# chapters

path: 1152
author_id: seuzz
title: Things That Frighten You
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Geoff Mansfield? Hot and steamy with Lisa? Your eyeballs feel like they're about to boil out of your skull.<br/>
<br/>
Then, almost as suddenly, the mood passes. Your gut clenches up like you want to vomit, but you grit your teeth and grab a thick tuft of grass until the worst of it passes.<br/>
<br/>
No one says anything, not even Caleb, and James and Carson go back to chortling about the time they glued Seth Javits's sneakers to the floor.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Low as your mood is after lunch, Westside High has a special way of being able to pull you down even deeper into the shit. You're trudging to the library for your study hall when powerful hands seize your belt and lift you from the floor. You gasp and kick, and peers scatter as, like a hovercar, you fly toward the double doors of the nearest exit. You brace as your body batters them open, rattling your teeth. Students stop to gape and point and grin as you're hustled toward the music wing.<br/>
<br/>
The trip is long enough that you've time to speculate on which of the school's numerous bullies has caught you. Lester "The Molester" Pozniak? He's the one who specially likes putting your head in a toilet, but Pozniak likes to jeer, and except for a buffalo-like snorting from behind, this assailant hasn't made a noise. David Kirkham? You shiver. But that psycho is too small to pick you up; he'd have just dropped you with a blow to the kidney. One of the football players? It's been a year since you got crossways with Roy Nelson or Dominic Kleason.<br/>
<br/>
Almost you are looking forward to finding out who it is, when you are thrown bodily against the wall of the music wing. A ringing blow jolts the back of your head, and your backpack is ripped from your shoulders. You're spun around and shoved against the wall.<br/>
<br/>
You nearly shit yourself. <i>Oh, fuck me fuck me this is a hundred times worse than all those other guys put together!</i><br/>
<br/>
It's Gordon Black who looms over you.<br/>
<br/>
Gordon is the captain of the basketball team, but he's built like a linebacker. At six-and-a-half feet tall, he can look you in the eye with his Adam's apple. His shoulders are massive, rounded, and broad. He has a chest like an oil drum, arms like pistons, and legs like tree trunks.<br/>
<br/>
And he's got a temper like a rhinoceros that's stepped on a bumblebee.<br/>
<br/>
Gordon pins your shoulder to the wall. "You like hassling my girlfriend, you little puke?" he demands in a rumbling bass.<br/>
<br/>
"Girlfriend?" you squeak. "I haven't even <i>seen—</i>"<br/>
<br/>
You gasp, and feel yourself whiten all over. It's Chelsea Cooper, the head cheerleader, that this man-mountain is talking about. The girl you flipped off this morning after she almost ran you over in the parking lot.<br/>
<br/>
Gordon bends to put his face to yours. His breath smells of chili, Fritos, and the souls of every high school kid he's ever chewed up and spat out. <br/>
<br/>
"You saying you didn't disrespect my girlfriend this morning, you little shit?" he growls. "You saying you didn't show her your middle finger?" He grabs your wrist and yanks your hand up. "Was it this one?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God!" He's going to break your fingers off, one by one, and feed them to you like Vienna sausages. "Was it this morning, are you talking about this morning in the parking lot?" you gabble. "I flipped someone off. Was that—? I didn't know it was Chelsea!"<br/>
<br/>
He covers your mouth with a palm the size of a catcher's mitt. "Doesn't matter, asshole. You do the crime, you pay the time." <br/>
<br/>
Your bowels loosen. <i>Don't shit yourself, Will,</i> you plead with your sphincter. <i>Don't shit yourself don't shit yourself don't—</i><br/>
<br/>
But instead of pounding you flat, Gordon glances down, then bends to pick up your backpack. <br/>
<br/>
"Tell you what," he says, "you say you didn't know it was her, so I'll go easy on you this one time. What class you got now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sssstudy hall. I was g— On my way to the l-library." Your heart is trying to pound its way out through your larynx, so that you can barely string two words together.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you go wait for me in the library, you little shit. I'll bring your pack to you when I'm done with it."<br/>
<br/>
"My p-pack?"<br/>
<br/>
His eyes—which even on a good day are the color of death—go even colder and emptier. "You rather me do it to you?"<br/>
<br/>
"N-no! I— I'll go now!" You edge over a step, and when Gordon doesn't move, you scamper off as fast as you can. Only when you're halfway to the library do you slow down and curse at yourself for being such an obvious pussy.<br/>
<br/>
Ten minutes later, when Gordon dumps it on the library table in front of you, your pack is empty save for the reek of piss. You don't find your books until after school, scattered and trampled behind the portables. You never do find your English textbook, though you do recover a fantasy paperback that you didn't realize you'd swept into your pack this morning.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So you're saying Gordon would'a pissed down your throat if you hadn'a run away. Izzat it?"<br/>
<br/>
You stop in mid-chew and glare back at your friend Keith. He smirks. <br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, that's exactly what I was saying, asshole," you mumble around the wad of half-chewed donut that's congealing inside your mouth.<br/>
<br/>
Keith's smirk widens. "You know, if you really want me to sympathize with you, you won't call me names."<br/>
<br/>
It's Saturday morning. You woke early, and because your dad had that "This feels like a day for heavy chores" gleam in his eye, you bolted the house to run across town to Don's Donuts for your breakfast. Your friend Keith works there, and he's taking advantage of a lull in traffic to perch at a table with you.<br/>
<br/>
"So I gotta get me a new book bag—"<br/>
<br/>
"How come's that?" Keith asks. But before you can answer, the bell over the front door rings, and he leaps to his feet. His face lights up as he dashes back around the register.<br/>
<br/>
Keith is not the kind of minimum-wage drone who gets life-satisfaction from slinging donuts at customers, so you turn to see who it is that has got him excited. But it's only Kim Walsh, another student from school. She smiles warmly at Keith as she walks up to the register.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Kim," Keith says. The pitch of his voice drops half an octave, from light tenor to scratchy baritone. "Usual as always?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm predictable, I know. Hey Will." Kim smiles at you, and you give a little wave back. Kim is not a girl you feel helplessly enthusiastic about, but she is pretty enough: a small, slim red-head with a clear, bone-white complexion. But she's president of the student council and radiates wholesome good sense, when what you want from a red-head is fire, zing, and a tendency to offer blow jobs without any prompting.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll get on the order right away for you," Keith is telling her. "You'll get them piping hot."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll just take whatever you've got in the case, Keith," she replies.<br/>
<br/>
"Nonsense, nonsense." He waves an airy hand. "Besides, some fat fucker—er, <i>trucker</i>—came in here just a minute ago, cleaned us all out. You just sit there and keep Prescott company, and I'll bring 'em out soon as they're done!" With a jerk of his hips he turns and hops into the back of the shop.<br/>
<br/>
Kim comes over and sits across from you. "You get your stuff made to order, huh?" you observe to her.<br/>
<br/>
She returns you a tight smile. "I don't ask for it. The day-old stuff would be fine for us. It's for my dad and them, back at—" She waves toward the window. "How are you, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fine, I guess." No point telling her about Gordon. Kim is one of those serious, interested-in-helping-people girls, and she might try using her position to do something about Gordon, which would be very bad. You got off light yesterday, and you don't want him developing a grudge. So the conversation lapses for a few seconds.<br/>
<br/>
"Got plans for tonight?" Kim asks. "It's Saturday."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, you know." You shrug. "I'm playing it by ear."<br/>
<br/>
"Where are the parties?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Beats the fuck outta me. No one tells me anything about shit like that.</i> "Oh, well, around." You affect a bored shrug. "The usual places. Keeping my options open, in case of something new."<br/>
<br/>
"Mm-hmm." You don't like the gleam that comes into her eye, a gleam that says, <i>You're cute when you try bullshitting people.</i> Again, the conversation suspends for a few seconds.<br/>
<br/>
Then she leans across the table. "I overheard a couple of girls talking about you the other day."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" You let your eyebrows lift, but the rest of your body locks into place.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh-huh." That gleam turns mischievous. "They were wondering who you were. Like," she adds when you only stare back, "they were interested in finding out, and mad that they didn't know you already."<br/>
<br/>
"Really." Every muscle in your body tightens. "Um, and who were they?"<br/>
<br/>
Kim falters. "I don't know. I think they were juniors. Maybe you'll run into them when you go out tonight."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, maybe."<br/>
<br/>
The grumble of traffic on the busy boulevard can't quite cover the silence the ensues. Or is it the sound of blood racing in your ears.? Kim's expression tightens in a way that stretches her mouth into a painful smile.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, Will," she says in a low, sympathetic voice, "I heard about you and Lisa. I'm sorry. But I don't want to see you brood about it. All you have to do is get yourself in circulation, you know, and—"<br/>
<br/>
The world before you suddenly turns transparent, and behind it opens up vista upon vista of girls, all grinning madly back at you.<br/>
<br/>
Some of them even look like Chelsea Cooper.</span></div></div>


path: 11521
author_id: seuzz
title: Mini-Golf and Many Girls
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>(with an assist by Masktrix.)<br/>
<br/>
<i>Girls. So many girls. Out there, looking for you, waiting for you, desiring you. And all you have to do is—</i><br/>
<br/>
"Your pastries, my— Uh, Kim."<br/>
<br/>
Like smoke in the wind, the vision is dispelled by Keith's nasally whine. He holds out a box to Kim, who takes it with a smile. "How much do I owe you?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
You settle back in your seat and try to reconjure the lost fantasy. But your imagination just gasps, lays down, and dies, like a landed fish. You watch as Kim pays and goes out the door.<br/>
<br/>
"She wants me," Keith says as he takes his seat again.<br/>
<br/>
"You're deluded."<br/>
<br/>
"She wants me," he repeats, "in the worst way."<br/>
<br/>
"Anyone who wants you would be wanting it in the worst way."<br/>
<br/>
But Keith is caught up too hard in his fantasy to let you crush it. "Every Saturday she comes in," he says. "She doesn't have to come here, you know. There's other donut shops."<br/>
<br/>
"Better donut shops."<br/>
<br/>
"Exactly!" Keith's grin widens. "There's better places, closer places. But you know why she comes all the way out here? 'Cos she wants my—"<br/>
<br/>
"If you use the word 'cream' or 'batter' anywhere in what you say next, I'm gonna bitch-slap you."<br/>
<br/>
Keith sniggers. And he's about to reply, but the bell rings again, and he has to get up to help a fat lady and her three pudgy children.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But Kim's comment has put a bug up your ass. Or maybe it's more like she's slid a stick up your dick. You can hardly sit still for the desire to go out and find some of those girls that she's promised are out there. So after leaving Keith you drive around town, nursing your restless cock.<br/>
<br/>
And that's how you wind up passing the Monte Viso Mini-Golf and Go-Kart complex up by Northgate Mall.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"The fuck are we doing up here again?" Caleb demands as you and he and Keith pile out of your truck. The whine of go-karts—sounding like jet-powered mosquitos—fills the air. "And why are you dressed like someone in a Gap ad?"<br/>
<br/>
You make a face back at him. The temps are in the sixties, so in your cargo pants and long-sleeve plaid shirt hung over one of your nicer t-shirts you are a little overdressed for a day of mini-golfing. But if you're gonna pick up girls ...<br/>
<br/>
"Just had an itch," you reply. "And if you don't like the plan, how come you tagged along?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know if I don't like the plan," Caleb retorts, "'cos I don't know what the plan is. That's how come I'm asking—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, give it a rest," Keith interrupts. "Like you were gonna come up with a better idea." He jams his hands into his front pockets and gives you a knowing look.<br/>
<br/>
Keith is a moron, one of the dumbest people you know, which makes it all the more discomfiting when he gets these moments (like now) when it looks like he can read your mind and is five steps ahead of you in the game.<br/>
<br/>
And the game isn't mini-golf. It's girls.<br/>
<br/>
Monte Viso is an open-air entertainment complex with a golf course up front, a racing track in the back, and a shed-like annex where you can eat popcorn, nachos, and hot dogs while playing old-fashioned arcade games. It promises for-the-whole-family fun. But when you were in middle school and were a freshman, it was also the place where guys and girls met up to talk and flirt and (if the talking and flirting went well) then go off to do something hotter and sweatier and itchier and kissier than flirting. It's the kind of the place that the ladies in your church tell the thirteen- and fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds not to hang out at unless they went with their parents. Kids could get in "trouble" if they went there unsupervised.<br/>
<br/>
Which, naturally, makes it into <i>exactly</i> the kind of place that middle-school and freshman kids want to hang out at without their parents.<br/>
<br/>
So you're a little old to be hanging out here. But you remember the good times on hot summer nights that you had at Monte Viso back when you were a freshman and sophomore—though in your case they never led to the kind of post-minigolf action you really wanted—and it's not like you can think of any other places to meet girls.<br/>
<br/>
"Three, please," you tell the bored-looking girl selling tickets at the front. She's about your age, and wears her hair in a cute, pixie-like bob, but she looks right through you as she hands you the putters and balls, even though you are giving her your brightest smile and stare. Caleb has to push you toward the exit onto the course, and Keith dips into a wire bucket to pull out three balls. "Blue balls for you," he snickers as he hands you one.<br/>
<br/>
The game that follows is hard-fought, for to your disappointment the course is almost entirely empty of potential, negotiable distractions. The only other customers are a family of five (oldest kid a boy of about ten) and a white-whiskered man playing solo with an intensity as though at a tournament. So you and your two friends concentrate on bragging rights, and are soon arguing over the  number of putts taken, whether mulligans are to be allowed and under what circumstances, and whether it should count as a stroke when a furious Keith grazes his ball when taking a vicious swing at the windmill.<br/>
<br/>
But it's fun, though you're still restless and anxious when you come to the end of the course.  You don't leave though. You buy nachos and popcorn, and Keith buys a clutch of tokens for the arcade machines, and the three of you park at an ancient-looking picnic table under the annex's tin roof. But your eye keeps reverting to the girl at the register, and when Keith and Caleb are concentrated on an old Galaga machine, you take advantage of their distraction to not-so-casually wander up to the ticket taker.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," you say. "Nice day. Good game."<br/>
<br/>
"Glad you had fun," she says, looking up from her Kindle. "Wanna buy another round?"<br/>
<br/>
"You work on commission?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"Because you almost talked me into it."<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a very steady look. Not unfriendly, exactly. But cool enough to let you know that she's got your number and doesn't exactly think it's one that will win her the lottery.<br/>
<br/>
"You go to Eastman?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"No. Private school." Her tone turns clipped.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Agape." You manage not to make a face. That's the Christian school, and most people you know think of Agape kids as weird, sexless, pod-person freaks. <br/>
<br/>
The girl hesitates. "No," she says. "Xavier's."<br/>
<br/>
It takes you a fractional moment to place the name. "Oh," you blurt out before you can stop yourself. "You're a Mutant."<br/>
<br/>
The girl stares, then lays the Kindle flat on the scarred wooden counter. "You want a punch in the eye?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, God, no! I didn't mean—" You raise your hands and stumble back a step. "It just came out! I'm sorry! I—"<br/>
<br/>
"It's alright," she says, settling back against the counter. "I've heard it before."<br/>
<br/>
"But I thought—" you stammer. "Private academy— You work here?" You gape.<br/>
<br/>
"Some of us have to, to help make the tuition."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you guys all got scholarships. Or had, uh—" You blush.<br/>
<br/>
"Money?" she finishes for you. "No, some of us got into it through the cathedral. You know, like, a quarter of the 'mutants'"—her lips twist around the word—"are actually locals. Not all of us come from— Oh God," she says as she looks behind you over your shoulder. "The Hamptons."<br/>
<br/>
You turn to look too.<br/>
<br/>
It's a trio of girls, and in their white tops and blue bottoms, and their bright sneakers and jaunty caps, they look like they just stepped from a page in a fashion magazine. The lead girl smiles brightly as she slides up to the counter. "Hey Roxanne," she says. "I didn't know you were working today."<br/>
<br/>
"The regular guy called in sick. Three?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess that's good," the girl says as she slips a hundred dollar bill from her billfold. "Gets you some extra, you know, pocket money."<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, whatever would I do without the extra twenty-five bucks I'll pick up today?" Roxanne takes the girl's hundred, and slides a pen across the face of the bill.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you doing?" the girl demands.<br/>
<br/>
"Policy to check all bills over twenty. Been a lot of fakes spotted recently. You're the real deal, though."<br/>
<br/>
"Hmm." The girl smiles tightly. "Well, on the bright side at least, picking up a counterfeit hundred isn't something <i>you'll</i> have to worry about. Huh?" <br/>
<br/>
The girl takes the three clubs that a glowering Roxanne hands her. As she sweeps past you, she pauses long enough to give you a quick up and down. "Gosh, you're cute," she exclaims with a glinting smile. Then she's gone.<br/>
<br/>
One of her friends follows, but the third, a freckled girl with a tumbling mass of red hair, lingers. "Sorry about Mary," she tells Roxanne in a low voice. "She's in a pissy mood 'cos Marius turned her down for a date last night."<br/>
<br/>
Roxanne shrugs. "It's alright, J. M. See you in class Monday." You and she watch as the red-head follows her friends out onto the course. "More mutants," Roxanne tells you.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry I said that."<br/>
<br/>
"It's okay. It fits in Mary's case. Being rich does things to you. And they <i>are</i> different."<br/>
<br/>
You hop on the balls of your feet. Do you dare flirt with—or ask out—a student who attends the tony, exclusive St. Francis Xavier School? There's something exotic about the idea, and you could be someone ... new ... with them, not a grubby fellow Westsider they've seen around for years. And you feel like you've broken the ice with Roxanne, who is at least of your class.<br/>
<br/>
On the other hand, that rich one called you "cute" to your face.</span></div></div>


path: 115212
author_id: seuzz
title: Taking a Chance on a Game of Skill
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>(With an assist by Masktrix.)<br/>
<br/>
"We’ll have another round," you tell Roxanne.<br/>
<br/>
She lifts an eyebrow. "Desperate for that giant Toblerone, huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"What giant Toblerone?"<br/>
<br/>
Her expression fades as she takes your money. "The one you win if you get a hole-in-one on the Crazy Windmill."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Yeah, something like that." You nod desperately as she hands you three putters.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb does a double-take as you run up to join him and Keith at the Galaga machine. "What's going on?" he says. "We're playing again?" He staggers back a step as you thrust a putter at him. "It's dead here," he protests, "just old Tiger Woods and—"<br/>
<br/>
"That's what makes it perfect," you blurt out. "No distractions!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, there's distractions alright," Keith says. He's gazing out the window onto the course.<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't consulted about this!" Caleb hollers. "I'm not paying for another—"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up, dumbass." Keith slaps him on the back of the head. "Will's paying for your game. Aren't you, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
It'll use up the last of your cash reserves, but you nod and hop on the balls of your feet.<br/>
<br/>
"That's right," Keith says as Caleb looks thunderstruck. "Because he's not paying for <i>your</i> game, Johansson. He's paying for one of his own."<br/>
<br/>
The girls are still on the first tee as you dash out onto the course, and the brunette one—Mary? Was that her name?—is lining up her first putt as you come bursting out onto the course. "Hey ladies!" you shout. "Fancy a game?"<br/>
<br/>
All three girls look over at you in surprise, but none of them say anything.<br/>
<br/>
"What I mean is," you pant, "do you want to play us?" You point to yourself and back at Caleb and Keith, who are following at a more stately pace.<br/>
<br/>
Now the three girls exchange startled glances. "You mean us against you guys?" the red-head says. <br/>
<br/>
"Right. Team play. Winner takes all."<br/>
<br/>
"Winner takes what?" Mary demands.<br/>
<br/>
"Er—" Sweat pops out all over your body. Why the hell did you gallop out here without a plan? "Name your price," you reply with wide, terrified grin.<br/>
<br/>
Behind you, Caleb mutters, "The fuck are you doing, man?" while Mary's friends look skeptical. But Mary gives you a long look up and down. Much longer than the one she gave you inside, when she called you "cute."<br/>
<br/>
Finally, she turns a wide, beaming smile on you.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," she says. "We'll name our prices at the end."<br/>
<br/>
"The end?" <br/>
<br/>
"End of the game. Winner names their price then." <br/>
<br/>
For a long moment you hesitate. Dare you sign a blank check with this girl you've never met?<br/>
<br/>
But then you lock onto her face, and the expression of impudent challenge on it.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," you reply. "Deal."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The game gets off to a bad start for you and your friends. Mary sinks the very first putt, and each of her friends sinks theirs in two strokes, while you and Caleb need three putts and Keith needs four. Mary sinks her first putt on the second hole as well, banking off a corner where a direct shot isn't possible. By the time you reach the first serious obstacle—a fiberglass goose straddling the hole—you and your friends are twenty-one strokes behind.<br/>
<br/>
You try making up for it with a lot inane, friendly chatter. You ask the girls their names and confirm that, like Roxanne inside, they attend the St. Francis Xavier School. All of them board there, and none of them are locals. Mary is from Connecticut, and Jocelyn (the red-head, who goes by "J. M.") and Corinne both hail from California. All three are on scholarships and all three, though they affect to pretend it's no big deal, have money.<br/>
<br/>
As for their personalities ...<br/>
<br/>
Mary is the leader, and there is something imperious about her manner. Napoleonic, even, for she is very short, with the crown of her head hardly reaching your chin. She has a babyish face under a high forehead, framed by long, dark hair that's parted in the middle. Her manner is brisk and a little snappish, but she laughs easily. Unfortunately she is mostly amused by the bad putts you and Keith are especially prone to make.<br/>
<br/>
J. M. is a lot nicer, but she's also a lot more reserved. She is tall and slender, with a sharp nose and dark red hair that drapes down to her shoulders. She fidgets and doesn't meet your eye when talking to you, and though she doesn't laugh the way Mary does when you take a bad shot, her reaction is somehow even worse. She looks like she's <i>embarrassed</i> for you.<br/>
<br/>
The last girl is a blonde who also wears her hair in long, straight sheets. She's the quietest of the bunch, and plays a very serious game of putt-putt with all her concentration on the ball. But she listens very directly when you or Keith have something to say, and when she laughs—showing big horse teeth—she sounds genuinely delighted by your wit.<br/>
<br/>
"Hole in one!" you exclaim when Corinne's yellow ball slips between the rotating blades of the Crazy Windmill. "You win a Toblerone!"<br/>
<br/>
"A what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um, it's a prize," you stammer, for you've no idea what a Toblerone is, or even if you're saying it right. "Tell Roxanne when you go in. Hole-in-one on the Crazy Windmill."<br/>
<br/>
"I've been meaning to ask you," Mary says as she concentrates on her first putt, "how you know Roxanne."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I don't," you confess. "Just met her today. Before you guys came in."<br/>
<br/>
"She's non-binary, you know," Mary says, and gently taps her ball.<br/>
<br/>
"She's what?" you exclaim.<br/>
<br/>
"It's a prize," Mary says. She gives you a lazy smirk and doesn't even look over to watch as her ball sails between two blades to drop into the hole. "Dating Roxanne is like getting a two-fer. One in the hand <i>and</i> one in the bush, if you're bi-curious yourself."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, man," Caleb mutters in your ear as you gape at Mary. "Are we done here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, I made a bet," you mutter back, "and I'm gonna stick to it."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have a chance."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know what you're talking about!"<br/>
<br/>
"Keith explained it to me while you were pounding your chances to pulp back there on the mushroom course. Are you saying I have to explain it to <i>you?"</i><br/>
<br/>
You turn a burning face on Tilley. He grins like an idiot before looking away.<br/>
<br/>
By the time you reach the turn at the eleventh hole—where you have to loft your ball <i>over</i> a hazard of running water—you have to concede that there's no hope for your team. But that doesn't mean there's no hope for you. Mary did call you "cute," and though it's a desperate hope you do hold out on the chance that Mary will claim your honor and virtue as her prize. Of course, you'd much rather claim hers as the fruits of your own victory. But as your fifth putt bounces off the monkey's butt on the fourteenth hole, and rolls off into the far corner, you decide you'd be happy just getting your hair mussed and your collar crooked, no matter who won the bet.<br/>
<br/>
"Girls," Mary declares after sinking her last putt on the eighteenth hole—your teams have long since ceased to keep track of the score—"we have met the enemy and they are ours. What are we going to do with them?"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb stands stiffly under Mary's speculative gaze with the resigned air of a dog that expects to be smacked on the nose. Keith stares back with a dopey expression on his face. J. M. looks embarrassed, and Corinne only looks puzzled. You're just glad you can't see your own face. From the way your cheeks are aching, you'd guess your mouth is curled up in a ghastly grin of shame and humiliation.<br/>
<br/>
J. M. mutters something at Mary, who shakes her head. "No, a deal is a deal," she says. "We won fair and square. Tell you what," she says, addressing you and your friends. "You guys have fake IDs, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um ..."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck me, don't tell me you don't." For the first time, Mary looks really disgusted by you.<br/>
<br/>
Keith puts up his hand. "I do." You swing on him surprise. "Hey, I do! One of us has to be ready to carry your lazy asses!"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, you know where Xavier's is?" Mary says. "Well, we got busted for carrying contraband in a week ago, and we're getting searched when we come back. So I'm going to give you guys a drink order," she says as she takes out her cell phone, "and you're going to smuggle it in for us."<br/>
<br/>
"Holy shit!" Caleb exclaims. Keith's jaw drops.<br/>
<br/>
You must also look shocked, for Mary gives you a narrow frown. "You're not going to welsh on me, are you, Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"I ain't helpin' you with this!" Caleb declares. "I didn't sign up for this bullshit game. I didn't even pay for my own!" He stalks off toward the annex, and a moment later Keith hops after him.<br/>
<br/>
"Let 'em go, Will," Mary tells you. "What I was going to add was, I'll give you the money and you just have to carry it in. But hidden, you know. I'll even tell you how to get it in. And afterward—"<br/>
<br/>
She puts her hand on her hip, and grins up at you.<br/>
<br/>
"We're having a Saturday night party, and <i>you're</i> invited!"</span></div></div>


path: 1152121
author_id: seuzz
title: Liquored Up With Somewhere to Go
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Why do you nod when Mary asks you if it's a deal? Is it pride? Lust? Pig-headed stubbornness?<br/>
<br/>
Does it matter?<br/>
<br/>
"Awesome." Mary favors you with a wide, gushing smile. "Thank you <i>so</i> much for doing this for me. Here, can you take this down, what we need you to get?"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Caleb refuses point blank to go with you, so after dropping him at his place it's just Keith in the truck with you as you rattle down Twentieth Street. Which is lucky, because you have no idea where to go or how to fake your way into getting the—<br/>
<br/>
"Fuuuuuuck!" Keith groans as he studies the list you copied down onto your cell phone. "How drunk are these chicks planning on getting?"<br/>
<br/>
It's a long list that Mary gave you, along with several hundred dollars to cover the cost of the tequila, vodka, whiskey and rum that she wants. She gave you the brands too, and also told you which labels to avoid if you had to make substitutes. J. M. and Corinne only listened (and looked a little green) as Mary rattled it all off to you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, it's gonna be a big party," you reply. "All I know"—you nearly hiccup with excitement—"is I'm invited too!"<br/>
<br/>
"Catholic high-school girls. All liquored up," Keith muses. He shifts in his seat, and you can guess why, because you shift in yours as your restless cock squirms and itches with desire and anticipation. "Can I come?"<br/>
<br/>
"You ran out on me back at the place!"<br/>
<br/>
"I just went to keep Johansson company!" Keith protests. "Pussy," he sneers. "I just didn't want him sulking and feeling bad about— And besides," he interrupts himself. "It's my ID we're gonna be using."<br/>
<br/>
That is a point. "Fine, you can go. But can you just try not be— Um—"<br/>
<br/>
"Be what?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Not be like yourself?</i> is what you want to say. <i>Can you be a little cooler? But not "cool" in that fake-gangsta way like when you're trying to be cool? Smarter, but not goofy-smart like when you're trying to impress Kim?<br/>
<br/>
Can you just not be "Keith Tilley, Dumb Westside High Senior," without also being "Keith Tilley, International Badass of Coolness and Mystery"?<br/>
<br/>
Because I don't want to die of embarrassment in front of the Mutants.</i><br/>
<br/>
"In my way," you lamely conclude. "I'm the one who saw 'em, and I'm the one who got us the invite."<br/>
<br/>
You feel Keith's eyes on you, but you keep your own eyes locked on the road, watching for the packaged liquor store he told you to find.<br/>
<br/>
"Whatevahs, man," he finally replies, and straightens out the collar of his shirt. "You stick to your side of the room, and I'll stick to the <i>cool</i> side of the room. Which is whatever side of the room I happen to be on!"<br/>
<br/>
You cringe so hard you almost steer into oncoming traffic.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Just as Keith promised, there's no trouble picking up the liquor. ("They knew it was a fake ID I gave 'em," he boasts as you drive away. "Those guys at that store, they just don't give a shit.") And when you drop Keith off at home, with the promise to let him know when you hear back from Mary, he brings out a tarpaulin to cover up the liquor that you've piled into the passenger-side footwell of your truck.<br/>
<br/>
Still, you are terrified as park in front of your house, and even as you step in from the garage you are wracking your brain for a place you can drive off to so your dad or mom or brother won't accidentally find the stuff.<br/>
<br/>
So you jump hard when your mom calls your name in a sharp voice. <i>The liquor store called and told me what you did!</i> you expect her to say.<br/>
<br/>
What she actually says (when you find her in the living room) is, "I cleaned your room today," and she sounds pissed off when she says it. She's in sweats and a bandana, with a smudgy face, and she looks like she's none too pleased that you weren't around to help. "And when I say I cleaned it, I mean I <i>cleaned</i> it!"<br/>
<br/>
Worries about the liquor in your truck vanish, replaced by an even more terrifying possibility: <i>Did she find my jerk-off sock?</i><br/>
<br/>
"It was a sty in there," she says. "So now there's three boxes on your bed. Clothes, books, and video games. Go through them and pull out what you don't want to get rid of. There's a fourth box up there too," she adds, and she shows your her teeth as she says it. "Everything you decide to keep has to fit inside that fourth box. <i>Fit!</i> As in, <i>taped down and sealed!</i> One way or another, you're clearing out two-thirds of what I packed up."<br/>
<br/>
You gulp, nod, and run upstairs, where you throw open your bedroom door and—<br/>
<br/>
It's like being hit in the face with a fucking pine forest. Or a lemon grove. The windswept shoreline of a pristine lake?<br/>
<br/>
You take another tentative sniff at the air. <i>Oh my God,</i> you gasp. <i>So that's what </i>clean<i> smells like!</i><br/>
<br/>
Your desk is clear of everything except the old laptop your dad passed down to you at the start of the school year, and the top of your dresser is bare. The floor is picked up and vacuumed, and the scent of late summer drifts in through your open window. Even the light fixture appears to have been dusted, and the old pizza stain scrubbed from the wall switch.<br/>
<br/>
A quick search between your mattress and box springs reassures that your jerk-off sock wasn't touched, and with a sigh of relief you turn your attention to the three boxes your mom told you about. <br/>
<br/>
Your first instinct, of course, is to move everything back into the "save" box. But your mom knows you, and while she packed the "to go" items into three large cardboard boxes, she set out only one small box for items to be saved. You concentrate on the video games, naturally, but hold onto only a handful of titles that you really can't bear to part with (even though it's been a year or more since you played them), and you are able to salvage you school astronomy book, which she made the mistake of putting in the "throw out" box. But aside from those items and two Marvel-branded t-shirts that you'd like to keep, everything else you decide to let go of. It will make it easier, you decide, the next time she tells you to pick up your room.<br/>
<br/>
You're still enjoying the fresh smell of your spanking clean bedroom when you get a lengthy text from Mary, telling you exactly how to get into Xavier's. As you read it, you lift your eyes to stare at the boxes that your mom packed.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Amazing,</i> you think. <i>It's like someone </i>knew<i> I needed an excuse to get rid of this shit tonight.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"—and then I told my mom I'd take it to Goodwill for her," you conclude.<br/>
<br/>
Keith, his knees tucked up under his chin, looks down into the footwell, where the three boxes of castoffs are how sitting. So there's no room for his feet, naturally. In fact, books, clothes, and video games are in danger of sliding out of their containers. "And she believed you?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Of course she did! I'm her oldest child!" You grin at Keith, who returns you a skeptically amused look. "And after we drop this stuff off at Goodwill, I'm going to get dinner with you, and then we're gonna hang out at your place, where I'm going to sleep over with you."<br/>
<br/>
He returns your grin. "I thought I was sleeping at your place."<br/>
<br/>
"You tell your dad what he needs to hear," you chortle, "and I'll tell my mom what <i>she</i> needs to hear!" You put out your fist for a bump.<br/>
<br/>
You do stop at Goodwill on your way out of town, because your mom demanded a receipt for the donation. But of course you are careful to take in the one box that hasn't got a couple of bottles of liquor hidden at the bottom. Then, with the truck stereo busting out some sick rhymes, you hit the interstate west for Lattyville, where a turn off will take you up to the St. Francis Xavier School. You give Keith your cell so he can shoot Mary a text, telling her you're on your way, and that you've followed her instructions to the letter. She texts back and thumbs' up.<br/>
<br/>
Your GPS directs you first off the interstate onto a state highway, then onto a country road that curves back around toward the river. Groves of stately trees rise on both sides of the road, and these still cut off all sight of the school when you pull up to a gate and a little stone gatehouse. Three Mutants—two guys and a girl, none of whom you recognize—are waiting out front.<br/>
<br/>
"You the guys with the donation?" asks one of the guys when you roll down your window. He is tall and brusque, with a clipped and brutal manner that you instantly dislike. "Let's see."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm, uh, supposed to give to Dalton Reeves?" you reply.<br/>
<br/>
"That's me. Let's see the boxes."<br/>
<br/>
So with mounting disquiet you get out, and you and Keith hold up the two remaining boxes for inspection. The Mutant gives them a cursory examination—probing nowhere near the bottom, where the bottles are hidden—then signals the guy and the girl over. "Okay, take 'em in," he says. "Give these guys a receipt," he adds, jerking his head at you and Keith.<br/>
<br/>
This isn't what Mary said was going to happen. Yes, she told you that "Dalton Reeves" would collect the boxes. But you were supposed to bring them in yourself.<br/>
<br/>
But after you hand the boxes over, the three Mutants just pass back inside the gate without inviting you in. In fact: "Road back to town is that way," Reeves says, pointing you back the way you came as he closes the gate.<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck?" Keith gasps.<br/>
<br/>
You send Mary another text.<br/>
<br/>
An hour later, you still haven't got a reply.</span></div></div>


path: 11521211
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Nightcrawler and the Juggernaut
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“Shit,” you say. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down.” You’re at a greasy spoon on the I-62 just outside Lattyville, trying to work out what comes next. You got short shrift at the school, but obviously Mary didn’t expect this Dalton Reeves guy – seriously, who names their kid Dalton? – to collect everything at the gate. You came through on your end, but you’re not sure what to do next.<br/>
<br/>
“Let’s just head back, man,” Keith says. “We’ll tell my dad there’s a change of plans. We can load up a few games and I’ll kick your ass at ‘em.”<br/>
<br/>
You chew your lip. Visions of Catholic schoolgirls – drunk and partying just for you – dance in your head. “Fuck it,” you say. “Let’s go back.”<br/>
<br/>
“Good call,” Keith says. “I’ll call my dad and—”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” you say, fixing him with a steely gaze. “I mean we go back to the school.”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, did you see the size of that gate? Which they closed? Gonna be security cameras, and I bet they’ve got guard dogs, too.”<br/>
<br/>
You make a pffft sound. “Why would a school have guard dogs?”<br/>
<br/>
“Why would a school have a fucking <i>stone gatehouse</i>? This is beyond us, dude.”<br/>
<br/>
Too late. You’re already on Google, looking for another entrance. A satellite map shows there’s a clutch of forest from the edge of the school grounds to the main buildings themselves, which look like they back onto the Mohegan river. And a quick look on Wikipedia brings up the history of the place, suggesting some ancient asshole called Letty – probably the guy Lettyville is named after – crashed his car and died on an old road that ran along the river. That means, assuming you can get over the perimeter, there’s a straight route direct to the main school…<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“All set. I’ll see you in, like, 10 minutes.” You’re parked up in a lay-by a few hundred metres north of the stone gatehouse, beside a simple wooden fence concealed behind thick bushes. Keith is waiting in the cab of your truck, while you’ve climbed out. You texted Mary a minute ago saying the plan had screwed up and you were going to try and get in through the woods. Hopefully she gets it and sends someone to meet you outside.<br/>
<br/>
“Just be careful, dude,” Keith says. “We don’t know what the hell is in those woods.”<br/>
<br/>
“A party with our names on it,” you say. “Right, here I g— Ah, fuck!”<br/>
<br/>
“What?” Keith says. You scramble free of the thorny bush, which is snagging the plaid T-shirt and picking holes in it even before you’ve made two yards.<br/>
<br/>
“Nothing,” you mutter, pulling yourself free. “Later.” You sidestep the bushes, slip a little down a muddy bank, and drive your shoetips against the wooden fence. It’s a scramble, but you manage to haul your ass over it, pausing at the top to put your phone and its flashlight between your teeth. All clear. You hop over, down into the uneven ground. A few hundred metres of woodland and you should hit the main house.<br/>
<br/>
A few hundred metres of trees in the day is a different thing to doing it at night. You stumble constantly, slip-sliding over thick clay banks and tripping over gnarled tree roots. The woods at night are completely disorienting, and the flickers of moonlight don’t really give you a clear sense of direction. Occasional rustles in the bushes tell you that you’re not alone, either, and you just hope it’s not a skunk that you’re going to blunder into at a moment’s notice. Gradually, with the aid of the flashlight, you’re able to make enough progress that you hit a jogging trail, and everything becomes easier. And, up ahead, you start to see pale lights from avast complex. <br/>
<br/>
It’s hard to tell the scale of the place from the woods. There’s a smaller building blocking your view of the main house, and there’s a shadowy, larger block over to your right. To your left, a wall rises out of nowhere – the strange semicircle you saw on the map, maybe? – with the rest of the area clear as far as the dark, swift course of the river. You cut the flashlight, not sure whether you’re going to get spotted by someone other than whoever Mary sends, and stumble blindly in the dark. Eventually, creeping around the side of the smaller building blocking your way, you spy the full extent of The St. Francis Xavier School. The place is straight out of a period drama: you can just make out the battlements on the top floor, while most of the lights are still on, burning bright out of latticed windows. <br/>
<br/>
You suddenly realize just how dumb a plan this was: there’s no way you’re going to find Mary here. You tap your phone, checking for a message from her. <i>Nothing. Shit.</i> Again, you edge forward, stepping first onto the crunch of a path, and then onto the soft, damp squelch of grass. You’ve come too far to back down. <br/>
<br/>
Then a beam of light hits you straight in the eyes, causing you to close your eyes as your night vision is torn away, replaced by bursting spots of orange and blue-black. You try and shield yourself, but soon realize that’s not going to help. Two figures are rushing toward you, both holding flashlights. <br/>
<br/>
“There he is! Go!” <br/>
<br/>
<i>Fuck.</i> You turn and sprint, running as hard as you can for the treeline. The flashlights jig and jostle around you like search beams, spilling enough light to let you see where you’re going. Behind you, you can hear a sound like a freight train, the <i>thud thud thud thud</i> of footfall powering after you. And the lights seem to be closing. <br/>
<br/>
“Go on, Todd!”<br/>
<br/>
You’re sprinting for all you’re worth now, lungs scooping in air and shoes kicking deep into the shingle of the path. The treeline that seemed so close, so endless in its labyrinth, now feels like a mile away. You turn to look back to see if your pursuers are closing, just in time to see a <i>huge</i> shadow fly straight at you. It smashes hard into your torso, twisting your spine and knocking the air out of your lungs, before careening you hard into the ground with a heavy thud. You’re still in agony, rolling on the floor and trying to make sense of it, when a flashlight beam hits your eyes and blinds you, too.<br/>
<br/>
“Got you, you little fucker.” Another set of feet rush up too, and you see a second figure emerge into the light. The first – the one that hit you – is effectively a wall of solid muscle. The second is leaner but no less physically imposing in his own right. <br/>
<br/>
“Good work, man. Now, let’s find out what the hell he was thinking.”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You’re in a canteen, if canteens were designed by the cast of <i>Game of Thrones</i>. The dining hall is arranged in long wooden benches, surrounded by oak panels with stern portraits on the walls, and even has a <i>fucking minstrel’s gallery</i> at its far end. Every so often, someone walks along it, just in view. You’re far more concerned about the gathering before you.<br/>
<br/>
There are four figures assembled, all around your age. The first two are those you ‘met’ outside. The wall of muscle, a thuggish-looking guy who despite his size ran you down seemingly with ease; the second leaner, tall and, you have to admit, handsome. You know the type instantly: <i>Gordon Black all over again</i>. The third is a girl, short with a friendly, almost sympathetic face; the fourth you’ve met before – Dalton ‘dumb name’ Reeves.<br/>
<br/>
“We waiting for Abi and Lucas?” the girl asks.<br/>
<br/>
“We’d be waiting all night. Both have exeats. Let’s get this show on the road.” Handsome turns to you. “All right, give me a reason not to call the cops.”<br/>
<br/>
You don’t say anything. You don’t know what to say. <i>My friend and I used a fake ID to purchase liquor so we could smuggle it inside here and party with drunk Catholic schoolgirls?</i> <br/>
<br/>
“You’re the one from earlier,” Dalton says. “White truck. Charity drive.”<br/>
<br/>
You nod. You can’t help but think you looked a little smarter back then. Your plaid shirt is ruined, ripped to shreds from bushes and smeared in mud, while your trousers are black with clay. Your trainers are in bad shape, too, and your hands and side are grazed from the bulldozer guy, Todd, smashing you into the ground. <br/>
<br/>
“Why did you try and break in?”<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. “I threw away something I didn’t want to lose,” you say. “I couldn’t get the buzzer on the gate to work.”<br/>
<br/>
“So you climbed over a fence, hiked through the backwoods, and tried to knock on the front door? Bullshit.” The handsome one, clearly the leader, isn’t taking your crap. The girl furrows her brow at the cuss word but says nothing. <br/>
<br/>
“Well, it sounds stupid when you say it out loud…” you say. <i>Everything about this plan sounds stupid, you dumbass.</i> You’ve realized why Mary never texted you back. There never was an invite to the party – just a chance to get a free booze delivery from some saps in town. You bet she saw the text, went and found whoever these assholes are, and told them she’d seen a light in the woods and a burglar must be trying to break in. The humiliation burns even more fiercely than your mini-golf failure.<br/>
<br/>
“No shit it sounds stupid,” Todd says. “Give me one good reason not to take you back into the woods and smash your fucking face in.”<br/>
<br/>
“Todd,” The girl says, reprimanding him, before turning to you and speaking softly. “I’m guessing you were trying to get to someone here, right? Trying to deliver something? See a girl? Or a guy? I’m not judging.”<br/>
<br/>
You don’t say anything.<br/>
<br/>
“You’re going to find us easier to deal with than the cops,” the handsome one says. “We can just ring ‘em. Trespass. You really want a criminal record?”<br/>
<br/>
You bite your lip. You could spill and bring that double-crossing bitch Mary into the shit with you. Or you could keep quiet and hope this kangaroo court decides just to kick your ass off the property…</span></div></div>


