# chapters

path: 111134111133212111121211131
author_id: seuzz
title: Two Things Off Your Chest
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Eva is sitting near the library door, and she glances up to give you a faint smile as you enter. You hesitate, then barge over. "Hey Eva, is this your study hall?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Yes." Her expression is blank for a moment, then her brow furrows. "You on your way to class?"<br/>
<br/>
It sounds like a polite invitation to push off, but you ignore it. "You got a few minutes?" You yank out a chair without waiting for a reply. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about."<br/>
<br/>
Even though she tries to hide it, you can see her tense up. There's only one thing you can talk to her about, right? She's a cheerleader, you're a nobody, and the only thing you really have in common is—<br/>
<br/>
"Lisa's all done with me, right?" you blurt out. "I mean, we're broken up."<br/>
<br/>
"Ye-es." Eva breathes the word out. You're not trying to make it hard for her, but clearly she does not want to talk about your ex-girlfriend.<br/>
<br/>
And dammit, Lisa <i>was</i> your girlfriend, even if she casually dumped your ass one ugly morning a month back by informing you that you and her <i>hadn't actually been going out together!</i><br/>
<br/>
"Listen, I want your honest opinion," you tell Eva. "You know her. You know me." <i>Well, sort of.</i> If Eva knows you, it's mostly because you hung out with Lisa over the summer, and Eva was often around too. "Was there ever anything between us? I don't mean, did I ever have a chance with her. I mean, was there ever, <i>actually—?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Your chest tightens and your voice dies in your throat. It's been some time since you thought about Lisa—life has been busy recently—and you're surprised and dismayed to find that her dumping you still hurts.<br/>
<br/>
"Was there ever actually anything between us?" you ask. "Because <i>Lisa</i> said we were never actually going out to begin with."<br/>
<br/>
Eva squirms.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, Will," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"Be <i>honest.</i> Just <i>tell</i> me. I want to know so I can finally stop wondering what the hell that was with us."<br/>
<br/>
Eva looks at you gravely. Then, after a deep sigh, she says, "No. There wasn't."<br/>
<br/>
It's like a kick in the heart. <i>I was walking around with a bag over my head the whole time,</i> you think. <i>Everyone was laughing at me when I was with Lisa because I looked so stupid. But I had a bag over my head so I never noticed.</i><br/>
<br/>
"She <i>liked</i> you, Will," Eva says. "As a friend. But you kind of, um, read a little too much—"<br/>
<br/>
"Why didn't you tell me?" you demand. "Why didn't <i>someone</i> tell me?"<br/>
<br/>
Eva winces. "No one was sure what you really thought was going on! You weren't really, um—"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't mack on her hard enough, is what you mean." Even in your own ears, the words sound hard and cruel, and Eva's mouth falls open. But you barrel forward. "If I'd hit on her hard enough, you'd'a know what I was thinking and then you'd've told me I was—"<br/>
<br/>
The door opens behind you, and you turn in time to see two girls comes in. They are all smiles as they come up to your table, but their expressions falter a little when they see your face, and Eva's. They look like they want to join you, but they hold back. The moment hangs.<br/>
<br/>
"Can you give us a couple of minutes here?" Eva asks them. They look at her and they look at you and they look at each other, then they nod (a little uncertainly) and shuffle over to another table. They murmur quietly as they sit down, and once or twice they shoot veiled glances in your direction. You are suddenly, hideously, embarrassed.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, Will," Eva says, "I don't know what you want me to say, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"You told you what I wanted you to say," you gruffly retort, and grab for your backpack. "I asked you to be honest, and you were. It's my problem now, so don't worry about me." <i>As if you were going to.</i> <br/>
<br/>
You're on the point of storming out when you remember what it was you really came in here for, what your talk about Lisa was just a preface and a pretext for. You suck in your lips and give Eva a long look.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll do you a favor too, if you don't mind," you tell her. "Since you were honest with me, I'll be honest with you. Really. I'm not trying to be mean when I tell you this." A wary light comes into Eva's eye. "I heard you've been going out with Jeremy Richards. Going on dates with him and stuff. Is it true?"<br/>
<br/>
Her expression hardens. "I don't think it's really any of your business," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I guess not. But Richards was a friend of mine. <i>Used to be</i> a friend, back in middle school. Like, a really good friend. But then he had a growth spurt and shot up like a ladder, and he decided he wanted to play basketball and be a jock and a jerk, like the rest of those guys. I mean, you know what <i>those guys</i> are like, right?" And into the phrase <i>those guys</i> you pour all your contempt for the arrogant, swaggering, bullying basketball team. <br/>
<br/>
"So, that's who he wanted to be," you continue as Eva stares at you. "Who he <i>wants</i> to be. So he hangs out with Seth Javits and assholes like him. But trust me. He's just a loser, like me. Because he used to be <i>just like me.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
And all of a sudden, all the pain and resentment you didn't know you've been harboring for three fucking years tries to hammer its way out through your ribcage, like a chest-burster. The betrayal by Jeremy, the bullying by jock assholes, the girls who sniff and turn away from you, Lisa Yarborough and her casual rejection of everything that you thought you had with her— It all comes swirling up in a great maelstrom.<br/>
<br/>
"So don't waste your time on him," you tell Eva. "You deserve a lot better than him. Fuck. You deserve the <i>best.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Almost too late, you turn away before you can burst into tears, and hurry from the library. <i>Jesus,</i> you wonder as you fly through the halls. <i>Why did I tell her that she deserves 'the best'?</i><br/>
<br/>
Because of course she does. Eva is a sweet girl, the sweetest and kindest of the Garner siblings, from what you've seen of them up close and from inside. <br/>
<br/>
But it still astonishes you that you'd blurt out something like that.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It turns out you're still not used to being friends with Laurent, because you don't even glance in his direction as you shuffle into English, and not until he's come over and punched you in the shoulder do you realize he was calling to you. "Where were you last period?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I was texting you. Isn't that your study hall?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. I have— Well, I was skipping," you stammer. "But I was in the library, talking to Eva. Garner."<br/>
<br/>
Laurent stares. Then a wicked grin splits his face. "Dawg!" He punches you in the shoulder again. "Well, you comin' over to Ratfucker's after school again?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm grounded," you remind him.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, right. That sucks. But you don't have to go home right after school, do you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, yeah, I kind of have to."<br/>
<br/>
"But if you got stuck at school for a little while— Like, you had to stay late because you were helping a guy out with something?" His grin turns expectant.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I guess that wouldn't be— But I <i>really</i> can't be too late getting home. My dad—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well come find me at my truck." He mauls the side of your head with a meaty paw, and saunters back to his desk.<br/>
<br/>
You do a double-take at Caleb, who is staring at you with open-mouthed astonishment from the desk next to yours. "Since when do you hang out with wrestlers?" he demands.<br/>
<br/>
You flush. "Since when is it any of <i>your</i> business? Yeah, me and Laurent've been— That's how come I got grounded, you know. 'Cos we—"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't know you got grounded!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well I did! Remember how I got you to cover for me last Saturday? It was 'cos I was hanging out with Laurent and Brownie and them. We went to the Warehouse," you lie.<br/>
<br/>
Caleb sneers at you. "You didn't go to the Warehouse, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"How do you know? Was you out there and didn't see me? I didn't see <i>you</i> there!"<br/>
<br/>
"You would'a <i>told</i> me or Tilley if you went out there."<br/>
<br/>
You puff out your chest and resettle your t-shirt. "Well, I'm telling you now. And I don't gotta tell <i>you guys</i> everything that me and Laurent and them get up to, same as I don't gotta tell them about what you and me get up to!"<br/>
<br/>
Caleb turns away with a sour expression. Then he gives you a sidelong look. "So you gonna go eat lunch with 'em?"<br/>
<br/>
That's the last straw. You take out your phone—which was turned off, you find—and text Laurent. A minute later he shouts your name, and nods at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Have fun eating your spleen out with Tilley," you jeer at Caleb.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You leave the classroom with Laurent when the period is over, and he claps his hand on your shoulder and steers you outside.<br/>
<br/>
"We'll talk out at the portables," he says. "Save us the trouble of talking after school."<br/>
<br/>
"What about?"<br/>
<br/>
"Come hang out with us this afternoon. Let the Ratfucker cover for you at home."<br/>
<br/>
You're flattered until Laurent adds, "We wanna work on the next spell in the book, and we want you out there to make sure we don't fuck it up."<br/>
<br/>
Then, when you only stare at him, he says, "Or let us use your gear. You know, your face and shit. That'd be the next best thing to having you along in person."</span></div></div>


path: 1111341111332121111212111312
author_id: seuzz
title: Memories From Another Me
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I don't understand," you tell Laurent. "What—?"<br/>
<br/>
"The gear you loaned Garner last night," he says, pronouncing each word slowly and distinctly. "Loan it to us, along with your book. That way it's like you're along with us when we—"<br/>
<br/>
"I get that!" you exclaim. <br/>
<br/>
Then you look around, and lower your voice. It's lunchtime, and you're out at the creaky old portables that are rotting away behind the school. Lots of people like to hang out here, and the last thing you need is someone overhearing you talking about magic. <br/>
<br/>
"What I'm asking," you continue in a lower tone, "is what you're planning on doing? You say you want to do the next spell?"<br/>
<br/>
"Right. We picked up the stuff for it, me and the rest of the guys," Laurent says. "We, uh, bought it out of the money we owe you for the shit you made for us. So we're all ready to do it, and we want you along for when we do it. Oh, and we need the book back from you."<br/>
<br/>
Your rub your temples. It's like it isn't even your book or project any more.<br/>
<br/>
"What's the spell do?" you ask with a sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. Don't you? We just copied down the ingredients, and—"<br/>
<br/>
"And I'm grounded."<br/>
<br/>
Laurent bites his lip, and it looks like he's trying to corral his temper.<br/>
<br/>
"I know that," he says with exaggerated patience. "That's why we're offering to cover for you, if you—"<br/>
<br/>
"If you cover for me," you interrupt, "does that come out of what you owe me? The two times you're going to cover for me for making that gear of Jessica's, would this count as one of the two times you'd cover for me?"<br/>
<br/>
Laurent sucks long and hard on a tooth, and his dark eyes bore into you.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," he says at last. "It comes out of what I owe you."<br/>
<br/>
He's daring you to argue. Fucker is probably a hard-core poker player, and he's reading all your tells as your willpower crumples.<br/>
<br/>
"Then I'm not going out with you," you tell him. "I want you to cover for me for when I'm going out and having fun, not for doing work." Laurent makes a face. "I'll let you have my gear, if you think that'll be enough," you add.<br/>
<br/>
Laurent smiles, but it's a tight smile, and he looks disappointed.<br/>
<br/>
"That's great," he says. "That'll work." He claps you on the shoulder. "Pick it up now?"<br/>
<br/>
"After school," you tell him. "That way I can be a <i>little bit</i> late getting home."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You hand him over the book and your other magical gear when school lets out, and you give him a bit of a bonus, having snuck out during seventh period to recharge the metal strip with your most recent memories—that way whoever puts it on will at least know that you're kind of pissed off at them. Then you drive home. Your mother says nothing about your being ten minutes later than usual.<br/>
<br/>
The evening passes like any other, which is kind of depressing, since you'd hope to feel your grounding a bit harsher. Basically, it just reminds you that you don't go out and do all that much, so that the difference between being grounded and not being grounded is hard to spot. About the only difference is that your dad confiscates your cell phone and kills the wifi, so that you're not able to text anyone or get online.<br/>
<br/>
Speaking of your phone ...<br/>
<br/>
Laurent is waiting for you the next morning in the parking lot, and he calls you over. "Do you ever turn your phone on?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes and take your cell out. "My dad makes me turn it off at home because I'm grounded, and I keep forgetting to turn it back on."<br/>
<br/>
He grunts, and looks a little abashed. "Because, um, I really wanted to talk to you last night."<br/>
<br/>
Your heart freezes in place. "What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, everything went off okay," he hurriedly explains. "I guess. Um, I brought your gear back. But your book—"<br/>
<br/>
"What? Happened?" you repeat through gritted teeth.<br/>
<br/>
"You didn't look at the spell yourself, did you?" he asks. "Well, it calls for a whole bunch of dirt. Uh, which Brownie and Ratfucker picked up the other night, when you were staying with me." His eyes dart furtively. "And we took all the shit up in the hills behind the Suffolk Wilderness, 'cos it wasn't the kind of thing we could do at any of our places." Now you really do begin to feel alarmed. "But, you know, the book always has you use those wheel-things to do the spells in, so we had to—"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">~ ~ ~ ~ ~</div><br/>
"Fuck," Brownie sneers. "No way we can get all this shit into that itty-bitty circle!"<br/>
<br/>
"You wanna argue?" you retort. "You wanna fucking argue with me?"<br/>
<br/>
Brownie jumps forward to catch you by the neck.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you wanna try arguing?" he chortles as you writhe and twist in his one-handed grip. "You really wanna try arguing, you scrawny little—?" He shoves you away with a merry laugh. "But come on, seriously, how are we supposed to do this?" he asks. <br/>
<br/>
(<i>But I wasn't there to answer,</i> you remind yourself as you sink deeper into the memory. <i>Even though I remember being there, and remember answering him, and I remember everything that we did out there in the Suffolk Wilderness.</i> It's all so clear that even now—as you zone out in your seventh-period study hall with the memories that you discovered inside the memory strip when you put it to your forehead in the restroom—you can almost smell the zesty scent of earth, grass, and underbrush that hung about the crest of the hills, looking east toward Lake Covington under the vast, mirroring blue bowl of the sky. <i>Except it wasn't me who was there with Brownie and Laurent. It was Chris Ratliff, he's the one who—</i>)<br/>
<br/>
You throw the book onto the ground and flip to the last open page, the one with the spell you're trying to execute. "Just pile it on," you tell the guys. "I don't think it <i>all</i> has to be there."<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because, you dumb fuck! Like you say, it can't all fit inside!"<br/>
<br/>
Brownie and Laurent exchange mirthful looks, and bust out laughing. "Oh, fuck you guys!" you shout as you feel your face burning.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh come on, man, don't take it personal." Laurent grabs you and puts you in a headlock. "And it's your own fault for trying to cut rocks with scissors."<br/>
<br/>
"Psht! I should just take this thing off, if you're not gonna listen to me." You grab at your face.<br/>
<br/>
"Now hold on!" Laurent grabs you by the wrist. "Think long and slow and careful there, man. What would Will say about how to do this?"<br/>
<br/>
You glare down at the pile of earth. It's rich and loamy, with flecks of grass.<br/>
<br/>
"Pile it on the book," you tell them. "It's the only way to do it."<br/>
<br/>
"And set it on fire?" Brownie asks.<br/>
<br/>
"And set it on fire."<br/>
<br/>
"Hold it." Laurent catches you by the neck again, and you cry out as he rips a hank of hair from your scalp. "This is the other thing we need you in the mask for." He shows you the hair, then bends over to push it into the dirt. "There."<br/>
<br/>
"Couldn't we have used yours?" Brownie asks.<br/>
<br/>
Laurent shrugs. "It's Will's book. Seems safest to use his hair. So come on. Grab a shovel."<br/>
<br/>
Over the next ten minutes, you and Brownie and Laurent (but mostly Brownie and Laurent) shovel dirt atop the book, then soak it in lots of flammable powders and liquids. They stick a fuse in it, and the three of you skedaddle behind a large boulder just off the trail. Laurent lights the fuse, and you all duck as the sputtering spark reaches the pile. When nothing happens, you cautiously look out to find the earthen heap swathed in ghostly blue flames. When you examine them, you find they give off no heat. "Must be magic," Laurent grunts. "Come on."<br/>
<br/>
"Hold it," you say, and flop onto the ground. "I wanna change before we head down."<br/>
<br/>
"Scared someone'll see you looking like that?" Brownie asks with a grin.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I just don't wanna get winded is all," you retort. You start pulling off the clothes that Laurent handed you when you woke inside this unfamiliar body, and when you're stripped to nothing you lay a hand across your forehead, squeeze your temples, and pull.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
And that's how the book came to be buried under a pile of burning earth. You've no idea how long the fire will last. But Laurent and Brownie jog along that trail every morning before school, and they will check on it tomorrow.<br/>
<br/>
So at least it seems like the spell is going to work out. And best of all, you didn't have to hike up to the top of some steep hills in order to help. Just the false memory of it leaves you feeling wiped out!<br/>
<br/>
So why are you feeling moody and disquieted?<br/>
<br/>
It's because Laurent didn't warn you about the <i>other</i> memories that were waiting for you when put that memory strip to your forehead to see if you could get the false memories out of it. But then, maybe he didn't know that a copy of Will Prescott popped back into existence later that evening. He was parked at Potsdam Park, and after changing into running shorts and a t-shirt that were a better fit for his frame, he left his car behind and jogged a couple of blocks down to where the Garners live ...</span></div></div>


path: 11113411113321211112121113121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Anonymous Benefactor
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It is still dusk, but the porch light over the Garners' front door is already on. You lean against the door frame and nurse the stitch in your side. It wasn't a long jog from where you left the car in Potsdam Park, but it took the wind out of you.<br/>
<br/>
It's Marc who answers the door, and his eyes pop when he sees you. "Hey man," he says. "I thought you were grounded!"<br/>
<br/>
"I got someone to cover for me. I came out for a jog by the river. Fuck me, but I'm outta shape. Hanging out with you guys is, like, embarrassing."<br/>
<br/>
Marc laughs, but it doesn't sound mean.<br/>
<br/>
"Is Eva around?" you ask. "I stopped by to talk to her. If that's okay with you."<br/>
<br/>
"Fine with me. <i>Eva!</i>" he screams back into house. "<i>Hey! Eva!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Go find your sister like a civilized person!" a woman shouts back. Marc grins, winks at you, and takes his phone out with a flourish. He punches in some numbers. When Eva's voice sounds out of the phone, he yells, "Hey Eva, Guy here to see ya on the front porch!"<br/>
<br/>
Not two seconds later, a red-faced Eva stomps into the foyer. She swings at Marc, but he jumps past you and gallops off around the corner of the house, laughing.<br/>
<br/>
Eva catches herself when she sees you. Her tone, though subdued, is friendly. "Hi Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey. I just wanted to come by and, like, apologize for the way I kind of blew up this morning, in the library. About Jeremy." Eva's eyes narrow. "It wasn't any of my business, and I'm sorry I came on real strong like that."<br/>
<br/>
"It's alright," she says, gruffly.<br/>
<br/>
"No it isn't. I was a jerk. I'm sorry."<br/>
<br/>
"Alright," she says again.<br/>
<br/>
For a long moment no one speaks. Then you say, "You really like him, don't you?"<br/>
<br/>
She rolls her eyes. "I though you said it wasn't any of your business."<br/>
<br/>
"It isn't. He just want to tell you that a nice guy back when I when we were friends. Fun, silly, great to hang out with." You pause. "I miss him."<br/>
<br/>
A look of embarrassment crawls over Eva's face. "Well, there's no reason you can't be friends with him still, is there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, except tjat he's friends with Seth Javits. You know Javits." Javits is a strutting, boastful cock who thinks nothing of pantsing people in the middle of the hallways, and does worse things when he gets his victims alone. "And my friend Keith is one of Javits's chew toys. So So how'm I supposed to be friends with Jeremy when he's best friends with the guy that once sent Keith to class wearing his own underwear on his head, like a hat?"<br/>
<br/>
Eva flinches. "Seth did <i>that</i> to Keith?"<br/>
<br/>
"End of school last year. But Seth's <i>always</i> doing things like that."<br/>
<br/>
"But <i>Jeremy</i> doesn't do stuff like that, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't say he did. But I sometimes think Jeremy is friends with Seth because he <i>wants</i> to be the kind of guy who could do stuff like that."<br/>
<br/>
Eva looks sour. "I don't think so."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm sure he's not that way with you. With you he's probably great, same as he used to be great with me and Keith. And I just— Okay, I'm ranting again," you interrupt yourself. "I'm sorry. I came by here to apologize for ragging on Richards, and now I'm doing it again."<br/>
<br/>
"It's okay, Will," Eva says, but she sounds like she doesn't really mean it.<br/>
<br/>
"But I do have a hard time thinking of Jeremy without thinking of Seth. Or Ryan Shuler or Dylan Lloyd, or any of those guys like that. You wouldn't date one of them, would you? I mean, <i>would you?</i>" Eva reacts with a pinched look. "I don't picture you going out with guys like that. You're really sweet, really nice. What would you want to hang out with jagoffs like them for? I bet why you like Jeremy is because he's still the nice guy I knew when he was hanging out with me. Right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe," Eva says. She is starting to look distracted. "He's kind of puppyish."<br/>
<br/>
"'Cept he doesn't wanna be a puppy, he wants to be a junkyard dog like his bros. I think. Look, all I'm saying is, if you wanna date someone like Jeremy, you wanna be sure you're not dating someone who's trying to turn himself into the opposite. That's all I'm saying."<br/>
<br/>
Eva draws in a deep breath, and exhales. "Well, it's sweet of you to be concerned about me, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"But I should leave to you to figure out who and what you want. I get that too."<br/>
<br/>
Eva returns you a wry smile. "It seems like I've had a lot of people trying to give me dating advice recently."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's only 'cos there's a lot of people who want to look out for you. Remember that, okay? And don't yell at them just 'cos they're looking out for you."<br/>
<br/>
She smiles again, and thanks you again. You wish her a good night, and jog backward off the porch, watching her until she's gone inside and shut the door. Then you hobble away, impaled as you are on your own erection. You return to Potsdam Park, where you change clothes and pull something off your face ...<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Jesus! What was Chris Ratliff thinking last night when he paid Eva that visit?<br/>
<br/>
Not that you're mad at him for doing it. It's not like he fucked anything up for you. If anything, he probably made things better between you and Eva.<br/>
<br/>
But what you can't figure out is <i>why.</i> Why would he do something like that for you? Sure, you had some fun yesterday as you danced and pranced with him at his place in a couple of masks. But it's not like Ratliff has shown you even a quarter of the attention or regard that Laurent has shown you. So why would he do you a major solid like he did last night?<br/>
<br/>
<i>Wait.</i> You frown. Was it Chris who put on your mask and went out to see Eva? It does seem more like something Laurent would do. Maybe it was Laurent in your gear—<br/>
<br/>
No, now that you "remember" emerging in Potsdam Park, it wasn't from Laurent's truck. It was a car. But you can't remember it clearly, because your doppelganger didn't pay any attention to it.<br/>
<br/>
You blink. And now that you think about it, you can't remember anything of what your doppelganger was thinking or feeling. You vividly remember <i>doing and saying</i> certain things. But there's not a trace of emotion—of embarrassment, anxiety, hope, relief, or any of the other emotions that you or he would surely have felt—to go with the actions you remember. It was like watching a movie, only from inside one of the characters instead of from the outside.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
As is becoming his habit, Laurent intercepts you in the parking lot after school. "It's Friday, man," he says. "Halfway through your grounding." His smile broadens into a leer. "You thinkin' about goin' out tonight? Getting someone to cover for you at home?"<br/>
<br/>
You give him a long and thoughtful look before answering. But though the shadow of a furrow appears in his brow, he doesn't flinch from your scrutiny.<br/>
<br/>
"What's the plan for tonight?" you ask. "What are people doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's up in the air."<br/>
<br/>
"Because they'd have to cover for me starting now. I gotta get home."<br/>
<br/>
"What if we could get you out of your house tonight, long enough for the switch?"<br/>
<br/>
"You couldn't do that. My dad—"<br/>
<br/>
"Can't you go in your own back yard?"<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "Well, sure. But—"<br/>
<br/>
"If you can go in your own back yard," he says, "we can get you out. There's an freaking alleyway right next to your place. You can get your skinny ass over a six-foot fence, can't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah! But how do you—? Have you been <i>spying</i> on my—?"<br/>
<br/>
He claps you on the shoulder, so hard he knocks you into the side of your truck.<br/>
<br/>
"We don't spy on nobody," he says with a grin. "We <i>map the ground.</i> Fuck, man, we got your house and yard mapped out to the inch. An' Brownie's got camo gear and night-vision goggles. We could get you, half the cheerleader squad, <i>and</i> a couple of alpacas in and out of your house after midnight if we wanted. And if, you know—" He slaps you in the stomach, hard enough to make to you gasp. "If alpacas are your <i>thang,</i> man." He guffaws.<br/>
<br/>
Well, that puts a different complexion on things. You tell him you'll have to think about it, and would want to know the plan before you decide. Then, when he says he'll text you, you remind him that your cell and internet will be turned off.<br/>
<br/>
"Can't you get to anything online?" he asks. You tell him you can maybe sneak onto your dad's computer. "Then here's what to look for," he tells you. From his pack he takes a notebook and mechanical pencil, and on a torn sheet of paper, in neat, tiny block letters, he gives you a code. <br/>
<br/>
"That's Ximena's x2z feed," he tells you. "You know. Our version of Maria. She's already got two hundred subscribers. We'll announce tonight's plans through there. We'll be at your place by nine, in the alley to make the switch, if you're going. Now let's have your gear."<br/>
<br/>
"My gear?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." He pulls your pack from you, and rummages through it without waiting for permission. "That's how we'll get you in and out inside twenty seconds. One of us'll be in your gear, ready to go over the wall to take your place when you come out."<br/>
<br/>
You slap your forehead. It's so easy when he describes it!<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>8:47.</i> According to Ximena's feed, she and some friends will be at a midnight showing of <i>Cravemoor,</i> a just-released horror movie.</span></div></div>


path: 111134111133212111121211131211
author_id: seuzz
title: The Saturday Shopping Market
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A movie? That's all they're going to do? You probably wouldn't go out to see a movie even if you weren't grounded. So you're not going to waste one of the chits that Laurent owes you on something you wouldn't be doing anyway.<br/>
<br/>
You close the browser window and wipe clean the history before sneaking off your dad's study. You don't bother to make a visit to the back fence; if you're not waiting there, you figure, the guys will know that you're not interested.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
At least your dad lets you have your phone back the next morning—Saturday—and he turns the wifi back on. There's a handful of texts from Laurent when you check in. They're kind of cryptic, so you call him to find out what's up.<br/>
<br/>
"It's kind of a disaster out at the campsite," he sighs. "The rain came in during the night and put out the fire. Me and Brownie had to relight it when we went to check on it this morning, which wasn't fun because the dirt was <i>soaked,</i> and we had to come back into to get a tent to put up over it, and then go back <i>out</i> to put it up."<br/>
<br/>
You glance out the window at the cold rain that's falling. It's just as well. Your dad told you that if it wasn't raining, you'd be working outside with him getting the yard prepped for autumn.<br/>
<br/>
"So how was the movie?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that at least worked out," he says, and his tone brightens. "We got a <i>fuckload</i> more masks out there. You know. Dark theater. Girls to sneak up on." His tone turns gleeful. "We almost started a riot at one point!" He laughs.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Whoa!</i> "You copied a bunch of girls? Who'd you get?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why don't you come out and see?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm grounded."<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, that's no problem. We still got your gear. Give us a time to meet you, and we can be out at the fence to do a switch. Then you can stay out till, well, whatever time you wanna go back."<br/>
<br/>
You swing around to check the weather page on your computer. Tomorrow is supposed to be mostly cloudy but there's no rain in the forecast. In other words, it's likely your dad is only putting off until tomorrow what he has threatened you with today. So you accept Laurent's offer, with the private determination to spend not just the day but the night out.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Two o'clock.</i> "Do you think <i>you're</i> going someplace?" your dad asks when you enter the living room in jogging shorts, t-shirt, and a rain poncho.<br/>
<br/>
"I was just gonna take a fast jog around the block," you tell him. "Come <i>on!</i>" you plead as he lifts an eyebrow. "I'm going stir-crazy! Look at me! I'm so desperate I wanna go jogging in the rain!"<br/>
<br/>
Your brother giggles from the sofa, where he's playing a game on his cell phone. "You're grounded, Will," he reminds you.<br/>
<br/>
"Robert," your dad chides him without taking his eyes off you. "Around the block and then you're back," he tells you.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll be ten minutes, tops!" you promise, and dart for the front door before he can change his mind.<br/>
<br/>
The rain patters on your poncho and cap as you sprint across the soggy lawn. The street is pocked with puddles, and water sluices into the storm drains. Your shoes are soon soaked, and they squish loudly as you jog along. The memory of the stitch your double got the other night, when he went to visit Eva, comes back to you, like a phantom pain.<br/>
<br/>
Halfway up the block, you turn at the sound of a motor, but it's only a luxury sedan coming up behind, and it passes you without stopping. You slow up and check the time on your phone. The guys are late, you find. You pause at a Stop sign to catch your breath and to do a little stretching, which you'd neglected to do when you set out.<br/>
<br/>
You're still at it when the big black truck approaches from the direction of your house. It slows up and you grab the handle before it can stop. You jump inside, and almost shout with fright at the kid who helps haul you in.<br/>
<br/>
It's you. The same face you see every morning as you brush your teeth and brush your hair and try flattering yourself into believing that there's acres—just <i>acres</i>—of soft, warm, sexy, nubile high school girls aching to kiss and nuzzle and suckle you. He's got the same narrow, rabbity eyes. The same wide smile that somehow gets tangled up on some very large teeth. The same corn-colored hair that sticks out in weird tufts over your brow and ears and top of your neck. The same coarse hairs that you haven't shaved off your chin and upper lip and cheekbones in a couple of weeks.<br/>
<br/>
And he's scrawny, like you are too, with arms and legs that seem to be all jutting elbows and knees, like a marionette. He's in a loose t-shirt and floppy shorts (like you are), which only makes him looks even bonier.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey man," he says, and his voice is a light, thin tenor. "So Dad let you out, huh? I was starting to worry."<br/>
<br/>
"You guys were late," you retort. The hair is going up all over your body, but you can't tear your eyes away from your double.<br/>
<br/>
"We been circling the block for ten minutes. Come on, finish switching with me. Gimme your shoes." Your double is barefooted, you now notice, and his feet are like rowboats.<br/>
<br/>
You kick off your sopping sneakers and pull off your poncho and hat. The two of you fight for position as you change clothes and places so he can get at the door. Finally, with an exasperated <i>Oof!</i> he pops open the door and falls out of the slow-moving vehicle. You turn around to watch through the back window as he goes sprinting back the way you came, his arms and legs pumping hard. <i>God, I look like a goofball when I run,</i> you sigh to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
"So that was weird," the driver says. Only now do you notice that it's Brownie at the wheel. "There's flip-flops in the floorboard for you," he adds. When you shiver, he punches up the heat.<br/>
<br/>
"So who was that?" you ask back there.<br/>
<br/>
"Will Prescott. You know him." He laughs when you cuss at him. "Laurent," he corrects himself. "You had a deal with him, right?"<br/>
<br/>
You turn around to look out the back again, but the figure has disappeared around a corner. How weird to think that your lookalike was actually the muscular wrestler.<br/>
<br/>
"So what are we doing?" you ask as you turn around to buckle yourself in.<br/>
<br/>
Brownie laughs again.<br/>
<br/>
"Laurent told you we scored a <i>fuckload</i> of masks and shit last night, right?" he brags. "We're all meeting at the park to parcel 'em out, then we're gonna go out an' have fun with 'em."<br/>
<br/>
"What if someone catches us?"<br/>
<br/>
"We're thinkin' about driving out to Lattyville. Or down to Suffolk. Not much chance of runnin' into someone there." Those are two of the smaller towns—hardly more than villages—a dozen or so miles out of town. Brownie grins and leans over to add with a conspiratorial whisper, "We're going shopping for outfits!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The rendezvous point is Potsdam Park. Marc, Chris, Noah, and Ethan are already there—Laurent is covering for you, and Marcos is off doing something else—and a bazaar of masks and disguises is soon spread out on the floor of the decorative gazebo where you're sheltering from the rain.<br/>
<br/>
There's a buzz of conversation and a lot of hoarse laughter as masks are passed around, examined, and traded. It's hard to make out which masks are copies of which people, for you have to hold them up and turn them this way and that in order to find the ghost-like faces that they contain, and not all of the masks contain faces that you recognize. But you recognize Mia DeWitt from your Film class, and are startled to find that Jessica's mask is in the mix as well. When you point this out to Marc, he grins, and takes it from you to set aside.<br/>
<br/>
There's more toys, too. Laurent made up a bunch more of those memory strips, and he and the guys got a bunch of them onto the people they copied in the movie theater last night. This causes an argument to break out: "We should glue these things into the masks," Ethan says. "That way we know which ones go with which ones." "Shit, no fun in that," Brownie growls. "I wanna mix 'n match. Like, we could put Garner's brain inside his sister's body." That earns him a punch from Marc.<br/>
<br/>
Ultimately, it's decided to leave the masks and metal strips separate—though how they were supposed to be "glued together" you don't understand, and are too embarrassed to ask—and the various wares, once identified, are spread out, and masks are matched up with the equivalent metal bands. Then there's a long, shouty argument about who will get to pick first, followed by an equally long and equally shouty round of rock-paper-scissors. <br/>
<br/>
You are the second-to-last to get a pick, but there's plenty of identities left for you to choose from when it's your turn. Even after Noah, who is supposed to pick last, mutters, "Don't pick Maria" in your ear, you've got a good set of choices.<br/>
<br/>
You ignore Braydon Delp, the only guy who got copied last night, because who wants to impersonate a weedy, teenaged, would-be black magician? (He only got copied, you're told, because he was at the theater with his girlfriend, whose mask has already been claimed by Chris Ratliff.) Of the remaining identities, two of them—Mackenzie Fuller and Emily Sparks—are masks only. The other two are a complete disguise, but you don't really know the girls.<br/>
<br/>
But maybe you could talk Marc into letting you wear Jessica's mask again.</span></div></div>


path: 1111341111332121111212111312115
author_id: seuzz
title: A Rain Delay
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Go ahead and take Maria's mask," you tell Noah after he's begun to roll his eyes impatiently. He lunges for it, but neither he nor anyone else has made any move toward putting the masks on.<br/>
<br/>
"So what are we doing for clothes?" you ask when it dawns on you that that's the reason no one is changing.<br/>
<br/>
"Going shopping for some," Brownie says. "I told you."<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, what are we wearing when we go shopping for clothes?"<br/>
<br/>
Half the guys turn to stare at Marc, who breaks out in a weak, embarrassed grin. Chris says, "Garner was s'posed to bring us some of his sister's things to wear."<br/>
<br/>
"They were still home when I got the call to come out!" Marc exclaims. "I couldn't get into their room to—"<br/>
<br/>
"So when the fuck are we supposed to get them?" Noah demands.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm waiting to get an all-clear from Cindy."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus!" Brownie explodes. "She's even blonder than you are, dumb ass! Why don't you get ahold her and ask if she's been by your place yet? They're probably long gone and she forgot to text."<br/>
<br/>
Marc breaks out his cell and taps into it. Brownie nudges you to pick a mask, but you delay to watch Marc, who is vibrating in place as he waits for an answer.<br/>
<br/>
But it's another thirty minutes—during which everyone gets antsy and annoyed—before he's able to announce, "Okay, she says they just left. So I'll run home and— You guys know it's not gonna be anything fancy, right?" he says. "Just t-shirts and shorts, probably."<br/>
<br/>
Everyone groans at him, and he turns to run off. But he pauses long enough to pick up the mask of Jessica that he accidentally brought along.<br/>
<br/>
And that's what moves you to follow him. "I'm going to go with Marc," you shout at the others, and spring away after him. Someone shouts after you, but you ignore it and concentrate on catching up to Marc. The rain starts coming down harder, which makes the run even more miserable.<br/>
<br/>
It's a hard run, for Marc's a soccer player and is in great shape, while you're neither. Even after he slows to let you catch up, you're soon gasping for breath as you run alongside him.<br/>
<br/>
"So," you pant, "you're gonna sneak—into your sisters'—bedroom—to get some clothes?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's the plan."<br/>
<br/>
"Wouldn't it be better—if you got, like—Jessica herself—to go do it?" This is your way of circling into your request, rather than blatantly stating it.<br/>
<br/>
"No! 'Cos Jessica's not there, and she wouldn't be giving me any of her or Eva's clothes anyway!"<br/>
<br/>
"What I mean is—maybe I could go in—using Jessica's gear—to get the clothes?" That phantom stitch is starting to come back, and it's real this time.<br/>
<br/>
Marc skids to a hard stop, and turns an astonished expression on you. "What'd you say?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
The sound of rain pattering on the sidewalk fills the sudden silence.<br/>
<br/>
"It was just an idea!" you stammer. "To get inside their bedrooms. To get some better clothes, you know, for the guys."<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't going to do <i>that!</i>" Marc exclaims. "I was just gonna raid the laundry hamper, pull out some dirty workout clothes."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Well in that case—"<br/>
<br/>
But Marc, hands on his hips, is frowning hard at you. "Is that who you want to go out into town as? My sister?"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, never mind, I was just—"<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus! Fuck! I know I asked you to help me out that one time. But I wasn't along with you, You have any idea how <i>fucking weird</i> it would be for me—"<br/>
<br/>
"I take it back!"<br/>
<br/>
"—to go out crossdressing, or whatever it is we're doing, with you—"<br/>
<br/>
"I said I take it back! I was just thinking, like—"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know <i>what</i> you were thinking." Marc gives you a final glare, then turns to trot off toward his house again. You watch him go, then turn and walk slowly back the way you came.<br/>
<br/>
But Brownie finds you before you're back at the park. You're soaked to the skin when you look up to see his truck prowling toward you, and he pulls over to let you in.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, man, you look like a drowned ferret," he tells you. "Garner wants to talk to you." He tosses his cell at you. It seems to weigh as much as a brick as you lift it to your ear.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, it turns out I do need your help," Marc says in a clipped voice when you get on the line. "Brownie's gonna drop you off half a block from my place. Run here, and come in through the garage. Door'll be up." He hangs up.<br/>
<br/>
"What's going on?" you ask Brownie.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck if I know. What did he say?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. 'Cept that you should drop me off half a block from his place."<br/>
<br/>
Brownie drops you off as instructed, and you jog the rest of the way. Marc is inside the garage with the door up, and he lowers it after you're inside. He's frowning as he yanks open the sliding door of the family minivan, and pushes you into it. But he doesn't climb in after.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, here's the deal," he says as he thrusts a pile of stinking clothes at you, along with a mask and metal band. Your eyes widen as you take them. "This is all I was able to get out of the laundry room. The rest of it, I dunno, I don't wear girls' clothes and I don't know what works with what. So I need <i>you</i> to get into the girls' bedroom and get clothes enough for all of us. Just simple stuff. Shirts and shorts. Skip the bras and panties, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why can't you go in and get them?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because," Marc says, and his frown is deep and fierce, "Eva is up there. She was <i>supposed</i> to go off with Jessica, with Cindy and the rest of them, but I got here and found she'd stayed behind. God damn it. She's not going anyplace either, so if we're gonna do our thing someone needs to get into their closet and dresser. And since <i>Jessica's</i> the only one who can."<br/>
<br/>
Your eyes pop. "And you're okay with, um—?"<br/>
<br/>
His eyes blaze.<br/>
<br/>
"No fucking way <i>I'm</i> putting that thing on," he snarls, "and no fucking way I'm letting any of those cocksuckers back at the park put it on either. Which means <i>you're</i> volunteered! Besides." He jams a hard finger into your shoulder. "You've done it before, so it's already spoiled."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Jesus,</i> you think. <i>Thanks a fucking lot for the endorsement.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Get on it," Marc growls, and he slides the door shut on you with a bang.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The garage is empty when you climb out the minivan again, in Jessica's body. A grimy stink rises off the cotton shorts and t-shirt Marc gave you, but somehow that makes it more wonderful, which makes you feel even more guilty. You're wearing neither underwear nor brassiere, so it's like wearing hardly anything at all over Jessica's strong, toned body. You give one of your boobs a quick squeeze as you adjust yourself and look around.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Okay, this is going to be fucking awkward,</i> you think as you walk quickly over to the door leading into the laundry room. <i>I don't have any idea what Jessica and Eva were supposed to be doing, or how come Eva stayed behind, and I got no good excuse for coming back in these clothes.</i> You pause in the laundry room long enough to glance around and confirm that there's nothing else for you to put on. <i>So what the hell am I supposed to tell Eva when I see her?</i><br/>
<br/>
Someone's vacuuming in the living room as you pass through the house, and you peep in long enough to see that it's Jessica's mom. Her back is to you, though, and no one else catches sight of you before you're scampering upstairs. You wonder vaguely where Marc got off to, and get your answer when you hear country-western music drifting out from behind his closed bedroom door. Looks like the cocksucker's hiding until you've got the stuff and are done being Jessica.<br/>
<br/>
But the girls' bedroom door is open. You stare at it, lick your lips, then square your shoulders and march in.<br/>
<br/>
Eva is slouching on the bed with her cell phone. She's in sweat pants, a t-shirt, and a flannel top, and she does a double-take as you come in. You ignore her and march over to the walk-in closet, where you start flipping through tops.<br/>
<br/>
Eva says nothing, though, even after you've crossed over to your dresser. (None of the tops in the closet were suitable, you decided. Everything was too fancy.) She only watches with her mouth hanging open as you pull out half-a-dozen t-shirts, and some shorts.<br/>
<br/>
Almost you escape, congratulating yourself on your good luck. But as you're gathering up the clothes in a great armful, Eva says, "So, do you want to talk about it?"<br/>
<br/>
You nearly choke. "Talk about what?" You don't meet her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever it is that's got you pissed off."<br/>
<br/>
"What makes you think I'm pissed off?"<br/>
<br/>
You're at the bedroom door before she replies. "Jesus, Jessica, it was only Will Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
You stumble in the doorway and almost drop the things. You freeze there, on the threshold of escape, then turn to look back at her. "What about Will Prescott?" you ask. Your throat is numb.<br/>
<br/>
Eva stares back with a frown. Then she rolls her eyes. "Nothing, I guess," she mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"No," you insist against your better judgement. "What about Will?"<br/>
<br/>
Eva gives you a look. "I'm sexting him," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.<br/>
<br/>
Your eye falls to the cell phone she's holding. <i>The fuck?</i> you wonder. <i>Is she texting with ... me? With Laurent, who's pretending to be me?</i></span></div></div>


