# chapters

path: 1141311132
author_id: seuzz
title: Another Story From Cindy
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You get a text from Carson on the way into school the next morning, telling you to meet him at a donut shop on the way in. But if you were expecting to be treated to an extra breakfast, you are disappointed. He and James (who is with him) are waiting in the parking lot, and just want to know if you've completed your part of the mission yet.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll let you know when I do," you tell them with all the vocal annoyance you can muster. "Jeez, you can't just expect me—"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not hard, Prescott," Carson snaps. "All you gotta do—"<br/>
<br/>
"I know what I gotta do! But I have to talk to Cindy, and that <i>is</i> kind of hard to do. She doesn't like to be seen with me, or something."<br/>
<br/>
"Like that makes her a special case. And you don't have to meet up with her, you can text her and—"<br/>
<br/>
"It's easiest if I talk to her. Besides, it'll be more convincing. I can't just text her up out of the blue and talk to her about her boyfriend!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, don't waste any time," Carson tells you, and he jams a stiff finger into your chest. James glowers at you from beside him.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You were kindof-sortof expecting to hear from Cindy, but it's Jenny who pops up at your locker before classes to tell you that Cindy wants to meet you after school at the Crystal Cave. "She could text me, you know," you inform Jenny, for you're in a mood to feel insulted.<br/>
<br/>
"I think she doesn't want Seth finding your name in her messages. You don't either," Jenny reminds you. "God, Will, do you know what you're doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"What do you think I'm doing?" you retort.<br/>
<br/>
Jenny looks doubtful. "I'd say the two of you are being study buddies, but it's a weird look."<br/>
<br/>
"Me and Cindy do have the same math class."<br/>
<br/>
Jenny makes a face. "I've heard about your grades, Will. You can't tutor Cindy, and Cindy wouldn't tutor you."<br/>
<br/>
You slam your locker shut, and tell Jenny to tell Cindy that you'll see her later. <i>Fuck you,</i> is the subtext to your message, though.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're nursing a coffee when Cindy staggers into the Beanfield, twenty minutes after you arrived. She doesn't apologize but with staring eyes and a pale gasp drops into the booth across from you. "Do you have that book here with you?" she asks in a voice filled with horror.<br/>
<br/>
"No," you warily reply. "It's at home."<br/>
<br/>
She groans. "Can you go get it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, I guess." You get up. "You know, you could've asked me while I was at school, instead of waiting until I—"<br/>
<br/>
She grabs your wrist in a claw-like hand. "Bring all the other stuff back with you too!" She closes her eyes and nurses her temple in her hand.<br/>
<br/>
You feel your own eyes widen with alarm, but hurry out and race home.<br/>
<br/>
Cindy is still at the coffee shop when you get back, waiting with a haggard but hopeful expression when you get back, and she grabs the book from you. She mumbles to herself as she leafs through it. "Which one is the spell that made that metal thingie you showed me yesterday?" <br/>
<br/>
"The next to the last one. Well, the next to the last one you can—" You break off as Cindy flips to the page and yanks out her cell phone. But she only moans after she's translated it. "Of all the— There has to be a way!" she hisses to herself.<br/>
<br/>
"A way to what?"<br/>
<br/>
But she doesn't answer, and flips back to the earlier spells. "If you tell me what you're looking for," you inform her, "I might could maybe help you find it."<br/>
<br/>
She finds it on her own, though, eventually, and presses a stiff finger into the page under a particular passage. "God, please, let this work," she mutters as she grips her temple with her free hand. Reading off the page, she mutters to herself under her breath, and pulls at her forehead. Nothing happens, and with sobs that come quicker and harder she tries again and again, murmuring some phrase in a strange language while trying (it looks like) to peel her own forehead off.<br/>
<br/>
At last she succeeds at something. Her hand comes away, she sways, and face plants into the book. You check to see that she's alright. Though her nose looks pink and a little smushed, there seems to be no damage, but she is also asleep.<br/>
<br/>
In her hand, when you pry it open, is a metal band.<br/>
<br/>
It looks like the metal band that you made the night before last—it's the same size and shape and sheen—but you let out a little gasp when you turn it over. The runes have vanished, and in their place are some fiery blue letters that seem to float just over the surface: CATHERINE DENISE MUSKOV.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I walked off with it yesterday," Cindy says when she's recovered and is restoring herself with a cup of coffee. "And I had it in my pocket—I don't know why—last night when me and Seth went over to Catherine's. And I was talking with Catherine, it was just her and me for a bit up in her bedroom, and I don't what came over me but I just wanted to see ... what would happen ..." <br/>
<br/>
Her grimace deepens. "It's like I couldn't help myself, but I took the thing out and slapped it onto her forehead!"<br/>
<br/>
You suck in a deep breath, but say nothing.<br/>
<br/>
"It was like with the mask. It's like it sank into her and she fell unconscious. There were all kinds of people there so I was panicked. Michael even tried to come in once, but I managed to push him off, told him Catherine was in the bathroom. The thing came out of Catherine, and I bolted and ran."<br/>
<br/>
She's breathing hard, and her eyes are staring.<br/>
<br/>
"Will," she says in a tiny voice. "I'm not a bad person."<br/>
<br/>
"No. No you're not," you assure her. "You just wanted to see what would happen. This stuff is—"<br/>
<br/>
"No! Will! Because I tried it out! On myself!" Cindy's mouth widens into a silent scream. "You saw, didn't you?"<br/>
<br/>
You lick your lips, and nod.<br/>
<br/>
"I wanted to— Well, I remembered what you said, about how you think the thing copies, like, thoughts and memories. And last night, as I was getting ready for bed— Oh, I guess I was just being nosy! But I couldn't help it! I wanted to see what would happen, so I—" She sniffles, and falls silent.<br/>
<br/>
"So you— What? Put it on your forehead?" you ask. Cindy nods, unhappily. "And what happened?"<br/>
<br/>
Cindy sighs. "You were right," she says. "When I woke up, it's like I knew everything that Catherine knew." She slumps back in her booth. <br/>
<br/>
You don't press her, and just wait for her to speak. When she does, it comes out haltingly, in dribs and drabs.<br/>
<br/>
"At first it was like an echo. Like deja vu. I thought I remembered something, then I thought— No, that never happened to me. But then I was sure it was.<br/>
<br/>
"Then it was like I was remembering people I knew. Except I didn't know them. I knew lots about them. But I'd never heard of them before." <br/>
She presses the heel of her hand into an eye.<br/>
<br/>
"And then it all seemed to come together. Like it was being pulled together. And I felt ... Her. Another girl. She was inside my head and I—"<br/>
<br/>
She writhes in place. "And I was her," she says. "Or she was me. Inside me. Trying to be me.<br/>
<br/>
"It was creepy," she goes on. "It scared me. Like, who was I? Really. Was I ... me? Or was I ... her? Was I—?" She covers her face with her hands and mutters indistinctly into her fingers.<br/>
<br/>
She's silent for a long time, and her face is red and streaked with tears when she lowers her hands. But she has mastered herself, and speaks in a low, firm tone.<br/>
<br/>
"It got better after that. It was like she was inside me, but it was like she was a ... a brain I could borrow. An extra brain I could think with. To think her thoughts with. It even got—" A sickly smile comes to her face. "A little fun. Like, I could pretend I was Catherine, but I was ... in ... my body. Oh God!" She twists with embarrassment.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway, I went to bed soon after that, and I just thought, Okay, I'll sleep like this and then tomorrow morning I'll ... I'll take it off." She winces. "That's when I realized I didn't know how to.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, God," she groans. "I had a horrible night. I couldn't sleep. Like, what if there wasn't any way to get Catherine out of my head? What if I came down with, like, schizophrenic multiple-personality thingie? I guess I did fall asleep eventually, 'cos I did wake up, and I felt a little better. But today was just <i>wretched</i> for me, trying to get through it. Scared that I would have to be this way forever."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we did get you out of it," you tell her. "So it's all okay."<br/>
<br/>
It seems like a tasteless thing to say, and you expect Cindy to snap at you. But instead, a little smile comes to her face. After a long moment, she says. "Yes, it's okay. And you know what?" She flinches a little, but the smile remains. "Now that I know how to get out of it, it was kind of fun."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Having unburdened herself, Cindy recovers very quickly, and within a few minutes is deriding herself as a drama queen. She even becomes inquisitive about the metal strip, and how it works, and how it could fit together with the masks.<br/>
<br/>
"You <i>can</i> put them together," you inform her. "The last spell in there makes a kind of glue you can use to glue this thing into a mask. I didn't do it yet, but I did make the glue. It was easy."<br/>
<br/>
Cindy sets the metal strip inside the mask, which you brought with you along with the other stuff. She turns it over and studies the faces it contains.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you want to try it out?" she asks you.</span></div></div>


path: 11413111322
author_id: seuzz
title: The New Girl in Your Life
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Yeah, I'll try it out," you mumble. You look around. "Not here, not where everyone can see—"<br/>
<br/>
But Cindy is already sweeping the stuff back into bags. You help her, and together you carry the supplies back out to your truck, in the bed of which, in the corner of the parking lot behind the coffee shop, you prepare the glue you told her about.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Urgk," you grumble to yourself when next you are aware of yourself as a constituent part of the universe. Your eyes are clenched shut, and you've an acrid-feeling headache. It's the feeling you have when you've woken from a too-short nap.<br/>
<br/>
Though why you are napping when you've got a party downstairs that you've got to get back to ...<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself wedged up in a sitting position, and your clothes are bunched up all around you, and you twist around inside them as you pry your eyes open. It's all very confusing, and you frown as you look around. You're behind the wheel of a car or something, and you're parked in front of a brick wall, and when you look over you find Cindy Vredenburg sitting in the passenger side, staring back at you with a freaked out look on her face.<br/>
<br/>
You're slammed with memories of the afternoon just past, and that headache flares into a searing migraine. You close your eyes again with a groan, and lean forward to rest your forehead against the wheel of your truck.<br/>
<br/>
Then, like a cyclone that dies and dissipates, the chaos inside your head clears, and the whirling memories, like falling debris, collapses into a complex of neat, tidy patterns.<br/>
<br/>
On the one hand there is you, Will Prescott. And on the other hand there is also you, Catherine Muskov. You just have to decide which you is <i>you.</i><br/>
<br/>
Which is easy enough to do. But it's still funny the way you can feel the pattern of Catherine's mind and memories next to your own, even after you've lifted your face from the wheel of your truck. It's like a coat, you decide, as you let that other mind briefly slip over and inside yours, before shrugging it off. <i>On,</i> and you feel Catherine's confidence and amusement with the world, and you feel the pull that comes with thinking of your friends, the desire to find them and hang out with them, to laugh over the hundreds of private jokes you share. <i>Off,</i> and you feel yourself a teenage boy with a few close friends but little social presence in the school. But even <i>off</i> you can feel Catherine nearby, and even <i>on</i> you can feel yourself beneath the lightly worn mind and memories of Catherine Muskov.<br/>
<br/>
It isn't in an instant that you feel and learn this about yourself, but it comes pretty quickly as you smile crookedly at and through the back brick wall of 100 Twentieth Street. You're conscious of Cindy's heavy breathing, but she says nothing, and not until you have got comfortable with having Catherine Muskov draped lightly around you, so that you can sense her personality without being overwhelmed by it, do you turn your crooked smile back onto Cindy. Maybe it's because you've got Catherine's eyes in back of your own, but Cindy seems a lot less imposing now. <i>She's just another girl at school ...</i><br/>
<br/>
"Hey," you say, and your smile widens, "so I guess I've—"<br/>
<br/>
You catch yourself at the sound of your voice. It is soft, light, and high in register.<br/>
<br/>
That's when you remember that there's probably more about you that's changed than your set of memories.<br/>
<br/>
It's not much of a surprise when some long, brunette hair falls across your face, for Catherine at least is used to that even if you aren't. But when you twitch a lock of it between your fingertips and study it, you find it has a lot less body. And when you look down, the front of your t-shirt is swelled out over a much smaller couple of boobs. And when you grab the rearview mirror and twist it around so you can study your face—<br/>
<br/>
It's no one you (with two sets of memories) can ever remember seeing before.<br/>
<br/>
<i>It's like it's halfway between Jenny's face and Yumi's,</i> you decide after you've recovered from the surprise, and come to grips with it.<br/>
<br/>
Your new features are attractive and regular, with a strong (but not over-large) nose over a full (but not puffy) set of lips. You have cheekbones, but they are set in a face that is neither as narrow as Jenny's nor as round as Yumi's. Your eyes are dark, with a hint of Oriental almond to their shape—enough to be exotic without looking Chinese or Japanese. They are widely spaced, as are your dark eyebrows. Your hair is long and there is a lot of it, which is good because it hasn't got much body. It is the color of coffee that's been softened by a drop or two of cream.<br/>
<br/>
As for the rest of your body, you can't tell, for it is lost in your comically overlarge t-shirt and cargo pants. Your feet swim inside your shoes when waggle them.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God," Cindy finally says.<br/>
<br/>
"Wow," you agree. "I know, right? If it's freaky for you, imagine what it's like for me!"<br/>
<br/>
"What about the, uh, the—?" Cindy wipes her fingertips across her brow.<br/>
<br/>
"You mean Catherine? Like with you today? She's in here with me too." You look back into the mirror, and feel a second wave of surprise and pleasure washing over you. "I think she'd like having this face!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus," Cindy says. There's a cringe in her voice. "Can I—" She puts out a finger, and hesitates before touching you. <br/>
<br/>
You giggle. "Go on," you urge her. "You can play rougher than that."<br/>
<br/>
Cindy flushes and pulls her finger back. "At least it feels real," she mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"I think it is," you reply. "But I'd have to check out— Oh!"<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
Slowly you drop your hands to your chest, and cradle your boobs through your t-shirt. They are like apples. "I've got breasts," you tell her. "I wonder if I've got— Or if I don't have—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Ewww!" Cindy cries. "You wouldn't! You can't!"<br/>
<br/>
"I think I have to."<br/>
<br/>
"No! You—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Chill out, Cindy. I mean, for fuck's sake, I've got Catherine's memories up here with me, if I know all about— And if wanted to I could—"<br/>
<br/>
You freeze, and turn narrowed eyes onto Cindy, who is cringing in the passenger side of your truck. "Wait a minute," you say. "Today in English. You were scoping out Michael!"<br/>
<br/>
"I was not!" Cindy shrieks.<br/>
<br/>
"You were! I remember, Cindy, I even remember you talking to Seth before coming out here! Whoa!" you gasp. "I guess that thing you were wearing recorded everything you did while you had it on! But in English, you were scoping out Catherine's boyfriend! And weren't you—? Were you <i>reliving</i> their last camping trip out to Russian Lake?"<br/>
<br/>
With a loud squeal, Cindy wrenches the truck door open and jumps out. You watch with amusement as she scampers out of the parking lot and down the street.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You've packed up all the stuff that you used to make the mask you are now wearing and are scrolling through your phone, wondering if you should use Catherine's passwords to get into her social media, when you are interrupted by a tap at your window. It's Cindy, returned from her brief flight. She signals you to get out.<br/>
<br/>
"If you're going to go around looking like that," she says with a touch of mischief—and a lot more poise and confidence than she was showing just ten minutes ago, "then you'll need some clothes. Come on." She gestures you to follow her over to her car.<br/>
<br/>
"I haven't got any money."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll pay."<br/>
<br/>
So she takes you a few blocks away to Nirdlinger's, a department store that has been a fixture of Saratoga Falls for more than a century. It gives you a thrill to go in there to shop in your new body, but to your disappointment Cindy leads you into the changing rooms in the back and thrusts you into one, telling you that you're not dressed fit to be seen in public. Over the next hour or two she brings you things to try on—jeans, shorts, and skirts; blouses, t-shirts, vests and sweaters—with her squeezed into the changing booth with you so she can examine you privately. She also buys you a package of panties and a bra.<br/>
<br/>
She's not going to buy you a wardrobe, but after going through lots of choices, you finally settle on a pair of olive-green trousers that ride low on your hips, and a black t-shirt that (on a whim that leaves Cindy grimacing) you tie into a knot just below your ribcage to expose your belly. (It hasn't got any definition to the muscles, but it is flat and curves deeply inward, with a shallow scoop of a navel in its center. For shoes, you make do with a pair of cheap flip-flops. It is with a chin held high that you stride out into the parking lot afterward, your own original clothes bundled up inside a paper bag.<br/>
<br/>
"Now you need a name," Cindy says after you're back in her car.<br/>
<br/>
"What for? I'm not going to live like this!" you protest. <br/>
<br/>
"I know that, but this girl still needs a name."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"For whenever we get together," Cindy says. "You can dress up this way when we need to meet. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she asks in a sleek, sly tone. "It seemed like you were having a lot of fun at the department store. Anyway," she continues as you are struck into silence, "you'll need a name to go with the face, in case someone sees us and I have to introduce you.</span></div></div>


path: 114131113221
author_id: seuzz
title: Girl Troubles
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Cindy doesn't explain why she might want to meet up with you again, but you don't press her and you don't argue about wearing the mask either. You feel a little embarrassed—there's just a trace of a sneer in her voice when she says that you seemed to have "fun" dressing up—but you're too abashed to say anything.<br/>
<br/>
So you discuss various names possibilities on the drive back to your truck. As this girl is a blend of Jenny Ashton, Yumi Saito, and Catherine Muskov, you decide the name should be a blend as well. The name "Yeni" suggests itself after Cindy rejects the more obvious "Yanni," and when you look it up online to see if it might resemble a real name, you are delighted to find that it is a genuine Turkish word meaning "new" or "fresh." Cindy brightly agrees that it is a happy choice, not just on account the serendipitous meaning, but because there is something faintly Turkish about the girl's features. A search on Turkish surnames beginning with an "M" (in a nod to "Muskov") turns up "Mojdeh," which means "good news for females"—another serendipity.<br/>
<br/>
So there she is: Yeni Mojdeh. Together, you and Cindy concoct a quick-and-dirty backstory for her: daughter of Turkish immigrants, who is home schooled (hence why no one at school has met her), and who met Cindy at a coffee shop where they hit it off. You press for more detail, but Cindy is content with that. "I don't want to make it complicated," she says.<br/>
<br/>
You part, but you're still buzzed, so instead of changing back into your own face and clothes, you return to the Crystal Cave and camp out in a back table to your homework. But after sending your mom a text telling her you won't be home for supper, you go online and start searching out social media sites. You are still in the mask and have Catherine's brain inside with you, and she's got a major presence online. You can't bring yourself to hack into her accounts—what would be the point?—but you fall eagerly onto the sites themselves, setting yourself up an email account that you then use to register at every site you can find around the web. Within an hour, "Yeni Mojdeh" has presences on Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, x2z, and others. Through the latter you are able to find Cindy (Catherine's memories give you Cindy's x2z handle) and through it you send her a DM announcing Yeni's accession to social media and gushing with delight at having met her at the Crystal Cave. You also send her a quick selfie of yourself (still inside Yeni's face) toasting her with a cup of coffee. Her reply, when it comes half an hour later, is more muted than you would have liked, but she does agree that Yeni's account will be the perfect way to keep in touch with you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"You know, Prescott," Carson declares at lunch the next day, "I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that you're finally over Lisa." He wrenches a hard bite from the apple that he brought for dessert. "You had her in your head too long," he mumbles with a full mouth. "But fuck her, you know? Fuck all ex's."<br/>
<br/>
You glare at him. You knew it was mistake coming out front to eat with him and James and Jenny again. But he caught you coming out of English— Well, he caught Caleb and cheerfully bullied him into coming out front, then as a seeming afterthought asked you along. Did he really want you along? Maybe not, because he and James completely ignored you during lunch. And now he wants to dig at that old wound? Your ex-girlfriend?<br/>
<br/>
"Leave Will alone," James tells him. "Can't you see he's still got a thing for her?"<br/>
<br/>
"You mean he's carrying his pain with stiff upper lip? Staggering along, heart-broken, but bravely putting a manly face on his crushing despair?" Carson turns to you. "Is that what you're doing, Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, sure, whatever," you mumble.<br/>
<br/>
"You should get it off your chest, whatever it is," Carson says. "Confront it, deal with it. You might learn something about yourself."<br/>
<br/>
"If he hasn't learned anything by now," Caleb grumbles, "it isn't because he didn't talk about her enough."<br/>
<br/>
"But you see, I don't think he did," Carson says, and James nods vigorously. "Now that I look at him, his whole demeanor, 'tis true, cries out with pain. 'Unrequited, unrequited!'" Carson thumps his chest in the manner of a bad, ham actor lamenting his romantic agonies. "'Why must my passion be forever unrequited by that flower so fair!'"<br/>
<br/>
"Dude, is that a quote or something?" Keith asks in an awestruck voice.<br/>
<br/>
Carson gestures broadly. "I read it off of Prescott's face."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you guys," you snarl, and scramble to your feet. Lunch is almost over anyway, and you stalk off with your gear and your trash.<br/>
<br/>
But James comes and finds you at your locker a few minutes later. "You want us to lay off you, man?" he says, and jabs you in the shoulder with a hard, bony finger. "Then start honoring your side of our bargain, or you're gonna start hearing a lot more of the kind of shit you don't like to hear. You're running out of time."<br/>
<br/>
So you log onto x2z to send Cindy a DM saying you want to meet up with her after school. You are startled to find that she has already sent you a DM suggesting the same thing.<br/>
<br/>
But it's not <i>you</i> who is waiting for her outside the gym.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You had it half in mind anyway to do something as "Yeni" after school, so you brought the mask and clothes with you this morning. So after the final bell has rung you hustle out to your truck, where you hunker down in the footwell on the passenger side and put the mask to your face. You are stiff all over when you wake again, and you have that same ice cream headache, but it quickly clears up once you start moving. After poking your head up to look around, you duck back down again and—fighting for space inside the footwell—peel off your old clothes and pull on the ones you bought for Yeni. There's still a long line of cars trying to exit the parking lot when you clamber out from your truck, but the parking lot is well on its way to being cleared. Yet there are still knots of students drifting out of the school, and you feel the eyes of the boys on you as you return to take up station just inside the breezeway near the gym. You take out your phone to send Cindy a DM telling her where you're waiting.<br/>
<br/>
You're still tapping it in when you hear a shout. You ignore it, but you start hard when a figure looms up and puts his face close to yours. You blink and stare.<br/>
<br/>
It's Seth Javits.<br/>
<br/>
He grins at you, and his short blonde hair bristles, like an excited dog's. "Hey," he says. "Are you new?" He puts his hand on the wall near your ear, and leans against it. "Need any help getting around, finding things?"<br/>
<br/>
Behind him, two other figures press up close. You're too rattled to put names to them, but you recognize them as basketball players, and you curse silently to yourself. There's afterschool practice in the gym, and in your haste to meet Cindy you forgot that fact.<br/>
<br/>
You're too shocked to reply. But before Seth (or one of the other goons) can make more of the situation, an even more alarming figure appears behind him. Coming in at a little over six-and-a-half feet, Steve Patterson swaggers up.<br/>
<br/>
Like Moses parting the Red Sea, he shoves Seth's friends apart and steps between them. They glare at him, then hang their heads when they see who it is. Patterson puts one hand on Seth's shoulder, and with his other fist knocks Seth's hand off the wall. Seth spins with a snarl, but it dies on his lips. <br/>
<br/>
"You're all late," Patterson coldly informs the trio. "Get inside."<br/>
<br/>
"You're late too," one of the guys mutters as he turns toward the gym.<br/>
<br/>
"I get to be late. You get to do extra laps."<br/>
<br/>
You don't relax, though, as the others shuffle off, for Patterson remains behind, watching them. But then he turns to you. His eyes are the color of an Arctic fog bank. "He has a girlfriend," he tells you.<br/>
<br/>
"Who?" you stammer.<br/>
<br/>
"Seth. I wouldn't want to be Cindy's enemy."<br/>
<br/>
You return him a tight smile. "I'm waiting for Cindy, actually. And I <i>know</i> she's Seth's girlfriend."<br/>
<br/>
Patterson stares at you, and you're daunted despite yourself. "I don't remember seeing you around," he says. "You go to school here?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I think I would have remembered seeing you around." He gives you a long look up and down. If he likes what he sees, he doesn't show it, but you feel like you're being evaluated, graded, ranked, and categorized. "I gotta get inside for practice," he says. "You're friends with Cindy? Interesting." There is, perhaps, a glimmer of appreciation in his eyes as he gives you one last look before turning toward the gym. You have to catch your breath after he's gone.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Of course he did," Cindy says when you tell her that Seth tried flirting with you. "Did you encourage him?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! He just—"<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't have to show up here looking like this." She sounds exasperated. "He wouldn't have flirted with you if you—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, he would have just stolen my pants and thrown them onto the roof. If he caught me loitering outside the gym."<br/>
<br/>
Cindy gives you a dirty look. "That's more Gordon's style. Why don't your friends try doing something to <i>him</i> for a change?"<br/>
<br/>
Her words startle you. Carson and James want you to trick Cindy into helping them pull a nasty prank on Gordon and his friends. Though Seth is one of those friends, maybe instead of tricking Cindy, you could directly enlist her help by telling her the plan.</span></div></div>


path: 1141311132211
author_id: seuzz
title: Unlikely Partnerships
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Actually, Carson and James do have a prank they want to play on Gordon," you blurt out, and your tits prickle a little. "Well, him and his friends."<br/>
<br/>
Cindy has just put her car into gear when you tell her this. She jerks to a stop and gives you a hard look. "What?" she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Carson and James are planning a prank—"<br/>
<br/>
"What kind of prank?"<br/>
<br/>
"I can't tell you," you say. "Not unless you promise to keep it secret. From Seth too."<br/>
<br/>
"What are they planning on doing?" she demands.<br/>
<br/>
"You have to promise me."<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes narrow. "Are they targeting Seth, too?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess so. They're, um, planning to booby trap the—"<br/>
<br/>
You catch yourself before the words <i>fuck room</i> can spill out of your mouth. That's what everyone at the school calls it: the gym loft that the top jocks have turned into their own private lounge. And the assumption is that the top jocks also entertain themselves with their girlfriends or their dates up there as well. Hence, "the fuck room."<br/>
<br/>
You know that Gordon Black and Steve Patterson, the top players on the basketball squad, have access to the place, and you assume that Seth does too. Gordon's girlfriend, Chelsea Cooper, also has access—and so, surely, would Cindy. So the prank would catch her as well. <br/>
<br/>
Only now, when it's too late, do you realize you shouldn't have said anything at all.<br/>
<br/>
"Well," you stammer, "you know that, uh, place up in the gym? That loft? That, uh, some of the guys, like Gordon, they—"<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck room," Cindy says. Still she holds your eye, with the car engine running but her foot on the brake.<br/>
<br/>
"Right. Well, they want to booby trap it."<br/>
<br/>
Cindy holds your eye. "How?"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, never mind," you tell her. "I'm just giving you fair warning, I'll give you more warning for when it happens, so that you—"<br/>
<br/>
"Why do you need to warn <i>me?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
You blink at her. "Well, so you don't go up there? When—"<br/>
<br/>
"I never go up there," she says, and looks away. "I'm not <i>allowed,</i>" she adds.<br/>
<br/>
"You're not?" you exclaim. "What do you mean? I thought you and Seth—"<br/>
<br/>
"Gordon and Steve and Jason and Chelsea," she says. "They're the only ones who get to go up there. I mean, sometimes as a <i>favor</i>"—she says the word like it's left a poisonous taste on her tongue—"then they'll let one of their friends up there for a night. Someone they like or want to be nice to. But not me. Not Seth." Pink spots show in her forehead.<br/>
<br/>
"Not even Seth?" You're staggered. "Why not?"<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a look, then lets her foot off the brake and punches the accelerator. The car lurches toward the exit of the parking lot. "I thought you had Catherine's brain in there with you," she mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, sure, but—"<br/>
<br/>
Then it comes to you, dimly, as though through a fog. Not a half memory, not something half forgotten, but something that Catherine herself isn't quite sure of. Some impression of bad blood between Cindy and Chelsea. Catherine herself only moved to Westside this year—she was at Eastman before then—so she is not fully up to speed on who hates whom and by exactly how much. But yes, if that impression is correct, then Chelsea would not be letting Cindy—which would also mean not letting Seth—up into the fuck room.<br/>
<br/>
And that clarifies everything.<br/>
<br/>
"Then you'd be okay with booby-trapping the fuck room, wouldn't you?" you exclaim. "Because it wouldn't hurt you or Seth, but it would hurt—"<br/>
<br/>
You giggle at the expression of veiled hatred that Cindy turns toward you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You outline Carson and James's scheme, and though she isn't exactly bowled over by it, Cindy does like it enough to agree to help you out. The only problem is, though, that the prank requires access to the fuck room, and she no more has access than you or Carson or James do.<br/>
<br/>
Still, Cindy says that she'll give the matter some thought.<br/>
<br/>
In the meantime, you drive out to the Crystal Cave so you can study the <i>Summa Libra</i> some more.<br/>
<br/>
You had warned Cindy that the next spell in the book looked like a dangerous one. Lots of volatile chemicals which have to be set on fire, and four hundred pounds of dirt that has to be carried out of a graveyard. Or maybe left in the graveyard? You discuss the pros and cons of trying to perform the spell inside the cemetery grounds. (At night, of course, though the spell says nothing about midnight or full moons or anything like that.) You come to no conclusions, though, and the temptation to execute the spell gradually wanes (in your breast, at least) because the book—as is typical—doesn't even tell you what it is that you'll be making. All you know is that whatever it is will have to burn, and that after that you will have to polish it, like you did with a mask.<br/>
<br/>
That last bit leads Cindy to ask you what you did with the rest of the supplies that she passed on to you, and you tell her that they are still in your truck, back at Westside. She drinks down the rest of her coffee with a thoughtful expression, then says, "We could make another mask."<br/>
<br/>
Your heart beats hard, once. "What for?"<br/>
<br/>
"To have," she says. She fixes you with a cool but penetrating look. "Make another fake girl?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, okay," you stammer, and are suddenly much more conscious of your breasts, your hips, your hair, and your face. "You can also, uh, put this mask on"—you feel yourself blushing—"anytime you want."<br/>
<br/>
"Right," she says, and she doesn't sound impressed by the offer. "But just having a second face around," she adds, "could be useful."<br/>
<br/>
"Who would we use? To make the new girl?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know." She puts her coffee to her mouth, but doesn't sip right away. "I'll think about it," she says, then drains her mug. "Come on," she says, "let's go back to my place, and we'll make another mask."<br/>
<br/>
But you have a different idea, after she's dropped you off to pick up your truck.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Me and my friends used to hang out here all the time last year," you tell Cindy as you gesture at the place. "But we haven't been back in forever. I'm really surprised my lock was still on the door."<br/>
<br/>
It's a basement you're showing her, at the community center a few blocks from your house, in Acheson. It used to be an elementary school, but decades ago (even before you were born) it was closed and converted to a new use. You never paid much attention to it, until one afternoon in your junior year, when you were wandering around the neighborhood, bored out of your head. The center is located in the old cafeteria, on the other side of the building, and on this side you found an outside door. It was at the bottom of a short flight of steps, next to a row of windows that peeped out just above ground level. There was a padlock on it. You were in the mood to cause damage, so you went home, got a crowbar, and jimmied your way inside. There was another flight of steps on the inside, leading down into a dark, dank, and dirty basement that smelled of dust, grease, and old metal. It was stacked deep with desks, tables, chairs, bookcases, gymnastic equipment, cabinetry, and even sinks, toilets and urinals. You explored, pulling down bits of wreckage and making paths for yourself. You called Caleb and Keith over, and they agreed it would make an awesome hideout, provided you didn't get caught by the community center staff. You put your own padlock on the door, so that the break-in wouldn't look obvious, and for a couple of weeks you and your friends hung out there.<br/>
<br/>
But it has been nearly a year since you've been back, and you weren't hopeful of finding your padlock still hanging up. You changed back into your own face and clothes—and you're in them now—before stopping by your house to pick up the padlock key, then headed over to the school to look. Sure enough, your lock was still on the door. You DMed Cindy to come over and take a look. <i>Think I know good place to do work not at home,</i> you told her.<br/>
<br/>
She looks askance at the place, sniffs and pulls her nose, then cautiously treads all the way down the stairs. She looks around, and slips through and between tottering piles of old furniture, being careful not to touch or brush up agains them. "There's a big work table back there!" you call to her before she can disappear behind some bookcases.<br/>
<br/>
When she emerges, she nods. "Yeah, I guess this is a place we can do some stuff," she says. "I don't want to hang out here, though." She hugs herself, for it is chilly. "But, you know, the kind of work that makes a mess, that makes a stink." She wrinkles her nose. "I wasn't looking forward to doing that back at my place."<br/>
<br/>
So you transfer the bulk of the supplies down into the basement and close yourself up inside. Working together, you cast a new mask, and together you choke and gag on the fumes. You also make a new metal band so it will have a brain to go with it. You rock-paper-scissor to see who does the polishing work on the mask—it will take a week, Cindy says—and you get the job.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But the unpolished mask is sitting on your bed, and you're doing homework, when you get a DM alert on your phone. You're astonished to see it's from Steve Patterson: <i>What u doing ths wkend, girl?</i> he wants to know.</span></div></div>


path: 11413111322111
author_id: seuzz
title: Flirting with the Enemy
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>What u doing ths wkend, girl?</i><br/>
<br/>
That's what Steve Patterson, a Westside basketball player and one the alpha-est alphas in the school, wants to know.<br/>
<br/>
You want to know how the hell he found you on x2z. Before you quite know what you are doing, you type back a DM demanding to know exactly that.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, it's not <i>your</i> x2z profile that Patterson found. You don't have an account at x2z, which is to the internet what an open sewer is to a medieval city crawling with plague and famine. It's the account of "Yeni Mojdeh," which you are using to keep in contact with Cindy.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Of course,</i> you realize with a grimace. <i>That's how he found me. I told him I knew Cindy, so he asked her.</i><br/>
<br/>
You're tapping in a query to Cindy, when Steve himself confirms it: <i>Got ur name from cindy. But what u doing this wkend?</i><br/>
<br/>
You tell yourself that you should ignore him. No good will come from talking to Patterson, who is a bully and an asshole, and who inhabits a social strata at Westside so lofty that the clouds obscure it from your view below. Besides, you're not even the person he thinks he's hitting on.<br/>
<br/>
Of course, as soon as you realize that, you realize with a grin that you <i>have</i> to reply. So:<br/>
<br/>
<i>No plans yet. What u got in mind?</i><br/>
<br/>
You squirm in your chair while waiting for his reply. Is your reply convincing? Does it sound like it comes from a girl? Maybe you should get Yeni's help.<br/>
<br/>
Patterson's reply comes as you're thundering downstairs into the living room with your backpack on your shoulders. "Going to meet Caleb, need his help on some math problems," you announce to your parents as you run through.<br/>
<br/>
"You could get your dad's help," mom calls. You skitter to a stop at the front door and turn to look back, your eyes and mouth wide with horror.<br/>
<br/>
But your dad keeps his own eyes fastened onto the TV. "He'll do just fine with Caleb," he tells your mother. "Just be back by eleven."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks," you gasp, and grab the door handle. Your phone chimes with an incoming DM.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I like quiet nights n quiet wkends,</i> you read on your phone as you hustle over to your truck. "Hey!" your brother yells at you from his bedroom window, above and behind you. "Where you going?" You flip him off and jump into your truck. <i>Drive in country, park by the river, visit wilderness,</i> Patterson continues in a series of DMs. <i>Hate being in crowds. Like company tho. Be my company?</i> You gag at the emoji—a smiling face with hearts for eyes—then giggle. Steve Patterson, jock-asshole, is coming onto you <i>hard.<br/>
<br/>
Letme think,</i> you tap back with one hand as you back into the street and turn toward the old elementary school. You need to buy time, so you send another DM: <i>Oops brb.</i> Your palms are sweating hard as you gun your truck, and you pet the bag containing the Yeni mask, to reassure yourself that you brought it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're searching online for a photo of a likely-looking dog—you've told Patterson that you, Yeni, have a dog named "Kentucky," and he asked to see a picture—when you get a DM from Cindy. <i>Heads up,</i> she tells you, <i>Steve wants know ur name I think so he can dm u.</i> You roll your eyes and smile to yourself. After sending Steve a picture of a pale blonde Labrador, you send Cindy a quick reply. <i>I know doing dms w him now.</i><br/>
<br/>
Patterson declares the dog to be awesome in his reply; Cindy sounds horrified in hers. <i>R u crazy!<br/>
<br/>
Lol its fine,</i> you assure her. <i>Just chating abt dogs n flowers.</i><br/>
<br/>
It's a side to Patterson that you'd never have suspected. He moved fast, proposing a Saturday afternoon stroll through the Suffolk Wilderness, followed by a casual, dine-in supper at a restaurant somewhere, then a drive. You feinted by asking if you could bring some of your girlfriends along; he'd affably agreed so long as dinner was just the two of you. Still you resisted, challenging him to tell you things about himself. He described the classes he took and the grades he got, the odd jobs he took around town, some charity work he had done for a homeless shelter. <i>And I play basketball for whs,</i> he added in a modest-sounding, throwaway aside.<br/>
<br/>
From there, talk spiraled out to include mutual interests. Drawing on what little you had to say, augmented by what Catherine's memories could give you, you affected an interest in astronomy, and he told you about a dark hollow on the other side of the hills south of town, where you could see the Milky Way, and he described nebulas and constellations that you only know by name and reputation. Despite yourself, you feel yourself melting a little. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Dont b insane,</i> Cindy tells you. <i>What r u doing?<br/>
<br/>
Letting him hit on me,</i> you tell her. <i>Its hilarous!<br/>
<br/>
U get n so much trouble,</i> she warns you. <i>If he finds out u will be dead n stomped to death.<br/>
<br/>
How he find out?</i> you ask. <i>He never know it me he sees yeni at school ths lots better pank than carson n james want to do.</i><br/>
<br/>
Another DM from Patterson, again proposing a trip out to the Wilderness, one without anyone else along. You might have assented, but Cindy's warnings have at least sobered you up that far, and you counter by suggesting a date at the Warehouse, a dangerous party spot in the heart of the city. He demurs, telling you that he hates loud music and big crowds.<br/>
<br/>
Cindy falls silent, leaving you to banter with Patterson. He presses and goads and won't take no for an answer, and the fun begins to pall. You finally manage to end the conversation by telling him to DM you tomorrow. He promises he will. You DM Cindy the news that you managed to shake him off without committing yourself to doing anything with him. <i>Good u wouldnt like it,</i> she tells you. You make a face at your phone.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The whole thing starts up again the next morning, though. Patterson is early with a DM reminding you that it is now "tomorrow" (a Friday) and again proposing a quiet, you-and-him-only date extending from the end of school until who knows what time. There's also a DM from Cindy, urging you not to make any plans with Patterson for the weekend, at least not until the two of you have had a chance to talk. It's that last bit that gives you pause. <i>What would there be to talk about?</i> you wonder. It's not like you <i>want</i> to go on a date with Steve Patterson!<br/>
<br/>
More trouble awaits you at school. You've just parked and are just getting your stuff together when both your truck doors open. James gets in on the passenger side; Carson shoves at you from the driver's side. "Hey!" you yell, but they get in with you, closing the doors and pinning you between them. "Are you a mouse or a rat, Prescott?" Carson demands.<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you a mouse or a rat? Are you too chicken-shitted to help us out, or are you a lying, two-faced rat who took our money and then—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm working on it!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I believe you, Prescott," Carson coolly assures you. "That's what I keep telling James, that you're doing your best. Only your best is turning out to be pretty shitty." You glance over your shoulder at Carson's friend, who glares back with a stony expression. "But he's not convinced," Carson continues. "He has <i>doubts,</i> Prescott. And when James has doubts—"<br/>
<br/>
"I said I'm working on it! Me and Cindy are trying to—" You clap your mouth shut, and feel your eyes bulge.<br/>
<br/>
Carson's eyes go dead, and he lifts an eyebrow. "You and Cindy are what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I told Cindy about it. It made sense to! She hates Chelsea! Chelsea and Gordon and Steve, she hates them! And she can't get up into the fuck room herself, they won't let her or Seth up there! So she wants to get back at them as much as you do! Maybe more!"<br/>
<br/>
This confession is met with silence.<br/>
<br/>
"So I told her!" you continue. "And her and me, we're trying to figure out a way— I only told her yesterday, so we haven't come up with anything." You shrug. "But we're working on it, and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Did you mention our names?" James asks.<br/>
<br/>
"What? Well, yeah!"<br/>
<br/>
He looks past you to Carson, and says, "Fuck."<br/>
<br/>
"She's lying, Prescott, she can totally get up into the fuck room," Carson says. "Or Seth can, anyway. He's been up there with—"<br/>
<br/>
He breaks off to look past you at James, and the two hold some kind of telepathic colloquy. You look between them, your head swiveling fast.<br/>
<br/>
"We'll get back to you," Carson says. He and James hop out simultaneously. "In the meantime, you just keep your mouth shut and your powder dry. You've bought yourself a day, at least." They slam the doors shut on you.<br/>
<br/>
Keep you mouth shut? Not likely! You send Cindy a DM: <i>Carson n james want prank done fast they say seth goes up to f rom n u do too. ?????</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Her reply comes at the end of fifth period. It's lunchtime, and you're hiding in the library when you get it. It shocks you so hard that you rear back, banging your head into a bookshelf. "Way to almost knock yourself out, asshole," a fat girl jeers at you from a nearby table, and her friends giggle and roll their eyes. You glare at them, but you've no outrage left to spare them.<br/>
<br/>
Not after Cindy's DM: <i>We can prank them tmrw if u r ok to suck my boyfrn's cock.</i></span></div></div>