path: 115212112
author_id: masktrixie
title: A Rogue's Mystique
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“Snitches end up in ditches,” you mutter. <br/>
<br/>
This brings a snort from Todd. “So do smart mouths, asshole.”<br/>
<br/>
“You really want to play it like this?” handsome says.<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. “Never mind answering your questions, I don’t even know who you are! Some kind of Mutant council?”<br/>
<br/>
“We’re the prefects,” the girl says, ignoring the ‘mutant’ jibe. You’re pretty sure you encountered the word ‘prefect’ in Latin, though why the hell it still exists in the 21st century is beyond you. You must look completely blank, because Dalton speaks up.<br/>
<br/>
“Prefects. In charge of the student body. Don’t you have prefects at Eastman?”<br/>
<br/>
You don’t even bother correcting him. You just look up at the hall’s ceiling and try, for however long you’re stuck here, to enjoy the view. It beats the white panel lighting of Westside, replete with greasy smears where past students have flicked up meat slices to see if they can get them to stick.<br/>
<br/>
“Last chance,” handsome says, clearly the leader of these ‘prefects’. <br/>
<br/>
You look at him with a fixed stare and shake your head. The quartet huddle. There’s a quick, muttered vote. Three of them raise their hands, the girl keeping hers down. You assume that’s a bad sign – she seemed the most sympathetic. <br/>
<br/>
“Keep an eye on him,” the handsome one says to Todd. “I’ll make the call.”<br/>
<br/>
You <i>really</i> don’t like the sound of that.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
The squad car drops you off at home, and the police officer takes great pains to explain to your parents exactly how much shit you’re in. The St. Francis Xavier School isn’t looking to press charges, but that’s the least of your worries right now. The look that your mom and dad give you is even worse than the sullen glare Keith held all the way back from Lattyville. Then there’s the silent, deathly silent, drive out to the school with your dad to pick up your truck and drive it back home. <br/>
<br/>
You wish your parents would yell more, but they don’t. Somehow the quiet instructions and disappointment are even worse. Your tattered shirt goes in the bin, clothes go in the washer, and your battered and bruised body gets in the shower. Your dreams are filled with hot, angry passion with a drunk, rich-bitch Napoleonette. <br/>
<br/>
Goodbye car keys. Goodbye freedom. Goodbye <i>everything</i>. On Sunday you’re allowed to go to church with your folks, but you’re kept on a tight leash. Even so, the odd glance and whisper says that, somehow, <i>everyone</i> already knows about your run-in with the law. That afternoon the chores begin, although your parents barely acknowledge your existence and you soon end up slinking off to your room. And on Monday you’re reduced to getting the bus to Westside, sat behind a pair of tedious freshman girls, a moody Asian-American and a bouncing, energetic mass of ginger hair who doesn’t shut up about Harry Potter for the whole ride. You do your best to zone out. School and home are your life for the immediate future. Your parents didn’t even tell you how long you’d be grounded for.<br/>
<br/>
The legend of your ride in the squad car has reached the school halls, although the exact story seems to have been embellished. Not only were you and Keith picked up by the police somewhere outside Lattyville, you were placed under arrest and spent a night in the cells. You can’t be fucked to correct anyone, and the cuts and bruises you’re now nursing – including a vicious graze you don’t even remember picking up along your cheek – convince most people not to ask. It’s only at the start of lunch you get a chance to talk to your friends. And it doesn’t go the way you expect.<br/>
<br/>
“Dude, this is amazing!” Keith says, grinning widely at you as you walk to the cafeteria.<br/>
<br/>
You look at him in astonishment. You know Keith’s dumb as a rock, but this is a whole new level. “What? Didn’t your dad ground your ass?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah,” he says. “And the Five-O took my fake ID. Whatever; it wasn’t like I was going out much anyway.” He leans in, speaking in a hushed tone. “But <i>have you heard the rumors</i>? We’re badasses! Half the school thinks we’re criminal masterminds! You can’t buy that kind of street cred! We’re the cool kids, now!”<br/>
<br/>
“Try saying that to Gordon Black,” you say. “You’ll get your ass pounded and shoved in a trash can.”<br/>
<br/>
“Who gives a fuck about the jocks? It’s not like you were angling for Chelsea Cooper. But every other girl in this place? The girls who aren’t top of the pile? The <i>juniors</i>? They are gagging for some bad boy cock. And that’s exactly what you and I now have.”<br/>
<br/>
“Shit, dude,” you say to him, flushing a little. “Don’t ever talk about my cock. Or your cock. Or any cock.”<br/>
<br/>
“Don’t be a pussy,” he says. “We’ve got to use this! Someone found out that our brush with the feds involved the Professor Xavier School. There’s stories about you going there every weekend and banging the rich kids.”<br/>
<br/>
“Which isn’t true.”<br/>
<br/>
“You’re missing the point!” Keith says. “Man, this is the best thing that’s happened to us! We’re not invisible anymore. Now we’re <i>on the radar</i>.”<br/>
<br/>
You don’t know if that’s really where you want to be, but you don’t even have time to reply as another presence joins you. A redhead – though not the reserved J.M. from two nights ago. Instead it’s the girl who gave you the dumbass idea to get out more instead. <br/>
<br/>
“Hi Will, Keith.” Kim Walsh fixes you both with a stiff but friendly glare. Keith’s grin spreads out to a sloppy, wide smile.<br/>
<br/>
“My Kim,” he says, not even realizing his slip. You just tip your head in acknowledgment.<br/>
<br/>
“Geez, that cut looks bad,” Kim says to you. “I guess you know everyone in school is talking about what you two did at the weekend?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah,” you say. “Seems like the rumor mill is in full swing.” <i>Do mills swing? Rotate? Grind?</i> You’re so busy trying to think about what a mill does you don’t even hear what Keith says, only Kim’s reply.<br/>
<br/>
“Uh huh,” she says, wide-eyed. “Well, I was hoping I could have a word with Will, for a moment?”<br/>
<br/>
Keith grins again and steps away, behind her. Over Kim’s shoulder, he makes a Vulcan Vee sign over his mouth and begins to waggle his tongue furiously, twitching his eyebrows. You try and ignore him; you’ve never thought of Kim in that way.<br/>
<br/>
“What’s up?” you ask. <br/>
<br/>
“I–” she thinks for a moment as she tries to find the right phrase. “You know what I meant on Saturday, right? I wasn’t saying you should do… whatever the hell it was you thought you were doing.”<br/>
<br/>
“It just got out of hand,” you say. “Believe me, it wasn’t anywhere near as exciting as everyone seems to think it was.”<br/>
<br/>
“Will, I was serious. People are interested in you for being, well, you. You don’t have to get hauled home in a police car.”<br/>
<br/>
“Like I say, it got out of hand. Believe it or not, we started the night at Monte Viso’s playing mini-golf.” You just remembered that So-Cal girl with the horse teeth, Corinne, never claimed her giant Toblerone. <i>What the fuck is a Toblerone?</i>.<br/>
<br/>
Kim continues talking, but you’ve zoned out; you have no time for a lecture. Instead, your mind is already drifting back to Monte Viso’s, and the trio of bitches who played you, schooled you, then set you up so they could get a free liquor run. There’s got to be a way to get back against them. Maybe, once your ass isn’t grounded, you should head back there. Maybe you can talk to the assistant, Roxanne. You vaguely remember she tried to warn you about them – and she might be up for helping you get some kind of payback. Also there’s a Toblerone waiting for you.<br/>
<br/>
“Do you know what a Toblerone is?” you blurt out the question in the middle of whatever she’s saying, too distracted by the thought.<br/>
<br/>
Kim’s a little taken back by the question. “Uh, you mean the candy bar? The one that’s shaped like a triangle, that they sell at airports? What’s that got to do with…”<br/>
<br/>
“Nothing,” you mutter, shaking your head to get back in the conversation. “Look, if you’re worried that you’re the reason for what happened, you’re not. It’s on me and Keith.”<br/>
<br/>
“I never said…”<br/>
<br/>
“No. But that’s the only reason you’re talking to me now, isn’t it?” It’s a little snappy, a little irritable, and you regret it the moment it passes your lips. Kim’s expression hardens, but her eyes just look sad. You can see you hurt her for no reason.<br/>
<br/>
“Will,” she says quietly, “I don’t know what happened to you this weekend. But I don’t like it.” She turns and heads off. You watch as she departs, then make your way to the cafeteria, mood suddenly sour. <br/>
<br/>
Caleb is there waiting for you.<br/>
<br/>
“Told you pair of jokers it was a bad idea,” he says. <br/>
<br/>
“Save it,” you say. “Let’s just talk about something else, huh?”<br/>
<br/>
Try as you might, though, you can’t think of another subject. Keith seems to think your new bad boy reputation could be a hit with half the girls in Westside – and wasn’t finding a girl your aim all along? You could always foster that image and see who’s interested. Sure, you might put off people like Kim Walsh, but you were never going to date her anyway.<br/>
<br/>
Yet thinking with your cock made you easy pickings for malicious Mary, and almost landed you with a criminal record as you tried to chase upper class skirt. Maybe your time would be better spent planning your revenge. The Mutants have probably already forgotten all about you – and that means they’ll never see you coming.</span></div></div>


path: 1152121122
author_id: masktrixie
title: Two Very Different Invitations
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The week passes in a surreal haze. And another. Gradually, things begin to return to normal. Your dad stops by your room one evening for a heart-to-heart, telling you he gets what happened, and that he’s trying to get your mom to ease up. Everyone makes mistakes. That he’s worried you’re drifting, and that if you don’t watch out you’re going to go over a waterfall. It’s a good speech, but you can see the disappointment in his eyes. At least he doesn’t bring up the Salopek gig any more – there’s no way, with the rumors flying around about you, that you stand a chance now. Caleb, likewise, stops asking: he knows your currency is no good.<br/>
<br/>
School is awkward. Keith desperately tries to play up his bad boy image you try and do everything you can to ignore it.  Keith only manages to make himself seem increasingly lightweight in the process as he lapses into his half-baked, dorky Mr Cool persona. You, on the other hand, seem to cultivate a genuine mystique by refusing to talk about what you got up to. Quiet murmurs continue to circulate the student body about where you got the scar, slowly fading on your cheek. The best, which you overheard two sophomores gossiping as you headed down the corridor, was you got it in a knife fight. Keith was right: you’ve never had this kind of publicity. <br/>
<br/>
Not everyone buys Bad Boy Will Prescott. As far as you can tell (not that you’re going to ask), the social strata of cheerleaders and sports teams is utterly impervious, while your own social circle brings you down to Earth with a shattering bump. But, even as the rumors die down, you find that it has strange results at school.<br/>
<br/>
“Will.” You’re stepping out of English class when your name is called in the corridor, and you turn to find the smiling face of Brooke Galloway. You barely know her – she’s one of the rich  kids (or, at least, what passes for rich at Westside). Nowhere near as much a snooty, full-on bitch as Kelsey Blankenship, but she’s never really spoken to you.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah?” You’ve discovered that not calling people by their name only seems to add to the mystery that surrounds you. You lean back on a nearby locker. You think it makes you look cool.<br/>
<br/>
“You’re friends with some of the girls at St. Xavier’s, aren’t you?”<br/>
<br/>
<i>Weird question. Where’s she going with this?</i> You aren’t sure whether to confirm or deny it, so air on the side of caution. “I’ve got some numbers in my phone,” you say, figuring it’s at least true – although the last text you got from that bitch Mary, as you were hauled away by the cops, was simply “LOL”. <br/>
<br/>
“Hmm. Well, I was wondering. What are you doing this weekend?”<br/>
<br/>
“Grounded,” you say. “At least, I probably am. Why?”<br/>
<br/>
“Hmm,” she says again, a slightly longer hum in her mouth this time. “Shame.”<br/>
<br/>
“I might not be,” you add. It’s been two weeks. Your parents’ll have to let you out sometime. <br/>
<br/>
“Hmm.” A third, deeper pitched noise. “There’s a gathering at the country club from 3pm until 5pm on Saturday. Smart casual, of course. I was wondering if you’d care to escort me.”<br/>
<br/>
“Escort you?” <i>Like on a date?</i>. You stare at her in surprise for a moment, before desperately trying to recover. “Well, uh, I could. Maybe. Sure. Depending on whether I’m grounded.”<br/>
<br/>
Brooke leans forward. “I want to make this clear to you: this is not a date. It’s just a social event. Some light refreshment, canapes, that kind of thing.”<br/>
<br/>
<i>Canopies?</i> you wonder. <i>Like umbrellas?</i> <br/>
<br/>
“And, in exchange for getting you inside,” Brooke continues, “I’d like you to introduce me to your friends out at Xavier’s. I’m sure some of them will be there; I know at least two girls are in the squash league with Kelsey, and it’s not like there’s anywhere else to golf this side of McGuffey City. Deal?”<br/>
<br/>
“Sure,” you nod. “It’ll be a pleasure.” At the very least, you’ll be able to get eyes on the girls that screwed you over – and work out how to get your revenge.<br/>
<br/>
At that, she makes a fourth ‘hmm’ and nods, before flashing a radiant smile. “In that case I’ll expect you at my house on Saturday afternoon. See you around, Will.”<br/>
<br/>
***<br/>
<br/>
On Wednesday, your mom gives you thirty bucks and tells you that she wants you to make a grocery run. You’re hesitant at first, but she looks you square in the eye and says those magic words: “You’re not grounded anymore.” You hop in your truck and feel the liberating thrill of your own set of wheels once more. Sure, you’re only driving to Walmart, and you’re not dumb enough to take any detours (your mom’s probably timing you), but it’s sweet relief to know that everyone’s finally willing to put the trespass behind them.<br/>
<br/>
Except you’re not. Not quite. At around 2pm on Saturday afternoon, you find yourself heading back to Monte Viso’s. The place looks dead, but from the lot, you can see the familiar chic pageboy of the attendant, Roxanne, staring at her Kindle in abject boredom. She clocks you coming as you walk up, and you can feel the ground shift as she rolls her eyes and shakes her head at your approach.<br/>
<br/>
“Just stop. Please. For your own health.”<br/>
<br/>
“Not looking for a game,” you say. “I just wanted to talk to you.”<br/>
<br/>
Roxanne sighs, and sets her Kindle down. “I’m not a chatline. If you’re not playing, I really don’t have anything to talk to you about.”<br/>
<br/>
“We won the giant Toblerone,” you say. “I’m here to collect.”<br/>
<br/>
“After two weeks? Ha, no. Any prizes must be redeemed on the day in question. It’s right there, on the back of the ticket.” She holds up a stub, index finger scanning over terms and conditions such as ‘Monte Viso’s shall not be held responsible for any accident, including loss of limb or death, arising from misadventure or attempts to reclaim balls from hazards, traps or obstacles’. “Sorry, them’s the rules. Besides, as I remember it, Corinne won the Toblerone. I was watching you morons get hustled on the CCTV.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah. And you know what happened next?”<br/>
<br/>
Roxanne fixes you with a stare. “Yeah, I do. Mary Occam played you like an idiot, you tried to <i>break in</i> to the school, and Marius Hall called the cops on you. It’s all anyone at Xavier’s talked about for a few days.” She pinches her nose in resignation. “Look, I tried to tell you. They’re <i>different</i>. Not everyone at Xavier’s is like that, there are genuinely chill people too, rich and poor alike. But dealing with someone like Mary is like playing a Vegas casino: the house always wins.”<br/>
<br/>
“I can handle a couple of rich kids.”<br/>
<br/>
She leans forward, looking either way to make sure management isn’t nearby. “No, you can’t. You cannot imagine the wealth people like Mary have grown up with and the sense of entitlement it’s given them. They do not lose.”<br/>
<br/>
You twitch an eyebrow. Roxanne’s head drops for a second, the pageboy tumbling over her eyes, before she looks back up at you.<br/>
<br/>
“’Kay, listen to me. Never mind soccer or basketball – we’re talking about a school with a fucking <i>eventing team</i>. You know, that fancy-ass horse-riding they do in the Olympics? When I was in the fourth form, one of the boys in my year had a sixteenth birthday party which apparently featured his favorite rapper as the entertainment. And just last week, a girl in my social studies class called <i>Portia</i> asked if it was <i>legal to shoot the homeless</i>. She was genuinely shocked to learn it was considered murder. I’m telling you: it’s another world. Walk away.”<br/>
<br/>
“Which is why you’ve got to help me get these assholes.”<br/>
<br/>
“Which is why,” Roxanne says, patience wearing thin, “I am going to do no such thing. You. Will. Lose. Forget about what happened and move on.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’ve already got an invite to the country club later. I’m going to―” you try and remember Mary’s words. Something about meeting the enemy?<br/>
<br/>
“Don’t,” Roxanne says, suddenly very serious. “Do <i>not</i> go.”<br/>
<br/>
“It’s just a social event. Light refreshment under some canopies.”<br/>
<br/>
She gives a heavy sigh. “What’s your name?” <br/>
<br/>
“Will.”<br/>
<br/>
“All right. Will. I mean this. The devil herself is going to be there, and now she knows you’re a sucker. One look in her hypno-eyes and you’re going to do something even dumber than getting tricked into a booze run for Mary Occam. She will fuck you up for kicks and you won’t even realize it until it’s too late. If you go to that country club today, that’s it: your life is over.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not going to fall for their crap again,” you say. “This is about payback.”<br/>
<br/>
Roxanne sighs, grabs a scrap of paper and a pen, and scribbles something down. “Look, you seem nice for a complete tool – and no, that’s not me flirting with you, you aren’t my type and you haven’t got a hope in hell. But this, here, is a better invite than going to that country club.” <br/>
<br/>
She slides the paper out of the booth. It’s a scrawled address. “Don’t try and be something you’re not,” Roxanne continues. “The peeps there can smell a phoney like a shark smells blood. But if you’re looking for a new crowd, for good people, there are worse places in town to try.”<br/>
<br/>
You take the paper. “Thanks,” you say, looking at it. It seems like a genuine offer.<br/>
<br/>
“Welcome. Just don’t go there if you’re only trying to get your dick wet. I don’t need the shit for saying you’re cool, all right?” At last, Roxanne gives you a smile.</span></div></div>


path: 11521211221
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Girl with the Hypno Eyes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“Mom,” you say, heading into the den. “Which one of my shirts counts as ‘smart casual’?”<br/>
<br/>
Your mom looks up from her laptop with a deadpan expression. “That plaid shirt we got you last Christmas. The one you shredded a few weeks back.”<br/>
<br/>
You seal your lips, too smart to say anything, and just nod. Instead you head up to your wardrobe, poking around until you find a pair of cargo trousers that aren’t stained and a polo shirt. Posh kids play polo, right? It’s got some goofy crocodile on the left nipple, but who cares. You shove it on and head back out for the short drive to the larger, stately houses just south of the Masonic cemetery. There, you pull up in your truck and wait patiently. Brooke emerges shortly afterward, wearing a stylish summer dress. She takes one look at your truck and furrows her brow.<br/>
<br/>
“What’s wrong?” You ask. She thinks for a moment, almost as if she’s not willing to say, before she points down the road. <br/>
<br/>
“Park down there, we’ll take my car.” You shrug, start up your engine and drive away from her house, before walking back as she pulls out of the drive in an Elantra. You climb into the passenger seat.<br/>
<br/>
“You look good,” she says. “So, the basic plan is that we’ll head inside, make our own circuit, then you make the introduction, OK?”<br/>
<br/>
“Why don’t you just talk to them yourself?” you ask. Brooke looks at you.<br/>
<br/>
“Because you don’t do things that way,” she says. “We’ll stick around for about an hour and a half if that’s OK. The only person you’re probably going to know is Kelsey, who’ll do her best to pretend she doesn’t know <i>you</i>.”<br/>
<br/>
You nod, and lean back in the seat as you start heading the short distance to the club, up the farm road. It’s already appearing on the other bank of the Mohegan. “You’re friends with Caleb Johansson, right?” Brooke asks.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, pretty good friends.” <i>Though I really fucked up not getting him that Salopek gig.</i><br/>
<br/>
“He ever mention me?”<br/>
<br/>
“What? Uh, should he?”<br/>
<br/>
“No, no. He’s just tutoring me, is all. He’s pretty funny. And really smart. I sure hope he’s got a good college lined up.”<br/>
<br/>
Before you can answer, Brooke makes a left, then another left, and you find yourself driving down a private road that winds up to the country club. She parks out front and hops out, not bothering to wait for you to open the door, before handing the keys to the attendant. “C’mon,” she says. “Remember: best behavior.”<br/>
<br/>
You follow Brooke into the place. The staff seem to know her on sight, collect a card she offers, and direct you outside onto a wide verandah, all neat slate tiles and ornamental trees, where you can see the expanse of the golf course extend back toward Acheson. There’s a table set out with drinks, and you’re immediately offered fizzy, flavored water with a little mint leaf inside. You quickly grow nervous: there isn’t any sign of a tent, marquee or anything that could reasonably be classed as a canopy.<br/>
<br/>
Half the people gathered seem to be edging toward the grave, well past 80, while a cluster of youngsters are running free on the grass. Conversation snippets drift across the air: of financial incentives for small business owners (somehow you doubt anyone here has a small business); of the future of their bright young things; of the cream cheese slathered over miniature slices of bread on offer here. You help yourself to a miniature wooden spear offered by a waiter, the shaft impaling a series of shrimp dripping with a strange yellow sauce. You try and eat them as you follow Brooke through the crowds, simultaneously wiping your mouth with the square of tissue offered and wiping your fingers all around the pockets of your cargoes.<br/>
<br/>
“Of course, the canapes aren’t as good as last year’s soiree,” an older woman wearing a dress at least two sizes too small and a belt far too tight says in your direction, leaning out of her conversation with a plastic face that’s suffered one too many botox injection. <br/>
<br/>
“Yeah,” you say. First Toblerone, and now canopy? <i>Fuck, is my IQ slowing drifting toward Keith’s?</i> Up ahead, an obese man, belly bursting out of his chest and straining the resistance of his braces, has stepped in front of Brooke. He already seems drunk, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath from where you stand.<br/>
<br/>
“And who, young Galloway, have you brought with you? Hmm? Mmmhmmph?” You’re not sure if he’s clearing his throat or asking a question. Brooke, for her part, manages to maintain her composure.<br/>
<br/>
“Good afternoon, Dr Jacobs. This is Will, my escort for the afternoon. Will, Dr Thomas Jacobs.” <br/>
<br/>
“Pleasure,” he says, staggering forward to clutch you with a meaty, sweaty palm, even as he leans in close to your ear. “Fabbagabba pretty young strumpet, hmm? Mmmmhmmph? Pert white tits. Baaah.”<br/>
<br/>
You just smile and extricate yourself from his grip, wiping your hands again around your pockets and returning that strange yellow shrimp sauce to your fingertips. But, by this time, Brooke’s decided to tactically slip into another conversation, so you’re alone. You still haven’t spotted Mary yet, although you’re pretty sure you caught a brief glimpse of J.M., the quiet redhead, over by the drinks. You begin to make your way over when—<br/>
<br/>
The hottest girl you’ve ever seen suddenly stands before you. A flowing, sublime cascade of light brown hair; pillowed, kissable lips; and a perfectly proportioned nose that draws you up into the deepest, most expressive eyes you could imagine. You’re so taken aback by her that you forget to breathe for a second, while a giddy feeling rises up from your stomach and washes down into your loins. <br/>
<br/>
“Oh, hello,” she says, with a light smile and a light, sing-song voice. It takes far too long to realize she’s talking directly to you. <i>Oh shit, she’s talking to me. Why is she talking to me?</i> “I haven’t seen you here before. I’m Abigail. And you are?”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh,” you try and remember your own name. “Will. I’m with Brooke. Here with Brooke. Came with Brooke, I’m not <i>with</i> Brooke.” You can’t stop looking at her eyes. <i>Jesus, what fucking eyes. What color even is that? Chestnut?</i><br/>
<br/>
“It’s really nice to meet you, Will. Oh! I love Lacoste. I especially like how you’re wearing the collar, making it your own. It suits you.”<br/>
<br/>
“Thanks.” <i>Are her eyes swirling? You’re sure they’re swirling, like miniature galaxies. Oh god, don’t get an erection. Don’t get an erection. Don’t get…</i><br/>
<br/>
“Say, Will. Do you think you could do me a small favor? It’s nothing major, it’s just important to me, is all.”<br/>
<br/>
“Wha-hmm?”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, you see, I’ve got a friend in town, I met him through this charity I work for. He’s got Asperger’s, and if he doesn’t hear from me every so often, just silly phrases between us, then he gets panicked. And, here’s the thing, I forgot to bring my phone. I know it’s kind of stupid, but… do you think I could borrow your cell so I can send him a message, let him know I’m thinking about him?”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, yeah,” you say. “Of course.” <i>Why wouldn’t you do that for Abigail and her amazing, sensuous, impossible eyes?</i><br/>
<br/>
“Thanks, Will! I’ve only just met you, but I can already tell you’re the best! If you can give me the cell now, that’d be great!” <i>My God these eyes go on forever. I want to drown in them. I— ouch!</i><br/>
<br/>
Someone is pinching you, <i>hard</i>. “Hey, Abi,” you hear a familiar voice say: Kelsey Blankenship, queen rich bitch of Westside. <i>Fuck, why is she pinching me? Why is she cock-blocking me and this dream girl?</i> “So great to see you here,” she continues. “I’m just going to borrow Will here a moment, sorry to bother you.” Kelsey’s hold looks friendly, but somehow she’s twisting your arm into a chicken wing, even as she beams cheerfully at the beauty before your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, sure, Kelsey!” Abigail chirps. “It’s no problem at all. I’ll go get a drink. See you in a moment, Will!”<br/>
<br/>
Kelsey’s smile lasts precisely for the ten steps it takes for her to lead you around a corner, spin you against the wall and put her hands on her hips as she stands in front of you like a disappointed teacher.<br/>
<br/>
“What are you doing?” she snaps quietly.<br/>
<br/>
“What? Here? Brooke invited me so I—“<br/>
<br/>
She rolls her eyes. “Of course she did, you’re just her level of class. I don’t mean what are you doing <i>here.</i> I meant why are you talking to <i>her</i>.”<br/>
<br/>
“I? Who? Abigail? Uh, she came over and asked if she could use my cell, and…”<br/>
<br/>
“And you were going to <i>let</i> her?” She visibly winces, like a chess grandmaster watching a novice set up the board all wrong. Kelsey’s not <i>worried</i> about you doing something wrong. She’s <i>offended</i> by it. “Will, I’m going to give you this warning once. Do not give her anything. I don’t care what her story is: she can’t get your phone.”<br/>
<br/>
“Why? What’s the harm?”<br/>
<br/>
“To her, none whatsoever. To you—” she pauses. “You know what, if you want to let her, so be it. But if I were you, I’d suddenly find out my cell’s battery is dead.” She looks at you with a shiver, like you’re a piece of gristle left over from a steak dinner. “And, ugh!” without warning she grabs your collar, turning it back the way it should be, before storming away with a muttered “why do I even bother”. <br/>
<br/>
You sidestep to the edge of the corner, and glance back at the assembled crowd. Abigail is chatting happily to a duo of elderly patrons, so old their backs have twisted to a hump and their jowls hang almost below their chins.<br/>
<br/>
It can’t hurt to let her use your phone, can it?</span></div></div>


path: 115212112212
author_id: masktrixie
title: Vaper Trails
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><br/>
You've no idea why Kelsey would warn you off from lending Abigail your phone, and it's not like you really respect Kelsey's opinion anyway. So maybe it's just habit – it's always easiest to duck your head and go along with Kelsey when she's giving orders – that leads you to edge your way around the side of the club, putting distance between you and Abigail.<br/>
<br/>
And that's how you stumble over one of the three reasons you came out here in the first place.<br/>
<br/>
You're tramping around the grounds, looking for a place to lurk, when a cloud of white smoke belches from a nearby hedge. It's a topiary sculpture, a bush beaten into the shape of a dragon, and you have to wonder if there's a mechanical trick behind the smoke—some hidden piping meant to playfully heighten the illusion. You go over to investigate, and find a girl vaping on the other side.<br/>
<br/>
It's J. M., the sullen redhead from your game at Monte Viso. She's slouching behind the dragon, dressed in a smart pant suit that looks like something Katharine Hepburn would wear. Her hair is done up neatly, tied at the back with a few strands loose at the front, and she’s put on a little make-up. She has a vape pen to her lips, and is gazing out across the river toward the town.<br/>
<br/>
Your anger boils up at the sight of her. “So what the fuck does 'J.M.' stand for anyway?” you demand.<br/>
<br/>
She jumps as she glances over at you, and makes a face.<br/>
<br/>
“Jocelyn,” she says quietly. “Hello, Caleb.”<br/>
<br/>
"Will," you correct her. “I’m Will. Caleb was the one smart enough to bail. So how does 'Jocelyn' become ‘J.M.’?”<br/>
<br/>
She blows out another cloud of white mist. “All right.” She dabs her fingers at the air. “Jocelyn Margaret Moss. What would you do with that? A three-syllable mouthful that has people quoting <i>A Knight’s Tale</i> to you? 'Joss,' and be 'Joss Moss'? Or 'Jo,' and get called 'Jo-Mo'?”<br/>
<br/>
You grunt. "I see your point. Sorry if I was rude."<br/>
<br/>
“Not your fault. I blame my parents. I also blame them for giving me red hair and stubby little toes, and I definitely blame them for sending me to a boarding school on the other side of the country. If it were up to me, I’d be bodyboarding in Monterey right now. Instead, I’m here at a social event that might as well be a barn-raising, and almost got groped by some guy who looks like a walrus.”<br/>
<br/>
“Pert white tits, baah?”<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a long, sidewards glance, chews the corner of her lip, then nods. Silence enfolds you for a long minute.<br/>
<br/>
“I saw you talking to Abi Steiner,” J.M. says. “She’s bad news. Goes to my school. She used to be OK, a couple of years back. Then, well, people change, I guess. Now it’s like she’s wearing a mask of who she was. The X-men – uh, the faculty – think she’s their darling angel, and even went and made her a prefect. Truth is she just burns people. Doesn’t even care.”<br/>
<br/>
“You mean like Mary?”<br/>
<br/>
J.M. frowns, but continues gazing out at the river. “No. Mary’s always got a plan, but it’s not usually vindictive. She was just in a mood that day. I tried to tell her to drop it, to leave you alone. I don’t think she realized how far you’d go.”<br/>
<br/>
Then she does, finally, smile at you. “You know, you really do suck at mini-golf.”<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but that wasn't the point. I just saw you and your friends and thought maybe I had a shot. Makes you do stupid shit.”<br/>
<br/>
J.M. shrugs. “Maybe you did have a shot. Not with Mary. Or Corinne, for that matter, although I think she found your friend funny.” She takes a drag from her vape pen and blows out a steady white cloud.<br/>
<br/>
“So, with you?”<br/>
<br/>
She smiles without looking at you. “<i>Had</i> a shot, yeah. Before you went full-on commando raid. Tell you what. You’re sore, so I’ll make it up to you. What were you going to claim as your prize at the golf course, if you won?”<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate, and she frowns.<br/>
<br/>
“You didn’t even think that far ahead, did you? Wow, you <i>suck</i> at hitting on girls, too. And did you really think Mary was into you?”<br/>
<br/>
“She said I was cute.”<br/>
<br/>
“She wasn’t wrong. But you’re still hopeless." She takes another hit off the pen. "I should send you to the Guru. They’d love to see what they could do with you.”<br/>
<br/>
“Guru?”<br/>
<br/>
J.M. nods and lets another cloud drift away.<br/>
<br/>
“That’s going to be your consolation prize for … what was it, 37 over par?” She shakes her head, and holds out your hand. For a moment you think she wants you to take it, then you realize she's asking for your cell. Kelsey's warning come back to you, but that was a warning about Abigail, and you doubt the same warning would apply here.<br/>
<br/>
So you give your cell. J.M. opens up Google Maps, drops a marker, and hands it back.<br/>
<br/>
“You go here," she says. "Just blow the rest of this party off – it’s a networking thing anyway. You’ll thank me in the long run.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not sure I feel like thanking you for anything.”<br/>
<br/>
She shrugs again. Another pause, the only noise the bustle of the party. This time it’s your turn to break the silence.<br/>
<br/>
“Can you do me another favor? A kind of ‘sorry Mary screwed you over’ deal?”<br/>
<br/>
J.M. doesn’t smile, doesn’t make eye contact, but shrugs to show she’s listening, dragging on the vape pen once more.<br/>
<br/>
“Can I introduce you to a friend of mine? She wants to make contacts with the St Xavier’s crowd, that’s why she hauled my ass here.”<br/>
<br/>
J.M. lets out one final stream from her vape pen, tucks the device out of sight, and pops a piece of gum into her mouth. “Sure,” she says.<br/>
<br/>
As you lead her over to Brooke, you cast a quick glance at the address she’s marked for you.<br/>
<br/>
Funny thing: it’s the same one Roxanne provided a few hours earlier.</span></div></div>


path: 1152121122121
author_id: masktrixie
title: Get Him to the Guru
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You don’t get to leave the country club early. Brooke is your only ride out of there, and spends a quarter-hour trying to make friends with an increasingly quiet J.M. Elsewhere, Kelsey is busy zipping between conversations, while you manage to just about avoid Abigail by making a break for the toilets and sitting there for a good ten minutes, staring at your phone. This is a world you don’t belong in, and the moment Brooke discreetly gets your attention that she wants to leave, you’re at her side and ready to head off.<br/>
<br/>
It’s late, virtually sunset, by the time you find the address you’ve been given. It’s just north of Potsdam park, on the banks of the Mohegan river, and you have to park up a side road and head down a short path, overgrown with weeds and littered with cans, cigarette butts and rusty objects, before you hit the river. There, a mud track swings along the bank until you come to the back of a row of garages, and a small clearing. The smell of greasy food overtakes you as you approach, and you can see the remains of a one-use BBQ, plus a trash bag with a pile of tattered paper plates and a few empty bottles shoved inside. Once, the spot might have been meant as a beauty point, and there are two long wooden benches with names carved into the wood. As it is, you doubt anyone’s been here from Parks and Rec to keep the area tidy for more than a decade. <br/>
<br/>
For all the remains of a party, there are only three people still there when you turn up. The first, animatedly spray-painting the garage wall, a respirator shoved on her face like she’s planning a bank heist, is an elfin girl with large doe eyes and short-cropped hair, which is dyed black and hanging over the right side of her face. She’s wearing a grey hoodie with the sleeves hacked off, and pays you no attention as she continues working on her masterpiece, selecting her cans from a bag at her feet. <br/>
<br/>
The next, a Latina girl you’d guess the youngest of the three, has her shoulder-length hair parted down the centre, half dyed purple, the other half dyed jet. Large, bee-stung lips push up in front of an impudent nose with a large ring piercing, while a black chain covered with pin badges hangs loose around her neck. <br/>
<br/>
Nearest to you, sucking on the remnants of an iced coffee, is a thin girl, dressed head to toe in black. It’s a direct contrast to her pasty white skin, and her hair pushed is back and dyed bleach blonde save for the dark roots where the locks part. Through her left nostril is another ring piercing, identical to the Latina’s. <br/>
<br/>
“Ha! Did you just come from the country club or something?” coffee girl asks.<br/>
<br/>
“Actually, yeah.” you say, coming to a halt near the trio. <br/>
<br/>
“Oh.” There’s an awkward silence.<br/>
<br/>
The two girls not actively spraying the wall look at you expectantly, wondering what it is you want. While the path continues beyond the little scenic spot, you can see where it runs to the edge of the Borman Bridge, so you’re hardly out for a walk. Then, deciding they probably don’t care what brings a stranger among them, they turn back to their friend, grinning as the work continues.<br/>
<br/>
“C’mon, Alex. Hurry up before someone shows or we lose the light.”<br/>
<br/>
“Relax, Rae, Jeez. Had to wait until Nadine and the others bailed before I could make my finishing touches or they’d have freaked out. Just… one… more… <i>there</i>.” The short kid in the respirator pulls off her mask, backing up to see the design in the rapidly fading October sun and revealing that she, too, has the same, identical piercing as the other girls. The orange illumination of the streetlights gives the still wet spraypaint a glossy sheen, but you can still admire the talent it took to create the large mural of ―<br/>
<br/>
“Uh,” you say, “is that an eagle shitting on a dragon?”<br/>
<br/>
The artist turns, grins, and nods rapidly. “An <i>Eastman</i> eagle shitting on a <i>Westside</i> dragon.” She gestures wildly into the night, up at a shadow looming across the river, and you realize the mural’s going to be in plain view from the Borman Bridge – and clearly seen by anyone travelling into town past Westside. “It’s… y’know.” She whistles through her teeth. <i>Ffffffffttttt.</i><br/>
<br/>
“Communication,” the purple hair says, having whipped out her cell and begun to take a few snaps of her friend’s handiwork.<br/>
<br/>
“Retribution,” the final girl with the iced coffee clarifies, taking a slurp.<br/>
<br/>
“One of the Westsiders made a ‘friendship banner’ that was even worse,” the artist says, gathering a backpack covered in badges and clinking with spray cans. “Unveiled it in some goofy cross-school club.” She gives a wide grin again. “I just wanted to let ‘em know over at Westside we’re thinking of ‘em.”<br/>
<br/>
“<i>I</i> go to Westside,” you say. “Some of the dickwads there’ll kick your ass if they see this,” you say. The artist makes a <i>pffft</i> sound. <br/>
<br/>
“Like to see ‘em try. Besides, a perk of having tits – nobody hits a girl. I get to hit back, though.” She folds the respirator and shoves it into a spare pocket of her rucksack. “You want something? You’re beyond fashionably late for the cookout. Everyone’s gone home already.” <br/>
<br/>
<i>Shit.</i> You stand awkwardly for a moment, not knowing the magic word to break the ice. “Uh, I don’t suppose any of you are a guru, are you?”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh! Good point!” The artist dives into her rucksack, grabs a can and rushes back up to the mural. With a flourish, she signs the corner in big, yellow letters: ‘GURU’. She turns, winks, and walks back. “Alex Day,” she says, before pointing to the others, first the half-purple dye job, then the girl with the coffee. “Izzy Santos, and Rae Caldwell. And you are?”<br/>
<br/>
“Will Prescott. I was told to come here by someone called Roxanne?” Alex raises an eyebrow.<br/>
<br/>
“Roxanne <i>Hurley?</i>” Rae interrupts. “Really? The fuck’d she tell you to come here?” <i>Well, at least I know Roxanne’s surname now.</i><br/>
<br/>
“The party, dumbass,” Izzy says to her friend. Rae bounces on the balls of her feet and gives her a light shove with her elbow, before Izzy turns to you. “It was just a little Eastman thing, y’know? Few burgers and stuff. But you'd have been welcome.”<br/>
<br/>
“Roxanne said it was a better invite than the country club,” you say. “Sorry I missed it.”<br/>
<br/>
“Must’ve been why Nadine Martin was hanging late,” Izzy replies. “She went with Roxanne a few months back, think they still sometimes have a little fun. You missed her by, like, ten minutes. As you can see from the debris, party’s wound down. Just us, now.”<br/>
<br/>
“Too bad,” you say. “I wasn’t going to come, but then, at the country club, a girl called J.M.―”<br/>
<br/>
“Joss-Moss!” At least this name seems to hit the right button with Alex. “Yeah! We used to roll together. Before my little…” she flicks her fingers, and whistles, <i>whit-woo</i>.<br/>
<br/>
“Transfer,” Izzy says.<br/>
<br/>
“Expulsion,” Rae clarifies. <br/>
<br/>
Alex’s carefree grin remains in place. “I wasn’t Xavier’s material, so now I go to Eastman, with my peeps.” She walks over between Izzy and Rae and gives them both a warm, squeezing hug, still clutching the final spray can in her right hand. “Izzy’s brother still goes there, though. But you said you were looking for Guru – who, as you might have guessed, is me. So, wanderer, tell me what mystic knowledge you seek.”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh,” you say, “apparently I suck at everything?”<br/>
<br/>
“Ah. A work in progress.” She chews her lip. “You’re, what, a junior?”<br/>
<br/>
“Senior.”<br/>
<br/>
The three girls look at each other and burst out laughing. “Oh boy, this is next level,” Rae says. <br/>
<br/>
Alex holds up her hand. “’Kay, ‘kay. I can work with this. Let’s start at the beginning. What do you do?”<br/>
<br/>
You furrow your brow. “What do you mean?”<br/>
<br/>
“I mean,” Alex says, hoisting her rucksack on her back, “what’s your clique? High school’s defined by stereotypes. So, are you in the drama club? Play an instrument? On any team? I mean, <i>any</i> team, I don’t care what sport it is. No team? Really? What about clubs? Any after-school activities at all? What the actual fuck do you do with your time, man! Dating anyone? Huh! AP, you’ve got to be in some kind of academic— no?” She clicks her tongue. “Occult woogie? RPG nut? E sports? No way. No way! Dear fucking God I believe I am looking at a genuine tabula rasa.”<br/>
<br/>
You’ve taken enough Latin to know what that means. <i>Blank slate.</i> “Wow, thanks.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, no!” Alex laughs. “No, thank <i>you</i>! This is gonna be fun. Holy shit, we can Pygmalion your ass into whatever. Ladies, we are <i>taking</i> this project. Now, first up—”<br/>
<br/>
The next word never materializes. Instead, the peace is shattered by a quick burst of a police siren, and a flash of red and blue. You all turn to look back at the car, pulled up on the Borman bridge, and the two officers slowly getting out of it.<br/>
<br/>
“Crud,” Izzy says. “Run!”<br/>
<br/>
You have little time to do anything before the three girls sprint at full speed past you, Alex thrusting a spray can into your hand as she passes, Rae hurling her iced coffee into the river. You glance toward the squad car, and the two officers now running toward you. <br/>
<br/>
Time to go. The girls are all taking off down the way you came, and are already opening up a head start on you before you have a chance to think. It’s the obvious way to go, but not the only one: if you’re quick, you should be able to hop the chain fence next to the garages. From there, you can sprint across Farm Road and try to lose the cops among the houses in west Saratoga Falls. Or, you guess you could stand your ground. It’s not like you’ve done anything wrong...</span></div></div>


path: 11521211221211
author_id: rugal
title: Half a Mile and Runnin'
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Yeah, if you're quick you could hop that fence. But "if" is the word in that thought that really stands out. You're not the most agile person around nor are you the quickest and you've never actually been able to scramble fast up a fence. So you ignore the fence and take off in the same direction the girls are running. Though they've got a head start and though you're not the quickest you're still, maybe fueled by adrenaline, able to catch up to the trio quickly.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," you call out as you huff and puff and pull up alongside Alex, "go up that path over there! My truck's up that way!"<br/>
<br/>
She looks over at you and without a word quickly cuts right darting in front of and past you causing you to stumble and nearly trip. But you're able to regain your balance and follow them. Now that it's darker -- you've never really noticed just how fast night comes once the sun starts setting -- the path back to your truck seems much more treacherous than it did coming here. You're right at the edge of the river and your head is spinning so fast that you worry you'll stumble and fall in.<br/>
<br/>
Not that you'd be swept away as the river itself is pretty lazy but you'd have to explain to your parents why you've come home soaked to the bone and having just gotten out of the hole you sure as hell don't want to be tossed right back in.<br/>
<br/>
So you work hard to keep steady. As you exit the mud path and start heading up the overgrown one you hear a loud yelp and watch Izzy begin to stumble as you run past her. Quickly you put on the brakes, turn and catch her before she falls completely on her face. You don't even get the chance to ask if she's alright before she quickly nods and takes off. You follow and though you have to dodge the odd shopping cart that's likely been commandeered by a hobo and taken from its store -- and you hope to god the new owners aren't hanging around -- you do eventually make it back to the path's entrance.<br/>
<br/>
You spot your truck and reach into your pocket. You hit the button to unlock which, due to the lights coming on, also serves as an easy way of telling the girls that it's yours. You watch Alex and Izzy hop into the bed while Rae dashes to the passenger side door and jumps into the seat. You head around the front and into the driver side. Starting the truck you notice a figure, Alex from the look of it, standing right in front of the rear window.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, I'm getting out of here so you probably want to sit down!" you call out as you lower the window and stick your head out. But Alex seems to pay no mind to it and not really having the time to try to argue and get her to listen you put the truck in gear and head out.<br/>
<br/>
The initial jolt seems to have knocked Alex over because you hear a thump and a loud cry. "Told you!" you call out through the still open window.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you!" Alex calls back.<br/>
<br/>
Out of the corner of your eye you think you see Rae snicker. A glance in the rearview and you see two hands pop up, middle fingers extended, though not pointing at you.<br/>
<br/>
"And fuck you too you asshole cops!" Alex yells out. "Fuck the police comin' straight from the underground..." you hear her start to sing as you exit onto Farm Road and head north.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So this is the fabled Westside High, huh?" Alex says as she leans against the side of your truck and looks at the main school building.<br/>
<br/>
"What's your problem with Westside?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"When did I ever say I had a problem with Westside?" she asks in return.<br/>
<br/>
"Well that graffiti--"<br/>
<br/>
"Look I already told you what <i>that</i> was," she cuts you off. "Just gettin' back at someone right? Little bit of friendly ribbing. The fuck would I hate Westside for anyway? School pride's some dumb fucking shit if you ask me. 'Sides I know people that go here."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, dickhead," she answers. "You know Jordana Trujillo? Nancy Trent? Sienna Goldman?"<br/>
<br/>
"That last one," you reply. "Well I know <i>of</i> her. How do <i>you</i> know them?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not like the cheerleaders or the basketball douchebags or whatever," Alex opines. "You go to the Warehouse, you go to shows, you hold some parties out by the river, whatever. You're bound to run into people who go to other schools. You know Nadine plays in a band with Sienna?"<br/>
<br/>
You can only shake your head at that as it's not like you're really up on all the different bands and such that play around town. Not that you're out around town enough to make it a reason to know about that.<br/>
<br/>
"You really don't get out much do you?" Izzy chimes in and though it echoes your thoughts it's like a punch in the gut.<br/>
<br/>
"It's why he's a blank canvas," says Rae as she takes a long drag on her cigarette.<br/>
<br/>
She's skinny, small chested and pale but combined with her dark dress and dark boots that give her an extra bit of height there's a certain elegance to her, even in the way she smokes. On one hand you'd want to think she looks vaguely goth but on the other she looks nothing of the sort. You're also struck by the feeling you've seen her before but Saratoga Falls isn't the biggest town so you can only conclude that you probably have.<br/>
<br/>
"There's nothing wrong with being a blank canvas though," replies Izzy as she pokes you in the side. "Don't let her get to you. Rae would die if she didn't hit her daily quota of smart assed remarks."<br/>
<br/>
You can tell that she's definitely younger than you though you're not sure by how much; is she a junior? And her style seems like she just threw on the first things she grabbed and that she didn't have enough hair dye to actually complete the job. It's eccentric but there's something about the playful expression she wears and her attitude that makes it work and makes her cute you decide.<br/>
<br/>
"Right, right like I said," Alex adds as she looks at you using her fingers to frame your face, "we can do whatever with you. Like think of it like this: some chucklefuck looks at a blank canvas and sees... what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing," says Izzy.<br/>
<br/>
"Nada," adds Rae.<br/>
<br/>
"But an artiste, she looks at it and she sees infinite possibility. Like the side of some old building that's just begging me, pleading at me, to tag it." Alex pulls back her hands and shoots you a smile that's both friendly and mischievous. "What'd you say your name was?"<br/>
<br/>
"Will Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
"Well you, Prescott, are like my new old building. I'm gonna come over there," she says as she walks towards you, "get myself good and ready," she mimes shaking an invisible can, "and leave my mark right on you." With that she traces her finger across your chest and it takes you a moment to realize what she's doing.<br/>
<br/>
She's signing you.<br/>
<br/>
And then she walks back over to your truck. Alex is a tiny little thing, barely coming up to your mid-chest when she was right there. But if she's small in height she's not small in other areas as you can see as you watch each cheek move and practically strain against her jeans. Or the chest that you couldn't help but glimpse at when she was in front of you.<br/>
<br/>
"So you're a Mutie, huh?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Ex-Mutie," she replies.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry if that's kind of, I don't know, insulting," you add.<br/>
<br/>
"Aristocrats who have probably been inbreeding for god knows how long," says Rae. "I'd say it's more accurate descriptor than insult."<br/>
<br/>
"How'd you end up hooked up with Roxanne?" asks Izzy.<br/>
<br/>
"Ah, well it wasn't hooked up per se..." you state and then go into the tale of trying to flirt with her when you were with your friends and the entire debacle with Mary that led to you getting roughed up and hauled back to your parents, the grounding and your desire to get back at Mary.<br/>
<br/>
"Roxy's right, man," says Alex when you've finished. "Not worth it. You're just gonna get your ass beat again if you try anything and you sure as hell don't want to run into those beefy guys a second time. Even Gabe would've gotten his shots in and he's one of the cool ones."<br/>
<br/>
"So what do I do?" you ask. "Just let her get away with embarrassing me like that?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's your own fault for letting her turn you into her booze mule," Rae deadpans.<br/>
<br/>
"Riiight," chimes in Izzy. "You seem like a pretty nice guy but you're just so..." she reaches over and pinches a cheek, "you're like a naive baby. I bet Mary didn't even have to think twice. Not wrong about your looks though even if she was sweet talking you."<br/>
<br/>
You can't help but to feel your face turn red.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, you're not hopeless or anything," states Alex. "You wanna get back at Mary? Then hang around us. We'll set ya straight."<br/>
<br/>
"What, are you going to change my style up or something?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pfft," Alex starts to laugh. "Nah, nah, nah, nothin' like that. You're a guy, you want girls. It's all confidence and not giving a <i>fuck</i>," she says with emphasis. "You gotta learn how to loosen up, have fun, just fuckin' enjoy things. You start carin' so much about status you turn into a Mutie. Or you turn into..."<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing." One word from Rae but it cuts deep. You look to Izzy for another bout of reassurance but she just shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
"You roll with us, we'll show you a good time. We'll show you how to be the best Prescott your scrawny ass can be. You in?"<br/>
<br/>
Alex's doe eyes light up as she smiles, again friendly yet mischievous. These girls seem fun, they're being nice to you and your dick is practically screaming at you to accept. But this Alex girl... she's definitely trouble. Just like Mary. Are you sure you want to risk getting burned a second time?</span></div></div>


