despoiling you from every direction. When you told her you wanted to start by finding a girl for her, she only grunted and said that she hoped you were taking notes on how <i>she</i> wanted to be treated after you and her had a couple of new bodies.<br/>
<br/>
If anything worries you, it is that you might pick a girl for Sydney who suffers hidden disadvantages: an unhappy home life, or certain invisible handicaps. True, your plan will give each of you half a dozen identities to shuffle between, and you suppose you can always discard a recruit—by releasing the original from the enchanted sleep under a mask—if you make a really bad choice, but you want to be sure of picking a good and plausible identity for your girlfriend.<br/>
<br/>
Fortunately, the next morning as you are getting ready for school, you have a bright idea on how to get to know your candidates better.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So tell me," you ask Addison Ricci after you've completed the quick-and-dirty spelling quiz, "why aren't you in the AP class?" You smile warmly at her, so she'll know you mean the query as a compliment.<br/>
<br/>
You're sitting outside in the hallway, in a couple of desks that face each other, while the rest of the class is engaged in a free-writing exercise. It's probably a bad idea to leave them unsupervised, but it's only for one day. One by one you are pulling out the students you have jotted down as likely recruits, and are giving them short quizzes. The real goal, though, is to interview them to find out as much as you can.<br/>
<br/>
Addison blushes at your question, which makes her look even more adorable. Addison has a bright smile in a pretty face framed by long, honey-colored hair, and she is already using makeup, though her skin is smooth and unblemished. She wears a turquoise choker around her slim throat, a piece of jewelry that blends well with her expensive but understated top.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you have to take a placement exam before they let you into the AP class," she says. "I kind of bombed it when I took it."<br/>
<br/>
"Did you panic?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess," she shyly murmurs. "I always get nervous on tests, and that one, um, I was just—" She squirms in her seat.<br/>
<br/>
"What are some other classes you're taking?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
She rattles off her schedule. It sounds like the usual freshman set—history, algebra, PE, science, a language (German in her case), but the "Art Design" class intrigues you. Her face lights up when you ask her about it. She wants to be a designer of some sort when she grows up. Maybe a decorator, or a clothes designer—she plucks self-consciously at her top—maybe even an architect!<br/>
<br/>
You beam at her and send her back to class. Your questions to Willa McBride and Courtney Ireton are less probing, because Addison so clearly outshines them as a candidate.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Don't you like any other books?" you ask Shelly Nolan after she's finished rattling off the plot to <i>Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone</i> to you. "Even any other fantasy books?"<br/>
<br/>
Shelly giggles and rolls her eyes. "Sure! But I like to read!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what other books do you like? Do you like the book we're reading now?" There aren't many books more different from <i>Harry Potter,</i> you'd wager, than <i>To Kill a Mockingbird.</i><br/>
<br/>
"It's okay," Shelly says. She grins and kicks nervously at the floor.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what is it you like so much about Harry Potter?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, wow. Gosh!" Shelly takes a deep breath. "I love the—"<br/>
<br/>
You let the surging surf of her enthusiasm wash over you without paying much attention to the actual words. You concentrate on the girl instead. She's a pasty-faced red-head with a crinkly smile and green eyes that carry a mad glint. A little too mad, maybe. Her fascination for all things Potter—her backpack is crusted over with Hogwarts iron-on patches, and Harry's bespectacled visage is scrawled all over the covers of her notebooks—unnerves you slightly.<br/>
<br/>
When she pauses to catch her breath, you ask, "If I recommended you some other books about magic and fantasy, would you be interested in them."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," she says. "But I've already read <i>The Lord of the Rings</i> and <i>Narnia</i> books and—!"<br/>
<br/>
The list leaves you in a daze. Shelly is probably even more into magic and fantasy than Sydney is.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It wasn't all sex and screwing last night. You talked a little about the kind of kids you should recruit for the Brotherhood, and Sydney told you that she thought you should be picking kids of various backgrounds and personality types. So even though you are impressed with Emily Yates in your third-period class, you can't help comparing her unfavorably to Addison Ricci. They are both of the same "type": girls from upper-middle, professional class families, with large allowances and a subtle but unmistakable sense of entitlement. But Addison is prettier and more poised. Emily has the kind of nose that would benefit from cosmetic surgery, and thick-framed glasses.<br/>
<br/>
Hailey Branson, on the other hand, is a sweet-tempered ditz. Physically, she and Addison are poured from the same mold—skinny, with long, dirty-blonde hair, and wide, white smiles. But where Addison's smile is slightly guarded and more than a little condescending, Hailey's is exuberant. During your "interview," she huddles shyly in her desk, wagging her knees back and forth as she desperately guesses at the answers. She is eminently huggable as well, for the boniness of her form is softened by the dark flannel jersey she wears. She tells you she is on the track team, though she confesses it as though afraid that you will hold it against her.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Why does she make me so nervous?</i> you have to ask yourself as Helen Kim stares back at you. Her eyes are heavy with an unfriendly judgement. <i>Why do I feel like </i>I'm<i> the one being interviewed?</i><br/>
<br/>
Helen and her friend Mee-Kyong so daunt you that almost you decided not to interview them, even though they are the best candidates in your sixth-period class. But it's their "fear factor" that makes them candidates. Kelly Morris, the next most attractive candidate, is another Addison Ricci type, but Helen and Mee-Kyong are in a class by themselves: they are smart, and look like they won't take shit from anyone. Not even from their teacher.<br/>
<br/>
At least part of Helen's deal, you discover after you've moved into the interview portion, is that her English is a worse than you expected. Maybe she acts sullen because she is mute, and maybe she is mute because she doesn't trust herself in her second language. To put her at her ease, you switch to Korean. But then she just acts insulted.<br/>
<br/>
She and Mee-Kyong, you learn from your interviews, are both a kind of Army brat. Their families came over from South Korea a few years ago when their fathers went to work at Fort Suffolk, the nearby military base. Though they had some practice with English when they were little, neither one excelled, and both of them (it seems to you) have walled themselves off. Their expressions only come alive (and then only barely) when you ask them about the orchestra. <br/>
<br/>
As you escort Mee-Kyong back into the classroom at the end of the interview, you see her and Helen exchange a look. <i>Is there something between them?</i> you wonder. <i>Two Korean girls, the same age, both thrust into a strange country and a language neither of them is comfortable with?</i> After mulling it over, you come real close to crossing their names off your list—if you replaced one you would probably have to replace the other as well. But you stay your hand with the thought, <i>Would it be so bad if Sydney and I took their places?</i> In at least one class, Sydney wants you both to be girls. It could be the freshman class, with you and her as Helen and Mee-Kyong.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<br/>
Like yesterday, you are pretty exhausted when you get to the last period of the day, so that you can't concentrate fully on your self-appointed task. After the bell has rung to start eighth period, you look out into the class and decide to do the usual—class reading, a little discussion, the Friday vocabulary quiz, and some free writing. If there's any girl in the class you'd pick for Sydney, it would be Caitlyn Smart, an athletic ginger who is into gymnastics. You already suspect she comes with a boyfriend—or at least a sweetie—in the form and body of Aedan Finnegan, so she stands out over all the other candidates.<br/>
<br/>
As the class works on its quizzes and journals, you go through the names on your own list. Each of the girls you "interviewed" you asked to return to see you after school was out, in order to collect a short extra-credit assignment. All but one of them you will dismiss after handing out the bullshit writing assignment. The one who remains, though, will get a much more ... life-changing ... experience at your hands.<br/>
<br/>
One by one you cross out names—Willa McBride, Courtney Ireton, Maya Stroud, Emily Yates, Kelly Morris—until there are only six left. You are still in an agony of indecision when the final bell rings, and the students lunge for your desk to turn in their quizzes. <br/>
<br/>
But even as you accept their papers, you feel your instincts crystalize, and you pick:</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111212432211111112
author_id: seuzz
title: Little Miss Magic
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Shelly, can I get you to stay a moment?" you ask the girl after handing her that bullshit extra credit assignment. Her eyes go wide. "It's nothing bad," you assure her. "I just want to talk to you about some, um, possible extracurricular activities."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, sure!" she exclaims with visible relief. "You know, my mom is always getting on my case about how I need to be doing more activities outside of classes, but you know I have the hardest time finding anything, so if you—"<br/>
<br/>
She is kind of a chatterbox, isn't she? You find yourself almost changing your mind. What would it be like to hang out with that girl constantly? Could Sydney keep her personality under control? Or would she stomp on the accelerator, and enjoy driving you bonkers with the prattle about magic?<br/>
<br/>
One by one you pass out the same extra credit to the other students you interviewed—Willa; Maya; Kelly; Helen; Mee-Kyong—as they stop in to pick them up. Shelly settles into a desk to wait, but she keeps waggling her leg. "You know I have a bus to catch," she blurts out as you're taking out your phone.<br/>
<br/>
"It'll be okay, you won't miss it," you assure her as you text Michael to come join you. But—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Where the hell is Addison?</i> you wonder. It would be just perfect if she comes in late and interrupts after you've made a lunge for Shelly.<br/>
<br/>
"Ms. Cho?" Shelly says. Her expression has turned pleading.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm waiting for Mr. Hagerman, Shelly," you tell her. "He's the one with the idea for the, uh, activity. Just sit tight."<br/>
<br/>
You should sit tight too, maybe. Instead, you haul the ready-to-go mask from your bag and lay it on the lectern. Then you stalk out into the hallway.<br/>
<br/>
The crowds have started to thin, and through them you can see Michael loping your way. You meet him halfway.<br/>
<br/>
"You need to go in there and take care of Shelly," you tell him. "I need—"<br/>
<br/>
"Shelly? Is that the girl?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, and it's only her in there. I'll stand guard out here. I've got another student coming."<br/>
<br/>
"Are we going to two?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! Just get inside and get Shelly! She has a bus to catch, or something."<br/>
<br/>
"She's not going to make it."<br/>
<br/>
"Just go!"<br/>
<br/>
Michael grins rakishly at you. <i>Fucker!</i> Sydney was just winding you up.<br/>
<br/>
You shut the classroom door after him and loiter outside, watching for Addison. Now you can intercept her without worrying that—<br/>
<br/>
Shit! That writing assignment is still on your desk! You wheel and dash inside to get it. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Michael pulling the unconscious Shelly Nolan, desk and all, into a back corner of the room.<br/>
<br/>
And when you turn around again, <i>there</i> is Addison in the doorway, looking inside with a puzzled expression.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Naturally!</i><br/>
<br/>
"There you are, hon," you call out, and rush at her with the paper. "I've got the extra credit here. Now, when you work on it—" You try to push her back out of the room.<br/>
<br/>
But she stares into it with a furrowed brow, at Michael and at Shelly.<br/>
<br/>
"That's just Shelly," you babble at her. "She came in to get her assignment, and then she said she felt sick. Can you please—" You push Addison out into the hallway.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh!" she exclaims. "The assignment?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's all there in the directions," you tell her. "Due tomorrow at the start of class." You pull the door shut behind you, and thrust the paper at her. "Don't you have a bus to catch?"<br/>
<br/>
"My mom's picking me up, and she's going to be late."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you should go wait for her out front or something." You can't help blushing. You are acting so guilty!<br/>
<br/>
"Okay." Addison gives you a puzzled look, then shuffles on down the hallway. Halfway down, she turns to give you another look of confusion. You beam at her, and wave. Her brow darkens, but she continues on her way.<br/>
<br/>
You let out a deep breath, and open the door to put your face inside the classroom. Michael has already shut off the lights and closed the blinds. "Get in here," he growls at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe I should stand watch out here."<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs. "Fine. But it'll go faster if you move the masks around."<br/>
<br/>
That's true. You step inside and lock the door.<br/>
<br/>
"So who's this girl?" Michael asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Shelly Nolan. Michelle Nolan," you correct yourself, for that is her full name.<br/>
<br/>
"So why'd you pick her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because she's into fantasy and magic. Check out her backpack, Sydney."<br/>
<br/>
Michael lugs Shelly's pack up off the floor. He lets out a low whistle at all the <i>Harry Potter</i> shit that covers it. "Oh. One of those."<br/>
<br/>
"I figured she'd be a good fit."<br/>
<br/>
"No kidding. Does she have a boyfriend?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. She's in the ninth grade, she probably just has a crush."<br/>
<br/>
Michael puts his hands on his hips, and gazes down at Shelly. She is lying face down on the desk, so only her long, frizzy, pale-red hair is visible. She seems very small.<br/>
<br/>
"You know, Will," Michael says in a slow, low voice. "I was going to say, 'I guess we'll find out'—if she's got a crush, I mean. But what if it turns out like Michael? And Caleb?" He looks at you. "What if I can't get her memories?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel the blood drain from your face. You hadn't even thought of that.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," he says. "What do you know about her? Like, where she lives, and—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll handle her," you reply. You're thinking very fast, as far ahead as you dare. "I'll put on the mask."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought she was for me."<br/>
<br/>
"She will be. Eventually. Tomorrow, we'll switch out. I can write up a biography of her for you to study. That way you can handle her when we switch out after school. Then if you need the night to get the, uh, memories, like with Michael—"<br/>
<br/>
"If you don't mind, Will," Sydney says.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't mind. It's the only way to handle it."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, in that case." She laughs. "<i>You're</i> the one who's going to miss the bus."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Someone is trying to shake the darkness off you, and you're freezing. "I'll get up in a minute, Mom," you mumble, and feel around for the covers. There are none.<br/>
<br/>
And that's when you realize you've fallen asleep on a skating rink.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, it's not. But for a very confused couple of seconds you can't tell what's real and what's a plausible dream. You raise your head, then scramble up, and find that you're actually huddled up on the cold tile floor of a classroom. It's very dim.<br/>
<br/>
"Will," a voice says. "Will?" But you pay no attention to the voice.<br/>
<br/>
How can you, when you're naked?<br/>
<br/>
You squeal and scramble backward across the floor, and bang your head against a desk. You gasp and nurse the bruised spot.<br/>
<br/>
A figure squats in front of you. It's a teacher. It's Mr. Hagerman! And he—!<br/>
<br/>
He is frowning into your face with a look of deep concern. "Will," he says again. "Will. You have to listen to me. Don't let her take over. You have to remember who you are."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Will? Why does he keep saying that name?</i><br/>
<br/>
You remember now. You came back to Ms. Cho's class to pick up that extra credit assignment, and she made you wait while she got Mr. Hagerman. He came in and he picked something up off her lectern and he advanced on you and he—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Ohhhh!</i> You curl into a ball and press your face to your knees. You feel like you're going to be sick.<br/>
<br/>
Then, all at once, the feeling passes, and you raise your face again. Mr. Hagerman frowns back at you.<br/>
<br/>
You return him a wicked grin. "Psych!" you gloat at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Will?" he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes!" You scramble to your feet. "Had you going there for a minute, didn't I?" <i>I had myself going for a minute there too!</i> you think shakily to yourself. <i>But now I know who I am and what's going on and—</i><br/>
<br/>
"Where's my clothes?" you ask. "I have to get going! If I miss the bus—!"<br/>
<br/>
"I think you missed it already."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, <i>shit!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Then you clap a hand over your mouth. <i>I can't believe I said the 's' word!</i> "I mean, crumb!" you correct yourself. "I'm going to have to call my mom, and she's going to want to know how come I missed the bus, and—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Calm down, Will," Mr. Hagerman says as he starts handing you your clothes. "I'll take you home."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think that would work!" you exclaim as you pull on a set of panties. You are shivering all over, not just from the cold but from a fear of touching your own body. "I mean, a <i>guy</i> teacher? Taking me home?"<br/>
<br/>
Mr. Hagerman sighs. "Then just tell your mom you missed the bus because your teacher asked you to stay late."<br/>
<br/>
That would probably work, but you still make a face. Today is <i>not</i> going the way that you planned, and—<br/>
<br/>
You freeze, but at the same time it's like every muscle in your body relaxes. You feel your face slacken, and your eyes go distant. Mr. Hagerman gives you a guarded look, which you ignore as, with your attention a million miles away, you finish dressing: tiny bra, jeans, turquoise sweater, ankle socks, and sneakers.<br/>
<br/>
Walking calmly, like an automaton, you exit the classroom and walk down to the nearest girls' restroom. Inside, you stand back from the sink and study your face. Michelle "Shelly" Nolan stares calmly back.<br/>
<br/>
Then you clap your hands and dance in place. <i>Magic is real!</i> you exult.</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112124322111111121
author_id: seuzz
title: At Home with Shelly Nolan
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You don't know why that "robotic" feeling overwhelmed you, unless it was, like, something shutting down inside your head before you <i>totally freaked</i> out over this stuff. Now, you tamp down the excitement firmly as you study yourself in the mirror.<br/>
<br/>
Shelly Nolan is a small and skinny girl—bony, almost—with pasty white skin and lank red hair that falls to just above her shoulders. She's got a pert nose and squinty eyes, but her face comes alive when she grins.<br/>
<br/>
You're grinning now. <i>I can't believe this worked!</i> you exult. <i>This is even better than the Polyjuice Potion, because I can even </i>think<i> like Shelly! Like, would I even know what Polyjuice Potion was if I didn't have her memories?</i><br/>
<br/>
You give yourself a big thumbs-up, then run back to Ms. Cho's classroom.<br/>
<br/>
The lights are back on, and the two teachers—Ms. Cho and Mr. Hagerman—are talking in low voices.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, this has been fun and all," you tell them as you sweep up your backpack, "but I really gotta go! The longer I wait before I text my mom—"<br/>
<br/>
"When are we going to talk again?" Mr. Hagerman asks. He seems a <i>lot</i> bigger than he was before, maybe because Ms. Cho, though still a small woman, is half a head taller than you are now.<br/>
<br/>
"Tomorrow?" you hazard. "I guess I can take my lunch in here with— Oh, except you and me don't have the same lunch!" you exclaim with a frown at Ms. Cho. "But I'll have something written up for you!" you promise Sydney. "After school?"<br/>
<br/>
"Tomorrow's Saturday."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh! Right! Dur!" You snap your fingers. "Um— Well, look—" You glance around, nervously. It is so <i>weird</i> being in a classroom after school. "Can I text you? I'll have to set something up with my mom. Maybe I can tell her I'm meeting friends? Like, we're going mini-golfing?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess that'll work," Mr. Hagerman says. But he sounds dubious.<br/>
<br/>
It'll have to. Because you will just <i>bust</i> if you don't get out of there and get a text in to your mom so she doesn't worry.<br/>
<br/>
You hike your pack onto your back and dash out the door.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You are blind to everything else when you burst outside onto the front quad, and wriggle free of your pack so you can pull out your phone. You're just starting to compose the text to your mom when a voice sounds nearby. "Hey."<br/>
<br/>
You squawk, and the phone almost flies from your hand.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry," Addison Ricci says. "Are you okay?"<br/>
<br/>
You boggle at her. "I'm fine! You just scared me is all! What are you, one of the cat people?" You can hardly catch your breath.<br/>
<br/>
There is something very feline about Addison. She is soft and silky and graceful. But she took your question the wrong way, and with a puzzled frown says, "Yeah, I like cats. But are you okay? You were being sick in Ms. Cho's room."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh! That. It was nothing." You crinkle your nose and wave your hand at her. "Just the chocolate pudding from lunch making a return visit. I think that stuff was off. Did you have any of it?"<br/>
<br/>
Addison looks very doubtful, but she only shrugs. "So, what are you doing tonight? It's Friday, you know."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. Probably nothing. I missed the bus, you know! My mom's probably going to ground me!"<br/>
<br/>
Addison glances back at the parking lot that fronts the school. "I can give you a ride home. My mom's late picking me up."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh! That'd be ... great!" You swallow. Addison is one of the cool, popular girls, and she doesn't say much to Shelly, though you don't have a memory of her being unkind.<br/>
<br/>
She says, "If you don't get in trouble, some of us are going to see a movie tonight. <i>Howling Skies?</i> It just opened today. It's about werwolves and pirates."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, yeah! I've seen the trailer! It sounds awesome!"<br/>
<br/>
Addison glances over her shoulder again, then leans in close. "Actually," she says in a low voice, "that's just the excuse we're telling our folks. There's a party we're going to. Think you could make it?"<br/>
<br/>
Your heart rises in your chest. A party? Like ... with alcohol? You could get in so much trouble!<br/>
<br/>
Fortunately, before you can answer, you see a familiar-looking sedan swing into the parking lot, and recognize the back of the girl walking out to meet it. You grab up your pack and brush past Addison.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry!" you shout back at her. "But that's my friend Caitlyn, I bet I can get a ride from her! Thanks for telling me about the party, though! Um—" You gulp. "Text me later, and I'll tell you if I can make it!" Without waiting for an answer, you gallop off to meet one of Shelly's best friends.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Caitlyn's mom is happy to give you a ride to your house, though it is far out of her way, and you and Caitlyn huddle in the back, talking. You lean in to whisper—so her mom won't overhear—about what Addison said to you about the party. Caitlyn tells you she knows, and takes out her phone to tap you out some notes about it. It's at a guy named Joshua Cheswick's house, and it's Addison and some of the freshman football players—Austin Ritter, Ian Peck, the Daniels twins—and other "popular" guys who are going to be crashing it, along with some girls. Caitlyn's not sure she can make it, though.<br/>
<br/>
Then you remember that you couldn't make it out anyway. <i>Stupid special church social!</i><br/>
<br/>
Shelly and her mother live south of town, where the houses peter out into fields and woods. The last road out to your new house isn't even paved, and to get back out after dropping you off, Mrs. Smart has to turn around in an open, muddy cul-de-sac. It's been raining, and most of the leaves are off the trees, and the bare branches scratch at the October clouds like skeletal fingers. You trudge across a lumpy yard to the sagging porch of the faded, two-story farmhouse that Shelly and her mom moved into two years ago. But though the outside is pure American Gothic—like something out of a <i>Texas Chainsaw Massacre</i> movie—the inside is warm and cozy, with dark quilts and rugs and heavy drapes everywhere.<br/>
<br/>
You actually beat the school bus, so Mrs. Nolan—a small woman, like her daughter, and like her daughter she has trailing red hair—doesn't realize you had to get a special ride home. You confess to her anyway about missing the bus, but she doesn't mind. She never really minds anything, and afterward you realize that there was no reason to freak out. But Shelly hates putting her mother through any trouble, and feels guilty when she does.<br/>
<br/>
She's just finished fixing a beef stew, and after you've unloaded your stuff in your bedroom upstairs she calls you down to take some next door to the Stirlands. "I told them I was making enough for all of us," she says. "You know they brought over that lasagna the other night."<br/>
<br/>
"Payback! Gotcha!" You give her a thumbs' up and a wink.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not like that, honey." Mrs. Nolan gives you a funny look. "It was a good lasagna and this is a good stew. It's not 'payback' for—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I gotcha! I'll be right back." You take the big Rubbermaid container and trot off down the road toward the Stirlands'.<br/>
<br/>
It's a fair hike down the muddy lane to the house where the neighbors live. Their house is much more nicely maintained, with a neat, well-manicured clapboard exterior and a dainty little garden decorated by a swing set. The door is opened by Mrs. Stirland, but Niamh, the daughter, comes downstairs to chat with you after her mother has taken the stew into the kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
That's good. Because Shelly likes Niamh.<br/>
<br/>
A lot of it—you reflect afterward when, back home, you try to put Shelly's scatterbrained thoughts in order—is because Niamh is three years older and seems very grown up while still being approachable. She also seems very ... sophisticated ... somehow. She wears her yellow-white hair boyishly short (shorter even than Will Prescott wears his) and dresses casually in light khakis and peach tops. Then, too, she goes to a very prestigious academy—St. Francis Xavier—out west of town. Kids from all over the world—even from Europe!—go to school there, and Niamh rubs shoulders with them. Shelly has seen pictures of the place, and of course it reminds her of Hogwarts.<br/>
<br/>
"I got invited to a party!" you excitedly whisper after drawing her out onto the front porch. (You don't know why you are telling Niamh this, except that it's something Shelly would do. But why are you "doing something Shelly would do" when it has nothing to do with your plans with Sydney?) "But, like, we have to pretend we're going to a movie instead?"<br/>
<br/>
Niamh looks alarmed. "You're not going to, are you?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"No! I'm only telling you—! Besides." You make a face. "We have a church thing tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"So why are you telling me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because— I don't know." You squirm with embarrassment. "It's kind of— Well, it's first time anyone's ever asked me to go to a party like that!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Shelly." Niamh gives you a quick hug. "Get used to it. And figure out if it's something you really ought to be doing. You're a good kid, you know?"<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. "I know. But sometimes I wanna be bad! Okay, not bad, but can't I get into a little mischief sometimes? Like Hermione! Would <i>she</i> go to a party like that? What would <i>she</i> do?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know, Shelly," Niamh says with a laugh. "She'd probably use magic, though. Right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oo! Good one!" You laugh, then say your good nights and scamper back to your house.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart is beating hard, though, because Niamh has accidentally hit it right on the head.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Because magic is real!</i></span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111121243221111111211
author_id: seuzz
title: At Play with Cousin Brandon
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Magic may be real, but it still can't get you out of the church social your mother is dragging you to. After getting back from Niamh's, you have an hour to get ready.<br/>
<br/>
It only takes you fifteen minutes, though, to change into fresh jeans, a fresh sweater, and a windbreaker. Because <i>why bother?</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The school building is all lit up as you and your mom arrive, but there's no crowds out front, even though the parking lot is filled.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't slouch, Shelly," your mom fusses after you get out. "You'll have fun!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>As if!</i> you think.<br/>
<br/>
It's a "church/school function" but for you it's actually more of a "family function." That's because neither you nor your mom attend the South Creek Presbyterian Church, and you don't go to school at the Agape Christian Academy, which is where South Creek Presbyterian is holding this "social." But your Aunt Susan teaches at Agape, and your cousin Brandon goes there, so when the invitation came, of course your mom said "Yes" and of course she had to drag you along. Aunt Susan was the reason you and your mom moved to Saratoga Falls from Los Angeles.<br/>
<br/>
You don't know what it was before it was a Christian school, but to your hyper-critical eye, it looks like a repurposed nursing home. It's a low slung building under gently sloping eaves, with a covered driveway out front for drop off and pick up, and two wings with a lot of tiny windows peeping out. When you and your mom step through the sliding front doors, it's to enter a tiled foyer decorated with orange-and-brown paper leaves, drooping cornstalks, and two limp flags, one American and one Christian. Despite the blazing lights, the foyer still manages to feel dim and oppressive, and there's an antiseptic smell rising off the dingy floor.<br/>
<br/>
A receptionist hands you a couple of blank name tags, and directs you toward the "fellowship hall." You tense all over as you clatter down the tiled floor in the indicated direction.<br/>
<br/>
"Lucy!" your Aunt Susan calls from the middle of a crowd that is mingling in the midst of paper-covered buffet tables. There's not a padded surface in the room, and the low chatter bounces and echoes and magnifies until it's a sawtoothed racket. "And Shelly!" Aunt Susan gives you a quick hug and smooch on the side of the head. Like your mom, she is a red-head, but her coloration has more gold than copper in it. She's also chunkier. "Brandon's in one of the classrooms with his friends," she tells you. "Get yourself a hunk of cake and go find him! They've got board games!"<br/>
<br/>
{iOh, could life be so good? you sarcastically (but silently) retort as you hunt around for some refreshments. A tiny, humpbacked old woman with the width and heft of a small refrigerator comes shuffling out from a kitchen someplace, lugging a Bundt cake. You take a slice after she's set it down, then pick up a plastic cup of something dark—watered-down grape Kool-Aid, you discover on taking a sip—and wander out and down one of the wings into the school proper.<br/>
<br/>
Every classroom is very narrow and has at least three doors opening into it, as if multiple smaller rooms had been merged by knocking the walls out, so maybe your guess about the place being a refurbished retirement home is on point. Each room holds different age groups, doing age-appropriate activities. Some kind of hopscotch game for the second-graders. A read-along for the third-graders. Board games for the fifth graders. (How old does Aunt Susan think you are?) Pictionary and Jenga for the sixth graders.<br/>
<br/>
Finally, at the end of the long hallway, in the last classroom, you find kids that look like seniors.<br/>
<br/>
They're jammed up around a couple of tables and ... yes, they are playing board games. Loudly and with a lot of laughing. But as you edge in closer, you see that it's <i>Settlers of Catan</i> at one table, and some kind of war game on a hexagonal map at another. Despite your skepticism, your interest is actually piqued.<br/>
<br/>
You draw a few quizzical looks, but you ignore them as you look for your "cousin." You find Brandon at a table in a back corner, immersed in card game.<br/>
<br/>
For a moment you are shocked. <i>Brandon? Playing poker?</i> But then you see that it's just <i>Uno.</i><br/>
<br/>
He is a tall, skinny kid with messy blonde hair and dark eyes, and a way of crookedly sitting or standing that gives the impression that his backbone bends in zigs and zags. There's an intensity to him, even when he smiles, so that it feels like he's boring a hole through with his eyes. He's looking especially intense now, with a fat magic marker wedged between his cheek and gum like a cigar; and, as with a cigar, he rolls it around chews on it as he pulls first at one card and then another in his hand with long, white fingers. He's two years older than Shelly—a junior at Agape.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," says one of the other players—a dark-haired, dark-skinned kid who might be Indian or might just be a really tanned Anglo—addresses you. "T'sup?" Brandon does a double-take at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, hey!" He puts out his hand to take yours, then changes his mind at the last minute and pulls you in toward the table by the shoulder. "Guys, this is my cousin, Shelly."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey." "T'sup." "Hi." They all grunt at you without looking interested. He introduces them, but all you catch is that one is "Marcos," one is "Ryan" and one is "Philip." "When we get done with this hand, we'll deal you in," Brandon says.<br/>
