# chapters

path: 113312111211211111113212111113223211131212111111341211
author_id: seuzz
title: Matchmakers Five
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You're really glad when Naomi splits for the night instead of going with you all to the Warehouse. But that's not for a couple of hours yet. Before that, you all play a second game of mini golf—changing foursomes around—and then a third game with Aaron and Daniel when they return, flushed and hyper, from the Go-Kart track. For that game people divide up into trios, and it's a lot of fun watching as everyone tries to keep from being the "third wheel" with Aaron and Naomi. She is very civil to him, but there's no missing the hint of anger in her voice, and his oblivious confusion. Leah Simmons finally volunteers for what looks like a suicide mission, and your own trio of yourself and Genesis and Hermione giggle as you watch them play behind you.<br/>
<br/>
"You know what the sad thing is," Genesis says afterward, as you watch Naomi drive off. "The sad thing is that she and Aaron seem like a good match."<br/>
<br/>
You wonder about that, but don't say anything. For all her smugness, Naomi is a very sensible and level-headed girl, and it strikes you that Aaron would be too much of a goof and a doofus for her. You noticed it at the table when you were eating popcorn: She kept wincing when he'd talk, for where she is very soft-spoken he brays enthusiastically. She also got kind of a pained smile after he kept going on about the go-karts.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The topic of Naomi resumes a little later when you're preparing to make your move to the Warehouse. Hermione and Wendy have also skipped out on a night at the Warehouse so it's only seven of you who make the trip to Eastman High School, from where you'll carpool in. Then Aaron and Daniel rush on ahead with a couple of other guys, leaving five of you to clamber into the bed of Leah Simmons's truck—which is bigger even than Will Prescott's—to pass around that joint she'd told you about. <br/>
<br/>
And what do you talk about?<br/>
<br/>
"Guys," Leah says as she lights the joint. "Let's talk about guys."<br/>
<br/>
"What guys?" Susie asks. She hasn't even taken a hit yet, but already it sounds like she's got the giggles.<br/>
<br/>
"Anyone except Aaron and Daniel." She passes the joint to Jack. <br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong with Aaron and Daniel?" he asks. Neither you nor Brianna have a lot of experience with weed, but it strikes you that he handles it with casual ease.<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing's wrong with them, if <i>you</i> want to talk about them. I just don't want to talk about Aaron and Naomi."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?" Now it's Genesis's turn to giggle as she takes the joint after Susie passes on it. You notice her fingers trembling as she puts it to her lips. "Didn't you have fun with them tonight?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, it was a lot of fun watching them realize they go together like asparagus and hot fudge sauce."<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Everything</i> goes good with hot fudge sauce," Susie declares.<br/>
<br/>
"Genesis thinks they're a perfect match," you announce, and your friend gives you a dirty look as you take the joint from her.<br/>
<br/>
"P'fuh!" Leah says. "You know who'd be perfect for her? No, never mind, that's not what I want to talk about. I wanna talk about guys."<br/>
<br/>
You peer at her, past the line of smoke that curls in front of your nose. To look at her, <i>boys</i> would not be a topic to interest Leah Simmons. She's a tall girl with a track runner's physique—she was on the team until this year, when a scheduling conflict forced her to quit—and she chops her copper-blonde hair in a very butch bob. That and the way she dresses—hiking boots; heavy khaki trousers held up with suspenders; flannel shirts worn over white tees—more or less spell out "dyke" in flashing lights and honking klaxons. But you—that is to say, Brianna—once had a half-drunken conversation where she confessed to a long-standing oral fixation. <br/>
<br/>
"Cock," she groaned over a plastic tumbler that still held at least three shots of the original nine. "I want a hard, oven-hot cock I can wrap my tongue around and take down my throat." She also confessed to getting a Brazilian wax regularly, so that she could feel the guy's stubble better when he (whoever he was) went down on her. "I don't want a beard, but he's gotta have stubble," she'd said dreamily.<br/>
<br/>
"Who'd be perfect for Naomi?" you ask her now as you hand her the joint.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Oh, I don't know."<br/>
<br/>
"You said you did."<br/>
<br/>
"I changed my mind. I know who'd be perfect for <i>you,</i> though." She peers down her nose at you, and after taking a hit she opens her mouth wide to let the smoke waft in and out before swallowing it down.<br/>
<br/>
While she's thus occupied, Jack interrupts her with a grunt. "If we're going to do this, we should do it right. Except," he adds after a moment's thought, "we don't have any paper."<br/>
<br/>
"What do we need paper for?" Susie asks.<br/>
<br/>
"To write down the answers." He takes the joint from Leah, but passes it on to Susie. "We each write down who's perfect for Brianna—"<br/>
<br/>
"Why me?"<br/>
<br/>
"—then read them out loud afterward to see if we all agree. But we don't have paper."<br/>
<br/>
"Too much planning anyway," Leah says. "I should be in charge and just tell you all who you should be with."<br/>
<br/>
Jack demurs, and eventually he figures out a way of doing it without writing implements. "It'll be more fun this way anyway," he says. "So here's who's perfect for Brianna." Even in the darkened parking lot you can see the twinkle in his eye as he leans over to whisper in Susie's ear. She squawks. "Okay, that was a joke," Jack says. "Now, for real." He whispers in her ear again.<br/>
<br/>
Susie's eyes go wide, and she gives you a long, thoughtful look. "Really?" she says. "Actually, I guess I can see—"<br/>
<br/>
"Now Leah, you tell me who <i>you</i> think is perfect for Brianna," Jack says. She gives you a gleaming glance before whispering her choice to him. He laughs out loud. "Oh God no!" he exclaims. "But it's a great idea anyway! Now Genesis, you tell Leah."<br/>
<br/>
Your face is burning by now, and you grimace as Genesis hands you the toke and scrambles past to hiss into Leah's ear. Last, it's Susie's turn to whisper her choice to Genesis. "I went along with what you said," she tells Jack. "I think you're right, I think—"<br/>
<br/>
Your phone dings just then, and you take it out. It's a text from Maria Vasquez: <i>How are things going for you?<br/>
<br/>
I'm Brianna Kirschke and I'm smoking weed in the Eastman parking lot with my best friends and we're talking about who my perfect boyfriend would be and I've never had this kind of thing happen to me before and I think maybe I'm buzzed from the marijuana already because I feel kind of funny but this is awesome and I'm going to have so much to report to you and your stupid sociology project about Brianna and her friends and who's friends with who when we get together tomorrow.</i><br/>
<br/>
You think all that but don't send it, obviously, while tugging absent-mindedly at your hair. You do a double-take when you look up to find Jack gazing at you speculatively. You quickly put your phone away.<br/>
<br/>
"So, now you have to tell us who <i>you</i> think would be perfect for you," Leah says.<br/>
<br/>
"No," Jack says, "she has to tell us who she <i>wants."</i><br/>
<br/>
"Same thing."<br/>
<br/>
"No it isn't," Jack takes the joint from Susie and gives it a quick pull before handing it back to her. "The head tells you who's perfect. Your loins tell you who you want."<br/>
<br/>
"Ewwww!" Susie cries. "Loins?" She must already be high.<br/>
<br/>
 "Come on, sweetheart," Jack says to you. "Who do your loins cry out for?"<br/>
<br/>
You're about to say something obvious and cliched, like, "Laurent Delacroix" (the captain of the school's wrestling team), but you catch Genesis giving you a very close smirk. "Fine," you say, rolling your eyes. "Philip Fairfax."<br/>
<br/>
Jack snorts while everyone else giggles and guffaws. "If that's true, you've got the world's most sensible set of loins," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"So who do <i>your</i> loins cry out for?" you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"Nope, I go last, because I made up the rules. Leah goes next, 'cos all this is her fault. But first—" He grins toothily at Leah. "Who did Genesis say was perfect for Brianna?"<br/>
<br/>
Leah gives you a sidelong smirk. "Scott Frazier."<br/>
<br/>
<i>"What?"</i> You wheel on Genesis as everyone else laughs. "He's <i>your</i> crush, not mine!"<br/>
<br/>
"He's perfect for you!" she protests. "He's sexy and he's smart—"<br/>
<br/>
"You can talk about it later," Jack interrupts. "Leah says that Marc Garner would be perfect for you."<br/>
<br/>
Again, you can only choke and gasp as everyone laughs. At the same time, you can't help blushing with pleasure at the compliment. Not only is Marc handsome as hell, and captain of the soccer team, but he's an AP student. <i>And</i> he's popular across the school.<br/>
<br/>
Is Leah serious? Does she think that you and Marc ought to be together? You're so dazed that it takes you a moment to disentangle yourself from Brianna's surprise and delight.<br/>
<br/>
"I think you need to be with Luke Richardson," Jack says. "Since you like red-heads so much. He's a lot sexier than Philip, though. Can you imagine Philip writing a sonnet? Tch!"<br/>
<br/>
You crimson some more. Like Marc, Luke combines athleticism—he's on the baseball team—with good academic credentials, and adds to it a cheerful bohemian style that comes out in displays of poetry.<br/>
<br/>
"So we did you last, so you start us off." Jack tugs his ear. "Come tell me who's perfect for Leah."<br/>
<br/>
"Will Prescott" would not be perfect for Leah. But you wonder what people would say if you dropped your real name into the suggestions for Genesis or Susie.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111132121111132232111312121111113412113
author_id: seuzz
title: So This Guy Playing a Girl Walks Into a Bar ...
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You share a couple of classes with Susie and Leah, and one even with Brianna, but you've never talked to them. And though you know now that Brianna is vaguely familiar with who you are—you're that kid who sits with Carson Ioeger in Calculus; "Phil" or something like that—you doubt anyone here would know your name.<br/>
<br/>
<i>That's okay,</i> you think snottily to yourself with Brianna's inner voice. You didn't know who Genesis Lee or Jack Li were, and you couldn't have put a name to Leah Simmons.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The erotic confessions and suggestions are made with much laughter and some ribaldry. You beg off on picking a "perfect" boyfriend for Genesis—"I know who her crush is, it wouldn't be fair!"—but she's pleased with who the others pick. Meanwhile, Leah confesses to wanting Scott Bickelmeir (a football player) for herself, while Susie goes for Cody Schaefer (a tennis player).<br/>
<br/>
But when it's Jack's turn, he jumps from the bed of the truck and runs off to talk with some guys who have just pulled up. Susie's all for continuing without him, but Leah pinches out the joint and ends the game. "It won't be any fun if he's not here," she says.<br/>
<br/>
<i>And besides,</i> you think to yourself with a sympathy that surprises you, <i>it probably wouldn't be any fun for him anyway.</i> You'd just be dangling a lot of impossible boyfriends—impossible because they're not gay, or because they're gay but he doesn't like them—in front of him.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm getting a ride with Raymond and them," Jack says when he returns. (That would be Raymond Koepp, another guy who's new to you but familiar to Brianna; you sure are meeting a lot of new people this way.) That leaves you four girls to find your way over to the Warehouse. You've nothing else to do now, so even though it's still only ten-thirty, you all clamber into Genesis's car.<br/>
<br/>
The scariest part is the drive in, for the Warehouse is located in the bombed-out ruins of Saratoga Falls's industrial district, and shadowy figures dart along the sides of the streets as you pass. A couple of them shout at you. Genesis grips the wheel tightly and dodges gaping potholes, and you fight the urge to ask if she's got a gun in the glove compartment.<br/>
<br/>
It's really saying something about the neighborhood that you're relieved when you're stopped at a gates by a flashlight-wielding Joshua Call—a schoolmate who everyone agrees is totally capable of hauling a girl back into one of the abandoned portables for a nice little gang rape with his friends.<br/>
<br/>
"Only four?" he growls as he counts the occupants. "Fuck. Oughta send you back." But he points to a corner of the lot, near where the tall cinderblock wall, topped with hurricane wire, runs next to the railroad tracks. "Back there."<br/>
<br/>
The facade of the Warehouse is lit by coppery vapor lamps, which give it an alien glow; behind the Warehouse, taller even than its looming walls, stands the old VDB grain elevator, looking like a partially disassembled upright vacuum cleaner, or a Martian war tripod. Your quartet have to dodge a short train of honking cars as you dash, laughing, to the doorway, where you're checked out by a couple of guys before being let in. Like Joshua, they're part of the Warehouse's makeshift "security detail" and can be instantly picked out by their red t-shirts and the whistles they wear around their necks. <i>There's only one rule at the Warehouse,</i> Brianna was warned before her first trip out. <i>Don't piss off anyone who's wearing a red shirt and a whistle.</i><br/>
<br/>
It's ironic, you suppose, that for security the Warehouse should use guys like Joshua Call, Rich Austin, and Brian Heath, who at school are a lot of thugs and lowlifes on a fast track to the penitentiary. And yet it appears they do their job well. The Warehouse still has a fearsome reputation, but Brianna has heard that it's actually a lot less dangerous than it used to be, especially since the owners and organizers (whoever they are) beefed up the security staff. Leah has said she doesn't like the changes. "It's as safe as Legends," she will sniff, referencing a popular dance club a few blocks from Eastman, "and a lot less fun than it used to be."<br/>
<br/>
A stench of beer, weed, tobacco and sweat rolls over you as you walk in, and that's just the entryway. From out a set of double-doors to the left pours a driving beat—recorded dance music—while doors ahead and to the right lead to the makeshift bars and saloons. Kids from Westside and Eastman (and probably, here and there, a kid or two from Agape) are streaming back and forth; football players in red tees stop anyone carrying a bottle from entering the dance hall. Genesis grips your arm and sighs in your ear: One of them is Blake O'Brien, her current crush. "Go say hi," you tell her.<br/>
<br/>
"No!" she squeaks, and drags you and the others into the saloon instead.<br/>
<br/>
A makeshift bar has been set up along one of the walls: planks on sawhorses, beneath which are crates full of snacks and coolers packed with drinks. Kegs line the back walls, and smaller boxes hold bottles of liquor. Half a dozen guys stand in back of the bar, ready to exchange goods for cash.<br/>
<br/>
Or other consideration. Leah pulls you up to station where Alex Massey, his chest wrapped in a tight, camo-colored tank top, is dispensing goodies. "Gimme a discount," she tells him with a grin.<br/>
<br/>
"For you, five," he says. "Seven if you tell me the last girl you went down on."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't do that kind of thing!"<br/>
<br/>
"Too bad." He leers. "If you had a hot story about putting your tongue inside Andrea, I'd comp you your first round."<br/>
<br/>
"Just give me the discount."<br/>
<br/>
Alex shrugs and pulls out a bottle of vodka. To his query, "How many?" Leah holds up four fingers, and he drops four generous shots into a plastic cup. She gives him a twenty, he returns her a five, then grabs her by the back of the neck and pulls her face to his. You look away, but not before seeing his tongue come out to meet hers. The kiss probably only lasts five seconds but it feels at least ten times as long.<br/>
<br/>
"Three shots, no discount," you tell him when it's your turn.<br/>
<br/>
"I ever give you a discount before? First discount is good for five free shots," he says as he holds the bottle over your plastic cup. His eyes gleam.<br/>
<br/>
You feel Brianna's excitement and dread. Alex Massey has a smooth brown chest and smooth brown arms—he is infamous for taking his shirt off every time he steps outside the doors of school, even if it's just a jaunt from one corner of the quad to the other—and his sloppy brown hair hangs to his shoulders. He's a dangerous kid, but a sexy one; and his danger only amplifies the allure he has for Brianna.<br/>
<br/>
But you shake your head and fork over fifteen dollars.<br/>
<br/>
"I've never had a discount." Susie gasps the words with shining eyes as she steps up to the bar.<br/>
<br/>
"Five shots?" Alex asks. He pours.<br/>
<br/>
Then he takes Susie's face in both his hands and pulls her close.<br/>
<br/>
He's a lot more gentle with her than he was with Leah, and a lot slower. He also takes a lot longer, long enough that you can ask Leah, "How long have you been getting discounts?" and she can say, "Two years now." Then she pulls you close. "He's picky, too," she murmurs in your ear. "It's not like a kissing booth." Her eyes shine meaningfully as she releases you.<br/>
<br/>
That thrill you felt earlier returns, and thrums even more deeply.<br/>
<br/>
Jack and the other guys have come piling in by now, and after they've gotten their own drinks you head into another room where tables and booths—clearly salvaged from abandoned restaurants and junkyards—have been set up. You and your friends, including a couple of people from the school orchestra, squeeze into a large, semicircular booth.<br/>
<br/>
You're all squeezed in so tight, in fact, that Alex Sheehan has to drape his arm around your shoulder. He takes advantage of the position to lean in and talk into your ear. "Who I got a chance with here?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Chance for what?"<br/>
<br/>
"What you think?" He jerks his chin at a door on the other side of the room. Oscar Cantu—another one of the school's hulking thugs—sits guard in front of it. To get past him would cost you and a "friend" twenty dollars each for fifteen minutes, or fifty dollars each for an hour.<br/>
<br/>
"No one," you murmur back at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on. Gimme odds. Percentage, zero to a hundred." He jerks his chin at Susie. "Start with her. What's my chances?"<br/>
<br/>
This is a lot less fun than the game of confessions you had in the bed of Leah's truck.<br/>
<br/>
Not that you have anything in particular against Alex. Brianna hung out with him quite a bit their junior year, when he was in the marching band with her. But he got busted by Dr. Stemple—caught behind the music wing with a joint—and he's got the look to go with it. Tight, curly brown hair that falls to his shoulders; a weedy chin beard that comes and goes; and vintage, 70s-style dress shirts. You can feel the lascivious grin playing on his lips as he whispers in your ear.<br/>
<br/>
"Twenty," you tell him, and you think a twenty percent chance of his making it with Susie is being generous.<br/>
<br/>
"Genesis," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Five."<br/>
<br/>
"No, really!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, really."<br/>
<br/>
"Leah."<br/>
<br/>
You turn to peer at him. "You look too much like a girl," you tell him. "Two."<br/>
<br/>
That gleam in his eye turns nasty, but his grin doesn't disappear even as he keeps silent.<br/>
<br/>
But when you turn your head to attend to the rest of the table, he leans in again. "You?" he whispers hoarsely.</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321211111322321113121211111134121132
author_id: seuzz
title: The Girl Least Likely To
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Try Jack," you murmur in Alex's ear. "Try Jack," you tell him again when he asks you to repeat it.<br/>
<br/>
Alex's eyes narrow into slits of anger. "Don't gotta be a bitch about it." He tightens his grip on your shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
So you elbow him in the ribs. He jostles you back and you punch him in the chest. <br/>
<br/>
"What's going on over there?" George Basham asks. He came with Alex and Jack, but his preppie style—he's in slacks and a polo shirt, of all things—mark him off from the rest of the table.<br/>
<br/>
"Someone swap places with me," you snarl. "Or— I dunno. Anyone wanna dance?" No one answers, maybe because they're watching as you try clambering over Alex. He's not helping, either, and now he's <i>smirking</i> at you. There builds in you a dangerous, burning desire to punch him in the face.<br/>
<br/>
And you give in to it. You grab him by the hair and jab at his nose.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus!" someone yells. Alex comes out of his seat, knocking you back into the table. Everyone yells.<br/>
<br/>
A red mist swims before your face, and at the end of a narrow tunnel you see Alex snarling at you. You scramble away, trip, and tumble to the floor. Feet kick at you and you kick back. You add your yells to everyone else's.<br/>
<br/>
A rough voice sounds through the roar in your ears: "There a problem over here?" You struggle to get up; a strong hand grips and lifts you. The voice says, "Maybe you should find another table," and you're about to wheel and argue when Alex leaps up and rushes off. He shoves an empty table as he passes.<br/>
<br/>
That's when the whistle shrieks. You grab your ears and fall into the booth. When you look up again, three guys in red shirts, with Alex suspended between them, are rushing out of the saloon.<br/>
<br/>
It still doesn't register what's happened. You look around the table. Everyone there—Genesis and Susie, Jack and Raymond Koepp, Leah and George and Abigail Kane—are all staring off after Alex. All of them are ashen; more than a few have their mouths hanging open.<br/>
<br/>
Even when Abigail looks over at you, and you see the dawning anger in her eyes, you still don't quite understand what's going on. Those guys are taking Alex out because ... ?<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck, who's gonna take notes for him Monday?" George says. "He's not gonna be in any shape for school after those guys—"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not funny," Raymond says. He glances at you, and you see a wary anger in his eyes too. You can't find your voice, let alone any words to say.<br/>
<br/>
"Brianna," Genesis says. "What happened?"<br/>
<br/>
All at once, like a chestburster in the <i>Alien</i> movies, a sob bursts from you.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh God!" you scream, and bury your face in your hands. Your shoulders shudder and heave as tears stream through your clenched lids. "I didn't—! He was—!" A deep, gasping gulp rolls through you.<br/>
<br/>
From somewhere very far away you watch this performance with detached shock. This isn't <i>you</i> reacting. It's Brianna. Yet even as you watch, you're rocked from side to side by her horror and shame and embarrassment. Your voice fails, and you let yourself sink under, and be swallowed by, Brianna's explosion of tears.<br/>
<br/>
Someone—probably Genesis—rubs your back. People start talking over each other. You can't make out the words, but you know they're talking about <i>you.</i> It makes you want to die.<br/>
<br/>
They cut out when that rough voice sounds again. "Everything okay over here?" It is answered with murmurs. "How about her, is she okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"She'll be fine," Genesis says, and rubs harder at your back.<br/>
<br/>
But another hand takes you by the side of the head and forces you to look up. You resist at first, then give in and glare up at the speaker.<br/>
<br/>
It's Erik Carstairs, one of the football players. One of the rogue players, you should say. Anne Starkey, who plays flute in the marching band with you, is dating the quarterback, Cameron Huber, and through her you get all the horror stories about Erik and his gang of dope-smoking thugs and the fights they get into with the other members of the team. <br/>
<br/>
There's a hard sneer in his eye, and a mischievous, almost malicious, spirit of rebellion. Otherwise, he's one of the hottest guys in school. (Or maybe the rebellion is part of what makes him hot.) His platinum-white hair is cropped into a fuzzy buzz cut, and his lips often curve easily into a devilish smile. He has wide shoulders and hard biceps, and his pecs bulge against his red t-shirt. Under a helmet and pads, he'd just be another wall of muscle and bone charging across the greensward. Out of uniform, he's a Viking princeling shorn of his locks.<br/>
<br/>
"Let her go!" Leah yells at him.<br/>
<br/>
Erik ignores her. "How much has she had to drink?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing! We just got here!"<br/>
<br/>
"She gets into trouble fast." His blue eye glint with challenge.<br/>
<br/>
"She's fine, Erik," Jack says. He sounds very weary. "Alex was getting handsy with her, she didn't like it. That's all."<br/>
<br/>
If that was supposed to make things all better, it doesn't work. Erik releases you, but now it's scorn that shows in his eye. <br/>
<br/>
"She should learn to give a guy a chance," he says. "Now the asshole's bleeding all over someone's car. He dented it, too, the guy's gonna have to have some body work done to fix it."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you!" Leah cries.<br/>
<br/>
"Give him a hand job next time," Erik says, still holding your eye. "This ain't a fucking slumber party we're running here."<br/>
<br/>
Still he ignores Leah, even as she yells more obscenities at him, but turns as Blake O'Brien comes up to mutter in his ear. You can't make out the words, but Erik says, "No shit? Check 'im in thirty minutes, then we'll take him to the hospital if he still can't walk." <br/>
<br/>
Blake shrugs and saunters back toward the saloon. Erik rakes the table—which has gone very quiet—with his glance, then follows.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God," Susie squeaks. "Damn," Raymond mutters.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, keep your shit together," Jack says. "Alex is okay. Ten to one he's outside finishing a roach with Kevin and them. He and Erik are friends, they hang out at the quarry getting stoned. Erik's just putting on a show, scaring us into not pulling any more shit."<br/>
<br/>
But his expression is very grave when he turns it on you. You have to look away.<br/>
<br/>
You look at Genesis, but she's still staring off in the direction that Blake went. That gets you to a laugh, at least a little bit. You look past Genesis to Leah, who's glaring with red-faced fury in the same direction.<br/>
<br/>
"Go talk to him," you tell her. Your voice is weak, and you have to repeat it. Leah looks at you. "Erik," you say when she just looks confused. "You broke the ice with him. Follow it up."<br/>
<br/>
"Follow <i>what</i> up?" she demands.<br/>
<br/>
"That moment you were having with him." You laugh, and hiccup. The storm of tears has passed; now you've got the shakes. "You can go talk to him now. Remember when we were talking earlier?" You point to Jack, who like everyone else is looking at you like you're crazy. "Who Jack said your perfect boyfriend would be?"<br/>
<br/>
Understanding dawns in Leah's eye. But her frown deepens.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." You laugh again. "Now you broke the ice." You hiccup again. "Now you can get him to ask you out to the winter dance."<br/>
<br/>
Leah doesn't laugh. No one does, and you hang your head as talk resumes.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll dance with you," Jack suddenly declares, and he struggles past Abigail and George to get to his feet. You don't feel at all like dancing, but it would be better than sitting like a wounded wombat with the others, so you get up too. Jack puts his arm around you, and feelings of warmth and tenderness rush up you.<br/>
<br/>
First, though, you stop in the restroom—such as it is—to wash up. There's a single sink and a small line of girls behind it; four guys are pissing into the trough-shaped urinal on the opposite wall. You hug yourself and will the line to move forward, which it does, because no one wants to be a bitch about hogging the only sink in the place. When it's your turn, you splash a little cold water on your face and rub it all over after stepping aside. You wipe yourself dry with the hem of your shirt. You're glad that Brianna never gets herself too made up.<br/>
<br/>
Outside, Jack leads you onto the dance floor. There's no band tonight, so it's a DJ playing music from the vast stage at the opposite end. The floor is mostly empty for the night is still young, so Jack has plenty of room to show off his moves. He has an awesome sense of rhythm, and his limbs writhe like serpents. So awed are you that you stop to watch him.<br/>
<br/>
But he doesn't let you. He starts you up dancing again, and step by step, gesture by gesture, he shows you how to do his moves, and guides you through them. Soon you are laughing with delight, and the harsh, acrid smog that had invaded your head and brain slowly lift. When Jack pulls you close to dance chest to chest, you are practically purring.<br/>
<br/>
"We'll go find someone else to sit with," he tells you as he leads you off the floor some twenty minutes later. But you tell him that's okay.<br/>
<br/>
It's not okay, though, when you get back. The booth is empty, except for Raymond, who is slouching in the corner with his cell phone. He looks up at you and Jack from under lowered brows. "Where is everyone?" Jack asks.<br/>
<br/>
So Raymond tells you about Genesis and Dominic Kleason.</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212111113223211131212111111341211321
author_id: seuzz
title: Crisis Management
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It's Saturday afternoon, and you're finally meeting with Philip Fairfax.<br/>
<br/>
Well, with Maria Vasquez. It would be a bigger thrill if you were meeting her as "Will Prescott," and it would be a thrill for Brianna if Philip wasn't under a mask. But Brianna Kirschke is not terribly impressed with the air-headed cheerleader, just as you're not sweet on the science nerd, and that lays two kinds of dampers on the meeting.<br/>
<br/>