path: 11113411113321211112121113121151
author_id: seuzz
title: Imposter Syndrome
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Are you texting Will now?" you ask. It feels like your eyes are going to pop from your head.<br/>
<br/>
Eva rolls her own eyes. "Ye-es!"<br/>
<br/>
You drop the armful of clothes and lunge at Eva. "Lemme see." She scrambles back and bats at you as you grab for the phone.<br/>
<br/>
"Jessica!" she yells. "The fff—! What are you doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"I just wanna see! What are you texting Will for?" Dimly, you're aware that you're making a huge scene. What are they going to say to each other when the real Jessica gets back?<br/>
<br/>
"What business is it of yours?" Eva hollers.<br/>
<br/>
"Since when did you get interested in Will Prescott?"<br/>
<br/>
Eva gasps and her eyes go wide. Her face reddens.<br/>
<br/>
And every one of Jessica's instincts tells you to run. You've managed to step on that nerve. <i>That</i> one. The one that's attached to about twenty tons of TNT.<br/>
<br/>
Eva Garner is the shyest and sweetest of the Garner siblings, the one who makes the least trouble. But that doesn't mean she hasn't got the sass and vinegar of her sister, and the fizz of her brother. She just keeps it bottled up tighter.<br/>
<br/>
Which makes it even worse when it does explode.<br/>
<br/>
She draws a deep breath. It's like a blast furnace sucking in raw oxygen. "What did you say?" she demands in a deep growl.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't mean anything by it, Eva." You raise your hands to ward her off.<br/>
<br/>
"You have the fffffff—reaking gall to ask me why the fffff—reak I might be—" She chokes.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't mean it that way!" you gabble. "And if you're not interested in him, that's great!"<br/>
<br/>
She hurls her phone at your face. You block it with a hand, and cry out as it hits you.<br/>
<br/>
"You bitch!" Eva bounces up off the bed to charge at you. You stumble and fall back onto Jessica's bed, and Eva pins you there. "You are all kinds of something, you know that! Where the fffff-u-u-u-u— do you get off asking me—?" She grabs your hair, and you yell. "Sometimes I just want to kill you in your sleep!" She cuffs you.<br/>
<br/>
Then she gets up. Her face is tomato-red, and her eyes and mouth are screwed up hard.<br/>
<br/>
She bursts into tears and runs from the room.<br/>
<br/>
You sit up in a daze. For a solid minute you can't even form a coherent thought.<br/>
<br/>
Then you spot her phone on the floor and pick it up. Her text messages are open. And yes, she's texting the guy who has your phone.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's a cryptic conversation, one that bounces violently from topic to topic. You feel your stare turn haggard as "Will" talks about friends and acquaintances. Not that he says anything you don't agree with. Javits is an asshole, like the rest of the basketball team. Keith is incorrigibly horny and needs to be dosed with saltpeter. It really must suck for James Lamont to be so obviously in love with Jenny Ashton, and for Jenny to string him along.<br/>
<br/>
But the one text that really makes you stare is the first from "Will": <i>So had tons f fun last nite.</i> At first you take it as a reference to the night before, when (you "remember") a guy disguised as you came out to apologize to Eva for being a dumbass. But that doesn't sound like "fun." And not until you remember that Laurent and his friends were armed with your mask last night—when you stayed in instead of going to a movie—does it occur to you what must have happened.<br/>
<br/>
One of them must have put on your gear and taken Eva out on a date.<br/>
<br/>
The thought leaves you both hot and cold. Hot with anger at the presumption, cold with fear of what they might be setting you up for. There's no room between these emotions for any other.<br/>
<br/>
You're trembling all over when you drop the phone, and there's no feeling in your arms or legs as you bend to pick up the clothes. The guest bathroom door is shut when you go out into the hallway, and the fan is running even though there's no light showing under the door. <i>Great,</i> you think. <i>Eva's bawling her eyes out in there.</i> Then, as you pass Marc's bedroom door: <i>Fuck. He is going to </i>kill<i> me for this.</i><br/>
<br/>
You kick the bottom of his door with your heel. "I'm going," you mutter. "Be down in the garage." You wait until you hear the sound of someone moving on the other side, then run downstairs.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The minivan moving when you wake, and Marc glances into the back at you from the driver's seat. "That only took for fucking ever," he growls.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry. I got tied up with Eva." A lump as heavy as lead and as hot as uranium is sitting in your stomach. "Um—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you got the shit and I didn't have to see you, so it's all good. I'm gonna get rid of that mask, though."<br/>
<br/>
"Jessica's? Good idea," you murmur back.<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing."<br/>
<br/>
The rain is coming down hard as he pulls up at the park. The guys come running over and burst into the minivan with a lot of hoarse shouts and laughs. You shrink up in a corner as they all squeeze in, smelling of old wet clothes and testosterone. The clothing pile gets sorted through and passed out, and one by one the guys flop into seats and onto benches, where they press masks onto their faces. The minivan goes quiet as they pass out, and soon you are surrounded by a bunch of girls, all of them slumped over and unconscious.<br/>
<br/>
But Marc hasn't changed. He's in the front seat, behind the wheel, his head bent over as he taps at his cell phone.<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate, then crawl out of the minivan and move up into the passenger side. He doesn't glance over, even after he's finished typing.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen, you need to know something," you tell him. "I made a huge mess back there, at your house."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" He doesn't look up.<br/>
<br/>
"Your sisters are going to be really pissed at each other. I, uh, didn't know what was going on between them when I went in, and I made things worse."<br/>
<br/>
"That's a hazard," he says in a clipped tone.<br/>
<br/>
"I made 'em a <i>lot</i> worse."<br/>
<br/>
That gets his attention, and he gives you a piercing look.<br/>
<br/>
"So just stay out of it," you tell him. "Don't get involved, don't try to fix things. It's got nothing to do with you, and you might make it, you know, worse for yourself if you—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah okay, just shut up," he says. He glares out at the rain. "Look, thanks for your help," he adds after a short silence. "It's all my fault, I guess, I'm the one who— Well, anyway," he sighs, "let's just stop with all that stuff of, you know, with Jessica. Let's try to start over like none of this shit ever happened. Okay?"<br/>
<br/>
He turns back to you. His jaw is set and his glance is keen. It's not a friendly expression, but he doesn't look like he wants to kill you. And when you nod, he puts out a hand. You shake. It feels like he's trying to crush all the bones in your hand, but you decide that's just his way of trying to show sincerity.<br/>
<br/>
But you also decide against telling him that someone is using your face to get close to Eva. No, you figure, it's better to grab Laurent and tell <i>him</i> to cut it the fuck out.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So you're in no mood for hijinks, and after the others have woken and piled back out of the minivan you ask Marc to drive you back to your place. He agrees to, and lets you borrow his cell to text the guy who's covering for you so he can come out to meet you. He texts back to tell you to look for him at the old elementary school a few blocks from your house.<br/>
<br/>
But you arrive only to find the abandoned rain poncho, in a sopping heap by the corner where he said he'd be waiting. <i>Fucking coward,</i> you think. It pisses you off so much that you decide to wait a few hours before texting Laurent to yell at him.<br/>
<br/>
He texts you first, though it's way late in the afternoon when he does. <i>Hey will missd u w guys tday. Ment t tell u that u had date w eva last nite. Went ok I gess.</i><br/>
<br/>
That renews your fury, and it's another hour before you are calm enough to reply without screaming at him: <i>Yes I found ut wish I knew bfore kind of fukd thngs up fr me.</i><br/>
<br/>
Laurent replies: <i>????<br/>
<br/>
Nvr mind,</i> you tell him as you get mad all over again. <i>Tlk moondy.</i><br/>
<br/>
Best to put it off, you tell yourself. And yet you are overcome with a sense of dread. There will be another whole day for things to get worse if you wait until then to hash it out.<br/>
<br/>
But they get much worse much sooner than that. Your dad calls you down at eight o'clock. "Ten minutes," he tells you. "You're ungrounded for ten minutes." When you blink at him, he points to the foyer.<br/>
<br/>
Jessica Garner is standing there with a hard glower on her face.</span></div></div>


path: 111134111133212111121211131211511
author_id: seuzz
title: Thimbleriggery
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You look between your dad and "Jessica." "Um," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"You can talk on the front porch," your dad says.<br/>
<br/>
So you turn to Jessica. She stares back. Stiffly, you gesture her to precede you outside.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Son of a bitch,</i> you wonder as you follow her out. <i>Who is this? I thought Marc said he was getting rid of her mask.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Your dad says you're grounded," the "girl" says as you pull the front door shut behind you.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Except for the next ten minutes, I guess. So make this fast."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay." She wheels on you. "Look, I know what's going on." When you only blink at her, she continues. <br/>
<br/>
"I ran into Marcos this afternoon," she says. "Or he ran into me. I was coming out of Panera." Her eyes narrow, and her voice falls into a hiss. "He thought I was <i>you.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck." You grimace. "Look, I only did it the two times, and even then it was only 'cos Marc asked me to. I wish people wouldn't just assume that, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
You falter as Jessica's stare hardens. <i>Shit,</i> you mutter to yourself. <i>Is this </i>Marc<i> I'm talking to? And what the fuck?</i><br/>
<br/>
"Well, thanks for confirming it," Jessica spits. "So don't bother trying to talk your way out of it, Will. You couldn't anyway. I got Marcos off alone and bent his arm back until he came clean about it all."<br/>
<br/>
"About what?" You're still trying to figure out what the gag is.<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes blaze. "About the <i>shit</i> you cocksuckers are pulling! With those <i>masks!"</i><br/>
<br/>
You stare very hard at her, as though by boring into her eyes with yours you can spot who it really is.<br/>
<br/>
"Will, I fucking swear," she cries, "I'm going to pop you in the—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, cut it out!" you yell. "I'm not going for it!" You point at her face. "You know, Marc's gonna cut your balls off—whoever you are—with a pair of dull scissors if he catches you in that thing. In fact, I should text him right now, telling him that someone got ahold of his sister's gear. He was going to get rid of— Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!"<br/>
<br/>
You cry out as Jessica grabs you by the wrist, spins you around, and wrenches your arm up behind your back.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not fucking around, Will," she snarls. "Like, I know that <i>someone</i> was at my house today when I was supposed to be out with my friends, and that that <i>someone</i> said something to Eva that got her super-pissed-off at me. Marcos says you guys made something so that you could make yourselves up to look like me, and it's how come—" She forces your arm further out of your socket, and her voice falls into a vicious hiss. "It's how come people have been seeing two of me around when there's only supposed to be one other girl who looks like me and then only sort-of! And I know that my dear, <i>dear</i> brother is mixed up in it all, and that <i>you're</i> the one that he put up to—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, okay!" It feels like your shoulder is about to crack open. "What do you want me to say?"<br/>
<br/>
She shoves you away. Even in the lowering dark of the night you can see Jessica's eyes blaze out.<br/>
<br/>
"I want you to tell me <i>exactly</i> what's been going on," she says. "I got a lot of it out of Marcos, but he finally squirmed loose and hightailed it off. But he said that <i>you're</i> the one who started it all, and <i>you're</i> the one who's been pulling this shit on me and my sister!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Well, whatever. You're not even a quarter-convinced that this is really Jessica, but what's the harm in telling one of the guys a back story that he already knows?<br/>
<br/>
But as you relate the story of the book you found at Arnholm's, and what you made with it, and how you showed it to Laurent, and how he and more of his friends got more and more into it, and made more and more masks, you feel your certainties falter. By the time your dad has started tapping at the front window to let you know your time is up, a numbing horror has begun creeping over you. There is no way one of the guys would sit still for this recital of a story they already know. Only someone who didn't know about it all—someone like, well, Jessica Garner—would listen with rapt attention as you relate the adventures the guys have had.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," she growls you when you've stammered to a stop. "I want you to keep quiet about this." She glances at the front window, where your dad has appeared for a fourth time to tap. "You don't tell anyone I came by, or that you told me any of this, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
You make a face, and give an insincere nod.<br/>
<br/>
"I have to think about it," she hisses, half to herself. "Oh, Jesus, this is all kinds of fucked up!" That you would agree with. "I'll talk to you tomorrow," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm grounded," you remind her, for tomorrow is Sunday.<br/>
<br/>
"Then I'll text you."<br/>
<br/>
She stalks off. Only then do you notice what looks like the final confirmation that it's real girl: The Garners' minivan is parked by the curb.<br/>
<br/>
"Give me your phone," your dad tells you when you're back inside the house. "No phone or internet privileges the rest of the weekend."<br/>
<br/>
"Dad!"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you ten minutes. You were out there for thirty."<br/>
<br/>
You sigh raggedly and surrender your phone to him.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So you're able to keep your promise to not tell anyone you talked to Jessica, but you're also not able to talk to her. Not until your dad gives you your phone on Monday morning, as you're leaving for school, do you find Jessica's irate texts demanding to know why you're ignoring her. Her last text is an all-caps command: <i>MEET ME IN LIBRRY MONDAY SECND PERIOD</i><br/>
<br/>
The only other texts are one from Laurent, asking if you want someone to cover for you at your house on Sunday; one from Eva, apologizing for dropping out of texts; and one from Caleb, asking how your sanity is holding up with being grounded. The last one is especially funny, in a bitter kind of way.<br/>
<br/>
You're slouched in your desk first period when Laurent swaggers into the classroom, and the moment he does you lunge up and over at him. He rears back as you grapple at him, then suffers to follow you outside.<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck were you doing on Saturday?" you yell at him. He only stares at you. "Hello? At my house, covering for me? What were you doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't cover for you," he says. Then he blinks. "Wait, what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Wasn't that you who went in for me, when you and me switched out in Brownie's truck?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, yeah, but—" His puzzlement deepens. "Didn't Marcos get a text to you?"<br/>
<br/>
"A text?" you echo.<br/>
<br/>
"He's the one that covered for you. Yeah," he continues as your jaw drops. "I got into your place—like butter sliding over grease—and there was a text to you from him, saying he could come in and cover for you. So I was, like, shit, less work for me." Laurent cocks his head. "So I jogged out to that old school down the street from you, switched out with him there. He said he was going to text you, tell you what we were doing."<br/>
<br/>
Your fingers curl up hard.<br/>
<br/>
"No, he didn't text me!" you growl. "I thought it was you! Wait!" You glare at him. "Was someone goofing around with my gear on Friday night? When I stayed in?"<br/>
<br/>
"Your gear? Friday?" His gaze goes distant, then clears up. "Oh yeah! Marcos didn't tell you about that either?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>"I haven't said one fucking word to Marcos since he asked me to—!"</i><br/>
<br/>
"Shh! Don't lose your shit, man." Laurent's tone turns reproachful. "I don't know what you're yelling about. So Marcos covered for you instead of me, so what? You got covered either way, you—"<br/>
<br/>
"What is he doing with Eva?"<br/>
<br/>
Now Laurent looks at you like you've grown another head. "What do you mean, 'what's he doing with Eva'? What do you think he's— You mean Friday night?"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean Friday night, I mean Thursday night, I mean Saturday after—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Will you keep your fucking shit together?" Now Laurent flushes. "I don't know what the fuck you're yelling at me about, man, if you got a problem with Marcos"—the bell rings, and he glances over his shoulder—"go talk to him. Me, I don't know the fuck you're babbling about, except I know he took her out Friday night 'cos I think Marc asked him to."<br/>
<br/>
"In my gear?"<br/>
<br/>
"We have to get to class, Will, but yes, in your gear. That way it wouldn't be weird, like he was hitting on her."<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a sour look, then turns and saunters back into the school, leaving you dumbstruck with confusion.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You have a headache by the time first period lets out, but you grit your teeth and go to the library to meet Jessica anyway. She only has to time to glare up at you before you shut her down.<br/>
<br/>
"My dad confiscated my phone the instant you left Saturday night," you tell her, "so I didn't get your texts until this morning. And I couldn't get online because he turned the wifi off. My dad is a <i>hard ass.</i>" You fall into a chair and return her glare with one of your own.<br/>
<br/>
"Alright," she says in a very grudging tone of voice, and her chair scrapes across the floor as she pulls up close. "So here's the thing, I want you to bring me some of this stuff you've been making, I want to look at it myself. When can you get it to me?"<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "Well, tomorrow. Or," you add when she frowns, "you can ask your brother to show you. He's—"<br/>
<br/>
"This is between you and me," she says. "No one else gets to know I know about this."</span></div></div>


path: 1111341111332121111212111312115111
author_id: seuzz
title: Totally No One's Gonna Get Hurt, Right?
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"What's the deal?" you demand. "Why are you so spun up?"<br/>
<br/>
Jessica's eyes nearly pop from her head.<br/>
<br/>
"What's the deal?" she barks. "<i>What's the deal?</i> I got people—"<br/>
<br/>
She glances over her shoulder at the rest of the library. It's a thin crowd, but she scoots closer to you. That would be great—her vanilla-like scent envelops you as she presses closer—except that her expression has strained her face into a skull-like mask, and her eyes bulge.<br/>
<br/>
"I got people going around pretending to be me!" she hisses. "That's what's got me —! It's fucked up!"<br/>
<br/>
"No one's getting hurt. Well—" You start to correct yourself. "Except I guess—"<br/>
<br/>
"Except what?"<br/>
<br/>
You wince. "Did you get things fixed with Eva?"<br/>
<br/>
The blood drains from her face.<br/>
<br/>
"So that <i>was</i> you!" Her lips froth, and the words crack in her throat. "Will, I fucking swear—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I'm getting it too! Laurent just told me—"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't care what you're getting! I hope you <i>do</i> get it in the neck!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, your sister's gonna get it in the neck too!" you snap back. "Or something! Laurent just told me that Marcos has been using my gear to come on to her! To Eva! So he's gonna get <i>me</i> in trouble with <i>her,</i> and then <i>she</i>—"<br/>
<br/>
"Tchya!" Jessica bunches up her fists. Her knuckles whiten, and the flesh seems to shrink off her fingers until they are gnarled and bony.<br/>
<br/>
But she doesn't explode. And after she's got control of herself, she growls, "Okay, what's the story?"<br/>
<br/>
So you tell her, as best you can, about what seems to have happened. How you made kind of a fool of yourself talking to Eva the other day about Jeremy Richards, and how someone (Chris, you think) went over that evening to apologize to her while pretending to be you, and then how on Friday Marcos put your gear on and took her on a date, and then how on Saturday he was again in your gear, at your house, texting her. <br/>
<br/>
"And that's how things got fucked up between you. Your brother had me put on your stuff," you tell her, "so we could get some clothes from your bedroom to take back to the guys. 'Cos they needed some girls' clothes they could put on." It sounds hilarious when you say it, but Jessica's frown stays anchored where it is. "I ran into Eva and found out she was texting with 'me', and I guess I said the wrong thing because she got pissed off at me. Well, she thought she was pissed off at <i>you.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, you think?" Jessica snaps. "How'd you figure <i>that</i> out?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, when she tried punching me in the face before running off to lock herself in the bathroom. That was a pretty good clue," you admit.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck!" Jessica buries her face in her hands.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, so that's how come she's pissed at you. Or was. Is she still pissed at you?" When Jessica doesn't answer, you ask, "Do you have any idea what Marcos is up to?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's a pervert. You're <i>all</i> perverts! Who are some of the other girls you're going around pretending to be?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. There's Maria Vasquez and Kendra Saunders, those are two of them, but no one's pretending to be them, not exactly. They're just going around looking like them. There's also, um, a girl named Mackenzie something, and another girl named Emily something."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that all?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, there's a bunch more, but I don't remember who. None of 'em were names that stuck with me."<br/>
<br/>
"This is so sick," Jessica hisses. "Twisted, evil, godless, and sick." She draws a deep breath, and slowly exhales.<br/>
<br/>
"They're not hurting anyone," you insist. "Just pranking people."<br/>
<br/>
"Is it just a prank that my own sister isn't talking to me anymore?"<br/>
<br/>
"So tell her about it. Explain it to her."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not going to—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Take Eva with you, then go grab your brother and sit on him and beat him up until he confesses everything."<br/>
<br/>
Jessica's eyes blaze, and for a moment you think she's going to apply your own advice to you.<br/>
<br/>
But instead she slouches back in her chair, lower lip outthrust.<br/>
<br/>
"No," she says. "Someone needs to teach them to— Hrrmmmm!"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" you ask when she doesn't continue.<br/>
<br/>
But for a long time she says nothing, and only tugs and tugs at her lip. Her eyes burn, and her gaze goes very distant.<br/>
<br/>
"You just bring me some of that gear, like I asked," she says at last. She sounds much calmer, but somehow that is even more frightening. "The things you use to make these—" She shivers. "Disguises."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you going to do?"<br/>
<br/>
She doesn't answer, but turns to stare through you.<br/>
<br/>
Then she blinks, and seems to see you for the first time.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you like my sister?" she says.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Well, that was a hell of a question. You didn't know how to answer it. Still less did you know what to say when Jessica said that she thought Eva was starting to like you.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, maybe not 'like like'," she said, a little diffidently. "And maybe it's the guy who's been pretending to be you that she really likes. Ychh! Well, unless he's acting just like you. Do you think he is?"<br/>
<br/>
That was another question you had no idea how to answer. <br/>
<br/>
"Well, next time you have a chance to talk to her," Jessica said as she gathered up her stuff, "do it. See how it goes." And she left you there, paralyzed with fright and indecision.<br/>
<br/>
You were still sitting there when the bell rang to end second period, and are still sitting there when Eva herself sails in for her third-period study hall. You feel yourself pale when she smiles at you and joins you.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry I dropped out on Saturday," she says. "I started to text you again but—"<br/>
<br/>
"My dad confiscated by cell phone anyway." Your chest is so tight you can hardly breathe. "But that was ... fun!" you improvise.<br/>
<br/>
She smiles. "So when are you going to be ungrounded?"<br/>
<br/>
"Next week. Monday? Maybe Sunday?" You stiffen all over, except where a little stiffness would be pleasurable.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry I got you in trouble for being out late."<br/>
<br/>
"No, that's fine. I ... liked it." <i>What is she talking about?</i> you wonder.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you okay, Will?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
<i>No I'm not okay! I'm about to shart myself with terror and totally fuck things up with you, if they're not fucked up already because of fucking Marcos Rivera pretending to be me with you!</i><br/>
<br/>
"I'm fine," you gasp. You strain to remember some of the things that Marcos was texting her about. "I was just talking to your sister last period."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh?" Her expression falls, and so does the temperature in her voice, by about sixty degrees.  Despite the sudden Arctic blast, sweat pops out on your brow.<br/>
<br/>
"Jessica said ... said that you and her, uh, got into kind of a fight? About ... ... ... me?" You gasp after expelling that final word from your lungs.<br/>
<br/>
Eva winces, and hesitates. "We had a fight," she says. "It wasn't about you."<br/>
<br/>
She's saved from having to make up a lie about the fight by the entrance of her two friends, who she introduces as Audrey Briscoe and Rachel Bell. That squelches any further chance to talk with her about anything but school work, for Audrey in particular is full of chatter, and you settle back to listen and to drop in an occasional comment when you see a chance to say something without embarrassing yourself.<br/>
<br/>
But at the end, Eva asks you what lunch you have, and looks disappointed when you find out it's a different lunch period. "But I'll see you tomorrow," she says as you part in the hallway.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're waiting for Laurent after school, in order to finish your talk from before school, but are intercepted by Jessica first. "You're taking me home," she informs you. "Where's your car?"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" You gape.<br/>
<br/>
"You're giving me a ride home. I already told Marc and Eva. I told Eva I wanted to talk to you."<br/>
<br/>
"About what?" you cry.<br/>
<br/>
"I told her I wanted to get to know you better. I feel like I hardly know you, Will, even if you were underfoot all summer. Don't worry, I'll talk you up with her. You do want me to talk you up, don't you?" she asks with a raised eyebrow as you feel yourself choking. "But you and me are going to talk about what we're going to do."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, first of all," you gasp when you find your voice, "I can't take you home, I have to get home myself. I'm grounded."<br/>
<br/>
"Tell your folks you were helping a friend. I missed my ride and you were my only chance to get home. Really, you don't want me mad at you, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay. But second, I'd have to get the stuff from Laurent. He's the one who's holding it all."<br/>
<br/>
"So get it from him. Tell him to bring it over to your place, then I'll stop by and you can pass it along to me."<br/>
<br/>
"Fine," you groan. "Is that all we need to talk about?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. I want you to impersonate Brownie, try to hook up with me by pretending to be him."<br/>
<br/>
<i>"What?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"The same thing that Marcos is doing with Eva, Will. He's setting you up with Eva by pretending to be you. I want you to set me up with Brownie by pretending to be him."</span></div></div>


path: 11113411113321211112121113121151111
author_id: seuzz
id: T7JG9PYXD
title: The Third Time a Charm?
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You glance around, and spot Laurent coming out of the school. He's got his head bent over his phone and he's walking off toward the opposite corner of the parking lot. But if you yelled at him and ran, maybe you could get to him before Jessica killed you.<br/>
<br/>
Well, maybe not. <br/>
<br/>
The stream of students coming out into the lot is thickening, so you pull Jessica in between two cars so you can talk without being overheard.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, let's say I do this," you tell her. "What am I supposed to do while you're at home being me?"<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a very cool look up and down. "Someone will have to cover for me," she says.<br/>
<br/>
You gape.<br/>
<br/>
"We'll just do a straight swap, Will," she continues. "You've already covered for me at home," she adds contemptuously. "It'll be gross, but no grosser than it's already—"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Yeeeeeeeee!</i>" you screech, until Jessica knees you in the balls.<br/>
<br/>
"Keep your shit together, Will," she hisses as you hunch over. "We're doing this, and we're not going to argue!"<br/>
<br/>
"But Marc's got your gear! How am I supposed to—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Where does he have it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know! In his room, probably—"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Gyughkh!</i> Well, come on, then! You have to take me home anyway, we'll go to my place and get my ... gear." She shudders. "And then we'll switch."<br/>
<br/>
You moan as she grabs you by the shoulder and hustles you forward.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
She makes a call to Eva, to keep her and Marc away from the house until you and her can get there and get away, and then you call your mom to tell her you'll be a little late because you have to give a friend a ride. She warns you that you'll probably get grounded for a few more days, but seems to relent when you tell her that's a penalty you're willing to take. "Just try to be home before your father," she says.<br/>
<br/>
You waggle your legs nervously the whole time Jessica is inside her house, and you're sure that she won't be able to find the gear that Marc hid, but after ten minutes she comes running back out with a plastic sack. "This is all I could find," she gasps as she hurls herself into the cab of your truck. "Is this all?" She takes out and shows you a mask and a metal strip. "Ew, why does it have my <i>name</i> on it?" she cries when she sees the blue letters floating above the surface of the latter.<br/>
<br/>
You drive out to the old school a few blocks from your house, and part to undress and change into each other's gear: she insists on taking the truck cab, while you huddle in the stairwell that leads down to a basement door.<br/>
<br/>
This will be the third time that you have turned yourself into Jessica Garner, but it seems worse this time, even though you are doing it with Jessica's permission—at her insistence, even. But maybe it's because you're cooperating with Jessica that this time it feels so queasy. You are very conscious that you will be wearing her body, and inhabiting her memories, and that you will be doing so in front of the girl herself.<br/>
<br/>
At the same time, though, there is a stronger thrill to it. The other two times you had to sneak around as her in order to do a little job. This time you will be fully inhabiting the role. For the next day, at least, you <i>will</i> be Jessica Garner.<br/>
<br/>
And as for the fact that she'll be you? That little plot twist you thrust from your mind, as you crouch in the corner of the door frame and push the little metal band onto your forehead.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wake from the first stage of the disguise process feeling a little disoriented, but you quickly remember where you are and what you are doing, and though you are groggy you quickly add the mask.<br/>
<br/>
The second time you wake up ...<br/>
<br/>
Well, your clothes feel wrong for a start. Your cargo shorts are very tight and ill-fitting around your hips, and your feet are swimming inside your shoes. As for your tits—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh God, I've got tits again,</i> you moan to yourself as you adjust the free-swinging bags inside your shirt. Without the support of a bra, it feels like your chest is trying to slide off the front of your torso.<br/>
<br/>
Then, as you touch them, you freeze and look up at your truck from under your brows.<br/>
<br/>
A figure is in there, seemingly engaged in a losing fight with a shirt. It's a long moment before your brain surrenders to the inevitable, and recognizes the tousle-headed boy as Will Prescott.<br/>
<br/>
He's pulling off a blouse, and then he's flailing as he tries to get himself out of a bra. He is starting to squirm—probably trying to get out of Jessica's jeans—when he catches sight of you. His expression hardens into a glare, and he angrily gestures you over.<br/>
<br/>
"Will you get out of those fucking clothes," he hisses after you've hopped into the truck cab. "You look like you're dressed for 'Come as a Dork' Day at school!"<br/>
<br/>
You flush but bite your tongue, and more demurely than him start to peel off your shirt and shorts. You have to shrink up inside your side of the cabin to avoid the flailing arms and legs of your doppelganger as he twists himself out of Jessica's old clothes.<br/>
<br/>
"We forgot to refresh the memories in those metal bands," you tell her after you have exchanged wads of clothing. You are trying to pull on her panties without touching yourself more than you have to. "So, I don't remember what's happened to you since, um—"<br/>
<br/>
"So fucking what," Will snarls. Like you, he is pulling on underwear while trying to use only thumbs and pinkie fingers. "It only means you don't know how fucking pissed off I am at you!"<br/>
<br/>
"Listen, you're not going to try to get back at me, are you?" you ask. "Like, get me in trouble with my parents so I'm grounded until it's time to put me into a nursing home."<br/>
<br/>
He pauses in the act of pulling his shirt down over his face. "No," he says after pulling it all the way on. "Though I can't promise I <i>won't</i> get you into more trouble. You seem to have a fucking knack for it."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'll try not to get <i>you</i> into trouble," you promise. "I'll even try to fix things between you and Eva."<br/>
<br/>
He grabs for you, then yanks his hand away like he'd touched a hot stove when he realizes who exactly he tried to touch.<br/>
<br/>
"Look," he says in a husky voice. "Don't do me any special favors. We're not going to be doing this for long, so you just don't fuck things up for me any more than you already have. Okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," you reply in your smallest voice. "You wanna know what my homework is for tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you," he growls.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
He drops you off at the house that is to be your home for the next ... twelve to twenty-four hours? You and he didn't specify a time for a switchback. You feel as though you are walking on broken glass as you approach the front door. The Escalade is in the driveway, which means that your ... mom ... is home.<br/>
<br/>
Meg Garner works in the HR department at the electric company, so it's a little odd to find her home so early. She's in the kitchen, unloading some of those ready-to-eat meal kits from Canopies (an organic/health food store) that the Garners often have for dinner. She glances up as you edge your way into see what all the noise is.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, where's your brother and sister?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"G'uh ... Out running errands, I guess," you say. (<i>That's right,</i> you tell yourself. <i>I'm Jessica Garner.</i> For almost a full second and a half, you'd expected Mrs. Garner to shriek, <i>Who are you and why are you wearing my daughter's clothes?</i>) "Yeah," you add as relief washes over you, "I got a friend to take me home, I didn't feel like running around—" You shrug.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm only back for a few minutes," she says. "I have a meeting from five to six-thirty." She gives you a direct look. "Can I get you to get started on supper? Your dad'll be home at the usual time."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Um." You pick up one of the boxes: <i>Turkey meatloaf with cheesy cauliflower and Brussel sprouts.</i> You make a face, until you "remember" that cauliflower is something you're supposed to like. "I get dibs on what I want, though."<br/>
<br/>
"As long as your father gets the Salisbury steak," she says as she plucks the box from you and puts it in the fridge. "Now I'm going to change clothes."<br/>
<br/>
You follow her upstairs, but more slowly. The house feels very strange, stranger even than the last few times you were here, even in Jessica's body. Maybe because ... <i>This is where I live,</i> you tell yourself as you hang back at the top of the stairs. The last few times the house was only something to rush through. Now, though, you'll be spending the night, being Jessica with her family.<br/>
<br/>
This is supposed to be your <i>home.</i><br/>
<br/>
You shiver, and it's not entirely from fear.<br/>
<br/>
You go into the bathroom and turn on the light. You close the door, and study yourself in the mirror.<br/>
<br/>
You are a very cute girl, with bright, alert eyes; blonde hair bobbed short; a good, firm rack; and a trim tummy over wide (but not too wide) hips. You are dressed in a white blouse cut to hug the inward curves of your torso, and tight blue jeans. You lean forward to study your face as you touch your lips, your nose, your eyebrows, and your cheeks. Then you study your slim hand with the glossy fingernails.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I'm Jessica Garner,</i> you tell yourself with an awestruck sense of disbelief.<br/>
<br/>
A light comes into your eyes, and a faint smile creeps onto your lips.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I'm Jessica Garner,</i> you tell yourself, <i>and no one is going to be able to tell that I'm not!</i><span class="fmjggefefj3711"></span></span></div></div>