<br/>
"That's okay," you reply. "I'm good."<br/>
<br/>
In fact, you are suddenly tongue-tied, even frightened. <i>I don't belong here,</i> you think. <i>I'm not this girl and this isn't my cousin. He doesn't really know me. I'm an imposter!</i><br/>
<br/>
To cover your sudden embarrassment, you jam a hunk of cake into your mouth.<br/>
<br/>
Play is silent and very intense, and you don't disturb them as you watch. The battle seesaws, with Brandon four rounds in a row able to declare "Uno" while discarding the card he has drawn, until he gets hit with a "Draw 4" and subsequently draws another nine cards. It's the dark-haired guy who greeted you—"Marcos," apparently—who ultimately is able to throw down the last card. There's hisses and grunts of frustration from the others. Marcos doesn't gloat, either. He just twines his hands behind his head and draws a deep breath, as though he's just prevailed in a titanic struggle that has left him drained.<br/>
<br/>
"I got a different deck out in my car," he says from behind half-closed lids as Brandon shuffles the deck for a new game. "Picked it up at a hobby shop."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" says the horse-faced kid with rust-colored hair sitting across from him.<br/>
<br/>
"'Cept I'd get in a lot of trouble if I got caught with it in here."<br/>
<br/>
"What is it?" asks the blond kid with the buzz cut who's sitting next to him. He snickers. "It got naked ladies on the cards?"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up," Brandon mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"Magic the Gathering," Marcos mouths.<br/>
<br/>
There's low hoots from the other two guys, but Brandon's expression tightens. "Yeah, you'd get in trouble."<br/>
<br/>
"There's nothing wrong with it." The rusty-haired kid retorts. To Marcos: "If you wanna get together tomorrow, I'd—"<br/>
<br/>
"It's called 'Magic.' 'The Gathering'," Brandon reminds him.<br/>
<br/>
The blonde kid snorts. "So? Spencer and them are bombing the crap out of each other with a war game. It's just pretend, man."<br/>
<br/>
"It's like a gateway drug."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, crap. It's just pretend."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, be careful what you pretend, 'cos that's what you'll turn into," Brandon insists.<br/>
<br/>
"Right." The blonde kid rolls his eyes. "Hey Spencer!" he calls. "Which one of you's playing the Nazis?" A boy in a football jersey raises his hand. "Yeah, we all better watch out, or Levi's gonna go all Luftwaffe on our butts."<br/>
<br/>
"You just wanna be careful," Brandon insists in a pinched voice. "C'mon, let's just play another round."<br/>
<br/>
He looks very unhappy as Marcos and the other two lay plans for getting together to figure out his new deck.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So that's your new cousin, a tightly wound church-boy at the Christian school. Not that it was a surprise. Shelly quickly found out what he was like after arriving in Saratoga Falls two years ago. She was excited to meet him back then, and looked forward to gabbling with him about her fantasy fetish, and it was a like a hard slap across the face when he told her that all her favorite stuff was basically "Satanic." Even the <i>Narnia</i> books? she gasped. Brandon got very prim. "Lewis didn't know what he was dabbling with," he said.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Shelly lives alone with her mom out south of town,</i> you write up that evening at home, for Sydney. <i>They lived in LA for most of Shelly's life until her dad left them, which is when they moved out here.</i> You feel a twinge of hard regret after writing those words, but thrust Shelly's emotions behind you. <i>Her mom did SFX work for TV and movies, making masks and appliances, and she still does that. She has a whole workshop in the garage where she custom makes them for high-end customers.</i> Which is a great coincidence, you think. <i>Shelly is super-deep into magic and fantasy books—</i><br/>
<br/>
—and she's got a prick cousin who totally thinks that stuff is evil.<br/>
<br/>
You don't know why it bothered you, so much so that you wound up sitting at the table where they were bombing make-believe Europe to splinters.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe because his line, <i>Be careful what you pretend to be,</i> almost knocked you out of character.</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111212432211111112111
author_id: seuzz
title: Putting It Off at the Putt-Putt
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You got a Twitter DM from "Sydney McGlynn" on Friday night, containing an email address where you can contact Michael Hagerman, and after a little back and forth with him you were able to set up a fake "play date" at the miniature golf course for Saturday afternoon. Maybe it's Shelly's innate caution—or because she doesn't like to lie to her mother—but you cover for your own cover story about meeting friends by arranging a real mini-golf party with Caitlyn and some others, to start half an hour after you're to meet with Sydney.<br/>
<br/>
She's brought Ms. Cho with her, and sight of your English teacher outside of school gives you the usual heebie-jeebies. <i>Teachers shouldn't be let off the school grounds! They can only exist inside a classroom! They'll suffocate and flop around like fish out of water if they leave school property!</i><br/>
<br/>
Also: <i>Is Sydney banging this magical robot even though I'm not inside her? She better not be!</i> He's dressed in shorts and an open-necked polo shirt, looking like a real hunk.<br/>
<br/>
"Nice notes," Mr. Hagerman says as you casually chat in the open-aired hut/snack-bar/picnic building next to the course. "I think I can cover for her, if you want to switch now."<br/>
<br/>
You squirm. "I don't got time," you explain. "I really did set up a thing with my friends this afternoon, and they're probably gonna be here pretty soon. Maybe you should get out of here!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm on a date," he says, and puts his arm around Ms. Cho. She smiles at you—gloating, it looks like. "Besides, why'd you set this up if you don't—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know," you admit. "Except we said we'd meet today."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, now that we're meeting—"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, let's just put off a switch 'til Monday. At school. I can cover for Shelly until then." You glance fearfully into the parking lot. <i>What will my friends think if they catch me talking to a teacher? Like, </i>very<i> uncool!</i><br/>
<br/>
"What about tonight?" Mr. Hagerman counters. "If you can set up like you're going to a party, we could meet and switch. It's too dangerous doing it at school, we're lucky we didn't get caught. And Shelly might miss the bus again," he reminds you.<br/>
<br/>
You've been keeping a watch on the parking lot, and you think you see Caitlyn's mom's car pulling in.<br/>
<br/>
"We don't got time here," you insist. "But maybe I can work out something tonight. That'd be better anyway. Then, you know, if you need to sleep in the mask again to get all caught up—" You cast an anxious glance toward the parking lot. You're <i>sure</i> that's Caitlyn who's just arrived! "You know, you'll only have to get through, like, an hour before you have to go to bed!"<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong, you're squirming like you have to pee." <br/>
<br/>
You glare at him. <i>Is Sydney being purposefully stupid here?</i><br/>
<br/>
"Oh, one more thing," he says. "Does Shelly's mom really make professional Halloween masks?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes! Now can you go get out of here? My friend Caitlyn's coming!" You dash off to the restroom, so it won't look like you were talking to teachers outside of school.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Caitlyn is the first of several to arrive, for she sent out invitations of her own, but she gleefully refuses to tell you who is coming until they start to show up. She can hardly keep from bursting about the party last night, too.<br/>
<br/>
"I was going to DM you all about it," she gushes. "Did you see any of the pictures that got posted? I'll send you a link! Lots of links, there's only, like a giga-hundred threads about it! Oh my God!" She covers her mouth with her hands, maybe to keep from hyperventilating.<br/>
<br/>
Caitlyn is taller than you—but then, almost everyone is taller than Shelly—and she's more ... "developed," too. Her hips have widened and she's got hefty bosoms, and all her gymnastics have given her a little bulk in her thighs. Like Shelly she is a pale redhead, but her hair falls in straight sheets, while Shelly's trails like lank seaweed. Caitlyn's skin also blushes more easily to a healthy pink.<br/>
<br/>
And she's more boy-crazy than Shelly is. So all in all, it's not a surprise when her guests turn out to be a bunch of boys.<br/>
<br/>
Boys she hung out with at that party last night.<br/>
<br/>
Daniel Belk is the first to arrive. <i>Gross!</i> you think. Shelly knew Steven back in elementary school, when he was a mouth-breathing little piglet with thick green snot hanging out of his pug nose, and to Shelly's eyes he hasn't grown a bit over the years. He giggles and snerks and snorts at everything Caitlyn says, and when she playfully pokes him in the stomach— <i>Oh God, he really does squeal and squirm like a little pig!</i><br/>
<br/>
Daniel plays freshman football, and so does Ian Peck—"Ian Peckerwood," as Daniel insists on calling him—who is the next to arrive. Ian is tall, even for his age, but he's a giggler the same as Daniel, and (even worse) he's likes to talk dirty. Everything is "cock" this and "asshole" that, and "tits" is his favorite term for something bad. As in: "This is tits," he says when he spots Mr. Hagerman and Ms. Cho over at the tenth hole while you're waiting for the last of your quintet to show up. "Ms. Cho is here and she's got another teacher with her!"<br/>
<br/>
"Ms. Cho don't got tits," Daniel sniggers.<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up!" Caitlyn gasps. But her face and eyes are shining.<br/>
<br/>
"She's got bigger tits than Shelly," Daniel says, and he jumps back, giggling and snort when you answer with a kick to his knee.<br/>
<br/>
And you have to put up with ten minutes of this before Austin Ritter arrives, completing the group.<br/>
<br/>
So ... three freshman football players, plus Caitlyn, who were all at that party last night. They all agree it was awesome, and the cell phones get broken out and shared around as you're waiting for each other to take turns at each putting hole. The party was at the house of an Eastman High School senior, and there was sitar music and weird lights and lots of people smoking weed. Daniel brags about getting in trouble when he got home because of the smell of it on his clothes. "I got busted," he boasts, "but I didn't get grounded!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Too freaking bad,</i> you think with gritted teeth.<br/>
<br/>
"Were you out there?"<br/>
<br/>
You start a little at the question. It was Austin asking you, and he's giving you a very direct, inquisitive look.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? No, I had— My mom dragged me to another thing. With my aunt. She's a teacher—my aunt, I mean—and they had a function at her school, so—" <br/>
<br/>
Your face starts to hot up as you realize you are gabbling—and worse, you're gabbling about the lamest thing possible: <i>a school function!</i> Austin Ritter is one of the "popular" boys, not just on account of being a football player but because he's cute. His skin is clear and his features regular, and he has floppy brown hair that he keeps nicely brushed. He also dresses nice and he's not a silly goofball like most of the freshman boys are. Like, (you've already noticed) he doesn't laugh like Daniel does when Ian calls something "tits," and you've caught him shooting them a really tired look a couple of times when they start smacking each other with their putters as he's trying to line up a shot.<br/>
<br/>
Austin listens politely but without a lot of obvious interest until you run out of breath. And then he just grunts and turns around to take his turn at the eleventh hole. Caitlyn nudges you in the arm, then pushes you toward the next hole, leaving the boys behind.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God, you were talking to Austin," she murmurs.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. So?"<br/>
<br/>
"And he was talking to you!"<br/>
<br/>
"He was talking to you, too!" you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"I know! Isn't it great? I couldn't believe it when he said he'd meet us out here!" She glances behind her. "It's how come I asked Daniel and Ian to come," she adds in a near whisper.<br/>
<br/>
"You're trying to set yourself up with Austin?"<br/>
<br/>
"He said something about doing something with Chase and Elijah later," Caitlyn breathlessly continues. "I'm gonna try and see if I can tag along!" She clutches your arm. "Go with me!"<br/>
<br/>
"No!" You shake her off. "If you wanna hang out with a bunch'a boys—"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you?" Caitlyn squeals.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Don't I?</i> you ask yourself afterward, as you lay on your bed and stare at the ceiling while fumbling with an old Raggedy Ann doll your mom made for you when you were little.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Boys are gross.</i> That, you discover, is Shelly's settled opinion. And though some of them, like Austin, are better than others, the idea of snuggling up with one is about as enticing as snuggling up with a dog that's been rolling around in its own crap. They're loud, crude, dirty and dumb. The only ones that Shelly likes are the ones in books. Because in <i>Harry Potter</i> or <i>Percy Jackson</i> or <i>Artemis Fowl,</i> the boys are into magic, not girls, and they're smart and they don't call things they don't like "tits" and you can't smell them.<br/>
<br/>
You make a face. <i>Do I really want Sydney inside this mask, being Shelly Nolan, when this is how Shelly feels?</i> We're supposed to be get Shelly a boyfriend, which would be totally out of character. Shelly's thing for magic and fantasy is the only thing about her that really "works" for us.<br/>
<br/>
On the other hand, Sydney was into the occult before you were. Shelly would be a good fit for her.<br/>
<br/>
You glance at the wall, where a couple of your mom's discarded Carnivale masks—professional work she had to throw out because of flaws in the molding—hang. <i>But I'm into the occult now, too. And masks were originally </i>my<i> thing.</i><br/>
<br/>
Maybe you should keep Shelly for yourself, and find Sydney a different freshman to be.</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112124322111111121112
author_id: seuzz
title: In Which Chivalry Gets Its Nose Punched
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You email Sydney to tell her that you can't meet that night, and that you'll have to talk after you do some thinking.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>What a weird thing it is being a ninth-grade girl.</i><br/>
<br/>
That's what you find yourself thinking the next day as you do your homework. It's Sunday morning—not the usual time or day for doing homework, but you need something to distract you. It's not working. Algebra is an easy subject for Shelly, and you still remember how to do it, so your brain has plenty of energy left over to flutter and flitter distractedly as you are solving for <i>x</i>'s and <i>y</i>'s.<br/>
<br/>
You remember being in the ninth grade pretty well. It was at Westside, with the same bunch of creeps and assholes, just with different teachers, so "remembering" your freshman year is like "remembering" yesterday. And in a lot of ways "being Shelly" isn't so different from being your old self. She doesn't like boys, and she's into fantastical stories and movies and TV shows, and she's no good at sports and would rather hang out with good friends instead of making herself silly at parties.<br/>
<br/>
If only she didn't <i>worry</i> so much about what her friends think.<br/>
<br/>
Take that conversation with Caitlyn yesterday. She couldn't hardly believe that you weren't into Austin Ritter, or that you were really lukewarm about that party. <i>You need to grow up, Shelly,</i> she fussed at you. <i>The Harry Potter stuff? It's cute when you're a kid. But you don't want to be the "nerd girl" at school. The guys'll think you're weird!</i><br/>
<br/>
And you almost burst into tears.<br/>
<br/>
That would be the number one reason for letting Sydney take over Shelly's mask. Sydney could steer Shelly toward a more "normal" kind of high school career, and you as her boyfriend could be the guy she steers toward.<br/>
<br/>
But that would be wrong for Shelly. Totally out of character.<br/>
<br/>
And though it's weird being a freshman girl—<br/>
<br/>
Like, every once in awhile you forget who you're supposed to be, and suddenly you are <i>totally weirded out</i> by having this small, bony, dickless body with long hair and tiny hands ... bundled up in warm sweaters and skinny jeans ... hiding out in this dilapidated old farm house on the edge of a swamp ...<br/>
<br/>
But though it's weird being a freshman girl, Shelly is also weirdly comfortable, just <i>because</i> she is kind of a weird girl. She's just the kind of girl you probably should have or could have hung out with in the ninth grade, since she's not interested as boys as <i>boys</i> and could talk to you about silly movies.<br/>
<br/>
Which, still, isn't exactly a reason for why it should be <i>you</i> to hang onto her mask instead of passing it along to Sydney, as you originally planned.<br/>
<br/>
But every time you stretch your hand to your phone, to email Sydney about setting up a new time to make the hand-off, you pull back.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Hey, Shelly-bean!" The tow-headed boy plops down heavily into the bus seat beside you. "Missed you on Friday. What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
It's Monday morning, and the school bus is grinding its way slowly through the country lanes south of town, collecting farm boys and farm girls. Ian Cowdray is one of the former.<br/>
<br/>
He's a freshman, like you, and has known Shelly since early middle school. He's short and brown, with whitish-blonde hair buzzed close to his scalp, and he dresses every day in a white t-shirt, light khakis, and Converse sneakers. But despite his clean, well-scrubbed look, he can't seem to shake the slight whiff of manure that follows him in from the cow sheds.<br/>
<br/>
"I missed the bus on account of my teacher kept me late," you tell him. You flinch a little as the bus bounces, and Ian's shoulder bumps into yours.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, jeez! You didn't get in trouble, did you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I just had to pick up a— Oh, crap!" You slap yourself in the forehead. "I totally forgot to do that extra credit assignment! The one that Ms. Cho kept me after to give to me!" You twist in your seat, looking out the window. But the bus isn't going to driving back anywhere near your house, so there's no chance to stop and run in and get it now. "Oh!" you cry.<br/>
<br/>
"That sucks," Ian says. He rubs his pug nose. "But it's extra credit?" He blinks when you nod. "Do you need the extra credit? How's your grades?"<br/>
<br/>
"My grades are fine—"<br/>
<br/>
"Then it's no biggie, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"I wanted to do it anyway," you shout at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Chill the fuck out," someone growls from the seat behind you. You turn around to glare. It's one of the seniors, tapping on his phone with a scowl as the bus rocks back and forth down the rocky country lane.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey!" Ian barks at him. "Why don't <i>you</i> chill the fuck out?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ian!" you squeal.<br/>
<br/>
"You wanna mess with me, little man?" the senior growls.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll fuck you up if you—!"<br/>
<br/>
The senior leans forward to shove Ian. Ian punches him back.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"And the bus driver had to stop and come back to separate them!" you conclude with a gasp. "It was <i>so embarrassing!</i><br/>
<br/>
You're huddling outside the school, at the corner of the drama wing, with Caitlyn and Helen Kim and Maya Stroud. Maya isn't one of your friends, but she was hanging out with Caitlyn for some reason, and so she was standing there, wearing an amused smirk, as you told of the fight on the school bus.<br/>
<br/>
Caitlyn also seems to think the story was funny. "Ian's got such a crush on you!" she giggles.<br/>
<br/>
"He does not!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, he totally does! He got in a fight with— Who was it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know! One of the seniors!"<br/>
<br/>
"How'd he make out?" Maya asks. "I mean, did he kick the guy's ass? Or did <i>he</i> get—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't see!"<br/>
<br/>
"Was he bleeding?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>"I didn't see!"</i><br/>
<br/>
Maya's smirk deepens. "Do <i>you</i> have a crush on him?"<br/>
<br/>
You glare daggers at her.<br/>
<br/>
Maya ought to be someone you (Shelly) like or could hang out with. She's also "weird" in the way she doesn't seem obviously interested in boys, and the way she dresses—typically in denim coveralls over cheap t-shirts—suggests she doesn't give a fig about looking or acting "cool" or "popular." But she takes it to a whole "don't give a rat's ass" level that Shelly finds intimidating. And when she says, "I'd blow any guy who tried beating up a senior who sass-talked me" you feel you have to reassess that "not interested in boys" intuition.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, maybe I'll set you up with him!" you snarl.<br/>
<br/>
"Is he cute?" Maya asks.<br/>
<br/>
There's an awkward silence, until Caitlyn says, "Eh."<br/>
<br/>
Which infuriates you for reasons you don't understand.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm going to class!" you snarl, and wheel to stomp off. "If you wanna know if Ian was <i>bleeding</i> or anything," you yell over your shoulder, "you can go find him yourself!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But—dragged by Shelly's own sense of guilt—you go looking for Ian between first and second periods at his locker. He has a very hurt but proud expression on his face, and there's a bad bruise on his cheek. He can barely bring himself to look at you, you notice, even after you step in close to talk to him.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen," you tell him, "I'm sorry I ran off that way after the bus got to school. And I should have—" You twist on your feet. "It was, um— Really <i>noble</i> of you to, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
He continues to ignore you as he changes out his books from bag to locker.<br/>
<br/>
"And it was sweet of you," you stammer. "Only, you shouldn't have— Did you get in trouble?"<br/>
<br/>
Ian shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't <i>want</i> you to do something like that for me, Ian!"<br/>
<br/>
"I wanted to do it for you," he replies, very stiffly.<br/>
<br/>
"You could'a got hurt! You <i>did</i> get hurt!"<br/>
<br/>
"Do you care?"<br/>
<br/>
Not until after you've hesitated too long over an answer does he look at you.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I— I <i>don't</i> want you to get hurt!" you repeat. "So yeah, I guess I <i>do</i> care. But you know," you hastily add—you feel yourself twisting into knots to keep him from thinking you are actually sweet on him—"I care about everyone! About them not getting hurt!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I guess I didn't get hurt <i>that</i> bad," Ian says gruffly, and slams his locker. He walks away without saying anything else.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Okay, if you're going to be Shelly, who am I going to be?" Mr. Hagerman asks.<br/>
<br/>
It's after school, and you're shut up inside Ms. Cho's classroom. You only have a minute or two to spare for this conference before you will have to run for the bus.<br/>
<br/>
You find you don't have an obvious answer.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney was talking about setting up a "boyfriend-girlfriend" thing down in the freshman class. The hell of it is that, if you do that, Ian would be the most obvious choice. He has a crush on Shelly, and after the fight on the bus it wouldn't actually look unnatural if she melted a little around him.<br/>
<br/>
You'd be more comfortable, though, if Sydney just replaced one of Shelly's friends. Caitlyn, perhaps.<br/>
<br/>
On the <i>other</i> hand, though, maybe you could start to work Shelly out of her shell, and gave her a better social standing, if you put Sydney in for one of the popular guys. Austin Ritter, maybe? Maybe he couldn't be her boyfriend right away. But maybe later on? Next year?<br/>
<br/>
Or maybe the moral is that Shelly is too weird to be partnered with someone at school. Niamh Stirland lives nearby, and Shelly could hang out with her more without it looking strange.<br/>
<br/>
Or maybe you should pick Shelly's cousin, Brandon. Again, it would be a natural fit. And Sydney would probably get a real kick out of converting such a prissy church boy into a devil worshipper.</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112124322111112
author_id: seuzz
title: Junior League
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The day passes in a blur, and you're so frazzled by the end of it that you're less interested in recruiting any of the students in your class than you are in drowning them all. In fact, you really should have given a couple of them detention, but hold back only because you know you want to meet with Michael after the final bell and don't want to try talking in front of any students.<br/>
<br/>
(It's Brady Wilson and Mason Hosey you should have detained. Brady is a loudmouth joker who mercilessly teases Mason; today Mason had enough of it and clocked Brady in the mouth. You kept them both after class for a few minutes, clucking your tongue at them both even though you sympathized with Mason.)<br/>
<br/>
Michael gives you a sympathetic smile when you totter into his classroom a little later. "You look like you've been through the wars," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"It was a day," you reply, and cast a quick glance at the two boys—football players by the looks of them—who are still packing up their bags.<br/>
<br/>
"Let's go pour a margarita into you, and we'll talk."<br/>
<br/>
You stiffen a little at the too-obvious flirtation, and stiffen some more when you catch the two boys exchanging quick, furtive grins. "I'll be happy just to catch my breath," you tell Michael.<br/>
<br/>
But you weaken and give in afterward, and the two of you wind up at La Cocina, where Michael buys you two strong margaritas. You're in a pleasantly relaxed state when he takes you home, undresses you, and kisses you all over.<br/>
<br/>
He refrains from going any further, though. There's business to discuss.<br/>
<br/>
But you discuss it naked, under the sheets, side by side with your arms around each other.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So I figure I'd let you go first," Sydney says. "You can pick a guy, and then after that you can pick the girl for me. That way"—she leans over to kiss and nibble at your throat—"you can pick someone one that you'd want to go with."<br/>
<br/>
"So we're going with a boyfriend-girlfriend combo?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's what we said. Do you want to change it up?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. I'd like that." You groan softly and nestle up against her. She is warm, almost hot, to the touch. "But I don't know any of the students in your class."<br/>
<br/>
"Then you'll have to trust me a little. I'm not going to risk taking pictures to show you. Especially not of guys. But I was thinking of some strategies. Like, I think we should mix it up."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"Go for different kinds of identities in the classes. I mean, I guess we could try to be the homecoming king and queen in all four classes, but that would be kind of boring, don't you think?"<br/>
<br/>
You're not sure it would be boring, but you grunt an affirmative.<br/>
<br/>
"So," Sydney continues, "I was thinking we should be a different type in each class. That way we get, like, a lot of variety."<br/>
<br/>
You grunt another affirmative, this one more enthusiastic. Variety sounds good.<br/>
<br/>
"So like I was saying, I guess I have to pick the guy for you—"<br/>
<br/>
"It'd be someone <i>you'd</i> like to be with," you observe.<br/>
<br/>
"Well. Sure," she says. "I'd call you in to scope him out, though, so you'd approve."<br/>
<br/>
"We gonna do it tomorrow?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'd like to."<br/>
<br/>
"I wouldn't mind spending the weekend in bed with you."<br/>
<br/>
Sydney puts a strong hand between your legs and goes to work on you. "So," she says in a voice strained with desire, "we could start with the obvious kind of choice. Captain of the JV football squad, basketball squad, soccer team? Would you like that?"<br/>
<br/>
You groan pleasurably.<br/>
<br/>
"Or how about just a popular guy? A guy in a band. I got the lead singer for Los Scorchicos in my seventh period class." Los Scorchicos is a warehouse band, very popular in the freshman class—the girls are constantly chattering about them. "And a trumpet player all the girls are hot for," Sydney continues.<br/>
<br/>
"Or," she says when you don't answer right away, for you are concentrating on the way her fingers are pushing up inside you, "we could go the other way. Pick some invisible nobodies as our junior class representatives."<br/>
<br/>
"Nhn." You groan with pleasure as Sydney presses a spot deep inside you. "Why we wanna do that?"<br/>
<br/>
"You want all of our brothers being popular?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well—"<br/>
<br/>
"I think some of our brothers should be secretive. Invisible. Unsuspected."<br/>
<br/>
"I guess so," you agree. But is Sydney being persuasive? Or is it the massage she's giving you that is making you so agreeable?<br/>
<br/>
"Or we could be a couple of troublemakers. Nasty boy and dirty girl. Recruit some of the shits that hang out at the portables."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh!" you gasp, for her finger has touched a spot that is like an electric spark.<br/>
<br/>
"You like that?"<br/>
<br/>
"I like <i>all</i> of them! But especially—!" You grab her hand and push it deeper up inside you.<br/>
<br/>
She responds by turning you onto your back and guiding Michael Hagerman's thick member into you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
And that's all that really gets said. Sydney spends the night with you again, and again takes off early the next morning. And again you get an early text for your thoughts on who to recruit. But now you will have to make a choice.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney never gave you any names, and you have no pictures to judge by. Only the "types" that she proposed.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Team captain. Popular. Invisibles. Troublemakers.</i><br/>
<br/>
But in her text she's given you a pretty specific suggestion, including names. She even mentioned them while fucking you—"I bet they're doing this every chance they get!" she gasped—and called them "the hot couple." "They can't keep their hands off each other," she gasped.<br/>
<br/>
So that's all you've got to go by, and those are the only adjectives you'll be able to text back to her:</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111121243221111121
author_id: seuzz
title: Marching to Zion
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Maybe you're just hung over from last night's bed play, but the thought of continuing it in a pair of new bodies is just screamingly attractive. <i>Let's go for the hot couple,</i> you text Michael.<br/>
<br/>
<i>You mean Zion and Christine?</i><br/>
<br/>
The names ring a bell. <i>Y,</i> you reply.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Done. Come find me after classes.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The day, like yesterday, passes in a haze. It's a nicer haze than yesterday, as you anticipate the afternoon to come, so that you hardly mind it at all when Elijah Denton, Brett Landon, and Caden Bradshaw spend most of one period making a racket in the back of the class instead of concentrating on the reading. At lunch, you casually slide into Michael's classroom to ask about the new recruits.<br/>
<br/>
"I told you about them," Michael teases. "Zion Barber and Christine Miles."<br/>
<br/>
"I was distracted. Who are they?"<br/>
<br/>
"Zion's the junior class president. Christine's his girlfriend. They're practically joined at the hip." He glances past you into the hallway, then continues, in a lower voice. "I've got them in different periods, but they drop each other off in both."<br/>
<br/>
You twinkle at him. "Sounds nice."<br/>
<br/>
"I think it will be. I already told Zion I want to talk to him after school about a new junior-class club."<br/>
<br/>
"With himself as president?"<br/>
<br/>
Michael grins. "More like high priest."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Caitlyn Smith wants to stay after last period to talk to you about the grade you gave her on yesterday's journal entry—a B+ instead of the A- she really wants—so you have to take care of her while putting your things together to go. Even after you're all put together she wants to talk about it, and in a tone of grinding patience (because she really is stepping on your last nerve) you tell her to come talk to you about tomorrow, early. She makes a face at you and stomps off.<br/>
<br/>
So you're feeling a little breathless as you make the short walk down to Michael's classroom. He's perched on the corner of his desk when you come in, talking to—<br/>
<br/>
Well, it gives you a bit of a shock to see the kind of kid he's with. He's not what you were expecting.<br/>
<br/>
He's black, for a start. Sort of. He's mocha-colored, and his hair (dark and tightly curled) has a fluffy texture. But his features aren't "black." He's got a prominent muzzle for one thing, and his eyebrows have an elfin arch. You don't know why, but you find yourself thinking <i>Ethiopian?</i><br/>
<br/>
Next thing you notice is how wiry he is. There's hardly any meat on him.<br/>
<br/>
So you're a bit taken aback, and are assailed by instant doubts. You were expecting someone ... <i>hotter</i> ... somehow. Maybe because Sydney promised you half of a "hot" couple.<br/>
<br/>
But then the kid looks over and sees you, and his face comes alive. His mouth twitches into a sharp grin, and his eyes glint with appreciation and mischief.<br/>
<br/>
The effect is electric. He seems to crackle and fizz.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, hey," Michael says with an air of studied casualness. "Hannah, this is Zion. Zion, you know Ms. Cho?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey!" He jerks his chin at you. "I had Mr. Montague for ninth-grade English, wish I'd had you instead!"<br/>
<br/>
"How sweet," you say. You pull the classroom door shut behind you. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I was just starting to tell Zion about that new club we were thinking of starting. Hannah would have to be the faculty adviser," he tells Zion. "I've got my hands full with the Anglers' Club."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I been thinking about joining that one too," Zion replies. He darts a quick look at Michael, then goes back to staring hungrily you. "But this new one, it, uh—?"<br/>
<br/>