path: 115212112212111
author_id: rugal
title: You and the Girls
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You certainly have your misgivings but something -- a bit of optimism buried deep in your mind or the erection buried in your pants -- is telling you that despite being a risk it might be a risk worth taking. Though you still can't help but to be unsure. "What have I got to lose at this point?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Your weekends to community service," Rae says glibly as she continues to take drags.<br/>
<br/>
"God shut <i>up</i> Rae!" Alex hisses at her friend. "We'll just hang out, go to parties, you know have fun."<br/>
<br/>
"Too bad for him that your idea of fun is warped," Rae shoots back.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, okay, parties! Like I said!" protests Alex as she paces. "All that kinda shit. It's not like I'm gonna take him out to--" she stops and throws her hands up.<br/>
<br/>
"Alex, he meets you and within ten minutes he's being chased by the cops," counters Rae. "When it comes to trouble you're like the pretty girl walking by construction workers. It's the natural result of you being you," she takes another drag of her cigarette and then smirks, "ex-Mutie."<br/>
<br/>
You expect Alex to offer some kind of retort but she doesn't so instead you take the opportunity to jump in. "So how'd you end up at Xavier's anyway?" you ask her. "You, uh, don't really seem like the type. Were you, I don't know, working to pay your way there or something?"<br/>
<br/>
You hear a loud guffaw come from Rae at that.<br/>
<br/>
"Alex. Work," she muses.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh fuck off," Alex grumbles.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not like you have to," Izzy says with a grin, "when you're a bored rich kid."<br/>
<br/>
"You too! Goddamn, what'd I even do to you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Besides my near brush with the law?" quips Rae.<br/>
<br/>
But you're more stunned by Izzy's jab. "You're... she's rich?" you ask in disbelief. "I wouldn't have even thought..."<br/>
<br/>
"I <i>know</i>!" Izzy exclaims, "But her family's loaded! They make Kristy's family look middle class. They've got Greeley money, <i>Straussler</i> money."<br/>
<br/>
A sour expression crosses Alex's face as her usually self-assured demeanor falters and she looks down at her own feet. "We're not doing <i>that</i> good," she mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"That's right," Rae says as she looks at you with a certain spark in her eyes. "Will, your home has a helipad doesn't it? I feel like they're just so common in middle class suburbia."<br/>
<br/>
"You should see it!" says Izzy excitedly as she wraps her sweater-clad arms around your own. "There's just... rooms! I don't even know what half of them are for but they're there! And I heard, like, if you go down the wrong hallway... you'll get so lost they'll never even find your starved body."<br/>
<br/>
"Spooky," Rae adds.<br/>
<br/>
"Some friends, huh?" Alex says to you. "Your own buddies this disrespectful?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like you wouldn't believe," you answer.<br/>
<br/>
Alex lets out a loud <i>snrk!</i> and walks over to you. Once she's next to you she reaches up an arm and plops it on your shoulder. "My man, we are like two peas in a pod," she says as she as the hand draping in front of your shoulder raises up to point at Rae, "attacked for no good reason by cruel weasels like them."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey now, the reason is <i>always</i> good," says Izzy as she, still ensnaring your arm, yanks you closer towards her. "You think so too right? You can tell that she's nothing but trouble can't you?"<br/>
<br/>
She leans forward so her face is right in front of yours, beaming at you. She is seriously cute and a fantasy runs through your head of just placing your own lips on her large, pillowy ones. But instead, nervously, you pull back from her. "Ah, well, I only just met her so I can't really say," you answer, now totally flustered, "but she does seem, uh, wild?"<br/>
<br/>
"How diplomatic," states Rae as Izzy titters.<br/>
<br/>
You take a breath. These three are seriously exhausting you. "So," you turn to Alex, "what's with this whole Guru thing anyway?"<br/>
<br/>
"I left this flattering tag of Davina Macklin right on the STEM building facing Founders Hall," Alex says with a satisfied expression. "It was a really heartfelt piece right where she could see it when she came out of her room every morning but for <i>some</i> reason she took it badly."<br/>
<br/>
"Can't imagine why," Rae chimes in.<br/>
<br/>
"Right?" Alex continues smirking. "But I needed to sign it so I went with that. It's an acronym you know; stands for Gain Unquestionably Real Understanding."<br/>
<br/>
Rae doesn't even try to choke down her laughter. "This if the first <i>I'm</i> hearing of this," she teases before turning her gaze towards you. "Please don't listen to her. She told <i>me</i> she took it from some rapper she liked."<br/>
<br/>
"Again with the fucking disrespect!" Alex cries but she quickly smiles. "See this is why I'm <i>happy</i> I got booted for that. These two, Chris and Nadine and whoever? I push and push and they push back. There's some good people at Xavier's like Gabe and Roxy and even Joss-Moss is good for someone with snobbery embedded into their DNA. But most of 'em," she pauses and looks sour, "they suck. Sucking up to you 'cause you're richer than them or lording it over you 'cause they're richer than you and they'd all throw their grandmothers off a bridge if it'd move them up one rung."<br/>
<br/>
"Funny," Rae says as she takes yet another drag. "Because the first time you brought me to your house you were all excited that I was going to see where you lived."<br/>
<br/>
"And you remember what you said when we got there right?" asks Alex.<br/>
<br/>
"You mean when you pointed out the fountain out front with the small statue of your great-great-grandfather on top of it?" Rae contemplates for a second before it seems she remembers. "Right, yeah I believe I said that I too want to be remembered as a gaudy lawn ornament after I die."<br/>
<br/>
"And that's when I knew it," Alex turns back to you bouncing on her heels. "I knew that I was where I needed to be. These two, they're the most honest fuckers I know. They'll give it to me straight and I know they've got my back. I could lose everything and they'll be there."<br/>
<br/>
"Did we ever say that?" Izzy asks Rae.<br/>
<br/>
"Of course not," replies Rae, "and in fact I think we've said we'd leave you in the gutter if that happened."<br/>
<br/>
The three of them, though, burst into laughter and you're struck by the fact that their camaraderie does seem to run fairly deep. After all only good friends could really get away with talking to each other the way they do, right? The shots and ribbing. Could you imagine Chelsea and her friends laughing after shit talking one another? Probably not. At the very least you don't think they're maliciously messing with you and so you're definitely willing to give them a chance even if you're still sore over what Mary pulled.<br/>
<br/>
But you're still left with one question that's been eating away at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, so," you start after they've stopped, "uh Alex and Izzy. What are they short for?"<br/>
<br/>
That causes all three to snicker again but it's Izzy who speaks first. "Isabela but I'm always Izzy with my friends or if I like you." Quickly she follows it up. "So keep calling me Izzy," she adds with a wink and again you feel yourself turn red. You have no idea how serious she's being since you've only just met but she's certainly nothing if not playful and flirty.<br/>
<br/>
"Ah, yeah," you say once again flustered before turning back to Alex. "What about you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Alex," she states very bluntly. "My folks thought they were getting a boy at first but I guess were like hey, it's gender neutral enough that it works for a girl. Or somethin', I don't know. I think they overcompensated with the rest of my name though." She lets out a small laugh at that. "Alex Elisabeth Josephine Day sounds pretty ridiculous don't it?"<br/>
<br/>
You have to agree. Her personality is much better suited to just the first and last name.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyway, we should probably be gettin' out of here and look for some real fun," she says. "Like I said, Prescott, you want to learn how to have fun then you're welcome to hang with us. You up for it?"</span></div></div>


path: 1152121122121111
author_id: masktrixie
title: Welcome to the Warehouse
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“Yeah, fuck it. I’m in,” you say. Alex’s smile widens, and she offers you a fist bump. You clink your knuckles together.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah!” she laughs, climbing in to the back of the truck. “So c’mon! The night is young, as are we. And there’s only one thing to do on Saturday night in Saratoga Falls. Go to the only place that’s got everything you want. The Warehouse.”<br/>
<br/>
“So what we waiting for?” Izzy asks. She tries to hop into the back of the truck, fails, and ending up hanging on the cusp with her torso, flailing her arms and legs in mock helplessness until Alex pulls her inside. <br/>
<br/>
Rae, however, doesn’t move. She flicks the end of her cigarette at a nearby drain and watches as it cartwheels in the night air, tip still glowing until it hits the gutter. “Slight sartorial problem,” she says, pointing at you. <br/>
<br/>
“Like anyone will give a shit,” Izzy says, somewhere on the floor of the back of your truck. You climb in, not sure what else to do.<br/>
<br/>
“Nah, it matters,” Rae says. “One look and his confidence is gonna pop.” She walks over to the passenger door and climbs in. “No offence, but we gotta protect your virgin ass.” She pats your knee.<br/>
<br/>
“Whoever said I was…”<br/>
<br/>
All three girls burst out laughing. You have a feeling that Izzy would pet you if she could.<br/>
<br/>
“We’ll sort out clothing once we get there,” Alex says. “Hit it, Will!”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, hit it <i>where</i>?”<br/>
<br/>
“The Warehouse!”<br/>
<br/>
You look blank.<br/>
<br/>
“Fuck me,” Rae sighs. “I’ll give you directions. Just go.”<br/>
<br/>
You start the truck up, once again watching as Alex goes flying backward from her previously standing position, to hoots of laughter from Izzy. Anything could happen in the next half hour, but you’re pretty sure whatever’s coming is better than anything you’ve had in a long time.<br/>
<br/>
“Actually,” Alex shouts over the whistling air, “First, take us to get some, y’know.”<br/>
<br/>
“Munchies,” Izzy yells.<br/>
<br/>
“Taco Bell,” Rae says from the quiet of the cab, with an indifferent shrug. “Only decent drive-thru you can get vegan options.”<br/>
<br/>
“That your deal then? Vegan?” You’re just impressed she sourced vegan iced coffee in Saratoga Falls. Maybe it had soya milk.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, cause going plant-based defines my whole fuckin’ life,” she says. “I like fashion too, not that high end bullshit but actually feeling comfortable in your own skin. Dabble on Instagram as well, got a bit of a following. Helps when you’ve got someone like Izzy to do the shoots.”<br/>
<br/>
“I thought you were graffiti artists?” Rae turns and looks at you.<br/>
<br/>
“Ha! No. Alex is the artist. Tags, stencils, laminates, whatever inspires her.” She points to a sign in the distance as you drive up the Borman Road. “Taco Bell at 11’o clock. You know what you want to order?”<br/>
<br/>
You suddenly realize the last thing you had was that yellow shrimp on a stick at the club. “Ah, actually, I’m a little hard up right now.”<br/>
<br/>
Rae rolls her eyes, and keeps pointing for you to head to the drive thru. “Then you’re gonna get what we give you, won’t you?”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
The Warehouse is massive, probably several football fields. You park up in the industrial center of Saratoga Falls, up by the tracks and the buildings that tower like some kind of post-apocalyptic landscape. You have expect flames to shoot out of the chimney stacks, or gangs of bikers with spiked shoulder pads to roar past. As it is, it mainly seems to be kids your age hanging around. Your belly is now full, and you’re sat in your pick up. Rae has run off, and you’ve been joined in the cab by both Izzy and Alex, who have decided the only way to hold a conversation is to squeeze in together, door hanging open to accommodate them as Izzy sits in the seat and Alex more or less topples over her.<br/>
<br/>
“So, once Rae’s done her procurement thing, we’re gonna go inside. It’s kind of a dive, but it’s an awesome dive. Tables to buy whatever, whole room for music. Downstairs is a no-go. Upstairs is basically a, y’know.”<br/>
<br/>
“Flophouse,” Izzy suggests.<br/>
<br/>
“Love hotel,” Rae clarifies, appearing from behind her comrades and speaking through the open door. “Load of mattresses you rent by the minute. Huh, I wonder what that could be for! Gross they charge you extra for sheets.” She hurls something black and smelly at you. You whip it down, and look at a faded T-shirt with the slogan of some band you don’t recognize.<br/>
<br/>
“That’s the best you could come up with?” Alex says, rolling off Izzy and straightening the ripped sleeves of her hoodie.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s not like there’s a whole bunch of options here,” Rae says. “Lane and his silly little beard had a spare shirt for sale from last week’s gig, and it’s about Will’s size.” She turns to you. “Get it on.”<br/>
<br/>
“What, here?”<br/>
<br/>
“No, in the invisible changing rooms.”<br/>
<br/>
“We don’t care,” Izzy says. “Don’t worry, we won’t laugh at your pasty white torso.”<br/>
<br/>
You shrug and pull off the Lacoste top, replacing it with the grubby, flimsy cotton T-shirt. The cold October air starts to bite you even more than before. Both Izzy and Rae give 'aww' looks at your pasty white chest, before you shimmy the T-shirt down and stretch it out a little.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah!” Alex nods. “C’mon. Time to loosen up.”<br/>
<br/>
You try and keep your cool as you walk toward the doors. There’s security outside, but they all seem around your age, and nobody gets carded as you pass through. The Warehouse lives up to its name, and inside is just as vast as you’d expect. One room has a load of wooden tables set up, where different vendors are offering everything from soft drinks and beers to bags of weed. You wonder if you’ve entered <i>The Lost Boys</i> – there doesn’t seem to be a single person beyond high school age in the place. Alex ducks to your side, and suddenly you find yourself walking with her tiny frame draped under you’re your arm. You look briefly at her, and she wrinkles her nose at you, even as she gently directs you toward a second room, this one with music blaring from the inside.<br/>
<br/>
You don’t recognize the guys and girls here. A few are clean cut, a few are covered in acne. There’s a couple of nerd-chic girls in massive, dark-rimmed glasses talking in a corner, and one laughs and begins to neck her boyfriend as you walk past. You’d class virtually everyone here as part of the Bohemian set, and if you had to guess you’d say they were almost all Eastman students: you only recognize one or two of the faces in the crowd.<br/>
<br/>
“Hey, Nadine!” Alex says, swinging you round with surprising strength for someone her size. “We meet again. Playing tonight?”<br/>
<br/>
The girl she addresses turns. At least, you think she’s a girl – it’s hard to guess her pronoun. She’s wearing a pastel suit, her dye-blonde hair is short and combed neatly, and her face has a strange, androgynous quality. It’s a style that reminds you a little of David Bowie.<br/>
<br/>
“Nope,” Nadine returns. “DJ set, I think. Slow Fast Hazel next Friday, so should be good if Kurt hasn’t driven ‘em apart by then.”<br/>
<br/>
“Cool!” Izzy says, genuinely enthused. “That guitarist is so good. Shame her sis mostly plays these days.”<br/>
<br/>
“Doubt they’re gonna let <i>you</i> in,” Nadine replies. “Apparently, someone’s been making bootlegs of the shows, sharing them around. Oscar was trying to find who it was earlier, someone’s real pissed about it for who-knows-what reason. Probably accidentally taped something they shouldn’t have. You’re suspect number one.”<br/>
<br/>
Izzy looks mock-offended. “If it were me, it’d already be on the net.”<br/>
<br/>
Nadine smiles. “Yeah, don’t doubt it. So, who’s the fresh meat?”<br/>
<br/>
“Will,” you say, giving a wave. The androgynous girl twitches an eyebrow. <br/>
<br/>
“He’s our project, Nadine,” Alex says, voice low and a little defensive.<br/>
<br/>
“Project? You’re not still with that Guru bullshit?” She turns back to you. “Hi, I’m Nadine. Roxanne Hurley said you’d be coming by the cookout this afternoon. Guess I missed you, and you ended up with these delinquents.”<br/>
<br/>
Rae gives Nadine the finger, which Nadine gamely returns. “He’s ours,” Rae says, placing a hand around your waist, so you suddenly have both Alex and her under your arms. You feel Izzy’s arms slipping around you from behind, too. <i>Holy shit, three girls are squeezing you tight.</i> You can’t help but get a little excited.<br/>
<br/>
Nadine shakes her head at the diminutive artist and her posse, then looks you straight in the eye. “Well, we’re sitting over there if you want to come chill for a bit. You know Sienna Goldman, right? She’s with us. Come say hi, leave these bozos to head off to the dance floor.”<br/>
<br/>
“Nah,” Alex says, tightening her grip. “Will’s talked enough tonight. Now we’re gonna dance with him. Ain’t we, Will?” She nuzzles her head against your chest.</span></div></div>


path: 11521211221211111
author_id: masktrixie
title: Shall We Dance?
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>There's no way you're going to pass this chance up. Will Prescott has, for the first time in his life, got three girls - three - all asking him to dance. You thought you'd peaked with Lisa, but right now you can barely contain the rush of excitement at what could happen. Could it? Really? You feel your body start to tense, the adrenaline surge, just in anticipation. <br/>
<br/>
"I think you've got your answer," you say to Nadine with a smile, even as Izzy hisses a 'yes!' and begins to pull you toward the floor. Alex rolls her head across your chest as she turns briefly toward Nadine - you sense she's giving her the finger but you're not sure - and then tucks under one of your arms. Rae lets go of her own hug, pausing long enough to light a cigarette. You have no idea where the night is going to take you, but then you never imagined it could take you here to begin with.<br/>
<br/>
The Warehouse dance floor - if a giant, unruly space in an industrial complex can be called a dance floor - isn't exactly packed, but the girls lead you to the center of it regardless. The music is loud, too heavy on bass, so that you feel each pounding vibration echo through your chest. Izzy lets go and begins pogoing up and down, her hands pumping in the air with wild and reckless abandon. Rae is less eager, instead going for a smart few steps, while Alex keeps hold of your hand, pulling you around in an impromptu recreation of some goofy dance you've seen in... some goofy movie. <br/>
<br/>
You try not to overthink, or even think at all, but it's hard not to. Somehow you've gone from getting your ass handed to you by <i>Kelsey Blankenship</i>, disgusted you were being used by some blonde beauty, to having three teenage delinquents take you to the worst (and that means best) night out in Saratoga Falls. By your count, since your lame attempt at trying to beat that Napoleon complex bitch and her rich kid friends, you've had <i>four</i> girls ask you out, <i>three</i> express some kind of interest in you, and two bohemians invite you to ditch your friends and hang with them. <br/>
<br/>
You try desperately to remember if you changed your deodorant recently. <br/>
<br/>
You figure you'd better dance. <i>You can dance, can't you, Will?</i> You start moving your feet forward. Then backward. Your hips a little to one side and the other. One of your hands heads out to the ceiling, points, comes back down again. Wait! No, that's Saturday Night Fever. Is that cool? Is any of this cool? You spin, and try and match what Rae is doing, a sort of mime effect that isn't entirely in time to the beat but at least seems to have some semblance of rhythm. You stumble, feeling your trainers hit each other as you try and match the steps and avoid some kind of sticky residue on the floor that's making it hard to peel off your shoes. Your breathing is becoming erratic, the lights feel bright and dim at the same time, and still the music is pounding, pounding...<br/>
<br/>
"Whoa, calm down!" Alex says, rolling her eyes. "Just... y'know." She smiles, and gives a light hum that somehow penetrates the surrounding din.<br/>
<br/>
"Chill," Izzy nods serenely.<br/>
<br/>
"Relax," Rae clarifies. You come to a dead stop. You look the part in a borrowed T-shirt, but you know you're hopelessly out of your depth right now. Too many nights playing online with Caleb and Keith. Neither of them would have this problem; Caleb wouldn't even have come, and Keith's too dumb to overthink things. You begin to rub the back of your neck, wondering if maybe it's too late to back out.<br/>
<br/>
And then she stands before you. Izzy, those swollen, bee-stung lips smiling at you, the warehouse lights filtering behind her to create a landing strip, a vortex, that sucks all attention to her. She walks, slowly, shifting her figure. Time seems to stand still as you watch her approach and cock her head to the side.<br/>
<br/>
"I know what will help," she says, low and slow, even as her hands wrap around your neck and draws you close to her. You feel the heaviness of her breath, smell the light grease of her makeup, then the softness of those lips as she locks them against yours. You can't help but close your eyes, the flashes and noise becoming beacons in the pitch darkness. In an instant, you feel her tongue slither into your mouth, and do your best to return the kiss. You feel your saliva entwine for a brief moment... then something else catches in your throat. You open your eyes, only to see a delighted glimmer flash across hers as she pulls away.<br/>
<br/>
You run your tongue around your mouth, trying to feel what she slipped you. "What was that?" you ask. Izzy rests a hand on your cheek. <br/>
<br/>
"A little, uh... <i>Ffffffsh</i>." Alex says helpfully, sidestepping to the beat, now dancing with a guy you don't know with a serious case of acne.<br/>
<br/>
"Something to take off your edge," Izzy smiles, tracing her hand on your chest, then down toward your belt.<br/>
<br/>
"Something to get you high," Rae adds. "I'm getting a drink. Back in a few."<br/>
<br/>
You want to panic, but a little voice tells you to trust them. <br/>
<br/>
It's too late now, isn't it?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You roll over, squeezing Izzy's body against yours, spooning over shoulder, bending your knees up so you push against that shapely ass. There's a little chill, a little sense of damp somewhere, but it's warm enough, comfortable enough, and your eyelids feel like joined magnets. You roll over, muttering softly, pressing your head against something that's surprisingly hard. With a soft groan, you open your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
And you're in an alley. Hugging some old, damp, beaten, soaked carpet.<br/>
<br/>
You mutter a curse, shoving the carpet away and stretching stiff limbs as you blink against the morning sun and try and work out where the hell you are. You think the buildings in front of you are Eastman, which means you're... shit. The other end of Saratoga Falls from home. You're still wearing the shirt you borrowed, and a hasty check of your pockets reveals your cell is there, as are your truck keys, although your wallet is missing. <br/>
<br/>
"Fuck," you try and say, but your parched lips and scorched throat make only a 'Fgh' sound. You try and cough up some spit, but all it does is remind your lungs that they're full of dirty, polluted gack. You spin over, into a weak-ass press up, and begin coughing your lungs out. After 20 seconds your stomach decides to join in, and you begin to hurl the contents of last night's Taco Bell. It comes up in waves of purple and blue. Shots, you think? Some kind of liqueur? You can't remember much after Izzy gave you that... <br/>
<br/>
Fuck. They drugged you! You close your eyes, suck in a deep breath, and stagger to your feet. Eastman. At least you know where you are. And if you have your keys, you know where your truck is, too - although you have no idea if you're legal to drive. In fact, you don't even know what time it is, or how much sleep you got from whatever you did with your evening. Judging by the sun - c'mon Will, you did this in astronomy - you think it's probably about 7am. Maybe? It takes you far, far too long to remember that you've got the time on your cell. You pull it out. 6.24am. <br/>
<br/>
Too early.<br/>
<br/>
Not that it's your most pressing concern. Above all, the thought rings through your head that your parents are going to kill you. You've got church this morning. If you're smart, lucky or both, you might be able to get back, sneak into your room and act like nothing's happened. Although, judging by the aching, thunderous headache you have and the tense slit-thin vision through your eyes, you don't know if you're going to be able to pull it off. You could confess, but somehow you doubt that's going to fly with them given your previous adventures with the police at St. X. You've only just ended being grounded; this will see you in lockdown until Christmas.<br/>
<br/>
You're not in great shape to try and solve this on your own, but you do have other options. You could always call one of your friends to see if they can do the thinking for you. Granted, that rules out Keith, who's probably the one who owes you the most. But two heads - any two heads - are better than one at a time like this.</span></div></div>


path: 115212112212111112
author_id: masktrixie
title: Dude, Where's My Truck?
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Hellugh?" <br/>
<br/>
The grunt down the phone is barely a coherent word, but then it's barely a coherent time of day. Keith Tilley practically slurs at you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.<br/>
<br/>
"Keith. Man. It's Will. I'm in some shit."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck off, Will. What fucking time is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I know, I know. It's like, half-six. But man, I really need help. I'm in the parking lot of Redway Plaza, just a ways from the Dollar Save."<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck?" Slowly Keith processes your story. "Uh... why?"<br/>
<br/>
You close your eyes and rest your head against a nearby wall. It feels swollen, like one of those ridiculous bobble heads you see in cars. "I ... met some girls last night. And next thing I know, I was ..."<br/>
<br/>
"OH MAN!" Keith's sleepiness drops in an instant. "Did you get laid? Holy shit, Will!"<br/>
<br/>
You wince. "I don't actually remember," you say. "I don't think so. I remember dancing at the Warehouse with three girls, and the rest of it is kind of all... sticky in my head. Like my brain's got gum on it. Anyway, I just woke up here."<br/>
<br/>
"Dude! This is like those <i>Hangover</i> movies! I didn't know this stuff actually happened to people! Man, after the stunt you pulled leaping over that wall, you should get on social media. You'd get a million followers in a day. It'd be like Saratoga Fall's own <i>Jackass.</i> We can hook you up with my YouTuber friends!"<br/>
<br/>
You close your eyes, trying to block out the throbbing white spikes that flash as Keith talks too excitedly. "Keith," you say slowly. "Please, man. I'm far too hungover for this right now. Just ... get here? I have to get home before my mom finds out I haven't been home all night."<br/>
<br/>
And that gives you a worrying thought. Mom's always had an eerie telepathy. What makes you so convinced she doesn't know already?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
It's a cold morning in Saratoga Falls, and you're wearing someone else's T-shirt as you wait for Keith. When he finally does arrive, he bursts out laughing almost immediately.<br/>
<br/>
"What?" you say, heading over. "Why are you laughing?"<br/>
<br/>
Keith points to your face. "Nice moustache," he says, cracking up all the more. You look at him with alarm.<br/>
<br/>
"Mous ... what?" you pull up your phone and swing it into front camera. Shit! Someone's drawn a huge handlebar moustache across your top lip, curling over your wan, drawn cheeks. You reach up and try to rub it off, but it only very faintly smudges. Permanent marker. A faint voice echoes somewhere from the night before. <i>C'mon, Will! Hold still, we're going to make a gentleman out of you... oh yeah! There we go, full on Wyatt Earp...</i><br/>
<br/>
You look up at Keith in despair. He just laughs. "Man, you’re so screwed.”<br/>
<br/>
You sigh, and look up at the looming clouds. “C’mon, man. Let’s just go get my truck. I parked it down the Warehouse last night.”<br/>
<br/>
Keith’s eyes twitch. “The Warehouse? <i>That’s</i> where you were last night? Man, you’re going all in on your passage into not-being-a-pussydom, huh? So spill. Who were you with?”<br/>
<br/>
You sigh and begin walking. “It’s complicated. You remember that girl from Monte Viso’s? No, not the trio. Well… one of them, sorta, but she comes into it later. I mean the attendant.”<br/>
<br/>
“The booth babe.”<br/>
<br/>
“The attendant. So, she gave me this address for a party. And I almost went, but Brooke Galloway asked me to go to the country club with her, and…”<br/>
<br/>
“What, like, on a date?” He twitches his eyebrows suggestively.<br/>
<br/>
“No! Jesus, Keith, can I finish the goddamn story? Brooke wanted me to introduce her to one of the girls at the minigolf. So I went there, had a run-in with this … I mean, knock-out girl, like, supermodel hot that Kelsey stomped all over. Then I met one of the trio – that one with the red hair, kinda plain? – and she gave me the same address as the attendant. Soooo, I went down there, missed the party, but ended up with these three girls. Alex, Rae, and Iz…”<br/>
<br/>
“Alex Day?” Keith interrupts. You pause and look at him.<br/>
<br/>
“You know her?”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, yeah. She’s banned from Don’s. Drew a fucking cock on the window. Like, a four-foot schlong. Bad news all round. But crazy developed in the boobs department, am I right? Straight up melons.”<br/>
<br/>
You groan, and keep walking with Keith along the road. “Well, we got a Taco Bell, then headed to the Warehouse. And Izzy and I were kinda making out and… I think they gave me a roofie. And here I am. Think they took my wallet, too.”<br/>
<br/>
“Fuck,” Keith acknowledges with sincerity. “Don’t worry, man. I’ve got your back from here. We’ll grab your truck, and then head back to mine. My mom’s got this industrial strength make-up removal crap, stinks up the bathroom every time she uses it. We’ll get the marker off, probably a layer of skin too. And we’ll say that <i>I</i> called you this morning, asked for your help with … I dunno. Something. OH! Yeah, you were returning a book you borrowed at school! So when you drive back, you can be all like ‘Oh, yeah, I had to drive over to Keith’s, ‘cause he needed something for homework and it’s an emergency as it’s due tomorrow.’ Am I a genius or what?”<br/>
<br/>
As plans go, it’s not too bad – and from Keith it’s practically a moment of Da Vinci-level genius. “Thanks, dude.” <br/>
<br/>
He winks. “It’s all good, I got your back. Then you can go to church or whatever, and get some sleep in…” he falls silent, coming to a dead stop. “Dude,” he says slowly. “Where did you say your truck was?”<br/>
<br/>
“The Warehouse,” you reply, turning to him.<br/>
<br/>
“Are you sure about that?”<br/>
<br/>
You turn, following the direction of his gaze out toward Eastman. A lump materializes in your throat, along with a chill up your spine. <br/>
<br/>
Your truck isn’t at the Warehouse. It’s in the far end zone of Eastman’s football field, covered in mud from where it’s spun donuts across the pitch, cartwheeling deep rivets of dirt and grass across the formerly pristine surface.<br/>
<br/>
You look at Keith and gulp. You have no memory of even doing it, only a vague sense that you did <i>something</i>. The keys are in your pocket, after all. You hate to think how much that turf cost to put down. You chew on your lip and try to work out what the hell you do.<br/>
<br/>
Option one is to go get your truck and get the hell out of there before some Eastman lughead spots it. With any luck the Jiffy-Go around the block will be open - or better yet, you could drive to Walmart on the other side of town. If you're lucky, you might be able to get the whole thing hosed down before anyone notices. You hope Keith has enough money, because your wallet's still awol.<br/>
<br/>
And that gives you the other choice. You could always ditch your keys and claim your truck was stolen along with your wallet. That way, you can absolve yourself of blame completely. It would mean admitting you were out late to your parents, though.</span></div></div>


path: 1152121122121111121
author_id: masktrixie
title: A Little Blackmail
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You take a deep breath, thinking for a moment, letting oxygen try and reinvigorate your brain. You're super-thirsty, and kind of wish you'd told Keith to bring some water with him. Instead, you have a pounding headache to go along with the sunken eyes and general feeling of terror you're going through.<br/>
<br/>
"We got to go get her," you say to him.<br/>
<br/>
"Her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, my truck," you say, not entirely sure when you decided your truck was a girl. "C'mon."<br/>
<br/>
Keith stands firm. "Whoa, hold on!" he says. "Look, man. Rescuing you from a wild night out before breakfast, that's Tilley level superherodom. But this ... someone's going to hang for this. If it ain't the cops, it'll be your parents. Or, worse, the Eastman High football team. Seriously man, you'll have to go into witness protection if they ever find out."<br/>
<br/>
"Which is why I need to get it," you say to him, slowly. "Just... hang on out on the road if you're chicken. Make sure no one's coming. I'll get it to the gate, then you give me a wave when it's all clear."<br/>
<br/>
Keith, reluctance across his face, agrees with a nod. And, with that, you take a breath, dart across the carriageway, and begin your slow, awkward jog out to the Eastman football field. It's relatively easy to get to the parking lot - you literally just walk in through the main entrance, which isn't locked up - and from there you trudge across the empty bays where the game tailgates happen. Why anyone would tailgate a <i>high school</i> game you have no idea (Saratoga Falls is hardly <i>Friday Night Lights</i>) but there's enough people who take games seriously, as the scorched patches of concrete indicate. Then it's across a brief spot of turf, over the oval of the running track ... and out to the centre of the field. <br/>
<br/>
You never imagined in your wildest dreams you'd be here - it's not like you turn up on the bleachers, never mind the first team. You've never heard Chelsea Cooper call your name (although you wince at the memory of Gordon Black doing so because you flipped her off once). But, with a sudden fear gripping you that someone could turn up, you do manage to make a 60-yard dash that would eclipse even Westside's star wide receiver. The scratches and grooves in the turf, fresh from your trucks wild night, are obvious. You have no idea how much this is going to cost to repair, but you doubt it's cheap. And, as you make your way to the end zone, you're mostly relieved that it seems you drove it in a straight line. <br/>
<br/>
Did you drive it? You don't remember. Arriving at the truck, mud-splattered with turf and white chalk streaked on its side, you figure the best option is just to get out of there as soon as possible. You haul ass into the cab, put the keys in the ignition, and pray it starts...<br/>
<br/>
<i>Brrrruuu....ghhhhhhhummm.</i> You say a quiet prayer as the engine splutters to life, and the gas tank shows almost half full. Then, with a brief thought to any further grass destruction you might cause, you begin to roll her slowly across the field, back onto the hard of the running track. You lay down a fine set of muddy prints as you make your getaway, but as far as you can tell nobody has seen you as you head to the exit ... and a beckoning Keith, standing on the grass verge, indicating nobody's coming. You accelerate, pulling up alongside. And, no sooner has he scrambled into the cab than you hit the road and get the hell out of there.<br/>
<br/>
You glance nervously in your rear view mirror. Nobody's coming up the road at this time of day, but you're so focused on the ridiculous marker mustache curling over your top lip that you almost don't stop at the lights at 20th, then practically rush down Buchanan. <br/>
<br/>
"You want to drive normally?" Keith says.<br/>
<br/>
"Not really."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, all you're doing is drawing attention to yourself." <br/>
<br/>
"Man, I just want to get to WalMart and the autowash. Uh, speaking of, can you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pay for you to wash your truck?" Keith sighs. "What happens if I say no?"<br/>
<br/>
You glance over at him. "Man, look. I know this is way more than you asked for. It's more than I asked for. And I will pay you back. Double."<br/>
<br/>
Keith's face is a picture of incredulity. "Will, you haven't got double."<br/>
<br/>
"Then I'll get a job!"<br/>
<br/>
"Heard that before," Keith mutters. "C'mon, let's just go to my house."<br/>
<br/>
"How does that help?"<br/>
<br/>
Keith looks at you. "For starters, we can get your dumb facial hair off. And we've got a power washer. It might blast off half your paintjob, but at least it's free. Besides, man, even I know Walmart will have cameras. You think the police aren't going to pull up who washed their truck recently?"<br/>
<br/>
It's a thought that hadn't even occurred to you! There's going to be an investigation. You hope it's only the brain fog that's making Keith the brains of this operation. You keep going as you pass Walmart, heading straight to Keith's. "You think they're going to be able to trace the truck?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know, man. Depends on whether you're on video surveillance. Just hope you aren't."<br/>
<br/>
"What about tire prints? Can't they match a vehicle to its treads?"<br/>
<br/>
Keith looks at you. "Will. We're talking about driving over a field. They're not going to dispatch CSI to 3D scan the Eagles' 25-yard line. Just..." he takes a breath. "Just chill, buddy. It's going to be all right."<br/>
<br/>
It's Keith's quiet moment of sympathy that makes you only more aware of how much shit you're potentially in. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
You make it home an hour later. The truck is hosed down (and, in a moment when you weren't paying attention, Keith turned the hose on you, too) and most of the marker is removed. You're sure your mom catches sight of at least some of it, but your weak-ass story about going over to Keith's (amended to 'borrowing his power hose to wash down the car') seems to have at least held. It's at times like this you're glad your room is such a toxic dump - even after your mom's enforced clean-out several week ago - that no one can tell if you've slept in your bed or not.<br/>
<br/>
You barely have time for breakfast and a shower before you have to get ready for church, and gather with your family a short time later, looking like you're the undead. Your dad asks if you're feeling well, so you try and pass it off as a mild cold. But the stress is nothing compared to what you feel a moment later, as the doorbell sounds.<br/>
<br/>
"William," your mom calls through the house. "You've got visitors." You arrive just as your dad is explaining you're on your way to church.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, that's great, Mr Prescott," Alex says, a picture of utmost innocence. "We were going there too. We just wanted to see Will before then. I'm afraid he dropped his wallet last night."<br/>
<br/>
You rush to the door. Alex is in a dress - a near complete transformation - while Rae is at her side, still with her Instagram fashion style, but a pleasant, easy smile on her face rather than the usual scowl. <br/>
<br/>
"Where's the other one?" you can't help but snap.<br/>
<br/>
"Isobel's at church, Will," Alex beams. "She's Catholic, and takes it seriously. Rae and I thought we'd come by as soon as we realized you'd dropped your wallet. You should be more careful!"<br/>
<br/>
The smile from her face never wavers in front of your dad, who must suspect something as you take it back. "Where were you three last night, then?" he asks, trying to be casual.<br/>
<br/>
"The country club," Alex replies. "My name's Alex Day, Mr Prescott. My family are members there. There was a small gathering. Why don't you show your father the photos, Will? On your phone?"<br/>
<br/>
You feel the color drain from your face. You don't doubt that your phone is full of <i>some</i> photos from last night, though you doubt you want your dad looking at them. "I didn't really take any good ones," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, shame," Rae says. "Rae Caldwell, Mr Prescott. Don't worry, Will. I took plenty for both of us."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'll leave you to chat," your dad says. "We're leaving in five minutes. Nice meeting you girls."<br/>
<br/>
The two both wave in creepy, pod-people unison as he leaves. You practically hiss at them as soon as the coast is clear. <i>"The fuck are you doing here?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"Whoa! Easy, Will!" Alex spits back, barely restraining her laughter.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, chill." Rae interjects.<br/>
<br/>
"We came to see if you got home all right. Whatever was in that batch messed up Izzy good, we were worried about you." Alex continues.<br/>
<br/>
"Batch? What <i>was</i> that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Does it matter?" Alex smiles, and slaps you on the shoulder. "We had to give you something, you were freezin' up. Think of this as a rite of passage. If I'm going to put my tag on you, we need a clean canvas. Last night was just ... undercoat."<br/>
<br/>
"Undercoat? Have you seen the Eastman football field?"<br/>
<br/>
Rae snickers. Alex grins. "I told you, tribalism is stupid. But <i>someone</i> was going on about balancing the scales. Westside gets a tag, Eastman gets a few divots."<br/>
<br/>
"Divots?" you're incredulous. "It looks like the Future Farmers of America held their harvest there!"<br/>
<br/>
"Hard to judge these things at night," Rae says.<br/>
<br/>
"No more. I'm out," you say, opening up your wallet to check everything's there.<br/>
<br/>
"Relax, Will, nothing's missing. Not that you had anything worth taking, anyways." And then there's a pause. "And you aren't out. Trust me."<br/>
<br/>
"Trusting you is how I got in this mess!"<br/>
<br/>
Alex smiles sweetly. "Will, let the Guru work. I promise you, it's going to be worth it in the end. But what I can't have you is freaking out on me. If we're going to take you from zero to hero, you have to be all in. Back out now, and ... y'know." She makes a soft whistle.<br/>
<br/>
There's a beat, and your attention turns to Rae. She's holding up her phone, showing a photo you <i>really</i> don't want your parents to see. "There'll be consequences," she adds.</span></div></div>


path: 11521211221211111211
author_id: masktrixie
title: Camp Prescott
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"C'mon, Will!" You're still lagging behind as you haul ass deeper into the forest. You hope the girls know where they're going, but they seem to have a plan at least.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm coming," you mutter. "I'm just tired, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, suck it up. You should have got more sleep last night."<br/>
<br/>
"I woke up in a fucking alley, and now I'm being blackmailed into ..."<br/>
<br/>
You watch as Alex's head gazes up to the sky, and she turns around. "We're not blackmailing you. All right, maybe a little, but that's for your protection as well as ours. Things got a little carried away last night, what with the whole Eastman thing. But blackmail usually involves a <i>compulsion</i> to do something, y'know? We're not making you come hang with us. We're just..." <br/>
<br/>
"Incentivizing you," Izzy says. She looks almost as rough as you. But, then, if she had what you had...<br/>
<br/>
"Carrot and stick," Rae adds, dressed like a student taking a year off and posting social media images from Phuket or Koh Samui. She's also the only one of you that's brought along a backpack and - crucially - a water canteen. <br/>
<br/>
Since the girls' appearance at your doorstep, you've been wondering what comes next. Foolishly, you thought they might give you a day's break, let you doze your way through church and then slink home, napping hard to recover from your crazy, drug-fuelled night. Instead, Alex told you exactly what was going to happen. <i>When you get back, pick us up at Panera Bread. We're going on an expedition.</i><br/>
<br/>
Alex’s version of events – for once she decides to ride in the cab, allowing Izzy and Rae to giggle in the flatbed – is more complete than your memory. After you started to relax, you four finally managed to get on with having a good night at the Warehouse. You danced a little, you drank a little… and then you and Izzy both started showing signs that the drugs she bought weren’t quite as-advertised. After Alex got into a fight with the ‘jackass who supplied’ you all left, falling about in a sweaty, giggling heap outside. Deprived of booze, you all started goofing around – which is how you let them draw on your face with marker. <br/>
<br/>
You’ve seen the photos up to this point, glanced at while waiting for church, heart in your throat in case your parents spotted you but unable to tear your eyes away. They’re all on your camera, as well as Rae’s – flashes of you in a heap, grinning inanely in the back of your truck, eyes sleepy and stoned while you and the trio fumbled around. But then… the night took a turn.<br/>
<br/>
Alex insists she doesn’t remember whose idea it was to start the ‘driving lesson’, but you’re not sure you believe her. You’re half-relieved that she tells you that you weren’t at the wheel when you all decided to ‘take it to Eastman’ and show that tribalism wasn’t part of your agenda. Even so, you can’t help but feel she’s an unreliable narrator. None of this explains waking up in an alley, or why she had your wallet.<br/>
<br/>
“C’mon, Will! We’re almost there!” You sigh, and step up the walking pace. You arrived at the Suffolk Wilderness about half an hour ago, and have been hiking along to Alex’s determined direction ever since. You have never really headed out into the sprawling mass of woodland that flanks Fort Suffolk, but the girls seem to know exactly which trail they’re following. A few cars and trucks were parked up against half-sawn logs that acted as boundaries to a shale carpark, and you’re pretty sure there was a ranger on duty at the station, but so far you haven’t encountered any fellow hikers. Instead, after about half a mile (you guess?), Alex decided, almost sticking her finger up in the air, to take you all off trail. And you’ve been bushwacking over mud, down slopes, past felled trees and through the fall leaves ever since.<br/>
<br/>
It’s pretty beautiful, you admit. The colors are golds, rust-reds and deep browns, and there’s an earthy scent in the air, accompanied by the occasional chirp of birds or the rustle of bushes as a critter avoids your unceremonious passage.<br/>
<br/>
“You all right?” Izzy’s dropped back, her face pale, hair a little matted by sweat. Your eyes can’t help but stare down, though, at the low-cut top she’s wearing. You give a nod.<br/>
<br/>
“Sleep when we get there,” she replies. “I’ll join you.” She leans over, resting her head against your arm as you both walk through the foliage.<br/>
<br/>
“Stop slacking!” Rae says, pausing for a moment to look back at you both. “We’re almost there anyway.”<br/>
<br/>
“Almost <i>where</i>?” you insist. <br/>
<br/>
Rae looks at you. “<i>There.</i>” she says with a smirk, before joining Alex, blazing a trail to some mystery location. You look to Isobel for help, but she just gives a shrug, and pats you on the back. Guess you’ll find out in due course.<br/>
<br/>
You don’t know how long you’ve walked until Alex brings the party to a halt. It feels like forever, but then you’re dehydrated, hungover, hungry and scorched by the sun. You’re in the wrong kind of clothes for hiking, and thoroughly miserable. But, as you see her grind to a halt at the edge of a treeline up ahead, you can’t help but wonder what lies beyond. As you approach, it soon becomes obvious. At first, the brilliant sunlight dazzles you, but gradually your eyes adjust and you see a world stretched out, pushed as far as you can imagine; a clear sky of mottled clouds and light blues, wreathed below by the county’s forest in shades of green, gold and sunflower. Ahead, vast and flat and windswept, Lake Covington and its depths open out, its grey waves mirroring the sky, creating an imperfect mirror. <br/>
<br/>
“Fuck,” you say, taking in a breath as the girls flank you. The clearing you’ve been led to is some kind of campsite, with a burnt out firepit and discarded packs of chips around. In annoyance, Rae has already begun scooping them up, muttering something about the environment. A little ways away, on the bank of the lake, is a metal buoy that’s rusting, tilted at an angle from where it was once chained and floating to indicate a bank.<br/>
<br/>
“Water’s down this year,” Alex says, pointing to it. “Been a dry summer I guess.”<br/>
<br/>
“This place is amazing,” you mutter. Alex turns and grins. <br/>
<br/>
“Yeah! We ain’t just city slickers, Will. Sometimes true inspiration needs a little nature. I figured, we showed you some heavy industry last night. So today, we expand your mind with the Earth itself.”<br/>
<br/>
“I think it’s my favorite place,” Izzy says by your side. “Not that I’ve been much of anywhere. Gabe and I went to Summer camp once, but it doesn’t compare with a little secret spot nearer to home.”<br/>
<br/>
“Every Guru needs her mountain top,” Alex laughs, falling against one of the logs that have been deliberately positioned around the firepit. “This is just so dope. But none of us drive, and it’s not like I can Uber us out here without the driver like ‘uh, why am I taking you to the Wilderness’. So when Rae and I were figuring how to make it up to you – for last night – we settled on this.”<br/>
<br/>
“It’s also cover,” Rae adds, folding the chip packet and slotting it into her backpack, fishing out some that are actually full instead. “Obviously the cops are gonna be looking for a truck. Now you’ve got a reason to have a muddy one.”<br/>
<br/>
“I already washed it,” you point out. Rae shrugs indifferently, pulling out some firelighters. “So, what’s your plan, Guru?”<br/>
<br/>
Alex laughs. “We relax. We chill. And then, like, once it starts getting cold you give us a ride home. Until then, it’s kind of up to you. This is my gift to you, Will – it’s your day. I hereby dub this Camp Prescott. You want to laze by a fire, we’re down. You want something a little more risky, just say the word…”</span></div></div>