path: 111134111133212111121211131211511111
author_id: seuzz
id: Q98H37P44
title: The Briar Patch
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You're standing at the refrigerator, looking through it for ideas for side dishes, when the front door bursts open. Loud voices sound indistinctly in the entryway, and heavy footfalls thump and bump on the uncarpeted floors. A light rustle of footsteps tells you that Eva is on her way upstairs. The soccer ball that bounces between footsteps tells you that Marc is coming toward the kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
He does a double-take, and grimaces when he sees you.<br/>
<br/>
"Kerri says you're full of shit," he says.<br/>
<br/>
You blink. "About what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Your fucking history assignment." He bounces the ball off his bicep, catches it, and twirls it on his fingertips. "She says Walberg didn't assign no paper today."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I guess I made a mistake."<br/>
<br/>
"You coulda fucking made the trip all the way over to her place yourself, you know." Marc's chin is tilted, which he only ever does when he's mad. "She said she didn't even know what the fuck you were talking about."<br/>
<br/>
You don't know what he's talking about either, unless it has to do with that phone call Jessica made to him and Eva, to keep them away from the house while she ran in to search his room. You're not even really sure who "Kerri" is, unless it's Kerri Mullen, who Jessica shares AP World History with.<br/>
<br/>
But it isn't just Marc's angry references to a conversation you don't remember that have you rattled. You can't shake the feeling that at any moment he's going to pierce your disguise, and recognize that it is you.<br/>
<br/>
Marc is a cheerful soul, and the only times you've ever really seen or talked to him, he's been goofy and silly and friendly in his jock-ish way. But you've got Jessica's own memories of growing up with him, and of the tantrums he can fly into when he's stung into a sudden fury. His round, cheerful face turns cherry-red; his hair bristles; his eyes flash like lightning; and his muscles bunch up into pistons capable of putting a dent in a wall. If he figures out who you are, he probably won't wait for any explanations, but will break your arm and pound your (fake) face in.<br/>
<br/>
And the way he's looking at you now—chin tilted, eyes keen, his lip faintly curved—it's like he's searching for something he can use against you.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'm sorry," you tell him. "It was all a mix-up. I'll text Kerri and—"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't give a fuck, Jess." He bounces and twirls the ball expertly. "I'm just not your personal fucking errand boy, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay! Jeez!"<br/>
<br/>
His nostrils flare, but when he speaks again, he changes the subject.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you looking through the refrigerator for? Is supper going to be late?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, it's going to be early. Mom—" You break off at the sound of pattering footsteps. A moment later Eva swings into the kitchen. She stops short when she sees you, then flushes. You leap back as she pushes past you to pull a water bottle from the fridge. She doesn't even look at you before stomping from the kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah," Marc says after you look to him for a reaction. "You're about as popular as the plague around here." He gives you a look, then follows Eva out.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Jessica's dad is a lot friendlier when he gets home, and though he's tired he greets you with a smile and kisses you on the side of your head before asking about supper. He glows a little with happiness when you tell him of the Salisbury steak meal kit, and since you don't want to deal with your "siblings," you concentrate on fixing dinner downstairs while everyone else is upstairs. The meal that follows—just the three Garner kids and their dad—is very muted. He takes turns asking each of you about your day. Eva gives him short, monosyllabic answers. Marc is a little more talkative, but hasn't much to say.<br/>
<br/>
And you, of course, have no idea what happened to Jessica today, so you just keep your replies to grunts and mumbles, and bolt from the table as soon as possible.<br/>
<br/>
There's a couple of texts on your phone when you get up to the bedroom. Cindy, wanting to know what you and Eva will be wearing to school tomorrow. Mark Kinley sharing a couple of memes. Kerri Mullen, asking how come Marc and Eva stopped by her house asking for a homework assignment from Mr. Walberg's class. (To this last one you dash off a quick, dismissive, <i>Sorry, that was a ixup. *mixup.</i>)<br/>
<br/>
And a note from Stephanie Wyatt, reminding you that Josie Holden is having a study party tonight, and asking if you and Eva ("and Marc" she adds in parentheses) want to come out to it.<br/>
<br/>
You're mulling this last one when Eva comes in. She ostentatiously doesn't look at you (sprawled on your twin bed) as she marches over to her desk, where her book bag is slumping half open.<br/>
<br/>
You look at her from under your brows, and finally work up the courage to say, "I'm sorry about sending you and Marc over to Kerri's after school."<br/>
<br/>
"That's okay," she says without looking at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Somebody said something to me and I, well, I got confused."<br/>
<br/>
"It's alright."<br/>
<br/>
"Marc's mad at me too."<br/>
<br/>
"No he isn't." Her tone is almost scarily calm.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, then I guess he got over it."<br/>
<br/>
"He always does."<br/>
<br/>
There may be just the slightest emphasis on "he," which gives you the cold shivers.<br/>
<br/>
She finishes digging her books out, and turns to leave. You throw yourself across the bed and put out a hand to stop her.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, Eva, can we just have it out? Just ... yell at each other, get it all out, so we can get past this?" you beg.<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a very long, even look, then coolly asks, "What have you got to yell at me about?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Well, I'd like to yell at you for this passive-aggressive, cunty behavior,</i> you think. "Well, nothing," you admit.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what have <i>I</i> got to yell at you about?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's just it," you grind out. "I don't know."<br/>
<br/>
A spot of color shows in her forehead.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I think you do, Jess," she says in a voice that burns with quiet fury. "And I bet you had a nice, long, <i>very long</i> talk with Will about it on your drive home from school while Marc and I were—!"<br/>
<br/>
She wheels and stalks from the room, leaving you to cringe. <i>What the hell am I going to do about her?</i> you wonder. You flop over and stare at the ceiling.<br/>
<br/>
And you're still sprawled in this position when Marc barges in. His mouth is a grim, straight line, and his eyes are hard.<br/>
<br/>
"Did you go through my room?" he demands.<br/>
<br/>
"Go through your room?" you echo. "What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
He flushes. "Did you go into my room, and dig through it and—" His jaw clenches. "Take something out?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Why the f—?"<br/>
<br/>
And then you remember. Jessica went through his room to get her gear out.<br/>
<br/>
The gear that you're wearing now.<br/>
<br/>
The gear that Marc would kill you for wearing if he realized it was you, here, wearing it now.<br/>
<br/>
"Why the frick would I do that?" you answer, a little uncertainly.<br/>
<br/>
His eyes blaze. In a single bound he is looming over you. "Don't bullshit me!" he hisses. "If you—!"<br/>
<br/>
Luckily, just then instinct takes over.<br/>
<br/>
"Why the fuck would I want to go in your room!" you yell, and leap upright to pound at Marc's chest with a girlish fist. "G'yah! If I wanna smell stinky socks I'll put my head in the laundry basket!"<br/>
<br/>
"I—!"<br/>
<br/>
"And why the fuck is everyone mad at me? God <i>damn it,</i> Marc! I got Eva mad at me, and now you, and I <i>didn't! Fucking! Do anything!"</i> You punctuate each with a punch to his chest.<br/>
<br/>
But instead of backing off, he grabs you by the wrist. "If you know what I'm talking about—"<br/>
<br/>
"I <i>don't</i> know what you're talking about! And let go!" You flail, but he keeps a firm hold of you. "Get out, Marc! I swear I'll—"<br/>
<br/>
"And I swear too!" he yells. He releases you, but shoves a stiff forefinger in your face. "If I find out that you—<i>you!</i>—went through my gear and got it out and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Got what out?" you shriek. "I don't know what you're talking about!"<br/>
<br/>
"Just remember what I said." His grin smokes like brimstone. "Because whatever the fuck you're up to, if you're up to—"<br/>
<br/>
You snatch a book off the desk and fling it at him. But it's a notebook, and it only flutters and flaps and falls to the floor at his feet. "Just remember," he says, and stabs at your face with that forefinger before stalking off.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I can't stay here,</i> you tell yourself after he's gone. <i>I can't fucking deal with this!</i> Your hands are trembling as you yank books and papers from your book bag, then shove them back in. <i>I have to get out of here!</i> Your eyes are boiling over with held-back tears as you stomp downstairs and grab the minivan keys from the bowl by the door, and charge outside. You throw yourself into the minivan, then bust out bawling behind the wheel.<br/>
<br/>
And yet, strangely, you feel an intense relief as well. <i>Thank you, Jessica, for carrying me through,</i> you pray to yourself even as you are wracked with sobs. If you'd had to improvise with Marc, you'd have crumpled and confessed instantly. As it is, even though he threatened you with hellfire, you're pretty sure you managed to bluff him.<br/>
<br/>
But where now? Back to your house, to insist on switching back with Jessica? To that study party that Stephanie invited you to? Or—<br/>
<br/>
You gulp as it hits you. Didn't Jessica say she found out about this stuff because Marcos Rivera told her? If and when Marcos tells Marc, and the others, that Jessica knows ... Well, it wouldn't take Marc long to figure that his missing "gear" might still be in the house with him, and is being worn by someone who is not his sister.<span class="fngigffkflm3610"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1111341111332121111212111312115111112
author_id: seuzz
id: A8DP4BT73
title: Roughly Speaking
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>It would be smarter to text Jessica than to just show up at your old house. But not until after you've messaged her—<i>Think I can get away with shoing up at ur house?</i>—do you remember your dad has grounded you so hard that she won't even have your phone turned on. So that kills that idea.<br/>
<br/>
And it pisses you off, too. Jessica has thrown you into a boiling lobster pot while she's safe and happy at your place, cut off from the world and all its stupid drama.<br/>
<br/>
Well, if she's going to shove you into her life and expect you to deal with it, you're not going to hold back!<br/>
<br/>
In a sudden fury of decision, you turn the minivan on, lurch backward onto the street, and roar off for Josie Holden's place.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Your eyes are still bruised and wet as you march up to Josie's front door. Voices, laughter, and music almost drown out the sound of the doorbell—some "study party"!—which grinds on your nerves. <i>People are having fun and I'm not!</i> you growl to yourself. <i>And I'm probably not gonna have fun here even though they are!</i> So when Phoebe Beauchamp opens the door, you shove your way past without saying a word—brush past Meghan Velasquez and Isaac Adler, who are loitering in a hallway—and charge into the kitchen, where you grab a bottle and a plastic cup and pour yourself out a Diet Seven-Up while ignoring the greetings (and stares) of Ethan Nieves and Anita Nuevo. You are gulping down a mouthful of soda as you yank open the back door and step onto the back porch, and slam the door shut after you.<br/>
<br/>
For a couple of minutes you stew silently as you gaze out into the back yard. The sky is dark, and the newly risen Moon has lost its pumpkin-yellow hue and faded to a washed-out, mottled disk. It's chilly but not cold; but you are hot and flushed and nettled. You want company, but at the same time know you'll probably bite the head off anyone foolish enough to come out to talk to you.<br/>
<br/>
But when the back door opens, out steps the one person you absolutely <i>can't</i> yell at.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Jess," Stephanie Wyatt says. "Anita told me you were out here." She relaxes against the railing that separates the porch from the yard.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I saw her in the kitchen," you mumble.<br/>
<br/>
"You come by yourself?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"You bring any schoolwork?"<br/>
<br/>
You start a little at the question, then sag. "It's out in the car. I forgot to bring it in."<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie rubs her nose with her open palm.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, shit," she says. "I guess you got nothing to do 'cept talk to me."<br/>
<br/>
You start at her words, and turn to look at her. She looks back at you with a very even expression.<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie practically grew up at the Garners' house. Okay, that's an exaggeration, but she and they were great friends from elementary school on, and she was constantly coming over to their house (which wasn't far away), to spend the mornings and afternoons playing. Stephanie is tomboy—more than that, almost; she's practically a jock on a par with Laurent and his gang—and so their games mostly involved throwing or chasing a ball. She got the Garners into soccer during elementary and middle school, and she lobbied hard for them to follow her when she switched over to basketball during high school. (Instead, at the start of their senior year, Eva and Jessica quit the soccer team for the cheerleader squad, which pissed Stephanie off until she abruptly got over it.) Stephanie isn't a <i>confidante</i> of Jessica and Eva exactly—she's too boyishly blunt for that. But though her bluntness makes her hard to talk to, it does make her a good person to talk to when you know what it is that you need to hear.<br/>
<br/>
"Everyone is pissed off at me," you sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"Who's 'everyone'?"<br/>
<br/>
"Eva and Marc."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, well, psht! Craig is pissed off at me, but you don't hear me complaining." She grins. "I make <i>him</i> complain!"<br/>
<br/>
You make a face. "Well, that's fine for you."<br/>
<br/>
"What are they pissed off at you about? Is it your fault?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Ouch.</i> Typical Stephanie thing to say and way to say it. Cut to the bone without anesthetic.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know what Marc's fucking problem is," you reply. "He came busting into our bedroom, accusing me of going through his room and taking something. And he probably just put it someplace that he doesn't remember."<br/>
<br/>
"So why'd he accuse <i>you</i> of—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know! Except he's still mad at me, probably, 'cos I made him and Eva go by Kerri's place after school. I thought we had some homework in Mr. Walberg's— Oh, never mind. But I guess he's still pissed at me about that, and so he decided to get pissed at me about the other thing."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh. Well, you know, I can talk to him tomorrow—"<br/>
<br/>
"No, don't. He'll get over it."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh." She chews on the inside of her cheek, then says, "So how come Eva's pissed at you?"<br/>
<br/>
You wince and kick at the railing. "I've been getting in the middle of her, um, dating life."<br/>
<br/>
There's a long silence.<br/>
<br/>
Then Stephanie says, "Well that was dumb of you."<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I know—!"<br/>
<br/>
"If someone tried getting—"<br/>
<br/>
"I said I know!"<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie snorts.<br/>
<br/>
"So why'd'ju go pushing in?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't go 'pushing in'! It just happened!"<br/>
<br/>
"How? Whadja say or do?"<br/>
<br/>
You sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"It was all an accident. She was texting a guy—"<br/>
<br/>
"What guy?"<br/>
<br/>
You brace yourself. "Will Prescott. You know him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I know him." To your astonishment, that's all she says. No snorting or eye rolling or face palming.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, she was texting him, and I saw she was texting him, and I sort of— Well, I don't know what I said, exactly, but now she's mad at me on account of it."<br/>
<br/>
Again, Stephanie says nothing for a long moment. Then she says, "That's bullshit, Jessica. What did you <i>say</i> to Eva?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing! I was only, you know, surprised she was texting Will, and I must have said something."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what would you have said?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know! I guess I was just surprised she would have been, you know, texting with him. And said so."<br/>
<br/>
"Texting him?" Stephanie asks. "Or texting <i>with</i> him?"<br/>
<br/>
It's an important distinction, you suddenly realize. <i>Texting him</i> just means exchanging words. <i>Texting with him</i> is the online equivalent of going for coffee. <br/>
<br/>
"With him," you reply. "Oh, and they went on some kind of a date. Or at least they went out together and did something the other night. They've been seeing a lot of each other."<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie's eyebrows go up. "So is it serious between them?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know!"<br/>
<br/>
"It sounds like it is, if she's pissed at you because you said something about it."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I don't know what's going on with her. She was going out with Jeremy Richards for a little while—"<br/>
<br/>
"Richards?" she exclaims. "P'feh!"<br/>
<br/>
Almost you have to stifle a laugh of astonishment. Stephanie prefers you to Richards? Suddenly, you like her a lot more.<br/>
<br/>
"I know, right?" you say. "But she got mad at him because he was being a jerk, and now—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you just gotta wait until she settles down, Jess. You know that." She folds her arms, and her brow settles into a grim line. "If she thinks she's got you judging her—"<br/>
<br/>
"I keep telling you, I know! But every time I try to talk to her, it's like I make things worse!"<br/>
<br/>
"So do you have to talk to her?"<br/>
<br/>
"We share a bedroom, Stephanie!"<br/>
<br/>
"You know what I mean."<br/>
<br/>
You sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, would <i>you</i> talk to her?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
She rears back. "The fuck would I have to say to her?"<br/>
<br/>
"You offered to talk to Marc for me."<br/>
<br/>
She makes a face. <br/>
<br/>
"I'm not getting into this, Jess." Then she cocks her head. "So why don't you get Marc to talk to her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, <i>Marc,</i>" you groan. "We <i>hate it</i> when he tries barging in."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, then, I don't know." Again, there's a long silence before she says, "How's <i>your</i> love life?"<br/>
<br/>
"Psss! I got nothing."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, come on inside." She leans in close. "We got a selection in there," she grins.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There is indeed a selection of boys at the party, though they've mostly paired up with the girls. The only one at reasonably loose ends is Luke Richardson, and he's the one you wind up studying, belly-down, on the floor with. You've never had any classes with him, but Jessica shared a couple with him her sophomore and junior years, and is already reasonably friendly with him.<br/>
<br/>
Luke is a handsome redhead, with glittering green eyes set in a lean face under a sloppy mop of hair. Despite yourself, you are still so swept up in Jessica's emotions that you quickly warm to his smile—and judging by the way his eyes gleam and his smile widens, he is quickly warming to yours. You hardly get any work done but instead gossip about common acquaintances, and vacation plans, and favorite music artists. He doesn't touch you, but you find yourself squirming pleasurably at the thought of him laying a hand on your hip.<br/>
<br/>
Still, it's a shock when he abruptly asks, "You going to Maggie Crenshaw's party this Friday?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um—"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I can pick you up if you are."<span class="fikjnhjgik369"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11113411113321211112121113121151111121
author_id: seuzz
id: SXJDQGLY8
title: Basic Instincts
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>The phone you gave to Jessica is turned off, so there's no way you can text to see if she would want to go with Luke to that party. And you're also aware enough—or maybe it's Jessica's personality that is aware enough—to know that if you don't say "Yes" right now, it will be hard-to-impossible to get Luke to ask Jessica out again.<br/>
<br/>
So all you can do is follow Jessica's instincts, and those tell you to leap at the invitation.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, that sounds great, I'd love to go!" you tell him. "Who all is going to be there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Prob'ly everyone," he says. "It's the only big party I've heard about that's happening."<br/>
<br/>
"Meghan Farris is having a party on Friday," puts in Isaac Adler from a few feet away.<br/>
<br/>
Luke glances at him, then turns back to give you a look that says, <i>Right, like I said, Maggie's is the only party that counts.</i> You grin back at him.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The study session goes on until ten, but even after it's over and you're outside, you and Luke linger near your minivan, chatting. You're impressed anew by how tall and lean and good-looking he is. And he can really rock the suede burgundy-with-forest-green-sleeves jacket that he's wearing. You can hardly stop yourself from brushing your fingertips over it, and you can't keep the grinning blush off your face as you exchange stories about the dogs you had when you were kids.<br/>
<br/>
But the time to leave finally comes, and Luke walks off as you climb into the minivan. You've just put the keys in the ignition when your phone chirps with a text. It's from Stephanie: <i>hangon dont go.</i><br/>
<br/>
Half a minute later Stephanie herself yanks open the passenger-side door and leaps in. Her eyes and teeth sparkle in the dark. "So you hit it off with Luke, huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, God! You weren't watching us, were you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hard not to." She pushes playfully at your shoulder. "He is <i>into</i> you!"<br/>
<br/>
You blush furiously.<br/>
<br/>
"So he's picking you up to take to Maggie's party, huh? Just you and him, or is he picking up some other people?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, ask him tomorrow if he can pick up me and my date too."<br/>
<br/>
"Who are you going with?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nobody. Or, I don't yet. Point is, you set it up so he's got a full car, that way it's just you and him when I call and back out."<br/>
<br/>
"Back out? Ohhh!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah! And get Eva and Marc to go. But, you know, separately."<br/>
<br/>
"Marc'll probably be doing something Hannah."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, get 'em out there anyway. And get Eva to go, tell her she should go with whoever."<br/>
<br/>
"Alright. Who are <i>you</i> going with?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno, I'll find someone. But you and Luke—!" She points a finger at you and grins.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh!" she adds after hopping out of the car, and leans back in to impart a final confidence. "Luke's a virgin, got that on good authority, and he wants to keep it that way. So don't worry he's gonna be all like, you know. Have as much fun as you want." She slams the door, leaving you in a daze.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The lights are all on at the house, but everything is quiet when you go in. The bedroom that Jessica shares with Eva is empty, but the light under the bathroom door is on, and there's the sound of running water in there. The light under Marc's door (which is closed) is also on, and you tentatively knock at it. "Come in," he calls. You push the door open, but keep to the hallway as he turns to squint at you from his desk. His fist tightens around the pencil he's holding.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier," you tell him. "I'm sorry I sent you out to Kerri's, and I'm sorry that— I don't know what you lost, but I'm sorry you lost it. I didn't take it, whatever it is."<br/>
<br/>
His jaw clenches, and his gaze turns very beady. But he says, "S'okay." He puts his back to you, though, before adding, "M'sorry I got so pissed at you."<br/>
<br/>
"Did you ask Eva about it?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, 'cos it couldn' been her."<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because it couldn't, Jess!" he snaps. "It got— There wasn't time Eva could'a come in and taken it."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, when was I supposed to have—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just forget it, okay?" He throws the pencil at the desk, and it bounces off and flies into the corner of the room. "There wasn't time for you either, I guess! I just— What time did you get home this afternoon?" His eyes blaze with suspicion.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. Fifteen, twenty minutes before you and Jessica? Mom was here when I got home. Maybe she found the— What did you lose?"<br/>
<br/>
But Marc doesn't answer. All the color has suddenly drained from his face.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God, Marc! Was it—?" You glance back into the hallway, to make sure you're alone. "Was it porn?"<br/>
<br/>
"It wasn't porn!"<br/>
<br/>
"Or a rubber suit or—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just get out! I'm sorry I friggin' said anything to you!"<br/>
<br/>
You back out and close the door behind you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Whew!</i> you sigh to yourself as you return down the hall. Marc suspects, but you feel better about bluffing him. Now if only you can be certain that Marcos won't tell anyone that Jessica knows about all this!<br/>
<br/>
The bathroom is open and dark, and now the bedroom door is closed, so you duck in to brush your teeth and get ready for bed. So distracted are you by thinking about what you need to tell Jessica tomorrow that you don't realize what you're doing until you're getting up off the toilet and reaching for the toilet paper. You freeze momentarily, then resume. <i>This is totally natural,</i> you tell yourself as you pat yourself dry in front. <i>Jessica does this all the time, and I'm Jessica!</i> Still, it's a funny feeling to touch a bushy spot that is empty, and to recognize that behind it is something that you've sometimes fantasized about. <i>I could totally touch it,</i> you think to yourself with a mix of glee and horror.<br/>
<br/>
And then, before you can stop yourself, you do.<br/>
<br/>
And nothing happens. Your finger doesn't fall off, but neither do any fireworks go off. It's just ... a patch of skin. Warm and a little wet. But really no different than putting your finger in your mouth.<br/>
<br/>
Although, now that you mention it ...<br/>
<br/>
After pulling your pants back on, you lean against the vanity and put your face close to the mirror. You smirk faintly at yourself, run a wet tongue over your lower lip, then put your finger in your mouth and suck on it while pretending to pout.<br/>
<br/>
Okay, that's sexy, and it gets you a little excited. No wonder Luke Richardson was into you!<br/>
<br/>
But you shut yourself down. You have to go to bed, and you won't have the room to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
The lamp on the end table is still on, but Eva, in the other bed, is turned away from you. <br/>
<br/>
"I went over to Josie Holden's," you tell her as you disrobe. "People were over there studying. Stephanie was there, and she told me about a party at Maggie Crenshaw's this Friday." You don't want to mention Luke to her, at least not yet. "I said I'd go. You wanna go too?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll think about it," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm going to be riding out with Stephanie and whoever she's going with. Maybe you can get a ride with ... whoever you go out there with?"<br/>
<br/>
"I said I'll think about it, Jess," Eva says. "Now I'm trying to go to sleep."<br/>
<br/>
So you shut up. You finish changing into a night gown, slip into Jessica's bed, and put out the light. It's a long time, though, before you fall asleep.<br/>
<br/>
And you can tell it that it's a long time before Eva does as well.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The ride out to school the next morning is quiet. Marc drives, and he concentrates on the road, while Eva, in the back, bends over her phone. You bend over yours as well, texting the person who's got your old phone, telling you need to talk to her ASAP. <i>Meet front of gym,</i> he replies when you're still half a mile from the school.<br/>
<br/>
Since you don't want to talk to him in front of Eva, you pretend to be absorbed in your phone after arriving, and tell her to go into the gym ahead of you. Only after she and Marc have disappeared into the breezeway do you trot along after.<br/>
<br/>
Will Prescott—gangly and ill-kempt as ever—is loitering in front of the main doors. His eyes dart about nervously as various muscle-packed jocks pass in and out, but a light sneer distends his lip when he sees you. "Hey," he grunts at you. "So what's got you all so fired up to—?"<br/>
<br/>
"When do we switch back?" you hiss at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Aren't you having fun?" He glances down at your breasts. "You got a whole fucking playground to—"<br/>
<br/>
"Let's just switch back! You get what you needed last night? You read that book?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. What'd you do?" Again he glances at your boobs. "As if I couldn't—"<br/>
<br/>
"I wound up over at Josie Holden's place. By the way, you owe me. I set you up on a date."<br/>
<br/>
The blood drains from his face. "You what?" he croaks.<br/>
<br/>
"I set you up with Luke Richardson. You know, he's on the baseball team? He asked me— Well, you— Out to a party at Maggie Crenshaw's this Friday. I said 'yes' because, well, it felt like something you'd want to do. And I couldn't text you to ask."<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't answer right away, which makes you nervous. Instead, he sucks in his cheeks.<br/>
<br/>
"Next Monday," he says. "We'll switch back next Monday."<br/>
<br/>
<i>"What?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." He smirks. "I'll sit out the rest of your punishment for you. And <i>you</i>—" He jabs at you with a bony forefinger. "Can go have fun at Maggie's."<br/>
<br/>
You feel your eyes pop. "What are you talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm talking about that date you set up with Luke. He asked you out, and you said yes. So <i>you</i> go out with him."<span class="fngigffkgfi3610"></span></span></div></div>


path: 111134111133212111121211131211511111211
author_id: seuzz
id: YVHSCQ3H3
title: Some Bare Facts
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>"Jessica!" you squeal.<br/>
<br/>
The boy with your old face whitens.<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up," he hisses. "If you wanna make a mess of things, <i>you</i> get to clean them up!"<br/>
<br/>
"How am I making a mess of things?"<br/>
<br/>
"Did I ever tell you I ever wanted to go to a party with Luke Richardson?"<br/>
<br/>
"I was just doing what I thought you'd want to do!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, just keep on doing what you think I'd want to do. Including going on that date with Luke Richardson!" He looks you up down. "Maybe that's what <i>you</i> really want to do," he adds with an acidic twist.<br/>
<br/>
He turns and stalks off toward the main building. You start to follow, then catch yourself. There's no missing the curious looks and hooded stares you're getting from some of the people passing by. You are suddenly very conscious again that you are "Jessica Garner," and that that is who people see.<br/>
<br/>
You duck your head and hurry into the gym.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're so rattled by your talk with Jessica that you don't really have the focus to properly enjoy what should be the high point of your day: a visit to the girls' changing rooms with the cheerleader squad.<br/>
<br/>
In fact, you are at Jessica's locker, and have pulled off most of your clothes, before it really hits where you are and what you're doing. <i>I'm stripping off Jessica Garner's clothes, down to her skin, in a roomful of other cheerleaders who are doing the same.</i> Your flesh prickles all over.<br/>
<br/>
It is cold and a little clammy in the changing room, and that's another reason you shiver as you unhook your day bra and exchange it for a sports bra, and the flesh on your ass puckers and quivers as you pull on some shorts. Out of the corner of your right eye you watch Maria Vasquez—tall, lithe, and panther-like—pull a sweater off over her head and pat her hair down before unbuttoning and dropping her blouse. Out of the corner of your left eye you watch Yumi Saito strip efficiently down to her bra and panties, then pause in this state to check her phone. With eyes unfocused and your head tilted, as though in distracted thought, you make a slow, three-sixty spin on your heel to catch a glimpse of—<br/>
<br/>
Deep breath.<br/>
<br/>
Chelsea Cooper: tiny blonde bombshell, pulling on a corset-like top and fluffing out her hair while standing bare-legged and bare-footed in her panties.<br/>
<br/>
Lin Pol: tall and bosomy, with straight black hair falling almost to her elbows, already changed into a sleeveless shirt and shorts, bending over to tie her bright pink sneakers.<br/>
<br/>
Kendra Saunders: gazelle-like black girl with auburn ringlets, standing in panties and bra like Yumi, and pouting as she studies her face on the screen of the cell phone she is holding up.<br/>
<br/>
Cindy Vredenburg: willowy platinum blonde with long straight hair, still in jeans and sneakers, but naked from the waist up, as she fumbles with a sports bra. Her breasts are upturned at the tip, and very erect in the cold.<br/>
<br/>
You have to close your eyes and suck in a deep breath before turning back to your locker to finish changing. Your own flesh ripples beneath your fingertips as you tug on shorts and a floppy t-shirt.<br/>
<br/>
Practice itself goes off well, though it's not until Chelsea (captain of the squad) lays into Yumi for fumbling a tumble ("Don't you know your hands from your feet, Yumi? Or are your legs too short?") that you realize why you came out onto the floor with a pit where your stomach should be. Chelsea is a terror, and it's like she keeps track of how many time she's yelled at someone so that she won't miss anyone. You escape today, though you and Eva both earn a murderous glare from her at one point.<br/>
<br/>
Second period is your study hall, which means you get to take a much longer shower than the other girls. Yumi, for instance, barely has time to wet herself down and shout inarticulately at you over the spray of the water before she's rushing off again; you, meanwhile, are giving yourself a lovely lather all over. When you emerge from the shower, the girls for second period P.E. classes are already starting to filter in.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div> <br/>
It's a cool and drizzly Tuesday, and you dressed down for it, in jeans that are cut off just above the knee and a sloppy gray hoodie. Still, you are feeling fresh and sexy and you hop lightly along toward the library. <i>So this is what it's like being fit,</i> you find yourself marveling, <i>instead of just being skinny.</i><br/>
<br/>
You are just getting your books spread out (preparing to pretend to go over the homework that you didn't do yesterday because you didn't know what the assignments were) and propping up your phone (for the actual business of checking social media and the internet) when Carson Ioeger saunters in, drops his pack on the table with a thud, and falls into a chair at your side. His mouth is curled up in a knowing smirk.<br/>
<br/>
"Saw you having words with Prescott outside the gym," he says. "Saw you having words with him in here on Friday. You making a move on him, now that Lisa's out of the way?"<br/>
<br/>
Again, instinct takes over, and you pound him on the shoulder. He snickers.<br/>
<br/>
"So what is new with you?" he asks. "If it isn't Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
Carson and Jessica don't have a lot to say to each other, but you can feel the warm regard that she has for him. When you look at him through Jessica's eyes, as you are now—<br/>
<br/>
Well, you see the same tall, shabby, gangly science nerd that you yourself know. You can also smell (with a stronger distaste) the musty stench of unwashed clothes and unwashed hair that rises like a fog off him. You wish more intently than usual that he'd chop his tangled blonde locks back, instead of tying them down with that filthy bandana (and that he'd get rid of that bandana altogether). But you also see a guy who is whip-smart and takes no bullshit, who isn't shy about talking to girls who are above his station or mouthing off at jocks who piss him off. You yourself rather resent Carson's air of superiority, but Jessica (it feels like) accepts and respects it.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm going to a party this Friday," you blurt out. "You going too?"<br/>
<br/>
His eyebrows shoot up. "Are you asking me out?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I've already got a date. I was just asking if you're going to the party."<br/>
<br/>
"What party? And who's your date?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maggie Crenshaw's. I'm going with Luke Richardson."<br/>
<br/>
Carson squints thoughtfully. "Is he that short, fat kid in your math class, with the pimples and bad breath—?"<br/>
<br/>
You pound him again. He grunts. "I don't know who he is, then."<br/>
<br/>
"He's on the baseball team. I think he plays outfield."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't even know our school had a baseball team."<br/>
<br/>
"You did too! We all went to a game last year, you and me and—"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't remember. But he is short and fat and pimply and—" He grunts again as you punch him again. "Isn't he?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. He's tall and really good looking."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm tall and really good looking. Maybe I'm Luke Richardson."<br/>
<br/>
You dimple at him. "But I'm not going with you to Maggie's party, so that means you're <i>not</i> Luke Richardson!"<br/>
<br/>
He grimaces and asks, "Do I get to tell Jenny you're going to this party with a knob named Luke Richardson?"<br/>
<br/>
"You don't even know him, Carson, why are you calling him a knob?"<br/>
<br/>
"Out of principle. Why don't you go with someone like me?"<br/>
<br/>
"What if I went with Will Prescott?" you retort before you can stop yourself.<br/>
<br/>
His eyebrows go up, which makes you regret the retort even more.<br/>
<br/>
"Prescott's nothing like me," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"How?" you ask, and feel the little hairs on your back rise with trepidation.<br/>
<br/>
He ticks off his fingers: "Grades, looks, basic hygiene—"<br/>
<br/>
"He washes more often than you!"<br/>
<br/>
"Like I said, basic hygiene. Also social skills, social awareness, social presence, social everything—"<br/>
<br/>
"When do I ever see you being social?" you demand. "I never see you at parties."<br/>
<br/>
"Because you go to the wrong ones."<br/>
<br/>
"Which ones do you go to?"<br/>
<br/>
"The cool ones. I'm having a very cool and exclusive one Friday night. You should come."<br/>
<br/>
"Where?"<br/>
<br/>
"At James's. Up in his old treehouse. We're gonna smoke a couple of bowls and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh fer Gawdsake!" You make a face at him. "I don't wanna go to no parties that start with weed and end with you and James giving each other handjobs!"<br/>
<br/>
"We wouldn't have to give each other handjobs if <i>you</i> were there."<br/>
<br/>
<i>"Ew-wwww!"</i><br/>
<br/>
"So bring this Richardson dink over to James's. Just the four of us. James an' me'll look him over, give you our opinion—"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't need your opinion, or want it!"<br/>
<br/>
"—and you can thank us afterward by giving out handjobs all around."<br/>
<br/>
You make a face at him. He mirrors it back at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Why don't you get a girlfriend, Carson?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought that's what I was trying to do." He smiles at you.<br/>
<br/>
"No you're not. You think you're funny when you talk like this, but you're not, and you're not cute, either."<br/>
<br/>
All the muscles in his face strain and tense. But you are suddenly very warm, and very serious.<br/>
<br/>
"You know what you're doing when you talk like this?" you say. "You're <i>daring</i> the girl to like you. That's all. It's like bullying! 'Like me even though I'm gross and dumb, or you're lame.' That's what you're saying. And it's not going to get you a girl. Well, not the kind of girl that <i>you</i> want."<br/>
<br/>
He pushes back from the table and makes to get up. "Okay, I'm sorry I sat down and said anything—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm trying to be your friend!" you find yourself babbling. "I'm trying to tell you honestly what I think, because I'm your friend and I want to help you, so I'll tell you what you need to hear. You know, Luke's not that much better looking than you. But he didn't talk gross to me, and that makes a huge difference."<br/>
<br/>
Then you're startled by a sudden thought: Maybe you could set Carson up with a girl.<span class="fmjggefefkk3711"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1111341111332121111212111312115111112111
author_id: seuzz
id: R5Y25KV5D
title: Aftermath From an Invitation
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>Did Jessica say that if you made a mess you'd have to clean it up?<br/>
<br/>
Well, you've got a week to make all the messes you want! And if you don't get them all cleaned up before next Monday ... Well, it's her fault for sticking you here for a full week!<br/>
<br/>
So dazzled are you by this thought that you don't hear what Carson is saying, so you have to ask him to repeat it.<br/>
<br/>
"Never mind," he snorts. "If you're not going to listen to me—"<br/>
<br/>
"But I am listening to you! I just—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll talk to you later. Stop by for lunch. If you don't, I'll spoil your news about your date with dickface by telling Jenny first." He shuffles out of the library.<br/>
<br/>
Well, let him go. You need time to think of who to set him up with.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Third period is AP World History, and on entering the classroom, you head straight over to where Kerri Mullen is sitting.<br/>
<br/>
Kerri looks like a leather-jacket lesbian, partly because she wears her brunette hair in a short, boyish pompadour, but mostly because she is hardly ever seen out of blue jeans and a dark brown motorcycle jacket. She has a bold eye, a sharp tongue, and a sense of fun that has landed her in detention more than a dozen times.<br/>
<br/>
But she's not a lesbian, or if she is she covers it well, because she has been going steady for a long time and with great obvious affection with Cam Shore, the backup pitcher on the baseball team. <br/>
<br/>
Her eyes pop when she sees you, and she almost comes out of her chair. "Hey!" she exclaims. "I hear you're going to Maggie's party with Luke!"<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself turning pink. "Oh. Yeah!" you reply with a shrug. "He asked me out and I said yes."<br/>
<br/>
"That'll be great! We all gonna ride out together? Luke said he's picking you up, and I think he's giving me and Cam a ride out too!" In a lower voice she adds, "Luke's great. You're gonna have fun."<br/>
<br/>
"Should I go look for him at lunch?" you ask in a voice as low as hers. It's a question that's been preying on you.<br/>
<br/>
Kerri glances over at Sydney McGlynn, who she was talking to when you approached, and who has been listening to all this with a bright and polite smile. Then she asks you, "Friday'll be your first date with Luke?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>First date.</i> The words give you a hard thrill. "We hung out at Josie's last night," you reply. "That's when he asked me."<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe tomorrow," Kerri suggests after a short hesitation. "Unless he comes looking for you today."<br/>
<br/>
"That's what I was thinking. I won't make it easy for him to find me, then. Hey Sydney." You greet the other girl in a cooler voice. "You going to Maggie's party?"<br/>
<br/>
Her smile widens fractionally. "I haven't made plans yet."<br/>
<br/>
"We'd all love to see you out there." You pinch Kerri on the shoulder, and with a last grin head over to your assigned seat.<br/>
<br/>
You'd totally forgotten the reason you went over to talk to Kerri—to apologize again for sending Marc and Eva to her house yesterday—but it apparently doesn't matter. You've got another, more amusing thing to think about: Sydney McGlynn.<br/>
<br/>
She's new to Westside (and to Saratoga Falls, in fact) and has made quite a splash. She's apparently from Kansas, but she looks like she's from California, for she has movie-teenager looks: Long blonde hair, a great figure, a beautiful tan, bright eyes, and a winning smile. On top of that, she was a cheerleader at her old school, and went with her squad to a national (or was it only a regional?) competition. Every boy in every class has, since the start of school, been besotted with her.<br/>
<br/>
But she has kept herself apart without making herself unpopular: aloof without being cold; reserved, but without being private. There's no great mystery about her: only the impression that she is trying to get through her senior year without committing herself to anything or anyone, and without leaving more than a very light footprint behind. <br/>
<br/>
Jessica isn't sure if she likes Sydney or not; but you know you'd like to get to know her better, and it occurs to you now that from behind Jessica's mask you could do that—and could maybe introduce her to a boy named "Will Prescott"? Hmm ...<br/>
<br/>
Or (and you giggle at the thought) you could set her up with Carson Ioeger for Maggie's party!<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There's no seating chart in AP German IV (your fourth period class; Jessica's schedule, with all its Advanced Placement classes, makes you feel like a slacker), but there's a usual crowd that Jessica sits with. Today, though, you sit on its edge, for you don't much feel like looking at Geoff Mansfield—he who stole Lisa Yarborough away from you—and his snooty, country-club friends. Yumi Saito, who is seated on the opposite side of that cluster, gives you a puzzled look, then moves over into a chair next to you. Before she can speak to you, though, you lean over to address the girl on your other side: Marc's girlfriend, Hannah Westrick.<br/>
<br/>
"Did Marc say anything to you about someone going through his room and taking something out?" you ask her. You don't know why, for it seems really unlikely that he would have said anything to her about the "gear" that got taken from his room, for then he'd probably have to explain what it was. But the spirit of Jessica is strong upon you, and you let it carry where she would go.<br/>
<br/>
Hannah frowns and shakes her head. "What's the deal?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I shouldn't say anything. He just lost his shit with me last night, accusing me of snooping through his room and taking something."<br/>
<br/>
"Did you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hannah! No-ooo!"<br/>
<br/>
"I was just teasing. No, he hasn't said anything. Wha'd he lose?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know, he won't tell me." You glance around, and lean in close. "The way he was acting, especially when I asked if maybe our mom found and took it, was making me think it was porn or something." You feel your eyes narrow over a sudden smile. "Have you and Marc been taking 'selfies' together?"<br/>
<br/>
She gasps theatrically and splays a hand over her ample bosom. "Jessica! We don't even post those online!" She giggles.<br/>
<br/>
You can't tell if she's serious, and you play it off with a laugh of your own. "Well, just the way he's talking about whatever he lost—"<br/>
<br/>
"Is he giving any hints?"<br/>
<br/>
"About what it was? No, just that—"<br/>
<br/>
You look up at a figure who has suddenly loomed over you: Meghan Farris, a short, charisma-vacuum whom Jessica never thinks of, except with a feeling of pity and a sense of vague guilt over the way she ignores her.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, I don't know if you've heard," Meghan says, "but I'm having a party at my place on Friday—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, cool!"<br/>
<br/>
"So, if you wanna show up—"<br/>
<br/>
"That sounds great! Oh wait, what day did you say? Saturday?"<br/>
<br/>
Her sweaty smile falters a little. "Friday."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh! Oo, that's too bad, I just made plans last night to go to Maggie Crenshaw's. LukeRichardson asked me," you babble, trying to find some way to not totally destroy Meghan's feelings as the smile now falls entirely off her face. "He and all his friends are going to Maggie's."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Well, if you want to stop by my place early, it'll be starting by around seven—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Way too early,</i> you think, but you assure her that you'll keep her and her party in mind. You feel her humiliation and yours both as she lingers just a little too long after you've turned back to Hannah to resume your conversation. She finally moves off, but the slight ache of vague guilt lingers still in your chest.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Yumi never got a word in before class began, so she is boiling over when it finally ends. "You didn't say anything to me this morning about you and Luke!" she exclaims as you and she scramble from your desks.<br/>
<br/>
"Did I have to?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well no, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you going to Maggie's party?"<br/>
<br/>
She makes a face. "I dunno. Maybe."<br/>
<br/>
"Want me to set you up with one of his friends?"<br/>
<br/>
Her jaw falls open and she flushes, and for a moment you think she's going to yell at you. But she seems to change her mind, and with a very pinched expression she asks, "Like who?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. But I think he's got a lot of friends, and I bet—"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you having lunch with him today or something?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, no. I wasn't planning on—"<br/>
<br/>
She grabs you. "Come on," she snaps. "Let's go find Jenny."<br/>
<br/>
So together you hustle out the door and toward the grassy quad where Jenny Ashton likes to eat lunch and hang out with Carson and James and some other of her friends.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
They're not there yet, so you and Yumi wait. She frowns and crosses her arms and kicks at the ground with first the toes on one foot and then the other. You pretend to be much calmer, but in fact you are feeling strangely excited. It sounds like you're going to be in for a session of real, honest-to-goodness girl talk!<br/>
<br/>
Paul Davis is the first one out, and he greets Yumi with a shy and slightly moist regard: the crush he has on her is an open and embarrassing secret among your common circle of friends. Then Carson and James appear. Carson greets you and Yumi both with a tight smile. James is more open and cheerful.<br/>
<br/>
He says something, but you don't hear his words, for you are struck by a sudden and vivid thought:<br/>
<br/>
James is tall and dark-haired, like Jeremy Richards. He is smart, like Carson. And he's a normal and unpretentious nobody, like ... Will Prescott. But though he's like each of them in one regard, he is unlike them in ways that are just as important. Unlike Jeremy, he's not a dick. Unlike Carson, he can dress up pretty nice. And unlike Will ... Well, he isn't an immature dip. (You wince a little at the last thought.)<br/>
<br/>
In other words, he's got everything Eva seems to be looking for, but with none of the baggage.<span class="fmjggefeffeh3711"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11113411113321211112121113121151111121111
author_id: seuzz
id: YCY97YDVX
title: Boys in Mind
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You're wracking your brains for a discreet way of broaching the topic of Maggie's party, when Jenny appears. Yumi nearly wrenches your arm from its socket as she hustles you over to meet her.<br/>
<br/>
"Jessica's going on a date with Luke Richardson Friday night," she blurts out before Jenny even has a chance to say hello.<br/>
<br/>
"Yumi!" you exclaim.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, aren't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uhnhh!" You turn to Jenny, who is frowning in astonishment. "Maggie Crenshaw's having a party Friday night, and Luke Richardson asked me to go with him."<br/>
<br/>
"That's what I said!" Yumi yells.<br/>
<br/>
"You made it sound—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Luke?" says Jenny. "Richardson? Oooh!" Her eyes pop. "How'd this happen? When?"<br/>
<br/>
So you get to tell her (and Yumi, in more detail) about the party at Josie Holden's last night, and how you hung out with Luke. Jenny's eyes glitter and gleam, and her grin gets very wide.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh that's so cool!" she gushes when you're done. "You have any classes with him?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, not this year. Last spring—"<br/>
<br/>
"Has he been going out with anyone?" she asks Yumi. "I'll ask around, find out if he's broken up with anyone lately."<br/>
<br/>
"What does that matter?"<br/>
<br/>
But she ignores you. "So I heard about Maggie's party," she says, "but no one's, like, <i>told</i> me about it. Like— Would she mind if we crashed it?" she asks Yumi.<br/>
<br/>
"Why would you crash it?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Because I want to go!" Jenny turns again to Yumi. "Don't you want to go?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't care," she says. She has suddenly gotten sulky.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I want to go," Jenny declares. "So if I can crash it—"<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to crash it," you tell her. "I'll just ask Luke if—"<br/>
<br/>
"You're gonna have to have a date," Yumi tells Jenny, very flatly.<br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"If Jessica's going to get you in. What?" she then caustically demands of you. "Were you going to tell Luke you want to go as a thruple with him and Jenny?"<br/>
<br/>
"No!"<br/>
<br/>
"So what were you going to say?"<br/>
<br/>
You hadn't thought that far ahead, and lapse into a rather helpless silence.<br/>
<br/>
"I can just crash it," Jenny says.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll talk to Luke," you tell her. But you don't feel happy, and Yumi and Jenny don't look it either.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You three girls wind up taking your lunch apart from the others, around the corner of the wing and out of sight. You talk <i>around</i> the party, and how to get Jenny in, rather than directly about it: You talk about Luke and who he hangs out with, and the baseball team, and Maggie Crenshaw and the softball team. You gossip about who has been dating or going around with who, and sharing opinions about them without once offering an opinion about whether <i>you</i> or <i>Yumi</i> or <i>Jenny</i> would or should try going out with them. You broach the topic of Carson and James delicately and obliquely (for James has a crush on Jenny, just as Paul has on Yumi) by asking if she (Jenny) would be willing to go as one of their dates if one of them got invited separately to the party. The way she tenses tells you that that's an avenue she'd rather not employ.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen," you wind up telling her after the bell has rung and Yumi has gone. "I'm gonna get you into the party."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't have to go," she sighs. "I'm just being, you know, a busybody."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I want you to. I said yes when Luke asked me, but, you know, I'm not <i>into</i> him."<br/>
<br/>
"You're not interested in him?" she gasps.<br/>
<br/>
"Interested or <i>interested?</i> That's why I'd kinda like to have you along. You know." You shrug. "So you can get an impression of him—"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't want to run your life, Jessica."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not asking you to! I just think, you know—"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, okay. You just know I'm not pushing myself at you."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm <i>asking</i> you, Jenny."<br/>
<br/>
You nod, and she nods, and there's an awkward moment when neither of you speaks.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," you lamely conclude. "I'll work on getting you in somehow—"<br/>
<br/>
"Just don't make a big production out of it, okay?" she says. "I don't wanna go because I want to go. Or because I want to go," she adds with a squirm, "with some guy."<br/>
<br/>
"I understand," you assure her, and you part for your next class.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
As it happens, Luke is standing outside your sixth-period classroom, talking to Taran Pritzker, when you approach. It gives you a warm glow to see him, even as it sets your insides skittering and jumping, like a lot of rabbits in roller skates. <i>Oh my God,</i> you ask yourself. <i>Why am I acting like I've got a crush? Why am I acting like I've got a crush when I'm pretty sure even Jessica hasn't got a crush!</i><br/>
<br/>
Luke does a double-take—he almost jumps—when he sees you, and breaks out in a huge grin. "Hey!" he exclaims as you sidle up with a dopey grin on your own face. "I was looking for you in the cafeteria, but I didn't see you."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I ran into a couple of friends," you reply with a shrug, "wound up having lunch outside next to the music wing." You flash a quick smile at Taran, and try to will your heart into slowing down to under five thousand beats per second. "How about tomorrow? I'll make sure to hang out in front of the cafeteria so we don't, um, miss each other again."<br/>
<br/>
Luke says that'll be great. Then he gives Taran a quick grin and slap on the shoulder, and is suddenly gone.<br/>
<br/>
Literally. He turns sideways, slips into the crowd that is worming through the corridor, and is instantly carried off. It's almost like magic.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Wow,</i> you think. <i>It's like with bears. I think he's more scared of me than I am of him.</i><br/>
<br/>
But that doesn't comfort you. It means that he might have a serious crush on you.<br/>
<br/>
You turn to find Taran giving a close but gnomic look. "Hey Taran," you say as you try to catch your breath. "I didn't know you know Luke."<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs, and turns to go into the classroom. But he hesitates long enough to glance over his shoulder to see if you're following.<br/>
<br/>
And you do. In fact, you follow him all the way over to the table where he usually sits. This is very much to your own surprise, and you can only figure that it's the result of instinct or cowardice, as it seems like he was almost expecting you to sit with him. But why?<br/>
<br/>
You yourself have never laid eyes on Taran Pritzker, and Jessica only knows him from this class—Art III—and has never really spoken to him. In fact, no one in the class seems to talk to or pay any attention to him—not even Ceres Kesey, the blonde hippie girl, who spent the first week of class sitting next to him and trying in a really obvious way to chat him up. Nowadays he hunches like a stump in the back of the classroom, working mutely on his projects and not looking at anyone except Mr. Trencher.<br/>
<br/>
There's a force field or something around Taran, something that pushes people away after they try to approach him. And approach him they do, especially the girls (like Ceres). For he's a good-looking guy, though in a slightly grimy and unkempt way. He has dark hair that covers his brow and falls over his ears and the top of his neck, and regular, handsome (but not beautiful) features: a small nose and mouth, and a firm chin. He dresses in dark jeans and ratty tennis shoes, and favors sloppy t-shirts, usually of a grayish-greenish color. But he hunches and slouches, as though trying to draw a shell up over himself, and he moves at a shuffle with downcast face and eyes. And yet, even then, he seems to fill up a space, and radiate a presence.<br/>
<br/>
Possibly it's his eyes which create that spell, and which even when downcast are never completely invisible. They are large for his face; grayish-green in color, like those shirts he favors; and they seem to be filled with a deep and wounded melancholy. The few times that you—well, Jessica—have caught him looking in your direction, they seemed to be filled with thought so deep and penetrating that it was like your soul was being laid bare before him. But then you realized that he wasn't looking at you, he was looking through you, as though utterly absorbed with some inner problem.<br/>
<br/>
You look at him now, as he slowly unpacks his bag. You give him a long moment to notice that you are watching him, but when he remains absorbed in his work of setting out sketchbook and pencils and erasers, you lean over to address him. "Are you going to Maggie Crenshaw's party on Friday?"<br/>
<br/>
He lifts his face, and gives you a very direct look.<br/>
<br/>
Direct, but somehow empty.<br/>
<br/>
He says nothing, until you raise your eyebrows in a query. Then he shifts on his stool, and hunches over his art supplies.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," he says. "Luke was telling me about it."<br/>
<br/>
"Him and me are going to it together."<br/>
<br/>
Taran shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't know you were friends with Luke."<br/>
<br/>
There's the slightest hint of resentment in the sidelong glance he gives you. "He lets me hang out with him," he says, and with careful movements begins to rearrange his work space.<br/>
<br/>
You let it drop, and wind up saying no more to him all class long.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Why'd you go sit with Taran?" Kerri Mullen wants to know. She is in the art class too, and you usually sit with her and Ellie Kemp. You have her for seventh-period English as well, and are walking with her to class.<br/>
<br/>
"We bumped into each other in the doorway," you tell her, though you really don't have a good answer to her question. "I thought I'd be nice. He's friends with Luke, did you know that?"<br/>
<br/>
But you don't catch her reply, for the hallway is loud and crowded.<br/>
<br/>
Besides, you've just caught a glimpse of James Lamont, and have suddenly remembered the idea you had for pairing him with Eva.<span class="fngigffkfni3610"></span></span></div></div>