Still, you are a little bit tongue-tied under a bright unwinking stare that owes more to the guy doing the impersonating than to the girl being impersonated. You're sitting in The Crystal Cave coffee shop again, playing with a sandwich while giving Fairfax your initial report on Brianna, her friends, and their various complicated relationships, <br/>
<br/>
A thoughtful silence ensues, into which you drop the inane comment, "My mom made this bread. Well, I don't know if she personally made it. But we sell our sandwich bread here. From Cherry Brook? Down the street?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hmm?" Maria says. "Oh, I'm sorry, Will. I was thinking about the other stuff. Your family owns ... Who is it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Cherry Brook Breads and Cakes. Also La Patisserie up at Fell's Lake. And Will Prescott's family doesn't own them. <i>My</i> family does." You give Maria a quick grin and pop a piece of bread into your mouth.<br/>
<br/>
"Ngh," She returns into the ether, the better (you suppose) to mull your detailed exposition of your first twenty hours as Brianna Kirschke. To wit:<br/>
<br/>
The intricate negotiations by which you and your friends planned where to go and what to do. The multiple rounds of mini-golf and the gossip about Naomi Batson and Aaron Flood. The joint passed around in the bed of Leah Simmons's truck, and the game of erotic confessions that went with it. (You leave out Brianna's sentimental attachment to Fairfax himself, though.) The incident with Alex Sheehan at the Warehouse, not sparing the details of how you broke down crying, and of Carstairs's crude advice about keeping guys happy. The dance with Jack.<br/>
<br/>
Genesis Lee being dragged into a corner of the bar by Dominic Kleason, there to have her blouse torn open and her breasts exposed and fondled.<br/>
<br/>
And of how <i>no one</i> intervened to help her until George's and Raymond's and Leah's shouts finally brought Erik back in. But instead of blowing his whistle, Erik watched with his hands in his pockets, then sauntered over to poke at Dominic's shoulder. He answered Dominic's snarls and curses in very mild tones, and only after a solid minute of gentle persuasion—while Genesis whimpered and fought to free herself from Dominic's grip—did her assailant let go. Erik had then draped a friendly arm around Dominic's shoulders and led him outside.<br/>
<br/>
Genesis and the rest of the company fled into the night without even waiting for you and Jack. Raymond was in the act of texting Jack to tell him what happened when you'd returned to the table. Then you all left to catch up to the others.<br/>
<br/>
There was, luckily, nothing like penetration, Raymond said. But it was just short of that: Dominic had his tongue on Genesis, and his knee in her groin, and he held her head back by seizing her hair. <i>And why didn't </i>you<i> do anything to stop him?</i> you yell. <i>You and George. You're not small guys.</i> Raymond said nothing, and Jack only murmured, "It was Dominic."<br/>
<br/>
As in <i>It was Dominic Kleason, who's a football player </i>and<i> a vicious skinhead </i>and<i> has biceps the size of cantaloupes </i>and<i> has friends like Erik Carstairs to back him up.</i><br/>
<br/>
You and Jack and Raymond chased the others back to Eastman, where you found the other boys hanging back, while Leah and the other girls were off in the dark athletic fields comforting and commiserating with Genesis. It took her almost twenty minutes to calm down to where you all could talk. She recovered more rapidly after that, to the point that after taking a long, slow stroll around the track she felt like she could go home without revealing too obviously the kind of distress she'd suffered. But still, you already have plans to meet up with her and Leah and Susie and Abigail later this afternoon for another session of handholding.<br/>
<br/>
As for why Erik had treated Dominic with such leniency: Well, Jack had a theory about that, which he shared with you and Leah after the others had left.<br/>
<br/>
"Dominic works there too, you know," he said. "I guess yesterday was his night off or something, since he wasn't in his shirt. Anyway, you know what cops are like, always covering for each other," he snorted.<br/>
<br/>
But after you got home you got a text from Leah, who had stayed with him longer, and she told you that Jack had another theory, one he hadn't wanted to share with you.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Jack says dom got gen by mistake he was supposed to get you jack thinks erik wanted hurt you show you after thing with alex so he sent dom after you but dom got gen by mistake you look like each other</i><br/>
<br/>
So maybe Dominic grabbed Genesis by mistake? He was supposed to grab you, to get back at you for your fight with Alex?<br/>
<br/>
Naturally, you freaked out, and muffled under the covers you'd called her directly. "Erik's pissed at you, Jack is sure of that," she said. "Erik seriously thinks you should've put up or put out or sucked Alex off or some shit like that, and he wanted to get back at you. So be careful at school Monday. 'Cos Dominic screwed up and maybe Erik still wants to get back at you."<br/>
<br/>
"If Jack thinks that," you gasped, "why didn't he tell <i>me?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"He doesn't want you to freak out. I don't want you to freak out either. But he's gonna talk to some guys, ask them to keep close to you tomorrow. I'm telling you so you'll know what's going on, and because—" She drew a deep breath. "I want you to be careful."<br/>
<br/>
"Some boyfriend Jack picked out for you, huh?" you grumbled.<br/>
<br/>
At least she laughed at that.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Yes, you'd even shared that detail with Fairfax. Then he'd retreated into his shell, leaving you to pick at your sandwich—your report had killed your appetite—while he tugged thoughtfully at his lip.<br/>
<br/>
Maria's lip, that is. So intense is her frown that you almost have to remind yourself that this chocolate-colored beauty with the big eyes and the bee-stung lips and the great mane of dark hair isn't actually Philip Fairfax.<br/>
<br/>
"Well," she says at last, "there is one way of dealing with Erik. It would solve a further mystery as well. We've successfully made a second beta for you. We could try making a third, see what happens, and Erik could be that third."<br/>
<br/>
You rear back. "You mean, put a mask on him? A mask filled with ... that stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes. Of course, then you'd have to shift from playing Brianna to playing Erik. Or back to playing, er, Murphy."<br/>
<br/>
"How come?"<br/>
<br/>
"You mean, why not put the control layer into Erik's mask and set it on him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh ... I guess." Fairfax seems to be about five steps ahead of you in gaming out possibilities, so you're not even sure why you're bothering to ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Because," Maria says, "we don't know if you can use a mask of someone to turn him into a beta of himself. I suppose we should try to find out," she adds. "But not with Erik."<br/>
<br/>
"Never mind that," you say, for you're not sure you even follow what he's talking about. "How would we get a mask onto him? I mean, he's big and he's ripped, and even if we got him out to the complex, there's no way we could— Uh ..."<br/>
<br/>
You break off, for Maria is frowning at you from under a skeptical eyebrow. "Isn't it obvious how we get to him, Will?" she says.<br/>
<br/>
Then she puts her shoulders back, which has the effect of subtly thrusting her breasts out.<br/>
<br/>
Your jaw drops, and you gasp. Fairfax has been so much himself, rather than Maria, that it totally slipped by you: He, or Carlos or Mike or Keith or even Josiah, could lure Carstairs into a trap by using <i>their hot cheerleader bodies</i> as bait!<br/>
<br/>
Except it would have to be Maria, because this multiple-beta project is a secret between you and Philip only.<br/>
<br/>
"Are you sure that you could, uh, get him alone?" you squeak. "I mean, Maria is charming, but—" You feel yourself redden; Brianna is not used to speaking this way about girls. "But you'd have to, uh, flirt with him, wouldn't you?"<br/>
<br/>
Maria blinks. Then she closes her eyes and lowers her chin to her breastbone. Her hair falls into her face.<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes are very wide and vacant when she looks up again, and she brushes her hair back. "Oh!" she gasps breathily. "Erik? Could you, like, help me out after school?" She plays with the tips of her hair. "You know the loft up in the gym, where they keep the spare equipment? We need some stuff up there moved? Chelsea does, I mean, but Gordon and Steve, it's like they're not helping out?" She blinks. "So Chelsea asked if I know anyone who could, like, come up there? To move stuff? It's really heavy, so like it has to be someone who can—?" She sucks in her lips, and a glint comes into her eye. "Around five o'clock? Just me there, Chelsea's gonna keep Gordon away, and Steve won't be up there either, so I can go up there and ... show you?"<br/>
<br/>
Her eyebrows go up, and a little flush rises in her throat. She swallows, and her nostrils flare slightly.<br/>
<br/>
You take a long swallow from your water glass.<br/>
<br/>
The look of sexy pleading vanishes from Maria's face, and Fairfax is back. "You think that would work, Will?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
It would ...</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111132121111132232111312121111113412113212
author_id: seuzz
title: Coffee and Sympathy
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I'd have to switch?" you ask. "I've only been Brianna for twenty-four hours."<br/>
<br/>
"So?" says Maria. "There's no time minimum. Besides, if you're worried about Erik Carstairs—"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not," you lie. "I just want more time to think about it. You know," you continue, "if we were just testing this stuff out, we could test it out on each other, or we could grab people randomly. But there might be, you know, advantages to making certain betas."<br/>
<br/>
Maria's eyebrows go up. "We're not talking about making them betas permanently, Will," she says.<br/>
<br/>
"I know that. But I mean for your sociology thingie. I don't think Erik Carstairs would help out there. Just let me think some more," you add before she can interrupt you. "I'll talk to you tonight."<br/>
<br/>
Maria makes to stop you as you grab up your purse, but you brush her off by reminding her that you, as Brianna, have already agreed to meet up with your girlfriends. You leave her frowning as you go into the bathroom, both to fix up your makeup a little and to send a text so you can get a ride.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
But you've already got a text from Genesis on your phone saying that she's fine and she doesn't want to meet up with people. You rather doubt that she's telling the truth, but she won't even hear of getting together one-on-one with you. After shooting around some more texts, though, you wind up making a coffee date with Jack. It started with him saying that sure he could pick you up at the Cave, then ended with him saying that he'd just as soon hang out with you there. Lucky for you, Fairfax has left by the time Jack arrives.<br/>
<br/>
You're drumming your fingers nervously when he comes in, but he's looking very casual and relaxed. In concession to the cool weather he's wearing a pullover sweatshirt, but he's also wearing cargo shorts that show off his strong calves. Maybe he caught you ogling his legs, for he smiles as he slides into the booth across from you, but he doesn't say anything except, "Who's looking after Genesis?"<br/>
<br/>
"No one," you reply, and resume tapping your fingers. "Or, I don't know. She says she doesn't want to talk to anyone."<br/>
<br/>
"Then give her some space. You don't want to freak her out." He lays his hand on yours, stilling your tapping. "It's not the end of the world for her, and you don't want her to start thinking it is."<br/>
<br/>
"You think you know girls so well?" you snap.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know. I think I know Genesis, though."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, so what does your female intuition say about her?"<br/>
<br/>
The muscles of his jaw tighten, and his eyes narrow. But you don't apologize. You just give him a pert, direct stare back.<br/>
<br/>
"Is she going to be your new project?" he asks. "You given up on Melanie?"<br/>
<br/>
It's like a slap in the face. Like two slaps, actually. It's a slap to Brianna to be reminded of all she's been trying to do about Melanie and Eric. And it's a slap to you to be reminded that you've almost forgotten Melanie even though you decided to impersonate Brianna so as to smooth over the problems between Melanie and her ex-boyfriend.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Except he said that they were never really going out together.</i><br/>
<br/>
"I haven't give up on—!" you start to protest. "Shut up! You're so smug!" you add as Jack sniggers.<br/>
<br/>
"You might as well give up on Melanie," he says. "She's got his <i>beak</i> under her skin."<br/>
<br/>
"Whose beak? Eric's? What are you talking about?" You flush with confusion. "Anyway, it was his <i>dick</i> that was the problem."<br/>
<br/>
"He's a tick," Jack says. "That's what Eric Murphy is. Oh, he's adorable, don't get me wrong. He's like a puppy, and I totally get why Melanie or anyone else would want to pull him into their lap. But he's a <i>tick,</i> and he gets his beak into you and then goes off and leaves the beak there and it drives you crazy 'cos it itches. Tch!" He turns sideways in the booth and puts his back to the wall. "Buy me something," he drawls. "I'm burning gas to come pick you up. But you don't have to get me anything fancy. Just a plain coffee."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you saying that Eric's your type?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not saying anything, except I want you to buy me a plain coffee."<br/>
<br/>
"You're not spending more than fifty cents on me," you retort, but you get out of the booth anyway. "So when I get back I want more from you. You ran away last night before we got to talk about you and your crushes, you know."<br/>
<br/>
"We're done with that game."<br/>
<br/>
"Are we?" You dimple at him. "It sure sounds like you've got a thing for Melanie's ex-."<br/>
<br/>
"They were never even going together!" he yells after you.<br/>
<br/>
He grumbles out a "Thanks" when you return to the table with a black coffee for him, and affects not to remember what you were talking about. "Fine," you say. "If you don't want to talk about your boyfriends, we can talk about Susie's. Or Leah's."<br/>
<br/>
"Or yours?"<br/>
<br/>
"Only if we talk about <i>yours.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"What about Gen's?" he murmurs. "I don't think this is a fun game," he sighs when you don't reply, "no matter who we talk about." You don't interrupt the silence that descends, and he avoids your eye as he alternates between sipping from his coffee and setting it down and twisting it about in a circle.<br/>
<br/>
But the silence finally breaks him down.<br/>
<br/>
"It's a shit school for boyfriends, you know?" he says at last. "There's hardly any good candidates, so everyone's chasing the same ones."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean you're chasing Cody Schaefer? Sorry," you mumble when Jack glares at you. "But you're so sympathetic," you continue, "I want to be sympathetic with you." You reach across to squeeze his arm.<br/>
<br/>
From deep inside Brianna, you watch yourself acting out this way with a sense of benumbed horror. <br/>
<br/>
At the same time, though ... It's fun!<br/>
<br/>
Jack pulls away from you. "You're sweet, Brianna," he says. "You don't have to do anything else."<br/>
<br/>
"But if there's no one at Westside, what about Eastman?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's the thing, right?" he sighs. "They'd be at <i>Eastman.</i> I want a ... friend who's at our school."<br/>
<br/>
"Like Parker?"<br/>
<br/>
He winces again. "I wish you wouldn't assume things like that."<br/>
<br/>
"He's been your friend forever. Since, what, elementary school?" Jack grunts. "And he's the first one you came out with, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." He tenses all over, and his eyes wander over the room.<br/>
<br/>
"But you don't, um—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't even like <i>thinking</i> about it, Brianna." He turns to give you a very direct look. "Do you have guy friends you don't want to screw things up with?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." It's a lie, but you intuit it's the only answer to give.<br/>
<br/>
"Then why can't you figure out it's like the same thing with me and Parker? Especially since he's with Kristin."<br/>
<br/>
"So who does that leave?"<br/>
<br/>
Jack slouches. "It's not exactly the most gay-friendly school, is it? Even if the administration—" <br/>
<br/>
He makes a face. There's lots of official talk about tolerance and celebration, and there's lots of similar talk in the official clubs and on the student council, and certainly all the good kids, the respectable kids, the right-thinking and right-acting kids, make lots of noise about being pro-LGBTetc.<br/>
<br/>
If only those kids—the Kelsey Blankenships and the Tim Gerards—weren't a lot of smug, sanctimonious <i>shits</i> about it.<br/>
<br/>
Jack must be thinking something similar. "Freaking Charles," he mutters. That would be Charles Hartlein, around whom the gay and gay-friendly Westside community—such as it is—revolves. <br/>
<br/>
"What have you got against Charles, exactly?" It's a question that Brianna has never asked her friend.<br/>
<br/>
"He's full of himself?" Jack says. "He thinks he has to be in charge of everything?"<br/>
<br/>
"I guess I don't hang out with him enough."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't either." It sounds like a grudging admission. "He just rubs me the wrong way. Like, he's so <i>large</i> about it, he has to be in <i>charge</i> of it. You know," he adds with some heat, "just because we're both gay doesn't mean we have to like each other."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't say—"<br/>
<br/>
"Aren't there lots of girls, you don't like and don't want to hang out with?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure!"<br/>
<br/>
"There you are."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not arguing, Jack," you say in your sweetest and most patient tone. "I'm not saying you should get together with him." He gives you a look, and you scrunch your nose at him. "So who <i>is</i> out there for you, and what's wrong with them?"<br/>
<br/>
Jack snorts. "What's wrong is that they all hang out with Charles, like we all have to belong to the same club and like the same things and do the same things."<br/>
<br/>
"Are your tastes really that different?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>If looks could kill ...</i> "Do they have to be the same?" he snarls. "And even if we did like all the same stuff, that doesn't mean—"<br/>
<br/>
"Isn't there <i>anybody</i> out there who isn't in Charles's group? What about one of the guys in the junior class? Isn't Parker May—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not going there," he snaps. "I don't need an older-younger thing on top of— Besides," he interrupts himself, "that's something <i>Charles</i> doesn't like, and I guess I agree with him there." He facepalms. "He'd throw so much shit at me if I—"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I don't know what to tell you, honey," you say. Jack drops his hands and sticks his tongue out at your endearment. "If I could give you anyone as a boyfriend, I would."<br/>
<br/>
"You know who you could give me?" Jack says. His eyebrows go up, and he purses his lips. Only when you beg does he give you an answer. "The guy <i>Charles</i> has a raging hard-on for."<br/>
<br/>
You doubt he's serious.<br/>
<br/>
But now you're also thinking about those guys that your girlfriends confessed to wanting, and the ones they chose for each other. <i>I could make one of them my next beta,</i> you think. <i>Hell, I could </i>be<i> one of them.</i></span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321211111322321113121211111134121132124
author_id: seuzz
title: A Girl's Fantasies
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You plead and beg, but Jack won't tell you who it is that Charles Hartlein has a "raging hard-on" for. In fact, he insists that he doesn't know who that is. "He's probably got a couple," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you have 'a couple'?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Do you?" he retorts.<br/>
<br/>
"That I have a 'raging hard-on' for?" you laugh.<br/>
<br/>
"You know what I mean. But I don't know who Charles has a hard-on for," he repeats.<br/>
<br/>
And yet the way he says it convinces you that he's teasing, and that he knows <i>exactly</i> which unattainable guy it is that Charles wants.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Jack takes you home after you've exhausted all the available gossip about mutual friends and enemies and school. No one is home—Saturdays are a busy baking day at the shops—and you amuse yourself by making a vegetable soup so as to surprise your parents. It surprises you too, but Brianna is thoughtful that way.<br/>
<br/>
In fact, after getting the soup under way, you retreat to the bathroom to study yourself in the mirror. You've been inside this girl, and so comfortably too, that you feel like you have to remind yourself that you're not actually her.<br/>
<br/>
It's a bright, intelligent, inquisitive face that stares back at you. The face of a burrowing creature, perhaps, but not a shy one. For Halloween her sophomore year Brianna smeared her face with charcoal whiskers and went to school in her pajamas as Max from <i>Where the Wild Things Are.</i> She got tired of explaining it, though, and by third period was telling people she was cat. She was very tired of it all by the time she got to eighth period, when it got back to her that people were saying that she'd come as a rabbit, a fox, a muskrat, or (Heaven help it!) a mongoose.<br/>
<br/>
You suck in your upper lip—a common enough Brianna "thing"—and lean forward to stare into your eyes. They are a dark brown behind your black-framed glasses, and although they glint they are very serious. Your whole coloration—dark eyebrows, chocolaty-brown hair, light freckles on the small nose—makes you look very serious, and the effect is only heightened by the glasses and the hair tightly pulled back.<br/>
<br/>
You play with the look, though Brianna has played with it before, and you and her know exactly what will happen. You pull the scrunchie loose and fluff your hair out. It would take lots and lots of combing and brushing to bring anything like a silky gloss, so you just pat it down into a passable representation of what it would look like. It trails down past your shoulders. You get up onto the vanity on your knees, like a little girl, and take your glasses off. The reflection goes a little hazy—Brianna has a strong prescription—and you sit on your haunches to stare at your alter ego.<br/>
<br/>
You look like you're about twelve years old.<br/>
<br/>
<i>That's not so bad,</i> you tell yourself. <i>With a little makeup and some tasteful jewelry, some nice clothes ... Hair that had been styled ...<br/>
<br/>
Why, you'd look like a twelve-year-old girl who'd gotten into her mother's makeup case!</i><br/>
<br/>
You sag. After a moment of silent reflection before your reflection, you put your glasses back on, tie your hair back, and hop down.<br/>
<br/>
<i>There she is! There's the bright, conscientious scholar who's getting As in her Art II and French III classes, and solid Bs in her AP English and AP Biology classes! And who could still pull off a B-minus in her Calculus class! If she studies more! Which it sometimes seems like could hardly be possible!</i><br/>
<br/>
No wonder she hasn't got a boyfriend.<br/>
<br/>
Oh, you have had lots of attention. Sometimes it seems like you can't walk down the school halls without having a dozen boys turn to stare at you. And Alex, last night, he was trying to get you upstairs and out of your clothes and onto a filthy mattress so he could jam his cock inside you!<br/>
<br/>
<i>Ych!</i><br/>
<br/>
But Jack is right. There just aren't enough of the best kind of guys to go around, and the ones that are good enough know that they're good enough, so they just play the field with all the girls who are throwing themselves at them, and you—Brianna—refuse to play that kind of shitty game.<br/>
<br/>
I mean, it's not like you're in Melanie Saxon's position, where a boyfriend and a baby are your only chance of escaping a shitty home life.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oops.</i> You wince at the reminder of your twice-over neglected project.<br/>
<br/>
It's turning cold, and your parents keep the heat low, so you change out of your jeans and long-sleeve t-shirt for warm sweatpants and sweatshirt, and fuzzy socks and slippers. A hearty aroma of soup is permeating the kitchen when you emerge again, happy in your comfortable clothes.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The nightly round of texts includes a few short ones from Genesis. She claims to be fine. But is she? She looks much more wan than usual at church the next morning. (Your family and hers both attend Kings' Methodist Church, an immense pile made of greenish-gray stone that, with its crenellated bell tower and sheer walls looks more like a castle than a house of worship.) She smiles as she talks to you, but her face wears a very blank expression. She shakes her head angrily when you ask her if she's told her parents about what happened. "I'm not going to tell them where I was Friday night," she hisses at you.<br/>
<br/>
You give her her distance after that, as Jack had suggested, and let her talk to other people at church, and when you talk to her it's about classes and some of the gossip that Jack had passed on to you. She listens, but doesn't say much.<br/>
<br/>
You lose patience with her by the end of the service, though. She's very politely listening to Mrs. Van Schuyler, your Sunday school teacher from when you were elementary school, but she's got a vein throbbing in her temple. So when Mrs. Van Schuyler is done with her, you take Genesis by the arm and draw her off. "I want to talk to you," you tell her. "Let's go up the block to get some lunch."<br/>
<br/>
You expect her to argue, but she just shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
Kings' Methodist is only a block or two down from The Crystal Cave, so you wind up there again. After ordering some pasta salads and coffees, you settle, by happenstance, into the same booth that you and Jack landed in. The Cave is much busier, though, so you have lean across the table to hear each other over the hum of the other customers.<br/>
<br/>
And you're just opening your mouth to ask her about <i>it</i> when Genesis says, "I don't want to talk about it."<br/>
<br/>
"You have to say <i>something,</i>" you insist, "especially if you want to convince me you're okay." Genesis only shoves some salad into her mouth. "I'll make you a deal," you tell her. "You're going to have Susie and Leah and Jack to deal with tomorrow. You tell me how you're dealing with it, and I'll tell them to leave you alone."<br/>
<br/>
Genesis looks at you from under brows. "Okay," she says. "I'm dealing with it by fantasizing how I'd like to bash him in the face with a golf club."<br/>
<br/>
"Who? Dominic?"<br/>
<br/>
Genesis answers your idiotic question with a scowl.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess that makes sense." You hesitate, then decide against sharing with her Jack's theory that Dominic was supposed to rough <i>you</i> up instead. "How inventive are these fantasies? Come on." You grin and take a bite of pasta. "I wanna know what you'd do to him."<br/>
<br/>
Genesis makes a face and doesn't answer until you've let a long silence fill the space between you.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, actually it's a baseball bat I want to hit him in the face with,." she says. "The golf club is for after I've handcuffed him and pulled his pants down. Then I shove it up his ass."<br/>
<br/>
"Ooh! I like it!"<br/>
<br/>
Her jaw tightens. "Those are the TV-G fantasies."<br/>
<br/>
"Really?" You can't help giggling. "And the TV-PG ones?"<br/>
<br/>
"Broken bottles and his face. Garden shears and his—" She mouths the word. <i>"Dick."</i> "Snicker-snack, and then I feed it to a hungry weasel."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Whoa.</i> These are starting to sound serious. "Are there TV-MA fantasies?"<br/>
<br/>
"'m not gonna tell you," she mumbles around the pasta she's shoved in her mouth.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on! I want to know what you're capable of so I don't ever get on your bad side." You return her glare with a grin. "You're not scaring me, Genesis, but you are <i>impressing</i> me."<br/>
<br/>
"Good, because I'm scaring myself."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" You lean forward, but she lowers her head, and shakes it. "If gardening shears and weasels and Dominic's <i>dick</i> are only PG, what have you—?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," she says. "You already think I'm messed up from last night, if I tell you the ... the really bad ones you'll think I'm ready for the crazy house."<br/>
<br/>
A chill settles over your limbs.<br/>
<br/>
But you persist. "I'm not going to judge you, Genesis," you assure her in a whisper. "And saying it out loud— I mean, it's just a <i>fantasy.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
She raises her eyes to yours. They are very hard. In whatever she's contemplating, there's not much "fun" in it.<br/>
<br/>
"And if it really scares you," you continue more slowly. "I mean, if it <i>really</i> scares you, saying it out loud might help you, uh, exorcise it."<br/>
<br/>
Her jaw works. "When did you take a psychology class?" she asks, and for a moment you're sure you've totally lost her sympathy.<br/>
<br/>
But after taking a few more bites of her salad, she puts her fork down and stares into her bowl.<br/>
<br/>
"I imagine getting into him, Brianna," she says in a very quiet voice. "Getting into him and ... making him do things. Things that would hurt him." <br/>
<br/>
She raises her eyes to yours.<br/>
<br/>
"Working him like a puppet. But from the inside. So I could <i>feel</i> the hurt and know it's real."</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111132121111132232111312121111113414
author_id: clockworange
title: Between a Rock and a Fairfax
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You know all the reasons you should be doing something else on this overcast Friday afternoon. <br/>
<br/>