 "It's called 'The Brotherhood of Baphomet'," Michael tells him. He steps behind his desk and opens a drawer.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh, yeah, so what kind of thing is it?" Zion asks. He seems entirely distracted by your presence—you could have told him it was a Neo-Nazi club you were starting, and he probably would have only said "Uh huh." You beam at him, to keep his attention on you as Michael comes out from behind his desk with a mask in his hand.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it's kind of a self-actualization group," Michael says. "But what we really want is your body. Your body and your girlfriend's body."<br/>
<br/>
Even then it takes a few seconds for the words to register. And even then, Zion only turns around to give Michael a puzzled look.<br/>
<br/>
That's when your partner leans in and pushes a mask to his face.<br/>
<br/>
You rush over to shut the door and turn off the lights while Michael catches Zion and lowers him into a desk. Then you help him lift and carry the junior—desk and all—into a back corner of the room.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you think?" Michael asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't sure at first. But I think I like him."<br/>
<br/>
"I like him a lot. He's got a lot of personality."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Yeah, well, there's not much meat on him so he'd have to make up for it somewhere,</i> you think.<br/>
<br/>
"I asked him about Christine while I was waiting for you," Michael continues. "She's got tennis practice right now, and he was waiting around for her. That means we can get her too. Or, it means that <i>you</i> can get her when we're all done here."<br/>
<br/>
<i>A tennis player?</i> You like the sounds of that.<br/>
<br/>
"You want to start getting out of your things now, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
You titter. "One last time, I guess," you say as you take off your glasses with one hand and twitch at the buttons on your blouse with the other.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Sydney doesn't waste any time while you're unconscious, and you wake in a maelstrom of mental confusion. <i>I was just talking to Mr. Hagerman,</i> you remind yourself as you blink around the dimly lit classroom, trying to orient yourself, <i>when I came in and saw him talking to some kid who ... looked just like me?</i> You sit up and put a hand to the side of your head, touching a pile of fluffy hair that is at once familiar and unfamiliar to the touch.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, Jesus,</i> you mutter under your breath as discordant memories rush in, and you wobble on your haunches with the rush of vertigo. You see ... yourself ... standing in a doorway, dressed in a white blouse and beaming back at ... yourself ... from behind a pair of red-framed glasses; and you see ... yourself ... standing by Mr. Hagerman's desk and staring back at ... yourself ... as you stand in the doorway to Michael's classroom.<br/>
<br/>
And, tenuously, you are aware that neither of those people you were staring at, and neither pair of eyes you were staring out of, were your own.<br/>
<br/>
You grind the heel of one hand into your eye. <i>Concentrate, Zwuhannall!</i><br/>
<br/>
You grimace to yourself. <i>Zwuhannall. Zion-Will-Hannah. That's who I am!</i><br/>
<br/>
But as you shake yourself loose, you get a firmer grip on yourself.<br/>
<br/>
The classroom lights are out and the blinds are drawn, and as you glance around you see you have the room to yourself. You put your hand out and, almost without noticing it, pick up the black hoodie that is lying atop the pile of clothes at your hip. <i>Sydney must have taken "Hannah" back to her room,</i> you think. You feel a twinge of jealousy as you imagine them making out.<br/>
<br/>
Quickly you dress, pulling on tidy whities; the black sweat pants (which you hike up to expose your skinny calves); the loose, white muscle shirt; the hoodie; and ankle socks and the pair of fire-engine red sneakers. Clothes way too ghetto for Will Prescott, but just right for Zion Barber.<br/>
<br/>
Not that Zion Barber is ghetto—far from it. But he's got a body that suits the look. His dad's a bulked-up black fireman, but he gets his small, wiry form and most of his features from his mother, an Ethiopian Jew.<br/>
<br/>
You keep expecting Sydney to return, but there's still no sign of her even after you've got your backpack on your shoulders. You look out in the empty hallway, then hop down to Ms. Cho's room. As you expected, that's where you find them. Ms. Cho looks momentarily startled when she sees you peering in, then smiles palely at you. Your partner, who was talking to her, turns around.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, Mr. Hag," you call to him. "I thought I lost you. Ms. Cho," you address her, dropping your voice half an octave. Your cock aches as it starts to stiffen and pulse at the sight of her.<br/>
<br/>
Mr. Hagerman smiles. "All set there, Zion?"<br/>
<br/>
"You know it. So I got, like, twenty minutes to kill b'fore Christine'll be done—"<br/>
<br/>
"You think you'll have any problem getting her back here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Naaaahh. But I'm thinking, you know, you had some trouble with Mr. Hag that first night, and if you're gonna wind up needing another night with Christine, well—"<br/>
<br/>
Mr. Hagerman smiles. "I think I figured out a way around that."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"I've got a blank mask and a strip, but I haven't attached them to each other. I'm going to try putting them on her separately. I think can get the memories fast if I just put on the memory strip. That's what happened when I"—he makes a face—"tried it with Nicholas."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh."<br/>
<br/>
"So I figure if I do that, then put the mask on on top of that—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I get you!" You feel your eyes light up. "Yeah, that's smart!"<br/>
<br/>
"I think it'll work. Can't work out worse."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah!" You bounce on the balls of your feet. "'But, 'cos, I was gonna say, if you couldn't go back to her place 'cos you didn't know, like— Well, um, I was figgering maybe we could go off and do something, just the two of us. You know. Till it was time to take Christine home."<br/>
<br/>
Mr. Hagerman grins. "You want to go do something, just the two of ... them?"<br/>
<br/>
Maybe. But Zion and Christina already have a busy Friday night already planned with friends.</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111212432211111211
author_id: seuzz
title: Catching Christine
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Let's wait to see what Christine wants to do," you tell Mr. Hagerman. Then you grin. "Though I bet I can guess."<br/>
<br/>
He grins back at you. It would be a really creepy grin he's giving you—high-school pedo teacher—if you didn't know who was really grinning at you from behind it.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, hell.</i> It's a creepy grin anyway. But it excites you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You have a good chunk of time to kill before you can fetch Christine back for Sydney, so you wait it out by giving her a preview of the girl she'll soon be. Christine Miles, you tell her, comes from a well-to-do family—her dad's an attorney, and her mom is the executive assistant for a firm of architects—and she plays on the school tennis team. She's a bit of a show off, but she's bright and funny has lots of friends. Sydney nods along—Mr. Hagerman has her for one of his English classes, and so he has some idea of the personality to expect. "She gets into mischief, doesn't she?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well—" You writhe in place, then turn it into a shimmy and dance (Zion loves to go dancing). "Her and me try."<br/>
<br/>
Eventually it comes time for tennis practice to end, and you jog out to the tennis courts. Christine and her friend Marianne are putting their things away and chatting with the other players. You nod at Cody Schaefer, one of the seniors that Zion is friendly with, as you run up and twine your fingers into the chain link fence. <br/>
<br/>
"Hey," you call to Marianna, "who's your sexy friend with the sexy overbite?" Christine is very pretty, but there's no denying that she looks a little like a chipmunk from one angle, and a gopher from another. Luckily, she wears it well, and Zion loves it when she nibbles at him. <br/>
<br/>
Christine blushes and grins at you, her cheeks folding into deep dimples. "My name's Christine," she calls back. "What's yours?"<br/>
<br/>
"Murray. Murray Teitelbaum. The Third."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, Murray Teitelbaum the Third." Christine comes over to lean against the chain links, and covers your fingers with hers. "What are you doing after school?"<br/>
<br/>
"Looking for a little girl to molest."<br/>
<br/>
"Eww!" She laughs. "Well, I'm not that kind of girl. Although—" Her grin sharpens. "Would you like to try ... talking me into it?"<br/>
<br/>
Your cock is now poking through the the fence at her. "Girl," you sigh, "you give me twenty minutes of your time and I'll have you eating ... " You trail off before you can say anything dangerously disgusting, and put your mouth to the fence. She puts her mouth to yours, and you kiss through the links, running your tongues over each other's teeth. "Am I gonna need some wire cutters to come in and get you?" you ask, "or can I trust you to come out on your own?"<br/>
<br/>
She giggles. "You could try climbing over."<br/>
<br/>
"Girl," you admonish her, "you did <i>not</i> just give me a dare, did you?" Quickly you scramble halfway up the rattling wall of links, then pause to gauge her reaction. When she laughs and looks up at you with shining eyes, you climb the rest of the way to the top.<br/>
<br/>
But there's no bar across the top—only the tops of the links—and the whole thing sways as you pause to gauge if you can safely throw a leg over.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you try it, you idiot!" a voice calls, and you look down to see Coach Acuna shading her eyes as she glares up at you. You only grin and inch higher up the fence. The ground—fifteen feet below or so—looks a lot farther away than it actually is.<br/>
<br/>
<i>This is dumb and you're going to kill yourself,</i> two voices warn you. One is your own, and the other is Zion Barber's. But there's a third voice—also Zion's—urging you to make the leap. You tense all over, steel your gut, then throw one leg over the top while swinging your torso over. The fence sways and bends, and for a moment you feel yourself falling. Your other leg swings over the fence, catching on the top and tearing the fabric of your sweat pants. Someone below shouts in Spanish.<br/>
<br/>
But your fingers have a death grip on the links at the top, and your feet find support. With a haggard, breathless, giddy sense of accomplishment, you scuttle down the other side to the ground, jumping off and dropping the last three feet to hit the court with a jar.<br/>
<br/>
Coach Acuna slaps the back of your head and jabbers at you in Spanish. You grin past her at Christine, who has gone white as chalk but is smiling broadly.<br/>
<br/>
"Who the fuck you think you are there, Barber?" Sean Wilcox calls out to you. "Spider-Man?" "Fuckin' dumbass," someone else says.<br/>
<br/>
"God, that was dumb of you," Christine breathlessly agrees after the coach has stormed off. She squeezes your arm. "I should get you out of here before you do anything else that dumb."<br/>
<br/>
"Meet you on the other side?" you suggest, and grab the fence. But Christine yanks you away with a gasp. In truth, you're shaking all over, and are glad she won't let you make a repeat performance.<br/>
<br/>
You take Christine's hand as you head out. "Listen, I forgot my stuff in Mr. Hagerman's room when I came out to find you," you tell her. "Mind if we stop by there before we go?" Zion rides the school bus in the mornings because he hasn't got the use of a car, and typically gets a ride with Christine home.<br/>
<br/>
"I have to stop by my locker anyway," she says, then turns to wave at Kelsey Blankenship. "Have a great weekend, Kelsey!" she calls. "God, she was a bitch today," you murmurs to you as you too wave at Kelsey, who waves back.<br/>
<br/>
"You played each other?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, she just tried coaching me from the other court."<br/>
<br/>
You smile vacantly while nodding at some of the other players. The politician in Zion likes to keep on familiar terms with girls like Kelsey and with guys like Cody.<br/>
<br/>
Inside the school, you ask Christine to come find you in Mr. Hagerman's room after she's got her things. "We were talking about forming up a new school club, and he might have a few more things to say to me," you explain. Christine tells you she won't be long.<br/>
<br/>
Inside Mr. Hagerman's room, you wink at the teacher, and hold up a single finger. He leers back.<br/>
<br/>
Christine isn't long in joining you. "You ready to go?" she asks from the doorway.<br/>
<br/>
"Almost. C'mere." You pull her into the room when she resists. "Mr. Hagerman wants us to be co-presidents of the new club," you murmur at her, your face right up against hers.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. Whole thing was his idea for us." You kiss her nose, then step around and behind her. It's awkward catching her from behind with her backpack hiked up on her shoulders, but you manage to get your hands on her elbows. "He thinks you and me look great together, and he wants us to—"<br/>
<br/>
From around the side of her head, you see Mr. Hagerman advancing on Christine. The next thing you know, she is falling sideways, and he is helping you support her. "Close the door, Will," he says.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Mm, this is kind of weird," Christine says as she examines herself using her phone. She fluffs out her hair, which is a sexy tangle of loose brown curls that tumble to the top of her shoulders. She tries out a grin, clamping a wide row of bright white teeth over her lower lip.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you said you were getting the memories."<br/>
<br/>
"I am," she says. "That's what makes it weird. It's like—" She turns a keen glance on you. "It wasn't like that with you? Getting the ones from the old mask mixed up with the new ones?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, yeah, that happened to me."<br/>
<br/>
"Good, 'cos it's doing that with me." She goes back to examining herself, holding the phone up with one hand while plucking her skirt and blouse with the other. "I still got some of Mr. Hagerman floating around in here with me, and he's, like—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Like what?</i> you wonder when she breaks off. <i>Turned on by seeing a seventeen-year-old girl when he turns the phone's camera on himself?</i><br/>
<br/>
Christine wheels on you again, eyes glinting madly. "Bite me, Zi," she says. "Bite me like you love me."<br/>
<br/>
"Mm, is that Mr. Hagerman talking?" You put your arms around her, and gently squeeze her lower lip between your teeth.<br/>
<br/>
She smooches you back, then pulls away. "No," she sighs. "That was me trying to—" She wriggles inside your arms. "<i>Ohhhh! Gawwwwd!</i> I can't <i>wait</i> to get you alone!"<br/>
<br/>
You glance over her shoulder, where the <i>pedisequos</i> of Mr. Hagerman is watching you with an expression of dog-like patience.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, we should get out of here," you murmur. "Marianne and them are gonna be wondering what happened to us."<br/>
<br/>
"Let 'em wonder." She pulls you close and breathes in your face. "Let's go over to Mr. Hagerman's."<br/>
<br/>
"What for?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why are you asking a silly question like that? What have you and me been doing, Will? What would Zi and Christine love to do, now that they got someplace to do it at?" She nips your cheek.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, yes, you'd love to. But you can't forget that Zion Barber's mom is expecting him home, and that he and Christine already have plans to hang out at Kian Benefield's house tonight with a bunch of their friends.</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112124322111112111
author_id: seuzz
title: Breaking Bad
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Zion usually has Christine take him straight home after school, then gets together with her or other friends at a coffee place after supper.<br/>
<br/>
But today is Friday, and although Zion's instincts are to keep to plan and go over to Kian's Benefield's place for a laid-back party, you let the lust for Christine (and Sydney) overwhelm.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, okay." You lay your hands on Christine's butt and press her to you. She squeals a little as your hardening cock swells against her. "But where we gonna hang out? Mr. Hagerman's? Ms. Cho's?"<br/>
<br/>
"We haven't done it at his place yet." She looks over at the teacher. "Besides, I want him to <i>watch.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
That jolts you. But you'll do anything to keep your girlfriend happy.<br/>
<br/>
"Yo, Mr. Hag," you call over to him. "Alright if we meet you up at your place, hang out?"<br/>
<br/>
The teacher's eyes shift to Christine. She gives the faintest nod, and he shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
On the drive out, Christine hums softly to herself in tune with the radio. You slouch in the passenger-side seat of her minivan, stroking your calves and nursing a bobbing erection. "I like these guys you picked," you tell her.<br/>
<br/>
"You'd like anyone I picked," she says. "You know I was only gonna pick out good ones!"<br/>
<br/>
"You liked me climbing the fence out at the tennis courts when I came to get you?"<br/>
<br/>
She giggles. "That was cool." She turns a shy glance at you. "But don't try scaring me again."<br/>
<br/>
"I was trying to turn you on."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you did that. But you do that anyway." <br/>
<br/>
There's a curious expression on her face, and she does a couple of takes at you, as though she's constantly surprising herself to see you slouching beside her. "What's the matter?" you finally ask her.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing," she says. "Only— Well, nothing. I'll tell you later."<br/>
<br/>
"No, what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Really, I'll tell you later." She gives you another one of those looks. She's silent the rest of the drive out.<br/>
<br/>
There's a sharp bark from within when you knock on Mr. Hagerman's door, and a chocolate Labrador snuffles excitedly at you as the teacher lets you in. You stroke and play with the dog as Mr. Hagerman tries to control it.<br/>
<br/>
This is the first time you've been to his house, but Christine—Sydney—of course knows it inside and out, and she settles you in a cramped living room while she fetches a couple of microbrewery beers from the kitchen. "Here's to our newest brothers," she toasts after she's joined you on the sofa. You and she clink bottles while Mr. Hagerman, seated in a low-slung chair with the dog between his knees, raises his. "Oh God!" Christine gasps and coughs after a swallow of beer. "Turns out," she chokes out, "Christine hates beer!"<br/>
<br/>
You're not used to it either, but you swallow it down while kneading the back of Christine's neck with your free hand. She smiles toothily at you. "Are we gonna take this slow?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"We got all night."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh? Are we spending the night here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well ... Until two, at least."<br/>
<br/>
Christine lays her beer aside, and heaves herself up to straddle you.<br/>
<br/>
"Zi," she says, cradling your face between her hands. "I love you so much."<br/>
<br/>
"I love you too, babe."<br/>
<br/>
"Then how come we're still wearing our clothes?"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You move into the bedroom, throwing your clothes to the floor, and clasping your narrow, naked bodies atop the bedspread. You start off on top, furrowing her deeply while stroking her side with a free hand; she sucks on the thumb of your other. After cooling down from that, you burrow under the sheets to poke and pinch and giggle at each other until you're aroused again, and you take her a second time. You're hot and sweaty afterward, and throw off the bedclothes to lay panting beside each other. There have been soft noises from outside—Mr. Hagerman doing some housework, it sounds like, and at one point he leaves with the dog and returns a little later. After a long recuperation period, and Christine has stroked you erect again, she rolls you onto your back and says it's time to put on a performance. She calls Mr. Hagerman in and orders him to sit in the wicker chair in the corner of the room. He dutifully watches as she lowers herself onto you. She gasps and gurgles and finally screams as you thrust into her from below.<br/>
<br/>
<i>This is so incredible!</i> you find yourself thinking in a weirdly distracted state. <i>My girlfriend's a freaking exhibitionist, and she's doing it in front of a teacher in his bed!</i><br/>
<br/>
But that's nothing to the sequel she has planned.<br/>
<br/>
"Does that make you horny?" she pants at Mr. Hagerman after you and she have both cum. "Do you want some of it?" she asks after he nods. "How much do you want it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Real bad," the teacher croaks. Even in the dim bedroom, you can see the sweat shining on his broad forehead, under his golden, curly hair.<br/>
<br/>
"Enough to bridle your soul to the service of Baphomet?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>What?</i> you think with a start.<br/>
<br/>
"Say it," Christine tells Mr. Hagerman. "Say it if you really want it. Say, 'I bridle my soul to Baphomet'."<br/>
<br/>
"Sydney?" you interrupt.<br/>
<br/>
"I bridle my soul to Baphomet," Mr. Hagerman says in a strained voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Then show me," Christine says. "You know what to do."<br/>
<br/>
"Sydney?" You struggle beneath her.<br/>
<br/>
She clambers off, but hushes you. "Watch this," she says as she pulls you upright. "We're going to have to help him."<br/>
<br/>
"Help him with what?" you ask as Mr. Hagerman stands up and pulls his shirt off.<br/>
<br/>
"You'll see. It's amazing! Now, get up behind me."<br/>
<br/>
You put away your disquiet as Sydney directs you to kneel on the bed and embrace her from behind. Under her direction, you clasp her about the waist with one hand, and with the other you stroke and press and push your fingers into her clit. Moaning, she squeezes and massages her bare breasts. You are facing Mr. Hagerman, who taken all his clothes off, disclosing his trim, muscled form, and his hardened cock. You watch over Christine's shoulder as he sits back in the chair with—<br/>
<br/>
You blink. He is holding the meditation wand.<br/>
<br/>
As you push your fingers deeper into Christine from behind, and as she moans and rolls her head, Mr. Hagerman stares at her, unblinking, as he squeezes and massages the shaft of the wand. Faster and hard he works, the sweat popping out on his brow and pouring down his face. He quickens his pace as Christine quickens her breath. She writhes in your embrace, and when she releases a breast and grabs your hand, forcing it farther up inside her, and shrieks—<br/>
<br/>
There's a break in her labored breathing, and she sags against you. But then she rallies and tries forcing herself to a higher frenzy. Again, there's a break, a retreat, a recovery, a greater effort ... Mr. Hagerman's hand flies up and down the shaft of the wand ... Christine gabbles and pants ... waves of heat roll over you ... Christine's head shakes and rolls ... Mr. Hagerman's cock, waving loosely, spurts and bobbles ... Christine screams once ...<br/>
<br/>
Then she falls forward off the bed, tumbling to her hands and knees at the teacher's feet. Fear jolts through you, and jump down to clutch at her. "Are you okay?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
Her face is a blazing crimson as she glares up at Mr. Hagerman.<br/>
<br/>
"God damn it!" she roars at him. "What is <i>wrong</i> with you?"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
What is wrong with him? She has to explain it, because of course you don't know how it was supposed to go right!<br/>
<br/>
"It was the <i>wand</i> that was supposed to ejaculate!" she yells as Mr. Hagerman cringes under her glower. "Eww!" she says as she takes a step, and jerks her bare foot off the floor.<br/>
<br/>
"The wand was supposed to cum?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes! Like a light show, like the aurora borealis!" She snatches the wand from Mr. Hagerman's grasp and frowns fiercely at it. "I got it to do it yesterday! I was thinking of you while I was—"<br/>
<br/>
She breaks off to give you a hooded, sidelong glance, and smooches the side of your mouth.<br/>
<br/>
"It's the first step in a string of ceremonies," she continues, "and one of the stages you have to pass through to reach The Fulfillment of Baphomet." She glares at the teacher. "<i>You</i> weren't supposed to be the one that that came."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry, Christine," Mr. Hagerman says in a small voice.<br/>
<br/>
She shakes her hair out and takes a deep breath.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, okay," she says, and turns to you. "I guess we'll just have to try it again. From the top."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So you do it all again. Several times, in fact. Bed-shaking attempts at sex meant to arouse Mr. Hagerman to frenzies of sympathetic ecstasy. The <i>pedisequos</i> gets off on it every time. But it's the wrong kind of ejaculate, Sydney fumes, from the wrong place, every time.<br/>
<br/>
You have to end it before ten, finally, because you just can't keep up, and Christine takes you home. To your mom, who was waiting up for you, you explain that you were at a friend's house all night. Exhausted, you brush your teeth and go to bed.<br/>
<br/>
You wake the next morning to a text from Christine. <i>I think I figured it out,</i> she says, <i>and it's bad news if I'm right. Brothers need souls to do the ceremonies, and I don't think the fakes have souls.</i><br/>
<br/>
That might be for the best. Even without the intended light show, last night's performance frightened you.</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111121243221111121112
author_id: seuzz
title: People Without Souls
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It's Saturday, but Zion has a weekend job you need to get to, so after a fast, hot shower and a quick breakfast with your new mom, you race over to Academy Sports. The smell of rubber, latex, and athletic clothes used to make you gag, but it quickens Zion's pulse. He played on the JV basketball team his sophomore year, and he carved out a spot in his junior year schedule for the practice hour so he could continue. But he got cut from the team. <i>Fuckin' favoritism is what it was,</i> he still fumes. <i>Fucking Diego Rojas!</i> Because Zion likes basketball and is good at it, when there's no one looking and the store is mostly empty, he likes to run a basketball up and down the aisles.<br/>
<br/>
You also get to share half your hours with Jeremy Carver, another junior from school. Jeremy is a football player, and with his chunky build and piggy eyes, he has the intimidating physical presence of a gridiron bully. But Jeremy is a shy, sweet-tempered kid. <i>Dumb as a box of hammers,</i> as the saying goes, but endlessly patient and cheerful. Also, he sounds like Scooby-Doo when he giggles, which is often: <i>Rheeheeheeheehee!</i><br/>
<br/>
Christine likes to drop by an hour or so before Zion gets off, to casually visit and flirt. Today she has her friends Marianna Horne and Benjamin Grove with her, which surprises and annoys you. You're unable to drop any hints in front of them, and when you get off, your girlfriend inanely accepts Benjamin's suggestion that you step around the corner for sandwiches and chips at the delicatessen. It's while you're patiently munching on those that you get a shock. Marianne knows who Will Prescott is!<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God," she gasps when Benjamin talks about maybe seeing a movie. "Guess who I saw going into the theater last night!" she says to Christine. "Sydney McGlynn and her <i>guy!"</i> She says "guy" like it's a synonym for "shit."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God!" Christine agrees without missing a beat. "They weren't holding hands or anything, were they?"<br/>
<br/>
"He had his hand on her butt!"<br/>
<br/>
"Ewww!"<br/>
<br/>
"Who are you talking about?" Benjamin asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Sydney McGlynn? She's a senior, this cheerleader from San Diego or something, moved to town this year," Marianne explains. "And you should see the <i>gink</i> she's decided to date!" She shrieks and rolls her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Totally out of his league with her," Christine agrees with a sniff. "She should be with, like, Erik Carstairs, and instead she's with, like—?" She makes a face.<br/>
<br/>
"It would be like if <i>you</i> were going out with, I dunno. Gavin Nutt?" Marianne giggles.<br/>
<br/>
"Is Sydney's boyfriend even a senior? He looks like a sophomore!"<br/>
<br/>
You keep a discreet silence until after the topic of conversation has shifted again.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry about all that back there, lover," Christine says after you've parted with Marianne and Benjamin and are strolling back to your cars with your arms around each other's waists. "But once she started talking about Sydney and that guy"—she shoots you a wry look—"I had to stay in character."<br/>
<br/>
You just bite your tongue.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"No souls, Will," Sydney says. "I mean, now that you think about it, they probably wouldn't have souls, would they?"<br/>
<br/>
It's a little before six, and you're cuddling on Mr. Hagerman's bed. You're both fully dressed, though, and Sydney is lying on her back, staring at the ceiling while you curl up next to her, lightly stroking her neck and breasts. You had a raging hard on by the time you got her back to Mr. Hagerman's, but after some deep kissing and hard pinching, Sydney pushed you bck and started talking about the Brotherhood again.<br/>
<br/>
"Is that what your dad's notes said?" you murmur. "You need a soul to be a—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, the 'soul' stuff is probably just, like, an analogy," she continues. "I mean, I figured that if the, uh, <i>pedisequoses</i> have all the, uh, secretions and stuff— I mean, they walk and talk and bleed and pee and do all the other stuff— Well, I figured they'd be able to do everything we do, including the ceremonies." She sighs. "But to work the ceremonies call for willpower—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>I got some "Will Power" I wanna use on you, honey, hurk hurk hurk,</i> you snigger to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
"—and I don't think the <i>pedisequoses</i> don't have wills of their own."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you said they don't have souls."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be pedantic. What I mean is, they do what they're told, so it is like they haven't got a will of their own. Anyway, the point is— The point <i>is—"</i> She struggles to find the point she wants to make. "They're just marionettes. And I think we need real little boys and girls for the Brotherhood to work!"<br/>
<br/>
You raise up on an elbow to look down into her face. "So how do we make them real?"<br/>
<br/>
She shrugs. "Well, we can check your book, I suppose. But so far it's just been about making disguises." She turns her head to regard you gravely. "How would you feel about bringing more people into our ... club?"<br/>
<br/>
You suck in a deep breath. <i>What does she mean?</i><br/>
<br/>
But Sydney grunts and turns away before you can make a reply. "That's what I thought you'd say." <br/>
<br/>
Then she reaches over to clasp you. "Help me get my mind off it, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But Sydney seems preoccupied, even as she pulls you hungrily into herself, and her gaze is distant when you look her in the face. After two bouts on Mr. Hagerman's bed, she declares that she needs to go home, and reluctantly you part. But she calls you only an hour later and asks to meet again. Your hope that she wants to pick things up where you left off, though, is dashed when she says she wants to meet you up at the school, of all places.<br/>
<br/>
"I've got a crazy idea, Will," she says as she paces the parking lot in the dusk, and she clutches her tangled hair with both hands, as though trying to hang on to her own composure. "I want to recruit people for the Brotherhood, and I want to use the masks to do it."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought that's what we were doing, and it turns out it doesn't work."<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, recruit people but without making <i>pedisequoses.</i> Give them masks like <i>we</i> have masks. Turn them into other people. But they'd be awake and alert like we are!"<br/>
<br/>
This sounds like her earlier suggestion about "bringing more people into the club."<br/>
<br/>
"But we fuck with their heads," she says, as though reading your mind. "We just swap them, without warning. We turn them into other people. And then we explain to them that it was through the power of Baphomet, and that if they ever want to change back—" She catches her breath. "Then they need to join the Brotherhood!"<br/>
<br/>
You blink at the suggestion. Frankly, it doesn't sound very convincing, and you tell her so. "If someone did something like that to me," you say, "I don't think I'd want to hang out with them or join any kind of—"<br/>
<br/>
"Depends on how it's done. Oh! Maybe if we turned it around! she exclaims. "Quick, Will, who's someone at school that you're jealous of? Who's someone that you would <i>want to be</i> if you could?"<br/>
<br/>
"You mean by using a mask?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure! Steal someone's life by turning into them. You've got the power, you know."<br/>
<br/>
"So is that what we're going to do now?" You feel like she's lost you.<br/>
<br/>
"With other people, yes. That's the point. I mean, everyone is jealous of someone. Or most people are. They look at someone else and say to themselves, <i>I want what they've got. All of it.</i> So," she continues in a tone of triumphant revelation. "We give it to them! With the masks!" She grins at you, like a cat bragging over a particularly juicy canary that it's just caught.<br/>
<br/>
"We swap people into desirable places," she continues when you don't answer. "We turn them into someone they would want to be. Then we tell them, 'It's through the power of Baphomet that you've got this. Join the Brotherhood, and you get to keep your new identity, or get an even better on! Refuse, and you go back to being yourself.'"<br/>
<br/>
Okay, now you think you see what she's driving at. "And we don't tell people about the masks?"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course not! That's how we get them to believe in Baphomet. I mean, you've had a hard time swallowing it, I can tell, and that's even with— Well, the only way we could recruit people is by ambushing them with something, er, magical." She stumbles a little over the embarrassing word. "That would get them! And by playing on their, um, greed—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, okay, I get it now."<br/>
<br/>
"And we'd be in charge. You and me. Directing them. And they'd be so confused, at first, then desperate to hang on to what we've given them, or greedy for more—"<br/>
<br/>
"So how does this fit in with our original plan? Do we still pick Brothers from different classes? Or do we concentrate in just one class? Like, I'm not sure anyone, even a freshman, wants to be another freshman."<br/>
<br/>
Sydney says she isn't so sure about that, and vaguely sketches a plan for graduated ranks of adepts, moving up from the freshman class to the senior class. You're dubious, but willing to discuss it.<br/>
<br/>
After some talk, you are persuaded (and Sydney is persuaded too) that you should—</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111212432211111211122
author_id: seuzz
title: Which Witch?