path: 115212112212111112111
author_id: masktrixie
title: Lazy Sunday
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Y’know," you say, "I’m just going to chill out and close my eyes for a bit."<br/>
<br/>
The trio of girls all smile and nod with approval. Well, Alex and Izzy do; Rae seems almost bored already, but still gets out a host of treats from her rucksack. As well as the water, it seems, she’s actually gathered what three teen girls would consider hiking supplies. She notices you looking and shrugs. <br/>
<br/>
"Vegan," she says. "I’m in charge of whatever. Last time we left <i>her</i> in charge"—there’s a quick gesture to Alex—"she came back with a whole load of crap with gelatin in it." <br/>
<br/>
"Hey!" Alex shrugs. "How the hell was I supposed to know gelatin wasn’t vegan? It’s not like it was marked ‘cow’ or ‘sheep’ or whatever."<br/>
<br/>
"It’s skin, bones, ligaments all boiled together." Rae says, throwing her snacks down and getting out her lighter. "Basically cow, sheep and whatever. And I know your entitled ass doesn’t make it out to the Dollar Save on a regular basis, but nothing – absolutely nothing – is marked ‘cow’, ‘sheep’ or ‘whatever’ in the freezer aisle."<br/>
<br/>
You leave the duo to their argument, sliding down against one of the logs. Your eyelids are already heavy, and there’s enough sunlight peeping through the leafy canopy on the edge of the clearing to create delightful beams of warmth. You wiggle down a little, letting the words drift into background and the tiredness to wash over you into a delightful, cosy fatigue. Then you feel something drape over your chest, and press up against your body.<br/>
<br/>
You open an eye. Izzy is spooning up with you, a lazy pout on her bee-stung lips. For a brief moment you catch the scent of her shampoo, as that half-dyed hair flops against your shoulder and she murmurs a satisfied groan. <br/>
<br/>
"Uh, hi…" you mutter. Izzy makes a dissatisfied hum, and taps your chest once. <br/>
<br/>
"Shut up, Will," she sighs sleepily. "You’re like a little Bambi. You don’t know anything. But that’s OK. I’m going to teach you. Lesson one: you need to just go with it right now, ‘kay?"<br/>
<br/>
You’re smart enough not to reply.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
You wake up with Izzy in your arms, the two of you cradling next to a fire in the pit. You stir, and feel her shift, turning herself to slip on top of you. It’s uncomfortable, pushing your neck up against the fallen tree truck, but you’re still smart enough to merely smile as she leans forward and kisses you. <br/>
<br/>
"You two finally awake?" Alex says from across the pit. She’s been eating the chips Rae bought, although both are a little muddier and ill-dressed than before. You wonder for a moment if they had their own make-out session for a brief few seconds, before Alex reveals all. "We did a little exploring. There’s a trail over yonder, you can get to an overlook where you can see the whole fucking army base. Just stretches out. We thought about maybe hopping the fence, taking a look at where Uncle Sam’s tax dollars go."<br/>
<br/>
"But trespassing on a military base isn’t exactly our style," Rae says, hurling a bag of potato chips at Izzy’s head. "So we came back here."<br/>
<br/>
"What’s the time?" you say, as Izzy bounces off you to grab the pack, lifting it up to threaten hurling it back at your friend. <br/>
<br/>
"Little after 3pm. Coast should be more or less clear now. Too bad if it isn't, gonna be getting dark by the time we reach your truck."<br/>
<br/>
You furrow your brow. "Coast?"<br/>
<br/>
"The truck ride last night," Izzy says, bending her knees up to her body as she rips the pack open. "What, you think the cops aren’t going to have heard by now?"<br/>
<br/>
"First thing they’re gonna do is round up the usual suspects," Alex says almost matter-of-factly. "They’ll start with Eastman and then move to Westside. I figured we’d head out of town, skip the bullshit. They’re gonna question us Monday, but I can’t be fucked to deal with it today."<br/>
<br/>
You blanche a little. The girls were just using you to get out of town. It feels like this ‘Guru’ thing involves a lot of taking advantage of you. But Izzy seems genuinely interested in your Bambi ass. So maybe you can ride with it.<br/>
<br/>
It’s the second thought that really concerns you. <i>Then move to Westside</i>. You’re going to be low on the list – they’ll focus on anyone with a sense of school pride first, and you’ve only had one, relatively minor, brush with the law. But eventually your name is likely to come up, isn’t it? Especially if you’re associated with Alex Day and friends. If you want to step away from your new friends, suggesting you lay low while people puzzle about the track marks on the Eastman field is a good reason to have a little separation.<br/>
<br/>
As the girls finish eating their snacks and begin to pack up, you wonder what you’re going to do. Either way, you’ve got the long walk back to the car park – and the drive home to Saratoga Falls – to think about it.</span></div></div>


path: 1152121122121111121111
author_id: masktrixie
title: Izzy Explains It All
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The hike back to the parking lot, and the drive back to Saratoga Falls, passes without incident. Rae and Alex hang out in the flatbed, not saying much, while you and Izzy sit in the cab, saying even less. It’s only once you’re fully clear of the military base and you’re heading up into downtown – where Alex and Rae have asked to be dropped off – that she really speaks at all.<br/>
<br/>
"Just ask, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"What?" you say, trying to figure out what faux pas you’ve made since you started driving. Your eyes dart into the rear view, unwilling to peel over fully and look her in the eye.<br/>
<br/>
"You’ve been trying to figure out what we’re doing – you and me – for the whole trip back. Are we boyfriend and girlfriend. Do I just grab any random guy and kiss ‘em. Am I messing with you or do I like you."<br/>
<br/>
"Well?" you ask, shifting awkwardly in the driver’s seat. <br/>
<br/>
"That’s not asking, is it?" <br/>
<br/>
"OK. What are we? Are we just having fun or are we… uh…" why is the word so difficult to spit out, "kind of dating?"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Kind of</i> dating?" Izzy practically bursts into hysterics. "OK, that’s actually <i>kind of</i>sweet. And let me put your mind at ease. We’re fooling. We’re not dating. I don’t want you to take me for walks at night or some shit. We see each other, we can do some petting stuff – unless we say otherwise. It’s not a boyfriend, girlfriend kind of deal. It’s just a nice deal. Make sense?"<br/>
<br/>
You laugh, even as you nod. Izzy turns and tilts her head. "What?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think I got it in one when I said we were <i>kind of</i> dating," you say. Izzy rolls her eyes, then laughs a little. <br/>
<br/>
"Whatever. Just don’t put a label on things. I mean, fuck, Will. That’s how you ended up so boxed up. And the worst part of it is, you kind of got boxed up before anyone put anything in you, so you’re just an empty box. Ugh, that sounds harsh! I’m not as good as Alex with this stuff. She does all of this ‘gonna tag you’ hype and I’m talking about cardboard." She closes her eyes, takes a breath and regroups. "OK. What I am trying to say is this. Everyone decides to try and pick what goes into being you. Your friends, your parents, they heap all this junk into you like a fuckin’ garage sale."<br/>
<br/>
"We’re still talking boxes?"<br/>
<br/>
"Trying to. So, like, my box is full of Catholic guilt and my fuckin’ brother’s car obsession as well as stuff I actually want. And most people just get filled up with junk before they either start taking stuff out and decide who they really are. But you, Bambi, you just… closed your lid or something. Because when we pry you open, there’s kind of nothing there."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks," you mutter sheepishly, even as you pull over the truck. <br/>
<br/>
"No! Ah, shit. I told you, Alex is so much better at this than I am. What I’m saying is that it’s a good thing. Because I know you’re thinking this weekend’s been fuckin’ chaos in your life, right? But believe me, it’s amazing. Alex has ripped your box open. And usually she spends a month tipping out all kinds of pointless shit before she helps someone see what they actually want to be. Whereas you, my man – you’re already empty. So you’re completely free to decide what goes in your box. That means you get to skip all the boring shit and go straight to the fun part."<br/>
<br/>
You nod, although nothing Izzy’s tried to say makes even the slightest sense. You turn to her in the cab, only to find that she’s already out of her seat belt. She leans, over, pawing herself tight against you, and kisses you on the lips. You’re just beginning to take her advice and go with it when there’s a tap against the window, Rae banging on the pane to break you up.<br/>
<br/>
"Get a room," she says, words muffled through the pane. Izzy’s far hand juts out to give her the finger, before she breaks the kiss.<br/>
<br/>
"I’ll see you later this week, ‘kay? Got school and shit."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, later."<br/>
<br/>
And with that she heads off with her friends.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
You doze most of Sunday, still trying to grapple with your weekend. There are a few assignments you need to finish up but they’re all so minor you decide they can wait. Instead, you silently wonder how you can find out how things have been received about Eastman without leaving incriminating evidence. You can’t exactly run a search for ‘Eastman football’ without keeping a browsing history that points you as a suspect, and you don’t know if incognito searches would work. Instead, you try to bide your time, although you surreptitiously try to linger around the TV for the local news. <br/>
<br/>
Your frustration continues on Monday morning. You’d have thought someone – <i>anyone</i> – would be talking about Eastman. Even in a vague ‘acknowledge its very existence’ way. And yet if they are, they’re certainly not talking to you about it. Keith remains quiet, and everyone else in your usual circle remain oblivious. You’re heading back in after your lunch period when you finally run into someone who even slightly makes reference to Eastman, when you hear in passing a laugh that "Holy shit man, you hear? Some goddamn hero took a joyride on the Eastman pitch. Carved it up to fuck with the jocks and their stupid-ass hallowed turf." It’s somewhere down the corridor, and you think you saw Dane Matthias, but whether it was his voice is hard to say. If it was him, you figure it’s more a ‘stick it to the cliques’ support than any resemblance to school pride. Further down the corridor, you do catch sight of Sienna Goldman, her eyes meeting yours for the briefest moment before you look away.<br/>
<br/>
It’s almost the end of the day before rumors about Eastman cement into anything meaningful. There’s nothing said to you directly (why would there be?), and generally the news is met with marked indifference, as if it happened in some town far, far away from Saratoga Falls. The Westside hierarchy just doesn’t care enough. The higher you ascend the Westside popularity hierarchy, the more the move seems to be met with disapproval. <br/>
<br/>
"Good time on Saturday, Will?" The call comes just as you’re leaving for the day, hoping to get to your truck and beat the inevitable rush hour. You turn, rucksack swinging idly into the face of a passing sophomore, causing you to apologize profusely before breaking over. Sienna Goldman is leaning up against a wall, looking indifferent. With her alternative vibe strictly on show, you have no idea why she’s even speaking to you, but you walk over.<br/>
<br/>
"At the Warehouse? Uh, yeah. I guess."<br/>
<br/>
"You guess? Is that because you don’t know what a good time is, or because you can’t remember shit?"<br/>
<br/>
You blanche a little. She smiles. "I saw you dancing, sweating, like it was baby’s first rave. It’s cool, everyone’s gotta do that sometime. Just wanted to see if you handled it all right."<br/>
<br/>
"Didn’t know you cared," you say, almost too defensively. Sienna laughs.<br/>
<br/>
"Shit, I don’t. But you had a whole missed connection and ended up in a heap of shit. Best I can tell from Nadine, her on-again, off-again, friend-with-benefits sent you off to see her. You missed each other, and ended up in the palms of fuckin’ <i>Alex Day</i>. Which is cool and all, if you’re into playing with fire. It’s just that I don’t think you know how."<br/>
<br/>
"There a point to this?" you say, a little angrily. It’s one thing to call you over to chat, it’s another to sneer at your new friends – even if they do seem a heap of trouble.<br/>
<br/>
"Nah," Sienna shrugs. "Do as you will. But if I were you … ah, fuck it. I’m not some advice dispenser. Nevermind. See you around." She waves off the thought and heads off, leaving you perplexed at to what the hell that was even about.<br/>
<br/>
You think it’s going to be the last strange conversation of the day, but the next one follows hot on its heels, a mere 20 seconds later, when you notice a presence beside you.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Will." Kim Walsh is walking next to you, doing her best to look like you’re going in the same way. But you know Kim too well for that – she’s got a determined march that easily outpaces your usual slouched, slumped pose. <br/>
<br/>
"Hey."<br/>
<br/>
"You got any plans for the next half hour?" <br/>
<br/>
You turn and look at her. Kim’s face is friendly, open, but there’s a tightness of concern playing in the corner of her mouth. You think back to her donut shop intervention, or that chat about how disappointed she was in you over the St. X thing. You just shrug by way of reply.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, if you <i>aren’t</i> busy, I was wondering if you’d help me out with something?"<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
Kim sighs. "Well, you might not have noticed, but some idiots painted a giant, kinda horrible graffiti mural down by the Borman bridge. I guess they’re trying to send a message to Westside. And while I’m all for freedom of expression, you know it’s only going to rile up <i>someone</i>. I doubt any of the students care, but even if someone on faculty gets persnickety it’s going to hit us. It’s final year, midterms, all that stuff. Everyone’s gotta be on their A game."<br/>
<br/>
It’s the very piece of ‘art’ that you watched Alex put up on Saturday. You try and play cool. "So?"<br/>
<br/>
"So," Kim continues, drawing the word out a little, "I’m going to pick up some paint, and some brushes, and do a little civic responsibility. I’ve already got some volunteers. And I was wondering if you wanted to join us. It won’t take long, and it’d give us a chance to chat. C’mon, it’ll be fun, I promise."</span></div></div>


path: 11521211221211111211111
author_id: masktrixie
title: As The Wall Falls Down
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You’re hauling paint along the river walk, wondering how you ever agreed to this. Something about Kim Walsh just gets things done, although you didn’t expect that it would ever involve you. And yet, looking back, all of this did start with her, didn’t it? If she hadn’t decided to try and give you a pep talk in Don’s you would never have gone looking for girls. That said, even if your reputation has taken a dip since that incident at the tail end of summer, things are looking up. Everything is either back to where it was or – such as with Izzy – better than ever. You wonder if you should have done something more than a little light snugging and kissing. And yet here you are, with three cans of white paint and plastic trays, while Kim Walsh strides ahead with brushes and rollers under her arm.<br/>
<br/>
You scramble to keep up, walking along the river’s edge, back where you ran from the cops with Alex, Rae and Izzy. Up ahead a gaggle of students are there, their faces suggesting they haven’t exactly volunteered out of civic pride. You don’t recognize any of them, but you’re willing to bet they’ve either been told to go as part of detention, or are trying to impress Kim for some reason.<br/>
<br/>
“I wish people cleaned up after themselves,” Kim sighs, gesturing to the remains of Saturday night’s party. “It takes, what, a whole two seconds to scoop up your litter?”<br/>
<br/>
You don’t answer, but Kim tightens her mouth a little as she surveys the scene. “Right! Thanks everyone for coming! If we work together this should only take an hour or so, and that includes giving things a double coat. For those who don’t know me, hi, I’m Kim. And this,” she gestures to you, as you set down the paint and try not to make eye contact, “is Will. Any questions, just ask us, kay? Now, who brought the overalls?”<br/>
<br/>
A young girl – a picture of innocence – raises her hand, gesturing to a hold-all with some white coverings poking out. You guess she was instructed to bring them from the art department.<br/>
<br/>
“Great! Thanks Erin. Everyone, get covered up. If I know anything about whitewash, it gets everywhere. I don’t want anyone’s parents complaining that they’ve come home looking like a clown, huh?”<br/>
<br/>
You set the paint down, picking a pot at random and giving it a vigorous shake. It makes a satisfactory slopping sound, so you crouch down, crack it open and begin to pour it into one of the trays. Kim crouches down beside you.<br/>
<br/>
“Need a hand?” she asks, beginning to shake the paint herself. “So, how’s it going, anyway?”<br/>
<br/>
“What do you mean?” you ask, taking the next can from Kim’s grip and pouring out enough paint into the tray.<br/>
<br/>
“I mean in general. How’s life? I heard you were out pretty late on Saturday. Go to a party?”<br/>
<br/>
<i>How the hell did Kim hear about that?</i> You just shrug. “Brooke Galloway asked me to go to a thing at the country club.”<br/>
<br/>
“Sounds classy,” Kim says, taking the next can, although clearly she’s angling for something more. “I didn’t know you and Brooke were friends.”<br/>
<br/>
“We’re not. I mean, we’re not enemies or anything either. She just wanted me to make an introduction, that’s all. I didn’t stay that long.” Kim stays quiet for a moment. It’s an uncomfortable, pregnant silence that yearns to be filled. “And… after that I met some folks, went up to this club. You know, usual stuff.”<br/>
<br/>
Kim doesn’t reply, dishing out the paint trays to the group that’s begun to huddle, ready to vandalize Alex’s art with liberal application of thick, white goo. “OK, Matt, right? You start on the far end. Erin and Rick take the middle. Will and I will start down here. She nudges you, and you haul your stuff over to your designated position. There, you two don your protective overalls. They’re only thin cotton, cheap school materials, but a decade of throwing paint around a classroom has taught you they’re more than up to the task of stopping your clothes from being ruined. Besides, you kind of look like you’re a CSI in them.<br/>
<br/>
“So how did you get in?” Kim says, as you finally begin on the wall.<br/>
<br/>
“Hmm?” You take a roller and dip it into the thick white.<br/>
<br/>
“To the club,” Kim says. “You haven’t got a fake ID or something, have you?”<br/>
<br/>
You pause. You think about trying to wriggle out of it, say you meant a café or something, but Kim’s bullshit meter will ping. “I went to the Warehouse,” you say simply. “It’s… sort of this… thing up at the north end.”<br/>
<br/>
Kim’s mouth tightens as she pushes the roller into the paint, and begins slathering one of the stones. It’s the kind of furious scrubbing you’ve seen your mom do, when the person is just so disappointed they have nothing else to do but expend energy.<br/>
<br/>
“It was the first time,” you say lamely. “I met a few girls, and they kind of took me. And before I knew it, there I was.”<br/>
<br/>
Kim doesn’t reply. She just keeps pushing more paint onto the wall. It’s only when she finishes her stroke that she stops. “What happened to you, Will?”<br/>
<br/>
“What do you mean?” you ask, pushing your roller up.<br/>
<br/>
“A few months ago, I remember you being in a flunk, sitting at Don’s. And everyone always thought you were a nice guy. Quiet, yeah, and not one of the popular kids. But solid. Nice. And then you changed.”<br/>
<br/>
“I just… got sick of not being anyone.”<br/>
<br/>
“You were never no one.”<br/>
<br/>
“Could have fooled me. The AP kids treat me like a dumbass. The jocks just kick the shit out of me. Every girl in our year looks at me like a trashfire.”<br/>
<br/>
“That’s not true, I know…”<br/>
<br/>
“AND,” you continue, interrupting her, a flow building, “while everyone’s talking about which great college they’re destined for, what future have I got? I had to do something to shake it up, before I just vanished into nothingness. This is all kind of on you anyway. That night at Don’s…”<br/>
<br/>
Kim stops and folds her arms, the roller hanging to one side. “Don’t even try it. I remember your little ‘accidental weekend’. I told you then I didn’t mean you should do whatever it was you did. But everything after that, however it snowballed, was all your choice.”<br/>
<br/>
“It didn’t ‘snowball’, Kim,” you spit back. You can't even control the words now, it all just spills out, all reason or kindness evaporating in the harsh light of truth. “It’s just the same Westside bullshit. Brooke wanted to use me to get a connection from one of the St X girls. And that’s just like every other one of you fucking assholes!"<br/>
<br/>
Kim stops and blanches. Here, the old Will would have caught himself. But Alex and Izzy are right: it's time to break out of the boxes you're constantly being shoved in.<br/>
"You're just as bad, Kim. You just want everyone to think you’re this good girl who’s their friend, but it’s all some fuckin’ political stepping stone like you’re Reese Witherspoon in <i>Election</i>. You think I can't see through why you invited me here? You pretend you act in everyone's best interest, when really it's for yours. You’re as manipulative as Chelsea, if not more! You want to know where I was Saturday? I was with the girl who painted <i>this</i>. And then I went out and shit got crazy because, for the first time in my fucking life, I actually took a risk! I’m tired of being ‘Oh, Will Prescott, he’s just that guy who slouches and wears the cap’ like it’s a badge of fuckin’ honor to be mediocre. You want me to own my choices? Huh?” You take the roller and hurl it, like a javelin, into the river. “Fuck you, Kim.”<br/>
<br/>
You finally catch your breath, stop talking, only to look at the row of shocked faces in front of you. The freshmen and sophomores roped in to cleaning the mural are unsure what to do or say. But it’s Kim, her face a picture of pure distress, whose eyes seem to wound you the most. They just stare, in horror, like she doesn’t recognize you any more. But perhaps that’s a good thing. Perhaps you’re sick of being recognized by everyone.<br/>
<br/>
Kim is trying to take a breath, keep her cool and say something. But you don’t let her. “You think I don’t know why you invited me here? You wanted this unsubtle little pep talk. Well how about you stop meddling in my life and leave me the fuck alone. Who I hang with is up to me. And I don’t need your damn approval.”<br/>
<br/>
You’re pretty sure Kim tries to say something as you storm off. What it is you don’t know and don’t care. It’s only when you get back to the truck, stranding everyone on the river path, that you’re able to calm down, punching the steering wheel in impotent frustration.<br/>
<br/>
And it’s then you realize that you’ve just made a worse mistake than upset someone like Kim Walsh.<br/>
<br/>
You just confessed, in front of a whole gaggle of gossiping underclassmen, that you know who tagged the wall.</span></div></div>


path: 115212112212111112111111
author_id: masktrixie
title: Three Girls, a Guy, and a Parking Lot
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“Will, William, Willmarama Prescott, where have you been?”<br/>
<br/>
Rae hangs by the side of your door, draped on it, arms cupping her head, before hitching the fashionable dress she’s wearing and climbing into the bed of your truck.<br/>
<br/>
“Ignore her,” Izzy says, leaning over and patting your arm.<br/>
<br/>
“Already done,” you say with a knowing smile. “So, is Alex going to turn up, or is she operating on Alex time?”<br/>
<br/>
“She’s always on Alex time,” Rae replies, leaning back against the cab, and taking a photo with her phone of... something. You don’t know what. Perhaps you don’t want to know.<br/>
<br/>
“But she does come.”<br/>
<br/>
“Eventually.”<br/>
<br/>
“Except when she doesn’t.”<br/>
<br/>
You shrug, and slouch back in the parking lot of the cathedral (more like church), rapping your nails on the dash as you daydream about whatever. It’s always whatever since you started dating Izzy; it’s the only way to take her. <br/>
<br/>
It’s been a month since your meltdown with Kim. That, you didn’t even realize at the time, was a watershed: a moment where you realized that all the shit you suffered at Westside was just that: high school shit. All your home life was, equally, just high school shit. You could zone both out. And that final quadrant, that final third of the shit pie, was best labelled as Saratoga Falls shit.<br/>
<br/>
That you could change. <br/>
<br/>
You’re still friends with Caleb and Keith, but perhaps not as tight, slowly drifting away. It’s not like it’s been an active plan, just how things have come to pass. Others, such as Yumi, have tried to ‘reach out’, but are caught up in their own mini school psychodramas. Kim has been relegated to making very sad and disapproving looks toward you, a kind of “Oh Will” shit that might have bothered you a month ago. But she can take her rollers and ram them up her ass. You don’t need her pity. And for someone so dedicated to being high flying and high achieving, she sure was dedicated to making sure you were content to be an invisible nothing in the universe.<br/>
<br/>
Izzy has been fun. She insists on not labelling anything, but equally on having you around. When your truck started getting some trouble that convinced you it was in its death throes, she got her brother Gabe to take a look. Rae is as disinterested and detached as ever - she’s already got a cigarette out as you wait for Alex - but her bitter wit has stopped referring to you as a project, which makes you suspect she’s accepted you as part of the scenery. <br/>
<br/>
And then there’s Alex Day. Who continues to view you as a personal project, but who, you can’t deny, gets results. In fact, you struggle to think of a time before she set her mind on ‘fixing’ you. One thing’s certain: there is no way this past month would have been even close to being as interesting if you hadn’t fallen in with them.<br/>
<br/>
As if speaking of the infernal, Alex appears, pint sized and full of confidence, striding over to your truck. Izzy - her half-and-half dyed hair recently refreshed - gives her a wave. Alex replies in kind, briefly looking down the street...<br/>
<br/>
Before bursting into a run.<br/>
<br/>
“Fuck-fuck-fuck,” she manages, as she scrambles into the back of the truck after the brief burst of speed.<br/>
<br/>
“Will, get us out of here!” Rae barks.<br/>
<br/>
“No!” Alex counters. “Just... stay put. I need to hide, not you.”<br/>
<br/>
Your hand twitches over the ignition. Next to you, Izzy turns to look back. “What?” she says. Alex, however, is ducked hard into the bed.<br/>
<br/>
“Mutants incoming. Shit.”<br/>
<br/>
You’re trying to process the comment when you notice a minibus, the green and gold of the St Francis Xavier School, come into view and indicate, pulling into the cathedral’s car park. <br/>
<br/>
“Okay...” you manage to say. <br/>
<br/>
“I forgot, fuckin’ mass on a Sunday. And twice a month those assmonkeys bring the choir down for the service.”<br/>
<br/>
You watch as the bus reverses, flips into park. Then the uniformed pod people begin to exit. <br/>
<br/>
“How would an assmonkey even work?” Izzy asks.<br/>
<br/>
“Well,” Rae continues, “it would have to be a monkey with an unusual anus that is called an ass monkey; or it would need to be a tiny monkey that lives on or in the ass. Like those butt worms dogs get. And... ouch!”<br/>
<br/>
Alex’s hand pulls away from the light slap. “Ssssh,” she waves. “Just let me keep my head down. Who’s there?”<br/>
<br/>
“How the fuck do we know?” Rae replies.<br/>
<br/>
“Just... describe them to me.”<br/>
<br/>
Rae groans. “Fine. Will, describe them to her.”<br/>
<br/>
You shrug, remembering your own run-in, both at minigolf and on a minor campus invasion. “OK... lots of... kids in blazers... who all look... preppy?”<br/>
<br/>
“Ugh! The seniors, Will. Who’s marshalling them?”<br/>
<br/>
“Ah. Uh, blonde girl. Pretty, quite tall. She’s facing the wrong way and is waving at us.”<br/>
<br/>
“Portia. Dumb as rocks.”<br/>
<br/>
“And how dumb is a rock, Alexand... ouch!”<br/>
<br/>
“Who else, Will?”<br/>
<br/>
I shrug. “Uh... short girl, dark brown hair, seems to have a tie on different than the others.”<br/>
<br/>
“Got to be Kate. She was always gonna be a prefect.”<br/>
<br/>
“And... OK. Three girls. Kind of dumpy one... a one with black hair, looks like Adrian Brody in drag...” and then the beauty you encountered at the country club. The girl whose eyes would have made you do anything. You reach for her name. “And... Abi...”<br/>
<br/>
Alex hisses. “Steiner. Kristen and fucking Macklin, the bitch that got me kicked out,” she says, leaning up to snoop. “Yup. The two forms of Satan and their friend. Some things never change.”<br/>
<br/>
You all duck instinctively when they glance your way. <br/>
<br/>
“Hey, where are they going?” Izzy says, when you all sit up. <br/>
<br/>
“What do you mean?” Alex asks, pulling herself up to take a look. <br/>
<br/>
“They’re not heading in to the cathedral with the others. They’re going to that little building.”<br/>
<br/>
All four of you sit up and watch. Sure enough, the trio are heading away from the rest of the choir, walking to a small door. Macklin reaches down, and pulls out what looks like a key from under a pile of bricks nearby. Then, after a brief discussion, the trio enter - the one Alex called Kristen first. <br/>
<br/>
“The fuck is going on down there,” Alex says. <br/>
<br/>
“No idea,” you mutter, wondering the same thing.<br/>
<br/>
“Whatever it is, it’s bad news,” Rae says, with a grin. “And isn’t bad news our middle name?”<br/>
<br/>
“No, it isn’t. Would be cool though,” Izzy adds.<br/>
<br/>
“Well, I say we go find out!” Alex says. “Fuck ‘em. Those three are up to some shit, and I’m owed some payback. Who’s with me?”<br/>
<br/>
You’ve got the girls’ back - and whatever it is, it’s four against three. But perhaps there is a smarter play. You could always wait until they’ve left, then check out the mystery door. Alex’s mystery would be solved, and you don’t have to get tangled up with mutant bullshit again - you remember how that turned out last time.<br/>
<br/>
Or, you could decide to head off, and pull the plug on whatever drama Alex is cooking up. It’s for her own good - and means you won’t have to get involved with the mutants again.</span></div></div>


path: 1152121122121111121111112
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Scooby Doo Aesthetic
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“Instead of rushing in,” you say, “maybe we wait. Last thing we want is to get into some kind of bitch-off, and it’s not like they’re going anywhere.”<br/>
<br/>
“Borrrrrr-ing,” Izzy says, reaching over to give you a slap. But those bee-stung lips emerge into a smile, and soon she’s scrambling over in her seat to make out with you. Rae turns her eyes and grunts in disapproval, while Alex says unusually quiet. You guess she’s still processing coming face to face with her former nemesis – she’s told the story about her expulsion before – and is starved a little of oxygen to think straight.<br/>
<br/>
You and Izzy have a very pleasant wait. Rae, meanwhile, gets through a cigarette, while Alex just seems to stew. Eventually, it’s Rae that speaks.<br/>
<br/>
“Well, one of us is going to have to go,” she says, looking at her nails. <br/>
<br/>
“Why?” Izzy counters. “If these bitches are trouble, why poke the hornet’s nest?”<br/>
<br/>
“Because poking is what we do,” Rae says. “Right, Alex?”<br/>
<br/>
Alex Day, for once in her life, has been incredibly silent. You were expecting some kind of outburst, some rebellious decision taken out of your hands, some insistence that you <i>must</i> act for whatever reason she happens to have in her head at any point. Except she’s far more pensive than usual. She just sits there, chewing her lip in thought. <br/>
<br/>
“Fuck it,” she says, “Rae’s right. Whatever they’re up to, we need to investigate. I guarantee it’s some premium-grade evil, is what.”<br/>
<br/>
“Maximal evil,” Rae nods. <br/>
<br/>
“Supreme evil,” Izzy agrees. “But like, what the fuck’s that to do with us?”<br/>
<br/>
“Nothing,” Alex shrugs. “Which is why we’re going to poke our noses in. Where’s the fun otherwise? You know how we roll – the less it has to do with us, the more interesting it happens to be.”<br/>
<br/>
“Ah,” Rae says, “the Scooby Doo aesthetic.”<br/>
<br/>
“Let’s see who they really are!” you chip in, finally cutting in to the three-way conversation. Izzy manages a short, giving you a quick smile as she scrambles back in her seat.<br/>
<br/>
“Well, guess you’re volunteering, Will,” Alex says.<br/>
<br/>
“Seconded,” Rae agrees.<br/>
<br/>
“Thirded,” Izzy says, motioning for you to go. You turn and give the trio a reluctant look, and are about to climb out of your seat when…<br/>
<br/>
“Hold up,” Izzy says. “Here they come.”<br/>
<br/>
The fat girl emerges first, sweating and staggering backwards. You’re not sure what’s happening, but it’s soon apparent she’s hauling some kind of bugling sack, dragging it along the ground while the brunette locks of the ringleader directs her, gestures suggesting she’s berating the poor girl over something. <br/>
<br/>
“The fuck do they have there?” you ask, quietly. <br/>
<br/>
“No idea.” “Not a clue.” “Pass.”<br/>
<br/>
The four of you keep watching as the raven-haired girl also emerges, carrying a sack, clearly heavy and difficult to haul. Eventually, a fourth figure emerges, too: a guy. You have no idea who he is, but Abi practically skips over to him, hands behind her back as he hauls two more sacks, one on each shoulder, clearly trying to impress her. Annoyingly, it’s blocking his face.<br/>
<br/>
“Poor sap,” Alex says, muttering. “She’s got him. Abi was always OK back in my day, kind of a sweet girl. But according to Joss-Moss she’s turned into a total bitch, like a mean girl on steroids. Can fuckin’ believe it if she’s hanging around with Monobrow Macklin.”<br/>
<br/>
The four of you watch as the sacks are hauled back to the school bus, where Abi opens up the back and supervises them being stowed. Then, the four turn around and head back into the door.<br/>
<br/>
“Now, Will,” Alex says. <br/>
<br/>
“Now <i>what?</i>”<br/>
<br/>
“Now go and find out what’s in those sacks!”<br/>
<br/>
You turn, looking at her incredulously. “Are you kidding me?” you exclaim. “I don’t even want to know what the hell’s going on.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, we do, Scooby Doo,” Rae says unhelpfully. Alex gives you a smile and a wink, while Izzy, hands tucked into the sleeves of the large, threadbare knitted sweater she’s wearing, just shrugs. Looks like you’ve got no choice. <br/>
<br/>
With a heavy sigh, you climb out of the cab and begin to walk across the parking lot. There’s no sign of life from inside the ‘cathedral’ but you assume the gaggle of mutants that entered must be setting up something. There’s no noise from the door, either, and you cast a quick glance to make sure there’s no way they can see you. You doubt it – it’s hard to tell given how dark it is inside, but you’re pretty sure there are stairs leading down into some basement. Rather than focus on that, you instead rush over to the bus, reach up to the back door, and open the handle. <br/>
<br/>
The four sacks – one from each girl, two from the guy – are stacked down. Sealed. But around them is something you didn’t expect. Dirt? And not just dust from the bottom of a cellar, either; this looks like soil, freshly dug. You pound your fist into one of the bags, feeling the heft. Yup – they’re four bags packed full of earth. <br/>
<br/>
You hear something from the cellar, and quickly dart around the bus to the front. A nervous glance sideways reveals your audience – Alex, Rae and Izzy staring from your truck. And, once more, footsteps. <br/>
<br/>
“Oh my god, Kristen, you waste of oxygen. Didn’t you close up the bus after?” It’s Abi’s voice, but the tone is infinitely sharper than the sweetness she used with you at the country club those weeks ago, before Kelsey decided to intervene.<br/>
<br/>
“I did, I swear!” Comes a hurried reply. <br/>
<br/>
“Well, obviously not,” comes a sharper voice, as it grunts with a weight. “Phew. How much more is there of this?”<br/>
<br/>
“Another two loads,” Abi says. “C’mon Kristen! Go see where he is!” <br/>
<br/>
There’s a heavy panting, and wheezing, as you feel someone deposit something on the back, then a waddle of feet as someone rushes off. “He’s coming!” the voice – Kristen – yells.<br/>
<br/>
“Well, you might as well start on your next bag!” <br/>
<br/>
The footfall fades. <br/>
<br/>
“Are you sure about this?” Macklin says. “We still don’t know what this ‘pedisequos’ really is.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, we’re going to find out soon enough. Just make sure wide-load Wright-Wallace talks to Abi about it,” Abi replies. <br/>
<br/>
Wait. <i>Talks to Abi?</i> It throws you off for a brief moment, before you realize that there’s probably more than one Abi, or Abigail, in a rich-ass school of privileged mutant assholes.<br/>
<br/>
“She won’t. That would be questioning her plans, and we both know who has the real power. Ugh, I hate this look so much. The stupid band isn’t working, either.”<br/>
<br/>
“I had the same problem until I went to sleep. It gets better. Hold up…” <br/>
<br/>
Another set of feet. “Oh!” that familiar Abi voice coos. “You’re so sweet doing this. You know, one of these days you’re going to have to show me around this little town. I heard about a Warehouse that might be fun. Or perhaps you’ll take me to a real party?”<br/>
<br/>
There’s a grunt, as two bags are unloaded, and you here a muffled comment, along with what sounds like a mild make-out session. Ducking down, you see Macklin’s footsteps walk back to the door. <br/>
<br/>
“You going to tell me why you want this, anyway? Some kind of kinky sex thing?”<br/>
<br/>
“If it were a kinky sex thing, don’t you think I’d have mentioned it ahead of time?” Abi says. “Or perhaps you’ll simply have to wait, hmm? Besides, didn’t I specify ‘no questions asked’?”<br/>
<br/>
“Fine, keep your secrets. Hell, three hundred bucks is more than enough recompense for a night’s work, even if it took us all night to dig this shit up.”<br/>
<br/>
There’s a sudden pause. A darkness that creeps into Abi’s tone. “What do you mean <i>us</i>?”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, I wasn’t going to dig up a graveyard on my…”<br/>
<br/>
“This was <i>supposed</i> to be done quietly!” Her voice drips with venom. “Can’t you follow even the most basic of instructions, or do you need a lesson?” <br/>
<br/>
“Agh! Jesus, Abi, what the fuck!”<br/>
<br/>
“We’re going to talk about this later. Now c’mon, go finish up.”<br/>
<br/>
You bend over, watching as both footprints storm off again, pausing at the top of the stairs. “God damn you, Kristen! Get out of the way!” Abi virtually screams, before hurrying down. <br/>
<br/>
And you rush back to the truck. <br/>
<br/>
“Well?” Alex says as you dive inside, ducking into your seat. The four of you watch as they make another load of bags. It’s like something out of <i>Invasion of the Body Snatchers</i>, where the workers bring out the pods to convert the unsuspecting masses.<br/>
<br/>
All right. Maybe you’ve just been watching too many shitty films. You take a breath. That was a strange conversation to overhear – and you’re convinced something bigger is going on. It was all too strange, with the sacks of earth, the references to some kind of band (it didn’t sound like a sleep aid), and digging up something in a graveyard is just too weird.<br/>
<br/>
You could tell the girls what you’ve learned, but you know that’s only going to end up dragging you in deeper to whatever psychodrama is happening right now, and with Alex’s clear enmity toward them, you’re not sure it’s really worth it. Alternatively, you could always investigate alone. The guy – you still haven’t got a good look at him – spoke about a graveyard. There’s only one nearby he could mean. Or you could always come back here later and check out the cellar yourself.</span></div></div>


path: 11521211221211111211111121
author_id: masktrixie
title: A Two Abi Problem
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“Something weird is going on,” you say. “They’re hauling dirt for some reason. I think they hired that guy to dig up a graveyard for them. And they’re not talking like normal people. Abi was telling the dark-haired girl – Macklin? – to make sure Kristen doesn’t talk to Abi. And she mentioned some kind of band, and a pedi… something.”<br/>
<br/>
“Pedi? Like feet?” Izzy says. “Maybe the band thing is some kind of weird foot treatment.”<br/>
<br/>
“And how would that make sense?” Rae says, rolling her eyes. “Unless she’s got some kind of fungal infection and she’s using some dumb treatment. Like, maybe it’s special earth for mud baths?”<br/>
<br/>
“Hold up,” Alex says, incredulously as the girls muse in circles. “Walk me back through this. Did you say graveyard dirt? Like… from graves and shit?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah,” you nod, with a brief shrug of your shoulders. “Paid that guy three hundred bucks to store a bunch of dirt so they can take it back to school.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, well,” Rae says. “Looks like you’ve got what you’ve always wanted, Alex.”<br/>
<br/>
The leader of your quartet looks over. <br/>
<br/>
“Dirt on Vee Macklin.”<br/>
<br/>
Alex gives her friend the stinkiest look can imagine. Then bursts out laughing. <br/>
<br/>
“Fuck it, like I care what they’re doing. Hit it, Will!”<br/>
<br/>
“Engage,” Rae adds.<br/>
<br/>
“Vamos,” Izzy agrees.<br/>
<br/>
You start up the truck, pulling out of the carpark just as the group begin to emerge from the door once again. Alex, triumphant as ever, spins around and gives them a hearty double bird. “Fuck you, Macklin!” she yells, the words vanishing into the wind and the growl of your engine.<br/>
<br/>
Now you can get on with the rest of your plans for the weekend. It’s only when you’ve said goodbye to the girls, and dropped Izzy off at her home, that you decide to do a little more investigating. What, though, you’re not sure. You suspect the foot band thing is a dead end, although the cemetery might be a good lead…<br/>
<br/>
Then it occurs to you – you know one person who knows something about this Abi girl that might make everything a little clearer. You just don’t know if she’ll tell you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“Uh, Kelsey, do you have a moment?” you manage to blurt at the start of sociology II. Those bohemian brunette locks shift for a moment as she glances you up and down, as if wondering whether to grant an audience to her august presence. <br/>
<br/>
Then she gives a quick shrug of her shoulders. “A moment.”<br/>
<br/>
“Right. Uhm… you remember when I was at the country club a few months back? With Brooke? And I was talking to this girl, and you…”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, I remember,” Kelsey interjects. “I’m not a complete idiot, I think I’d remember you at a society function. What of it?” The <i>you</i> comes out like a bullet. Ouch.<br/>
<br/>
“Well, that girl. Uhm. Abigail? The one I was talking to, before you…”<br/>
<br/>
“Before I saved you,” Kelsey snaps. “I’m not giving you her number, if that’s what this is about. She’d laugh in your face. Or, worse, she wouldn’t.”<br/>
<br/>
“No! No. It’s just, well, Sunday I ran into her again at the cathedral, and she said some pretty weird stuff, and I was just curious…”<br/>
<br/>
“This is the weakest nonsense you have ever bothered me with,” Kelsey interjects once again. “For one thing, I know full well you’re lying. And I am only going to repeat myself once: I am not giving you her number. In fact, my advice would be to forget you ever met her.” <br/>
<br/>
She gestures for you to go, but something about her imperiousness – and dismissal – pisses you off. “I’m not lying! I did see her! And this isn’t an attempt to get her number!”<br/>
<br/>
And it’s then that Kelsey practically rounds on you, eyes narrowed. “Does she have a teleporter, Will? Or an evil twin? Because if you were <i>anyone</i> in Saratoga Falls, you’d know it was the Van Dief Fall Show on Sunday. And, had you been there, you would have witnessed one Abigail Steiner competing in the showjump before the horses have to go into the livery yard for winter. She wasn’t bad, actually. Racquets and horses are her <i>thing</i>, it seems.”<br/>
<br/>
You sputter. “Uh… no. I saw her in town. It was definitely her.”<br/>
<br/>
“Will, I think I’d recognize the girl I beat handily in the squash league only few weeks ago.” The edges of her lips tweak into a smile. “You’ve had your moment.” And with that, she turns away. <br/>
<br/>
Your audience with queen Kelsey is over. And now you’re more confused than ever.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
<i>WTF!!!</i> comes a message from Alex. <i>Bullshit. Wz Abi, no question.</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>Maybe she has an evil twin???</i> Rae enters the group chat.<br/>
<br/>
Alex: <i>Nope. Knew her full yr. Only child. This Kelsey grl a dumba$$?</i><br/>
<br/>
Rae: <i>Yeah, Will. Or is she a girl who lies for attention?</i><br/>
<br/>
It makes you practically snort. <i>No. She can b trusted.</i><br/>
<br/>
Alex: <i>W.T.F… OK. Lemme make sum calls 2 frnds.</i><br/>
<br/>
You leave it there until the end of school. It passes by much as it always does, perhaps with a little more excitement in the air than usual. Thanksgiving is coming up, so people are looking forward to a little break before the final drive on through into Christmas. Your own thoughts turn to Izzy, and whether you should invite her over to your house. Or should you go over to hers? It’s all so…<br/>
<br/>
“Hey.” A voice startles you as you walk to the truck. You look up. Two large guys – guys you’ve never seen before – are standing by the truck bed, clearly having been waiting around for the owner. You were so engrossed in your own thoughts, you didn’t even notice.<br/>
<br/>
“Uh… hey!” you say, reaching for your keys. <br/>
<br/>
“You own this truck?”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh… yeah?”<br/>
<br/>
Bad move. The two heavies advance toward you. “You want to tell us what you were doing in this truck yesterday?”<br/>
<br/>
That confuses the hell out of you. It just comes straight from left field.<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, what do you…”<br/>
<br/>
“Why were you at the cathedral? Who else was there?”<br/>
<br/>
“What? Uh, none of your business!”<br/>
<br/>
That prompts a fist to the stomach. You collapse, doubling over, wheezing. <br/>
<br/>
“I’ll ask again. Why were you at the cathedral?”<br/>
<br/>
“I was just… y’know, hanging out, OK!”<br/>
<br/>
“Hanging out. Huh. And what did you see hanging out?”<br/>
<br/>
“What? See?” <i>oof.</i><br/>
<br/>
“I got an echo? Yeah, what did you see yesterday at the cathedral.”<br/>
<br/>
“Nothing. I didn’t see anything!”<br/>
<br/>
There’s a sudden, sinister, silent pause. Then: “That’s right,” the stranger says. “That’s exactly what you saw. Nothing.” He crouches down, so you’re eye to eye. “Word to the wise: don’t ever park up there again.”<br/>
<br/>
By the time you’ve recovered your breath, and your dignity, the two lunkheads are gone. And, worse, you still have no idea what the hell that was about. Maybe it’s best to text Alex, tell her to leave it alone before it’s too late. Although, that said, you doubt there’s anything you could do to dissuade her from looking deeper into the mystery of the two Abis. Perhaps you’re already in too deep to give up on your investigation.</span></div></div>