path: 114131113221111
author_id: seuzz
title: Someone's Fake Girlfriend
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>We can prank them tmrw,</i> Cindy DMs you, <i>if u r ok to suck my boyfrn's cock.</i><br/>
<br/>
You're quick to text back: <i>No,</i> followed by <i>Teh fuck?<br/>
<br/>
Meet me at milagro beanfild right after school,</i> she replies. <i>Be yeni,</i> she adds.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You feel the barista's eyes raking your body up and down as you order the cheapest coffee on the menu, and you can feel his eyes on your ass as you totter into the back room. Cindy hasn't arrived yet, and you take a table where you can watch the counter. When she does appear, ten minutes later, you flatter yourself that the barista doesn't pay half as much attention to her as he did to you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Wait,</i> you find yourself thinking. <i>Am I jealous? Am I competing with her?</i><br/>
<br/>
"So Steve told me Seth was all flirting with you outside the gym yesterday," Cindy tells you without preamble as she slides into the seat opposite you. There's more cherry than typical in her peaches and cream complexion, and there's a feverish gleam in her narrowed eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"I wish Steve would keep his fat mouth shut," you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"There's nothing 'fat' about Steve. Not even his cock," she adds with a snigger. "So what happened with you and Seth?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing," you tell her. "He just, uh, got in my face and asked if I was new and if I— Well, I think that's all he said. Really," you add as Cindy's skeptical expression deepens into a scowl. "Look, I think I would know if he was hitting on me." <i>And he definitely was, the traitorous girl inside your head assures you.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Did you make a date with Steve tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. He's been pestering me"—to call fifteen DMs since lunchtime <i>pestering</i> is an understatement—"but I haven't—"<br/>
<br/>
"Meet me in the restroom," Cindy says, and she gets up. "I wanna change places with you."<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's either you or me, Will," she snaps. "You change your mind about wanting to suck my boyfriend's cock?"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You didn't answer that last question, and to your relief it seems Cindy didn't expect you to answer it. Or maybe she just had more time to think things through after lunch. At any rate, the plan she outlines to you as you're swapping out clothes and the mask in the Beanfield's unisex restroom (which thank God has a deadbolt on the door) doesn't sound like the kind of plan she would have wanted to outsource to anyone else.<br/>
<br/>
"We're going to go back up to the school," the transposed Yeni tells you as she buttons up her jeans afterward. "I'm meeting Seth there. I already told him I was going home, so he won't be looking for me. Well, he won't be looking for his girlfriend." Her lips twist into a smile. "So I'll flirt with him, talk to him, try to hook up with him—"<br/>
<br/>
"What about Patterson? What if he spots you? He—"<br/>
<br/>
"He won't. Him and Gordon always hang out in the fuck room after school." She pulls the t-shirt on, then fluffs her hair out. It arouses you, despite yourself. <i>That's not just the sexy 'Yeni Mojdeh' that you're talking to. The sexy Cindy Vredenburg is underneath. There's at least two layers of skin-deep beauty you're hanging out with.</i> "We might end up hooking up tonight," she huffs. "But I'll try to set it up for tomorrow. Or Sunday, in case Steve or Gordon or Chelsea wants the fuck room tomorrow night. But you tell your friends to have the balloons ready to go for tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
"Wait, I don't understand," you start to object, but she grabs you by the hand and hauls you out of the restroom.<br/>
<br/>
Almost, the two of you slam into the last person you expected to see: Kelsey Blankenship. Yeni sucks in a sharp breath.<br/>
<br/>
Kelsey is one of the queen bees at Westside. She's a rich, snooty girl whose daddy owns the largest car dealership in the city. She is taking all AP classes and is on track to attend an Ivy League university. She hangs out with—and bosses around—a coterie of other rich, snooty, Ivy League wannabes. But she affects an expensive bohemian style, and dresses in silk blouses and jeans, with turquoise and silver jewelry. Today she's accented a "rich cowgirl" look with boots and a small, sassy Stetson.<br/>
<br/>
For a long moment, you and Yeni stare at her, and she stares back. Her gaze goes up and down Yeni, and then her eyes widen when she recognizes you. They widen still further when her gaze falls to encompass the sight of Yeni clutching your wrist.<br/>
<br/>
Then her mouth squeezes into an oily smile. <br/>
<br/>
"Hi, Will," she says. There's a chirp in her voice—the kind of chirp a baby bird gives when it sees its mother landing on the nest's edge with a juicy worm in her beak. "Are you here studying?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"We're just leaving," Yeni says, and starts to pull you past.<br/>
<br/>
"Who's your friend?" Kelsey says, and grabs at your shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Uh? Oh, this is—" You gulp. "Yeni." Almost, you said <i>Cindy.</i> "Yeni Mojdeh."<br/>
<br/>
Kelsey's smile glints like polished chrome. "Are you two going out or something?" she squeals.<br/>
<br/>
"What? No, we—" But Yeni yanks you away, almost off your feet. "We're just friends!" you call back to Kelsey. "We just met!"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up, Will," Yeni growls. But you can't help glancing back at Kelsey, who is staring after you with a hungry smile. Her hand twitches, and you see she is clutching her cell phone. Yeni almost separates your arm from its socket as she hauls you into the dining room to collect your books.<br/>
<br/>
"That was Kelsey Blankenship," you gasp at her.<br/>
<br/>
"I know who it was," Yeni spits. "I only had her for three classes all last year, which was at least four too many."<br/>
<br/>
"But Kelsey never talks to me!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, don't start now."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, why would she—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because you were with <i>me,</i> Will."<br/>
<br/>
"But she doesn't know that you're, uh, <i>you!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"She doesn't have to. We're someone to talk about."<br/>
<br/>
"How come?" If Kelsey never talks to you, why would she talk <i>about</i> you? And she doesn't know "Yeni Mojdeh."<br/>
<br/>
But Cindy doesn't explain, and just pulls you into the parking lot and tells you to go home. She'll handle the school end of things, she says. You just get Carson and James to start prepping their end of the prank.<br/>
<br/>
It's not until much later that certain implications you were too dazzled to see or consider begin to make themselves clear to you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I was coming out of the unisex bathroom with a girl, after deadbolting the lock.<br/>
<br/>
The girl was holding my hand.<br/>
<br/>
And</i>—though this is something you didn't spot until after your mom called it to your attention when you got home—<i>my fly was gaping open, and there was a big, dark, wet spot on the front of my boxers.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"You're really fucking things up, you know that?" Carson barks. You have to hold your phone away from your ear, he is talking so loud.<br/>
<br/>
He texted while you were driving home, and instead of texting back you called him directly to tell him to get the stuff ready for tomorrow. You thought he'd be pleased, but if anything he seems even angrier. "Look, it's all good to go!" you tell him. "Cindy says—"<br/>
<br/>
"Did she tell you <i>how</i> we were supposed to get the balloons up into the loft?" Carson demands.<br/>
<br/>
"No, but what difference does it make?" you ask. You are in the garage, pacing its length. "Just get the balloons ready—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, are we supposed to transport them up to the school, or are we supposed to deliver them to Cindy so <i>she</i> can transport them? Or is she going to pick them up, or—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know, but you can ask her—"<br/>
<br/>
"Does <i>she</i> even know how she's going to handle it? The last thing we need is some bimbo who only <i>thinks</i> she—"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I'll get back to you tomorrow!" you holler. "I'll talk to Cindy. And besides, <i>she's</i> the one who's supposed to talk Seth into taking her up into the—" You catch yourself. "Into the gym loft. She'll know how to get the balloons up there. Better than <i>you</i> will."<br/>
<br/>
"So, let's all get together tomorrow," Carson says, "so we can <i>talk it through.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Fine, we will!" you snarl back. "You just keep that temper of yours under control. The last thing <i>you</i> need is to piss—" But the click of dead air tells you Carson has already hung up on you.<br/>
<br/>
Almost you hurl your phone at the wall. Only the fact that Carson has promised you another sixty dollars, and the additional fact that you'd have to pay him back sixty that you already spent, restrains you from telling him and James to go fuck each other.<br/>
<br/>
You lean against your dad's car and fume. Only gradually do you notice that you're staring at a box with the picture of a car buffer on it, and you're even slower to realize why it is so fascinating.<br/>
<br/>
You and Cindy made a mask yesterday, and it fell to you to polish it. She warned you it would take the better part of a week.<br/>
<br/>
But she used a rag. What if you used modern technology? Would it go faster?<br/>
<br/>
Though if you had a new mask ready by tomorrow, what would you use it for?<br/>
<br/>
<i>Pranking Carson and James,</i> you growl to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Then another, related thought: What about using one of those metal strips to copy one of their brains? Cindy already proved you can wear one of those without wearing a mask. Being as smart as them would be a good way of keeping up with them.</span></div></div>


path: 1141311132211112
author_id: seuzz
title: Weird Science
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>At dinner your dad surprises you by asking if Carson ever figured out what the deal was with that old book. You don't even remember what you told your dad about it—save that you passed it along to Carson—and can only shrug. He asks you to remember to ask him about it, and to see about getting it back if he gave up on solving the puzzle.<br/>
<br/>
The question has one effect on you: It dampens your enthusiasm to do anything too radical, for fear that your dad will notice you working on something strange and occult. You're not fully stifled, though. In fact, the approving way that he speaks of Carson incites your envy. You decide to make another one of those brain-copying metal strips. <i>That</i> won't require any polishing, either with a rag or a car buffer.<br/>
<br/>
So after supper you ride your bike down to the old school. The evening is rapidly fading, but by the light from your phone you are able to able to quickly put together the supplies that you need, and transport them back to your house. It's a Friday night, and when Caleb texts to suggest getting together, you tell him you've got a date—<i>Lol as if,</i> he texts back—and settle at your desk to make the strip and carve the runes into it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You have to stay up past midnight to finish it, and you're woken late the next morning by your phone. It's an actual call, and it shocks you awake when you see Cindy's name on your cell phone screen. "H'lo," you slur as you sit up and try rubbing the sleep (and the hair) from your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Where are you?" she grouses. "And haven't you been checking your DMs?"<br/>
<br/>
"What DMs? I— What?" Your brain is befogged.<br/>
<br/>
"The DMs to <i>Yeni,</i>" she hisses. "I've only been DMing you since nine o'clock last night—"<br/>
<br/>
You bolt upright. "What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
She sighs. "You tell me, Will. Did you talk to your friends?"<br/>
<br/>
"Carson and James? Yeah, they want us to get together. All of us." You lean over to grab your clothes, fall out of bed, and sprawl on the floor. "To talk about—"<br/>
<br/>
"What time and where?"<br/>
<br/>
"They didn't say."<br/>
<br/>
She sighs again. "Well, DM me from Yeni's account when you do know something. But it better be quick. I'm supposed to meet up with Seth at five."<br/>
<br/>
She hangs up before you can ask how things went with her and Seth—with Yeni and Seth—last night.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Carson is furious when you call to tell him about the deadline: "This is <i>freaking exactly</i> what I knew would happen!" he explodes. Then he tells you to get your ass over to his house ASAP, because it will be an all-hands job getting the balloons ready.<br/>
<br/>
Carson lives in an old, leafy neighborhood not far from Keith's place. The houses are small, old, and kind of shabby, but the Ioegers's land encompasses two lots, and their backyard stretches all the way to the street on the other side of the block. "We had a huge garden when I was growing up," he explained to you back in middle school, when you went to his place for a birthday party. Nowadays it is all grass, save for a ramshackle maintenance shed.<br/>
<br/>
That's where Carson has his "laboratory," and he and James have already wheeled the equipment out onto the grassy yard and are setting up when you arrive. They've got a couple of metal gas tanks—like the kind helium comes in—and lots of glass and plastic bottles. It's all tied together by narrow rubber hoses with clamps on them, and meters for measuring air flow and pressure. There are also bottles of ammonia and bags of sulfur.<br/>
<br/>
Also, bags of party balloons.<br/>
<br/>
The plan, Carson explained to you, is to fill the balloons with a mixture of ordinary air and ammonium sulfide. "Just a little of the swamp gas," he explained. "We want to piss the assholes off, not kill them." You couldn't exactly follow the chemistry of it all, and grasped only the general outlines of the scheme. But the way you understand it:<br/>
<br/>
Once the balloons—dozens and dozens of them—are up in the gym loft, the ammonium sulfide will slowly leak out, and that lighter-than-air gas will disperse and react over time with the humidity in the air. This will turn it into a slightly heavier gas, hydrogen sulfide, which is the stuff that comes out of rotten eggs and goes into stink bombs. Gradually, the stuff will permeate the entire loft, but there will be no obvious source for the stink. Patterson, who is taking the same chemistry class as Ioeger, might be able to figure out more or less what is going on, but by then it will be too late.<br/>
<br/>
The hard trick is getting the party balloons up into the fuck room under some innocent pretext that can't be linked back to Carson and James (and you). Your job was to convince Cindy to throw an "unbirthday party" for her boyfriend in the loft, with her (and you behind her) providing the "unbirthday party balloons."<br/>
<br/>
Well, however she did it, Cindy is now ready for the balloons.<br/>
<br/>
It doesn't take long to fill them once you get a system going. Your job is to shove a nozzle into a limp balloon and hold it there while James—who is running the complicated machinery that has been making the ammonium sulfide—releases clamps and watches the air flow indicators. When he gives the signal, you pinch the balloon shut and hand it off to Carson, who finishes filling it either with ordinary air or with helium. "We want at least half of them floating," Carson says. "Drifting into corners or up in the rafters out of reach. For maximal spread."<br/>
<br/>
But you've just got started when your trio is joined by a fourth. You nearly swallow your tongue when she comes swaying out of Carson's back door, and the other two stop dead as well.<br/>
<br/>
It's Yeni Mojdeh.<br/>
<br/>
She's in a new set of clothes: olive-green short-shorts, and a white peasant shirt that drapes to just under her belly button. She's wearing canvas tennis shoes, and there's a beaded friendship bracelet around her slim wrist. She smiles brightly at you as she walks up. "Hey guys," she calls. "Whatcha doin'?"<br/>
<br/>
No one answers. You're still groping for words when she puts her hand around your bicep, and then your voice box closes up entirely.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, Will," she says, and pecks you lightly on the cheek. The balloon you're holding squirts away with a sodden <i>thpppbbbbtt!</i> "Aren't you going to introduce me?" Yeni asks you with a girly smile.<br/>
<br/>
You turn wide eyes onto Carson and James, neither of whom so much as glance at you. "Uh, uh, uh," you stammer. "This's, uh, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeni," the girl says, and turns the same shy smile onto your companions. "Which one of you's Carson and which one of you's James?"<br/>
<br/>
Carson's hand shoots up. "I'm James. I mean, Carson!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm James," his friend says with more composure. His eyes flick in your direction. "I thought Cindy was coming over."<br/>
<br/>
"She's busy with her boyfriend," Yeni says. "So she asked me to come out and help." She bends to inspect the tubes and stoppered bottles spread out on the worktable. "So, how can I help?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're friends with Cindy?" Carson asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Kind of," Yeni says. "More friends with Will." She pinches your side, and you jump half a foot.<br/>
<br/>
"We, we, we ... met," you stutter. "Um ...?" You stare at the girl and work your eyebrows like you are sending her a message in Morse code. "It was, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"Day before yesterday." Yeni slips her arm around your waist, and your cock almost tears its way through your zipper. "Coffee shop. Him and me got to talking, and—" She puts her nose in your ear, and you nearly faint. "He's cute, isn't he?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's adorable," Carson says, and he grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you away from the worktable before you can pitch face-first into it. "And he told you about this, huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Him and Cindy and this prank. It sounded like fun, so I volunteered to help. Cindy was supposed to come out here," she says, and turns a bright, brittle glance onto you, "but then she got to thinking it wouldn't be a good idea, her coming out here. So she sent me. Aren't you happy to see me, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"Great!" you gurgle.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway," Yeni continues, "I think things are all set up on her end. She and Seth are supposed to meet up at the school at around seven, have a picnic supper up there, and then—" She giggles. "Well, I didn't ask for details."<br/>
<br/>
"And we're supposed to have the balloons up there by—?" James asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Anytime after five. Oh, here." She digs a key out of her pocket. "This'll get us in. Cindy told Seth she wanted to set up a surprise for him."<br/>
<br/>
That's nothing on the surprise she gave you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's half an hour before you're able to get Yeni alone inside Carson's house for a hissed consultation. You start by confirming that she really is Cindy. The question causes her to roll her eyes. "Who else would it be?"<br/>
<br/>
"So what's the deal?"<br/>
<br/>
"I explained it to you out there! I don't want to be seen anywhere near you guys, especially not after they figure out where that stink gas came from!"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay. But, um, not that I mind, but what's all the, uh—?"<br/>
<br/>
"The what?"<br/>
<br/>
"The touching and flirting." You blush.<br/>
<br/>
She stares at you. "You're joking, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
Again she rolls her eyes. "You're all over x2z, you and Yeni," she says. "Fucking Kelsey. Which means I couldn't do what I was going to do, which was to get with Seth like this." She gestures at herself. "I'm going to have to be <i>me</i> with him!"<br/>
<br/>
But you're not listening. Your hand has gone to your phone, and when Cindy runs out of breath, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, there to sit on the toilet and scroll through x2z.<br/>
<br/>
Sure enough, "Will Prescott" and "Yeni Mojdeh" are a trending topic.</span></div></div>


path: 11413111322111121
author_id: seuzz
title: Public Parts and Private Parties
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Kelsey has been both busy and ingenious at tracking this new girl down. She found Yeni's profile on x2z, and since there's not much there aside from the quick profile you and Cindy invented, and the selfie you took your first afternoon, Kelsey started a couple of threads asking people what they knew about her. From there the hunt just gathered momentum, because Kelsey had to tell people where she'd seen the girl, and who with, which started a lot a chatter about <i>you,</i> particularly after Kelsey dropped a not very veiled hint that the girl gave you a blow job in a public lavatory.<br/>
<br/>
<i>At least I don't have my own account here,</i> you console yourself. Until, that is, you find the threads LOLing over the fact that you must have deleted your profile out of embarrassment. <i>What the hell is Monday at school going to be like?</i> you wonder.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Yeni is helping Carson and James when you emerge from the house a little later, and they have just about finished up filling the balloons. There are dozens of them, packed into fifty-gallon trash bags. You haul them out to your truck, and James helps you tie them down to the truck bed while Carson fetches a tarpaulin to cover them with. He and James are very gruff and tight-lipped, both with you and with Yeni. It makes your scalp itch, for you can't tell if they distrust you for bringing <i>yet another</i> person in on their prank—more ways for the facts to leak—or if they are jealous that she was flirting with you.<br/>
<br/>
Probably the latter, you decide when Carson gives you the loft key, and says it's up to you and Yeni to get the balloons inside. "Me and James can't afford to be seen anywhere near that place," he explains to you. "But Yeni is Cindy's friend, and you're Yeni's friend"—his expression briefly tightens—"so you guys can take care of it."<br/>
<br/>
"What happens if Patterson or any of those other guys are up in the loft?" you ask Yeni once you're in your truck and on your way.<br/>
<br/>
"We tell them we're setting up for Cindy's party," Yeni replies. "You could stand to show a little more initiative, Will," she adds. You make a face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your heart was racing even before you got to the high school, and it nearly seizes up when you see that there's several cars parked next to the gym. You're slightly reassured when you hear shouts from behind the gym annex—<i>Probably just some guys coming up to the school to play tennis,</i> you tell yourself—but you don't see anyone and no one sees you as Yeni unlocks the side door to the gym. "I'll go get the loft open," she tells you. "You start bringing the balloons in."<br/>
<br/>
You have two of the bags when you return, and are at the foot of the narrow stairwell leading up to the loft when you hear voices up above. The words are indistinct, but one of the voices is definitely male.<br/>
<br/>
And when you creep to the top of the stairs and peek in the doorway, you find that it belongs—Curse the luck!—to Steve Patterson.<br/>
<br/>
He's standing in the middle of a space crowded in with support pillars and crates. He's got his hands on his hips and he's looking down at Yeni—who looks thin and frail in his shadow—with a narrow smile. That smile doesn't quiver a millimeter after he's shifted his eyes to pin you in the chest. Your own eyes fall rather than meet his. "Hey, um," you stammer at Yeni, who turns. "Where do you want these?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just start unpacking them, Will." She turns back to Patterson. "You'll help bring them up, won't you, Steve?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not my party," he says after a fractional hesitation. Then he adds, "Where are they?"<br/>
<br/>
"Downstairs. Back of Will's truck. Under a plastic sheet."<br/>
<br/>
Patterson's smile widens even as his eyes narrow, and with a shrug he turns to the door. He bumps into you hard as he passes, almost pitching you into an old pommel horse. The floorboards creak heavily under his tread.<br/>
<br/>
You wait until the sound of his footfalls have faded before opening your mouth. "The fuck is he doing up here?" you hiss at Yeni.<br/>
<br/>
"They hang out up here, Will," she retorts as she unties the neck of the bag and turns it upside down. Most of the balloons—red, yellow, white, blue, green, and purple—spill out over the floor, but a handful rise to the ceiling. "Now go downstairs and help him bring in the rest."<br/>
<br/>
"Why can't I stay up here and help you fix up this place up for your 'party'?"<br/>
<br/>
She doesn't answer before opening up and unloading the second bag of balloons. "Because dumping these out is the only decorating I have to do." She hands you the two empty trash bags. You grit your teeth and go downstairs.<br/>
<br/>
Patterson passes you coming in as you're on your way out. Again, he bumps you hard, and flashes you an amused glance. He's still upstairs, making small talk to Yeni when you return with two more bags of balloons. He's asking her about Cindy, but you don't linger to listen, and make two more trips, bringing in the last bags by yourself. Then you hang back near the doorway, an unwilling eavesdropper to their conversation.<br/>
<br/>
"I could charge you, if you want," he is telling her. "That would make it all, like, okay with your parents." He chews on his grin. "The money they pay me, I could spend on you." He touches her nose with his fingertip. "Tell 'em they have to pay me top dollar, 'cos I'm an AP Honor student out here."<br/>
<br/>
"If I wanted tutoring," she replies, "I'd hire an actual tutor."<br/>
<br/>
"Which could be me." He runs a fingertip over her shoulder, and she shakes it off. "We could do it up here." He steps to the side and crouches to open a door-size refrigerator. "Snacks and sodas to go with physics and chem."<br/>
<br/>
Yeni glances back over her shoulder at you. "Could I bring my boyfriend along?"<br/>
<br/>
"Boyfriend?" Patterson's voice drops half an octave, and the temperature in his glance falls by about fifty degrees. Then he grins. "Sure. Me."<br/>
<br/>
Yeni turns his back on him, and saunters over to join you at the door. "I'll text Cindy," she tells Patterson, "tell her it's all set up for her and Seth. Thanks for your help." Your hair and skin prickle hard all over as she slips her arm into yours and tugs you through the doorway, and your spine warms under the eye-beams you're sure that Patterson is shooting at your back.<br/>
<br/>
"Did you just tell him I'm your boyfriend?" you ask Yeni through gritted teeth as you descend the creaking stairs. "The fuck did you do that for?"<br/>
<br/>
"To step on his dick," she says. "Besides, he knows it already. Or he will when he looks online."<br/>
<br/>
"He's gonna find me and kill me on Monday, you know that, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's your own fault for flirting with him the other night, Will. By the way, since I have to take this thing off," she continues as she tightens her grip on your arm, "do you want to take it home? Then you can get back online and go back to sexting him."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You don't dignify her question with an answer, but she takes the mask off anyway during the ride back to Carson's, where she picks up her own car and drives off to make her date with Seth. Before you can drive off too, Carson steps onto his porch and summons you over with a wave. "Was that Cindy?" he asks. "What was she doing in that Yeni girl's clothes?"<br/>
<br/>
You silently cuss Carson for his sharp eyes. "Her and Cindy must've gone shopping together, picked up the same outfits," you improvise.<br/>
<br/>
"What are they, foster sisters or something? Where'd you meet her, anyway?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeni? Coffee shop. We got to talking, and—"<br/>
<br/>
"What is she, desperate?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you, man! If you're so fucking hot, how come—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't burst your hymen, Prescott, save it for your wedding night," Carson honks. "I'm giving you a chance to give me the straight story."<br/>
<br/>
"What straight story?"<br/>
<br/>
"You tell me. Something more plausible than, 'I got to talking to a hot chick in a coffee shop, and the next thing I know she's blowing me in a public toilet.' That kind of thing happens in porn videos, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"She didn't blow me!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, obviously. So what's the story?"<br/>
<br/>
"We're just hanging out."<br/>
<br/>
"And she's friends with Cindy? That's how you met her?"<br/>
<br/>
You think rapidly. "Uh, no, we just met and it turned out that her and Cindy—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck off, man." Carson waves a dismissive hand. "I'm giving you a chance to come clean, but you just start telling more lies. I don't know what you got to be so ashamed of, except maybe—" His lips twist into a smirk. "You're playing beard for her and Cindy."<br/>
<br/>
Your face hots up. "Fuck you," you growl, and stalk back to your truck.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There's DMs from Patterson when you get home and check your phone, and they are horrifying. Cindy didn't tell you, but at some point while wearing the mask she was basically promising Patterson that Yeni would give him a blow job if he would let Seth have the use of the gym loft tonight. Now Patterson wants to know why they hell Yeni is giving him the cold-shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
You thought it was a fine idea Cindy had—using Yeni as a hiding place for when you got together—but it's spinning out of control. Maybe you should end this fictitious relationship between you and Yeni (and Yeni and Cindy) by deleting her from existence.</span></div></div>


path: 11414
author_id: seuzz
title: Bids for Attention
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Mr. Walberg opens first period by humiliating everyone who hasn't already brought him something for the time capsule. He doesn't even have to try.<br/>
<br/>
"Ms. Harmon," he booms out from his desk, "you have something for me?"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought it was due on Wednesday," Dorothy replies in a small voice.<br/>
<br/>
"And why'd you think that?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. I guess I got confused."<br/>
<br/>
Kelsey Blankenship—the stylish, stuck-up bitch who runs a little clique of rich kids bound for the Ivy Leagues—leans over to murmur something to her friend Amanda Ferguson. Amanda lifts her eyebrows and sniffs. Kelsey half-turns in her chair to smirk in a lofty way at the rest of the class.<br/>
<br/>
"You got till the end of the day to bring me something," Mr. Walberg says. "Make it good." He runs a finger down the class roster. "Mr. Prescott!"<br/>
<br/>
"Sir?"<br/>
<br/>
He looks up at you from under bushy brows. With his jowls, his drooping moustache, and his receding hairline, he looks like a walrus. "That honorific isn't your contribution to the time capsule, is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh ... Sir?"<br/>
<br/>
"You got something for the time capsule, Mr. Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
Out of the corner of your eye you see Kelsey's smirk deepen. Beside her, Geoff Mansfield covers his smile with his hand and watches you with glinting amusement. You grip the book.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fuck 'em,</i> you decide. You could take the book up to Mr. Walberg. But the assholes would still smirk at you for waiting until the last possible minute. And if it's too late to help Dorothy by giving her your contribution, you can at least soften her humiliation by standing with her. "Uh, I also thought the deadline was Wednesday, sir," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit," he barks. "You have until the end of the day to bring me something good," he adds as little titters break out. "Alright, let's get started."<br/>
<br/>
You catch Caleb giving you a look. "Shut up," you mutter at him.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
If you were hoping to get some credit from Dorothy by sacrificing some of your dignity, you are disappointed, for she says nothing to you before bolting the classroom at the end of the period. Caleb, at least, doesn't inquire about your supposed lapse of memory when you exit together.<br/>
<br/>
You have the vague idea of going to find Carson, to give him the book to use in a prank against Seth Javits, so you have it out and with you when you plop into your desk second period. Keith Tilley, who sits behind you, jerks his head in greeting. "T'sup?" he says. "How was your weekend?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pfeh. Oh, check this out." You drop the book on his desk.<br/>
<br/>
He rears back. "The fuck?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's a book."<br/>
<br/>
"I know it's a book, dumbass. Why are you showing it to me?"<br/>
<br/>
"To find out if you can read. Oh, never mind," you growl when he just stares at you. "No, wait, I'm showing it to you 'cos Carson has an idea for using it in some kind of prank against Seth."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" His eyes widen. For Keith, dropping Seth's name into conversation is like dropping Satan's—it runs the risk of summoning up something awful. "What's the plan, and how's he gonna get it to backfire on me?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not gonna backfire on you."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you! You remember that shit he pulled at the start of school? Gluing Javits's—" He catches himself and glances around warily. "Gluing his books together. Javits thought <i>I</i> did it, that's how come he hauled me onto the fucking gym roof and— The fuck are <i>you</i> grinning at?" he snarls at Steven Buckner, who is hunched over in the next row, his mouth gaping with silent laughter. "We should find out sometime how <i>you'd</i> like it if someone did 'at to you?"<br/>
<br/>
"So show him now," you challenge Keith. You throw a quick grin at Buckner. "You up for finding out if you like being hauled up on top of the gym roof?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, if it gets me out of class," he chortles. "Come at me, bro," he tells Keith.<br/>
<br/>
Keith glowers. "Psshhhh!" He picks at the book, which is still sitting on his desktop. "So how's Carson gonna screw me up this time? What's this prank he's planning?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno, he didn't get a chance to explain it, but he needs this thing here and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck it to hell." Keith grabs up his backpack and moves to a chair in the back of the room. You and Buckner exchange rueful smiles, and you slide the book into your backpack.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your plan is to talk to Carson at lunch, to find out more about this scheme of his, so you've got the book with you on your way to fourth-period English when a hand grabs you in the middle of the hall. Instinctively you flinch—this is how things start when David Kirkham or Lester "The Molester" Pozniak or even Seth Javits himself are looking to have some fun at your expense. But it's only that blonde kid from before the start of school—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Sean!</i> That's his name. Sean.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Will," he says, and he pulls you to the side of the crowded hallway. "So Carson was telling me you've got this crazy-ass book."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Oh. Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"Can I look at it?"<br/>
<br/>
"What? Oh. Um. Sure." Sean's sudden interest baffles you, but to oblige him you struggle out of your backpack and drop it between your feet. As you bend to open it, a girl behind you says, "Watch it, cocksucker," but you ignore her. "Here," you say as you wrench the book free and hand it to Sean.<br/>
<br/>
He bends his head and runs his fingertips over it. "Nice," he says. "Carson says Arnholms was charging two hundred for it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but I got it for two because you can't get it open. Try."<br/>
<br/>
Sean tries sliding his thumbnail between the pages. "Yeah, Carson said there's a trick or a catch or something to it." <br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, 'cos that's what I told <i>him,"</i> you retort. "Anyway, it's what my dad said when I showed it to him. He said it was a thing guys liked to do, like, hundreds of years ago. Make a fake book with a secret compartment in it. We haven't figured out how it works yet. Carson wants to use it in some kind of—" You glance around. "Some kind of prank."<br/>
<br/>
"So he told me." Sean looks up at you from under his brows. "He's gonna lose it for you."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"The prank. You're not gonna have a book any more, probably, if you let him use it."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he was talking about giving me twenty bucks for it—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll give you thirty."<br/>
<br/>
You jump. "What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, thirty bucks for it. This prank Carson wants it for, he can do it anytime." He pulls at the book some more, then shakes his head. "I'll give you thirty bucks for it, and if I can't figure out the trick I'll give it to Carson."<br/>
<br/>
That sounds like a fair offer, and you accept. But Sean hands the book back to you. "I don't have the money with me here," he says. "Come find me after school."<br/>
<br/>
"You still got that thing out," Caleb observes when you join him in English. He jerks his chin at the book.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, not for long," you tell him. He doesn't inquire into your meaning, and only shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But Caleb's looking a lot less complacent after the final bell of the day has rung, He catches you outside the school library and hauls you into it. "You got a thing for Walberg yet?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Shit!</i> Six hours have passed since first period, and you've totally forgot Walberg's warning about finding something for him.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, make sure it's not anything embarrassing," Caleb continues. "I just heard a rumor he's going to make us write a paper on it."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah! A goddamned essay on what we put into the time capsule and why we picked it. That means I'm so screwed. I can't tell him I gave him a thumb-drive full of porn!"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck <i>you,</i> man, I don't got <i>anything</i> for him! I gotta get to his classroom and give him, uh—" <br/>
<br/>
But what are you going to give him? You've promised the book to Sean.<br/>
<br/>
"Give him your cell phone, he'll love that," Caleb says as you frown.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart stops dead. <i>"I can't bury my cell phone in a time capsule!"</i><br/>
<br/>
 "You'll get it back. After he buries it, you and me'll sneak back out here and dig it up, get our shit out of it."<br/>
<br/>
"What? That doesn't make any sense!"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb waves his hand. "Trust me, it'll work. Do whatever you want, Will, but you would score so many points with Walberg if you put a working piece of electronics in there. It'd blow his mind."<br/>
<br/>
That gives you pause. "It would, wouldn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Or do whatever you want. But I guarantee we can get it out again by digging it up. Anyway, I just wanted to pass on that warning." He hops out of the library like a jack rabbit on a pogo stick.<br/>
<br/>
Then—almost like "speak of the devilish device"—your cell goes off with a text from Jack Li: <i>Hey Will where r u?</i> When you tell him you're in the library, he asks you to hold tight.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, we're going off to meet Sean," he says when he arrives a minute later with Brent Pruitt in his company. "He says you got something for him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, an old trick book. He's giving me thirty bucks for it."<br/>
<br/>
Jack's eyebrows go up. "Well, I can save you a trip if you want. I got thirty on me. Sean can reimburse me."<br/>
<br/>
Before you can reply, Brent says, "Is this that book with a trick cover and a hidden compartment?" You nod. "Yeah, we were talking about it earlier. I'll give you forty for it."</span></div></div>


path: 114142
author_id: seuzz
title: Other People's Projects
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Forty dollars would be a nice little chunk of change, and a big profit on the two dollars that you bought the thing for. But—<br/>
<br/>
"I think I already made a deal with Sean," you tell Brent, and shoot Jack a quick look. "Thirty dollars?"<br/>
<br/>
Jack digs a wallet from the back pocket of his shorts and sorts through it. "Here's two twenties," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't have change."<br/>
<br/>
"You can pay me back later. Or forget it." He elbows Brent in the side. "I'll get the forty from Sean."<br/>
<br/>
"You're gonna try to get fifty off him, aren't you?" Brent laughs.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck," Jack drawls, "if you work with me to get him up to eighty, and I'll split the profit with you. Catch ya 'round, Will." He winks heavily at you, and gives you a raffish grin.<br/>
<br/>
Your pleasure at a thirty-eight dollar profit sours a little at the thought of the extra you might have just forgone.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"You are so screwed, Prescott," Carson chortles the next day at lunch, which you take with him and his friends out on the grassy quad in front of the school. He jams his sandwich into his mouth. "Tho' thkwewed!" he mumbles through the peanut butter.<br/>
<br/>
"I couldn't find anything else at short notice!" you protest. "I had, like, ten minutes to find something and get it to Mr. Walberg or else I was gonna—"<br/>
<br/>
"So screwed!" Carson laughs again.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno, man," James says. He's sitting up very straight and looking off toward the school office, as though watching for someone, and as he speaks he doesn't spare you so much as a glance. "Prescott's typically a fuck-up—"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck <i>you!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"—but in this case I think he's come up with something pretty genius."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, he's <i>definitely</i> come up with something genious," Carson says. "That's how come he's so fucked. You're gonna have to write a paper on your time capsule contribution, correct?" he asks you. <br/>
<br/>
"That's the rumor."<br/>
<br/>
"And that's where most of your grade is going to be. And <i>that,</i>" Carson concludes, "is why you are fucked so hard."<br/>
<br/>
You feel your face starting to burn.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen, cocksucker," you snarl at him, "just 'cos I can't write as good as— as— as some other assholes who can write good!" you stammer. You flush even harder as Carson laughs out loud. "But I can write fucking good enough for Mr. Walberg!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but what're you gonna say?" Carson hoots and nudges James with his foot. "Keep your goddam mouth shut, Lamont. Let Will figure out how he's going to explain putting a couple of cupcakes into the time capsule."<br/>
<br/>
Because that's what you went with. After tearing the guts out of your locker to look for something to put into the capsule, you had in despair traipsed off to the office to get change for one of the twenties that Jack had given you, reasoning that it was better to contribute (and lose) a dollar bill than it was to flunk the project.<br/>
<br/>
"Is it for the vending machine?" the secretary asked as she exchanged your twenty for a stack of fives and ones. You mumbled a <i>yes,</i> then on a whim decided to spend some of the money on a bag of M&amp;Ms to console yourself. It was while glancing over the selection of junk food in the machine outside the cafeteria that it occurred to you that, instead of dropping a dollar into the time capsule, you could drop in a package of cupcakes.<br/>
<br/>
Walberg gave you a heavy look when you presented it to him, but accepted it without yelling at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you guys," you snarl now at Carson and James. "I don't know how come I eat with you!"<br/>
<br/>
"You eat with us," James says, still staring off over your shoulder at the office, "because sometimes we have cheerleaders eating with us."<br/>
<br/>
You whip around to look at what James is staring at. But you don't see anything or anyone.<br/>
<br/>
"Sucker!" Carson laughs, and smacks you on the back of the head.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>He's just pissed because you wouldn't loan him that screwy book,</i> you tell yourself later, after you've parted for the last half of the day. When he caught you in the parking lot this morning, Carson had asked you again about that book, and snorted when you told him that you'd sold it to Sean Somebody-or-Other. "You're the most useless jerk-off I've ever met," he told you, but it didn't sound like he meant it personally. After the way he acted at lunch, though, you're starting to think that maybe he is going to hold a grudge.<br/>
<br/>
"I wouldn't pay any attention to Ioeger if I was you," Caleb loftily declares when you get together with him at his house after school. With nothing else to talk about, you bitched to him about the way Carson acted at lunch.<br/>
<br/>
"So I should just ignore him?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I mean, if I was you I wouldn't be paying attention to him, because you don't pay attention to hardly anything, Will, and Ioeger's not one to start with."<br/>
<br/>
"Whaddaya mean I don't pay attention?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb gives you a look. "Do you have any idea how much goes sliding by in front of your nose that you're totally oblivious to?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oblivious.</i> That's one of the vocabulary words he learned in junior-year English that he's so proud to have picked up. Like the way he used to drop <i>jejune</i> into every conversation he could, until Yumi Saito (one of the cheerleaders who sometimes hangs out with Carson and James) asked him what it meant. His ears reddened as he had to admit that he'd forgotten.<br/>
<br/>
So: "What does that mean?" you challenge him now. "How am I 'oblivious'?" You put air quotes around the word.<br/>
<br/>
"It means you don't notice half of what goes on in front of you, and you don't understand nine-tenths of the half that you do notice."<br/>
<br/>
"Like how?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like I'd bet anything James wasn't watching out for cheerleaders. He was watching out for basketball players."<br/>
<br/>
"How do you know? You weren't even there! Where were you?" That's the reason you ate with Carson and James, because Keith was hiding somewhere and Caleb ran off at the end of English class.<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, I had to come home. Had to pick up the thumb drive I bought yesterday." He fixes you with a sharp glance. "You <i>are</i> going to help me get it into Walberg's desk after school tomorrow," he archly informs you. "After you totally disappeared on me today."<br/>
<br/>
"Pff, yeah, now who's being oblivious?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're going to stab me in the back?"<br/>
<br/>
"How am I stabbing you in the—?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're not much of a friend, Will, if you're not going to help me out."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you need me to do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just play look out. Mr. Walberg's got detention after school, so—"<br/>
<br/>
"How does a teacher get detention?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb stares at you. Then his face turns very red.<br/>
<br/>
"That is the kind of goddamned <i>oblivious</i> question that I'd expect from fucking Tilley," he says in a voice choked with frustration. "Walberg doesn't have detention, you fucking <i>nitwit!</i> He's got someone else in detention! Dane Matthias! So he has to stay after school and babysit him! Jesus!"<br/>
<br/>
"Alright," you grumble. "So what's the plan?"<br/>
<br/>
"The plan is that we wait for Walberg to leave his classroom, run an errand, go raid the fridge in the teachers' lounge or something, then we sneak in and swap out the new thumb drive for the old one."<br/>
<br/>
"So why didn't you do that today?"<br/>
<br/>
"I tried!" he growls. "That's how come I know he's got Matthias in detention! But when he took off I realized I needed a lookout to warn me in case Walberg came back. That's how come I need <i>you!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"So why don't you just get Dane to act as lookout?" You don't really care one way or the other whether you play lookout for Caleb. But you are having a lot of fun winding him up.<br/>
<br/>
"Because, you <i>dildo!</i> Dane Matthias is a fucking pot-head, and he's even more oblivious than <i>you!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You finally agree to help Caleb—there's no risk in acting as a lookout in the hallway, you figure—but matters get more complicated. It starts later that night, when your dad calls you into his study after dinner. He's looking distracted. "Did you pick up that book you showed me?"<br/>
<br/>
"What book?" you blurt out. Your dad shoots you a hard glare, which is enough to stimulate your memory. "Oh, you mean the trick one? Yeah, um, I forgot to tell you that I snagged it and took it up to school. I, uh, needed something for the class time capsule, and I thought maybe that would—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Chr—!" Your dad catches himself before he can finish the profanity. "Do you think you can get it back? Give your teacher something to replace it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I'm still interested in it."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Well, the thing is, I wound up selling it to a guy. Someone at school. Because he was also interested in it. I found something else for the time capsule."<br/>
<br/>
Your dad's jaw clenches. "How much?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sir?"<br/>
<br/>
"How much did you sell it for?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Uh, forty dollars."<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't hesitate. "If I gave you fifty, do you think you could get it back?"</span></div></div>