Comforting Melanie, for one, who just can't seem to get over her never-had-been relationship with Eric. Brianna doesn't know what she sees in him, especially with you having masqueraded as that asshole over the past few days. <i>He's so unsupportive, she deserved someone way better than him anyways.</i> With Eric's personality and memories fading quickly in return for Brianna's, you almost regret having sent her a text message after two weeks. Eric is like that gum on your shoe that won't scrape off easily, until you made him your beta at least.<br/>
<br/>
You could have taken Melanie with you to Maggie's party. Brianna's social circle revolving around the Westside Marching Band, she doesn't know much about Maggie except that she plays on the varsity softball team. But her party was all everyone was talking about earlier today in Dr. Stemple's class. He was absent today, so Brianna's friends had plenty of time to gossip in the back of the old band room while a substitute teacher popped in a videotape to pacify the class all hour.<br/>
<br/>
Susie Lekuawehe and Philippa Hosford were planning to go. In fact, those two girls were blowing up your phone right now with texts inviting you to meet up somewhere to hang out before it starts to rain again.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Sorry cant go tonight</i> You unlock Brianna's phone and type out a text, punctuating each line with an emoji. <i>Hanging out with Philip Fairfax!!~~</i> Brianna's mind squees gleefully within you as her nails press send.<br/>
<br/>
<i>omg go girl!! see if he wants 2 come with us??</i> Philippa texted you a moment later.<br/>
<br/>
<i>okok I'll try...</i> You put Brianna's phone away and take a deep breath, refocusing on Beta-Philip as he hunches over in the storage unit, setting to work on polishing a newly created mask. It looks like a dull gray, and you watch his broad shoulders roll and his arms pump as he rubs a cloth over it.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, Philip, Maggie Crenshaw is holding a party tonight. Do you want to go?" The Brianna part of you wants to add <i>with me?</i> but you cut her off. The last thing you need is to indulge in this girl's desires... but then why are you still here?<br/>
<br/>
Beta-Philip doesn't seem to recognize the name. "Sorry, I don't know who she is. Besides, I am supposed to wait here until I get further instructions from my alpha."<br/>
<br/>
"Is there anything I can do to help?" You ask, desperate for his attention.<br/>
<br/>
Without turning around, he grunts indifferently, repeating, "You can keep me company, Will. My alpha didn't leave us with much more than a few unpolished masks, so we'll need to get these shining a bright blue before applying a seal and getting them ready to make another beta."<br/>
<br/>
"How long is that gonna take?"<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs. "Several hours at least. You don't have to wait around."<br/>
<br/>
"N-no, it's okay really!" You stammer, folding your legs underneath as you sit next to Brianna's crush. You look over him again curiously. He looks and sounds just like the real Fairfax. It's a shame he's not <i>your</i> beta or else you could make him do whatever you want...<br/>
<br/>
"Is something the matter, Will?" Beta-Philip asks you again. You had been playing with Brianna's ponytail, your heart all aflutter with naughty thoughts blooming in your mind about having your own Fairfax to play with. Gosh, it was like Brianna's fantasy coming to life before her eyes. You <i>need</i> to get the hell out of here. But the Brianna part of you simply can't resist. It's like fighting a tug-of-war between respecting your distance with Fairfax and pouncing him, tearing open his shirt and seeing those piercing green eyes afire with...<br/>
<br/>
"No! I'm fine, honest." You break out into a fit of nervous giggles. "Hey, I think my dad -- Will's dad -- has a power washer or something that could speed up this whole process. Work smarter, not harder ya know?"<br/>
<br/>
Beta-Philip rests for a moment and wipes the sweat off his brow, causing your tummy to do somersaults. "That actually sounds like a reasonable idea. Why don't you propose that method with Maria, and we can incorporate that into our future endeavors?"<br/>
<br/>
You make a mental note of that and grab a chamois to begin polishing another mask. It's boring drudgery, but Beta-Philip seems to pass the time with a placid calmness, not bothering to speak much as you try to make small talk. Like the real version, he is just as difficult to read behind those black, plastic framed glasses. Brianna's mind swirls like a low-grade tempest within you: <i>What is he thinking about right now? What does he think of me? I want him to make the first move but is he ignoring me on purpose? Gosh he's a tough nut to crack. But that's why I love him!~</i><br/>
<br/>
"Hey Philip, what are your plans for after you graduate from Westside?" You ask. Taking this opportunity to learn more about the team leader. Expecting that a smart guy like him already has his whole life planned out. Enrolling in some prestigious college like Harvard or Oxford, probably, then some high-paying career as an engineer or physicist at NASA or something. If there's anyone who could go that route at school it's him.<br/>
<br/>
"My plans?" He echoes plainly, then nods. "Right, you mean my alpha. He applied for several different schools back in August and is waiting for a response. While his grades and SAT scores are optimal, he is concerned that he lacks strengths in other areas universities consider when selecting applicants."<br/>
<br/>
"Such as?"<br/>
<br/>
"Extracurriculars, for example." Beta-Philip answers. "He joined the Brainwave Club in sophomore year but that's it." Brainwave being a nationally recognized trivia game for high schoolers, kind of like Jeopardy! but in a team setting. You imagine him huddled next to a hand buzzer with other super nerds like Hugh Flake and Randy Hodges.<br/>
<br/>
"I see." You reply. "Well, the Concert Choir is looking for another baritone, you could talk to Becky Hayes about joining if you want."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sure my alpha will give your suggestion some consideration." He replies noncommittally.<br/>
<br/>
"I think I know why Philip wanted to start this whole sociological experiment thing," You pipe up.<br/>
<br/>
"Why do you think that is?" He asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Because it's about seeing what it's like to be someone else, right?" You speculate. "I mean, most of us involved are gonna graduate this year and won't see each other again. But wouldn't this magic book thingy make the most interesting story to tell a college recruiter? How many engineering students at Caltech get to say they were on the cheer squad?"<br/>
<br/>
"What makes you think he applied there?" Beta-Philip asks you obliquely. "Anyway, most people would find that a rather dubious claim, wouldn't they? Impersonating someone else using a magic book does not exactly make for a credible personal statement."<br/>
<br/>
"Then why is he so interested?"<br/>
<br/>
Beta-Philip pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and smiles faintly. "Why don't you ask him instead of me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Because you're him!" You retort. "You know what he thinks. Come on, please?"<br/>
<br/>
"Why do you want to know so badly? It should be sufficient that they let you participate in their investigation."<br/>
<br/>
You fold your arms under your bust and grumble. "I know, but it was my book to begin with..." <br/>
<br/>
It's raining again and the sky is dark and cloudy. You've spent an hour alone with Beta-Philip and still you hardly know a thing about this tall, smart, (<i>handsome</i>! Brianna's brain reminds you) guy. He outsmarts every attempt you make to try to crack him, to know more about his mysterious inner life. And it just seems to make the Brianna part more infatuated with him.<br/>
<br/>
You get a text message from Maria Vasquez, whose contact was already in Brianna's phone. <i>Where are you, Will? Let me know when you have settled in to Brianna's persona. We should meet to impart her knowledge for our investigation.</i><br/>
<br/>
You tap a quick reply, <i>yup!! im getting her memories and stuff. where should we meet?</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>At Maria's house, I trust you know where she lives?</i> The real Philip texts back. Of course Brianna knows where Maria lives. Their parents are both hotshot business people in Saratoga Falls. The Kirschke's own La Patisserie, an upscale bakery and pastry shop that was Lisa Yarborough's favorite place to listen to music and read books in her free time. It seemed too pretentious for you, though. Brianna works there after school a few days a week and on the weekends too.<br/>
<br/>
And the Kirschke's also own Cherry Brook Bread and Cakes. But their wealth is tied up in their businesses, and they're actually kind of cash poor. Alvaro Vasquez, Maria's father, is a real estate investor who owns the buildings housing the Kirschke's businesses, and he's also on the school board.<br/>
<br/>
Jingling Brianna's car keys, you stand up and tell Beta-Philip that you're leaving. He pauses from his work to say goodbye. Then, realizing Brianna left her hat in the car, he fetches an umbrella from the storage and walks you out to her car. <i>He really is a gentleman,</i> Brianna's voice gushes in your head. For a moment, you want to press up against him under the umbrella, wishing he had the nerve to slide his hand across your back and hug you tight. But you shake it off, climbing into Brianna's beat-up car and turning on the radio. Listening to Brianna's favorite pop music station to distract yourself from the two Fairfaxes swirling about like a Scylla and Charybdis ready to sink Brianna's love boat to the depths of her own heart.<br/>
<br/>
Woah... you need to get a handle over her crush. She seems to have it pretty bad for him!</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321211111322321113121211111134143
author_id: clockworange
title: About Last Night
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>After leaving Maria's house, you went to Brianna's home and said hello to Brian and Anna Kirschke, her parents. After dinner, you petted Brianna's pet Labradoodle, Missie, and browsed her social media profiles for the rest of the evening. You felt her annoyance at her little brother Evan, and the boredom with not having gone out with her friends or visiting Melanie. And after spending some time feeling up Brianna's body with her own hands, you brushed her teeth and fell asleep in her pajamas.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Saturday morning.</i> You're sitting in the bleachers at the football field, sandwiched between Destiny Nelson and Philippa Hosford. You set down Brianna's clarinet after wiping the reed clean, shivering in the chilly early October morning breeze. In a rush to get out there this morning, you misplaced Brianna's windbreaker and had to settle for one of her long-sleeved, cotton Westside High sweatshirts. You also forgot her music stand clip and had to borrow one from Destiny.<br/>
<br/>
You tied Brianna's brunette hair into a bun and washed her face before leaving the Kirschke's home. While you had since managed to wrangle Brianna's thoughts and desires under control, you discovered how much easier things are when Fairfax isn't around. You feel like you can borrow whatever you need of Brianna's persona when hanging out with her friends, reading her sheet music, or memorizing pastry recipes. But around Fairfax -- even the Beta-version of him -- Brianna's obsessive crush can get a little overwhelming.<br/>
<br/>
The only reason Mr. Stemple has you all gathered out here today is to get ready for the football team's homecoming game next week. As much as he (correctly) perceived everyone slacking off yesterday while he was gone, today he's back with a vengeance to make up for lost time.<br/>
<br/>
"It's so freaking cold out here..." Moans Becca Daly, the junior trumpeter sitting in the row in front of you.<br/>
<br/>
"Couldn't we have practiced on the basketball courts?" Yawns Jesse Hughes, the junior boy next to her. "On the warm, cozy, <i>indoor</i> bleachers?"<br/>
<br/>
"You've been awfully quiet about last night, Bri." Philippa nudges your shoulder. She's Brianna's best friend, having attended the same schools together since kindergarten. She looks a lot like Brianna: short, pale, brown-haired, full chested, but with a splash of freckles on her cheeks and contact lenses instead of glasses. A few months ago on a weekend band trip, the two girls got drunk and got tattoos on their forearm: astrological symbols like a cupid's bow (Brianna) and a libra (Philippa).<br/>
<br/>
"You're not gonna make me ask, are you?" She titters.<br/>
<br/>
"Ask about what?"<br/>
<br/>
"About your little playdate with Philip Fairfax? We didn't hear from you for several hours. We assumed that whatever it was you two got up to was better than going to Maggie's party or hanging out afterwards at the Warehouse."<br/>
<br/>
You raise your eyebrows. The Warehouse is a bar and dance club open only to high school students on Friday and Saturday nights. Rumored to be run by a local crime syndicate, its location in the bombed-out, post-industrial wasteland in the heart of town is not exactly a nice place to be at night. <br/>
<br/>
"First off, it wasn't a playdate. Whoever told you that is full of crap." You retort hotly. "Michael Hollister and Carlos Montoya invited me out for some interview for their YouTube movie review show. Fairfax -- Philip -- happened to be there too."<br/>
<br/>
"You wouldn't have gone out there if Philip wasn't there too!"<br/>
<br/>
"I so would have!"<br/>
<br/>
"He's the reason why you stayed, then."<br/>
<br/>
You huffed, thinking up the lie you had rehearsed the night before. "Yes, but only because he needed help with an art project."<br/>
<br/>
"An art project?" Destiny chimes in. "He doesn't exactly strike me as the artsy type."<br/>
<br/>
"Which is <i>why</i> he wanted my help."<br/>
<br/>
"And...?" Presses Philippa, "You can't end the story right there. <i>Something</i> else happened. I know when you're lying, Bri, don't do me dirty and fess up, girl."<br/>
<br/>
"We need all the details." Destiny rejoins.<br/>
<br/>
You shrink down in your seat, saved at the last minute by Mr. Stemple blowing his whistle and telling everyone to flip their music sheets to Seven Nation Army.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<br/>
"You're not getting off the hook that easily." <br/>
<br/>
<i>Later that day</i>. You're on Brianna's lunch break, thumbing through her phone at all the messages her friends sent her last night. Brianna's shift at <i>La Patisserie</i> started right after marching band practice, and you didn't have time to pack a lunch so you were starving. Rather than throw out the old pecan galettes, madeleines, and <i>pains au chocolat</i>, you stuffed them into a to-go box. The desserts are kryptonite to Brianna's erstwhile diet. But to those who don't work there all the time like Susie Lekuawehe, Genesis Lee, and Mackenzie Fuller, they're a special treat.<br/>
<br/>
"What the heck is Susie doing in this picture?" You try to change the subject. Susie clambers over next to you to see a photo of Mackenzie playfully patting Susie's Levi-clad butt on a large dance floor. Two boys sneaked interested little glances from the background.<br/>
<br/>
"That was at the Warehouse..." Her mouth twisted into an awkward smile.<br/>
<br/>
"No duh, everyone must have been there." You roll your eyes. "I mean how much did you have to drink to let other girls smack you on the ass?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh! I lost a bet is why." Mackenzie explains. "See that guy in the photo? That's Cole Stanchik, it's a long story."<br/>
<br/>
"That's fine, go ahead hun." You lean back in your seat, smoothing out the floury, blue cooking apron tied around your back.<br/>
<br/>
Mackenzie rubs and pinches at her arm before answering. "He's in my Sociology class, and he bet me that he would get a better grade than me on Friday's test."<br/>
<br/>
"He may be on the football team but he's not an idiot."<br/>
<br/>
"Plus all the sports guys share cheat sheets from prior years' tests, so he could have known the questions beforehand." Adds Susie.<br/>
<br/>
"It's not like I could prove it!" Mackenzie sulks. "Anyway, whoever wins would get to make the other person do something at the Warehouse later that night."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, goodness. Having you slap my butt doesn't seem like the worst thing I could imagine a guy like Cole asking of you." Susie says, causing Mackenzie's face to turn beet red.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay girls, that's history," Genesis says after thoughtfully chewing a macaroon. "What I still wanna know is what Brianna got up to with Philip last night."<br/>
<br/>
Shit. "It really wasn't much, honestly!" You reiterate emphatically.<br/>
<br/>
And that was true, but Brianna's friends were either not buying it or lightly teasing her about it. In truth, after you drove Brianna's car to Maria's house, the real Philip peppered you with questions about Brianna's social circles. He seemed impressed that you got her mannerisms and memories down pat so quickly, just like you had with Eric. Informing you that all the others took varying amounts of time to pick up their new body's personas, ranging from several hours to a few days.<br/>
<br/>
And the weirdest part of being with Philip-as-Maria last night? Brianna's brain kept butting in and preventing you from getting over-excited about being alone with a cheerleader. Even one as sexy as Maria. Will Prescott hardly ever talked to cheerleaders before, except perhaps Yumi Saito but only as an acquaintance. Seeing Maria dressed in fuzzy pink pajamas last night, her half-naked, tanned figure sprawled on her bed while reading an astrophysics book, did nothing to arouse you.  Though your Will-mind certainly liked what it was seeing. <br/>
<br/>
"Genesis has had... how many crushes since starting high school with us?" Mackenzie says, counting off on her fingers. "You remember what you said when she was head-over-heels for Scott Frazier, don't you?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Don't bottle up your feelings, or else it'll make you go crazy.</i> Brianna took it upon herself to try to mush Genesis and Scott together. That relationship lasted about five seconds, long enough for Scott to join the basketball team and 'trade up' for another girl and for Genesis to crush over Justin Roth after seeing him shirtless at a pool party last summer.<br/>
<br/>
Genesis merely shrugs. "You know we want the best for you, Bri. Philip is a nice guy, but I don't think he's ever been in a relationship before."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't think he's gay?" Chirps Susie.<br/>
<br/>
"I doubt it, he never hangs out with the out-of-the-closet types like Charles or Christian." Muses Mackenzie, referring to Charles Hartlein and Christian Padilla, two prominently gay seniors in school.<br/>
<br/>
"We could ask Jack Li, he would definitely know."<br/>
<br/>
"How about no?" You interject.<br/>
<br/>
"Why, because you two got up to something together last night? Ow!" Mackenzie rubs her shoulder where you smacked her.<br/>
<br/>
"Because I don't want the whole school knowing that I like him, is why."<br/>
<br/>
"Aww, you're no fun Brianna!"<br/>
<br/>
You look at the clock, before getting up and putting on Brianna's hairnet. Saturdays are always busy, particularly because it means baking cakes, cookies, and pastries for last-minute shoppers for events like parties or church gatherings.<br/>
<br/>
"The espresso machine is broken," You murmur to Brianna's friends, as they throw away the empty box of pastries. "And I need to get back to my shift."<br/>
<br/>
The girls leave you to resume your work, and you get your hands all floury with dough and frosting behind the counter. It's warm in the pastry shop. It smells sickly sweet and the light jazz music helps take your mind off of things. <br/>
<br/>
That is... until you recognize a familiar face... yours! And he's <b>holding hands</b> with Lisa Yarborough???<br/>
<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212111113223211131212111111341432
author_id: clockworange
title: I Saw Her Sitting There
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The bell at the front door chimes as you stare out at the lanky, straw-haired boy who holds open the door for your crush. She is dressed in a gray overcoat with a scarf tied about her neck. She scrapes her fuzzy boots on the welcome mat and joins the boy in line. Both looking up at the chalk-inscribed blackboard menu, you try to make out what they're saying. Their mouths move but you can't hear over the bakery's ambience of customer chatter and jazz muzak.<br/>
<br/>
What the heck is Lisa doing with Will – with you? You two hadn't talked since the breakup just before the beginning of the school year. That was when she made it clear to you, in no uncertain terms, that you two had never actually been together. That you were 'just friends' occasionally hanging out over the summer. That she was interested in another guy, who later turned out to be Geoff Mansfield, that rich preppy AP jerk.<br/>
<br/>
Tapping briefly into Brianna's mind, you're relieved she doesn't harbor any crushes on Geoff or his close friends Martin Gardenhire or Ricky Golia. Diving a little deeper, you let her thoughts flow and mingle with your own:<br/>
<br/>
<i>Lisa? Don't know her that much. She looks cute with that hair clip separating her bangs like that. And the way her jeans hug her hips like that, is she trying to fish for attention? But I never figured her for an AP-type, is she smart? And what's she doing with that scrawny kid? Whats-his-name, what does she see in him? He looks kind of dorky, but he could be a lot more attractive if he put in the effort to brush his hair and...</i><br/>
<br/>
"Brianna?" A finger tap on your shoulder causes you to flinch. "You've been kneading that dough for the past five minutes. Where's your head?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry Dad!" You snap to attention at Brianna's father getting after her, and quickly shove the tray in a small baking oven. Turning the dial and resuming Brianna's duties behind the counter, you revisit Brianna's appraisal of yourself. It isn't terribly flattering, not feeling strongly about you either way. If guys like Eric Murphy register in her mind as "dumbass" and Fairfax as "husband-to-be", then where on that scale is Will Prescott? <i>Nowhere</i>, she shrugs. She hardly noticed you during sixth period Calculus, the only class you two shared. You're hardly on her radar, having never come up in discussion with her friends either.<br/>
<br/>
But there's more: If you just paid more attention to your appearance, maybe hit the weight room after school a few days a week... could you maybe be more desirable? Brianna's mind seems to ambivalently leave open that possibility. Hearing her thoughts is like having a bucket of cold water thrown on you. You've spent so much time being a nobody... but it doesn't have to be that way.<br/>
<br/>
Meanwhile, Beta-Will places their order and follows Lisa to a small booth by the front window, placing a numbered flag next to the condiment caddy. They are talking and she even laughs from time to time. If you didn't know any better you would suspect she was flirting!<br/>
<br/>
It's eating you up inside to know what he's saying to her. To know why she's with you, and what would Mansfield think if he saw his girlfriend giggling over another guy like this?<br/>
<br/>
Rinsing your hands, you fold up your apron and hairnet and volunteer to bus the tables for that section of the bakery. Customers at the booth next to them had just left, so you wheeled a trolley over to begin busing their table.<br/>
<br/>
Lisa and Will are just talking about mundane things, but the tone is far different than you expected. Lisa suggests that they go see a movie together tonight; Will asks if that was okay given how fast things were moving. Lisa places her hand across the table and onto his arm. She says they can move as quickly as he feels comfortable.<br/>
<br/>
"Excuse me, miss?" Another customer diverts your attention for a moment, asking for a refill of coffee. Your heart was thumping heavily, eager to get back to overhearing their conversation. <br/>
<br/>
But you can't wait long, business had picked up again at the bakery, and the other poor girls behind the counter were trying their hardest to keep up with orders. You groan, putting the apron and hairnet again to help dispatch the growing line of customers.<br/>
<br/>
When there's another lull in customer flow, you look out at the front window section of the bakery. Lisa and Beta-Will are gone.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<br/>
Maria Vasquez takes a sip from her water bottle, resting in the hallway next to the indoor basketball courts. Coach Tesla called for an extra cheer practice, which gave you a chance to meet up with Fairfax's gang. You waited outside for half an hour, pacing the hallway rethinking what happened. Re-visiting that glimmer in Lisa's eye as she held hands with yourself. Finally the cheerleaders roll up their large blue mats and stuff them away in a storage room next to the gym.<br/>
<br/>
By this point, most of the guys managed to impersonate their hosts well enough. Chelsea Cooper broke from her bitchy, haughty character long enough to grope herself when nobody was looking. The Garner twins performed their tumbles as well as the real girls. Even Cindy Vredenburg – Keith, you remind yourself – could be seen arm in arm with Seth Javits as she walks out to his car. There were occasional hiccups, Fairfax tells you after their practice. But a casual observer wouldn't spot a difference, he says.<br/>
<br/>
Maria is dressed in her cheerleading outfit. Leaving a lot of skin on display, before he slips into her long-sleeved sweatshirt. To his credit, Fairfax managed to make her facial expression a little less vacant than usual as her brow furrowed.<br/>
<br/>
"So you believe her behavior is anomalous, then?" She asks.<br/>
<br/>
"That's an understatement!" You exclaim, rehashing their conversation from earlier that day. "It's like she's suddenly infatuated with Will – with me, I mean."<br/>
<br/>
"And you're positive that she had no intention of getting back together with you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," You wince a little. "That's why it's so weird that she's acting all interested all of a sudden. Don't get me wrong, I think it's awesome. But..."<br/>
<br/>
"But what?" Maria asks.<br/>
<br/>
"You're sure you guys didn't have anything to do with that? You know..." You mimic covering up your face with a mask.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not aware of anyone using a mask on Lisa," Maria shakes her head. "But I can ask the others. Have you gleaned any more insight into Brianna's social circles?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, sure," You reply, folding your arms. "Who do you wanna know about?"<br/>
<br/>
"Gloria Rea, I've seen them associate together before. Gloria is reticent to discuss her personal life at cheer practice, and Maria doesn't know much else about her."<br/>
<br/>
And no wonder – Gloria has a reputation for being short tempered and defensive. As one of Chelsea's 'enforcers' it makes her essential to Chelsea's leadership on the team, or so Fairfax revealed to you. The squad seeming much more conniving and political than meets the eye. <br/>
<br/>
"Gloria stops by La Patisserie around closing time a few nights a week." You reply. "Brianna lets her have any perishables that they would donate to shelters otherwise. Leftover pies they didn't sell, a loaf of bread, stale cupcakes, stuff like that. She says it's for her mom." Getting the impression that someone as fit and sexy as Gloria doesn't indulge in too many sweets. "Gloria says her dad ran out on them years back, and they don't have a lot of money."<br/>
<br/>
Maria thinks about it for a moment. "That makes sense, good work Will."<br/>
<br/>
Your heart does somersaults. <i>Fairfax just complimented you!</i><br/>
<br/>
"Brianna knows a lot of people on the school marching band and orchestra, if you want to expand your research in that direction." You smile.<br/>
<br/>
"If we have time. They seem far removed from the cheerleaders, though."<br/>
<br/>
"Then what do you want me to do?"<br/>
<br/>
Maria twists the cap on her water bottle shut. "Right now, you're our only confederate who isn't directly associated with the cheer squad. When you feel you've contributed as much as you can to our research as Brianna, I want you to touch base with my Beta and prepare some more masks. I still want you to select a few more betas for yourself."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, any more progress with the magic book?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not yet, my Beta has the book at the moment.  Besides, we're all quite occupied with getting ready for Homecoming."<br/>
<br/>
"Tell me about it," You sigh. You're exhausted, isn't Saturday supposed to be a fun and relaxing break <i>away</i> from school?<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sure our betas might be of assistance to you," Suggests Maria. "Perhaps you're overlooking the obvious, Will. Why not simply ask your Beta about Lisa?"<br/>
<br/>
Of course! Why beat around the bush when you could get the answer straight from your own mouth? You promise to meet up with Fairfax and the other guys later on. Firing a quick message out to Will, you wait for his response:<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hey Will, it's me. Can we talk please?</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>Whos this? dont kno ur number srry</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>I'm you, idiot. This is Brianna Kirschke's number. Add it to my contacts list.</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh sure boss. want 2 meet now? cuz i have a date w/ lisa in 30 min</i><br/>
<br/>
You put the phone down and gulp. <br/>
<br/>
A... a <b>date</b>?<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321211111323
author_id: seuzz
title: The Promise of Stephanie
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It gave you a funny feeling when you were walking out your front door: the thought, <i>I might go home tonight as another person.</i><br/>
<br/>
But Fairfax's question is like an earthquake. He's asking for a name of the person you'll be impersonating.<br/>
<br/>
You will have her mind, her friends, her life, her body. You will be her. When anyone calls her name, you will be the one to answer.<br/>
<br/>
You shiver hard. But you give the name that was floating in your mind when you woke up.<br/>
<br/>
"Stephanie Wyatt."<br/>
<br/>
Fairfax rears back. "Stephanie? But she's not -- Not -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Not what?"<br/>
<br/>
He frowns. "I thought you understood what we were doing here, Will. She's not -- "<br/>
<br/>