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>After talking it over, you and Sydney decide to continue your original plan to seed each school grade at Westside with Brothers.<br/>
<br/>
"We'll start each one off in his own class," Sydney muses. "Start 'em off in a body of our choice. A good one, you know, so they'll be happy and interested. Tell them that if they work hard, they'll gain the ability move into a different one. One they can choose."<br/>
<br/>
"Where will we be?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we'll start off as who we are now," she says after a moment's thought. "Christine and Zion. <i>Mmm!</i>" She rolls onto her side, to embrace you and give you a quick, sucking kiss. "You like being here, don't you? With me? Like this? As us?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah, babe, don't you know it!"<br/>
<br/>
"Then we should start in the junior class. With a couple of juniors. Maybe with Marianne?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why her?"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney—with Christine's toothsome overbite—gives you a coquettish grin. "Maybe to get back at her for what she said about you and me? You know, about Sydney and Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, what was that about?" You've been diplomatically avoiding the topic.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney sighs.<br/>
<br/>
"So it turns out you and me are kind of an item. People are noticing," she says, as though you yourself hadn't been on the receiving end of just that kind of noticing. It's how come you're now inhabiting the identity of Zion Barber, junior-class president. "Including people down in the junior class."<br/>
<br/>
"Like Marianne and Christine."<br/>
<br/>
"And Natasha and Sara and—" She wriggles. "Would you like to take Zion's face off and ravish me as yourself, Will? I think I'd like that."<br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos Christine doesn't get why a girl like Sydney McGlynn would be into a guy like Will Prescott. And I think—" She gnaws on a knuckle and grins at you. "I think maybe you should explain it to her."<br/>
<br/>
So you do. She screams and calls your name and afterward moans that Sydney McGlynn is the luckiest girl in the whole wide world to have Will Prescott as her boyfriend.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The next morning you go to church, but the Barbers attend the Unitarian church, so it's more like sitting through one of Mr. Walberg's sociology lectures. Your girlfriend, meanwhile, gets dragged out to some kind of Extremely Important Sunday Banquet with her parents. <br/>
<br/>
Normally, this would leave you at a loss. But Zion Barber doesn't lack for friends to tap whenever he's bored.<br/>
<br/>
"Watch this," you murmur at Kyler Zook as you drill the basketball in place against the blacktop. He's blocking you from passing it to Kian Benefield, or from driving it to the basket yourself—and being a big, sloppy kid with arms like an ape, Kyler's doing a good job of it. Not that you're worried. You wheel and slide around him, and loft the ball at the basket before he can get his hand up. The ball bounces once on the rim before dropping through. Jake Davis catches it with a grimace.<br/>
<br/>
These are some guys that Zion is working with on a junior-class charity drive, and none of them, like Zion, have played basketball outside of PE class. That's why you're handicapped with the clumsy Kian as a teammate for this game of two-on-two, even though he and Kyler are boyfriends. But it's only supposed to be a fun game among friends, played on the abandoned blacktop of a nearby elementary school.<br/>
<br/>
"So any of you amateurs up for real challenge?" a voice sounds, and play pauses as you all look around. A dark-haired kid with a wide, white smile comes striding up. <br/>
<br/>
You feel your own expression lighting up. "Robo-man!" you call out. "Here, gimme!" you call to Kyler, who has the ball. You catch it, then swing around to hurl it at the newcomer.<br/>
<br/>
Roman Robey is the star of the school's JV basketball squad, and he would be on the varsity team already if Gordon Black and Steve Patterson didn't hate his guts. He's a tall, strong, handsome kid—one of, if not <i>the,</i> dreamboat of the junior class—and one of the most popular guys around. "What are you hanging around this place for?" you ask him.<br/>
<br/>
"Looking for cocksure little smartasses I can humiliate," he replies. "Who's playing who?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Me 'n Kian 'gainst these other wusses."<br/>
<br/>
"Score?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ninety-nine to two." You slap your chest. "Advantage us!"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you!" Jake cries. "More like ... Sixteen, ten?" He squints at Kyler for confirmation.<br/>
<br/>
Roman hammers the ball against the blacktop and eyes your quartet. "Zook," he says, "you're with Barber and Benefield. Davis?" He nods at Jake.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, screw this!" you protest. "You ain't givin' me <i>both</i> these guys to babysit! You gimme Jake and take the other two yourself!"<br/>
<br/>
Roman gives you a very narrow grin. "You really think you can handle three of us?"<br/>
<br/>
"More glory for me when I kick your asses!"<br/>
<br/>
The game that follows is hot and hard-fought, with no time for banter. Not that you come close to winning. Not that you even come close. Roman is just too good, and no matter how hard you hustle (and Jake is good help) you just can't get past him or stop him from scoring.<br/>
<br/>
Which sucks for him, you can tell. He doesn't like humiliating you by racking up shot after shot, or using his superior height to block most of your shots. Still less does he like it when he has to stop trying to pass to Kian, who has too many thumbs on his two left hands to keep the ball from you or Jake. After a half hour or so, when everyone has stopped keeping score, and the sweat is pouring off your naked torsos, Roman calls a halt. "I was just out for a walk anyway," he says as he bounces the ball back to you.<br/>
<br/>
"Winners buy the losers Gatorades," you riposte. Roman shrugs, you all trudge over to where your cars are parked.<br/>
<br/>
Kian and Kyler and Jake drive off to the 7-11 together in Kian's car; Roman hitches a ride with you. "You did good out there," he tells you after you're in the car.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't wanna win. I just wanted to make you sweat."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, mission accomplished." He wipes his face with his t-shirt, then pulls it on. "Wish you were still on the squad."<br/>
<br/>
"There's always next year."<br/>
<br/>
He hesitates. "I thought you were gonna be student council president next year."<br/>
<br/>
"I can do both. Student council president <i>and</i> captain of the basketball team. Class valedictorian. National Science Fair winner. Head cheerleader, even?" <br/>
<br/>
Roman laughs, a little uncertainly.<br/>
<br/>
He thinks you're joking. But of course, with the masks, you really could be all those things!<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Sydney, meanwhile, has been scheming some more. When you meet up with her later that afternoon, she tells you she's changed her mind about being "Zion and Christine" when you reveal yourselves to your new recruits.<br/>
<br/>
"We need to be plausible," she says when you're relaxing in Mr. Hagerman's bed again after fucking each other into a shared state of relaxation. "We need to be— I mean, if you woke up tomorrow in a new body, and someone came to you and said, 'I'm the one who did that to you'— Well, would you really believe them if they were Zion or Christine? Who would it have to be so that you'd believe them?"<br/>
<br/>
It's a weird question. "Well, if you're asking who I'd believe was a wizard or a witch," you reply, "I'd have to go with Braydon Delp."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
You describe him—a classmate of yours who is into the occult, and who advertises his interest by wearing heavy mascara, dark t-shirts, and silver.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, one of those kinds of guys," Sydney sniffs. "Well, I guess."<br/>
<br/>
"Or Morgana Hollis. Here." You take out Zion's phone and do a deep dive into his photo album, for Morgana has helped out on some of the charity work that Zion has organized, and is in some of the group pictures he has. Sydney makes a face when you show her one of the pictures.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I see what you're getting at," she says. "But, um—"<br/>
<br/>
"Um what? Isn't that what you were getting at?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I guess." Her expression tightens. "But maybe I've changed my mind. Someone like that isn't a very good advertisement, is she? I mean, if I looked like that Morgana girl and could swap bodies, I think I would have."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. So maybe we should be people who are, um—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Desirable," Sydney declares. "Who do <i>you</i> think would make a good advertisement for the Brotherhood?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>And Zion and Christine wouldn't be good advertisements?</i> you wonder. <i>We picked them because they were a "hot" couple.</i><br/>
<br/>
There are too many candidates. But you finally decide that Chelsea Cooper, as the head cheerleader, and Roman Robey—who is on your mind after this afternoon's pick-up game—would be the best advertisements if you're recruiting in the junior class. Chelsea because—dur!—she's visible as the school's head cheerleader, and Roman because he's so popular.<br/>
<br/>
But even then Sydney veers back to the suggestions she rejected. "Maybe we should have one mascot and one master," she says. "One of us could be Morgana or what's his name, and be the witch. The other one could pretend to be the first recruit, and show off their new body."<br/>
<br/>
Later, after you're washing your hands in the bathroom and studying yourself, you again wonder if you've already got a couple of plausible bodies. Couldn't Zion, with his Levantine/Ethiopian genes, look exotic enough to be a plausible warlock? And Christine is <i>very</i> plausible as the victim of a body swap.<br/>
<br/>
Or what about your two teachers? If you want to impress your potential recruits, you can hardly do better than by showing that you've hijacked the bodies of two teachers.</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112124322111112111222
author_id: seuzz
title: Cover Girl
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"That's kind of a stereotype, isn't it?" Sydney asks you later, after you've told her you want to use Chelsea as the "mascot" for your Brotherhood. "Horny high school guy who wants to bone the head cheerleader?"<br/>
<br/>
Your face must have shown panic, because she giggles. "Fuck me, Will," she sighs. "Zion. Whatever your name is." She kisses you. "Fuck me, and fantasize that I'm Chelsea Cooper while you're doing it!"<br/>
<br/>
You were feeling spent and even a little sore. But with that as enticement, you quickly rise to the occasion!<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It will be easiest to catch Chelsea by using a teacher, so Sydney says she will change masks with Mr. Hagerman after you leave for the night, and you get confirmation from her an hour or so after you're home again: <i>Hey Zion, this is Mr. Hagerman,</i> comes the text from his account. <i>This is just to confirm that our project for tomorrow after school is still on.</i> After you respond with an <i>Ok!</i> he adds, <i>Good. I'll see you after class, and I can't wait to kiss your boner with my new pussy.</i> You have to stifle a yelp.<br/>
<br/>
Monday is your first day at school as Zion Barber, and by this time your new persona is so second nature that it is almost dull exercise in <i>deja vu.</i> Chemistry first period. Leadership/Citizenship second period. A Speech class, a Constitutional Law class, an Algebra II class. The only real highlights are third-period PE, which is a sports class and thus your only outlet for playing basketball, and English, which is spiky and stressful because the teacher is really your girlfriend in disguise. Not that Mr. Hagerman is anything except businesslike, and he even has a sharp word for you when he you strike up a <i>sotto voce</i> conversation with Shane Hilburn. His tone is also flat when he asks calls your name as class is breaking up. "We're all set up for after class," he tells you.<br/>
<br/>
You nod nervously. "Great. Any trouble getting, uh, Ch—"<br/>
<br/>
"You don't want to be late for your next class," he chides you, and with a quick, cold glance turns around to erase the board.<br/>
<br/>
"You got something going with Mr. Hagerman after class?" asks Scott McInerney. He's another basketball player, and he and Roman are lurking in the doorway.<br/>
<br/>
"Class project we need to talk about.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you have enough extracurricular things going?"<br/>
<br/>
"You should hear this guy," Roman says. "He's gonna try out for head cheerleader next year."<br/>
<br/>
You do a full-body twitch. <i>Could be this year,</i> you think to yourself. <i>This afternoon!</i><br/>
<br/>
Then you think, <i>Wait, that'll be Sydney, not me.</i><br/>
<br/>
And then you think, <i>Well, why couldn't it be me?</i><br/>
<br/>
"You okay there, Barber?" Roman asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, just thinking about the cheerleaders," you quickly shoot back.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't tell Christine." Scott and Roman guffaw.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It had been kind of weird hooking up with the Christine-<i>pedisequos</i> in the hallways between classes, and being affectionate with it. You and Sydney had also decided to keep her and Zion as <i>pedisequoses</i> as well instead of releasing the originals from their enchanted hiding places—they'll be a help when it comes time to recruit inside the junior class. You worried that the fake Christine might conceive some kind of antipathy for you—a fake version of her boyfriend—after Sydney was out of that mask, but maybe Sydney had some instructions for the thing, because it is just as affectionate and interested in you today as the real girl has ever been for her real boyfriend. There was, perhaps, just a slight glassiness in her eyes, a vaguely mechanical rhythm to her flirtations; the hint of metal inside her kisses. But maybe that was just your own paranoia. Certainly she squeals appreciatively when you saunter into the eighth-period math class you share, and groped for you eagerly when you bent over her for another kiss.<br/>
<br/>
And maybe she also understands the nature of today's business—though you don't ask her if she does—because when you tell her you'll be meeting with Mr. Hagerman after class, she nods and says she'll look for you there after tennis practice.<br/>
<br/>
But you get caught up talking to Kyler and Kian after class lets out—there's some bullshit business with the clothing drive that needs sorting out—and it's nearly fifteen minutes after the final bell before you're able to sprint down the English wing to Mr. Hagerman's room. The door is locked when you rattle the knob, and the lights are out inside. No one is visible through the narrow window in the door. So you shoot him a text, letting him know that you're outside his room.<br/>
<br/>
A moment later the door opens and a hand pulls you inside. Mr. Hagerman leans out to glance up and down the hallway before closing the door. "Just about set," he says, and jerks his head at the chair that's pushed into an inner corner the room. Chelsea Cooper, her chin on her chest, is slumped there. You swallow hard.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea is the queen of the school, an imperious presence without the time or interest for anyone but the handful of people she deems worthy—and many of these (you've heard through friends) she treats more like employees or staff. But as head cheerleader she can get away with it, for she a body to make guys die with lust, and girls die with envy.<br/>
<br/>
She is small, but strong, and the short skirt she is wearing shows powerful thighs and calves. Her tummy is trim and curved inside a tight blouse, and her prodigious breasts are plump and globe-like. Golden hair tumbles in loose curls to her shoulders. Her nose and chin are pert, and her skin clear and unblemished. Her feet, inside her bright white sneakers, are small and nubile.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh?" you say with a start after you've been staring at Chelsea for what seems like hours, for you realize that Mr. Hagerman has been talking to you. "What was that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Christ, Will," he mutters. "There'll be plenty of time to eye-bang her later. I was asking what you thought of Meredith Ritenour or Stacy Stahl as our second."<br/>
<br/>
"Our second what? No, really, I don't know what you mean," you protest when the teacher glares at you.<br/>
<br/>
"We were going to do two of them, remember?" he says. "Chelsea and another one. Then pick out some recruits explain things by—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, right. Wait, I'd also be a girl?"<br/>
<br/>
Mr. Hagerman blinks at you. "I didn't think you'd have a problem with that," he says. "I mean, you seemed okay with Hannah, so—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, that's right," you hurriedly assure her. <i>Why am I freaked out by the thought of being a girl again?</i> you wonder. It freaked you out a little when you thought of it at the end of English class, when you were leaving the room. <i>Maybe it's Zion,</i> you think. <i>Maybe </i>he<i> doesn't like the idea of—</i><br/>
<br/>
"Well?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Oh. Why them? Meredith or Stacy? Are we talking about—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Should we take this conversation outside so you can concentrate without being distracted?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm fine, sorry." You turn your back on Chelsea, to give your partner your full attention. "Meredith. Um—"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know that she's into the occult, but she seems like she could be, don't you think?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh!" You snap your fingers. "You mean use Meredith instead of, um, Delp or Morgana."<br/>
<br/>
Mr. Hagerman visibly grits his teeth. "Yes. And Stacy does gymnastics, she's going to try out for the cheerleading squad next year. That would make her a natural to pair up with Chelsea here."<br/>
<br/>
You cast a quick glance back at Chelsea. Yes, she's still slumped there, and she's still gorgeous.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, so, Stacy Stahl is a natural candidate to partner with Chelsea. Meredith, meanwhile, hasn't any of the "witchy" qualities that Morgana does, but she's bookish and nerdy and pale and plump all over. She wears horn-rimmed glasses, and carries around books on feminism and "queer theory." Someone like that, you suppose, is plausible not as the victim of a body swap, but as someone who might have found and read a book on a fringe cult like the Brotherhood of Baphomet, and seen a chance to put it and its ceremonies into action.<br/>
<br/>
But both those girls are juniors, and you thought that you were keeping Zion and Christine as your junior-class puppets ...<br/>
<br/>
"We can have more than two," Mr. Hagerman replies with a sigh when you ask about that.<br/>
<br/>
While you're still mulling all this, a glow from Chelsea's face heralds the reappearance of the mask, and Mr. Hagerman swoops in to catch it. "You better start getting undressed," you warn him as he holds the mask with one hand, and plucks up the memory strip from a nearby desk. But instead of moving, he weighs them in each hand.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm getting nervous making the changes in here," he says. "One of these days, someone will knock."<br/>
<br/>
"You have to get changed," you repeat.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm just thinking— If we glue these things together, we can put the <i>pedisequos</i>-paste in it and put it back on her," he replies. "Then we can order her to follow me home. I can change out there without anyone interrupting."<br/>
<br/>
That makes sense. But— "You have trouble getting the memories, don't you, when you glue the things together?"<br/>
<br/>
Mr. Hagerman bites his lip as he stares at the interior of the mask.<br/>
<br/>
"Well," he says, "I've got all the stuff here. So if <i>you</i> don't mind being Chelsea, we could glue them together and put <i>your</i> stuff inside the mask."<br/>
<br/>
He raises his head to look at you.</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111121243221111121112222
author_id: seuzz
title: From Blonde to Blonde
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Sydney's plan is probably the smartest—and really, wouldn't it be fun to <i>be</i> Chelsea Cooper?<br/>
<br/>
But last night comes back to you in a flash: <i>Fuck me,</i> Sydney had moaned. <i>And fantasize that I'm Chelsea Cooper while you're doing it!</i><br/>
<br/>
"I want you to be Chelsea," you tell Mr. Hagerman.<br/>
<br/>
"What if I can't get the memories?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"You can do the switch in here. One last time," you urge him. "You won't get caught."<br/>
<br/>
He hesitates. Then he shoves the mask and metal band at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," he says as he starts tearing at the buttons on his shirt. "But get it done fast!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There is one very hairy moment where everything almost goes disastrously wrong, but you manage to squeak out of it. While Sydney struggles out of Mr. Hagerman's clothes, you pull off Chelsea's shoes and socks and to go work on her blouse. You pause long enough to tear Mr. Hagerman's face off of Sydney's—exposing the beautifully shaped features of your girlfriend in her native form—then return to loosening Chelsea's things. You're just trying to figure out how to get the skirt off her when she stirs. Her eyes are just fluttering open when you slam Mr. Hagerman's mask onto her face, and the English teacher materializes in the chair where Chelsea had been sitting.<br/>
<br/>
Luckily, you had already loosened her skirt and blouse, so he didn't rip anything when he sprouted in front of you. But he was still inside her panties and bra. "I didn't even have to put shit like this on when I was trying to join a fraternity," he complained as he struggled out of them.<br/>
<br/>
Like the Christine-<i>pedisequos,</i> the Mr. Hagerman-<i>pedisequos</i> is up to speed on what's going on, and seems docilely accepting of it, and he even volunteers to leave the room (locking you in) and to go hang out in the teacher's lounge so that other teachers won't interrupt your work by looking for him in his classroom. After he's gone, you kneel over Sydney and drop a metal band onto her forehead. It vanishes, but she remains asleep. You are tempted to play with her breasts, but content yourself with sitting next to her (being careful not to catch your swelling boner in a pinch) and pick up her hand. You hold and squeeze and stroke it, trying to bring Sydney out of her swoon without pushing her too hard.<br/>
<br/>
Eventually she does begin to stir, and with your free hand you brush the hair from her forehead. Her eyes flutter open, and a dreamy, quizzical smile purses her lips.<br/>
<br/>
It doesn't remain there long. Half a second later it's replaced by a frown of alarm, and she sits up sharply. When she sees she's naked, she gasps and scrambles away from you, a look of surprise and horror on her face.<br/>
<br/>
<i>She's just confused,</i> you tell yourself. <i>Two minds all mixed up inside each other, and all that.</i> "Sydney?" you say to her in a low, calm voice as she stares at you. "Sydney? Do you remember what's going on? Sydney?" you plead.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus!" She slaps her hands over her face and freezes in place. "Christ almighty Christ almighty Christ almighty," she murmurs over. "Oh God." She pulls her hands down the sides of her face, like her cheeks are putty. Then she raises her hands to study her fingers. She groans again.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," she groans. Then: "No."<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. No, really, I'm fine." She visibly wilts. "It's just like being punched in the brain with another brain. Oh, God!" She clutches her head between her hands.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, get up," you urge her. "Move around."<br/>
<br/>
"My head'll fall off," she moans.<br/>
<br/>
"No it won't." You put out a hand, and she reluctantly takes it. "Come on, stand up, get yourself used to it."<br/>
<br/>
"You just want to ogle my tits!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, yes," you admit. "But this'll help too."<br/>
<br/>
Sydney shoots you a baleful look but suffers to let you raise her up onto unsteady feet. She sways there, frowning hard.<br/>
<br/>
Then she does a little double-take at you, and her grimace fractures a little. Slowly her mouth curves upward.<br/>
<br/>
"You really do love me, don't you, Will?" she says. You nod. "And you want to take me in your arms and—"<br/>
<br/>
She lets the sentence hang. You let it hang a moment too.<br/>
<br/>
Then, before it can break, you put your arms around her and pull her close, hugging her tightly. She hugs you back.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm the sexiest girl you know, aren't I?" she murmurs in your ear.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh," you gulp in reply. It's all you can do to keep your hand from dropping to cup her bare ass.<br/>
<br/>
"Then let me put on my face," she whispers, "so I can <i>be</i> the sexiest girl in school."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
She knows you, so she doesn't insist on dressing in Chelsea's clothes before sealing up Chelsea's mask and putting it on. She gives you ten glorious minutes to drool as she lays unconscious on the floor, showing off Chelsea's body.<br/>
<br/>
You straddle her, balancing on your hands and feet, so you can caress her naked form with eyes that burn—like you're staring into the sun.<br/>
<br/>
Her summertime tan has started to fade, so that her arms and legs are darker than her belly and hips, which are themselves darker than her globe-like breasts. But she is a creamy butterscotch color all over, and her skin is taut and smooth. Everyplace on her body is kissable, but you are drawn to the brown tips of her breasts, and the little hollow at the bottom of her throat, and her small, pillowy lips. And her hair—God! you could suffocate yourself inside its gentle curls. As for down below, she is shaved and smooth, and you nearly cream yourself when you give yourself a taste of delights to come by stroking the slit with a trembling fingertip. When you think you are about to lose it, you hunch down at her feet, taking one in your hands and massaging her sole and instep. Her toes are like little niblets of corn that you want to bite off.<br/>
<br/>
The wait pays off when she stirs again. She sighs and groans and arches her back and stretches, then lifts her head to smile at you from under heavy eyelids. "Hey there," Chelsea Cooper murmurs at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey."<br/>
<br/>
"That feels good," she says as you press your thumbs into her instep. "Oh! Keep doing that!" She lays her head back down.<br/>
<br/>
After a minute more, during which you listen to her breathe—she blows and pants like she's trying to catch it after a demanding workout—you ask if she's ready to leave.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," she says drowsily. "I suppose we should— Oh, <i>fuck!</i>" She bolts upright.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's what I wanted us to do eventually," you chortle.<br/>
<br/>
"No! Shut up! Oh, God, Will!" She scrambles onto her knees and grabs at her clothes. "I have to get out of here!"<br/>
<br/>
"What for?"<br/>
<br/>
"What for?" she echoes. "You dumbass! I— Sorry, I didn't mean that, it just barged out," she says. "But you know, I do have a boyfriend! I mean, another one! Shit!" Frantically she begins to pull on her panties, and snaps her fingers at you to hand her the bra.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Right.</i> That would be Gordon Black, Chelsea's Neanderthal boyfriend. The captain of the basketball team. "Are you supposed to meet him someplace?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's got practice right now and I'm supposed to be watching him! Oh, fuck! Well, I'll tell him something came up. But listen—!" She twists herself into her blouse. "We probably won't be able to meet tonight." She does a double-take at you. "And certainly not with you looking like <i>that!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong with the way I look?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hello? Number one, Will, you're a guy and I have a boyfriend. Number two, you're a junior. What's your name again?"<br/>
<br/>
"Zion," you say, taken aback. "Zion Barber. Don't you remember?"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course I remember! But Chelsea wouldn't know you from the Mexican kid who mows her family's lawn!" She throws her hair from her face and blasts an exasperated sigh at you. "So priority one is getting you a new face. Someone I can hang out with."<br/>
<br/>
"What about Gordon?" He really is the most obvious choice. But she frowns peevishly at you.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll have to think about it. God, Kendra and Gloria are probably dying to know what happened to me! I was only supposed to meet for, like, five minutes with Mr. Hagerman. Where'd he get off to, by the way?" She hops on one foot as she pulls on a shoe.<br/>
<br/>
"He's in the teacher's lounge."<br/>
<br/>
"Can you handle him? Well, do your best with him. Love you lots." She lurches forward to peck you on the lips. "Keep your phone charged and turned on. I'll send you a text tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"Can you at least try to get away from Gordon?"<br/>
<br/>
"No promises, love," she shouts as she grabs up her pack and runs for the door. "But I'll be thinking of you if, you know—" Then she's gone.<br/>
<br/>
<i>If I wind up fucking Gordon.</i> You know that's what she was going to say. Your chest tightens up. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Did she sleep with him? She doesn't say when she texts later that night with some candidates for you to be. Gordon's name on it. <i>He has a shitty home life,</i> she replies when you ask why you can't be him. <i>Trust me u don't want to b him.</i><br/>
<br/>
Who does she suggest? Two of her friends on the cheerleading squad: Maria Vasquez and Kendra Saunders. One of her enemies on the squad, Lin Pol. And the president of the student council, Kim Walsh.<br/>
<br/>
But are you not ready to give up on being both her official and her secret boyfriend.</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111212432211111211122223
author_id: seuzz
title: Partners Under the Skin
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The thought of your girlfriend riding the cock of Gordon Black makes you hot and bothered. After all—when you think back—the reason you're in this present situation is because you wanted to win Sydney for yourself from another guy—Caleb—you made the jump to a new identity because another jock asshole was trying to shove you out of the way so that he could have her.<br/>
<br/>
And surely Sydney knows how you feel. Over the last few days she's acted like she's as hot for you as you are for her. So why doesn't she want you moving in to replace Chelsea's lunkheaded boyfriend—the friggin' <i>captain of the school's basketball team</i>—so you can keep making hot, pounding love to her?<br/>
<br/>
You hate the frothing waves of jealousy that are twisting your stomach into an angry knot, and you glower at the reply she sent when you asked if Gordon would be available to you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Omg no he has a shitty home life trust me u don't want to b him</i><br/>
<br/>
Is that some kind of made-up excuse? Or a genuine warning?<br/>
<br/>
You can't really believe that Sydney would want to push you away after what you've been to each other as Michael Hagerman and Hannah Cho, and as Zion Barber and Christine Miles. <i>Wouldn't you miss me if I wasn't Gordon?</i> That's what you want to text her. But you don't want to sound needy.<br/>
<br/>
A new text pops up: <i>U there?</i> she asks.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Yah m thinking,</i> you reply.<br/>
<br/>
Your stomach is still churning half an hour later when she pokes you again for a decision. But with a sigh you feel your willpower crack. <i>Kendra,</i> you reply. That's one of Chelsea's pilot fish. At least that will keep you close to her.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But you're in a mood the next day, a fact that your friends pick up on. "Did you and Christine have a fight?" Marianne asks you at lunch, which you take fourth period in the crowded cafeteria. Christine herself has fifth lunch.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? No!" you exclaim. "Did she say something to you?" Across the table, Charles Sweeney stops in mid-bite to grin devilishly to himself.<br/>
<br/>
"It's just the way she was looking at you after you dropped her off at the gym. She saw you scoping out that girl."<br/>
<br/>
"What girl?"<br/>
<br/>
"You know what girl."<br/>
<br/>
"Is she pissed at me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not yet." Marianne says it very primly.<br/>
<br/>
Charles falls in next to you later when you return your trays to the front of the cafeteria. "Don't let her fuck with you, man," he says. "It's just a girl thing, you know."<br/>
<br/>
"What is?"<br/>
<br/>
"If I listened to half the shit Julie tried laying on me, I'd need to see a psychiatrist."<br/>
<br/>
That's all he has to say, leaving you even more vexed than before. But you leave lunch early so you can meet the Christine-<i>pedisequos</i> outside her Spanish class. She squeals with delight when she sees you, and you squeeze each other tightly as the crowd surges around you. After a biting kiss you as her if she's mad at you. "No!" she says with a queer laugh. "Why would I be—?"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos Marianne said she thinks you are."<br/>
<br/>
"Tch. If anything, I'm worried that you're mad at me." She pouts and strokes the side of your nose with a fingertip. <i>God,</i> you think, <i>I wish this was Sydney. Or no, I don't. If it was, I think I'd slam her up against a locker and take her right here!</i><br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm not mad at you," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't kiss me when you dropped me off at the gym for P. E.," she says in a tiny voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Well, let me make it up to you now."<br/>
<br/>
She sags in your arms after you've gnawed lips for a minute. "I wish you wouldn't look at other girls, though," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Who did I—? I don't, you know. I—"<br/>
<br/>
"I wish you wouldn't look at <i>Sydney McGlynn!</i>" Christine says. Her voice is a murmur, but there's real fire in it.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh!</i> you think. <i>That's right. I passed Sydney coming toward the gym on my way out.</i> "I'm not even sure who that is," you tell the <i>pedisequos.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Well, don't look at <i>anyone</i> except me," she says, "then accidents won't happen!"<br/>
<br/>
"You have a problem with that girl?" you ask. This behavior worries you.<br/>
<br/>
The thing shrugs. "I just don't like her. I've got her in that class, and she's so stuck up!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Yeah, whatever," Chelsea tells you later when you try to talk to her about the Christine-<i>pedisequos</i> and what it said. "I'm sure it'll be okay."<br/>
<br/>
She's distracted, more distracted than you think she ought to be, considering that you have everything under control. Kendra Saunders, your impersonation to come, sits twisted up, like a broken doll, in a chair in the back of Mr. Hagerman's room. The lights are out, the door is locked, and the teacher is in the lounge again, distracting anyone who might come looking for him in his room. So it's just you and Chelsea, waiting for the mask-and-band combo to finish copying Kendra.<br/>
<br/>
She's a beautiful thing, a slim, gazelle-like girl with high cheekbones and auburn-dyed hair that hangs in tight ringlets to her elbows. She's much skinnier than Chelsea, and much less developed, with a physique better suited to track than to cheerleading. But it probably fits. She is of Kenyan descent—<i>Kenyan,</i> not <i>African</i>, she will insist when the point comes up—and she looks like she's borne of a family whose progenitors hunted game with spears across the Serengeti for thousands of years. Almost as though she might have been bred to.<br/>
<br/>
Otherwise, you don't know much about her, except that she haughty to everyone except Chelsea, whom she follows around like a hyena padding after a lioness. Her reputation, if anything, is even worse than Chelsea's, because (at least according to Jenny Ashton and her friends) Chelsea may be a bitch and a bully, but Kendra is a sneak, a narc, and a liar.<br/>
<br/>
It gives you a shiver of anticipation to think that you will soon be her.<br/>
<br/>
"Eleven minutes, forty-four seconds," Chelsea says as you lunge in to catch the mask as it falls from Kendra's face. She puts away her phone. "About in line with the others."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you keeping track of?"<br/>
<br/>
"How long it takes these things to copy people."<br/>
<br/>
"Does it matter?"<br/>
<br/>
"Probably not. But I want to see if there's a pattern."<br/>
<br/>
You cock an eyebrow, but let the conversation lapse as you reach for the <i>pedisequos</i> paste. Today, with Kendra, you will put Sydney's earlier plan into action: Turn the girl into a <i>pedisequos,</i> then order her to follow you to a more secure place to make the final switch.<br/>
<br/>
Kendra looks very confused when she wakes, but does a double-take at you and sucks in her breath. "Kendra," Chelsea says in a cold and imperious tone, "you will come with me and Zion."<br/>
<br/>
Kendra's eyes widen and her mouth falls open. But she doesn't move, except to give you a surreptitious glance of inquiry.<br/>
<br/>
"What Chelsea said," you tell her. "Come with us."<br/>
<br/>
The <i>pedisequos</i> shrinks up a little, but lurches upright and looks around for her bag.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea sighs. "This is going to take some getting used to," she says. "Her doing what <i>you</i> say and not me."<br/>
<br/>
Mr. Hagerman, though, is more obedient when she finds him in the lounge, and with a girlish, beaming smile tells him that you're all heading out. He recognizes the signal, and tells Mrs. Kohl (who he's been talking to) that he has to go. You form a small parade on the drive out to his place—the English teacher in front, with Chelsea, Kendra, and you following behind in your own cars. He lets the three of you into his house, then leaves again when Chelsea tells him to run an errand.<br/>