path: 1141421
author_id: seuzz
title: A Fetch Quest
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"What's the deal?" you ask your dad. "I thought it was just, you know, a gag book."<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a hard, steady look.<br/>
<br/>
"In the first place, Will, you shouldn't have just walked into my office and taken it back."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought it was still mine!"<br/>
<br/>
"And that's why I'm not yelling at you," he says in a tone that while technically isn't yelling is still as stern as iron. "But Arnholms was originally selling it for two hundred dollars, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"A little more, actually," you mumble.<br/>
<br/>
"Which suggests to me that it still might be a valuable antique. And if it is a trick book, and it's several hundred years old, it might still contain something valuable, don't you think?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um ..." Your hands and feet turn to ice as all the blood rushes from them.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you think you can buy it back?"<br/>
<br/>
"I can try," you say. "But what if the guy wants more than fifty?"<br/>
<br/>
"Get his price and come tell me." Your dad pulls two twenties and a ten from his wallet.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
To get the book back you first have to track Sean Wilcox down, but when he shakes his head when you ask him about the book. "Nah, brah," he says. "Jack told me he found someone who gave him a better price for it."<br/>
<br/>
"But I gave it to him to give to you," you protest, but Sean only shrugs. "So who'd he sell it to? Brent Pruitt?" Sean only shrugs again. Nor can he tell you where to find Jack.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, Prescott." Carson shakes his head when you ask him at lunch if he knows where Jack hangs out. "You're just getting gayer and gayer."<br/>
<br/>
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"Relax," James tells you. "Everyone's cool with being gay these days. You might even be more popular if you came out."<br/>
<br/>
"More popular with some of the guys," Carson agrees.<br/>
<br/>
"More popular with <i>you,</i> you mean?" you sputter at him.<br/>
<br/>
"No, but I'd respect you more. Oh, say!" Carson sits up. "Do you suppose maybe that's how come Pozniak likes riding you guys's asses so hard?" He jerks his chin at you and at Caleb, who is eating his sandwich with a distracted air. "Maybe he has a crush on you? You should come out to him, tell him you're gay and that it really turns you on when he—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, <i>fuck you!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't say anything to Pozniak," James interjects. "Leave it to me and Carson to break it to him that you're gay."<br/>
<br/>
You scramble to your feet with bunched fists. "I fucking swear to God, Lamont, if you say <i>anything</i> to the Molester about—"<br/>
<br/>
"See, it's right there in the nickname," Carson says. "Unrequited homoeroticism."<br/>
<br/>
"Siddown, Will," Caleb says. "You're only embarrassing yourself."<br/>
<br/>
"Then tell these two cocksuckers—! The fuck did I do to you?" you demand of the amused Carson. "All week you've been—!"<br/>
<br/>
"I said, 'Sit down'," Caleb interrupts. "They're just riding you 'cos you're so easy to ride."<br/>
<br/>
You'd like to storm off, and you come real close to doing so, but you know that Caleb is right—you'd just look silly and stupid—so you fall back to the grass. You can't resist one <i>sotto voce</i> dig at your tormentors, though: "Coupla 'phobes is what you are, it sounds like."<br/>
<br/>
"Not at all," Carson airily retorts. "If I had a problem there, I wouldn't hang out with Jack as much as I do."<br/>
<br/>
"What's that got to do with—? Wait. Are you saying that Jack is—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told him last night he's oblivious," Caleb tells the other two.<br/>
<br/>
"Isn't that why you want to hook up with Jack?" Carson asks.<br/>
<br/>
"<i>No!</i> I'm not trying to hook up with— I'm trying to get a fucking book back from him! The one I showed you in the parking lot the other day! The one you wanted to borrow from—"<br/>
<br/>
Carson jumps to his feet.<br/>
<br/>
"Why the fuck didn't you say so in the first place, Prescott?" he snaps. "Let's go find him."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
As it happens, Jack is in the library, at a table with some of his friends. He looks up with a friendly grin as you approach. "Hey man, what's up?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
Carson punches you in the back of the shoulder, and you lurch forward a step. "That book I gave you yesterday," you tell Jack after giving Carson a black look. "The one you gave me forty dollars for."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah," Jack says. "Sean said he didn't want it."<br/>
<br/>
Carson interrupts. "You still have it?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I found a different buyer." Jack turns back to you. "You want half of what I made off it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Who'd you sell it to?"<br/>
<br/>
"Drama department. They wanted it as a prop."<br/>
<br/>
You ask, "How much did you sell it for?" while Carson asks, "Think they'd sell it back?"<br/>
<br/>
Jack shrugs. "You'd have to ask them."<br/>
<br/>
Carson punches you in the shoulder again. "We'll go see 'em after class," he tells you.<br/>
<br/>
"What's your deal?" you retort. "Why are you so interested in it?"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos I still got a use for it. I wanna borrow it off you still."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, good luck with that!" you retort. "You've been a shit to me all week, and besides, it's my dad who wants me to get it back, not me.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, well, fuck you then," Carson barks, and he stomps off.<br/>
<br/>
You make a face at his retreating back, then return to Jack. "Can we go talk to whoever you sold it to? See if they'll sell it back?"<br/>
<br/>
Jack shrugs. "Sure. If you got nothing else to do after school."<br/>
<br/>
You do have something to do after school, but in all the excitement it completely slips your mind.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"They want it for their next play," Jack explains as he leads you to the drama wing of the school after the last bell has sounded. Your skin prickles as you walk. Your path will take you by the gym, where the basketball squad will be gathering for its post-class practice. You can't help jumping at each loud noise or shouted word from the stream of students flowing along beside you. "They needed something that looked like it could be, like, a book of magic spells, and your book had a pentagram on the side, and it looked kind of old besides, so—"<br/>
<br/>
"How much did you say you sold it to 'em for?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Eighty." Jack snickers. "I think Christian was pissed at Charles."<br/>
<br/>
"Why do you say that?" You don't know why you ask. You're not even sure who he's talking about.<br/>
<br/>
"Because why else would he pay eighty dollars for a prop? It's not even like it even really looks like, you know, a warlock's book. The audience sure won't be able to see the pentagram. Waste of money for them. Oh, don't forget to remind me that I owe you half the money I made on it." Jack pulls open the door to the theater for you.<br/>
<br/>
The lights are up in the auditorium, and Jack nudges you and points at a figure slouched in the very back row with her face bent over her cell phone. "Drama groupie," he mutters in your ear. It takes you a moment to recognize the girl as Maria Vasquez, one of the cheerleaders. For some reason, it surprises you to see her here. But Jack, his hands in his pockets, is leading you on down toward the stage itself.<br/>
<br/>
It's partially dressed to resemble a living room, with a flat mimicking a wall with windows, and a dumpy sofa. A crowd of students is clustered around the latter. You recognize one of them as Charles Hartlein—a character who <i>everyone</i> knows is gay. He is being very waspish with the others.<br/>
<br/>
"Chris, love," he is telling the bluff, blonde-haired guy who is glowering at him. "It's gonna be two weeks before I need you to know your lines. Right now, I just need your biceps." He points at the sofa. "Move it."<br/>
<br/>
"Where do you want me to put it?" the guy growls through gritted teeth.<br/>
<br/>
"Back three feet. <i>Then</i> you can fit it and your ass together any way that makes you comfortable. Elle, Laura," Charles continues, turning to two girls who are listening with unhappy expressions, "which one of you is the one that's color blind?" He plucks a throw pillow from off the sofa just as the blonde guy is bending over shift it. "This doesn't match the—"<br/>
<br/>
Your cell phone goes off, and Charles turns to glare daggers at you as you fumble it out. You make a face of your own when you see who it's from. <i>Whre feh fuck r u?</i> Caleb wants to know.<br/>
<br/>
Only now do you remember your promise to help him lift that thumb drive from Mr. Walberg's desk after school.</span></div></div>


path: 11414212
author_id: seuzz
title: Stuff That Comes Out of Storage
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Something come up?" Jack murmurs as you tap a reply—<i>B thr whn I can</i>—into your phone. Charles goes back to snarking at the two girls.<br/>
<br/>
"No," you tell him, "just telling a guy to fuck off. But I do need to go. Can we—?"<br/>
<br/>
Jack raises his hand and whistles through his teeth. Charles whirls on him with a glare.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, I just need five seconds," Jack calmly tells him. "Where's Christian? Me and my man here are looking for a prop book he bought offa us."<br/>
<br/>
Your cell goes off again, with Caleb's reply: <i>Need u now dpsht/</i> <br/>
<br/>
You grimace at it, and text back, <i>Smthnng cam up cant doit do it tmrw.</i> When you look up again, Jack and one of the girls have gone. But the second girl has sidled up close, and is giving you a mirthful look. "Someone's popular," she says.<br/>
<br/>
Suddenly, you recognize her with a shock. "Gah! Laura!" you squeak.<br/>
<br/>
"Took you long enough to remember me," she says. But she smiles as she says it.<br/>
<br/>
You knew Laura MacGregor back in middle school, where you shared lots of classes, and even had a bit of a crush on her. She was never a great beauty, for her features, though regular, are a little sharp, and she could never do much with her mousy brown hair, which falls lankly to just below her jawline. You notice that she has also picked up quite a bit of weight, so that she's little roly-poly. But she had a wicked sense of humor back when you knew her, and a way of glancing at you that made you feel like you weren't wearing any clothes.<br/>
<br/>
That's the look that she's giving you now.<br/>
<br/>
"I just wasn't expecting to run into you back here," you tell her.<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't expecting to run into you either, but at least I knew who you were right away."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus, I—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm just giving you a hard time, Will. Come on," she says, "if we don't catch up to them, Elle and Jack are gonna think we stayed behind to make out." She slides her arm through yours and pulls herself close. Your heart ricochets off the back of your throat.<br/>
<br/>
"So, uh, you're in the drama program?" you squeak as you let her lead you out through a curtained doorway and back out into the auditorium. You're too dizzy to ask where Jack got off to, and where Laura is leading you.<br/>
<br/>
"Mm-hmm. You know me, I was taking drama back at Schuyler. Your brother goes there now, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, yeah." <i>She knows about Robert and where he goes to school?</i> you wonder. "Oh, right, you had theater right after lunch," you recall. "I remember, there were all those days you were too nervous to eat."<br/>
<br/>
"I got over it."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Yeah, I can see,</i> you think, and wince at the ungallant thought. You glance back at the stage, where Charles Hartlein is still standing, hands on his hips, directing that Chris guy to move the sofa first this way and then that. "I'd wanna throw up if I had to work with Hartlein," you murmur.<br/>
<br/>
"He's my boyfriend," Laura coldly informs you. She drops your arm and comes to a halt.<br/>
<br/>
You lurch to a stop, and return her hard look with a frozen one of your own. <i>Hartlein? Her boyfriend?</i> You're groping for an apology when you feel a hot prickle of blood go rushing up over your scalp.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, bullshit," you exclaim. "There's no way that—!"<br/>
<br/>
Laura bursts into laughter and picks your arm up again. "I had you going! Admit it, Will, I had you going!"<br/>
<br/>
"If you're going to bullshit me, at least come up with something even a tiny bit believable!"<br/>
<br/>
"I had you going!"<br/>
<br/>
"Only 'cos you actually looked like you meant it!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, it's called 'acting'. That's what the guy said, you know. 'Why doesn't the dear boy try acting'?"<br/>
<br/>
You have no idea what she's talking about, so you distract her by nodding at Maria Vasquez, who is still sitting in the back row, gazing down at the stage with a distracted frown. "You guys already have an audience," you tell her.<br/>
<br/>
"She's just flirting long distance with Chris," Laura sniffs. She grips your arm and twists so as to put her and your backs to Maria.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
As you walk out to the student parking lot, Laura explains that although Westside and Eastman have separate drama programs, Westside stores its props on the Eastman campus. In fact, all the drama programs in town, including those at the middle schools, draw from a common stock.<br/>
<br/>
So the four of you—Jack, Laura, you, and the other girl, a doughy-faced redhead named Elle Moore—pile into Jack's cherry-colored minivan to drive out to Eastman to look for the book. You and Laura plop in the back, where you reminisce about middle school classes and catch up on your current classes. You're not so into the conversation, though, that you miss Jack glancing back at you in the rearview mirror, and grinning at you.<br/>
<br/>
Elle has the key and lets you all into the dusty storage room in a warehouse annex out back of the high school. "When was the last time you guys updated your furniture?" Jack asks. He wrinkles his nose as he surveys a jumble of moldy sofas and chairs. "Jesus, this is like stuff I've seen in my friends' grandmothers' houses!"<br/>
<br/>
"It's good for when we're putting on period pieces," Laura retorts as she picks up and discards from a pile of throw pillows. "Like the one we're doing now."<br/>
<br/>
"You have a wooden horse for when you do the <i>Iliad?</i>" Jack asks. "Harpsichords for when you're doing Shakespeare?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but we have a box full of cod pieces for when we for Shakespeare." Laura presses a throw pillow over Jack's crotch, and studies the effect. "You'd look great in a cod piece, Jack. You've got the legs for it."<br/>
<br/>
"He should totally audition for a part," a voice murmurs in your ear, and you jump back with a start. It's Elle. She flashes you a small smile before turning a dreamy gaze back on Jack. "He's got, like, ten times the stage presence that Charles has."<br/>
<br/>
You don't know what she means by that, so you extemporize. "He was being kind of a shit to you back there, you know? Charles, I mean. About the throw pillows," you add when Elle turns a puzzled frown on you. <br/>
<br/>
"Oh, that's just the way he is. Queen bee. One of these days, though, Chris is going to punch him out. What are you guys looking for? A book?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. About this big." You illustrate with your hands. "Red leather covers."<br/>
<br/>
"Sounds like an encyclopedia. I think we keep stuff like that against the back wall." You follow as she climbs her way over the furniture and between shelves stacked with cardboard boxes. "What do you need it for?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm trying to buy it back. I sold it on accident. Well, Jack sold it to you guys on accident. I gave it to Jack to— Well, it's complicated." You clam up at the look that Elle is giving you.<br/>
<br/>
With her help, you sort through two boxes and a bookshelf of prop books and magazines, none of which even remotely resemble the book that you picked up at Arnholms.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, Christian probably just hasn't transferred it back here," Jack says when you and Elle return to report. (In the meantime, he and Laura have picked out three new throw pillows to take back to Westside.) "You guys are doing <i>Bell, Book, and Candle</i> for your Christmas show, right?" he asks the girls. "Christian picked it up for that. I'll talk to him tonight, ask him where he put it." Your quartet troops back outside.<br/>
<br/>
Laura is talking to Jack as you walk back to the parking lot, but Elle walks with you. "You were going out with Lisa Yarborough over the summer, weren't you?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes." You feel your face heating up.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought I remembered seeing you with her. You still seeing each other?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. "We broke up."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry. But I guess that means you're available, huh?"<br/>
<br/>
Your heart skips. "Uh, yeah, I guess. Jack's available too, right?" Instantly you regret your hasty reply.<br/>
<br/>
And Elle runs with it. "Oh!" she laughs. "Is Jack someone you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No!"<br/>
<br/>
She laughs again. "Well, that's too bad. He's needs to find a good guy and stop mooning over football players."<br/>
<br/>
You can't help tensing up all over.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
On the drive back to Westside, you get full details on Christian Padilla, who is the guy that bought the book off Jack. Jack says he's going to find him, but maybe you should contact him yourself.</span></div></div>


path: 114142122
author_id: seuzz
title: Just a Perfect Friendship
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Back at Westside, Jack drops you off at your truck, but before you can take off, he pops out of his car long enough to ask where you're off to now. "We're gonna go hang out someplace, me and the girls," he says when you tell him you don't have plans. "Come along."<br/>
<br/>
"Are we going to go find that Christian guy, ask him about the book?"<br/>
<br/>
"We can do that."<br/>
<br/>
You get in your truck and follow him back into town.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So we wound up getting Vietnamese," you tell Caleb when you talk to him on the phone later that night, while you're procrastinating over your homework. You find that texts are a better method for avoiding homework—it takes longer to type than to talk, and you don't run out of distractions so quickly—but Caleb wanted to chat directly. "You ever had Vietnamese?" you ask. "It's like Thai, only disgusting."<br/>
<br/>
"No, Will," Caleb replies in a very even tone. "I've never had Vietnamese. Was this before or after you went dancing?"<br/>
<br/>
"We didn't go dancing, man! Jesus, it was five in the afternoon. I said we just stopped by the dance club. Legends. You know."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I don't know. How was it? Did you dance with Jack?"<br/>
<br/>
You've been trying to ignore his passive-aggressive baiting, but it's really beginning to grate. When you agreed to talk, you thought it was only so you could plan how to get into Mr. Walberg's desk tomorrow—Caleb said in his text that he failed to get into it this afternoon—but he did insist on asking what you did and who you spent it with instead of helping him.<br/>
<br/>
"No, we didn't dance! Jack just wanted to hook up— Wanted to talk to a guy who works there," you say through gritted teeth. "We got comped a couple of drinks. Non-alcoholic, the cocksuckers. But we should go out there sometime," you add in what you hope is a mollifying tone. "It was nice, even all shut down."<br/>
<br/>
"Just you and me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we'd take Keith along. And a couple of dates!" you add with a blush. "Elle and Laura sound like they've been a couple of times and liked it. We could meet up with them."<br/>
<br/>
"And then you could break your date with them to go with someone else," Caleb says, "the same as you broke your date with <i>me</i> to go with—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Christ, I told you I'm sorry! I had to do a thing, and then it was too late to help you out so I went out and did some stuff with Jack and them because we were already hanging out! Are you seriously mad at me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh no, I'm fine with it," Caleb retorts in a tone that makes it clear that he's anything but fine with it. "You only promised you'd help, but then the instant a cute gay guy flirts with you—"<br/>
<br/>
You snap. "I was trying to get back a fucking book that my dad fucking asked me to fucking get back for him!" you yell. "It had nothing to do with—! Fuck you! We can try it again tomorrow, the fucking thing with Walberg!"<br/>
<br/>
"Unless Jack finds you, asks if you wanna go see a movie together, just him and—"<br/>
<br/>
You're distracted by the bang of a door in the hallway, followed by a sharp <i>rat-tat-tat</i> at your door. Before you can react, it pops open and your thirteen-year-old brother shoves his leering face into your room.<br/>
<br/>
"If fucking Dad hears you fucking cursing," Robert says, "he's gonna fucking run up here and fuck you—"<br/>
<br/>
He ducks back out with a giggle as you hurl your pillow at him, banging the door shut again.<br/>
<br/>
"—start by holding hands and end up giving each other a mutual hand job," Caleb is saying when you raise your phone back to your ear.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah whatever. Just come find me at my locker after school tomorrow," you snarl at him, "so I don't forget again."<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't forget, Will. You deliberately bailed on me."<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever," you growl and close the line. "Asshole."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The passive-aggressive son of a bitch has done a pretty good job of dragging your mood down. You had a much better afternoon with Jack and the two girls than you've had in awhile, and it makes you wonder why you don't hang out with him and his crowd instead of with Caleb and Keith.<br/>
<br/>
After leaving the school, Jack drove you all out to a frisbee-golf park where you played a few rounds while filming each other on your cell phones, and as Jack tried rounding up some more people. He couldn't get anyone else, though, so after driving back over to the east side of town he stopped at the Legends Dance Club to see someone. (They were testing out the sound system, so despite what you told Caleb, you did get to dance with Laura and Elle both, and they with each other, while Jack took care of whatever business he had.) After that, you went up the street to a Vietnamese restaurant. Jack paid for yours, which was good, because whatever it was he ordered for you, it was like eating cold, slimy worms. But you had fun with the company.<br/>
<br/>
Laura and Elle both paid a lot of attention to you, and though you half confess to yourself that it was at least partially because the other guy in your group was gay, you flatter yourself that you were pretty fun and charming. It wasn't hard to be, maybe, because it did seem like the girls were competing for your attention. Elle cut in on Laura when you were dancing at Legends, for instance. But Laura got some of her own back at the Vietnamese place by helping you invent more and more hilarious and disgusting names for the stuff you were eating, and Jack had to call a halt to the contest after Laura said she hoped your meal wouldn't give you the "Saigon Slithers" when it came out the other end the next day. You got the contact information for both girls (and for Jack, too) and you got the strong impression that both of them would be looking for you at school the next day.<br/>
<br/>
But it's Jack you go looking for when Thursday dawns, for amidst all the fun, you never managed to get in touch with the guy you sold that book to.<br/>
<br/>
Jack is in the library again when you check for him at lunch, at a table with two other guys and a girl, with books spread around. His expression brightens when he sees you coming over. "Hey," you say to him. "Did you talk to that Christian guy?"<br/>
<br/>
Jack's eyes widen slightly over his smile. "Which Christian?" he asks. "What denomination?"<br/>
<br/>
"What? The drama guy you sold my book to."<br/>
<br/>
Jack stares back, then laughs. "Oh!" he exclaims. "Christian! Yeah, this morning, I forgot to text you about it." He winces. "He can't find it."<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I'm sorry, man. I asked him this morning, and he went looking, said he knew exactly where he put it. Backstage. But it's gone from there."<br/>
<br/>
"Shit! Does he know where it went?"<br/>
<br/>
Jack gives you a look. "If he knew where it was, he'd go find it for us."<br/>
<br/>
"What's this?" asks one of the guys. He's a trim fucker with a narrow, handsome face under a lush head of dark hair. You instantly take a dislike to him, for he reminds you of Geoff Mansfield. "You guys lose something?"<br/>
<br/>
"A book," Jack tells his friend. "Will sold it but he wants to buy it back."<br/>
<br/>
"Bummer," says the other guy. Unlike Jack and his other one, who are neatly coiffed and turned out, this guy's brown hair explodes in a giant bouffant, like a Troll doll's. It doesn't look gelled, and you distractedly wonder how it manages to hold its shape, like a tumbleweed atop his head. You've seen that great mane of hair around in the halls before, but you haven't got a name to attach to the guy. "Maybe he says he can't find it," he suggests, "'cos he doesn't want to sell it back?" He gives you a narrow, mischievous smile.<br/>
<br/>
You look at Jack.<br/>
<br/>
"No, Christian wouldn't be an asshole that way," he says. But then his gaze goes distant. "I can see <i>Charles</i> pulling a shit move like that, but not—"<br/>
<br/>
"Was it valuable?" asks the girl. She has a round face, and something about her well-scrubbed appearance, and the way she's sitting up very straight, makes you think "band girl" for some reason.<br/>
<br/>
"The guy paid me eighty bucks for it," you tell her. "I don't know how valuable it really is."<br/>
<br/>
"Which reminds me," Jack says as he lifts his ass to take out his wallet. He pulls out a twenty and a five, which hands over to you. "Your share of the profits of the sale the other day."<br/>
<br/>
"You comped me dinner last night," you protest even as you extend a hand to take the money.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," Jack says in a very dry tone. "And the entertainment was worth it." He presses the cash into your hand. "Sorry we couldn't get your book back, but I'll tell Christian to keep looking. If he can't find it, well, are we square financially?"<br/>
<br/>
You accede with a shrug. Later that night, you tell your dad you weren't able to get the book back because the guy you sold it to lost it. He makes a face, but dismisses the matter.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
At least you seem to have come out the other side of the business with some new friends. Some of them seem quite eager to get to know you better. Elle doesn't wait for you to ask her out, but instead asks you out.<br/>
<br/>
Well,  indirectly.<br/>
<br/>
Because it's your old girlfriend, Lisa Yarborough, who asks if you'd like to go do something with her and Geoff Mansfield, with Elle as your date for the evening</span></div></div>


path: 1141421221
author_id: seuzz
title: Some Romantic Backstory
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The invitation comes on short notice, on Friday morning, as you and your classmates are standing around an open grave.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, it's not literally an open grave, and it's not a burial, except in a funny-morbid way. It's first period, and your class is outside, in the grassy quad between the school and the Music Annex, burying the time capsule.<br/>
<br/>
The weather is cool under a cloud-dappled September sky, and all in all you'd rather be outside than inside. But it's all very boring, as you and the others stand in a jostling circle around the hole into which the capsule is to be lowered. <i>It must be like a graveyard around there,</i> you find yourself thinking, because you've heard that Mr. Walberg buries at least one time capsule every year. As you squint around, ignoring Kelsey Blankenship's tedious whine as she reads a little speech from a crumpled sheet of paper, you have the idle fantasy of getting a bulldozer and raking up the top six or eight feet of soil and rock on this corner of the school grounds, turning up and spilling open dozens of canisters like the one you are gathered to inter today.<br/>
<br/>
The fantasy is nicer than suffering as Caleb seethes by your side. You and he staked out Mr. Walberg's classroom after school yesterday, but the old walrus never left his desk, so Caleb was never able to get into it. <i>If I get fucking expelled over this, Prescott,</i> he growled, <i>I'm taking you with me!<br/>
<br/>
I didn't do anything wrong!<br/>
<br/>
So I'll frame you for a crime you didn't commit. You'll have the U.S. Marshals chasing you from here to Utah by the time I get done with you.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Okay, everyone back inside," Mr. Walberg barks after Anthony Kirk has lowered the capsule into the hole, and Amanda Ferguson has spilled a ceremonial shovelful of dirt over it. You're shuffling back toward the school when you feel your elbow plucked.<br/>
<br/>
It's Lisa Yarborough. "Hey, Will, what are you doing this weekend?" she asks in a low, soft voice.<br/>
<br/>
It gives you a sudden, hopeful thrill, albeit an unconvincing one, for Geoff Mansfield, his smug face lifted toward the sun, is sauntering along on the other side of her. "Oh, just hanging out," you stammer. "Probably do something with Caleb and Keith."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb snorts loudly on the other side of you.<br/>
<br/>
"You know, there's going to be an exhibition soccer match tomorrow," Lisa says. "The girls' teams, us versus Eastman. Geoff and I were thinking of going."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Well, good for you and Geoff,</i> you snort to yourself. <i>Maybe someone'll bash his smarmy face in with a soccer ball.</i> "Uh huh," is what you say out loud.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought maybe you'd like to go along, hang out too." Before you can growl out a negative, Lisa adds, "I think we were going to meet Elle out there. You know, Elle Moore?" she adds when you say nothing.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, yeah, Elle," you say. "Um ..."<br/>
<br/>
Yeah, you sound like a moron, but that's because of deductions and intuitions that are hurtling through your head, like a runaway freight train. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Elle is going to be there. Lisa thinks I know Elle. Elle must have talked to her about me. Lisa must think I'm into Elle. Elle must have said something to make her think that. Lisa's trying to set us up on a double date. Elle must have got her to. It's not Lisa, it's Elle asking to meet up with me at the exhibition match. Elle is asking me out, through Lisa.</i><br/>
<br/>
"If you don't want to," Lisa starts to say when you've not made a reply.<br/>
<br/>
"No, yeah, sure, that sounds great," you blurt out. "I was just, uh, you know, mentally reviewing my schedule. Yeah, I'm free."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb says, "I thought you were doing that thing with Jack Li."<br/>
<br/>
You ignore him. "What time?"<br/>
<br/>
"Game starts at two," Geoff answers for her. "Cost you three bucks to get in. It's a fundraiser."<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever. I'll be there," you tell Lisa.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You have plenty of time—the rest of the day, in fact—to wonder what is wrong with you, that you're going on a double-date with your ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend. Especially considering the way that your ex-girlfriend broke up with you.<br/>
<br/>
It happened at the start of the month—September the first, as a matter of fact; <i>a day that will live in goddamned assfuckery!</i>—and you had bopped over to Lisa's locker before the start of class. You were in a giddy mood—your head felt full of helium for some reason—and you casually draped an arm around Lisa's shoulder, interrupting her as she was talking to one of her girlfriends. You broke into a huge smile and were about to say something complimentary about her hair or her pores or something as she turned to you. But she got the words out first.<br/>
<br/>
<i>You know, Will,</i> she said with calm brutality as she wriggled your arm off her shoulder, <i>we never actually said we were going out together.</i><br/>
<br/>
It was like being hammered in the stomach with a wrecking ball. It was such a shock, in fact, that you reeled backward into the worst and stupidest reaction you could have had. <i>Oh, Lisa's saying she wants to make it official!</i> Fortunately, your rational mind grabbed control of your mouth before you could blurt out something really stupid. Besides, Lisa had already turned around and was chatting with her friend as though you weren't even there. You stared at the side of her head with frozen shock for a very long moment, then turned and shambled off on heavy feet.<br/>
<br/>
For the first few hours afterward, as you slumped dazedly in your classrooms, you could only think, <i>She broke up with me. Snapped her fingers and just broke up with me. Didn't even snap her fingers. Just broke up with me.</i><br/>
<br/>
Then the real horror broke through. <i>No, we didn't break up, because she thinks we were never even going out together in the first place!</i> With one sentence, she not only nuked your relationship, she nuked the pretense that you ever even had a relationship!<br/>
<br/>
Even now, almost three weeks later, you flush hotly at the memory.<br/>
<br/>
Because you <i>were</i> going out together of the summer, dammit! Okay, no one said, <i>We're going out together, aren't we?</i> but that was basically what you were doing. You were hanging out together around town with her friends, and you were texting her, and you went over to her house a few times to pick her up to take her to meet people. And you sat together and even leaned against each other, and once, as you were sitting together out by the river, you raised up and kissed the top of your head. Casually, as though it was no big thing! Because boyfriends kiss their girlfriends that way!<br/>
<br/>
So where the <i>fucking hell</i> does she get off saying that you were never even going out together in the first place? And now she's shoving that smug son of a bitch Geoff Mansfield into your face. Are <i>they</i> going out together? Have <i>they</i> said that they're going out together? Is she going to tell you at this soccer match that it's official, that her and Geoff Mansfield are now officially going out together? Is that why she wants you along on this double date, to make you <i>see</i> that it was always hopeless between you?<br/>
<br/>
Half a dozen times you come <i>this close</i> to texting Lisa to cancel the date, to tell her that you're going to come down with the flu or the plague or have your wisdom teeth out and so can't make it. But each time you manage to convince yourself not to wig out—<i>Don't wig out, man!</i>—and put your phone away.<br/>
<br/>
Because, you remind yourself—<br/>
<br/>
And how pathetic is it that you have to remind yourself of this fact?<br/>
<br/>
—you're going to be there on a date with another girl.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Then, at very nearly the last minute, there's a substitution. Friday night, as you and Keith are killing the hours at his house with a desultory game of <i>Magic: The Gathering</i> (which neither of you have played in years), you get a text from Lisa. <i>Hey Will, Elle can't make it tomorrow but Laura MacGregor will be there. Is that okay?</i> You blink dumbly at your phone.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I'm bored with this shit too," Keith says.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm just— It's fucking weird is all," you mutter. "I'm supposed to go on a double date tomorrow—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, that is fucking weird."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck <i>you!</i> But now it's supposed to be with another girl instead of the one I was supposed to go with."<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing fucking weird about that," Keith says. He twines his hands behind his head. "First girl cancelled when she found out the date was with <i>you.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm going to come over the table at you and kick your ass if you don't stop it. It was Elle Moore I was supposed to meet up with. You know her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah. I'd do her."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks for the nightmare fuel. But it says she can't make it, so I'm supposed to meet up with Laura MacGregor instead."<br/>
<br/>
"You can do better than Laura."<br/>
<br/>
"What?" You jerk your head up at Keith's unexpected compliment. "Are you serious?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nah, now I'm just fuckin' wit'chya. I was serious about the other shit I was tellin' ya. Laura could totally do better than <i>you.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
You make a face at him. "Well, how many girls have you got willing to drop everything and go on a double date with you tomorrow?"<br/>
<br/>
"You keep saying 'double date'. Who's the other couple?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Lisa. Lisa and Geoff."<br/>
<br/>
Keith's eyebrows nearly pop off his forehead. "And you're seriously thinking about going?"<br/>
<br/>
Maybe he's right. Maybe this is the perfect excuse to back out of a scene that was eating your heart out with anger and resentment.</span></div></div>


path: 11414212212
author_id: seuzz
title: Why You Should Never Dig Up Your Mistakes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You twist and writhe on your bed as you try to figure out what to do. You weren't even that excited about going on this "double date," not with Lisa and Geoff as the other couple, and you felt more or less ambushed into it. Lisa's text, telling you that you'd be going with Laura rather than Elle, seems like a good excuse to back out of the whole thing.<br/>
<br/>
At the same time, it doesn't feel like a good excuse at all. You've nothing against Laura—you like her at least as much as Elle—and it would be a shit thing to tell Lisa that you'll go out with one girl but not the other when that's not even the reason.<br/>
<br/>
So when you text Lisa back, you make up an excuse: <i>Was gon to txt u to cancel anywy caleb neds me for thing tmorw.</i> Lisa is quick to convey her regrets, and you leave it there.<br/>
<br/>
But you send Laura a text as well: <i>Hey, going to hve to cancel on soccer meet thing tmorw my frend caleb needs me for a thing.</i> And: <i>Mayb hang out aftr schol nxt wk?</i>. You can't tell from the tone of Laura's reply (<i>Sure sorry to miss u, talk soon</i>) if she's upset or completely fine with you backing out this way. You tell yourself that you will make a point of hanging out with her next week.<br/>
<br/>
Then you text Caleb to find out what he's doing tomorrow at two o'clock, and to tell him that, whatever it is, he <i>will</i> need your assistance.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"God, I can't thank you enough for helping me out this way," you tell Caleb the next night. "I'm so pathetically grateful that I just <i>have</i> to suck your cock."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you going on about?" Caleb peevishly asks as he hurls another shovelful of dirt over his shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
"That's what you should be saying to <i>me,</i> asshole," you retort as you also scoop out a shovelful of dirt. "<i>For fuck's sake, don't go home, Will,</i>" you say in a mewling lisp, "<i> without letting me suck you off.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"You only got yourself to blame, dickface," Caleb retorts. "If you'd helped me out the other day after school like I asked you to—"<br/>
<br/>
Yes, this is about that dumb thumb drive. You and Caleb are digging up the time capsule so he can take it out and replace it with a different one. It's like your fantasy of tearing up the school grounds has come to life, only with a shovel instead of a bulldozer. And it's a lot less fun<br/>
<br/>
Caleb had no plans when you called him earlier, but he sure as hell seized on your offer to "do something" with him. Only he twisted it into a plan to help him with this impromptu archaeological dig at ten o'clock at night. You decided to go along with it because maybe it would get him to finally forgive you for not helping him earlier.<br/>
<br/>
"What if we accidentally dig up the wrong capsule, one from last year or ten years ago?" you ask as you continue to scoop out rock and dirt. "There's gotta be, like, dozens or even hundreds of them here by now."<br/>
<br/>
"Mr. Walberg is not hundreds of years old," Caleb retorts as he chops at the earth with the blade of his shovel. "He only acts like it."<br/>
<br/>
"But other teachers—"<br/>
<br/>
"And we're digging right were the thing was buried yesterday morning. See? The dirt's all loose and there isn't any grass. Jesus, Will, there are times when I think you really are dumber than Tilley."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, do you wanna finish digging this hole all by yourself?"<br/>
<br/>
"And third, there aren't any other time capsules here. Just ours."<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit! I know for a fact they buried one last year—"<br/>
<br/>
"They dig them up again after a few days, put 'em in a storeroom somewhere."<br/>
<br/>
"What? Who told you that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ioeger did, when I told him I wanted to dig the thing up. He told me I better hurry before the groundskeepers dug it up first."<br/>
<br/>
"How does he know that's what they do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because Ioeger and Lamont know more about what goes on at this school than anyone else. They got friends on staff or something."<br/>
<br/>
You stop digging. "I still think he's bullshitting you. Him and his boyfriend maybe know a lot about what goes on, but I bet he was just winding you up."<br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you think he'd laugh his ass off at the thought of you digging the capsule up because you're afraid the school's gonna dig it up first?" You glance around. "Him and Lamont are probably out there watching us with a pair of night-vision glasses, el-oh-elling and high-fiving each other and recording us on their smart phones. We'll be lucky if they don't post the footage on-line."<br/>
<br/>
Caleb pauses to stare at you. It's dark, but you can see the doubt on his face. Then he resumes digging.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, even if it is bullshit, I got my own reasons for digging it up."<br/>
<br/>
You resume digging too, on theory that the faster you get the thing dug up, the sooner the nightmare will be over. And yet, you seem to have spooked yourself with your own theory about Carson and James, for you get the feeling that you are being watched, and the night breeze seems to carry voices on it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Sunday is a day of missed opportunities. Your cousin Umeko performs a recital at church, but you have to miss it when one of the church kids barfs all over your pants just before the service, and your dad gives you the keys to send you home to change. You barely have time to change into new pants and get back before church lets out. You don't mind missing church, but you do regret missing your adopted cousin's recital, because you have a small crush on her and would love the chance to compliment her on her flute playing.<br/>
<br/>
Then, at lunch, you get a text from Jack Li, wondering if you're up for anything, and you're forced to decline because of family obligations. Then Keith and Caleb turn out to be busy with their own stuff, and you wind up wasting a perfectly decent Sunday afternoon upstairs in your room.<br/>
<br/>
But the dull, unadventurous day turns baffling and a little scary when you get a text that evening from a number you don't recognize. <i>I know what u did last night,</i> it says.<br/>
<br/>
You stare at the words, and feel all the blood leaving your fingers and hands. <i>Wat did I do last nite?</i> you reply. <i>Who is this?<br/>
<br/>
I'm the person who knows wat u did last night. But dont worry I wont tell.</i> A winking emoji is attached.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Wat did I do last nite?</i> you type in no little panic.<br/>
<br/>
<i>U know what u did. Who was in the cofin?</i><br/>
<br/>
It takes you a moment to realize they're talking about the capsule you and Caleb dug up. You lick your lips.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I'm telling u bc I like u,</i> the unknown person continues. <i>Dont worry. Evryone tomrw will know what u did but tehy wont no it was u. Bc it wastn.<br/>
<br/>
I dont know what ur talkng about.<br/>
<br/>
Who was in the cofin?<br/>
<br/>
I ddnt dig up a coffin!!!!!!!<br/>
<br/>
Lol</i><br/>
<br/>
While you're still trying to figure out what there is to LOL over, a link to a video comes through. When you play it, you almost drop the phone. Though the picture is dark, you can make out two skinny figures digging in a field next to a wall. Their faces are impossible to make out, but one of them is wearing a sloppy ball cap like you favor, and is wearing the same cut of cargo shorts as you like to wear. From off screen you can hear low voices and laughter, and the guttural curses of teenage boys.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Glad u buried it again,</i> your interlocutor texts while you're still watching the video. <i>Wht did u take out?</i><br/>
<br/>
Fury boils up inside you. <i>Fuck u Carson fucku fuck u fuck u!!!!! <br/>
<br/>
Lol</i><br/>
<br/>
That's the last you hear from whoever it is, even after you send a long screedy text filled with every profanity, obscenity, and combination thereof that you can think of.<br/>
<br/>
Then, cold with fear, you text Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"It wasn't Ioeger and it wasn't Lamont," Caleb tells you the next morning when you meet him in the school parking lot.<br/>
<br/>
"Why?" you demand. "Because they say it wasn't them?" You're still boiling with anger. Anger and fear.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, they say it wasn't them, <i>and</i> they got an alibi. They were at a party with some guys, up near the university while we were out here."<br/>
<br/>
"Pssh! Just friends covering for them."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe," Caleb sighs. "But you better hope it was them. Because <i>they</i> wouldn't get us in trouble with that video." He gives you a look.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart sinks with cold realization of how much trouble you might be in. "Fuck."<br/>
<br/>
"Exactly. Just keep your shit together, man."<br/>
<br/>
You bridle. "Why me especially?"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos you're the one they contacted. They probably figure you're the weak link."<br/>
<br/>
"Weak link for what?"<br/>
<br/>
"For whatever they're up to."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, maybe they texted me because they just recognized me and not you!"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe. I don't know why you <i>want</i> them to know who you are."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't—! Jesus, man!" You give up on trying to argue with him.<br/>
<br/>
Because he's right. It is creepy that they know who you are. You don't know who they are, though. You ran their number through the internet, and got back a name—Clover Mystery—that is obviously fake.<br/>
<br/>
The worst part of the threat, though, is the promise that today "everyone" would know what you and Caleb did. What are they threatening to hold over you?</span></div></div>