path: 111134111133212111121211131211511111211111
author_id: seuzz
id: FRKJDZVYK
title: Ambushes and Ambushed
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>"Hey, I'll catch up to you in class," you tell Kerri, then dart over to intercept James. He rears back as you jump in front of him.<br/>
<br/>
James is a tall guy, probably closer to six-one than to six, and lanky but without being skinny. He's got a long but well-proportioned face under a thick but orderly thatch of brown hair, and he typically wears the usual Westside-normal-guy school uniform: blue jeans, a t-shirt, and either a flannel jacket or a hoodie. Today it's the latter.<br/>
<br/>
You like James, but you're a little daunted by him. He's both street smart and AP smart, and like his best friend Carson he's got a cussed streak in him that comes out in low-level pranks against the bullies, assholes, and jerkwads at the school. People you know still marvel at how he and Carson managed to glue Seth Javits's sneakers to the floor of the school library while he was still in them.<br/>
<br/>
Jessica, you can feel, like James a lot too, and as you look at him now you feel the tug of memories of her vaguely wondering if he'd be worth pursuing as a boyfriend. And that gives you the confidence to pursue an idea that otherwise might feel a little hare-brained.<br/>
<br/>
"You hear about Maggie's party this Friday?" you ask him.<br/>
<br/>
"Maggie Crenshaw?" he warily asks. "Something about it, yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"You got plans to go?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," he says, even more warily.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I want you to go." You poke him in the stomach. "And I want you to take Eva with you."<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't react, and for a moment you think he must not have heard you. But then he says, like a retard, "Eva?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's what I said, Eva. My sister." You lift your eyebrows. "You got a problem with her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, no, but—" His brow furrows. "Is this her idea?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, it's mine. Look, would you <i>like</i> take her out on a date? Or would you rather stay home on a Friday night and watch internet videos on your phone?"<br/>
<br/>
His mouth falls open, and works silently. His eyes go in and out of focus. You can hardly believe the way he's hesitating, and your heart chills. "Are you serious?" you demand. "You really can't pick between—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I mean I— I— Uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, it's easy," you tell him, "just ask her out. Today. You have a class with her later? Never mind." You push against him, and he steps back until he's wedged up against a locker, a frown of alarm on his face. "You find her, today, and you tell her you'd like to take her to Maggie Crenshaw's party on Friday. She'll say yes or she'll say no. If she says no, you can stop shitting yourself. If she says yes, then you got a date with her for Friday night, and a place to take her. What's the problem?"<br/>
<br/>
"What's the problem?" he echoes.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, why don't you—? You do like my sister, don't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, yeah but—"<br/>
<br/>
"I know you like talking to her. You're comfortable with her."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"But what?"<br/>
<br/>
His eyes bulge and glaze, and he rakes his hand through his hair. "What's the idea?" he stammer.<br/>
<br/>
You reach up to grab a handful of his hair, and he gasps as you drag his head down to your face.<br/>
<br/>
"The idea, you dumb fuck," you growl at him, "is that you take my sister to a party. Or at least ask her. If you wind up going, you have fun. Or you don't. Either way, you find out what happens. Christ, this isn't fucking calculus or nuclear physics."<br/>
<br/>
You push him back. He bounces off the locker and stares at you with very wide eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Text me tonight to tell me that you asked her out," you order him. "And you <i>don't</i> tell her that I told you to ask her out." You jab him in the stomach a couple of more times, for emphasis. "And you don't tell <i>Carson</i> I told you to ask her out. You don't tell <i>anyone</i>—none of your dumb friends—I told you to do this. This is just between me and you." You jab him again in the midriff.<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, but I still don't—"<br/>
<br/>
He gasps and hunches as you kick him in the shin.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you going to do, James?" you ask him. "What are you going to do next period, or after class, or this evening? What did I tell you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm going to ask Eva out, ask her to go to Maggie's party with me." He now looks both frightened and bewildered. "Jesus!"<br/>
<br/>
"Good. And remember. Don't. Tell. <i>Anyone!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Seventh period is English, and you've got a lot of friends in there. Besides Kerri and her friend Laci, two old friends from the soccer team, Mikaela Bowers and Dani Sumner, are in there too, and so is Jenny. For that matter, Marc is in there, and also sits in with you and this group of girls.<br/>
<br/>
But it's Adam Dortch who speaks to you first this day. You're just settling in when he comes sauntering over. "Hey, hear you're gonna be at Maggie's party this Friday," he says with a smirk.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh." You tense.<br/>
<br/>
"Look for you there." He jerks his chin at you, and saunters back over to throw his tall self into a desk next to his girlfriend.<br/>
<br/>
Bright glances are being exchanged by all the girls, and you quickly infer that they all know that you'll be going with Luke. Marc, though, has a puzzled look on his face. And it doesn't clear up until Luke's name has been batted around enough for him to make certain deductions of his own. His expression is clouded when class is over, but he doesn't say anything even as he follows you out of the room.<br/>
<br/>
Last period is Calculus, which you have been dreading. Aside from the fact that it is the one class that you know Jessica had homework in—homework you didn't do, and will be forced to confess you didn't do—you also share it with Lisa Yarborough, your old girlfriend, whom Jessica is good friends with and who she sits with (along with Jenny) in that class.<br/>
<br/>
But mostly, today, you're dreading it because Laurent and Brownie have that class too. And you wonder how they'll react when they see you.<br/>
<br/>
Because what if Marcos has been telling them what happened between him and Jessica?<br/>
<br/>
Your worst fears are, if not confirmed, at least amplified when you enter the room. Laurent and Brownie are hunched in their desks, snickering at something on Laurent's phone. For a moment you think you're going to be able to get away with sliding past them unnoticed, but as you follow Jenny over to the other side of the room, you notice Brownie catching sight of you. He nudges Laurent, and the two of them fall silent to watch you cross the front of the room. Your spine prickles as you feel their eyes upon your back, and after settling in your desk you notice the pair of them with their heads very close together, talking in whispers.<br/>
<br/>
So unnerved are you by this sight that you flinch at the touch of a fingertip to your shoulder. It's Lisa: "Can I see what you got for number fifteen?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Oh. I didn't do my homework last night," you mutter. "There was other stuff going on."<br/>
<br/>
"Luke Richardson asked her out," Jenny smugly informs Lisa.<br/>
<br/>
"Jenny!"<br/>
<br/>
But she just smirks at you and settles back in her seat.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Jessica," a deep voice sounds behind you. Keith Tilley—who is also in that class—jumps back a foot as you whirl sharply in your desk. "Well, yeah?" you gasp at him when he just stares dumbly at you. Your heart is nearly exploding from your chest, because you half expect Keith to address you by your real name.<br/>
<br/>
"I gotta message for you from my man Will," he says. "F'rgot to give it to you last period."<br/>
<br/>
"Will?" you say, and almost choke on your real name. "What, can't he text me?"<br/>
<br/>
Keith blinks, and his expression turns even more cretinous than usual. "I 'unno," he mumbles. "He just told me to tell you to remind you that you owe him eighty dollars an' he wants it for tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
<i>"What?</i> Come back here!" you holler as Keith, with a shrug, starts to shuffle off. "What are you talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
"I ain't talkin' about nothin'," he says. "My man Will—"<br/>
<br/>
"Stop talking about 'my man Will'! Are you talking about Will Prescott?" Out of the corner of your eye you watch Lisa, to see how she reacts to your name, but she is only listening with a slight frown. "What did he say to tell me?"<br/>
<br/>
Keith sighs.<br/>
<br/>
"He told me to tell you to remind you that you owe him eighty dollars—"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't owe him eighty dollars!"<br/>
<br/>
Keith blinks again. "That's what he told me to tell you. Oh yeah!" He scratches the side of his mouth with a dirty fingertip. "He also says to tell you to bring it to school tomorrow, or else he's gonna have to come over to your place and get it and ... something about breaking curfew, but he'll let hisself get grounded for a month if that's the only way to get the money back from you. I was s'posed to specially tell you that."<br/>
<br/>
Keith blinks again, dopily at you, but when you just gape at him he shuffles back off to his seat.<br/>
<br/>
There's silence from Lisa and Jenny as you yank your phone from your bag and quickly shoot off an angry text to Will Prescott's number. "Fucking hell," is all you growl when Jenny asks if you really owe Will some money. <br/>
<br/>
You cuss a lot of worse words to yourself after class, when you check your phone and find that your text has gone undelivered. So you look for him at his locker, and when he doesn't show up there you hustle out to the student parking lot. But his truck is already gone.<br/>
<br/>
You're standing in the lot, fuming hard, when you hear your name called, and you quail internally when you see it's Laurent. Of course, you don't want to talk to him.<br/>
<br/>
Besides, you've got a text from Carson, offering you a ride home if you're willing to have a talk with him.<span class="mnjmifgjf258"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1111341111332121111212111312115111112111111
author_id: seuzz
id: TVVC46F32
title: Laurent Drops the Bomb
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You've spotted Laurent gesturing to you, and he's seen that you've spotted him, so it's not like you can duck him. You grit your teeth and prepare for the worst as he saunters over.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Jess," he says, and you feel your nerves tighten: "Jess" is a nickname that only your family gets to use. "I was wondering if we could go someplace, hang out for a little while. Talk," he adds in a meaningful tone.<br/>
<br/>
There's a friendly smile on his face, but also an undercurrent of gravity. <i>Okay, this is serious,</i> you think. "What about?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Some stuff going on with you."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hmm.</i><br/>
<br/>
Your fear is that he will want to talk to you about masks and shit, but this makes it sound like it's something else. Maybe he's also heard about your upcoming date with Luke, and has something to say about it?<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," you tell him. "Me and Eva and Marc aren't talking to each other anyway these days."<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" His brow furrows with concern. "What's going on?"<br/>
<br/>
"Never mind. Where's your truck?"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
He doesn't talk about what's on his mind, though, on the drive out. Instead, he presses you to explain your troubles. You dwell on your problems with Eva, explaining that she's having "boyfriend trouble" or something, and is taking it out on anyone who tries to help her. Laurent grunts in sympathy. As for Marc and his issues, you dismiss them with a quick, "He thinks someone's been going through his room, and he accused me."<br/>
<br/>
That elicits another grunt from Laurent, but one with a more thoughtful sound.<br/>
<br/>
Laurent drives you out to Starbucks, where he orders the cheapest thing on the menu while still paying for your more expensive espresso. He then pulls you over to the most distant corner of the mostly empty shop. There, he hunches up defensively on his side of the table.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, cards on the table," he says. "Marcos says he ran into you on Friday, and you guys ... talked ... about some stuff." He visibly cringes even as he looks up at you from under his eyebrows.<br/>
<br/>
And that's all he says, and you realize that's he's waiting for you to lob that conversational grenade back into his lap.<br/>
<br/>
In particular, it comes to you in a flash, he's waiting to see if you believed that wild story that Marcos told Jessica.<span class="fngigffkfnl3610"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1111341111332121111212111312115111112111113
author_id: seuzz
id: XJMTFDB7S
title: Jessica Has Plans
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You've spotted Laurent gesturing to you, and he's seen that you've spotted him, so it's not like you can duck him. You grit your teeth and prepare for the worst as he saunters over.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Jess," he says, and you feel your nerves tighten: "Jess" is a nickname that only your family gets to use. "I was wondering if we could go someplace, hang out for a little while. Talk," he adds in a meaningful tone.<br/>
<br/>
There's a friendly smile on his face, but also an undercurrent of gravity. <i>Okay, this is serious,</i> you think. "What about?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Some stuff going on with you."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hmm.</i><br/>
<br/>
Your fear is that he will want to talk to you about masks and shit, but this makes it sound like it's something else. Maybe he's also heard about your upcoming date with Luke, and has something to say about it?<br/>
<br/>
Or maybe he does want to talk to you about Marcos. You don't want to risk it.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry, I got plans," you reply, and squint around him, as though searching for someone very important. "In fact, I'm waiting for them."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I wanted to talk to you about—"<br/>
<br/>
"Hold that thought," you interrupt, and dodge past to run up to Lin Pol. "You gotta help me out," you murmur in her ear after catching her by the arm.<br/>
<br/>
"What?" she says.<br/>
<br/>
"You gotta help me out. Give me a ride home."<br/>
<br/>
"What happened to Eva and Marc?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just give me a ride home!" you insist. "And pretend like that was our plan all along!"<br/>
<br/>
She looks mystified until she sees Laurent approaching, and then the penny finally drops.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, text me about whatever it is," you tell him as you pull Lin along toward her car. He sighs with obvious aggravation, but lets you go.<br/>
<br/>
"What's going on with you and Laurent?" Lin wants to know as you hurry away.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. He was just wanting to talk to me about something I don't want to talk about."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think it was about Luke Richardson."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You haven't talked to Lin about Luke and Friday night yet, even though she's also a cheerleader and a good friend. But of course she's heard all about it and wants details. By this time you've told the story enough times that it's almost a formula: How you hung out with him at Josie Holden's "study party" and he asked you out to Maggie's party. Lin is enthusiastic: She doesn't know Luke well, she says, but she's always liked him and she's heard great things about him. "Oh this is so exciting!" she squeals.<br/>
<br/>
You're just turning into Acheson when you spring a last-second request on her: "Oh, do you mind if we stop someplace first? I gotta talk to someone, and I think his phone is off or something." She accedes, but doesn't ask who it is until you've directed her to his house: "Will Prescott," you tell her and hop out of the car before she can react. "This'll just take a few minutes," you tell her through the car window. "Mind waiting?" She shrugs and remains behind the wheel. <i>Huh,</i> you can't help thinking. <i>I guess she's not a big enough fan of me that she wants to get out and say hi.</i><br/>
<br/>
Your mom answers the door, and it gives your stomach a very queer turn to have her look at you like a stranger. "Hey, is Will around?" you ask her as calmly as you can. "Just for a minute?" you plead when she tells you that he's grounded. She grimaces, but tells you to wait. You hop lightly on the balls of your feet, and fidget.<br/>
<br/>
He looks crooked and unkempt when he appears in the foyer: Hair sticking out at odd angles from under his cap, and his t-shirt looking like he put it on backwards and inside out. His shoulders and elbow jut out. "Hey," he says with a light sneer as he settles himself against the door frame. "I'm grounded, so I can't talk."<br/>
<br/>
"What happened to your phone?"<br/>
<br/>
"M'dad confiscated it. I got in trouble last night."<br/>
<br/>
"What did—? Never mind. Keith gave me your message."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah! Is that what you're here for?" He puts out his open palm.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't owe you eighty dollars!"<br/>
<br/>
"You owe me a lot more than that, dickface," he murmurs through frozen lips. "Besides, it's <i>my</i> money I'm asking you to bring me."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what do you need it for?"<br/>
<br/>
"My business."<br/>
<br/>
"Jessi—! Will!"<br/>
<br/>
"Jessica!" he mewls back in a nasty parody of your voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Son of a bitch, I—!" You glance back over your shoulder at Lin, and flash her a tight smile as she watches, unsmiling, back. "Look, we got a problem. I think Marcos told Laurent about that talk he had with you, and he's trying to talk to me about it. Also, Marc's noticed that your gear is gone. He thinks I took it."<br/>
<br/>
"You did take it."<br/>
<br/>
"He thinks you—Jessica!—took it! Anyway, he knows it's gone and he's freaking out because he doesn't know where it is or who's got it!"<br/>
<br/>
He peers down his nose at you and sucks on a tooth. The expression on his face makes you want to punch him.<br/>
<br/>
"I think I can talk my dad into letting me take a jog around the block tonight," he says. "I'll aim for seven-thirty. Meet me over by the old school. You know." His lip curls. "The basement where you and Caleb and Keith used to hang out."<br/>
<br/>
It gives you a shiver to hear your doppelganger refer to something only you would know about. It reminds you that "he" knows all about you, inside and out.<br/>
<br/>
"Alright," you grumble, and turn to go.<br/>
<br/>
"Bring that cash, too," he calls to your retreating back. You shiver again.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Lin asks what you wanted to talk to Will about, but you only tell her it had to do with homework. She then suggests that the two of (and Eva, and Marc if he wants) get together to study tonight, but you tell her that you're already behind on account of last night's study party, and that you can't afford another one.<br/>
<br/>
Eva is at least courteous to you, though she has almost nothing to say to you. Not that you were expecting her to say anything, even though you got a text from James saying that he had asked her out, and that she had declined to go to the party. You order him, in reply, to ask her out on a coffee date after school tomorrow. He doesn't reply to that, and you make a mental note to haul him into the girls' restroom tomorrow for another conference explaining what you expect of him.<br/>
<br/>
Dinner is muted but undramatic, and after helping to clean up you tell your mom that you have to run a short errand over to someone's house. You then collect four twenties from Jessica's cash stash and drive out to the old elementary school.<br/>
<br/>
Acheson Community Center (as it is now called) is a mouldering pile of brick and masonry built almost a hundred years ago (or maybe more) a few blocks from your house. A few years ago—before you were born—part of it was remodeled into a community center. But  most of it is closed off. The only open part is—or at least was—an old basement.<br/>
<br/>
You had found it last year while wandering around the neighborhood: a door at the bottom of a short stairwell, its top barely peeking out over the top of the grass. You were in a destructive mood, so after fiddling around with the padlock, you went home long enough to fetch a crowbar, and jimmied the lock off. On the other side of the door you found a basement smelling of cold grease and old metal, stacked up with old school desks, tables, sinks, gym equipment, and castoff bookshelves and cabinets. You'd shifted some of it around to make a kind of fort, then replaced the padlock with one of your own. A few days later, when checking back, you found your padlock still there, so you'd played around inside a little more, than brought Caleb and Keith out. For a few months the three of you would hang out there, smoking a little weed and drinking some whiskey, but doing nothing worse. Gradually you had forgotten about it, and haven't been back out since before the start of summer.<br/>
<br/>
Will is nowhere around when you drive up, but he pops up from the stairwell as you get out of your car. "Hey!" he calls. "I can still get in here!"<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck would you want to get in there for?" you squeal back.<br/>
<br/>
"I was just checking," he snorts. "Could be useful, still," he adds, seemingly to himself. "You bring my money?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. What do you need it for? You're not buying me a new game, are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be a dumbass." He locks the basement up, then turns back to you. "I'm gonna make some masks, and I need to buy supplies."<br/>
<br/>
"What? Jesus!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yep! And that's how we're gonna get'cha outta trouble with Marc."<br/>
<br/>
"What trouble?"<br/>
<br/>
"You told me he thinks you took that stuff. And that he's all paranoid."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"So we'll make some new gear. Another mask and <i>mens</i> thingie. Then you can sneak it back into his bedroom. I even still got the plastic bag he was keeping them in."<br/>
<br/>
"But he'll still know it had been gone, that someone—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Just put it back someplace weird, someplace he mighta hid it but forgot he put it there. I found it behind the sheets stacked on the top shelf of his closet, so as long as you don't put it there, it'll be fine."<br/>
<br/>
"But what good will this do?"<br/>
<br/>
"Christ, think about it! He'll just think he misplaced it." He puts his hand on his hip, and for a moment he looks, in pose anyway, like Jessica Garner. "You don't want him thinking that someone took it and is <i>wearing it,</i> Will."<br/>
<br/>
You see her point, and give in. "Well, if that's all you want to make masks for—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, that's only part of it. We're gonna make copies of some of the guys."<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. And then we're gonna do to them what they were doing to me!"<span class="fmjggefefln3711"></span></span></div></div>


path: 11113411113321211112121113121151111121111132
author_id: seuzz
id: JVQ49XKMT
title: Minding Jessica's Business
chapter_content:
<div><div style="padding:0px;margin:0px;"></div><div> <span>You stare, boggle-eyed, at your doppelganger. <i>Jessica wants to use masks to get back at Laurent and the guys?</i><br/>
<br/>
"Like how?" you ask. "What are we gonna do?" <i>What are </i>you<i> going to do?</i> would be more like it, because it's clearly going to be Jessica's plan.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno," Will grumbles. "We'll figure it out after we make summa the masks. Oh, d'ju bring my money?"<br/>
<br/>
You start to take it out, then pause. "How are you going to buy supplies?" you ask. "You're grounded."<br/>
<br/>
He stares at you, then frowns.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh," you say. "I'll keep the money. I'll go buy the supplies."<br/>
<br/>
"You know what to get?"<br/>
<br/>
"Bring me a shopping list tomorrow," you say. "I'll go pick it al. up tomorrow after school."<br/>
<br/>
But will you?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wrestle with it all evening: Do you help Jessica with her plans for revenge?<br/>
<br/>
On the one hand—and much the larger hand it seems, too—you can imagine all the ways things could go wrong. Not in detail, but enough of an idea. Things are really fucked up now, with you and Jessica now pretending to be each other. And that was from just one mask being made, and one miscommunication! If Jessica makes a bunch of them, and really uses them to try fucking up the guys, all hell could break loose!<br/>
<br/>
You also feel a residual loyalty to the guys, and no inconsiderable resentment toward Jessica.<br/>
<br/>
On the other hand, there is some justice in her complaints. The guys have been pretty goddam careless with the masks, and a sharp lesson might be just the thing they need. And can you really stop Jessica from taking revenge? She's got the book, and she's got other ways than through you to get supplies to make masks. You probably can't stop her just by refusing to cooperate, and if you did, that would put <i>you</i> in her crosshairs—and at a time when she is impersonating you and can get you into all kinds of trouble with your family. Pragmatic reason, then, suggests that you should cooperate with her, both to keep her happy with you and also to rein her in.<br/>
<br/>
The resulting struggle of emotions and reasons leaves you balanced on a knife's edge all night, and you are still undecided when you go to bed. But you wake up the next morning feeling very clear and certain in your mind. You do wonder if sleeping a full night in Jessica's mask has embedded you even more deeply in her mind and personality, but even that doubt can't change the very firm conviction you now have that you must cooperate with Jessica—if only to protect her from her own furies.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
This new evolution in the situation overshadows all, and you charge through the following day paying attention to only what needs to be done. Before second period Will stops in the library long enough to give you a "shopping list," and you tell him you'll drop the stuff off at his house this evening. James and Eva? You put them on the back burner. You also dodge Luke at lunchtime—your promise to meet him outside the cafeteria notwithstanding—because that would be another distraction. (You do seek him out afterward, though, to apologize for skipping out on him, and telling him that one of your girlfriends had a crisis you needed to deal with. You make him promise to look for you outside the German classroom tomorrow, so that you'll be sure of seeing each other then.) And you arrange with Marc to drop him and Eva off at home after school, as you will need the car.<br/>
<br/>
Eighty dollars is enough to get the bare minimum of supplies: enough for six masks, but only three metal strips. You drop them off, along with what little change remains from the transactions, at Will's place. You offer to execute the spells for him, seeing as how he is grounded, but he demurs. You are in a thoughtful but distracted mood the rest of the night, and put off meeting with Stephanie when she texts.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Thursday. Lunchtime.</i><br/>
<br/>
"So then she pulls out the front of his shirt," Adam Dortch is saying, and he demonstrates by pulling forward the collar of his own t-shirt, "and she dumps the whole plate of lasagna down the front of it!"<br/>
<br/>
He rocks backward on his seat, laughing. Ben Gunnison, seated beside him, brays with laughter. Adam's girlfriend, Catherine Greathouse, smiles though a wince, and daintily continues eating.<br/>
<br/>
And Luke, whose humiliation in a freshman home economics class Adam has just been describing? He grins through his blush and gives Adam the bird.<br/>
<br/>
And you? Like Catherine, you grin at the story while wishing you didn't have to pretend.<br/>
<br/>
There's five of you clustered at the end of the table, barely able to hear each other over the roar and clatter of the cavernous cafeteria. Luke made the quick introductions when you met up with them in line outside the door: Adam, Catherine, Ben, and Taran. You already know Taran from class, of course. Ben, a roly-poly kid with short, brown hair and a quick grin, is someone you've seen in classes, but never talked to. Catherine is new to you and to Jessica both.<br/>
<br/>
As for Adam? Well, he's hard to miss. He's tall and trim, with a bouffant of hair that he teases up into a massive, flaring burst, like a tumbleweed, or the hair of a troll doll. His face is flat and freckled, and he's got buck teeth, but he's not bad looking. In fact, there is something compelling in his face—maybe it is the very direct stare that he has—that, despite a surface ugliness, has the effect of making him actually look handsome.<br/>
<br/>
The trouble, so far as you're concerned, though, is that he is almost brutally cocky. He has the loudest voice at the table, and he dominates the conversation, making it either about how great he is or how silly others are. It especially makes your skin crawl when he looks at you. The gleam in his eye and the curve of his lip convey, almost telepathically, what he thinks of you. You'd be a meal to a guy like him, if Luke hadn't staked you out first.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe Luke senses the dislike that you harbored for Adam, for at your locker afterward—he followed you there—he says, "Adam can be kind of a jerk."<br/>
<br/>
"I like Adam," you protest, though maybe not convincingly.<br/>
<br/>
Luke leans against the locker next to yours, and smiles down into your face. "I got a lot of friends," he says. "We don't have to hang out with him."<br/>
<br/>
"We can hang out with whoever."<br/>
<br/>
Not until you see the quick, hooded look that flickers over his face do you realize the import of what you just said: that you're not just going with him to a party on Friday, but that you're already up for "hanging out" with him.<br/>
<br/>
You try to cover this minor blunder by asking, "Who else do you hang out with?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, lots of people," he says with a shrug. "Lots of guys from the team. Noah and Michael and Cam. Sebastian. Other guys. Who do you hang out with?"<br/>
<br/>
"Some of my old friends from the soccer team. Anita and Barbara, girls like that. Stephanie Wyatt. A lot of the girls that were at Josie's party, you know."<br/>
<br/>
He nods. "Maybe we should have a party," he says. "An end of the semester thing."<br/>
<br/>
There's meaning in the glance he gives you: <i>A party to mark that we're going together.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Will Prescott, looking hot and stung with some secret anger, is fidgeting outside your English class as you approach. He glares when he sees you.<br/>
<br/>
"Where were you at lunch?" he demands.<br/>
<br/>
"In the cafeteria. What's it to you?" you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"D'ju get the stuff I left in your locker?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." That would be the mask and metal band that you found inside your locker, wrapped in a plastic bag, when you went to change books after cheerleader practice. "That was quick work."<br/>
<br/>
"I was up practically all night. Your dad's pissed at me for stinking up the garage. But we got another problem."<br/>
<br/>
<i>We've got lots of problems,</i> you want to retort, <i>and you're going to make some more, aren't you?</i><br/>
<br/>
"Laurent grabbed me, said he needs the book back," he continues. "They're doing some kind of project with it out in the wilderness, and they need the book to figure out how to continue."<br/>
<br/>
"So you gonna give them the book?"<br/>
<br/>
He flinches.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't want to," he says, "but it's gonna be hard to come up with excuses. If I'm going to give it to them, I wanna go along so I can see what they're up to at least. <i>You'd</i> want to go along with them," he adds in an accusing tone.<br/>
<br/>
You shrug, but observe, "You can't, because you're grounded."<br/>
<br/>
"I know. I tried putting him off that, told him it would have to wait until next Monday, when I'm ungrounded, but he was all, 'You don't have to come, or if you want to we'll get someone to cover for you.'<br/>
<br/>
"But," he resumes after a full-body squirm, "I wanna know what the fuck they're up to. Think <i>you</i> could cover for me?"<br/>
<br/>
You blink, then rear back. "You mean switch back?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sort of. You—" He glances around, and lowers his voice. "You take off my mask, put on some of your old clothes, and go home as yourself. Then I can go out with Laurent and them and see what's going on."<br/>
<br/>
You can't help making a face: She's offering to let you take some of your own punishment so that <i>she</i> can spy on Laurent and the others from under your face.<br/>
<br/>
But she's also given you another thought: How about you just take off her mask, and go with Laurent and the others while she continues to play your part at home?<span class="fenlefeej3610"></span></span></div></div>


path: 1111342
author_id: seuzz
title: And Then There Were Two
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You pull up to a stop at the junction of two hallways, directly across from the doors to the main office. Your self-set task—testing the mask you made—is proving trickier to pull off than you expected. It's pretty clear that you need to get someone alone, and in an empty school that shouldn't be a problem. Your best bet, it seems to you, is a teacher you can catch alone in an empty classroom.<br/>
<br/>
But you don't know what the mask will do to them, and whoever you pick probably isn't going to be happy with you. So a teacher is probably the <i>last</i> person you should experiment on. It would be too easy to get in trouble.<br/>
<br/>
You've got the mask out and are hefting it thoughtfully when you hear voices from the direction of the tutors' offices. That girl you saw earlier steps into the hall, then turns around to talk to the dark-complected Hispanic man who has followed here out. Neither smiles as they exchange a few words in the open doorway. Then the girl stalks off down F wing, deeper into the school.<br/>
<br/>
You detach yourself from the hallway wall and pad along in her wake.<br/>
<br/>
You pass the tutors' offices, and look in. The offices are enclosed behind a floor-to-ceiling glass wall, and the offices themselves are also paneled off with floor-to-ceiling windows—basically, a bunch of fishbowls inside of a very big fishbowl. The tutor the girl was talking to is just settling behind a desk in the very back. There's no one else in the offices, though one other desk has a purse sitting on it.<br/>
<br/>
You shoot a glance at the retreating back of the girl, then glance back into the offices. <i>A tutor is almost a teacher,</i> you think, <i>but not quite. And this one is alone.</i></span></div></div>


path: 11113422
author_id: seuzz
title: Panic in F Wing
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>A tutor is not a teacher, but he could still probably get you in trouble. And the offices—fishbowls inside of fishbowls—are too exposed. Any passer-by could look in, the way you're doing now, and see what's going on. Also, there's that purse sitting on a desk inside one of the offices. That means there's another tutor around, and she could probably return at any moment.<br/>
<br/>
No, you're better off chasing after that girl. By now it's either her or no one.<br/>
<br/>
You hustle off after her.<br/>
<br/>
She's almost to the junction where F wing empties into the school's central corridor when she hears the squeak of your sneakers and glances back. She does a double-take at you and stops with a hard frown. "Are you following me?" she snarls.<br/>
<br/>
You pull to a hard stop. "No," you stammer with embarrassment at getting caught. "I'm just, uh, going the same way."<br/>
<br/>
She stares at you. "Creep," she mutters with a curled lip, and turns around again.<br/>
<br/>
Well, that tears it. Now you don't care if the mask hurts her. You have it in your hand, and you drop your backpack as you leap after her. She turns just as you're raising the mask, so she catches it right in the face as you pounce at her. She just has time to squeal before you cover her face with the mask.<br/>
<br/>
For half a second she sways on her feet. Then she folds up and falls into you.<br/>
<br/>
It's like trying to catch a big, heavy bag of wet cement. You grunt hard and throw your arms around her, but are dragged to the ground with her atop. You scramble out from under with a wildly beating heart and look around. Sweat pops out all over your body.<br/>
<br/>
You have the hallway to yourself (and her) for the moment. You scramble over to peer down at her.<br/>
<br/>
She's folded up on her side, in a quasi-fetal position. Her eyes are open but staring blankly. You swallow hard, and put your ear to her face. You're not sure, but you think you hear a soft breathing.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," you say, and poke her. "Hey!" But no matter how hard you shake her, she doesn't respond, except to gargle raggedly at the back of her throat.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh sweet Jesus!</i> you think, and look around again. <i>If anyone finds us like this—!</i><br/>
<br/>
But there's a drinking fountain nearby, and that means— Yes! The restrooms! Normally you'd never take a chance on going into a school restroom—way too dangerous—but it's more dangerous out here. You don't even bother to glance inside—let alone bother to look at the sign on the door—before dragging the girl through the swinging door. Not until you've got her laid out on the tile inside do you look around and see, by the presence of urinals, that you're in the boys' restroom.<br/>
<br/>
You wipe your sweaty palms on your shirt as you stand over the girl, and try to take stock. <br/>
<br/>
The first thing is to get her out of sight, so you grab her again by the wrists and drag her inside the very back stall. It's a horribly trick maneuver, for you have to stand first on the toilet to drag her into the stall, then jump over her to get back out. After you've got her tucked inside with the door pushed closed, you take stock again. <i>No good,</i> you see with a sinking terror. Anyone walking in could see her passed out in the stall. But maybe your luck will hold and no one will come in. The school is, after all, practically empty.<br/>
<br/>
Next step is to find the mask. You can't imagine where it's got off to. One moment you were pushing it at the girl, and the next minute you were catching her as she fell. But where did the mask go? You tear open the restroom door, but there's no sign of it on the hallway floor, near where you fell or next to your book bag you dropped. You look around to see if it bounced away someplace, but can't find it. You return to the restroom, to see if it got dragged inside when you dragged the girl to the stall.<br/>
<br/>
No luck.<br/>
<br/>
You open up the stall and stare at the girl. She is crumpled up like a discarded doll, and you grimace hard as you squeeze into the stall with her, to squat atop her to feel under her body for the mask. It's a ghastly business—practically laying atop her with your arms around her and your face next to a pungent toilet bowl. You make quick business of it before giving up, for you <i>know</i> that if someone came in and found you atop her like that, you'd go to jail for the rest of your life.<br/>
<br/>
But of the mask there is no sign.<br/>
<br/>
In and out of the restroom you pass, unable to stomach being inside it with the girl for fear of being caught with her, yet equally unable to wait outside the door as you try to figure out what to do. You have to fake getting a drink of water when a couple of girls go walking by, and you nearly pass out with fright when they turn into the girls' restroom. <i>What if I'd shoved my victim inside the girls' room instead?</i> you ask yourself. A couple of teachers walk by too, and one of them—a heavy-set woman you recognize as a home-ec teacher—frowns vaguely at you, but doesn't trouble you before disappearing off toward the main office.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I can't stay here,</i> you tell yourself. <i>But I can't run away either. Not until I find out what happened to the mask!</i><br/>
<br/>
How long you twist yourself, like a limp noodle, around this dilemma, you don't know. But far too many minutes have passed for your taste when you return to the restroom and glance into the stall to check on the girl, and do a hard double-take. The mask is back! And it's just sitting on her face! You do a full-body spasm, then halt forward to lean over her. Carefully you lift the mask off and look down at her. Her eyes are closed now, and her breathing is a lot softer and more regular.<br/>
<br/>
But that's the most you check on her. You tuck the mask under an armpit, grab up your bag, and sprint from the restroom and out of the school like a son of a bitch who's been set on fire.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's seven o'clock, and you've been home for a couple of hours, but you <i>still</i> feel like you haven't caught your breath after today's adventure.<br/>
<br/>
You were ragged with adrenaline when you got home, and you had to drag yourself downstairs to dinner, where you were so jumpy through the meal that your dad snapped at you, asking what your problem was. Back upstairs, you returned to your homework, trying to thrust aside all the terror you feel as you relive (and relive and relive) the afternoon at school. So many things to worry about. <i>What if that girl never regained consciousness? What if she's still lying passed out the restroom, on that cold, hard floor? What if she dies there? Or what if someone did find her, and she's in the hospital? What if she's recovered, but she remembers you, and she picks you out of a lineup? What if the cops show up at your house at 5:30 in the morning with a SWAT team and bust in and arrest you and drag you, howling in your underwear, to the police station?</i><br/>
<br/>
Also (though this isn't nearly as pressing as the above questions), what are you going to do about the mask?<br/>
<br/>
It's in your book bag now, and that's where it's going to stay, at least until tomorrow. You can hardly bear to look at it, let alone touch it, after examining it this afternoon right after you got home.<br/>
<br/>
At first glance, nothing about it seemed to have changed, which infuriated you. <i>All that trouble, and for what?</i><br/>
<br/>
Then you noticed something peculiar about the gleaming highlights that run like liquid over its surfaces. Some of them didn't run. And when you turned the mask this way and that, you noticed that those frozen highlights seemed to come together in an image. It took you a moment to recognize that they made a face.<br/>
<br/>
Yes, a face, deep under the surface of the mask, like a 3-D model. When you turn the mask this way and that, you can see the opposites sides of the head, and when you tilt it you can see the front of the crown of the head, and even the tops of the bare shoulders.<br/>
<br/>
And though you don't know the girl you tackled, the image was clear enough that you recognized it as an image of <i>her.</i><br/>
<br/>
That sent you back to the grimoire, and when you opened it to the spell you were shocked to find that an oval-shaped stain—dark enough to be visible, but not dark enough to obliterate the words beneath—had appeared on the page. Numbly, you laid the mask onto it. When you lifted the mask again (after a count of five) the page came loose beneath. On the other side you found the continuation of the spell.<br/>
<br/>
The mask now contains a copy of the girl—that's the gist of the explanation on the reverse of the page. And if you (or anyone, you suppose) puts the mask to their face, they will transform into a duplicate of the girl.<br/>
<br/>
If they seal the mask first, that is. There are no instructions on how to seal the mask, but it says that if you place the mask onto anyone else without sealing it, it will merge their image with the one already inside the mask.</span></div></div>


path: 111134221
author_id: seuzz
title: So It Turns Out You Can Be Too Careful
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You're not sure you understand what the book means by "mixing images." Even in English, the concept is obscure, and you're translating the spell from Latin. You're already playing with something dangerous, and have already taken too many risks.<br/>
<br/>
But it's not like you're ready to throw the stuff away, either. The best course, you decide, is to press on.<br/>
<br/>
By unlocking the rest of the first spell, you've gained access to the second spell, which beings on the facing page. It doesn't take you long to translate the ingredients or the instructions, for they are almost duplicates of the ingredients and instructions for the first spell, only with fewer items and steps. <br/>
<br/>
But you remember the stink you made in your bedroom when you executed the first spell. So, as casually as you can, you sneak the supplies downstairs, past your dad (who is watching TV in the living room with your mom) to the garage in a couple of trips. You open the garage door, and after waiting a long minute to see if the noise attracts your father's attention, you set out the stuff and start to work.<br/>
<br/>
Your worries turn out to be unfounded. Though you again have to mix a lot of weird stuff into a bowl and set it on fire, there's no belch of noxious gas when you're done. (Anxiously, though, you double-check the spell book to make sure you did it right.) The result is a goopy slurry. When you set the bowl onto the book, the page turns loose, and you flip it to read the continuation of the spell. <br/>
<br/>
(<i>Why,</i> you wonder with no little irritation, <i>does the damn book keep hiding the explanation of each spell behind some kind of magical lock?</i> It makes you nervous.)<br/>
<br/>
According to what you read, you've just made a sealant that, when applied to the inside of a mask, will allow you to wear it. That will give you the "image" that is inside the mask.<br/>
<br/>
You fetch a plastic tub from the kitchen, into which you transfer the slurry. Then you very carefully pack all the stuff away, and after closing the garage door again you carry the book and other supplies back up to your room. You also pick up a small paintbrush and take it with you.<br/>
<br/>
Your dad calls to you on your way. "What were you doing in the garage?" he asks without taking his eyes from the TV. He doesn't even grunt when you reply, "Just working on something with my truck."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You carefully scan the headlines the next morning for news of a dead body at Westside High, but there's nothing. Still, you're jumpy as fuck as you pull into the school parking lot, and on the way in, you detour the peek inside the F wing boys' restroom. You don't seriously expect to spot the body of a girl curled up inside the back stall—and there isn't one—but you can't help yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Only as you turn away do you remember the old saying: <i>The killer always returns to the scene of the crime.</i><br/>
<br/>
"What are you so twitchy about this morning?" Caleb snaps at you after you're settled into your seat in first period. He's giving you a dirty look from the desk across the aisle.<br/>
<br/>
You return his glare with one of your own. "Who says I'm twitchy, asshole?"<br/>
<br/>
"I do, asshole," he retorts. "You're twitching like you got a skin full of bugs."<br/>
<br/>
You force yourself to stop twitching. "Just not looking forward to the day."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, how come not?"<br/>
<br/>
"Do <i>you</i> look forward to coming to school?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. But you don't see me—" He flails inside the desk, like a marionette being jerked by a palsied hand.<br/>
<br/>
"Whatever," you grumble, and turn away.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div> <br/>
Classes aren't enough to distract you from that girl. You're less worried about her being hurt or in the hospital now, but you're more worried about being in trouble if she catches you. Could she beat you up? She seemed kind of tough. Much scarier, though, would be if she has a bunch of asshole boyfriends, on the wrestling or football squads, and she sent them after you if she saw you and recognized you.<br/>
<br/>
But you're also distracted by the thing you hid in the lowest dresser drawer in your bedroom. The mask.<br/>
<br/>
Last night, after finishing your homework, you returned to the spell. It was very straight-forward: you just had to paint the inside of the mask with the goop you made in order to seal it. So that's what you did.<br/>
<br/>
But that's <i>all</i> you did, too. You couldn't bring yourself to go any further. Not yet.<br/>
<br/>
The book is for real. There's no doubt about that. It is teaching you to make some funky shit, and that shit does some funky stuff. So you hesitated very long and hard, then decided to put it away. If you fuck yourself up with this magic stuff, it could be really bad.<br/>
<br/>
And even worse than what it could do to you, how could you explain it to your dad?<br/>
<br/>
The feeling of dread and fear got worse after you crawled into bed. You laid there for a very long time, staring at the ceiling and imagining all the ways thing could go wrong. You could have made the mask wrong, and it could permanently fuck your body up. Or it could work, and turn you into a copy of that girl, but then you might not be able to get the mask back off. (There are instructions on how to take the mask off, but it involves chanting a very strange phrase over and over. What if you can't pronounce it correctly, and can never figure out how to pronounce it correctly?) Or—and this would be the most mortifying of all—what if you put the mask on, and while you were inside it your mom or your dad or your brother barged in on you and caught you?<br/>
<br/>
No, if you're going to test it out (you decided) you're going to do it when no one else is home. Or you're going to drive off someplace very lonely and try it out there.<br/>
<br/>
So you buried it in your dresser drawer, under a lot of clothes that you've outgrown but not thrown out yet.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Normally you'd eat lunch in back of the school with Caleb and Keith, but today you drag them out to the front quad so you can eat with some other people. You're still sniffing around for news about that guy, and you figure that Jenny Ashton—a tomboy who has lots of friends in lots of places—might have heard if something dreadful happened in a school restroom yesterday.<br/>
<br/>
But Carson Ioeger and James Lamont want to talk about the time capsule project for Mr. Walberg. "So, Prescott," Carson asks you with a satirical glance, "are you shitting bricks about your paper yet?"<br/>
<br/>
Your class buried the capsule last Friday, after which the old walrus sprang the news that you'd each have to write a short paper on your contribution. You're fucked if you can explain why you sent a busted hair dryer to the future.<br/>
<br/>
"What are you giving Prescott shit for?" his friend James chortles. "He did the best he could."<br/>
<br/>
"It's a lame assignment anyway," you mumble.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, sure" Carson snorts. "But is that any reason to treat it like a waste disposal site?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was <i>all</i> a bunch of shit!"<br/>
<br/>
"Mine wasn't." Caleb grins at you, and you glare. "And I heard Kelsey contributed, like, a solid gold belt buckle or something."<br/>
<br/>
"What?" Jenny exclaims. She's been listening to all this with a peevish expression, and now she bolts upright. "That's criminal!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, she says—"<br/>
<br/>
"You know there's people out there who could use—!"<br/>
<br/>
"A solid gold belt buckle?" Carson dryly asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, something like that's a waste anyway!" Jenny hotly declares. "You could take that money and—" <br/>
<br/>
Carson holds up a hand and "yaps" with it, like a puppet. Jenny slugs him in the shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
Then she turns to you. "What did <i>you</i> put in the capsule?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"A hair dryer," you quietly reply.<br/>
<br/>
She groans. "Something like that too, you could have— You know, there's a charity drive going on here at school right now! We should all bring in— <i>Stop that!</i>" She hits Carson again when he again "yaps" at her with a puppet-like hand.<br/>
<br/>
So you never get a chance to casually ask if anyone heard about a girl being found passed out in the F wing boys' restroom after school yesterday.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
One of the upshots of lunch, though, is that Carson—a smug, know-it-all geek who uses what he learns in science class to concoct elaborate pranks against the basketball players—texts you near the end of school to ask you and Caleb and Keith to hang out after school. He wants to know about the time capsule, and what you know is in it, and who contributed what. When you ask why he wants to know, though, he turns evasive.<br/>
<br/>
"Cocksucker's up to something," Caleb says when you're leaving together afterward. "I think it would be best if you steered clear, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"What about you?" you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"I know how to handle Ioeger and his shit," he airily replies.<br/>
<br/>
Anyway, you wind up hanging out with him and Keith almost until dinner time. In fact, they have managed to drive all thought of the book and the mask and the girl from your mind until you're on your way home. "Supper will be ready in ten minutes," you mom tells you as you pass by the kitchen.<br/>
<br/>
You wash up and go to your bedroom to change shirts. As you drop the dirty shirt to the floor, your eye falls onto the bottom drawer of your dresser. It's partway open.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart goes into your throat, and you kneel to pull it out.<br/>
<br/>
It is empty. Not only the clothes you kept there, but the mask is gone.</span></div></div>