"You want to study the school social scene, don't you? You want to know who talks to who and who influences who, and how -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Right, and Stephanie's not -- The cheerleaders are the ones who -- "<br/>
<br/>
"And Stephanie's friends with Eva and Jessica Garner. Look -- " You pull Fairfax to the side. "The rest of you guys have the cheerleaders pretty well covered, right? There's five of you, and that's half the cheerleader squad. What I'm suggesting -- " You pull out his sketchpad, and after looking around to make sure no passersby will be able to hear you, give him your argument.<br/>
<br/>
"With the cheerleaders you've all picked out, you get to study all these groups." You run your finger around the diagram, showing the connections. "Now, Stephanie's over here." You point. "You don't have it down, but she is connected to Eva and Jessica, at least. I mean, she knows them and talks to them, so there's an overlap there. And with Stephanie -- If I'm in there, you know, doing her thing for her -- " You feel yourself breaking out in a sweat. "I'll be able to give you a lot of information about how her groups operate. See how she overlaps with these guys? You'll be able to see how, through her and Eva and Jessica, the cheerleaders influence the basketball and soccer squads, and who knows who else. Plus, I'll be able to help you fill in a lot of blank spots over here."<br/>
<br/>
Fairfax pulls at his lip, but his frowns deepen. "Yeah, I see that," he says. "But there's <i>lots</i> of girls who could do that. We could stick you in randomly <i>anywhere</i> in the school and you could -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Uh-huh, but -- "<br/>
<br/>
"I want this to be systematic, Will, and -- "<br/>
<br/>
You grit your teeth. <br/>
<br/>
" -- after we get the direct connections with the cheerleaders traced, then we might shift to start exploring some of the more distant, uh, places."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, there's something else you might want to know. Stephanie and her friends have some kind of project going that involves, like, hexes and things. All last week they were talking to Braydon Delp -- You know Braydon, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah." Fairfax compresses his lips.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, they were talking to him about magic shit. Not rabbits-out-of-hats, but magic symbols and stuff. Don't you want to know what that's about? In case it has anything to do with, you know, what you and your friends -- and me, I guess we can add me to the list -- what we've got going on?"<br/>
<br/>
Fairfax crosses his arms.<br/>
<br/>
"It was Stephanie and Almida Jones and Anita Nuevo and -- " You try to remember who was at Besandwiched with Braydon. "Girls like that. Pretty influential in their own right, and connected to -- "<br/>
<br/>
Fairfax interrupts. "I'm sure whatever they're doing doesn't touch on us, and the plan starts with the cheerleaders -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Starts with, but it doesn't stop with them, right?" You're surprising yourself with how calmly and fluently you are arguing. "Let me be, like, an advance scouting party. I can help sketch things in for you, so that when the rest of you are ready to move farther out, you'll know better what's out there. And Stephanie -- "<br/>
<br/>
You think of the way Stephanie moves around so confidently. Nothing seems to faze her. At Besandwiched, she shrugged off your anger and calmly dared you to be more interesting. She pushed you onto a couch with another girl. You doubt anyone would blink if Stephanie pushed her way into a new crowd and scoped it out.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, Stephanie can get in anyplace. I bet there's no one better than her at filling in a lot more of this map." You close the sketchpad and push it at him.<br/>
<br/>
Fairfax has turned a little pale, and he stares with furrowed brow at the ground as he takes the pad from you. Then he takes a deep breath. "Okay, I see your argument. Can you set it up so we can get her alone to do a replacement?"<br/>
<br/>
"Eva and Jessica can."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay. Can you get either Eva or Jessica for us? You seem to know them better than we do."<br/>
<br/>
"Probably." Actually, you don't feel like you could. But you'll certainly try, if that's what it takes to get to Stephanie.<br/>
<br/>
"See if you can set it up for this afternoon. The storage unit would be the best place to do it, if you can talk one of them out there. All we need is one of them," he adds. "After we've replaced one, we can replace the other. Oh, also," he adds as you pick up your backpack. "We're gonna have your video review uploaded by tomorrow night."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Like Stephanie Wyatt would give a shit about Will Prescott's video review,</i> you wryly think to yourself.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You don't share any classes with either Eva or Jessica, so you hurriedly track down Jenny Ashton to ask about their schedules. The best she can tell you is that she shares a third-period study hall with Eva, and that's good enough: you warn her that you'll show up in the library long enough to ask Eva for a favor. "It's not about Lisa, is it?" Jenny asks. And since Jenny is a tart-tongued tomboy who doesn't mind taking shit as well as receiving it, you flip her off while shaking your head.<br/>
<br/>
You would just as soon skip your dumb, third-period Career Planning class, but instead you just make yourself tardy by hanging out in the library until Eva shows up. After furious plotting during first and second period you've come up with an idea for luring her into an ambush: Carlos and Mike are staging a video bit for their YouTube channel, you tell her, and they'd like the services of a cheerleader. Eva quickly rejects the idea, pleading stage fright, camera fright, a lack of experience, and the huge pain it would be to fetch and don her cheerleader uniform for a thing she doesn't even want to do. You assure her that her appearance would be more in the nature of a prop, that there would be no lines, she doesn't have to wear her uniform, and that Carlos and Mike are so good at putting people at ease that she would wind up having fun despite herself. After a lot of sighing and grumbling, she finally agrees to show up at four o'clock at the address you give her. She's a little taken aback when you tell her it's the Top Self ("Or maybe it's the 'Top Shelf'") Storage complex, but you explain that it's where Carlos has his studio.<br/>
<br/>
During fourth period, you pull Mike and Carlos aside to explain to them what you told her. They almost hyperventilate with excitement. At least Carlos remembers to give you the key code that opens the door to the climate-controlled units.<br/>
<br/>
Your own excitement mounts as eighth-period approaches. It's likely that your own turn at making a substitution won't come until tomorrow or maybe even the day after that. But it's not too early to start imagining what the change will be like when it comes.<br/>
<br/>
Your legs are stiff and your hands are tingling as you approach Mr. Cash's classroom. You keep your head down, and only peer up briefly as you come in through the door. But it's enough to quicken your pulse all over.<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie, as usual, is already in her desk. She's in running shorts today, and ankle socks, so she is showing lots of ripe leg -- strong thighs and calves. Her feet, again as usual, are propped against the chair in front of her, and she is slouching slightly in a relaxed posture, holding her iPhone in one hand and studying it. Her jaw is set firmly, but her lips are parted slightly, and her brow is bent in serious concentration. With her free hand she is tugging gently at a loose lock of hair that curls over the top of her ear.<br/>
<br/>
You shuffle to your own desk and drop heavily into it. Your heart beats hard once, twice, thrice ... half a dozen times. As if in a daze, you pull your own cell phone out, and take a deep breath.<br/>
<br/>
Feet onto the desk in front of you. Cell phone in your left hand -- not your natural hand but the one that Stephanie is using to hold hers. You settle into your chair, and reach up to pull at a strand of hair over your ear.<br/>
<br/>
A moment of panic: What if she sees you imitating her?<br/>
<br/>
No, this is a natural pose. Everyone falls into this pose when they've got their phones out. You settle in a little more comfortably, close your eyes, and set you jaw and pull your lips open just a fraction.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I'm wearing running shorts,</i> you imagine. <i>Running shorts and sneakers and ankle socks, and my legs are strong and supple and smooth, like Stephanie's. I'm wearing a polo shirt open at the collar, and it settles over breasts that are large and firm, like Stephanie's. My hair -- </i> you quickly remove your ball cap --  is short and tousled in chestnut curls, and I'm pulling at it with a polished manicured finger, like Stephanie's. My iPhone is showing texts from one of Stephanie's friends. They want me to meet them after school.<br/>
<br/>
I'm trying to decide who to hang out with.<br/>
<br/>
Because I am Stephanie Wyatt.</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212111113231
author_id: seuzz
title: The Taking of Eva Garner ... 1, 2, 3!
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Why the hell do they film these things inside a self-storage unit?"<br/>
<br/>
Those are the first words out of Eva Garner's mouth as she gets out of her car. Not <i>Hi Will!</i>  or <i>Hey, what's up?</i> Just a scowl and that impatient question.<br/>
<br/>
"Carlos's uncle owns the place," you reply. You reach to close the car door for her, but she pre-empts you with a snort. "So he gets a free -- "<br/>
<br/>
"But it's gotta be a billion degrees in those things. And bugs and dirt and -- "<br/>
<br/>
"It's a climate-controlled unit. And they keep it clean."<br/>
<br/>
She cocks a skeptical eyebrow, but lets you lead her into the little office building out front, and through it, and out a back door into the complex itself . "So what exactly am I supposed to do for this video of theirs?"<br/>
<br/>
"They'll tell you. A lot of it is improvised." You start to improvise yourself. "I think one of them is going to be in a cheerleader uniform."<br/>
<br/>
She stops in her tracks. "Oh, Christ."<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, Eva. You're already here."<br/>
<br/>
"Only until they explain to me what they're going to do. If this is something that's -- " She hangs back as you punch in the door code to the climate-controlled unit. "If this is even the <i>least bit embarrassing or humiliating,</i> Will," she says as she glares at you, "I will beat their butts with <i>your</i> face."<br/>
<br/>
"What's wrong with a little fun?"<br/>
<br/>
She snarls, and for a moment you think she's going to back out. But she shoves you aside and marches through the door.<br/>
<br/>
A few seconds later your phone dings. It's a text from Carlos: <i>send her ahead, u keep back.</i> The hell?<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, it'll be the first open unit on the right," you tell her when she stops to look back at you. "I'll be along in just a moment. My, uh, mom -- " She rolls her eyes and resumes walking.<br/>
<br/>
You watch her from under your lowered brows. She pauses in front of an open unit. Voices, inarticulate, call out. She steps inside.<br/>
<br/>
Nothing. On unsteady feet you wait.<br/>
<br/>
A head peers around a corner, and an arm beckons. You spring down the hallway at a sprint.<br/>
<br/>
It's Mike, and he grabs you and tries jumping onto your shoulders. "Got her, got her, <i>got her!</i>" he shouts.<br/>
<br/>
"Best two out of three," Carlos yells from inside the unit.<br/>
<br/>
"You lost, dude! Lost, lost, <i>lost,</i> she's mine, mine, <i>mine!</i>" Mike pounds the air with his fist at each exclamation of "mine."<br/>
<br/>
A tremble passes through you at the sight inside the unit. Eva Garner is laid out on the floor, her head lolling and her eyes shut. Her jaw has fallen open a little.<br/>
<br/>
"At least let me take off her shoes," says Carlos. "Shoes and socks and -- "<br/>
<br/>
"You and your fucking foot fetish!"<br/>
<br/>
"Do not have one!"<br/>
<br/>
"Do too!" Mike's eyebrows blaze whitely in his brick-colored forehead. "You're always going on about their shoes and their feet and their -- "<br/>
<br/>
"That's nicer than you going on about their boobs! Anyway, you can play with her boobs while I -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck <i>yeah</i> I'm gonna play with her -- Mmmm!" Mike mimes fondling some invisible breasts hanging off his chest. "All night long I think I'm gonna -- Get away!" He kicks at Carlos, who has laid hands on Eva's pink tennis shoes. "You'll have Jessica soon enough."<br/>
<br/>
Carlos gasps. "Shit, that's -- " He scrambles around the unconscious girl. "Dude, where's her phone? If you dropped and broke it when you -- "<br/>
<br/>
"What do you need it for?"<br/>
<br/>
"To text Jessica, you dumbfuck, to get her out here!"<br/>
<br/>
"We need to wait till we got Eva's mask done, when I've got it on!"<br/>
<br/>
"No we don't! It's a text, dumbass! She won't know it's not her sister texting!"<br/>
<br/>
"You only have to wait a few -- !"<br/>
<br/>
"And maybe it'll be too late then! Maybe Jessica's making plans right now!"<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, keep your shit together!" Mike mimes pounding Carlos. "You made through school today, you can -- !"<br/>
<br/>
You speak up. "I think her phone's probably in her car. She didn't bring her bag in with her."<br/>
<br/>
Carlos gawps, then flies from the unit, almost knocking Mike down. "Oh, Christ," his friend sighs. "What a -- "<br/>
<br/>
Then he drapes an arm around your shoulder and pulls you over to look down at Eva. "Ain't she gorgeous?" he sighs. "Ain't she fucking bee-<i>yoo</i>-tiful? And she's mine. She's gonna be me! I mean, I'm gonna be <i>her!</i>" He tries leaping on you again, and you have the dreadful premonition he'll start humping you in a minute.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, she's awesome," you gasp. "You gonna be able to control yourself after you're, uh -- " You flick a crooked finger at Eva. <br/>
<br/>
"Oh, sure," he says. "'Cos I'm gone have, like, her upstairs stuff too, you know." He points at his temple. "And I'll know how to -- " He spasms, and grabs you as his knees buckle. "I'll know <i>exactly</i> where to touch myself," he moans, "and where to stroke and where to -- And the routines, doing the cheerleader  routines. I'll be perfect." He shuts his eyes, and bounces and chants. "Perfect as Eva, perfect as Eva, perfect as Eva!"<br/>
<br/>
Running footsteps clatter up the hallway, and Carlos bursts in with Eva's giant hand-bag. "Why haven't you got her undressed yet?"<br/>
<br/>
"Dude, we don't need to do that until -- ! And anyway, as soon as the mask is done copying her, you know, we'll drop my mask onto her, and then it's gonna my junk you're getting an gander at if we got her clothes off, not -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Why are you so shy about letting us see her bits?" Carlos pokes Mike, a gleeful grin distending his mouth. "Is it because they're going to be <i>yours</i> in a little while?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! I'm just trying to make the moment last!" He pulls Carlos close, as he did you. "I'm taking her in a little bit at a time."<br/>
<br/>
You look down at Eva. She looks quite lovely asleep. Maybe more lovely than when she's awake, because you doubt you could ever stare at her this long and intently without her punching you in the face. <br/>
<br/>
Her legs -- bare from the ankles to the middle of the thigh -- are long, trim, and shapely, and still golden from the summer. Her arms -- bare from the shoulder down -- are similarly toned and tanned, and they end in small hands with tapering fingers. Under her throat is a shallow scoop just above the breastbone, and her small jaw and smaller chin seem to have a child-like fragility. Her mouth and nose are tiny. Her eyes are large when they are open; now they are closed, and her long eyelashes lay against her cheek. Her hair falls in loose, rippling curls around and over her shoulders.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, that's long enough," Mike says, breaking a spell you hadn't realized had fallen over you. "You can take her shoes off her now."<br/>
<br/>
Carlos is instantly kneeling, and he lifts her left leg under the calf and pulls the laces loose. "Oh, yeah," he groans as he slides the shoe carefully off; it plops softly as it hits the concrete floor. "Now the sock." He slips it off with a hooked finger. "Nice!" he gloats over the tender, tapering foot. "Next one."<br/>
<br/>
Mike winks at you as his friend exults over the right shoe and the right sock. "Now her top," he tells Carlos.<br/>
<br/>
"What about her shorts?"<br/>
<br/>
"Top, man! Do it!"<br/>
<br/>
But before Carlos has unbuttoned Eva's sleeveless, blue cotton blouse, there's a glow about her face, and a mask appears there, covering it. "Oh, shit!" Mike exclaims. "It's done!"<br/>
<br/>
"What're you pissed about?" Carlos says. "You want it done, don't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I was having fun!"<br/>
<br/>
"You can have more fun in -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Get out!" Mike shoves you and Carlos. Then, "Wait!" and he squats next to Eva to pick the mask up off her face and open the footlocker, all in one smooth motion. "Finish it off for me?" he asks Carlos as he takes out a small plastic tub.<br/>
<br/>
"Can't you do your own -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll do yours when Jessica comes!"<br/>
<br/>
"Alright," Carlos grumbles. He takes the mask and the tub -- it's like a butter container -- and tugs at you. "Come on, let's leave the brat alone with his -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, where's everyone else?" you ask. "Fairfax and Shank and -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"You call people by their last names? Really?" Carlos rolls his eyes, and leads you into the studio unit, which is also open. "They're staying out of the way. You know, to keep it from being even <i>more</i> of an orgy." Without Mike to goad him, he has become much more subdued.<br/>
<br/>
He drops into the chair behind the desk and peels open the plastic tub Mike gave him. "What's that?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Stuff to finish the mask up." He yanks open one drawer after another. From the last he pulls a paint brush. "I told you about it. You put it inside a mask before you wear it. Otherwise, it adds another copy to the mask."<br/>
<br/>
"You mean it puts two people inside a mask?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sort of. I <i>did</i> tell you, I know. But anyway, it mixes them up. Like, you get a body that's a merger of the two." He grins. "Imagine if Mikey put this thing on without it being finished. Then it wouldn't make a copy of Eva or of him. It would be some freakish hermaphrodite thingie that looked like both of them."<br/>
<br/>
"Gross!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah! But I wouldn't do that to him." He dunks the brush in the tub and pulls it across the inner surface of the mask. "And you make sure he doesn't do it to me when -- Shit! I left Eva's phone in the other unit. Can you go get it?"<br/>
<br/>
"You mean bust in on -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"What's it matter? Come on, Will. The sooner we get her out here -- "<br/>
<br/>
You're already on your way. Two doors down, you rattle the metal door, which its occupant has closed. "Hey Mike, I'm comin' in."<br/>
<br/>
"No! Wait! I need to -- !"<br/>
<br/>
Too late. You lift the door. Two Michael Hollisters blink up at you.<br/>
<br/>
One of them is wearing Eva's clothes.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111132121111132311
author_id: seuzz
title: Luring Jessica
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I'm not a pervert!" blurts out the Michael Hollister in the girl's blouse and the too-tight jeans shorts.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes you are!" chortles the other, and slaps him.<br/>
<br/>
"Which one of you Hollister?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"I am," they say in unison. "Shut up," says the one in Michael's clothes, and the transvestite hangs his head. "I told you not to -- "<br/>
<br/>
"I need Eva's phone." You point to the bag.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Christ." Mike kicks it over to you with his foot. "Can't that humpbot wait for even -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"Careful, this's gonna be your bag," you remind him as you pick it up.<br/>
<br/>
"'At's right, so hurry up and bring me my mask," he hollers back, but it's with a grin. <br/>
<br/>
Back in the other unit, Carlos is blowing on the inside of the mask. "What's going on in there? Everyone was all yelling."<br/>
<br/>
"Nothing. These, uh -- What do we call these fake versions of each other?"<br/>
<br/>
"Betas," he replies. "Beta-Mike, Beta-Carlos, Beta-Keith." His eyes twinkle. "Beta-Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Well, Beta-Mike was yelling because he was still in Eva's clothes."<br/>
<br/>
"Kinky! Though not as kinky as -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I get it." You rub your sweaty palms together. It's bad enough thinking about what you and these guys are doing -- the gross immorality combined with the raw excitement of it -- without them gloating over it. "So how long until that thing sets?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's done. Here take it in to Mike before he creams himself. Gimme the -- " You exchange items. "I'll get Jessica out here."<br/>
<br/>
"Shouldn't we wait until Mike has the, uh -- " You point to your forehead. "Upstairs stuff? That way he can text Jessica and it will be in character?"<br/>
<br/>
"That'll take too long. I thought I explained that too. It takes like a couple of hours, at least, before memories and stuff start to come. Actually, it's best if you sleep on it. Probably it'll be tomorrow before Mike can do the full Eva thing."<br/>
<br/>
"So how's he gonna pretend to be her until then? If he doesn't have the memories or -- "<br/>
<br/>
"We'll keep out of everyone's way," says Carlos. He's tapping at the phone. "Me and him'll go off together -- Like sisters!" He snickers. "And stay out until tonight. Something should start turning up by then, and by morning, when it's time to shower and get dressed and God!" He squirms. "When I've got that body inside those clothes -- "<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to paint me a picture," you say, and flee for the other unit.<br/>
<br/>
Now one of the Mikes is dressed in Hollister's clothes while the other one is naked. You dodge looking him in the crotch and just hold out the mask. "Here. If you don't need me I'm gonna run an errand or something."<br/>
<br/>
"Am I gonna be too sexy for you?" the naked one titters girlishly as he takes the mask.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm gonna get a candy bar. You want one?"<br/>
<br/>
"I do," says the Mike who's dressed.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't need one," retorts the naked one. He gazes reverently into the mask, and out of the corner of your eye you see a lower portion of his anatomy extending and rising. "And I don't think Eva's figure needs -- "<br/>
<br/>
"I'll get you something anyway." You'd hurried out of Carlos's company, but you sprint from Mike's.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're in a thoughtful mood on the drive over and the drive back, and you cover a fair distance, for you want some time away from the madness back at the storage unit, so you pass half a dozen convenience stores before pulling into one.<br/>
<br/>
You know, intellectually, that you should be thinking about the ethics of what you're doing, even though the time for that is past. You're completely ensconced in this scheme and besides, who would you complain to about it? The cops? The school administration? Anyway, you swept yourself into it without any hesitation back when you could have stood aloof.<br/>
<br/>
Yeah, you dove right in. <i>Why was that?</i> That's the question you're entertaining while on the road.<br/>
<br/>
After a lot of mulling, you decide it's all on account of those unhappy collisions with Stephanie. (<i>That's right, blame her!</i> part of you shouts sarcastically at the rest of your brain.) She said you weren't interesting, and you couldn't come up with anything interesting to do, like a hobby.<br/>
<br/>
Well, this is pretty damn interesting -- turning yourself into duplicates of classmates so you can replace and impersonate them. <i>Ha! Take that, all you doubters who thought Will Prescott was a boring old prick!</i><br/>
<br/>
The odd part is the way it's ricocheted back on you. You haven't told Fairfax and the others that you were the book's original owner -- or, at least, that you were the one who found and brought it into the school; the original owner seems to have been that college professor that Braydon dug up; <i>Hmm, that's something to think about.</i> You had this book and you threw it away. You have to wonder now what would have happened if you'd kept it and experimented with it. It's a hundred-to-one against your bringing Fairfax and his cronies in on it. Would you have brought Keith in? Probably. Caleb? Almost certainly.<br/>
<br/>
You're in the candy aisle when that thought occurs, and you wonder if maybe you should talk to the others about showing this stuff to Caleb. But Keith might object. Should you talk to Keith first? Do you need his permission? Or should you treat this as something that just involves you and Keith?<br/>
<br/>
Would Caleb try to take over management from Fairfax? He's grabby enough. Would he succeed? Maybe it's best to leave him out of it.<br/>
<br/>
On the way back to the complex -- and return trips are always faster than the reverse, so you close on it rapidly -- you find yourself thinking about what you'll find there. Carlos and Mike and Eva. Only it won't be Mike, it'll be this "Beta-Mike" thing. It was acting a lot like Mike. That's good, you want "Beta-Will" to be a convincing replica of yourself. But not, you know, out of control. But as for the "Eva" who will be waiting ... Well, you just hope that Mike won't be out of control, either, once he's in her body.<br/>
<br/>
You take a long drive around the block before parking at the complex again. To your surprise, Eva Garner -- the fake one, you assume -- is standing in front of the office when you pull up.<br/>
<br/>
She's dressed up exactly as when you left her. "Hey Will," she squeals, and goes up on her tiptoes in excitement as you get out of the cab. "Jessica's on her way, Marc's dropping her off." She clasps her hands, and there's something "off" about the gesture -- it seems exaggerated. "My <i>twin sister's</i> meeting us here!" She hiccups.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Ten minutes later, a maroon minivan parks next to the sedan Eva was driving. Jessica -- looking a little curdled -- gets out of the passenger side. She flinches when Eva -- <br/>
<br/>
Oh, how strange it is to think of that person as "Eva," even though she looks and sounds just like her.<br/>
<br/>
-- as Eva bounds up with a squeal and pulls her by the arm. "Come on! This is so cool!"<br/>
<br/>
"What<i>ever</i>, Eve, you weren't all -- "<br/>
<br/>
"You stay!" Eva barks at the guy who is getting out of the driver's side. She yanks Jessica into the office.<br/>
<br/>
Marc Garner -- the third of the Garner triplets -- falls back into the minivan, but he doesn't close the door. "Hey Will," he mutters. "You got sisters?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, just a little brother. Uh, does Eva always talk to you that way? Telling you to stay, I mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," he sighs. "Both of them do."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Damn!</i> you think. <i>Apparently Hollister nailed the impersonation.</i><br/>
<br/>
You study Marc. It seems odd that the girls, even together, could bully him. He's half a head taller than them, with a broad, deep chest and the powerful legs of a soccer player. (He's in shorts and jersey even now.) You make a comment to that effect, and he says, "Well, I was the last one out when we made our debut. They've never let me forget."<br/>
<br/>
"They remember who came first?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but our mom does, and she mentions birth order every time she gets mad at us." He sighs. "How long is this supposed to take?"<br/>
<br/>
"You're supposed to wait for them?"<br/>
<br/>
"Jessica told me to. And I'm supposed to meet Hannah in half an hour, too." His mouth twists up, and he leans over to blow a wad of saliva at the asphalt.<br/>
<br/>
You're not sure who "Hannah" is, but you don't need to know. You tap the car Eva drove. "Can't Jessica take this one home?"<br/>
<br/>
"Doesn't Eva need it?" he tonelessly asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I can give her a ride home. Whenever."<br/>
<br/>
Marc perks up. "Can you? You don't mind?" More guardedly. "Eva wouldn't mind?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think so. You saw her, she's having fun, and I'll be here awhile."<br/>
<br/>
Marc scratches the back of his head. "I dunno. Jessica might get pissed, and she gets even bossier than Eva. <i>She</i> came out first."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, text her. You don't even have to go in," you hurriedly add when he starts to get out. "Text her, ask her if you can take off and let her or Eva get a ride with me."<br/>
<br/>
Marc chews on the inside of his cheek and squints in at the complex. Then he takes out his iPhone.<br/>
<br/>
You pull in a ragged breath as he waits. <br/>
<br/>
His phone chimes. He reads the screen, and his eyebrows go up. "She says 'Awesome, I love it when Will gives me a ride'.'" He looks at you from under his lifted brows.<br/>
<br/>
You feel the blood rushing up your neck. "She doesn't mean -- "<br/>
<br/>
"No shit," he snorts. "I know her type, and -- " He catches himself and claps your shoulder. "She'd be better off with you. But I'm gonna get out of here before she changes her mind. I can't believe she texted that," he mutters before slamming the car door.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Dude, that wasn't Jessica,</i> you think at him. <i>The person who texted it doesn't even </i>look<i> like Jessica.<br/>
<br/>
Not yet, anyway.</i></span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321211111323111
author_id: seuzz
title: Danger Signals
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Mike and Carlos don't need you inside, so you wander around the storage complex eating the Hershey bar you bought for yourself. On your second circuit your phone bleeps. It's from Caleb, asking what's up.<br/>