path: 114142122121
author_id: seuzz
title: Time and Punishment
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Wait, Mr. Walberg didn't say anything about it in class?" Jenny Ashton asks at lunch. Her brow furrows. "What, didn't he know about it?"<br/>
<br/>
It figures that, today for the first time in a couple of days, Jenny would be eating with the rest of her friends. There's news and gossip to be chewed over and digested, and the story of the burgled time capsule is pretty big, even for Westside standards. It was the first thing out of Andy Tackett's mouth when you trudged into second period. <i>Hey,</i> he said, <i>I heard your class's time capsule got vandalized.</i> He grinned as told you how the capsule had been torn open and its contents scattered over the grounds, like a wildebeest felled and gutted by leopards. <i>Took 'em thirty minutes to rake all the shit up and bag it,</i> he said.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Walberg knew about it," Carson Ioeger says. "He definitely knew. They found it over the weekend."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he didn't say anything about it in class," Caleb says, "and no one asked him about it, either." He is giving you a beady-eyed stare. "Bet Kelsey and Amanda were in his face about it, though, as soon as they heard. They probably told him they're gonna get their parents to sue him and the school."<br/>
<br/>
"For what?" James demands.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. But you know those two. They'd take it as a personal attack."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, it's a dumb thing to do anyway," Jenny huffs. "Burying valuable stuff on school property. There's so many assholes around here that someone is bound to—"<br/>
<br/>
"That's how come they dig them up after a few days and move them to a storage facility," Caleb tells her.<br/>
<br/>
"Dig up what?" Jenny asks.<br/>
<br/>
"The time capsules. Every year Walberg buries one, and every year they dig 'em up and put 'em in a storeroom someplace."<br/>
<br/>
Carson hoots. "Where the fuck did you get that bullshit from?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb stares at him. "You told me!"<br/>
<br/>
Carson laughs. "And you believed me? Psyche!" He high-fives James.<br/>
<br/>
"Son of a bitch!" Caleb yells.<br/>
<br/>
"Actually, I'm pretty sure that is what they do," Carson says. He swirls his can of cola. "Stands to reason. I just don't know it for a fact. But the fuckery this weekend is exactly why they wouldn't leave that stuff buried."<br/>
<br/>
"Then what's the point of burying a time capsule?" you ask. "And what do they do with the stuff after they dig it up?"<br/>
<br/>
"I 'unno," Carson says. "Maybe they sell it for the dog food they dish out in the cafeteria."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You didn't say much at lunch because you were busy watching Carson and James. But though they were both amused about the time capsule business, neither of them showed any signs of guilt, and when you ask Caleb about it afterward, he agrees that neither of them was the type to maliciously dig up and destroy it. "They'd dig it up as a prank," he says. "They'd dig it up and put it in the principal's office or something, just to fuck with the teachers or the administration, but they wouldn't just destroy it."<br/>
<br/>
That's no relief, though, and you're on edge all morning, waiting for your mysterious tormentor to text you. The next text doesn't come until after lunch, however. <i>Get n truble yet?</i> "Clover" wants to know.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Wat do u want?<br/>
<br/>
Lol dont shit urself. Just messing with u.<br/>
<br/>
Can we meet?</i> you ask after a moment's thought.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Lol what for?<br/>
<br/>
Talk abut this.<br/>
<br/>
Wat u want to talk abt?</i><br/>
<br/>
You don't want to talk actually. You want to cave this asshole's skull in. <i>Wat u do w that video?</i> you ask.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Dont know not my video. Prbly nothing.<br/>
<br/>
Who took video?<br/>
<br/>
Guys who did thng wi box. Not me.<br/>
<br/>
R they putng it online?</i> That's what really worries you—that it'll get posted, someone will recognize you, and you'll get in trouble.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Lol dont worry.</i><br/>
<br/>
The bell rings just then, starting class, but you don't resume the conversation at the next break.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's in this time of need that you realize you don't have many friends to turn to. Caleb is in the same shit stew as you, and Keith is totally useless in these kinds of situations. Normally you would ask Carson and James, who are smart and capable, for their help and advice, but you still can't shake the suspicion that they might be mixed up in it. So there's only one person you can think who might be able to offer you some sympathy and help. <br/>
<br/>
So that's why you're loitering around his minivan when Jack Li saunters out into the parking lot after classes end.<br/>
<br/>
He's got a couple of new girls with him, and you have to tamp down a stab of envy (<i>The fuck is he planning on doing with them?</i> you spitefully wonder) even as you smile and wave to him. His eyes narrow with curiosity as he smiles back. "Hey Will, what's up?"<br/>
<br/>
"I was wondering if we could hang out and stuff, talk."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, sure. We were heading over to Panera for scones and coffee." Jack lightly touches the shoulders of the two girls, directing them toward his minivan. They are both short brunettes with puffy hair, and you notice that at the mention of your name they both perk up a little, and their eyes brighten as they study you.<br/>
<br/>
"Um, actually it's kind of a, uh, sensitive thing," you tell Jack. "Could it just be us? Only for like, ten minutes?" You feel yourself breaking out in a sweat as you nervously eye the girls.<br/>
<br/>
A chipmunk-like smile pops onto the face of one of the girls. "Me and Philippa can hang out at another table, give you guys some privacy," she smirks.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, you can text some more guys, get 'em to come out and meet us," Jack tells her. His eyes narrows a little as he studies you. "And you could all go off and do something afterwards if I wind up doing something with Will."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Jesus!</i> You pop out in flop sweat. <i>I hope he doesn't think I'm coming on to him!</i><br/>
<br/>
So you don't waste time after settling in at Panera with your coffees—Philippa and Brianna settle in a few tables over—and ask Jack if he's ever heard of someone named "Clover Mystery." He shakes his head. "Is that like a cartoon character?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"It's someone who's been texting me. Here." You scroll your messages back to the first text, and give him your phone. "What do you think?"<br/>
<br/>
Jack's frown deepens as he slowly scrolls up and down through the texts, and he blinks at them. "What's going on in the video?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what do you think is going on?"<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a sharp look. "I don't know. That's why I'm asking. Why are you so worried about it?" He glances between you and your phone. "Wait, is that <i>you</i> in the video?"<br/>
<br/>
"It looks like me."<br/>
<br/>
"Stop jerking me around, man," he sighs. "What is all this?"<br/>
<br/>
So you tell him how you and Caleb dug up the class time capsule to swap out one thumb drive for another, and how the next day you got these texts and this video. "And I guess you heard today how the capsule got dug up and broke open. But we put the thing back," you insist. "It wasn't us who— But someone was out there and they took this video, and it sounds like they're the ones who dug it up and, you know, busted it open. But if they put this video online, then it's me and Caleb who are screwed!"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh," Jack says. He doesn't sound very sympathetic. "Well, I don't know who this 'Clover Mystery' is, but it doesn't sound like they're trying to blackmail you."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe not yet, but—!"<br/>
 "It also sounds like they're not the one who shot the video."<br/>
<br/>
"Then how did they get ahold of it? You saying that someone else shot it, and shared it with this Clover Mystery person?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe Of course, then that means that it's out and being shared and it's bound to wind up YouTube or x2z or someplace."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, <i>fuck.</i> Because, you know, even if me and Caleb didn't do the other thing, we could still get in huge trouble just for what we did!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, don't make a big deal about it until it is a big deal," Jack says. "Most of the time, when you ignore something, it goes away." He frowns, and scrolls through the texts some more. "You know, it doesn't sound like this person is trying scare you or anything. It's more like they think it's a big joke."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think it's funny!"<br/>
<br/>
"I can tell. Here." He settles his elbows on the table, and his thumbs fly over the screen of your cell phone. He doesn't reply when you ask what he's doing. "What do you think of this?" he asks as he turns your phone back over to you. "I haven't sent it yet."<br/>
<br/>
He's tapped in a longish text: <i>Lol I cant believe Caleb and I are getting away with it. We got the thing out but everyone is going to blame you if they notice its gone.</i> "Sometimes the best defense is a good offense," he explains as your eyes pop.<br/>
<br/>
"What are we supposed to have gotten out of the time capsule?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. It's a bluff. Clover's got you sweating. Try making him or whoever sweat, see if they like it."<br/>
<br/>
You have the feeling that you might just provoke "Clover" into doing something really nasty, but at the same time you do feel like hitting them back. But are you even capable of carrying out the bluff that Jack is proposing you start? Maybe Jack would be willing to take it over for you?</span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211
author_id: seuzz
title: Meetings in the Dark
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I don't know what to tell you, Will," Jack says after you've fallen silent. "It's just high school shit."<br/>
<br/>
"Not if this video gets out," you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, come on," he sighs. "What's the worst that could happen?"<br/>
<br/>
"My dad could find out!"<br/>
<br/>
That gets his attention, and he gives you a long, steady look. But when he replies, it's only to say, "I'm sorry, but I don't have any idea who this 'Clover Mystery' person is, so I don't know how to help you."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I get that," you assure him. "I'm sorry I bugged you. Maybe I just wanted to talk to someone. And you know a lot more people, I thought maybe you might, you know, have some idea who it was."<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry, I don't. But if you want my advice, you should stop freaking out so hard."<br/>
<br/>
You give him a dirty look, then wince. "Maybe you're right."<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, let's get your mind off it," he says as he stands up. "We're gonna get a bunch of people together, have a study night, movie night."<br/>
<br/>
But you demur, saying that you need to spend the evening at home. "You won't tell anyone about this, will you?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Of course not,"  he promises. "But I'll keep an eye out, ear to the ground. But <i>you</i> should to stay off line, stay offa social media." He pokes you in the shoulder. "Don't obsess, try to forget about it."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Damn,</i> you think as you trudge out. <i>I wish he hadn't mentioned social media.</i> Now you <i>will</i> obsess about what people are saying online.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So you turn off your phone when you get home, which is enough to keep you from going online, and it also means that you're able to get your homework done a lot quicker than usual. When you turn your phone back on again, though, you cringe at the spate of texts that have come in.<br/>
<br/>
A handful are from Jack, keeping you informed of who he's hanging out with, what they're doing, and trying to goad you into coming out to join them. You text back that you had your phone off and that it's too late for you to come out, but that you'll be up for doing something tomorrow. You also have a text from Caleb, asking if you've heard from "Clover Mystery" again, and to him you are (thank God!) able to report that you haven't.<br/>
<br/>
The longest line of texts, though, are from Laura MacGregor, and you kick yourself at forgetting to find and talk to her at school today. You also feel like an asshole because she has been texting to ask what you're doing, and her string of communiques ends with the rather forlorn note, <i>Guess I go look for someone els to bother.</i> You hastily tap back a reply telling her that you had your phone off while doing school work, and asking if she wants to chat.<br/>
<br/>
Twenty minutes pass, during which you decide that she took your silence personally and is mad at you. But then she replies, <i>Good to here. Going to meet up w jack n guys . U come to?</i> You glance at the clock and weigh your options carefully before again demurring. <i>Gootta sta close to hme.<br/>
<br/>
Wheres home?<br/>
<br/>
Acheson. U know.<br/>
<br/>
Lol forgot. Shld ride down meet at Shuler sometime.<br/>
<br/>
Like that.<br/>
<br/>
So what u doing now?</i><br/>
<br/>
That sounds like an invitation, and even though it's dark outside, a bike ride down to the middle school to meet Laura would be a nice diversion. You tell her you'll meet her there in ten minutes.<br/>
<br/>
But you've only pedaled halfway to the school when your phone chimes with another text: Laura regretfully informing you that she's been forbidden by her parents from riding her bike in the dark down to the school. You make a face and turn for home.<br/>
<br/>
But you are only halfway there when another bike comes sailing out of the dark and almost t-bones you at an intersection. "Oh God, I'm so sorry!" the girl cries out as you both fall off your bikes. You grumble that it's alright, and are climbing back on your bike when the girl says, "Will?"<br/>
<br/>
You do a double-take. It's Elle Moore. "I didn't know you live around here!" she squeaks when you greet her.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, just a couple of blocks over. You live around here?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm back that way." She waves in the general direction of Saratoga Falls proper. "I think." She titters. "I went out riding and I think I got lost."<br/>
<br/>
"You could check a map."<br/>
<br/>
"That would be like cheating. So you're out riding your bike too?"<br/>
<br/>
"I was riding out to meet Laura at the middle school."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh." It's dark, but there's no missing the way Elle's face falls. "Well, I guess I'll see you at school tomorrow. Maybe." She starts to turn her bike around.<br/>
<br/>
"Laura cancelled on me, though. I'll ride with you, though, try to get you back to civilization."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh!" she gasps with what sounds like a mix of excitement and relief. "That'd be great! You're so sweet!"<br/>
<br/>
"Where exactly do you live?" you ask as you turn your bike in parallel with hers.<br/>
<br/>
"Just off Carver Road. Close to McKinley Elementary."<br/>
<br/>
You think a moment. "Wow, you were way off." You wave in the direction she had indicated. "You go that way, you'll wind up at the army base."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God!" Elle covers her laugh with her hand. "I'm sure glad I ran into you then!" You smile at her and remount your bike.<br/>
<br/>
"So, I'm sorry I missed you out at the soccer meet last weekend," you tell her as you pedal slowly along the dark street, side by side.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, did you go?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"No, something came up, and I couldn't."<br/>
<br/>
Elle is silent for half a block, then she says, "I wasn't at the meet either. I didn't even <i>know</i> about it until I heard about it Monday. You mean that Eastman-Westside girls game?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Lisa told me you were supposed to meet us out there."<br/>
<br/>
"You and Lisa?" she says. "Yarborough? I didn't know you were, um—"<br/>
<br/>
"She was going with Geoff Mansfield," you tell her a little stiffly, "and she asked me along, said we were going to meet you there."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Well, not me. I was— I forget where I was, but no, I wasn't planning on going. Like I said, I didn't even <i>know</i> about it!"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh. Well, maybe Lisa misunderstood. She did text me back to say we'd be meeting up with  Laura instead."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. So you had fun with Laura?" Elle's tone is cool.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't go. I told you, something came up."<br/>
<br/>
"What was it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, it doesn't matter," you stammer. "Something stupid for my dad."<br/>
<br/>
"That's too bad. That we missed each other, I mean."<br/>
<br/>
"We bumped into each other tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"That's true."<br/>
<br/>
You pedal a little ways in silence before Elle speaks again. There's a stammer in her voice as she asks, "So, what happened that you broke up with Lisa? If you don't mind me asking."<br/>
<br/>
"You'd have to ask her," you grumble. "And then you can tell me."<br/>
<br/>
"So <i>she</i> broke up with <i>you?</i>" Elle sounds shocked.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess. Actually, she says— Well, I don't want to talk about it."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry," Elle says. "It's tough when someone breaks up with you. I should know."<br/>
<br/>
"Who'd you break up with? I mean," you add, imitating her earlier disclaimer, "if you don't mind me asking."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, God, too many," she sighs. "I guess most of them weren't serious. Well, <i>he</i> wasn't serious."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"All of them," she groans. "I guess I shouldn't have been serious either. Were you serious about Lisa?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know." You start squinting around in the dark, looking for a landmark you can you use to direct Elle back to her house. "We were just really casual."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe that's what it was?" Elle asks. "She thought you weren't serious, so she broke up with you because of that?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think so."<br/>
<br/>
"I shouldn't bug you about it," Elle says. "It sounds like it still kind of, you know, hurts? But I think I know where I am now." She slows to a stop and puts a foot down to balance herself. You stop too, and find yourself on a street corner that looks like every other street corner you've passed, with houses running up one street and down the other. "Thanks for riding back with me," she says, "and talking."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, I'm glad I ran into you. Or you almost ran into me."<br/>
<br/>
You are turning your bike around when you notice that Elle hasn't moved. When you stop to look at her, she says, "Do you mean that? About being glad I— We ran into each other?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, sure."<br/>
<br/>
She stares at you, but it's too dark to really make out her expression.<br/>
<br/>
Then she gets off her bike and edges up to you. Your hands are still on your handlebars, so you've no way to block her as she takes your face between her hands and kisses you full on the mouth. You barely have the wit to swallow your surprised <i>Mmghmph!</i><br/>
<br/>
"Oh God, I shouldn't have done that," Elle gasps as she releases you and stumbles backward. "Listen, just pretend it didn't happen, okay? And don't come talk to me tomorrow. Please? Don't, I mean. Oh God, I need time to think about this."<br/>
<br/>
She clambers onto her bike and wobbles off into the dark.</span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Morning Fog
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You can hardly think straight as you ride back to home, and you make more than one wrong turn, and overshoot your house. Your brain is numbed by a mental fog even after you stumble upstairs to throw yourself onto your bed.<br/>
<br/>
Elle kissed you. Elle Moore locked her hands around your face and kissed you.<br/>
<br/>
And then she rode off, babbling in embarrassment.<br/>
<br/>
So what are you going to do?<br/>
<br/>
The question brings no answer, just a blank. You can't even visualize the possibilities.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"You hear anything more from that person?" Caleb asks you the next morning as you're shuffling out of Walberg's class.<br/>
<br/>
"What person?" you ask. "Oh. No." Since your bike ride with Elle, you haven't given a single thought to "Clover Mystery," nor have you heard from them.<br/>
<br/>
"Then for fuck's sake what are you twitching all over for?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not twitching! Who's twitching? The fuck is your problem, Johansson?" <br/>
<br/>
Caleb gives you a look, but then you lose sight of him as you're sucked into the turgid hallways. But his voice honks behind you, sounding over the chatter and clatter of the mob.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen, I've had my ear to the ground on line!" he says. "No one's talking about the thing with the time capsule anymore! It was big news for about five hours on Monday, but now everyone's forgotten it! So stop shitting yourself over it!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not—! I'm not shitting myself over it, man! Except what happens if my dad finds out!"<br/>
<br/>
"You're dad's not hanging out online!"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, I'm not worried!"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb grabs and pulls you to the side against the lockers. He gives you an exasperated look.<br/>
<br/>
"Then you need to adjust your meds, Prescott. Or switch to decaf. Because I wasn't the only one back in Walberg's class who noticed you had, like, ants crawling all over your dick or something."<br/>
<br/>
You give a start, but Caleb releases you and slides back into the crowd before you can say anything.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But it's true, you're not worried about "Clover Mystery" anymore. Or, if you are, you're worries there have shrunk to nothingness next to your worries about what to do about Elle Moore. You woke this morning from a dream about her, with a redwood distending your shorts.<br/>
<br/>
Not that anything <i>happened</i> in the dream, for you weren't so much dreaming about her as you were dreaming about thinking about her, because all you can remember is her face floating in front of you. It was enough, though, to leave you gasping as you woke, as though you were suffocating on your own erection. Thinking about it now, as you stumble into Mr. Hawks's Film as Literature class, is enough to set you shaking again. Keith gives you a worried look as you fall into a desk beside him. "Dude, are you sick or something?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
Keith is absolutely the last person you should be talking to about this. But maybe that's why you decide to open up a little with him—you can always just do the opposite of whatever he suggests. Besides, you feel you will burst if you don't tell someone.<br/>
<br/>
"We were talking about Elle Moore the other day," you remind him.<br/>
<br/>
"We was?"<br/>
<br/>
"You were talking about her, how you'd do her."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah. I'd do her, I'd do Fatima, I'd do Audrey, I'd do—" He cranes his neck to glance around the room. "I do Mia over there."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what would you do if she kissed you?"<br/>
<br/>
He blinks, then snorts. "Mia? She better be kissing me while I'm doing her. She better be doing a lot more than—"<br/>
<br/>
"No! And I don't mean Mia, I mean Elle! I mean, like, what if she just came up to you and came on to you and kissed you?"<br/>
<br/>
Keith stares at you. Then his expression turns mirthful.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, fuck, man, long as we's talkin' that kinda shit, let's make it interesting, let's make it Chelsea Cooper who comes up and macks right on me."<br/>
<br/>
In the next row over, Andy Tackett looses a gargling kind of laugh. "Oh, we know what you'd do if she did that, Tilley," he chortles. "You'd shit yourself and run off screaming like a little girl."<br/>
<br/>
"I'mma come over there an' fuck you up one of these days, Tackett," Keith sneers back at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyone'd shit themselves if Chelsea came onto them," you tell Keith. "'Cos they know what Gordon would do when he found—"<br/>
<br/>
You break off as Tackett unfolds himself from his seat and steps up to loom over Keith's desk. Tackett is lanky, like you and Keith, and he's only got maybe an inch on you and your friend, but he carries himself with a lot more confidence. He doesn't say anything as he glowers down at Keith.<br/>
<br/>
Keith doesn't say anything either, doesn't even look over, just keeps talking to you as he slumps a little lower in his desk.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, if'n Chelsea did that, it'd be, like, parallel universe or somethin' anyway, so we could just leave Gordon out've it. Maybe he got hit by a truck and she was looking for sympathy sex, you know."<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I'm serious." You glance up at Tackett, who remains impassively staring down at Tilley. "What would you do if you were talking to Elle Moore, and she, well, kissed you? Suddenly."<br/>
<br/>
"Shit like that don't happen in real life, man."<br/>
<br/>
Andy says, "Shit like that don't happen to <i>you,</i> you fugly fucker."<br/>
<br/>
Keith gives him a brief squint, and settled even lower in his desk. "I said one of these I'd come over to <i>you,</i>" he mutters. "I didn't say nothing 'bout you comin' over t'see <i>me.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Chickenshit," Andy snorts, and returns to his desk.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway," Keith continues, "what are you asking me for? I ain't interested in your sick, stupid fantasies. I got more'n enough of my own. Unless—" He sits up with a start, and a hungry light comes into his eyes, "you got fresh ideas and details about what you did with her after that kiss!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," you drawl back at him. "I'm <i>so glad</i> I talked to you about this."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The real problem, the thing that's got you <i>really</i> worried, though, is that you don't know whether to go looking for Elle. It really seems like you ought to, otherwise she might think that you're not interested in her, which would be really embarrassing to her after what happened between you last night. But the fact is that you're not sure you are interested in her. And didn't she also say something last night about how she <i>didn't</i> want you to talk to her at school? You have a vague memory of her saying something like that, but if so it was probably her panic talking. By lunchtime, you've given yourself a headache as you try gaming out all the possible things Elle might have meant or wanted, and what you should do about them.<br/>
<br/>
So you decide to consult an expert. As soon as your lunch period starts, you head to the library to find Jack Li. Again.<br/>
<br/>
You're standing just inside the library doorway, craning your neck to look around, when someone trods on your heels. "Hey Will!" a voice chirps behind you. You spin.<br/>
<br/>
It's a girl with a short blonde bob, and she's grinning impudently into your face. Though you've seen her around—in fact, she's in the English class you just left, where she sits on the other side of the room—you can't put a name to her.<br/>
<br/>
But you can put a name to the pale girl with the lush head of red hair that's with her. Elle Moore smiles up at you. "Oh, hey," you stammer at her.<br/>
<br/>
"You can't eat in here," says the blonde girl. She's dressed in Levis, a flannel shirt, and suspenders, like a lumberjack. "They won't let you."<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Your lunch." The girl slaps the brown paper bag you're holding loosely at your side. "You can't eat in here. Unless you got a special deal with Mrs. DeWare. Does she let you eat in her office?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! I'm just, uh—" You look between her and Elle. "I was just looking for—" It seems pointless to try talking to Jack about Elle when the girl is standing right here with you. "Someone," you lamely conclude.<br/>
<br/>
"So are we," says the blonde girl. "We can all wait together, then head over to the cafeteria."<br/>
<br/>
That's not your plan, but you fall onto a study table with them. As it happens, they're waiting for Jack and his friends too. But in the crowd that quickly gathers, where you know only two names—Jack's and Elle's—and where you can't talk to Jack openly, you wind up holding your tongue.<br/>
<br/>
Jack has a question for you, though. "What's your x2z handle?" That's a social media site linked to the high school, and one of the worst places on the internet, so you tell him (truthfully) that you don't have one.<br/>
<br/>
"You should have one anyway," he says. "I'll set it up for you." He puts his hand out, and you reluctantly hand him your phone. "It'll help you better keep track of some of the shit you're dealing with," he explains as he taps away at it. "What's your email?"<br/>
<br/>
"You in some kind of trouble, Will?" the blond girl teases. You just make a face at her as you give Jack your email address.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you hanging out with us this afternoon?" Jack asks as he continues to type. "Gonna try some frisbee-golf again."<br/>
<br/>
"Um, are all of us here going?" you ask, and make a point of holding Elle's eye. She smiles at you as the others grunt vague affirmatives. "Then I guess ... sure."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So you leave the library feeling wrong-footed. But you are left even more wrong-footed when you get an alert on your phone at the start of last period. It's a note in your new x2z account: <i>Hey Will this is Elle,</i> says x2z user "Meryl_Elle". <i>Skip frisbee-golf, just hang out w me?</i></span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112
author_id: seuzz
title: A Game You Can't Win
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>This is the first time you've ever been on x2z.com as a member with an account, so it takes you awhile to orient yourself inside the DM page. While you're still untangling the fact that "Meryl_Elle", "@ElleNMoore," and "ellemoore323@x2z.com" are different handles for the same person, you get another note, from "Uno_Jack": <i>Confirming I got ur acct set up. Need ride after school?</i> That one, you quickly figure out, is from Jack.<br/>
<br/>
Without thinking, you shoot a reply: <i>Yes.</i> Only after it's sent do you realize it sounds like you're asking for a ride. Rather than send Jack a clarification, you tell Elle that you want to play frisbee-golf and will hang out with her there.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"This is your actual x2z handle," Leah Simmons explains to you. She's the girl with the blonde bob who teased you in the library about your lunch, and you're riding in the back of Jack's minivan with her. "It's like Twitter," she continues. "So, at-WillPrescott is your actual x2z handle, and the WillPrescott-at is like an email account you can access through the site. But your screen name and avatar, you can set them to whatever you want. Want me to do it for you?" She pulls your phone from your hand. "Jack gave you some boring ones."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, I was just setting it up for him," Jack calls back from behind the wheel. "Let Will personalize it however he wants."<br/>
<br/>
"I was going to! Cocksucker!" Leah kicks the back of Jack's seat. Then she leans over to whisper in your ear. "Not really, Jack doesn't actually suck cock. But I can give you the names of some girls who do."<br/>
<br/>
You almost bolt out of your seat. Leah cackles, and you blush hard.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll set up a contact list for you too," she says as her thumbs fly over the screen. "So, I'm 'LeahCoolBeans', at least for now. I need to change that, it's getting stale. Jack ... Okay, you already got him in here. Elle ... Ooh, she's changed her screen name! Adam!" she calls to the fourth of your company. It's the guy with the <i>Trolls</i>-like hairdo, and he's slumping in the front seat with his bare feet up on the console. "What's your x2z handle?"<br/>
<br/>
"Madam I'm Adam."<br/>
<br/>
"No! Your account name!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. At Adam Dortch. Dur!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm tagging you from Will's account. And you should change that handle. It's lame. Anyone else you want me to tag?" she asks you.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, Laura MacGregor? I don't know anyone else I might, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"You will once I get done with you." She taps a bit, then leans over to murmur in your ear. "These aren't girls who'll suck your cock. 'Cept for Adam. He might." She titters, so you can't be sure she's serious.<br/>
<br/>
By the time she's done, you have a dozen or more x2z contacts, most of them girls.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're also able to add "Parker Stott" (the Mansfield clone) and "Kristina Townes" and "Wendy Terrill" to the contact list after you've arrived at the frisbee-golf course. All told, there are ten of you at the party. You break into two quintets, with one quintet taking the course in numerical order up one trail and the other taking it from the opposite end in reverse order. You're in the latter group, along with Leah, Jack, Adam and Laura.<br/>
<br/>
Elle is with the other group, and you were surprised to see her show up after you turned down her suggestion of a one-on-one afternoon together. You meant to put yourself in whatever group she was part of, but Laura claimed you by grabbing your hand, and when the groups were sorted Elle was in the other company. Still, you watched her out of the corner of your eye. She didn't seem to be paying much attention to you—she greeted you in a very off-handed fashion—and you have to take that as a bad sign, like you've offended her.<br/>
<br/>
"I wish we had a thing like this down in Acheson," Laura says as you and the others wait on Adam to take his turn. He is taking his throw very seriously, for whereas Jack just tossed his in the general direction of the chain-link basket, Adam is balancing himself on bent knees and sniffing at the wind. "There's nothing to do there, besides go to the community center. You ever go out there?" she asks you.<br/>
<br/>
"The old elementary school? A couple of times."<br/>
<br/>
"Boring, isn't it?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. She's talking about the old elementary school a few blocks from your house. Most of it has been closed up, but the old cafeteria and one wing were converted into a community center a long time ago. In fact, the "couple of times" you were out there, you didn't go into the community center but instead broke into the basement through an outside door. You found nothing inside but a lot of dusty, discarded school furniture—stacks of old desks, bookshelves, cafeteria tables, and the like—but you and your friends rearranged it all a little, and even spent Halloween down there, drinking and telling ghost stories. But it's been almost a year since you've been back.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing's boring if you know what to do with it," Leah says. Adam is just tensing for a throw, and she steps up to goose him in the ass. He leaps and whirls, and she jumps back with a laugh.<br/>
<br/>
"Someone's looking for a poke in the butt," he growls through his grin.<br/>
<br/>
"Only if you can find it with both hands, and you know what to do with it when you do," she chortles back.<br/>
<br/>
Laura goes after Adam—and where his throw only missed the basket by half a foot, hers curves hard to the right—and then Leah steps up. You wait for Adam to make a move on her, and when he doesn't, you impulsively step up to poke her in the butt. She doesn't jump, but only turns around long enough to give you a narrow, squinty smile. Your heart sinks. <i>That was a dumb thing to do,</i> you chide yourself.<br/>
<br/>
And no one gooses you when you step up to take your shot at the basket. <i>Leah must have a thing for Adam,</i> you decide. <i>Or maybe she's just more comfortable with him.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You broach the subject with Jack a little later that afternoon, as you and he are searching for your lost frisbees, which both sailed into a pocket of  trees behind the basket. "So are any of these guys going out with each other?" you ask as you tramp through the underbrush.<br/>
<br/>
"What guys?"<br/>
<br/>
"The guys out here with us. And I mean the girls, too. Not just, uh—" You can't help reddening a little as Jack straightens up to give you a very even look.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, Parker and Kristina just started going out with each other," he says as he bends over to resume searching. "I don't think anyone else is."<br/>
<br/>
"What about Leah and Adam?"<br/>
<br/>
"Which one are you interested in?"<br/>
<br/>
"Leah. I mean—!" Silently you cuss yourself out. "I'm not interested in—! I'm not saying I—! Look, I'm not interested in Adam!"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you interested in Leah?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't mean—! I wasn't asking 'cos I'm interested in Adam! That's all!" You blush hard.<br/>
<br/>
"Then why mention it? Anyway, I'm pretty sure Adam isn't interested in you."<br/>
<br/>
You're not sure whether to be insulted or relieved. "I just mean there's a lot of flirting going on, and I don't know what it means. Or who's serious about—"<br/>
<br/>
"Is someone flirting with you?"<br/>
<br/>
You are tempted to bolt, and to not stop running until you reach the Canadian border. "Well, not today, not here! But ... Sort of. I think. Okay, yes, for sure," you add as Jack straightens up to look at you. "Except I don't—"<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
You suck in a deep breath. "I'm not sure I should tell. She asked me not to tell."<br/>
<br/>
Jack's eyebrows go up. "She asked you not to tell anyone that she was flirting with you?"<br/>
<br/>
"She kissed me. Last night. We met up in my neighborhood, and she kissed me, and then she ran away. And she asked me not to tell anyone what she did." Your face feels like it's being pan-fried over a hot flame.<br/>
<br/>
Jack stares at you. Then he breaks out in a huge grin.<br/>
<br/>
"You dog!" he exclaims. "Go, man! Warf!" He follows the guttural bark by raising his hand for a high-five.<br/>
<br/>
But you cringe. "I just don't know what to do about it! She's all, like, don't tell anyone, don't talk to me at school, but let's go off together, just us, instead of, uh, going frisbee-golfing with you and the other guys—"<br/>
<br/>
"It's someone here?" Jack exclaims.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh ... ! No comment!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, <i>that's</i> a confirmation! But you turned her down?" He frowns in astonishment.<br/>
<br/>
"I was freaked out! 'Cos I don't know what— If—"<br/>
<br/>
Jack gives you a look like he wants to slap your face off, and looses a haggard sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, if you're asking me for advice again, Will, you have to tell me who it is."<br/>
<br/>
Still you hesitate. But Jack seems trustworthy. "It's Elle," you say through gritted teeth. You nod when he repeats her name back to you.<br/>
<br/>
There's no more joshing or teasing. "Well, that's interesting," he says. "That's—" He seems to catch himself, and tilts his head to give you a hard but puzzled stare. "Well, maybe you do something to her," he murmurs to himself. "Maybe you set her off in a weird way."<br/>
<br/>
"What does that mean?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you interested in her?"<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate, then shrug.<br/>
<br/>
"Then maybe you should figure that out first." Jack gives you a look. "She's not gonna put out for you, Will. So if you're not gonna be serious about her, don't lead her on."<br/>
<br/>
Then he bends over to resume the search for his lost frisbee.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Later that night your phone chimes. It's not a text, though, and it takes you a bit to realize the alert is from x2z. "LeahSomethingSomething" has sent you a note. <i>Loved day with u, Will,</i> it reads. <i>Let's have lunch together tomorrow.</i></span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121
author_id: seuzz
title: Life Behind the School
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Sure, whr meet?</i> you text Leah. She suggests home plate on the baseball field, and figuring out where to go from there.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So, thanks for helping set up my x2z thing," you tell her as you settle up against the wall of the Agricultural Annex, where you can look across the baseball field. It's a good spot to eat, being behind the school but away from the portables and the Music Annex, where a rougher crowd likes to gather. In fact it's not that far from the corner of E wing where you and Caleb and Keith often eat, and you cast an anxious eye in that direction, in case they're over there and they spot you. (You told Caleb you had to conference with someone, so wouldn't be able to eat with him and Tilley.) The air is unseasonably warm for a day in late September, and the sun shines brightly in a clear sky, so that you have to squint, and Leah puts on her sunglasses.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," she says. She sounds a little distracted as she unpacks her lunch. "So you didn't have an x2z account before?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, Jack set it up."<br/>
<br/>
"Let me see it." She puts out her hand. You feel strangely reluctant—more reluctant than yesterday—to hand your cell to her. With a sandwich in one hand, and your phone in the other, she thumbs her way through your account.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you looking for?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Just double checking some things." She takes a bite from her sandwich, and chews thoughtfully. "I can add some more names to your contact list, if you'll let me. Huh," she says. "That's weird."<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Double account or something. Someone showing up twice. Here, I'll fix it for you." Her thumb dances over the screen. "So can I add some people to your contact list?"<br/>
<br/>
"You added most of them yourself."<br/>
<br/>
"So I can add some more?"<br/>
<br/>
"Do whatever. I'm not sure I'm going to talk to most of them, though."<br/>
<br/>
She turns her head slightly, to look at you from behind her sunglasses. "Don't you have any friends, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. I haven't added them, though. Probably won't, 'cos I don't think Caleb and Keith are on x2z. Carson and James might be, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"They won't bite you, you know."<br/>
<br/>
"Who won't?"<br/>
<br/>
"People." She grins. "Unless you ask them too." <br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself blushing slightly. "I'm sorry about yesterday," you tell her. "Poking you like that."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be," she says. "It's why I wanted to have lunch with you."<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" You feel your hair starting to stand on end.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. You see what I mean? People won't bite. You can poke at them, and they won't bite you back. Unless you ask them, and, uh, you haven't asked me to bite you yet."<br/>
<br/>
You swallow and stare. "Uh ..."<br/>
<br/>
"Go ahead." Her smile widens. "Try poking me in the nose."<br/>
<br/>
You stare at her. Her smile widens even more. "Try it," she urges you. "Just be careful. Slow."<br/>
<br/>
A lump forms in your throat, and it pulses in time with your heart. Your shoulder seems to creak with the strain as you lift your arm. You curve your fingers into a loose fist, and extend your index finger. You guide it slowly toward her face.<br/>
<br/>
Leah opens her mouth before you can touch the tip of her nose, and bites down gently on your fingertip. Your cock flares to life.<br/>
<br/>
She works her way down your finger, biting gently a few millimeters at a time, until she has reached your middle knuckle. Then she closes her mouth entirely around the end of your finger, and sucks at it.<br/>
<br/>
She releases it. "Nice," she says. <br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," you breathe, and find you can't lower your arm, so that you're stuck pointing at her. "That was, uh—" You swallow.<br/>
<br/>
"So I don't know anything about you," she says. She jams her sandwich into her mouth. "Gimme your bio," she mumbles around it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It doesn't take long, though you stammer a little, to tell her that you live in Acheson with your parents and your little brother, and about which elementary and middle schools you attended, and to give her your class schedule. And you can only shrug when she asks you what you like to do outside of school.<br/>
<br/>
"You need a hobby," she declares. "Or some kind of extracurricular activity. What about joining one of the after-school clubs?"<br/>
<br/>
You make a face. "I've never been into that kind of thing. It's too, I dunno, organized."<br/>
<br/>
"It sounds like you need a little organization in your life, Will," she says, a little acidly. "If you can't find anything to do by yourself."<br/>
<br/>
"So what do you do?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I just have fun, hang out with friends. I'll hang out with you, if you'll let me."<br/>
<br/>
Even after the finger-nibbling thing, this expression of interest comes as a surprise. "I, uh, well—"<br/>
<br/>
"Not that I'm trying to put any pressure on you," she says. "But you can hang out with me if you want a little jazz in your life."<br/>
<br/>
You feel like you've got too much jazz in your life already, but you don't tell her that. "That would be fun," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you going out with anyone? I think I heard Elle talking about how you were going out with Lisa Yarborough."<br/>
<br/>
Mention of Elle's name almost gives you a heart attack, but you only mumble something about being "broken up" with Lisa.<br/>
<br/>
"That's good," Leah says. "I guess. Maybe. Depends, right? But it sounds like Elle was just confused." You say nothing, for you feel like you're going to be sick. It must have shown in your face, for she asks, "Are you okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I'm fine," you babble. "I'm just ... uh ... I dunno." You start to feel flushed. "What time is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Good question," Leah says, and she gets to her feet. "I have to go do a few things before next period. Thanks for having lunch with me. Oh, and, uh, come find me after school."<br/>
<br/>
"Where will you be?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just go find Jack. He'll help you find me."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, but where's—?"<br/>
<br/>
"He has a physics class last period." She jogs away, backwards. "You said you have Astronomy last period? You can find him in the science wing!" She turns and dashes off before you can reply.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
She's left you in a daze, so that you can hardly pay attention in math class, and during your study hall you slump in the back of the library, staring at the wall. <br/>
<br/>
Is it really possible that there could be so many girls out there who are interested in you? (Assuming they are.) How come you never noticed them before?<br/>
<br/>
Maybe the better question is, Why didn't <i>they</i> ever notice <i>you</i> before? Because Leah has more or less suggested an answer: You haven't been putting yourself out in public where you can be seen by them.<br/>
<br/>
You can't help shivering with excitement at the implications. Apparently you're a lot more attractive than you ever gave yourself credit for. And maybe your so-called friends—who themselves don't hang out with many girls—have been holding you back. Getting in with Jack and his group might be the best thing that has ever happened to you. Suddenly, your senior year looks a lot more cheerful.<br/>
<br/>
Well, if you discount the fact that you might already be two-timing Elle Moore without meaning to. You get another hard twinge of nausea when you think again of the other night, and your failure to follow through with her. On an impulse, you take out your phone and shoot her an x2z DM: <i>Hey its Will can we gt tgtrh n talk?</i><br/>
<br/>
Her reply is fairly swift: <i>Cnt talk n class but sy whre when</i><br/>
<br/>
You've already promised to look for Leah (and Jack, and presumably some others) after school, but you want to talk to Elle alone. Still, if you see her with them, you can maybe set up a time then to talk with her. So after chewing your lip awhile, and consulting an online map, you text her a large, carefully thought out block of text:<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hanging out w jack n others afterschool I thiink so we can make plans thre if ur w them. If u busy thn, mayb bike n meet at south creek park by lake tnite.</i> After sending it, you consult the map again, and amend your text with a follow-up: <i>or drive n meet at lake.</i> It's quite a ways from McKinley Elementary to Acheson or even to South Creek, so she must have really gotten lost the other night to wind up all the way down close to your house.<br/>
<br/>
She said she was in class, so you're not expecting a reply, but you do get a short one: <i>Whr r u now</i> You text back a one-word reply of your own: <i>Libary.</i><br/>
<br/>
Then, instead of falling back into a reverie, you take out your schoolwork and for once try to get ahead on your homework.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But you are still feeling giddy, like your guts and head both have been filled with helium, when you go to your last class of the day. You keep an eye out for Jack, but you're not sure which classroom he is supposed to be in, and don't spot him before reluctantly slipping into Mr. Cash's classroom for Astronomy.<br/>
<br/>
You're sighing contentedly to yourself when a skinny figure drops into the desk in front of you, but your mood sours when he turns around to grin at you. It's Jamie Rennerhoff, one of the dirtbags who plays hyena to the worst lowlifes at the school.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," he says, and unfurls a psychotic, almost Joker-like grin at you. "What was in the coffin?"</span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211
author_id: seuzz
title: Signals in the Dark
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You freeze all over. "What did you say?" you ask Jamie.<br/>
<br/>
"What was in the coffin?" He chucks his chin impudently at you.<br/>
<br/>
"What coffin?" you ask, even though you know perfectly well he's talking about the time capsule you and Caleb dug up. "What are you talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
He just laughs and levers himself out of the desk. You stiffen all over as he slaps you on the shoulder, and with a further chuckle saunters back to his seat.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You bolt from Astronomy as soon as class is out and position yourself at the junction where the Science wing joins the central corridor. From here you should be able to spot Jack as he leaves class for his locker. <br/>
<br/>
You spot Caleb first, though, and grab him as he passes you. "Hey man, I found out who Clover Mystery is," you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
He blinks at you. Then his eyes pop. "The person sending those texts? Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Jamie Rennerhoff."<br/>
<br/>
"No shit? How did you find that out?"<br/>
<br/>
"He more or less told me it was him." You glance anxiously through the crowd for Rennerhoff, then pull Caleb aside.<br/>
<br/>
"He came up to me before class and sat his skanky ass down in front of me and said, 'What was in the coffin?'" you say. "That's what 'Clover Mystery' asked me in those texts!" you remind him when he doesn't reply. "<i>What was in the coffin?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
But he looks skeptical. "I dunno, that doesn't sound like something Rennerhoff would do," he says. "Sending text messages. It's not nasty enough."<br/>
<br/>
"That's what Rennerhoff! Says nasty things and then dares you to do anything about it!"<br/>
<br/>
"But why come out and say it to your face?" Caleb says. "Why not keep sending you texts?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I was ignoring his texts!"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you said you weren't getting any more texts."<br/>
<br/>
"And maybe that's how come. I'm ignoring his texts, so he stops sending them, and comes right out instead and—"<br/>
<br/>
"You're not making any sense, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"<i>You're</i> not making sense! He said exactly the same thing that—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Calm down, man!" Caleb lays his hand over your chest. "You're gonna burst something if you don't— Look, maybe Rennerhoff just saw that video online. Maybe it got posted and he saw it. Maybe Clover Mystery posted it and said something like, 'What's in the coffin?' and Rennerhoff saw it and he recognized you so he—"<br/>
<br/>
"And maybe it was space aliens!" you holler back. "Point is, Rennerhoff knows it was me in the video, and if he knows it's me then his asshole friends and lowlifes know it's me! And then they're gonna know it was you too!"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb gives you a look.<br/>
<br/>
"Let's not lose our shit yet," he says. "Although why you'd tell Rennerhoff it was you, I don't know."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't tell him! He just recognized me!"<br/>
<br/>
"So what did you say to him? When said—"<br/>
<br/>
"I just asked him what the fuck he was talking about!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus," Caleb groans. "Then he <i>doesn't</i> know it was you, not if you managed to bluff him. God damn it, just keep denying it was you, man! Just keep cool and—"<br/>
<br/>
Then he breaks off with a ragged sigh. "Oh, look who I'm telling to keep calm. You're right, you're boned." With a roll of the eyes, he turns and shuffles off into the crowd. You flip off his retreating back.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Jack must have slipped by while you were talking to Caleb, so you text him to ask where he is. <i>Theater,</i> he replies.<br/>
<br/>
The stage lights are up when you enter, but the auditorium itself is dark, so you're only able to make out the solitary figure on stage: Laura MacGregor. She's in an eye-catching ensemble of blue jeans and stiletto heels, a poncho that is a swirl of colors, and a black beret tilted at a jaunty angle. She is holding her phone to her ear and declaiming in a voice that projects all the way to the back.<br/>
<br/>
"Cedric, don't talk so fast and you won't stutter so!" she shouts (presumably to whoever is on the line). "Yes, now I can hear you. Yes, clearly!"<br/>
<br/>
"Laura, darling!" a lazy voice floats out of the dark. "Don't clench your teeth when you say 'clearly'!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm trying to show that I'm frustrated!" she shouts back through clenched teeth.<br/>
<br/>
"Wha'dju say?"<br/>
<br/>
"I said—!"<br/>
<br/>
"You're still clenching your teeth, I can't hear you <i>clearly</i>!"<br/>
<br/>
A dim light pops up in the back row, and you recognize Maria Vasquez, her face bent over her phone. Another humped shape, a few rows down, turns around to glance back at her, and you recognize it as Jack. You slip along the row to take a seat next to him.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, is this what we're doing today?" you ask him as Laura goes back to shouting into her phone.<br/>
<br/>
"Shh," he whispers, "if you don't wanna get thrown out." A light goes on his lap, and you see the silhouette of his thumbs dancing over his phone. He tilts the screen to show you when he's done: <i>Laura rehearsing big scene here for moeal support.</i><br/>
<br/>
You take out your own phone and reply with a notepad app: <i>Cool.</i> Then: <i>I find it who clove mystery is its jamie rennerhoff.</i><br/>
<br/>
Jack doesn't reply right away, then only types, <i>huh.</i> When he says nothing else, you type, <i>Is leah comuing u see her we doing somethng afterthis?</i> Again Jack gives only a one-word reply: <i>Maybe.</i> Then he puts his phone away, which seems like a hint, so you put yours away too and turn to watching the stage.<br/>
<br/>
You have no clear idea what Laura is doing—what her character is supposed to be doing, at any rate—but her "big scene" apparently consists of talking to someone over the phone, and alternating between giddy excitement and teeth-clenching anger. "Darling, you've made me so happy!" she exclaims with a thrilling smile, followed immediately by a furious, "Cedric, stop stuttering so!"<br/>
<br/>
But she holds your attention as she waltzes lazily with herself in the center of the stage and throwing her free hand about like it's a tethered bird. She's too expressive for Charles's taste, though, and he reminds her waspishly at several points that she'll be talking on a corded phone and won't be able to move about so freely with the prop phone. "Then why don't we get a prop phone out here!" she snarls at him with the same fury that she turns on the imaginary stutterer. To which Charles retorts, "Don't turn your method acting on me, dearie!"<br/>
<br/>
In fact, you get so caught up in the stagecraft that Jack has to nudge you to get your attention. He shows you his phone again: <i>Leah on way. Happy?</i> You nod vigorously.<br/>
<br/>
Then a guilty thought comes to you, and you ask Jack, <i>Shld I talk to elle?</i><br/>
<br/>
You sense the exasperated look on the face that Jack turns to you in the dark, and say no more.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Leah and two others join you in the darkened theater a little later, but they won't use their phones to talk, so after a minute or so of loud whispering, Jack leans over to growl at you: "Take it outside, okay?" You nudge Leah, and force her and the other two to slide back out of their seats and troop outside. You blink in the sunlight when you emerge.<br/>
<br/>
It's Brianna Kirschke and Genesis Lee she's brought along. Brianna was one of the girls at Panera when you talked with Jack, while Genesis was at frisbee-golf with you yesterday. Both girls wear black-frame glasses and have long, dark, fluffy hair, but Brianna pulls her hair back into an enormous pony tail while Genesis lets her mane float free. Brianna is also quite short, while Genesis is almost as tall as you are. Both of them act with you now as though you've always hung out with them.<br/>
<br/>
"So what are we doing?" Brianna asks.<br/>
<br/>
Genesis says, "I thought we were waiting for Jack and Laura."<br/>
<br/>
"They're gonna be in there forever," says Leah. "What do you think, Will?" She turns a bright glance on you. "What are we doing?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel put on the spot. "Uh ... Hang out someplace?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't feel like 'hanging out'," Leah retorts. "I wanna <i>do</i> something. The arcade up at Monte Viso?" she asks the group.<br/>
<br/>
Genesis makes a face. "Too loud, and I'm not good at those."<br/>
<br/>
"You can play with that claw machine," Leah says, "try to get a toy out. Oh!" she exclaims, and her eyes widen. "Scavenger hunt!" The idea startles everyone else. "Yeah! Just a short one but—"<br/>
<br/>
"What do we scavenge for?" Brianna asks.<br/>
<br/>
"We'll look online," Leah says as she takes out her phone, "people are always posting scavenger hunt lists. Who's on my team?" she asks as she types into her phone. After a fractional hesitation, you volunteer. She doesn't look up. "You can drive, right?" she asks, and you volunteer for that too.<br/>
<br/>
Leah quickly finds a list of items to scavenge, and sends the link to Brianna. "Deadline's five-thirty," she says as she edges back toward the parking lot. "We meet at Cherry Brook. If you're late getting there, you lose. Come on!" She punches you in the shoulder and scampers away. With a squeal, the other two girls chase after. You sprint off after all of them.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Hey, nice truck, man," Leah says as you buckle yourselves in. "You ever take it out in the wilderness?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, no."<br/>
<br/>
"How about the river?" She glances through the back window into the bed. "Lay some padding back there, it'd be great!"<br/>
<br/>
You gulp. The river is the makeout spot for high school kids.<br/>
<br/>
But then she says something that really makes your pulse race. "Okay, we managed to ditch the other guys. Whaddaya <i>really</i> wanna do, Will?" Her eyes glint.</span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112
author_id: seuzz
title: More Help Than You Know What to Do With
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"You don't want to do the scavenger hunt?" you ask Leah.<br/>
<br/>
"That was just to get the other guys out of the way." She turns a hungry grin on you. "Jack said you wanted to hang out with me."<br/>
<br/>
Your heart tries to climb up into the back of your throat, and you have to swallow it. "I— I— I thought—" you stammer,<br/>
<br/>
Then you pack all your questions and objections away. It seems best to just roll with it. "We can do whatever," you tell her. "You want to get coffee or something?"<br/>
<br/>
"We can get that when we meet the other guys back at Cherry Brook," she says.<br/>
<br/>
You feel frozen from the neck down. So how it is that you manage to stammer the words, "We could go down to the river," you don't know.<br/>
<br/>
But Leah likes the suggestion. "Cool. I love the river."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Maybe she likes the river, but she's not ... enthusiastic ... about it the way you thought and hoped she might be, for instead of steering you toward the flat, open strip on the eastern side where kids like to park and make out, she suggests hanging out at Potsdam Park. It also overlooks the river, but it's a place for adults and families, not high school kids, and you and she stroll along the riverwalk that just overhangs the edge of the Mohegan. The sun is still high but is beginning to slant toward the western horizon, and the rippling light on the water dazzles you.<br/>
<br/>
And because she suggested Potsdam Park rather than the river's edge itself, you hold back from making any moves on her, but keep to light talk. In an offhand way she tells you about her classes and her activities. <br/>
<br/>
"I should find something to keep me busy," you say, remembering her advice at lunch. "You were telling me about some of the after school clubs?"<br/>
<br/>
"I was? Well, the only club I belong to isn't really a club," she says. "It's just an extracurricular thing with the school chorale, the Harmony for Hospitals thing. You know?" You shake your head. "We go around and sing for people in hospitals, nursing homes, places like that."<br/>
<br/>
"That sounds depressing."<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a look. "It's really nice," she insists. "It's like doing something nice for people, bringing a little sunshine into their lives."<br/>
<br/>
"I guess." You kick the ground. "I think I'd just feel sorry for them, feel bad for them."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you sing?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I've never really tried."<br/>
<br/>
"Sing something for me," she goads you. "Lemme hear you sing!"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know—! Whaddo I sing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Anything! First thing that comes to mind!"<br/>
<br/>
You stare at her, dazed. <i>The first thing that comes to mind? Nothing's coming to mind!</i><br/>
<br/>
You glance over at the river. "Uh ... <i>Row, row, row your boat, gently down the—</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Leah claps her hands and staggers back, laughing silently. "Hey!" you holler at her. "You said to sing the first thing that comes to mind!"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you know any real songs? Never mind. It doesn't sound like singing's your thing anyway. You like games? There's a Trivial Pursuit Club at the school. Ooh! And the Murder Club!" Her eyes widen with excitement.<br/>
<br/>
"What's the Murder Club?"<br/>
<br/>
"They commit murders. Not <i>real ones,</i> you goof!" she adds, though you didn't say anything and don't even think you reacted. "I don't know how it works, but someone gets secretly picked to be the killer, and someone else is secretly picked to be the victim, and then— I dunno how it works. I just know some of the people in it."<br/>
<br/>
"You know lots of people," you observe.<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a puzzled look. "Yeah, I guess."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't have— I don't hang out with a lot of people," you tell her. "There's only, like, three or four people I really hang out with."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, who?"<br/>
<br/>
You give her names. She doesn't know Keith, she says, and she only knows Caleb by name and sight. She says she knows Carson and James, though, and that she has Jenny Ashton in Chorale. "They're a good group," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess. Except we don't do a lot together, me and my friends."<br/>
<br/>
Then you remember last Saturday night. "Except— Well—" <br/>
<br/>
"What?" Leah goads you when you don't finish.<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate, and give her a long, steady look. "You know Jamie Rennerhoff?" you ask her.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The story you tell, of digging up the time capsule, and of the text and video from "Clover Mystery" and of Jamie's jeering at you in class, shocks and excites her. "Oh my God!" she says over and over again, and her mouth hangs open.<br/>
<br/>
"So I don't know what to do," you conclude with a sigh. "I told Jack and Caleb, but they—"<br/>
<br/>
"You told Jack?" she exclaims. "What did he say?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. Except not to get excited. Uh, him and you are the only two people I've told about all this. Could you, uh, not tell anyone else about—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, sure!" She makes the "zipping my lips" gesture. "Oh, but <i>dammit!</i>" She leans against the riverwalk's railing and stares intently out over the water. "And you can't really do anything about Jamie. And you're not friends with him, right?"<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head.<br/>
<br/>
She chews her lip. "I wonder if I talked to him," she muses, "if he'd— No, he'd just think it was a huge joke."<br/>
<br/>
"You know Rennerhoff?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, sure. He hangs out with some real creeps, but he's not a bad guy."<br/>
<br/>
You don't argue, even though that's far from your own impression of Jamie Rennerhoff. He's slender son of a bitch, and unless he knows some wrestling moves you bet you could take him in a fight. But he's got a nasty, creepy smile—huge and white and full of teeth—and gets a leering, sociopathic flame in his eye when he grins. He reminds you far too much of the Joker.<br/>
<br/>
Leah is still musing to herself, and she asks to see your phone again, to look at the video. She peers at it, and pinches to expand it, and mutters to herself. Slowly, a wicked smile spreads across her face, and there's an evil glint in her eye when she looks up.<br/>
<br/>
"That's not you in the video," she tells you.<br/>
<br/>
"What? Sure it is," you say. "I told you, me and Caleb."<br/>
<br/>
"No," she insists, "it's not you. You didn't tell Jamie that it's you, did you? And you didn't tell Clover Mystery it's—"<br/>
<br/>
She breaks off, and goes back to studying the screen, scrolling up and down it. You let her do her thing without interrupting, even though you're dying to know what she's thinking.<br/>
<br/>
Eventually, she tells you. "This isn't Jamie sending you these texts, either," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"It isn't? How do you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"He doesn't talk like this. And he doesn't— Clover Mystery?" She gives you a skeptical look. "That doesn't sound like him either. For a start, it's a girl's name. I think it's a <i>girl</i> who was sending you these texts."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God." For some reason Leah's deduction chills you.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Something about them just sounds like a girl. He must've sent her the video, and she recognized you, or she thought it was you, and sent it to you." She looks up at you from beneath her brows, and her smile turns sly. "Do you have any secret admirers, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Leah's question completely flustered you. She thought it was hilarious, and poked and teased you mercilessly while you denied it. "How would you know?" she challenged you. "How would you know if you had a secret admirer if they're secret?" It left you blushing hard.<br/>
<br/>
But just as quickly she sobered up and went back to studying the texts and the messages. She insisted that "Clover Mystery" couldn't be Rennerhoff, and when you reminded her that he asked you the same question—"What's in the coffin?"—that Clover Mystery did, she retorted that there was more than one person there when the video got taken. "You can hear them talking, right?" she says. "There's a couple of guys there. Your secret admirer was probably there too."<br/>
<br/>
Is this "secret admirer" the kind of girl who hangs around with Jamie Rennerhoff? It makes you shudder.<br/>
<br/>
But as for why she says it isn't <i>you</i> in the video—<br/>
<br/>
Leah takes out her own phone and scrolls through a photo album. "Here," she says after picking a photo. "This is the guy in the video," she says with a grin.<br/>
<br/>
You know it's not—you know it's you—and you blink in exasperation at the guy in the picture she shows you. He's just another high school kid, so bland looking that he's almost anonymous. A skinny frame, dirty blonde hair, a floppy t-shirt and cargo shorts, and a sloppy white ball cap. He laughing into the lens with a glazed-over gaze, like he's high.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not him in the video," you insist to Leah.<br/>
<br/>
"It could be him. It looks like him in the video. Same hat." She darts a hand out and flicks the brim of your cap. You have to catch it to keep it from flying off your head.<br/>
<br/>
"But it isn't, it's—"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be so dumb, Will!" Leah explodes. "Just tell people it's <i>Eric</i> in the video! Jesus! Or send me the video, and I'll tell people it's him. He deserves the grief." She pauses. "Maybe I could send <i>him</i> some mysterious texts about the video, like your secret admirer is doing to you."<br/>
<br/>
All her talk of a "secret admirer," though, has reminded you of Elle. Since you're sharing confidences with her, maybe you should tell her about your situation with Elle. She's being a lot more helpful than Jack.</span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121
author_id: seuzz
title: Too Many Tasks
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Oh, shit," Leah says, and she looks around. "Look at the time. We need to get back to—"<br/>
<br/>
"I think I do have a secret admirer," you blurt out. Leah does a double-take at you. "I think do have a—" you start to repeat, then correct yourself. "Except she's not really a secret admirer, 'cos I know who she is. But she wants it to be a secret from, uh, everyone else."<br/>
<br/>
Leah is looking at you like you've gone crazy.<br/>
<br/>
"Wow," she says, though there's a tentative note inside her voice. "So is this something you want to talk about?"<br/>
<br/>
You can barely look her in the eye. "Well, if you don't mind," you stammer. "It's a friend of yours."<br/>
<br/>
That does get her attention, and her eyes brighten. She takes your arm in hers, and questions you as you lead her back to your truck.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wind up missing the meet-up at Cherry Brook Bakery, and go to a donut shop instead, to talk about Elle over cheap coffees and a shared stale donut. Leah is frankly incredulous, but you insist that it's all true. "I don't know what I did," you tell her. "But I'm telling you, she grabbed me and kissed me and then rode off and asked me not to tell anyone about it."<br/>
<br/>
"But you're telling me now," Leah says with a skeptical lift of the eyebrow. "And you told Jack."<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos I don't know what to do! I don't know whether to talk to her or ignore her or—"<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't you say she wanted to go off with you alone when we went frisbee-golfing the other day? So why didn't you?"<br/>
<br/>
Her tone is accusing, and you wince. "I didn't know if I wanted to,"  you confess. "I mean, I like her, but it's all so confusing—"<br/>
<br/>
"So you do like her?" There's now a shadow of hostility in Leah's voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I don't know if I do! I mean, I like her as a person! As a friend." <i>Except you don't know her well enough to be a friend.</i> "I think."<br/>
<br/>
"So are you interested in her? Do you want to—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Jack asked me that."<br/>
<br/>
Her eyebrows go up. "What did you say?"<br/>
<br/>
"I said I don't know." You suck in your lips. "She freaked me out that night!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I can tell," Leah says. "You seem to get in trouble when you go out at night, Will," she says "Running into girls, digging up school property and getting yourself recorded. Is Clover Mystery's texting you about Elle, too?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! Wait. Do you think <i>Elle</i> could be Clover Mystery?"<br/>
<br/>
Leah's mouth falls open. But then she turns thoughtful, and your heart begins to thump with anticipation.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," she says. "Maybe. No. Except—" She squints out the plate glass window into the strip center parking lot. "Well, she is friends with Jamie."<br/>
<br/>
Now you're <i>definitely</i> not interested in her, but you say nothing.<br/>
<br/>
"But I don't know," Leah says. "I don't think so. It doesn't seem like something Elle would do." She turns another skeptical look onto you. "And her coming on to you the other night, that doesn't sound like her either."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know what she's like," you admit. "But all I know is she—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah yeah." Leah waves a dismissive hand. "But if you're not into her, don't lead her on. She had kind of a bad break-up last year."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"She was going out with Mitchell Belz. You know Mitchell? Don't bother," she says when you shake your head. "I thought he was okay before the he did the thing to Elle."<br/>
<br/>
"What did he do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Meh, never mind. But she took it hard." Leah's brow furrows, and she falls silent.<br/>
<br/>
Then she dismisses her thought—whatever it was—with a shrug. "If you're not into her, just wait for her to text you, call you, whatever. Then you let her down." She kicks you under the table. "Be careful when you do," she says.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You like the advice—it lets you off the hook of having to do something—and as you've finished your coffees and the donut by now, you end the afternoon by taking Leah home, then going back to your own place. It's later than you thought it was, and you barely make it back in time for dinner.<br/>
<br/>
So it's not after you've eaten and helped clean up that you are able to check some messages that have been piling up on your phone all afternoon. You checked them as they came in, long enough to see who they were from, but you hadn't read them. You're not used to dealing with so much social interaction, and it's a chaotic hour you pass—while trying to do a little homework on the side—as you juggle half a dozen conversations.<br/>
<br/>
You reply first to Laura MacGregor, who texted to say that she spotted you in the theater with Jack, and asks what you did after you left. She also asks if you liked what she was doing onstage. You reply, briefly, to tell her that you liked her performance, and that you went off with Leah. <i>Did u make out?</i> she reply with a teasing emoji. <i>No just talked,</i> you type, and hope that will be the end of that. But Laura insists on knowing where you went and what you did, so you tell her that you went to Potsdam Park, and that you talked about some stuff going on your life. This naturally inspires her to ask about what that stuff is. You wind up having to shut her down with a <i>brb</i> and then a <i>gtg</i> when the other conversations heat up.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb wanted reassurance that you're not going to do anything stupid about Jamie and "Clover Mystery." Between texts with Laura, you tell him that you won't, and that you now think that Clover is actually a secret admirer trying to tease you and wind you up. You ignore his reply—<i>U r so delusional</i>—to tell him that you think there's another guy out there that you can pretend is in the video. When he asks who, you again have to curtail a conversation with a <i>brb</i> while you send Leah an x2z DM for that photo and the name of that guy.<br/>
<br/>
Meanwhile, Jack has tagged you into an x2z thread about a weekend camping trip out to Russian Lake. The plan includes a Saturday night sleepover, which would interfere with church the next day, so you doubt you can go, but you tell Jack that you'll ask your parents.<br/>
<br/>
While you're doing that, Leah DMs back that she doesn't remember who you are talking about, and asks you to jog her memory. You describe the guy, and are even able to summon up the name that she so casually dropped—Eric—then duck into <i>another</i> thread (this one posted by Brianna Kirschke showing off the items that she and Genesis Lee picked up that afternoon. You congratulate her and her partner on their win, which gets you a DM from Susan Lekuawehe asking where <i>your</i> scavenger hunt thread is. Your reply—<i>Dont have one</i>—sparks a brief back-and-forth that ends on your side with you admitting that you spent the afternoon with Leah instead of on the scavenger hunt, and on her side with her LOLing and mentioning that she saw the two of you hanging out together at lunch, and that she thinks you're a cute couple.<br/>
<br/>
You then get a DM back from Leah, linking to some threads that contain pictures of the guy you were asking about it. Judging by the photos he seems to be a party-hearty social butterfly, constantly posting selfies of himself, usually with his arm around a girl.<br/>
<br/>
With this, you are able to tell Caleb that if anyone asks about the video, you should be able to blame it on this "Eric Murphy" guy. He retorts that he's not going to blame anyone else for anything, and that if you don't want to get in trouble you just need to keep your mouth shut and not cause trouble. You try explaining that you don't want to frame the guy, you just want to create doubt about who it is in the video, and that your resemblance to Eric Murphy can help create that doubt. Caleb again tells advises you to just STFU about the whole time capsule thing.<br/>
<br/>
Then he asks if you've written your paper on it yet.<br/>
<br/>
You bolt upright with a groan. The paper is due tomorrow, and you haven't given a single thought to it. You hurl your phone back onto your bed, and turn to your computer.<br/>
<br/>
It doesn't take long, though, before you realize that you're completely stuck for words. You gave Mr. Walberg a package of cupcakes for the capsule, and you have no idea why you picked it. Or, rather, you know exactly why you picked it—you were desperate, and there was nothing else around—but you can't say that, unless you want to flunk the assignment.<br/>
<br/>
So you're chewing your fingernails with worry and frustration when your phone buzzes with another text from Laura. She wants to take a nighttime bike ride, and wants to know if you'd like to go along with her.</span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212
author_id: seuzz
title: Feminine Wiles and Feminine Denials
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You would ignore Laura's invite, but you are in despair over your paper, and she also mentions that she heard from Leah about some trouble you're having with an anonymous stalker. So you decide to meet up with her. Maybe it'll clear your head, and maybe (since she knows about the video) she might have some ideas about who "Clover Mystery" might be.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Hey, so how'd you get your mom to let you out after dark?" you call out as she rides up to meet you under a streetlamp. You're at the corner of the old elementary school, a landmark that you both know.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you talking about?" she asks as he rolls up to a stop next to you.<br/>
<br/>
"Your mom wouldn't let you come out the other night, on account of it was after dark," you remind her.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, right," she says. "I snuck out. What she doesn't know won't hurt her."<br/>
<br/>
"Whoa, nice! Are you skipping out on your homework too?"<br/>
<br/>
"No." She sounds surprised. "I got mine done early."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I still got a paper I'm supposed to write for tomorrow, but I can't figure out what to say. Like it matters," you acidly add. "You heard what happened to the school time capsule?"<br/>
<br/>
"I heard someone dug it up a hundred years too early."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, that's one way to put it. It was my class that put it together, and we're supposed to write a paper on what we put in. But it got dug up and vandalized, so, you know, <i>pffbt!</i> What does it matter?"<br/>
<br/>
"So what did you put into it?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Some cupcakes. Out of the school vending machine."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God!" she laughs. "What for?"<br/>
<br/>
"On account of I didn't have anything else! I forgot we were even supposed to bring something in, so I had to, you know, improvise! Now I'm stuck trying to figure out how come the future needs some of our moldy old cupcakes!"<br/>
<br/>
She laughs again, and you remount your bikes. You ride very slowly, side by side, wobbling, as you talk. She asks about the anonymous stalker.<br/>
<br/>
"Psht, it's also to do with that stupid time capsule. Thing is just kicking my ass everywhere I turn! So, my dumb friend Caleb, he put in a thumb drive full of porn— Don't ask why," you add as she almost falls off her bike. "He did 'cos he thought it would be funny. But then he found out we had to write a paper on what we put in, so—"<br/>
<br/>
You sigh. It was so stupid at the time, and it seems even stupider now in the retelling.<br/>
<br/>
"So we dug the time capsule up to replace the thumb drive with a different thumb drive, one that didn't contain porn, so he could write a paper about <i>that</i> instead of one about porn. But anyway, someone was out there and they saw us and they filmed us on their phone, and they been sending me texts bragging about it, and I dunno what's going to happen if it all comes out, except that my dad'll kill me."<br/>
<br/>
"For what?"<br/>
<br/>
"For messing with school property, for one. Also, it'll totally look like Caleb and me were the ones who dug the capsule up and vandalized it."<br/>
<br/>
"And you don't know who's been texting you? Or who made the video?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pretty sure it was Jamie Rennerhoff, or one of his friends. They're using a fake name, though."<br/>
<br/>
"Can I see?"<br/>
<br/>
You stop and straddle your bike as you take out your phone. "Here," you say when you find the right stream. "That's them. I looked up their number online, and it belongs to someone called 'Clover Mystery'."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know anyone named that," Laura says as she takes your phone.<br/>
<br/>
"It's a fake. Leah thinks— Well, she think it's some girl who's got, like, a crush on me or something," you stammer. You feel yourself blush as Laura raises her face to look at you.<br/>
<br/>
She doesn't say anything, though, but bends back over the phone to scroll through the texts. She plays the video and watches it for a bit. "You told Leah about this?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Her and Jack and now you. I shouldn't tell anyone else. I mean, I trust you guys, but if I keep telling people about it, it'll get out and then the shit will <i>really</i> hit the fan." You sigh. "Leah thinks I should blame it on Eric Murphy."<br/>
<br/>
Laura looks up sharply. "What's Eric got to do with it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, Leah thinks him and me look a lot alike, and the video's not that good, so, you know, if it does come out there's reasonable doubt or something about who's in the video. But Jamie Rennerhoff thinks it's me. He came and said something about it to me in class today."<br/>
<br/>
"What did he say?"<br/>
<br/>
"He asked me 'What's in the coffin?' You see how that's something that Clover Mystery asked me in her texts? So it's like her and Jamie were—"<br/>
<br/>
"How do you know it's a her?" Laura's breath seems to coming in shorter and shorter bursts, and her breathing sounds very loud in the dark.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, Leah thinks it's a her. It's a girl's name. She thinks Clover is a friend of Jamie's, maybe was out there with him and his asshole friends, but maybe she has a crush on me or something. Do you know him, know who hangs out with him?"<br/>
<br/>
"I know him a little bit," Laura says after a fractional hesitation. "He sometimes hangs out at the theater. Hangs out with some of his friends there. Charles is always trying to run them off."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you know which girls he runs around with?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, no, not really. I wouldn't put a lot of stock in what Leah says," she tells you as she returns you your phone. "You know she's just speculating."<br/>
<br/>
Her speculations seem pretty plausible, but you don't argue as you put your phone away. "So, anyway," you conclude, "I got a lot on my mind. That time capsule thing's turned out to be a total disaster for me!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Laura can't really do much more than make sympathetic noises. You accept these at face value, and when they become embarrassing you try switching the subject to her—how is she doing in the production, what is it like working with Charles, etc. But she puts you off with a lot of shy stammering, and after telling you that she'll think about what you told her to see if she comes up with any ideas to help you, she says that she has to get home before her mom misses her. She rides off in one direction, and you take the other back to your house.<br/>
<br/>
Shortly before you go to bed, though, you get one last note from her, a DM through x2z. It links to a thread showing a party down by the river, and she brings your attention to one photo in particular, showing a bunch of guys and a couple of girls rough-housing and laughing. Her note—<i>Sorry but I don't think you can blame the thing on Eric</i>—mystifies you as you study it, for you only know that you recognize a few of the faces: Spencer Osbourne, Elle Moore, and Jamie Rennerhoff. At first you think that she is drawing your attention to the fact that Elle is hanging out with Jamie. But then you notice one of the boys on the end, in a sloppy white cap like yours. It's Eric Murphy.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Dammit.</i> That photo probably means that Jamie and Eric are friends, or at least they know each other. Laura is warning you that if you try to pin the video on Eric, Jamie will know it's not him just by asking. In fact, if Jamie made the video, or was with them that night, then he probably already knows that it wasn't Eric!<br/>
<br/>
So you go to bed feeling very depressed.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There's worse waiting for you at school the next day, though at least it comes at the end. You text both Leah and Jack to ask if people are getting together to do something, but you don't get a reply until the start of last period, when Jack asks to meet you in front of the theater when classes let out. You think nothing of it, not even when his greeting is very muted.<br/>
<br/>
"Have you talked to Elle anymore?' he asks you. You tell him you haven't. "But you talked to Leah about your, uh, thing with her?" You nod. Jack's frown deepens. "Because Elle told her and me both that it didn't happen."<br/>
<br/>
"What didn't happen?"<br/>
<br/>
"Her kissing you."<br/>
<br/>
You blink, and your heart goes sideways in your chest. "Well, she did," you blurt out. "Wait, you asked her about it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Leah did. She told Leah it didn't happen. She's actually kind of pissed off. At you, for telling people about a, uh, thing that she says didn't happen."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, she did tell me not to tell anyone about it!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, and, but, you did, and she says it didn't happen. And, um—" He grimaces and scratches the back of his head. "She's pretty convincing."<br/>
<br/>
Your jaw falls open when you realize what he's implying. "I'm not lying, man!"<br/>
<br/>
Jack raises his hands. "I'm not getting in the middle of it. The good news, though, is that you don't have to worry anymore about messing things up with Elle. They're messed up really good now."<br/>
<br/>
You bluster and fluster wordlessly. Jack interrupts to ask if you've told anyone but him and Leah about "Clover Mystery." You're about to say no, but you see Laura approaching. "I told Laura."<br/>
<br/>
"Told me what?" she asks as she draws up with a smile.<br/>
<br/>
"About Clover Mystery and that video."<br/>
<br/>
"What video?" Laura asks. "When did you tell me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Last night. When we met. Out riding our bikes, around nine" you add when she just stares at you.<br/>
<br/>
She laughs. "I didn't see you last night! My mom doesn't let me out after it gets dark!"</span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Pretenders
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"What are you talking about?" you blurt out. "We met last night! In our neighborhood! On our bikes!"<br/>
<br/>
Laura returns you an indulgent smile. "Why, so we could watch for the Great Pumpkin? I didn't sneak out to meet you. I told you that the last time we texted that—"<br/>
<br/>
"You said you snuck out! You know! What your mom doesn't know wouldn't hurt her!"<br/>
<br/>
"Will," says Jack.<br/>
<br/>
Laura laughs. "I didn't sneak out, Will! I don't wanna get in trouble with my mom. Besides, my bedroom's on the second floor, I'd break my neck!"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey guys," Leah chirps as she comes running up. "What are we hanging out here for— Oh!" Her eyes go saucer-like when she sees you. "Hey Will," she says, and her eyes dart about.<br/>
<br/>
You flush but ignore her to dig out your cell phone. Jack and girls mumble inarticulately at each other as you scroll through your texts, then shift over to the internet.<br/>
<br/>
"Here!" you say to Laura as you thrust the phone at her. "Remember, I told you about Eric Murphy, and here's your—!" You glance at Leah. "You remember I texted you, asking you about Eric! It was because I was talking to Laura about—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Calm down, Will," Jack says.<br/>
<br/>
"When did you text me about Eric?" Leah asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Last night! I—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Will, you need to calm down." Jack lays a hand on your shoulder, but you shake it off.<br/>
<br/>
"I was telling Laura what you told me about Eric," you remind Leah, "and I couldn't remember his name so I texted you—"<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't text me, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't text me, either," Laura says. "DM me, whatever." She shows you your phone. "This isn't my ID."<br/>
<br/>
"What?" You blink.<br/>
<br/>
"My x2z ID," Laura says. "This isn't it." She points to the screen. "This is from— Well, it says 'Laura Mac', which, uh, <i>was</i> my x2z handle, like, last year. But I'm 'Laura Lorraine Sheldon' now. And the account name and email are—"<br/>
<br/>
"This isn't you?" you exclaim.<br/>
<br/>
"It isn't Laura's," Jack concurs.<br/>
<br/>
"Where's the text you got from me?" Leah asks.<br/>
<br/>
You bite down hard on your tongue as you take your phone back and scrub through your DMs. "There." You show it to Leah.<br/>
<br/>
Her eyebrows go up. "LeahSomethingSomething?" she says. "I'm Leah Cool Beans! I showed you! Lemme see your settings!" She grabs your phone.<br/>
<br/>
You'd grab it back, but at just that moment Maria Vasquez, one of the cheerleaders, comes gliding up. She ignores your group as she slips into the theater, but you can't help watching her.<br/>
<br/>
You're dragged back to the present crisis by a cry and a jab from Leah. "Will! You deleted me from your contacts!"<br/>
<br/>
"No, you're right there!" You point.<br/>
<br/>
"That's not me!"<br/>
<br/>
Laura titters. "Oh my God, Will," she says. "Are you being catfished?"<br/>
<br/>
"Here, let me see," Jack says, and he reaches for your phone. "All of you go inside, okay? Charles is gonna start yelling for you," he tells Laura.<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a puckish smile, the ducks into the theater. Leah lingers until Jack turns a hard frown on her, and then she follows Laura. That leaves you alone, panting hard, with him.<br/>
<br/>
He scrolls through your contact list, frowning over the names and addresses, and takes out his own phone to make some comparisons. "Have you let anyone into your x2z settings? Your contact list?" he asks you as he glances between the two screens.<br/>
<br/>
"No. Except Leah. She set it up for me."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, this isn't her ID in her, and that isn't Laura's either. And this isn't Elle's. Who put them in?" He gives you a sharp look.<br/>
<br/>
"Leah did. Or I guess I did. Did I? I guess I added them after I got DMs from them."<br/>
<br/>
Jack grunts and resumes scrolling through your DMs.<br/>
<br/>
"You haven't been talking to Elle," he says, "and you weren't talking to Leah or to Laura, either. Everyone else in here looks like they're okay, though."<br/>
<br/>
"So someone's catfishing me?" you ask. Your eyes are very wide.<br/>
<br/>
Jack returns you a very steady look.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know what's going on," he says. "Except you weren't talking with any of those girls, not through your DMs. I don't know about your texts. I also know," he adds in a colder tone of voice, "that both Elle and Laura say they did not go riding their bikes with you at night in your neighborhood."<br/>
<br/>
You return his stare with a hot one of your own. But he just turns and goes into the theater.<br/>
<br/>
You stalk off for the parking lot, and for home.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wrestle with your homework and you wrestle with your life problems. Mostly you wrestle with your cell phone, picking it up then putting it down, picking it up again and scrolling through it, and putting it back down to do some more math problems before picking your phone back up again. You have no idea what to do.<br/>
<br/>
You consider DMing the people who sent you those fake DMs, to ask them <i>what the fuck</i> they thought they were doing. But you can't imagine the conversations being enlightening. It would probably be "Clover Mystery" all over again.<br/>
<br/>
In fact, it now occurs to you, it probably <i>is</i> Clover Mystery.<br/>
<br/>
You want to talk to someone about it, but there's no one to talk to. You already talked to Jack, and he doesn't seem very happy with you. You could talk to Caleb or to Keith, but they don't have any more experience with this stuff than you do. Besides, you'd have to explain to them about how you met up with Elle and Laura, and how they are now denying that those meetings ever happened. They'd give you so much shit about that.<br/>
<br/>
It's those denials—Laura and Elle pretending that they didn't meet up with you—that you can't figure out. Are they <i>embarrassed</i> now to be seen with you? Laura didn't seem embarrassed today, but you can guess that Elle was. Jack said she was <i>pissed</i> at you. But if you did meet with Laura—<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. <i>Great, now I'm calling bullshit on myself,</i> you think. <i>"If" I met up with Laura last night? I fucking totally did!</i><br/>
<br/>
But that means the DM from "Laura Mac" really was from Laura, because the girl you saw last night—a.k.a., <i>Laura MacGregor!</i>—was the only one you told about that Eric Murphy doof, and "Laura Mac" also DMed you about him. So Laura has to be lying about "Laura Mac" not being her!<br/>
<br/>
Except that Jack also said it wasn't her. <br/>
<br/>
But how could Jack be so sure? Can't you have more than one x2z account? Couldn't Laura have given herself more than one, and not told anyone?<br/>
<br/>
But that takes you back to the question: Why would Laura pretend not to be "Laura Mac," and pretend not to have met up with you last night?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You've given yourself a headache before long, and the only way to get rid of it, you decide, is to DM back the people at these supposedly fake accounts.<br/>
<br/>
You start by DMing "LeahSomethingSomething": <i>Has Jack said anything to u abt russian lake this wkend?</i><br/>
<br/>
Her reply comes about ten minutes later: <i>Just same as he told u, probly.<br/>
<br/>
Okay if I come to?</i><br/>
<br/>
Instant reply: <i>Dont know why not? Luv see u there.</i><br/>
<br/>
You chew on your cheek, because that does <i>not</i> sound like Leah. (Or does it? Could she be that relaxed about your showing up after today.) <br/>
<br/>
Then you DM "Laura Mac." <i>Thx for DM abt Eric wont say anything abt him if shit hits fan.</i><br/>
<br/>
Her reply too comes back fast: <i>Glad two help. Had fun talking last nite do again soon.</i><br/>
<br/>
You grimace hard at that, but only reply, <i>R u going to russian lake ths wkend w jack n them?</i><br/>
<br/>
There's a longer delay this time, before Laura Mac replies, <i>Gotto check w family. Want two tho.</i><br/>
<br/>
Your thumb hovers a long time over the Send button before asking: <i>Meet for bike ride tnite? N hour?</i><br/>
<br/>
There's a long silence on the other end, during which you text LeahSomethingSomething again: <i>Meet for coffee n talk n hour?</i> You have no idea what you're doing, but you flatter yourself that you're setting a trap.<br/>
<br/>
The first reply comes from Laura Mac: <i>Sry, family nite game nite no getting away got to turn phone off lol.</i> You cock a skeptical eyebrow at that and mutter, "Convenient" to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
But the reply from LeahSomethingSomething staggers you: <i>Going to Warehouse tnite u shld come to.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>The Warehouse!</i> The hottest, most dangerous party spot in the city, because it's teens only. Seriously. Hundreds of high school kids, packed into an abandoned warehouse, BYO beer, spirits, weed, cigarettes, drugs, and sexual partners. You've never heard of anyone actually getting shot or stabbed there, or dying of an overdose, but you have heard that's only because there's storm drains under the place where the dead bodies are dropped and the disappearances blamed on "running away from home."<br/>
<br/>
And Leah wants you to party out there with her?<br/>
<br/>
Almost you forget that it's not Leah (unless it is) but "LeahSomethingSomething" who has invited you.</span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211
author_id: seuzz
title: Invitations in the Dark
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Do u know how get to warehouse?</i> LeahSomethingSomething DMs you while you're still figuring out what to reply. To your response <i>No,</i> she—or he or it or they—says, <i>We can meet n go usual way to do it.</i><br/>
<br/>
You're not sure what this person means, but if they know what they're doing, you might as well go along with them. Even if you don't go on to the Warehouse—and with your curfew you doubt you should try—you can at least meet this person and either find out who they are, or catch Leah in a lie about the "LeahSomethingSomething" account being a fake.<br/>
<br/>
It's a thought that gives you serious pause after you reflect on it. If is Leah, why is she answering the "LeahSomethingSomething" DMs? And if it isn't ... why is this person meeting you at all?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You tell your dad that you're going out to play card games with Caleb and Keith, and that you'll definitely be home before your curfew, then drive out to the rendezvous spot that LeahSomethingSomething indicated: Eastman High School.<br/>
<br/>
Eastman is the cross-town rival to Westside, and it's clear on the other side of the city from where you live, not too far from the mall. It seems like an odd spot to meet up at, and it makes you wonder if your "catfisher" (if that's what he or she or it or they is) is from Eastman, or is luring you out to some remote spot for a nasty prank.<br/>
<br/>
Your puzzlement grows when you see a lot of cars in the Eastman lot, and as you pull in, you also see lots of kids milling about—or their shadows, for the sun is long since down, and the street lights aren't pointed at the parking lot. You park and cautiously climb out of your truck.<br/>
<br/>
After glancing around, you meander through the lot, peering about for familiar faces. The darkness bubbles with lots of guttural laughter as cigarettes are smoked and gurgling bottles passed around, but no one pays much attention to you.<br/>
<br/>
You've wandered through half the parking lot before you hear your name shouted. You look around, but your name isn't repeated, and you have to peer closely into one knot of kids before you make out the faces. "Hey," you call out, and shamble up.<br/>
<br/>
Brianna Kirschke—one of Leah's friends—returns you a quick, tight smile. Her friend Genesis Lee gives you a wider one. The other girls and guys only give you a quick glance and go back to chortling with each other. "Are you guys meeting up with Leah here?" you ask Brianna.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, she's here," she says. "She's around." Her head swivels.<br/>
<br/>
"She took off already," says one of the guys.<br/>
<br/>
"What? Who with?"<br/>
<br/>
"Brewer and them. They were going in early."<br/>
<br/>
"You're looking for Leah, huh?" Genesis says in a teasing tone. "You hung out with her instead of doing the scavenger hunt."<br/>
<br/>
"Easiest win we ever had." Brianna laughs.<br/>
<br/>
"I had some stuff I wanted to talk to her about. Why are we all out here at Eastman?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's the meeting place," Brianna says, sounding puzzled. "Where do <i>you</i> meet up?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um ... This is, uh, gonna be my first time going out to the Warehouse," you mumble.<br/>
<br/>
"Ooh! A virgin!" Genesis exclaims.<br/>
<br/>
"Who's a virgin?" a girl asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Will here!"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you a virgin?"<br/>
<br/>
Your face burns in the dark. "There's a first time for everything!"<br/>
<br/>
There are laughs all around, which you flinch from, even though they don't sound particularly mean.<br/>
<br/>
"Everyone carpools in," Brianna tells you. "There's not enough parking at the Warehouse. So who are you meeting up here?"<br/>
<br/>
Well, that's the question, isn't it? "I thought I was meeting Leah," you say. "I got a text from her. I think it was from her."<br/>
<br/>
"You think?" Genesis asks.<br/>
<br/>
You don't want to get into the whole deal about the maybe-fake or maybe-not x2z accounts, so you ask, "Did Leah say anything to you about asking me along?"<br/>
<br/>
"She didn't say anything to me," Brianna says; Genesis says nothing. "She was a little busy with James."<br/>
<br/>
An ember of jealousy stirs in your breast, even though you don't know what "a little busy" might mean.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I thought I was meeting her up here," you say, and take out your phone. <i>Im here at eastman r u here to?</i> you DM LeahSomethingSomething. Genesis says, "I think she went ahead with James and them" as you type, but you ignore her.<br/>
<br/>
You're still waiting for a reply when one of the guys announces that he's ready to head out. "Who's going with me?" he asks, and the group stirs and begins to sort itself into two groups. You keep close to Brianna and Genesis.<br/>
<br/>
"Is there room for me?" a voice asks from behind your shoulder. You turn and do a double take.<br/>
<br/>
It's Maria Vasquez. Even in the dark, you can recognize her.<br/>
<br/>
Maria is one of the cheerleaders, and though she's out of uniform, she's dressed in a way that leaves no doubt that that is what she is. Her blouse is buttoned tight from her navel to her top of her breasts, hugging the curve of her stomach while binding her melon-like breasts in place. Her hip-hugging jeans ride low. It's dark, but you can tell there's nearly five inches of exposed skin between the bottom of her blouse and the top of her pants.<br/>
<br/>
"I got room in my car!" a guy shouts. Another adds, "I'm going with you!" and there's some rude laughter and jostling.<br/>
<br/>
Maria glances past you and says, in her soft, breathy voice, "Hey Genesis. Brianna. You got room with you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think we—" Brianna starts to say. Genesis asks, "Who are we riding with?"<br/>
<br/>
"You were coming with me," says the guy who started the stampede. A girl says, "Shut up, Griffin."<br/>
<br/>
Your throat goes very dry and stiff when you feel Maria's glance falling on you. "Are you driving out?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Me?</i> you think. <i>Is she talking to me? She can't be talking to me!</i> But it's your voice that answers, "Yeah, I'm driving out."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you think we could all squeeze in with you?" Brianna asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure! I think." You can't tear your eyes off Maria. "We can try. I got a truck."<br/>
<br/>
"We could all ride in the back!" someone exclaims, and a girl squeals, "Like a hayride!"<br/>
<br/>
And so, dazedly, you lead the pack across the parking lot over to where you're parked. You can't be sure, but you think you pick up another half-dozen partiers as you make the trip over. Certainly, your truck is sluggish when you put it into motion, like you're carrying a small herd of buffalo in your truck bed.<br/>
<br/>
"Drive carefully, keep under the speed limit," Brianna tells you as you edge toward the street. "You don't want a cop noticing you, pulling you over."<br/>
<br/>
She has to lean around Maria to warn you, for Maria is squeezed up right next to you, close enough that you have to put your sweaty hand between her knees in order to work the stick shift.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The Warehouse is a great, hulking wreck of a building in the heart of the city's rotten and rotting industrial district, next to the railroad tracks. It sags at the far end of a parking lot of broken asphalt that heaves like a frozen sea. The lot and the building itself are sprayed with acrid white floodlights that blind more than they illuminate, and looming over the scene, like an alien war tripod, is a grain elevator faced with twisting pipes and ducts.<br/>
<br/>
The lot isn't filled with cars, but there's a handful of burly guys to direct you to a parking spot. You're a little discomfited to see how tightly the cars are being packed in, for it looks like there won't be much room to squeeze out when it's time for you to leave. Maria apparently catches you frowning at the parking arrangement after you've all piled out of your truck, for she asks you what's wrong. When you explain, she asks what time you think you're going to be leaving. "I dunno," you fudge. "Midnight?" Your curfew is actually eleven.<br/>
<br/>
"Things'll just be starting to get good then," she says, and does a little shimmy in front of you. You almost swallow your tongue as her breasts swing and sway not five inches from your own. "I was planning to get donuts when I left here."<br/>
<br/>
"I can't stay out late," you tell her. "I have to get back"—you gulp as the tips of her breasts brush yours—"early."<br/>
<br/>
"Why, will you turn into a pumpkin if you don't?"<br/>
<br/>
Are you really going to explain to this girl—this cheerleader who has never so much as glanced in your direction—that you have an early curfew and that you're too scared of your dad to break it?</span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112
author_id: seuzz
title: El Midnight
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Maria continues to writhe slowly in place before you, grooving to a music she can only hear. With each twist of her torso she draws centimeter by centimeter closer to you. She says she wants you to stay and party with her all night.<br/>
<br/>
But she's not really saying that, is she, not to a guy like you. She's just being a thoughtless flirt.<br/>
<br/>
"I've got a curfew that I really can't break," you stammer, and blush all over as you say it.<br/>
<br/>
There's a hiccup in her shimmy, but she quickly resumes. "What time?"<br/>
<br/>
"My curfew? El— Midnight."<br/>
<br/>
"El Midnight?" Her laugh is like a light hiss. "El Midnight gives us plenty of time to have la mucha fun. Come on." She grabs your wrist, and you almost levitate out of your pants.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The music is pounding inside the Warehouse, so hard it sets your ribcage vibrating.<br/>
<br/>
And that's just in the entryway. When Maria pulls you into the main dance hall, the beat hammers your eardrums so hard they might start geysering blood. Strobe lights explode in the dark, like supernovas, flash-searing your retinas.<br/>
<br/>
The dance hall is a wide, deep space under a high ceiling. It's dark and shadowy between the blinding strobe flashes, save for the bright pool of light on the stage where a DJ is running the sound system. But the floor isn't very crowded—only a few dozen kids, maybe—which gives you and Maria plenty of room to dance with each other.<br/>
<br/>
Not that you know how to dance. You can sort of wriggle on your feet, and swing your shoulders around. But for actual moves, you are stuck trying to mirror Maria, which leaves you feeling (and surely looking) really silly. She shimmies and swivels and dips and whirls like a bolt of living silk—and, anyway, you are too fascinated by her moves to put enough attention into your own. Pretty soon you are only standing in place, rocking feebly from side to side, as you stare in gaping wonder at Maria.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, you're not trying, Will!" she shouts after you give up even on that. "Here!" She gropes for your hand, and an electric shock jolts through every muscle as she lays your hand on her hip and covers it with her own. "Now give me your other one!" She puts her free hand onto the small of your back, and pushes her boobs into your chest. "Can you remember to breathe?" She has to scream to be heard over the crash of music.<br/>
<br/>
"Hrgh?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just keep in time with the music and with me!" She starts to rock back and forth, pulling you into her rhythm. At first your feet and hips don't want to cooperate, but they gradually loosen.<br/>
<br/>
"That's it!" she says. "Now put a little sub-beat into it! One-<i>and</i>-two-<i>and</i>"—she dips her hips hard on each sub-beat—"three-<i>and</i>-four!"<br/>
<br/>
But you don't care. You're embracing Maria Vasquez, cupping her curves in your hands while she presses herself against you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're not on the dance floor long, though. Maybe Maria gets bored, or maybe she has other ideas, but she pulls you out of the dance hall and into a kind of saloon. There's more kids in here, squatting around tables or huddled up inside dumpy booths. Along one side of the room is a makeshift bar behind which some rat-faced teenagers—the kind who hang out at portables and curse at students like you—are selling—<br/>
<br/>
"Buy me a beer?" Maria asks. She is squeezed up close to you still.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't have any— Wait." You feel at your pockets. "I've got a ten. Will that be—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Two cervezas," Maria tells a tall kid in a burgundy t-shirt. He's been watching you and Maria—her with open lust and you with undisguised contempt—and he snorts as he pulls out two cans of Budweiser. He doesn't even hand them to you, just sets them on plank that separates you, and snatches your ten without a word. You don't get any change.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Will! Maria!" a girl shouts. It's Brianna, who with most of her friends is packed in at a booth. She gestures you over, even though there's clearly no room for more.  You shuffle over anyway. Maria feels for you hand, and clasps it.<br/>
<br/>
But you're intercepted on the way over. A tall guy in a red shirt with a lanyard around his neck steps directly in front of you. You have the vague impression that he's a football player, for he's built like one, and he's got the swaggering attitude.<br/>
<br/>
"Where you two headed?" he asks with open insolence.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh. Over there." You point around him. "With our friends."<br/>
<br/>
He stares you down. "Occupancy's exceeded over there. Find another spot to squat."<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, Ricardo!" Brianna shouts. "What are you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Over there," the guy says, and points to the side. "You can sit over there." You glance in the indicated direction. There's a single, small booth in the corner, where a blonde kid is sitting. It's Erik Carstairs, who you <i>know</i> is one of the football players. He's eyeing and smirking at you openly.<br/>
<br/>
You start to protest. "But our friends are over—"<br/>
<br/>
"Rest of the bar is closed. It's over there, or you take it outside." He lifts his chin, and daunts you with a cold glare.<br/>
<br/>
You'd probably melt into a little squirmy puddle of shit, but Maria's warm hand in yours seems to give you courage.<br/>