path: 115212112212111112111111212
author_id: masktrixie
title: Investigating an Enigma
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“So, this mystery’s just getting weirder,” Alex says, slouching on the park bench. Izzy has been sent to get donuts – Alex is apparently banned – and Rae is… well. Wherever Rae goes sometimes when she’s not with the other two. The girl remains determined to appear an enigma sometimes. <br/>
<br/>
“What, you mean other than two heavies coming after me?”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, <i>that</i> was weird, sure,” Alex says, with a shrug. “But not totally outside the bounds of normality. I mean, haven’t you ever had two guys try to intimidate you before? Fuck, Will. You can get two numbskulls for like, $40 or a chance of seeing your boobs down the Warehouse, easy. There being two Abigail Steiners… <i>that</i> goes beyond even my sphere of all-knowing Guru wisdom.”<br/>
<br/>
“So you confirmed that?” I ask. Alex gives a brisk nod.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh yeah. Got a few friends inside Mutiesville still. Joss-Moss rolls with this girl, Mary…”<br/>
<br/>
“We’ve met,” you say sourly. A pint-sized Napoleonista. You still remember the whole golf hustle, the fake offer of a party. After all, it’s what led you here. <br/>
<br/>
“Well, their group went to this stupid-ass Fall Show thing. They watched Abi ride her little horse over the fences or whatever. She was definitely there, at exactly the same time we definitely saw her with her weird soil cult. Oh, and just to double-confirm that, fuckin’ Jakey-boy is in the choir – one of the group we saw march in. And <i>he</i> swears Abi was the prefect chaperoning the lower years. So, that’s four separate groups of people, all who think Abi was in two places at once. Oh, and that bitch Macklin, too. Plus! I confirmed it: there is no other Abigail at her school, at least in the sixth form, uh, seniors. None in the juniors, either. So that little comment she said about not telling Abi? Unless she’s gone full-on dissociative psycho and is referring to herself in the third person…”<br/>
<br/>
“So… what. No way that many people were confused. Abi and this Macklin girl have… what, twins? Doppelgangers?”<br/>
<br/>
“Maybe it’s magic,” Izzy says, creeping up behind you. Alex gets a bag of donuts dropped in her lap. You get an arm around your shoulders, and a kiss on the cheek.<br/>
<br/>
Alex rolls her eyes. “Yeah, maybe,” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Or aliens. Or a science experiment gone wrong, like an awesome B-movie. Zombie Mutants From… uh… Mutieville!” She smirks as Izzy lets out a snort of laughter. “Let’s try and stay in the real world, huh? There aren’t two Abigail Steiners – the world couldn’t handle it. That means something else is going down. Which leads us to the next part of our mystery unravelling: which Abi sighting do we look into. Should be obvious, right? I mean, horse riding is boring and the rich kids who do it suck ass.”<br/>
<br/>
“You are a rich kid,” Izzy counters.<br/>
<br/>
“Whatever, Iz. Not my fault my parents got bank. I don’t ride horses and I don’t suck ass.” She gestures for her friend to join you, and Izzy nudges you to move over, slipping onto the edge of the bench and wrapping her arms around you, her two-toned hair nestling against your neck. “Anyway, point being – Abi and Macklin being at some dumb county show is normal. Abi and Macklin hauling graveyard soil out of some creepy basement… that goes next level.”<br/>
<br/>
“I thought you said you didn’t care what they were doing?” Izzy interjects.<br/>
<br/>
“I say a lot of things!” Alex counters. “And I didn’t. I was curious, and then I thought it was some dumb, pointless thing… and then Will got us a little more intel. Now I want to get to the bottom of what those bitches were up to. We’ve got a Scooby mystery to solve! Besides, what the fuck else we goin’ to do around here?”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, I have this paper that’s due on Thurs…”<br/>
<br/>
“Will,” Alex says, fixing you a stern look. “I am going to pretend you did not say that. Did we not spend weeks rebuilding you, remodelling you, tagging that beautiful head of yours with beautiful thoughts? There is no way I’m gonna let my latest art project regress back into the lost boy we all met and pitied a month back.”<br/>
<br/>
You can only shrug at that. “Look, you might be able to invoke rich white girl privilege and slip into whatever college you want, but I’ve got to keep my grades up if I want to get anywhere next year.”<br/>
<br/>
“To study…what?” Izzy says, eyes narrowed. She knows damn well you haven’t decided on anything yet. Honestly, you don’t even know if you’re going to leave Saratoga Falls. It’s a question for another time, though.<br/>
<br/>
“I guess I’ll just cross that bridge when I come to it,” you mutter, resulting in a tussle of your hair from Izzy. “Fine. I’m in. What’s the plan?”<br/>
<br/>
“We follow the clues!” Alex says, with a gleam in her eye.<br/>
<br/>
***<br/>
<br/>
“It scares me how good you are at this,” Izzy says, slouching against the side of the church basement wall. Alex, meanwhile, is deftly picking the lock, leaving you to look out. This feels so wrong, but it’s not like you haven’t got priors. You’ve busted into the old elementary school at down in Acheson at least once before. Alex, however, is far more capable a burglar than you’ll ever be. The door swings open, and…<br/>
<br/>
<i>Stairs.</i> You stand on the edge and peer into the gloom, Alex giving you a playful shove to make you lose balance for a brief half-second. On the side,  you can just make out a light switch, and soon the way down is illuminated. <br/>
<br/>
“Spooky,” Alex laughs, wiggling her fingers. “Guys first.”<br/>
<br/>
You nod, and step inside. The stairs are old and wooden, they creak endlessly, but they hold your weight. Slowly, you edge down into what looks like a storage area. There’s a few old table tennis tables coated in dust, a little workshop-type area, and not much else. You step inside, crouching down. Dirt. Little stains where bags had been stowed and tossed. <br/>
<br/>
“Well, this isn’t very helpful,” you say. Alex shakes her head.<br/>
<br/>
“No imagination, Will. C’mon, take a look around! This place is awesome. You could throw up a few tags on the wall there, use that bench to work on your paints and stencils, there’s just about enough ventilation not to get choked out. Nobody legit comes down here, so assuming Abi and her goons are done with the place, it’d make an awesome little hideout.”<br/>
<br/>
“Not as cool as the old theater,” Izzy says, sitting on the steps, unwilling to come down. “Hey, what’s that on the beam?”<br/>
<br/>
You and Alex both look around. There’s an old roof beam, and from Izzy’s vantage point she must be able to see something you can’t. Alex tries to jump it, but given she’s barely five foot she doesn’t come close. Instead, it’s up to you to knock it down. A little tin. You open it, and… it’s empty except for a little bag. <br/>
<br/>
“Nada,” you say. <br/>
<br/>
“Everything,” Alex counters. “Little baggie for some boom-boom pills.” She picks it up, waves it at Izzy. “You know I don’t touch the shit. Who uses baggies like this?”<br/>
<br/>
“About half a dozen people at the Warehouse,” Izzy shrugs. “By the size of it, and the fact that there’s no powder, no weed, no nothing, my guess is pills.”<br/>
<br/>
“So, this is a drug drop,” Alex says, putting the bag back in the tin and passing it to you. “Better put it back.” There’s a sigh. “Not much else here. My guess is it’s a dead end. Course, you know where we’re going next?”<br/>
<br/>
You raise an eyebrow. “Uh…” <br/>
<br/>
Alex shakes her head. “No imagination, Will.”<br/>
<br/>
***<br/>
<br/>
The Masonic Cemetery is out down toward the edge of Saratoga Falls, where it meets Acheson and the Country Club. It’s a spooky old place, which means that Izzy makes sure Rae has an invite before you all turn up. Once, there, the two girls head off for an impromptu photo shoot, Rae looking suitably gothic in black, posing next to headstones. <br/>
<br/>
You’re watching them, laughing, giggling, posting to social media, when you get a tug on your arm from Alex. “C’mon,” she says. “Remember why we’re here.”<br/>
<br/>
Whey we’re here. The dumbest reason possible: to scour a graveyard for a freshly dug grave. You spend the best part of half an hour tramping around, looking for <i>something</i>, before your feet start to ache, and you wonder if this is all just some giant, pointless misunderstanding. But Alex, has a mystery that she wants to unravel, and doesn’t seem willing to let it go. She keeps leading you on and on, looking around for anything that might be a clue as to what’s happening. You’re about to protest and suggest you give up again, when she grabs you by the arm, pointing. <br/>
<br/>
“Bingo!” she says, rushing off to the left. You follow. Sure enough, there’s a grave which looks a little torn up. The grass has been lifted off, and you can see the soil looks like it’s been patted down or filled in recently. A glance at the headstone shows it’s not new, either: <i>Here Lies Mary Jane Pew. Died of Consumption. 5 June 1923.</i><br/>
<br/>
“Holy shit,” you manage. <br/>
<br/>
Alex nods, rubbing her chin. “Holy shit indeed. From what you’ve told me, that weirdo bitch hired a bunch of guys to dig up a grave for her, dump the soil in the church, and then she picked it up during choir service to take it back to Mutieville.”<br/>
<br/>
“But…why?”<br/>
<br/>
“Good question,” she says, crouching down beside the grave like a CSI. “C’mon, we better head back to the others. <br/>
<br/>
You’re about to follow, when you feel a sudden buzz in your pants. Fishing out your phone, you’ve got a text: from an anonymous sender. <br/>
<br/>
<i> Will. We need to meet. Alone. Come to Starbucks on 20th in half an hour. Abi. </i><br/>
<br/>
How did she even get your number?</span></div></div>


path: 1152121122121111121111112121
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Brain Band
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Starbucks isn’t your usual haunt. There are plenty of other places in town to go to, after all, with more of a local vibe and better coffee. Maybe that’s why Abi picked it – neutral ground. It’s disconcerting how much she seems to know about you, after all. First, those two goons in the parking lot, then your number.<br/>
<br/>
Mostly, you just want to find out what’s going on. And you’ve got a feeling that Alex, not to mention Izzy and Rae, would only make things worse if you brought them along. So, after dropping them back in town from your trip to the cemetery, you head up to Starbucks on 20th, park up and walk-on in. There’s no one there you know – just a squat Asian girl sat at her laptop, probably a sophomore or a junior, tapping away at something, the barista and the person you’re there to meet. Abi is just as beautiful as you remember: that kind of eerie, perfect beauty that feels like you’re staring into the sun. She’s dressed in an oversized sweater – you guess, with Thanksgiving next week, it’s now officially the fall – and track pants that just don’t seem to be her style at all. She doesn’t pay any attention as you enter, and it’s only when you’re right in front of her that she so much as glances up.<br/>
<br/>
“You wanted to me?” you say, matter of factly.<br/>
<br/>
She smiles. “Ah, the infamous Will Prescott. We meet at last. Please, take a seat.” You do so although it’s weird; she doesn’t seem to recognize you from the country club. Obviously you were more forgettable than usual that day. The other thing you notice, glancing over the table, is that her superpowers seem to be on the glitch. You remember the first time you met almost drowning in those eyes, as if they went on forever. The eyes are still there, still just as captivating in their swirling hazel, but they don’t seem to enchant you at all. <br/>
<br/>
“So, you going to tell me why the hell I had two guys on me in a parking lot?”<br/>
<br/>
She winces. “That… that was my fault. And I’m really sorry, Will. They weren’t supposed to do that. I asked Mike and Jacob just to find out who you were, why you were at the cathedral the other day, that’s all. They took things a little too far.”<br/>
<br/>
“Who I am?” you ask, trying to piece things together.<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, Will,” Abi smiles. “I saw your truck – and it was pretty hard to miss the girl in the back screaming at us. So I asked to find out who in Saratoga Falls has that truck, that color, with a snip of the licence plate I caught. You see…” she smiles, and twists her fingers through her hair, but it seems almost cartoonish, rather than alluring. “My friends and I were doing something a little naughty. Nothing too bad, just something we want to keep quiet. And we wanted to know what you knew.”<br/>
<br/>
“Nothing,” you lie. “We were just parked up, saw you come, didn’t really pay attention to what was happening.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, Will,” Abi frowns. “That’s just not true.” She holds up her phone – Instagram, Rae’s feed. A picture of her posing on a gravestone marked ‘Trying to catch the infamous grave robbers of Saratoga Falls’. You gulp. She gives the briefest of nods.<br/>
<br/>
“Well… OK. So I heard some weird stuff, and I saw what you were carrying. Dirt from a grave. And we were curious what the hell you were up to.”<br/>
<br/>
“And what did you decide?” Abi asks, quietly, head tilting.<br/>
<br/>
“I dunno,” you say.<br/>
<br/>
“And what would persuade you to stop looking into things, and just forget about it? Because, genuinely, it’s in all our best interests,” Abi continues.<br/>
<br/>
“I dunno,” you say again. “I mean, I guess I just want an answer. I want to know how you could be in two places at once.”<br/>
<br/>
Abi thinks for a moment, then nods, firmly and deliberately. In an instant, you feel someone’s hand come up behind you, but before you can swat it away, the world goes black.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You blink yourself awake. You’re in Starbucks still, but Abi’s gone. Instead, the Asian girl is sat in front of you. She looks at you intently.<br/>
<br/>
“I know everything you do,” she says, very slowly. <br/>
<br/>
“I… wha? Where’s Abi?”<br/>
<br/>
“Gone to get changed,” she continues, just as slowly. She seems to be breathing heavily through her nose. “But the rest of it is going to take some explaining. We lured you here because we wanted to know what you knew, what you overheard at the cathedral. We totes goofed on that part. We figured, first off, persuading two guys to track you down, see what you were doing. But that kinda backfired. Then you started looking into stuff more. I know all about that, now – about Alex, Izzy, Rae. And we figured we needed to know what you knew, so we knew you weren’t a threat with what you knew, you know?”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh…” you shake your head, trying to think clearly. Did you pass out? “I felt something on my head and…”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah,” the girl nods. “That was me. Stealing your brain. We call them brain bands. Place one on someone’s head and kaaablam! Instant all-their-thoughts.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh…kay,” you sigh. The girl’s a lunatic. “I’m going to be going…”<br/>
<br/>
“I know about the book. The one you got at Arnholm’s.” That stops you in your tracks. “We were going to let you go, once we knew what you know. But then I got your brain. And I remembered the book, and you’re clearly more connected in this than you realize.”<br/>
<br/>
“What… what, that stupid old book for the time capsule?” you ask, scrabbling to remember what she's even talking about. Back in September? “I haven’t seen that thing in…”<br/>
<br/>
“Since your mom threw it out,” the girl asks. “It ended up in the charity stuff you drove up to St Xavier’s, part of the whole cover story for your attempt to smuggle booze for Mary Occam. I mean, dude! That was poor, poor judgment of character. Mary’s like… second rung on the school ladder, y’know?”<br/>
<br/>
“Look, how do you know all this stuff?”<br/>
<br/>
“I told you, dude. I have your brain. I know everything about you.”<br/>
<br/>
“No way. Not…”<br/>
<br/>
“The sock? Or how this morning you were dreaming of… someone called… Chelsea Cooper.”<br/>
<br/>
You blush a little. “Ah, nah.”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh… uh-huh. Day before that was someone called Coach Schell. Day before that… you can’t remember. I mean, I know everything. I’d quote you your card number, but you’re so broke-ass it’s not like it would do any good. See?”<br/>
<br/>
You don’t see. “How are you doing this?”<br/>
<br/>
“Ugh, Will. I told you! We used a brain band on you. Shhhhhlllllurp! Everything you know, I know. Think of a number. 12. 467. 894.5. See?” She takes the opportunity of your dumbfounded silence to continue. “And that’s only a part of what we can do! That book, Will. It was a <i>real</i> magic book. And so we’re making you an offer. We discussed it, and we’ve decided that we’re going to let you in.”<br/>
<br/>
You’re still trying to piece together what happened. But the clock on the wall… didn’t you arrive 25 minutes ago? And, just below the clock, you see another person walk out of the bathroom. She’s wearing Abi’s clothes, but she’s definitely younger, with a tidy chocolate pageboy cut a few shades darker than Abi’s long locks. She saunters up to the table, and sits down next to her friend.<br/>
<br/>
“Did you explain it to him?” she asks. <br/>
<br/>
The friend shakes her head. “Just getting to that. Look, Will. Dude. We can prove it to you, if you want. Show you what we’re talking about.”<br/>
<br/>
Or – and right now this option seems equally attractive – you can get up and get the hell out of there.</span></div></div>


path: 11521211221211111211111121211
author_id: masktrixie
title: Heathers Two
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“So, who are you?” you ask, as you cram yourselves into the Starbucks bathroom. Somehow the barista – too busy looking at his phone to care – hasn’t noticed you’ve all vanished. <br/>
<br/>
“Oh!” the Asian girl says. “I’m Heather Ng.”<br/>
<br/>
“And I’m Heather Kaminski. And believe me, we’ve heard all the Heather jokes.” She gives an eye roll. “We’re fifth formers at the St Francis Xavier School.”<br/>
<br/>
Great. More mutants. “Oh, and we’ve heard all the X-Men jokes, too,” Heather says, before you can even say anything. This is the girl who claims to have your brains, after all. “And I know you don’t know what a fifth former is. Juniors. Like your girlfriend, hmm? Oh! She’s Gabe’s sister? Oh god, he’s dreamy, isn’t he?”<br/>
<br/>
Heather K gives a nod of agreement.<br/>
<br/>
“So is there any point in me asking questions,” you say slowly, or are you just going to ask them for me?”<br/>
<br/>
Heather K laughs, fishing into her bag. She pulls out some kind of blue mask. “This is going to make a believer out of you,” she says. “But first, some exposition. See, I board at the school, Heather here lives in town. Folk own one of those Chinese restaurants. And we’ve been friends, like, since?”<br/>
<br/>
“Forever. Anyway, we’re kind of bottom of the totem at St X. It’s all about money, right? Well, sucks to be us. So we get involved in other stuff, like charity drives. And we saw the book, and thought it was neat! Neither of us take Latin any more, so it took like, an age to translate it. But it was a recipe book to make a mask. So… we did that. Then we polished it, which took for-ev-ah. And when she put the mask on… poof! It totes vanished, and she collapsed, and I was panicking… and then it reappeared. And so I tried it. And same thing happened to me!”<br/>
<br/>
“And at that point the book had opened up more,” Heather K cuts in. “So we followed the instructions, about paste and stuff, and then when we put the mask on again, wow! I turned into like, a cross between me and Heather!”<br/>
<br/>
“It was awesome!” Heather N says. “Now, I know you’re thinking we’re crazy. There’s loads more to it. Next you have the brain bands, then how to attach a brain band inside the masks, blah blah blah. At that point, like, we’d been just testing things out for weeks. So we figured we needed a <i>real</i> test, especially as it was this recipe needing loads of graveyard earth. We needed a way to get away with stuff at St X.”<br/>
<br/>
“So we copied Abi,” Heather K says. “And we must have messed it up, because the memories didn’t come immediately, we kinda had to sleep on it. But after that, we could pretend to be her! And she’s a prefect, which is, like, super important? So as her, we could do everything.”<br/>
<br/>
“She’s kinda a bitch, though, dude,” Heather N says. “Like, we never realized, we’re not in the same year. But she’s into drugs, and all kinds of bad stuff. Plus she treats Kristen really bad. But she also has all the contacts at this Warehouse place. Soooo…”<br/>
<br/>
“So we impersonated her to get the earth,” Heather K finishes. “And we needed someone else with her, so we could go together, and she’s always hanging out with Davina Macklin, so I took her. And the memories didn’t come quick, but, wow! When they did! She’s super smart! In a kind of evil genius way. So that made everything easier. The only complication was…”<br/>
<br/>
“Me,” you say, sighing. “You didn’t know what I knew.” This is the biggest pile of baloney you’ve ever heard. Magic masks and brain bands? It’s ridiculous. And yet you promised to hear the girls out, so…<br/>
<br/>
“He doesn’t believe us,” Heather N says. “Give him the mask.”<br/>
<br/>
“Right,” Heather K says. “This is gonna be scary, Will. You’re going to pass out. You might want to lie down or something. But what you need to do is take this mask and…”<br/>
<br/>
You were already reaching up with the mask before she finished the sentence. It’s got to be a load of bullsh…<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh my god, what the fuck am I doing on the fucking floor? In these pauper clothes? Fuck, they should burn this shit before it even reaches the strip mall.</i><br/>
<br/>
You blink awake. Brunette hair is in your eyes, so you reach up and brush it away. Blinking, you feel disoriented, as if someone has just hit you with a semi truck. Different, too. A little more wired, a little stronger, a little more… <br/>
<br/>
You reach down. Where the fuck’s your cock! <br/>
<br/>
<i>Why the fuck would I have a cock?</i><br/>
<br/>
You glance around. “Easy, Will,” Stinky Kaminski says to you. <i>Little fifth year bitch. Always a whiner. Thank fuck she’s in someone else’s house.</i><br/>
<br/>
“Just take it slow,” Heather Ng says. <i>Her friend. Some mawkish restaurant owner’s daughter. And… ugh. She’s in Adams.</i><br/>
<br/>
“I’m fine,” I say, sitting up, feeling… oh my god, breasts. <i>And you know how to use them to your advantage.</i> And voice! Too high. Too sing-song. Too… <i>Useful.</i><br/>
<br/>
You hop up, shoving the two girls aside to look in the mirror. Abigail Steiner looks straight back at you. You are gorgeous. Your chestnut hair falls down naturally like a model’s, while your blemishless face naturally falls into a smile that lights up the room without effort. Your nose is perfect (although, admittedly, not your original – a birthday present); your eyes are hypnotic. You trace your hands down your new body, turning to the left and right, chewing on your finger and thinking of how many people have fallen for those curves.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Bite down harder. So hard you almost draw blood. </i><br/>
<br/>
“It’s a lot to take in, right?” Heather K says. You turn, scowling that she interrupted you, but she mistakes it for fright. “Just breathe in, Will. We turned you into Abi Steiner. If you stayed like that, you’d get her memories, too.”<br/>
<br/>
And, finally, the words sink in. Her memories. That’s the voice that’s been echoing in your head.<br/>
<br/>
“I… think I already have them,” you mutter. <br/>
<br/>
The two Heathers look at each other. “What?” they ask in unison.<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t just look like Abigail Steiner,” you say slowly, correcting your posture in your old clothes, now hanging off you oddly. You tussle your hair, and admire the perfect 10 of a woman in front of you. “I <i>am</i> Abigail Steiner.”</span></div></div>


path: 115212112212111112111111212111
author_id: masktrixie
title: Proposal for a Swap
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You lie on your bed. <br/>
<br/>
Staring at the ceiling. <br/>
<br/>
Wondering if this evening was just some wacky dream, or if it all actually happened. Because it couldn't have happened, could it? You couldn't have turned into an incredibly beautiful - if incredibly messed up - girl. That stuff just doesn't occur in real life. It's got to be some kind of hoax, or some kind of hallucination. Maybe you're having a brain aneurysm, or a mental breakdown. Or maybe, just maybe, it's real. <br/>
<br/>
It's the last thought that plunders your mind of all reason. Because it means that there's so much more to the world than just Saratoga Falls. The crazy thing is that you had the book in your hands a few months ago, long before the two Heathers even knew about it. If you hadn't gone to Monte Viso's, then who knows what would have happened? <br/>
<br/>
Then again, you wouldn't have met Alex, Izzy and Rae either...<br/>
<br/>
<i>Shit. </i><br/>
<br/>
Do you tell them? Alex in particular seemed so invested in the whole 'what's Abi up to' mystery that it feels almost sinful to hide it from her. And yet... how do you explain what happened in the Starbucks? How do you even begin that conversation? "Hey, guess what, the reason there were two Abis is because some kids got a magic book and cloned her"? <br/>
<br/>
Alex is pretty open-minded, but even that one is going to be a stretch for her to take in. <br/>
<br/>
It's only then that you turn your mind back to the Heathers, and what happened after that initial revelation. From the moment you woke up, you had every single Abi thought in your head. More, you could remember Heather N's perspective as Abi, how she play-acted as the queen bitch of St. Xavier's to get the graveyard dirt, how she saw your truck zooming out of the cathedral. It was weird, being able to replay memories <i>of yourself</i>. But it was nowhere near as weird as having someone else's thoughts in your head, commenting on the action. You knew every secret Abigail Steiner possessed, from her nose job to where she keeps her stash of pick-me-ups and put-me-downs. Class schedules, book reports of books you've never read, faces and names you never knew. If you'd walked out of Starbucks at that moment, you'd have been able to replace her and no one would ever have known. <br/>
<br/>
Which is a pretty dark thought, and fortunately the Heathers were there to pull you back. As Abi, knowing what you also know, you can even pick the exact moment she was 'taken', when little Heather N came to her about an in-house (the school has some weird division system) problem and Abi, playing the good prefect, had to listen. You were able to relay it exactly to them, and the news seems to have made them go into overdrive...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
"How did it come so fast?" Heather K blurts out. "The memories, I mean!"<br/>
<br/>
"It's like what's supposed to happen!" Heather N nods. "Like, the mind bands totally work instantly. But add 'em to a mask, and it takes ages!"<br/>
<br/>
"Wow, I wonder if Will's just super-tuned to this stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"Or maybe the masks just need breaking in or something?"<br/>
<br/>
"Or maybe it's a fluke? Like, you roll the dice each time you..."<br/>
<br/>
"Ladies!" you say, Abi's voice carrying instant respect. "Please. calm down. We're going to think about this rationally." And by rationally, Abi's mind is already racing at who she could replace. Goodbye, Abigail Steiner, hello... Matilde Ambard? Some French aristocrat? <i>And all the money, beauty and privilege you could ever want. </i> You blink, shaking your head. <br/>
<br/>
"What's the matter?" Heather K says. <br/>
<br/>
"Abi's thoughts," you say. She's already scheming of a way to take the book off you.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, same happened with her frriend," Heather K agrees. "Like, the moment we have their brains, we start plotting about using the book for selfish reasons. Fortunately, we're besties." She bumps into the other Heather, who gives a nod.<br/>
<br/>
"And don't worry, Will. I've got your mind, remember? I totally know you're on the level, dude. Just keep Abi in a box; call on her if you need to, otherwise push her back down."<br/>
<br/>
"We should probably get it off him, now," Heather K says. "I've got to get to my ride back to St. X. 'Abi' signed my permission slip, but there's still a curfew, and it's a good, like, 40 minute drive."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you need me to give you a ride?" you ask. <i>Because there's no fucking way I'm letting some dirty little fifth former into my car. Although that truck would suffice. This place really is in the middle of nowhere, isn't it?</i><br/>
<br/>
Heather K gives a shake of the head. "Nah. But we should exchange numbers before we go. Meet up tomorrow? So we can discuss this more?"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***<br/>
</div><br/>
That was more or less the end of the conversation. After that, all that was left to do was take off the mask, say your goodbyes, and head home. <br/>
<br/>
You stare up at the ceiling again. <br/>
<br/>
That all had to have been a dream, didn't it?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
School is weird. You'd have thought it would have dragged, with the excitement of the weird world you've stumbled upon playing against the mundane nature of tedious assignments and essays, being stuck at your desk, eating on your own, and waiting for it all to end. Except that's not what happens at all. Instead, the school day passes like a whirlwind, a rush from place to place and face to face. Because suddenly every single face is available to you. You look at people in a way you've never done before, appraising them, wondering what it would be like to step into their shoes for a while. You think of the jocks on the teams, like Gordon Black or Steve Patterson, where you could bully and command your way through school. And you think of Chelsea, and Kelsey, and Kim, and wonder what it'd feel like to be a girl for a while, with all that ample opportunity to explore their beauty. You imagine replacing one of the Garners, too, seeing what life would be like as a triplet. <br/>
<br/>
You even think about replacing Alex, imagining yourself as a pint-sized rebel without a cause, heiress to a ridiculous fortune. <br/>
<br/>
So many faces. And so little time. Before you know it, the bell has sounded and it's time to leave. You're not scheduled to meet up with the girls tonight (Izzy as told you that Rae has a 'thing', and even the cool kids have to do their homework sometimes), which gives you plenty of space to head over to the Starbucks again, and meet up with the Heathers. They take an age to arrive - Heather K explains that they have some kind of compulsory sports scene after school - and then they had to get the bus. This, you gather, is usual for Heather N, and she briefly mentions a few names you recognize - Gabe, Izzy's brother, and Roxanne, the indie chick who you'd been trying to impress when the world spiralled. <br/>
<br/>
The next hour is a flurry of explanations. The Heathers take you through the different spells, what they do, how they deciphered it all. You point out you can read Latin, and that seems to make them sigh with relief - that someone can check their translations, because "some of it is just like, gibberish". They walk you through all of the struggles they had, too: getting the ingredients (which was Heather N's job), and finding a place on the school grounds to make the spells. Making the masks, they confess, isn't the hard part: it's the sheer amount of time you have to spend polishing the sucker for it to work. And the bands are fiddly to carve, too. <br/>
<br/>
And then they get to the earth. This is to make the 'pedisequos', they explain - even if neither of them really seem to know what that is. Heather K has brought the book, and slides it over to you, to see if you can decipher it any more. As far as you can tell, it seems to be making... what, a servant of some kind? <br/>
<br/>
"But, like the rest of these spells, the ingredients aren't the hard part," Heather N says, after you finish your summary. "Actually, you'd think that they would be - we had to get mercury out of some old thermometers, and you know how hard it was to get the amount of graveyard dirt required. But no. Turns out, once you light that sucker, it just... burns."<br/>
<br/>
"Burns with this creepy flame," Heather K says. "We don't know how long it's going to keep going for, either. If someone goes down into the Tombs, they're going to see it! And then what? We're going to be exposed."<br/>
<br/>
"I told you we should have used the Crypt," Heather N says.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, but we don't have access! Worst thing is, it's Thanksgiving next week." Heather K turns to you. "The boarders' luggage is stored in a place called the Tombs." <i>Of course it is. Fucking mutants.</i> "And obviously most of them are going home for the break. We can't move the thingie, and we can't put out the fire."<br/>
<br/>
"We just have to hope it stops burning," Heather N shrugs. "But, even so, we were thinking. We need someone at the school to watch things for us. And Heather K can't keep coming down to town, eventually someone's going to wonder why she gets so many exeat passes."<br/>
<br/>
"Which would, again, cause us major problems," Heather K says. "Which is why we came up with an idea last night."<br/>
<br/>
You raise an eyebrow. <br/>
<br/>
"Will," Heather N says. "We would like to copy you with a mask. And you'll switch places with Heather K. That ways, you can do the work at the school - think of it as the price of membership. You'll get her memories, right? And then Heather K can be you. And, as you, can hang with me after school so we can work on more magic"<br/>
<br/>
Wait... they want you to... be a girl?<br/>
<br/>
And they want to take over your life? <br/>
<br/>
"After a night's sleep," Heather K says, "I'll have your memories, too. Don't worry, I won't mess up your school work, or your friendships or whatever. It's just until you've finished guarding the pedisequos." She smiles. "C'mon. What do you think? Haven't you ever wondered what it's like to be someone else for a few days?"</span></div></div>


path: 1152121122121111121111112121111
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Flight in the Heather
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Have you thought about being another person before? Sure. But that doesn't make the proposition the girls are offering any more crazy. Would you like to be a junior girl at a school you've only been to once, in the dead of night, where you were tackled, interrogated and had the cops involved?<br/>
<br/>
And then you realize that's <i>exactly</i> what you want. Because not only will you be getting in on the magic shit the two Heathers are mixed up in, you'll also be in the prime place to get a little payback. Mary Occam, that asshole who tackled you - what was his name, Todd?<br/>
<br/>
"OK, I'm in," you say, with a nod. "Just don't, y'know, mess with my stuff." The girls clap their hands excitedly. <br/>
<br/>
"Excellent! Don't worry, my life doesn't suck so bad," Heather K says. "And I promise I'll take good care of... y'know. Everything in your life. This is just a little arrangement while we work out the next spell."<br/>
<br/>
"So, how does this work?" you ask. <br/>
<br/>
"First up, we'll head back to my family's restaurant," Heather N says. "There's a little store space out back, nobody ever goes there and I've got the key. It's much safer than swapping in the Starbucks toilets. Then you'll grab an Uber back to St. X, and Heather will go to your home. It's going to be morning until you both get memories, so you're going to have to share all the details about your life, a bluffer's guide, until you can get to sleep. Y'know, who your family are, what room's yours, any assignments you're supposed to be doing."<br/>
<br/>
"I planned ahead," Heather K says, opening her rucksack. You can see the book - the book! - inside, along with two masks. Instead, she fishes out a small notebook with Winnie the Pooh on the front, opening it up to reveal a list of notes in pastel shade ink. "This is basically a Bible on how to be me. Class schedules, friends, where I sleep - I'm on the top floor of Founders' Hall, G12. Got three others as bunkmates, 'cause it's not until sixth form you get double rooms. And I loaded my phone," she pauses, and fishes it out, "with helpful photos. Like, that photo is my bed, that photo is my locker. So you won't make a mistake. Plus! Details on the pedisequos in the Tombs. Remember, that's the main reason you're there, OK? Keeping guard so nobody stumbles on it."<br/>
<br/>
"Do we need that level of prep?" you ask. "This is only going to be until morning, right? And maybe I'll wake up with all of your memories anyway, like I did with Abi."<br/>
<br/>
"It can't hurt to be prepared," Heather N says. Now, we need you to do the same. Where you live, who you hang with, family. So spill."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
Heather's family restaurant is down toward Appalachian Square, and you're paying so little attention you don't even grab the name as you park up. It's full, though, and you're quickly shepherded around the back by Heather N. Then, awkwardly, it's time for the swap. The girls reassure you, with a smile, that it's going to seem pretty instant for you, but it's going to be far more arduous for them. First, they explain, they've got to copy you. Then they're going to have to put you in the Heather K mask, then get your clothes on. Really, they're doing you a favor. <br/>
<br/>
Then they present the mask to you. It's a strange thing, like a weird blank with a faint blue tint, and you take a deep breath as they hand it to you. <br/>
<br/>
"You're sure this is going to work?" you ask. "This thing is going to copy what I look like?"<br/>
<br/>
The duo nod, with a slight smile. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Here we go</i>...<br/>
<br/>
You blink awake. Thick chocolate bangs hang into your eyes, and you blow them away with a distinctly feminine rasp. Sitting up, you suddenly realize you're shorter, paler, pastier, with delicate hands and feet. <br/>
<br/>
Also, you appear to be in a skirt. <br/>
<br/>
"Did it work?" you ask, eyes widening as you hear Heather K's lilt slipping out. "Wow, guess so."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, dude," you hear a weirdly familiar voice say. It sounds almost like you, but the register's a little off... until you remember it sounds <i>exactly</i> like you on a recording. You turn your head. Will Prescott stands there, fastening up his pants and reaching for his fitted cap. <br/>
<br/>
"Holy shit," you mutter. "This is... this is weird."<br/>
<br/>
"I know, right!" your double laughs. "Wow, I never realized what it felt like to be a guy. It's so... well, it's pretty much the same, except more sticky. How do I look?"<br/>
<br/>
You scramble off the floor, Heather N stooping to help you, and give him - you - whatever - a quick appraisal. It's like some kind of weird uncanny valley, a second Will Prescott. "I don't think I slouch like that," you say a little defensively. Will gives you a questioning look, as if to say <i>you absolutely do</i> before changing his posture.<br/>
<br/>
"OK, you're both switched!" Heather N says, clapping her hands and giving the new Will Prescott a high five. "Now, you're going to have to get used to being called Will. And <i>you</i> have to remember you are Heather Jane Kaminski. You're from Cleveland, Ohio. And, I mean," Heather N winces and looks at her friend, "OK, you're not the most popular girl in school."<br/>
<br/>
"Some people call you Stinky Kaminski," Will says, sniffing his own armpit. "It's harsh. You had a little hygiene issue in third form, because, y'know, you were going through changes. It just kind of stuck, though."<br/>
<br/>
Heather N nods sympathetically. You, meanwhile, try and access some of Heather's memories, like you did with Abi, pulling out the relevant snippets you need for the impersonation. You furrow your brow, squeeze your fists and... <i>nothing</i>. <br/>
<br/>
"I don't seem to have any of her memories," you say, looking a little nervous. <br/>
<br/>
"I haven't got yours yet, either," Heather K - Will Prescott - <i>ugh!</i> confesses. "I told you, it takes sleeping on it, sometimes. In the meantime, use the Heather Bible. And remember - you're to guard the Tombs. Plus, if the weird-ass fire goes out, you'll need to light it up again. That's what the book says."<br/>
<br/>
"And what if I'm stuck like this?" you ask, looking at the two Heathers - the Heather and Will - the boy and the girl. <br/>
<br/>
"Don't worry, <i>Heather</i>," Will says, patting you on the shoulder. "This is just until we've got the book fully researched. Now, uh, I guess I'd better go 'home'. And you'd better get an Uber."<br/>
<br/>
Heather N nods, and smiles. "I'll see you tomorrow, Heather," she says. "We've got mostly the same classes."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
The return to the St Francis Xavier School - or St X as everyone seems to call it, or Xavier's - is full of prep. You manage to cram into the back of the Uber, and desperately read up on your new life from the notes and photo-filled phone provided. There are obvious downsides to being Heather, not least her apparent unpopularity, but it seems she's pretty wealthy given it's the latest model, and her bank account doesn't seem to object to laying $40 down on the ride. Arriving at the main gate, you quickly get through and on to the main building. It's a creepy ass place in the night, concealed from the road by a much newer block, and you're soon stepping inside, walking down the oak-panelled corridors and beaten green carpets with wonder. <br/>
<br/>
Quick orientation. From the noise to your left, that's the games room she mentioned. Something else opposite that seems to have students pouring out of it - barely giving you a glance - and beyond a door marked 'Chapel'. Well, at least that's clear. Girls' rooms, according to your Heather Bible, are on the other end of the corridor. <br/>
<br/>
You begin walking down, against the stream of younger kids who seem to be flooding out of the building, shepherded by... <br/>
<br/>
<i>You’re going to find us easier to deal with than the cops.</i> It's the handsome guy who interviewed you all those months ago! He's still dressed smartly, like a mutant, and pauses as he catches sight of you. For an instant, you think he must have seen through your guise. But then... <br/>
<br/>
"Evening, Heather," he says, looking you square in the eye. A friendly smile but a stern flex under it. "You been in town? Can I see your exeat?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh..." you fumble. The guy keeps staring impatiently. He's got a different tie on to everyone else, and for some reason your eyes just focus on it as you reach into your pockets. Ha! Bit of paper! You pull it out, and thrust it at him. <br/>
<br/>
He looks at it. "Abi signed this?" he asks, with a sniff. "Hmm. OK. I'll have to talk to her about this, though. Next time, you stay in house - you ask me, or you ask Todd." he takes it in his hand and screws it up. "Have a good night," he says, heading off. <br/>
<br/>
And, just like that, you've passed. You've infiltrated. <br/>
<br/>
You rush up to the third floor, wondering when the memories are going to kick in. G11 is almost immediately in front of you, but it looks too small for four people to cram inside. G12, thankfully, is opposite. You swing the door open. Three girls look up at you - one with strawberry hair, one darker skinned with hair in a pulled-back afro cut, one with blonde curls. They stop chatting for a moment, before looking back down again, disinterested. <br/>
<br/>
"Hi," you manage to say, heading to what photos suggest is your bed.<br/>
<br/>
"Did we give you permission to speak to us?" the African-American girl says. <br/>
<br/>
"Did I need that?" you ask, a little defiantly. Is that in character? The girl narrows her eyes and snorts. And, for the rest of the night, until light's out, you're more or less ignored. <br/>
<br/>
It's weird, getting ready for bed as someone else. Changing into their PJs, brushing your teeth with their brush. But, you keep reminding yourself, you'll feel much more at home in the morning. <br/>
<br/>
Except you don't. <br/>
<br/>
In the morning, as a blaring alarm wakes you at 6am, you blink open your eyes and... <i>nothing</i>. <br/>
<br/>
You still haven't got a single one of Heather Kaminski's memories.</span></div></div>


path: 11521211221211111211111121211111
author_id: masktrixie
title: A Life Without Memories
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“You’re gonna be late,” says the blonde girl, watching you try and straighten your tie. Sure, you’ve done this before, but you’ve never had to do it in a skirt, shirt and blazer before. Besides, it's hard to take your eyes off your mirror image. You're looking at the face of a girl, brown hair cut in a pageboy. Nose a little stubby, eyes a little darkened underneath. Pale and pasty, face that hasn't quite grown into itself yet. You're not a beauty, but not particularly ugly, either. You're just... Heather. Heather Kaminski. <br/>
<br/>
A girl you know almost nothing about.<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll be a moment,” you say, putting the final touches to your uniform, trying  and failing to remember anything about this girl. She’s a total blank, save for the note in your Heather Bible. This is Stella McDonald, whose notes just say is “nice, you get on” followed by a few personal details and things you bond over. The strawberry haired girl, even further behind than you, is Olivia Blair, whose notes just state is “a total wallflower”, while the girl who was a total bitch to you last night, filled with warning marks and red stars, is Hope O’Malley. “Half black, half Irish, born with a superiority and inferiority complex,” the Bible warns. Great. <br/>
<br/>
You finish up and pat your pageboy into place, giving a firm nod. <br/>
<br/>
“Aren’t you gonna put on some makeup?” Stella asks.<br/>
<br/>
Uhhh… <br/>
<br/>
“Like it would help,” Hope says, shaking her head as she walks out. <br/>
<br/>
“Wow, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
“You think Hope has a right side?” Stella says, drawing a laugh from Olivia. “C’mon, Heaths. Let’s get breakfast.”<br/>
<br/>
"Ah... right," you say, giving a nod. "Do you think I need makeup?"<br/>
<br/>
Stella smiles. "Sure, a touch."<br/>
<br/>
"Ah..." you chew your lip. "Do you think you could help me?"<br/>
<br/>
Olivia laughs again. Stella, however, gives you a reassuring nudge. "Why, you thinkin' about shaking up your style?" She gives a little clap. "Sure, we'll try out something new after breakfast. C'mon. Let's go."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
Breakfast is surreal - an army of students, all in the same uniform, descending on the hall where you were interrogated the night you broke in. They seem to separate out into gaggles, small groups where the gossip flows easily, all arranged along tables in a pecking order. In the far corner, dominating her cronies, Abi Steiner is holding court; likewise, Marius Hall (<i>HEAD BOY! Kind of a big deal! </i>your Bible says) has a similar group. You almost imagine it's like a chess board, white pieces and black pieces. Your own year seems to have its groups, too. Once again, the Heather Bible has clues. There's 'The Brits' - a bunch of British students who are always into something. Then there's 'Hope's clique', the 'proto-Thalians' (you haven't had time to really delve into what that means), the 'super-students', the 'kind of stoners' and 'Kyle's sports guys', and of course 'Margo the Teenage Witch'. You're trying to delve further when...<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, what you reading, Heather?"<br/>
<br/>
You look up. A girl with wild blonde hair - almost albino - takes a seat opposite you. You tuck the Bible away. <br/>
<br/>
"Nothing, just a few notes," you say meekly.<br/>
<br/>
"She's been looking at it since she got up," Olivia unhelpfully adds. <br/>
<br/>
"Well, c'mon! Spill! Girl stuff? Boy stuff? School stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's just... y'know. I thought I'd keep a diary or something," you improvise. <br/>
<br/>
"Oh! Neat," the ash blonde says. "I should try that too. The Adventures of Janey Renault. Kind of as a ring to it, doesn't it? Or maybe I should get a nickname, or an alias. Ninja Girl. Nah, kind of lame. The Adventures of..." she shrugs, and lets the thought peter out, instead, slipping into her oatmeal.<br/>
<br/>
You finish early, and dart up the stairs to the dorms to check your Bible. <i>Janey Renault. Your best friend! You've been inseparable since 1st form. She’s super cool but you don’t want to talk to her about the SPECIAL THING.</i><br/>
<br/>
The pedi… pediwhatnow? You can barely remember what the girls called it. Even so, you decide it’s time to go and check on whatever the hell they’re working on. In somewhere called the… Tombs? You flick through the Bible, revealing a whole page of heavily annotated – and multicolored – illustrations about exactly where you’re going. Tucking the Bible into your satchel, you creep down the stairs, flying counter to the stream of girls coming *up* them. A few of them dart out of your way, although at least one – a beauty, perhaps a little older than you (or old you) with a imperious air just <i>stares</i> at you as you squeeze past, as if you’ve done something to offend her by not getting out of the way instantly. <br/>
<br/>
You’re quickly learning that the Mutant world has its own hidden rules. Perhaps she’s the school’s answer to Kelsey or Chelsea. Dismissing the thought, you make your way down the hall, past a gathering of students queuing for the vending machine, and a slightly larger girl who is talking, at length, to a pretty girl with pixie-cut blonde hair about ancient video games. It’s the kind of conversation Keith, back in your own reality, would dive into. But you’re a Heather now, so all you can do is drift past, and look for the unmarked door nearby. When no one’s looking (or, at least, no one’s paying you much attention), you push it open, squeezing inside and turning on the light. <br/>
<br/>
The Tombs are well named. It looks like some kind of elaborate wine cellar, stairs descending into a little warren of twisting passages and walls that were once used to store wine, and are now filled with metallic suitcases – huge trunks you imagine a few students could squeeze inside if they felt like it. The Bible notes say this is where the boarding students store their luggage during term, until it’s time to head back home for Christmas, Summer or – next week – Thanksgiving. <br/>
<br/>
You’re not interested in that, though. After two, twisting turns to the left and one to the right, you start to see a weird glow up ahead. You’ve already experienced enough weirdness for a lifetime (or three lifetimes, given your sudden gender changes), but what you find around the corner takes your breath away. <br/>
<br/>
It’s hard to tell exactly <i>what</i> you’re looking at. The Earth from the weekend has been piled up in a long shape, almost like a cylindrical burial mound, and an eerie, blue-violet flame dances across the top, illuminating the room. The freaky part, though, is that the flame isn’t hot at all – it’s completely cool. Weird cracks have started to emerge in the shape, too. You’re tempted to reach out and touch it, but… <br/>
<br/>
Wait.<br/>
<br/>
You spin around. There’s a noise, shuffling toward you in the gloom. For a moment, you wonder if someone’s followed you down, and a pang of fear beats in your chest. What if it’s that Marius guy? Or one of the girls who clearly doesn’t like Heather Kaminski? Or…<br/>
<br/>
You breathe a sigh of relief as Heather Ng’s face appears in the poor lighting. She gives a little wave. <br/>
<br/>
“Heather!” she says. “Well, Will. How’s it going?”<br/>
<br/>
“Bad,” you hiss. “I haven’t got any of Heather’s memories. Nada. I’m just going on what the Bible says.”<br/>
<br/>
“Huh,” Heather says, scrunching her nose up. It’s a strange response, one that doesn’t feel entirely sincere. “Well, y’know, maybe they’ll come. Or the mask is faulty.”<br/>
<br/>
“Faulty? I can’t be stuck like this! I don’t want to be Heather!”<br/>
<br/>
“Well,” Heather N shrugs, “you kind of are, now? It’s not like you’re able to get out of the school. Don’t worry, I spoke to real-Heather this morning, she’s totes in control of your life. She said something about Robert being a brat? But she’s got your memories ‘n’ all.”<br/>
<br/>
“That doesn’t help me!”<br/>
<br/>
“Relax, Will! I’ve got your back. We share a load of classes, so we’ll hang together. I’ll teach you how to be her. She’s real quiet in class anyway, barely participates, just kind of keeps her head down. It’ll be easy, I promise. Uh, you know how to play soccer, right? Because that’s kind of her thing.”<br/>
<br/>
Soccer… you’re not exactly Stephanie Wyatt. You shrug. “I guess.”<br/>
<br/>
“Good. Then you’ll be fine. Just follow the Bible, and keep an eye on this hoosits.” She beams. “C’mon, we shouldn’t be caught down here. We’ll sit together in Chapel, then we’ve got history together. You’re gonna be fine.”<br/>
<br/>
You give a skeptical glance at the girl. You feel like she’s leaving something out, but it’s hard to know what. And you’re still not sure you’re going to be able to pass as Heather. But what other option do you have? The only one you can think of is to call someone back in Saratoga Falls… but who would believe Heather Kaminski over the actual Will Prescott walking around?</span></div></div>