<br/>
You're just gesturing to Kendra to follow you back into the bedroom when Chelsea catches you in a hug. "She's just jealous," she tells you with a sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"Who is?"<br/>
<br/>
"Christine." She pushes her face into the crook of your neck and rubs it there. "She's mad about Zion. That's all it meant back at the gym this morning."<br/>
<br/>
"She said she doesn't like you, Sydney. She called you, um, snooty."<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea giggles. "I suppose I am. Christine's a bossy girl and so am I. That's all."<br/>
<br/>
You wonder what it was like for Sydney, then, to share a P. E. class with herself, while impersonating a girl who didn't like her. <i>Probably she just ignored her,</i> you think. You make a mental note to try to ignore your old self, if you run into him as Kendra<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea pushes you away with another sigh. "Better get changed, Will," she says. "I don't know what Kendra's schedule is."<br/>
<br/>
So you take the other girl back into the bedroom and order her to wait on the bed while you go into the bathroom to disrobe. Ten minutes or so later, you stumble out and order Kendra to get undressed. She stares at you with loathing, but complies. Then you lean over her and pull a mask off her face. You lay Zion's mask onto her, and a skinny, dark-skinned kid appears in her place. "Whoa!" he exclaims as he eyes you up and down. "Freaky!"<br/>
<br/>
"Get dressed and get out of here," you tell him. "And don't tell anyone where you've been or what's going on."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't worry, I gotcha, boss," he says as he leaps off the bed. "Um—"<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing."<br/>
<br/>
"No, what?" you demand. The thing has a furtive look to it.<br/>
<br/>
Zion shrugs. "Just wondering if you was going to be sharing that cheerleader out there with me."<br/>
<br/>
"Just get moving," you growl, and he hurries into his clothes.<br/>
<br/>
When he's gone, you plop onto Mr. Hagerman's bed, and lift the new mask to your face.</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112124322111112111222231
author_id: seuzz
title: The Lieutenant
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You are woken by a pleasant, thrumming sensation, as though someone is stroking your nerves like the strings of a cello. You are stiff and drowsy when you open your eyes, and you can't place yourself. But you feel good—very good—as you stare blankly at the ceiling above. Probably you feel so good because someone is eating you out with their tongue.<br/>
<br/>
You are on your back and your knees are raised and your legs spread. A face is pressing down between them, and a nose and mouth are at work in the smooth, sensitive spot between them. <i>God, I hope it wasn't another roofie,</i> you think. <i>That was so embarrassing the time when when—</i><br/>
<br/>
You tilt your chin and peer down and over your breasts. There's a great mane of golden hair down there, but that's all you can make out. It doesn't look like a guys' hair. <i>Well, whoever she is,</i> you think, <i>there'll be plenty of time to get mad at her later.</i> Right now, though—<br/>
<br/>
Right now you'd like to lay back and enjoy it, but there's something worrying you at the back of your brain. You are sure that you know where you are, but you can't put a name or location to it, only a feeling that you've been here before, doing something very similar. And you're sure you know who that is down there, even though their name and face has slipped your mind. You have the impression you'll be very pleased when you see who it is; and yet, at the same time, you have a feeling of impending horror. <i>This is either going to be awesome,</i> you think, <i>or it's going to be the worst thing in the world.</i><br/>
<br/>
It turns out to be both, almost simultaneously.<br/>
<br/>
Horror is the first thing to burst over you when the girl lifts her face to gulp down a couple of deep breaths. <i>Oh my God, it's Chelsea down there!</i><br/>
<br/>
You squeal and try to squirm away. But even as you kick and flail, the room seems to reorient itself, as though shaken loose by a thunderclap, and you remember who you are and how you got here and what is going on. "Oh!" you exclaim, and sag with relief.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you okay, Will?" Chelsea asks. "I was going to just let you wake up, but then I just couldn't help myself and I—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm fine," you pant. "It just took me a minute to— I woke up and I didn't know who I was, and then I saw— Well, I was being Kendra when I looked down and—"<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea titters. "So did Kendra enjoy it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus." Your muscles seem to melt and puddle off your bones. "It was nice."<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea giggles again. "So come on, tell me. How many times has Kendra let another <i>girl</i> eat her out?"<br/>
<br/>
"None," you admit through gritted teeth.<br/>
<br/>
"None?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that I can remember."<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea bursts into gales of laughter, then clambers up to lay atop you. "Well, we're just going to have to make up for lost time. If, mm, you have time."<br/>
<br/>
You blink at the ceiling, then sigh. "What time is it? I think I have to go."<br/>
<br/>
"Basketball practice should have just let out."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh! Then I definitely have to go. My— Kendra's mom is expecting me home." You start to get up.<br/>
<br/>
But Chelsea catches you, and bends over to lick your nipple. "Can you call her, tell her you have to change plans?"<br/>
<br/>
"I have to help fix dinner."<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea pouts. "You're such a <i>good and obedient</i> daughter." She sits up on her knees. "I should buy a riding crop, and then we can—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll make time for you tomorrow, er, Sydney. Really I will, I promise." You give her a quick embrace. "But I really do have to go."<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea sulks on the bed while you dress. "You know, we were so <i>hot</i> for each other, Will, when we were being Mr. Hagerman and Ms. Cho. Zion and Christine. Don't tell me it was only because of <i>them,</i> because <i>they</i> wanted to fuck each other stupid, and—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, believe me, I can't wait to get my hands on you," you assure her, and leap to give her a quick squeeze. "But right now I just have to go!"<br/>
<br/>
"Hmph." She makes a very Chelsea-like sniff of disdain. "So what about after? Can you come over to my place after dinner? Tell your parents it's a study date?"<br/>
<br/>
"And come here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well—"<br/>
<br/>
"Because we won't be able to do anything at your house, with your parents around."<br/>
<br/>
"No. Or with Gordon." She makes a face, which gives you a warm feeling. "Yes!" she declares. "We'll come over here, we'll tell our parents we're studying with friends, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"I do have homework. And so do you, I bet," you add as she groans. <br/>
<br/>
"Fine," she groans, "we'll do homework together. But—"<br/>
<br/>
"Then it's a plan." You finish tying a shoe, and lean in again to snatch a final, quick kiss. "Love you and see you later!" You leave her with her mouth hanging open as you scamper off.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Well, what was </i>that<i> about?</i> you wonder to yourself as you drive off back to Kendra's house. <i>Why </i>the fuck<i> was I so hellbent on getting out of there so fast?</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's because Kendra Saunders <i>hates</i> Chelsea Cooper, you decide afterward, as you're eating a preoccupied dinner with your latest set of parents. Though you wanted to stay with Sydney, every fiber and muscle and nerve of Kendra's body was trying to flee, like a hare from a bobcat.<br/>
<br/>
They've known each other for many years, but have never gotten along. Back in middle school they had as little to do with each other as possible, and Kendra always thought Chelsea was setting the other girls after her. Certainly, Kendra did her part to set the other girls after Chelsea.<br/>
<br/>
That changed in high school, but not because they became friends. Chelsea became the "popular one" their sophomore year, and Kendra was sidelined. Worse than sidelined, Kendra felt shunned, and she fought most bitterly against her worst enemy: Gloria Rea.<br/>
<br/>
Then Chelsea came to the rescue by ostentatiously befriending Kendra, which forced all the other girls to— Well, not to "befriend" her, exactly, but to tolerate her and to pretend to be friends with her. This included Gloria, whom Chelsea similarly befriended.<br/>
<br/>
Before she realized what was happening, Kendra discovered that she was completely beholden to Chelsea—if Chelsea ever withdrew her support, Kendra would find herself cast into the outer darkness of high school. Exiled from the best table in the cafeteria, thrown off the cheerleading squad, cold-shouldered by all the other girls, and exiled from all the good parties. Even worse, it would give Gloria the opening she still so obviously craves: the chance to crush and humiliate Kendra once and for all.<br/>
<br/>
So Kendra has to suck up hard to Chelsea, to do all her dirty bidding, and to compete with Gloria to be Chelsea's most loyal lieutenant. But at night she dreams of backstabbing Chelsea, and taking everything away from her ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So you're not really in an affectionate mood when you meet with Chelsea again at Mr. Hagerman's later that night. But Sydney doesn't push it, and though you pet and stroke each other as you splay on the floor with your books and papers, you keep it very businesslike. Indeed, it's Baphomet business that Sydney wants to talk about.<br/>
<br/>
"I've been trying to figure out how this is going to work, Will," she says. "With this new plan, I think we're going to have to make it a 'sisterhood', not a brotherhood."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think we're going to have to recruit girls to it. Exclusively. No guys."<br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"Boys will be too hard to manage. Particularly if we're going to 'reward' them"—she crooks her fingers around the word—"with desirable identities. They'd be out of control! I mean, can you imagine trying to manage a brotherhood with members like Steve or Seth?" That would be Steve Patterson and Seth Javits, two of the swaggering, asshole basketball stars.<br/>
<br/>
"So I think we'll do better with girls," Sydney continues. "Meghan Farris." She giggles. "She'd do <i>anything</i> to get onto the A team, you know. If we slipped her in for, like, Kelsey, she'd do <i>anything</i> we asked her to!"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you think Kelsey would be unmanageable?" you ask. "Like Steve?" You shudder a little at the thought of Patterson.<br/>
<br/>
"Not with Meghan in there."<br/>
<br/>
"But if some of the guys we picked—" You break off with a frown. "Yes, I see your point," you say when you resume. <i>If we put in a loser like Keith Tilley for Steve Patterson, he'd get drunk on the testosterone.</i><br/>
<br/>
But Sydney is still plotting aloud. "The cheerleading squad," she says. "That's the obvious set of identities to use. There'd be a reason for us all to get together, and the girls on it are just the kind we'd want to give as a 'reward'. Well, a bribe."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought we were going to recruit from all the different grades."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, sure," Sydney says after a moment's hesitation. "Don't tell me you don't think none of the sophomore or freshman girls wouldn't <i>kill</i> to take over the life of someone like Cindy!"<br/>
<br/>
No, that's not what you're thinking. You're thinking of a promise that Chelsea made to Kendra some time ago, then reneged on: the chance to make a JV cheerleading squad that she (Kendra) could manage. That could be just as big an enticement for girls in the lower classes as the real cheerleading squad.<br/>
<br/>
Also, you feel like Sydney is losing track of the idea behind her original plan: recruit from the lower classes so there would always be a supply of brothers. If you give all your brothers—er, <i>sisters</i>—the bodies of senior girls, what happens next year when they graduate?</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111121243221111121112222312
author_id: seuzz
title: A Kendra in Character
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Chelsea listens to your suggestion for a JV cheerleader squad with polite interest—the kind of polite interest that leaves you prickling all over with dread, because it usually presages a roll of the eyes and an exasperated sigh and a muttered aside like <i>Really, Kendra, you've had some garbage-brained ideas before, but this one—</i><br/>
<br/>
But this time, when you're done, she says, "That's a really good point, Will. It gives us at least two years with some of them, and maybe more." She grins and flashes you a thumb's up. "Let's do it!"<br/>
<br/>
You smile with relief.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You both know there is no way the school will organize an official JV cheerleader squad in the middle of a school year. So you and Sydney settle on the idea of organizing it on an unofficial basis. Sydney says that she will talk to Coach Tesla, who theoretically oversees the cheerleading squad, about it on Monday after practice.<br/>
<br/>
But when Monday comes—<br/>
<br/>
"No dice," Chelsea sighs as she drops into the desk beside you second period. (It's an Interior Design class, which you both share.) "Stupid Coach Tesla said she had more than enough to do overseeing the <i>real</i> squad. Can you believe it? <i>As if!</i> Bag-faced old drunk!"<br/>
<br/>
You nod sympathetically. It's been weeks since Coach Tesla—a fat, middle-aged lush with the body of an obese toad and a face like your grandmother's purse—has even spoken to the squad. Typically she comes waddling onto the floor five minutes after practice has begun, watches for a minute or two to make sure no one is murdering anyone else (yet!), then waddles back into the coaches' office complex to drown the knowledge of her own incompetence with half a bottle of vodka. (At least, that's what everyone assumes.) Chelsea is the one who really runs the program. Today, for instance, she ended practice fifteen minutes early so she could pitch Coach Tesla her idea for a kind of JV squad.<br/>
<br/>
"So what's the next step?" you ask. "Talk to Ms. Meek?" That would be one of the school administrators.<br/>
<br/>
Christian Padilla, who has been listening from the next row over, now leans in. "What are you plotting now?" he asks with a cheeky grin.<br/>
<br/>
"World domination," Chelsea replies with an absent-minded sniff. "Do you want to help?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll put you on the list."<br/>
<br/>
You figure she's just bullshitting him. But when you exit the class together, Chelsea casts a quick glance over her shoulder, then leans in to murmur at you.<br/>
<br/>
"I know we said no boys," she says. "But guys like Christian, maybe we should think about." <br/>
<br/>
Then she dives with a squeal into the arms of Gordon, who is hulking it up in the hallway, waiting for her.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Guys like Christian,</i> you ponder as you walk next door to the Parenting class you have third period. <i>Oh!</i> you think as realization dawns. <i>She must mean 'gay'.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You connect with Chelsea again fourth period, during lunch, which you take with all the other "popular" people in the central table of the school cafeteria. Out of habit—and to keep the impersonation accurate—you try to beat Chelsea there, so you won't have to make the humiliating solo walk inside. Gloria Rea, your arch-rival, strides along right beside you. You make it in plenty of time, and even have to kill several minutes before Chelsea and Gordon, arm and arm, come strolling up. You and the other girls proceed directly to the middle table while Gordon and his friends Steve Patterson and Jason Lynch barge to the front of the food line to get trays for themselves and for you girls.<br/>
<br/>
Lunch is taken with a cross-section of people. There's Seth Javits of the basketball team as well, and because he takes lunch with Gordon, Cindy Vredenburg takes lunch at the table too, even though she and Chelsea despise each other. With you as well are three more representatives of the cheerleading squad: Eva Garner; the space cadet Maria Vasquez; and Michelle Estrich, the mousy newcomer to Westside High, who no one has a thought or word for, and who eats silently by herself at the very end of the table. <i>I wonder if she'd like to be popular,</i> you find yourself thinking, <i>or if she's just trying to get through the school year without succumbing to the desire to eat the barrel of a gun.</i> There's also a handful of football players, though Gordon and Steve make sure that they stick to the farthest ends of the table.<br/>
<br/>
You don't talk much, for you're not on friendly terms with anyone except for Chelsea, and so you spend most of lunch nibbling on limp vegetables and scrolling through social media on your phone, searching for dirt that you can share with Chelsea. Maybe it's because you've just "graduated" again from the junior class, but you find yourself veering off into unfamiliar corners of x2z.com, the open sewer of the internet. It's there that you find a cluster of embarrassing photos and catty comments about certain members of the wrestling team getting into a compromising situation with certain junior-class girls over the weekend. You feel your lips twitch into a smirk as you anticipate Chelsea's reaction to photos of Laurent Delacroix, Alec Brown, and Chris Ratcliff squeezed into the back of an SUV with half a dozen sixteen-year-old girls.<br/>
<br/>
"Find something?" Gloria asks from the seat next to you, and you hurriedly cover the screen.  "Good for you," your rival sneers. "Chelsea told me last week that she thinks you're slacking off."<br/>
<br/>
You don't deign to reply, but you can't stop yourself from snarling back silently at her: <i>Well, I just have to whisper the word to Chelsea, and we could put you back into the ninth grade, bitch!</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But the real showdown with Gloria doesn't come until last period, which you take in the library with her and Chelsea. It's a study hall for all three of you—Chelsea insisted on setting up the three girls' schedule that way at the end of their junior year—and it's used as a kind of "staff meeting" for the trio of girls who fancy they run the school.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea opens by asking if anyone's got any news. That gives you a chance to share the photos of the wrestlers and the junior-class girls. She squeals with delight over them, to Gloria's grim-faced displeasure. "Brownie and them must figure they've plowed every senior who'll lay down for them," Chelsea gloats. "Do we know any of these girls?" She squints at the screen and raises it close to her nose.<br/>
<br/>
"Dallas Lockhart, Courtney Tran, Roberta Barr. I don't think they really know who they were mixing it up with," you add in a prim voice weighted with significance.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea clucks her tongue. "These guys. They're such a lot of man-whores. And Brownie! Oh my God, he totally comes from a family of religious maniacs. Did you know that?" There are nods all around. "Oh my God!" Chelsea exclaims again as she swipes to another picture, where the faces and bodies of the girls are more visible. "They all look like they're ten years old!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Ding ding ding.</i> By seven o'clock tonight—if Sydney keeps in character—rumors that the wrestling team has a pedo fetish will be swirling on-line.<br/>
<br/>
You also share some gossip about more fallout from Meghan Farris's disastrous party from a few weeks ago—Meghan and Melissa Adams have now <i>had it</i> with each other, you can report. Then it's Gloria's turn to speak. Or not speak, as it turns out. She only has to say "It happened at lunch again today," and Chelsea shushes her by saying she'll talk to her about it later. That causes your antennae to quiver. But Chelsea shifts the subject to the next big event on the social calendar: Sonia van der Berg's upcoming Halloween party, and what you (and the rest of the cheerleader squad) should wear to it.<br/>
<br/>
You're still upset by the secretive way Chelsea was treating Gloria when the bell rings, ending the meeting and the school day, so you lurk until Gloria has left for her locker, then turn to Chelsea. She pre-empts you, though. "I skipped fifth to talk to Ms. Meek," she says. "No go with her too. If we're going to do this, it has to be <i>strictly</i> unofficial."<br/>
<br/>
"Will that be okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. We'll make it a private mentoring thing. What are they going to do, stop us from doing our own thing on our own time. So start spreading the word. Get Ms. Cho to mention it to any freshman girls in her classes. I've also got my notes from the tryouts last August."<br/>
<br/>
"How are we going to pick them?"<br/>
<br/>
"With another tryout. Let's make it Friday after school, outside in the practice fields."<br/>
<br/>
"That soon?"<br/>
<br/>
"We don't want every girl in school turning up. The ones that count, we'll make sure they turn up."<br/>
<br/>
You nod, then stop her with a hand on the shoulder when she turns to go. "I got one more question for you, <i>Sydney,</i>" you murmur through frozen lips. Her eyes narrow, and a tiny smile comes to her face. "What's going on with you and Gloria? What's that news item you need to talk about, just the two of you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Does it really concern you, <i>Will?</i>" she retorts in a low murmur of her own.<br/>
<br/>
"We're not keeping secrets from each other, are we?"<br/>
<br/>
Her face crimps up into a tight smile.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not a <i>secret,</i> Will," she says. "I just don't want to embarrass you."<br/>
<br/>
"About what?"<br/>
<br/>
She glances around, then pulls you aside. But when she speaks again, she seems to have changed the subject.<br/>
<br/>
"I need a favor from you," she says. "Because I need a favor from <i>Steve.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Your heart plunges. <i>Sex</i> is the currency that Chelsea and her friends trade in.</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111212432211111211122223121
author_id: seuzz
title: Favors and Friendships
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Oh my God," you gasp. "You're not serious, are you, Syd— Chelsea!"<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea glances around, then gestures you to follow her into the stacks.<br/>
<br/>
"I wouldn't ask you to do this," she says in a small, pleading voice, "only it's really important."<br/>
<br/>
"How? What is it you need from Steve so bad that You—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Please don't ask me that. It's—" She squirms. "It's important <i>to</i> me. But it's not <i>for</i> me."<br/>
<br/>
"Why's it important to you?"<br/>
<br/>
She looks miserable. "Don't you trust me, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
What an awful question. But you know you can only give one answer. Still, you feel like it's being dragged out of you. "Ye-es!"<br/>
<br/>
"And you know that if you do this for me, it's not because I have some selfish reason! Right?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess," you grind out.<br/>
<br/>
"So if I ask you to do something for me, even if I don't tell you why—"<br/>
<br/>
"But <i>why</i> don't you want me to know?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because if I tell you," she says in a voice so small you can barely hear it, "I'm scared you'll tell me not to do it."<br/>
<br/>
You feel the blood rushing from your face. "Is it something to do with—" You glance around. "Baphomet?" you mouth at her.<br/>
<br/>
"Hmm? Oh, no!" She sounds shocked. "No, it really is— Well, it's just a favor I have to do for someone. And I need Steve's help. And the only way I can get Steve's help—"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, okay. Shit."<br/>
<br/>
"So will you do it for me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, I'll do it for you." You have to grind the words out.<br/>
<br/>
"Has to be tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"<i>What?</i> Oh God, you're not really—! Okay, okay," you catch yourself again. "I'll talk to him after practice."<br/>
<br/>
"Great!" Chelsea beams at you. "I'll do <i>another</i> big favor for you sometime then!" She hops away, and a moment later is gone.<br/>
<br/>
Not until you're picking your stuff up does the oddity of what she said strike you: <i>I'll do another big favor for you.</i> <br/>
<br/>
So what was the first big favor?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You meet up with her and Gloria again in the gym, where you perch high up in the bleachers to watch the boys' basketball team practice on the court below. Well, you <i>attend</i> the practice. None of you spend much time watching it, being occupied with your phones. There's the usual texts that pop in, and social media sites you have to keep up with, but between these you work on searching out girls to talk to about the "JV" cheerleading squad. Kendra already has tabs on a couple of likely girls in the junior class—like Stacy Stahl and Peyton Morrow, who have actually approached her to talk about the regular squad—and Sydney is also doing research, for she share some names as you work side by side: Dallas Lockhart, Leah Parrish, Dana DiBenedetto. The first of these is also one of the girls who got caught in a pinch with the wrestling team, and you break the ice with her by posting a comment in her x2z feed: <i>Mm, luv to make a sandwich w some of THAT meat!</i> You gag a little.<br/>
<br/>
Especially when you lift your eyes from your phone to watch practice. In the middle of the scrimmages loom the figures of the boys that you and Sydney have to make nice to: Gordon Black and Steve Patterson.<br/>
<br/>
Kendra doesn't really know their history, save that they've been friends since at least middle school. Patterson is the more plausible as a basketball player, for he has a few inches on Gordon, and is lean and rangy, with long legs and arms. He is quick, too, and has a deadly accuracy with the long-range shots, while Gordon prefers to barrel toward the basket and loft the ball in from below.<br/>
<br/>
You have to fight down your gag reflex, because Kendra has <i>memories</i> of Steve.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The first such memory isn't even a year old. It was coming up on Christmas, and Chelsea kept nudging Kendra to "be nice" to her boyfriend's best friend. <i>Steve likes you,</i> she kept saying, <i>and you two would look so great together!</i> But even though she did think Steve was awfully attractive, Kendra resisted because even in his junior year he was picking up a reputation as a guy who would screw a girl then move on to the next. But when Chelsea started dropping hints about "double dating" with her and Gordon, Kendra gave in. They did it in Potsdam Park, after midnight, on the grass, in a sleeping bag that Steve had (providentially?) brought along.<br/>
<br/>
They did it two more times, then Steve moved on to another girl. Chelsea clucked her tongue and implied it was Kendra's fault that she hadn't caught Steve. Kendra resigned herself to being only one more knot on Steve's string.<br/>
<br/>
Then Chelsea began singing a different tune. Steve had liked her, she told Kendra. He still liked her. He just wasn't a one-girl kind of guy. It wasn't Kendra fault and it wasn't Steve's fault either, she said. The timing just wasn't right. But if they liked each other and wanted to have fun ...<br/>
<br/>
So they did it again, during spring break, in the laundry room at Chelsea's house, at a party. That was exciting. Steve told her he liked that about her: <i>You like it when it's dangerous,</i> he said. <i>That's cool.</i><br/>
<br/>
A month later, Chelsea poked Kendra again. <i>Steve's going through a dry spell. You know what would make him happy?</i> Kendra obliged.<br/>
<br/>
Then came the day that Chelsea asked Kendra to help Steve break in the gym loft, to which she and Gordon and Steve had finally gotten the keys. <i>You're going to be his first up there,</i> Chelsea giggled. <i>He told me specially he wanted it to be you!</i><br/>
<br/>
Finally—inevitably—came the day that a tearful Chelsea begged Kendra to "make nice" with Steve. <i>Him and Gordon are being buttheads to me!</i> she bawled. <i>If you could just, you know, soften him up for me ...</i> Kendra obliged.<br/>
<br/>
And from that day forward, any time that Chelsea wanted something from Steve, she didn't ask him herself. She asked <i>Kendra</i> to ask him. And Kendra quickly realized there was only one way to ensure that Steve would do Chelsea that favor ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Chelsea and Gloria take off separately after the boys have trooped into the locker rooms for a shower and a change of clothes, but you linger on the floor. You feel yourself crimson all over as, one by one, the boys come trooping out. Jonas Martin ... Darren Green ... Matt Nichols ... They all eye you openly with a glittering lust. None of them speak to you, though. The worst has to Shawn Sax, the sole black guy on the team. Like the others, he gives you a lingering glance up and down as you twist in place near the gym doors, and like the others he says nothing to you. That can only be (you figure) because he knows that you belong to Steve. There's no way that Shawn wouldn't hit on you if he didn't know you were claimed by another. It leaves you feeling like a side of beef with the brand PROPERTY OF STEVE PATTERSON burned into your skin.<br/>
<br/>
Steve and Gordon are the last to come swaggering out. They're wearing a couple of nasty grins, and are muttering at each other. Gordon jerks his chin at you in greeting, but passes by. Steve gives you a longer glance, but also brushes past. Then he pauses in the doorway to squint at you briefly while shouting after Gordon: "Hey man, I'll see you around later." Gordon's reply is swallowed in the echo of the outside hall.<br/>
<br/>
Steve turns back to you. "You planning on sticking around here?"<br/>
<br/>
You twist on your feet. "I dunno. Are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"What's your night look like?"<br/>
<br/>
"Empty." Your heart goes into your throat. "Wanna help me fill it?"<br/>
<br/>
Steve sucks in a cheek and gives your legs a very long and lingering look. You go up on tiptoes, so that your calf and thigh muscles "pop."<br/>
<br/>
"I have to go home for a bit," Steve says as he stares at your jugs. "I can be back up here at seven."<br/>
<br/>
"That sounds good to me," you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
He only grunts, and after boring a deeper hole into your bosom with his stare, he turns and stalks off, letting the door close behind him.<br/>
<br/>
You run for the changing room, and barely make it to a toilet before losing part of your lunch.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But there's no denying he knows how to make you feel good.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, God! Nngh!" You impale yourself deeper onto his steely cock. The cleft between your legs is like a second gullet, and its hunger can only be sated by driving something hard and hot up into it.<br/>
<br/>
You're in the gym loft, the crummy storage space up under the eaves. It stinks of beer and sweat, and the grimy gym mattress is unspeakably filthy. A naked Steve Patterson is lying atop it, thrusting at you from below, as you balance yourself on his shoulders and take him between your splayed legs.<br/>
<br/>
His length and his girth are like a perfect fit, and when he comes you nearly levitate with an orgasm of your own. You have to swallow your screams.<br/>
<br/>
Afterwards, you drape yourself over him and bury your face in the matted hair of his chest. He runs his fingertips up and down you backbone.<br/>
<br/>
You disentangle yourselves after some minutes, and Steve pads off into a corner. When he returns, he's peeled the condom off. He falls back onto the mattress and pulls you close, rubbing your back and kneading your shoulders. "What does Chelsea want now?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Son of a bitch,</i> you think. "I don't know," you snap.<br/>
<br/>
"Doesn't she tell you anything?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh. Well—" He stifles a yawn. "Tell her me and Gordon are in."<br/>
<br/>
<i>In what?</i> you wonder.</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111213
author_id: masktrixie
title: Thinking Big
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Why not the Christian school?" you suggest. Agape Christian Academy kids are weird anyway – not that you know any of them. They all walk around like pod people, and there’s something enticing about converting a school draped in officious religion to your worship of Baphomet; the very essence of corruption itself.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney muses on the idea for a moment, still tittering with glee. "It’s the perfect front. Imagine it, us pretending to be all pious when secretly we’re going wild. And they’re all rich and privileged to boot. Imagine having our brotherhood spread into the corridors of power! The only downside is that they’re nowhere near any of the leylines, which won’t serve us for invocations."<br/>
<br/>
Her reference to "rich and privileged" catches you off guard. You've never had the impression that the Agape kids are rich. If anything, a lot of them look like their families are just scraping by financially.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think they're all that rich," you cautiously correct Sydney. "They’re just weird is all."<br/>
<br/>
"Wait," Sydney tilts her head. "Which Christian school are you talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
"Agape," you say. "Y’know, down on the edge of Acheson? Sort of go around like they’re aliens."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh!" Sydney looks for a moment like the stereotypical dumb cheerleader, although you know her well enough to know that appearances aren’t all they seem with her. "I thought you meant that St Francis Xavier place. Lifestyles of the super-wealthy?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn’t even think of the Mutants," you say, throwing some unnecessary shade on Saratoga Falls’ occasional visitors. "Although that could be interesting. Taking over a boarding school? Sneaking out to do rituals in the dead of night…"<br/>
<br/>
"Fun, huh? And it skips the big problem we have with the cult. We need a reason for our brothers to meet. Something that won’t arouse suspicion."<br/>
<br/>
You chew your cheek for a moment, letting an idea that’s gradually been gestating pop into your head. "Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way," you say slowly.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?" Sydney leans forward, keen to hear what you have to say.<br/>
<br/>
"Well … You're right, we need a reason to gather. And that’s why we were looking at replacing the clubs, right? But even if it’s fun to turn straight-laced environmentalists or whatever into our … uh …" The word hangs in your mouth, "our <i>cult</i>, then you’ve still got all the usual high school crap."<br/>
<br/>
"But it’s not crap when you can be anyone, Will! Think of the thrill of it! Slipping into whatever life you fancy!" She goes up on tiptoes, and for a moment you think she's about to do a backflip with excitement. "Playing a character while using them for our own ends! Think of the thrill, the illusion of being good when we're actually being very, very bad."<br/>
<br/>
"I get that," you say, "but hear me out. There's already a Brotherhood here in Saratoga Falls, right? And they aren’t just a bunch of high schoolers. What if we started looking for groups that were, well, a little older."<br/>
<br/>
"Go on," Sydney says, looking intrigued.<br/>
<br/>
"Well … What if we looked at converting a social circle of adults? Something that’s small and tight-knit, about the right number for the Brotherhood so we don’t have to worry about interlopers. Some kind of clique."<br/>
<br/>
"We could do that," Sydney says. "We could take over a small business or office and change <i>business</i> hours to <i>Baphomet’s</i> hours. It'd have to be some kind of small office that doesn't actually do much work, though. Something we could use as a front. Oh!" She claps her hands. "We could go even bigger. There’s that military base just out of town, right? Fort Suffolk? I know they ditched Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, but we could get ourselves a few officers, and nobody’s going to question why they’d be meeting! Only problem is, once again, access to the leylines. Hey! Never mind the military. We could move over to Keyserling. Take over a Frat House. Nobody's going to question raising hell over there. Or maybe you'd prefer a sorority? We can play at being scream queens for real."<br/>
<br/>
You snap your fingers at a sudden thought. "Why not a coven, not just a brotherhood? What about some of the school moms? You know, bored housewives, no jobs to go to." You flinch slightly when you realize you were thinking of your own mother when you got the image, but you barrel straight on. "We pick the right ones, we could take over a lunch circle, meet at the country club, and nobody's going to question it."<br/>
<br/>
"Have you got a MILF fetish, Will?" Sydney teases. "I mean, that sounds okay, but we’d need at least a few guys, too. Some of the rituals require, well, a cock. Although … it doesn’t say the cock has to be aware of <i>why</i> it’s being used. If we played at being cougars, I bet we could use them to get access to all kinds of magic wand."<br/>
<br/>
"And," you say, still thinking out loud, "we don’t even have to go that far to make sure there’s a link to us. There’s the parent-teacher association, for example. If we took over them, we’d have a link directly to Westside. I’m sure there’s a reason that Will Prescott and Sydney McGlynn could be seen to associate with them on occasion." You think back to your run-in with Kirkham. You have very little issue escaping the persecuted life of Will Prescott for a little while.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney’s smile widens as she considers your arguments. "Or we could even take over a group that has to meet regularly because of their darling treasures," she says. "Stage moms. Or any bunch that has to wait around for extra-curriculars. Think about it: instead of waiting around in the car park to collect their sons and daughters after school for whatever stupid production they're working on, they could be putting that spare time to good use in service of a wider goal…"</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112133