<br/>
"Then we'll take it outside," you say. You turn to Maria. "Is that okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll hang out with you wherever," she breathes.<br/>
<br/>
You give the bouncer—for such he seems to be—a look, and turn. But he grabs your shoulder and whirls you about. "Can't take this out of the bar," he says, and twists the beer from your hand. "The girl can keep hers <i>if</i> she stays."<br/>
<br/>
Maria gives him a bright, winning smile, and drops her beer on his foot. She pulls you from the saloon. At any moment on the way out you expect to be tackled from behind, and your skin ripples with fear and horror on the long walk to the front door, but nothing happens.<br/>
<br/>
"You did good in there," Maria tells you when you're outside in the parking lot again. Cars are pulling in, and crowds of laughing teens are pushing toward the doors, and no one pays any attention to you or Maria as you trudge out out the other way.<br/>
<br/>
"I should've punched him out," you mutter. You don't know why you say it, and cringe.<br/>
<br/>
"No, you shouldn't have. You know what they do to guys who fight back? They wind up in urgent care."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm <i>not</i> going back in there," you tell her. You come to your truck, and you hang your head. "Thanks for the dance, and I'm sorry I— You can go back in there, have fun, you know. I'll just go home. Brianna and them'll—"<br/>
<br/>
"You're not trying to get rid of me, are you?"<br/>
<br/>
The question stuns you. "N-no. I just— I guess I have to go, but you—"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't want to go back in there. I don't even know why I came out here. I never do." She glances back toward the Warehouse. "Guys like that, it's bad enough back at school, having them all over you." She tosses her head and shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
"Are they all over you at school?"<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a look. "What do you think?"<br/>
<br/>
You know what you think, but the answer wouldn't be polite. Besides, it was clearly a rhetorical question.<br/>
<br/>
"I think," Maria starts to say, then starts over again. "I like the way you treated me tonight. I liked that you weren't all over me. So don't be all over me at school on Monday. Okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"N-no, I won't!"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean," she says, "if I ignore you at school, it isn't because I didn't have fun, and it isn't because I didn't like like you. Or because I <i>don't</i> like you. It's because, well—"<br/>
<br/>
She leans back against your truck and tilts her head up to stare into the sky. Her hair drapes back over her shoulders. "It's because I get enough of it at school. And if you did it too—" She turns to give you a sidelong look. "Then it wouldn't be special."<br/>
<br/>
"What wouldn't be special?" you squeak.<br/>
<br/>
"The special thing between us."<br/>
<br/>
You have to suck in a deep breath, and fight the instinct to crouch and put your face between your knees. "Ohhh-kay!"<br/>
<br/>
Maria laughs "Give me a ride back to Eastman?"<br/>
<br/>
"Really? I mean— Yeah, sure. Um—"<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what about the other guys? Who rode out? Is it okay if—"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. They'll find a way back. No one ever leaves with the person they came with. Unless—" She sways her way around to the other side of the truck. The cab is between you when she leans across to say, "Unless there's a special thing between them."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Maria doesn't want to talk much on the drive back, and you've not a lot to say either, so she fills the ride by softly humming to herself. Not until you're parked at Eastman and she's about to get out does she turn to say something serious to you: "I don't think those guys back there were really happy with you."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Brianna and them. I mean, you notice they didn't follow us back out into the parking lot, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think they're happy with you, Will. You should tell me why some time. I don't know why anyone wouldn't be happy with you. But not back at school, and <i>not</i> in the theater. Okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"The theater?"<br/>
<br/>
"I've seen around there after school. You've seen me there, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"Let's hang out someplace else, Monday, after school. I'll text you. Are you on x2z?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Will Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll find you, DM you. Thanks, Will." She leans across to softly kiss you on the side of your mouth. "You're a real gentleman."</span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Wilderness
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You take the long way home after leaving Eastman, not out of choice but because you are in such a daze.<br/>
<br/>
It's simply unbelievable. Maria Vasquez? Who is one of the cheerleaders? Who is one of the cheerleaders who orbits Chelsea Cooper, <i>the head cheerleader herself?</i> That Maria Vasquez?<br/>
<br/>
Who she danced with you, flirted with you, called you a gentleman, and wants to hang out with you after school on Monday? That Maria Vasquez?<br/>
<br/>
The one who, if she ever existed, never existed outside of a wet dream?<br/>
<br/>
It so dizzies you that you almost fall over on your face when you finally topple out of your truck and into your driveway.<br/>
<br/>
"How was your game?" your mother asks as you drift through the living room. She's sitting on the sofa, knitting while your dad watches TV.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"Your board game night with Caleb and Keith?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh." Your mom continues to knit but your dad turns to look at you, causing your hair to stand on end. "It was fun. Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just asking."<br/>
<br/>
Goosebumps creep all over you as you tread upstairs. Confirmation of the worst kind comes when you find a text message on your phone, one that you somehow missed while at the Warehouse. It's a couple of hours old, informing you that Caleb and and Keith will be by in a fifteen minutes because they're bored and are looking for something to do.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Nothing gets said about your little deception, either that night or the next day. Certainly you don't mention it, and neither do your parents. But your dad rouses you early and puts you to work cleaning the yard and the outside of the house, so maybe that's his idea of a punishment for lying to him. It's not until late afternoon that you're able to call Caleb and yell at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, how was <i>I</i> supposed to know you were using me as an excuse?" he demands. "Since when do you have a life that doesn't come with me stapled to your ass? In fact, now that I think about it, I'm sorry I <i>did</i> swing by looking for you, because <i>fuck!</i> it was nice doing something without you dangling off my shirt tail for once!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" you shout back. "Well, what <i>did</i> you do, motherfucker?"<br/>
<br/>
"Meh. Wound up at Tilley's, watching a movie. I'll give you this much, Prescott, at least you're not getting pretentious about that film class."<br/>
<br/>
"What film class?"<br/>
<br/>
There's a pause. "The fucking film class you and Tilley are taking with Mr. Hawks. Did you go out and do some drugs last night or something?"<br/>
<br/>
"No!" You pause. "But I did go to the Warehouse." You get a smug thrill from being able to finally drop <i>that</i> little factoid on him.<br/>
<br/>
Now there's a pause on his end. "I'll ask you again, Prescott, did you do some drugs last night? Because it sounds like you hallucinated—"<br/>
<br/>
"I did! Seriously! Ask Maria Vasquez if I didn't."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Now who's talking like he fried his brain and doesn't know who or where—?"<br/>
<br/>
The rest of the conversation is just as tedious as the start. In a piecemeal fashion, interrupted by lots of jealous heckling, you tell Caleb about your night at the Warehouse with Maria. When he asks for proof, though, you are only able to give him the names of "Brianna Somebody" and "Genesis Somebody Else."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean you didn't take a selfie with her? Convenient," he jeers.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I don't believe it any more than you do, cocksucker. But it's the truth. We're supposed to hang out after school Monday."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh. Okay. Tell me how it goes." He hangs up with a suddenness that startles you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You go onto x2z to see if you can find any threads or posts containing documentary proof that you and Maria were at the Warehouse. (At least you've got the sense to not text Keith about your evening. He'd be even worse about it than Caleb was.) It's while you're on that site that you realize that today was supposed include a group trip out to Russian Lake with Jack and his friends, and that you never heard from them. It vexes you more when you find some x2z threads (just posted) showing him and his gang already out there. And then you remember what Maria said just before you parted last night: <i>I don't think they're too happy with you.</i><br/>
<br/>
After last night's clusterfuck with your parents, you know better than to ask them if you can go spend the night at Russian Lake with friends, so you content yourself with liking some of those x2z posts and photos. <i>Looks like fun wish I wasnt grounded and could be there,</i> you add as a note of your own to one.<br/>
<br/>
<i>There,</i> you think with some little spite. <i>That'll show them I noticed they went off without me.</i><br/>
<br/>
With nothing else to do, you volunteer to run down to Ben's BBQ to pick up some dinner—the day's work seems to have both exhausted and mellowed your dad's temper—and it's while you're on that errand that you get an x2z alert: a DM from "El_Midnight." You don't have to check (but you do) to confirm that the screen name belongs to Maria Vasquez. <i>Why are you grounded?</i> she wants to know.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart leaps. <i>She saw your note!</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>Lol not really but sort of,</i> you text back. <i>Dad put me on chores all day got cautht in lie last nite.<br/>
<br/>
???<br/>
<br/>
Told them I was out w friends but they found out I wasnt.<br/>
<br/>
I thought you were with friends.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I was out with you," you squeak to yourself, but you type in, <i>Out w other frends.<br/>
<br/>
Can we still meet on Monday?<br/>
<br/>
Yes. Just chores I had to do. Gtg,</i> you add as a closing, for your order has been prepared while you were DMing.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You are light-headed all day Sunday, which nevertheless seems to pass at a crawl. Monday comes, and for possibly the first time since you were in second grade (or thereabouts) you look forward to going in to school.<br/>
<br/>
You don't share any classes with Maria, but you keep an eye out for her in the hallways. Only once do you glimpse her, trailing along behind Chelsea, and she's not in the cafeteria at lunch when you look in there. You spend all day wracking your brain for ideas to suggest to her about where to hang out.<br/>
<br/>
She comes up with the idea first, though, and DMs you at the start of seventh period (which is your study hall). <i>Don't have a lot of time to hang out today,</i> she says. <i>Want to meet at Suffolk Wilderness -- 4:00?</i> You agree, for the idea gives you visions of walking hand in hand with her through a field of wildflowers. You ask if she wants to drive out together with you. But she demurs, saying her schedule means she should have her car with her. Your heart swells to fill your chest as you sign off by saying you'll see her out there.<br/>
<br/>
And immediately after that, you send Caleb and Keith a text, inviting them to meet you at the Suffolk Wilderness at 5:00.<br/>
<br/>
You don't say anything about Maria though. <i>Let </i>that<i> be a surprise for them,</i> you figure, and mutter "El-oh-el" to yourself aloud.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The Suffolk Wilderness is on the opposite side of town, so you have to drive straight out there from school in order to be on time. Maria isn't there when you arrive though, so you pace the parking lot in front of the entrance while trying to keep your nerves from vibrating out through your skin.<br/>
<br/>
It's the end of September, but there's been a warm spell, and even under a sky partly veiled by clouds you soon work up a nervous sweat. There's insects, too, for it really is a Wilderness you are standing on the edge of—a spreading patch of fields and forests folded up into a knotted chain of small hills. Tall grasses sway in a light breeze here at the trailhead, and the wildflowers nod. Now that you are here and looking at it, it seems much less romantic. The bugs will bite and the grasses scratch, it occurs to you, and there are probably hidden holes that would twist your ankle when you stepped in one.<br/>
<br/>
And by 4:20, when Maria still hasn't shown up, you are cussing to yourself as you wonder if you should DM her to find out if something happened.<br/>
<br/>
You wait until the half-hour though before sending a discreet inquiry asking if she got hung up someplace. There is no reply.<br/>
<br/>
And you are slumping in your truck bed when Keith's car grinds to a stop on the gravel next to you. "Hey," he calls as he gets out, and chucks his chin at you. Caleb gets out on the passenger side. "So what's the deal you wanted us up here for?"<br/>
<br/>
"Who said there was a deal?"<br/>
<br/>
Keith stops and looks back at Caleb. "I thought you said—"<br/>
<br/>
"You doin' okay there, Will?" Caleb honks.<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?" you retort. But you don't stir out of your slouch.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb heaves himself up into the truck bed with you. "Oh, I dunno," he says. "This just seems like the kind of place to come to when there's something you want to talk about."<br/>
<br/>
"No, it just seemed like a good place to hang out."<br/>
<br/>
Keith and Caleb exchange another glance, and then Caleb settles down with a sigh in the truck bed with you. Keith, less gracefully than Caleb, clambers into the back with you.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah," Caleb says. "Your friend Leah tracked down who it was who made that video of us out at the school. She straightened their shit out."<br/>
<br/>
"It was Jamie Rennerhoff, I told you."<br/>
<br/>
"He was one of 'em. It was Christian Padilla who shot the video. But we don't got anything to worry about. She, uh, couldn't tell me who 'Clover Mystery' was, though."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb draws a deep breath, and lets out a deep sigh. "She also tells me you've got a pretty vivid fantasy life."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" you grunt, and your nerves prickle.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." His expression tightens. "She says you're inventing secret girlfriends for yourself, Will."</span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211211
author_id: seuzz
title: A Trap of One's Own Making
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You feel your hair standing up on end. "What are you talking about?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I'm not making judgements," Caleb says, I'm just—"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>What are you talking about?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," Keith echoes, "what are you—?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb shuts him up with a look, then turns back to you. But he can't meet your hot glare, and lowers his eyes with a sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, you told her, right?" he says, "that Elle Moore, uh— You and Elle ... made out."<br/>
<br/>
"We didn't make out! She just up and kissed me!" Your face burns.<br/>
<br/>
"So you say."<br/>
<br/>
"<i>It happened!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos Leah says that Elle says—"<br/>
<br/>
"Elle's just covering up for herself! Because she's embarrassed!"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb flinches. "Well, you also supposedly met some girl Laura one night—"<br/>
<br/>
"That happened too!"<br/>
<br/>
"And Leah says you're sending fake DMs to yourself."<br/>
<br/>
That statement boggles you. "What?"<br/>
<br/>
"She says you showed her some DMs—"<br/>
<br/>
"From Elle and Laura, yes! And from Leah!"<br/>
<br/>
"She says they're not from her or the other girls, that her friend Jack told you—"<br/>
<br/>
You want to scream. "Okay, so maybe they're fake, someone was sending me DMs from fake accounts! Maybe it's Clover Mystery again and she's—!"<br/>
<br/>
"This fake secret admirer?"<br/>
<br/>
Again, you gape as though slapped. "I don't know who it is! But I'm getting—!"<br/>
<br/>
"It was Rennerhoff and Spencer Osbourne and Christian Padilla who made the video," Caleb says. "So you're saying one of them is your secret admirer?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, not my 'secret admirer'!" you stammer. "But it's gotta be one of them's that—"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe they're the ones sending you those DMs from those other girls?" But Caleb sounds skeptical.<br/>
<br/>
Your face is hot as you fumble out your phone and scroll around until you find your x2z inbox with its DMs. You watch the parking lot and the road beyond out of the corner of your eye as you do so. If Maria would just show up now, even though she's late, it would be awesome. You'd only have to show her off to Caleb and Keith, and it would shut down this whole hideously embarrassing scene.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb takes your phone and studies the messages, asking you questions about the DMs. You also explain how they can't be fake, at least in Laura's case, because you did meet Laura and in one of her DMs she talks about something that you told her at that meeting. "Oh, the Eric Murphy thing," Caleb recalls with a grunt.<br/>
<br/>
But he's not impressed. "'Cos here's the thing, Will," he points out. "If you didn't meet Laura that night—"<br/>
<br/>
"I did!" You squeeze your temple between your hands. You feel like you're going mad.<br/>
<br/>
"If you did, why is she lying about it? If you didn't, then who sent these DMs?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know why she would lie. We were friends back in middle school, but—"<br/>
<br/>
But what? Could she be mad at you that you're not friends anymore? But that's only because you stopped having classes together. That's not something to be mad at someone for!<br/>
<br/>
"Well, this is why Leah and them think you sent those DMs to yourself," Caleb says. He pauses to let you yell, but you're now too exhausted to protest. "I guess. Because if you didn't meet Laura that night, who was it that would send that DM? It could only be you."<br/>
<br/>
"Dude," Keith reproaches you. You shoot him dirty look.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't fake these DMs," you insist. "I met Laura. And Elle. And Leah invited me to the Warehouse the other night."<br/>
<br/>
"Did you see her there?"<br/>
<br/>
"No." You sigh again.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, like I told you, I'm not making any judgements," Caleb says. "I'm just telling you, you know, what those other guys are saying."<br/>
<br/>
Your eyes are stinging now, and you have to turn away. This is all so fucked up. From the moment you agreed to help Caleb dig up that time capsule—<br/>
<br/>
"What's this DM from Maria Vasquez?" Caleb asks.<br/>
<br/>
You cringe. "I was supposed to meet her out here. At four," you reply. You bridle at the look that passes between Caleb and Keith. "I don't where she is!"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb scratches an eye. "Is this a, uh, follow up to your date from the other night?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes! It wasn't a date, but ... Yes. She DMed me and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Where is she?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, I don't know! She hasn't answered my—"<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, man, let's go," Caleb tells Keith.<br/>
<br/>
"Where are you going?" you holler as Caleb hops from the truck bed. Keith, with an anxious look at you, follows.<br/>
<br/>
"I gotta get home," Caleb calls back. "If, uh, Maria shows up— Well, swing by my place with her."<br/>
<br/>
You clench your hands into fists, lest you make things worse by flipping him off.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Maria never shows up or replies, not even after you shoot her half a dozen DMs in quick succession, begging her to tell you that she wasn't in an accident, and telling her that you have to go home. You eat a sullen dinner—so sullen that even your dad doesn't dare poke the porcupine sitting in your chair—and afterward upstairs you stare at your homework. Your heart remains as still as a stone even when the x2z alert goes off, and you finally find a DM from Maria there. <i>God, I'm such an airhead,</i> she writes. <i>Chelsea wanted to talk cheerleader stuff and then we went shopping and I totally spaced out on you. So sorry. Try again tomorrow?</i><br/>
<br/>
You hover your thumb a long time over the keyboard as you are engulfed with conflicting emotions: rage, fear, lust, resentment, horror. Is this another one of those pranks? Is this really Maria? Or is it—?<br/>
<br/>
<i>No, it has to be Maria,</i> you tell yourself, and try shaking the paranoia from your head. You met up with Maria, spent most of Saturday night with her, and she contacted you through these DMs.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Except that's what Laura did too,</i> you remind yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Suddenly, you are boiling with fury. Not at some unknown persecutor, not at the sinister "Clover Mystery" who might or might not behind all these shenanigans, but against these girls. Against Elle, for kissing you, then shamefully accusing you of lying about it. Of Laura, for saying that she never met up with you that night. Against Leah, for telling Caleb that you are faking the DMs. Even against Maria, for flaking out when it counted most that she not.<br/>
<br/>
Well, "LeahSomethingSomething" was willing to meet up with you at the Warehouse on Saturday. Maybe she'll be willing to meet up with you again? Maybe <i>all</i> of these girls would be willing to meet up with you!<br/>
<br/>
It's still relatively early—not even eight o'clock—so you DM Maria, asking to meet her at a coffee shop somewhere. While she's digesting that, you quickly shoot off parallel DMs to the other "fakes" in your contact list: LeahSomethingSomething, Meryl_Elle, Laura Mac.<br/>
<br/>
You are grimly unsurprised to see that one and all they demur as their replies come trickling back, one at a time, over the space of half an hour. But your cynicism is dented when first Maria follow up with the counteroffer of a coffee date tomorrow evening at around seven, and then Laura Mac suggests setting up a study group. You send out another round of DMs, and find that LeahSomethingSomething and Meryl_Elle are agreeable to the study date idea. Maria stubbornly wants it to be a one-on-one with just you, but after an hour of negotiations you set up two parallel dates for tomorrow. A casual date with Maria at the Milagro Beanfield Warehouse, and a study date with the others at the same location.<br/>
<br/>
It leaves you rubbing your hands with malicious anticipation as you imagine the scene. At last, maybe, you will get a look at the person or persons who have been tormenting you, and you'll have the satisfaction of having Maria with you when you spring the trap!<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
School passes without incident on Tuesday. Classes and lunch with Caleb and Keith are a little awkward on account of the "intervention" yesterday, but they both pretend like it never happened, and you pretend too. After the final bell you hang out in the library long enough to send DMs to the four girls reconfirming the "dates" for the evening. Only after that do you begin to imagine the various ways the evening could veer into disaster. Like, what if you arrive at the Beanfield and find it empty save for Rennerhoff and his friends, who jeer at you? And in fact your plan to get to the Beanfield early, so as to preempt all the other arrivals, goes awry when supper is late and you get stuck cleaning up the kitchen afterward. So it turns out that you're the one who arrives last.<br/>
<br/>
You are prickling with anticipation as you lope in the coffee shop, which is one of the more expensive ones in town. You place an order with the barista. Then, because the front room is empty you look in the back.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart staggers. At a large table is the nearly complete cast of characters from the recent drama: Leah, Elle, and Laura, along with Brianna, Jack, and a couple of Jack's friends. They have books open and spread out, but they're relaxing and laughing and talking.<br/>
<br/>
Leah is the first one to spot you, and her smile goes glassy and frozen when she sees you. Jack follows her eye, and he too stiffens at the sight of you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Will," he calls. "You here to study?" He makes no move to open up a space for you.<br/>
<br/>
"Kind of. Waiting for my own study date to get here."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug and shuffle over to a booth, where you hunker down. Conversation at the other table becomes muffled, and your ears burn.<br/>
<br/>
Twenty agonizing minutes later, you look up sharply when Maria walks in. Chelsea Cooper is with her. They scan the room.<br/>
<br/>
And though Maria's eyes meet yours, they sweep past without recognition, and she follows Chelsea to a booth on the other side of the room.</span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112111
author_id: seuzz
title: Face-Time with a Cheerleader
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You glance between the two tables. At one: Elle and Leah and Laura and Jack and their friends. At the other, Maria and Chelsea.<br/>
<br/>
No one seems to be paying attention to you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>What does it mean?</i> you wonder. If you were being catfished by other people—by Clover Mystery say—how come all the people you DMed showed up here, just like you asked? And if it's these girls who have been catfishing you—<br/>
<br/>
A dreadful thought occurs to you, and all the blood drains from your face, to pool in your heart, where it starts to boil with anger.<br/>
<br/>
<i>If all these girls have been doing it to me ... if they've </i>all been in on it, all<i> been lying to me, </i>all have been<i>—!</i><br/>
<br/>
You stalk over to the table where Elle and Laura and Leah are relaxing. Your face is very hot as you glare at them. Leah looks up at you, but she doesn't otherwise react.<br/>
<br/>
But your throat is frozen shut. You can't explode in front of her other friends. That would just make things worse.<br/>
<br/>
So you wheel and stalk over to where Maria and Chelsea are sitting. You feel feverish, and your fingers are still twitching as you lurch up to their booth. Maria didn't wave to you or anything, but you tell yourself that maybe she was distracted by Chelsea. <i>All I have to do is say "Hi,"</i>, you tell yourself, <i>and she'll introduce me to Chelsea and ask me to sit down, and—</i><br/>
<br/>
"Yes may we help you?" Chelsea asks in a metallic voice. She is giving you a very tired look. Maria gives you a distracted frown.<br/>
<br/>
"I just came over to say 'Hi'," you tell them. "Um— I didn't know you were bringing Chelsea along," you tell Maria.<br/>
<br/>
She blinks at you, then turns that same distracted frown onto Chelsea.<br/>
<br/>
"Who <i>are</i> you?" the head cheerleader demands.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, Will. Will Prescott." You give her a little wave. "We go to school together."<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea's expression turns very prim.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, maybe we go to the same school," she says, "but that hardly means we go to school <i>together!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
You turn to Maria, who is now giving you the same look you might give a crazy homeless person. "When you're done with Chelsea," you tell her stiffly, "I'm sitting over there." You gesture to your own booth. "And you can come join me."<br/>
<br/>
Maria says nothing, but Chelsea guffaws. "As if!" She sips from her coffee, and her eyes dance with malicious amusement at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, I'm the one who asked her out here—"<br/>
<br/>
"If you're sitting over there, Will Prescott-who-goes-to-the-same-school-as-us," Chelsea says, "how about you go sit over there, and leave <i>us</i> alone. We're waiting for someone."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?" Your heart hammers in your chest.<br/>
<br/>
"A hot guy." <i>Who totally isn't you,</i> is the not-so-buried subtext.<br/>
<br/>
You flush, and almost trip over your feet as you stalk back to your booth. As you brush past the other table, Jack leans backward to pat your arm. "Way to go, man," he tells you with a grin. "Don't let anyone say you don't got balls!" But you jerk away and throw yourself into the booth, to bury your face in your hands.<br/>
<br/>
After a few minutes, when you're sure that you won't actually burst into tears, you gather up your stuff and trudge out.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You spend the rest of the evening curled up on your bed, paralyzed with shame and horror. You rouse yourself enough to send off DMs to Meryl_Elle, Laura Mac, and the rest of the crew, asking why they never showed up. You figure their replies, whatever they say, will be interesting. Maybe they figure the same thing too, for they never reply.<br/>
<br/>
You drag yourself to school the next morning, and all the way there you rehearse arguments you could give your mom and dad for why you should be withdrawn from Westside, to transfer to Eastman, or to the Christian school, or to be homeschooled, or to be sent away to another city where no one knows you. You can hardly bear the sight of the place. At least Caleb and Keith are decent to you, and continue to say nothing about that "intervention" the other day. But after a listless lunch, during which you said no more than two words and offered no more than three grunts, Keith pulls you aside.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey man," he says, "I don't know what's goin' on with you, but, you know, me and Hollister and them got this YouTube channel we're trying to get launched, and—"<br/>
<br/>
"What YouTube channel?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
He blinks, then looks hurt. <br/>
<br/>
"The YouTube channel I been telling you about." He sighs. "The movie channel."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, right," you tell him, though you'd swear this is the first you've heard about it.<br/>
<br/>
But you seem to have sucked away what little wind was in his sails, for he completes his thought with a churlish-sounding, "You ever wanna hang out with us, you know, you can."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks," you tell him, and you do feel a small, warm stain of gratitude in your chest. Keith is one of the dumbest guys you've ever met, but at knifepoint you would have to confess that he is a sweetheart. "I just need—" You bite your lip. "I dunno what I need."<br/>
<br/>
"A good lay," Keith says. Then he seems to realize that was not the best joke to make. "Sorry, man," he mumbles. "It'll all get straightened out. You just gotta, you know, have, uh, faith or sumpf'n."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
That evening you get a text from Caleb: <i>Ur clover mystery person wants to c u,</i> he says.<br/>
<br/>
You stare a long time at the text without replying. It's from Caleb's number, but you are feeling so scorched by texts and DMs and other whatnot that you're not sure you believe it. So you call him directly. "Dude, did you just send me a text? About—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, Clover Mystery. At least, that's who they say they are. I don't—"<br/>
<br/>
"What are they texting <i>you</i> for?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because, Will, they wanna meet you at The Flying Saucer."<br/>
<br/>
"That's not what I mean. Why are they texting <i>you</i> if— I mean, they got my number!" <br/>
<br/>
Boy howdy, does it seem like they got your number, if by "got your number" you mean "know how to make you feel like a confused piece of stomped-on shit."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know, Will," Caleb sighs. "Are you gonna go meet them?"<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate. "Only if you go with me."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't—"<br/>
<br/>
"Go with me, man! If you're a <i>friend!</i> You know I got people"—<i>like you, cocksucker</i>—"telling me I got imaginary friends and shit like that! I want you <i>there!</i> To see, whoever it is that's—!"<br/>
<br/>
"It's just gonna be Rennerhoff and them. We settled this, didn't we?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's another reason I want you going with me. That way if it is them, they won't start anything!"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb mutters something in the back of his throat, but relents.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The Flying Saucer doesn't look exactly like a UFO, but it does occupy a semi-circular building in the downtown district. Caleb, looking very tired and a little pissed off, is waiting for you in the parking lot. Together, you go inside.<br/>
<br/>
It's not as crowded as you would have expected for a coffee shop near the college to be at this time of night. Of the two dozen tables, less than half seem to be occupied. Light, New Age–type music is piping over the sound system.<br/>
<br/>
You and Caleb wander through the place. Most of the people look like college students, but there are a few guys in Eastman-colored letterman jackets relaxing at one large table. They're the ones making the most noise in the place, and you give them a hard look. <i>Maybe it's Eastman people dicking around with me?</i> you wonder, but dismiss the thought as paranoid.<br/>
<br/>
You don't spot Rennerhoff or any of his loser friends, but you do pull up short at the sight of two familiar figures hiding in a booth next to the doors to the restrooms: Jack Li and Chelsea Cooper. You grab Caleb by the arm and jerk your chin at them. He frowns at them, then frowns at you.<br/>
<br/>
You find you don't know what to say, and shrug. "Those are the only guys here I know," you mutter. "You see anyone else it could be?"<br/>
<br/>
"This is a wild goose chase, Will," he replies.<br/>
<br/>
"Or maybe they're not here yet."<br/>
<br/>
"Or maybe they're not here yet," he agrees with a sigh. "So I guess we find a spot and watch the door?"<br/>
<br/>
"You find us a table," you say. "I'll get us some coffee."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you paying for mine?" he asks. "'Cos I don't got the money—"<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever."<br/>
<br/>
You're waiting for the barista to bring you two regular coffees when you feel someone brush your back. You glance back and do a hard double-take.<br/>
<br/>
It's Chelsea Cooper. "Get rid of your friend, then wait for me to get rid of Jack," she murmurs at you. "Then come over to my booth. I want to talk to you."</span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121121111
author_id: seuzz
title: Coffee with Chelsea Cooper
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Chelsea continues on her way to the condiment station to pick up some sugar and cream, then returns to her table without so much as glancing at you. The barista gives you your coffee, and you carry it slowly back to where Caleb is watching the restaurant entrance.<br/>
<br/>
"Did you see that?" you ask him.<br/>
<br/>
"See what?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Chelsea Cooper, talking to me.</i> That's what you could say, but after the last few days you don't want Caleb accusing you of hallucinating things. "Nothing. Never mind."<br/>
<br/>
He grimaces. "Yeah, if you're wondering if I saw nothing, then yes I did."<br/>
<br/>
"You know, you don't have to hang out here," you tell him. "You can go home and I can—"<br/>
<br/>
"God <i>dammit,</i> Will!" Caleb explodes, then glances around in a panic before lowering his voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you," he hisses. "You drag me out here because you want witnesses or something for whatever the fuck, now you tell me to go home? What is this, a fucking sitcom?"<br/>
<br/>
"I—"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not funny, all this funny business! You know, we used to have some nice quiet fun, just you and me and Keith. Then you decided you had to get a girlfriend, and that was drama, and now you think you have to have a half-dozen girlfriends, and a secret admirer, and now it's just a fucking farce! Well, if you're gonna rewrite the plot, the rest of us would like to have some say in it!"<br/>
<br/>
You flush. "If that's you feel about it, why don't you piss off?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because you just bought me a coffee," he snarls, and gulps half of it down while glaring at you over the rim of the cup. "And it's not like you got it in a to-go cup!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So you slump at the table and watch the entrance and watch the room with him. Except for Jack and Chelsea, you don't recognize anyone, and no one you recognize comes in. You ask Caleb some more about "Clover Mystery" and their text. He shows it to you, and it confuses you even further, for the sender claims that you have been ignoring their texts and DMs, and asks Caleb to set up the meeting that you are refusing to go to. Caleb only snorts when you insist that you haven't been getting any texts from Clover Mystery lately.<br/>
<br/>
After Jack leaves—with only a perfunctory nod in your direction—you again urge Caleb to take off, telling him he was right about it being a wild goose chase. He's finished his coffee, so he rolls his eyes and heaves himself to his feet. "If you ever do find this 'Clover Mystery' person," he says, "don't bother telling me. Leave me in clover with the mystery of it all!" He stalks off.<br/>
<br/>
You glance over at Chelsea, who is sitting alone at her booth with her face bent over her phone. You hesitate a very long time, then get up and edge in her direction.<br/>
<br/>
After last night you're in no hurry to try talking to her again, so you loiter at the edge of her table before clearing your throat. Her head shoots up and she stares at you.<br/>
<br/>
Then she smiles and gestures you to join her. You slide into the booth opposite her. Your ass tingles, like cushion is full of sharp pins. "Thanks for coming out here," Chelsea says.<br/>
<br/>
You blink. She didn't "ask" you to "come out here." Did she? Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, "Did you send my friend Caleb a text, asking me to come here?"<br/>
<br/>
She stares at you, then laughs. "No! I just meant— Thanks for coming over here. It's a real coincidence, you showing up here too." She glances around, then leans across the table. "I probably wouldn't have said anything to you, even though I do kind of have a bad conscience about the other night."<br/>
<br/>
"What other night?"<br/>
<br/>
"Over at Milagro. When you came over to talk to me and Maria."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I'm sorry I was such a bitch to you." She puts a hand across the table. "Shake and be friends?"<br/>
<br/>
You stare at her hand like it's a rattlesnake. But her smile is wide and bright, and the glint in her eye looks sincere. And she <i>is</i> Chelsea Cooper, the head cheerleader. A short, bouncy, blonde bombshell with great heaps of loose, golden hair, and tight, clear skin that's crisped to an even, unblemished tan. Her eyes gleam like they've been polished, and her teeth are the color of snow packs on the flanks of Alpine hills.<br/>
<br/>
So you take her hand. "Sure. Friends."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks. I wanted to apologize for the other night. On account of—" She glances around again.<br/>
<br/>
"It was for your own good," she says, dropping her voice. "Thank God I don't know anyone here, but there were all those other guys at the other place the other night"—she makes a face—"and it would have been <i>the worst idea</i> for them to see us talking. On account of my psycho-jealous boyfriend, you know."<br/>
<br/>
Her boyfriend is the man-mountain Gordon Black, captain of the basketball team. Six-and-a-half feet of muscle. He ought to have gone out for football, but instead he uses his height and weight to scare people out of the way on the basketball court. And, like Chelsea says, he has a reputation for being almost fanatically jealous of any guy he catches talking to his girlfriend.<br/>
<br/>
"Are we okay here?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, no one knows us. But why did you come over to talk to me and Maria the other night?"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos I wanted to talk to Maria. I thought I was supposed to be meeting her, but—" You trail off awkwardly.<br/>
<br/>
"Really? You were supposed to meet her." Chelsea sighs, and makes another face. "Oh, Will. Maria's a space cadet. I thought everyone knew that."<br/>
<br/>
"Well—"<br/>
<br/>
"So she totally spaced out on you. I'm sorry about that. Well, it wouldn't have mattered. We were there to meet up with a guy. For her. It was a blind date-like thing," Chelsea continues as you stagger under the revelation. "We didn't even know who it was going to be!"<br/>
<br/>
"So who was it?"<br/>
<br/>
The question seems to take her aback, and she draws in a long, slow breath before answering.<br/>
<br/>
"It was an Eastman guy. One of <i>their</i> basketball players. So, you know, bad idea." She flaps her hands dismissively.<br/>
<br/>
You glance over at the table where those guys in Eastman letterman jackets are making a racket.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway," Chelsea goes on, "you should just forget about Maria."<br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
Again, she seems taken aback. "Well—" She blinks a couple of times, then gives you a pitying smile. "She stood you up, Will. I told you, she's a space cadet."<br/>
<br/>
"She <i>said</i> she wanted to hang out with me."<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea turns a little pink.<br/>
<br/>
"Maria says <i>lots</i> of things," she says, "and she always means them when she says them. But she never remembers them. Didn't she stand you up the other day? She told me something about how she was supposed to meet you out that the state park, but then she forgot."<br/>
<br/>
You sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"See?" Chelsea says. "It's nothing personal. What you want, Will, is a girl who <i>remembers</i>that she likes you. Maria can hardly remember her class schedule from one day to the next."<br/>
<br/>
It seems to you that remembering "who you like" would be easier than remembering a class schedule, but you don't argue. It wouldn't do you any good, for a start. Chelsea is Maria's friend, and surely knows her better than you do. You let your mouth work as you try out various things to say, but nothing comes out.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't take it too hard, Will," Chelsea continue, and you jump as she lays her hand atop yours. "You seem like a really sweet guy, A lot nicer than most of the turds back at the school. You know, except for Gordon, I wouldn't pay attention to <i>any</i> of them at school. And sometimes I think I made a mistake by going out with him!"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. Stiffly. You're stiff all over.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on," she says. "Show me a smile." She dimples at you, and you force your lips to curl. "That's it! Now, what's your phone number?" She taps at the screen of her own phone, and turns a warm, expectant smile onto you.<br/>
<br/>
You're too stunned to answer. Only when her smile widens fractionally do you ask with a croak, "Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"So I can put you in my contact list! Don't you want to be in my contact list? Don't you want to put me in yours?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, um—" You gulp. "Okay." You give her your number as you fumble your phone out. "What's yours?"<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a number, and taps yours into her phone.<br/>
<br/>
Then she scoops up her stuff. "I'm really glad we ran into each other," she says as she rises. "It's been hanging over my head, the other night, and it wasn't like I could talk to you at school about it. Psycho boyfriend, you know." She rolls her eyes, and prances off.<br/>
<br/>
You sag in the booth and stare at your phone. <i>I've got Chelsea Cooper's phone number!</i> you exult to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Or you try to. In fact, you feel deflated, even frightened. There is something foreboding about the string of numbers she gave you.<br/>
<br/>
But it's not until later that night that you recognize them, while going through your contact list to reorganize it.<br/>
<br/>
It's Clover Mystery's phone number.</span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211211111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Clover Mystery Deepens
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Thanks for coming out,</i> Chelsea said. <i>What a coincidence, us meeting up like this,</i> she said. <i>Are you Clover Mystery?</i> you almost asked her.<br/>
<br/>
You know the answer to that now. Chelsea Cooper, the head cheerleader, <i>is</i> Clover Mystery, and you know that because she gave you the same phone number that Clover Mystery was texting you from.<br/>
<br/>
So, <i>bullshit!</i> on her calling your meeting a coincidence and <i>bullshit!</i> on everything else she said!<br/>
<br/>
The question now is, what are you going to do about it?<br/>
<br/>
Your thumb hovers over Caleb's number, but you don't seriously consider calling him or texting him the news. At least not yet. He was pissed off when he left, and didn't believe any of your shit earlier about Elle and Leah and Laura and Maria. If you now tell him that you had coffee with Chelsea Cooper after he left, he'll tell Gordon and get Gordon to fold you in half and tuck your head up your ass.<br/>
<br/>
And that's if you're lucky.<br/>
<br/>
No, the thing to do is to figure out Chelsea's game on your own. <br/>
<br/>
Well, it's just basic cruelty, right? Chelsea is supposed to be "the most popular girl in school," but from the way people talk about her, you get the impression it's only because she's the head cheerleader that people say that. It's more like a police-state dictatorship back at Westside, and everyone has been frightened into parroting the party line. Chelsea, you've heard, is a terror to the other cheerleaders, and she lords it over as many other girls as she can. She's never had time for anyone like you or at your level. Why she'd pick <i>you</i> to tease and prank is completely beyond your comprehension. But there it is. That's what she's doing.<br/>
<br/>
You sink onto your bed and scroll back through all those messages that "Clover Mystery" sent you. Now that you've got a voice to go with them, they certainly sound like Chelsea: sly, teasing, giggly, cruel. But thoughtless, mostly. There's no real personality behind them, you decide, no real interest in making their recipient—you—hurt. She just saw a chance to gloat over someone who she could get into trouble, and she took it.<br/>
<br/>
So what was the point of calling you out to The Flying Saucer, to give that "apology"?<br/>
<br/>
You consider (though more as a fantasy than as a real possibility) the idea that she was being honest and genuine, that she really did feel sorry for the way she acted toward you the other night. And maybe—just maybe?—she was also apologizing, in an oblique way, for teasing you over that video? It was a major slip-up on her part that she gave you her phone number, which ties her definitively to Clover Mystery. Too big to be a slip-up, right? So could that be her veiled way of confessing her earlier cruelty toward you?<br/>
<br/>
You tell yourself that you're flattering Chelsea—thinking the best of her—by giving her the benefit of all these doubts. But you know who you're really flattering: Yourself. You're flattering yourself that the head cheerleader likes you and thinks well enough of you to embarrass and humiliate herself by apologizing to you in this way.<br/>
<br/>
No, the more you think about it, the more likely it seems that tonight was just another bit of cruelty theater, another chance to tease you, this time with a fake apology, and that by tipping you off to her being "Clover Mystery" she is also boasting that she's done it before and that there's not a goddamned thing you can do about it. The phone number she gave you, after all, is a fake. It's a burner phone, one she probably uses to carry out some of the nefarious schemes that Jenny Ashton has told you about.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Jenny Ashton.</i> You blink hard at the name, and decide to talk to her about it tomorrow.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"No, I've never heard of anyone named 'Clover Mystery'," Jenny says. She is leaning against the wall of the school, watching the entrance to the breezeway that leads to the student parking lot. Clearly, she is barely paying attention to you.<br/>
<br/>
But then she does a double-take at you. "Wait, is this that person who was sending you nasty texts about your class time capsule?" You nod. "I thought you guys decided it was Jamie Rennerhoff who was sending you those."<br/>
<br/>
You don't remember talking about that with Jenny, but it figures she would have heard. Jenny seems to have her finger on every pulse in the school.<br/>
<br/>
"It was him and his friends who took the video," you tell her. "It was someone else who was sending me those texts."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I never heard of 'em," Jenny says, and goes back to watching the breezeway. "It sounds like a made-up name to me."<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. But before you can reply, Jenny leaps past you and runs up to meet a tall, willowy blonde girl who has just come sauntering in from the parking lot. You make a face, but follow her. It's Cindy Vredenburg that Jenny has rushed off to meet.<br/>
<br/>
Cindy is another cheerleader, and is Chelsea's archrival. She is scarcely nicer than Chelsea, but at least she's friends with Jenny. And given her rivalry with Chelsea, there is some chance that she would know something about Chelsea's "Clover Mystery" pseudonym.<br/>
<br/>
Jenny is jabbering at Cindy, but you have to get to class, so you break in. "Excuse me just a minute," you say, and both girls turn to stare at you. "Cindy, have you ever heard of a girl around school who texts or posts messages or anything under the name 'Clover Mystery'?"<br/>
<br/>
Jennys says, "Will—" but you hush her with a raised hand. "Clover Mystery," you tell Cindy again. "Does the name mean anything to you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No." She looks at you like you're some kind of raving maniac.<br/>
<br/>
"What about Chelsea? Does Chelsea have secret names or accounts that she posts under? Or does she post everything under her own name?"<br/>
<br/>
Cindy turns to Jenny. "What is—?"<br/>
<br/>
Jenny grabs you by the arm. "Will," she says, "what are you saying?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm asking if Chelsea ever posts under fake names."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, sure she does." Jenny looks at Cindy, who nods in support. "But what does—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Does she ever use the name 'Clover Mystery' when she does this?"<br/>
<br/>
Cindy frowns, and a distant look comes into her eye. "I don't think so," she says. "It doesn't sound famil—"<br/>
<br/>
"Will," Jennys says again, and her grip on your arm tightens. "Are you saying you think that 'Clover Mystery' is Chelsea?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well—"<br/>
<br/>
"Will." Jenny spins you around and pushes you toward the doors that go into the school. "Go to class."<br/>
<br/>
She is giving you an exasperated look when you glance back over your shoulder. And when she frowns at you, you hang your head and shuffle off to Mr. Walberg's room.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But you must have made an impression on Cindy, for she finds you at your locker during the break between fifth and sixth period. With a quizzical frown she asks what you're doing after school. "Nothing," you tell her. "Hanging out." She tells you to look for her in the library.<br/>
<br/>
It's on account of Clover Mystery that she wants to talk to you, and she frowns deeply over the texts that you show her. She doesn't seem much interested in the story of the video and of what it shows, and she looks frankly incredulous when you tell her of talking to Chelsea at The Flying Saucer, and of the apology she gave you. She does confirm at least part of the story that Chelsea spun you, though. Maria was supposed to meet up with someone for a blind date at the Milagro Beanfield Warehouse, and asked Chelsea to go with her. No one showed up, and Chelsea blew up in a fury at Maria.<br/>
<br/>
"She told me it was an Eastman guy. One of their basketball players," you tell Cindy. <br/>
<br/>
She shrugs. "All I know," she says, "is that she's furious with Maria, because apparently Maria totally forgot she was even supposed to be meeting someone."<br/>
<br/>
But your meeting with Cindy doesn't last long. She is clearly less interested in you and your problems than in tracking down a potential new online alias that Chelsea has invented, and she ends the conversation by telling you to be careful of Chelsea. "I'd be interested in hearing if you hear any more from her," she tells you as she gets up, "but I think it'd be smarter if you just tried to forget it."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But Cindy's warning has the opposite effect, and whets your appetite to dig into the intrigue more deeply. (And at least part of the reason, you admit even to yourself, is because it might give you an excuse to talk to Cindy some more, and give her a reason to talk to you. As you walk out to the parking lot, you've got your phone in your hand and are trying to compose a text to send to Chelsea, and so preoccupied are you that you don't immediately recognize the figure that comes blasting out of the gym in front of you. It's Jack Li.<br/>
<br/>
You make a face at his back. <i>Smug son of a bitch,</i> you think.<br/>
<br/>
But then another thought forces itself on you.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea set up last night's meeting with you at The Flying Saucer, and Jack was out there with her, talking to her before that. What were they talking about? Did it have anything to do with you?<br/>
<br/>
Is Jack part of whatever intrigue is going on?<br/>
<br/>
Or is it possible that he has sniffed out Chelsea on his own, and has been secretly helping you behind the scenes, maybe by getting Chelsea to come clean with you, and apologize?<br/>
<br/>
Either way, it might be worth talking to him.</span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112111111
author_id: seuzz
title: Jack's Story
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Jack!" you call. "Hey, Jack!"<br/>
<br/>
He turns a face dark with anger on you. But he forces a smile, and waits for you to jog up. "You got a minute?" you ask him.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. I—"<br/>
<br/>
"I promise it isn't about, you know, that stuff I was asking you about before. With those girls."<br/>
<br/>
Except it is, a fact you realize only now that it's too late. You're going to ask him about "Clover Mystery," when "Clover Mystery" was the topic that you got mixed up with him and those other girls, leading to all that embarrassment.<br/>
<br/>
But before you can figure out a way to back out, Jack pushes up close to you. "I saw you out at The Flying Saucer last night, didn't I?" he asks in a hard voice.<br/>
<br/>
Your heels hit the wall as you back away. "Yeah, I was out there with my friend, Caleb."<br/>
<br/>
His eyes narrow. "And who was I with?"<br/>
<br/>
You blink at him. "Chelsea, I thought."<br/>
<br/>
He slaps the wall by your ear and does a fast, three-hundred-and-sixty degree twirl.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck!" he barks. "You saw us! You're a witness!"<br/>
<br/>
"A witness?" you gulp.<br/>
<br/>
"You saw me out there with Chelsea! Talking, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." <i>Whatever this madness be,</i> you think, <i>better him than me!</i><br/>
<br/>
He grabs you by the shoulder and hustles you into the gym.<br/>
<br/>
From the east court comes the squeak of rubber soles on polished wood, and the bang of a rubber ball. The basketball team is practicing, but they're at the far end of the court when Jack drags you inside. He ignores the scrum under the far basket and cranes his head to look up into the bleachers.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea is holding court there, with her bag and coat spread out around her, and with two of her acolytes, Kendra Saunders and Gloria Rea, flanking her. She has her phone out, as does Kendra, and she is scrolling through it; Gloria is watching the boys practice with an expression of boredom. There are some other students scattered across the bleachers, but those three have the central spot, and in their bright clothes they are impossible to miss.<br/>
<br/>
Jack stares up at them, but they pay no attention to him. After a minute he drags you to the bleachers opposite and pushes you up them. You have no idea what's going on, but it has to do with Chelsea, so you figure you'll wait until Jack gets done, and then you'll see what you can glean. <br/>
<br/>
He parks you on a bench and stands beside you, gazing across the way back at Chelsea. She doesn't seem to react. After another minute of this, Jack drops down next to you and takes out his phone. He taps furiously into it, then leans back to glare at Chelsea again. She is concentrated on her phone already, so there's no change in her posture before Jack's phone chimes with a reply of some kind. He stares at it, barks aloud, then gets up. He makes no sign for you to follow, but you hurry out after him anyway.<br/>
<br/>
"What was that about?" you ask when you're outside.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Oh, just showing Chelsea that you were with me. That I talked to you." He glowers across the front quad with his hands on his hips. "Fucking bint."<br/>
<br/>
"What's going on?"<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a sidelong look, then shakes his head.<br/>
<br/>
"I got a text last night that she wanted to talk to me, meet with me, up at The Flying Saucer. She wanted to talk about me about joining the cheerleading squad. It's not a girls-only thing, you know," he adds, as though that would be an objection. "So we met and we talked. She said she wanted to reorganize the squad, get some of the 'dead wood' off it, get someone like me on." He shakes his head again, and his voice tightens. "She even talked about getting me some kind of 'student aide' position, as a 'choreographer'"—he hangs some quotation marks in the air with his fingers—"if the reorganization didn't go through. We had a really good talk." His face darkens, and he swings around to kick the gym wall. "Fuck!"<br/>
<br/>
"So what's wrong? Something happen?"<br/>
<br/>
"I went to talk to her about it some more 'cos I had some ideas. And she told me she didn't know what I was talking about! Said she didn't talk to me last night, said she was with her boyfriend all evening back at her place!" Jack throws his hands into the air. "She fucking laughed at me, said I was the <i>last</i> person she'd want on the squad." His lips twist into a snarl. "She asked if I'd come down with some kind special brain cancer!"<br/>
<br/>
You stare at him. "But I saw you guys talking there last night."<br/>
<br/>
"No shit!" he yells. "God <i>damn</i> it!"<br/>
<br/>
His swarthy face has passed from red to purple and is closing fast on black again. He is trembling all over, and his hair is bristling. As he blinks rapidly, you realize he is on the verge of bursting into tears.<br/>
<br/>
It is quite a change from the calm, smooth, confident character you were hanging out with only a week or so ago.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe it's because you were talking about it in front of Kendra and Gloria?" you suggest. He doesn't react. "Maybe they'd be part of the ... reorganization?"<br/>
<br/>
He starts, and looks at you intently. His expression remains frozen, but a feverish light comes into his eye.<br/>
<br/>
"No," he mutters, "I don't think so. Not them. Not from what I've—" He catches himself. "But maybe you're— Oh, fuck me!" he groans.<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't answer, but swings around and stalks down the breezeway toward the parking lot. After a moment, you hurry after. He gives you a sidelong glance, and with an ache in his voice asks if you'd like to hang out someplace and talk. "You'd drive, if you don't mind," he adds.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wind up back at The Flying Saucer, though the place leaves Jack looking a little pale, but he pays for the coffees. It is mostly deserted, so you have no trouble settling at the table where Chelsea had been, with you in her spot. Jack crouches with his elbows on the table, nursing his coffee between his hands.<br/>
<br/>
You didn't talk on the drive out, and even now Jack is terse and clipped. What you suggested hadn't occurred to him—that maybe Chelsea is making her plans in secret, and that he might have messed them up, and messed up his own chances for joining the squad, by leaking them prematurely.<br/>
<br/>
"They're a couple of gossips, Kendra and Gloria," he tells you. "If Chelsea's planning on doing something about the squad, they might leak it to the girls that Chelsea's thinking of cutting. That could fuck things up."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"For what?" He makes a face. "Maybe you saved me just in time from doing something worse."<br/>
<br/>
You let the moment steep, then tell him you had your own talk with Chelsea, about that missed date with Maria at the other coffee place. "Oh, is that what was going on?" he says, but he sounds only half-interested. "We can all vouch for you being with Maria out at the Warehouse last weekend."<br/>
<br/>
"Except I think Chelsea was fucking with me. And, well, maybe she was fucking with you?"<br/>
<br/>
Jack's glance turns sharp. "What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
You take out your phone. "She asked for my number so she could text me, and she gave me hers. Except, she didn't. This is the number she gave me." You turn the screen so he can see it. "That's not her number. That's the number that Clover Mystery gave me. You remember Clover Mystery?"<br/>
<br/>
Jack's gaze goes distant. "Oh yeah. Your secret admirer?"<br/>
<br/>
"Someone who was hassling me about me and Caleb and our time capsule thing. It was her number that Chelsea gave me. <i>Chelsea</i> is Clover Mystery."<br/>
<br/>
Jack stares at you. "So what are you saying? That she—?" His brow furrows. "What'd you do to piss her off?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. Maybe nothing? Maybe I just looked at her funny? But I think she was fucking with me last night, because I <i>know</i> she set up that meeting. I came out to meet 'Clover Mystery,' but Chelsea's who I wound up talking to, and it's Clover Mystery's number she gave me."<br/>
<br/>
"What's this got to do with me?" Jack asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. Maybe nothing. But—"<br/>
<br/>
"Hang on. Lemme see your phone." Jack takes it and flicks through a couple of screens. His attitude is thoughtful when he speaks again.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe she is fucking with you," he says. "But maybe not. You don't think she'd want her boyfriend finding your name and number in her phone, do you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well ... No."<br/>
<br/>
"Because what she says in these texts, it's not the <i>worst</i> kind of thing Chelsea has ever done."<br/>
<br/>
"Gee, thanks," you dryly retort. "It only fucked me up real good."<br/>
<br/>
"What I mean is, this doesn't sound like Chelsea when she's being <i>mean</i> to people. So maybe you didn't piss her off. And maybe she gave you this number because—" Jack chews on his lip. "Maybe this is a burner phone she uses to talk to people she doesn't want Gordon knowing about."<br/>
<br/>
He hands your phone back without waiting for a reply.<br/>
<br/>
"You know the only way to find out," he says, "is to call her and ask."</span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121121111111
author_id: seuzz
title: A Private Party in the Portables
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You don't call Chelsea direct, but you do send her a text asking for a chance to talk. As you wait for her reply, you and Jack talk a little more, but he seems distracted, and you definitely feel distracted. Eventually, you both fall silent, and soon Jack checks his phone and tells you he has to go.<br/>
<br/>
"You'll keep me posted on what you hear from Chelsea, right?" he says. "You got my number?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, you're on my list. And, uh, I'll ask her about the thing with you."<br/>
<br/>
His expression tightens, but he nods. You can stand waiting for only a few more minutes after he's gone, and then you're out the door too.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's after dinner that you find the reply from Chelsea on your phone—it came in while you were eating. She says you can call her after seven, which it now is.<br/>
<br/>
"Hi, Will," she chirps when she picks up. "What's going on? Did you eat yet?"<br/>
<br/>
"I just got through. You?" You have a hard time speaking around the lump in your throat.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I'm all done. I'm alone, too. I had to get rid of Gordon." She titters.<br/>
<br/>
Your breath is coming in short gasps, and there's a gargle in your voice when you ask, "Is that why you gave me this number?"<br/>
<br/>
There's a pause. "What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"Is this really your number?" Another hypothesis pops into your head. "Is this someone else's phone, and you're borrowing it?"<br/>
<br/>
Another pause, and then she sighs.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, you got me," she says. "A three-pointer, too. Basketball humor," she adds. "I get so sick of it, but I hear it all the—"<br/>
<br/>
"Whose phone are you borrowing?"<br/>
<br/>
She has gotten very cagey, for there's another lengthy pause. "Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because it belongs to someone named 'Clover Mystery'. Do you know anyone named 'Clover Mystery'?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, God, no!" She laughs. "What kind of a name is that?"<br/>
<br/>
"So whose phone is it?" Your heart is hammering in your chest.<br/>
<br/>
Another pause. "I don't think I should tell you," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?"<br/>
<br/>
"Beg," she says. "Say 'Pretty please'. Sit up and say—"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't!" you snap. "Just ... don't. Okay? I don't—! I got a lot of shit from that person! From 'Clover Mystery'!"<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong, Will?" All of a sudden, Chelsea sounds concerned.<br/>
<br/>
"Just ... who is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I seriously don't think I should tell you. Yeah, this isn't my phone, I just borrow it sometimes to— And if I tell you whose—"<br/>
<br/>
She breaks off, and for a moment the only sound is of heavy breathing. "What's wrong, Will? You say she—? What did she do to you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I got some texts from her. And some other shit. It's hard to explain. I'd have to—"<br/>
<br/>
"We can meet," Chelsea says. "Up at the school," she adds. "Thirty minutes?" You gulp and agree. "Oh, and Will," she says, "if you get a text from me— From 'Clover', I mean— It's me. I'll be using her phone."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The sun has long since set when you get up to the school, and it and and all its grounds are swallowed in darkness. Gordon's VW Bug is parked next to the gym, and that gives you a bad turn. Has Gordon intercepted Chelsea? Or did she bring him out here?<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea sends a text while you're waiting in your truck, telling you that she is behind the school, near the portables. That wouldn't be a surprising meeting spot during the day. But at night, when the campus is deserted? You text back that you'll be there in five, and hop out of your truck.<br/>
<br/>
There is something very spooky about the school grounds now, when it is dark. It is only early October, so it isn't Halloweeny, exactly, but there is a whistle in the wind and a rustle in the grass as you trudge around the back of the school, between the empty tennis courts and the deserted athletic fields. The classroom windows are blank and blind, and your mind can't help dwelling on the black, empty hollows behind them. Row upon silent row of metal lockers, like small tombs, and the fading bustle of the school day dying into silence.<br/>
<br/>
The portables are even worse: rotting, listing buildings the size of small tractor trailers, hunching in the nighttime. They smell of mildew and old wood even on the outside. On the inside, it is all too easy to imagine, would be bugs and snakes and rats. You trudge into the open-ended courtyard formed by the encompassing wings of the portables' U-shaped arrangement, and come to a stop, looking around. There's no one in sight.<br/>
<br/>
You've taken out your phone and are typing a text when you hear a creak, followed by a soft voice. "Will! Over here!" You look up. The door to one of the portables has opened, and a white figure is beckoning you. You edge over—your feet don't want to work—and the foggy figure resolves itself into the shape of Chelsea Cooper.<br/>
<br/>
"In here," she urges you, and steps back into the darkness.<br/>
<br/>
"Why?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"In case someone comes!"<br/>
<br/>
"Gordon?"<br/>
<br/>
A pause. "Is he here?"<br/>
<br/>
"I saw his car next to the gym."<br/>
<br/>
Another pause. "Dammit. Yes. Get in here!"<br/>
<br/>
The lure of Chelsea Cooper is stronger than the repulsion of imaginary reptiles and rodents, so you lurch up the wooden steps into the portable. Chelsea steps back inside, and closes the door behind you. A stifling darkness swallows you.<br/>
<br/>
Then a soft rectangle of light blinks on. Chelsea sets her cell phone face up on a desk, and she becomes visible in the grayish light, though just barely.<br/>
<br/>
"Hi Will," she says, and she sounds out of breath. "So you wanted to talk to me?"<br/>
<br/>
Her face is in shadow, but you can see a soft glint in her eye, and her mouth is curled up into an open smile. She's wobbling on her feet, and you have the impression that she's balancing on her toes, and might topple forward into you. <i>Is she drunk?</i> you find yourself wondering.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, yeah," you say. "I wanted to talk to you about ... um ... Clover Mystery? We were talking about—"<br/>
<br/>
"I can't tell you who she is. Not for real."<br/>
<br/>
"She's a friend of yours?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," Chelsea says, and her breath is coming in quicker gulps. "I don't guess there's any, um, harm in telling you that."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Maybe it's Kendra,</i> you think. Kendra Saunders is a nasty piece of work, you've heard.<br/>
<br/>
"Because she was sending me texts—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I don't want to hear about texts," Chelsea groans. "I want to—"<br/>
<br/>
She doesn't finish her sentence. Instead, she goes up on tiptoes, and—as you had weirdly anticipated—falls forward against you, bumping you lightly. She giggles and straightens up again.<br/>
<br/>
You go stiff all over, but you manage to croak at a single noise: "Um."<br/>
<br/>
She giggles, goes up on her toes, and falls against you again, bumping you back against a wall. "Are you okay?" you ask her.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm great," she says. "How are you?" Again, she falls against you, but this time she throws her arms around you to catch herself, and presses her face into your neck and shoulder. She lifts her chin and peers up at you. "Will?" she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" You feel like you're about to faint.<br/>
<br/>
"Hold me."<br/>
<br/>
So you put your arms under her pits and try lifting her up.<br/>
<br/>
"No, not like that!" she exclaims. "Like—!"<br/>
<br/>
Her lips are suddenly at yours. They are soft, tender, and her breath wafts over your mouth and around your nose. Your heart nearly bursts, and your brain feels frozen, but you gently pinch one of her lips between yours, and gently suck.<br/>
<br/>
She crushes you in an embrace, and wraps one leg around your waist.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, God, Will," she groans. "This is it, isn't it? No more fucking around, this is <i>it!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Oh, god, that was everything I wanted," she murmurs afterward, when she's laying back on the teacher's desk. She's naked from the waist down, for she let you finger-bang you, then sucked on your fingers. She is pointing a bare leg at the ceiling as you zip yourself up inside your pants, for after the finger-bang she gave you a blow job.<br/>
<br/>
(Which was nice, but which you were too freaked out by to properly enjoy.)<br/>
<br/>
"Gordon just grabs me when he wants sex," Chelsea goes on. "And it gets boring. I wanted something dangerous, and new."<br/>
<br/>
Your heart was already sinking before she spoke those words, and it sinks further. "So this isn't going to be a regular thing, is it?" you say.<br/>
<br/>
She looks over at you, then sits up and jumps off the desk.<br/>
<br/>
"It can't be," she says as she embraces you. "You can't even talk to me at school. My psycho boyfriend, you know. We can't even look at each other. But I can help you out."<br/>
<br/>
"Help me how?" <i>By getting me off every day after school?</i> you think with a gulp.<br/>
<br/>
She hangs off the front of your shirt.<br/>
<br/>
"I can get, um, Clover to leave you alone. And I can get you a girl. Some other girl. For you. I know who, too. A girl who'll share you with me." She giggles. "Who'll cover for us."<br/>
<br/>
You're seized by vertigo: She can't be serious.<br/>
<br/>
But you can think of one way to test her sincerity.</span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211211111111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Breaking Point
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I want to know about Clover Mystery," you tell Chelsea.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Will," she groans.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm serious." You try to pry her off of you, but you don't put <i>that</i> much effort into it, so she continues to cling to your shirt. "Is she sending me DMs on x2z? Like, is she pretending to be other girls?"<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea peers up at you. "What? Like who—? <i>What?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"Elle Moore. Leah Simmons. Laura MacGregor."<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea titters. "Are those the girls you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Is Clover Mystery DMing me from some of those girls' accounts? Pretending to be them?"<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea blinks hard.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. I'd have to ask." She sucks on her lower lip, then says, "Should I be jealous of her? Is she catfishing you, do you think?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know what she's doing. That's why I'm asking—"<br/>
<br/>
"Pah!" Chelsea unhooks herself from your shirt and turns her back on you. "I'm starting to think you don't like me!"<br/>
<br/>
No, it's not that. You're just confused as fuck. And among the things you're confused by—<br/>
<br/>
"You were talking to Jack at the coffee shop the other night, before we talked."<br/>
<br/>
"So?" She glances back at you, from under drooping eyelashes.<br/>
<br/>
"You were talking to him about joining the cheerleader squad."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah? Oh, you talked to him?"<br/>
<br/>
"But when you talked to him today, you told him you didn't know what he was talking about."<br/>
<br/>
She frowns. "When did I—? Oh, that." She shrugs. "It wasn't something I wanted to talk about just then."<br/>
<br/>
"On account of Kendra and Gloria?"<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea's eyes narrow. "Yes. You talked to Jack about all this?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, and he's really pissed off. Because he thought you were—"<br/>
<br/>
"Will." Chelsea whirls around and grabs your hands, "this isn't what I want to talk about. I want to talk about you and me and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you breaking up with Gordon?" You jerk away from her.<br/>
<br/>
She gasps. "No! That would be— It wouldn't be good for your health, Will, if, you know, we— And you shouldn't talk to me, you know, in school," she stammers. "Only when we're alone, like—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Catfished,</i> you think. The word has been bothering you ever since Chelsea dropped it into the conversation. <i>She's setting me up for something. No fucking way Chelsea is into me.</i><br/>
<br/>
Terror overwhelms you, and you bolt for the door. "Will!" Chelsea calls after as you run out into the night. "Where are you—? Will!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
She texts you all night, from Clover Mystery's phone, begging you to pick up and talk. After a dozen such texts you lose patience and tell her to call you from her own phone, if she's so hot to talk. She says she can't, that she can't risk Gordon finding your name in her call list. And even after you repeat your demand, she refuses. You finally turn off your phone.<br/>
<br/>
It's a restless night you pass, and you're exhausted and tetchy the next day at school. A couple of times you spot Chelsea in the hallway, but she is always turned away from you, which is probably good, because she might get scorched by your glare if she locked eyes with you. Neither does she send you any texts.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb and Keith treat you like a porcupine with a toothache, and talk only to each other at lunch.<br/>
<br/>
Late that afternoon, you get a text from Jack, asking if you talked to Chelsea. You give him only a very bare reply, that Chelsea confirmed she didn't want to talk about the squad in front of Kendra and Gloria.<br/>
<br/>
Then you get a text from Chelsea, from the Clover Mystery number. She wants to meet up with you tonight.<br/>
<br/>
At the school, again. At the portables.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Second verse, same as the first?</i> you wonder, and you don't know whether to hope that it will be. But you shoot her a text telling her you'll make the meeting.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's Friday night, so there's something extra creepy about being up on the school campus. <i>Bad enough coming up on a weeknight,</i> you think as for the second night in a row you trudge past the dark school toward the darker portables. <i>But on a Friday night or a weeknight? That's just wrong in every way!</i><br/>
<br/>
You go straight to the portable you met in last night, and knock on the door before entering. Chelsea is sitting behind a desk, reading her phone. It's almost impossible to read her expression in the dim light cast by her cell phone. But it looks like she's frowning.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," she replies. "Thanks for coming out."<br/>
<br/>
You sigh. You couldn't come up with any ideas about what to say to her, which sucks, because after a long moment of silence, you decide that she's waiting for you to make the first move.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I'm sorry I ran out on you last night," you start. "But I just—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm sorry for throwing all that stuff at you." Her tone is cool but not unfriendly. "I was in a funny mood. Me and Gordon have been fighting. You probably don't know that."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I didn't. I'm sorry."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I wasn't drunk. I want you to know that much, at least. But, you know—"<br/>
<br/>
She sniffs hard, and touches a fingertip to one eye. <i>Jesus!</i> you think. <i>She's not gonna start crying, is she?</i><br/>
<br/>
"You were really sweet the other night, when we talked, at the coffee shop, and that's not something I can really say about Gordon," she gasps. "So, yeah, I just kind of threw myself at you. I shouldn't blame you for freaking out."<br/>
<br/>
You twist on your feet and look up at the shadow-eaten ceiling.<br/>
<br/>
"And it can't really— It wouldn't really work between us," Chelsea continues. "On account of Gordon. Regardless. But you <i>are</i> really sweet, Will, and— You're between girlfriends, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I hope I'm between them," you reply. "I don't have one now but I hope another one'll come along."<br/>
<br/>
She doesn't laugh at the hollow jest.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you should keep your eyes open," she says. "And if a good one comes along, if a likely one comes along— What I'm saying is—"<br/>
<br/>
Your guts start squirming. It's pretty obvious now that she's about to burst into tears.<br/>
<br/>
"Give the next girl a better chance than you gave me!" Chelsea exclaims in a heaving sob.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, jeez,</i> you think. But you're not made of stone, and when she comes out from behind the desk, you put your arms out to give her a hug. She squeezes you tightly, then shifts to put a hand to the back of your head.<br/>
<br/>
You are overwhelmed by what feels like the onset of an ice cream headache, and fall into a spinning vortex of darkness.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There's a cold, hard floor beneath you when you wake, but that is the only thing you are certain of when next you open your eyes. It is pitch black.<br/>
<br/>
But the equation "rotten smell = old portables" doesn't click into place until after you sink back into the last thing you remember: walking out behind the school to the old portables, where Chelsea (unaccountably) asked you to meet. You stood around for a minute, then texted her to say you'd arrived. A door creaked open, and a small figure beckoned you over. After a short, brusque greeting, you stepped past her into the dark portable. She closed the door, and then you felt her putting one arm around you while putting her hand onto the back of your head. <br/>
<br/>
Which was so weird you almost threw up on her.<br/>
<br/>
And then—<br/>
<br/>
Well, after <i>then</i> came <i>now.</i><br/>
<br/>
You sit up, and suffer a brief dizzy spell. When it clears, you are hammered simultaneously by two thoughts.<br/>
<br/>
The first runs something like this: <i>Sure, I remember coming out here to talk to Chelsea and her pulling me into a portable, but I also remember walking into a portable and talking to her while she was sitting in a desk. How the fuck is it I remember it two totally different ways?</i><br/>
<br/>
The second thought is, <i>Holy shit, I'm naked!</i><br/>
<br/>
You scramble around, feeling at the floor, but find it dirty and bare. You get to your feet and peer about, but there isn't even a hint of light behind the dirty panes of the portable. Cautiously you feel about, sliding your bare feet across the floor, until you hit the old teacher's desk. Oddly, you were expecting to find it because you saw it here last night, even though you are pretty sure you've never been inside this portable before. You pat at its surface, and touch something soft.<br/>
<br/>
Clothes. Your frown turns into a grimace of relief.<br/>
<br/>
You feel through them until you touch something hard and plastic, which you pick up and turn around in your hands. The screen of the iPhone turns on, and you use its light to look around.<br/>
<br/>
There's two sets of clothes on the desk: yours and ... also yours.<br/>
<br/>
The floor creaks nearby, and when you turn the light in that direction, it catches the face of a recumbent figure who is just sitting up. He blinks at you.<br/>
<br/>
And he looks just like you.</span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112111111111
author_id: seuzz
title: Hijack!
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A naked Will Prescott stares up at you from the filthy floor with an alarmed expression.<br/>
<br/>
You also feel some alarm, though less than you might have expected.<br/>
<br/>
Because at least this clears up one thing: <i>If he's Will Prescott,</i> you think, <i>that makes me Jack Li.</i><br/>
<br/>
Except that doesn't seem right either.<br/>
<br/>
"What the—?" Will says. "Who—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Where'd Chelsea get off to?" you ask, and shine the light from your cell phone around. But there's no one else in the portable, and you turn the light back onto Will when he doesn't answer.<br/>
<br/>
"Will?" you say when he just stares up at you with a hanging jaw and bugged-out eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Who the fuck are you?" he croaks out.<br/>
<br/>
You bite your lip.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I'm Jack Li,</i> you want to say. <i>I came up here to meet with Chelsea Cooper because she wanted to talk about some shit or other. I don't know what's going on with her and you, but—</i><br/>
<br/>
But you do know what's going on with him and her. Because you also want to say, I'm Will Prescott, and I came up here because Chelsea wanted to talk to me about the way she came onto me last night.<br/>
<br/>
Two very good answers to the question, <i>Who are you?</i> But the second can't be the right answer, because the guy who would answer it that way is sitting on the floor in front of you.<br/>
<br/>
But you don't leap to any conclusions just yet. "Who are <i>you?</i>" you challenge him.<br/>
<br/>
He runs a tongue over his lower lip. "Look, I don't know what's going on—" he starts to say.<br/>
<br/>
"Just tell me who you are. What name do you answer to? Come on," you snort as he settles into a deep, mulish silence. "I'm just as confused as you are."<br/>
<br/>
His frown deepens to a hot glare. "Jack Li," he spits out.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, can you prove it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like how?"<br/>
<br/>
"Tell me where you live. Phone number, birthday. Shit you're supposed to know—" You have to pause, lest you be overwhelmed by a sense of vertigo. "Supposed to know if you're Jack Li." <i>But how can someone else be me?</i> a voice shouts in your head.<br/>
<br/>
Through gritted teeth he rattles off an address, some names, some dates.<br/>
<br/>
"Fine," you retort, "but can you tell me who Jack Hunter is?"<br/>
<br/>
He flinches. "Come on," you urge him. "If you're really ... you'll know who Jack Hunter is."<br/>
<br/>
His eyes glitter with fury. "Guy I knew back in middle school."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, and what was so special about him?"<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't answer.<br/>
<br/>
You feel surprisingly calm (all things considered), but you are also losing patience. "Come on," you chide him. "I already know the answer, I just wanna see if you know it too."<br/>
<br/>
Will shows you his teeth. "He was the first guy I ever seriously crushed on!" There's murder in his eye.<br/>
<br/>
"How much of a crush?"<br/>
<br/>
Will trembles all over. "I took took my name from him!" he snarls.<br/>
<br/>
You nod. <i>Test passed.</i> "Okay, now what can you tell me about Will Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck how come?" he demands.<br/>
<br/>
Can he really not know? You launch the camera app on the phone and turn the screen toward him. He frowns at the screen for a very long time before his eyes pop.<br/>
<br/>
"We've got a real problem," you tell him, "if you can't tell me anything about the guy you look like."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But he can't tell you anything about Will Prescott. Not one thing, except the kind of third-hand knowledge Jack Li has about Will Prescott. You, on the other hand, are quite fluent about both Jack's life and Will's.<br/>
<br/>
"So the trouble is," you summarize after you and he have passed the situation back and forth between you, "you look like one of us but think like the other one. And I look like the other one but can think like both of us."<br/>
<br/>
He is on his feet by the time you reach this point, but neither of you are dressed. For one thing, you can't help feeling that you're in the grip of some kind of hallucination, so that it would be wrong to put on Jack Li's clothes while your ... companion ... put on Will Prescott's. You also feel a related, semi-superstitious fear that putting on Jack's clothes will make this weird situation permanent. Until you get things settled one way or another, you don't want to make any more moves than you have to.<br/>
<br/>
But where you're genuinely unsure about what has happened—and ambivalent about who is who—the other guy is adamant. He is calmer than after he first woke to find a someone with Jack Li's face looking back at him, but he is still grim and unhappy, and he doesn't hide his suspicion that you (whoever you are) are somehow behind it all. You are finally forced to go along with him this far: You must really be Will Prescott, and you have somehow acquired Jack's memories along with his face and form.<br/>
<br/>
Which maybe makes sense in other ways. Yes, you're perfectly comfortable thinking <i>I'm Jack Li.</i> But there's no getting around the fact that <i>I'm Will Prescott</i> is a much sturdier thought, and that Jack Li's memories only feel ... <i>draped</i> ... about you, while Will Prescott's memories feel like the thing that the other memories are draped over.<br/>
<br/>
But getting this sorted out (provisionally) is just the start. There's still the question of how this happened, and what comes next.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, clearly Chelsea had something to do with it. But there's no figuring out what happened until you find her, and there's no finding her until you decide what to do next.<br/>
<br/>
So it's at this point that you finally get dressed. The other guy only has to climb into a t-shirt and some loose trousers, and he's already grabbed up his phone while you're still buttoning up a Hawaiian shirt over the white tee you're wearing underneath. You lay a hand over his while he's tapping in a text, and ask, "Whose phone should you be using?"<br/>
<br/>
"Piss off," he snarls. "I don't know the password for yours." You shrug—it's a good point—and ask who he's texting. "Who do you think? Chelsea."<br/>
<br/>
"You have her—?" You break off the question. <i>Yes, he does have her real phone number,</i> you remember. <i>I remember her real phone number, though I've only used it a few times, and then in the last two days.</i> "What do you expect her to say?"<br/>
<br/>
"About what?"<br/>
<br/>
"What do you think?"<br/>
<br/>
He bristles. "I dunno."<br/>
<br/>
"So what are you even going to ask her?"<br/>
<br/>
He stops typing. Not that he had typed much. What is there to type? <i>Hey, did you do some occult thing to me and Will that made us swap bodies?</i><br/>
<br/>
"She was supposed to meet me out here," he says. "I was going to ask her where she is."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. You can anticipate her answer—<br/>
<br/>
—and so you're not surprised by her reply: <i>Wtf? Lol.</i> Followed with, <i>Lose my number ok?</i><br/>
<br/>
"I always fucking knew she was a witch," mutters the other guy.<br/>
<br/>
"So what now? I bet you don't feel like going out to the Warehouse"—that had been Jack's plan—"and I don't feel much like it either."<br/>
<br/>
"You sure are taking this well," he growls.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes I am," you reply with calm honesty, "because I'm taking it the way you should be taking it, if you're really— Jack." <i>Almost you said, "If you're really me."</i> "Are you sure you don't have any of, uh—" You point to your temple. "Because you're freaking out exactly the way the guy you look like—"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you! I don't like this, you know," he says. "And I don't like the way <i>you</i> seem to be okay with—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm <i>not</i> okay with it. I'm just trying to keep my shit together." <i>Keep your shit together,</i> it seems to you, could be Jack's personal motto. "Come on." You grip him by the arm, even though he flinches from your touch. "If we're not gonna go partying, we can go back to my place. Your place. The Li residence."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because you have to spend the night somewhere, and you don't want to spend it at Will Prescott's, not if you're— You don't know how to act like, uh, me, do you?"<br/>
<br/>
He shakes his head.<br/>
<br/>
"There, you see? I don't know why, but I'm pretty sure I know how to fake my way through as you. Just try not to freak out when we get there, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
At least he tries, though he fails. Not that Andrew and Judith Li notice. They are both very gracious to the friend that you bring home to spend the night, and if they notice the way he bristles and twitches, they say nothing about it. <br/>
<br/>
But you give them a cover story anyway, telling them that "Will" had a humdinger of a fight with his mom and needs a place to cool down and crash for the night. That also (you hope) covers the whole awkward "sex" thing. Jack's parents know he's gay, and are supportive, but no one wants to think about—or to ostentatiously <i>not</i> think about—him sharing a bedroom with some random school friend. <i>Funny,</i> you think, <i>that I'd remember to worry about that.</i><br/>
<br/>
Once you're behind the bedroom door, you take your old phone back and text your mom, telling her that you're spending the night with Caleb, and you send Caleb a text asking for him to cover for you. When he asks what you're doing, you reply, <i>Trying to get n trboule, tell u later.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Leah wants to know where I am," Will announces after getting a text on his original phone. It rings shortly afterward, and half a dozen female voices blare out when he answers: "Jack, we need you! We want you!" they all shout, then collapse into a giggling fit.</span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121121111111111
author_id: seuzz
title: Jack and Will
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It's Jack's friends, calling from the Eastman High parking lot, where they've gathered to carpool out to the Warehouse. "Where are you?" the voices (mostly female) overlap.<br/>
<br/>
Will makes a face at you, but hands the phone over. "Hey, who is this?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
You're answered with shouts, laughs, and the grunts of a struggle. One voice finally sounds above the others "Mine! Piss off!" It's followed by more shouts, then a lot of panting. Finally: "Jack! Where are you? When are you coming out?"<br/>
<br/>
It's Leah.<br/>
<br/>
"Um. Something came up," you say. You stare at Will, who stares back from under lowered brows. "I don't feel real good. I've got a migraine coming on, I can feel it."<br/>
<br/>
"No! Bullshit!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not lying. I don't feel like a lot of loud music tonight. My head hurts."<br/>
<br/>
"So what about tomorrow?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, talk to me tomorrow, and I'll tell you how I'm doing."<br/>
<br/>
Will's mouth pulls down into a frown.<br/>
<br/>
More shouting, and Leah laughs. "Laura says you picked up a date! Did you pick up a date?"<br/>
<br/>
You pinch the bridge of your nose. "No. Unless the movie I was watching on my phone counts."<br/>
<br/>
"Is it porn?"<br/>
<br/>
"Leah—"<br/>
<br/>
"Send me a link. I wanna see what's so much better than a party at the Warehouse with your buds!"<br/>
<br/>
You sigh again. "Sure. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Aren't you getting ready to head out? I hear car horns."<br/>
<br/>
"That's only—"<br/>
<br/>
"Good-bye, Leah. Have fun and we'll go out tomorrow." Before you know what you're doing, you air kiss into the phone and close the line.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus," Will says.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't start with me, man," you say as you toss the phone back to him. "How would you have handled it?"<br/>
<br/>
He runs his hand through his hair. "Same way, probably. That's what makes it—"<br/>
<br/>
The phone rings again. You and he look at each other, and with a grimace he hands it to you. It's Leah again.<br/>
<br/>
"Jack, what are you sulking for?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not sulking! What have I got to sulk about?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not about Parker and Kristina, is it?"<br/>
<br/>
Your fingers tighten around the phone. "No! Why would I—?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>I'm </i>not<i> angry,</i> you find yourself telling yourself, <i>at the way my best friend and his new girlfriend (another old friend) bailed on the Warehouse tonight, to spend time with each other instead. No, if I'm angry, it's at Leah </i>thinking<i> that I'd be upset about Parker and Kristina.<br/>
<br/>
And I'm not angry about that, either,</i> you tell yourself. <i>It's Jack's issue, not mine!</i><br/>
<br/>
(Unless you really are Jack Li and not Will Prescott, a question that you are not a hundred percent ready to concede has been settled yet.)<br/>
<br/>
"Leah, I love you too. But would you stop trying to manage my shit for me? I've been handling my own shit for—"<br/>
<br/>
"Jack, I'm not—"<br/>
<br/>
"Promise me you'll let me handle my own shit."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not—"<br/>
<br/>
"Promise?"<br/>
<br/>
"Jack—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>"Promise?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"If you promise that you love me!" she snarks back.<br/>
<br/>
"Ye-es," you sigh. "Oodles and oodles. Now, get out the Warehouse before I have to get any more aspirin."<br/>
<br/>
Lean giggles and wishes you a good night. You hand the phone back to Will. He turns it off, and turns off the other phone, too.<br/>
<br/>
"So I guess it's a slumber party for us, now," you observe, ignoring the glower that Will is giving you. You glance around. Besides the laptop and the game console with its dedicated monitor, there's a flat-screen TV with a DVR. Jack's dad is an architect, and though they expect much from him, they give him much, too.<br/>
<br/>
Will drops onto the bed, and you drop onto it beside him.<br/>
<br/>
"So tell me about yourself," he says. "I mean, if I'm going to have to"—he makes a face—"cover for you tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
"We'll go find Chelsea tomorrow," you tell him. "Even if we have to go through her boyfriend to get to her. You wanna mineral water?"<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a look. "As long as you're offering."<br/>
<br/>
Mrs. Li stops you as you pass through the living room. She wants to know more about Will Prescott, and you have spend a couple of minutes improvising something. It helps that Jack knows a kid named Eric Murphy who is a near lookalike for him/you (though you have no prior memory of ever seeing Eric around) and you weave a new personality for your guest based on him.  <br/>
So, the "Will Prescott" you describe to Mrs. Li is wild, impetuous, spoiled, and prone to fly off the handle with his too-indulgent mother, and sometimes has to crash with friends while he cools off. This soothes most of Jack's mom's anxiety, for she was worried that you had brought home a runaway, or (even worse) a friend whose family needs a visit from Child Protective Services. "No," you assure her, "Will just gets super-pissed off with his mom, and we take turns every couple of weeks giving him a place to crash when he's too mad to talk to her."<br/>
<br/>
Your "friend" has turned on the game console when you get back with two mineral waters, and has loaded up a shooter. You play against each other without talking, and find that you're almost evenly matched, probably because you've never played this game before, so you are pitting Jack's own memories and reflexes against him. <br/>
<br/>
He takes a sip of the water and makes a face. "I think maybe I've picked up some of your tastes. This doesn't taste nearly as good to me as it used to."<br/>
<br/>
You take a sip from your own bottle. "Yeah," you agree. "I think I like it better than I used to would have."<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't reply, maybe because he's following the same train of thought as you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>What other "tastes" will have changed for you and for him?</i><br/>
<br/>
The talk, as you play, switches back to your bio, and you tell him about your family and family dynamics. "You can get through it if I can," you tell him. "Keep your head down, do what you're told, don't do more than what they ask you for. That should get you through the weekend, at least."<br/>
<br/>
"What about your friends?"<br/>
<br/>
You bite you lip.<br/>
<br/>
"You can ignore them until Monday," you tell him. "And if you really want," you add, "just come hang out with ... me and all the other guys. Guys you know." The offer gives you heart palpitations, for in possessing Jack's memories, you also get a good look at what he and his friends have been saying about you.<br/>
<br/>
You wonder if that's another reason he's in such a pissy, frightened mood.<br/>
<br/>
He's embarrassed by knowing that you now know what <i>they've</i> been saying about you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You pull a sleeping bag down from the hall closet, but you insist on Will taking the bed while you take the floor. (It seems the least you can do to make the real Jack comfortable in his own room, even if he's not in his own body.) But not long after lights out, you're disturbed by a horrific sawing noise from the bed.<br/>
<br/>
<i>So it turns out I snore,</i> you think. <i>Or maybe Jack snores, and now my body snores too.</i> After ten minutes of sounds that could soothe only the nerves of an experienced lumberjack, you steal from the bedroom to the living room, where you wrap yourself up on the sofa. You are soon asleep.<br/>
<br/>
Even without your phone alarm, you wake at Jack's usual time: a quarter to six. For several minutes you lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling and recollecting where you are and how you got here. A quick glance down the front of the sleeping bag, at your well-defined and hairless chest, confirms that you are still looking like Jack Li. You then spend a couple of minutes trying to decide whether to keep to Jack's regular schedule. You decide that you will start it, at least.<br/>
<br/>
That means showering (in the hall bathroom), where you get a little more acquainted with your new body than you are really comfortable with. Jack is covered in smooth, lean muscles, for he's a bit of a fitness fanatic, and with two sopping handfuls of body wash you get a good feel for his legs, arms, torso, neck and face. (And a passing feel for his junk and his ass.) You blow-dry your hair afterward, and touch it up with a little volume spray so that it holds the lush pompadour that Jack favors. You wash and scrub your face with cleansers, slick down your eyebrows, and with a straight-edge razor slice away the few hairs that come in on your chin and upper lip. Then you moisturize.<br/>
<br/>
It's nearly six-thirty when you creep into the bedroom with only a towel around you. Will is face-down, suffocating himself in the pillow, to judge by the muffled buzzing. You hesitate, then scrawl out a note that you leave by his pillow, urging him to come find you at "the usual places at the usual times" when he wakes. It takes you aback a little to see that, without trying, you have effortlessly imitated Jack's own semi-elegant script.<br/>
<br/>
From the closet you pluck a fresh t-shirt, boxers, exercise shorts, and socks, which you dress in. You're tucking another set of fresh clothes into the workout bag when you hear Will wallowing in the bed. You look up to find he's raised himself and is peering at you nearsightedly.<br/>
<br/>
"I was going to keep your workout schedule," you tell him. "Unless you don't want me to."<br/>
<br/>
He blinks at you, then grunts. "'S'fine," he says, then falls back into the pillow and mumbles something else. "What was that?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I said, how 'bout you take Parker'n them upta Don's Donuts when you're done? I can meet you up there, if'll have me." He yawns. "My friend Keith works there Sa'urday mornings."<br/>
<br/>
You don't immediately react, but mull what he just said. <br/>
<br/>
Keith Tilley is your friend, not Jack's. And you didn't tell him about Keith working at Don's.</span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211211111111112
author_id: seuzz
title: An Exercise of Character
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"The girls are gonna want to go to Starbucks," you tell Will. "But how about you come find us when you're feeling awake."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," he grunts. "Your mom and dad gonna be okay with—?"<br/>
<br/>
Then he raises up and frowns at you. "Are they going to be okay with what?" you prompt him.<br/>
<br/>
A couple of different colors swirl into his face. "Shit," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong?"<br/>
<br/>
He scrubs his face, then gives you a hard stare. "No," he says, "they're <i>my</i> mom and dad."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't say they weren't."<br/>
<br/>
"And that's <i>my</i> workout you're going to."<br/>
<br/>
"You can come along if you want."<br/>
<br/>
He glares, then mutters, "I'm not in shape. But— Fuck." He sits up and buries his face in his knees.<br/>
<br/>
You give him a minute, then ask, "Are you, uh, remembering stuff you couldn't remember yesterday?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. Oh, Jesus." His face is streaked with red when he lifts it again, and he has a ghastly look to him. "But I know who I am."<br/>
<br/>
"So do I," you tell him. You pluck at your shirt. "I'm just, uh, trying to keep your place warm until we find Chelsea and get things sorted out again."<br/>
<br/>
"That's fine," he says. "That's good." He throws off the covers. "I'll get ready, get out of here."<br/>
<br/>
"You coming with me?"<br/>
<br/>
He shakes his head. "I'll go back to, uh, your place, make sure your mom and dad are okay with me being out with, uh, Caleb all night." He looks like he's going to be ill. "I'll catch up with you at Starbucks."<br/>
<br/>
"We could make it Don's Donuts. See Keith."<br/>
<br/>
He shivers all over. <br/>
<br/>
"No," he says. "Let's keep the weirdness to a minimum."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're packing up the sleeping bag when Mrs. Li comes in. She asks if Will is going to spend another night with you, and you tell her that he'll be going home as soon as he gets cleaned up. You wait for him, then drive off in separate vehicles to separate destinations.<br/>
<br/>
It's a few minutes to seven when you get out to Steel's 24-Hour Gym, on the other side of town. Parker and the girls have already signed in and are waiting in the aerobics room with the other early birds. The four of you are far and away the youngest in the Saturday class—the rest are women in their late thirties to early fifties—and as usual the other class members are clustered up around Parker and Kristina and Wendy. You get a cheerful greeting as well, for you are all like their pets.<br/>
<br/>
But it's only a minute or two before Amanda Taylor, the instructor, calls things to order and starts the music for the warm ups and then the routines. You're pleasantly breathless and warm all over when the class ends some forty-five minutes later. The girls go off to take a swim, while you and Parker move on to the weights. It's leg day for you both, and you work out on side-by-side stair masters.<br/>
<br/>
Jack and Parker have done everything together since they were in elementary school, when they became fast friends over a shared passion for Star Wars. That particular enthusiasm faded, but the bond remained strong, and they took as many classes together as they could. Parker was the one who trailed after Jack, though. They both did well enough academically that they could share most of the same classes, but it was Jack who eagerly signed up for gymnastics, aerobics, and dance classes, which Parker joined with less enthusiasm.<br/>
<br/>
In fact, Jack has wondered lately if Parker would have dropped out of those classes if they hadn't made friends with Kristina and Wendy at Westside their freshman year. The two girls, who look enough alike to be cousins, immediately connected with the guys, and the four have been inseparable for the past few years. But it wasn't until last summer that Jack started to wonder if Parker felt more strongly about the girls than he did, and in a different way. For Jack, they were just friends, like so many other girls at the school, who he could hang out with and share confidences. That's the way Parker seemed to act around them too, and when Leah and some of the other girls started asking if Parker was interested in Kristina or in Wendy, Jack laughed and said he didn't think so. "I mean, he's not gay," he assured them, "but I think he's just friends with them. Like he's friends with me."<br/>
<br/>
That equation—"friends with them like he's friends with me"—began to warp in unpleasant ways, though, when their junior year ended. Before, when Jack and Parker showered together after a workout, it had been without a thought. But now—like, this morning, when you follow him into the changing room and the showers—you feel more of an edge. It's like an <i>assertion</i> that there's nothing uncomfortable about it. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's after nine when you and Parker—fresh and scrubbed and changed into clean clothes—sign out of the gym and walk a block up the street to Starbucks, where the girls are already waiting.<br/>
<br/>
So is Will.<br/>
<br/>
He is slouching at a table in the corner, and you call out to invite him over. He shuffles over with his coffee and cell phone. "We got these mixed up last night," he says as he hands it to you. "I got yours and I think you picked up mine."<br/>
<br/>
"I was wondering how come I wasn't getting any texts," you reply as you dig into the workout bag, and swap phones with him. "Did I get any?"<br/>
<br/>
"Lots, but I didn't know your password," he lies.<br/>
<br/>
You grin. "I'd'a trusted you anyway." You've been trying to ignore the frowns of curiosity you're getting from Wendy and Kristina, so you come clean. "I hung out with Will last night," you confess. "We had some stuff to talk about."<br/>
<br/>
After collecting your orders, your quintet squeezes around a four-top. Conversation is light and flippant, and Will asks the girls semi-personal questions that he pretends he doesn't know the answers to while you discreetly catch up on the messages that came in while you were working out.<br/>
<br/>
You haven't been at Starbucks long when you're joined by a surprise guest: Laura MacGregor. Six people can't fit comfortably around a four-top, so you all pick up your stuff and move to a different table. "I want to sit between my two favorite guys," Laura gushes as she settles between you and Will. She gets very keen and inquisitive when it comes out that you skipped going to the Warehouse in order to hang out with him, but with a cool smile you tell her it's none of her business why you got together.<br/>
<br/>
With one exception, everyone is relaxed, and you relax with them. But Will, you notice, seems antsy and impatient, and when he gets up to fetch some more sugar, you excuse yourself to the restroom. As you'd hoped, he follows you in.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus," he mutters as he washes his hands in the sink next to you. "Can we please hurry up and get out of here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Is it freaking you out?"<br/>
<br/>
"Isn't it freaking <i>you</i> out?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm doing okay." You straighten up and study your hair, twitching a stray lock back into place. "You're doing okay, too. Seems to me, your only problem is that you're acting too much in character."<br/>
<br/>
"Like how?" he demands.<br/>
<br/>
You twist your face into an exaggerated scowl, and squirm on your feet. "Chill out," you tell him. "We're doing fine."<br/>
<br/>
"I want to go find Chelsea!"<br/>
<br/>
"We will. I'll cut things short. Let's just not leave together."<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?" His eyes narrow.<br/>
<br/>
You give him a steady look, the kind that Jack gives people when he thinks they're making some veiled reference to his sexuality.<br/>
<br/>
"Because," you remind him, "you're not exactly popular with the crowd. All that bullshit about Elle and Leah and Laura—"<br/>
<br/>
"That wasn't bullshit!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm glad you see that now. If you're remembering everything else, maybe you're remembering those nights with Elle, and Laura, and what happened—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes! Jesus, your life has been weird!" he pants. "Even before—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Tell me about it." You go back to studying your reflection, and straighten out some of the lines in your shirt.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry you're all mixed up with it now," you tell him, "but it wasn't my idea. Anyway, as for us going separate, just remember what you were thinking about me yesterday, and remember that that's what <i>they're</i> thinking of you out there now."<br/>
<br/>
Will makes a face.<br/>
<br/>
"We'll meet up at Westside," you tell him. "You can take off first."<br/>
<br/>
Will sighs like a buffalo, and stalks from the bathroom.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
To your relief there's no gossip about him after he's left, and after ten minutes or so you make your own excuses and rise to leave. You're caught outside, though, by a shout.<br/>
<br/>
It's Laura, and she comes running up to join you. "Need a ride back to pick up your car?" she asks. "Can I give you a ride anyway?" she asks when you decline.<br/>
<br/>
She seems very nervous after you've climbed into her car, and she fiddles with her seat, and the heater, and the radio, and a couple of other buttons before putting the car in motion. "Can you tell me what you and Will talked about last night?" she finally asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing to do with you."<br/>
<br/>
"You're so diplomatic," she whines. "I wish it was to do with me."<br/>
<br/>
"What? How come?"<br/>
<br/>
She doesn't answer until she's pulled into the gym parking lot. "I want to talk to you about him. About him and me."</span></div></div>