<br/>
<i>still w eva,</i> you reply. You'd told him at lunch you were meeting her at the "studio" where Mike and Carlos do their videos.<br/>
<br/>
<i>makin pornos?</i> Caleb texts back.<br/>
<br/>
You don't even dignify that with a response. And you dislike the question enough that you change your mind about talking to Keith about bringing Caleb into the gang.<br/>
<br/>
Braydon, though -- No, obviously you don't want him in the mix either, but one thought leads to another, and you pause by the door of the climate unit to consider his place in things.<br/>
<br/>
He told you that the book you bought -- the one that Mike and Carlos are busily using to turn themselves into copies of Eva and Jessica -- originally belonged to a professor at the university. It seems inconceivable to you that someone would have let such a book out of his hands, even if he hadn't been using it.<br/>
<br/>
And had he? You suddenly feel chilly, and it's nothing to do with the October breeze that's shuffling through the complex. If there's someone out there who had been experimenting with it like Fairfax &amp; Friends have been playing with it --<br/>
<br/>
Well, Christ, couldn't someone with this book have made a bunch of disguises? Couldn't they have made a bunch of Betas of their own?<br/>
<br/>
You have a sudden urge to talk to Fairfax. You text him: <i>meet pls talk about book n masks n stuff urgent.</i><br/>
<br/>
His reply is several minutes in coming. what's wrong?<br/>
<br/>
just need to talk thing i remebered<br/>
<br/>
Then you're distracted by the door opening. Two girls come out.<br/>
<br/>
Shivers run all over you.<br/>
<br/>
It's Eva and Jessica Garner, back in their clothes. They're giggling and twitching and clutching each other like middle-school girls who've just caught sight of their favorite boy band lead singer. "Oh my Gawd. Oh. My Gawd!" Jessica gasps. Her eyes shine, and she walks in a stiff-legged shuffle, like she's holding something between her knees. "Oh my Gawd!"<br/>
<br/>
"Hey Will," Eva says. "Gosh, you're tall! Why don't you come over here and let me -- " She titters.<br/>
<br/>
You know who is under those faces, but your loins stir anyway. The Garner sisters never joked around with you like this.<br/>
<br/>
Then your phone chimes: <i>meet when u want. is it rly serious?<br/>
<br/>
maybe,</i> you text back. You're distracted by Jessica's snickering. <i>just us ok? mike n carls being tooo silly.</i><br/>
<br/>
And you flinch backward as Eva tousles your hair. "Yeah, you guys should keep out of sight until you're, like, sober," you tell her. "I need to talk to Fairf -- "<br/>
<br/>
"We're not drunk, Will," says Eva. "We just wanna -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, screw him," says Jessica gaily. "If he doesn't want to hang out with a couple of sexy girls who are all. About. Flirting with him -- " She sashays over on widely swinging hips. So swinging, she actually stumbles.<br/>
<br/>
"Way to be a doofus," cries Eva as she catches her sister. She pulls her close, and as they face each other you see it in their expressions -- a powerful urge to kiss and fondle each other.<br/>
<br/>
You half turn so they can't see your erection. "Yeah, you two go entertain yourselves. This stuff with Fairfax, uh, I think we can talk about it without you."<br/>
<br/>
"Is there a problem?" Eva's phone dings, but she ignores it and ignores you -- she's lost in Jessica's gaze. <br/>
<br/>
"No, just something we should talk about before I forget, and I do need to turn a hose on you two?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh?" Eva blinks at you, then turns pink. "Right. Sorry." She covers her nose with two fingers, and titters again. "Come on, <i>sis,</i>" she prattles. "Let's go see a movie."<br/>
<br/>
They're pawing through their handbags for money as you leave them. As you reach the office, you hear Jessica shout, "Jesus Christ, would you look at what I've got in here? Sixty fucking dollars!"<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Fairfax meets you at the Carl's Jr. that's just down the street from the complex. He rests his folded hands on the table after sitting. "What's going on? You made it sound like an emergency."<br/>
<br/>
You take a deep breath. "Well, I don't know if it's -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Is it Mike and Carlos? Are they okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think so. They're acting like they're drunk, but -- No, it's not on account of them I wanted to talk. But there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about and I kept forgetting." You lick your lips and lean forward.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, this book that we're using. You bought it off George Mendoza, didn't you?"<br/>
<br/>
Fairfax's brow furrows. "Carlos did. Did someone tell you about that? Because I don't remember -- "<br/>
<br/>
"No, I knew that even before -- See, I had it before you guys got ahold of it. I found it at Arnholms. The used book store?"<br/>
<br/>
"What?" Fairfax's eyes narrow. "Are you trying to say it's yours?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm -- Look, yeah, I bought it at Arnholms a couple of weeks ago. Maybe technically it's still mine, but give me two bucks, and I'll say it's yours. That's what I paid Ted Arnholm for it. But the point is, I had it and I took it to school, because it was making me nervous. I mean, magic and everything, it's kind of -- " You try to shrug off Fairfax's unwinking gaze.<br/>
<br/>
"So I was going to put it into this time capsule that my sociology class was making, to get rid of it. But Mendoza and his goon squad jumped me and took it from me. And that's the last I saw of it. Until yesterday, obviously."<br/>
<br/>
Fairfax's eyes have widened, but there's no comprehension in them. "So what are you trying to say, Will?<br/>
<br/>
"'Well, it's complicated." You take a deep breath. "But let's start with, who had it before me? You know? Someone owned it before I did, and they -- Okay, I don't know why they would, but they sold it to Arnholms'. So, who are they and what were they doing with the book? Like, were they doing what we're doing? Making betas and impersonations and stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
Fairfax lets you stare at him a moment before he sits back in his chair. "This is not a new concern, Will," he says. "We've thought about it -- Or I have. The other guys -- " He waves his hand dismissively. "They're just thinking about the, uh -- And by the way, I'm really glad you're taking this seriously too. I've also been thinking that you really do have a good idea when you said that you, uh -- " He glances around. "The Stephanie idea."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks. But about -- "<br/>
<br/>
"But I don't know why we have to worry about who had it before us. We have no idea where the book came from originally. This person that you're worried about -- I mean, given what you just told me about Arnholms', it's actually a relief to hear that's where you found it. It means that its previous owner is almost certainly not local. Given its age and subject matter, I'm pretty certain that the Arnholms must have found it in an estate sale or auction -- "<br/>
<br/>
"But I think they <i>are</i> local, this person" you say, and you give him the story of your conversations with Braydon. "It sounds like it was this professor who had it, and he really wants it back."<br/>
<br/>
Fairfax looks unfazed. But then, he always looks very serious. "So?" he says.<br/>
<br/>
"So he might coming looking for us."<br/>
<br/>
"To do what?"<br/>
<br/>
You push your fingers into the hair under your cap. <i>Why does Fairfax have to be so dense?</i> You don't want to have to say it out loud. <br/>
<br/>
"Well, what if he's got a bunch of masks, this guy?" you say. "Or a bunch of betas?" You lean forward. "I don't know what to be worried about. But you know," you hiss in a low voice. "I just saw Eva and Jessica Garner walk into a building. And thirty minutes later, two people came out who looked <i>just like Eva and Jessica Garner.</i> But they weren't Eva and Jessica. If this professor, or whatever he is, makes some masks and uses them to get to people we know -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, you're worried that <i>we</i> might fall victim to imposters and impersonators." Fairfax's expression relaxes. "That would be a legitimate worry, except that this former owner <i>can't</i> make any more masks."<br/>
<br/>
"Why not? If he wrote the recipe down -- "<br/>
<br/>
"But he can't. That seems to be part of the magic. You have to use the book to make masks and betas and golems and other things. Without the book he can't -- Well, okay, unless he has some old, blank masks laying around," Fairfax adds. Worry now does show in his eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Why wouldn't he? Maybe he's got, I dunno, hundreds of them, and hundreds of betas -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Chill, Will, we don't need to panic. If he had that kind of power already, we wouldn't still be here. Anyway, even if this guy finds out that Mendoza sold it to Carlos, there's a Beta-Carlos there no, so Carlos is safe and that means the rest of us are too. Though I guess Braydon could have told this guy about <i>you,</i>" he adds thoughtfully. <br/>
<br/>
You swallow. "Uh-huh. Thanks for finally thinking about that. So what are we going to do? About <i>me?"</i> You clutch at your chest.<br/>
<br/>
Fairfax cocks his head. "We put you undercover, same as Carlos. Then the rest of us follow. Once we're inside our impersonations, no one can find us who we don't tell it about. Our betas won't talk."<br/>
<br/>
"No?" You're not so sure that a duplicate of yourself could stand up to torture.<br/>
<br/>
"Pretty sure. Anyway, it's the safest play." He takes out his cell phone. "You said Eva and Jessica know Stephanie, right? I'll call the guys, get them to set up an ambush asap. If Stephanie isn't available on short notice, I can definitely get you into Rachel Bell or Susie Lekuawehe tonight."</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212111113231111
author_id: seuzz
title: Moving Day
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You have no idea who Rachel Bell or Susan Loo-- Whoever those girls are. Fairfax starts to explain that Rachel is this super-smart girl who enrolled late last year, and that Susie is a girl in the marching band, but neither of them sound interesting. "Let's just try for Stephanie first," you say. "If we can't swing that tonight, then -- " Fairfax nods and starts texting Mike and Carlos.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center"> * * * * *</div><br/>
It embarrasses you that you are lunging so desperately at Stephanie, and it embarrasses you more to understand why you are. It's not just that you're looking for a safe place from a threat that has become darker and more palpable as you've thought about it.<br/>
<br/>
It's that you're sure Stephanie could face it with more courage than you.<br/>
<br/>
These guys have explained that with the masks you get the memories and talents and even the personalities of the person copied. "It's like wearing a mask inside your head," Fairfax had said when describing how the impersonations would be perfectly undetectable. "You're still yourself inside. Totally yourself. It's even a little scary looking in the mirror or in the camera on your cell phone and seeing someone else's face."<br/>
<br/>
He'd paused, and a flash of discomfort crossed his brow. You saw, without being told, that it was his experience of pretending to be "Will Prescott" that he was thinking of.<br/>
<br/>
"You see it's someone else's face," he continued, "but you're still yourself inside, so you feel like something's gone wrong with your reflection. Like something in a fairy tale, like it came unstuck from you, and someone else's reflection stuck itself onto you." He paused again, his brow briefly troubled. "But then the inner mask comes online. It's slow at first. Fragmentary. Then it turns solid. But you have to work to use it." He wrenched at the air with his hands. "You have to sort of make yourself one with the mask. Maybe it's like getting into character for an actor," he mused. "But after that, you just have to keep your concentration focused and not forget who you're supposed to be, and then everything else comes out pretty natural."<br/>
<br/>
You hope he's right. You could stand to have someone else's confidence to prop up your own.<br/>
<br/>
It seems like Fairfax is taking forever texting. Replies are slow in coming. When you ask what's happening, he gets irritated. "I'm working on it. Stephanie is -- " His phone dings, and he frowns at it.<br/>
<br/>
Then your phone chimes with a text from Jessica Garner: <i>u help stephanie with moving?</i><br/>
<br/>
Huh?<br/>
<br/>
Slight clarification comes a second later: <i>she sez ur truck can movie dresser.</i><br/>
<br/>
okay, you text back, though you're not sure if you're confirming something or agreeing to it.<br/>
<br/>
<i>hangon</i><br/>
<br/>
You drum your fingers. Fairfax's eyebrows work, and his thumbs fly over his phone. A moment later he says, "Ah."<br/>
<br/>
"Ah what?"<br/>
<br/>
"I think we got it," he says. "Stephanie needs some furniture moved. Eva -- Uh, who wound up being her?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mike."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, Mike's telling her that Carlos will let her put it at the storage complex. Pretty lucky break. That will get her out there where we can do the substitution." He sucks on the corner of his mouth as he types. "I'm telling Eva. To tell Stephanie. That." He grimaces, types, sniffs. "You can move her stuff tonight. Like, now. So she -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Are they talking to her right now?"<br/>
<br/>
"Texting, yeah." He settles back and stares at his phone. Yours chimes again. <i>cn yu pkc up stehpanei in fifteen mins?<br/>
<br/>
gime address.</i><br/>
<br/>
"I think you're set, Will," says Fairfax. "You just have to -- " But you're already on your feet.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Stephanie lives in Acheson, same as you, and is standing in her front yard with her hands on her hips and an alert expression on her face when you pull up. She chucks  her chin as you get out. "Yo, Will. Thanks for helping out, I really appreciate it."<br/>
<br/>
"No problem. Uh, sorry I couldn't help out yesterday."<br/>
<br/>
"No biggie." She shrugs. "I was having trouble finding anyone and -- " She turns as the front door opens. "There you are," she says to the guy who comes out -- a tall, lanky kid about your age with a long face. "This is Will," she tells him. "My brother Craig," she says to you.<br/>
<br/>
To Craig you give a curt wave. To Stephanie you say, "So where -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"This way."<br/>
<br/>
The Wyatts live in a three-story house, one of those funky kind that looks kind of like a barn with upper-story windows poking out of a steeply sloping roof. From the side, it looks kind of like the "Amityville Horror" house, but with square windows instead of the famous "eyes" flanking that nose-like chimney. Stephanie catches you staring at it, and she lifts her eyebrows at you, but you shake your head.<br/>
<br/>
She leads you through a side gate into a large backyard that slopes downhill to the riverbank and to the river beyond. It must be nice to live in a place like this, you think -- then shiver a little with anticipation. But the backyard is badly kempt, with bare, muddy patches around the trees, weeds along the side fences, and a rusting swing set off to the side. "I'll show you the stuff we need to move first," Stephanie says. "Will you be able to back your truck up against the gate?"<br/>
<br/>
"Probably." You follow her and Craig through a set of French doors into a dining room. <br/>
<br/>
"Okay. We need to move that bureau dresser for sure." She points. "Also, since we've got a storeroom to put 'em in, these chairs and that table. How's your upper body strength?"<br/>
<br/>
"As good as yours," you retort. Her lips twitch. <br/>
<br/>
She takes one end of the bureau; you take the other; Craig ineffectually tries to grasp the in-between portion. It's very heavy, and the weight slowly stretches your arms -- or so it feels like. "Lift with your legs," Stephanie grunts. Her own face is turning red, so you don't know why she thinks she has to tell you how to do it. You make a sour face, both at her and at the exertion.<br/>
<br/>
Out the French doors you go, and over soft ground to the gate. Craig hurries around to open it, and in a rush you and Stephanie get it through before dropping it. Stephanie pats it as she leans against it. "That's the big one. Bring your truck around while Craig and I get the table."<br/>
<br/>
You're not sure how you're going to get that bureau up off the ground far enough to slide it into the bed of your truck. You're still puzzling about it when a tall, thin man with a balding head and a gray moustache and goatee comes out. His face is leathery and deeply lined, like a deflated basketball. "You the one with the storage unit?" he asks, and his expression is doubtful.<br/>
<br/>
"No, just helping to move things," you reply. "My friend -- " <br/>
<br/>
You're interrupted by the appearance of Stephanie and Craig, lugging out a round wooden table. You and the man step forward to help, but the other two carry it over in a rush. "You need a drop cloth," the man tells Stephanie. "But this unit -- "<br/>
<br/>
"It's just temporary," she snaps at him. "Just long enough to -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Even if we put something in it for a day, they can charge us for a month."<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie's eyes flash.<br/>
<br/>
"It belongs to a friend of ours," you put in. "It's his space, he can put anything in it he wants. So if he wants to let  -- "<br/>
<br/>
The old man throws up his hands and walks off, shaking his head. Stephanie makes a face at his retreating back, then smiles at you. "Thanks, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"Is that your dad?"<br/>
<br/>
"My uncle Tom. He's staying with us until -- Psht!" She rolls her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
Then she lofts herself into the truck bed, and bounces lightly in it. "It's a nice set of wheels," she says. "You use it to move a lot a stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, not really." All at once it seems very silly to have a truck. It's a vehicle that would suit Stephanie a lot better, probably. She's certainly making herself at home in it, the way she's crouching in it and studying the bed. "It's just good to have around in case," you add, and you're conscious it sounds very lame. "You know, if friends need it."<br/>
<br/>
"Right. Here, watch out," she says as her uncle appears behind you with a large, padded cloth, like a heavy quilt. She helps him spread it in the back of the truck. "You bring those chairs out," she says, and it takes you a moment to realize she's talking to her brother. "We'll start getting things loaded."<br/>
<br/>
With the three of you lifting -- her Uncle Tom has a sinewy strength -- you get the bureau up and in, then the table and four chairs. "I'm gonna go change into long pants," Stephanie says as she closes the gate. "You can go on ahead. Craig and I will follow."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Her brother is coming too? That's not part of the plan!</i><br/>
<br/>
"Mike and Carlos are meeting us out there," you quickly improvise. "Between the four of us, I don't think we need, uh -- " You point at Craig. He keeps a poker face as he looks at Stephanie.<br/>
<br/>
She shrugs. "You need me, then?"<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, well, you should make sure we get it packed in right."<br/>
<br/>
"Isn't Carlos the expert? Oh, whatever. Just give me a minute, and I'll ride out with you."<br/>
<br/>
Craig gets a little shifty-eyed, but you see the relief in his face.<br/>
<br/>
When Stephanie comes out, she's in Levis and has pulled on the thin, lavender windbreaker she wore at Catherine's party. You can't help noticing the feline grace with which she moves, and you're too tongue-tied  on the drive out to talk. You've room for only one thought: <i>That's going to be me sitting there on the way back.</i><br/>
<br/>
But there are no cars at the complex when you pull in, which doesn't stop Stephanie from leaping out expectantly.<br/>
<br/>
It give you a terrible turn. Do you dare try to copy Stephanie without the help of the others?</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111132121111132311112
author_id: seuzz
title: The Angst of Anticipation
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Stephanie is already examining the keypad at the door. "You know the code to get in?" she asks. <br/>
<br/>
You decide to temporize. "They told me, but, uh ... Seven eight nine five, maybe?"  <br/>
<br/>
She gives you a look, but gamely punches it in. "Nope, not it." She tries again. "Still not it."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah, wait, that's the code for the gate." You brush your nose and avoid her eye. "Four eight—?"<br/>
<br/>
"How about you text Carlos? Find out when he's going to get here."<br/>
<br/>
Beta-Carlos, you're pretty sure, isn't going to be any help in making the substitution, and you cuss Stephanie's quick thinking even as you tap in a message to him: <i>need u here or mike to help with mask.<br/>
<br/>
y?</i> comes the reply. <i>get the real guys asshole</i><br/>
<br/>
His back-talk staggers you. Is it a malfunction? "What's he say?" Stephanie asks.<br/>
<br/>
"That was someone else. Hang on." Furiously you resume tapping. <i>whats code for climate unit door?</i> Then, a separate text to Fairfax: <i>need help w mask of stephnie.<br/>
<br/>
4956,</i> Beta-Carlos replies. Then Fairfax: <i>just get mask on her. i can text u thru it after that.</i><br/>
<br/>
You flinch when you catch sight of Stephanie out of the corner of your eye. She's leaning against the wall of the unit, arms folded, kicking the ground. She arches her eyebrows at you, and that faint sneer she gets—parted lips and tilted chin—appears on her face.<br/>
<br/>
"He wants us to wait for him," you tell her. "Something about, he should be here at least since it's his unit."<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie sighs and looks around. "Is there a handcart at least?"<br/>
<br/>
"Inside."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck." She kicks the wall once, then heaves herself onto the hood of your truck and sits, legs crossed Indian-style, like a giant hood ornament. She hunches over her own phone.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
While she's busy with that, you argue with Fairfax on yours. He insists that you can do it yourself with his remote guidance, and that you need to do it that way because he got caught at home. And Mike and Carlos—the real ones—have apparently turned their phones off, maybe to avoid getting drafted into anything before their new memories and personalities have come online.<br/>
<br/>
But you still can't bring yourself to move on Stephanie. Instead, you pace the parking lot, watching her out of the corner of your eye. Even huddled up on the hood of your truck she conveys a graceful, athletic power. She'd struck you as "feline" back at her house, and now you've time to muse over the exact shade of that feline power. <br/>
<br/>
It's not the sleek power of a panther, or the liquid grace of house cat. "Lioness" is also not quite correct—she's intimidating but not particularly majestic. <i>A leopard?</i> you muse as you start down the list of all the cats you know of. <i>No.</i> She might be fast, but she's not lithe. <i>A tiger?</i> No, she's too light on her feet for that. Besides, when you think "tiger" you think of Shere Khan in <i>The Jungle Book</i>, and that's totally wrong.<br/>
<br/>
<i>A cougar?</i> Possibly. Yes, if it weren't for the slang connotation on the word, that would fit her pretty well. Like a cougar, she's powerful without being big, and strong without being muscle-bound. And there's definitely something "Rocky Mountain western" about her. You can easily picture her hiking mountain trails or clambering up sheer rock faces. She'd look good in a cowboy hat, probably. That's something to remember, you muse, and wipe your sweaty palms on your jeans.<br/>
<br/>
Yes, a cougar, definitely. Even now, she looks like a big cat perched high in a tree, concentrating hard on something of interest.<br/>
<br/>
You continue to pace. You wish she hadn't changed into long pants and windbreaker. She looks good in short garments. She has a girl's arms and legs, being shapely without a lot of muscles, but her limbs are still hard and rounded and smooth, like solid rubber—and like rubber there's give and stretch and bounce to them. <br/>
<br/>
She tugs at her ear, and that draws your attention to her head. Her nose is small and regular, but glimpsing her in profile now you notice it has a slightly upturned tip that gives it a faintly boyish quality. Her eyes are widely spaced and pull down a little at the corners. It's odd the way that gives her face a slightly sleepy quality. Her green eyes are always hard and alert. Maybe that's part of what makes her seem cat-like—the shape of her eyes makes her look relaxed and poised and confident even as their emerald-like hardness makes her seem watchful.<br/>
<br/>
There's nothing "girly" about her hair, either. She keeps it cut very close, so that the ends only touch the top of her ears and the top of her neck. She doesn't fashion it that you can tell. It curls up stiffly at its ends, and refuses to rustle or wave in the evening breeze.<br/>
<br/>
A low sigh rumbles in the back of your throat. You really wish Fairfax or somebody would just come out to help you. There's a body sitting on the hood of your truck—a body and a personality that you want to wear, like armor.<br/>
<br/>
You want to be perched there, like she is. To stretch, like she's stretching now. To hop down and bounce lightly on the balls of her feet, like she's doing now. To turn to someone with a tip of the chin, like she's doing now, and say—<br/>
<br/>
"What's the code for the front gate? I wanna get my brother out here with some homework. Beats sitting around here."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Shit!</i><br/>
<br/>
Luckily, before you have to answer, your own phone chimes. It's another message from Caleb, asking if you're free for supper, but you croak out a lie: "Hang on, this is Carlos, he says he's stuck at home and we should just take the stuff in without him. Door code is four-nine-five-six." You snap your fingers, like this text has just jogged your memory.<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie's eyes narrow, and her jaw works. But with a shrug she acquiesces and in three steps is at the door, jabbing at the pad. She pulls the door and props it open.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Yeah, I think we can do it with this," she says as she brushes the handle of a large, four-wheeled dolly that sits in the entryway. She pronounces herself similarly satisfied with the "gym" unit, and the way she's looking it over you have the impression she's memorizing every detail of every item it contains. "We might leave him crowded in a little, but— So Carlos leaves those doors open so anyone can get into them?" she asks as she strides back down the hallway. As ever, you toddle after.<br/>
<br/>
"I think it's 'cos he thought he'd be coming back."<br/>
<br/>
"He's awful trusting. Get the door, I'll get the cart." You hang your head and obey.<br/>
<br/>
The table and chairs come down first and are set aside. Then you and Stephanie strain yourselves with the bureau. "Careful there," she says through gritted teeth as you tip it off the gate of the truck and into the air. It slips and falls with a heavy bang onto the cart. She gives you a cold look. "You this careless when it's your stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fuck you, Stephanie. I can't wait until it's </i>me<i> who's working your mouth and giving people shit.</i><br/>
<br/>
Leaving the table and chairs behind, you help her wheel the bureau into the facility. A little maneuvering gets it into the bay and onto the floor.<br/>
<br/>
And while she's pushing it into the corner, getting it arranged to her satisfaction—leave it to a girl to want to get a storage unit arranged like a sitting room—you open the foot locker. It contains a couple of masks, and you push through them until you find one that's blank. "What are you doing?" Stephanie's voice, though not loud, cuts through you.<br/>
<br/>
"Just looking for a drop cloth or something to protect it," you improvise. "Huh. Check this thing out." You show her the mask.<br/>
<br/>
She grunts at it. "What's that? Something for their videos?"<br/>
<br/>
"Dunno. Maybe."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, put it back before you break it, and let's get the rest of the stuff."<br/>
<br/>
You're almost grateful for that last dig—the implied insult that you're a clumsy harebrain who can't be trusted with anything that doesn't belong to you. It gives you the strength to spring after her and grasp her from behind while smothering her face with the mask.<br/>
<br/>
She topples forward, and only by wrenching her to the side and taking the brunt of her fall do you stop her from braining herself on the concrete floor. Together, you hit the door of the unit opposite Carlos's makeshift gym, and a rattling boom, like a tympani struck by lightning, echoes down the hallway. You both slide to the floor.<br/>
<br/>
There's no sign of the mask on her face, and her eyes are wide and staring. Your heart pounds rapidly against your ribcage.<br/>
<br/>
With trembling fingers you text Fairfax. <i>gotmask n her what do now?</i><br/>
<br/>
Seconds pass. More seconds. A minute. Two minutes. <i>HWERE R U?</i> you text him.<br/>
<br/>
Your phone rings, and you almost drop it.<br/>
<br/>
It's Fairfax. "Sorry," he says. "I'm— Look, is she unconscious?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah!"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, thing is, I forgot a really important step until just now. I should have told you to wait until—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>"The fuck?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"Keep calm and carry on, Will," he says. "It's fine, it'll be better than fine. You just need to look through that footlocker for the mask with my name in it. When the blank mask reappears, put that one on her."</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321211111323111121
author_id: seuzz
title: The Fake Fairfax
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"The mask of me," Fairfax repeats as you try to find your voice. "You know what to look for?"<br/>
<br/>
"The mask that has your name in it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Right. Put it on her after—"<br/>