path: 115212112212111112111111212111111
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Hard-Knock, Silver-Spoon Life
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>Just follow the Bible.</i> You feel like you’re one of those weird pod people kids at Agape, taking their instruction. Of course this is an entirely different Bible – a guide to being a whole other person. It’s just that you thought that it would be more fun than this. So far, being Heather Kaminski has been nothing but stress piled on with more stress. Even with Heather N sitting with you in Chapel, quietly guiding you through the start of the day, or anchored to you in history, gently prompting when Heather K would be taking notes, you’re still waiting for the fun to start.<br/>
<br/>
Instead, it’s a battle. And after first period history, Heather N has to leave for her own diverging curriculum, so you’re sent off into a completely different direction. Navigating a new school is hard enough – even if the main building seems to be built around some old quad attached to the main house, ‘Founders Hall’ as they insist on calling it – but finding classrooms is a nightmare. <br/>
<br/>
“Uh, Earth to Kam-Kam,” says Tom Gabbadon, glasses on and a confident, almost annoying smirk plastered on his face that reminds you of some of the drama club at Westside. “Where are you running off to?”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh… economics?” you offer. He snorts.<br/>
<br/>
“Down the art corridor?”<br/>
<br/>
“I have to, ah, run an errand first!”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh huh. Well, we’ll be <i>this</i> way when you finally decide to join us from Planet Loser.”<br/>
<br/>
Then there’s the actual content. You’d figured, being a year ahead of these girls, that their classes would be easy enough to push through with. Sadly, you hadn’t reckoned on the curriculum of The St. Francis Xavier School. The classes are smaller, more focused and, frankly, tougher than those for Westside. While you could just coast a few in the morning if you needed, here there is simply no place to hide.<br/>
<br/>
“Heather,” someone called Mrs Haynes – a plump and somewhat overbearing woman with hair dyed to beetroot – says, looking at you directly. “Explain the quantitative easing for us.”<br/>
<br/>
Economics. You have no idea. You just flub and fluster before interrupted by Tom, glasses on and imperious nature already wired in, who looks at you with a smirk and just reels off the answer.<br/>
<br/>
“Very good, Mr Gabbadon. Heather, maybe you should get some notes from a friend?” She turns and continues.<br/>
<br/>
“What friend?” someone says behind you. And there’s enough of a rattling laugh from the rest of the class to tell you exactly why Heather K turned to magic. As Will Prescott you were an outcast, but you never felt truly alone – more separate from the system. As Heather K, you’re in no doubt that you’re at the bottom rung of the school’s social hierarchy.<br/>
<br/>
And so the day continues. You get the feeling that anyone who talks to you either wants something, or does so out of sympathy. Heather N does sit with you from time to time, but there’s a wariness there, a guardedness because she knows you’re not really Heather K. Instead, you just have to suck it up. <br/>
<br/>
At lunch, you think about slotting in with Stella MacDonald, but your confident is shot. You think the girls with her are Suze Waldron, Paige Burwell, and Jane Power, a kind of proto-gaggle that slices across the school’s interests. All of whom know, and seem to like, Heather K: her social life isn’t as clear-cut as it seems. Yes, she has friends, they’re just not friends you’d imagine someone like her having, and don’t seem (with the exception of Heather N) to share classes. The problem is you’re just not confident enough to brave them. Not yet.<br/>
<br/>
“Help you?” a girl asks, blonde hair cut short and kind of stylish, as you slip onto a table.<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, no?” you reply. “Just looking for a place to sit.”<br/>
<br/>
“And,” the girl says, indicating the people around her, “you thought you’d sit with the sixth form?”<br/>
<br/>
“Let her,” a larger girl, not obese but certainly not skinny, says to the girl across from her. “What’s it matter who sits with who?”<br/>
<br/>
“Because, Mariah, the last thing I want is to have to listen to some assmonkey like Abi, or Todd, or Charles, telling me about place and station, and blah-blah-blah.”<br/>
<br/>
“Charles isn’t even here today,” a boy next to the blonde interrupts. “Apparently he’s off sick.”<br/>
<br/>
“Apparently he has a hangover,” Mariah opines.<br/>
<br/>
“Whatever,” the boy says. “Anyway, Niamh’s right. You know how it is here, Kaminski, right? Well, see-ya.”<br/>
<br/>
There’s a burst of laughter from Hope O’Malley’s table as you move somewhere else.<br/>
<br/>
By soccer, though, you’re feeling a little better about things. And while you probably don’t have Heather K’s skills with the ball, you’re able to at least make a decent fist of running up and down the pitch. Afterward, and a brief trip to the shower, you’ve got enough free time to check on the pedisequos. The flame has gone out so, following the rules you’ve been given, you relight it. Already, it’s beginning to take shape, like watching a brownie melt and form into something almost humanoid.<br/>
<br/>
Your evening is spent online, finishing up ‘your’ assignments, and wondering whether Heather N and Heather K are going to call. Neither of them do. Thoughts flash through your head, imagines of yourself – your stolen body and mind – necking with Izzy, chatting to your parents, just doing everything better than you. It’s painful enough to make you wince a little, and so you mentally change the channel.<br/>
<br/>
At first, you try and come to terms with Heather K’s life, lying on her bunk. You wonder if you could fuck it up somehow. Maybe, if you make it that bad, get her on the edge of explusion, burn through her friends, perhaps even ruin her relationship with her family, it’d upset the boat enough that the Heathers will relent and return you to your old life. You could walk away, wash your hands, pretend that magic isn’t real and the last few days is little more than a crazy nightmare.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
And yet, if you ruined her life, why would she ever take it back? You’re dealing with a body thief, now, you realize. And she’s taken yours for a joyride. All you can do is play along and hope that you’ll be all right.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
The next day is far better. You practically ace English – you did this book last year, and with no real distractions can focus through all of Heather’s morning glasses with a renewed sense of purpose. All in all, if yesterday was a disaster, today you’re finally picking up stride. The key to being Heather Kaminski, it seems, is not to worry about being Heather Kaminski. Instead, you’re putting a Will Prescott spin on things. You’ve even done your hair a little different. And it seems to be having an impact. Hope couldn’t even laugh at you this morning.<br/>
<br/>
Turns out, with a little patience, you've become an excellent Heather Kaminski. Even Heather N has noticed, when you've had time to speak. It's weird, but you don't regret giving up your life at all; the only thing you really miss from it is Izzy. It’s not ideal, of course – you don’t want to be stuck as her forever – but there are worse places to be, worse lives to live, than that of a rich girl at an exclusive boarding school. Even one as seemingly far down the social ladder as Heather Kaminski has more perks than a thousand Will Prescotts.<br/>
<br/>
You almost don’t want it to end, which is an odd feeling that you elect to ignore, instead getting to grips with the one mission you do have. And so, at lunch, you sneak away and make your way through the now-familiar corridors of Founder’s Hall, down to the Tombs and the waiting… thing. This time, when you try and relight it, the flames don’t return. Instead, they remain out.<br/>
<br/>
Whatever it is – some kind of Earth-made, formless figure – is ready. Now all you have to do is call the Heathers and get the original Kaminski back out here. The only question is whether you’re going to ask her if you can keep your current identity, or finally get released and return to being Will. </span></div></div>


path: 1152121122121111121111112121111112
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Thing Entombed
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It’s past 9pm when you get a message from the Heathers that they've returned to the school. You dart down the stairs, brushing past some of the girls heading up, and look around, making sure the coast is clear. Then you slide into the ill-lit world of the St Xavier’s luggage storage.<br/>
<br/>
Up ahead, you see… no. You must be mistaken. You think you can see three figures. And yet, as you come closer, that’s exactly what you’re looking at. Three people. One of them, a guy, standing there naked.<br/>
<br/>
At first you panic. The first person illuminated, her raven-like features haunting in the ill light, is Davina Macklin. Next to her, wearing some of your old clothes, a fitted cap loose on her head, is Abigail Steiner, the shirt and pants baggy and loose on her slight form. It takes you a few moments to realize neither of the girls are who they appear to be: it’s the Heathers.<br/>
<br/>
The third person, stark naked, is you.<br/>
<br/>
“’Boss,” the naked Will Prescott says, shuffling a little awkwardly, trying to cover up his exposed parts as he speaks to the girls, “wh, can I get some clothes?”<br/>
<br/>
Abi looks for a moment as if it’s a startling idea. “Huh? Oh! Right! Yeah, sure.” She reaches up, pulling off the beaten hooded sweater she’s wearing, and thrusting it in a grateful Will’s direction.<br/>
<br/>
“Thanks boss,” he says, in a way that just feels strange and alien. Not only because it’s your voice… because it seems almost obsequious. It’s only then the two girls seem to notice you’re approaching.<br/>
<br/>
“Will!” Vee says with uncharacteristic cheeriness, interrupting the moment as she beckons you over. “C’mon, have a look! Meet… well, Will Prescott!”<br/>
<br/>
You furrow your brow. “Uh, what?” you manage to say.<br/>
<br/>
“Hey dude,” Will says, with a wave.<br/>
<br/>
“This is what the spell does!” Abi exclaims excitedly. “It creates a clay servant! Put a mask on them, and hey presto! They turn into that person. And you have to do everything I say, right, Will?”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, I guess,” the new figure says, a little uncomfortably. “I mean, you know more about this stuff than I do.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, I do! I do!” Abi says, laughing, before turning to you. “I’m sorry I stole your life, Will. But it was necessary so I could work on the magic with Heather N. We changed to Abi and Vee when we drove over, so we have free run of the school. That meant I had a spare Will mask, and I figured, well, let’s see what happens when I put it on the <i>pedisequos</i>! And look!”<br/>
<br/>
You’re too taken aback by the brazenness to reply. Your mouth just flaps a little. “You stole my life!” you finally blurt.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh calm down!” Abi says. “Was it so bad being me for a few days?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes!” you snap. “I want out, Heather! Take this damn thing off!”<br/>
<br/>
“Calm down, Will.”<br/>
<br/>
“It’s super-weird hearing you call her Will,” your new counterpart interrupts.<br/>
<br/>
“Ssh,” Vee says, but you just fold your arms.<br/>
<br/>
“You shush! You totally screwed me over!” the new Will advocates. He gives you a thumbs up. “Got your back, dude.”<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head. This is surreal. Too weird to even put into words.<br/>
<br/>
“Enough,” Abi says, holding up her hands. “Fine. Come here, hmm?” she gestures for you to move closer. Edgily, you do so. Then she mutters a few words, reaches up to your forehead and… <br/>
<br/>
“Nothing happened!” you say. More furious tugging and pulling continues.<br/>
<br/>
“Ugh. It must have been when the spell went wrong,” Abi says, giving Heather N a serious, if somewhat mysterious, stare. <br/>
“What the hell does that mean!” you ask. “That I’m stuck as you?”<br/>
<br/>
Heather – Abi – holds up her hands. “Just relax, Will. We’ve already got a duplicate of you. I can spend the entire day somewhere, studying up on the next spell. There must be a way to undo it. All it takes is a little patience. You can manage another day as me, right?”<br/>
<br/>
<i>One day more…</i><br/>
<br/>
What option do you have? <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“Have you worked out how get this thing off me?” you ask, glancing at them both. Heather N gives only the vaguest of shrugs. She seems nervous about something. Upset. <i>Don’t tell me there’s no way! I don’t want to be stuck as this girl forever!</i><br/>
The past 24 hours have been traumatic, to put it mildly. First, you discovered that they can’t remove the mask and you’re stuck as Heather Kaminski – with none of her memories at all. Then there was the <i>drama</i> in Heather’s life, and Jane Power reported that Harriet Schultz was now dating – unbelievably – Dawson Young from the sixth form. That pretty much broke Jane’s heart, and she required a whole bunch of rallying girlfriends in the library, until Gail Lattimore walked in and was totally snooping. <br/>
<br/>
And if that wasn’t bad enough, you found you had a pop English essay due on Friday. Cooper then offered to sell you the marking sheet. This was later countered by both Ryan Hall and Kristen Wright-Wallace from the sixth form (Kristen being the go-between for Davina Macklin), who both had their own exclusive plagiarism-free essays, guaranteed a combo that would get an A grade with <i>just</i> enough mistakes to feel like you’re making progress. First come, first served… and the bidding war had already started.<br/>
<br/>
All of that, of course, while you worried about that <i>thing</i> with your face, replacing you with a monster. And then there was getting the damn mask off! That’s why you find yourself down in your meeting spot yet again, asking the girls if they’ve come up with a solution. <br/>
<br/>
“We think we might have an idea,” Heather K, in her Abi guise, says quietly. “It’s risky, though.”<br/>
<br/>
“Risky? What do you mean?”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, I’ve been reading the next spell,” Heather K continues. “At least, I have. And I think I know enough about what the book does to try and break what’s happened to you. See, it’s kind of like… it kind of fused to your face.”<br/>
<br/>
“Fused to my face!” You can only stare, your borrowed face going wide-eyed at its original owner.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah,” Heather says, blowing out Abi’s cheeks. “Look, I know it sounds bad! But we’ve worked out what we need to do. We just need some mass to get rid of the mask, create a layer, essentially, and then we can kind of… burn it off.”<br/>
<br/>
Heather N’s Davina Macklin eyes are darting back and forth now, her fingers twitching. She has to be nervous, and that can only be a bad thing for you. If the caster is nervous, that means they aren’t sure, right?<br/>
<br/>
“Is this safe?” you ask. Heather N’s eyes look away from you. Heather K’s don’t. <br/>
<br/>
“Yes,” she says at last. “The book’s pretty clear on what the spell does. And I am convinced that, once it’s complete, we can get the mask off you.”<br/>
<br/>
You swallow. The past months seem to have been leading up to this point, from the first night you came here onwards. You’ve been taking a lot of risks since then. What’s one more?<br/>
<br/>
“Let’s do it, then,” you say, with a nod. <br/>
<br/>
“Will,” Heather N says, a slow, almost regretful calling of your name, “I don’t think this is…”<br/>
<br/>
“Shut up, Heather!” Heather K says, with a firm kick to the shin. <br/>
<br/>
“Sorry, Heather.”<br/>
<br/>
“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, Will. I’m the one who read the book. You’re going to be in my hands. Now, if you’re sure you’re ready, I need you to lie down, over there. Where the <i>pedisequos</i> was, remember? Don’t worry, it’s off living your life just as you would. It’s a perfect replica of you. No one will notice you’re absent.”<br/>
<br/>
Of course you remember. You tended that thing, lit it, watched as it burned away. You want to protest, but what good is that going to do? You’re just going to be stuck as Heather K for the rest of your life. And OK, it’s an upgrade on your own – you seem to be better at it than her, at least – but it’s still not yours. <br/>
<br/>
“OK, fine,” you relent, slipping down onto your, well, Heather’s, derriere and laying down on the ground. “Like this?”<br/>
<br/>
“Exactly,” Heather K says, with a nod. Heather N looks reluctant again, but soon is moving over, staggering with a bucket. For a moment she hesitates. Then, with a grunt, begins pouring something cold on you. It feels heavy, pressing down on your torso. It stinks – like petrol, or something sweet, or something that makes you want to gag. The dark goo seems to flow over you like tar… and it doesn’t seem to stop coming.<br/>
<br/>
“What is that?” you ask. <br/>
<br/>
“Grave dirt,” Heather K mutters, watching intently. “Gas. Nitric acid. Camphor. My hair…”<br/>
<br/>
 “Look, Will, I don’t think…” Heather N manages as the last of the vile slop tumbles on you. There must be dozens of pounds of it strewn on you. It makes it hard to move your arms. <br/>
<br/>
“Don’t worry,” you say with a sigh. “If this gets the mask off, then I’m happy to do it.”<br/>
<br/>
“But…” In the gloom, Heather N looks like she’s about to wobble over, as if she’s going to burst. And, finally, the words spill. “But we can already get the mask off you! We know how to take it off! Heather, stop! Stop this!”<br/>
<br/>
“It’s too late for that,” Heather K says. In front of her, a crackle of a spark bursts into life, followed by the dancing flame of a match head. <br/>
<br/>
“Wait… what…” you try and move, but Heather K’s body lacks the strength to wiggle free of the dirt and the mud. You’re bound tight, trapped, as you look up in horror.<br/>
<br/>
Heather K bends down, and reaches to your forehead. “It wasn’t anything personal, Will. Wrong place, wrong time.” Then words, unintelligible but echoing ancient magic, tumble from her lips. The same words in the diner a few days ago. She grips at your face, and you feel…<br/>
<br/>
<i> Nothing.</i></span></div></div>


path: 11521211221211111211111121211111121
author_id: masktrixie
title: Scenes From A Chinese Restaurant, Part 1
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><div align="center">A few months earlier...</div><br/>
<br/>
“Hey, what do you think this is?”<br/>
<br/>
You turn, and look at Heather like she’s a dumbass. Let’s face it – she is a dumbass. The kind of girl who’d double-check how to spell a name like Jane, or who needs to write her name on her bag in case she forgets it.<br/>
<br/>
“What do you think it is?” you walk over and grab it. “It’s a book. Some kind of… old book that… doesn’t even open properly. Probably some gross little townie jacking off, keeping his porno in here so mom won’t find out.”<br/>
<br/>
You look at the rest of the worthless shit in the box. “Yup. This has townie boy written all over it. File it under junk, Heather.”<br/>
<br/>
There’s a social strata at St. Francis Xavier. Ignoring those upper echelons for whom the clouds would themselves part, you’ve got, in approximate order: prefects, sixth formers, rich kids, athletic kids, smart kids, talented kids, a pile of worthless garbage that you don’t even care to list, and then townie kids. Kids like Heather Ng, who’s dad seems to think she qualifies as worthy of this school because he owns a Chinese restaurant.<br/>
<br/>
“How are we doing?” The voice, honey-balm to anyone’s ears but laced with an impatient undercurrent, belongs to someone higher up the totem than you.<br/>
<br/>
“Fine,” you say, turning.<br/>
<br/>
“Anything in there that shouldn’t be?” It’s a simple question, but the way Mary Occam asks it, you can’t help but wonder what’s going on. <br/>
<br/>
“Pretty much all of it. How, exactly, does this help any charity case?”<br/>
<br/>
“You’d be amazed,” Mary says, swatting you away as she walks her pint-sized frame over and glances down, “what people buy in thrift stores.” She nods, confident that the box is as-appears. “Carry on then. This all needs to be sorted before study time.”<br/>
You roll your eyes. Mary – imperious to a fault – isn’t the kind of person to volunteer for sorting through charity goods. There’s an angle here. If you had to guess, it’s that she used some of these boxes to smuggle in booze from that party you heard about (from Hope, who got an invite, and of course looks down on anyone else who didn’t) and she’s snooping to make sure nothing was missed.<br/>
<br/>
Nothing was, sadly. You’re just going to have to continue through this monotony, along with mouth-breathers like Gary Parris and Xavi Maron. Punishment, direct from your fucking prefect, so that your little cigarette you were caught with doesn’t get ratted out to the staff. And, lo, do you have to work with the other Heather. Fate worse than death.<br/>
<br/>
“Do you think if I paid a few bucks I could keep this?”<br/>
<br/>
“Why the hell would you want to?” you ask.<br/>
<br/>
“Because it looks cool? And if I don’t buy it, Margot’s going to. You know how much she loves this kind of thing.”<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes, and thrust it into her hands. “Take it,” you say, as you begin to pull out a sweater with someone’s name sewn in it. William Pre… who cares. “It’s not like anyone gives a shit about a ratty old book cover.”<br/>
<br/>
It’s days like this, Heather Kaminski, you wish you were back in Ohio.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“I’m going to try out for Thalians this year.” <br/>
<br/>
“Oh?” Suze Waldron cocks her head, letting her thick, curling black mass of tentrils she calls hair almost slap Janey Renault in the face. Janey, in retaliation, shoves the weeds out the way. “What makes you think they’d take someone like you?”<br/>
<br/>
“What makes you think they wouldn’t?” you retort, narrowing your eyes.<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, the stinky thing?”<br/>
<br/>
“Jesus Christ, that again? Am I going to have to bitchslap someone?” you flush with anger. ‘Stinky’ Kaminski is the stupidest fucking taunt. You went through one month with a little hygiene issue. Suze holds her hand up.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m just saying, it’s the kind of thing they take into consideration. Allegedly.”<br/>
<br/>
“Allegedly! Exactly! You don’t have the first clue what they’re looking for. So, maybe, keep your uninformed opinions to yourself.”<br/>
You blow out your cheeks. Thalians. The Thalian Society. The school’s version of Skull and Bones. Nobody officially knows the members, but everyone knows it’s six members of the sixth form, selected on the sixth moon of your fifth term. You have to impress somehow, and then you and the other candidates are put through hazing. Only the strongest survive. You know, for example, that Mike Boateng (so, so hot) was a candidate last year, but apparently noped out after having spiders thrown on him. He’s been perfectly open about his ‘fuck this’ epiphany. If you had to guess, you’d pigeon Abigail Steiner and Vee Macklin as definite members. Probably Kristen, too, given they haven’t ditched her. As for boys… Marius Hall is too straight-laced. Lucas Tanner is a good bet. Cool, handsome, smart and popular. And if Lucas is involved, you’d bet Thomas Orpen, too, given their friendly and Orpen’s rich as hell. <br/>
<br/>
“So, how does one try out, perchance?” Janey smiles. <br/>
<br/>
You shrug. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I guess I’m just going to have to be darn impressive.”<br/>
<br/>
You’re about to continue your lunch when there’s a presence lurking over your shoulder. You sense it before you can hear it, and turn to confront the mousy pose of the Chinese-American girl standing primly behind you.<br/>
<br/>
“Help you with something?” you say. <br/>
<br/>
“Hey Heather. I was wondering, uh, can I speak with you?”<br/>
<br/>
“You are doing so. You’d be kind of messed up if I said ‘no’ right about now, huh?” the other girls giggle at that.<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, in private. It’s about that book I found a few weeks back.”<br/>
<br/>
“What book?” You furrow your brow. You haven’t got a clue what she’s prattling on about.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“So, you’re telling me this is magic.” <br/>
<br/>
This is, perhaps, the funniest shit you’ve ever heard. It was actually worth coming into town, given Heather was insistent that you had to come and see for yourself and you’ve made the trip out to Saratoga Falls. Jesus, the town gets more devoid of anything every time you come. It reminds you of Cleveland. <br/>
<br/>
“Yes.”<br/>
<br/>
“Actual magic. You got a magic book and made a little magic mask.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes.”<br/>
<br/>
You burst out laughing again, so hard you even shed a tear. <br/>
<br/>
“I’m serious!” Heather Ng protests, picking up the cheap mask she must have bought on Esty and throwing it over to you. <br/>
“What? It’s a creepy mask! Oooh, spooky!”<br/>
<br/>
“I told you,” Heather says, clenching her jaw. “This required a lot of experimentation. Getting the materials. I spent weeks polishing that sucker, it’s not easy to make. Then, when I did the ritual, with the sigil, *boom*. The whole place stank up!”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, it was a recipe for stink bombs,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Why the hell are you telling me this? Why not one of your own friends?” Oh, that’s right. You don’t have any.<br/>
<br/>
Heather doesn’t stop.<br/>
<br/>
“Because you were there when I found the book. You kind of gave it to me. And I guess that means I’m obligated, OK? So stop being a jerk and look. Look inside. Look what’s there?”<br/>
<br/>
You pause your laughter, swivel on Heather’s little computer chair, and look into the mask. “OK, what am I looking at?” It seems nor… no. There’s a kind of… ghostly, shifting image in there. It looks like the girl opposite sat on her bed (jesus, covered in Hello Kitty no less). “How did you do that? It’s a cool effect. Some kind of projector, or?” you begin looking for the trick, waving your hand around to block the light. It’s a hologram. A hologram that’s a 3D representation of Heather Ng’s face.<br/>
<br/>
“That’s what happened when I put it on. It took my face. Knocked me out.”<br/>
<br/>
“Bullshit,” you snort. “Let me read it.”<br/>
<br/>
“You can’t,” Heather says, even as you reach for the book. “It’s all Latin. That’s part of why it took me so darn long, I dropped it in second year.” You scowl. You dropped it too.<br/>
<br/>
“Fine,” you say. “So it’s a… mask of your face? That’s what you’re saying?”<br/>
<br/>
“Exactly,” Heather nods. “And… I think… if you put it on… you’d look like me.”<br/>
<br/>
You snort again. This has to be the dumbest prank in history. “Fine, I’ll bite,” you say. “Ready? Set? Ooogah-Boogah-Boo…”<br/>
<br/>
Your eyes snap open. You’re on the… how the fuck did you get on the bed? Why are you laying down. <br/>
<br/>
“What the shit did you do to me?” You snap, propping yourself up, blinking and sucking in air as you try and regain some understanding of your surroundings.<br/>
<br/>
“Nothing,” Heather N gulps. “You put the mask on, and then you collapsed. And it vanished. It vanished… into your face. I don’t know, I can’t even explain it. It reappeared, and, well, here it is! That was 11 minutes ago.”<br/>
<br/>
“Bullshit,” you say, pulling out your phone. Damn… ten minutes really have passed. You rise, pulling back your fist. “Did you roofie me or something you little bitch?”<br/>
<br/>
“No! I keep telling you, it’s magic! See! Real magic!”<br/>
<br/>
She thrusts out the mask for you to hold. You snap it from her grasp, turning it around, trying to find the trick. Except… there isn’t one. <br/>
<br/>
There’s just that 3D face, floating like a hologram. Only now the face is wrong somehow. <br/>
<br/>
It takes you a few seconds to realize why. Then it occurs to you; it’s like the face-swap apps you’ve got on your phone, the ones that turn you into a cartoon cat or the Mona Lisa. Somehow, the image in the mask is a blurring, a mixture of Heather Ng’s features and your own.<br/>
<br/>
You drop the mask to your side.<br/>
<br/>
“What else does this book do?” you ask.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 115212112212111112111111212111111211
author_id: masktrixie
title: Scenes From A Chinese Restaurant, Part 2
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“So, show me.” You nod, beckoning for Heather N to get the mask out. The interior, as promised, is an eerie blue. “This is what we use?”<br/>
<br/>
“This is it,” she says. “And we have to start dividing up the workload. Do you know how long these things take to polish?”<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. “How am I expected to do that kind of busy-work?” you say, leaning against the wall. It’s bad enough that you have to be caught talking to Heather Ng during break times. It’s affecting your own cred levels, and people have started to notice. The phrase ‘Heathers’ is being passed around by some unoriginal shit – probably one of those Brit assholes who seem to think they’re too cool for this place. “First off, I am the one bankrolling this whole science project. I’m buying the supplies and, I should observe, they’re costing me more than your monthly pocket money combined. Plus, I’m already occupied. I’ve got to maintain a place here in the social standing. You don’t have that worry. And I can’t exactly polish it in the dorm, what if someone spots it and asks questions? This is something we don’t want anyone asking questions about, now do we?”<br/>
<br/>
“I guess,” Heather says, averting eye contact. <br/>
<br/>
“I guess,” you mock. Then offer a carrot. “Look, it’s simple. We now know the second spell seals the mask. The first one is useless to us – the second one could be vital. If we have the ability to impersonate anyone, we could make life profitable. Your task is to get someone useful. Abigail Steiner would be perfect.”<br/>
<br/>
“How am I supposed to do that?” Heather hisses. “Can’t I start small, and work my way up?”<br/>
<br/>
“Start however you want,” you answer. “And don’t pick a boy. I’ve got no interest in walking around with a face full of acne and…” you avoid mentioning body odor. “Just get to work. And make us more masks, ‘kay?”<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You stare in the mirror. You’re short. Scrawny. Your blond hair is halfway down your back. Your cheeks puff out when you smile, and a band of freckles cut straight across your nose. Your own clothes don’t feel loose, but rather like you've been hit by a shrink ray. You hold up an arm, and watch the sleeves flop down where your wrist would normally be.<br/>
<br/>
“Who the fucking shit am I?” you howl, your voice practically a squeal.<br/>
<br/>
“Calm down!” Heather says. “You said just get anyone…”<br/>
<br/>
“I said Abigail Steiner! Not Luna Lovegood here!”<br/>
<br/>
“Actually, her name’s Anya Lennon, and…”<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t care! It’s a pop culture reference! Don’t they have YouTube in this town? Now get me out of this stupid face!”<br/>
<br/>
Heather, flustered, walks over. She’s explaining, badly, hastily, how she just wanted someone to try a mask on, but the sixth formers are elite, and in the end it was easiest just to boss about one of the lower forms. Anya Lennon is one of the gaggle that hangs on the coattails of the rich kids, and she saw her coming out of… you Do. Not. Care. This was never part of the plan.<br/>
<br/>
“It won’t come off,” she says, after practically yanking your skin around, leaving your entire face aching. Your stupid hair – apparently the original has pigtails, for hell’s sake – gets tugged too.<br/>
<br/>
“Not acceptable!”<br/>
<br/>
“Hold. On.” It takes what seems like eternity for Heather to get back to her shitty translation on the computer and find the right line. Then, with some muttered words, you feel something give on your forehead, and the world turn black.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“I’m taking charge of the book from now on. The translating.”<br/>
<br/>
Your partner in crime looks put out. “What? Heather, it’s kind of my…”<br/>
<br/>
“Kind of nothing. Not after that stunt.” <br/>
<br/>
“I mean, isn’t that proof I know what I’m doing with magic? Just listen to yourself. I turned you into someone else!”<br/>
<br/>
“No, Heather. You don’t even see what this is, do you? This isn’t some kind of parlor game. Magic is real. That means our universal knowledge has just expanded beyond either of our comprehensions. What else is real? Vampires? Werewolves? Ghosts? None of this is just an idle story anymore, Heather. Now, we know that the supernatural is real. We are witches, wizards, whatever your preferred term is for it. And we can’t waste valuable resources – magical resources – on missteps! That wasn’t a successful use of magic. It wasn’t an effective use of magic. So from now on, I am going to work on translating the book, and you are going to work on making more masks.”<br/>
<br/>
There’s a desperate, sullen nod from your partner in crime. A capitulation. Good. It's time to get to work.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“We need to get more efficient with making these things,” you say, furrowing your brow as you let the intense, scheming thoughts flood your brain. God, Heather N’s room is small, twee and pathetic. Like everything else in this town. You’ve got to think of a way to get the book back to the school, experiment more directly. <i>Ha! The Catacombs. No one would ever think of looking there!</i><br/>
<br/>
“What do you mean?” Heather asks, looking at you, staring intensely at your forehead. Of course she is; there was a metal band with magical runes there not long ago. It took a lot of effort to make the capture you did. <i>You.</i> Not useless Heather. You’ll have to deal with her in time.<br/>
<br/>
“I mean,” you say, looking at yourself in the mirror, subconsciously stroking the side of your face as you let your thoughts do the talking, “these bands are far more powerful. You see why I had to take control of this project? Abigail Steiner’s smart. And now I know everything she does. I can think like her. That doesn’t just mean knowing what she does, oh no. That means understanding everything she does.”<br/>
<br/>
You turn around and glance at Heather. She’s standing there, a little awkward for your liking, by her bed. You smile. “Heather. It’s taken us weeks to make a grand total of two-and-a-half masks – you still haven’t finished up the third, right? – and get to these brain bands. Well, now we need to up the ante. We need two new masks.”<br/>
<br/>
“What, why do we…?”<br/>
<br/>
You hold up a finger to silence her. Straight out of the Abigail Steiner playbook. <i>Dominate your opponent. This mawkish little idiot will do whatever I want.</i><br/>
<br/>
“First up, I can now read Latin. It looks like some kind of paste, so my guess is that it attaches the brain band to the mask. See? It’s all about progression. That means we need an Abi mask and, <i>poof</i>, I can be the queen of the school.” You suddenly grin. The Thalians! Oh, yes, you were on the button – Abigail Steiner is a member. She’s not just a member, she’s practically the queen bee. Along with Chris, Todd, Vee, Kristen… wait. Didn’t the legends say there were six members? Oh, it’s garbage! There’s five members recruited from the fifth form, at the start of the fifth moon of the school year! You know all of the secrets! You even know how to be recruited for it! Suddenly, a path to world domination becomes apparent. Hell; why stop with just the Thalians? Do this right, and you could become anyone.<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, Heather?” Your thoughts are interrupted. You shake it off and glance over.<br/>
<br/>
“An Abi mask,” you continue. <i>A me mask. Like the original me deserves the life she has, that I could have.</i> “And you need to be with me, right? So you’re going to be Davina Macklin.” Heather goes to interrupt, but you cut her off. “Vee’s perfect! For two reasons. First up, no one is going to be confused about Abigail Steiner and Vee Macklin together, it’s much better than Abi and Heather-fucking-Ng. And, second, Vee’s smarter than Abi. Much smarter. With her brain, we can decipher a page in a few hours. And the faster we do it, the faster we get into place.”<br/>
<br/>
“Get into place?” Heather says, nervously. “What the hell does that mean?”<br/>
<br/>
“It means,” you say patiently, “we work out how to upgrade our lives. Oh, and can you do me a favor tonight?” You smile, and brush out your hair some more. “I want you to call me Abi.”<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1152121122121111121111112121111112111
author_id: masktrixie
title: Scenes From A Chinese Restaurant, Part 3
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Plans, schemes, dreams. That’s what Abi Steiner’s mind has been full of. It’s how you decided you needed to get a bunch of drug pushing townies – where she buys her fun pills from, oh yes, darling Abi is a junkie – to help you out. Because the next spell needs both careful monitoring, and willing patsies.<br/>
<br/>
Five hundred pounds of grave dirt. Where is easy – a grave. The challenge is where to keep said grave dirt, as the spell seems to indicate it requires constant monitoring, and Heather’s clear that there’s nowhere in her house, not even her bedroom, that she’d be able to get away stashing something like that without one of her relatives, from pesky younger brother to snooping grandma, finding it. Even, she insists, the world’s worst food storage area, which has the kind of slime on it that suggests it hasn’t been cleaned out since Bush was president. No, not George W., the other one.<br/>
<br/>
If you’re going to keep an eye on things, it has to be St X. It has to be the Catacombs; Abi’s mind is clear that all of the other supposedly secret areas are very much in use, including those storm drains or ice houses or whatever they are down by the amphitheater. Realistically, it has to be the Catacombs, and it has to be before holiday break when some snoop might go down there to collect their luggage for the trip back home.<br/>
<br/>
That’s when Abi’s brain came up with a brilliant plan. Seduce some townies and get them to do the hard work for you.<br/>
<br/>
Except here you are, on a Friday night in the Warehouse, filled with townies doing just about every substance imaginable and dancing recklessly to the local noise, and you don’t have a single one of Abi’s prodigious skills when it comes to getting boys to do what she wants. <br/>
<br/>
In fact, since you’ve put the mask on, you haven’t had a single thought of hers in your head. The band, you’re convinced, has stopped working for some reason. Any Abi thought, as fleeting as it is, seems to vanish the moment you try and grab it. Worse, you’re not even sure they are Abi thoughts, or just your own imagined versions of them. Fake echoes.<br/>
<br/>
“Well, hello Hot Pants. Didn’t expect to see you slumming it down here.” You have no idea who the guy is; he looks like one of those proto-punks who thinks a leather jacket can get him everywhere.<br/>
<br/>
“Hi yourself,” you manage, trying to flirt with Abi’s poise and failing miserably. At least you’ve got the clothes to match the body; you had to go on a little spending spree, but isn’t that what having a credit card is all about? Better still, as ‘Abi’ you were able to sign yourself an exeat form. If only you hadn’t lost her thoughts.<br/>
<br/>
“There been a problem?”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” you shake your head, letting those long, brunette locks, like a fountain of milk chocolate, spill out. “I was just wondering if you’d be willing to do me an itty, bitty favor?”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh?” His hands wrap around your waist. It feels nice. “You finally taking me up on my offer?”<br/>
<br/>
“Maybe,” you say with a smile, tapping his chin with Abi’s perfect finger. “If you’ll be willing to do a little work. Paid. No questions asked…”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“Stop playing with it.” Heather Ng can’t stop touching her face. Well, not <i>her</i> face. The face of Davina Macklin. Easy enough to get when you’re Abigail Steiner.<br/>
<br/>
“I can’t! Look at me, this is… it’s amazing! I am her! I sound like her!”<br/>
<br/>
“And yet you can’t act like her,” you say rolling your eyes as you claim Heather’s bed as your own. “Jesus, Vee, you need to have more poise. She’s not so stupid as to keep prodding her cheeks. She – you – are a little vain, though. Especially about the whole monobrow thing.”<br/>
<br/>
Davina Macklin, the real one, would round on you and scowl. This version simply turns and looks confused. “I’m still not getting her memories.”<br/>
<br/>
“Nor did I, at first,” you admit. “It took a whole night’s sleep for them to come. Don’t worry, though, you won’t need them. All we need to do is head back to the school, and take the choir for their usual trip to the Cathedral. We’ll have the grave dirt waiting for us there, and we can use the school minibus to bring it back.”<br/>
<br/>
“Won’t someone notice?”<br/>
<br/>
“Notice what?” you laugh. “A couple of bags of dirt? Nothing illegal there. Besides, I am a <i>prefect</i> now.” You giggle, enjoying your new body. Even the morning shakes when you didn’t have Abi’s little helper went away once you walked down to Wallgreens. “Abi’s showjumping at the Van Dief Fall Show, and Macklin will be there too. Better still, they didn’t invite fuckin’ Wide-Load, so we can bring Kristen with us. That’ll add credibility.”<br/>
<br/>
“And what about Macklin’s uniform?” <br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. “Heather, you don’t need her uniform. You just need a uniform that <i>fits.</i> They’re identical. And, as it happens, I can provide.” You motion, lazily, to the bag. “So get dressed.” You roll your eyes, just as Abi would. “Oh, come on. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
The Catacombs, you decided, were too risky. Instead, you’ve used the Crypt for your work. More fitting, in a way, too; there’s a certain level of appropriateness, even if you know deep down this was never a crypt in the conventional sense: just an old wine cellar.<br/>
<br/>
The heap of dirt is burning. Eerily. It casts weird shadows on your face, and on Heather’s, too. The moment she could get out of Macklin, she did. You, however, quite like being Abigail Steiner. If only there was a way to get a Heather Kaminski mask on her. Then you could make the swap stick. No need for a brain band, either; who cares if Heather Kaminski had a breakdown and started yabbering away she was the real Abi Steiner? <br/>
<br/>
Better still, it would give you a chance to work from town, too. No classes to interrupt you, just a chance to study the book, pure and clean. <br/>
<br/>
“How many masks do we have now?”<br/>
<br/>
“One.” You give Heather a hard stare. “Fine! Three, OK? I started using the restaurant’s glass polisher like you said. It sped the whole process up. We’ve got two masks. What about bands?”<br/>
<br/>
“Two as well,” you say, tapping your finger. “We can switch you into someone now. Unless you want to use the band on Anya Lennon, replace that stupid face?”<br/>
<br/>
Heather shrugs. “Do we know this is even safe? I mean, maybe we shouldn’t be messing with…”<br/>
<br/>
“Too late,” you reply. “Besides, we’ll need magic to deal with whoever the fuck that was in the lot. The girl screaming at you.”<br/>
<br/>
“Alex Day,” Heather says, folding her arms. “I got Vee… uh, Macklin’s memories that night, like you said. She fucking hates the girl.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, that’s a starting point for our search. We’ll need to know what they saw.”<br/>
<br/>
“I have a better starting point,” Heather chips in, sticking her hand over the cold flames burning their luminous magical color. “Vee Macklin must have some kind of photographic memory. I got the licence plate. Do you think Abi could track down who’s truck it was?<br/>
<br/>
You grin. “Oh, you’re so sweet to worry what ‘I’ can do,” you coo, patting Heather on the head. “I’ve got this. I’ll find the weak link and then… well. Let the magic commence.”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“That was a waste of a brain band and mask,” you say, staring at the collapsed figure on the floor. “Will Prescott. Hey! He was the one who bought the book! Never even realized what he had, the sap. Well, his misfortune is our gain. And it seems fate decided to deliver us the perfect loser.”<br/>
<br/>
“What do you mean?” Heather says. <br/>
<br/>
“Well, I used one of those spare masks you’ve made – don’t worry, you still have one for yourself – to copy my face. I was thinking venturing into Will here’s life. He’s got nothing, and I mean nothing, going on. He’s dating one of those girls, Izzy, but she’s going to be easy to dodge. He’s drifting at school, isn’t in any clubs, isn’t on any teams. He’s just got time on his hands and a pickup truck. That’s it. He’s perfect. As Will, I can spend all my time working on the book.”<br/>
<br/>
“And who’s going to be you?” Heather says. “You’re going to be missed!”<br/>
<br/>
“Not if this doofus is me,” you say, giving his body a little kick with your shoe. You’ve still got a few minutes until the mask rematerializes.<br/>
<br/>
“Why would he agree to do that?”<br/>
<br/>
You grin widely. “Because being someone else is a wild ride,” you say. “Isn’t it?”<br/>
<br/>
“But he’ll know what you think of him the moment he gets your memories!”<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. “So, he’s not going to get my memories, is he? We’ll just give him a book without a band, and I’ll write a little guide to keep him in the loop on my classes and such.” You lean forward, staring at Heather intently. “All you need to do is play your part, and we can convince him to follow whatever story we weave. And if he tries to wig out, we’ll just pretend the mask’s stuck.”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
“We should tell Will.” Maybe, you decide, you should never have told Heather in the first place. If you’re honest, you haven’t enjoyed being Will Prescott. It was a relief to pass that identity on to your pedisequos. But the next spell… it’s a point of no return. <br/>
<br/>
If you’re reading it right, it requires a sacrifice. It requires turning a person to your control. Someone like William Prescott, who’s already got a perfectly serviceable – and willing – replacement.<br/>
<br/>
“No,” you say. <br/>
<br/>
“But! It could hurt him!” <br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. <i>You’re sure it will.</i> “It’s reversible,” you lie. “We’ll just tell him that the only way to remove the mask is this spell. He’s gullible enough to believe it, trust me.”<br/>
<br/>
“And then what?” Heather says.<br/>
<br/>
“What do you mean?” you retort.<br/>
<br/>
“And then… what happens after… whatever happens.”<br/>
<br/>
“And then,” you say, “I am free to do whatever I want. And I can’t wait until you see who I’ve decided to become.” <br/>
<br/>
You can’t help but laugh. You’re going to be richer than your wildest dreams.<span class="O"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11521211221211111211111121211111121111
author_id: masktrixie
id: EP4F8XLW7
title: The Taking of St Francis Xavier's
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>"It looks just like you."<br/>
<br/>
"God, shut up, Heather. Don't you get it? I don't <i>look</i> like me. I am me." <br/>
<br/>
You turn and smile. "Not bad. Pretty close."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm perfect, and you know it."<br/>
<br/>
You smile. The thing that was once Will Prescott, now with a little mind band applied on the mask, is just... well. You. Heather Kaminski. Granted, the whole 'rock formation' vibe it had before you put the mask on was terrifying. You're pretty sure turning that idiot local into a stone-thing is reversible, but such are the perils of magic.<br/>
<br/>
"I do know it. So don't get any bright ideas, hmm?"<br/>
<br/>
Your double - at least, it would be your double if you weren't wearing the form of Abigail Steiner - rolls her yes. "Fine, whatever you say. You're the boss."<br/>
<br/>
"The boss?" Heather N says, wrinkling her nose in a way that is not, remotely, attractive. God, why did you end up with her? <br/>
<br/>
"I quite like it," you say, brushing a strand of Abi's loose, flowing chocolate hair out of your face. "So, you do whatever I say?"<br/>
<br/>
Heather K glowers in front of you. That would be a yes, then. "Hop on one foot? And the other? Now choke Heather N."<br/>
<br/>
"What!" Heather's eyes go wide as your double turns around, hands like claws, already eager to begin. "Heath..."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, stop, cancel that! And you, keep quiet! You really want anyone to find us down here? You don't think it's going to look a little weird? Abigail Steiner, and two lower form girls?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nobody's going to question Abi. That's why you chose that disguise, right, boss?" your kiss-ass duplicate chimes. Well, obviously fake-you isn't really into the whole 'maybe don't explain the master plan in front of the help' vibe. <br/>
<br/>
"Abi would have questions. And I've got plans for the masks, I don't want to waste another one on her."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe we could turn her into one of these things, too?"<br/>
<br/>
"Really, Heather? Think it through. How hard was it to get all the dirt for this? And then find a place to hide it? And keep all of that monitored and safe? It was<i> way </i>too much work. No, it'd be better if we just figure out a way to trap her under another mask."<br/>
<br/>
"That's easy enough," new-you says. "If you really wanted to be Abi."<br/>
<br/>
"Except I don't need any of us institutionalized. And that's what would happen, because she'd still be Abi, just like Will was still Will. She would not go gentle into that good night." Abi's mind band pushes a little dab of Dylan Thomas into your head. It's much easier once you've been wearing a face for a while. That's the other challenge - how do you deal with not having someone's memories?<br/>
<br/>
You flick your tongue against your teeth. "You're going to be late for classes. Go. I'll head back into town and figure somethin..." it suddenly hits you. Maybe the next page of the book has the answer? "Figure something out. Go."<br/>
<br/>
Heather K, clearly unhappy with her lot, brushes off some soil from her clothes. "You could at least have not got me covered in dirt, boss."<br/>
<br/>
"Just use your spare uniform and send that to laundry. I don't have to think of everything. And you," you look at Heather N, "I'll be in touch via text. Just keep an eye on, well. Me."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't need a loser like Heather babysitting me."<br/>
<br/>
"You do until I decide you're the perfect replica. Just go deal with whatever petty shit the girls are talking about. That crap with Dawson. I've got schemes to hatch."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
The base of operations in Saratoga Falls is perfect, you decide. Obviously, you don't want the book out in the open, but with Abi's face it's not hard to rent out space at a motel. Sure, the chipper redhead manning the counter did have a few questions, but her oblivious dad (you assume, unless there's some kind of creeper thing going on - I mean, Shithole Falls is that kind of small town, right - took over and made sure you weren't going to have any trouble. Since then, magic time. <br/>
<br/>
The next page takes forever to decode, even with Abi's mind to help. Turns out, she's not that dumb - although Macklin is, Abi knows, the real genius of the sixth form. You do quickly work through the spell, though. And it's both good news and bad. <br/>
<br/>
Good, because it's an answer to your problems. 'Ludius' as the book introduces it is another spell to make these pedisequos things. Even better, as best you can tell.<br/>
<br/>
Bad, because of the list of ingredients. Saltpeter (Seriously, gunpowder?), charcoal, sulfur, resin, gasoline, nitric acid, camphor (Thank god Heather N's family has half a ton of the stuff to make that restaurant have an authentic smell... and a handful of dirt taken from a graveyard.<br/>
<br/>
Well, looks like you're going to have go to and dig up a grave. That, or head over to the cathedral, as there should be some of it still down in a heap. It looks like this needs nowhere near as much. In fact, if you understand the spell correctly... you just have to coat it on a completed mask, slap it on someone... and hey, presto. Mind control without the agony of going through all that full transformation BS. <br/>
<br/>
Tempting to use it on Heather. But maybe it's good to have a few choices, rather than just a bunch of servants. Keep her independent for now, until you're ready to go. <br/>
<br/>
And that, you decide, is the best part. If you move now, you can just... become someone else. Take their life, and move your operation closer to St. X. As them, you can operate with impunity, while your new stone-thing mask-slaves do all the boring shit like the gathering of ingredients. Maybe, you decide, you'll keep the actual occult stuff to yourself - don't want to share out those secrets too much. <br/>
<br/>
The only question is where to begin. The Crypt was fine for a first stab, but you were constantly at risk of discovery. Fortunately, Abi Steiner is the head of a little group that has its own meeting spot. Abi, Macklin, fat Kristen, that bruiser Baldwin... it would be a perfect place to move your operation. The downside, of course, is that you'd have to convert them all, sooner or later. That's a lot of masks, and a lot of wasted time. Even so, if you pull it off, you'd pretty much be in control of the student population of the school. <br/>
<br/>
And the end goal lies there, doesn't it? Because god, why would you limit yourself to a <i>school</i> with this? There are enough kids of the rich and famous here to do a little hop, skip and jump into any life you want. Millionaire? Movie star? Would it be fun being some dumb-but-gorgeous actress, like Lumina. Yeah, Lumina... pop star turned movie star, beautiful, so famous she doesn't even need a surname. Or maybe walking around with a cock would be fun, see what all the fuss is about. Transform into some billionaire mogul. Hell, there's even a couple of kids at school who'd be fun. Eurotrash royalty, or that <i>insanely</i> wealthy kid in the first year whose family owns, like, Vermont.<br/>
<br/>
But it's just one option. The other is to begin to prepare your moves with a little more thought. You could slip, for instance, into a staff member. Fuck the routine of school, just become an adult. That way, you could get whoever you want.  Wisner or his snooty bitch of a wife. They even live on the grounds, just turn their house into a haven for black magic. <br/>
<br/>
Or Nurse Cheung. Sickbay is a perfect spot to do all kinds of work, and as Cheung you'd have plenty of opportunity to convert anyone you want. <br/>
<br/>
Hell, why not really go for some fun? Father Franklin, the school priest. The idea of replacing someone holy, wearing that little dog collar while you look for students to convert... there's a definite appeal, there. <br/>
<br/>
One thing's for certain. Once you've got your plans ready, no one is going to be able to stop you. <span class="ghfjifllff2610"></span></span></div></div>