author_id: rugal
title: A Class Reunion
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Getting people might be a little hard, don't you think?" you ask. "I mean getting any of the moms at practices or rehearsals or whatever could be a pain, especially since all of those places are going to be very public. We might not have the same opportunities."<br/>
<br/>
"I guess, but still--" Sydney starts.<br/>
<br/>
However, you jump right back in. "Besides, part of this is based around, you know, sex right?" you ask. "Well if we can't really find anyone attractive then it'd be a bust right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," Sydney says. "But if you're worried about everything then what about you're mom?"<br/>
<br/>
"My... what!?" you exclaim, startled.<br/>
<br/>
"Well? Is <i>she</i> attractive enough for you?" she sneers though it's more teasing than malicious or angry. "Anyway, I'm just kidding. If you don't want to use a bunch of moms that's fine. You don't really need to justify it, you know?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh," you say after allowing the shudder at the thought of using a mask on your own mother pass through you.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm guessing you just don't want to be an old lady?" Sydney grins.<br/>
<br/>
"What? No, it's not..." However, you stop yourself and sigh, having to admit that likely is part of it. "Okay, sure, maybe a little bit. But it <i>would</i> be more difficult too. So would any of the other places you brought up. It's not like we know anyone from Xavier's or Agape or the Fort, at any rate."<br/>
<br/>
"There's still Keyserling," Sydney states. "I mean if you know anybody who goes there of course."<br/>
<br/>
"I do, but," you pause and shift uncomfortably. "It's my cousin, so..."<br/>
<br/>
"Ah, yeah. I get you," Sydney deflates. "Using even extended family like that would probably still be uncomfortable but I can't say that I really know anyone who goes there either, especially being the new girl in town and all." Quickly, though, she perks back up and looks at you with a sweet smile. "But I'm pretty sure I know where they hang out."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah? Where would that be?"<br/>
<br/>
"Around the college, duh!" she beams. "All those little coffee shops and cafes downtown and near Keyserling... we'd be guaranteed to find at least one person attending the school!"<br/>
<br/>
However you flinch a bit at that. "I never actually said we'd be trying to get someone from the college though!" you exclaim in surprise.<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't you?" she retorts while continuing to smile. "I mean you're right in that we don't really have ways into some of those other places and the moms..." Sydney grunts at that. "Well, I kind of wanted to do that but you might be right too about the viability of even being able to do it. Heading off to college seems like the easiest, surest bet when all the options are laid out."<br/>
<br/>
"So we go to one of the cafes and... what?"<br/>
<br/>
"We wait," Sydney states matter-of-factly. "It'd be a small enough environment to where we could scope things out and if an opportunity arises..."<br/>
<br/>
"You think it'd be that easy?" you ask after she trails off.<br/>
<br/>
"All we really have to do is wait until someone uses the bathroom or something," she says with a shrug. "If they're a good enough candidate then we just go in and make a switch, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"That makes as much sense as anything else," you say with resignation.<br/>
<br/>
"Great!" Sydney chirps excitedly. "Then let's meet up around lunch tomorrow. We need to get some masks anyway and we can work out which coffee shop would be the best place to scout."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The one that's eventually chosen a little before lunch the next day is the Starbucks on 20th Street. It's a bit past the ones closer to the campus but Sydney decided that a pair of high schoolers might stick out too much if they hung around somewhere closer like Dunn Brewin'. The Starbucks, she reasons, is close enough to the campus to still get plenty of traffic from the students but far enough to where there's likely a decent presence of high schoolers stopping in as well.<br/>
<br/>
Truth be told you would've rather gone somewhere closer but you figure that she seems confident enough that it's better to defer to her as you both order your coffees and take a seat. You make idle chit chat for a few minutes before a voice calls out both your and Sydney's names saying that your orders are ready.<br/>
<br/>
You go to grab your coffee when that same voice calls out in surprise.<br/>
<br/>
"Whoa, is that you Will!?" it calls out. You look up in its direction and are surprised to see Connor Hutchinson, a bespectacled young man with dark, shaggy hair and a mischievous gleam in his eye, smiling at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure is. Didn't expect to run into <i>you</i> here," you reply back. "It's been a while hasn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Probably not since before graduation I don't think," he answers. "So what's up? How's the old crew doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Same ol' same ol'," you shrug. "Me and Caleb and Keith are doing whatever, Carson and James are always trying to come up with some new way to prank the jocks."<br/>
<br/>
"Some things never change, I guess," Connor laughs before he notices something and raises an eyebrow. "But some things do. Who's the girl?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sydney," she states as she wraps her arms around your own arm and squeezes tightly. "Are you a friend of Will's?"<br/>
<br/>
"In a sense," replies Connor. "We ran in the same circles last year. Sure as hell never saw him with anyone like you though."<br/>
<br/>
"You two go to Westside?" asks a girl -- the same one who took your order -- as she leans up against the counter next to Connor and not so subtly checks her phone. "I don't really remember anyone like you."<br/>
<br/>
"You'd already graduated when we started talking I think," says Connor as he turns to the girl. "Plus we only saw each other at school. Never at any of the parties."<br/>
<br/>
The cashier pauses as she seems to take a moment to size up both you and Sydney. "You and your boyfriend are having a get together after work right?" She says in a teasing tone of voice. "Why not invite 'em to hang out, it'll be like a class reunion."<br/>
<br/>
"Manuel isn't gonna go for having a ton of people over."<br/>
<br/>
"That's too bad but hey," she grins, "I know someone who'll lend their place out if you want to let me and some others in on your little soiree. Until then," Connor flinches as she swats him on the butt before walking back over to the cash register as a new customer comes up, "get your skinn ass back to work."<br/>
<br/>
Connor turns a bit red but manages to still flash you a grin. "Well hey, if you want to get together once we're off it's cool. Call up Ioeger and Lamont and all them if you want. Bring your girl too. I'll get in touch with you once Lina's given me an address."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Didn't imagine I'd ever run into him again," you say to Sydney as the two of you sit at a table and drink your coffee while simultaneously scoping the place out.<br/>
<br/>
"Seems like a fun guy," she replies.<br/>
<br/>
"He's a dangerous asshole is what he is," you tell her but you smile a little bit as you say it. "Him and his buddy Justin used to like fucking around with the jocks and other assholes; play pranks on them and stuff. Probably why they got on so well with James and Carson."<br/>
<br/>
"Hmm, and you didn't recognize that cashier?"<br/>
<br/>
"Can't say that I did," you admit. "Connor and Justin were a grade ahead of us and from how he was talking she might've been two or three grades I guess. It seems like they probably hung out more outside of school too since I don't remember anyone named Lina coming up when we'd talk."<br/>
<br/>
"Still, that's a good opportunity right? If him and that girl are both college students then it's an easy in if we can grab one of them. Maybe both of them," she leans in, "they're co-workers after all. They'd probably make a good couple if we stepped in for them."<br/>
<br/>
It sounds like a good idea but you voice your concerns about being able to get anyone at a party. Plus who knows if high schoolers like you would even be accepted at a college party, even with someone like Connor vouching for you.<br/>
<br/>
"There's probably students that have older siblings or neighbors or something who go there," you tell her. "I think Cindy and Yumi and a few others might? I know Cindy's got a sister and Yumi's mentioned an older brother once or twice. If we can grab one or both of them then we can just use whoever they know as our way in."<br/>
<br/>
"Or we can just try that that girl right there," Sydney says as she points out a girl heading into the women's restroom. "If you're brave enough to do it, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Why me!?" you ask in surprise. "Wouldn't it be easier if you did it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, but you shot down my idea to use moms so I kind of want to pay you back a little bit." You make note of the smirk that's plastered right on your girlfriend's face. She's having fun at the idea of you squirming. "Besides you might not be entering that bathroom a girl but you'd be coming out as one so what's the problem?</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112135
author_id: masktrixie
title: Masks Need Moms
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>There's no time to waste, as far as you're concerned: The sooner you're out of your shit life and into someone else's, the happier you'll be.<br/>
<br/>
"Let’s do it," you say. "Moms. It’s the perfect cover, and there’s something fun about hiding in plain sight like that, under a veneer of respectability. Plus if we pick the right ones, we’re gonna gain expertise in ways we’ve never dreamt." There’s some imperceptible thrill about the idea that you find alluring. And you have to admit, so far your experience of the masks has been limited to guys. You’re curious just how different a feminine perspective might be – not to mention the chance to play with some breasts.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney beams, a smile that just makes her dimple further, and claps her hands a little on the wheel. "This is going to be so much fun!" she enthuses. "I’ll admit, I hadn’t really intended to sacrifice 20 years of my life, but then if I can play musical bodies I guess I can always change up."<br/>
<br/>
"Wait," you say, looking at her in momentary confusion. "What do you mean sacrifice 20 years? You’re still going to be Sydney McGlynn, aren’t you?"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney is caught off guard momentarily. She looks at you from across the cab but isn’t sure how to answer. "I guess. I mean, the whole point of this brotherhood – or coven – is that we can be whoever we want. At least some of them are going to be puppets for us to use, become as we see fit. I don’t have any intention of sitting through the rest of Westside if I can help it. We’re moving on to a school of a different kind now, Will!" She leans over and puts an arm on your shoulder. "I’ll be Sydney for you sometimes. But I can be anyone you want me to be. And you can be anyone you want… although I still want to be with one who <i>looks</i> like Will Prescott some of the time."<br/>
<br/>
"So who <i>do</i> you want to be?" you ask. It’s a question you’ve been thinking about yourself. Your previous early morning thoughts toward the opposite sex have always drifted to Hollywood starlets or girls in your year – you barely know any of the Westside moms save your friends'... which just reminds you of the disastrous conversation earlier.<br/>
<br/>
"I don’t care," Sydney says. "Not really. I just want to do it with you." She thinks for a moment. "I guess there are some caveats. For starters I don’t want to end up in a deadbeat job or living off TV dinners or changing diapers. So scratch off anyone who isn’t from at least a moderately wealthy family, and anyone who has screaming kids to look after. I don’t mind if they have a job that’s fun, but it can’t be anything boring, either."<br/>
<br/>
"That rules out about half the school," you say. "This is Saratoga Falls, not Beverly Hills."<br/>
<br/>
That's the second time in as many minutes that you've thought of "Hollywood."<br/>
<br/>
"You can say that again," Sydney is saying. "Hmm. I’m hoping the mind thing works a little better, too. I know you don’t have too much problem remembering things, but it takes time for me. We don’t want anyone to notice a switch," she muses, "which means we can’t afford to miss high-powered meetings or whatever. Even if it would be fun to wear a tight little business suit."<br/>
<br/>
"That’s why we work on the evenings or weekends," you add, as Sydney pulls up at the lights. "You can get an address from their ID and flub the rest."<br/>
<br/>
"True. All right! Five to begin, and we can always expand outside their social circles. Let’s just say they have to be…" she giggles, "<i>comfortable</i>. Oh! That’s the next requirement. If we’re going to be anyone, I want most of our vessels to be attractive. They don’t all have to be – it’d be nice to have a plus body who can devour a pizza and not worry about it – but at least the first couple." She begins to wiggle in her seat, moving faster and faster as ideas pop into her sinister brain. "So rich, hot, linked to the school. It’d be kind of fun if they weren’t friends, either. Wouldn’t you like to throw insults, play at being bitches but really, deep down…" she dimples again, "lovers?"<br/>
<br/>
You take a breath, heart beating faster. This all sounds so good it’s hard to take in. Right now all you can focus on this beautiful girl – a stunning blonde gymnast – who is sat next to you. "Uh, yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"You like that, Will? A little lesbian action? Meet up for frenemy yoga and as soon as the doors close, those sweat pants come off?" Her voice is a husky whisper in your ear, playful and teasing as she revs the engine. "You know, we could even make it really taboo. Recruit a whole family, do something really corrupting. Or maybe you want me to be someone more personal. Do you want me to do that? Would you like me to be <i>your</i> mom?"<br/>
<br/>
You suddenly recoil, face blanching as you back away in horror as far as you can in the car. The idea of turning your mom – or any of your family – into a walking slave in service to your Baphomet cult is enough to make you feel faint, but <i>doing anything</i> with your mom is downright repellent. You feel a flush of frozen horror, even as Sydney bursts out laughing.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my gosh, Will! You should see your face! Of course I’m not going to become your mom, I was just fooling around. Besides, I don’t know if your family even qualifies for our criteria. We can talk it over a while then work out what we’re going to do."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
Sydney drops you off at the elementary school to get started on things, then leaves to run errands and to pick up some supper. It's barbecue that she brings back, along with a few other things. None of them are ingredients for more masks or memory strips, though, and you're running out of supplies. <br/>
<br/>
"How many can we make?" she asks as she starts cutting up cardboard boxes.<br/>
<br/>
"I can't make any more. We've just got the two masks and memory strips. And we're gonna need seven, at least."<br/>
<br/>
"Seven?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, five for each of the coven, and then two for us. Unless we're going to be two of the coven."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I see. Well, we can use those two to get the first two for us."<br/>
<br/>
"Um, no." Sydney looks up at your negative. "One of the masks will be for the first brethren, but the second has to be for one of us. If we're going to do a switch."<br/>
<br/>
"Do we have to do a switch right away? I know what I said earlier, but there’s no rush is there?"<br/>
<br/>
You take a deep breath. "Actually, I'd like to go ahead and switch with someone, if you don't mind."<br/>
<br/>
Sydney shows those dimples again, and drops the box cutters. She sidles over to you, and takes your fingers in hers.<br/>
<br/>
"Why? <br/>
<br/>
"Um, I got in a bad fight with my friends today." Her brow furrows. "Basically, I'm not friends with them anymore."<br/>
<br/>
She frowns. And then, with a simple touch of her hand, everything – your friends, your run-in with Kirkham – spills out.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
An hour later, you’ve hit a natural lull in the work: you the magic, and Sydney scouting among her friends. In between the spells and messages, you’ve found ample time to neck, spoon and make out. You’re still entwined when her phone goes again, and she wriggles free of your grip. <br/>
<br/>
"Hold up a sec. All right! we’ve got our window!" she says, beaming. <br/>
<br/>
"We do?" you ask, not entirely sure what that means.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Actually, we’ve got a couple of windows. While you were busy, I’ve been sending messages around town. Reagan says there’s a party over at Phoebe’s house, which could be a great chance to grab someone."<br/>
<br/>
"Not a parent," you point out. "They're not exactly known to turn up to house parties."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, no", Sydney concedes. "But it's an opportunity to recruit someone whose mom you <i>would</i> want to be. Think about it, it makes things a whole lot easier, doesn't it? And it wouldn't hurt to have another face in Westside."<br/>
<br/>
"I guess," you say, although you'd still need to make more masks, and it just adds a further wrinkle in your plan. "Any other ideas?"<br/>
<br/>
"Two. First up, there's a technical rehearsal tomorrow for some play the drama club are putting on: <i>The Man Who Came To Dinner</i>. God, cliche much?" she says as the thought <i>a play, a movie, Hollywood,</i> races through your head like a starship hitting light speed. "But we could grab one of the inevitable stage moms there, it shouldn't be too hard."<br/>
<br/>
"And what's the other idea?" <br/>
<br/>
"Why Whill," Sydney trills in a fake accent. "Hew and I could go to Saturday brunch aht the country chlub..."</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111121352
author_id: masktrixie
title: Calling an Audible
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It’s hard for you to comprehend why anyone would want to come back to high school on a weekend. You spend almost every waking moment you’re in Westside itching to get away from the place, and when you decided to go with Sydney to see if you could grab a target at the play rehearsals, you expected the buildings to be dead.<br/>
<br/>
In reality, it’s anything but. You arrive at 1:30pm, only to see a stream of showered, toned athletes making their way from the gym.<br/>
<br/>
Nor are they the only students at the school. On the playing fields, a group of teachers and students are looking at some kind of stretched out canvas. You don’t recognize at least 80% of them, with at least a few pod people scattered among the crowds and Coach Puente marshaling them along.<br/>
<br/>
And you’re just beginning to get your bearings about all the comings and goings when none other than Chelsea Cooper almost runs you down, completely oblivious to your presence, and heads in to the building.<br/>
<br/>
By the time 2pm has been and gone, Sydney has yet to materialize. You’re a little concerned that she’s going to come with a twist on the plan. Last night you finished the two masks – and used one on yourself already to make sure that the switch can take place – but exhausted the last of your supplies. Sydney shrugged it off, assuring you that once you’ve taken on your new guise, you’ll have a bank account full to the brim with money to burn. And the guise you and she settled on for you is one Joanna Hartlein.<br/>
<br/>
It wasn’t hard to pull up who was in the play in what roles. Most of the big parts are occupied by seniors, with a few juniors and sophomores padding out minor characters. Top of the bill was, of course, the drama club’s president, Charles Hartlein. Stylish, sassy and openly gay, Charles has never been someone you’ve associated with, but you know enough from association to be unsurprised he seems to have taken the lead role in the play. It didn’t take long for you and Sydney to find his Facebook page, and from there a quick look at his model stage mom. Joanna Hartlein’s photos suggest someone who prides herself on appearance, with glamour shots on on a page filled with public posts that are almost so cloying they make you squirm a little – replete with a banner that says <i>Live. Love. Laugh.</i><br/>
<br/>
She couldn’t be more perfect for Baphomet if she tried. You didn't go much further down the list, and instead called it an early night, allowing you to return home and say goodbye, at least temporarily, to your old life.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Whr R u?</i> you message Sydney, wondering what the hell is keeping her. You both agreed to arrive at 2pm to scout things out.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Almst thre. Change of plan,</i> comes back the message. You wonder what the hell that’s supposed to mean. You’re just about to thumb back a reply when you hear your name called.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, Will." That's Coach Puente, coming over to join you. "You lost?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh ... " You squirm a little, from embarrassment and also from surprise—it astonishes you that the coach remembers your name from your freshman year. "No, no. What’s that canvas thing on the field?"<br/>
<br/>
"Aeronautical Society," she replies tersely, clearly not interested in explaining herself to you when she’s gearing up for a grilling of her own. "It’s a bit late to be signing up, though. We’ve already oversubscribed twice over for crews, and the inclement weather is going to make flying a tricky proposition."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh," you try and deflect. "Too bad. Well, see you."<br/>
<br/>
"You waiting for a club?" she asks, not even bothering to take a step as you try and get her moving on. "Didn’t have you pegged as the extra-curricular type." Nobody ever seems to have you pegged as any type – except Sydney, of course… "You signing up for the East–West Club?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Ah…" you try and come up with some bullshit excuse. "I’m just waiting for someone."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
Shit. You can’t exactly say you’re waiting for Sydney McGlynn so you can try and engineer a way to knock out Charles Hartlein’s mom and steal her identity, can you? You stick your tongue in your cheek and try to come up with a good excuse when…<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry, coach. Prescott’s waitin’ for me, helpin’ me with some stuff."<br/>
<br/>
You spin around in surprise, only to see a wall of muscle – that you’ve made use of very recently – walking toward you. Blake O’Brien ignores you like the gnat you are compared with him, addressing the coach directly. It seems to break any kind of question of you being up to some kind of mischief that the coach would want to sniff out. She drops the conversation virtually instantly, shifting her attention to the newcomer.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, why didn’t you say so?" Puente smiles. "Good game last night, O’Brien. Tough loss to shake, but you gave those boys some big hits. Felt them right from the stands."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks, Coach," O’Brien grins with his lop-sided smile, before giving you a hit on the shoulder blades. It’s meant to be friendly, but you feel he could have pushed the bone straight through the front of your chest. "Go Dragons, huh?"<br/>
<br/>
The coach gives you a passing glance, but Blake gets a raised fist. "Go Dragons." With that, she heads off along the front of the building, no doubt to finish details of storing whatever the hell was on the field. A balloon canopy? Seriously? Meanwhile, you feel Blake strong-arm you into walking with him.<br/>
<br/>
You wait a few paces, sure that Puente is out of earshot, when you whisper to him. "Sydney?"<br/>
<br/>
"Did you just call me 'Sydney,' Prescott? The fuck is wrong with you? Can’t you even spot your girlfriend any more? Do you see a pair of titties?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, no! I just…" You practically swallow your tongue.<br/>
<br/>
"Relax, Will!" Blake suddenly bursts out laughing, snapping completely out of character. You look at him wide-eyed. "Of course it’s me!" he hits you again, and you wobble a little to the side.<br/>
<br/>
"Ouch! That still hurts."<br/>
<br/>
Blake holds his meathook hands up. "Sorry! I didn’t know how strong this guy was. I’m still getting used to it. The memories are all kind of foggy. I can feel his weird white-knight thing, though. He’s actually kind of sweet. If he were doing what I did, he’d feel bad about it."<br/>
<br/>
You look at Sydney. "Do what, exactly?"<br/>
<br/>
"I took Blake’s mask home with me last night. And this morning, waiting around, I got to thinking that maybe he’d know some of the football team’s moms. I know there’s more than twelve of them, but we could pick a clique, like you said. So I put it on."<br/>
<br/>
"Sydney! What about the real Blake?"<br/>
<br/>
"Relax, Will," Blake grins. "He’s still at home, probably baby-sitting his kid sister. Maybe we should convert the two of them, that way we could be brother and sister. Wouldn't that be sick?"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought we were going for Charles’s mom!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm getting to that, Will," Blake says. "I did some more snooping. And believe me, you do not want to be Joanna Hartlein. Those Facebook shots? All Photoshop. But I remembered Blake from our not-date talking about his step-mom and thought I could do a little snooping there, too."<br/>
<br/>
"And?"<br/>
<br/>
Blake smiles. "I think you’re going to like what I’ve arranged. Blake’s got a small family unit – him, his sister, and his mom. His dad ran out years ago. I imagine that’s why he’s got that white knight complex."<br/>
<br/>
You give Blake – Sydney – a pointed stare. "I didn’t ask for a psych paper," you say, giving her a taste of her own medicine. "How does this help us?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because his mom’s a perfect get. She’s a manager at a bank – high profile job, busy hours, friends with most of the rest of the team. All we need to do is give her a quick message – I can grab her number from Blake’s messenger account, I know his password – and ask for a pick-up. She comes by, we slip a mask on her… and bam!"<br/>
<br/>
You’re about to answer when you see one of the strangest sights you’ve seen in a while. Approaching the school gates is an SUV. Even from here, you can see Dragons stickers in the windscreen, and a short blonde with thick sunglasses in the driver’s seat. It pulls up next to you, the driver flashing a near-iridescent white smile and letting the window down.<br/>
<br/>
"Blake, hon, fancy seeing you here!" she enthuses. "Do you know where I’m supposed to park around here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, anywhere’s fine," your colleague says. "What brings you up here?" he politely adds.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Tom’s doing some kind of football thing for the Eastman-Westside Club today! They asked for members of the football team from both schools. Didn't they ask you, hon? Well, you had a good game last night! We were all rootin’ for you!" She gives a friendly, warm smile and drives a little distance away, parking up in one of the spaces.<br/>
<br/>
"Who the hell was that?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Beats me, I barely got a grip on Blake's family. But you like her? She looks young and she seems to be into the football team. She could be perfect, whoever she is. And Blake seems to have an in with her."<br/>
<br/>
You look over at the SUV with the short, buxom blonde inside, checking her hair in the rear view mirror. Sydney's got a point, you decide.<br/>
<br/>
But you've got other alternatives, now that you are looking around with an open mind. If you don't want to pursue Charles Hartlein's mother, what about some of the others?<br/>
<br/>
Or—and here's a really wild thought—how about using Coach Puente? It’d be easy to scoop up a load of team moms if you had control of a coach, wouldn’t it?</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111213521
author_id: seuzz
title: Before the Rehearsal
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Let's go look in the theater," you mutter to Blake. "Even if we can't find anybody there, we can always—"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Will!"<br/>
<br/>
Instinctively, you flinch. You've run into so many bad things recently it's becoming a reflex.<br/>
<br/>
But the chubby girl who has called your name from halfway across the parking lot is beaming at you. Not until she's jogged closer, though, do you recognize her.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Holy shit, it's—!</i> "Hey Laura," you call back. You hope she doesn't realize it took you that long to see her through the blubber.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, it's unkind to say that Laura MacGregor has gotten "fat." Really, she's no bigger than a lot of the girls at Westside. But when you knew her and hung out with her—and had a little bit of a crush on her—back in middle school, she was a lot skinnier than the girl who comes puffing up now.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey!" She grins brightly at you, then turns the same glazed smile up at Blake. "Hi Blake!" It's with a twinge that you think, <i>Christ, of course she knows who Blake is.</i> "So what are you guys up here for?" she goes on. "The balloon launch?" She tweaks the front of your shirt. "Or were you looking for me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Me and Will were just meeting up here," Blake says, "then we were gonna go look for something to do. Are you going up in the balloon?"<br/>
<br/>
"Who me? Oh God no!" Laura titters. She keeps looking between you and Blake like she can't decide who she'd rather rest her eyes on. "I get a nosebleed when I stand on a foot stool!"<br/>
<br/>
"So, are you here for the tech rehearsal?"<br/>
<br/>
Laura almost squeals aloud. "Oh you know about that? Oh my God. Yes!" Then her face falls. "Oh, you must have heard about it from Chris."<br/>
<br/>
"I just heard about it."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well." Laura looks like she's about to geek out from excitement. "Start of hell week. My God, if we can just make to next Saturday night! Are you going to come watch?"<br/>
<br/>
"Can we watch the rehearsal?"<br/>
<br/>
For the first time, Laura's expression falters. <br/>
<br/>
"Well, the tech rehearsals aren't supposed to be open to the public. But we've had lots of people wandering in and out already." She glances around. "And there's so many people up here we might as well just <i>try</i> to sell tickets!" She giggles. "If you don't mind Charles yelling at you, come on in. Gawd, that'd be fun. He's already half out of his mind!<br/>
<br/>
"I don't ever see you around, Will," she goes on as she leads you and Blake back toward the school. "What have you been getting up to?" Her grin is cheeky.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, this and that," you stammer. It's the first words you've actually got out. <i>Has Laura even noticed how quiet you've been?</i> She was always a talker, but you're acutely aware that her eye isn't straying far from Blake.<br/>
<br/>
"You still hang out with Caleb and Keith and Jeremy and, uh—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, mostly." <i>But not any more.</i><br/>
<br/>
Laura's glance turns sly. "Any girls?"<br/>
<br/>
"Erm—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, Will's started going out with Sydney McGlynn," Blake answers for you. You stagger a little as he drapes a brawny arm around your shoulder. "They're, like, going everywhere together."<br/>
<br/>
Laura's eyes boggle. "Wow. Sydney McGlynn, isn't she, like—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like what?" Blake prompts.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. Oh God, it's started," Laura moans.<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Over there. Don't stare." Laura flinches almost bumping into you. "That's Bailey Keane's mom," she says.<br/>
<br/>
She seems to be referring to a woman leaning against the back wall of the theater, smoking a cigarette. She is very tall and thin, with bone-white skin set off by dark, trailing hair that winds untidily over her collar and down past her shoulders. Her expression is haggard, but her eyes are hidden by her sunglasses. As you watch (trying not to stare) she sucks down half the cigarette, puts her head back, and slowly exhales a long stream of smoke from all the way down in her toes.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't like smokers?" Blake asks.<br/>
<br/>
Laura makes a face.<br/>
<br/>
"No I don't, but that's not what I meant. It's just— Ashley!" she calls out to a girl who's just disappearing into the breezeway that connects the parking lot to the school. In a low voice, Laura says, "Charles's mom is out here too. I bet that's why Bailey's mom is out here trying to settle her nerves."<br/>
<br/>
You have no idea who "Bailey" is, so you say nothing as Laura leads you through the breezeway and around a corner toward the theater.<br/>
<br/>
The lights are up when you step inside, so you get a good view of the pandemonium. Cables are strewn all across the stage, tangling up with furniture and boxes. Students—some you know and recognize, others you don't—are milling about. There's several adults there, including Mr. Wilkes, the drama teacher, who is standing in the middle of the chaos with the frown of a man who doesn't know where to begin when it comes to straightening up a mess. Half a dozen people are shouting at once, and from the back comes the bang of a hammer against wood.<br/>
<br/>
Laura trudges down the aisle toward the front, abandoning you and Blake. He, with his arm still around your shoulder, drags you into the back row and settles into a chair. You sit beside him and drop the plastic shopping bag you've been carrying—the one with the two masks and the sealant—into the seat on the other side of you.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Will!" he squeals with girlish delight. "Is Laura one of your old girlfriends?"<br/>
<br/>
The question floors you. "What? No!"<br/>
<br/>
"Be honest, I won't be jealous, I swear!"<br/>
<br/>
"She—! We—!"<br/>
<br/>
"I saw the way she was looking at you. God!" He grins. "How'd you ever let a dumpling like her get away?"<br/>
<br/>
"She wasn't fat when I knew her!"<br/>
<br/>
"That's not what I meant. She's like a slice of gooey cherry pie!" He tickles you, and you almost levitate from the chair. "Did you totally miss the boat with her, or what?"<br/>
<br/>
You can only gasp like a landed fish. But he calms down, and a moment later is leaning forward in his chair. "Oh hey, there's Mrs. Hartlein now."<br/>
<br/>
You follow his gaze down to a blonde woman who is moving items around on stage. From this distance it's impossible to tell how much of her "look" in the pictures you saw was real and how much was Photoshop. But she's a very angular woman with a long face that looks bony under the harsh stage lights.<br/>
<br/>
She's not the only parent on hand, but the others are huddled around a table piled over with donut boxes and other treats. You can't help but think they look like whipped dogs, and more than once you catch them darting ugly glances in the direction of Charles Hartlein's mother.<br/>
<br/>
You're occupied in scoping them out, and wondering how you might get close to any of them, if you decide to make a move in that direction, when out of the corner of your eye you see the door open. The woman who stalks in is obviously another stage mother. She is wearing oversize sunglasses which she sweeps off in a dramatic gesture. Her expression—she has large dark eyes, a red mouth, and hollow cheeks—is doleful, even tragic.<br/>
<br/>
For a moment she stares down at the stage then turns to you and Blake. "Is Paul Griffin here yet?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
You say nothing. Blake says, "Uh ..."<br/>
<br/>
The woman doesn't wait, but instead stalks down the aisle to the foot of the stage, where she stands and looks slowly from one side to the other. Then she walks off into the wings.<br/>
<br/>
"Morticia Addams," says Blake.<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't you see the resemblance?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know what you're talking about."<br/>
<br/>
"The movie. The TV show. She was a dead ringer for the mother. Well, look her up online. Someone like that would be <i>perfect</i> for us. I wonder who she is."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug, and make no move for your phone, not even when the same woman comes stalking back up the aisle, like some tragic heroine on her way to the guillotine, and goes out the way she came in.<br/>
<br/>
But Sydney's curiosity gets satisfied a little later when Laura comes trudging up to quietly join you. She's changed clothes into some kind of old-fashioned-looking pantsuit, and has a pillbox hat dangling from the side of her head. "I just need a few minutes of quiet before the circus starts," she says as she settles in next to you.<br/>
<br/>
"Is your mom here?" Blake asks. You feel your skin prickling at the question.<br/>
<br/>
"No, she's at home. Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just curious. It's like everyone else's mom is up here."<br/>
<br/>
You interrupt. "Who was the woman who was just here? Looked like—" You briefly struggle to remember the name. "Morticia Addams."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh!" Laura giggles. "Mrs. Oliver. Morticia Addams, that's good! She's Becky Oliver's mom. I don't know why she showed up, Becky's not in the production, and she's not helping out either."<br/>
<br/>
"She was looking for Paul Griffin."<br/>
<br/>
Laura catches her breath. "Oh God, is he coming out here today?"<br/>
<br/>
"Who's Paul Griffin?"<br/>
<br/>
Laura slaps you. "Get out! Simon Magus! On <i>Enchanted U?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"The actor?" Blake says.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, he went to school here, years ago. I thought everyone knew that! Oops, I have to go." Laura gets up and trots back down to the stage, where Charles Hartlein is glaring up at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe we should recruit her mom," Blake says.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney probably said that just to get a rise out of you. But you ignore her. For the third time you find yourself thinking, <i>Beverly Hills.</i> A honest-to-God actor could help you—and the Brotherhood—break into Hollywood.</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112135215
author_id: seuzz
title: Who Wants to Be a Star?