<br/>
You clench the phone tightly and feel your eyes bulging. You're looking at Stephanie—sprawled out in the concrete hallway—but your panting anxiety has nothing to do with her. "But that'll turn her into <i>you,</i> won't it? I mean, make her into the, uh, Beta-Philip?"<br/>
<br/>
"Exactly. Because I just remembered we don't have the Beta-Will ready yet."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure we do!" You scramble back into the storage unit and fling back the lid to the footlocker. "You guys used it to—"<br/>
<br/>
"Will. Will!" Fairfax's voice, normally so measured, cuts through your eardrum. "You need to calm down. First of all, if you put the Beta-Philip into action, he can help you out with everything. I can't get over there right now—I need to get back to the dinner table, but he can walk you through everything. Second, yes, we have a Beta-Will, but you can't put it on Stephanie. She'll wake up, but she'll— Coming!" In the background some water gushes, and you guess that Fairfax has flushed a toilet. "Look, he'll explain when you show him your mask and explain about Stephanie."<br/>
<br/>
The line goes dead before you can tell him that the Beta-Carlos was being totally unhelpful and maybe the Beta-Philip will be too. You sit back to study your body-to-be.<br/>
<br/>
Even unconscious, lying on a heap, Stephanie Wyatt has poise. Though her legs are splayed out and her arms tumbled in a heap, she looks as though she only has to pull them in to leap up and to her feet. You shoot a nervous glance at her eyes. They are half-closed—her mouth is hanging open as well—and they stare unseeing at a point on the wall next to your feet.<br/>
<br/>
You half-expect them to dart over to glare at you.<br/>
<br/>
A hard shake passes through you, then you grasp her by the feet and drag her into the bay. You pull the door down, then arrange your victim into a semblance of order. That means pulling her shirt and windbreaker down and straightening her arms beside her.<br/>
<br/>
Then, with nothing else to do, you pull her shoes off. Then her socks. Mike's gloating cries echo in your memory.<br/>
<br/>
Her Levis.<br/>
<br/>
You are shaking hard all over, and can hardly get your fingers to work, as you unbutton the fly and pull them open. White panties show. The jeans are tight on her ass and legs, but with some firm tugging you get them off her.<br/>
<br/>
You almost swallow your tongue. That's not quite a thong she's wearing, but it might as well be. Her legs lose their tan up near the top of her thighs, but there's a duskiness all the way up to the panty line—maybe from summer swimming. You put your palm to her inner thigh. It is warm and (as you expected) firm.<br/>
<br/>
You push back your cap and run your trembling fingers through your hair.<br/>
<br/>
It would be too hard to get the windbreaker off her, but you unbutton the plaid work shirt she's wearing underneath it, exposing a concave abdomen with faint ridges about the abs. Her bra is beige and very business-like.<br/>
<br/>
You sit next to her, by her head, and watch her face while waiting for something to happen<br/>
<br/>
It seems ages before Stephanie's face starts to glow, and then a bluish mask appears on it. You wipe your own face with the tail of your shirt, and gingerly peel the mask off her. Her eyes have shut.<br/>
<br/>
You turn the mask over, and start at the name: STEPHANIE MICHAEL WYATT.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Michael?</i> <br/>
<br/>
Your eyes can't help but dart to her panties. It's a stupid thought, and there's no bulge down there that you can detect. <br/>
<br/>
But now you've got an excuse to look.<br/>
<br/>
Shame-faced, you hook a finger into the front of her panties and peer inside. A dark tuft of hair shows.<br/>
<br/>
You twitch hard and release the panty with a snap. If there's any story behind or to that masculine middle name, you'll wait to find out.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Okay, Fairfax said you needed to put his beta into circulation. You search the footlocker, and in a trice have pulled out a mask with his name on it. You lay it onto Stephanie, and it instantly vanishes, like a rock into a pond.<br/>
<br/>
Her face, which has always had a slightly boyish cast to it, becomes mannish, and the tight, chestnut curls are now a red buzz cut. You rear back as the eyes snap open.<br/>
<br/>
Philip Fairfax peers up at you. "Will?" he asks, and sits up on his elbows.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey." You gulp. "You, uh, you know you're the beta. Right? Beta Philip?"<br/>
<br/>
He crinkles his brow and stares down the length of his body. You follow his gaze just long enough to spot the definite bulge under Stephanie's panties before wrenching your eyes back to his face.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I know who I am," says Beta-Fairfax. He sounds a little more sarcastic than the real one. "Even if I didn't—" He rubs his eyes, and grunts. "The costume would be enough to tell me." He sits up with a sour expression. "So where's my alpha, and whose clothes am I wearing?" He pulls distastefully at the windbreaker and shirt, then scowls at the bra. "I'd expect this kind of jackassery from Jason Lynch or Seth Javits," he mutters. "But from you and my alpha? I'm ashamed of you guys."<br/>
<br/>
You explain matters to him. It takes only a minute, for he is very quick to grasp the implications.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, I see," he says. He gets up and peels off the panties—luckily, the tails of the work shirt suffice to cover his ass and junk. "The problem, apparently, is that we haven't outfitted your mask with a control layer. That's what it needs to be a full-fledged beta and not merely a disguise."<br/>
<br/>
"Show me what you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure." He rummages through the footlocker and extracts a mask. "See, Josiah's mask is all set to make a beta," he says, pointing to the inner surface of a mask that he's showing you. Josiah Shank's name floats in blue letters above the surface. "See the color? Your mask—" He turns over another mask, one that has your name in it. "Doesn't." <br/>
<br/>
Yes, the difference is obvious to the eye: Shank's mask, on its inner surface, is an off-white. Yours is a polished blue. "This coating is what makes the mask into a beta when you place it on a person. So when you put, uh—" He winces. "Philip's mask on Stephanie— You said it was Stephanie Wyatt, right? When you put his mask on her, it swallowed her up and left the beta personality. But when someone puts your mask on, it just rests on them, as a disguise. If you'd put your mask on her, and she'd woken up, she'd just be all, like, what the fuck Will, how come I look just like you?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>So that was a narrow escape.</i> "So how do we put that control layer thing into my mask?"<br/>
<br/>
"There's a recipe for it." From the bottom of the locker he pulls out the infamous book. "Give me, oh, ten minutes and I'll have it assembled. Oh, I'll need some of your hair." From the locker he takes out a pair of scissors. "In the meantime, you need to close up Stephanie's mask."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Right! I know how to do that, at least, and I know where the stuff is."<br/>
<br/>
"Hair first, Will," says the beta. You quickly oblige by tilting your head and letting him snip off a lock.<br/>
<br/>
In their haste to get into their impersonations, Mike and Carlos had left the tub of mask sealant in the other bay, along with the paintbrush. You discover that the stuff goes onto a mask pretty quickly and dries quickly too. Beta-Fairfax is still assembling his stew when you get back. But he's close enough to being done that you don't have time to change identities before he summons you over.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know that it makes a difference," he says, "but we're using your hair so maybe you should be the one to do the incantation." He points at the work station he's set up in the corner, consisting of a bowl of wet powders resting on an open page of the book. "You just have to run your fingertip around the circle on the page three times, then set the stuff in the bowl on fire." He hands you one of those gooseneck lighters.<br/>
<br/>
With your heart in your throat, you do as he directs. The flame doesn't immediately flick on, and you have to push the button three times before it catches. There's sharp sizzle, a pungent odor, and when you look in the bowl it contains a loose slurry. "Now you just paint that stuff inside your mask, and you'll be set."<br/>
<br/>
That, too, takes only a minute. You cock your head and study Beta-Philip. "Now, how do I switch you out for Beta-Will?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like this." He takes your hand and guides it to his forehead, placing your fingers so that you are grasping him about the temples. "Now all you do is say the following words three times fast, then pull, like you're tearing something off me." He gives you a nonsense string of syllables, like something out of some foreigner's version of Dr. Seuss. "Let me lay down first," he says. "Good luck," he add as he settles back. "And I guess I'll see you on the other side." He smiles wryly at you.<br/>
<br/>
You're a little ambivalent about dismissing Beta-Fairfax. He's serious, like his original, but very helpful. You can't help wondering if your Beta will be more like him or more like the very sassy Beta-Carlos.<br/>
<br/>
But after a few pulls, and some corrections to your pronunciation by Beta-Fairfax, the mask comes away in your hand. Stephanie returns.<br/>
<br/>
Your heart lunges a little as you drop your mask on to her face. If you fucked up ...</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212111113231111211
author_id: seuzz
title: One Steps In, Another Steps Out
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The mask falls onto Stephanie's face like a rock dropping into a pond. But instead of a wave, it leaves behind a different face.<br/>
<br/>
Your face.<br/>
<br/>
Or, so you realize when the eyes snap open. They wander a bit, like marbles, then fasten onto you. You feel a rictus-like grin pulling at the corners of your mouth.<br/>
<br/>
The kid on the floor jerks away. "The fuck?" He scuttles backward, feet kicking, onto his elbows. "Oh, Christ! What was I—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Who are you?" Your voice is a croak.<br/>
<br/>
His eyes snap, and a faintly nauseated expression washes onto his face. "Will Prescott, I assume. At least, that's the first name that comes to mind." A pale tongue flicks between his lips.<br/>
<br/>
You feel like you've swallowed a basketball. His answering the question that way is either very good news or very bad news. "Do you know where Stephanie Wyatt is?"<br/>
<br/>
"Stephanie?" His eyes—those dark, furtive eyes that were originally yours—widen. "No, why would I—?" He looks down, and yelps at his pants-less state. "Jesus Fuck! Would you explain <i>what the fuck is going on?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"What's the last thing you remember?" you demand.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know!" he hollers. "I think I was sitting behind a desk, yammering about—Ow!" He shakes his head. "Lawrence of Arabia? Jesus! The things that were coming out of my mouth!"<br/>
<br/>
You settle back on your heels with a sigh of relief. It's got to be Beta-you, alright. Mike and Carlos used that mask to record a video of you talking about that movie. If this was Stephanie, trapped under your disguise, she'd be talking about how the last thing she remembered was—<br/>
<br/>
No, if it was Stephanie under there, she'd be kicking your scrawny ass all the way outside.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, we need to change clothes and you need to get home. Oh, wait." You pause in the act of pulling off your shirt. "The furniture."<br/>
<br/>
"What furniture?" Beta-Will whines. "What are you talking about? And— Dude, are you wearing my pants? Who <i>are</i> you?" he whines, and kicks his bony feet at you.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm you! Obviously. Now listen, we're switching bodies. <i>I'm</i> switching bodies, okay? You need to go home and start living my life for me. You know, be me, act just like me, do all the stuff I do, the way I do it." Your nerves quiver. This ... <i>thing</i> ... could screw your life up totally, make it impossible to return to. "You understand?"<br/>
<br/>
Beta-Will is looking at you like you're a crazy person. "No, not really," he mutters, and rubs his face. "What's today?"<br/>
<br/>
"Monday."<br/>
<br/>
"Monday?" he shrieks. "You mean I've <i>lost a whole day?"</i><br/>
<br/>
"You haven't lost anything! Just get undressed."<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, jeez. You're acting like I did something wrong!"<br/>
<br/>
You don't answer. You're too unnerved by all this talking to yourself. It turns out that Beta-Will is a lot closer to Beta-Carlos than to Beta-Philip.<br/>
<br/>
Well, you suppose that makes sense. He ought to act like you, and you're feeling very weirded out by this experience, so it stands to reason that Beta-Will would be too. As he drops Stephanie's shirt and jacket to the floor, you pull off your own clothes. "Look, let's make this easy for both of us," you say as you thrust your wadded up things at him. "Go put these things on and wait in the studio. I mean, go in the studio and put them on there and wait for me," you correct him as he tries fishing himself into your boxers with one hand. "Dumbass," you mutter under your breath as you push him into the hallway.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Dumbass.</i><br/>
<br/>
You pause at the word you'd just thought at him. It's a word you imagine Stephanie silently hurling at you every time she looks at you. In that one regard, at least, it's going to be easy to get into character as her.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Into character.</i> Your gut flutters as your eye falls onto the mask laying on the ground. It's the moment of truth.<br/>
<br/>
You push the metal door down—there's no lock on the inside, but you'll have to assume you're safe enough—and bend to pick the mask up. You flip it over to read the name again. STEPHANIE MICHAEL WYATT. You've been anticipating this impersonation all day. So what's the story about that middle name?<br/>
<br/>
Well, now's the moment to find out.<br/>
<br/>
You squat onto the cold concrete, then lay back, trying to get as comfortable as you can with the icy chill seeping all up and down your back and butt. You lift the mask over your face and blink once, then a second time, at the name inside the mask.<br/>
<br/>
<i>I'm going to be Stephanie Wyatt.</i><br/>
<br/>
You close your eyes and imagine what it will be like. The confidence. The feline energy. The boobs and butt and legs. The house and family and friends, all looking at you and calling you "Stephanie."<br/>
<br/>
Your cock slowly rises.<br/>
<br/>
Then you lower the mask to your face, and one last flashing fantasy—of slipping into her bed and running your hands over a body that is both hers and yours—merges with a darkness that's heavy like iron.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Black waters pour off as you open your eyes. You focus on a roof. It's off-white, and there's a faintly buzzing fluorescent light in the middle of it. It's very cold—refrigerated cold. You raise your head and look around.<br/>
<br/>
A weight bench. A footlocker. Barbells and iron disks. It's very familiar.<br/>
<br/>
<i>That's right!</i> You shift your head and spot the bureau. Not quite flush with the wall, as you'd tried to arrange it. You sit up on one elbow, to grab it to help you up.<br/>
<br/>
Something shifts off your chest. You look down. Your bare boobs are flopping to the side.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Jesus!</i> Wildly, you look around. Did someone clip you in the head and—?<br/>
<br/>
<i>Prescott!</i><br/>
<br/>
And your fury at the name fades as you're hit by a wave of something like deja vu. You huddle into a ball and push your face into your hands.<br/>
<br/>
Will Prescott. That's right. How could you forget? <i>You're</i> Will Prescott.<br/>
<br/>
But for a moment there you thought you were—<br/>
<br/>
You suck in a deep, ragged breath. The oxygen sets your heart on fire. Chills that have nothing to do with the cold floor run all over you. You hug your knees to your face and press them into your eyes. The calves under your palms are very smooth. You shiver as the cold air kisses your bare back, bare shoulders, bare knees. You waggle toes that, like the rest of the bare bits, are new to you.<br/>
<br/>
This is what you've been anticipating. What you've been imagining. Waking up with Stephanie Wyatt's body. You hug yourself more tightly.<br/>
<br/>
So it's no wonder you woke up thinking Stephanie's thoughts. After all, you went under while pretending to think them, so naturally you would have woken up thinking them.<br/>
<br/>
Right?<br/>
<br/>
You look around again. The room doesn't look any different with Stephanie's eyes. You get slowly to your feet. Your chest tries to drag you down, but by settling your shoulders in a way that feels very natural you regain your balance. There's a coolness much further down, though, a feeling like something is missing.<br/>
<br/>
Another jolt runs through you. <i>Oh. Right.</i><br/>
<br/>
Your hand goes to the bush you peeked at earlier. Gingerly, with gritted teeth, you push your fingers into it, and probe. It's sensitive, but not absurdly so. A little damp. Mm, yeah. Just tuck a finger up into --<br/>
<br/>
Your hand, as though willed by another force, yanks away.<br/>
<br/>
<i>The fuck am I doing, standing in the middle of a storage facility, fingering myself? I've got to get out of here, get home, and—</i><br/>
<br/>
You stagger to the side, and steady yourself against the bureau. <i>Where did that flood of thoughts come from?</i> But there it is: Mom and Pop will be home by—what time is it?—well, soon, anyway, and will have a pizza with them. Craig won't leave you with enough if you don't—<br/>
<br/>
You grab your head. There they come again, those alien thoughts that don't feel alien, that feel exactly like yours, even though they shouldn't be. Like they ought to be Stephanie's. Could they really be hers? But didn't Fairfax and them tell you it would take awhile before you'd get access to her memories?<br/>
<br/>
So you need to stay away from her house. You need to run off with Carlos and Mike—the real ones—and go home late, like they're planning to. But you can't, your parents insist on you being home by eight o'clock on weekdays so you can get your homework done. Pop especially—<br/>
<br/>
You're as certain as anything that Stephanie calls her dad "Pop." Same as she calls her local grandmother "Momsy" and her other grandmother, the one who lives in North Carolina, "Gransy."<br/>
<br/>
You're shaking again, but you let go of the bureau. On feet that feel like yours and at the same time don't feel like yours, you creep over to the full-length mirror that Carlos has hung opposite the weight bench.<br/>
<br/>
You look at yourself. Stephanie looks back at you.<br/>
<br/>
Your hips are like a bowl with a clip of fur decorating the cleft where they're supported by your legs. Your torso is a curved pedestal with firm, rosy breasts hanging off your front. With tapering fingers you stroke the hollow between your throat and your breastbone. Your face—<br/>
<br/>
The green eyes are wide and questioning and a little hard. Your lips part in an expression which you thought before looked like a faint sneer, but which to you now just seems skeptical and a little hesitant. You touch your cheeks and nose, and wind a finger through a curl over your ear.<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie Michael Wyatt.<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie, after "Gransy," and Michael after Pop's best friend in the Army, the one who died in the First Gulf War. It's an uncommon name for a girl, but there are precedents. Certainly it has nothing to do with—<br/>
<br/>
Now you do sneer.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Prescott. Dumbass.</i></span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111132121111132311112111
author_id: seuzz
title: Some Final Touches
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Fairfax and them said something about it taking awhile to get into someone else's memories and personality. Hours, at least, usually after a good night's sleep. Certainly Carlos and Mike weren't acting like they had Eva and Jessica's "upstairs" stuff.<br/>
<br/>
But you're sure you've got Stephanie's memories already, and you're pretty sure you have her personality. At least, you feel the impatience that you imagine she'd feel, and a vexation at the way you're scoping yourself out in this mirror.<br/>
<br/>
But as for memories: You remember the texts that brought her—<i>you</i>—up to this complex. Eva had asked if you could go out this evening; you'd said you could for a little while, and would Marc be willing to help move some furniture if you could find a truck to transport it in? Eva had said she had a truck you could use and what it was for? You reminded her you needed to find a place to store some of your grandmother's old furniture, and then she offered Carlos's unit, and Will's truck, and it all came together really fast.<br/>
<br/>
You remember trying to borrow Will's truck yesterday. You thought you could swing that—he's been trying to hang around with you lately—but he'd begged off, which was fine. You weren't that happy with him after the way he ran out on Bailey at that party.<br/>
<br/>
You remember the drive up here, wondering if maybe you should mention that party to him, and mention Bailey, and maybe figure out what his deal is. You hope he hasn't got a crush on you. But the kid's probably dopey enough to. Someone—was it Eva?—mentioned that he's on the rebound, or something. Lisa Yarborough had been hanging out with him over the summer. Lisa's a sweet girl and exactly the kind to adopt lost puppy dogs, so it would have served her right if Will had latched onto her. But apparently she got tired of it—even Lisa's patience isn't infinite—and so it sounds like Will has lately been on the look out for another leg to awkwardly hump. His experience with Lisa has probably fooled him into thinking he can punch above his weight.<br/>
<br/>
Dumb kid. Bailey would have been perfect for him.<br/>
<br/>
And you remember sitting on the hood of Will's truck just a little while ago, legs bent under you as you texted Almida about the squad lineup. That's another classmate who can't see the obvious. You don't <i>need</i> to bring any more people onto the squad, and you don't want to. Look at Anita, she let Hannah Westrick join the girls' varsity soccer squad late and now everything there is going to hell. You've got a good basketball team now, and bringing someone else in might be like dropping a steel ball into a steam turbine.<br/>
<br/>
All of these memories come in small, overlapping waves. You flinch a little as each one hits you, but your face—you're still regarding yourself in the mirror—doesn't show any reaction. At the end, once you've reconciled yourself to these opinions, and to the mass of vaguer impressions behind them—like that of Will Prescott as a well-meaning doofus who might get his feet under him one day, not that you'll be watching to see that he does—you arch your eyebrows at your reflection, as though to ask yourself, "And is that all, and was it worth it?" then turn to hunt for your clothes.<br/>
<br/>
Dumbass could have at least folded them up. Quickly you pull on the panties ...<br/>
<br/>
And your native personality barges to the fore again. You shut your eyes and suck on a lip as you shift them to get comfortable. You'd always preferred boxers to briefs—it was less hideous when the bullies got your pants off if you were wearing boxers. But with Stephanie's underthings, it's almost as good as going commando. Just with a little pinch where you can enjoy the feeling. <br/>
<br/>
The bra is next, and you marvel at how you don't even have to think how to get it on. Just snap it on, twist it around, tuck yourself in. The feeling is instantly familiar and habitual.<br/>
<br/>
That, more than anything else, convinces you you've got the "upstairs" stuff to pull off an impersonation.<br/>
<br/>
Even before you pick up the Levis you know they're going to be tight around the hips—not because Stephanie is carrying any excess weight down there, but just because they're form-fitting. So you tug and stretch and pull them tight to button them. They flow up over your pelvis and hug the curve of your abdomen. The plaid work shirt is soft—so broken in that the cotton feels almost like silk. You button it up—not until you're halfway up do your fingers remind you that it's a boy's shirt, with the buttons on the ... wrong side? right side? Your lips twist a little. <i>Depends on the chest of the person wearing it,</i> you reflect. It's a hand-me-down from Kayjay—that's Kevin Joseph, Stephanie's older brother, the one off at college in North Carolina. The golden child, adored by parents and siblings alike. The shirt keeps Stephanie feeling close to him.<br/>
<br/>
You rake your fingers through your hair, loosening the curls, then sit to pull on the socks and the banged-up tennis shoes saved for grunt work. The latter you quickly double-knot. After pulling on the windbreaker, you spring up and over to the mirror again.<br/>
<br/>
<i>There she is.</i> There's the girl you were fantasizing about not an hour ago. Form-fitting jeans; sloppy, casual plaid shirt; tousled hair, which you tug at lightly, to straighten the curls. Flinty green eyes and lips faintly curved back to show the tips of your teeth.<br/>
<br/>
You flash a canine at yourself, and harden your brow. Yeah, that's your game face. All this time you thought Stephanie was scowling at you, but now you know she was just looking at you. <i>This</i> is what she shows when she's actually mad. You snicker at yourself as you straighten up and put your shoulders back.<br/>
<br/>
Because there's business to be done. You snatch the phone from off the floor, where it had fallen and spun, and shove it back into your shirt pocket. You kick the door handle up with one foot, and a few energetic skips—the kind to set up a jump shot—take you to the other bay.<br/>
<br/>
Beta-Will, now dressed, is sitting on the edge of the desk, looking like a scarecrow that someone folded up wrong and tossed into a corner. He does a double-take at you, and you can tell by his expression that he doesn't know whether to laugh or dive behind the desk. <br/>
<br/>
You don't give him time to decide. "Come on, we got some more furniture to move."<br/>
<br/>
"Nice look, man," he sneers.<br/>
<br/>
"Who do you think you're talking to?" Your hands automatically go to your hips.<br/>
<br/>
"It <i>looks</i> like I'm talking to Stephanie Wyatt, but I can tell it's you," he says. He waggles the cell phone. "Been checking texts, too, so—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, okay. Oh, any come in since I woke you up?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fairfax is asking how things are going." He shies away. "I haven't replied."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, don't. I'll take care of it later. But we got a table and some chairs we still need to bring in." You grab the handle of the dolly, and pull it along behind.<br/>
<br/>
You're halfway to the front door when something heavy drops onto the dolly with a bang. You wheel around. Beta-Will is crouching on it, grinning at you. "Get off," you snap. "You're not five years old, and this isn't a grocery cart."<br/>
<br/>
"Jeez, sorry." He leaps off. "Do you gotta be in <i>character</i> with me, Stephanie bro?"<br/>
<br/>
You stop dead in your tracks. He's got a horrible whine in his voice when he tries to be clever, but lowers his eyes as you stare coldly back at him.<br/>
<br/>
But he's right. That was instinctive, what you said. Stephanie's instincts. But it's not because you were mad at him. You just don't have the patience to let him fuck around.<br/>
<br/>
You can't keep from making a sarcastic reply, though. "On the way back I'll buy you ice cream. Will that make you happy?"<br/>
<br/>
"Really?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Let's just get the furniture moved."<br/>
<br/>
Still, you resolve to be nicer to your beta. Trouble is, Stephanie can try to be nice all she wants, but when you talk like her it still comes out in ways that, after the fact, don't sound so nice. "I'll take this in," you tell him when you've got the dining room table on the cart. "You bring in the chairs. Don't try to carry more than two at a time, I don't want them banged up." From the dirty look he gives you, you realize you misjudged the tenor of the instruction. You bite your tongue and haul the cart into the storage unit.<br/>
<br/>
When you've got everything packed away—it really does fill up Carlos's gym space, and you study the results with a grimace before giving up—you put out the lights and pull down the doors. "What happens now?" Beta-Will asks as he hustles along behind you to the truck.<br/>
<br/>
"Gotta check messages." You swing into the passenger side of the cab, buckle yourself in, and prop both feet up on the console. You set your jaw and text Fairfax on your old phone. <i>all set, got stephanie fine, on way home</i><br/>
<br/>
His answer is almost immediate: <i>come meet us to talk</i><br/>
<br/>
You don't need to talk. You can tell just by the memories at your fingertips, and the way you were pushing Beta-Will around, that no one in a million years could bust your Stephanie impersonation. And you know that they will be expecting her home soon.</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321211111323111121111
author_id: seuzz
title: You Are Who You Are, and Her As Well
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You don't need to avoid Stephanie's family, so you don't see the need to meet with Fairfax. But it won't do to blow him off. You toss aside your old phone and call him directly on your new one. The truck trundles half a city block before Fairfax answers. <br/>
<br/>
His tone is very tentative. "Hello?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, it's me. What do we need to talk about?"<br/>
<br/>
You bite the inside your cheek as you wait for him to reply. "Stephanie?" he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Yes." You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I told you—" You take a breath. "It's me, it's all set, like I said in the text. It went off fine. Your beta was very helpful, unlike some others I've had to deal with."<br/>
<br/>
You shoot a glance at Beta-Will from the corner of your eye. Maybe he's concentrating on the road, or maybe he doesn't get the reference to "betas," but he makes no sign.<br/>
<br/>