path: 11414212212111211212112111111111121
author_id: seuzz
title: Laura Comes Clean
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I want to talk to you about Will," Laura says. "About him and me."<br/>
<br/>
Naturally, this takes you aback. And, equally naturally, you have to restrain yourself from lunging hungrily at the hint. "What about you and him?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Where are you going now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Home," you lie. "Then ... I don't know." Your heart is beating hard, but you cover it as best you can with an air of studied neutrality.<br/>
<br/>
"Well—"<br/>
<br/>
"If you want to talk, let's go someplace. But separate, so I can take off afterward. I got stuff I need to do."<br/>
<br/>
Laura looks a little disappointed, but agrees. You hesitate when she suggests moving down a couple of blocks to the donut shop by the Lube 'n Go, then agree.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I don't know why I lied about it," Laura moans after she's made a full confession. She's got her elbows on the tiny Formica tabletop, and clutches her head in her hands. Her shoulders sag, and every couple of sentences she lets out a deep sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"It was just a spur of the moment thing," she continues. "Like, he just popped out saying we met that night, and I panicked. All you guys were standing around, listening, and I just thought— Yikes! You know?" She looks up at you with big, wet eyes. "Doesn't that ever happen to you?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug, and swallow another slug of coffee. It's cheap, nasty stuff they serve at Don's Donuts, much worse than you remember it being. But then, Jack is a bit of a coffee snob. Even before you ordered, you had a feeling—Jack's gut feeling—that it would be terrible.<br/>
<br/>
"And after that," Laura goes on after another deep sigh, "I was trapped. You all made such a big deal of it. Because of—" She gives you a sharp look. "Has Elle told you anything like this? About the night she, uh, was supposed to have—?" She trails off.<br/>
<br/>
"I wouldn't tell you, even if she did."<br/>
<br/>
"You're so diplomatic," Laura says. <i>Discreet,</i> you think. <i>That's the word you keep reaching for.</i> "Wouldn't it be funny if there <i>was</i> all these girls circling around Will, and they were all too, um—"<br/>
<br/>
"Bashful?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess. Is that what I am? Bashful?"<br/>
<br/>
"So you couldn't say anything about what really happened that night because we were all too busy dumping shit on him," you summarize.<br/>
<br/>
She gets a pinched look. "I wish you all hadn't been doing that."<br/>
<br/>
You shrug again. You agree with her, of course. It was ugly, some of the things that got said about Will Prescott. How desperate he was, and how it was actually kind of creepy, when you thought about it, with him making up stories to make it sound like he was being chased by a bunch of girls. <i>That's really stalker-ish behavior when you think about it,</i> Hermione Gilbert had said. <i>Like, obsessive.</i> <br/>
<br/>
Jack (to his credit, you suppose) didn't join in much, and a couple of times even tried making weak excuses for you. But his excuses were things like, <i>I heard he had a bad break-up, cut him some slack,</i> or <i>He's new to x2z, he doesn't know how to handle the trolls.</i> Only once did he really lay into the one of the others. Elle had made some tart wisecrack about Will's <i>overly dramatic imagination,</i> and Jack retorted with a sarcastic, <i>Yeah, I can't imagine anyone in the theater program letting their sense of the dramatic run away with them.</i> She was frosty toward him the rest of the afternoon.<br/>
<br/>
"So I don't know how I'm going to come clean now," Laura now moans.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you could start by apologizing to Will. For lying about meeting up that night," you can't resist adding.<br/>
<br/>
"I know, I'm going to do that," she says. "But it's, like, how do I tell everyone else?"<br/>
<br/>
"Do you have to?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't I?" She gives you a hopeful look.<br/>
<br/>
You drain the Styrofoam cup. <i>This is one of those times I really wished I smoked,</i> Jack confesses from the back of your head. <i>It gives you time to think and makes you look like you really are thinking.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I guess you have to," you tell her. "It's only fair to Will. Have you told anyone else?"<br/>
<br/>
She shakes her head. "You're the only one I'd tell this to."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Flattering,</i> you think. But at least it inspires a suggestion.<br/>
<br/>
"How about you tell them the way you told me," you say. "Tell them you've got this problem— Tell them that night, when Will says he met you in the neighborhood, you really did meet him, he wasn't lying. And you don't know why you lied about it, except you were scared people would tease you about it. Then you ask them, How do I tell everyone else? That way," you conclude, "it doesn't sound like you're telling them you lied. It sounds like you're asking their advice. The way," you dryly add, "you're asking me for advice instead of apologizing to me for lying about it."<br/>
<br/>
If Laura notices your dig, she ignores it. "That's not a bad idea," she says, and frowns thoughtfully.<br/>
<br/>
Then she turns a sharp glance on you. "How come you met up with Will last night? Instead of going out to the Warehouse?"<br/>
<br/>
"He had some family issues he—"<br/>
<br/>
"You told <i>us</i> you had a migraine!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"You <i>lied</i> about meeting him, the way I lied about it!"<br/>
<br/>
"Not the same," you correct her. "You lied about Will right in front of him. I just told you I changed my mind about going to the Warehouse. And I told you I had a migraine because I was being ... diplomatic."<br/>
<br/>
Laura sticks her tongue out at you. "Would you lie about meeting me here? Talking to me here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, if you want me to. In fact, I think I should. If you're going to 'ask people for their advice,' like I suggested."<br/>
<br/>
Laura makes a face at you.<br/>
<br/>
"You're so smart, Jack!" she exclaims with some small peevishness. "What makes you so smart?" You shrug. "You <i>have</i> been talking to Will about this, haven't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
She snorts. "And you wouldn't tell me even you did! You can be such a shit sometimes! Such a diplomatic shit!"<br/>
<br/>
"Why are you pissed at me? Just because I won't—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Do you think Will likes me? Would you tell me if you thought or knew that he liked me?"<br/>
<br/>
You stare at her. <i>Well, this is a wallop to the side of the head,</i> says a little voice inside you that sounds like Jack's. "Why do you want to—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, would you?"<br/>
<br/>
You can't stop your mouth from curling up.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think he likes you now," you tell her. "Not after you made him look crazy in front of everyone."<br/>
<br/>
She groans. "But what if I told him I was wrong, and I said I was sorry, and I told him I would make it up to him? Do you think he—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. How would I know?" Your hands and feet go cold, and you stiffen all over.<br/>
<br/>
"Because you talked to him last night!"<br/>
<br/>
"About other things. Not about you."<br/>
<br/>
She slumps in her chair, with arms folded. "So he doesn't like me anymore."<br/>
<br/>
It would be undiplomatic—not indiscreet, but <i>undiplomatic</i>—to agree with her. So you query another part of her complaint. "Anymore?" you ask. "Did he used to like you? I didn't know you ever hung out."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, we did! Back in middle school. We hung out a lot. Him and me and his friends and my friends. We were <i>all</i> friends! Like you 'n Parker 'n Kristina 'n—"<br/>
<br/>
You don't remember being friends with her that way. You mostly remember taking classes together, and sitting next to each other and talking, and sometimes going up to the mall or to some movies with her as part of a bigger group. You did have a bit of a crush on her, maybe, but it wasn't a crush strong enough to survive the move to high school, where you never shared any classes.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you want to hang out with him again?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
She squirms. "For a start. Then see, like, if anything more— Do you think he'd want to?"<br/>
<br/>
"You keep asking me that. How would I know? I barely know the guy."<br/>
<br/>
Her lips twitch. "But could you ask him for me? Or just, you know, feel him out? You're going to see him again anyway."<br/>
<br/>
You feel like you've been slapped. "What makes you say that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you are! What were you talking to him about last night? Did you get it all sorted out, whatever it is? You can't leave people alone, Jack, I've watched you. People are your tar baby."<br/>
<br/>
"Go talk to him yourself, Laura." She scowls as you get up. "<i>You're</i> the one who has to talk to him anyway. But yeah, <i>you're</i> one of my tar babies. So tell me how it goes when you do."<br/>
<br/>
You nod at Keith, who has been studying his phone all this time while pretending not to eavesdrop. "Hey Tilley!" you call out, and he jumps with a guilty expression. "Thanks, man! I'll see you around."<br/>
<br/>
Your head is buzzing as you drive off toward Westside.</span></div></div>