path: 1111342211
author_id: seuzz
title: When Charity Begins at Home
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You stare into the empty drawer. Where this morning it had been packed with old jeans and shorts and t-shirts and long-sleeve shirts, now it's completely empty. Not a sock remains.<br/>
<br/>
Worse, the mask is gone too. You had shoved between two shirts near the bottom of the drawer, under a thick layer of other clothing. But now—<br/>
<br/>
<i>Of all the fucking days Mom had to pick to clean out my stuff!</i> you bitterly reflect.<br/>
<br/>
Then you flinch, so hard it's like a full-body spasm. <i>What else did she clean out?</i><br/>
<br/>
You first dive for your mattress, checking for your jerk-off sock, and sag with relief when you find it still there. (And still disgusting. You make a mental note to toss it out for a new one.) Next you check your desk, which is crusted over with books and papers and notepads, for the grimoire. It too is still where you left it, under a three-ring binder. But the plastic tub with the stuff you made last night is gone. So are some of the dirty dishes you had piled up.<br/>
<br/>
You're still checking for damage when your mom's voice floats up from below: "Will! Dinner!" You set your jaw and march downstairs.<br/>
<br/>
Your resolve to confront her melts away when you see your dad, seated at the far end of the table, studying is iPad with a scowl. <i>Better not snap at Mom in front of him,</i> you think. <i>Wait for her to make the first mention.</i> She's bound to tell you that she cleaned out your room. Right?<br/>
<br/>
Except she doesn't, and it's up to you to broach the topic when you're helping her clean up the kitchen. "Did you clean out my dresser today?" you ask, affecting as casual a manner as you can.<br/>
<br/>
"Hm? Oh yes." She's distracted by the dishes she's rinsing. "You had a bunch of— And you had a bunch of dishes up there, too," she interrupts herself. "Will, I wish you'd remember to bring them down. One of the containers you had up there was so old the stuff inside had turned to goop!"<br/>
<br/>
That must have been the sealant. "What did you do with my old clothes? I noticed my bottom drawer is empty now."<br/>
<br/>
"I gave them to Robert to go through. Some of them are probably his size. The ones he doesn't want I'll give away to Good Will. Or to your school charity drive."<br/>
<br/>
"What charity drive?" Not that you ask because you're interested—you want to charge upstairs and manhandle your little brother—but you can't break away until the dishwasher is loaded and everything else is put away.<br/>
<br/>
"I got a text this afternoon from one of your school friends, saying they're doing a charity drive and asking for donations. It sounded like a nice thing, so I started going through the house, starting with your room." She gives you a sidelong look. "I'd been meaning to do something about those old clothes of yours anyway. You know, you should sign up for some extracurricular activities," she adds. "You need something to put on your college applications."<br/>
<br/>
"I'll think about it," you mumble.<br/>
<br/>
"It would also help keep your dad off your back about taking that after school job," she continues in a lower voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Right." But you're preoccupied with a hot, angry thought: <i>Fucking Jenny Ashton.</i> It must have been her who texted your mom and set off the chain of events ending in this disaster. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Once you're through in the kitchen, you waste no time charging up the stairs, three at a time. At the end of the hallway is your brother's bedroom door. You pound on it with your fist and holler his name.<br/>
<br/>
His face is flushed when he tears the door open. "Yeah, whaddaya— Hey!" He yells as you barge past.<br/>
<br/>
"Mom says she gave you a bunch of my old shit to try on." You glance around his bedroom. It's practically the twin of yours—a bed with wrinkled sheets; computer desk piled over with books and papers; a floor that can hardly be seen for the clothes strewn over it. There's a stink in the air, too—the sweaty musk of a thirteen-year-old boy.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, what of it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Where is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Your shit? I gave it back to Mom!"<br/>
<br/>
"Did you go through it?"<br/>
<br/>
A shifty look comes onto his face. "Yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"You keeping any of it?"<br/>
<br/>
"One or two things," he mumbles.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, what are you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"What's it matter to you?" He flushes harder. "It's all too small for you! Some of that shit's too small for me, even!"<br/>
<br/>
"Just show me what you pulled out!"<br/>
<br/>
Robert shoves his lower lip at you and stands up very straight. For the first time, it occurs to you that he's actually kind of big for his age.<br/>
<br/>
"I just wanna see," you tell him more calmly, "what you kept out."<br/>
<br/>
"Why? What's it to you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I just wanna see, is all!"<br/>
<br/>
He glares darkly at you, then shuffles over to his desk. There's a small pile of clothes there, and he hurls them at you. You catch them and shake them out. One's a green t-shirt, and the other is purple. "Is this all? How come you picked these?" you ask instead of asking where the mask went.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. I didn't even want them. I didn't want any of your crap. I just took 'em to get Mom off my back," he sneers.<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate. You need to ask him about the mask, but you're nervous about even mentioning it. He's already suspicious about why you want to see the clothes. If he thinks the mask is important, he'll be a pest about it.<br/>
<br/>
But you really don't have a choice. <br/>
<br/>
"Did you—? When Mom gave you my things, from my dresser, was there a mask with them? A blue mask, like about this big—" You fumble at the air, showing the dimensions. "Like it was made out of porcelain or alabaster?"<br/>
<br/>
Robert's eyes narrow, and he gives you a long, shrewd glance. You feel your anger spiking.<br/>
<br/>
"I just found your stuff on my bed when I got home," he says after a suspiciously long pause. "Just piled there. Mom told me she wanted me to go through them, pick out anything I wanted that fit me."<br/>
<br/>
"And when you went through them—?"<br/>
<br/>
"There wasn't anything there," he says. "I mean," he adds in a stammer, "I just picked up two shirts off the top and told Mom that's all I wanted. I don't want your shitty hand-me-downs!"<br/>
<br/>
"So where's the rest of my stuff now?"<br/>
<br/>
"I boxed it up and gave it to Mom. What are you so bent out of shape about?"<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate.<br/>
<br/>
"I had a thing down in that drawer, a mask. It's gone, and— You didn't find anything like that in the clothes when you went through them?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, I didn't go through them. I just stuffed them into a box and gave it to Mom."<br/>
<br/>
He's got a very shifty look on his face, and you are badly tempted to grab him by the throat and choke a confession out of him. Instead, you growl, "I want it back."<br/>
<br/>
"Your stuff? So talk to Mom!"<br/>
<br/>
You hold his eye a minute, then wheel and stalk from the bedroom. Downstairs you catch up to your mom as she's wiping down the dining room table. You ask her about the box of clothes that Robert gave to her. "Oh, it's in the garage," she says.<br/>
<br/>
So you go out to check. You find the box easily enough. But when you dig through the old clothes, you don't find the mask.<br/>
<br/>
You're just turning to go back inside and confront Robert again when your dad enters. "There you are," he says, and fixes you with a hard gaze. "Your mother says she found a lot of chemicals in your bedroom when she went through it today." He glances around. "Where are they?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. Dad, when Mom gave my things to Robert to go through—"<br/>
<br/>
"She says she boxed them up and brought them down here." He stalks over to where you're you're standing and looks over the work table. That's when you notice that another cardboard box, open, containing the stuff you bought to make the mask. "Is this it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, but Dad—"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't want you keeping this stuff up in your room. You keep it down here," he says as he sorts through it. "Jesus! What is this for?"<br/>
<br/>
"That project I was working on for Caleb?" You gulp.<br/>
<br/>
His frown deepens. "Then keep it at Caleb's place and work on it over there." He holds your eye.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes sir. Dad, there's something else. A, uh, another thing that belongs to Caleb," you improvise. "I was keeping it in my bottom dresser drawer, and Mom must have taken it out with my things and—"<br/>
<br/>
You give your dad the tedious story, though he clearly doesn't want to hear it, and at the end he only tells you to check with your mom and with Robert again. But Robert's room is dark and empty when you go back upstairs. Down in the living room, when you ask, your mom says that he took off for his friend Shawn's house, to pick up some homework.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You take advantage of his absence to search through his room, but you don't turn up the mask. You're waiting outside his doorway when he comes back. "I know you took that thing I was telling you about," you tell him. "It's not in the box you gave to Mom, so you must've taken it out."<br/>
<br/>
He insists, though, that he doesn't know what you're talking about.</span></div></div>


path: 11113422112
author_id: seuzz
title: Boxed and Outfoxed
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You hate the idea of getting your dad involved. It makes you feel like a grade-school snitch. But you need to get that mask back, and talking to him seems like the only way of doing it.<br/>
<br/>
"Dad," you mutter through gritted teeth as you enter the living room. He tears his attention from the TV with a quizzical frown. "I need your help with Robert. That thing I was telling you about? He's got it and he won't give back."<br/>
<br/>
Your dad's frown deepens, and your mom looks up from her knitting. She watches witha poker-faced expression as, with a deep sigh, your dad pauses the TV and gets to his feet. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Well, the long and short of it is that Robert shrilly insists that he hasn't got your "stupid thing," and your dad doesn't force anything more out of him. Instead, he only tells Robert, in a low and threatening voice, that <i>Will had better find it.</i><br/>
<br/>
"You took it to your friend's house, didn't you, you little shit?" you hiss at Robert after he's clomped back downstairs. He turns black with fury and embarrassment. "Just remember what Dad told you. It had <i>better turn up.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Robert slams the door in your face. You stomp back to your room.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You and Robert are not on speaking terms the next morning, and you're in a foul mood when you get to school. You swerve away when you see Jenny Ashton loitering near the gym, then change your mind and swerve toward her. "Did you talk to my mom about some charity drive thing?" you ask her.<br/>
<br/>
"What?" she says. She blinks at you, as though trying to put a name to your face. "Oh, yeah. I texted her about—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, thanks a lot. You only fucked things up for me good is all!"<br/>
<br/>
<i>"What?"</i> she exclaims, but you swing around and march off.<br/>
<br/>
What the fuck are you going to do about that mask? The only thing you can do, apparently, is wait for Robert to come to his senses and return it. You hope that neither he nor his friend Shawn (nor anyone else) does anything stupid with it. Or, if they actually do try fooling around with it, you have to hope that it doesn't do what it's supposed to do, and turn them into a copy of that girl.<br/>
<br/>
Well, <i>that</i> sucks. Thanks to this clusterfuck, you're now hoping that you fucked up the recipe and that the magic won't work.<br/>
<br/>
You're at your locker after third period when you're slapped hard on the back of the head. You quail—it's the kind of slap that usually presages an appearance by "Lester the Molester" or some other bully, but when you look around, you find it's only James Lamont glaring at you.<br/>
<br/>
"You leave Jenny the fuck alone," he warns you. With a dark look, he steps back into the crowd.<br/>
<br/>
You snort at him. <i>Like I'm scared of </i>you,<i> dickface!</i> you think at the back of his head.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Nothing of interest happens at school, and so preoccupied are you with the new crisis that you almost forget to worry about that girl you ambushed with the mask. When you do remember her, and check online, you find no mention of anything about a girl getting raped in the Westside restroom, which is more or less the form you're expecting the story to take (if it ever pops up).<br/>
<br/>
On the drive home from school, though, you get a text from Robert. <i>Mom says ur old cloths r m garGe did u lol thr.</i> After staring aghast at at this mess of letters for the longest time (it takes you almost five minutes to figure out that "lol" means "look") you almost blow up. <i>Of course I looked in the box in the garage!</i> Then you grimly deduce that this must be Robert's way of giving the mask back to you: putting it where it ought to have been, so that you can all pretend that he didn't take it. <i>Fucking little shit of a twerp,</i> you seethe to yourself, and don't deign to send a reply.<br/>
<br/>
But at least this looks like the end of the adventure. You stop by the 7/11 to buy yourself a cold soda to help you cool off.<br/>
<br/>
The garage door is up when you get home, and your mother is bustling about inside. She looks up at you with a tight smile as you hop out of the truck. The sight of her here, in the garage, causes your heart to sink with a horrible anticipation that things haven't stopped going wrong. "How was your day, sweetheart?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Fine," you warily reply.<br/>
<br/>
"Your dad and I were talking about this science project of Caleb's that you're helping with. Is there some reason you can't do it at his place?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, there isn't room?"<br/>
<br/>
"There isn't? Why not?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno." Sweat pops out all over your body. "He just said he didn't have room for it."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, your dad doesn't want you keeping the stuff here. So you need to give it back to Caleb." She steps to one side, and you see a fresh cardboard box, neatly taped up, sitting on the worktable by the wall. It has Caleb's name written on its side in big black letters.<br/>
<br/>
You feel a headache coming on. Sure, you could give the box to Caleb to hang on to, while you figure out some other way of continuing your experiments. "I'll talk to him about it tomorrow," you mumble.<br/>
<br/>
"Can you do that now?" She gives you a very patient but very meaningful look. "So we can tell your dad tonight that it's all taken care of?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, alright," you mumble. You shuffle past her to pick up the box, and your eyes dart over to confirm that the box of cast-off clothes is still sitting where you last saw it. "Anything else I can do for you?" you sourly inquire.<br/>
<br/>
"No. Thank you, Will." She beams at you. "You know, we're both pleased that you're helping Caleb out with something scientific, and we both want to hear about it. What it is, and all that."<br/>
<br/>
Your heart goes sideways in your chest. "I'll, um, talk to Caleb about it," you gulp. Dodging her gaze, you climb into your truck and back out into the street.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Jesus,</i> you think as you drive around the neighborhood, <i>it just gets worse and worse.</i> Now you have to get rid of the stuff you were playing with. You can't take it over to Caleb's because he's a helpless snoop and he'll want to know what's in the box and why his name is on it and what you're doing with it. And even if you find a place to keep it, where will you go to work on it? You can't work on it at any of your friends' places, or else you'll have to tell them what you've been up to. Which might be an okay thing to do. Maybe you should have brought Caleb or Keith into this project earlier. But you'd still like to play around with it on your own, at least for a little while longer. Get a feel for what the book can teach you to make.<br/>
<br/>
<i>The book.</i> What if your mom finds it and throws it out too? Or Robert steals it? You almost shit yourself at the thought. So much else has gone wrong, it would be perfect if you lost the book, too.<br/>
<br/>
So you drive aimlessly through the neighborhood, nerves quivering, as you wrack your brains for a plan. <i>What to do with the shit in the box? What to tell Mom and Dad about Caleb's project?</i><br/>
<br/>
In a final desperate throw, you wind up parked at the old Acheson Township elementary school. The school—a Gothic-style brick monster built a hundred years ago—was abandoned a couple of decades ago, but was turned into a community center. One day a year or so back, you were goofing around on its grounds when you found an exterior door at the bottom of a short flight of steps. It had a padlock on it, but you were in a mood for mischief, and you jimmied it off with a crowbar that you fetched from home. Inside you found a dim and dusty basement, stacked deep with old desks and book cases and office furniture (and toilets and sinks and old gym equipment), smelling of grease and dirt and cold metal. You explored a bit, then bought a new padlock that you hung on the door. You showed the place to Caleb and Keith, and the three of you spent a few months turning into a kind of clubhouse. You even spent Halloween there, drinking cheap whiskey and telling each other botched-up ghost stories.<br/>
<br/>
You haven't been back there in nine or ten months, and you doubt your padlock is still on the door. (The custodial staff will have wrenched it off and replaced it.) But maybe you could hide the box of stuff there. You might even renew its use as a secret headquarters, but for yourself alone, to work magic experiments.<br/>
<br/>
So you carry the box over to the basement door. There is a padlock on it, and it looks like it might even be your old padlock. But you haven't got the key with you. That will still be at home, in your dresser.<br/>
<br/>
Assuming your mother hasn't found and thrown <i>that</i> out.<br/>
<br/>
So you leave the box at the foot of the stairs, and drive home to look for that key. On your way through the garage, you stop to search through the box of old clothes, to see if Robert did indeed put the mask back into it.<br/>
<br/>
But the box is now gone—vanished during the short time you were driving around the neighborhood.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, the kids from your school came over while you were at Caleb's," your mom says when you ask her about it. "You know, for the charity drive."</span></div></div>


path: 111134221121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Winding Trail
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Robert told you to look in the old-clothes box for your mask. It might be that he was trying to bluff or trick you into following a false trail while keeping the mask himself. But even if that  is what he's doing, it's worth trying to track the box down before it gets too far out of your reach.<br/>
<br/>
"Who picked it up?" you ask your mom<br/>
<br/>
"They were from your school, Will," she peevishly replies. (She is distracted by the dinner prep.) "You know, you haven't looked at, let alone worn, any of those old things for a couple of years now, so why all of a sudden—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because I think there was something in with them that—! Never mind, I'll go track it down myself," you mutter as your mom turns to give you a hard squint.<br/>
<br/>
You've got your phone out as you run up the stairs, and pause in the hallway to tap in a text to Jenny Ashton. Robert peeks out from behind his bedroom door, then hurriedly slams it. You run over and kick at it until he opens it with a sullen but fearful expression.<br/>
<br/>
"Is that thing in the box of clothes down in the garage?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno! Why don't you go check? I just know Mom said—"<br/>
<br/>
"Mom gave it to a charity drive today."<br/>
<br/>
"What?" Robert looks startled.<br/>
<br/>
"If I track down that box and it turns out you've still that thing up here in your room, I'm gonna kick you in the balls so hard they'll show up in the x-rays the next time you go to the dentist!"<br/>
<br/>
Robert's eyes widen. Then he slams the door in your face.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
All things considered, you think your text to Jenny is a model of tact and composure: <i>Hey ur friends came by my house to collect for the charity drive. Who r they n where did they take the stuff?</i> Polite too is the follow-up text you send when she doesn't answer: <i>Hey I need to look thru stuff ur friends took from my house how can I reach them?</i> Also the third text, sent after dinner, when you still haven't heard from Jenny: <i>I need to talk to the guys that took stuff from my house theres something in it not mine I need to get it back.</i><br/>
<br/>
Finally, though, you lose all patience and call her directly. "Is this about your box of stuff?" she snarls when she picks up.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah. Wait, you mean you got my texts?"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course I got your texts! You've only been banging at me all day about it!"<br/>
<br/>
"So why didn't you reply?"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos I don't know who's got your stuff, Will, I—"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought they were friends of yours."<br/>
<br/>
"Will you shut up?" She pants into the phone. "I'm trying to help you out here! I don't know who it was collected your stuff because I'm not part of it! It's a junior-class project! I know a couple of the people who are helping out, but I don't know who organized it, and I sure as hell don't know who it was who swung by your place. I mean, if you want to take over for me, tracking it down, please do!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Okay, sure."<br/>
<br/>
"What?" She sounds startled.<br/>
<br/>
"I said I'll take over. Um, who should I text?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Um—" She sounds completely baffled by your offer to follow up on your own shit. "Hang on. I'll text my guys to text you when they find your stuff."<br/>
<br/>
"Why can't I text them?"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I guess you could. Um, no, wait. Will, can I hang up? I'll just tell them to text you. Bye." The line goes dead before you can reply.<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. Jenny's more than a tomboy. She's a little bit of a busybody. It sounds like she doesn't even <i>want</i> to turn the job over to you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
An hour passes before you hear back from anyone about your shit, time during which you at least manage to get the rest of your homework done.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hi Will,</i> the text reads, <i>Jenny Ashton tells me that we accidentally picked up something from your house today that we shouldn't have. Can you tell me what it was, and what your address was, and what time we picked it up?</i> It is from someone named Naomi Batson.<br/>
<br/>
You reply with your address and an approximate time. As for what it was you lost— You hesitate a good long time before describing it as <i>a blue mask made out of something like porcelain.</i> You add that it was probably tucked in with the clothes inside the box.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I see,</i> Naomi replies. <i>Was it valuable?</i> You hesitate even longer over this question before replying, <i>Maybe but it doesn't belong to me which is y I need it back.</i><br/>
<br/>
Naomi promises to get in touch with you tomorrow about it.<br/>
<br/>
Well, that's all that can be done, right? Still, you're suffering from what your Aunt Mary calls "a nervous tummy" when you go to bed.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The next day, Thursday, dawns clear and warm. You're up early, but you resist the urge to text Naomi to find out if she knows anything. At least, you successfully resist until you get to school, when you text her that you have second lunch and a free hour during seventh period, in case there's a chance of meeting up during those times. Her reply comes shortly before class starts: <i>Thx will let you know.</i><br/>
<br/>
At lunch you go looking for Jenny. James jeers at your approach—"How's your electric shaver project coming along, Prescott?"—but you ignore him. "Thanks for putting me onto your friend," you tell Jenny.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you're welcome," she says. Her tone is a little testy. "Did you get your thing back?"<br/>
<br/>
"What thing?" Carson asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Not yet. She's supposed to text me when they've found it. Uh, do you know where they keep the stuff they collect?"<br/>
<br/>
"Someone's house, I suppose," says Jenny. She slaps Carson's hand away as he tries to slip it into her bag of chips.  "Too many sticky fingers up here at school."<br/>
<br/>
"Do you know this Naomi girl's schedule?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Except that she has Orchestra last period."<br/>
<br/>
"Wait," says Carson. "I thought it was Eva who had Orchestra last period."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, she does," Jenny snaps at him. "So?"<br/>
<br/>
Carson's eyes pop. "You mean there's more than one person in the school orchestra?"<br/>
<br/>
"What are you talking about?" Jenny cries.<br/>
<br/>
"I thought Eva played every position, like a one-man band!"<br/>
<br/>
"She does," James interrupts, "when she's in the back seat of a car with Jeremy Richards."<br/>
<br/>
"What's this?" asks Caleb, who has kept silent up to now. "Eva and Jeremy Richards?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh man, you haven't heard about that?" James says. "Yeah, Jeremy and Eva are—"<br/>
<br/>
"No they're not!" Jenny cries.<br/>
<br/>
But it's too late. Your conversation has been completely derailed as the group has to argue over whether Eva Garner, one of Jenny's best friends, is getting it on with Jeremy Richards, a basketball player who used to be friends with you and Caleb and Keith before he hit a growth spurt and decided he'd rather be a jock and an asshole.<br/>
<br/>
But at least you have a lead on where to find Naomi Batson.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But you have no idea what she looks like, a fact you realize only after you're standing in the doorway of the orchestra practice room after school and looking in at the milling students as they chat and laugh and put their instruments away.<br/>
<br/>
But Eva Garner is still there, and so is Yumi Saito, another friend of Jenny's. When she looks over at you with a quick smile, you hustle over to ask her, in a low voice, "I'm looking for Naomi Batson. Is she still in here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Naomi?" Yumi looks around with a slight frown. "Yeah, she's— Naomi!" she calls, and a dumpy girl with a plain face and straight brown hair looks over from the other side of the room. You take an instant dislike to her. She's got a smug look on her face, and you peg her as a teacher's pet.<br/>
<br/>
You totter over to meet her, and find she doesn't look any better up close. "Hi, uh, Naomi?" you croak. "I'm Will Prescott. I texted you about—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yes," she says, sounding like a bureaucrat who has generously agreed to make time to listen to your case.<br/>
<br/>
"No," she tells you after you ask if she's heard any more about your box of old clothes, "I mean— Yeah, I'll talk to you later," she tells her friend, who has leaned in to whisper something, and who know walks away. "Your stuff is over at Kian Benefield's house," she then tells you. "I was going over there to look for it, then text you when I found it."<br/>
<br/>
She smiles. There's a steely glint behind it, as though she's daring you to try pushing her harder or faster.</span></div></div>


path: 1111342211211
author_id: seuzz
title: Follow the Bouncing Box
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Mind if I come with you?" you ask this Naomi girl. "There might be some other things I want back. 'Cos my mom went through my stuff without even talking to me about it."<br/>
<br/>
You feel a patch of sweat breaking out on the back of your head. You are so close to getting the mask back.<br/>
<br/>
Naomi gets a pinched look, but through her grimace says that would be okay. "I have some stuff to do at school here first," she says. "Then I'll take you over to Kian's."<br/>
<br/>
"Can you give me the address? That way I don't have to wait for you?"<br/>
<br/>
Again, she gets a pinched look. "It'd just be better if we just go out together," she says. "You don't know Kian, do you?"<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head before it occurs to you to lie.<br/>
<br/>
"I won't be long. I'll meet you out in the parking lot." She turns away with a dismissive sniff.<br/>
<br/>
Your walk across campus to the student parking lot is one of the most agonizing treks you've ever made.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Even worse is the wait. <i>Is that girl </i>trying<i> to stretch things out as long as possible?</i> you wonder as you pace the lot, watching the school for any sign of Naomi. Several times you come close to texting her, to ask where she is and if she's still coming, but manage to keep a grip on your impatience. Once you almost panic at the thought she might have ditched you altogether.<br/>
<br/>
But eventually—twenty minutes later—she comes out, in the company of a few other girls, walking at a stately pace with her chin high, like a galleon under full sail. She sees you but still stops to chat for a minute with her friends. After they separate, Naomi acknowledges you with a curt nod.<br/>
<br/>
"So you can follow me out," she tells you coolly, "but in case we get lost—" She gives you an address. "It's not far."<br/>
<br/>
It might not be far, but she drives it at waddling pace, braking early for each light and contriving to catch a few red lights she might have missed. More than ever you are convinced that she's doing it on purpose.<br/>
<br/>
Eventually you pull up in front of a nice, multi-level house not far from the river, its lawn shaded by some old trees. Naomi waits in her car even after you've bounded out and over to meet her. She's got her phone out and is frowning as she gets out. "Kian's not here," she tells you, and you fight the urge to facepalm. "But he's on his way back and'll be here in a little while."<br/>
<br/>
So there's nothing to do but exchange some small talk. Naomi seems almost aggressively uninterested in you, and her questions are very cursory. But neither are you very interested in her. So after establishing that you both know Eva Garner and Yumi Saito, and that they are a pair of pleasant girls, talk lapses into an awkward silence.<br/>
<br/>
Ten terrible minutes later, a blue sedan finally pulls into the driveway. A tall, good-looking kid with a neatly combed thatch of fluffy brown hair gets out. He's dressed much as you—dark t-shirt under a long-sleeve button-up shirt, and slacks—but his stuff looks ironed. He also has a much more confident gait. But you don't take the same instant dislike to him that you took to Naomi, even though he has the stench of "AP twit" about him. He nods vaguely at you while calling out to Naomi. "Hey, what's up?" he says. "Something go wrong with the collection yesterday?"<br/>
<br/>
Naomi smiles tightly and indicates you. "This is Will," she says. "He says his mom accidentally gave us something she wasn't supposed to, and he wants to get it back."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, okay." The kid—<i>Kian? The fuck kind of name is that?</i>—nods at you with a slight frown. "What was it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, could I look in the box for it?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, I guess." He moves past you, leading you and Naomi up the walk toward the front door. "Was it a shirt or something? Souvenir shirt? Or—"<br/>
<br/>
Naomi answers for you. "It was a mask. A Halloween mask?" she asks you. "You weren't real clear about it."<br/>
<br/>
"No, it was a—"<br/>
<br/>
You're about to describe it, but that's when her friend stops dead on the grass and turns wide eyes on you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Kian leads you inside the house, and after depositing his backpack on a sofa he leads you down a narrow flight of stairs and into a very wide and very long basement that's been converted into an airy rec room of some sort. There's a pair of couches in the corner, facing a small flat-screen TV, and a dorm refrigerator. But most of the space is taken up with cabinets and work tables.<br/>
<br/>
These are stacked deep with cardboard boxes in various states of unpacking. A mass of shirts and jeans and trousers have been grouped and folded; a long countertop along the wall is stacked deep with canned goods and boxes.<br/>
<br/>
Kian mulls the pile of clothes, then leads you unerringly over to the end of a table, where a small box is sitting open. "Is this yours?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
You paw through the stuff on top. It all looks familiar. But you wouldn't swear to it being yours, not until Naomi tips one of the flaps back and points to a name scrawled on the side: <i>Prescott.</i> Your own address is also scribbled next to it.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, this is it," you say, and dig deeper into the box. You would have expected Robert to hide the mask near the top, but it's not there. And when you reach the bottom without finding it, you paw back through the mass, gripping and feeling at each shirt and pair of shorts for the stiff form of the mask.<br/>
<br/>
But it's not there.<br/>
<br/>
"No luck?" Naomi asks. You shake your head. "What did it look like, again?"<br/>
<br/>
You describe the mask, and can't help noticing that Kian gets very stiff and pale as you talk. He doesn't say anything though, until Naomi says, "Maybe Kyler or Jake found it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Kyler was over here working on it with me," Kian says in a very tight voice. "He, uh—" He shoots you a worried look, and changes the subject. "This mask thing," he says. "It was yours?"<br/>
<br/>
You're not sure you want to answer that question truthfully, but you're not sure what lie to tell. "Well, that's kind of complicated," you say. "I guess it's mine, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"Where did you get it?"<br/>
<br/>
You find yourself grimacing at this kid. "Why do you need to know that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I mean, is it valuable?"<br/>
<br/>
When you hesitate over the answer, Naomi jumps in. "We're going to get it back to you, Will," she says in a very prim tone. "We're not going to steal, like, an antique."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, how do we even know it belongs to this guy,? Kian suddenly interjects. "He comes along and he <i>says</i> that it's his. But he won't tell us anything about it—"<br/>
<br/>
"Did you find something like that?" you blurt out. You don't like being called a thief, even if you don't want to explain what the thing is and where it comes from. "'Cos it sounds like—"<br/>
<br/>
All once, everyone is talking over everyone else, with you trying to explain how your mom accidentally slipped the thing into a pile of clothes that got donated to the charity drive, while Kian is saying he wants proof that it belongs to you, and Naomi is telling both of you guys just calm down.<br/>
"Look, you say the thing is yours," Kian finally exclaims, "so I'll take you over to see Kyler, 'cos he's the one who found it. <i>If</i> it was in there," he illogically adds. He stalks off toward the stairs. You glance at Naomi, who looks as confused and as pissed-off as you feel, and you both follow.<br/>
<br/>
But outside, Kian tells Naomi that she can go home—"I can take care of it," he tells her—and tells you to follow him in your truck. You don't drive far, just a few blocks, parking in front of a ranch house in an under-developed corner of the city, across the river from the country club. It sits on about twenty acres of ground that might have once been farmland but which is now fallow and covered over with small growths of underbrush and a few saplings.<br/>
<br/>
A skinny kid with a tall, brushed-back blonde pompadour is standing out front. You recognize him from your second-period film class, though you can't put a name to him. For his part, he gives you a wary look of recognition, but concentrates on Kian The two exchange a few words and some frightened glances. Then you're led around the side of the house to the backyard, where on a little patch of ground of its own squats a long, wooden shed that resembles a repurposed railroad boxcar. Your host bangs on the door, shouts, "Hey, it's me!" then slides the door open.<br/>
<br/>
The three of you step into a dark, closed-up, airless space that smells of dust and old furniture. Light pours in through the doorway; otherwise, the only illumination comes from a small lamp in the corner, where some furniture has been pushed together into something that looks like a makeshift living room.<br/>
<br/>
There's a girl standing there. She turns a frightened face toward you.<br/>
<br/>
You flinch in recognition: It's the girl you hit the with the mask.<br/>
<br/>
You glance over at Kian and his friend. The other is glancing between you and the girl with a worried expression. But Kian is giving you a very hard look, and waiting for you to say something.</span></div></div>


path: 11113422112112
author_id: seuzz
title: Explaining Yourself
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You have been trying to track down and recover that stupid mask before someone found it and did something stupid with it. But as you look at the girl with the alarmed look on her face—the girl who you ambushed with the mask and left unconscious in a school restroom—you realize you're too late.<br/>
<br/>
You are conscious of three pairs of eyes turned upon you. So cornered, you decide that it's time to come clean. You grind the heel of your hand into your temple.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, so, I guess you guys found it. Right?" you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Found what?" Kian asks.<br/>
<br/>
"The thing. The mask." You point to the girl. "Um—"<br/>
<br/>
"Kian?" she says, her eyes still locked on you.<br/>
<br/>
"What makes you think we found your thing?" Kian asks. His chin tilts.<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. "Well, you said that one of your friends found it. Who's the one who found it?" You look between the three: Kian, the girl, and the guy whose house it is.<br/>
<br/>
It's the latter who breaks the awkward silence.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, we found this mask thing in some stuff we picked up yesterday," he says. "You know about it? It's yours?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," you sigh. "It's mine. Um, are you Kyler?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"So are <i>you</i> Kyler?" you ask the girl.<br/>
<br/>
Kian starts to ask, "What makes you think—?" but he's cut off by his friend.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, knock it off. Yeah, that's Kyler. Are you surprised?"<br/>
<br/>
Sort of. But not really. "Can you tell me what happened?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The story is very halting as it comes out, until they reach and relate the point of no return: They picked up the box from your house and brought it back here to add to the stuff to sort through. Kyler Zook—<i>what a name!</i>—unpacked it and found your mask tucked away inside the shirts. Being a goofball (it sounds like) he played with it and got it too close to his face. <br/>
<br/>
<br/>
And it turned him into ... her.<br/>
<br/>
After you show no surprise at this frankly unbelievable plot twist, the rest comes out in a rush. <br/>
<br/>
Naturally, they all freaked out. But eventually they calmed down and figured that the mask—which had vanished when it touched Kyler's face—had something to do with the transformation. But they didn't know what to do. Fortunately Kyler spends a lot of time <i>not</i> at home, so his family hasn't missed him yet while he hides in Jake's family's storeroom. ("Jack Davis," you learn, is the name of your host.) But they have been starting to freak out again, because they're not sure how long they can keep Kyler hidden—particularly when he is now the twin of one of their classmates.<br/>
<br/>
There's a pause when they're done. Then Kian asks, accusingly, "So you know all about this? This ... stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, sort of."<br/>
<br/>
Jake's brow darkens. "Sort of?" he echoes.<br/>
<br/>
"At the very least, I think I can get your friend back to normal." You glance over at the girl, and flinch. "I hope," you add under your breath.<br/>
<br/>
An electric thrill seems to run through the air. "Jesus Christ!" Jake exclaims. "The fuck is this stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"Lemme go get something from home," you reply with a sigh, "and I'll tell you."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
They all insist on following you back to your house in Kian's car, and Kian insists on going inside with you. You introduce him to your mother, and tell her you'll be having dinner with some friends—an announcement that startles Kian—then run upstairs fast enough to fetch the grimoire while he chats with her. "Does <i>she</i> know about this stuff?" he asks you in a horrified voice as you walk back outside. "Don't be stupid," you tell him. "This is just something I've been goofing off with."<br/>
<br/>
Back outside, you check the book for that magic phrase, then climb into the backseat of Kian's car with the girl. She tries to scoot away, but you corner her and tell her to hold still. You have to grab her by the temples, stretching your hand across her forehead in a weird and uncomfortable grip, while chanting the magic phrase three times while pulling. Your fingers slip the first few times, and you break out in a sweat. The fourth time, though, something turns loose as you pull, and when your hand comes away you are holding a mask. When you look down, the girl has vanished, replaced by a long-haired guy who is slumped unconscious.<br/>
<br/>
You would love for this to be the end of it, but by the feverish light in Kian's and Jake's eyes, you can tell that it's just getting started.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Shit," Jake says when you're done with your story. "Shit shit shit shit shit." He's nursing his head between his hands.<br/>
<br/>
You're back at his place, in that storeroom, slouching in the makeshift "living room" nook. It's his "private space," he off-handedly explained as you all were getting situated. All the stuff in the storeroom belongs to relatives—some departed, some just moved—and his parents have given him leave to arrange a corner of it into a makeshift apartment where he and friends can hang out. He's repurposed two lumpy sofas, an easy chair, a coffee table, and a bureau and a desk to hold a flatscreen TV, a laptop, and a stack of DVDs.<br/>
<br/>
"I wouldn't freaking believe it if it didn't happen," says Kian. He is very pale.<br/>
<br/>
The only one who seems relaxed, strangely enough, is Kyler Zook. Maybe he's just relieved to be out of the mask.<br/>
<br/>
He's now revealed to be a big, clumsy goof with flat brown hair that hangs in bangs over his eyes and falls over his ears to the top of his shoulders. Changed back into a larger set of clothes—shorts and a button-up shirt that he doesn't bother to button up—he further reveals big but unsculpted muscles. His manner is effeminate, though, and you can't help wondering if he's gay.<br/>
<br/>
He is also fascinated by the mask you got off him. He snatched it up again as soon as you were all seated in the storeroom, and has been turning it over in his hands while you talk, occasionally looking up to peep at you from under his bangs, and he listens intently as you tell about the book, and where you found it, and how you made a mask with it. <br/>
<br/>
As for the girl you ambushed, you learn that her name is "Rachel Solorio," and that she is a junior like them.<br/>
<br/>
When you are done, you are again sorely tempted to make some kind of bolt for freedom. <i>Well, I guess that's the whole story,</i> you want to say. <i>Maybe I'll run into you guys at school or something. Bye!</i> But you know that would never work, even though the three guys seem at a loss for how to react.<br/>
<br/>
After a shocked silence when you conclude, Kian says, "So what are you going to do with this stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
You glance at Kyler, who is still handling the mask. "Keep anyone else from picking it up. Keep this kind of thing from happening again."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I mean the book."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I've only got through the first two spells. I was going to try to figure out some more—"<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus," Jake mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"Not that it's any of your business," you snap at him. He reddens.<br/>
<br/>
"You fuck up," he snarls. "You could have fucking—" He points at Kyler. "He could still be— You know how lucky you are that—?"<br/>
<br/>
"You know how lucky <i>you</i> are that I tracked you down?" you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"Guys, calm down," Kian says. But he gives you a very direct look. "The point is, should you be playing around with this? Should <i>anyone—</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe I should promise you I won't?"<br/>
<br/>
The temperature in the storeroom—which is stifling—seems to drop a few degrees. Everyone knows that such a promise would be worthless.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe you should get rid of it," Jake tells you<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I'll promise to get rid of it," you retort.<br/>
<br/>
Kian twists in his seat. "You shouldn't be messing around with this stuff!" he insists.<br/>
<br/>
"You want me to sell it back to the bookstore," you say, "so someone else can buy it and mess around with it?"<br/>
<br/>
"How about we burn it," Kian says. "Just set it on fire."<br/>
<br/>
You feel like you've been slapped.<br/>
<br/>
"'We'?" you demand. "It's my book, I found it and bought and—!"<br/>
<br/>
Everyone starts talking at once, which breaks your patience. "Look, I helped you guys out, and I'm sorry you got fucked up!" you shout as you jump to your feet. They all jump up too. "But we're done here and you don't get to tell me what to do!"<br/>
<br/>
For one terrifying moment you're convinced that Kian and Jake at least—Kyler remains seated—are going to jump you. But they just glower at you. You cross the wide, grassy side yard to your truck and drive off.<br/>
<br/>
Only after you're away do you realize that, although you have the book with you, you forgot to grab the mask.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So when Kian texts you later and asks to meet at a McDonalds, you agree on condition that he bring the mask along.<br/>
<br/>
He brings Jake and Kyler too. Their expressions are taut, but they are calm as they lay out a proposition.<br/>
<br/>
"This stuff is too dangerous for one guy to play around with," Kian tells you. (He seems to have been elected as spokesman.) "It's your book, fine. But what if—" He gnaws his lower lip. "What if <i>all four of us</i> work on it together? We could balance things, watch each other, make sure no one does anything stupid. Decide to call it all off if things get too, you know, janky."<br/>
<br/>
You're inclined to tell them to go stuff themselves. But then you remember that you need a new place to work—and that you are almost out of money.</span></div></div>