"So, I got her copied, I'm in, uh, the impersonation now. You said in your text we needed to talk. What do we need to talk about?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you need a reason to avoid going back to her house, and you can maybe help us catch Maria Vasquez."<br/>
<br/>
"Stephanie doesn't know Maria. Not to hang out with."<br/>
<br/>
Another pause. "How do you know?"<br/>
<br/>
"For the same reason I don't need to avoid going home. I've got her memories already. All of them, I'm pretty sure."<br/>
<br/>
Every time you say something, it seems to knock Fairfax back a step, so he has to collect himself before replying. You wonder if it's the subject or if Stephanie intimidates him the same as she intimidates you.<br/>
<br/>
Now he says, "You might have some of them. A few can filter in early, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't you hear what I—?" You try to thrust Stephanie's personality behind you, but she's proving as forward inside your head as she was to your face. "I think I've got all of them. I'm remembering stuff I couldn't possibly know, some of it pretty random and some of it stuff I really don't want to remember."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh? Like?"<br/>
<br/>
You want to tell him to shove his nose and the rest of his head up his ass. But your claim and his question have triggered some unpleasant associations, and before you can reply, a thing like a closet door bursts open in the back of your head, and a couple of nasty items come tumbling out.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay," you say slowly, and frantically shove away Stephanie's memory of accidentally running over a dog last year. "Uh, remember I told you that she and her friends were talking to Braydon Delp about some creepy stuff? I know what that was all about now."<br/>
<br/>
Beta-Will turns his head fractionally. You give him a cold look, and he shifts his overt attention back to the road. Fairfax says, "What was it?"<br/>
<br/>
"They're trying to put a hex on another girl. Well, trying to frighten her by pretending to."<br/>
<br/>
"Gee—!"<br/>
<br/>
Your lip curls a little at Philip's exclamation. You can tell it came out that way only because he clipped off the "-zuz!" at the last moment. "I don't want to talk about it, not here," you continue, "but I can tell you you were right, it's not got anything to do with us. So that's one thing I'm remembering. You wanna know her mom's maiden name? Her favorite color? How long her Uncle Tom's been staying at the house and stinking up the guest room?" You brace yourself as Beta-Will brakes to a hard stop at a light. "I can tell you that we just got through moving her grandmother's dining room set into storage to make way for a new dining room set that Stephanie's mom has been pestering her pop to get for about three months, <i>and</i> I can tell you the kind of names she was calling him before he—"<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, alright! You made your point. I only half believe you, but—Well, if you're right, then that's another reason I'd like to talk to you tonight. Maybe you did something different with the preparation of your mask. And you could still— Did you say Stephanie does <i>not</i> know Maria?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not to talk to. An airhead like that? Pfht!" You drum your fingers on your knee, then lift them to stare at. The nails are polished and smooth, not at all like the ragged ones your beta will be using to dig wax out of his ears with. You get them done by a Vietnamese girl in a strip center on Orlando Road.<br/>
<br/>
"You could still help anyway. Do you <i>mind</i> meeting with us?"<br/>
<br/>
"It has to be a homework date. At least technically, at the city library. That's about the only way I can get out on weeknights."<br/>
<br/>
"There in an hour then, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
You can probably swing that. It depends on how much trouble you're in for hauling off the dining room set without permission. Because that's something else you now remember—it was Stephanie who made a command decision to do that.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"I'll see you tomorrow, at least," you tell Beta-Will through the passenger-side window of his truck, and bang the roof of the cab fondly. "Cash's class. Thanks for letting me borrow your truck this way." <i>Might as well try to get as totally in character as possible before meeting the parents.</i><br/>
<br/>
Beta-Will replies with a totally fake smile, "Sure, no problem, we should do it again sometime." He peels away as you step back. <br/>
<br/>
You're already steeling yourself as you trot up the walk to the front door. The Fiesta—the car Stephanie's parents use—is back in the driveway, next to Uncle Tom's rattletrap Crown Victoria and the old Ford Focus station wagon that Stephanie is forced to drive. The front door opens before you reach it, and Robert Wyatt braces himself inside the doorway.<br/>
<br/>
Like Tom, his older brother, Stephanie's pop has graying hair and a moustache and goatee. He's more powerfully built than Tom. But before she was much past puberty, Stephanie had noticed a fragility in the eyes that both brothers share. They look like thin window panes, easy to blow out, and they mark both Wyatts as easy to cow.<br/>
<br/>
So you're not the least bit daunted when your pop says, "Care to explain what happened to our dining room furniture?"<br/>
<br/>
"I found a place for it, took care of it." You try to move past him, but he doesn't move his arm. "Does mom have a problem?"<br/>
<br/>
A purple flush appears in his forehead. "Tom says you put it in a storage unit. Are you paying for it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't have to. It belongs to a friend. It's his unit."<br/>
<br/>
"And he's just going to let you park it there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, it's a favor, it's what friends give each other." You tilt your chin.<br/>
<br/>
Your mom appears behind him. Her expression is grave, but it has none of the suppressed anger in your pop's.<br/>
<br/>
"Honey," she says, "you should have called, we should have talked about—"<br/>
<br/>
"I can have it back tomorrow afternoon, right back where it was, if you want." You let your arms dangle confidently at your side. "'S'as easy to bring it back as taking it out. Easier, right?" You tilt your chin a little further.<br/>
<br/>
Your mom's lips twitch—that alone tells you it's a victory for the girls. Your pop wilts even as his face flushes.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess that's true," he says. "But you need to—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, let it go, Rob," snaps your mom. "What's done is done." But she looks at you sharply. "And it's not costing anything?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nope." You wipe the soles of your feet on the mat before stepping into the house. "It's in a climate-controlled unit, too. Belongs to a school friend, his uncle actually owns the complex so he gets the unit for free. He uses it as an exercise room, keeps his weight set there, works out there after school. Big unit, too." You hold out your arms, as though embracing a washing machine. "Only got his bench and barbells and a footlocker in it, all the other footage is going to waste."<br/>
<br/>
Your mom brightens up. "In that case, we can—"<br/>
<br/>
"Call Jerome in the morning," your pop says, and throws his hands into the air. "Tell him to get a truck—"<br/>
<br/>
"I can get a truck," you say. "Same guy who helped me move the stuff just now. I think he's got a crush on me." You waggle your eyebrows and grin.<br/>
<br/>
Your parents say nothing. Over in the corner, Uncle Tom glowers. But the look of defeat is plain on his face. You can just bet he was gloating prematurely over seeing your butt nailed to the wall.<br/>
<br/>
Your mom is so pleased she practically volunteers to drive you to the library when you mention the study date. You gobble down two slices of the pizza they brought back, then dash upstairs to change. Not that you need to, but you're meeting Eva and Jessica, so—<br/>
<br/>
Your heart flutters and a nerve in your stomach quivers, even though you know it's not really them, and that there's no chance it'll be anyone <i>except</i> them and Fairfax at the rendezvous point.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe you should mention that to Fairfax when you see him—that it's not just Stephanie's memories and personality traits you've got, but even physical reactions like weak-kneed crushes.<br/>
<br/>
You keep the jeans but change into pink Converses. You strip off the work shirt and pull on an equally pink polo shirt, fluffing it out to let it settle on your curves. You force a stiff brush through your curls, redistributing them without making them appreciably neater. (The curse of hair like yours is that it takes serious chemical treatments to get it to behave other than it wants to—one reason for keeping it short.) From the jewelry box you take a silver chain with a small crucifix, and pull it tight around your throat.<br/>
<br/>
You brush the line of your neck, and allow Stephanie's eyes to sadden. It gives you odd satisfaction to see her so gripped by a romantic crush.<br/>
<br/>
The dressing-up is pointless, of course. Marc Garner won't be at the library with his sisters.</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212111113231111211111
author_id: seuzz
title: The Story of a Crush
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You've got three reasons to blush as you stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Stephanie wears only the very lightest makeup—a little face powder and some lip gloss—but your cheeks are rouged like a clown's with embarrassment.<br/>
<br/>
First is your own mortification at getting wet and weak-kneed at the thought of Marc Garner. Just the thought of him looses a flock of butterflies into your stomach.<br/>
<br/>
Your mind flashes back a few weeks, to the charity soccer demonstration at the community soccer fields. Stephanie had plopped down next to you—or, as you remember it now, you plopped down next to Will Prescott. <i>Are the Garners here?</i> you asked him. <i>Marc's down that way,</i> he said. You rocketed up and shoved him away to look. Yes, Marc was over there, watching the game intently. <i>Should I go over to sit with him? Would that be okay? What would he say? What would I say? It wouldn't be weird, I see him all the time when I see his sisters, I could say I'm waiting for them to show up. 'Oh, they're not coming? That sucks,' but I'd stay there with him and help him cheer Westside on even though—</i><br/>
<br/>
You and Stephanie both wince at what comes after that "though." <i>Even though he's dating that bitch Hannah Westrick.</i> Your throat tightens.<br/>
<br/>
Yeah, Stephanie has a giant crush on Marc Garner, and you can't get that crush out of your head or stop it from twisting your guts in knots.<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie's psyche is also mortified by what she—you—are feeling. You're not even meeting Eva and Jessica, not really, and there's no way Marc will be there. So it's just humiliating to be so wound up over him that you'll make yourself nearly sick just because you're going to be with people who <i>remind</i> you of him.<br/>
<br/>
And then there's the embarrassment you feel at what you and Caleb—and who knows who else—suspected of her. <i>A dyke! Fuck you, Prescott! You too, Johansson! Just because I like sports and take sports seriously and don't like wearing dresses, you assume I'm— Fuck you!</i><br/>
<br/>
Stephanie's a bit of a romantic too, about Marc. It's what makes her so furious about Marc's falling all over Hannah. For five years, at least, Stephanie has been saving herself for him.<br/>
<br/>
That's right. Stephanie Wyatt's a virgin.<br/>
<br/>
<i>At least I don't have to worry about those kinds of memories,</i> you mordantly reflect as you flip off the bathroom light. <i>No,</i> you add, <i>I just get to live with the fantasies.</i><br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're meeting with Carlos and Mike and Philip, but in body it will be Philip and Eva and Jessica, so you can't get the Garners out of the forefront of your mind as you drive the old station wagon out to the library. You're careful to watch the traffic and the lights, but it's automatic, like it's your lizard brain driving while you fret over wasn'ts and might-have-beens.<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie—you—with both perspectives it's a bifurcated vision of the past, but the vivid <i>aliveness and sickness</i> of it all is Stephanie's entirely; yet it's your guts twisting, so you give in and think of it as happening to <i>you</i>—<br/>
<br/>
—and your family moved to Saratoga Falls when you were nine. You were already a tomboy athlete then, and were delighted to make friends with two girls equally rambunctious. Eva and Jessica were twins, but they had a brother, and it was a bit of shock to discover that triplets didn't have to be all girls or all boys. Marc was as wild as them, and maybe more so, because he had to fight twice as hard (their mother told you after he tore through one of your games like a tornado, sending three girls screeching inside with furious tears) to keep up with his two sisters. For the first year he was just a nuisance and a hellion. But the next year he got into soccer just like you and the other girls did. You practiced all the time with him and his sisters, at first just to show him that girls <i>were too</i> better at soccer than boys, and then because he was the only one who took it even remotely as seriously as you did. Pretty soon, he was the only one that could keep up with you; and not long after that, you were the only one that could keep up with him.<br/>
<br/>
And he just kept getting bigger and stronger, and his teeth got brighter, and his voice dropped, and one day when you were in middle school you looked across the soccer field and saw this golden-limbed young god striding confidently toward you, and it gave you chills all over. You'd had TV and movie crushes before, but those were safe because they were just actors on the other side of a screen, and somehow not even real. But the one coming toward you was real, and you could touch him if you wanted to, and all of a sudden you did want to touch him.<br/>
<br/>
You didn't even recognize that it was Marc until he was only twenty feet from you, and it was such a shock you couldn't answer right away when he asked if anyone else was going to show up. You said they weren't. He challenged you to one on one. You accepted, and lost badly, both because he'd had some kind of spurt recently that left him outclassing you totally, and because you were fuzzy-headed with confused feelings. This was your friends' brother. He didn't have any business being the kind of person that you felt this way about. Kayjay told you that you were supposed to get crushes on your high school teachers first, and that until you'd had a crush on one of them you weren't allowed to have a regular boyfriend because you wouldn't know what love felt like.<br/>
<br/>
(And, chowder-head that you were, you believed him until you caught him chortling about it with his friends as they were smoking behind the garage. That night in revenge you put cold, slimy oatmeal in his bed.)<br/>
<br/>
For the next season you'd meet Marc at the park for one on one. You were very scrupulous, and never tried to do anything else with him except kick the ball around. Until the last time you played. He slid in to knock the ball away, and you fell onto him ...<br/>
<br/>
... And you went tingly all over, as you were touching him all over with yourself all over, from the knees to the shoulders. Your face fell into the crook of his neck and you got a nose full of grass and the smell of his soap and of his tangy sweat. For what seemed like a couple of minutes you lay atop him, paralyzed with delight, shaking all over.<br/>
<br/>
Finally he asked if you were hurt, because you weren't moving, and to cover your <i>excruciating</i> embarrassment you pretended that you'd hurt your ankle. You pretended to wince when he held it and turned it. He finally pronounced it "stressed"—which it wasn't; it was just numb from the ecstatic thrill you got from him handling it—and you hobbled home as he babbled apology after apology. Shortly afterward you told him you were giving up soccer for basketball, and he professed himself guilt-struck, which left you feeling horribly guilty even though you swore to him it had nothing to do with the accident, and showed him you were completely over it. <i>I'm just not good enough for you,</i> you'd said, then stammered <i>To play soccer with.</i> So you said you were moving into a sport where you could maybe beat him, because you'd been playing lots of basketball with Kayjay, and you'd seen that Marc wasn't so good at that.<br/>
<br/>
You'd still kept as much in touch with him possible, even after your family moved to the new house in Acheson, and Eva and Jessica shifted into gymnastics and makeup and gossip and other things that left you impatient. You kept your friendship with them, though, as much as you could even as you spent more time with your sports friends. All so you could stay close to Marc, who kept getting bigger and stronger and more beautiful.<br/>
<br/>
Then he started dating Serena Harris at the end of his sophomore year. You'd been steeling yourself to make some kind of declaration of interest to him at the start of your junior year, when (you told yourself) it wouldn't look like lame kid stuff, but Serena slid in ahead of you, and she and Marc went around holding hands while you ground your teeth. Then Serena broke the news that her family would be moving to New Jersey at the end of her (and your) junior year, and everyone (including you) were so sympathetic—but you were also gleeful, because you knew, despite their promises to each other, that the relationship wouldn't last past the end of summer.<br/>
<br/>
So you bided your time, and sure enough, at the beginning of August you heard a rumor that Marc had quietly but formally ended things with Serena. You asked him in an off-hand manner about it, and he confirmed, and you extended your condolences, then went home to mark days off the calendar until you thought you could safely declare that long-delayed interest.<br/>
<br/>
September 23, you decided, would be a propitious date. Autumn equinox, about a month after school had started. Plenty of time for everyone—Marc included—to get used to the idea that Serena was ancient history.<br/>
<br/>
Then, in the first week of September, that slut Hannah Westrick transferred in from Eastman and slid right in front of you.<br/>
<br/>
That makes <i>twice</i> you've been cheated.<br/>
<br/>
So when Anita Nuevo—the girls' varsity soccer captain, who hates Hannah for her own reasons as much as you do—casually spat that she wanted to kill the strumpet, you proposed a better idea: <i>Let's hex her to death.</i> </span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111132121111132311112111111
author_id: seuzz
title: A Meeting of Three Fakes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>From the outside, the Saratoga Falls Municipal Library looks like a drum with projecting shoeboxes attached on either end. The central hall is a vast, open-aired atrium flanked on three sides by desks and computer stations, surrounding a periodical section (vastly diminished in content since the old days, your sourpuss pop grumbles). The back wall rises to a second-story parapet with study tables. Your eyes goes to the latter as you enter, and sure enough there's Fairfax at one of the tables, watching the entrance. He visibly hesitates, then waves tentatively after you've already spotted him.<br/>
<br/>
"You're early," you observe as you drop a heavy backpack on the four-top he's squatting at. <br/>
<br/>
"You're on time," he replies. "Mike and— Mm." He shakes his head. "Eva and Jessica are probably going to be late."<br/>
<br/>
"Off being incest-y with each other? You should've seen them at the complex when they came out together." You slouch into a chair.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't want to think about that."<br/>
<br/>
"No?" You grin at him. "I thought that's what guys liked to fantasize about. 'Specially when it's twins."<br/>
<br/>
"Do <i>you</i> fantasize about that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, no. But I get the appeal, and I bet Mike and Carlos do." You return Fairfax's gaze with an even one of your own, but you feel your smile sour when you see the thought inside his eyes. "I'm talking about <i>me,</i> not Stephanie, when I say that."<br/>
<br/>
"Mm." He shakes himself. "Well, let's talk about you and Stephanie." He folds his hands and leans across the table. "So you were telling me you think you've got all her memories already."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. Memories. Personality. Instincts. Haven't tried putting a basketball through a hoop, but—" You shrug. "I know who she's got a crush on," you continue, and hunch up, "and I know what it <i>feels</i> like to have that crush. I mean—" A light sweat breaks out on your back  as Fairfax's eyes focus with a laser-like intensity behind his black frames. "I don't just <i>know</i> who she's got the crush on. I'm getting the butterflies and the shakes that go with it. Which is pretty—" You gulp down a quick shot of oxygen. "Well, it's pretty goddam awkward, is what it is."<br/>
<br/>
"And this isn't a person <i>you've</i> got a crush on?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not <i>gay,</i>" you retort. "Neither's Stephanie. I ran into him—okay, it's Marc Garner, that's who she's got it for—"<br/>
<br/>
"Eva and Jessica's brother?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, anything wrong with that?" you retort before you can stop yourself. Your face feels hot.<br/>
<br/>
"No," Fairfax stammers. "It's just kind of a— Kind of a coincidence, isn't it? Stephanie having a crush on the girls that we—that Mike and Carlos—" He licks his lips.<br/>
<br/>
"It's a small world, Fairfax," you reply, and you're very conscious of the chill you've put in the retort. "Anyway, Stephanie likes hanging out with them because it gives her a chance to be close to— And what I was saying a minute ago was, I saw Marc earlier today at the complex when he dropped Jessica off. I didn't get caterpillars crawling all over my skin when I saw him then. Unlike now, when just thinking about him—" You scratch your elbow and dodge Fairfax's face.<br/>
<br/>
"You— I mean, <i>she's</i> got it that bad? I wouldn't have guessed that," he adds when you nod. "I'd've thought— Well, never mind."<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
He hesitates, and his expression turns cagey. "Are you sure it isn't a displaced affection for, uh, one of his sisters, that Stephanie is—?"<br/>
<br/>
You lunge, grabbing him by the head and slamming his forehead into the desk. He cries out.<br/>
<br/>
 "You keep those remarks to yourself," you hiss, and jab a finger at him as he scowls back. "I'll tell you one thing, and that's that Stephanie has <i>no idea</i> people have been saying that kind of stuff about her."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, if this isn't Stephanie I'm talking to," Fairfax says as he rubs his forehead, "I'm pretty sure it's not you, Will. So tell me what happened after you got Stephanie to the complex. I'm very curious to know how you prepped this mask so that you got into the impersonation so quickly."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
There's not much to tell, since the material was laying around just waiting for you to use. Really, the only thing you did yourself was seal up the mask, but even that used the stuff that the other guys had already prepped. Fairfax is still tugging his lip thoughtfully when you hear twin giggles coming up behind you. You don't even have to turn around to see who it is.<br/>
<br/>
Eva and Jessica, arm in arm and leaning against each other, come staggering over. Their identical mouths are distended by identical grins, themselves identical to the grins they were wearing the last time you saw them. They are still awkward on their feet, and instinctively you look down to see if they are in heels. They aren't, and you catch yourself staring at them with hard skepticism as they totter over. If you'd seen them like this at Catherine's party on Friday, you'd have thought they were only two shots away from being falling-down drunk.<br/>
<br/>
"Hi Stephanie," Eva sing-songs as Jessica giggles. "We heard that <i>you</i> were going to be here."<br/>
<br/>
"I heard the same rumor about you guys. Sit down and stop embarrassing yourselves."<br/>
<br/>
"We're not embarrassing our—" Eva starts to protest, but Jessica interrupts: "Scoot over then, <i>Stephanie.</i> Other side, with Philip."<br/>
<br/>
"No. You two sit on opposite sides. You can play footsie with each if you can't help yourselves, but at least you can stop fondling each other."<br/>
<br/>
Jessica's mouth falls open.<br/>
<br/>
"What's your deal, man?" she rasps. "I thought we were getting together to, like, have some fun."<br/>
<br/>
"Not in public, and not like this." You kick a chair out for one of them. "If someone comes along who knows us—" You glance around. "It is a school night, you know, and I don't want to have to tell people you're drunk and that's how come you're—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, bite me, Will," Eva snarls, and she drops into the chair next to you. "There's plenty of fucking time later to be 'in character'—" She makes elaborate air quotes. "We got all fucking day tomorrow and the rest of all semester—"<br/>
<br/>
"You got all semester to check into the Donna, too," you retort, "and have fun with each other where no one can catch you."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, you'd know all about that kind of thing, wouldn't you, Stephanie," snaps Eva, while Jessica says, "How do you know about the Donna?"<br/>
<br/>
"Everyone knows about the Donna," you say, choosing to ignore Eva's ugly insult. "If they didn't before, they sure as fuck know about it since Kelsey and Karl started checking in there."<br/>
<br/>
That gets blank looks all the way around. You rub an eye and sigh. "Look, is there any business we need to talk about, because if not—"<br/>
<br/>
"What's this about Kelsey and Karl?" Jessica says. "Karl who? Kelsey Blankenship?"<br/>
<br/>
"See, if we were having this conversation tomorrow, when you've got these girls' memories, we wouldn't have to have it, because you'd <i>know</i>— Oh, forget it." You pull your bag off the table. "I'm gonna take off and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Hang on," says Fairfax, who has been listening to all this with the expression of a man caught in the middle of a surprise artillery bombardment. "Will, you need to calm down, and guys—" He looks between Eva and Jessica. "You need to calm down too. Is Maria showing up later?"<br/>
<br/>
Jessica looks at Eva. "She said she'd show up around eight," says the latter.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's why we're here," says Fairfax. He pats his own bag. "Because that's who we're waiting on. And as for Will and his temper—" He gives you a very serious look. "Will has gotten into the impersonation really fast. Something about that mask he's wearing, he's got the memories and, I guess, Stephanie's personality pretty quickly. So if you could just—" He pats the air between you. "If we could all just chill." He trails off.<br/>
<br/>
You shrug stiffly and drop the bag to the floor. "What?" you ask, raising your eyebrows as Jessica stares at you with open-mouthed astonishment.<br/>
<br/>
"Shit, you've already got the—?" she asks. "I mean, you're already—?"<br/>
<br/>
"What my darling twin sister is trying to ask," says Eva, "is it you who's being the cunt, Will, or is it Stephanie?"<br/>
<br/>
Fire courses through your joints, and you tense all over, and only the look of alarm that flashes over Fairfax's face keeps you from punching Mike in his false face.<br/>
<br/>
"If I'm being a cunt, Hollister," you coldly inform him, "it's because Stephanie and Eva and Jessica have been friends for a very long time, and Stephanie's brain is screaming 'Fake! Fake!' as I sit here and look at you two. So from my perspective, <i>no one's</i> being a cunt. I'm just freaking out because you're both so— So—"<br/>
<br/>
"You mean it's an uncanny valley effect?" Fairfax asks.<br/>
<br/>
You do double-take at him. "What? Well, maybe. Sort of."<br/>
<br/>
"So it's a good idea that they not go home until they absolutely have to."<br/>
<br/>
"No, they just need to be less goofy is all." You look between the "sisters," who are wearing very pinched expressions.<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, fine." Eva leans back in her chair, arms and legs splayed out. "So how the fuck do we need to act in order to be less goofy?"<br/>
<br/>
"Let's not get up each other's noses," Fairfax says. "We could all just stand to be a little calmer is all. Will, you could stand to be a little less like Stephanie—"<br/>
<br/>
He drones on some more, with a few words for Mike and Carlos too, but you barely listen. The thing is that you're really not inclined to be "a little less like Stephanie." Either your mind is getting very used to having hers wrapped around it, or it's taking over your—<br/>
<br/>
You jolt upright in a sudden spasm of fear.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Could Stephanie Wyatt be taking over your mind from inside this mask?</i></span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321211111323111121111112
author_id: seuzz
title: A Night as Stephanie
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Is Stephanie taking over your mind? Is her personality crowding out yours? Is that why this "impersonation" is going off so well, so suddenly? <br/>
<br/>
Will you wake up tomorrow thinking that you <i>are</i> Stephanie, maybe forgetting that you ever were Will Prescott?<br/>
<br/>
"Something wrong?"<br/>
<br/>
It takes you a moment to realize that Fairfax is talking to you. He's frowning at you intently.<br/>
<br/>
That fear doesn't evaporate, but you suddenly feel very shy about sharing it. Fairfax already seems alarmed by this impersonation you're giving, and you don't want to give him another reason to go poking at you.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I just—" You snap your fingers. "I just remembered something I have to do at home, is all. I can't stick around." You grab up your backpack.<br/>
<br/>
"You're just bugging out on us?" Jessica gawps at you.<br/>
<br/>
"It's something important, something with my grandmother," you improvise. "Stephanie's grandmother."<br/>
<br/>
"But Maria—" says Eva.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on, you guys can handle Maria. It's <i>Maria,</i> and there's three of you, and two of you are, like, in disguise, she won't be expecting—" They keep staring at you. <br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Jesus. Look at <i>me,</i>" you gasp at them. "I've got two left feet and I managed to get Stephanie, of all people. If you three can't handle Maria, you need to give the fucking book to someone who can." Then, to show there are no hard feelings on your part, you slap Fairfax lightly on the shoulder before fleeing back to Wyatt Acres.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