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Charles Hartlein is still glaring up at you from the lip of the stage, and he spares Laura only a short, angry word before he goes back to glowering at you. You hate the feeling you've got of being bullied at a distance by a skinny gay guy with a weedy beard, but with a sinking feeling you know that if he came up and told you, in that nasty, superior way he has, to get out of the theater, you probably would slink out. <br/>
<br/>
But you manage to ignore him, until with a visible shudder of disgust he turns around.<br/>
<br/>
"Your old girlfriend's mom is at her house," Blake murmurs to you. "If you remember where she lives, I bet we could catch her alone and—"<br/>
<br/>
"She wasn't my girlfriend," you mutter back. "Anyway, let's try for that actor. If he shows up."<br/>
<br/>
Blake doesn't immediately reply. And you're concentrating on Charles. He has stalked over to Mr. Wilkes and is talking to him. The drama teacher looks up at where you and Blake are sitting.<br/>
<br/>
For a moment, matters hang. Then Mr. Wilkes rolls his eyes with a shrug and turns back to directing the movement of equipment on stage. Charles shoots you a quick, spiteful look before turning around. There is something melodramatic about the gesture, as though to say <i>You didn't beat me, I am rejecting you!</i><br/>
<br/>
"You mean Paul Griffin?" Blake says. "He's not a mom!"<br/>
<br/>
"I know that. But why do we have to stick around Saratoga Falls? Why can't we get out of town? There's nothing keeping me here." You wipe a sweaty palm on the knee of your trousers. "The faster we get out of this shitty town, the better!"<br/>
<br/>
All at once you get a feeling like masonry crashing down around your head. <i>Leave Saratoga Falls?</i> The thought comes like a panicked shout. <i>Leave your home? Your friends, your family, everything? Maybe never to see them again?</i><br/>
<br/>
At the same time comes a rush of giddiness. <i>Yes! Freedom! No more school and dumb classes, no more friends who backstab you! No more girls laughing at you behind your back! And no more Molesters and Kirkhams and Javitses, no more football players and basketball players and the vermin of school! <br/>
<br/>
No, just you and Sydney, together, off on a new and exciting life together! In Hollywood! In New York! In London and Paris and Tokyo! On red carpets and at gala premieres! At celebrity parties! Waving to the paparazzi and making inane chatter at entertainment-TV hosts about how great the new project is and how much work you put into it, but now it's done and the fans are just going to love it! They're going to love you, see you inside!</i><br/>
<br/>
And in back of it all will be a small, powerful cult of magic users, wielding their secret influence from behind famous but fake faces.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart does cartwheels, and there's a roar in your ears, through which you can barely hear Blake say, "Really, you want to drop everything and just take off?"<br/>
<br/>
Can Sydney really not understand what you've just said and what it would mean? You grab Blake's hand and lean in close.<br/>
<br/>
"Do <i>you</i> wanna stay in this bullshit burg?" you growl. "Do <i>you</i> like it here? All these nobodies? Just little shits in a high school someplace, that's all these—" You gulp. "That's all <i>we</i> are. Everyone. Even—" <br/>
<br/>
A wave of dizziness grips you. Yes, even Chelsea Cooper and her claque of cheerleaders and basketball bullies, when you really get a perspective, are a lot of nobodies. <i>God,</i> you think, <i>why was I ever impressed with them or scared of them? They're just the tiny tip of a tiny little pyramid inside of one shitty school that no one's ever heard of, in one city that's barely on any maps, in one state crowded around by a half dozen others just like it and all full of the same doughy, anonymous nobodies. Whoever heard of anyone inside this school, except themselves?<br/>
<br/>
Whoever heard of me?</i><br/>
<br/>
You try to pass this insight, like an electrical signal, through your grip on Blake's hand. But you only say, "Let's go to Hollywood, Sydney. Let's <i>be</i> someone who lives in Hollywood. Let's <i>be</i> people who matter in Hollywood!"<br/>
<br/>
Blake's dark eyebrows lift, and a crooked grin of delight breaks across his mouth. "Well, this is a change of plans, Will!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So Sydney approves, and she tells you so. She is soon just as excited as you are, and both of you squirm excitedly in your seats as you imagine the events what will come when the curtain goes up on the next act of your lives.<br/>
<br/>
Nor do you have to wait long before your ticket to Hollywood shows up.<br/>
<br/>
Paul Griffin turns out to be on the short side when he enters the theater, but there's electricity in his presence—an almost palpable crackle of energy that you feel when he walks into the theater. You don't even have to recognize him to guess who he is, and you are about to nudge Blake, to tell him you should make an approach, when the actor, in a bouncing trot, launches himself down the aisle at Mr. Wilkes.<br/>
<br/>
You got a good long look at him, though, as he stared intently down at the stage for a long minute. He has dark hair cut rakishly short, and dark good looks, and he's dressed in rugged jeans and a black bomber jacket. You vaguely remember seeing him on television, playing one of those boy-hunk characters who look like they stepped straight from an underwear ad onto a soundstage without taking any acting lessons in between. But he has a quick, charismatic grin, which he turns on and off while chatting with Mr. Wilkes. Work around the stage slows noticeably, though it never comes to a stop, and no one <i>seems</i> to be watching him.<br/>
<br/>
But of course Charles has to shimmy up—undulating like a serpent—to stand with the two adults, as though he's part of the conversation.<br/>
<br/>
Meanwhile, you're trying to figure out what a TV star is doing here on campus. Yes, Laura (who seems to be sleepwalking her away around the stage, doing nothing in particular) said that he went to school at Westside—a fact you can scarcely credit—but why would he come back? And if it's for a visit, why come to a technical rehearsal?<br/>
<br/>
But maybe he didn't even come for that, for after a brief chat with Mr. Wilkes he comes charging up the aisle again and goes out the door. Blake grabs you with a strangled, "Come on!" You just have the presence of mind to grab your sack of masks and supplies before he hauls you out the auditorium door.<br/>
<br/>
Griffin is fast on his feet, and he's already halfway across the quad to the teachers' parking by the time you come staggering out into the late afternoon sun. You jog after him, but don't call out until he's opening the driver's side door to a blue Mustang that shimmers and gleams in the sunlight. "Mr. Griffin!" Blake calls out, and the actor pauses to shoot you a quick, hooded glance. "Hey!" Blake gasps as you and he come pounding up to the car. (And you're content to let Sydney do the talking; even though you've barely heard of this guy, you feel tongue-tied in his presence.) "We just wanted to say— Um. Well, could we have your autograph?"<br/>
<br/>
For maybe half a second the actor stares at you. Then that white smile pops onto his face, and his eyes flash. "Sure thing, guys!" he exclaims. "Cost you a dollar."<br/>
<br/>
You feel your face fall. "What?"<br/>
<br/>
Griffin laughs. "Just kidding. I used to sign dollar bills for people as kind of a gag. But if you got a pen and some paper—"<br/>
<br/>
"I have a dollar bill," Blake says. He digs into his pockets. "But, um—" He turns a desperate frown on you. You stare blankly back at him.<br/>
<br/>
"I got'cha covered," Griffin says. He reaches inside his leather jacket to take out a felt-tipped marker. "Old habit," he says. "Used to never go out unarmed." His brow briefly ripples with what looks like pain.<br/>
<br/>
Blake hands him a dollar bill, and Griffin lays it atop his car. Then he seems to think better of it, and gets in behind the wheel.<br/>
<br/>
Blake snaps a finger at you. It takes you a moment to clue in, then you dig inside the bag to pull out the blank mask you had prepared.<br/>
<br/>
"Here ya go, champ," Griffin says as he hands the autographed bill out to Blake. "Like to see you try to spend <i>that</i> in more than one place."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks." Blake steps inside the door and leans into the car. "I just got one more favor to ask you." There's a very brief and small struggle, then he straightens back up again. "Don't call me 'champ' when it's you in there, Will," he says to you.<br/>
<br/>
Your skin is crawling as you step up to peep over the open car door and into the cabin. Paul Griffin, TV actor, is slumped inside. His jaw is hanging open and his face is very pale. Suddenly, he looks about ten years older than before.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So who am I supposed to be?" your doppelganger asks. He runs his hands over the black leather sleeves of his jacket, and glances around the cabin of the Mustang.<br/>
<br/>
"No one you ever heard of," you retort. Then Blake nudges you, and you correct yourself with a blush. "You're supposed to be me." It sounds like a humiliating confession. <i>Have I ever even heard of myself?</i><br/>
<br/>
"Follow us back to the elementary school," you order the new you. It's Sydney's idea: the parking lot in front of the school is too public a venue to make a switch, so the new you will meet you back in Acheson to make the final transformation. "And then— Well, meet us there," you lamely conclude.<br/>
<br/>
You could make the switch there. Or you could switch later, and spend one more day and night with your family before leaving them ... forever.</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111121352151
author_id: seuzz
title: Good-Bye to All That
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A hot-air balloon is slowly swelling over the athletic fields as you and Blake return to the student parking lot. You can't help staring at it. <br/>
<br/>
It was a hot air balloon that carried the original wizard to Oz, if you remember right. But this balloon can't go to Oz. Nor will it be carrying any wizards.<br/>
<br/>
You're a wizard, though, of a sort. And though it's a mask, not a pair of ruby slippers, that you're carrying in the plastic grocery sack, it will take you farther than any hot air balloon could.<br/>
<br/>
And the mask, unlike the ruby slippers, won't be bringing you home again, either. It will be taking you far away.<br/>
<br/>
The thought makes you sweaty all over.<br/>
<br/>
Frightened, too. But though you have a chance to see your family again before you go, you're more afraid of chickening out if you go home. So after parting with Sydney, you drive straight over to the old elementary school. Paul Griffin's blue Mustang is already parked in front of the basement door when you arrive. Your doppelganger, in Paul Griffin's clothes, is slouching against its hood.<br/>
<br/>
"This's a sweet car," he calls out as you hop from your truck. "Fast, too."<br/>
<br/>
"You could'a gotten a ticket," you growl.<br/>
<br/>
"You sounded just like dad when you said that," your twin retorts. "So whose mom is it drives a car like this and wears clothes like this? She seems pretty butch." He's asking, of course, because he doesn't have memories that include seeing the actor.<br/>
<br/>
"Let's get you changed," you reply. It's super-weird talking to a copy of yourself, and it's all the worse because it's very awkward knowing that you're basically going to be abandoning him to the life that you don't want anymore. It leaves you feeling itchy with guilt.<br/>
<br/>
Not even when you try bucking yourself up with that cowardly old standby—<i>Better him than me</i>—do you feel good.<br/>
<br/>
Down in the basement you order your other self to pull off the clothes, which are actually too short for him, and he gasps with audible relief when he pulls the boots off. You disrobe as well, and give him your old clothes. He's just tying his shoes when Sydney—restored to her own face—peeks in at the top of the stairs. "Hey, are you decent?" she calls.<br/>
<br/>
You don't know how to answer that. So after giving you a look, your duplicate answers for you. "Yeah, come on down! It'll be twice as good as it usually is!" You make a face at him.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney comes down the stairs. She gives your double a look before turning to you. "What's the hold up?" she asks. "I wanna see—"<br/>
<br/>
"Just waiting to send this guy home," you mutter back. Your heart is beating hard. "Go home," you tell him once he's got his shoes on.<br/>
<br/>
He snaps off a salute. "Gonna hear from you soon?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll let you know." Your voice is very weak.<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a querying look, then trudges up the stairs. From the top, after a fractional hesitation, he calls back, "Hope you're gonna have more fun than me!"<br/>
<br/>
Then he goes.<br/>
<br/>
Would that he took with him the stake that it feels like he drove through your heart with those parting words.<br/>
<br/>
"You okay, Will?" Sydney quietly asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I'm fine." You look down at the bundle of clothes—Paul Griffin's clothes—that you are clutching to your naked crotch.<br/>
<br/>
"No you aren't," Sydney says. She strokes your arm. "What is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, I'm fine."<br/>
<br/>
"It'll be better if you told me instead of making me say it out loud for you."<br/>
<br/>
That catches your attention. She is very grave, but sympathetic. "You're growing up," she says. "All at once."<br/>
<br/>
You wince.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry, Will." She puts her arms around you. The clothes you're clutching get in the way, so it's an awkward embrace. "You look like someone dropped a kitchen sink on your head."<br/>
<br/>
"It feels like they did," you confess. "I'm not even gonna say good-bye to my folks."<br/>
<br/>
"You shouldn't," she agrees. "Best to cut it all off quick."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that what you're going to do?"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney doesn't answer right away, and her eyes are downcast.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't have to chance to say goodbye to my dad," she finally says. "I didn't have a chance to know that he was even going away."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry." The reminder of how much worse she's had it makes you cringe at your own self-pity.<br/>
<br/>
"For what? I'm actually jealous. I didn't have to <i>think</i> about whether to say goodbye."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah but—" <i>But what?</i> You let it drop. "Are you going to say goodbye to your mom?"<br/>
<br/>
She hesitates. "Not in so many words," she replies. "It's not going to be easy, but it won't be as hard as it is for you. My mom and I— Well, since she married Nicholas," she stammers, "we haven't had too much to say to each other."<br/>
<br/>
You know she's been trying to make you feel better, but now you feel altogether wretched. Sydney seems to sense this, for she releases you with a slap to your arm.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on," she says. "Get changed. For all you know, you have to catch a private jet back to Hollywood tonight for a movie premiere."<br/>
<br/>
She smiles. She's trying to look wicked and sensual, you can tell. You smile crookedly back, and hope that your grin is more convincing.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You are cold and confused when you wake, and you squint at a ceiling cobwebbed with shadows. You frown and blink at it, and sit up to look around in alarm. The place looks familiar, you know you've seen it before, you've been here before, but—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Ooooooohhhhhh!</i> The coming of the memories is like being hammered with an anvil. You close your eyes and hunch your shoulders.<br/>
<br/>
<i>My name is Paul Griffin. Paul Samuel Griffin, to be exact. And I'm in the basement of the old elementary school in Acheson, where me and Sydney McGlynn hang out working on occult devices. And I know all that because I am really Will Prescott—William Martin Prescott, to be exact—and I am a student at my old high school back in Saratoga Falls, where I graduated almost fifteen years ago.</i><br/>
<br/>
You raise your head, your mouth twisted into a hard frown. <i>Oh, to be in high school again,</i> you think with a stab of longing. <i>To be in high school again and to have a chance to do it all again. <br/>
<br/>
And this time, to do it right.</i><br/>
<br/>
The thought, of course, surprises you, and sit very still for several very minutes, blinking into the darkness and dazedly picking at a collection of mental scabs. <i>Oh, you dumb kid,</i> you chide yourself as you remember the early mornings and the late evenings and the long periods of boredom on set during the downtimes in between. <i>Did you really think it'll be all parties and premieres and hanging out with Brad Pitt and reading from a pile scripts when you're not nailing some hot starlet you picked up one afternoon over at George Clooney's place? When mostly it's trying not to get conked on the head when the grips are moving the lights around. And that's when you actually </i> have<i> work and aren't scrambling to auditions when you're lucky enough to have one to go to.</i><br/>
<br/>
You glance at the pile of clothes—the jeans and v-neck t-shirt and bomber jacket and boots. <i>Yeah, they look good and they make me feel good.</i> But by now they're practically a uniform. <i>Oh, look, another actor!</i> is what they scream in southern California. Like you might say, <i>Oh, look, another fast food worker,</i> when you spot someone in a paper McDonald's hat ...<br/>
<br/>
You're just pulling on the jacket when the door to the basement opens and Sydney looks in. "Are you decent again?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, why'd you leave me alone down here?" you shoot back. "A guy gets lonesome!" You cringe at the cheesy, oft-used line. But you do wonder why she didn't stick around after you'd laid back to put on the mask.<br/>
<br/>
"Come up here so I can get a look at you in the light!"<br/>
<br/>
You've already got your boots on, so you oblige. In three shakes of a lamb's tail you're halfway up the stairs. The skinny teenager inside you marvels at how quick a trained, buff guy like Paul Griffin can move.<br/>
<br/>
You surprise Sydney too. She backs out of the door with a squawk. You pause inside the doorway to grin at her. She can't help grinning back, but her expression is wary. "What are you looking at me like that for, Will?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, you wicked, wicked girl," you growl back at her. "You <i>wicked</i> thing! We used to put down girls like you on the show every episode. Put them down like bitches! Then, <i>after</i> shooting wrapped—" You advance two steps, and lower your head to charge. "We'd <i>go</i> down on the—"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney squawks and scampers around to the far side of her SUV. You chase, and she tries putting your Mustang between you. Bad move! You grin at her, giving her just enough time to read your thought. Then you vault the hood and have a brawny arm around her before she can flee again.<br/>
<br/>
"Will, I—!"<br/>
<br/>
You shut her up by taking her lower lip between your teeth. Gently, you squeeze it. Sydney stiffens, shivers ... then melts inside your arms.<br/>
<br/>
You put your mouth to her ear. "That's an appetizer," you murmur. You drop a hand to lightly squeeze her ass. It's hard but yielding. "When I get you good and alone—"<br/>
<br/>
"You got a text on your phone," Sydney squeals. "I took it with me when I came up in case something important came through, and you got a text from Carmen Oliver?" Her voice has gone all breathy.<br/>
<br/>
Your spirits—pumped like a stallion a moment ago—collapse. <i>Carmen Oliver. "Morticia Addams" from up at the school.</i> Now you know what that was all about. It was about her daughter, Becky.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Your</i> daughter.<br/>
<br/>
No wonder Paul Griffin might fantasize about doing his life all over again.</span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111213521512
author_id: seuzz
title: It's the Pictures That Got Small
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"It happened back when I was in high school," you explain to Sydney. "Well, back when <i>this guy</i> was in high school," you correct yourself.<br/>
<br/>
You're finding it very hard not to get mixed up. Paul Griffin has a strong personality—he couldn't have bullied his way to minor-supporting-role stardom on a low-rated CW show without it—and the fear he feels at having to deal with Carmen Oliver merges seamlessly with your fear of the same. <i>No way I'm ready for this,</i> you think. <i>And neither am I,</i> someone else inside you adds.<br/>
<br/>
You're perched on the hood of the Mustang, with Sydney sitting beside you, as you tell the story.<br/>
<br/>
"It was seventeen years ago. Jesus, has it been that long?" You rub your brow, and make a face as you do the same calculation that the disbelieving Paul Griffin has done so many times. "I'm— Paul is as old now as she was then."<br/>
<br/>
"He slept with her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. <i>She</i> was the drama teacher back then. Mr. Wilkes was over at Eastman. She— She was hot," you stammer.<br/>
<br/>
<i>No, I was only horny,</i> you correct yourself. <i>And I was a stud. Nailing a girl like Naomi Henderson, in the back of my car, out on the street, in front of Jerry Chandler's house while the party was going on—that was nothing. Nailing a teacher, though ... Especially one that was telling me I could have a career, a real career ...</i><br/>
<br/>
"She, uh, quit at the end of the year, and Mr. Wilkes moved over. It was my—Paul's—junior year when it happened. Paul heard she had a baby, but he didn't— Well, he didn't ask about it. He wondered about it, felt guilty. But he, uh, forgot about it when he graduated and went to California."<br/>
<br/>
You force yourself to relax. You were starting to "turtle up," hunching your shoulders up around your ears.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway, he didn't hear anything from her until this summer. Which was a surprise, he figured that if he was ever going to hear from, uh, Carmen, it would have been while the show was still running. When he never did, he figured that left him in the clear, that it meant for sure that, uh, the baby wasn't, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney cuts through your stammers. "So what does she want? Money?"<br/>
<br/>
You have to shrug. "I don't know what else. She was very ugly about it, in her email. Fuck." You rub your brow again. "She'd been emailing m— Paul's business manager since April. Threatening to take it public. Freddie kept her bottled up, he didn't even tell ... Paul." You suppress a shudder. "But then Paul had to fire Freddie because he just didn't have the money to pay him anymore, and Freddie dumped it all in his lap. That was at the start of August. So after some nasty emails, Paul finally gave up and came out here to have it out with her. I guess it's about money. But Paul's been putting off meeting her." You suck in a deep breath. "He's been staying his folks. Saving money."<br/>
<br/>
You can sense the look that Sydney is giving you. "He has to save money?"<br/>
<br/>
You return her the kind of look that Paul Griffin would love to give anyone who thinks there's actually any money in Hollywood for people like him.<br/>
<br/>
"It's been a year since he had a part," you growl. "<i>Any</i> part. And it's not like there was a lot of money for him in <i>Enchanted U."</i> It's cold comfort to add, silently, <i>And there wasn't a lot in it for Adrian Marcus Murray, either.</i> "That's why he had to fire his business manager." You don't need to have a business manager when you're glancing through the ads for management positions at Appleby's.<br/>
<br/>
"Is this guy really our ticket out to Hollywood?" Sydney asks in a shocked voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," you assure her, "if the point is to get to get to people who, you know, are doing better. I— Paul knows people who know people. He's only one degree of separation from Kevin Bacon," you add with a note of wry pride. "If we can get past this thing with Carmen—"<br/>
<br/>
"So what was she doing at the school today? Was—? Were you supposed to meet her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. Paul's been dancing around it with Carmen, telling her he can't meet with her just yet, 'cos his mom's sick. Which she isn't, but—" You grind a knuckle into an eyeball. "He just needs to bite the bullet and get it over with."<br/>
<br/>
"So go do that now," Sydney declares to your surprise. "Or don't. I guess it's interesting gossip, but if you just blew town now without seeing her, we could be get back to California—"<br/>
<br/>
"So why should I see her?"<br/>
<br/>
"I just got through saying you don't have to. But if you do, so what? You talk to her, you have it out, you get it done, then you go back to California. It doesn't matter either way."<br/>
<br/>
You suppose that's true. The question is, will it be messier to deal with Carmen or to completely blow her off?<br/>
<br/>
You take out your phone and look at her message again: <i>At least have the decency to text instead of blowing me off,</i> it says. <br/>
<br/>
"So I— Paul was supposed to meet her up at the school today. He was late and he missed her. Not on purpose but not accidentally either, not exactly." You sigh—a feeling like a dagger is sliding into your lungs. "I'll go meet her now."<br/>
<br/>
"Will," Sydney says as you slip off the hood of the Mustang. She hesitates. "If we need to use any of the ... stuff ... to make it work out, we can do that."<br/>
<br/>
<i>You mean use a mask on Carmen?</i> you want to ask. But you don't. You just nod and say, "Thanks. I'll try to take care of things without it."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll stay here and work on stuff, just in case," Sydney says. She hops off the car and gives you a quick hug.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>The barista was flirting with me,</i> you think as you nurse a fresh coffee in a back booth of The Flying Saucer. <i>Did she recognize me? Did she think she recognized me? Or did she just think I was hot?</i><br/>
<br/>
Three years ago, in certain neighborhoods of Los Angeles, there would have been no need to ask yourself such questions. Of course they knew who you were and of course they thought you were hot. Or, even if they didn't think you were hot, they thought you were hot because they knew who you were.<br/>
<br/>
Even today, in those neighborhoods, you get the look. <i>Hey, aren't you—? Weren't you—? Didn't you used to be—?</i><br/>
<br/>
And when they come out and ask, you grin and say, "Yeah! How you doin'?" and "Yeah, it was fun!" and "I'd love it if we did a reunion movie!" when what you really want to do is arch your eyebrows and look down your nose and drawl, <i>I am big! It's the pictures that got small!</i><br/>
<br/>
Of course, no one today remembers movies that came out only two years, so they wouldn't get the reference. And it would hurt too much to give in to the self-parody. Once upon a time, you thought it was a great line. Nowadays you wonder how Gloria Swanson—herself as forgotten as the silent movie queen she was playing—could bear to have uttered it.<br/>
<br/>
You take a big gulp of coffee, even though it won't steady your nerves. <i>It's the kid-inside-me's fault,</i> you chide yourself. <i>I don't usually get this morbid. He's just getting the wet-behind-his-ears toweled off, realizing that—</i><br/>
<br/>
Then you jerk a little in shock as Carmen Oliver comes striding in.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Damn, she's still hot.</i><br/>
<br/>
That's what you wish you could say, but the fact is that she was never "hot." Just striking. It was the chance she gave you to fuck a teacher—to show her you were a stud, and that you didn't need her to teach you anything, either—that made her presence so exciting back then. Now she's—<br/>
<br/>
Well, she's still striking. But her large, luminous eyes have shrunk into their sockets, and the severe lines of her cheekbones have turned gaunt. Dark hair that once writhed with life is now limp. <i>I can see the skull under her face,</i> you think. <i>Not clearly, she isn't old, not yet. But I can see it.</i><br/>
<br/>
You scramble to your feet, and give her a look up and down. She notices, and is flattered, so that her smile widens and warms slightly. She's dressed in black, with a white shawl over her shoulders. At least the skin of her neck is firm and tight, as is the black silk choker she has wrapped about her throat.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, hello Carmen," you stammer. "You look—" You reach for her hand, then change your mind and lunge in to peck her on the cheek. <i>Big mistake,</i> you chide yourself as you step back. Her gaze has turned wintry.<br/>
<br/>
"Thank you. You look nice too." She pauses. "I wish I'd gotten a chance to tell you that earlier."<br/>
<br/>
You grind out a sigh and drop back into the booth. She slides in opposite you. "You want something?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
The muscles under her face suddenly pop out.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, I would like a little respect," she snaps. "I would like not to be ignored. I would like not to be fobbed off with underlings, myrmidons, and excuses. I would like to express myself, from the heart, in person, without having to beg for the chance!"<br/>
<br/>
You blink once, and have to suppress a smile.<br/>
<br/>
Her speech—so arch, so brittle, so obviously composed and practiced—is like a fat, slow, juicy pitch. Your only regret is that there isn't a camera, set to catch you in three-quarter profile in a medium shot, just behind her shoulder, rolling to capture your perfect (and perfectly honest) riposte.<br/>
<br/>
"What I meant was, do you want a coffee or something? My treat."</span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112135215121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Actors' Studio
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Carmen Oliver flushes. Her looks are dark and Italianate, so her countenance blackens when she does. "I'm fine, thank you," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, now that we've gotten the small talk out of the way—"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't consider what I just said to be 'small talk'!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry. My mother's sick," you lie. "I came out to see her, not you. But now that we're here—"<br/>
<br/>
Carmen bristles all over.<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't trying to stand you up at the school," you tell her. "I got caught by something and was running late. I didn't think you'd leave without waiting."<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, I'm supposed to wait for you," she says with icy anger. "Always."<br/>
<br/>
"Always?" You arch your eyebrows. "Are you trying to say you've been waiting on me for twenty years?"<br/>
<br/>
It's almost like the bones beneath her face have fractured. If you had punched her in the face, Carmen could hardly have reacted with more shock.<br/>
<br/>
And you? You have to wonder where all this strength of character is coming from. Not from you. You've been terrified of this meeting since Freddie handed you the printed emails and patiently waited for you—bewildered and eventually frightened nearly witless—to digest them. And not from the other you, who can barely bring himself to talk to a girl.<br/>
<br/>
<i>It must be a part I'm playing,</i> you realize, and you can't stop your chest from swelling a little with giddy pride. Carmen—and Teddy Ruiz, the acting coach you took classes from as you hustled for your first jobs on the coast—always said you excelled at the improv. <i>There's a real character in there,</i> Teddy once said after one of your exercises, and her compliment left you preening for days.<br/>
<br/>
So ... Scene. <i>Mature lover, back for confrontation with estranged love interest. Man of the world, been through a dozen break-ups in his time, merely tired now by the melodrama. Was on the sauce but is firmly off it now,</i> you add as your hand goes for the coffee.<br/>
<br/>
You suppress a wince as the traitorous thought <i>WWPRD?</i>—What would Paul Rudd do?—goes skittering across the back of your head.<br/>
<br/>
But it looks like Carmen has a character too, and she deploys it now. <i>Garbo as played by Anjelica Huston,</i> by the looks of it.<br/>
<br/>
She draws herself up, and her mouth quivers raggedly.<br/>
<br/>
"You were a boy," she says. "Would <i>you</i> have put such a burden on one so young?"<br/>
<br/>
"Then why wait until now, instead of putting the bite on me three years ago?" <i>When it would have made more sense?</i><br/>
<br/>
She visibly seethes. "You think that's what this is? Putting 'the bite' on you?" She spits the words out.<br/>
<br/>
<i>You're playing it too "hot."</i> That's the critique you'd give her. <i>Too much affect. Just deliver the goods. The camera will pick up the emotion without you plopping it onto a platter for the viewer.</i><br/>
<br/>
But she's still talking. "When did I ever mention 'money' in anything I said to you?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. "So what do you want?"<br/>
<br/>
Carmen draws herself up still further. <i>Christ, is she this rusty?</i> you think. <i>Or was she always this hammy? How did I ever manage to learn anything from her?<br/>
<br/>
She never even gave me any tips on how to fuck better.</i><br/>
<br/>
But then she whangs you up the side of the head with her next words: "My daughter wants to know who her father is!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Well, that ends the acting exercises, on both sides. You're left speechless, and Carmen, having finally delivered of what she's been wanting to say all this time, is also at a loss. When you do finally start to talk again, the words are raw, quivering, and exposed.<br/>
<br/>
She tells you about her life since quitting teaching. She had an associates degree in accounting and she went to work as a bookkeeper for a local chain of grocery stores. It gave her and Rebecca—an allusion to the Daphne du Maurier novel? you have to wonder; it would be in character for her—a comfortable if slightly shabby life.<br/>
<br/>
She's had lovers since, though she says she's tried to be discreet in front of Rebecca. But it's been hard. Mostly (she says) because she sees the question in her daughter's eyes. <i>Which one of them is my father?</i><br/>
<br/>
But now the girl is seventeen—the same age her father was when he conceived her—and a senior in high school. It's time, Carmen says, for her to get an answer to that question.<br/>
<br/>
And you? Well, you feel like a churl when you tell her that that's probably all you can give her. <i>You probably make more money than I do,</i> you tell Carmen.<br/>
<br/>
<i>That doesn't matter,</i> she snaps back.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Then when do I meet her?</i> you ask.<br/>
<br/>
Even though it's all been leading up to this point (or so she has claimed) the question seems to take her aback. <i>How about tomorrow?</i> she stammers.<br/>
<br/>
You tell her you can be free all day.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
In fact, you rather doubt that any of this drama was really about telling a teenage girl who her father is. You drive around town, your brow tensed with concentration, as you come to terms with the afternoon's revelations.<br/>
<br/>
(And, internally, you are amazed at how calmly you are taking all this. Forget being freaked out at finding that you have a daughter. You'd be freaked out at finding you that you <i>had sex with a girl!</i>)<br/>
<br/>
<i>This is about Carmen,</i> you decide with a jaundiced certainty. The woman you met is going through a mid-life crisis. Her daughter is about to fly the nest—<i>She's very mature for her age,</i> Carmen bragged to you, <i>she started looking at colleges last year and she set it up herself to take the SATs</i>—and the woman is looking around and realizing that her life is basically over. There's no prospect of a husband, not at the age of fifty and she has no family and has no future. Only a past, one entirely defined by the three times she took you into her bed.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I'm the one who made her into what she is today,</i> you conclude. <i>Well, I'm not, she's the one who did it all to herself. But that's what this is about. That's what she wants to tell me.</i><br/>
<br/>
Giving her daughter a name and face to her father is only an excuse.<br/>
<br/>
Sydney has given you lots of time to deal with the melodrama of your new life, but by seven o'clock she has apparently figured you need rescuing, for she sends you a text asking if you can break free. <i>All done,</i> you text back with one hand as you pass the mall for about the fifth time on your drive around down. <i>Where meet.</i> She tells you she's still at the basement. <i>Do you need a mask?</i> You tell her you'll talk when you see her.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Then it sounds like we can leave town tomorrow," Sydney says after you've told her all about the talk with Carmen. It left her unimpressed—almost bored. "You meet the girl tomorrow, say your howdies and goodbyes, then—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, how are <i>you</i> going to leave town?" you interrupt. You're bothered by her cavalier attitude toward the crisis in Paul Griffin's life, even though you understand it, and are in a mood to scratch at her. "I left somebody behind to cover for me, but you—"<br/>
<br/>
"We've got a <i>pedisequos,</i> Will," she reminds you with a sigh, and she looks up from the metal band she's carving runes into. "Remember? It's how we met, you were digging in a graveyard, and it wasn't that long ago."<br/>
<br/>
It wasn't? You blink. The days have been <i>packed</i> since then.<br/>
<br/>
"So am I supposed to drive out to L.A. with you in the trunk?" you ask. "Or in the passenger seat? Because you're jailbait, Sydney, if I get pulled over—"<br/>
<br/>
"Why are you arguing, Will? We'll just say you're my dad. Or you can take your guy's mask off and drive us out under your own— Oooh!"<br/>
<br/>
You look over. Her eyes have gone big and wide. "What about Carmen?" she asks with a mischievous gleam. "Any chance of resparking a romance there?"<br/>
<br/>
The question almost knocks you backward. "No! And why would you—? Wait." Your jaw falls open as Sydney's smile sharpens. "You're not thinking—"<br/>
<br/>
"Why not? You and her shared a special moment—"<br/>
<br/>
"Seventeen years ago! And she's <i>fifty</i> now!"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney shrugs. "She doesn't look bad. Actually, like I said back in the theater this afternoon, she looks perfect. Perfect for—"<br/>
<br/>
"And she's got a daughter. Are we going to take her out too?"<br/>
<br/>
"We could. We could make a family. We need to convert ten people anyway, Will, and mom and daughter could be our first. Well, our second and third after—" She reaches over the table to squeeze your arm.<br/>
<br/>
You're not sure what to say. It's seriously squicky.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Or is that Paul's reaction?</i> As soon as you ask yourself the question, a lot of the squickiness abates. <i>A family of fakes,</i> you muse, <i>behind which to build and run your Hollywood cult.</i><br/>
<br/>
But Sydney has mistaken your silence for reluctance. "Or what about just the kid?" she says. "If you don't want mom along— She wants you to connect with the girl, right? Be a dad?"<br/>
<br/>
"She didn't say as much. And I don't think—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, suggest it. Suggest taking her—your kid—back to L.A. with you. For a week. To get to know each other."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think—"<br/>