path: 111134221121121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Junior Partners
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You can't hide your disgust at their presumption. <i>You shouldn't be fucking around with this stuff,</i> they're basically telling you, <i>so we've elected ourselves to be your babysitters.</i><br/>
<br/>
But you do need a new place to work. And you also need money.<br/>
<br/>
So you lean back in the booth and think about how phrase your acceptance. No one speaks as you ponder their offer.<br/>
<br/>
As you weigh your words, you let your eye dart from one to the next to the last. (They are all three squeezed into the booth opposite you.) Kyler is oddest of the three. He's a big guy, almost football player big, with a darkly tanned face and flat brown hair that hangs over his eyes in front, and over his ears and down the back of his neck. But despite his size and apparent strength, he has an awkward, galumphing walk, and you have the impression he's just naturally big and ungainly. His JV-linebacker physique is also at odds with his squirmy, effeminate mannerisms. He hardly talks, but he can't stop grinning at you, and you have the impression he's fighting down an almost feverish excitement.<br/>
<br/>
Kian Benefield is the preppiest of the three. His hair is fluffy and neatly brushed, and there's not a whisker on his pink and shiny face. His eyes are clear and his gaze direct, and you can't help being reminded of Geoff Mansfield, the smug, AP-level asshole who stole your girlfriend from you at the start of the semester. Like Geoff and his friends, Kian exudes an air of entitled privilege and superiority. He's also the most neatly put together of the three, in a shirt that's buttoned up almost to the collar. <br/>
<br/>
Of the three, Jake Davis comes across as being the most like you and your friends. He is tall and skinny, with red patches on his cheeks and forehead, and he's sloppily dressed in a dark-purple t-shirt under a loose-fitting plaid long-sleeve. But he's also the most truculent and suspicious of the three. He sits very erect with his chin in the air, giving you the evil eye while Kian makes the case for all three of you being friends and working together on the magic.<br/>
<br/>
So you really don't see how this is going to work. At least not long term. In the short term, at least, you can probably get some money and a place to work from them.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," you say after the awkward has silence between you has stretched out long enough to become agonizing. "You know about this stuff now, and if you wanna play along—"<br/>
<br/>
"We don't want to <i>play along,</i>" Jake snaps. "We wanna—"<br/>
<br/>
"I know. What your friend said." You point to Kian. "You wanna supervise me, make sure I don't do anything fucking stupid. But, you know, if <i>that's</i> all you want, then I'm not interested. I mean, I don't need a fucking babysitter, and I don't want one."<br/>
<br/>
You let the moment, and wonder what they'd do if you just got up and left.<br/>
<br/>
"So I don't want a babysitter," you continue, "but I'll take a couple of partners. 'Cos what you say actually does make sense. That thing got away from me. And, well, the reason I tried it out on that girl was because I didn't have anyone else to try it out on."<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Tssshhhh!</i>" Jake reddens. "We're not gonna be your fucking guinea pig, man!"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll be my own guinea pig, if I have to be," you retort. "I'd have tried the fucking thing on myself, except I didn't have anyone to watch my back in case I fucked it up. So I'll be my own guinea pig"—a promise you regret even as you utter it—"if you guys'll be my partners. That's fair."<br/>
<br/>
Jake looks unconvinced, and even the other two look confused.<br/>
<br/>
"But here's the thing," you go on. "Don't bullshit me that you're not going to be into it too. If we're partners, then we're partners, and you gotta put some skin in the game too. And if I'm gonna be running all the risks, if I'm gonna the guinea pig, I'm gonna need something from you!"<br/>
<br/>
"Like what?" Kian asks.<br/>
<br/>
You run a tongue over your lower lip. "Money." The word startles them. "I already put a lot of money into this stuff. So to start, I'll need from each of you as much as I already put in."<br/>
<br/>
"How much?" For the first time, a crack shows in Kian's cool facade as he nibbles at the cuticle of his thumb.<br/>
<br/>
"A hundred each."<br/>
<br/>
That's a sum that would cause you to wince. But these guys look unfazed. They glance at each other, then Kian says, "Okay."<br/>
<br/>
Jake leans forward. "But we do the work at my place," he tells you.<br/>
<br/>
You smile—he's just saved you the trouble of making the same suggestion—and accept.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
They need to go home to get the money they've promised you, and you need to fetch the book, so you all split up but arrange to meet at Jake's a little later. You loiter at your place until you're sure that Kian and Kyler must have gotten to Jake's. But when you arrive, you find they're not.<br/>
<br/>
Jake is very stiff when he greets you and leads around the side yard back toward the storage shed. "Here," he gruffly says, and hands over a sheaf of twenties and tens. But though his manner is cool he is at least a little friendlier, for he also offers you a soda from the dorm fridge when you're seated in the makeshift living room. <br/>
<br/>
He looks ill at ease, though, when you lay the book on the coffee table between you. He fingers it very gingerly when he picks it up, and pales when he sees the pentagram embossed on the spine. . "There's nothing in it about summoning demons," you tell him. <i>Well, not yet, anyway,</i> you silently add. "So far it's just like an arts-and-crafts book."<br/>
<br/>
"What kind of things can you make?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I've only made two things so far. I made the mask, and then the 'sealant' for it. What else is in it, I don't know, I haven't got that far." You open the book and demonstrate how the bulk of the pages won't turn loose from each other. "You have to perform a spell before a page unlocks. So I'm going through it step by step." You flip to the third spell. "This is the next one."<br/>
<br/>
"What's it do?"<br/>
<br/>
"I haven't translated it yet. But if it's like the first two spells, it won't tell you what it does. You just have to do it. Then, on the back of the page, after it turns loose, it tells you what it does."<br/>
<br/>
"That's kind of fucked up."<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Pssh!</i> Tell me about it."<br/>
<br/>
You also brought the box of mask-making supplies with you—rescued from the old school—so you start telling him about how to make a mask. In the middle of that, Kyler and Kian finally arrive together. You go over everything again for their benefit.<br/>
<br/>
"So what's the next step in the plan?" Kian asks. Jake still looks uneasy, but Kian looks curious while Kyler leans forward in his seat with an eager grin.<br/>
<br/>
"Try out the next spell, see what it does."<br/>
<br/>
"What about making some more masks?" Kyler asks. It's almost the first thing he's said since you met him.<br/>
<br/>
"We already did that," Jake snaps.<br/>
<br/>
"And it takes a long time," you remind them.<br/>
<br/>
Kyler shrugs. "So we work on making some more of them while we're working on the new stuff?" When Jake mutters something about not wanting to <i>get in any more trouble,</i> Kyler snorts, "We won't. We know how not to."<br/>
<br/>
Kian takes the topic off the table by asking about what the new spell needs. You take out your phone, and the others crowd around as you start translating the spell.<br/>
<br/>
That takes longer than you would like, because it turns out that Kian is taking a Latin class, and he wants to argue with you about some of the translations. Jake takes notes in a spiral binder and looks the items up online. He looks pissed off when he reports that the items, all told, will probably cost north of two hundred dollars. He doesn't look any happier when you point out that, with their investment, you can cover that kind of expense.<br/>
<br/>
You're still figuring out where you're going to buy the stuff when Kian gets a text calling him home, and since Kyler rode with him, the pair of them leave together. That leaves you and the unhappy Jake with each other. He slumps on the sofa with a nervous and distracted air.<br/>
<br/>
You're about to declare that you should go too when he blurts out, "Look, you and me should figure out between us what we're going to do with this stuff."<br/>
<br/>
It's a shocking statement—you figured you and him would be on the opposite sides of every question, and that he'd want to cooperate with his friends to outvote you. So you only blink at him and wait for him to continue.<br/>
<br/>
"Like," he says, "where we're going to keep this book. I don't want you taking it with you. That's the whole point of—" Then he interrupts himself before you can protest. "But, like, I know you don't want to give it to us."<br/>
<br/>
"That's how come this whole thing isn't going to work," you bluntly inform him.<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a dirty look, then leaps to his feet and trudges off to another corner of the storeroom, to rummage.<br/>
<br/>
He returns with a metal box. "Here," he says. "We'll put the book in here, and I'll keep the key. Then you take the box with you. That way you can't get into it unless you're with us, but we can't get to it because you'll have it with you."<br/>
<br/>
You don't like the idea, but it seems like a good compromise for now, so you acquiesce with a shrug. Then Jake says, "And I think we shouldn't make any more masks. Tell Kyler we won't."</span></div></div>


path: 1111342211211212
author_id: seuzz
title: Fail Safes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Shouldn't we put it to a vote?" you coolly ask Jake. "I mean, if we're partners and all on this."<br/>
<br/>
He reacts like he's been slapped, you struggle to keep a smug smile off your face. <i>He wants to use his friends to outvote me,</i> you think. <i>We'll see how he likes being outvoted by them!</i><br/>
<br/>
But you try to sugar the pill. "Look, I know what you mean," you tell him. "I learned a pretty harsh lesson when that mask got away from me, and believe me, I wanna be careful with this stuff! But if your friends wanna try making new masks, you know, you don't want to piss them off by saying no, do you? Besides, it'll keep them busy. I told you, it takes like a week to polish up a mask. And maybe we can use a thing like this"—you tap the metal case he wants to use to keep the book inside—"to keep anyone from doing anything, uh, 'janky' with them. Okay?"<br/>
<br/>
Jake's expression is still sour when you finish, but he doesn't argue. Neither of you say anything as he puts the book into the box, locks it, then hands it to you.<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't speak again until you're outside, heading for your truck. "You know," he says, "you and me could still maybe talk about this stuff, just between us, when it comes time to do something."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure," you agree. "That's probably smart." <i>You'll be talking to your friends about it too, won't you?</i> you think. <i>And maybe I should talk about it with them, too. 'Just between us'.</i> "We can talk about it tomorrow. You have something going on after school?"<br/>
<br/>
"Club stuff. But we can all get together after that."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Oh, and bring me that list of stuff we need for the next spell. While you're doing 'club stuff', I'll go pick it all up."<br/>
<br/>
He stiffens. "Are we doing something with it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno. How about you talk to your friends tonight. I'll vote yes, though."<br/>
<br/>
That sour expression pops back onto his face, and he doesn't bother to wave as you drive off.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The vote must have gone the way you expected, because Kian texts you the list of ingredients later that evening. He also says that the plan is for the four of you to get together the next afternoon—a Friday—at Jake's place again. <i>Time it for five,</i> he says.<br/>
<br/>
So you're preoccupied when you get to school the next day—so preoccupied that you jump with surprise when Caleb in first period asks what you want to do this weekend. "What?" you blurt at him.<br/>
<br/>
"This weekend," he repeats. "Tomorrow and the next day. Saturday and Sunday." His sarcasm deepens as you just stare at him. "Days when we get to do whatever the fuck we want 'cos there isn't any school." When you just blink at him, he says, "Was your plan just to lock yourself in a dark bedroom and jerk off until Monday morning?"<br/>
<br/>
That wouldn't be a bad plan if you thought you could get away with it. But you tell Caleb to talk to you tomorrow.<br/>
<br/>
"Why? You think you might get a better offer?"<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe. You know you're not the only cocksucker I might hang out with."<br/>
<br/>
Somebody laughs rudely in the row behind you, and you wheel. Jonas Martin, one of the asshole basketball players, sneers at you. You redden and slump in you seat. Your only consolation is that Caleb also makes a face and slumps.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Caleb brings the subject of the weekend back up at lunch, which you eat with him and Keith in back of the school, but you remain noncommittal. (You saw Jake in second period, the Film class that you share with him, but neither of you spoke to the other, so plans haven't developed.) This time, when Caleb asks if you're expecting a "better offer," you tell him that you met up with some guys yesterday who were doing some "charity work" for a school club, and that you might have something to do with them. Caleb and Keith both laugh at the idea that there might be any fun in that. But it gives you the idea that you might bring them along and add them to the "partnership." Now that you know the magic works—and now that you've been forced to share it with others—you feel a lot less shy about sharing it with them, particularly if you could use them to help outvote the other guys.<br/>
<br/>
Trouble is, you'd never be able to convince them without showing them the book and what it can do, and that's locked up in a box whose key is with Jake Davis. And you'd want Caleb and Keith to know about the magic before you introduced them to those other guys, so that you could pretend that they had known about it all along.<br/>
<br/>
You move the problem into the back of your mind, to mull the rest of the day over.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
When school lets out, you drive into town to do some shopping. You have three hundred dollars when you start, and when you end you have a hundred and fifty and all the things you'll need for the next spell. You also stop at your house to pick up the metal box and the book it holds, and to tell your mother you won't be home for supper. When she asks if you'll be eating with Caleb or Keith, you surprise her by telling her you'll be with the guys who are doing the charity drive—"I'm helping out with something." That impresses her, which you count as a bonus.<br/>
<br/>
It's almost five-thirty when you make it over to Jake's place, and Kian is waiting for you out front, to help you carry the stuff around back. "Jake told me what we're doing about the book," he tells you as he takes the metal box from you. "It seems like a good idea." You nod vacantly.<br/>
<br/>
The plan is still to make a mask—to make four more of them, in fact, so each of your new partners gets a chance at making one. The spell makes a stink, you warn them, so Jake and Kyler set up a makeshift table in back of the storeroom, where you can't be seen from the house, using a couple of sawhorses and an old door. Jake keeps watch around the corner while you show the other two how to mix the ingredients and pour them over the mirror; they all gasp and choke on the plume of smoke and stink that envelops you. After you've made a mask, each of the other three takes a turn. Kyler, you notice, is the most eager, while Jake hangs back.<br/>
<br/>
"Now comes the awful part," you tell them. "You take a cloth and you polish it until it's blue."<br/>
<br/>
"Can we use, like, a buffer or something?" Kyler asks. You frown at him. "You know," he says. "Like a car buffer?" You feel the eyes of the other two on you, and you blush. "Do we have to do it the old-fashioned way?" Kyler continues, "'cos it's old-fashioned magic?"<br/>
<br/>
"I— I don't know," you admit. "I didn't think of it."<br/>
<br/>
Kyler grins at his friends. Inwardly, you crumple at what feels like a defeat. Jake gives you a very steady, sidelong look before turning to trudge around the storeroom. "Okay, what's the next thing?" Kyler asks even before Jake is out of earshot.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, the next spell makes the stuff that seals up a mask so you can wear it. And then—"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, how do you use one of these things to copy someone?" Kyler interrupts. "Like you copied Rachel."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Well, you just put it on your face. Or on someone's face. Then it, um—"<br/>
<br/>
Kyler pokes Kian in the chest, and grins. "We should do it. We should totally do it," he tells his friend. "We should polish these bad boys up and we should—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well, we can talk about that," Kian hastily interrupts him. He glances uneasily at you. "How long does it take one of these things to copy someone?"<br/>
<br/>
"About ten minutes?" you hazard. "Um, it knocks them out while it—"<br/>
<br/>
"And we don't know how long it takes to polish one," Kian interrupts, turning back to Kyler. "I mean, if it takes a day or two—" He trails off as Kyler shrugs and rolls his tongue around inside his mouth.<br/>
<br/>
Jake returns with a buffer—a handheld motor with a fluffy rag at one end—and beckons you all to follow him. Inside the storeroom, he plugs it in and applies it to the front of the mask. After only a few minutes, the color has deepened noticeably. He turns the buffer and the mask over to Kyler, who is a lot more eager to get the job done.<br/>
<br/>
Jake watches for a minute, then asks you to come help him disassemble the work table. "I thought we were going to work on the next spell," you tell him as he leads you back around the storeroom.<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a look. "I guess we'll do that tomorrow," he mutters. "But Kyler and Kian—" <br/>
<br/>
He breaks off, and steps back to peer around the corner of the storeroom. When he resumes, it's in a very low voice. "They want to use things to switch around. You know. Turn themselves into each other."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" That's not much of a surprise.<br/>
<br/>
Jake holds your eye, then makes a face. "And after that," he says, "they're gonna want to go into town. Go dancing. Find a party. Go to the Warehouse. <i>As each other.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's their business."<br/>
<br/>
Jake flinches. "Yeah, sure. But they'll want us to go along too." When you make no reply, he leans in at you. "No offense, but I don't especially want to switch around with <i>you.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
You're not keen on switching with Jake either. So as you turn back to the worktable, it seems that there's three courses of action open to you:</span></div></div>


path: 11113422112112122
author_id: seuzz
title: Fears Unmasked
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I don't mind going to a party," you tell Jake. "And nothing says that you and me, that we have to, you lknow—" You point between his face and yours. "If we go along too."<br/>
<br/>
Jake winces. "Well," he sighs as he resumes packing up the stuff you used to make the masks, "as long as we both tell them that."<br/>
<br/>
<i>This is going to work out fine,</i> you think. With Kian and Kyler hot to have fun, you should have no trouble outvoting Jake whenever it's time to do a new spell.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
As Jake predicted, the other two are already talking about where to go and what to do on this, a Friday night. You're too excited to be made nervous by their talk, even though partying and dancing is not something you do very much of, and you don't know any of the friends they mention.<br/>
<br/>
You do side with Jake, though, when talk veers toward going to the Warehouse. That's the most dangerous party spot in the city—a deserted warehouse in the city's post-apocalyptic industrial zone, where hordes of high school kids go on weekends to dance, drink, do drugs, and all manner of other things without a single adult around to supervise. It sounds like fun, but you have also heard stories of the fights that break out, and the kind of kids who hang out there are the kind that you do your best to avoid when you're at school. Jake joins you in persuading the other two to make it a less wild night. Kian finally agrees that "this stuff"—he points to the masks that he and Kyler are finishing—is "wild" enough.<br/>
<br/>
You supervise as they up by putting on the masks they made. Kyler and Kian lay out on the two sofas, their eyes gleaming and their smiles shining, as you loom over them with the masks. Jake is very white as you remind them that the masks are going to knock his friends out for a bit. When Kian asks if it's going to hurt, you tell him that it won't, even though you have no idea what it will do.<br/>
<br/>
Despite your warning, Jake sucks in a sharp breath as the first mask sinks into Kyler's face, like a stone slipping beneath the surface of a pond without making a ripple, and he visibly tenses all over when you settle the second mask onto Kian. "Jesus," he says in a voiceless whisper, and hustles over to cabinet. From it he plucks a bottle of whiskey and small glass. His hand trembles as he pours himself a finger of liquor and downs it. He chokes and gasps, then pours himself another. "My dad's," he mumbles he hands the glass and bottle to you. "He doesn't know I know where he keeps it. Oh, this stuff," he moans as he turns his back on you and his prostrate friends. "This fucking stuff."<br/>
<br/>
"If you don't like it," you ask him, "why are you helping out?"<br/>
<br/>
He shoots you a baleful glare over his shoulder. "Why the <i>fuck</i> did you have to be so <i>fucking careless</i> with that—?" He glances all around the storeroom, as though searching for something. "That <i>fucking thing</i> you made?"<br/>
<br/>
"I wasn't careless with it," you retort. "I had it hidden in my room. It wasn't my fault that my mom— What are you doing?" you ask as he starts searching inside some nearby cabinets and drawers.<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't answer, but sighs with visible relief when he pulls a mask—the mask of that Rachel girl, surely—from under some comforters that are inside a bureau. He looks around, as though searching for another hiding place. You watch with bemusement as he stalks over to a large trunk and shuts the mask up inside it.<br/>
<br/>
You can't help smirking at him. "You think that'll stop <i>your</i> mom from going through your things and finding—"<br/>
<br/>
"Just shut the fuck up, okay?" Jake brushes past you to stare down at his friends, hands on his hips. "How long are they gonna be like this?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, like, ten minutes."<br/>
<br/>
He cusses to himself and settles on the arm of the easy chair. You've still got the whiskey bottle and glass, and after pouring yourself a small drink you offer them to him. He waves you off.<br/>
<br/>
"It's fucking Kyler's fault," he mutters after another silence. "I mean, it's <i>your</i> fault, but if Kyler hadn't—"<br/>
<br/>
They didn't tell you what happened, or how Kyler came to be wearing the mask of Rachel Whosists. But you've got a pretty good idea of how it happened. He found it, goofed off with it, and frightened <i>the fuck</i> of his friends when he vanished and that girl appeared in his place. <i>Frightened the fuck out of himself, too, no doubt.</i><br/>
<br/>
"Anyway," Jake continues, mutter mostly to himself, it sounds like. "We should get rid of it all, but as long as we can't—"<br/>
<br/>
He swings around to give you a long, hard, penetrating look. "What?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing, I guess," he says, and turns away again. But a shiver ripples over his shoulders. "I'm just thinking— Kyler's going to be the one who gets us in trouble."<br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because he's a trouble-maker. He gets in trouble and he gets other people to go along and then <i>they</i> get in trouble."<br/>
<br/>
"Really? I don't know him. He doesn't seem to talk much when I'm around."<br/>
<br/>
"He doesn't talk a lot, <i>period,</i>" Jake retorts. "He just grins at you, and the next thing you know, you and him are breaking into some guy's house to clean his folks out of some cash that he happened to spot them having."<br/>
<br/>
Your eyes widen. "He's done that?"<br/>
<br/>
Jake sucks in his lips and nods.<br/>
<br/>
"Jacob Metcalf," he says. "Him and Kian and some other guys were over at Jacob's place. A couple of days later, Kyler's flashing around a roll of bills, saying he got them out the kitchen drawer at Jacob's place, or something. He broke in when they weren't home. It wasn't Kian who busted in with him, though, it was Shawn Hardin. You know any of these guys?"<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head. "Just you, from Mr. Hawks' class."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah," Jake says. "Anyway, that's the kind of thing he does."<br/>
<br/>
You lean past Jake to look over at Kyler. Even splayed on the sofa he looks very meaty. His eyes are open but his gaze is blank, and his jaw sags open. There's no personality on his face. But you remember that grin he usually wears—wide, white and mischievous, with beady eyes glinting out from under his bangs—and you find that you can imagine someone (yourself even, maybe) being coaxed and enticed into doing something against your better judgement. <br/>
<br/>
"So why do you hang out with him?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
Jake sags.<br/>
<br/>
"I wouldn't," he says, "except for Kian. Me and Kian've been best friends since middle school. But he started hanging out with Kyler at the start of the summer. I mean— God!" He writhes and shudders. "We even used to talk about how <i>creepy</i> Kyler could be! How trash he was! But then they got talking at a pool party, and Kyler just turned him around, just twisted him around his—! Kian just got <i>fascinated</i> by him!"<br/>
<br/>
Jake has started to shake, you notice. He covers it by lurching to his feet and pacing in a tight circle, the dusty floorboards creaking beneath him. After a half dozen circuits, he stops with a pained look on his face. His eyes twist up as he looks at you.<br/>
<br/>
"Kian's gay," he says in a low voice. "And Kyler's— Well, I think he'd shove his dick into anything." He presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. "I don't know how to tell Kian that Kyler's— Because I don't want him thinking I'm— 'Cos that's not how come—!"<br/>
<br/>
Then you're both distracted by a glow that appears on Kyler's face. A moment later, the mask materializes there. A few seconds later, the second mask appears on Kian's. Carefully, you peel the masks off them. Their eyes have fallen shut, and they look like they're sleeping peacefully.<br/>
<br/>
Jake lets out his breath. "Now what?"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Jake insisted on taking you inside to meet his parents—"They need to know who you are if you're going to be hanging around here"—when he went in to tell them that he and his friends were going to go into town to meet up some other friends. As you walk back out, the sound of laughter from inside the storeroom tells you that Kian and Kyler have woken up.<br/>
<br/>
Jake glances at you as he pulls the door open. He looks ill, and it's like he's looking to you for sympathy.<br/>
<br/>
His two friends are on their feet, half dressed, and laughing. They gape at you, then look at each other and break out laughing again.<br/>
<br/>
Not that anyone who knew them could tell, but they have swapped faces and bodies.<br/>
<br/>
Earlier, you and Jake had coaxed them awake. They complained of feeling achy, but came alive again when you said it was time to seal up the masks. "And then we can—?" Kyler asked, finishing his question with a bright, knowing grin.<br/>
<br/>
So after sealing the masks, the two boys laid out on the sofa again, and you dropped the masks onto them. An instant later—it took your breath away to see it happen so quickly—it was Kian laying where Kyler and been, and Kyler laying on Kian's couch.<br/>
<br/>
That's when you and Jake snuck out.<br/>
<br/>
Now you're all back together again. Kian and Kyler try talking, but their words are lost in giggles and snorts as they greedily scope each other out. You start to feel some of Jake's illness.<br/>
<br/>
Then Kian—with a grin that doesn't quite fit on his face—asks Jake where Rachel's mask is. Jake wants to know why.<br/>
<br/>
Kian points at you. "'Cos maybe Will here wants to put it on for when we go into town?"</span></div></div>


path: 1111343
author_id: masktrix
title: The Test Department
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>by Masktrix<br/>
<br/>
Nirdlingers department store is the best idea you can come up with. You want to make sure nobody can trace it back to you if something goes wrong, and that means a stranger would make an ideal test subject. The school, even with all the people you don’t know, is too small a pond to fish in.<br/>
<br/>
Instead you head into downtown Saratoga Falls; the Big Nird stays open for another couple of hours. You park up a few streets away, keeping your hood up and the mask in your backpack as you trudge toward your target. A few minutes later and you’re beyond Arnholm’s and turn the corner onto Fourth St., walking the full block past the crowds heading for home, to cafes or to bars. Occasionally you glance up at them. Men and women in business suits; college kids with a stack of lame plastic folders and textbooks clutched to their chest; owners pulling down shutters. You could be any of them, in theory. The faint smell of scented candles tickles your nose as you pass that hippy shop some of the goth kids like. Maybe it has ingredients for spells... if you had the money.<br/>
<br/>
And then you’re at Nirdlingers. The shop front display is currently being changed, so the mannequins are all laid on their side, artificial limbs twisted at helpless angles. You stop and look at them for a moment, thinking hard about what you’re doing. What if the mask doesn’t work? What if it does and it turns the other person into some kind of shop doll? Does it just copy a face, or all of someone’s identity? You shake your head and try to keep it together. <i>C’mon, Will... </i><br/>
<br/>
You make your way to the third floor. First is mostly household, egg cups and spatulas; second is electric and the endless rows of TVs showing the same channel. Neither of those are good picks. Arriving at the third, you look around. Menswear to the left, women’s to the right. Men’s is almost deserted. There’s some older man there, hair thin and belly fat, trying to pick out a tie, but otherwise the attendants are sitting there in stunned boredom. You wonder if one of them could make a good subject. All you’d have to do is ask for help and...<br/>
<br/>
No. Too risky. Too attention-grabbing. Instead you find yourself drifting to the right, past the cosmetics  stands and a pretty, overly made-up assistant ready to spritz the next neck that walks past with the latest celebrity scent. Quietly, you slip into the aisles and sneak closer to the changing rooms. Slowly you set your rucksack down, swinging it out in front as you open the zipper in readiness. Find a subject. Grab the mask.<br/>
<br/>
The whole place is a hive of activity. There’s a woman in her 40s, blonde hair and toned figure, taking up two assistants with her demands. You look at her for a moment, watching as a hand decked in fine jewellery waves them away. She reminds you a lot of Chelsea Cooper. Holy shit... that <i>is</i> Mrs. Cooper. You vaguely remember seeing her pick up Chelsea from practice. Away from her is a thin Latina picking out a skirt. She could be an... no. You watch as she calls her daughter over. Becoming a mom is out of the question. Edging forward, you can see a woman in her 20s head into one of the booths, clothes flying over the edge of the cubicle as she enters. Maybe she could be a good subject...<br/>
<br/>
“Can I help you, sir?”<br/>
<br/>
You spin around, colour vanishing from your face. Behind you stands a short woman, in her late 20s you guess, a large, smooth oval for a face, brightly coloured glasses perched on her nose. Her hair is tied up in a bun, and her overweight frame pushes out against her beige uniform. <i>Mall cop.</i><br/>
<br/>
“I... er... was just browsing.” you panic, staring around at your surroundings. You’ve crept straight into the underwear section. Oh God you are hiding among bras and panties. “I... was...” it’s hard to come up with an excuse. “My... mom?”<br/>
<br/>
“Your mom?”<br/>
<br/>
“Birthday?”<br/>
<br/>
The security guard keeps a professional pose. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.” You gulp, blood running out of your face. <br/>
<br/>
“I was just looking,” you say, muttering. <br/>
<br/>
“Of course, sir. May I ask you what you have in your bag?” You look down. The bag is hanging in one hand, zip open. It looks like you’re trying to steal something. You quickly look around. It’s moments before Mrs. Cooper spots you. She doesn’t know you, of course, but you don’t want to take the risk that this somehow gets back to school.<br/>
<br/>
“Nothing, I just...”<br/>
<br/>
“Sir, would you accompany me, please?” She gestures for you to follow her - or rather for you to go first. Refuse and Mrs. Cooper will definitely hear. You’ve got no choice. <br/>
<br/>
Five minutes later you’re in the back of the store, down whitewashed halls that smell strangely like garbage, and in a small office. A table. A few chairs. A list of phone numbers to call in an emergency and a bank of CCTV cameras. This is security. You’d completely forgotten about the cameras, too. They could track you everywhere, follow your every move. No wonder the guard grew suspicious. <br/>
<br/>
“Listen, what’s your name?” She pauses a moment, sipping from a cup of coffee. She offered you a glass of water when you arrived. You focus on her name badge. Hewitt.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s... I’d rather not say.” That was terrible, Will. You’re making things worse.<br/>
<br/>
“Have it your way. But listen, please. We get a lot of guys who like women’s clothes. That’s not a problem. We can be discreet. But when you shoplift, it crosses a line. We’re not here to support panty raids. OK?”<br/>
<br/>
“I didn’t take anything.” You plead. “This is just a misunderstanding.”<br/>
<br/>
She smiles sympathetically. “It’s fine. You’re not in any trouble yet. Up until you step out of the store you haven’t broken any laws. I am supposed to let you do that - break the law then report you. But my kid brother went through a similar thing, and I don’t want to see you with a criminal record. So here’s the deal. You show me what’s in the bag, it goes back, we forget about it. What do you say?”<br/>
<br/>
Your throat is getting dry. “There isn’t anything in the bag.”<br/>
<br/>
“Then show me. And that’s all there is to it.” She smiles again. In her own way, she’s trying to help you. <br/>
<br/>
Then a thought strikes you. <i>No CCTV in here.</i></span></div></div>


path: 11113431
author_id: masktrix
title: Be Kind, Rewind
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>by Masktrix<br/>
<br/>
“OK,” you shrug, opening the bag. You are keeping your scared demeanour, but the fear has been replaced by nerves. You grip the mask, turning it in your hand. She leans over to take a glance inside. You lean over too... here goes nothing...<br/>
<br/>
You shove the mask on her face. In a moment it vanishes and she faceplants onto the table. You have to rush to grab her coffee before it spills.<br/>
<br/>
You back up, back against the door, fingers fumbling to turn the lock. Did it work? Is this what’s supposed to happen? Is she alive? You wonder what the hell you’re going to do now. She seems to be breathing but is otherwise unconscious. <br/>
<br/>
But what happens next? <br/>
<br/>
You begin chewing your nails out of nerves. This got out of hand quickly. And now you’re in this deep, the only option is to go all the way.<br/>
<br/>
You walk over to the video surveillance monitors. They show all aspects of the store, connected up to a battered desktop PC that looks like it’s from the 1990s. No way, you think... you push the DVD drive and out pops a spinning gold disk. That’s how Big Nird has been protecting itself against shoplifters? A single, unsaved DVD? You take it from the drive. Hopefully the security team will think someone forgot to put a new copy in. In fact, judging by the post-it notes slathered on to the desk, that happens quite often. <br/>
<br/>
What next? You pause, trying to think. The coffee is getting cold, so you pour it away and replace it with a fresh batch. That should make her think less time has passed. Then all you need is to get the mask. What feels like an eon ticks away as you nervously wait. Then the mask reappears, glowing for a moment before subsiding. It clinks against her glasses. Carefully you pull it out and look at the back. It’s still the serene sky colour, only this time there seems to be a face inside. Quickly, you stuff it in your bag. <br/>
<br/>
You’re about to leave when suddenly a thought strikes you. If you’re planning to disguise yourself as this woman, don’t you need clothes? You step past her, looking for her locker. Hewitt... Hewitt. It’s not there. Pruitt? You look back at her name badge, and shake your head. “Learn to read, Will.” Opening the Pruitt locker, you look for anything you might need. A spare glasses case. Quickly you open it and take the pair. Then you open up her wallet. ID... home address. Useful to know. And a stub for Speedy’s Dry cleaning in town. You think for a moment then take the chit. Then, wallet back where you found it, you thrust the items into your bag and head home.<br/>
<br/>
It’s late when you get back. Your stomach is still leaping around in knots. Your dad corners you about a job at Salopek, and you mutter something about working with Caleb. Your mind is elsewhere. The mask requires you to paint on a sealant. That means paint brushes and ingredients that will likely stink. You’ll need to wait until tomorrow.<br/>
<br/>
School passes. Caleb proves frustrating when it comes to money for your spellcraft. Then home. The paste is easy to make, the ingredients in front of your window before bursting into flames above the sigil to create a slurry. You get a paintbrush from downstairs, Dad hassling you to get a haircut. Homework. You paint the mask and hide it in your sock drawer. Then, as the house falls asleep, you sneak into the bathroom with the mask and your pilfered items.<br/>
<br/>
So far you have avoided experimenting on yourself. But here goes nothing. With a deep breath you place the sealed mask on your face and...<br/>
<br/>
The world begins to shrink around you, the mask suffocating, lancing the air from your lungs and sucking your face. You feel your eyes want to burst free, a deep sea of strange emptiness from which you can only hope you bob to the surface. Then, with a gasp, you are back in the room.<br/>
<br/>
It’s a blur. Everything is a blur. Where’s the mask? Did it fall off? Why can’t I see? Am I going blind? You reach up to your face, knocking something warm. You glance down. Breasts. You have a large set of breasts. You look closer at the hand. It’s the blanched, smooth hand of a slightly overweight woman. You bend down. Beneath the overhang of your new belly you can’t see anything. You reach down. Gone. <br/>
<br/>
“Holy...” the voice isn’t yours. Turning to the mirror, you stumble forwards, staring into it as you lean to get it into focus. You are the exact double of the security guard. Her - your - pleasant, oval face looks back at you. You blink and she blinks. You win your right eye, the mirror winks her left. Stumbling around in the bathroom, your grab the stolen glasses and slip them onto your nose. Suddenly the world comes into focus.<br/>
<br/>
You are now the perfect double of a slightly overweight woman in her 20s, a long mane of brunette hair stretching down your back, almost to your hips. She must have kept it tight in that bun. You study your new figure. Overweight but not terribly so; with her cute face and hair done right your form could be a plus size model. This is incredible.<br/>
<br/>
Hurriedly, you rush back to your bedroom. How do you get the mask off? You rub your new curves as you look in the grimoire. A simple incantation. You say the words, the mask comes off... and then it’s morning.<br/>
<br/>
You need money for the next spells. There’s no question in your mind, now. You have to do more. You don’t have any money, but the next spell seems just to need some basic chemicals and a metal strip. To know another. Copy someone’s mind, maybe? That means finding the security guard again. Or maybe you could find out more by trying to find that brother she mentioned. He likes shopping for bras... it could be perfect blackmail material. The only Pruitt you know is Brent Pruitt, one of the school school orchestra. Maybe you could blackmail him, it is is the right Pruitt.</span></div></div>


path: 111134311
author_id: masktrix
title: Dry Cleaning and Donuts
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>by Masktrix<br/>
<br/>
“Sure? Ready? No take-backs...”<br/>
<br/>
“Shut up man, just do it.”<br/>
<br/>
“This is going to be awesome.” Caleb laughs from behind as you feel him grab your head. <i>Buzzzzzzzzzz</i>... “Holy shit! That came off easy! You’re gonna look like Marlon Brando. And I don’t mean young, cool Marlon. I mean old, crazy Marlon.”<br/>
<br/>
You scrunch up your eyes and hope Caleb is joking. Your father gave you twenty dollars for a haircut. You need every dollar you can get. So right now you are trusting Caleb to take care of a little problem.<br/>
<br/>
You open one eye and look in the mirror. Your friend is grinning wildly, laughing as he zips the clippers across your scalp. You close your eyes again. It’s too late for him to stop, now. All you can do is let him go.<br/>
<br/>
“By the way, did you ever figure why you put a hair dryer in the time capsule?” He asks. You wince at your mad dash to come up with some bullshit essay earlier. <br/>
<br/>
“Yeah. Because I’m having my head shaved. I told Walberg that it was an historical artefact for me.”<br/>
<br/>
“What? Dude that makes no sense.”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” you admit. “Probably why I’m looking at a C, tops.”<br/>
<br/>
An hour later and you’re walking through downtown Saratoga Falls, the breeze playing strangely through your shorn hair. Caleb virtually shaved every lock off. You wonder, with growing horror, what your classmates are going to think. What your parents will think. How your brother is going to laugh. A tremble echoes through your body. What if you are grounded? Was that really worth twenty bucks?<br/>
<br/>
You promise yourself it was, for two reasons. The first is Speedy’s. You step in, passing the chit to the owner, an old Korean man with as many wrinkles on his face as seem to be in your wizarding plans. You wait as he grabs a bundle of clothes.<br/>
<br/>
“These are not yours,” he says, laying them out. You look. One security uniform. One black cocktail dress. One larger dress in silk, peach coloured. Obviously not for you.<br/>
<br/>
“No. My sister’s.”<br/>
<br/>
“Then your sister should come and pick them up.”<br/>
<br/>
“She was busy. She asked me to come. See?” You hold up the ticket. “They’re for Pruitt. She works at Nirdlinger’s.” There is a quizzical look, and you hope it’s enough to get past the unexpected inquisition. Fortunately, the owner shrugs and takes the ticket. <br/>
<br/>
“After the deposit, that’s fifteen dollars outstanding.”<br/>
<br/>
The goods loaded in your car, next you need to use the mind strip. The easiest thing would be to head back to the department store, but that feels like a risk - the security cameras can’t ‘accidentally’ misplace a DVD again. Instead, you go and wait to see if your gut instinct pays off.<br/>
<br/>
“That’ll be four dollars eighty-five.” The barista hands you a cup of coffee and an overpriced donut as you take a seat. Partytown Donuts is right across from the department store, and possibly the dumbest named shop in Saratoga Falls. Party town? Other than the Warehouse where are the parties? What kind of party has donuts? And why would you call your business that?<br/>
<br/>
You shake off the questions and take a seat in a booth looking at the door. The store closes in ten minutes. Security, you assume, will leave shortly after. And you’re betting a rather terrible haircut that your target is going to fall to cop stereotype.<br/>
<br/>
An hour passes as you watch from across the street. The shoppers leave. A few employees slip out under the closing security door. Then... nothing. Your donut is eaten. Your coffee has gone cold. The barista clearly wants you gone, but you pretend you’re on your phone and just there to skim the Wi-Fi.<br/>
<br/>
Another half-hour passes. People come and go. Donuts are eaten. You start to feel hungry and, once again, dread returning home. Caleb texts you repeatedly, still elated he got to shave your head. This sucks.<br/>
<br/>
You’re about to leave when she steps through the door. The guard. Paula Blart. You still don’t know her first name. Why didn’t you check that when you had her driver’s license? You make a note to get better at this whole identity theft thing.<br/>
<br/>
It feels weird, watching her order a donut, heavy red coat hiding her frame, hair now cascading free behind her like a waterfall. Only a few nights ago you were her. It’s a surreal experience. <br/>
<br/>
As she queues, you decide to take a chance, and walk up to the counter next to her. <br/>
<br/>
“Hey, is it free refills here?” You ask, hoping that she’ll give away if she remembers you or not. <br/>
<br/>
The barista snorts. “Does this look like Subway? No. We are a coffee shop.” She gives an exasperated look to the guard, who doesn’t react at all. <br/>
<br/>
She doesn’t remember you. Or, at least, recognize you. <br/>
<br/>
You smile apologetically and help yourself to a napkin. The guard pays for her order and walks to one of the tables around the corner, two donuts on her plate. <br/>
<br/>
You follow. You feel your palms sweat, the ripped nail beds from your chewed fingers stinging. As she sits down, almost casually, you lean over and slap the band on her forehead. Then you scramble to a seat in the next booth, watching as her head sags unconscious. The band has gone. What’s happening?<br/>
<br/>
The next minutes seem to drag on. Nobody takes any notice of the sleeping woman or you. People order. People type on laptops. The barista wants you all to buy donuts or die. Finally, there’s a ding. Standing up, you see the metal band next to her donuts. Quickly, you grab it and hurry home.<br/>
<br/>
You rush up to your room, barely hollering a greeting to mom and dad. You have an arm full of women’s dresses, and a lack of hair. Either one could get you grounded. Furiously, you shove the dresses under the bed. You reckon you have an hour before your parents come up to check on you and see Caleb’s masterpiece. That gives you a chance to test the strip.<br/>
<br/>
You look at it. Marion Miranda Pruitt is now written on one side. You take a deep breath... here goes nothing.<br/>
<br/>
The world turns black, twists you around, sucks you down, down, down...<br/>
<br/>
Why am I in a bedroom? Why am I in a kid’s bedroom? No, you think, fighting off nausea. This is my bedroom. The metal band! You reach up to your forehead, searching for it. It isn’t there. Quickly you rush to the mirror, looking at your head. It’s gone. It’s vanished. Did it work? And if it did why don’t I remember...<br/>
<br/>
Watching myself in the mirror. Weight loss. Weight gain. Trying to slim down. Pastry-face Pruitt, always loved donuts. The mocking names echo in your ears...<br/>
<br/>
Police entrance exam. Failed fitness. Trying again later this year. You close your eyes and look at yourself. No. You are Will Prescott. Will Prescott with a web of memories belonging to Marion Pruitt, a 26-year-old security guard who...<br/>
<br/>
You suddenly feel a a twinge of panic. You rush to the dry cleaned clothes, pulling out the peach dress. The peach bridesmaid’s dress.<br/>
<br/>
Marion Pruitt, who is going to a wedding next Saturday. The uniform and gown can be replaced, chalked up as lost or stolen by the suspicious kid with a chit she dropped somewhere.<br/>
<br/>
This can’t. You’re going to have to get it back to Marion Pruitt.</span></div></div>