path: 114142122121112112121121111111111211
author_id: seuzz
title: A Chat with Chelsea
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Jack has been texting you while you talked to Laura, and the last one fairly blistered with excited impatience: <i>Chelsea just tot here get ur ass up here now</i><br/>
<br/>
You don't bother to reply. But you do put the car over the speed limit as you race out to Westside.<br/>
<br/>
The scarecrow figure of Will Prescott is pacing beside his truck as you pull into the mostly empty lot, and he runs over as you pull into a space a little distance away. "Where the fuck were you?" he demands as you climb out of the minivan.<br/>
<br/>
"Holding one of your friend's hands," you coolly inform him. "Is Chelsea still here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Lucky for us, she is!"<br/>
<br/>
"Then why don't you give yourself a nice, cooling douche while I go talk to her."<br/>
<br/>
"<i>What?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
You give Jack one of his own patented steady looks. "Do you know much I <i>hate</i> knowing that you're acting exactly like me?"<br/>
<br/>
He turns a bright pink. "Well, the feeling's mutual!"<br/>
<br/>
"I like having your nerve, man," you reply. You slide on some shades. "So why don't you try remembering what it's like being Jack Li instead of—" You give him a weary look up and down. "Well, do your best with what you've got."<br/>
<br/>
You can almost hear him grinding his teeth as he strides along next to you toward the gym.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wouldn't know what you're doing, except that you've got Jack's memories to guide you. You're going to knock on the door to the school's fabled "fuck room."<br/>
<br/>
Oh, you've known about the fuck room since your sophomore year. It's a loft up above the gym where the top athletes hang out. It's a coach who slips a key to some of his favorites—the incoming seniors who show the most promise on the athletic fields, probably.<br/>
<br/>
This year it's the basketball players—Gordon Black and Steve Patterson; maybe Seth Javits; maybe some others—who have been given the place. And because Chelsea is Gordon Black's girlfriend, she will have gotten a copy of the key as well. She and some of the other top athletes also get keys to the gym, so they can go in and out for their own private practice sessions—what a racket these kids have going!—and you're counting on the gym's side door still being unlocked so that you can get in to confront her.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea's not the only one at the school. You recognize one car as belonging to Andrea Varnsworth, the achingly sexy captain of the school's swim team. She's a very cool and mysterious person, and you'd love to hang out with her and get to know her—you bet you two would hit it off—but she's friends with Charles Hartlein and his gang, and that cocksucker— <br/>
<br/>
Your hands clench just at the thought of him.<br/>
<br/>
You have to force aside Jack's hot resentments. Charles is gay, but for malicious and inscrutable reasons of his own has it in for Jack, and has boxed him out of the gay/bohemian crowd at Westside. But the sneers and quips, the nasty little asides, the social cuts and the snobbery come drifting through unfiltered. What it means—what's behind it—Jack can't fathom. But it has reached the point that Jack one day, almost unhinged at something Charles had done, seethed at his friend Brianna: <i>Sometimes I wish I was straight. Sometimes I look at Charles and I hate </i>everything<i> about being gay!</i> As Jack has never doubted his own sexuality, or felt the least bit ambivalent about it, it was quite an admission.<br/>
<br/>
Again, you find you have to force those resentments behind you. All on account of glancing over and recognizing Andrea's car.<br/>
<br/>
You wince. If you're getting Jack's emotions while looking at Andrea's car, is he getting yours? <i>Is he fighting down the raging boner I get when I think of Andrea?</i> you wonder with just the tiniest trace of amusement.<br/>
<br/>
You enter the gym, and stride across the empty basketball court. Voices sound from the mezzanine, where the weightlifting machines are, and metal clanks against metal. You glance over. It's a handful of football players up there: Cameron Huber, Matthew McElroy, Reece Palendech. You stiffen, then let your gaze be dragged back long enough to confirm that Blake O'Brien—Jack's secret crush—isn't one of them.<br/>
<br/>
Will is also raking his eyes over the mezzanine. You say nothing.<br/>
<br/>
You're halfway across the court when Chelsea appears at the foot of the staircase that leads up to the fuck room. <i>Well, that's convenient!</i> you think. <i>Saves us the trouble of going up and knocking.</i><br/>
<br/>
You slow to a stop right in her path. <i>We won't even have to say anything,</i> you smugly congratulate yourself. <i>She'll see us and she'll have to—<br/>
<br/>
—breeze right on past without even glancing at us.</i> You and Will wheel to stare at her retreating back in mutual consternation.<br/>
<br/>
Then you exchange a glance and hurry after. Outside, you call to her.<br/>
<br/>
She turns with a look of surprise on her face. "Oh. Hi. Were you looking for me?" Her tone is cool but polite.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah! Where are you off to?" <br/>
<br/>
It must have been Jack's instinctive politeness that caused you to ask. So what does it say about you that your friend blurts out, "We want to talk to you about last night!"<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea looks between you. "What about last night?" Then her eyes widen. "Oh! Did you—?" She covers a small smile with her fingertips, and twinkles conspiratorially at you. "Congratulations, Jack!"<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself redden. "No, we want to talk to you about last night, at the portables. When we met up."<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" Chelsea sounds vastly amused. "The portables? Couldn't you afford a motel?"<br/>
<br/>
"No." You feel your teeth grinding together. "<i>Us!</i> The three of us."<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea's smile doesn't falter. "Oh? You two and who?" <br/>
<br/>
"You know what we're talking about," Will fumes at her.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea gives him a look, then turns back to you.<br/>
<br/>
"Can you at least try to say something that sounds like sense?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
Your fists clench, but you keep your voice low and calm.<br/>
<br/>
"Last night, when you and us met up in the portables," you remind her. "You texted me and"—you glance at Will—"and <i>Jack</i> here, and asked us to meet you there. And we came out, and after we were there—"<br/>
<br/>
You can't find the words to describe what happened. And why do you need to? She <i>knows</i> what happened, so you just point between you and Will.<br/>
<br/>
A faint flush creeps up Chelsea's throat, and her smile freezes. But she pretends to find it funny.<br/>
<br/>
"That's awesome, Jack," she says, "except I don't have any idea where you think you could slot <i>me</i> into whatever fun you and"—she points at Will—"could have been having. Maybe you should be talking to Jason, it'd be more believable with him as a third."<br/>
<br/>
She flashes you one last, tight smile, then turns on her heel and stalks off toward her car.<br/>
<br/>
"Chelsea, this isn't funny!" you snarl after her. "Hey, look at us!"<br/>
<br/>
She spares you a brief, tired glance as she opens her car door. But she says nothing and just climbs into her car, locks the doors, puts on the seatbelt, and starts the engine. You and Will can only gape after her as she drives away.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Well, she also says she never met up with you at the Flying Saucer the other night, to talk about the cheerleading squad," you remind Will a little later. You're at the Panera Bakery, consoling yourself with another (and much better) cup of coffee. Will is shoving a giant cinnamon roll down his gullet one heaping bite at a time. The sight leaves you wincing. <i>I'd never eat that shit, it would go straight to my belly,</i> you think.<br/>
<br/>
Then you sigh. When you were yourself, you would think nothing of eating such a thing, and Jack must be giving in to your instincts.<br/>
<br/>
Or he figures that your scrawny frame could stand to have a few pounds of padding.<br/>
<br/>
"She totally didn't flinch, either," Will mumbles.<br/>
<br/>
"Just an act," you retort. "Notice how fast she was with the quips? Panicked deflection."<br/>
<br/>
"So what do we do now?" Will hunches over the remains of the cinnamon roll, like a mourner over a corpse. "I mean, we had her alone, if she was going to come clean—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, she will eventually," you say with more confidence than you feel. Then: "Lemme see your phone." <br/>
<br/>
Will hands it over. You search for the number that Chelsea gave you—the number that belongs to "Clover Mystery." <i>A friend of Chelsea's whose phone Chelsea sometimes borrows? Bullshit! It's totally Chelsea, always has been.</i><br/>
<br/>
You had tried convincing yourself that Chelsea/Clover wasn't being malicious. Now you know that was wishful thinking. What Chelsea has done to you is beyond malicious. It's cruel and depraved. But if you texted her and yelled at her, she might never reverse whatever it is that she did to you and Jack.</span></div></div>