<br/>
"And then she'll her mom," Sydney continues in a low, thrilling voice, "to say, 'I love it out here with Paul, I want to transfer to a local high school.' One, you know, with lots of kids whose parents work in movies and TV."<br/>
<br/>
"I still don't think—" you start to say, but your objections are weakening as Sydney's picture gains more detail.<br/>
<br/>
"Fine." goes back to work on the band. "It's your call."</span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111121352151212
author_id: seuzz
title: Just the Typical Hollywood Story
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"How many masks do we have?" you ask Sydney.<br/>
<br/>
"We can have as many as we need, sweetie," she replies without looking up from the metal band she's carving runes into.<br/>
<br/>
That's not what you asked, but you're not in a mood to argue. You paw through various piles and stacks, pulling things together. When you ask Sydney if that's all you've got, she shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Seven masks in various stages of completion,</i> by your count, <i>and a matching number of metal bands.</i> But there's more completed masks than completed bands.<br/>
<br/>
You snatch up a couple of bands, and push through more junk to find a couple of the little chisels you use to scratch the runes out. "I have to go home," you tell Sydney. "I'll work on these tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to, Will," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"I want to. I need something to keep my mind occupied."<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a look, then starts to get up. "In that case, I—"<br/>
<br/>
"You can stay here as long as you want. Call Will—" You catch your breath and sigh. "Call the pedi-whatsis at my place when you want to lock up. Or, I dunno, if you want company."<br/>
<br/>
She frowns, but you dodge her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The Griffins live in the country south of town. Paul's parents, John and Rachel, both work at the college, he as a metals worker in the physical plant and she as a secretary in the English department. They live in a modest but well-appointed house south of town, where the subdivisions seep into the countryside. Paul has been fixing dinners while he's been staying with them—a little task to take some of the burden off them—but you're late getting back, so you stop at Ray's Barbecue for takeout. It's outside the budget Paul has set for himself, but you figure it won't hurt, not if you will soon be adding richer and more successful identities to his.<br/>
<br/>
Dinner is quiet but pleasant, and Paul's mom and dad take turns telling each other (and you) about their day. Then they ask you about the "school play" that you attended. "It was a technical rehearsal," you explain to them (again). "Basically, putting it on for the first time so they can practice it all the way through."<br/>
<br/>
"And was Carmen there?" your mom asks. You had told her that your old drama teacher—the one who gave you the confidence to pursue acting—would likely be there, because you and she wanted to meet. "She was so pretty!"<br/>
<br/>
You smile tightly. Never in a million years would Paul (nor will you) admit to what happened between him and Carmen all those years ago, and what came of it. For now, you only tell her that you and Carmen got coffee together. The closest you come to making a confession is when you tell them that Carmen has a daughter in high school now.<br/>
<br/>
And you suppress a flinch when your mother exclaims, "Why, she must be about the age now that you were then!" You murmur that, yes, she is a senior this year. "Oh, my, how time flies!" your mom observes.<br/>
<br/>
You clean up the dining room and kitchen while your parents move onto the back porch to watch the sunset and digest their dinner. Then you move into your bedroom.<br/>
<br/>
It hasn't changed much since Paul lived here, a fact that struck him with some force when he returned. Twice after graduation he'd had to return home after his money ran out, to find that the Griffins had kept his bedroom just as it was when he left home. This made sense when he was still under twenty-five, and he'd told himself it was because they hadn't decided what to convert it into. But each subsequent Christmas, he returned home to find it still unchanged. And when he came home this latest time—for a non-holiday visit, and an extended one, the first since he'd made his last, wounded retreat from Hollywood—it hit him that they were keeping it that way because they were more than half-expecting him to come back permanently. That extended run of success he'd had, culminating in his role as Simon Magus on <i>Enchanted U,</i> was to them just another temporary break from reality.<br/>
<br/>
And maybe they were right.<br/>
<br/>
You sit on the bed—a twin, hardly big enough for you—with your knees drawn up and your hands clasped in your lap, and look around. There's the same pennants on the walls, from Paul's days in Little League, and the trophies on the wall-mounted shelves from his middle-school career as a baseball player. On the dresser, in frames, are half a dozen photos from school productions. In each, Paul Griffin gazes out with a hooded but radiant confidence. As Pete and Daniel in <i>Almost, Maine.</i> As Juror 3 in <i>Twelve Angry Men. As Philip Lombard in <i>And Then There Were None.</i> As Fred Phelps, among others, in <i>The Laramie Project.</i> And, during his senior year, as Romeo (of course!) in <i>Romeo and Juliet.</i><br/>
<br/>
Two reactions vie for mastery in your chest as you let Paul's feelings well up.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, you dumb kid, you dumb, dumb kid,</i> runs one. <i>You thought you had the tiger by its tail, you thought it would be a rocket to the top because you had IT—the looks, the talent, the luck, the punch. You thought it would be just like high school, with the producers handing you the parts you wanted, when you wanted them, each one better than the last, until without even reaching for it you'd find yourself on the red carpet, smiling at the photographers, with Brad Pitt's hand on the back of your shoulder as he leaned in to get his face into the frame next to yours ... And how did that work out for you?</i> <br/>
<br/>
Versus:<br/>
<br/>
<i>Damn, you </i>were<i> hot back in high school. And you know what, you still are.</i><br/>
<br/>
There's just something about the bones in Paul Griffin's face that the camera loves. Even when it's a camera in a cell phone. Which you take out and turn onto yourself so you can smirk at your new face. It's still fresh, and handsome, and smooth, and perfectly photogenic. <br/>
<br/>
So what that Paul missed the brass ring by a country mile when he tried? With you in command of that book, and the stuff that makes </i>pediwhatsits,<i> you can make a few of them, sprinkle them around the town, and use them to get you the roles that Paul deserves.</i> There was a plot line like that being developed for the show's fourth season, you now recall. The producers were playing with some ideas for shapeshifting potions, in case Adrian developed ideas above his station and they had to recast the lead. <i>Just don't use that shit on Simon,</i> you thought in a panic when Michael Shotwell told you about it over lunch. <i>I don't want </i>my<i> part recast!</i><br/>
<br/>
Instead, they cancelled the show ...<br/>
<br/>
Even more humiliating was coming home during the middle of the run, to learn that your own parents didn't even watch the show. <i>It's not really our cup of tea,</i> your mother gingerly explained.<br/>
<br/>
And they're watching a police procedural in the living room when you go back out to get a beer from the fridge. <i>I had a shot at one of those,</i> you recall with a wince. <i>But I thought, those run forever and you get typecast forever. Even if this Warlock College show gets cancelled after one, I'll have another, better part on the other side. Show the town I got range.</i><br/>
<br/>
The face is nice, but you're not sure how much longer you can stand living with Paul's self-recriminations.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Plans are all laid by nine o'clock the next morning. You're to pick up Rebecca at her mother's house and take her to a Sunday brunch at Le Metropolitain (another expenditure that Paul can ill afford.) Sydney will be waiting there ...<br/>
<br/>
Rebecca, you are startled to see, is almost a duplicate of her mother, but shorter and softer, with mild eyes that lack the angry agony in Carmen's. She is also missing the "Morticia Addams" aura (a reference that, thanks to Paul's memories, you now fully get). If anything, she looks like a novitiate for a nunnery.<br/>
<br/>
She is also very shy when she meets you, though her eyes glint with anticipation as she steps toward your car. Before leaving, you give Carmen a quick peck on the cheek. "I might take her to a movie after, or minigolfing, or something," you tell her, for you'll be up near the mall. "I don't want this to be a hit-and-run thing." Carmen looks pleased by the suggestion.<br/>
<br/>
She'd be a lot less pleased if she knew the real reason you are going to keep her daughter out for hours and hours. It's because you can't trust Sydney get her new imposture's memories until tomorrow morning.<br/>
<br/>
"So, you ever been to Le Metropolitain?" you ask Rebecca when you're behind the wheel. She shakes her head. "Well, neither have I. It didn't open until after I left town. Your mom says it's a treat, though." Rebecca murmurs something inaudible.<br/>
<br/>
In fact she's very quiet the whole drive. You finally ask her, point blank, if she's shy.<br/>
<br/>
"A little," she admits. "You know," she stammers, "I watched your show, even before—" You can almost <i>hear</i> her blushing. "Mother told me you were one of her students. But she didn't tell me— Not until—"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, are you starstruck because I was on TV? Or because I'm your dad?"<br/>
<br/>
The words, when you realize what you just said, almost make you faint.<br/>
<br/>
"A little of both, I guess," Rebecca whispers.<br/>
<br/>
It's a relief to see Sydney waiting outside the restaurant when you park, and you leap from the car to greet her with a smile you know just dazzles. "Well?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"She's a doll," you tell her. "You'll love everything about being her."<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1111311311111111111111111221111111213521512121
author_id: seuzz
title: Becky
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Sydney gives you a narrow smile, and leans over to peer into the passenger side of your Mustang. Rebecca is sleeping there with her head against the window.<br/>
<br/>
"Is she a narcoleptic?" Sydney asks.<br/>
<br/>
"No. I hit her with a memory dingus after I shut off the engine. I figured it would be less of a fuss as putting a full mask on her."<br/>
<br/>
Sydney pats her purse. "Will," she says, "I <i>brought</i> a full mask to use on her."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that all you brought?"<br/>
<br/>
Sydney hesitates. "Well, no. I brought everything, I've got it in my car."<br/>
<br/>
"Including just masks? No memory strips in them? Then we'll use one of them on her, then we can glue 'em together."<br/>
<br/>
"Do we need one for her mom?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hmm?" You were distracted by a thought. "No, she'd be dead weight. We'll take Rebecca with us to L.A.—"<br/>
<br/>
"Will her mom let her go?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," you say, though you suspect Carmen will put up a fight. "But I got a idea that could maybe save us some trouble ..."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Twenty minutes later, a girl who looks and is dressed like Sydney McGlynn climbs out your Mustang. She gives you a lascivious look up and down. "I really wish I was going with you guys," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"We could get you a job out there."<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" Her smile deepens. "So I can—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not right now. You'll have to wait till you've graduated." But there's a gurgle of desire in your throat as you say it.<br/>
<br/>
Fake-Sydney pouts, and plucks at your shirt. "Aw, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"No buts. Real-Sydney told you to skedaddle."<br/>
<br/>
"I <i>am</i> skedaddling." She has been edging an inch at a time over toward her car.<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Basta!</i> Get out of here! And remember," you add as she turns away with a playful sulk, "you're supposed to keep Will happy."<br/>
<br/>
"But <i>you're</i> Will!"<br/>
<br/>
"Not any more. That kid at school is the one you've got a crush on."<br/>
<br/>
She glints at you, her expression sly and witchy, and you can't tell if it means <i>I know, I'm on my way to maul him right now</i> or if it means, <i>We both know that's not true, but I'll play along for the sake of the plan.</i> She puts lots of wiggle into her butt as she saunters over to her car, and gives you one last slinky glance before getting in. She slides on some sunglasses after starting the car, so you can't be sure if she's giving you another long look before driving away.<br/>
<br/>
And will that be the last you see of Sydney? Oh no, not by a long shot, for the real girl is in the back of your Mustang, getting into the face and clothes and mind of Rebecca Oliver. But you can't help feeling a twinge of loss as a girl who looks and acts like the girl who helped lead you here turns out of the parking lot and speeds off back toward town.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Sydney, in her new guise, takes a very long time before emerging, which makes you a little nervous as you lean against the side of your car, squinting into your cell phone, for you're trying something new. The idea is that she will put on the memory strip first, to see if she can get the memories, then add the mask on top of it. If it works, then she should be able to do a full impersonation of Rebecca, and do it almost immediately.<br/>
<br/>
You look in on her twice while waiting. The first time she was still unconscious, and still in her own face. (And body, which was naked, though she had Rebecca's tangled-up clothes piled up in her lap.) The second time, it was Rebecca resting there. Eventually, a gentle rocking in the car alerts you that Sydney is awake and probably dressing. You stand away from the car, to give her plenty of time without unnecessary interruptions from you.<br/>
<br/>
But, at last, the passenger-side door opens a crack. You pull it the rest of the way open, and Rebecca Oliver—<br/>
<br/>
Your daughter.<br/>
<br/>
—squeezes out over the folded-over front seat and clambers out next to you. She puffs and blows. "God," she mutters. "You'd have to be a midget to do it back there!"<br/>
<br/>
"Which is why I never do it back there."<br/>
<br/>
"Well then, where <i>do</i> you do it?"<br/>
<br/>
"What are we talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
"What do you <i>think</i> we're talking about?" She sounds a little peevish.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, well, if that's what we're talking about, I do it in my bedroom, usually. Or in the living room. In the complex's swimming pool at three in the morning. In a closet in the production offices. At her house, and at her sister's house, when she's had a sister. At— How's the mask working, Sydney?"<br/>
<br/>
The girl who looks like Rebecca stares back at you, her moon-face frozen in a querulous gape. Then she says, "Pah!" closes her eyes, and shakes herself out all over. She frowns and rubs her temples.<br/>
<br/>
"Sydney?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's all here! I can tell you anything you want to know! I'm just— It's like trying to scoop up water from a stream, is all. Her personality just wants to slither away from me!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, how about we go inside and relax? I've been standing out here for thirty minutes—"<br/>
<br/>
"Good idea, I need to pee anyway."<br/>
<br/>
Without waiting for you, Rebecca trots off toward the restaurant like a foot soldier on his way to formation.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You've never been to Le Metropolitain yourself, and neither has Paul, but he has been to places like it (though much better) in Los Angeles. It's small and intimate, with padded walls and a muted carpet and white tablecloths, so that sound is dampened and conversations are hushed. But the windows looking onto the parking lot in front are clear and bright, so that the restaurant is filled with a gentle radiance that gleams off the polished brass railings and glass work.<br/>
<br/>
Though the temperatures are in the mid-sixties, you ask the hostess for outside seating, and after letting Rebecca excuse herself to the restroom, you are led onto a deck in back, where you can sit and look across green, tree-clad slopes to Fell's Lake beyond. Geese and ducks are swimming in it. It would all be very peaceful if it wasn't for the loud swish and grumble of traffic on the nearby freeway, and at the Northgate shopping district.<br/>
<br/>
You have plenty of time to gaze onto the lake, and to glance over the menu, which have prices that don't even approach those in Los Angeles but which are enough to make you wince at the dent they'll put in your credit card.<br/>
<br/>
But, finally Rebecca appears.<br/>
<br/>
She looks much calmer now, more like when you picked her up. There's pink in her cheeks, and her small mouth is soft and her eyebrows relaxed. Her dark, elbow-length hair, which she parts in the middle, separates and spills around a forehead that is clear of lines. Her charcoal-gray dress, which looks like it's made of silk, floats diaphanously in the breeze.<br/>
<br/>
"Better?" you ask as she pulls out the chair across from you. "Why don't you sit next to me?"<br/>
<br/>
She hesitates, then with a slight smile pushes the chair back in and pulls out the one at your left hand. "It's a little chilly out here, isn't it?" she says.<br/>
<br/>
"I can get you my jacket from the car."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe later." She sips from the water glass. "This must seem pretty poor, next to what you have in Los Angeles."<br/>
<br/>
"I told you about Paul's finances, Sydney."<br/>
<br/>
She lowers her eyes, and through frozen lips says, "I'm trying to be Becky."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Well. Yeah, there's a lot of great restaurants out there. But I'm a burger-and-fries kind of guy."<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" She gives you a shy side glance.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. By the way, what do I call you?"<br/>
<br/>
She frowns. "I told you. 'Becky.'"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought it was 'Rebecca'."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Well, that's what Mother calls me. I have to remind my friends to call me that when they're over at my house and <i>she's</i> around." She rolls her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Why, does she beat you with a coat hanger if they call you by the wrong name?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! She just gives me a lecture. We have to be <i>so good.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"And you don't like that, huh?"<br/>
<br/>
She takes another sip of water before answering, "I just get lonely, sometimes."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, who are your friends? Do I know them?"<br/>
<br/>
Through a tight mouth she says, "How would you know them if you don't even <i>live</i> here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, that's right, I slipped. Still, tell me some of their names."<br/>
<br/>
Some, like James Brewer and Dylan Blain, you sort of know. But most of them you don't, and Becky admits that a lot of them are juniors. You ask her about classes, and she rattles off her schedule. None of them, you note, are arts classes. "What do you like?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I like animals," she says after a pause. "I want to be a vet. Or a pet groomer."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you want to be an actress?"<br/>
<br/>
Her expression curdles.<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Mother</i> wanted me to," she says. "It pissed her off when Mr. Wilkes told her to stop wasting my time and his with theater classes."<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11113113111111111111111112211111112135215121211
author_id: seuzz
title: The Character Thing
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Becky's confession gives you pause, for you can well imagine how Carmen—an intensely theatrical personality who used to teach drama, and who by the looks of things has tried shaping her daughter into an encore of herself—would react to a snub like that.<br/>
<br/>
But it sets the wheels turning in your mind, and they click along even as the waiter comes out to ask if you've settled on something. Both of you order salads—yours with walnuts, prosciutto, cranberries, and a vinaigrette—and then Becky asks what you're thinking about, for you've fallen into an intense silence.<br/>
<br/>
"Will your mom let me take you back to Los Angeles?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
The question, of course, doesn't surprise her. "I don't think so."<br/>
<br/>
"Even if I told her I wanted to connect with you, be a father—"<br/>
<br/>
"I still don't think so. She doesn't badmouth you, exactly, uh, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"Suppose I told her I could get you into an acting program. You come out with me, and I put you into a high school with an acting program. And in Los Angeles, you know, those are— Also, I can get you contacts. Not just with casting directors and agents, but with coaches. What would she say about that?"<br/>
<br/>
Becky looks down at her bread plate, with an intensity as though it were a crystal ball showing her a possible future.<br/>
<br/>
"I still don't think— The thing is, she <i>knows</i> I'm no good. She won't say it, but she <i>knows</i>—"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey." You lean across to lift her face with a fingertip under the chin. "That's stage work. That's not movies, that's not TV. What did Mr. Wilkes have to say about you, exactly?"<br/>
<br/>
She sighs. "That I didn't have a presence. My voice doesn't project." She pauses. "That I disappear into the backdrop."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Ouch.</i> She must have been bad if Mr. Wilkes thought that kind of thing disqualifying. Paul worked with a lot of kids at Westside who squeaked when they declaimed, couldn't hit a mark, and bumped into the furniture like it was invisible.<br/>
<br/>
"He knew how good Mother wanted me to be. He was telling her it wasn't going to happen." She tucks a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. "I'm still friends with kids in the theater program. I even practice with them, helping them learn lines. Some of them say I'm better than them. But I'm not— Well—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>You're just not the girl that Carmen would have expected to get by Paul Griffin.</i> <br/>
<br/>
But Hollywood is full of those kinds of kids as well. The children of actors who can't act; children of  scriptwriters who can't write; children of executives who can't balance their own checkbooks; and children of agents and lawyers who can't even manage to fuck a whore, let alone a studio, network, producer, or client.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, like I say, that's stage work. Movies and TV, you just have to photograph well and say the words in the right order. If I told your mother that with some good glamour shots, the right coaches, my contacts, and the friends you could make at a Los Angeles high school—"<br/>
<br/>
"She likes the <i>theater,</i>" Becky says. "But—"<br/>
<br/>
"But?"<br/>
<br/>
Her gaze goes distant again. "It'd be worth a shot."<br/>
<br/>
You gently squeeze her hand.<br/>
<br/>
"Never mind me as a father," you say. "Would you trust me as a mentor?"<br/>
<br/>
She blushes with pleasure. "I think so!"<br/>
<br/>
"Then that's what we'll tell your mother." You smile at each other.<br/>
<br/>
The rest of the conversation is about a much more interesting topic—your career. When lunch is over and you've paid the bill, you pull her chair back and help her up. But out front, as you're crossing the parking lot, Becky returns to the earlier topic. "Paul, do you really think I could be a good enough actress in TV or movies?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think you could, Becky."<br/>
<br/>
She giggles, and her voice turns throaty and conspiratorial. "But am I good actress right now, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're amazing, Sydney. I was <i>this close</i> to forgetting it wasn't you."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You spend the balance of the day pretending to be a father and daughter getting to know each other. You see a movie then drive around town, where you point out places you used to hang out, things that have changed, telling stories about your time as a cocky young high-school stallion. Becky takes you by her favorite places, which include Arnholm's Used Books and the Crystal Cave coffee shop next door. She asks about your parents, and if they know about her. You assure her that they don't, and that they aren't going to learn about her either. She seems offended at first, and pouts. Then, abruptly, she grunts and says, "Yeah, that's probably best. Keep things simple." You get her home by five, though, so she can have her supper. Before parting, you agree that she won't tell Carmen anything about the "Los Angeles" plans. Instead, she will tell her mother that her father is a kind, warm, attentive human being, and that the two of you instantly bonded.<br/>
<br/>
Later that night you take a long walk down a country lane, smoking one of the joints that Paul brought with him. After taking a little off the edge this way, you call Carmen. "So," you ask her, "does Rebecca like me?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're a hit," she says, but her tone is unmistakably frosty. "Probably the biggest you've ever had in your life."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, good. I tried, and ... She's a really good kid."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you don't have to worry she'll go on social media and trash you."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Will you?</i> you want to ask. Instead, you ask if she can meet you for breakfast in the morning. There's a long pause before she agrees.<br/>
<br/>
Back at the house, as you're getting ready for bed, there's a soft knock on your door. It's your mother, and she wears a prim expression.<br/>
<br/>
"Thank you for taking it outside," she tells you. "But next time, take a little longer walk, so it's not so noticeable when you come back in the house."<br/>
<br/>
You mumble an apology, and with a tight smile she wishes you goodnight.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're at the Sunshine Diner by seven o'clock, and you only have to wait ten minutes or so before Carmen breezes in. It's Monday and she's in her office clothes—a pantsuit and boots—but there's no smothering the inescapably "artistic" air that she carries around with her. Her manner is cool and unfriendly as she slides into the booth opposite. She looks startled as you pour her a coffee from the carafe, and her expression turns wary as you lean across the table to give her your "pitch."<br/>
<br/>
"I want to take Rebecca back to Los Angeles with me."<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes pop. "What?"<br/>
<br/>
"I want to take Rebecca back to Los Angeles with me. I want her to move in with me, transfer to a local high school—"<br/>
<br/>
"Good God!" She glances around, then muffles her voice. "Are you <i>drunk?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm stone sober. We had a lot of time to talk yesterday, and—"<br/>
<br/>
"She <i>liked</i> you, Paul, but that doesn't mean—"<br/>
<br/>
"She wants to be an actress."<br/>
<br/>
Carmen sucks in a sharp breath.<br/>
<br/>
"She's had nothing but disappointment out here, Carmen. She told me about the local program, and Wilkes, and— It's not doing her any good. It crushed her."<br/>
<br/>
Carmen stares at you, then picks up the water glass and takes a long drink. "What exactly did she tell you?" she asks after setting it down.<br/>
<br/>
"Everything. More, probably, than she's told you." Carmen's eyes sharpen. "She thinks she's a disappointment to <i>you.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, for God's sakes!"<br/>
<br/>
"She does, Carmen. She knows what you wanted for her. She did her best. She tried harder than anything."<br/>
<br/>
"It's not her fault! Wallace Wilkes—"<br/>
<br/>
"She told me what he said. And I can see he's got a point. She's got your beauty, Carmen, but she hasn't got your presence. And her voice <i>is</i> very soft. But she's got the hunger. At least, she's got the hunger to please <i>you.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Carmen's expression is beginning to take on that "tragic" cast again. "She doesn't have to. I've— I've accustomed myself— Oh, God!" Her eyes pop again, and for a moment the real woman escapes from behind the mask that has stiffened into imprisoning bone upon her countenance. "I worried so much that I was driving her too hard—"<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to worry about <i>that,</i> Carmen." You take one of her hands between yours, and with a quick sidelong glance you <i>dare</i> the hovering waitress to interrupt. "Yes, she feels the pressure, but— Has she ever told you about her 'Cast of Characters'?"<br/>
<br/>
Carmen shakes her head.<br/>
<br/>
"She's got a whole town full of them. Men, women, husbands, fathers, daughters, best friends, wine aunts, bosses—"<br/>
<br/>
"Who are you talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
"Characters! That she's created! A whole notebook of them, sketched and described. And they live in her head, Carmen. She knows their personalities, their voices, their quirks. She did some for me!"<br/>
<br/>
In fact, Becky showed you nothing of the kind. You are simply describing and repurposing a girl that Paul had in an acting workshop. She was developing a one-woman show. (It would have been great if she herself hadn't been so terrible.)<br/>
<br/>
"She can act, Carmen," you assure her. "She's a natural. Her only problem is that she can't <i>project</i> on stage. But, you know." You lean back, and now you gesture the waitress over. "There's a whole industry in Los Angeles where you hardly need to act. And 'projecting' in a close up is the worst thing you could do."<br/>
<br/>
A radiance fills Carmen's face. The rest of the meeting is just a mopping-up operation.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 111131131111111111111111122111111121352151212111
author_id: seuzz
title: A Rake's Progress
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Carmen doesn't make a decision over breakfast, but she does promise to get back to you soon, after she's talked to her daughter.<br/>
<br/>
Right after you part, you call Sydney, recapping your talk with Carmen, and telling her about the "notebook" that you invented for Becky. When she (horrified) asks what she'll do when Carmen asks to see it, you tell her to tell Carmen that she (Becky) burned it a few weeks ago in a fit of despondency.<br/>
<br/>
<i>What if she wants me to perform one of these characters?</i> Sydney wants to know.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Drop the 'Rebecca Oliver' act and give her the 'Sydney McGlynn' act--a champion cheerleader from Kansas City. You can do </i>her,<i> can't you?</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You spend the rest of the day doing what Paul has been doing while staying with his parents: pretending to write a screenplay. Oh, he's writing a screenplay alright. It's just that it takes him five hours to work up the nerve to open the Word document, another hour to read and revise the draft, thirty minutes of procrastination with online Solitaire before returning to the script, and another forty-five minutes to tap out two complete pages. So far, he's twenty-six pages in.<br/>
<br/>
And of course, the story is about a chronically underemployed actor who constantly self-sabotages because he can't stop chasing pussy. (And getting it, because if Paul's going to write about himself, he's going to write about the himself that he fancies himself to be.) It gives you lots of time and excuse to imaginatively relive the material he's been basing it on.<br/>
<br/>
There were, of course, his high school lays: Allison and Sasha and Tina and Erin and ... Well, and others. At parties, after parties, at the river, at the Warehouse. (Interesting to think that place was in business all the way back then.) Best memory, though—you can't help grinning as you recall it—was the time your senior year that you were at Kyrstyn MacGuire's, in her back yard, fiddling with some plants you were trying to crossbreed for a class project in plant biology. She'd always been friendly with you, but never even so much as flirted. Her mom came out to say that she was going to run some errands in town and get her toenails done. <br/>
<br/>
And as soon as the car was out of sight, Kyrstyn said, <i>Wanna try this out upstairs? But you and me instead of—?</i> and flicked the leaves of the plant.<br/>
<br/>
Well, you didn't need her to say it a second time to know what she meant. You'd done it plenty by then, and people knew it, and Kyrstyn probably asked you because, <i>A)</i> she knew you were a semi-pro and would get her question right away, and <i>B)</i> she knew you were a semi-pro and could do the job. <i>Sure,</i> you said, gave her ass an appreciative squeeze, and ran upstairs with her. She must have been puddling with hot, unappeasable desire the whole time you were playing with those damn plants, because she was like a greenhouse in the summer in the Florida Keys after you tore your clothes off and bundled into her bed. She screamed when she came and tried to rip the flesh off your back with her nails. Before and after, you gobbled at each other like starving raccoons tearing into a bunch of fat, juicy grapes.<br/>
<br/>
And thirty minutes later you were back outside, working on the plants again as though nothing had happened in the interval.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But you got more action after moving to Los Angeles. Between the private classes and the waitering jobs, you had lots of choices and chances, every one of them a magnitude of order more desirable than anything back in Saratoga Falls. And there wasn't any competition, either. Not because there were no guys, or because you were a cut above them—it startled and dismayed you a little, to see how ... <i>common</i> ... your looks were in L.A. as opposed to back home—but because people didn't compete. Everyone was available to all comers, apparently without judgement.<br/>
<br/>
So you did it in apartments and you did it on darkened theater stages after the rest of the class had left. You did it in parking lots and in supply closets. You did it with one girl, you did it with two, you did it with two girls and another guy, you did it with a dozen over the course of a weekend. Sometimes you did it with guys, but only when there was at least one woman present and you got tired of waiting your turn with her.<br/>
<br/>
"You know why we're doing this, don't you?" Zander Parks asked you one evening when you sprawled, exhausted, in his darkened living room while your two dates entertained each other in the bedroom.<br/>
<br/>
"Because we're horny."<br/>
<br/>
He was smoking a joint, and he waved it in the air, so that the curling smoke caught and scattered the glare of the streetlamp outside. "It's because we want to be wanted."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, <i>yeah!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
He sat up.<br/>
<br/>
"No, what I mean is, it's because we're all a bunch of fucking narcissists. That's why we're actors. We want to be looked at. We want to be desired. We want jobs where people look at us and want to be with us, and we feel fucking cheated when those jobs go to some other asshole. So, we try to get it some other way that makes us feel"—he caressed a bare nipple—"wanted. Something to fill that hole this business leaves after it's sucked our guts out."<br/>
<br/>
You allowed that there was something in what he said, but you never got as philosophical about it as Zander, who was the kind of guy who liked foreign films and experimental theater. Maybe he was too philosophical about it, for it wasn't long after that he gave up on acting. The last you heard, he owned a small plumbing company in the Valley.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But you found your focus shifting after joining the cast of <i>Enchanted U,</i> which was far and away the biggest success you'd had. You still had access, of course, to the smorgasbord of yore, but to your own astonishment you began shying away from it, instinctively and almost violently. You ghosted former lovers and declined invitations to previous haunts. You didn't want to admit it, but eventually you were forced to face it. You had become one of those "snobs" who forgot former friends when they made it big(ger).<br/>
<br/>
Not that you felt like a snob. Mostly you felt frightened. You felt like a man who after being tossed about a stormy sea had clambered onto shore, exhausted and traumatized. The last thing you wanted to do was plunge back into the maelstrom from which you'd escaped. It was an almost superstitious fear that if you spent too much time—or any time!—with former friends, you'd reacquire the taint of desperation and unemployment, and lose your new gig.<br/>
<br/>
But you also didn't dive into the new pools that opened up with your new success. You left offers on the table, and drifted away from parties without a nighttime lay. But it wasn't because you had become a "good" person. If anything, you might have become worse.<br/>
<br/>
Because the game now became <i>seduction.</i> Emotional domination. <br/>
<br/>
There were lots of women on set and in the production offices, not all of them actresses. There were dozens of assistants around as well, most of them looking cramped and dowdy in their too-small clothes with their hair pulled back into unattractive buns behind their heads, and hiding their eyes behind glasses that could have been designed to make their faces look fat and unfocused. The game was to pick one, spin her around, dizzy her with your attentions, tease her with implied promises and veiled insinuations, and then—<br/>
<br/>
After making it clear you were sleeping with one of her colleagues.<br/>
<br/>
—maneuver her into bed.<br/>
<br/>
For one time only.<br/>
<br/>
You plowed your way through dozens like this, often keeping three of them (at various stages of seduction) in the air at once. You weren't the only one, and you didn't invent the game, either. That would have been Michael Chadden, who played Philistine Gauleiter, one of the witch-hunting antagonists, on the show. He was a veteran of two other short-lived series, where he had apparently invented the game to amuse himself, and he explained it to you when you caught him making a play for two women at once. From you two it spread to most of the rest of the supporting actors on set. It got so bad that at least one reporter from <i>Variety</i> came sniffing around for a story, having heard that the production was about to get hit with a "hostile workplace" suit.<br/>
<br/>
The really odd thing is that, since the end of the show and the evaporation of your active career, not only have you gotten laid only a few times (and that with disappointing results) but you haven't even really wanted to.<br/>
<br/>
Which leaves the real-life anecdotes you are transmuting into fiction as your main outlet of release.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