path: 1111343111
author_id: masktrix
title: Dry Cleaning and the Downtrodden
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You walk into Speedy's wearing the loosest clothes you could find. Asking your mom for spare clothes 'for a girl' netted you a huge wad of notes, and you used a fraction of them to buy some suitably unisex clothes at the Goodwill. They're oversized for Will, but just right for your current guise.<br/>
<br/>
You place the three items - dress, uniform, bridesamaid's gown - on the counter. The small Asian gentlemen who served you earlier comes over, recognizing the clothes but not the owner. <br/>
<br/>
"Hey!" you say, bubbly, effervescent, Marion you. "Uh, my brother picked these up earlier..."<br/>
<br/>
The man nods, waiting for the problem.<br/>
<br/>
"Well... see..." you turn over the dress. There's white, greasy streaks right across the ass. "These weren't there when I dropped them off." That, at least, is the truth: they appeared when you got home from school and smeared mayo on Marion's finest attire. "I'd like a refund, please."<br/>
<br/>
The man points to a sign. "Wasn't like that when it left us. And no refunds." <br/>
<br/>
You let Marion's lip wobble slightly. "Please. I need to get this ready for a wedding. My friend Robyn is getting married on Saturday and I *need* these done."<br/>
<br/>
"No refunds. No exceptions. That stain wasn't from us."<br/>
<br/>
You tap into Marion's personality, let your eyes water a little. "Please. It's her wedding. I can't go to her wedding without... there has to be something you can do. Something. I get my uniforms pressed here all the time.<br/>
<br/>
You watch as the man's resolve crumbles. Sullenly, he takes the dresses. "Tuesday. Ready Tuesday," he mutters. You leave, deliberately, without taking the ticket. It's so Marion to do that - and also will neatly explain why she's lost it.<br/>
<br/>
You take a breath as you walk down toward the Carriage Hills Shopping Centre, safe in your identity. Marion is on a double shift and won't be home for another three hours. And even if something were to happen, Speedy's isn't on her route back to the apartment block on Acacia. You could revel in her identity some more if you wanted. You feel your hips walk with a little more confidence as you stroll down the street. Nobody is going to stop you...<br/>
<br/>
"Snort." Marion's mind flashes a warning to you. Keep walking. Do not look. Do not look.<br/>
<br/>
"Snort. Snort." Keep walking... keep walking...<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, fatty!" You close your eyes and keep walking. You recognize the voice - one of the asshole brigade at Westside - but you aren't going to acknowledge it. All you can do is keep walking and pretend it didn't happen. <br/>
<br/>
You wonder if this is how Marion's life is, just as her mind informs you that it is. Every day. In every way. Brent Pruitt has it even worse. Little B, your mind says, as you start to see him in an entirely different light. At school he always just came across as, well, wet. But it's Marion's parents who have driven him to that, pushed him academically until he just couldn't take it any more. Marion's worried about him, you know. Deeply concerned, and not just in a sisterly way. He's become more distant. Stopped going out, even down to their hideaway by the river. Marion might be seven years his senior, but she's not going to stop looking out for him.<br/>
<br/>
You climb into your truck, start the ignition. Maybe you should talk to Brent. He could be a useful ally in this, and he's more than smart enough to realize exactly what the book offers. Sure, he's outside your immediate circle of friends - and you probably shouldn't mention you have the mask and mind of his sister all ready to use - but now you know exactly what to say to sway him to your side. Brent Pruitt and Will Prescott could be a formidable alliance.<br/>
<br/>
*CRASH*. The windscreen is suddenly brilliant white, and for a moment you wonder what the hell happened. Then you see the milkshake carton, squashed and slowly rolling down the windscreen. You hit the wipers, the blades cutting through the smear to reveal a gang of assholes laughing. You start up the engine and drive off furiously. <br/>
<br/>
It's only once you hit the left turn that you realize you're crying. Not Will, but Marion. You huff out your cheeks. Bullying. Still. Even with this power at your fingertips. Even with everything you could do...<br/>
<br/>
And that's when it hits you. Why not wreck the lives of some bullies? You could do anything you want to them, as anyone. As them. As a teacher. Hell, you could be their parents and just ground them. Revenge: pure, clean and untraceable. </span></div></div>


path: 11113431112
author_id: masktrix
title: Chicken and Choices
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"If you could be anyone for a day, who would you be?" You slurp your drink, sat on the bench outside Cluck-for-a-Buck, chin greasy with chicken breast. You watch as Caleb thinks for a moment.<br/>
<br/>
"Eva Garner," he says. "And I'd spend the entire day looking at myself in the mirror. Or just playing with my twin. Twincest is bestcest."<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. "Don't be gross."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey! You asked."<br/>
<br/>
"Keith?" The other part of your trio leans back and thinks for a moment, taking his time rather than just blurting it out like Caleb. "For a day? Like, I would just get to enjoy their life or I'd get something out of it?"<br/>
<br/>
"The latter," you decide, chewing down a mouthful of fries. "You can do anything you want, but at the end of the day the consequences would still be there. For them, as well as you."<br/>
<br/>
"Hmm." Keith taps his chin. "So... I could rob a bank as this person, hide all the money, then they'd get in trouble?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure."<br/>
<br/>
"Seth Javits." He says it with more conviction than you were expecting. "One day and I'd fuck up his life. Forever. Gone."<br/>
<br/>
"Jeez, man. It's only a game," Caleb sighs. "Shouldn't you get going, anyhow?"<br/>
<br/>
Keith checks his cell. "Yeah, dammit. I need to get to Don's for another day of glorious service work. Catch you two later." He wipes off the chicken grease and dumps the remains in the bin. You give him a nod as he leaves.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, want to know a joke?" Caleb asks. "Why is a girl like Cluck-for-a-Buck?"<br/>
<br/>
You wince. This is going to be sexist, terrible, or both. "Go on."<br/>
<br/>
"Because once you've finished with the breast and thighs, all you've got is a greasy box to stick your bone in!"<br/>
<br/>
"Dude." You shake your head as Caleb laughs at his own perverted humor, trying to figure out what to do with the masks, the mind bands, and of course the next spell. The next part of the book, translated last night, calls for 400 pounds of gravedirt. That means a late night cemetery trip, and you're not sure you're really ready for that. After all, where the hell are you going to store 400 pounds of gravedirt? You scratch your head, shifting uncomfortably at the little stubble where your hair used to be. Maybe you could go to the Masonic cemetery. And then there's your plan to get revenge on some of the bullies. The Molester is top of your list. You need to take away something he loves. Soccer. He loves soccer...<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus! Will! What happened?" You turn to see Yumi walking down the street with some of her friends. You give a wave. Caleb, for reasons best left to his own mind, salutes her.<br/>
<br/>
"I just...fancied a change," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"Mission accomplished, I guess." Yumi sighs, looking at you. "And you let him do it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't *let* him do it. I *did* it." Caleb says proudly. Yumi looks on with disapproval.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, it makes showers easier," you quip, giving a slight smirk. "Plus it's not like it won't grow back or anything."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh," Yumi says. "Well... see you around, I guess."<br/>
<br/>
You wave, and then pause. Yumi's quite clued up on sports. "Hey, Yumi. Who's the best soccer player in Westside?"<br/>
<br/>
"Marc Garner, duh," Caleb interjects. <br/>
<br/>
"Actually, it's Hannah Westrick. Marc's good, but she has got *moves*."<br/>
<br/>
You vaguely know the name. Honey-blonde girl, transferred over from Eastman. "Oh...right... Hannah..." you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
"Pft. She's a girl. Girl's can't play socc.. .OW!"<br/>
<br/>
Yumi's fist pulls away, having hit Caleb square on the bicep. "Girls can't do what, now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Play soc... Jeez! Stop it!"<br/>
<br/>
"Well stop being a sexist prick!" Yumi composes herself. "It's Hannah Westrick, Will. Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just...thinking of trying out for the team," you mutter. Yumi gives you an odd look of surprise, before smiling supportively. "Well, good luck! Later."<br/>
<br/>
She and her friends walk off, giggling about something to each other. Caleb rubs his arm. You watch the motion, and think about the masks. You really need to prepare another one. <br/>
<br/>
But now you have a plan. With a mind band, you have another person's skills and memories. You could either impersonate Hannah Westrick and destroy Lester the Molester at his beloved soccer, or just slip a mind band on her, soak up all of her soccer skills, and take his place on the team. Molester plays goalkeeper, and the substitute is just a freshman. All you'd need to do is be a better goalie than him, and you could snatch away his place on the team. It would destroy him... although that might mean he'd try to destroy you.<br/>
<br/>
But you can't help thinking about Seth Javits. He's really impacted Keith. Perhaps you should strike there. You don't think robbing a bank is the best idea, but with the masks you could easily gaslight the bastard, destroy his world. Be his dad and ground him. Or, better yet, be his girlfriend, Cindy. With two Cindys giving him two different sets of signals, you're sure you could drive him crazy...</span></div></div>


path: 111134311121
author_id: masktrix
title: Penalty Shootout
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Hey, coach!" you bound across the soccer pitch and out to the centre circle, beaming. Coach Gellman turns and looks at you with disdain.<br/>
<br/>
"What? You’re interrupting my practice.” The varsity team are going through drills. The big game - Westside Vs Eastman - approaches. Some boys are stretching out, others rushing with practice balls around little cones.<br/>
<br/>
You give a little pant. "I might have scouted you a new goalie."<br/>
<br/>
"You did what, now?" Coach Gellman narrows his eyes.<br/>
<br/>
You gesture over to Lester. "I've found you a new goalkeeper. It's the weak point in your lineup. You know it. Eastman sure as hell know it. And I've found you a new keeper."<br/>
<br/>
The coach folds his arms. The other boys on the team slowly stop their warm up drills and huddle in, listening.<br/>
<br/>
"Listen, Miss Westrick. I know you're hot property on the girl's team, but we don't need a new..."<br/>
<br/>
"He was helping with me some fundamentals over the weekend. Or, rather, I was helping him. He's amazing. Really. Hand on heart, he's like a cat. He's like the next Tim Howard or something. I swear it. I took five penalties against him, didn't even hit the net once."<br/>
<br/>
The coach looks at you and snorts. You catch a look at Marc, and, involuntarily but entirely in character, you feel your heart flutter a little. Oh god those thighs... He looks at you with confusion, wondering why his girlfriend is currently invading the boy's soccer practice.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, Ms Westrick. I'm sure whoever it was must seem like Manuel Neuer to a girl, but..."<br/>
<br/>
You straighten your back, and give the coach a solid, hard stare. Accompanied, of course, by your most winning smile; Hannah's long features suit playing good cop and bad cop all at once. "I could score five in a row against your current keeper without breaking a sweat. Not against this guy.”<br/>
<br/>
"I doubt that." The coach looks at his clipboard. "Who's the all-star?"<br/>
<br/>
"Will Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
The team burst out laughing. The coach doesn't crack a smile, just looks you dead in the eye. "You kidding me?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, sir. I'm telling you. Prescott doesn't even realize how good he is."<br/>
<br/>
"Prescott? You got to be joking. No way, coach!" Lester interrupts, having walked over from the goal. He's in full Galaxy kit, including branded gloves. You don't break your gaze.<br/>
<br/>
"Five penalties. Saved them all. I promise you, you need to see him."<br/>
<br/>
The coach gives you a look, once up, once down, and turns to Lester. "Pozniak. Get between the sticks. Everyone, edge of the 18-yard box." He claps, and the team turns as one, jogging to crowd the goal. Marc, captain, leads the way, although he does give you a quizzical look ("What the hell, Hannah?") as he makes his move. "Five shots, Westrick. You better not be wasting my time."<br/>
<br/>
Lester the Molester obeys but stares at your borrowed form as if he wants to murder you. You keep your composure; in this body he hasn’t got a chance.<br/>
<br/>
- - -<br/>
<br/>
The events of the past 48 hours have been a little crazy, even by your magical standards. Saturday was spent buffing and polishing the mask, your parents reminding you that your haircut makes you look like a thug, and that you are one mistake from being grounded. Saturday night was spent at the Masonic cemetery digging up 400 pounds of grave dirt, transporting them to the basement of the old elementary school near your house. Magical, mysterious mixture created, you poured it on the dirt like thick soup and set it alight. The chemicals burned brilliant purple... but didn't produce any heat. Magic fire. It's still burning, even now; you wonder how many days the fire will take.<br/>
<br/>
The next part of your plan was a little harder. On Sunday you took all day to think about what to do. Lester the Molester is a goalkeeper. It's not the same as an outfielder. Football skill isn't the main aim; you've got to be agile, strong, cat-like, fast reflexes. It's more gym skill than physical agility, muscle memory of when to throw yourself around. You feel confident that, if you managed to get a mind stripe on someone with that kind of reflex, you'd be a better goalkeeper than anyone in Westside. <br/>
<br/>
All you needed was the convincer. And that was where Hannah came in. You arranged, via Yumi, for Hannah to meet you to discuss some extra pointers for your supposed soccer tryout. Why she agreed, you don't know (or didn't know at the time), but she happily met up with you, and from there getting a mask on her was easy, and you let her get on with her life. The real Hannah, you know, is currently at home, hoping to get some rest before a pro interview on Wednesday evening. It’s her big break, but it’s given you plenty of opportunity to play the part now, in yet more Goodwill threads. <br/>
<br/>
- - - <br/>
<br/>
The whistle blows. In front of you, Lester the Molester sets his stance. You take a few steps back, angling your body away to the left of the ball. You flick your hair, blowing a blonde strand out of your eyes. "Just remember, I'm not in gym clothes, OK?" you remind everyone. You're taking a penalty in sneakers, jeans and a T-shirt. There's no response from the boys. They just wait, impassively.<br/>
<br/>
Three, two, one... the ball sails gracefully into the top left corner. Lester didn't even move. He just stood there, rooted, utterly bewildered. <br/>
<br/>
"That's one," you say to coach Gellman, smiling sweetly as you wait for Lester to kick the ball back. You catch it on your shin, flick it up, bounce it on the top of your sneakers a few times, then set it down on the penalty spot. Marc winks at you. You know he finds this a turn-on. You twist, walk back, twist again. A panther, stalking her prey. Lionel Messi in a cup final. Hannah Westrick, showing her boyfriend and his team her pert ass and raw soccer talent.<br/>
<br/>
Stride. Stride. Pause for a dummy. Strike. Lester dives correctly to the right, but not far enough. The ball strikes the far right post, rattling a little as it bounces off the inside, well past his outstretched fingers.<br/>
<br/>
"Two," you say.<br/>
<br/>
Three. Lester isn’t bad, you have to admit. He actually got a finger to that one. <br/>
<br/>
Four. Dived the wrong way, spiralled into the mud as you planted it neatly into the bottom left. Oscar Cantu, the team's forward, is grinning like a lunatic. Jeremiah James is talking to Marc, who only nods in approval. The entire team want you right now. The entire team except Lester Pozniak. With each shot, you've seen him redden with anger. He's entirely lost his cool now, his knees stained with mud from the goal mouth, his Galaxy top streaked with grass and stained with sweat. Four penalties. Not a single miss. Only perfection. Only Hannah Westrick, doing what she was born to do.<br/>
<br/>
"See what I mean? Weakest link." You report to Gellman as you take a few steps back. The coach is scrawling on his clipboard. <br/>
<br/>
"Prescott," he mutters. "William Prescott..."<br/>
<br/>
"Saved every single one of them. I even put one top right corner. Tipped it."<br/>
<br/>
The coach sighs. You're loving every minute of this. Lester hoofs the ball back from the net. Wild now, angry, kicking mud and turf as he launches it back. Gary Chen stops it, kicks it at - not to - you. No problem for Hannah. A few steps, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. A Cruyff turn like you're Michelle Akers. A grin, and a laugh, as you look over at Marc. Then back to Lester.<br/>
<br/>
"Pozniak. Move your ass and dive!" The coach yells.<br/>
<br/>
"C'mon, Lester! C'mon man!" Tyler Rawls is doing his best to cheer on his team mate, but you can tell that his focus is on you. Hannah's mind loves it. You love it. <br/>
<br/>
You wink at Lester, only making him quake even more as he tries to make himself big, extending his arms out like a toy soldier. He's going to have to dive for it. If he doesn't, he'll be destroyed. No; he's already destroyed. Humiliated by a girl. This would be the coup de grace. One more shot, and the coach is going to seriously consider you for his place. Bye bye, Lester. <br/>
<br/>
"Top right," you call over to him. "You can do it."<br/>
<br/>
Lester grits his teeth. He's going to go all in. You lock eyes. You hear your heartbeat. Hannah’s heartbeat. Taste the sweet saliva in your mouth. Hannah’s mouth. Feel the big game butterflies and the wonderful pressure of the moment. Hannah’s moment.<br/>
<br/>
You ready yourself, take a run up and...</span></div></div>


path: 1111343111211
author_id: masktrix
title: A Big Break
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You skip your foot over the white-painted turf, your sneaker slipping over the grass as you twist the angle from straight into a right angle to the ball. You feel the connection, watch as the ball soars and arcs in a graceful curve. You stagger a little on your follow-through, but it doesn't matter. The ball curls and curves through the air, slipping just under the bar. Top right corner. The only noise is a gentle *woof* as it is caught in the net. <br/>
<br/>
Lester Pozniak hasn't moved. The whole muscle-twitching, arm-stretching stance was a feint. He thought you were trying to psych him out and were going straight. His muscles shake. His teeth grind. His face starts turning red.<br/>
<br/>
Beaten by a girl. A girl who isn't even in sports kit. He grips his goalie gloves, pawing them off, throwing them into the mud of the six-yard box. <br/>
<br/>
"Christ, Pozniak! You didn't even move! You goddamn Lemon. Lester the freakin' Lemon." Gellman is furious. You can see his nostrils flare as he looks at the goalkeeper in disgust, spitting onto the pitch. You back up, catching Marc's eye as you turn. He licks his lips, very subtly. The rest of the squad look impressed, enamored or stunned.<br/>
<br/>
You fold your arms and look at Gellman. He gives you a look. "Tell Prescott I want to see him on the practice field at lunch tomorrow."<br/>
<br/>
You smile sweetly, and walk off. <br/>
<br/>
"And Westrick?" You turn, raising an eyebrow. "I'm going to talk to Coach P about this. Good job." <br/>
<br/>
You smirk, and shake Hannah's ass to give everyone a full view as you leave the pitch. Everyone except Lester the Molester. Lester the Loser. Lester the Lemon. You head to where you stashed your Will clothes, taking deep, satisfied breaths. It's only then you realize that Hannah's thoughts have seeped into your consciousness. You weren't looking at Marc as part of a charade as Hannah Westrick... you were genuinely flirting with him. Being the opposite sex is fun.<br/>
<br/>
- - -<br/>
<br/>
You're outside Steel 24-hour gym, over on 20th. It's near to Eastman, so there's quite a lot of kids from there, haunting the Starbucks, working on assignments. It's just across the street from King Kong Komics, so it's a part of town you know well. Normally, you'd be hanging out with Caleb about now; maybe James of Carson. But they wouldn't understand what you're doing. You're playing with magic - and that means doing experiments they can barely imagine. <br/>
<br/>
You need to get soccer skills - specifically goalkeeping - in the next 12 hours. Gellman moved much faster than you thought, and you didn't have time to get a mind band on anyone. You've got a band (and a freshly polished mask) in your bag, all ready for someone who might have the gymnastic skills you need to become the nimble soccer ninja that "Hannah" has promised. <br/>
<br/>
Earlier you checked on the lump of magic dirt fire. It was still burning furiously in your lair under the old elementary school. There, you have your Marion Pruitt and Hannah Westrick disguises, ready to use if needed. But right now you are looking for someone in peak physical fitness. <br/>
<br/>
Your plan is simple. Find the biggest gym rat you can, slap the band on them, use their knowledge to wow Gellman. Take Lester's place on the team and don't end up abandoning your friends like Jeremy Richards. <br/>
<br/>
A woman stops in front of your bench. Your recognize her as one of the excessively large sports staff at Westside, although what she teaches you have no idea. She's in pumps and sweats, a bag over her shoulder, ready to get a work out. You guess not every jock stays glued to the TV on a Monday night. <br/>
<br/>
"You're Prescott, right?" she asks. "Will?"<br/>
<br/>
You look up at her, surprised. "Uh. Uhm. Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
She smiles. She's a lot younger than most of the staff, and infinitely better looking than the likes of coach Tesla. Tawny hair, and a prominent nose, with a physique that shows she keeps in shape. "I'm Coach Schell. Heard you're quite the soccer star."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh... really?" you ask, blinking. She nods. <br/>
<br/>
"Coach Gellman was talking about you earlier in the staff room. Said something about untapped talent. How come we haven't seen you on a roster?"<br/>
<br/>
"I've been..." you think, "concentrating on my studies, I guess, coach."<br/>
<br/>
"Can't fault that. It is a school." She says. "Well, we're talking about possibly extending the volleyball program. Same skills as goalkeeping, really. Anticipation, acrobatics, hand-eye-coordination, teamwork. If you make the cut for Gellman, come see me. We've got a strong female line up but we could use a boys team."<br/>
<br/>
"Volleyball? Uh... sure. I didn't know it was, uh, common knowledge I was thinking of trying out?"<br/>
<br/>
Schell smiles. "Way Gellman tells it, we had a scout. Goodnight, Mr Prescott. Go Dragons, huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"Right, coach." You nod, and she walks inside. <br/>
<br/>
- - -<br/>
<br/>
You sit for another hour, watching people come and go into Steel, trying to work out who looks the most... well, the most talented at soccer. You're beginning to regret your plan. Maybe you could put the band on Coach Schell? Volleyball shares all the traits of goalkeeping. Why not use the coach's knowledge? In fact, what better way to...<br/>
<br/>
You feel two hands grab you, pull you over the bench, then slam you into a wall. You gasp for breath, swinging wildly to try and defend yourself. A fist slams into your breadbasket, sending you curled up into a ball. You try and adjust to your changing vision, try to focus but only see hands grab you, throw you against the wall again. <br/>
<br/>
Lester the Molester stares down at you. "Out late, you fucking loser," he says, grabbing your bag. "What's this? Arts and crafts shit? Maybe you should have stayed with that."<br/>
<br/>
A fist again, into your stomach. You keel over, arms up to try and defend yourself. Fail.<br/>
<br/>
"Been looking all over town for you, Prescott. You send that fucking bitch to humiliate me? Did you? You think you can take my place in fucking goal? You think you're a goalkeeper? Catch this!"<br/>
<br/>
A flurry of punches. You fall down into garbage, suddenly realizing you're in the alleyway that runs beside Steel. Dark. Safe for Lester to do what the hell he wants. You try to think of something to say. But it's too late. Lester grabs your arm and, in a violent jerk, you realize it's being thrust through the metal slats of a fire escape. <br/>
<br/>
Holy shit. He can't be serious. Can he? "Try tending goal with this."<br/>
<br/>
The next sensation is overwhelming, the worst pain you’ve ever experienced, so real your mind shuts down in a wave of nausea. You scream, trapped in a hell as you feel your wrist shatter, caught up in the mechanism of a fire escape as it shuts, snapping bone, crushing flesh, blood swelling to the area almost immediately. You howl with the burning inferno of your destroyed nerves, tears in your eyes as all thoughts escape you other than to clutch your limb, regressing to the most primitive survival instinct.<br/>
<br/>
There's barely a second's satisfaction on the molester's face before it registers what he's done. Then horror. "You fucking talk, Prescott, and you're a fucking dead man!" <br/>
<br/>
You watch as he sprints away, unable to do anything but roll around on the floor, howling in pain, looking up at the moon from the floor and wishing that something would rewind time. Your right arm is bent at a hideous angle, fingers twisted in a grotesque claw. You struggle for breath, rolling in agony as a passerby hears you, rushes over, looks down.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus," she virtually screams in shock, covering her mouth as she crouches down. “Prescott. What happened? Oh my God..." Coach Schell is with you, trying to steady you. Already her hand is reaching up to her phone, to call 911. You try and do something with your hand... nothing. A numb sensation has started to tingle at the fingertips as the limb flops about outside of your control.<br/>
<br/>
The pain is too much to bear. You gasp, roll in agony, and try and think. You want to shout out to the world it was Lester. He'd get expelled, for sure. Hell, he'll probably go to jail, or at least have a criminal record. <br/>
<br/>
But part of you wonders if that's too good for him. Maybe you should destroy his life completely. How you're going to polish masks with a broken wrist, you have no idea. But you want Lester's punishment to be far more severe than anything he could imagine.<br/>
<br/>
Right now, though, you just want to whimper and let Coach Schell get you medical attention, before you...<br/>
<br/>
Too late. You pass out from the torment.</span></div></div>


path: 11113431112111
author_id: masktrixie
title: Morphine dreams and morphing tales
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“Will.” A calm, placid voice calls out, distant and murky, as if coming through a sea of ink. You can’t remember if you reply, and if you did, you’re pretty sure that some invisible echo snatched the words from time itself and pulled them away, around the shadows of the Moon, so that every word slurred from your lips five minutes too late. You remember seeing your mother and father, staff tending to you like spiders dissecting a corpse on a web, pulling at your arm until the white-hot pain returned and more relief flowed from a line.<br/>
<br/>
Your cheeks feel glorious and numb, your eyes wider and blacker than a lunar eclipse as you dance above everything. Every time the pain returns, you descend into the dark shadows to recoil, wishing it was that strange, cold flame that burns like a beacon in the basement of an abandoned school.<br/>
<br/>
“Will.” You can finish the sentence. Will Prescott, super agent, superhuman who can flick through identities like a comic book hero. Will Prescott, aka Hannah Westwick if you wish, if you slipped that mask on and let the pain radiating in ferocious waves vanish in a blast of masquerade magic. You want to scream and want to shine, want to rest and stir, want to unleash power unimagined and run from the twisting life it has created for you.<br/>
<br/>
But most of all you want to open your eyes. Every time you do, the Moon pulls you back, as if it’s trying to tell you something. You feel it whip you like a slingshot shuttle, out to the other planets, where one grabs you, dissects you, pulls you apart and slots you back together as if you were a puzzle box to be solved.<br/>
<br/>
“Will.” You manage to open your eyes, gasping as you return into the world. You’re in a hospital ward, in bed, a clip on your fingers and a line in your vein. Your wrist is suspended in a metal circle, giant rods inserted deep inside, pinning everything together. It comes back to you. Lester. The alley. The pain. You turn to the side, and someone hurries a cardboard tube to your lips as you vomit, body hurling up everything until the agony forces you back to stillness and the morphine kicks in again.<br/>
<br/>
“Easy, Will. Easy.” That calm, mannered voice again. You try and remember the past few days. Try and fail. You spoke out about Lester, even through the pain of what happened. You spilled, snitched, tattled. You expected sirens, lawsuits and justice. Instead, the quiet responses to your words told you everything you feared.<br/>
<br/>
Think about how this impacts Lester. Think about how your accusation could destroy his future. Think about how everyone at school would treat you.<br/>
<br/>
In three sentences, spoken calmly by faculty and authorities, you knew nothing would ever happen. Your future didn’t matter. Your wishes were irrelevant. You and your family could try and press charges but they would barely register, while you’d find yourself ostracized, alone and tormented all the more. Saratoga Falls may paint itself as a pleasant small town, but deep down it just wants problems to go away.<br/>
<br/>
You swallow the puke in your mouth, blinking furiously as you look for the voice. You can just make him out, sat down next to your bed, tucking away the vomit tube. Wearily, you turn your head, struggling to form words with dry lips. “Who are…”<br/>
<br/>
“Who am I? I’m far more interested in who you are. At least in this moment we can say you are Will Prescott. We both know that’s far from the only person you’ve been.”<br/>
<br/>
The sweet syrup of the voice puts you on edge, even as you struggle to make out the shape. The fog from the morphine drip is still pulling you away from reality. You try to piece together her meaning. The masks, obviously. But… how?<br/>
<br/>
“But how?” You didn’t realize you were talking out loud. His voice cuts through your thoughts. “Dreams, son. When we heard about you, you attracted the attention of two people I work with. You spoke at length in delirium, muttering stories of basement fires, books and masks. Such as this thing.” The visitor holds up a mask, turning it over in his hands. “Marion Pruitt. How and why you took her form I don’t know. I imagine it’s quite a tale. I was told about you, and here I am.”<br/>
<br/>
You groan. The secret is gone, spilled in an opium dream. If you’d kept your mouth shut you wonder if this stranger would ever have heard about you. As it was, they could simply sit and listen to your fevered ravings and unlock every story.<br/>
<br/>
“I didn’t want… plan… mean to…”<br/>
<br/>
“Hush. What you meant and what you did may be two different things, but the result is the same. We’ve found you, Will. And we’re very happy. You have a gift, that’s clear. It’s the only way you could have mastered such a thing without training or time. For now, your gift matters more than how you’ve used it. And, in the scheme of things, the damage seems to be light. As best we can tell, you did someone’s laundry, pretended to be a soccer star, and had fate backfire upon you spectacularly. The doctors say it’s touch and go whether you can ever use that arm in the same way as you once did. But perhaps,” there’s a pause, “perhaps you don’t need to.”<br/>
<br/>
“What do you mean?” You ask, finally coming to your senses.<br/>
<br/>
“Rest.” The indiscernible shape stands. “For now, rest. The answers will come in time.”</span></div></div>


path: 11113431112112
author_id: masktrixie
title: Morphine dreams and morphing schemes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“Will.” A calm, placid voice calls out, distant and murky, as if coming through a sea of ink. You can’t remember if you reply, and if you did, you’re pretty sure that some invisible echo snatched the words from time itself and pulled them away, around the shadows of the Moon, so that every word slurred from your lips five minutes too late. You remember seeing your mother and father, staff tending to you like spiders dissecting a corpse on a web, pulling at your arm until the white-hot pain returned and more relief flowed from a line.<br/>
<br/>
Your cheeks feel glorious and numb, your eyes wider and blacker than a lunar eclipse as you dance above everything. Every time the pain returns, you descend into the dark shadows to recoil, wishing it was that strange, cold flame that burns like a beacon in the basement of an abandoned school.<br/>
<br/>
“Will.” You can finish their sentences. Will Prescott, super agent, superhuman who can flick through identities like a comic book hero. Will Prescott, aka Hannah Westwick if you wish, if you slipped that mask on and let the pain radiating in ferocious waves vanish in a blast of masquerade magic. You want to scream and want to shine, want to rest and stir, want to unleash power unimagined and run from the twisting life it’s created for you.<br/>
<br/>
But most of all you want to open your eyes. Every time you do, the Moon pulls you back, as if it’s trying to tell you something. You feel it whip you like a slingshot shuttle, out to the other planets, where one grabs you, dissects you, pulls you apart and slots you back together as if you were a puzzle box to be solved.<br/>
<br/>
“Will.” You manage to open your eyes, gasping as you return into the world. You’re in a hospital ward, in bed, a clip on your fingers and a line in your vein. Your wrist is suspended in a metal circle, giant rods inserted deep inside, pinning everything together. It comes back to you. Lester. The alley. The pain. You turn to the side, and someone hurries a cardboard tube to your lips as you vomit, body hurling up everything until the pain forces you back to stillness and the morphine kicks in again.<br/>
<br/>
“Whoa, gently, just lie back and take a moment.” The voice is firm and sincere. You try and think back to the past dreamy minutes, hours, maybe days. Time seems to have been diluted to the point you can barely trace it. You remember being smart enough to keep quiet about really happened, at least. You know exactly how that would go – the chances of the school wanting to do anything against Lester was next to none, and it would have alienated you entirely from the student body anyway. Not that he’ll go unpunished, you think. It’s just that you have a far better way to do that now.<br/>
<br/>
Explaining your injury was harder, and you’re sure that most people didn’t believe the lame ass excuse you managed to conjure up between searing jolts of pain and heavy sedation. As you were leaving Steel, you saw an alleycat stuck in the escape ladder. Moved to save it, ended up having the ladder slats collapse on you while the cat sauntered away. It was just inside the realm of possibility for people to buy it (cats are assholes), and the rest of your stay is blur. Caleb came by, you’re pretty sure; as did your family, and – maybe you’re imagining it, but you’re certain Yumi, too. You’re half-certain you’ve been talking the whole time, about the fire raging in the school and the masks, though whether anyone was listening is hard to say.<br/>
<br/>
You turn to try and focus your doped up eyes on the visitor. You spot the pink of hospital scrubs, and look up to see a nurse checking your chart. Gradually features come into focus; blonde hair that looks straight out of a bottle, bangs and a perky smile. Your visitor looks at you with concern.<br/>
<br/>
“Better out than in, huh?”<br/>
<br/>
“I guess,” you manage, swallowing the rest of the vomit down, scorching the back of your throat. Your body feels wrecked. “What day is it?”<br/>
<br/>
The nurse looks at you with gentle pleasantness. “You know, you ask that every time you come around? It’s Thursday, a little ways after two.”<br/>
<br/>
You think back to the fire burning in the school and wonder what’s happening. Does it still burn, or has it cooled? Or have you set the whole town ablaze with heatless magic fire? The life of a wizard really isn’t all it’s cut out to be.<br/>
<br/>
“What’s happening with…” you close your eyes and concentrate on words. “How long am I going to be here?”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, I’m not your doctor, and it’s up to her. But most people with a distal radius fracture go home 24 to 48 hours after surgery, plus a few month in a cast. You had a nasty break.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah,” you mutter. Two months? You can’t wait that long. That said, if you’re supposed to be off school for some time with an injury like this, it does give you a lot of freedom to test out the rest of the book and use it to get back at Lester. Already you’re working out how to destroy his life. You can be anyone, know anyone’s innermost thoughts, and if the creation in the school does what you think, you could have a willing accomplice, too.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe this break is the best thing that happened to you. “Uh, so… did my mom take my stuff?”<br/>
<br/>
It surprises you that it’s taken so long to ask – someone has undressed you and put you in one of the terrible assless gowns that hospitals love so much. Presumably your backpack is gone too.<br/>
<br/>
“No, hon, I don’t think so.” The nurse finishes with a check of the drip and leaves to get on with her rounds. “I’ll be back on my next round. I’ll see if I can’t get them to bring down a Playstation, too.”<br/>
<br/>
As she leaves, you look furtively at the locker beside your bed, piled with get well cards from your family. Inside will be your bag, and inside that the Hannah Westwick mask. Once you’re loose from the drips and arm mechanism – and everything doesn’t hurt as much – you have a fit, healthy body to slip into and get to the school. Or you can bide your time; whatever’s happened with the fire in the basement is out of your control. A few more days won’t hurt. </span></div></div>


path: 1111343111212
author_id: masktrix
title: Dropping the Ball
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You stride forward and gently punt the ball straight on your laces, shooting it in a delicate Panenka toward the centre of the goal.<br/>
<br/>
Got you, sucker. <br/>
<br/>
Only Lester doesn’t dive. Instead he stands there, grinning as the ball softly arcs into his waiting gloves. He catches it with ease, holds it, and exhales. <br/>
<br/>
You skid to a halt in your run-up, defeated. His teammates cheer. Deciding to play the part of Hannah, you give a nod of approval and a little clap. Inside, you feel nothing but defeat.<br/>
<br/>
“Four ain’t five.” Lester says. “Right, coach?”<br/>
<br/>
Gellman looks irritated. “Oh good, you decided to actually stop one.” He turns to you. “Looks like not everything you touch turns to gold, Westrick.”<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. “Nobody’s perfect. Still doesn’t take away how good Will turned out to be.”<br/>
<br/>
The coach sniffs, but concedes the point. “Tell him to meet me here at lunch tomorrow.” He pops the whistle in his mouth and blows. “Dragons! Get back to your drills! And Pozniak, get your ass over here...”<br/>
<br/>
You walk away, giving Marc a seductive glance as you pass, moving your pert ass for the boys as you head off the field. Not perfect. Not a total humiliation. But good enough. You head to where you stashed your Will clothes, taking deep, satisfied breaths. It's only then you realize that Hannah's thoughts have seeped into your consciousness. You weren't looking at Marc as part of a charade as Hannah Westrick... you were genuinely flirting with him. Being an intruder in the opposite sex is fun.<br/>
<br/>
 - - -<br/>
<br/>
You're outside Steel 24-hour gym, over on 20th. It's near to Eastman, so there's quite a lot of kids from there, haunting the Starbucks, working on assignments. It's just across the street from King Kong Komics, so it's a part of town you know well. Normally, you'd be hanging out with Caleb about now; maybe James or Carson. But they wouldn't understand what you're doing. You're playing with magic - and that means doing experiments they can barely imagine. <br/>
<br/>
You need to get soccer skills - specifically goalkeeping - in the next 12 hours. Gellman moved much faster than you thought, and you didn't have time to get a mind band on anyone. You've got a band (and a freshly polished mask) in your bag, all ready for someone who might have the gymnastic skills you need to become the nimble soccer ninja that "Hannah" has promised. <br/>
<br/>
Earlier you checked on the lump of magic dirt fire. It was still burning furiously in your lair under the old elementary school. There, you have your Marion Pruitt and Hannah Westrick disguises, ready to use if needed. But right now you are looking for someone in peak physical fitness. <br/>
<br/>
Your plan is simple. Find the biggest gym rat you can, slap the band on them, use their knowledge to wow Gellman. Take Lester's place on the team and don't end up abandoning your friends like Jeremy Richards. <br/>
<br/>
A woman stops in front of your bench. Your recognize her as one of the excessively large sports staff at Westside, although what she teaches you have no idea. She's in pumps and sweats, a bag over her shoulder, ready to get a work out. You guess not every jock stays glued to the TV on a Monday night. <br/>
<br/>
"You're Prescott, right?" she asks. "Will?"<br/>
<br/>
You look up at her, surprised. "Uh. Uhm. Yeah?"<br/>
<br/>
She smiles. She's a lot younger than most of the staff, and infinitely better looking than the likes of coach Tesla. Tawny hair, and a prominent nose, with a physique that shows she keeps in shape. "I'm Coach Schell. Heard you're quite the soccer star."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh... really?" you ask, blinking. She nods. <br/>
<br/>
"Coach Gellman was talking about you earlier in the staff room. Said something about untapped talent. How come we haven't seen you on a roster?"<br/>
<br/>
"I've been..." you think, "concentrating on my studies, I guess, coach."<br/>
<br/>
"Can't fault that. It is a school." She says. "Well, we're talking about possibly extending the volleyball program. Same skills as goalkeeping, really. Anticipation, acrobatics, hand-eye-coordination, teamwork. If you make the cut for Gellman, come see me. We've got a strong female line up but we could use a men's team."<br/>
<br/>
"Volleyball? Uh... sure. I didn't know it was, uh, common knowledge I was trying out?"<br/>
<br/>
Schell smiles. "Way Gellman tells it, we had a scout. Goodnight, Mr Prescott. Go Dragons, huh?"<br/>
<br/>
"Right, coach." You nod, and she walks inside. <br/>
<br/>
- - -<br/>
<br/>
You sit for another hour, watching people come and go into Steel, trying to work out who looks the most... well, the most talented at soccer. You're beginning to regret your plan. Maybe you could put the band on Coach Schell? Volleyball shares all the traits of goalkeeping. Why not use the coach's knowledge? In fact, what better way to get a place on the team? Her talk about volleyball pretty much gives you unfettered access. Tomorrow, at school, you should be able to get the band on her in your free period. Perfect.<br/>
<br/>
You drive back home, but decide to swing around to the other side of town before you cross into Acheson and pick up something sweet at the Dairy Queen. As you walk inside, you spot Stephanie Wyatt and Yumi talking conspiratorially. You ignore them, grabbing a menu as you wonder which blizzard is going to melt your brain today.<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie Wyatt. You've known her since middle school. It's never bothered you that she's better at you than sports. She's better than most guys. It's never irritated you that she just treats you with disdain. Like a bug.<br/>
<br/>
"Does she know him?" Yumi asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno if she knows him or not," Stephanie returns. "Did he put you up to asking me about this?"<br/>
<br/>
"What? No. I don't think he's even noticed her before."<br/>
<br/>
"No surprise there." Wyatt sighs. You continue to eavesdrop a little as you look at the menu.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he's been acting weird since he broke up with Lisa. He even shaved his head." Your mouth turns dry. They're talking about you. Yumi is trying to set you up with... who?<br/>
<br/>
"I thought they were just hanging out?" Stephanie says incredulously.<br/>
<br/>
"You seem really skeptical, Stephanie."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he's kind of a light-weight, don't you think?" Your skull rings with the words. Time to make yourself known.<br/>
<br/>
"How the hell am I a light-weight?" You snap. Yumi spins around, mouth agape in horror at the fact you overheard the conversation. Stephanie doesn't back down for a moment.<br/>
<br/>
"You're eavesdropping. Isn't that a light-weight move?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're talking loud enough for the whole damn DQ to hear." You're not even moderating your voice now. Stephanie doesn't bother to, either. She just makes a 'pfffft' sound and remains seated.<br/>
<br/>
"Truth time, Will. You're a nice guy. One of the nicest. But you're a rabbit. You see a problem and you run. You run like a rabbit. You get scared. Girls aren't interested in puppy love, any more. You don't need a girlfriend. You need a babysitter. I'm not being mean. Someone needs to tell you. Might as well be mean."<br/>
<br/>
You reel at the words. Yumi looks devastated. You want to tell Stephanie Wyatt to go and fuck herself. You want to flip the bird and tell her to babysit that. Either would be better than making some gutteral huffing sound and storming out of the DQ. Which is precisely what you do.<br/>
<br/>
Yumi tries to call to you, but to no avail. You get in your wheels, start the engine, and rev the throttle in anger as you drive away. Fuck you, Stephanie.<br/>
<br/>
You screech to a halt at the lights and try to calm down. Your soccer showdown is tomorrow, and you still need to steal some skills. Coach Schell is an option; she's practically given you an invitation to visit her come free period to talk about volleyball. She skunked Wyatt once; with her skills you could ace Gellman's test. <br/>
<br/>
Or maybe you should take Stephanie's abilities. You'd like to see her call you a light-weight when you have all of her skills...</span></div></div>