path: 1141421221211121121211211111111112112
author_id: seuzz
title: A Message from Chelsea
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Your thumbs hover over the screen of your iPhone, but after a minute's hesitation you toss it away without sending a message. Whatever Chelsea is up to, it seems best not to pester her.<br/>
<br/>
Will concurs with your decision, though he doesn't seem any happier with it than you feel. After a long silence, you change the subject with a sigh: "Oh, the reason I was late getting up to the school," you tell him, "is because Laura wanted to talk to me. She came clean about lying to, uh, you and everyone else about not meeting up with me that night."<br/>
<br/>
Will grunts. You tell him the rest of your conversation with Laura, more or less: How she wants to know how to come clean with everyone else, and how she should apologize to the guy she wronged.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I guess that's all pretty ironic," Will says. He doesn't seem much interested in what you have to say.<br/>
<br/>
"So she's going to come talk to you at some point."<br/>
<br/>
"What do you want me to say to her?"<br/>
<br/>
You wince. "Tell her it's alright and you understand, I guess."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that how you feel?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't give a shit at the moment."<br/>
<br/>
You're starting to feel restless and distracted, and seize gratefully on a text from Leah. She says she's still wasted from last night, and asks you to come to her house to hold her hand (as she puts it) while she recovers. You ask Will if he wants to go along.<br/>
<br/>
"No," he replies with a wry smirk. "I should keep my schedule free in case Laura wants to talk."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's a cool and overcast day with intermittent showers, but though the thermometer is hovering in the mid-forties, Leah wants to sit outside, shivering inside a heavy sweater and pants, beside her backyard pool. "You're gonna catch pneumonia," you tell her.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not sick," she snarls back. "Besides, look at you, in shorts. God," she snarls, "it's like you <i>have</i> to go around showing off the sexiest legs in school!"<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks." You cross them a little self-consciously. Jack's girlfriends are always telling him how hot he is, probably because they know it's safe to. "Is that how come you're shivering? I'm giving you a fever by showing you my legs?"<br/>
<br/>
She leans forward to swat you. "God, I got so wasted last night!" she moans as she falls back into her chair.<br/>
<br/>
"That's what you said when you texted me."<br/>
<br/>
"I danced with, like, six different guys, and I don't even remember who they were!"<br/>
<br/>
"So how do you know it was six different guys?"<br/>
<br/>
"They were all dressed different."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe you were dancing with a quick-change artist."<br/>
<br/>
"I asked you over so you could sympathize with me, not so you could be funny!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'd like to be both. But I don't see why you need my sympathy, not if you got to dance with six guys last night."<br/>
<br/>
"It just tells you how wasted I got. Usually I only dance with a couple, and chillax with Brianna and them. But last night—" She shakes her head, then winces.<br/>
<br/>
"So how did it happen?" <br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. No, yes I do. I got started on whiskey out at Eastman, while we were waiting."<br/>
<br/>
"That was pretty bold of you."<br/>
<br/>
"Fucking Mitchell brought it out. I was too embarrassed to pass on it."<br/>
<br/>
You nod in understanding. Mitchell Belz is a bad influence in the school chorus—a black-clad sex pest who boldly grins as he boldly gropes, a tactic that somehow manages to get him past the girls' defenses so that he can talk them into doing almost anything. There's stories that he's even managed to slip a long and bony finger down the back of the pants of the girl standing in front of him during the middle of a concert, sliding it down her butt crack and goosing her two semitones sharp in front of a parental audience of three hundred.<br/>
<br/>
"And then I got pee-oh'd at Genesis. She was mooing on about Blake some more."<br/>
<br/>
"Really." Inwardly you can't help wincing. Genesis Lee is also hot for Jack's secret crush.<br/>
<br/>
"So I just got out of control. Because you know Genesis is too chicken-shit to do anything about Blake."<br/>
<br/>
"She probably shouldn't anyway, you know."<br/>
<br/>
Leah's eyes are clenched shut, but she pries them open fractionally. "How come? What have you heard?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I just mean she needs to be with someone more her speed."<br/>
<br/>
Leah grunts. Then she says, "Last night <i>I</i> was Blake's speed."<br/>
<br/>
At first you just think it's another self-directed jibe. But something in Leah's tone catches your ear. "Blake wasn't one of the guys you danced with, it it?"<br/>
<br/>
She flinches. "Yes," she mumbles.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, shit."<br/>
<br/>
So she has to share her distress about seeming to have stabbed one of her friends in the back by dancing with her friend's crush when said friend is too shy to even make eye contact with the guy.<br/>
<br/>
And what do you say?<br/>
<br/>
Oh, the usual sort of thing Jack would say. Sympathetic noises, the occasional sly joke, some pointed comments about Genesis's lack of guts and grit, and some other pointed comments to puncture both Leah's swelling sense of guilt and her implied boasts about being able to catch Blake's attention. You do it with half a brain, though. With half of Jack's brain, even.<br/>
<br/>
Because murmuring along beneath your patient exterior is a hotter stream of commentary. <i>At least some of you girls have a love life to worry about. At least you all have a serious chance of getting a boyfriend. And by the way, as long as you're worried about making each other feel bad by doing and and saying insensitive things, do you think you could wonder about </i>my<i> sensitivities sometime?</i><br/>
<br/>
But beneath <i>that</i> hot stream runs a much colder one. <i>Jack, you doorknob, shut up with the inner gay drama. No one wants to hear it, not even you. Leah and them like you, they trust you, you're good with them, and you love them. You'd rather be like Charles?</i><br/>
<br/>
Eventually more of Leah's friends come trickling in, in answer to the texts that Leah sends in answer to theirs. You get texts too, and as it's nearing noon and you're all outside, you casually organize a makeshift picnic by asking your correspondents to bring a package of hot dogs, or some buns, or a jar of relish, or a bag of chips over. Pretty soon there's a dozen kids out by the pool. You're not in the center, but everyone has something to say to you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div> <br/>
You take off while the party still in motion, though, after you get a text from Chelsea, asking you to meet her up at the gym again. She says nothing about Will, though, and you don't inquire. It'll be enough that you get to talk to her again, and it would probably be better without him along.<br/>
<br/>
Naturally, you are hopeful that she has changed her mind, and will have something to say about stuff. <br/>
<br/>
Her car isn't in lot, but Gordon's is. That's the first clue that something's amiss. But you try the gym side door anyway, and find it locked. You're taking out your phone to text Chelsea that you've arrived, when it swings open. A strong hand grabs and pulls you in.<br/>
<br/>
Then you're lifted high in the air and held there, enclosed by brawny arms with your own arms pinned to your sides. Gordon Black, the captain of the basketball team and Chelsea's boyfriend, steps forward to grip you by the chin.<br/>
<br/>
"I hear you're not happy just being a band faggot," he tells you. "You want to be a cheerleader too. And I also hear you're also being a very faggoty pest to my girlfriend."<br/>
<br/>
You return him a very even stare, and say nothing. There's no point.<br/>
<br/>
What comes next is, all things considered, relatively pleasant. Yes, Gordon gut-punches you twice, hard enough that you vomit all over the gym floor, and then he has his friend, Steve Patterson, drop you and push your face into the mess. But otherwise he is fairly restrained as he explains to you, in a lot of ugly language, that if you so much as make eye contact with Chelsea ever again, he will make you eat your own cock—"like an egg roll." But he doesn't even force you to mop up your own mess before picking you up and hurling you back outside. You crawl back to the minivan and huddle in the back seat until you feel mostly human again.<br/>
<br/>
So now you know there's no chance of talking to Chelsea about your and Jack's body swap, ever again.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Will calls you later that afternoon. Laura, you noticed, wasn't at Leah's party, and that is because (you learn) she spent the afternoon with him, apologizing for her lies and trying to explain them. "Dude, she laid some pretty heavy shit on me," he tells you. "She says she was going crazy because she was having a major crush on, uh, you, and that's how come she got so flustered that day."<br/>
<br/>
"Really." You don't care, and are laying on your bed, nursing your sore abdominal muscles.<br/>
<br/>
"Really. And she says she's over the crush but she still wants to majorly hang out with you. Don't worry, I didn't commit you to anything."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Why not?</i> you wonder. <i>You're going to be me and I'm going to be you for the rest of our lives, it looks like. It's your call.</i><br/>
<br/>
"You there?" he asks when you say nothing.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I wanted to get that out of the way before I sprung the big news on you."<br/>
<br/>
"What big news?"<br/>
<br/>
"Chelsea texted me about twenty minutes ago. She wants to meet us up at the school again tonight."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh, fuck!</i> You're about to tell him what happened to you when he adds that the text came via the "Clover Mystery" number.<br/>
<br/>
That gives you pause. Chelsea texted <i>you</i> from her own phone. Why use Clover's phone to contact the other guy who was pestering her?</span></div></div>