path: 115212112212111112111111212111111211111
author_id: masktrixie
id: L448FCBQJ
title: Abi-dextrous
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>By the time the day's over, you've got a pretty good scheme of how to take over the school. You can, of course, pivot later into the staff. But for now, the real heartbeat of the school are the prefects. You're pretty sure you can convince Heather N to slip into Marius Hall - who wouldn't want to be the next President, or at least a congressman, given his aspirations? Kate Gross is another viable option, but she's too nice to have to worry about. Dalton's a martinet who is easy to blindside, and the other two boys are all too easy to slip around. Abi's been doing it all year. <br/>
<br/>
Not that you really intend to stick around with Abi's group for long. This is, after all, just a spearhead. (Look at you, using military terms, maybe you should look at Dalton). Until you find a permanent face to call your own. Beautiful, rich... not necessarily famous, but why not? There are so many avenues to explore. That's what this book is, after all: an endless choice, where you can spin the wheel and experience whatever, whoever, you wish.<br/>
<br/>
There's the other implication, too; the one Heather N is too stupid to have figured out. If <i>this</i> exists, then magic exists. Which means it's only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the power you could have and wield. That will take time and money to research, of course. Good thing you have more than enough of both. <br/>
<br/>
For now, though, you need to begin to make your way back across Van Dief county. You've got a brand new mask ready - with a brand new spell. And if it does what you think it will, it will remove your one missing body.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You get to the farm well ahead of the others. Honeyvale Farm is one of those 'we're a family business' deals in the same way as that show where the 'famiily' are ranchers that own half of Idaho'. Pasturelands, dairy produce, and, of course, the nearest riding school.<br/>
<br/>
That's a thought that sends a little agony up your right side. Just a little reminder, a memory that Abigail Steiner mostly represses, not least because it ruins her image. Abi's a pill-popper - which means, you guess, you're going to have to be a pill-popper - and it all stems from her tumble in a dressage meet a few years ago. <br/>
<br/>
Dressage. Horse dancing. The kind of wonderful, rareified shit you only find at the top of the totem pole, where you're breathing in clear air and entry into your school of choice is just a given. <br/>
<br/>
The life you're about to take.<br/>
<br/>
It's surprisingly easy to head into the stable. No one is really paying attention, and Constantine, Abi... your... horse is always in the same box stall, toward the end. The one next to it's empty, with its previous owner no doubt destined to the glue factory. Which means you can just sit down, and wait. <br/>
<br/>
Thinking about Abigail Steiner's car, which you'll soon drive. Her pills, which you'll still take and feel that rush of heaven. And, of course, the perks of having Chris Fiore as a boyfriend. You're already shedding your clothes, slowly tracing a finger down your neck, when you hear the pace of boots. <br/>
<br/>
"Is he ready? Thank you, ever so, Mr Joris, I know how much effort you put in to making sure he's got all he needs."<br/>
<br/>
Abigail Steiner. Butter wouldn't melt, at least so it appears. You know the truth, though.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I'm a bitch. And I love being me.</i><br/>
<br/>
You thought about how to do this for a while. The initial plan would be to simply rush out and slap the mask on her face. But, somehow, that didn't really feel satisfying. A smarter plan would have been to have the mask you're wearing off, too; that way you could update the mind band with her latest thoughts, rather than suffering the dregs of missing days. Thing is, Abi's mind is so here-and-there with the drugs that, occasionally, she just forgets and covers it up with callousness. Besides, given how long it took you to start getting her memories through, you don't want to risk removing the mask and suffering an outage while you wait for everything to normalize. <br/>
<br/>
Footsteps. Ever closer. A single pair.<br/>
<br/>
"OK, Constantine. You ready?" There's a noise, a shuffle and a snort from the stall over. Probably confused. Probably wondering why he can smell two Abi's, hmm? Don't worry, Constantine. There'll only be one in a moment.<br/>
<br/>
You grip the mask in your hand. The other reason for the mask is easy: time. You simply cannot risk being out for even a moment, given the switch you're about to do. It has to be seamless...<br/>
<br/>
Abigail Steiner walks past the open stall door.<br/>
<br/>
"Hi Abi." <br/>
<br/>
She turns, that fake-ass smile, so sweet and alluring, still worn as her own personal deception. For a moment, her hazel eyes don't register what she's seeing. The smile stays, but there's that flash of 'does not compute'. <br/>
<br/>
You give a little wave. "I said hi, Abi."<br/>
<br/>
Her smile fades. She's dressed head-to-toe in riding gear. Hat, crop, coat and tails, trousers and boots polished so you can see your own reflection in them. You, on the other hand - still just Abi lite without the clothes. Your mind's telling you she's about to bolt, so it's a complete surprise what happens next. <br/>
<br/>
She comes straight at you with a riding crop.<br/>
<br/>
Whatever the hell happened since you stole her memory, Abi's more defensive, and decisive, than you imagined. In an instant, the crop's flashing down, stinging across your cheek, sending you sprawling. The mask stays in your hand, but Abi's eyes, wide with fear and desperation, aren't looking at it as she continues to attack. <br/>
<br/>
Shit! She's become genre-saavy! How the hell did that happen! Worse. That peaceful smile, that facial expression that transformed into a snarl? It's now her, your, real smile. She's enjoying whatever this is.<br/>
<br/>
It's the opening you need.<br/>
<br/>
You roll, throwing your hands up to block, at the same time throwing the mask toward her face. The unconventional nature of the attack means she doesn't even think to block it, and, moments later, rolls over, splatooning straight into the hay of the stall, down among the shit with you.<br/>
<br/>
You close your eyes. And take a deep breath. That was, you hope, the hard part.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
"Did you have to do it in a horse stall?" Will Prescott says, sulkily. His stupid hair pokes out in waves under the ill-fitting cap you've brought, along with his clothes. He's scrawny, skinny, pale. Pathetic. <br/>
<br/>
You, however, are not. Dressed in your riding gear, a few errant pieces of hay only, you look magnificent. You feel even greater. Your brunette locks are now bound, pulled back and tied into a bun, tucked under your riding helmet. The crop is in your hands too. Yes, your white linens are scuffed. You'll just have to tell the hands that you slipped. Or blame it on Constantine. Horses will be horses, after all. <br/>
<br/>
"No," you say, with delight. "I did not. But I thought, given your fall from grace, you'd appreciate it. Because you were moi, and you're now... well. <i>You</i>."<br/>
<br/>
"Great," Will sighs. "So, that it? We're done?"<br/>
<br/>
You snort. "Not remotely. Not by a long shot. Will Prescott, I command you to return to Saratoga Falls. Head to that motel on the edge of town, Room 5, and start work on more masks."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, right, boss. Immediately? Because I kinda should be getting home."<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. "No, Will. Not immediately. You need to keep up the act of being Will Prescott. Just... live your stupid, meaningless life. But when you've got some spare time, I want you working on masks. Making more. Polishing and buffering them. Am I understood?"<br/>
<br/>
Will shrugs. "'Pose."<br/>
<br/>
"Good," you say, chuckling to yourself. Will Prescott - or whatever he is now - is now Heather Kaminski, yours to control. Abigail Steiner is now Will Prescott, and likewise an obedient little servant. Sure, you might have taken a tumble, but in the end, isn't the result worth it?<br/>
<br/>
You're Abigail Steiner. The Queen Bee of St X. <br/>
<br/>
And you've only just begun.<span class="meklfklmf259"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1152121122121111121111112121111112111111
author_id: masktrixie
id: KSWQT7FM3
title: Who do you think you'll be?
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>The drugs feel good. <br/>
<br/>
Wonderful, even.<br/>
<br/>
They just seem to... fill you up, cloud your mind with the most succulent thoughts and feelings. Lying on Abi's bed - oh yes, prefects get their own rooms - and indulging, you can't help but stroke that deadly chocolate hair and enjoy how perfect it feels. It's even sweeter knowing the real Abi is some ratty townie, stuck doing your busy-work.<br/>
<br/>
<i>No,</i> you realize. <i>That's wrong. That's not the 'real' Abi. I'm the real Abi. That's just the former Abigail Steiner.</i><br/>
<br/>
So far, being Abi has been oh-so-easy. You felt like a princess on your horse earlier, putting him through his paces. Then a queen on the road, driving back in your car. And now, with the entire school at your call... Goddess is more fitting, isn't it? Especially because, as Abi, you've got everything you used to want. Thalian membership. Oh, she's the ruler of that little group, though whether you want them as your minions is another question entirely. Abi and Vee have gone back all the way to the first form, but you're saddled with that sack of shit Kristen, and a bunch of grunting boys. At least Chris is fun... and, as Abi, you can of course taste his lips any time you'd like.<br/>
<br/>
It's all child's play, though, isn't it? Laying there, head staring at the ceiling, you wonder <i>why</i> you should stay as Abi. There's just... better options to choose from. You doubt you have the patience to polish enough masks to enslave the entire school (wouldn't that be fun!), so the sooner you pick a face and get the hell out of here, the better. <br/>
<br/>
That will necessitate, of course, ditching Heather N. You could enslave her too, you suppose, but you're not a complete bitch. She did have her uses. She might have them in the future. <br/>
<br/>
You look at the list you've already started to write down, in Abi's neat penmanship. Since deciding to stick with the student body, there's a couple of obvious choices to become.<br/>
<br/>
Anya Lennon. You've already got a mask of her, after all. But she's otherwise pretty bland, uninteresting... generally pointless. <br/>
<br/>
Sherri Watson. That's playing the long game. Sherri Watson is still just a kid, still in the lowest levels of the school. Would you really want to be stuck pretending you're excited at the prospect of pink cake, or pink ponies, or whatever pink crap (and it's all pink with that girl) someone like Sherri Watson's interested in? That said, how many girls do you have easy access to who are already millionaires? And, once her inherits the family business from dad (which you're confident you could speed up), that 'million' quickly turns into 'billion'. Massive risk, but the reward is unsupassed, and the access is all-too-easy.<br/>
<br/>
Mathilde Ambard. Distantly connected to two royal families. She's got a castle. Wouldn't you like to have a castle? Bitch has never said a word to you, but that could change easily enough.<br/>
<br/>
Jacob Drewlin-Frye. Oh, that's right: mom's a TV star, dad's some New York darling of the theater scene. One hop into Jacob, second hop into either Hollywood or Broadway.<br/>
<br/>
The weird British kids. They're annoyingly close-knit, like their own little group that wander around. Most of them are army brats - hmm, what would it be like taking over an army base? It's like that super-goofy old movie, with the alien pod things and that guy from <i>Star Wars</i> - but one of them is Euro money. Whatever the British version of Wolf of Wall Street is. <br/>
<br/>
So. Many. Options. <br/>
<br/>
You're still musing them - and just letting Abi's mind drift in a haze of quiet numbness - when you get a message. Sadly, it's not from one of Abi's contacts, but one of your two minions that actually know your number (you suppose the new Heather K will just have to use her stupid, bandy legs and walk up the stairs, won't she?). <br/>
<br/>
<i>We have a problem. The dumb sigil isn't working.</i><br/>
<br/>
Fuck. That would be Will, then - or, rather, Abi. You already had that townie pegged as a fuck-up, but not understanding how simple magic works? You gave him The. Most. Basic. Instructions. You probably shouldn't have left that thing alone with the book, though. Shit, what if it started using masks on other people? What if it wasn't under your full control? Fuck, fuck, fuck. You were so focused on grabbing Abi that you didn't even think about the consequences of having the real Abi as your necro-soil monster minion. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Will come tmrw.</i> You type with a flourish. <i>Get more supplies instead.</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>HOW?</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>Buy them, dipshit!</i> you send a flurry of emojis, half your idea, half Abi's. <br/>
<br/>
<i>HOW? I'm broke.</i><br/>
<br/>
You close your eyes and pinch your nose. Seriously? Townie boy has a pick-up but he doesn't have money? You're half-tempted to tell that asshat to sell the damn truck. Instead, you just tell him - her - it? It to wait until tomorrow. You're too sleepy, too full of Abi's special helper, to really focus on this problem. <br/>
<br/>
Besides, as fun as it is picking out a potential face for you, there's the question of Heather N. She'll want to be in a mask sooner or later, and she'll be expecting a step up. That wouldn't be too hard - you could always just text her and find out exactly who she'd like to be. You've already got a mask of Vee Macklin, although who'd want that nose or (whisper it where Vee can't hear) monobrow. Having someone with her brain would also be dangerous: Heather might start getting ideas. <br/>
<br/>
Really, there are two options. The first is easy enough: ask her who she wants to be. That should keep her happy and, most importantly, loyal. As long as she doesn't pick someone from your preferred list, it might just be the best option.<br/>
<br/>
The other is to get her to wait. Even with your fuck-up of a minion back in Saratoga Falls, you've still got a few masks ready to go. One is sadly going to have to be wasted on Heather N, so she can make her swap. But who says you have to waste another? If you're planning on moving out of Abigail Steiner, then Abi's identity is going to be up for grabs. <br/>
<br/>
You're sure, you think, smiling to yourself as you give your new body a squeeze and revel in your new life, she won't mind the upgrade at all.<span class="fmjggefefn3711"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11521211221211111211111121211111121111112
author_id: masktrixie
id: S7S4T84FL
title: Breakfast of Champions
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>Morning on the top floor of the St Francis Xavier School is one of deep ritual. First, the prefects are up. Shower, brush, blow dry. While most of the prefects can just roll out of bed, that means you and Kate Gross are usually the first to wake and rise, because, well, girls take longer than boys. <br/>
<br/>
Then it's the standard patrol. Out to the new building, across the grounds (and, sure, this part of the country is pretty in the morning, with the light fog off the river, and the chill that puts dew drops everywhere in the colder months) to the newer block that houses most of the lower years. You take it in turns, two out of the six of you, to get them up with friendly knocks, jostles, and sharper reminders. <br/>
<br/>
Abigail Steiner <i>excels</i> at pretending she's their friend. Until they cross her. Until it's more useful they realize she isn't. It gives you plenty of time to forget about Heather and start thinking about whose face you'll want to slip on. You wonder what it'd be like as a boy. Everything different. Someone handsome. Muscles to make you feel powerful. Maybe that should be your next jump. Boys can get away with anything, after all. <br/>
<br/>
Then it's to the Great Hall for breakfast. Which, in keeping with Abi's diet (and, yes, pills) is light. Waiting for you, as ever, are Kristen Wright-Wallace - an oaf who is perpetually lost on what to do - and Vee Macklin, whose dark hair and sharp features just expect you to sit next to her. Chris is off with Tanner, but you never sit with him anyway. That little rendezvous, known to all, is reserved for time in the sixth form common rooms. <br/>
<br/>
"Essay's done," Vee says, spoon dipping into her cereal bowl. Ever the smart one, Vee worked out that network traffic is constantly being monitored around the school a long time ago, so any essays she writes for someone else is moved through dropboxes online, rather than emailed.<br/>
<br/>
"I would expect nothing less,” you smile, pushing Kristen’s plate to the side. “Anything you need from me?”<br/>
<br/>
Vee gives only the slightest of shrugs. “Exeat pass for tomorrow. There’s a public lecture at Keyserling that I want to attend. Nothing worth tagging along for; there’s a professor there who’s been looking into linguistic evolution.”<br/>
<br/>
“Sounds fun,” you say, without committing yourself.<br/>
<br/>
“Well, my kind of thing. He’s particularly interested in spell books.”<br/>
<br/>
“You sound like that teenage witch wannabe in the fifth form. What’s her name, again? Margot?”<br/>
<br/>
Vee gives you the longest of stares. “Except I’m not deluded enough into thinking flim-flam and shim-sham are real. It’s more about the role of women in science. You know, in the Renaissance, alchemists used to use pseudonyms to pretend they were women? And most of the ‘put the dragon-child of Venus into the forge of Mithradates’ stuff is just code for actual chemistry, like ‘add mercury to arsenic’. <br/>
<br/>
This is Davina Macklin’s idea of a good time, and probably why she’s one of the smartest kids in school. Even so, the lecture sounds like it could be useful. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to get some more information on the book before you push on, anyway. Chances are, this professor is just a dumbass who doesn’t know a thing, but it’s possible there might be something there.<br/>
<br/>
“Maybe I’ll come along.”<br/>
<br/>
Both Vee and Kristen’s eyebrows raise. <br/>
<br/>
“Since when were you interested in…”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not, Kristen, Jesus. Pause and think for a moment, will you? Did it not occur to you that I’m not really interested in community service with the townies, either? No. I am interested in extracurriculars for my resume. And attending some talk about medieval…”<br/>
<br/>
“Renaissance.”<br/>
<br/>
“…whatever science is only going to help that, isn’t it?” Besides, it’s a perfect opportunity to get back to Saratoga Falls, see whatever that idiot slave Will has messed up. And, should you wish it, it might even be an opportunity to get a better mask on Vee Macklin. She’s pretty much glued to Abi’s hip anyway, and it’s not like there seems to be a limit as to how many of these pedisequos things you can make.<br/>
<br/>
“Well, in that case, you can give me a ride,” Vee says, brushing her uniform down as she rises. “I’ll see you in English.” You’re about to head off too – better than suffer the eat-and-spray of Kristen’s company – when you notice two of the lower years have dared to walk over to you. Your friendly, fake smile slips easily onto your beautiful features as you turn.<br/>
<br/>
“Good morning,” you offer, as you look at the Heathers. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Kaminski?” You can’t have her ruining your – well, your old – reputation by walking around with someone as dreary as Heather N. Your slave gives you a sullen look as it heads off, back to a life that you’ve left behind and have no interest in being reminded of again.<br/>
“I wanted to check how things are going. About the thing.” <br/>
<br/>
You feel Abigail Steiner’s body tense. Being questioned? You? By a lesser?<br/>
<br/>
You rise. Kristen can deal with your plate. “Come with me,” you say, slowly and deliberately, the threat rich in your velvet tones. You catch a few of the glances your way from across the hall, though it’s more out of curiosity than breaking with Abi’s habits. Someone has poked the scorpion, and the sting is about to come.<br/>
<br/>
“What?” you flash, the moment you’re alone. “Couldn’t you see I was eating breakfast? You really think it’s in character for someone like you to interrupt Abi Steiner? Are you insane?”<br/>
<br/>
“Geez, sorry!” Heather blushes. “I just figured it wouldn’t matter.”<br/>
<br/>
“And why not?”<br/>
<br/>
“Because I’m not going to be Heather much longer?” she stammers. “Besides, it’s not like anyone could figure out the truth. It’s not exactly believable, is it?” You roll your eyes. <br/>
<br/>
“Not the point, Heather. You really need me to hold your hand through this? You need to sit tight and shut up. You’ve already wasted your entire life as little sad-sack you, another few days isn’t going to make any difference, is it?”<br/>
<br/>
“I just thought you might have someone for me…”<br/>
<br/>
“And I will,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose. Abi’s brain hisses the lines of a poem to you. <i>A friend in a pinch is a friend indeed, but a fool to wait for the laggard behind.</i> Heather’s only slowing you down. But you can’t tell her that. “Right now, I’m still getting things in place. And ‘Will’ isn’t exactly being helpful.”<br/>
<br/>
“There’s a problem?”<br/>
<br/>
“Nothing I can’t handle.” You suddenly remember that it’s been left with the book. Better not tip off Heather N that it’s lying around somewhere, in case she gets any ideas. “How’s the new Heather fitting it?”<br/>
<br/>
Heather N grunts, and avoids your gaze. “Fine.”<br/>
<br/>
“Fine?” You move your head, bobbing to lock her with Abi’s eyes. Steiner’s mind dances with amusement at how some of the lower years think she can hex you with a glance… and her body ripples with a delicious trickle as you recall how she’s deployed her looks in the past. Townies will do pretty much anything for a beautiful girl who pays them a little attention.<br/>
<br/>
“Well, I don’t know, OK?” Heather shrugs. “It’s not like it talks to me. And it definitely doesn’t obey me. Just acts like, uh…”<br/>
<br/>
“Old me?” You smirk. “Good. It means it’s working. And it probably doesn’t listen to you because you weren’t the one that made it. I was. That’s an important thing to remember, isn’t it, Heather? That <i>I</i> am the one in control of this? So, why don’t you be a good girl, shut up, and wait. I’ll get you a new face. Someone you’ll like being. Someone,” the word almost amuses you, “cool.”<br/>
<br/>
Someone, ideally, as far away from you as possible. Something tells you that Heather N might be a liability. Maybe one of Will's loser friends; let's be honest, anything is going to be an upgrade for Heather.<span class="fmjggefeffe3711"></span></span></div></div>


path: 115212112212111112111111212111112
author_id: masktrixie
title: Answers You Didn't Want
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You frown. “Look,” you say. “I really appreciate you both letting me in on this. I mean, it’s incredible, and astounding, and impossible. But there’s still a lot of stuff you haven’t told me. I feel like I’m in the dark.”<br/>
<br/>
Literally, given you’re in some kind of basement with only the pale light of this <i>thing</i> you’re creating. Heather gives you a firm look.<br/>
<br/>
“Well, obviously,” she says. “We can’t tell you everything right off, can we? It’s magic, and it’s super complicated. Besides, we have to know we can trust you to use it responsibly. It’s kind of got to be drip-fed. We can’t tell you everything all at once.”<br/>
<br/>
<i>Everything all at once.</i> Like if you stole someone’s brain! Suddenly you realize what’s going on here.<br/>
<br/>
“You could have told me everything at once easily,” you say very quietly. “If the brain trick had worked. I’d have all of Heather K’s knowledge about how magic works, wouldn’t I?”<br/>
<br/>
There’s a look of panic, of guilt, that flashes across Heather N’s face. And you know you’ve struck a nerve.<br/>
<br/>
“You only used half the spell,” you mutter. “She’s got my memories, but she deliberately didn’t’ give me hers. That’s why she made such a detailed Bible. She <i>knew</i> this wasn’t going to be just for one night!”<br/>
<br/>
Heather N backs off a little. As if she’s scared you’re going to lash out. And the quietest, mousiest voice mutters: “We had to know we could trust you.”<br/>
<br/>
“Bullshit!” you say, realizing how odd it feels with Heather K’s mouth, as if the word’s never been uttered before. “This has <i>nothing</i> to do with trust! She’s got all my memories and personality now! She’d know if I can be trusted or not! What the hell is this!”<br/>
<br/>
Heather holds up her hand. “Easy, Heaths… I mean, Will! It’s… we didn’t know… and…” there’s a tremble in her lips. “We’re not exactly popular here, OK! And when you stumbled on everything, we saw a chance to work together in Saratoga Falls, and for Heather to escape for a few days! She gets bullied. A lot. And as you she won’t be!” You barely register the irony of that one before she manages to continue. “We thought we’d use you to keep an eye on the pedisequos, too, and ultimately, you’ll get used to her life! I mean, you may not be popular, but you’ll be wealthy, and when you graduate you’ll have it far better than just some boonies kid from Saratoga Falls!”<br/>
<br/>
“Like she is, now?” you snap. “Get this mask off me!”<br/>
<br/>
“She wasn’t going to stay as you! It’s only a matter of time before one of these spells lets you replace someone fully. I mean, what’s the point of the masks otherwise, it’s pretty clear where this is going. And we’re going to get ourselves lives we <i>want</i> to live. Once we’ve done that, well, we need a Heather K, so maybe that’s you. And the people we swap into, they can be Will Prescott and Heather N, and… and…”<br/>
<br/>
This is the most hairbrained magical scheme you’ve ever heard. “And what if I tell people about this!” I blurt. “Or the other people tell someone!”<br/>
<br/>
“You won’t,” Heather N replies, gulping in air. “Heather K’s got your memories, remember? Besides, who’s going to believe you? Your folks? She’s a better Will Prescott than some crazy girl, got the memories and the face. Izzy? Uh, she’s already looking forward to a date tonight. She’s not gay or anything, but she figured it might be fun to try things as, y’know, a boy.”<br/>
<br/>
“Get this thing off me!” You begin to grapple at your own forehead, trying to peel it off. All you get is pain. There’s some magical trick to it, and it’s one you don’t know. You’re still struggling when Heather’s hands grip yours.<br/>
<br/>
“No! Easy, Will! It doesn’t work like that, you’ll just end up hurting yourself! Besides, we can’t let you take it off now. We can’t, Will! For starters, you’re going to end up out here with no way back to town, dressed in the uniform of a fifth form girl. Think about that, huh! And second, I don’t want to. You’re Heather Kaminski now. You should just… y’know. Get used to it.”<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t <i>want</i> to be Heather Kaminski!” you snap. <br/>
<br/>
For a moment, you stare at each other in silence. There’s a pause, as if you’re sizing each other up. <br/>
<br/>
“Well,” Heather N says, ice-cool, composure regained. “Who <i>do</i> you want to be?”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
You’d figured, being a year ahead of these girls, that their classes would be easy enough to push through with. Sadly, you hadn’t reckoned on the curriculum of The St. Francis Xavier School. The classes are smaller, more focused and, frankly, tougher than those for Westside. While you could just coast a few in the morning if you needed, here there is simply no place to hide. <br/>
<br/>
“Heather,” someone called Mrs Haynes – a plump and somewhat overbearing woman with hair dyed to beetroot – says, looking at you directly. “Explain the quantitative easing for us.” <br/>
<br/>
Economics. You have <i>no</i> idea. You just flub and fluster before interrupted by a boy, glasses on and imperious nature already wired in, who looks at you with a smirk and just reels off the answer. <br/>
<br/>
“Very good, Mr Gabbadon. Heather, maybe you should get some notes from a friend?” She turns and continues. <br/>
<br/>
“What friend?” someone says behind you. And there’s enough of a rattling laugh from the rest of the class to tell you exactly why Heather K turned to magic. As Will Prescott you were an outcast, but you never felt truly alone – more separate from the system. As Heather K, you’re in no doubt that you’re at the bottom rung of the school’s social hierarchy. <br/>
<br/>
And so the day continues. You get the feeling that anyone who talks to you either wants something, or does so out of sympathy. Heather N, after your chat, does sit with you from time to time, but there’s a wariness there, a guardedness because she knows you’re <i>not really Heather K</i>. Instead, you just have to suck it up. At lunch, you manage to slot in with Stella MacDonald, along with girls you quickly identify as Suze Waldron, Paige Burwell, and Jane Power, a kind of proto-gaggle that slices across the school’s interests. Heather K’s social life, then, isn’t as clear-cut as it seems. Yes, she has friends, they’re just not friends you’d imagine someone like her having, and don’t seem (with the exception of Heather N) to share classes. <br/>
<br/>
By soccer, you’re feeling a little better about things. And while you probably don’t have Heather K’s skills with the ball, you’re able to at least make a decent fist of running up and down the pitch. Afterward, and a brief trip to the shower, you’ve got enough free time to check on the pedisequos. The flame has gone out so, following the rules you’ve been given, you relight it. Already, it’s beginning to take shape, like watching a brownie melt and form into something almost humanoid.<br/>
<br/>
Your evening is spent online, finishing up ‘your’ assignments, and wondering whether Heather N and Heather K are going to call. Neither of them do. Thoughts flash through your head, imagines of yourself – your stolen body and mind – necking with Izzy, chatting to your parents, just doing everything better than you. It’s painful enough to make you wince a little, and so you mentally change the channel. <br/>
<br/>
At first, you try and come to terms with Heather K’s life, lying on her bunk. You wonder if you could fuck it up somehow. Maybe, if you make it that bad, get her on the edge of explusion, burn through her friends, perhaps even ruin her relationship with her family, it’d upset the boat enough that the Heathers will relent and return you to your old life. You could walk away, wash your hands, pretend that magic isn’t real and the last few days is little more than a crazy nightmare. <br/>
<br/>
And yet, if you ruined her life, why would she ever take it back? You’re dealing with a body thief, now, you realize. And she’s taken yours for a joyride. All you can do is play along and hope that you’ll be all right. <br/>
<br/>
Plus, there’s that lingering question. The one you were asked this morning.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Who do you want to be?</i><br/>
<br/>
It’s such a weird thing to ask. And yet it dominates your thoughts as you wait for lights-out, and dominates your dreams thereafter.</span></div></div>


path: 1152121122121111121111112121111121
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Thing from The Tombs
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Hello... Helloooooo... Earth to Heather. Come in, Heather..."<br/>
<br/>
You turn, agitated, and glance at the neighboring desk. Ollie Cooper is looking at you as if he wonders why he's even bothering. The genuine Heather would feel a little awkward here - although it's not in the Bible, you get an impression that she's got a crush on him. He's handsome, and British, with that accent you see all the sleazeballs have on British TV, and a general arrogance since he arrived at St. X a few months ago. He's the leader of the British contingent, a group of reprobates that include him, a set of twins (annoyingly, no haircut differences as with the Garners) and Kieran Bell, a kid with an accent so thick (apparently from Liverpool) the rest of the Brits have to act as his translator.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you want?" you sigh. Ollie gives off his roguish, self-satisfied smirk. You're in English, but currently class is in one of its open discussion phases, and nobody's paying attention to any of the conversations firing around the room. Fortunately, this one is a breeze for you: you did this book last year. <br/>
<br/>
"It's not what I want, Heather. It's what I can provide. We're thinking of a little bash while the rest of the school buggers off for Thanksgiving. The whole place is going to be practically deserted. Ripe for a party, no?"<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes, trying to remember what was in the Bible. "Remember what happened last time?" you retort. "That Halloween..."<br/>
<br/>
"That," Ollie smirks, "was because the sixth formers tried it. They got too ambitious, too raucous. Davina Macklin might be the smartest kid in school, but she can't reign in Baldwin. Once that lunkhead prick's involved, it's always going to be a disaster. We're thinking something with more... finesse."<br/>
<br/>
"And why are you talking to me about it?" Obvious question: Heather K doesn't get invited to parties.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, don't be like that," Ollie says, casting a nervous glance around the room as the teacher begins to prowl. "We'll chat later. It'll be fun. Promise."<br/>
<br/>
You think about the words even after class ends. Perhaps Ollie's got some scheme planned that needs a patsy. Or, perhaps, you've actually started to turn around Heather's life in the past couple of days you've inhabited it. After your confrontation with Heather N, you decided you had little option but to embrace the intricacies of Heather K's life and make it your own. A few months ago, you'd probably have fumbled your way through being a teenage girl and stood little chance of climbing the social ladder. That was before you met Alex, Izzy and Rae. Something in the months you knew them changed you, and obviously that rubbed off on the Heather K you've presented to the world. <br/>
<br/>
Case in point: Josh Chadwell. Heather K's Bible has him listed firmly as 'kind of a jerk', and yet he's been perfectly reasonable with every interaction you've had, chatting casually, warmly even. Heather K's roommates have been more accommodating too, to the point that Hope asked "What's up with you?" last night before you headed to the shower. That, based on what you've quickly learned about her, is a good sign; she's feeling threatened. <br/>
<br/>
Turns out you're an excellent Heather Kaminski. Even Heather N has noticed, when you've had time to speak. It's weird, but you don't regret giving up your life at all; the only thing you really miss from it is Izzy. There's the question that still dances in your mind, too: who would you want to be if you could choose? It's a huge question, with lots of possible answers. There's the Saratoga Falls set, after all. At first, that's where your mind drifted: the idea of being someone at Westside. You could be Gordon Black, after all, and rule the school. Or, seeing how liberating it is being a girl, you could even be Chelsea Cooper, or a rich princess like Kelsey, or someone with a future like Kim Walsh. There’s a flash of desire deep inside to be Alex, too: a girl who makes her own rules, and has the fortune to back it up. But why settle for Saratoga Falls? If the Heathers have taught you anything, there's a whole world out there for the taking. <br/>
<br/>
St X is perfect. You could, for example, be Marius Hall. Handsome, popular, smart, quarterback of the team. The kind of kid who's destined to be a congressman or a senator, someone who is so accustomed to success in life he can't fail. Or Michael Boatang, the school's star athlete. Handsome, ripped... a life where you could have the pick of the girls. And why not stay a girl, too? Abigail Steiner is the school's version of Chelsea, but you get the sense there's something darker in her that means she's to be avoided. Mathilde Ambard, then: French aristocracy. Or perhaps, in the ultimate revenge, you could become Mary Occam, the girl who almost ruined your life at Monte Viso's all those months ago. You see her in the hall, short stature but imperious aura, marching as if she owns everything. She doesn't see the hate for her that you have, hidden behind Heather K's sweet eyes.<br/>
<br/>
A group of first formers brush past, a full head and shoulders smaller than everyone else, rushing around like a gaggle of geese down the corridor. Amid them, you spot another target. Sherri Watson is only a kid - you'd have to go through the whole of school again as her. But she's an heiress to billions. And as her, you could do high school right. A complete do-over, this time with the face and personality of someone who couldn't fail if she wanted.<br/>
<br/>
You blink that thought away. What’s gotten into you? Magic, certainly, but the idea of <i>replacing</i> someone, taking their life… why the hell is that appealing? You push it down, and make your way through the now-familiar corridors of Founder’s Hall, down to the Tombs and the waiting… <i> thing</i>. This time, when you try and relight it, the flames don’t return. Instead, they remain out. <br/>
<br/>
Whatever it is – some kind of Earth-made, formless figure – is ready. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
It’s past 9pm when you get a message from the Heathers that they've returned to the school. You dart down the stairs, brushing past some of the girls heading up, and look around, making sure the coast is clear. Then you slide into the ill-lit world of the St Xavier’s luggage storage. <br/>
<br/>
Up ahead, you see… no. You must be mistaken. You think you can see three figures. And yet, as you come closer, that’s exactly what you’re looking at. Three people. One of them, a guy, standing there naked.<br/>
<br/>
At first you panic. The first person illuminated, her raven-like features haunting in the ill light, is Davina Macklin. Next to her, wearing some of your old clothes, a fitted cap loose on her head, is Abigail Steiner, the shirt and pants baggy and loose on her slight form. It takes you a few moments to realize neither of the girls are who they appear to be: it’s the Heathers.<br/>
<br/>
The third person, stark naked, is you.<br/>
<br/>
“’Boss,” the naked Will Prescott says, shuffling a little awkwardly, trying to cover up his exposed parts as he speaks to the girls, “wh, can I get some clothes?”<br/>
<br/>
Abi looks for a moment as if it’s a startling idea. “Huh? Oh! Right! Yeah, sure.” She reaches up, pulling off the beaten hooded sweater she’s wearing, and thrusting it in a grateful Will’s direction.<br/>
<br/>
“Thanks boss,” he says, in a way that just feels strange and alien. Not only because it’s your voice… because it seems almost obsequious. It’s only then the two girls seem to notice you’re approaching.<br/>
<br/>
“Will!” Vee says with uncharacteristic cheeriness, interrupting the moment as she beckons you over. “C’mon, have a look! Meet… well, Will Prescott!”<br/>
<br/>
You furrow your brow. “Uh, what?” you manage to say. <br/>
<br/>
“Hey dude,” Will says, with a wave. <br/>
<br/>
“<i>This</i> is what the spell does!” Abi exclaims excitedly. “It creates a clay servant! Put a mask on them, and hey presto! They turn into that person. And you have to do everything I say, right, Will?”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh, I guess,” the new figure says, a little uncomfortably. “I mean, you know more about this stuff than I do.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, I do! I do!” Abi says, laughing, before turning to you. “I’m sorry I stole your life, Will. But it was necessary so I could work on the magic with Heather N. We changed to Abi and Vee when we drove over, so we have free run of the school. That meant I had a spare Will mask, and I figured, well, let’s see what happens when I put it on the pedisequos! And <i>look!</i>”<br/>
<br/>
You’re too taken aback by the brazenness to reply. Your mouth just flaps a little. “You stole my life!” you finally blurt. <br/>
<br/>
“I was going to give it back,” Abi says, rolling her eyes. “Jesus, you aren’t still hung up on that, are you? Besides, we’ve been talking. We didn’t think what we did to you was fair. I know Heather’s promised you another life, if you want. All it takes is a little patience, Will! I mean, the next spell’s probably going to be that, right? What else could it be?”<br/>
<br/>
“It’s super-weird hearing you call her Will,” your new counterpart interrupts. <br/>
<br/>
“Ssh,” Vee says, but you just fold your arms. <br/>
<br/>
“You shush! You totally screwed me over!” the new Will advocates. He gives you a thumbs up. “Got your back, dude.”<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head. This is surreal. Too weird to even put into words.<br/>
<br/>
“Enough,” Abi says, holding up her hands. “Look. Will – the Heather Will. We said we’ll deal you in. And we can totally do that. And now we’ve got this clay thing – sorry, new Will – there’s no need for you to stay as me any more. We can just use one of the spare mind bands, and clayface here’ll take over. That way, we could all get to work back in Saratoga Falls.” She smiles with that gorgeous Abigail Steiner face, and those soft brown locks that just seem to cascade and sparkle in the torchlight. “Or… you could stay as me, and clayface’ll take over as you. What do you want?”</span></div></div>


path: 11521211221211111211111121211111211
author_id: masktrixie
title: The Last Day as Heather Kaminski
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You’re still processing what’s happened the next morning. It’s a Saturday, but for some reason the students at the St Francis Xavier school still seem to work. You’ve got a busy half-day of the kind of bullshit classes Westside has made their own, which give you ample time to think about what you’ve seen. <br/>
<br/>
Now, it turns out, there isn’t someone else living your life. There’s a <i>thing</i> in your place. He drove the Heathers back into town last night. Sure, he seemed like you – exactly like you – but that just makes it creepier. And, you think with a gulp, there’s a darker side of the deal, too. Now there’s no reason to keep you around. The Heathers could just abandon you in an instant.<br/>
<br/>
Heather K seems to have fully set herself up in town. Now there’s a Will Prescott, she explains, can dedicate herself full time to magic. That means the next spell is probably going to follow quickly – although you have no idea what that will entail. <br/>
<br/>
Your morning is taken up with a weird combo of eclectic nonsense that is designed to build character. First, black studies, which is a patronizing class where privileged kids seem to get a distorted view of African-American history. Next, autoshop – a surreal experience given you’re in overalls being directed to work on an engine by none other than Izzy’s brother, Gabe. And finally the history and philosophy of science, which seems to be a litany of dead white dudes whose names are remembered but whose actual work is forgotten. <br/>
<br/>
All in all, by lunch – and the official end of the school week – you’re exhausted. And Heather Ng is almost immediately bouncing at your side.<br/>
<br/>
“Hey, Heather, wait up!” she says, crossing the quad toward you with a grin on her face. It still feels strange how comfortably she’s adapted to calling you her friend’s name. She tucks in next to you, wrapping an arm around you conspiratorially. “Our friend’s coming in to school later,” she says, beaming. “Y’know, from town. Borrowing Will’s pick-up. Turns out she’s already deciphered what comes next.”<br/>
<br/>
You turn and look. “What is it?” Heather N’s eyebrows twitch. <br/>
<br/>
“My guess,” she says, “is that magic’s about to get very exciting.”<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***</div><br/>
<br/>
Heather K – the genuine one – is set to return at about 2pm, once the coast is clear and she can appear as Abi. That gives you almost two hours to wait. Heather N stays with you at lunch, but you can’t talk more because Janey slips in next to you, so you fake being Heather a little longer. Deep down, though, you’re still puzzling what the next spell could be. Rather than wait, you decide to head upstairs to ‘your’ dorm and kill some time, aiming to while away a half hour on the internet. Only when you get upstairs, you’re suddenly confronted by…<br/>
<br/>
“What the fuck!” you exclaim. “What the fuck are you doing in my locker!”<br/>
<br/>
Hope O’Malley is sat on your bed, something gripped in her hand. She smirks with an evil, self-satisfied smile. “Abi did a random dorm check. Opened up your locker. Disappointed there wasn’t any contraband, guess you’re too boring. Figured, while you weren’t here, I might as well have a little look myself.”<br/>
<br/>
You hear your heart thud. Because, in her hands, you can see it… <br/>
<br/>
“The Heather Bible,” she proclaims. “How to be Heather Kaminski. What’s the matter, you freak? Lost your goddamn mind?”<br/>
<br/>
You rush forward, but she just moves out of reach. “Ah, here’s my entry. Hope O’Malley… wow, isn’t <i>this</i> flattering…” she snarls, pushing you away as you try to grab the Bible back. “Oh, wait until the rest of the girls see this. Fuck, why the rest of the girls? The whole school’s going to love it! The thirsting. The pining. The fucking pathetic caricatures.”<br/>
<br/>
You rush on, desperately scrambling for the book. “Give me it…”<br/>
<br/>
“Not a chance! What the fuck is this section, anyway? When you go to bed? What room you’re in? It reads like some fucking guidebook to your pathetic world. What gives, Stinky? Hmm?”<br/>
<br/>
That’s it. What other option do you have? You leap forward and hit her. A straight strike, right on her face. For a moment she’s stunned, taken aback you would even dare, but that quickly gives way to a sudden alertness, and her own thrown punch. You take it, and grip her, tumbling off your bed. Suddenly all that anger and frustration you’ve been feeling, all that nervous energy that’s been bubbling for the better part of a quarter, ever since Lisa left you, spills out. You rain down a blow, and another. Blood foams at the corner of Hope’s mouth. Then you grab the Bible. <br/>
<br/>
“Fuck you!” you yell. You don’t know what the consequences of this will be, but you doubt it’s going to be pretty. Right now, though, you don’t care: you’ve got the Bible back. You’re still panting, still rushing away from the room, as you bound down the stairs. You don’t even know where you’re running, but one thing’s clear: Heather K’s world at school is about to have Hope’s poison tongue make things far, far worse. <br/>
<br/>
You slink into the Tombs, Bible in hand, and close your eyes in frustration. All you can do is wait for the Heathers to arrive.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">***<br/>
</div><br/>
<br/>
“So, what does it do?” it’s an odd trio in the Tombs. Heather K (you); Heather N (herself), and, once again, Abigail Steiner. You guess it’s a convenient face to walk around the school without anyone bothering her. You haven’t told either about the commotion with Hope yet. You’re hoping you won’t have to.<br/>
<br/>
“We think,” ‘Abi’ says slowly, weighing her words with care, “that it places the person under your command. It’s kind of like a… y’know, hypnosis or something. The earth, we guess, works as the command part of the spell, and then the mask just disguises them as whoever. We’re pretty sure it’s reversible, too. We just need a volunteer. We were wondering…”<br/>
<br/>
You shoot Heather Ng a quick glance, then back at Abi. “No!” you say firmly. “Are you kidding me? We don’t even know for sure it <i>can</i> be reversed. If I’m going to be part of this group, it’s got to be more equal than this.”<br/>
<br/>
Heather N thinks for a moment, then nods, admitting you have a point. “Yeah, I guess,” she says. “I get why you’re apprehensive, what with us tricking you before and all. So, we need to find another subject. Whoever it is, they’ll either be under our control as a kind of hypnosis… or we could, I dunno, put them in a mask of one of us, so we’re not missed.”<br/>
<br/>
“Seems the obvious thing is to use the mask of me,” Abi says, gesturing to you. “I’ve got a spare mind band and paste already, so they can ‘be’ me fully. Plus some spare masks already polished up – I’ve been busy in your body, Will.” She smirks, and there’s something about that smile on Abi’s face that makes you squirm. Busy with Izzy, perhaps? <br/>
<br/>
“What are you suggesting?” you ask.<br/>
<br/>
“That whoever we hypnotize can be me, and that way Will here can take on a new persona. Our first full ‘swap’ into someone else’s life.”<br/>
<br/>
“Don’t you want to do that?” Heather N says. There’s a rapid shake of the head.<br/>
<br/>
“Not yet,” Abi replies. “It’s kind of useful having no responsibilities, being free to work on this full time. Besides, Abi’s face is fine if I need to come back here. Once we’ve got all the spells unlocked, then I’ll look at swapping. How about you? Do you want to make a leap?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, but…” Heather N takes a breath. “After Will moves, I think. I still don’t know who I’d want to be, and it’s probably a good idea for one of us to stay as themselves, in case something goes wrong.”<br/>
<br/>
Abi – Heather K – nods. “You’re up, then, Will. Whoever we pick is going to be hypnotized into being our servant. They’ll take over as me, and you’ll slip into them. So think about it. Pick someone you <i>want</i> to be. Because we get priority on the next spells, and you’re going to be them for a while.”<br/>
<br/>
Normally, you'd hesitate here. After all, you're still not sure what the spell will do. But the confrontation with Hope, you know, is only going to get worse. Whatever happens, it's time to leave the life of Heather Kaminski. Besides, if your time with Alex, Izzy and Rae has taught you anything - and you haven't forgotten that trio - it's that sometimes you've got to take a leap of faith. <br/>
<br/>
The girls are letting you pick any life you want. You might as well accept.<br/>
<br/>
You’re practically overwhelmed with choices. You could, of course, suggest someone back in Saratoga Falls. It’s a trek back there from St X, but at least you’d be able to keep in close contact with Heather K and whatever she’s doing, and keep an eye on your own golem, maybe even reconnect with Alex, Rae and Izzy. There are plenty of guys in your year that it’d be great to be… and plenty of girls too. <br/>
<br/>
But why give up the St Francis Xavier School so quickly? Here, you have your pick of the kids of the rich and famous. You could be the next quarterback star and young Republican; you could be a star athlete; you could be someone like Ollie, feel what it’s like to have that swaggering British confidence. Or you could stay as a girl – there are beauties here that rival even the hottest girls in Westside… and they’re rich to boot. You could slip into the persona of Hope O’Malley, and nip that potential threat in the bud. Or you could use it to become wealthy beyond your imagination – after that, who cares how people perceive Heather Kaminski? Neither you, nor Heather, will ever have to worry about that life again.<br/>
<br/>
“So,” Heather N says. “What’s it going to be?</span></div></div>