path: 11113431112121
author_id: masktrix
title: One-to-One Coaching
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"OK, Prescott. I hear you're pretty hot in the net. So get in the damn net and let's see how good you really are."<br/>
<br/>
You walk to the net with confidence. Of course you do. Earlier, during second period, you went to the coach offices and knocked on Coach Schell's door. You managed to talk about volleyball for a whole two minutes before you said something about parental permission slips and convinced her to bend over and grab one from her drawer. Then you put the mind band on her, watching as she casually face-planted into the desk. The next ten minutes was nerve-wracking, a patient wait to make sure you weren't interrupted. You even propped her back up, allowing her head to roll to one side like a store-bought dummy while you sat in front, pretending you were engaged in conversation. When she finally came around, you just asked a few questions about other possible team members, and she didn't seem to notice she'd lost time. <br/>
<br/>
Since then, you've been enjoying sifting through the life of Cathy Schell while sitting through biology. She and her boyfriend were out on Friday; on Monday, she was at the gym, working on her deadlift of an impressive 270 pounds. She doesn't look strong, but then you guess muscle is lean. Favorite food. Where she keeps the spare key. How to apply the minimal makeup she wears. And, more useful to you, all of the basic anticipatory skills of volleyball, now directly applied to the goal.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure about this, coach?" Marc Garner is your opponent. As captain, he wants to see exactly what you can do. And while his "girlfriend" is your sponsor, he knows all too well how fractious your sudden entrance to the team could be. "Really want to introduce someone new to the squad?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?" Gellman asks, as you walk away. "It's the goalie, Garner. Not like he's going to impact our outfield tactics, is it? What, you worried he's gonna play rush keeper?"<br/>
<br/>
"We've got a unit. People trust each other. With Lester you know where he's gonna be when we apply an offside trap."<br/>
<br/>
"In goal, I'd hope," Gellman retorts, resorting to a mocking student voice, "Like, uh, y'know, a goalkeeper. Who doesn't count for offsides."<br/>
<br/>
"Does he even know the rules?"<br/>
<br/>
Gellman yells to you. "Prescott. You know the rules?" <br/>
<br/>
"Don't handle it outside the area?" you ask. Gellman gives Garner a look. The captain relents. Then he barks his instructions.<br/>
<br/>
"OK. We're going to try a few basic one-on-ones. Then penalties. Then I'm going to swing in a corner, Garner'll try and contest it. Read... where are your gloves?"<br/>
<br/>
Gloves. Shit. You don't actually have any goalkeeper kit. You always ended up as a defender in games. Somewhere everyone could ignore you. There's no possibility of that, now. You seem to have drawn a crowd. Over on the touchline, you can see Stephanie Wyatt, some of the other basketball girls - including one that looks like some cute feminine chipmunk - and Yumi. You've been ignoring her increasingly desperate messages all day.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't need 'em." You adopt a crouch. Schell's mind tells you that this will allow you a maximum jump. Gellman blows his whistle. From 30 yards out, Garner takes a few steps and fires the ball at you. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Walk and cover it with your body. </i><br/>
<br/>
You take a few steps and crouch down, making sure your body is naturally blocking the shot.<br/>
<br/>
"Garner! What the hell was that? I said test him, not try and be David Beckham."<br/>
<br/>
You throw the ball out - Cathy Schell's skillset isn't based around strong upfield kicks but she knows how to throw clean. The ball bounces a few feet away from Garner. He scuffles over, chests it, and now runs toward you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Run to meet him. Narrow the angles.</i><br/>
<br/>
You head out. Garner tries to dribble past you, but you make yourself big enough to give him trouble. In the end, he manages to get a shot off, but it sails past the left bar. From behind the goal, someone punts it back to him. You turn, and realize Lester and Gary Chen are both there, watching too. <br/>
<br/>
- - -<br/>
<br/>
The drills take ten minutes. Garner scores twice, but only twice. You stop him on mazy runs. You manage, somehow to deflect the ball with a wild jump on another. In five penalties, you save four of them, anticipating his shot thanks to Schell's keen eye, and proper, one-on-one coaching that calls the shots even before you can imagine them. Your favorite save of the lunch is one where you manage to arc your body mid-flight, punching it clean out toward Gellman. At the end of the session, Garner is fatigued, you're covered in mud, and Gellman is unreadable. <br/>
<br/>
Then comes the corner. This time, Garner plays dirty to try and get a clear header, an elbow to your chest as you both leap up. There's no space in Cathy Schell's playbook for that, but fortunately Will Prescott has a lot of experience getting elbowed and shoved around. You curl up on the ball like an armadillo, the precious sphere wrapped tight against your stomach. Then the whistle blows. And it's all over.<br/>
<br/>
"Prescott." Gellman walks over, looking at you. He gives Marc a quick look; the captain only nods. "Welcome to the Dragons. Get to supply and get a uniform that fits. And buy some gloves."<br/>
<br/>
Then he walks off. Leaving you lying there, muddy and battered, with the practice ball. Marc Garner walks over and offers a hand.<br/>
<br/>
"That was impressive," he says. "Where the hell have you been hiding that?"<br/>
<br/>
You give him a grin. "Nobody ever let me play goalkeeper before," you offer. It's true enough. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Lester and Gary leave without comment. Bad news. Garner notices your apprehension. <br/>
<br/>
"Don't worry about them. You're a Dragon now. They touch you, then we touch them." <br/>
<br/>
You're just glad Caleb isn't here to point out how gay that sounds. You just nod and walk off, making sure to pass the gaggle of girls as you do so. A few of them, chipmunk girl included, seem to be impressed. Stephanie Wyatt seems almost determined not to be.<br/>
<br/>
"Never seen you play like that before," she comments as you pass. You shrug.<br/>
<br/>
"I can jump around. Guess it helps to be a light-weight," you spit back. Stephanie looks almost embarrassed. Almost.<br/>
<br/>
"Will..." Yumi says. You don't stop. You just keep walking back to the locker room. <br/>
<br/>
- - -<br/>
<br/>
The golem fire has gone out. You relight it. The purple flames continue. Today has been worth it. You've taken Lester's place on the soccer team and seem to have infuriated Stephanie Wyatt. But you've barely tapped into the potential of the masks. You now have disguises of a fat 20-something woman, a soccer star, and the mind of a gym coach. It's small compared with what you could do. As you think on the book, polishing a new mask, you realize just how untapped this power is. You could look like anyone you wanted. Want to be a superstar? You can be. Want to be rich and famous? Done. Want to be handsome, or beautiful? Nothing can stop you. Nothing except yourself.<br/>
<br/>
You try and consider what to do next. You're not finished with Lester. Maybe you could replace his dad and ground his ass for eternity. Or just gaslight him, screw with his head so he doesn't know what's happening. Either would be justice. Or maybe you could...<br/>
<br/>
"Will?" You stop polishing the mask and listen. There's movement upstairs, and a voice. Faint, feminine. "Will? You in here?"<br/>
<br/>
Yumi? What the hell? You look at your cell. It's littered with messages from her. Clearly, she wants to apologize and explain about last night. You can only imagine that she's followed you, seen you come in to the abandoned old elementary school and is now shifting through it herself. She could easily stumble on your lair.<br/>
<br/>
You try to think quickly. If you head up now, you're going to have an awkward conversation with her, but you might manage to avoid her discovering your lair. Alternatively, you could stay down here and hide out. Hopefully she won't think to check the basement. But if she does, either you'll have to use a mask or let her in on your secret.</span></div></div>


path: 111134311121211
author_id: masktrix
title: The Light-weight’s Assistant
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You rise from your hiding place, walk up the stairs to the basement, and open the door. Yumi is standing right in front of you, Japanese features raised in fright as you swing the door open. She staggers back, hand on her chest as she looks at you, puzzled.<br/>
<br/>
"Will! Oh, thank God. I thought it was a ghost or something. What the hell are you doing in here?"<br/>
<br/>
You fold your arms. "What do you want, Yumi?"<br/>
<br/>
She looks at you seriously, her small frame bouncing a little. "I came to talk about last night. Saw you breaking into this place and... seriously, what are you up to?"<br/>
<br/>
"Experiments," you say. "Can't do that stuff at home."<br/>
<br/>
This doesn't make Yumi relax at all. "You're not... making a bomb are you?"<br/>
<br/>
You sigh, and roll your eyes. "No, I'm not making a bomb. It's a chemistry experiment."<br/>
<br/>
"Can I see?" She asks. You furrow your brow.<br/>
<br/>
"Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"So... I can make sure you're not making a bomb, duh."<br/>
<br/>
You're not going to get away with this. "Come on, then," you sigh, turning back to walk down into the basement. <br/>
<br/>
This, if anything, seems to relax Yumi. The whole bomb situation diffused, she starts actually talking about what she wanted. Almost. "You looked really good today. In goal." You don't reply. "So... last night. What Stephanie said. She's... well. Blunt. She and Lin are probably the bluntest people I know. And it's not like she meant to be mean. She just didn't know you were there, and then you caught her on the defensive. She's just careful about who her friends date."<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head as you turn to face her in the dim light of the basement. "Why were you talking about me, anyway? I'm fine. Really."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, Mr shaven hair, join a sports team, break into an elementary school basement. You seem totally sane to me." She pauses, then looks at the fire. "What the hell is that? Is that potassium?"<br/>
<br/>
"Potassium?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, isn't it potassium that burns with a purple flame? Isn't potassium something you could make a bomb out..."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not making a bomb!" You stress, walking around the mound, careful not to touch its silent fire. You want Yumi to think it's as real as possible. "It's just burning off soil. I think. I've been working on these masks." You hold one up to her. You're tempted to slap it on her face.<br/>
<br/>
"Like, arts and crafts?" <br/>
<br/>
"Sure, like arts and crafts." You rest against the bench. Yumi continues her previous apology.<br/>
<br/>
"Neat. I mean, as long as it isn't a bomb. I'm just worried about you. And I was trying to find someone that you might want to go with. Everyone's pairing up now. It's only six months until prom, and then... I just want you to be ready for college. To...know how to act."<br/>
<br/>
"Instead of dorking out in a basement with masks?"<br/>
<br/>
Yumi laughs, and places her hands down, slouching against the table. "Sure, something like... what the?" Yumi isn't against a table. She's leaning straight into the flames. The purple fire licks all around her, without burning, or singeing, or even giving off heat. She turns around, amazed. "Will, why isn't this hot? What is this?"<br/>
<br/>
You sigh. You haven't got much choice now. "It's... not a science project. Or an art project. It's... magic. I'm sort of... I've become a wizard."<br/>
<br/>
Yumi bursts out laughing. For a moment. Then she seems uncertain. "Like Harry Potter?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Like for real." You pick up a mask, sighing. You're going to need an ally anyway. "Here, it's easier if I show you." You place the mask firmly on Yumi's face. In an instant, the Japanese-American form shifts into the honey-blonde, toned body of Hannah Westrick. Then you go upstairs and panic.<br/>
<br/>
After fifteen minutes you decide that it's safe to venture downstairs. There's been no sign of Hannah/Yumi. Stepping into the room, you find her staring at herself in her cell, taking photos, prodding her face on the live camera.<br/>
<br/>
"I can remember her entire life," she says simply. "I mean... I'm Hannah. You've turned me into Hannah."<br/>
<br/>
"Almost. The real Hannah is somewhere else. You're just... a duplicate. The masks allow me to duplicate anyone I want. I just wear them and... instant someone else."<br/>
<br/>
That's the moment Hannah Westrick punches you on the arm. "You used me! You used me to get Hannah alone to do this to her!"<br/>
<br/>
"Ow! I know! I couldn't... I had to beat Lester. I had to find some way. And she was good at sports, so..."<br/>
<br/>
"So you stole her soccer ability, too?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I stole Coach Schell's soccer ability. Hannah I just took her form so I could..."<br/>
<br/>
"Did you look at me naked, Will? I mean, did you look at Hannah? Is that what this is? A kink?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, no! I... the other mask is a security guard at Nirdlinger's. I didn't know what to do, I only worked out how to do this a week ago. I'm... testing it out."<br/>
<br/>
"And we're your guinea pigs? Am I stuck as Hannah now? Oh God. Am I going to be Hannah forever?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," you sigh. "I can take it off you. Anyone can wear a mask and become someone else. It'll knock you unconscious though."<br/>
<br/>
Hannah folds her arms. Calms down. "So this is why you've been weird... wow. I guess I would have been weird too. This is... crazy. It's like something out of a fairy tale, or some YA story, or some kind of Internet creative writing adventure."<br/>
<br/>
You nod, and take up position next to the book. "It only lets me do spells one at a time. So I'm still learning. The next one is this." You gesture to the flames. "I think it creates some kind of servant."<br/>
<br/>
Hannah is still wide-eyed in amazement. "Will. Do you even know what you're capable of doing?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not really," you say. "I've only made two masks that are locked. I'm working on creating some more."<br/>
<br/>
Hannah, or Yumi, walks toward you, and holds you by the shoulders. "Will. You can be anyone you like, and so far you've been a security guard and Hannah Westrick? You could be anyone. We could be anyone. Movie stars. Someone rich. Someone powerful. And you've been stuck at Westside?" Hannah smiles, but the expression is pure Yumi. "No offense, but that sounds a bit..."<br/>
<br/>
"Light-weight."<br/>
<br/>
Hannah laughs. It's easier to think of her as Hannah, even if it's Yumi's phrases decision making. "So, Mr Magic. You going to show me how this works? Or am I just the brains of this outfit?"</span></div></div>


path: 1111343111212111
title: Yumi’s Plan For World Domination
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I can teach you the basics," you say. "But it's like class, you have to start from the beginning and work your way up. Each spell leads to another. So... the first part is creating a mask..."<br/>
<br/>
You lead Yumi through the basic steps - at least as far as mind bands and masks. She - or rather Hannah - pays close attention, listening to your every word. It's a surreal experience, looking at the athletic form of Marc Garner's girlfriend, her long face nodding instead of Yumi's Asian features. She has a few suggestions - questions like whether you can speed up the buffering process or not, and the best place to get supplies. You try and answer them as fully as possible, at least giving the impression you know what you're doing. You tell her everything - where the book came from, what you've done. At the end, she just leans back. <br/>
<br/>
"Wow," she says. "It's unbelievable. I guess you can get me out of this, too?" <br/>
<br/>
"Out of?"<br/>
<br/>
"Duh, out of Hannah."<br/>
<br/>
You blush. You'd been talking to Hannah so naturally you forgot she was actually Yumi. "Yeah. But it will knock you out." <br/>
<br/>
"For how long?"<br/>
<br/>
You think. "Not sure. I never timed it."<br/>
<br/>
Yumi shakes her - Hannah's - head. "Will, we gotta work on your ambitions. You need to know exactly, and I mean exactly, how long you’ve got to make a switch. How long to the second each spell takes. How long it takes you to change from Will clothes to Hannah clothes. And then... then we need to get you thinking bigger.”<br/>
<br/>
“Bigger?”<br/>
<br/>
“You have all this stuff and you've barely scratched the surface of what it can do. First, though, you can't go around telling anyone else. It's too powerful. Either they'll take it from us, or they'll tell the wrong person."<br/>
<br/>
Us. Already, it's you and Yumi. You suppose that's accurate enough. "I didn't even want to tell you. You just blundered into my lair," you remind her. "I still haven't really got a handle on what I should do with it. I mean, the real people are walking around town too. Hannah's off somewhere, doing..."<br/>
<br/>
"She's at home," Yumi interrupts dismissively, accessing Hannah’s routine in her head. "But you're still thinking too small, Will. Saratoga Falls is too small."<br/>
<br/>
"What are you talking about, Yumi?"<br/>
<br/>
Yumi takes a few strides, then sticks her hand into the flames, wiggling Hannah's fingers into it. "Magic! Magic, Will! Not some teen wizard at an English boarding school, not some superhero stuff. Real, actual magic. I grew up on stories about this kind of stuff. Shinto, Japanese folklore, you know? I didn't buy any of it until now. Just think of the possibilities!"<br/>
<br/>
"Like what?"<br/>
<br/>
"OK, let’s start with a mind band. Want to become a genius? Want to have someone else’s knowledge? You can just take it, Will! We can be the smartest people in the world with the right bands on the right heads. Want to be handsome? Wear a mask and there you go. Ever wanted to be someone else for a day? All you need is the will! All you have to do is be willing to embrace it.” She laughs. "We need to go down to Keyserling and get a headstart in our education. Straight As from now on. And if this servant does what you think, then we can create a double of ourselves and just... do whatever! Fame. Fortune. Power. I can't believe you've found the greatest gift imaginable and all you've done is pretend to be a Hannah Westrick and a gym coach for some lame soccer tryout.”<br/>
<br/>
You have to admit, Yumi's grasp of everything seems to have come more quickly than yours. In fact, it scares you a little how ambitious she's got with just a small taste of magic. "I didn't think of that."<br/>
<br/>
"No. Well, like I said. I'm the brains. Now, can you get me out of Hannah's skin? Because oh my God she is so, so blonde and it is freaking me out."<br/>
<br/>
You laugh, and walk over. "OK. I'll see you when you come round." You take the mask off, and grab Yumi's body as it sags. Gently, you lay her on the floor. For a moment, you consider timing her sleep but... <br/>
<br/>
Maybe you need to keep an eye on Yumi. You take one of the spare masks, one with a band, and set it on her face. The mask vanishes quickly. By the time Yumi comes round, you've taken the mask and hidden it carefully. No need for her to know. She blinks, then helps herself up.<br/>
<br/>
"Wow, that's... does it always feel so weird?"  Yumi starts poking her eyes, tracing her jaw with her nails, even going so far as to sink into the flesh. "My own face doesn't feel like it's mine."<br/>
<br/>
"You think that's strange, try waking up with breasts."<br/>
<br/>
Yumi laughs. "I do every day. But I know what you mean, Will. Having a... y'know. That'll be interesting. Right now though, we need to plan our next steps." She sits up, then forces herself to her feet with her elbows, dusting the think layer of basement dust from her clothes. "You should look after your Haka no hi."<br/>
<br/>
"My what?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Haka no hi. Grave flame. You're making a yokai, Will. Just be careful you don't become nopperabou." She finishes dusting herself and nods. "We meet here tomorrow. Same time. And while you're doing your thing, I'm gonna head to Arnholm's and see if there's any more magic books just sitting around. After that we need to go shopping, get clothes for every possible disguise.” She pauses for a moment, then rushes over and hugs you. "We're going to be rich, Will. A few more days of our old lives, and we are going to change the world!"<br/>
<br/>
You smile as you watch her go. But inside your mind is whirring. Yumi seems to know what she's talking about. But can you trust her, or is she going to take this away from you? Do you meet her as planned tomorrow, or do you slip on the Yumi mask and check her intentions?</span></div></div>


path: 11113431112121111
title: Trust And Broken Trysts
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>School drags. Your thoughts are consumed with Yumi's suggestions about where the masks, and the magic, can take you. You're trusting her, but you've already begun to wonder if that was a mistake. Unfortunately you've left the masks at the elementary school and the book at home. All you can do is hope she won't betray you.<br/>
<br/>
Wait, betray you? You take a breath and backtrack on the paranoia. This is Yumi. You've known her for years. She genuinely cares for you, else she wouldn't have gotten mixed up after the Dairy Queen. Stephanie, on the other hand, seems defiant still, determined to ignore you rather than apologize. That's fine by you. <br/>
<br/>
"Hey man, you OK?" Caleb asks at lunch, between mouthfuls of fries. "You seem spaced out. Hello. Earth to Will. Earth to Will." He waves his hand furiously.<br/>
<br/>
You snap your mind back into the present, give a weak smile. "Just got a lot going on," you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
"Thinking of ways to make some moolah?"<br/>
<br/>
"Something like that. Plus now I've got soccer practice on top of all my usual work."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah, woe is you. Are you even supposed to be talking to the likes of us puny mortals anymore? Aren't you supposed to be shoving your head up Marc Garner's ass?"<br/>
<br/>
"Pretty sure that'd get you sent off." You retort. Caleb then continues talking about something, but you're hardly focused on the conversation. Then a voice from the past interrupts the conversation.<br/>
<br/>
"Will." You turn around. Jeremy Richards is standing there. You were friends, once. Before he discovered he could make the basketball team.<br/>
<br/>
"Jeremy," you say. You don't know what else there is to say.<br/>
<br/>
"Heard you made the soccer team, man. Congrats."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks." It's a painful conversation, him doing the work, you uttering single word replies. <br/>
<br/>
"Should have told me you could jump like that. If you can throw, could have a word with Gordon for you. We need a power forward."<br/>
<br/>
Gordon. Gordon Black. Because of cause Jeremy is on first name fucking terms. "Sorry," you say. "Got to focus on one sport at a time. Besides, my three pointers are terrible."<br/>
<br/>
Jeremy nods. "Fair enough. Offers on the table, though. Maybe I'll see you at Catherine's?" Catherine Muskov... right. She often holds parties. Not that you ever go. Why would you go? You can feel Caleb simultaneously shrinking from the table and burning you with his gaze, fearful he's going to lose another friend. <br/>
<br/>
"Maybe," you nod. "See you, Jeremy."<br/>
<br/>
"Right, later. And nice haircut."<br/>
<br/>
***<br/>
<br/>
After school. After the awkwardness with Caleb. After retrieving the book and ensuring that your secrets, at least for the moment, are safe. You're back in the elementary school basement, waiting on Yumi. She said she was running to Arnholm's, but it's now a full half-hour since she was supposed to turn up. You've been polishing masks to try and keep your mind off things. More pressing, however, is the... what did she call it? Grave flame? Because the lump has extinguished, and will light no more. Now it is a person. A baked-gravedirt person. It doesn't seem to do anything, though. Your guess? It needs a mask.<br/>
<br/>
Hannah's mask is available. But, figuring Yumi will want to be here, you decide to wait. <br/>
<br/>
An hour.<br/>
<br/>
Two hours. <br/>
<br/>
Darkness falls completely. You're reaching your own curfew. You've checked your messages several times, and Yumi hasn't got in touch. You've now sent her five messages. No reply. Shit. Shit shit shit.<br/>
<br/>
Is she betraying you? Ignoring you? Has something happened? You've got so many questions and no easy way to answer them. Well... almost no easy way. With trepidation, you decide to make a move that it virtually guaranteed to piss of Yumi when she arrives. Taking out the Yumi Saito mask, you place it on the golem. At once, the naked form of your cheerleading conspirator appears on the floor. Then its eyes snap open.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, Will, look away! Look away!" She says, scrambling to cover up her modesty. <br/>
<br/>
"Sorry, Yu..." you instinctively turn. "Wait. What do I call you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Call me? I'm Yumi, duh. Now keep looking that way while I find some freakin' clothes." You hear a scrambling behind you, and a rustling.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh... OK. Yumi... do you know... that..."<br/>
<br/>
"Just say it, Will." <br/>
<br/>
"That you're not the original Yumi.... Ow!"<br/>
<br/>
You turn around. The Yumi-double has thumped you hard on the arm, but is now wearing the clothes you stole for your earlier masquerade as Hannah. They don't fit, but it's a start. "You put a mask on me! While I was taking off Hannah, didn't you! That's such a jerk move, Will! I trusted you!"<br/>
<br/>
"Calm down a moment, Yumi!" You watch as the enraged Yumi almost instantly mellows. The stress in the situation vanishes with her annoyance. "Oh man. You have to do what I say, don't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Within reason."<br/>
<br/>
"OK," you nod. "Where would Yumi, er, you, be right now? She was supposed to be here two hours ago, and she's not answering her phone."<br/>
<br/>
Yumi 2 thinks. "I really don't know. I had every intention of meeting you here, on time. I was gonna go to Arnholm's, then swing by the goodwill and get some more clothes. Because," she pauses, and tugs at the threads, "you really have zero fashion sense."<br/>
<br/>
"You weren't going to use the masks against me or anything?"<br/>
<br/>
"What? No! You came up with this. And we're friends. Your ideas are small fry, but I still want to work with you. And I guess now we know what your project does. Makes a nopperabou."<br/>
<br/>
"A what? You said that yesterday." You fail to catch yourself; this thing didn't say that. Yumi did.<br/>
<br/>
"Nopperabou. It's a yukai that removes its face." Fake Yumi walks over to the table and sits down, swinging her legs. <br/>
<br/>
"Still doesn't explain where Yumi, uh, you, are."<br/>
<br/>
"No. I guess check my home? My mom and dad might know. Call them on your cell."<br/>
<br/>
"What if Yumi's at home?"<br/>
<br/>
"Duh, you're the one that makes the call, not me."<br/>
<br/>
You nod, and get your cell out. You can't help but think how strange this has got, very very quickly. "What's your home number?"<br/>
<br/>
Two minutes later you end the call. Yumi isn't home. She said she'd get food in town, and is now rapidly approaching her curfew. Her parents don't know where she is or what she's doing.<br/>
<br/>
"So what do we do?" You ask the Yumiganger.<br/>
<br/>
"Well... if I turn up at home and there's another me, I'd freak. And I'd hate you for copying me. But... if I don't show, my parents are going to freak even more. They'll send my brother out looking, and then there'll be panic. If you think your parents are bad, wait until you see Japanese-American parents."<br/>
<br/>
You nod. "Can you call them and say you're staying with a friend?"<br/>
<br/>
"No way they'd let me."<br/>
<br/>
"So, what you're saying is..."<br/>
<br/>
"That I've got to go home, Will. Then we focus on finding me in the morning."<br/>
<br/>
You're hesitant to do it. After all, this creation - this nopperabou - is freshly made. You really don't know what rules control it. And hasn't Yumi insisted that you should know the rules? But it does give you a chance to cover up Yumi's disappearance and investigate on your own.<br/>
<br/>
You're certain you want to do that; it'd be too messy to have the inevitable police search stumble into your magic setup now. But there is another alternative. If you take the Yumi mask off, you could make a copy of yourself, and send the nopperabou back to Will Prescott's house. Then you could take over as Yumi. At least, until you find the real one...</span></div></div>


path: 111134311121211112
title: On Yumi’s trail
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>“What the hell happened to you?” You stand on the porch, a giant towering over you. He intimidated you when he was a senior at Westside, and while your current form isn’t so willing to back down, you still feel a little taken aback.<br/>
<br/>
“Let me in, Mokichi,” you sigh. “It’s been a rough night.”<br/>
<br/>
Your new big brother steps aside as you shuffle in. “Well?” <br/>
<br/>
You decide not to tell him the truth. That you’re actually Will Prescott, wearing his sister Yumi’s face and swimming through her thoughts, having sent a noperabou with your own form back to your own house. You have the book in an old satchel you snagged at the elementary school, and for the long walk to the Saito home you’ve been trying not to think of what your double is up to. Talking to yourself was an experience, especially when you donned Yumi’s form and found yourself acting out some weird ass gender-swapped role play with the face you’ve seen in a mirror all your life.<br/>
<br/>
“You’re not mom or dad,” you say in your feminine register, avoiding his gaze. Instead you find yourself staring at portraits of severe-looking elderly Japanese people standing next to shrines. Saito Kenji, your paternal great-grandfather. Dude fought as a Nisei during the Second World War; you wrote a term paper on his story last year, got an A-. No, you realize. Yumi did that. Not you.<br/>
<br/>
“Show me some respect, little sister,” Mokichi says in Japanese. You pause, already en route to the stairs. You know Japanese. It’s not even a struggle; it’s just there.<br/>
<br/>
“I had a fight with one of the other cheerleaders. I stormed out and left my keys, my wallet and my cell. So I just had to walk back across town. ‘Kay?”<br/>
<br/>
Mokichi, for all his heft, still isn’t dumb enough to cross his younger sister when she’s annoyed. “Fucking high schoolers,” he mutters.<br/>
<br/>
“Godzilla,” you retort. You blow a loose strand of black hair from your eyeline, take a breath, and storm to the kitchen to grab some juice. This is part of your plan for tomorrow, and you open the carton, pouring most of it down the sink before washing away any tell-tale stains. Then, calmer, you head up to Yumi’s room, stripping off the ill-fitting clothes as you look around for any clues as to Yumi’s disappearance. <br/>
<br/>
There’s nothing to suggest where she might have gone: it’s a typical teenage girl’s room, immaculately tidy and filled with an airy, rosy smell. You look at the neatly arranged desk for homework, the unruffled Hello Kitty mat, your stuffed Totoro next to a poster showing a few pop idols that had won the latest reality show. Yumi’s brain rattled off their names in your head, though you’re less than interested. Instead, you turn to the mirror, realising that you’ve instinctively placed the clothes in the laundry basket and have already donned some cat-themed pyjamas.<br/>
<br/>
There you are. Yumi Saito. You squirm a little at the intense stare you give yourself. How did you end up getting into this? And where is Yumi, the real one, now?<br/>
<br/>
Shaking your head, you fall back onto the soft covers of Yumi’s bed and try to compartmentalize your two identities. You just need to survive tonight. Then you can concentrate on finding the real Yumi.<br/>
<br/>
Your last thoughts before you fall asleep, though, are around the new Will Prescott. It seemed to be obeying your orders. But can you really trust a monstrous creature that has your brain?<br/>
<br/>
***<br/>
<br/>
“I’m going to stay at home today,” you tell your father over breakfast, in Japanese. You’ve deliberately not eaten anything, which is very un-Yumi like.<br/>
<br/>
“Why?” He asks, pausing as he bites his toast.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not feeling great.” <br/>
<br/>
“Oh?” Mokichi listens to the conversation, giving you a hard stare. Your mom has already headed for work, so you’re not going to get any backup. Fortunately you know the magic words.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s, uh, a girl thing,” you say.<br/>
<br/>
“A girl thing.” your father repeats. You nod, glancing your eyes down.<br/>
<br/>
“A... girl... thing,” you say in English. It’s only then he notices the empty carton of cranberry juice piled at the top of the trash. The lack of breakfast. The last of the cranberry in your glass.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, fucking shit!” Mokichi says, face screwing up as he rises in disgust. “That’s.... gagahahh...”<br/>
<br/>
You allow Yumi’s frame to squirm uncomfortably. “Uh, I see,” your flustered, temporary father says. “I’ll call the school. You take care.” <br/>
<br/>
He decides to finish his breakfast in the car, gently planting a kiss on your forehead as he leaves. Mokichi leaves a few minutes later. Grinning, you recline back for a moment, then skip off back to Yumi’s room in victory.<br/>
<br/>
Once you’re sure you have the house to yourself, you take a shower and pick out a relatively smart, conservative mix of light knitted sweater and jeans from your ridiculously color-arranged wardrobe, sticking with pastel shades. It’s not something Yumi would typically go with, but you want to play up the innocent, good-girl angle for the next phase of your plan. You help yourself to Yumi’s hidden billfold, shoved up the back of her closet into a pair of beaten pumps - an emergency hundred dollars just in case. You also take her spare key, and change your borrowed satchel for her old hiking pack, the one with the broken strap that means you can only hook it over one shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
Disguise complete, you now have a day to find your twin. The question is where to start: Arnholm’s is the obvious choice, and you know Yumi was thinking of going there.<br/>
<br/>
***<br/>
<br/>
“Will this is u know who. On burner.” You text yourself just outside Arnholm’s. Your Yumi stash has afforded you a cheap ass pre-paid phone, and you are messaging the nopperabou currently running your life.<br/>
<br/>
“Where r u? In school?” <br/>
<br/>
“No. Finding myself. ;)” You tap the message, trying to be discreet in case your double’s phone is seen somehow.<br/>
<br/>
“K. Meet tonight? Mom had a fit I was home aftr curfew. Cnt stay late. Will b late as have soccer practice.”<br/>
<br/>
“K.” You finish the text spree, vaguely confident you still have a school life. Then you take a breath and slide into the store.<br/>
<br/>
Ted Arnholm is behind the counter, pale fingers splayed across its surface as he studies you. <br/>
<br/>
“Hello again,” he says, not particularly warmly. So Yumi made it here, at least. <br/>
<br/>
“Hi!” You skip over, revelling in Yumi’s natural warmth. “About yesterday...”<br/>
<br/>
“I already told you,” Arnholm says with a general lack of patience. “We’re a used books store. It’s not something we focus on.”<br/>
<br/>
“What?”<br/>
<br/>
“Spellbooks. Magic grimoire. Antique fakes designed to tease the gullible, or perhaps find the philosopher’s stone to turn lead into gold. You’re the third high schooler to look for that kind of thing this month. I don’t disclose the names of clients, of course, but one had its pages glued down, the other was on Voodoo.” Not that he knows them, you think; you got the book for two bucks. “Halloween isn’t for a few weeks. My suggestion would be to look online if you want to chase make-believe. Or head over to the college and talk to the expert.”<br/>
<br/>
“Expert?” You see Ted’s body physically sigh.<br/>
<br/>
“Professor Blackwell. As I said yesterday.” <br/>
<br/>
You nod. “Yeah, sorry. My memory is terrible...”<br/>
<br/>
Ted doesn’t nod, or even register that. Instead he waits to see if there’s anything else. There isn’t, so you mutter thanks and head off.<br/>
<br/>
Blackwell, you think. Didn’t Ted say, back when you picked up the book a week or so ago, that it was from a Blackwell acquisition? Something like that? Certainly, you have a trail to follow.<br/>
<br/>
The only question is whether to follow it as Yumi, or as someone else. You have one final mask currently ready for use; maybe you can find someone who can get you close to this Blackwell, just in case that was Yumi’s last stop.</span></div></div>


path: 1111343111212111121
title: The Three Yumis
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You decide to save the mask for now; until you make some more it's your last one, and you don't know how useful it's going to be. That means heading over to Keyserling as either Yumi or Will, and, seeing as you're Yumi already - and she's a better fit for the campus - you decide to stick to your current guise. <br/>
<br/>
It doesn't take long to navigate the campus. It's relatively compact, and most of it is dedicated to engineering subjects anyway, which means you quickly narrow down where a professor of the occult might hang out: the humanities block. No luck. Then you decided to try the separate history department; after all, the only professor of occult you could think of was Indiana Jones.<br/>
<br/>
Bingo: Aubrey Blackwell, archaeology.<br/>
<br/>
From there, it's simple enough to head down the tiled, nondescript corridors toward Blackwell's office. The staff photo shows pretty much what you were expecting: a fat, balding white guy. Should be easy to spot. You easily find his office, too, and pause outside, trying to work out what to do or say when you get there.<br/>
<br/>
That's when you hear a voice that scares the hell out of you.<br/>
<br/>
"I texted them I was staying over at Lucy's," it says. "So that's why they didn't freak. I'm cutting school though." The voice is yours - or at least, yours currently. Yumi Saito. <br/>
<br/>
You knew it! You knew she was going to betray you! And yet the current mind strip insists she never had any intention of doing so. And if that's the case... what if that's not Yumi?<br/>
<br/>
"What do you want me to do?" for a moment, you think you recognize the other voice too. It sounds like one of your classmates.<br/>
<br/>
"For now? Absolutely nothing. Make sure our guests are fed and cared for. Otherwise, continue Penelope's routine."<br/>
<br/>
"It's Cindy, Yumi. I don't need to take crap from a high schooler." So that's why the voice is familiar: Cindy Vredenburg, Lucy's older sister, and one of the most attractive women you've ever seen.<br/>
<br/>
"And you'll remember who you're talking to, else I shall be most displeased. Right now, I need to get hold of Will, he's the one with the Book. He was texting our new arrival all night."<br/>
<br/>
"So just call him to meet. He's not going to suspect anything."<br/>
<br/>
"Duh," 'Yumi' agrees. "He didn't even think to copy her. Right now he's probably finishing his own golem. I'll need to act quickly, before he slaps Hannah's mask on it and I have to deal with two of them. I'll text him and get him to meet up at the elementary school at lunch. Sadly the golem will have to be destroyed; I'm unaware of a way to turn it against its master. Which is why I need the book from him. It is a source of much frustration that I only have one more complete mask. And that, I feel, needs to be reserved for Master William Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
It's weird, listening to the words coming out of Yumi's mask, a hybrid of her own phrases and, what you assume, is Blackwell’s more formal speech. Suddenly everything is clear: Yumi went to Blackwell, he captured her, copied her and now he's going to try and copy you. Cindy seems to be going along with everything, which either means she's a bitch who's in on this or... 'Yumi' said guests. Plural. What if that isn't Cindy Vredenburg, either? If a golem is what you've been calling a nopperabou, then that means...<br/>
<br/>
Footsteps. You look for somewhere to hide in the barren corridor. There's nothing; the other office doors are too far away, and the straight passage means they'd spot you before you turned a corner. The only thing that even remotely classes as shelter is a small alcove, indented into the wall, with a fire extinguisher on a hook. You squeeze Yumi's small frame into it, not believing for a moment you'll be successful.<br/>
<br/>
The door opens. You still your breathing, close your eyes and pray. <br/>
<br/>
"So, thanks for your help, Cindy. I'll try and catch the professor another time," you hear Yumi exclaim, her heels clicking down the hall.<br/>
<br/>
"No problem. Say hi to my sister, hmm?" Cindy replies. And then they are walking down the hall, off on their various errands. <br/>
<br/>
You lean out, looking at them as they walk away. Yumi is dressed in the same clothes as last night - because of course she is - while Cindy looks, as always, like some goddess brought to life. You take a deep breath, wondering how the hell they didn't notice you. You were certain you were going to get caught; it was like you vanished into the wall. <br/>
<br/>
Rapidly, you whip out your burner and text the nopperabou - golem - of you. <br/>
<br/>
"YUMI = NOT YUMI. DO NOT TRUST HER." you text, all in caps. <br/>
<br/>
"?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yumi phone compromised. False Yumi coming to Westside. DO NOT TRUST."<br/>
<br/>
"K."<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. "K". Such a Will Prescott response. There's no question you have to act. The question is who to go against. The false Yumi has a mask, but won't expect you'll be aware of her trap. Alternatively, Cindy Vredenburg - or whatever is wearing her face - is about to go to where the real Yumi, and probably the real Cindy, are imprisoned. Either you could follow it, or try and get the Cindy mask and all of the information it contains.</span></div></div>


path: 11113431112121111212
title: Japanese-American Stand-off
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Blackwell, you decide, is the real threat. The best move would be to not risk dealing with him alone. With your nopperabou, Yumi and Lucy you should be able to defeat him, though. <br/>
<br/>
Quietly you follow the pair out of the history department, conscious to avoid any glances in case some gets an uncanny sense of deja vu. Then outside, where Lucy gets in to her car and drives away.<br/>
<br/>
Shit. Because of course she has a car. But Yumi, your mind tells you, is more than confident in her ability to keep pace around Saratoga Falls thanks to the town’s grid system. All you need is a decent bike. Looking around, you spot one propped up against the library steps. Moments later, and without a thought for its current owner, you mount up and take off after the automobile disappearing into the distance.<br/>
<br/>
Yumi’s legs have to go like pistons just to keep pace, but fortunately you an keep a steady speed while Lucy goes in bursts. Soon she’s dragging you through town, then down 30th towards Acheson. You more or less catch up outside McDonalds, but even Yumi’s impressive stamina fades all the way down Orlando. Eventually you find yourself idling around the edges of Acheson, out towards the Masonic cemetery, resigned to looking for Lucy’s parked car.<br/>
<br/>
Gotcha. <br/>
<br/>
You take a breath and decide on your best course of action. Really, there is only one: you can hardly sneak up to the house using Yumi's face, and right now you don't really have a chance to change into something without risking an encounter with Blackwell. Skidding the bike to a halt and propping it up against a nearby wall, you steel yourself and take a deep breath. Then you walk up to the door and open it.<br/>
<br/>
Surprisingly, it clicks open first time. No sooner have you done so than Lucy - or whatever is masquerading as her - comes to investigate the noise. You keep your posture straight, voice confident, and smile. <br/>
<br/>
"I've changed attire. Ms Saito can hardly be in the same clothes as last night. However, I forgot some items that might be useful," you say, in your most imperious, commanding tone. Lucy looks at you for a moment, blankly, then nods. <br/>
<br/>
"Whatever you say, boss," she replies, turning away and heading away. You feel the rumble of the burner cell in your pocket, but right now that will have to wait. Instead, you take a few steps into the house. It's one of those creepy places with various stuffed heads on the wall, but you try and focus on what you've come for: to take out Lucy. Stepping into the study, your eyes shoot around to appraise the collection Blackwell has amassed. Books, yes, but on the table there are the worked-on remnants of mask equipment, some grave dirt, other reagents you don't know and don't want to know. <br/>
<br/>
"I think I left it over here," you begin to say. Then something hits you from behind, and the world fades to black.<br/>
<br/>
***<br/>
<br/>
"Your little monster turn on you, too?" The voice is harsh and accusatory, yet familiar. You groan, blinking your eyes rapidly, trying to hold down the swimming sensation in your gut. There's a faint taste of iron in your mouth, and, you guess, that isn't good. Coming around, your eyes adjust to the darkness in the room. There are other figures too, and what looks like a beaten up and stained bed. At first you think you're in the elementary school basement, but quickly it dawns on you you're somewhere else. And, as your eyes clear and you see the two women in front of you, it dawns on you exactly where.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, asshole?" Lucy Vrendenberg asks. You groan, and sit up, eyes adjusting to the dark. She's there, sheathed in a sheet. As is Yumi. Hatred burns from her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not Blackwell," you manage to gasp. "It's me... Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Will!" Yumi exclaims, for a moment a rush of relief spawning across her face. Then the realization sets in that you copied her. "Why the heck do you look like me?"<br/>
<br/>
You sit up. "When I removed the Hannah mask. I took a copy of you. For the nopperabou. I made one of me, too.” It's a lame excuse. You can see in her face her fury.<br/>
<br/>
"You had no right! Stop using my face! Take it off! Now!"<br/>
<br/>
You nod. "I had to," you mutter. "When you didn't show. Your parents... I needed to cover for you."<br/>
<br/>
"You spent the night in my room?" Yumi unleashes a stream of Japanese, far more vicious than you've ever heard her speak before in English. Usually she avoids curse words, but here there's a whole bunch, just reserved for you. Most of them are deeply unpleasant ways to say pervert.<br/>
<br/>
"I was trying to help!" you plead. "I'm hear to rescue you. Once I heard Lucy and Blackwell - as you - at the college..."<br/>
<br/>
"That sick fat freak is still impersonating me, too!" Yumi rages, gripping something under the sheet. You notice the shape of it move. Inside your head, Yumi's thoughts tell you that there's no way she'd let herself be a victim like Lucy. She's got a plan to get out. <br/>
<br/>
"OK, just calm down..." you say, standing up. "Look, do you want some clothes? They're as much yours as they are mine."<br/>
<br/>
"No! God, Will! It's bad enough you've seen me naked without.... ew." <br/>
<br/>
"Will you both shut up!" Lucy snaps. "We haven't got time to bitch at each other. We've got to get out before that thing wearing my face comes back!"<br/>
<br/>
You just nod submissively, and look around the basement. It's dark, but there's a small space, and what looks like a spiral staircase leading up. There's something about it that makes you feel deeply uneasy. You're about to suggest something when the door opens.<br/>
<br/>
"OK, just take it easy," you hear a Lucy voice say. "Slowly... nice and slowly..." She backs down the stairs, and then steps back, letting light fall on the bed with Lucy and Yumi. "There. See?" Then a few more steps back, and suddenly you're being gripped by the Lucy double, your arm twisted into submission. "There! Now, get your scrawny runt ass the hell down here, and maybe we can talk about an exchange!"<br/>
<br/>
Footsteps follow. First, yet another Yumi descends the stairs. The two other prisoners open their mouths, slack-jawed in surprise. It's followed by a determined looking Will Prescott, a shard of glass prodding into the new Yumi's neck. <br/>
<br/>
"'Sup, bitch," the false Will grins at you. "When I said I was busy, Yumi here turned up at school. Tricked this asshole into thinking I was duped. When you didn't answer the burner, it didn't take long to realize you'd have done something dumb. I would have."<br/>
<br/>
"Mr Prescott, I presume?" The new Yumi says. Blackwell. "Might I suggest you ask your golem to remove its weapon?"<br/>
<br/>
You take a deep breath. The Lucy-Golem twists your arm further into a chicken wing, taking away all control you had. "You can tell yours to do the same!" you squeal.<br/>
<br/>
"Very well," Blackwell says. Both golems ease up. "Now, pax? We have a delicate situation, I'm afraid. You have something that I misplaced, and I would dearly like back."<br/>
<br/>
"The Book."<br/>
<br/>
"Duh," Blackwell uses Yumi's voice against you. "Though, more correctly, the Libra. Evidently, you have proven most adept in its use. So much so, that I wonder if you would make a suitable apprentice. Otherwise, I imagine this situation will end poorly for one of us, and that is hardly mutually beneficial."<br/>
<br/>
"And what about Yumi? And Lucy?"<br/>
<br/>
"Lucy is right behind you, Mr Prescott. Or perhaps you wish to be her? And as for Ms Saito, we have two masks. With your golem, we hardly need the real one any more. Have you worked out what the next spell does?"<br/>
<br/>
You take a glance at Lucy and Yumi. Take a deep breath. "What are you saying?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I am saying," Blackwell-as-Yumi says, "that we both know Yumi had big plans for these masks. There's a certain irony if she were the first victim. You can take your pick of who you want to be - Will, Yumi, Lucy. And that's only the beginning, Will. Instead of partnering with her, you'll just be partnering with someone who knows what they are doing."</span></div></div>