path: 115212112212111112111111212111112111
author_id: masktrixie
title: Choosing A Mutie Girl
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I'm staying here," you say, decisively. "I've been thinking about it. Even before I discovered all of this, I was on the verge of leaving. I mean, you get that, right?" you glance at Heather K. "That's why I fell in with Alex, Rae and Izzy. There just wasn't any place for me in Saratoga Falls any more. Not as Will Prescott, anyways."<br/>
<br/>
You were just kind of... <i>drifting</i>.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," Heather K - Abi - nods. "Honestly, Will, being you was pretty odd. It felt like you were a cipher; that you didn't really have your own place? I don't know, it's hard to describe it."<br/>
<br/>
"Well," you shrug. "I'll have a place now."<br/>
<br/>
There's just a question of who. In your mind, you flick through the options. And, relatively quickly, you narrow it down to five.<br/>
<br/>
The first option is Abi Steiner. She's beautiful, and wealthy, and as prefect has the command of the school. It's a shot of instant power, and will make things fun as you wait for the Heathers to catch up. The only issue, which you've picked up hints of from your brief time as her, is that you suspect there are darker undercurrents with her, bigger problems than anything you've dealt with before. Her brain was a little messed up... so she goes to the bottom of your five-life list.<br/>
<br/>
Second from bottom is Mathilde Ambard, the snooty French aristocrat. She's beautiful too, and far wealthier than Steiner. You've seen how she just walks through the school with kids parting out of her way as if they were the Red Sea. She doesn't have any cares or worries that you can tell: she's got her life sorted, and is just enjoying each day as it comes. It's easy to imagine yourself as her, wearing her designer apparel, and speaking in that haughty accent.<br/>
<br/>
And that gives you the top three. First, Mary Occam. How couldn't she make the list? You still resent how that imperious pint-sized Napoleon bossed you around at Monte Viso's, and somehow the idea of enacting your revenge on her, making her your personal servant while you steal her life, is too delicious to pass up. She's pretty enough, has a social clique that's a powerhouse in the school, and you overheard her talking (telling, really) about her plans for the Thanksgiving weekend - next week - when the school allows the students to fly home for the long holiday. You'd have JM and Corinne - that sullen redhead and the girl with the horse teeth - as your henchwomen, and would be in prime position to excel at whatever you choose (as long, you muse, as you don't pick basketball.)<br/>
<br/>
Second is Hope O'Malley. She's a bitch, and a year younger than Mary, Mathilde and Abi. But being a fifth former is easy, you find - the equivalent of being a junior at Westside. You can walk the classes in your sleep. Despite the chip on her shoulder, Hope is popular, and sporty - she's a tennis star, after all. You'd also be perfectly happy with her darker skinned face, a mix of African-American and Irish heritage that could make for an interesting life. As Hope, you'd also avoid any complications with the Heather Bible discovery... although you'd be sporting a cut lip and puffy eye for a few days from where you hit her earlier. You feel a flash of guilt about hitting a girl, although, you remind yourself, you're a girl too at the moment. <br/>
<br/>
And the guilt is nothing compared with the final idea that crosses your mind. Sherri Watson. That wouldn't be a life to take temporarily, or one that would be at the top of the school hierarchy. You'd basically be looking at running through years of school again, living it over as a girl. And yet you wouldn't be doing it with the disadvantages of being Will Prescott. Instead, you'd be doing it as a future Queen of the United States of America. Everyone knows that Sherri Watson is the richest kid in a school where wealth is everything. Her trust fund isn't measured in millions, but <i>billions</i>. You could go through high school and do it right - be whatever you choose, shaping the world to your whim, with so many advantages you simply couldn't fail. If you're playing the long game you'd be living a life where you could buy the county, never mind Saratoga Falls. You'd never have to worry about the Heathers or swap lives again.</span></div></div>


path: 115212112212111112111111212111112112
author_id: masktrixie
title: Choosing a Mutie Guy
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I'm staying here," you say, decisively. "I've been thinking about it. Even before I discovered all of this, I was on the verge of leaving. I mean, you get that, right?" you glance at Heather K. "That's why I fell in with Alex, Rae and Izzy. There just wasn't any place for me in Saratoga Falls any more. Not as Will Prescott, anyways."<br/>
<br/>
You were just kind of... <i>drifting</i>.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," Heather K - Abi - nods. "Honestly, Will, being you was pretty odd. It felt like you were a cipher; that you didn't really have your own place? I don't know, it's hard to describe it."<br/>
<br/>
"Well," you shrug. "I'll have a place now."<br/>
<br/>
There's just a question of who. In your mind, you flick through the options. And, relatively quickly, you narrow it down to five.<br/>
<br/>
First on the list is Michael Boateng. He’s a local boarder, so won’t be back until Sunday, but there’s lots of appeal. He’s a handsome athlete, popular with both the girls and the guys, and seems to hang around a lot with Lucas Tanner, arguably the most laid-back of the prefects. You’d be a track star in the making, and someone with the world at your feet.<br/>
<br/>
Speaking of world at your feet, there’s an even better option: Marius Hall. The Head Boy of St Xavier’s – a largely honorary title – he’s already been selected as first among equals at one of the nation’s elite schools. He’s quarterback, young Republican, and everyone is expecting him to move to a prestigious Ivy League school, then straight into law or politics. Give it ten years and he’ll be in Congress. You’ve already met him, of course – he was the guy who interviewed you in the Great Hall the night you broke in.<br/>
<br/>
Third up is Oliver Cooper. He’s a fifth former like the Heathers, and a little sleazy, always has a smirk that says he’s up to something, but he’s also got that British charm that you find intriguing. As the head of the British contingent, he’s also got friends to support him in whatever he does, and his disinterest in observing the Thanksgiving break means you’ll have plenty of time to hang out with the Heathers and decide what to do.<br/>
<br/>
The final two on the list are wildcards – people you’re not sure about and yet seem to have potential. There’s Jacob Drewlin-Frye, one of the more ridiculously named kids in school, whose mom is a Hollywood actress on some police procedural about the US Coast Guard. He’s bohemian in nature, long hair and relaxed attitude, and through him you could make an easy jump to the stars.</span></div></div>


path: 115212112212111112111111212111112113
author_id: masktrixie
title: Choosing A Fall Girl
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I'm heading back to Saratoga Falls," you say, decisively. "I've been thinking about it. Even before I discovered all of this, I was on the verge of leaving. I mean, you get that, right?" you glance at Heather K. "That's why I fell in with Alex, Rae and Izzy. There just wasn't any place for me in Saratoga Falls any more. Not as Will Prescott, anyways."<br/>
<br/>
You were just kind of... <i>drifting</i>.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," Heather K - Abi - nods. "Honestly, Will, being you was pretty odd. It felt like you were a cipher; that you didn't really have your own place? I don't know, it's hard to describe it."<br/>
<br/>
"Well," you shrug. "Now I’m going to be someone else. Someone who fits. Someone who can actually enjoy that world.”<br/>
<br/>
There's just a question of who. In your mind, you flick through the options. And, relatively quickly, you narrow it down to five.<br/>
<br/>
First on the list is Chelsea Cooper. Of course she is: you’ve practically been thinking about her every day this year, that small, blonde, beautiful girl who runs Westside as her own personal fiefdom. You almost bite your tongue just thinking about her. Sure, she’s a maniac, but if you switched with her, she wouldn’t be – you would. And wouldn’t that be enjoyable?<br/>
<br/>
The next on the list, for equally obvious reasons, is Kelsey. Beautiful, bohemian, wealthy and, as the leader of the AP set, guaranteed to be a success wherever she goes. Kelsey is able to flit between whatever life she wants, making her a perfect sampler for something next if you choose. And, with her country club connections, she can easily justify (not that she’d ever need to) hanging around with some of the St X kids if you need to conspire with the Heathers. <br/>
<br/>
That’s not true for your third choice. Alex Day. The weeks you’ve spent hanging around the diminutive rebel without a cause has given you nothing but admiration for how she lives her life. She’s rich, but she doesn’t care. She’s smart, too, but equally she doesn’t care. Alex wants to have fun, and you’ve no doubt it would be wonderful to spend time in her skin, seeing the world from her perspective. The fact that you’d get to hang around with Izzy, Rae and your clay replacement is just an added bonus – only this time you’d be the one with Guru status. <br/>
<br/>
Alex is inspiration for the fourth choice, too. Roxanne Hurley. Yeah, she’s a mutant, but she’s also Saratoga Falls through and through, as her time at Monte Viso’s shows. She’s respected at St X as one of the cool kids, and you remember the first night you encountered her, how she shot you down – firm but kind, cool but engaged. She’s hot, too, and if the rumors about her are true, bisexual – giving you lots of potential scope to fully enjoy your new life. <br/>
<br/>
Fifth was the hardest, but a name still comes up suddenly – and it’s one that you never expected. Kim Walsh. You’re still smarting from her intrusive attempts at an intervention – she’s the one that set you on this path to begin with, with her chat at the donut shop – and of course how you reacted at the wall. But there’s no question Kim’s heart is in the right place. She’s pretty enough, even if everyone’s far too intimidated to date her, and she’s definitely smart. As Kim, you’d not just be running the student body at Westside, but you’d have your finger on the pulse of everything else going on… and an easy path to future success if you wanted to take it.</span></div></div>


path: 12
author_id: seuzz
title: Background: Characters (Westside HS) (1)
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A partial, sometimes updated list of characters who have appeared in the story.<br/>
<br/>
<u>Will's Family</u><br/>
<b>Will Martin Prescott</b> Protagonist; 17 years old senior; tall, skinny, non-athletic, indifferent student, unknown Stellae; birthday is December 30<br/>
<b>Robert Geoffrey Prescott</b> Will's 13-year-old brother; attends Schuyler Middle School (8th grade)<br/>
<b>Harris Brian Prescott</b> Will's father; aerospace engineer at Salopek Engineering; 48 years old<br/>
<b>Martha Wertham Prescott</b> Will's mother; 44 years old<br/>
<b>Umeko Prescott</b> Will's 18-year-old cousin, a Japanese girl adopted by his aunt and uncle; He has a crush on her, but she is a lesbian (this is not public knowledge)<br/>
<b>Scott and Mary Prescott</b> Will's aunt and uncle, adoptive parents of Umeko<br/>
<b>Aunt Amanda</b> Will's mother's younger sister, lives out of town<br/>
<b>William Shabbleman</b> Distant cousin of Will Prescott's from Cuthbert<br/>
<b>Florence Shabbleman</b> Head of Shabbleman clan in Cuthbert; witch<br/>
<b>Nate Shabbleman</b> Uncle of William; Cuthbert town constable<br/>
<b>Rosalie Stewart</b> Will's cousin; undiscovered Stellae<br/>
<b>Margaret Shabbleman Jones</b> Previous owner of the <i>Libra</i>; ived in Schenectady, New York<br/>
<br/>
<u>Will Friends</u><br/>
<b>Caleb Charles Johansson</b> Will's best friend; science geek; birthday is July 2<br/>
<b>Keith Michael Tilley</b> Third of Will's trio of good friends<br/>
<b>Carson Ioeger</b> Best friend of James Lamont; bullies the bullies<br/>
<b>James Lamont</b> Best friend of Carson Ioeger; bullies the bullies<br/>
<b>Jenny Ashton</b> Tomboyish student; friend of Yumi Saito, Lin Pol, Ioeger/Lamont<br/>
<b>Paul Davis</b> Friend of Ioeger/Lamont; has a crush on Yumi Saito<br/>
<br/>
<u>Students at Westside</u><br/>
This list of WHS students is organized more or less by social group within a general "student type" Types are sorted roughly in order of where they stand in the social hierarchy; groups within each type are similarly listed more or less where they stand within the hierarchy of that type; students within a group are listed more or less by where they stand within that group. Note that a high-ranked student within a low-ranked group may, in an absolute sense, rank higher than a low-ranked student within a high-ranked group.<br/>
<br/>
See "Westside Sports Rosters" and "Music and Extracurricular Activities" (links below) for additional students listed by various activities.<br/>
<br/>
<u>Cheerleaders</u><br/>
<b>Chelsea Courtney Cooper</b> Head cheerleader, queen bee; Gordon Black GF<br/>
<b>Cindy Cynthia Vredenburg</b> Cheerleader, Seth Javits GF<br/>
<b>Kendra Saunders</b> African-American cheerleader, one of Chelsea's enforcers<br/>
<b>Gloria Rea</b> Cheerleader, one of Chelsea's enforcers<br/>
<b>Eva and Jessica Garner</b> Cheerleaders; two of triplets; sisters of Marc<br/>
<b>Lin Pol</b> Chinese-American cheerleader<br/>
<b>Yumi Saito</b> Japanese-American cheerleader<br/>
<b>Maria Regina Vasquez y Lorca</b> Cheerleader, best friend of Chelsea Cooper; supposed airhead but actually smart, only distracted<br/>
<b>Michelle Estrich</b> Cheerleader; quiet, unpopular<br/>
<br/>
<u>Sports</u><br/>
<b>Gordon Gerald Black</b> Basketball team captain; Chelsea BF<br/>
<b>Steve Perceval Patterson</b> Basketball player; Gordon's best friend<br/>
<b>Seth Javits</b> Basketball player; Cindy Vredenburg BF; persecutor of Keith Tilley<br/>
<b>Jeremy Thaddeus Richards</b> Former friend of Will and Caleb's; now a basketball player<br/>
<b>Jason Lynch</b> Baseball player; hangs around with Gordon and Steve<br/>
<b>Michael Allen</b> Baseball player; Catherine Muskov BF<br/>
<b>Noah Baker</b> Baseball player; Lily Hallet BF<br/>
<b>Shep "Maize" Tsosie</b> Baseball player; Native American stock; close friend of Justin Roth<br/>
<b>Joe Ysleta</b> Baseball player; Victoria Rodriguez BF<br/>
<b>Cam(eron) Shore</b> Baseball player; Kerri Mullen BF<br/>
<b>Cameron Craig Huber</b> Football quarterback; Anne Starkey BF<br/>
<b>Scott Trey Bickelmeir</b> Wide receiver on the football team Actually Taylor Mitchell, trapped under a mask<br/>
<b>Sean Jason Mitchell</b> Football player, wrestler; works at Salopek; Secretly writes fetish- and fan-fiction<br/>
<b>Taylor Daniel Mitchell</b> Sean's twin brother; apparently deceased in a mid-August car wreck, actually trapped under mask of Scott Bickelmeir<br/>
<b>Dalton Douglas</b> Football player; low-level bully<br/>
<b>Nathan Cruz</b> Swim team; Madison Fortney BF<br/>
<b>Michael Wilson</b> Swim team Dating junior Mackenzie Fuller<br/>
<b>Derek Balaban</b> Wrestler Handsome but shy and withdrawn<br/>
<b>Eli Anders</b> Wrestler Bonny Trask's BF<br/>
<b>Andrea Varnsworth</b> Swim team captain; intensely sexy; distant<br/>
<b>Almida Jones</b> African-American captain of girls' basketball team<br/>
<b>Stephanie Wyatt</b> Basketball player and all-around athlete Very competitive Brother Craig is a junior<br/>
<b>Anita Nuevo</b> Girls' soccer captain Ethan Nieves's GF<br/>
<b>Phoebe Beauchamp</b> Soccer player; dating sophomore Matthew Adams<br/>
<b>Bonny Trask</b> Soccer player; Anita's best friend; Eli Anders's GF<br/>
<b>Catherine Denise Muskov</b> Track Michael Allen's GF<br/>
<b>Kerri Mullens</b> Volleyball player Cam Shore's GF<br/>
<br/>
<u>Academically minded</u><br/>
<b>Kelsey Blankenship</b> AP Student; rich queen bee; tennis player; secretly dating Karl Hennepin<br/>
<b>Amanda Ferguson</b> AP Student; Ricky's GF; doesn't suffer fools gladly<br/>
<b>Anthony Kirk</b> AP Student; upper-middle class; country club snob; track &amp; golf<br/>
<b>Marc Garner</b> AP Student; one of triplets (with Eva and Jessica); captain of soccer team<br/>
<b>Geoff Mansfield</b> AP Student; now dating Lisa Yarborough<br/>
<b>Martin Gardinhire</b> AP Student; debate team<br/>
<b>Kim Walsh</b> Student council president<br/>
<b>Olivia Byrne</b> Swim team<br/>
<b>Lisa Roxana Yarborough</b> Will's ex-GF<br/>
<b>Ricky Golia</b> AP Student; politician-in-waiting; rival of Kim Walsh<br/>
<b>Brooke Galloway</b> Upper-middle class; tennis player<br/>
<b>Deanna Showalter</b>  A well-plugged-in gossip<br/>
<b>Rachel Burton</b> Swim team and debate team<br/>
<b>Brent Pruitt</b> AP student, but rather wet around the ears<br/>
<br/>
<b>Parker Stott</b> Marching band color guard; Kristin Townes' BF; best friend of Jack Li<br/>
<b>Jack Li</b> Marching band color guard; best friend of Parker Stott<br/>
<b>Wendy Terrill</b> Marching band color guard; best friend of Kristin Townes<br/>
<b>Kristin Townes</b> Marching band color guard; Parker Stott's GF; best friend of Wendy Terrill<br/>
<br/>
<b>Rachel Bell</b> STEM girl; programmer<br/>
<b>Lily Hallet</b> Student, friend of Rachel Bell; Noah Baker GF<br/>
<b>Ella Swope</b> Student, friend of Rachel Bell Chuck Johnson GF<br/>
<br/>
<b>Philip Fairfax</b> Student, engineer-in-training; Vulcan-like demeanor<br/>
<b>Michael Hollister</b> AV guy; with Carlos Montoya co-hosts a YouTube channel devoted to movie reviews and news<br/>
<b>Carlos Montoya</b> AV guy; with Michael Hollister co-hosts a YouTube channel devoted to movie reviews and news<br/>
<b>Josiah Shank</b> Boob/anime-obsessed nerd; friend of Fairfax, Hollister, Montoya</span></div></div>


path: 121
author_id: seuzz
title: Background: Characters (Westside HS) (2)
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A partial, sometimes updated list of characters who have appeared in the story.<br/>
<br/>
This list of WHS students is organized more or less by social group within a general "student type" Types are sorted roughly in order of where they stand in the social hierarchy; groups within each type are similarly listed more or less where they stand within the hierarchy of that type; students within a group are listed more or less by where they stand within that group. Note that a high-ranked student within a low-ranked group may, in an absolute sense, rank higher than a low-ranked student within a high-ranked group.<br/>
<br/>
See "Westside Sports Rosters" and "Westside Music and Extracurricular Activities" for additional students listed by various activities.<br/>
<br/>
<u>Future Farmers of America</u><br/>
<b>Chuck Johnson</b>  Ella Swope's BF<br/>
<b>Bo Robinson</b> <br/>
<b>Bradley McCollum</b> <br/>
<b>John Darden</b> <br/>
<b>Larry Finch</b> Goofy<br/>
<b>Logan Lackey</b><br/>
<b>Tyler Purvis</b><br/>
<br/>
<u>Eccentric Creatives</u><br/>
<b>Justin Roth</b> Druggie; outdoorsy-type; fly-fishes and hunts with compound bow; auto-didact<br/>
<b>Perry Small</b> Rich, smart, stylish dresser, but rebellious; best friend of Justin Roth<br/>
<b>Charles Hartlein</b> Drama club president Gay, fairly rich, plugged in to all the dirt<br/>
<b>Jimmy Brewer</b> Student in drama class; has a crush on Christine Coolidge<br/>
<b>Christian Padilla</b> Drama, video guy Hangs around Hartlein; likes gay style<br/>
<b>Elle Moore</b> Drama student. Had a bad break-up with Mitchell Belz at the end of her junior year.<br/>
<b>Audrey Briscoe</b> Drama student<br/>
<b>Karl Hennepin</b> Creative painter, sculptor; wears a fedora; secretly dating Kelsey Blankenship<br/>
<b>Adrian Semple</b> Creative writing guy; bi-, often seen with Hartlein<br/>
<b>Andy Tackett</b> Creative writing guy; track team<br/>
<b>Tim Gerard</b> Poet guy; popular with the girls; officially bi- but only for socially conscious reasons<br/>
<b>Kevin Winkler</b> Creative writing guy<br/>
<b>Connor Davis</b> Creative writing guy<br/>
<b>Emily Sparks</b> Nerdish girl, hangs around creative types<br/>
<b>Katie Byrd</b> Hangs around creative types<br/>
<b>Fatima Zahedi</b> Student, deep in the underground scene<br/>
<b>Jelena "Yell" Petrovic</b> Queen bohemian Plays in the band Slow Fast Hazel<br/>
<b>Sienna Goldman</b> Plays guitar in the band Lady Steel<br/>
<b>Andrea "Andi" Kramer</b> Bass vocals in the band Lady Steel<br/>
<b>Nadine Martin</b> Drums in the band Lady Steel<br/>
<b>Matt Reston</b> Dropout, deals drugs in Warehouse; plays bass in band Tiger Driver<br/>
<br/>
<u>Uncategorized/Unremarkable</u><br/>
<b>Danielle Davis</b> African-American student; orchestra<br/>
<b>Anne Starkey</b> Band girl; Cameron Huber GF<br/>
<b>Chase Hoffmeister</b> Student<br/>
<b>Mitchell Belz</b> Student<br/>
<b>Gillian Kiefer</b> Braydon Delp GF<br/>
<b>Madison Fortney</b> Student<br/>
<b>Delaney McGuire</b> Student<br/>
<b>Lee Reynolds</b> Student<br/>
<b>Mindy McAdams</b> Student<br/>
<b>Constance Reynolds</b> Student<br/>
<b>Victoria Rodriguez</b> Joe Ysleta GF<br/>
<b>Trina Murillo</b> Marcos Rivera's official GF<br/>
<b>Brianna Gould</b> Music clubber<br/>
<b>Andrew Harding</b> Music clubber<br/>
<b>Dean Stratton</b> Music clubber<br/>
<b>Rebecca Sykes</b> Music clubber; Eric Harlen GF<br/>
<b>Eric Harlen</b> Music clubber; Rebecca Sykes BF<br/>
<b>Spencer Osbourne</b> Quasi-dropout, partier<br/>
<b>Eric Murphy</b> A highly extroverted "twin" of Will Prescott<br/>
<b>Tim Ryan</b> Eric Murphy's best friend<br/>
<b>Melanie Saxon</b> Eric's outraged ex-GF<br/>
<b>Lori Sherman</b> Student<br/>
<b>Alana Ocampo</b> Student; one of Marcos Rivera's GFs<br/>
<b>Kristina Ramon</b> one of Marcos Rivera's GFs<br/>
<b>Cassandra Susan "Cassie" Harper</b> Student; freckled chatterbox, has a crush on Will<br/>
<b>Beth Tanner</b> Friend of Cassie Harper<br/>
<b>Sarah McDonald</b> Friend of Cassie Harper<br/>
<b>Wendy Silbert</b> Friend of Cassie Harper<br/>
<b>Lotte Linde</b> Friend of Cassie Harper<br/>
<b>Nancy Trent</b> Student; living with a college junior<br/>
<b>Vanessa Bailey</b> Student<br/>
<b>Molly Shaw</b> Student<br/>
<b>Faith Becker</b> Student; drama queen with multiple pregnancy scares<br/>
<b>Yvette Moore</b> Student; Mom has breast cancer<br/>
<b>Emmy Keller</b> Student<br/>
<b>Brad Murphy</b> Quasi-dropout, drug user, Spencer's clueless friend<br/>
<b>Christian Knouse</b> RPG player; plays half-orcs exclusively; Programmer<br/>
<b>Braydon Delp</b> RPG player; occult enthusiast; Kiefer BF<br/>
<b>Darrel Parson</b> RPG player<br/>
<b>Hugh Flake</b> RPG player<br/>
<b>Howie Baylor</b> RPG player of the OCD type<br/>
<b>Carl Dortbruch</b> Student<br/>
<b>Karen Rogers</b> Shy girl<br/>
<b>Abby Derr</b> Low-ranking girl Sports a bad green dye-job<br/>
<b>Gracie McGraw</b> Low-ranking girl; dumpy<br/>
<b>Sophia Wilson</b> Low-ranking girl; cheap clothes<br/>
<b>Missy Taylor</b> Low-ranking girl; no self confidence<br/>
<b>Jill Taylor</b> Student; ugly<br/>
<b>Morgana Hollis</b> Student Wearer of black, flowing clothes; real name is "Sandra"<br/>
<b>Graciela "Grossie" Gutierrez</b> Ugly female student<br/>
<br/>
<u>Low-lifes</u><br/>
<b>David Kirkham</b> Bully; good at math, excellent on cello<br/>
<b>Gary Chen</b> Chinese-American gangbanger and drug dealer, peer and pal of Kirkham<br/>
<b>Lester "The Molester" Pozniak</b> High school soccer player, bully, persecutor of Will and others since middle school<br/>
<b>George Mendoza</b> Soccer player; low-level bully; one of Chen's sub-dealers<br/>
<b>Tanner Evans</b> Low-level bully; one of Chen's sub-dealers <br/>
<b>Joe Thomason</b> Low-level bully; one of Chen's sub-dealers; track team<br/>
<b>Joshua Call</b> Thug; quasi-dropout; works at Wal-mart; hard crush on Kim Walsh<br/>
<b>Jeff Spencer</b> Thug; quasi-dropout; mentally/physically malformed<br/>
<b>Rich Austin</b> Thug; gun enthusiast<br/>
<b>Jamie Rennerhoff</b> Psychological bully with Joker-like demeanor; pilot fish for Call, Spencer<br/>
<b>Nicholas Horner</b> Psychological bully; pilot fish for Call, Spencer<br/>
<b>Oscar Cantu</b> Soccer player; thug; manages "fuck rooms" at the Warehouse<br/>
<b>Brophy Maddox</b> Sub-bully, hangs around with Lester<br/>
<b>Isaac Downs</b> Quasi-dropout<br/>
<b>Robert Cyrs</b> Quasi-dropout<br/>
<b>Jordan Fry</b> Quasi-dropout<br/>
<b>Cody Wooten</b> Quasi-dropout<br/>
<b>Kyle Kent</b> Skateboarder, wild kid<br/>
<b>Michael Hurst</b> Quasi-dropout, skateboarder<br/>
<b>Zachary Herman</b> Quasi-dropout, skateboarder<br/>
<b>Roy Booth</b> Quasi-dropout, skateboarder</span></div></div>


path: 122
author_id: seuzz
title: Background: Westside Sports Rosters
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A roster of the some of the sports teams and other groups. Most programs at Westside operate on a standard of "quality over quantity," so membership is limited. All students are seniors, except where * denotes a junior, ** denotes a sophomore, and *** denotes a freshman. (--) denotes a team with an roster that hasn't been fully described/invented.<br/>
<br/>
All Westside teams are the "Dragons."<br/>
<br/>
<u>Baseball</u><br/>
Jason Lynch (pitcher)(captain)<br/>
Cam Shore (pitcher)<br/>
Michael Allen (catcher)<br/>
Shep "Maize" Tsosie (1B)<br/>
Noah Baker (2B)<br/>
Jacoby May (3B)<br/>
Alex Massey (LF)<br/>
Ryan Ness (CF)<br/>
Sebastian Clarke (RF)<br/>
Pedro Delao (SS)<br/>
Richardo Pedroza<br/>
Luke Richardson<br/>
Joe Ysleta<br/>
Antonio Sanchez<br/>
<br/>
<u>Boys' Basketball (Varsity)</u><br/>
Gordon Black (center)(captain}<br/>
Jeremy Richards (ctr)<br/>
Jonas Martin (point guard)<br/>
Steve Patterson (pt guard)<br/>
Seth Javits (power fwd)<br/>
Brendan Tummler (pw fwd)<br/>
Shawn Sax (shooting guard)<br/>
Darren Green (sh. guard)<br/>
Ryan Shuler (small fwd)<br/>
Luke Bennett (sm. fwd)<br/>
Dylan Lloyd (guard)<br/>
Matt Nichols (forward)<br/>
Scott Frazier (guard)<br/>
<br/>
<u>Girls' Basketball (Varsity)</u><br/>
Almida Jones (point guard) (captain)<br/>
Haley Flanagan (ptg)<br/>
Katy Conless (sm fwd)<br/>
Kristy Suffolk (sm fwd)<br/>
Julia Paez (shooting guard)<br/>
Samantha Carpenter (shg)<br/>
Meredith Klein (power fwd)<br/>
Stephanie Wyatt (p fwd)<br/>
Coral Weaver (center)<br/>
Nell Hammond (c)<br/>
Meghan Velasquez (guard)<br/>
Hope Bianucci (g)<br/>
<br/>
<u>Football (--)</u><br/>
Cameron Huber (QB) (captain)<br/>
Scott Bickelmeir<br/>
Erik Carstairs<br/>
Marcus Johnston<br/>
Nathan Hall<br/>
Kevin Hall *<br/>
Ethan Nieves<br/>
Sean Mitchell<br/>
Dalton Doublas<br/>
Blake O'Brien<br/>
Cole Stanchik<br/>
Connor Vale<br/>
Dominic Kleason<br/>
James Bridges<br/>
Royston "Roy" Nelson<br/>
Isaac Adler<br/>
Liam Walker<br/>
Matthew McElroy<br/>
Reece Palendech<br/>
Thomas Schmitz *<br/>
Chris Ratliff<br/>
<br/>
<u>Boys' Lacrosse (Varsity}</u><br/>
Danny Russo (goalie)(captain)<br/>
Marcus Ansell (attack)<br/>
Ed Denell (att)<br/>
Jeb Ash (att)<br/>
Lukos Ardjis (midfielder)<br/>
Curt Beake (midf)<br/>
Mike Hardin (midf)<br/>
Walker Bagley (defense)<br/>
Nathan Elliot (def)<br/>
Noah Lepley (def)<br/>
<br/>
<u>Girls' Lacrosse (Varsity}</u><br/>
Izzie Mackler (attack)(captain)<br/>
Rachel Boone (att)<br/>
Joyce Mayr (att)<br/>
Julie Cole (midfielder)<br/>
Nicole Yeager (midf)<br/>
Joanie Muetter (midf)<br/>
Laura Joz (defense)<br/>
Jacki Guzman (def)<br/>
Misty Breckinridge (def)<br/>
Kathleen Sanford (goalie)<br/>
<br/>
<u>Boys' Soccer (Varsity)</u><br/>
Marc Garner (midfielder)(captain)<br/>
Marcos Rivera (forward)<br/>
Oscar Cantu (fwd)<br/>
Austin Dougherty (fwd)<br/>
Jeremiah James (midf)<br/>
Tyler Rawls (midf)<br/>
Cole Parker (midf)<br/>
Gary Chen (defender)<br/>
George Mendoza (def)<br/>
Michael Rodrigues (def)<br/>
Lester Pozniak (goalie)<br/>
Chris Love (backup)<br/>
Nathan Ford (backup)<br/>
Brophy Maddox (backup)<br/>
<br/>
<u>Girl's Soccer (Varsity)</u><br/>
Anita Nuevo (midfielder) (captain)<br/>
Hannah Westrick (fwd)<br/>
Gabriela Costa (fwd)<br/>
Dominique Hughes (fwd)<br/>
Josie Holden (midf)<br/>
Dani Sumner (midf)<br/>
Kelly Rinaldi (midf)<br/>
Katrina Schwarz (defender)<br/>
Phoebe Beauchamp (def)<br/>
Bonny Trask (def)<br/>
Tara Weston (goalie)<br/>
Mikaela Bowers (backup)<br/>
Barbara Powell (backup)<br/>
<br/>
<u>Swimming</u><br/>
Andrea Varnsworth (captain)<br/>
Nathan Cruz<br/>
Bethany Lewis<br/>
Olivia Byrne<br/>
Rachel Burton<br/>
Jamie Bornholm<br/>
Christine Coolidge<br/>
Mark Szymanski<br/>
Ethan Brown<br/>
Michael Wilson<br/>
Anthony Johnson *<br/>
Cameron Jones *<br/>
Dylan Sanchez *<br/>
Isaiah Lee *<br/>
Emma Wolf *<br/>
Kat Newman *<br/>
Matthew Adams **<br/>
Juan Drake ***<br/>
Lucas Bell ***<br/>
Abigail Phillips ***<br/>
Madison Crawford ***<br/>
Allison Day ***<br/>
Heaven Granberry ***<br/>
<br/>
<u>Track (--)</u><br/>
Catherine Muskov (captain)<br/>
Fred Hildown<br/>
Andy Tackett<br/>
Joe Thomason<br/>
Anthony Kirk<br/>
Luke Brock<br/>
<br/>
<u>Tennis(--)</u><br/>
Kelsey Blankenship<br/>
Brooke Galloway<br/>
Lynette Kolaya<br/>
<br/>
<u>Vollelyball</u><br/>
Ellie Kemp (captain)<br/>
Lacy Salter<br/>
Kayla Shea<br/>
Kerri Mullen<br/>
Reagan Hackett<br/>
Shelby Ho<br/>
Regina Yost<br/>
Whitney Rosenthal<br/>
Aria Giordano *<br/>
Jolene Rooney *<br/>
Ava Price **<br/>
Libby Wall ***<br/>
<br/>
<u>Wrestling</u><br/>
Laurent Delacroix (captain)<br/>
Alec Brown<br/>
Derek Balaban<br/>
Devin Haney<br/>
Eli Anders<br/>
Austin Mull<br/>
Dason Mitchell *<br/>
Sean Mitchell<br/>
Ethan Nieves<br/>
Chris Ratliff<br/>
Aaron Riggs **<br/>
Nolan Wheeler<br/>
Parker May ***<br/>
Levi Spencer<br/>
Lucas Castro<br/>
Scott Jennings</span></div></div>


path: 123
author_id: seuzz
title: Background: WHS Music and Extracurriculars
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A roster of the some of the musical groups. Most programs at Westside operate on a standard of "quality over quantity," so membership is limited. All students are seniors, except where * denotes a junior, ** denotes a sophomore, and *** denotes a freshman. (--) denotes a group with an roster that hasn't been fully described/invented.<br/>
<br/>
<u>Marching Band</u><br/>
Emma Witkin, piccolo<br/>
Annabelle Edwards*, piccolo<br/>
Rich Austin, piccolo<br/>
Philippa Hosford, flute<br/>
Anne Starkey, flute<br/>
Mackenzie Fuller*, flute<br/>
Brianna Kirschke, clarinet<br/>
Susan Kira (Susie) Lekuawehe, clarinet<br/>
Destiny Nelson, clarinet<br/>
Roy Booth, clarinet<br/>
Griffin Lewis, saxophone<br/>
Craig McCray*, saxophone<br/>
Ben Kleema*, saxophone<br/>
Michael Hurst, saxophone<br/>
Mark Kinley, trumpet<br/>
Randy Hodges, trumpet<br/>
Becca Daly*, trumpet<br/>
Jesse Hughes*, trumpet<br/>
Daniel McLeod, cornet<br/>
Hermione Gilbert, cornet<br/>
Ernie Wallen, trombone<br/>
Brian Foss*, trombone<br/>
Aaron Langley*, trombone<br/>
Ashley Scott*, trombone<br/>
Daniel Lujan, mellophone<br/>
Aaron Flood, mellophone<br/>
Sam Lekuawehe*, mellophone<br/>
Duane Clements, sousaphone<br/>
Domenic Johnson, sousaphone<br/>
Savanna Cross, snare drum<br/>
Jose Rodriguez, snare drum<br/>
Daniel Garza*, snare drum<br/>
Robert Vargas, tenor drum<br/>
Michael Alvarez*, tenor drum<br/>
Jamie Hernandez*, tenor drum<br/>
Luke Romero*, tenor drum<br/>
Luis Castillo, bass drum<br/>
Owen Hubble*, bass drum<br/>
Zachary Herman, bass drum<br/>
Miguel Fernandez, cymbals<br/>
Travis Grant, cymbals<br/>
Genesis Lee, xylophone<br/>
Nancy Williams*, xylophone<br/>
Melanie Saxon, glockenspiel<br/>
Sydney Jones*, glockenspiel<br/>
Parker Stott, Kristin Townes, Wendy Terrill, Jack Li: Color guard<br/>
<br/>
<u>Westside Jazz Band</u><br/>
Mark Kinley, trumpet<br/>
Sara Schmidt, trumpet*<br/>
Jesse Hughes, trumpet*<br/>
Michael Hurst, alto saxophone<br/>
Cecilia Fletcher, alto saxophone*<br/>
Griffin Lewis, tenor saxophone<br/>
Ben Kleema, tenor saxophone*<br/>
Craig McCray, baritone saxophone*<br/>
Ashley Scott, trombone*<br/>
Aaron Langley, trombone*<br/>
Anne Starkey, flute<br/>
Emma Witkin, flute<br/>
Roy Booth, clarinet<br/>
Philippa Hosford, clarinet<br/>
Luke Romero, keyboard*<br/>
Paris Morrow, bass guitar*<br/>
Owen Hubble, drums*<br/>
Jose Rodriguez, percussion<br/>
<br/>
<u>Orchestra</u><br/>
Nathan Cruz, violin I (first chair)<br/>
Brent Pruitt, vn I<br/>
Tyler Burns, vn I<br/>
David Scofeld, vn I<br/>
Kristin Yetter, vn I<br/>
Sarah Bhatnagar, vn I<br/>
Kennedy Palmer*, vn I<br/>
Naomi Batson*, vn I<br/>
Destiny Isom **, vn I<br/>
Aaron Polk*, vn I<br/>
Nathaniel Byrd*, vn I<br/>
Jacob Metcalf**, vn I<br/>
Jamie Bornholm, violin II (first chair)<br/>
Carl Dortbruch, vn II<br/>
Craig Wyatt*, vn II<br/>
Trenton Schatz*, vn II<br/>
David McKenzie**, vn II<br/>
Diana Dunigan**, vn II<br/>
Gavin Harper***, vn II<br/>
Tiffany Kinyon***, vn II<br/>
Mee-Kyong Lee***, vn II<br/>
Andrew Hudson***, vn II<br/>
Shawn Hardin*, va (first chair)<br/>
Eva Garner, viola <br/>
Yumi Saito, va<br/>
Gary Chen, va<br/>
Peyton Morrow*, va<br/>
Benjamin Grove**, va<br/>
Autumn Moberly**, va<br/>
Taylor Smith ***, va<br/>
Audrey Briscoe, violincello (first chair)<br/>
Abigail Kane,vc<br/>
Dylan Blain, vc<br/>
Patrick Currier, vc<br/>
Katelyn Feaster, vc<br/>
Olivia Bhatnagar**, vc<br/>
Brendan Shows**, vc<br/>
Helen Kim***, vc<br/>
Emily Sparks, double bass (first chair)<br/>
John Rider*, double bass<br/>
Ryan Barker**, double bass<br/>
Tommy Ueno*, double bass<br/>
Juan Delafuente ***, double bass<br/>
Logan Hunter,***, double bass<br/>
Alex Sheehan, flute<br/>
Mackenzie Fuller*, flute<br/>
Raymond Koepp, oboe<br/>
Laura Minor*, oboe<br/>
George Basham, clarinet<br/>
Susie Lekuawehe, clarinet<br/>
Danielle Davis, bassoon<br/>
Mary Boucher**, bassoon<br/>
Samantha Giles*, horn<br/>
Gabriel Cardona*, horn<br/>
Preston Spinks, piano/harpsichord<br/>
Luis Castillo, timpani<br/>
<br/>
<u>Chamber Orchestra</u><br/>
Nathan Cruz, violin I (first chair)<br/>
Tyler Burns, vn I<br/>
Kennedy Palmer*, vn I<br/>
Naomi Batson*, vn I<br/>
Aaron Polk*, vn I<br/>
Trenton Schatz*, vnII (first chair)<br/>
Craig Wyatt*, vn II<br/>
Jacob Metcalf**, vn II<br/>
Diana Dunnigan**, vn II<br/>
Shawn Hardin*, va (first chair)<br/>
Benjamin Grove**, va<br/>
Taylor Smith***, va<br/>
David Kirkham, violincello (first chair)<br/>
Dylan Blain, vc<br/>
Helen Kim***, vc<br/>
John Rider*, double bass<br/>
Preston Spinks, piano/harpsichord<br/>
<br/>
<u>Chorale</u><br/>
Delaney McGuire, S<br/>
Madison Fortney, S<br/>
Erin Hale*, S<br/>
Alexis Lachance*, S<br/>
Sabrina Rutledge*, S<br/>
Zoe Koch, S<br/>
Danielle Decker, S<br/>
Leah Simmons**, A<br/>
Alana Ocampo, A<br/>
Claudia England**, A<br/>
Gabriela Costa, A<br/>
Audrey Briscoe, A<br/>
Lisa Yarborough, A<br/>
Rachel Bell, A<br/>
Crispin Fontana, T<br/>
Brian Connors***, T<br/>
Parker May**, T<br/>
Jack Walther*, T<br/>
Douglas Canfield, T<br/>
Martin Gardinhire, T<br/>
Eric Murphy, T<br/>
Mitchell Belz, B<br/>
Chase Hoffmeister, B<br/>
Alexander Peloquin, B<br/>
Isaac Washburn**, B<br/>
Ethan Clayborne**, B<br/>
Matthew Genz**, B<br/>
Steven Buckner*, B<br/>
<br/>
<u>Concert Choir</u><br/>
Delaney McGuire, S<br/>
Jenny Ashton, S<br/>
Paris Morrow, S<br/>
Alexis Lachance*, S<br/>
Deanna Showalter, A<br/>
Julia Paez, A<br/>
Lynette Kolaya, A<br/>
Leah Simmons**, A<br/>
Bryce Dawson*, T<br/>
Mike Bailey, T<br/>
Parker May**, T<br/>
Daniel Parrish, T<br/>
Nicholas Gray, B<br/>
Alexander Peloquin, B<br/>
Devin Foster, B<br/>
<br/>
<u>Jazz Choir</u><br/>
Dominique Hughes, S<br/>
Almida Jones, S<br/>
Meredith Klein, S<br/>
Sabrina Rutledge*, S<br/>
Brianna Gould, A<br/>
Rebecca Sykes, A<br/>
Aria Giordano, A<br/>
Claudia England**, A<br/>
Crispin Fontana, T<br/>
Randal Moore, T<br/>
Shane Hilburn*, T<br/>
Jake Davis*, T<br/>
Mitchell Belz, B<br/>
Lee Reynolds, B<br/>
Landon Foley, B<br/>
Isaac Washburn**, B<br/>
<br/>
<u>Mixed Choir</u><br/>
Bethany Lewis, S<br/>
Madison Fortney, S<br/>
Julie Robinson**, S<br/>
Erin Hale*, S<br/>
Alana Ocampo, A<br/>
Emmy Keller, A<br/>
Carly Schmidt**, A<br/>
Jessica Rowe**, A<br/>
Michael Hale, T<br/>
Brian Connors***, T<br/>
Jack Walther*, T<br/>
Douglas Canfield*, T<br/>
Robert Johnson, B<br/>
Cody Hutchinson*, B<br/>
Steven Buckner*, B<br/>
Matthew Genz**, B</span></div></div>