No, that's not the name of your house, not officially. It's just the sarcastic name Stephanie's pop bestowed on the place when he bought it. It would be easier to amputate one of his arms than to get him to spend money, and you're pretty sure he and Stephanie's mom almost divorced over the issue. It was beyond stupid of him to resist. <br/>
<br/>
<i>I mean, Come on, Pop! Your freaking business—</i>Argosy Furniture; a maker and dealer in second-hand, refurbished, and hand-made pieces<i>—has always been profitable, and according to your mom it's been taking off like a rocket after this latest expansion of its online offerings.</i> Just last week your Pop shipped a hand-carved chair to Turkmenistan for a small ransom. "We didn't even have to take out a <i>mortgage</i> to get this place," your mom snarled at you last year when Pop was griping that the upkeep on the house was driving him bankrupt. "Your father had so much cash in the bank that he used a <i>business loan</i> to cover the balance on the purchase price."<br/>
<br/>
But the interior of the house is like a junk shop. Tables, chairs, end tables, bureaus, cabinets, sofas and armoires are constantly coming and going between the house in Acheson and the store on Borman, because your pop uses the house for extra storage <i>and</i> as a way to dodge having to buy any furniture of his own. That was the cause for the latest eruption between your parents—she finally wanted a dining room set of her own, one that wouldn't disappear one day to be replaced by something worse.<br/>
<br/>
The sun has vanished for good by the time you get home. Your mom's getting a juice from the kitchen as you come back in, and she looks at you in surprise. "Well, that was quick."<br/>
<br/>
"Something came up and we had to cancel. S'okay." You rub your nose. "I can get more work done here anyway. Coupla giggling goofballs at the library."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you were meeting Eva and Jessica."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, well." You shrug. "It wasn't just them there. So I'll be in—"<br/>
<br/>
"That friend of yours," she interrupts, "who helped move your Momsy's dining room stuff, can he help us pick up the new table tomorrow? Jerome's busy all day."<br/>
<br/>
"Dad can't spring to have it delivered?" Your mom answers your question with a look. "I can ask him." You shrug.<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't you say he has a crush on you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, he seems to be into me." You tug your ear and dodge her grin.<br/>
<br/>
"Is he cute?"<br/>
<br/>
Ice forms in your stomach. She's always pushing you to get a boyfriend, and you're dying to oblige, but only if it's the right boyfriend, and there's only one who answers to that description. You've never told her how you feel about Marc, because you're sure she'll tell you that you will just have to give up on that dream. "Well, some girls might think he's cute," you say. "He's kind of a dink."<br/>
<br/>
She frowns. "Double Income, No Kids?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Oh." You shrug again. "I just mean— Well, he's kind of a scrawny goof." And that's another reason your stomach feels cold. She's got you thinking about yourself with Stephanie's brain. "But he's got a truck. I'll call him tonight."<br/>
<br/>
Before she can stop you, you retreat upstairs.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The Wyatt house is pretty big, and Stephanie's bedroom is proportionately large as well. It's also much more "girly" than you would ever have pictured Stephanie inhabiting. The walls are painted sea green, and the bed—this one at least; there have been others—is a four-poster with a canopy. Over the computer desk with its laptop and printer is a short shelf holding her old dolls and teddy bears, and in the far corner sits an antique end table on which sits an even more ornate dollhouse. It's an airy, Victorian concoction, handmade by Pop and given to Stephanie when she was seven years old. She still adores it, and he adores that she adores it, and it's one of the unbreakable links that eases the friction between them.<br/>
<br/>
In fact, the only concession to Stephanie's tomboyish ways is a long shelf on the far wall that holds all the trophies and ribbons she picked up in various competitions—not just soccer and basketball and track, but intellectual challenges like spelling bees and writing competitions. <br/>
<br/>
Not that there are many of the latter, and none since she placed third in a Bible quiz when she was eleven. Stephanie's no dummy, not exactly. But if Kayjay was both a sports and a homework jockey—he's off at Duke now, on a full academic scholarship—Stephanie and Craig had to split the talents. Craig can't open an umbrella without giving himself an owie, but he's taking a full load of AP classes. Stephanie, meanwhile ... Well, let's just say that Mr. Cash's Astronomy class—which you took for its blow-off value—is the hardest academic challenge she's given herself this semester.<br/>
<br/>
So there's not a lot of homework. The longest assignment is for her first-period Spanish for Reading Knowledge class—to read a chapter from a collection of Mexican folk-tales and, using a Spanish/English dictionary, translate it into English. (It sucks that Google Translate isn't good enough to do the work for you.) You push the laptop out of the way—Stephanie keeps her room very clean—and spread out books and paper and get to work.<br/>
<br/>
But not more than twenty seconds pass before you've got the iPhone in your hands and are scrolling away. The evening flood of updates is in full swing.<br/>
<br/>
It's a wide-ranging group of social feeds that Stephanie subscribes to. Not just teammates and acquaintances at Westside, but even friends at the other schools in town. There's also the tweets from her favorite celebrities (both authentic and of the online variety). And she's more than happy to add to the flood.<br/>
<br/>
Sometimes she wonders if she and her friends are taking the online documentation of their lives too far. The live-tweeting of movies and TV shows and YouTube crawls; the photos of what they're eating or reading or thinking about wearing; the responses to these and the responses to the responses; and emojis and links and attached images, and everything else that can be added or inserted to a post.<br/>
<br/>
Take one of the threads that's going now. (One of several.) It started an hour ago with a tweet from Anna Adams, a friend from church who goes to the Agape Christian School. <i>taco famoso challenge tonite!</i> she tweeted. That was her bid to a get a group to eat with her at Taco Famoso, the infamously awful taco joint on Orlando. The "challenge" is to eat as many of the disgusting things as quickly as possible without barfing.<br/>
<br/>
<i>in!!!!!</i> tweeted back @spencersavory and <i>me2</i> said @realphiliplucas. Then <i>you'll be sick u guys</i> from @amazingkristin led to rejoinders that bullied her into going along, and with her came @claricejjones. But @keanuleung refused, saying he needed to study for a calculus test. <i>be sick tomorrow and u wont have to take it,</i> rejoined @spencersavory, but to no avail.<br/>
<br/>
Then came the pictures of the gorditas they were trying to eat, along with commentary. <i>yum you can really taste the alpo!</i> and <i>i think theres a human finger in mine.</i> Since some of their friends at Westside were getting and sharing the pictures and comments with <i>their</i> friends, those elicited comments from people like Dominique Hughes, who shared stories of her favorite Mexican places, and now there's a back-and-forth on the merits of Taco Bell. <i>dont care, great study food</i> is your contribution.<br/>
<br/>
Twenty seconds later: <i>since when do u study?</i> asks Anne Sweeney, and she attaches a couple of laughing and winking emojis. You send back the emoji equivalent of a middle finger.<br/>
<br/>
And thirty minutes later, as you're asking Dominque for help with the translation work (between catty comments on some of your teachers: <i>whats spanish for Wax your moustache, witch</i>) you ask of Ms. Gladstone there's an eruption of vomiting emojis from the kids taking the Taco Famoso Challenge. <i>WE HAVE A LOSER!</i> @claricejjones tweets. <i>BWAHAHA! HAVE TO HOSE OFF THE WHOLE WALL!!!</i> tweets @realphiliplucas, and he follows it with <i>like krakatoa with gorditas instead of lava</i> and a picture of something awful splashed across a pink wall. <br/>
<br/>
Apparently, it was @spencersavory's meal. </span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212111113231111211111121
author_id: seuzz
title: A Morning as Stephanie
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Stephanie Wyatt is not a girl who worries about what to wear. She has a dresser full of Levis and shorts; a closet full of polo shirts and t-shirts of various hues; a few long-sleeve button-up shirts for winter wear; one or two pullovers; and a couple of different sneakers for dress wear, school wear, workout wear, and crumb-bum-jobs wear. Everything else—undergarments and ankle socks—is uniform. She gets up every morning, puts on something, and charges into the day.<br/>
<br/>
But you're in agonies of indecision.<br/>
<br/>
It started last night. As the hours crept on and bedtime beckoned, you broke out in a light sweat as you thought of the night to come. You were already in shorts and shirtsleeves, giving yourself a lot of skin to touch, and well before the clock on your iPhone read 11:15—the bedtime that Stephanie enforces on herself—your palm was resting on your bare, smooth inner thigh up close to the hem of the shorts. At 10:55 you took pajamas into the bathroom, and washed and cleaned your face until it glowed. You cupped your face in your hands for a minute, marveling at the smooth, tawny face that stared back at you. Then you pulled off your clothes and pulled on the cut-off linen pajama bottoms and the loose, sleeveless top. You brushed your teeth and flossed. After flashing and admiring those gleaming choppers, you returned to your bedroom. The lights were already off under Craig's door.<br/>
<br/>
After checking a last couple of messages, you set the alarm on the phone, put out the light, and crawled between the sheets. For a minute you stared up at the dark canopy overhead, wondering if you really dared do anything more than go to sleep. Stephanie often goes straight to sleep. But it wouldn't have been out of character to delay it a little.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Hell, it's been a couple of days anyway since she—since </i>I, you forced a correction on yourself, so you wouldn't feel so guilty if you did what you were thinking of doing—<i>since </i>I<i> gave myself a little touch.</i><br/>
<br/>
You turned on your side and slid a hand down the front of your pajama shorts between your legs. The tuft was already damp.<br/>
<br/>
And that actually was about as far as you got. With the heel of your hand you rubbed yourself, and clenched your eyes shut, and willed yourself not to think of—<br/>
<br/>
But telling yourself not to think of him only caused you think of Marc, which is what Stephanie thinks of when she strokes herself. The alternative was to concentrate on the fact that it was really you—Will Prescott—doing this to her body, that you were playing with her pussy and feeling up her boobs while laying in her bed and preparing yourself for her life tomorrow. That you had wrapped yourself in her skin and could dig and rub and scratch at it wherever you liked, however much you liked. And though that made you sweat with a kind of sinful excitement—<i>Feel me feeling up Stephanie's pussy, because it's my pussy down there!</i>—it tended to dry you up. <br/>
<br/>
Whereas when you thought of Marc Garner, and of his thighs between your thighs, and of his strong, probing fingers at your cunny; when you thought of his sweat sliding between your skin and his as you grind at each other ... Well, that got Stephanie's body lubricated, but it left you blinking and gasping. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Does being a straight girl make you a gay guy?</i><br/>
<br/>
At some point you wore yourself out, more with neurotic worry than carnal satisfaction, it must be said, and you flew half out of bed when the alarm went off. You couldn't believe it was morning already.<br/>
<br/>
After that was a quick change into running shorts and running shoes and t-shirt, and a hard jog down to the Acheson municipal square—not that far from where a still-slumbering Beta-Prescott is probably drooling into his pillow—and back. Craig was out of the shower by the time you were back home, panting and prickling with sweat, and you took your turn under the shower head. Everything was firm and toned under your hands, but the soap and exercise didn't make it as delightful as you thought it might be.<br/>
<br/>
But now, toweled dry and with panties and bra snapped into place, you're staring into the dresser and into the closet, trying to figure out what to wear.<br/>
<br/>
Levis? Stephanie wears them tight, and it would feel good to have them hugging your thighs and calves at school. But shorts would give you bare skin to touch. Also, something for guys to ogle. Would that be a good thing or a bad thing? Stephanie ignores it when she notices; could you ignore it, or would you even want to ignore it? There's something exciting about having a body that guys snort and paw over, especially when you're sure you could snap a couple of their bones if they did more than snort and paw.<br/>
<br/>
And the shirts. A polo that would cling, or a t-shirt that would drape? Or maybe a long-sleeve shirt (but rolled above the elbows) that would hide and cover?<br/>
<br/>
<i>Why is it so hard to decide?</i> Maybe because there will be only one time to make a first impression in your new guise, even if no one at the school will know that it's the debut of a new Stephanie Wyatt.<br/>
<br/>
It's finally the thought of "making a debut" that decides you on something less rather than more. <i>I got it now,</i> you think as you flap out the white tennis shorts. <i>I should flaunt it.</i><br/>
<br/>
The shorts are very snug, leaving nothing about the bowl-like shape of Stephanie's ass to the imagination, and the hems closely hug her powerful thighs. A lime-green polo shows the shape of your torso. Ankle socks and the new, still bright-white running shoes that she got a month ago. You toy with putting in the tiny earrings that Stephanie occasionally wears, then decide against it. (She got her ears pierced only when she was fifteen, and that was more so she'd have an option than because she wanted to wear earrings.) With a sigh of aggravation you pack up the still-unfinished homework, turn on your phone—which dings with a bunch of backed-up messages, and trot downstairs. "I'm finishing off the oatmeal!" you call into the dining room as you scoop the last of the mush into a bowl. "We saved it for you!" your mom calls back as you shake some salt and squeeze a stream of raw honey over it, and snag the last strips of bacon from the pan. Into the dining room --<br/>
<br/>
You stop cold. The room is empty, and your parents, Uncle Tom, and brother are squatting on the floor with their plates and bowls. Your uncle glowers at you.<br/>
<br/>
"So, heh, I guess I better talk to that guy about borrowing his truck this afternoon," you say.<br/>
<br/>
"That would be best," says your pop in a studiously neutral voice.<br/>
<br/>
"It's like camping," your mom says, and pats your knee as you sit next to her.<br/>
<br/>
"In a house I paid for," says your pop.<br/>
<br/>
"You'd have to pay for a camping trip too," she retorts. You notice they're not looking at each other, and you wonder how much of a humdinger fight they had last night behind the closed bedroom door.<br/>
<br/>
"I can get it set up," you confidently announce. "Will owes me. It's the cherry set in the Denver room we'll be picking up, right?" Your mom nods, and you grin excitedly at her. "It's the best set I've seen in the inventory in forever."<br/>
<br/>
"I could sell it for <i>thousands,</i>" says your pop. He sags.<br/>
<br/>
"You'd have us eating off a card table with Samsonite folding chairs," your mom growls. "Until you found someone willing to buy it for twenty dollars and change!"<br/>
<br/>
"That's the business I'm in."<br/>
<br/>
"Every time I turn around in here I'm reminded of the business you're in!"<br/>
<br/>
It's the familiar start to a familiar argument. You do your best to shut it out as you lift one side of your fanny enough to dig the car keys out and hand them to Craig. "You drive today," you tell him, and shove a massive glop of oatmeal into your mouth. "Go start it, take my pack with you, I'll be with you in a minute."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you have to brush your teeth?"<br/>
<br/>
"At school. We're running late."<br/>
<br/>
Craig opens his mouth to protest, but at another expostulation from your pop, he hops to his feet. You scrape the bowl clean, jam the bacon into your mouth, and follow. "Text you this afternoon when I got it set up," you mumble at your mom through a mouth that still holds most of your breakfast.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to bolt it and run."<br/>
<br/>
"'m late," you repeat, and skip back into the kitchen with your bowl and spoon.<br/>
<br/>
It still takes you a minute to fetch a windbreaker—the jog was a little cold this morning—and meet Craig outside. He gives you a sidelong look as you buckle yourself in and slouch into the seat with your feet up on the dashboard. Your iPhone is already out. "They're really going at it," he says quietly.<br/>
<br/>
"Eh, they'll settle down when we got the new pieces in." You're concentrating on the pent-up stream of texts. "Pop'll forget the set isn't for sale, and Mom'll finally stop badgering him to get a new set."<br/>
<br/>
"You should've talked to them first."<br/>
<br/>
"They weren't getting anywhere. Someone had to break the logjam. And concentrate on the road, okay? I'm busy."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So Craig holds his tongue the rest of the way to school. Once you're parked, you let him go on ahead while you slip on some sunglasses and scan the parking lot for acquaintances. A brisk breeze scrapes over your legs, giving you a brief thrill. <i>I'm Stephanie Wyatt, and I'm looking for my friends.</i><br/>
<br/>
They'll all be inside, of course, or heading there. But you spot one interesting person lounging by the side of the gym: Maria Vasquez.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111132121111132311112111111211
author_id: seuzz
title: Friends, In and Out of Character
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>It looks like Maria Vasquez, but the closer you get the less certain you are. Of course the shape is right and so are the clothes. But the face throws you off. There's an <i>intensity</i> to her expression that you don't associate with that bubble-headed cheerleader.<br/>
<br/>
But she recognizes you, and with a jerk of her chin she summons you over. "There you are," she says, and her speech is clipped and brutal. "Why didn't you answer any of my texts?"<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't get any from you, that's why. Maria," you add with faint emphasis.<br/>
<br/>
She catches your tone, and darts you a quick look. She nods once, then goes back to scanning the parking lot. "I sent you a couple last night, telling you we got her. You were right, it was easy."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh. Well, maybe your texts got lost in the flood. I get lots of them, and I was kinda distracted by homework." You glance back into the parking lot to see what so fascinates her. But it's just a glinting pack of roving cars, with knots of teenagers dodging amongst.<br/>
<br/>
"You need to pay better attention, Will," she says in a very low voice. "What if it had been something important?"<br/>
<br/>
"It wasn't, was it?"<br/>
<br/>
"It could've been."<br/>
<br/>
"Tsht. I thought this was just, like, a sociological experiment. Like watching wildebeests from a blind. What's with the cloak and dagger act? Maria."<br/>
<br/>
She gives you a long look. "I'm just saying, <i>Stephanie,</i>  that you need to pay attention and not miss our messages <i>in case</i> they're important."<br/>
<br/>
"Message conveyed and received, <i>Maria.</i>" You drop your own voice when you realize you've raised it too high. "How are you doing at getting into character?"<br/>
<br/>
For a moment it looks like she's trying to swallow a toad before she forces herself to relax. "I've got all her memories, if that's what you're asking. I know her class schedule, I know her locker combination. I'm not going to get lost."<br/>
<br/>
"<i>My</i> class schedule," you correct her. "You should be talking about '<i>my</i> class schedule' and '<i>my</i> locker combination', if you're really in character as—" You glance around, then murmur with barely moving lips. "Maria Vasquez. And if that's all you've got, man—" You leave the sentence dangling. "And I didn't ask about the memories. I asked about being in character."<br/>
<br/>
She flushes faintly under her hazelnut-creme tan. "I'm okay. A little distracted, maybe, so—"<br/>
<br/>
"Because you better get into character, or people are gonna wonder what happened to the real Maria and who this imposter is going around answering to her name."<br/>
<br/>
Her brow darkens. "Just worry about yourself, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
"Wait a minute." A sudden suspicion hits you. "Is that you, Fairfax?"<br/>
<br/>
"Of course."<br/>
<br/>
"Because you're out of character even for him."<br/>
<br/>
Maria clearly bridles, and for a moment you think she's going to smack you across the face. At that moment, though, the conversation is interrupted by a long, lustful whistle from behind, and you whip around. A pack of boys—juniors, probably, for you don't recognize any of them—is passing. They're grinning and laughing and obviously watching you and Maria from the corners of their eyes. But you can't tell which one of them whistled, and there are too many of them for you to fight. So you just turn back to Maria.<br/>
<br/>
"So what's your problem?" you demand. "You can't figure out who you're supposed to be?"<br/>
<br/>
That flare has passed out of her, and she's now sagging against the wall. "I told you," she mutters. "I'm distracted."<br/>
<br/>
And a light breaks through. "Oho!" You can't help snickering. "I get it!"<br/>
<br/>
"You get what?" She flares again.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm just I'm sayin' I understand, is all. It's alright, man." You grin, and let your gaze rake over her boobs. She's crossed her arms over them tightly. "I'll stop busting your nuts. Just relax and enjoy."<br/>
<br/>
"Enjoy <i>what?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Where you are. Never mind. But who are you waiting for? I'm looking out of character myself, hanging out with you this way." You look back into the parking lot.<br/>
<br/>
"Mike and Carlos, obviously. I mean— Eva and Jessica." The names come out with a grinding of the teeth.<br/>
<br/>
"What about Chelsea?"<br/>
<br/>
"We haven't gotten her yet. Nor Cindy. That's the plan for tonight, if you want to help."<br/>
<br/>
"I maybe can, make up for bailing on you last night." You go back to studying the parking lot. Eva and Jessica will have Marc with them, so if you hang out here waiting for them, you'll get to see and maybe talk to—<br/>
<br/>
You shake your head free of the fantasy. "What did you say?" you ask, for Maria had said something.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess you're distracted too. I asked why you ran out so fast last night."<br/>
<br/>
"Eh, nothing important it turns out." You'd actually forgotten that spurt of panic you had about Stephanie "taking over" your mind. It's the next morning, after a refreshing sleep, and you feel just as in control of her as you did yesterday.<br/>
<br/>
Which is to say that she has a habit of slipping the leash and saying and doing things for you.<br/>
<br/>
You sniff and pinch your nose. "Well, I gotta get inside, I have a usual meet-up I gotta attend. Send me a text saying when you need me for Chelsea. I mean, I figure Eva and Jessica can handle Cindy." You make one last, slow, sweeping glance over the parking lot, in case you should see Marc—<br/>
<br/>
You tear yourself away. "I promise I'll check all my texts." Maria only gives you a withering look.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The "meet-up" you usually attend is inside the gym, in the coaches' offices. The WHS gym is so large it contains two full-size basketball courts, with a mezzanine between. Atop the mezzanine are the weight sets; inside, accessible through a doorway that Will Prescott never went through and almost never noticed, is a set of offices and even a classroom. It's the latter you're striding into a minute after leaving Maria.<br/>
<br/>
It's not a big classroom—it can hold maybe 15 people comfortably, and twenty if you crowd them in—but there's less than a dozen in there now. They're all girls, of course, the jock-girls that Stephanie runs with. They're draped in chairs and perched on desks, and a few look up as you come in. You jerk your chin in greeting. <i>My friends.</i> You drop your bag on a chair and hop onto a desk, to curl up with your legs crossed Indian style. You've already got your phone out, as does every other girl in the room.<br/>
<br/>
For a moment you're distracted by your taut, tawny thighs. Your shorts are riding up high, and with a slightly boggle-eyed thrill you enjoy the close-up view of some skin that is markedly less tan than the rest of your legs. Then you pull the hems down. Something feels odd, out of place, as you do so. Something's missing ...<br/>
<br/>
Oh, right. No cock. There's a thrill down there, but nothing to unfurl or stiffen or salute. Just a hunger, a need to be touched and probed ...<br/>
<br/>
You swallow, and concentrate on the iPhone screen.<br/>
<br/>
Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the light glinting off the tiny golden hairs on your calves. You'll need to shave your legs in a day or two.<br/>
<br/>
Something sits on your shoulder. "Jesus!" You twist around.<br/>
<br/>
"Sorry!" exclaims Dominique Hughes, for it was she who had rested her chin on your shoulder. <br/>
<br/>
Almida cackles. "You okay over there, Stephanie?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm fine! What do you want?" you demand of Dominique.<br/>
<br/>
"Just checking to see if you got it." She smiles. It's not a natural expression for her. From her mother she got not only the dark skin and hair, but also the heavy brows and slit eyelids of a Toltec warrioress. Soccer opponents have been known to dive for cover when she charges them.<br/>
<br/>
"Got what?" You look down at your phone. Lots of tweets piled up in your feed while you were talking to "Maria," and you scroll back through them until Dominique says "Stop." <i>yummy?</i> it says, and you hit the link. A photo opens up, of a blonde guy in jeans and a paint-spattered sweatshirt. He's draped atop a star-spangled bedspread, smiling lazily at the camera, as the hem of his shirt plays peekaboo with his bellybutton.<br/>
<br/>
Yes, he is kind of yummy, you suppose. "Who is it?"<br/>
<br/>
Barbara Powell, from across the room: "Are you showing her that picture of that vomiting guy?"<br/>
<br/>
"What vomiting guy?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes!" Dominique yells back.<br/>
<br/>
<i>What are they talking about?</i> "This guy isn't vomiting."<br/>
<br/>
"He was last night!" Almida cackles again. "After eating that gordita!"<br/>
<br/>
Katy Conlee, on the next desk over, scrunches up her nose. She has a very bird-like face, with a sparrow-beak of a nose, and eyes that vanish when she laughs and when she frowns. "That was so gross! Who'd eat something that makes you throw up?"<br/>
<br/>
"It's called Ipecac," says Dominique.<br/>
<br/>
"Ewww!" Several girls groan, but you can't tell who, for no one in the room, save for you and Dominique, has lifted her face from her phone.<br/>
<br/>
You tap the picture. "This is the guy who projectile puked all over the wall last night?" Dominique nods. "So why are you showing him to me?"<br/>
<br/>
Dominique smiles. "You know him?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't think so."<br/>
<br/>
"His name's Spencer Savory—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yummy!" exclaims Barbara.<br/>
<br/>
"He goes to Agape."<br/>
<br/>
"So?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you know people who go there?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, pfft! Just because I know Anna Adams doesn't mean I— Wait." Your jaw sags. "Do you want me to set something up for you with him? Through Anna?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," Dominique says, and her expression cools. She swings off the desk. "Just wondered if you knew him."<br/>
<br/>
You gape after her, then look at Anita. But she's completely absorbed in texting.</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321211111323111121111112111
author_id: seuzz
title: Soap Operas, Westside Style
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span><i>My friends.</i><br/>
<br/>
That's what you'd thought to yourself as you surveyed the room on entering. All these girls -- a mix of basketball and soccer players, with their strong, clean limbs and their hair pulled back from their freshly scrubbed faces -- these are now your friends. Girls you've only ever managed to watch from afar, and who would look right through you when they even looked your way. <br/>
<br/>
But they're your friends now, because now you're one of them. You're Stephanie Wyatt, so they'll look directly at you now, with friendly, twinkling eyes when you call their names. You're Stephanie Wyatt, and there's nothing more natural than to huddle with and to hug them, to wink at and snicker with them, to tickle their ears and to have your ears tickled with whispered confidences. You're Stephanie Wyatt, so if you put your arm around their shoulders, they'll embrace you back. If you drop a catty insult, they'll listen to you brightly, and tell you what they think. If you suggest going here or doing that, if you snort that you <i>don't</i> want to go there or to do that crap, they'll argue or they'll knuckle under, but they'll take you seriously either way.<br/>
<br/>
Because you're Stephanie Wyatt, and you've gone to sleepovers at all their houses, and painted toenails and made prank phone calls with them, and fallen asleep with your head in their laps, their heads in your lap, and their limbs loosely curled up inside yours.<br/>
<br/>
And if you're Stephanie Wyatt, you need to be able to handle it all. The gossip, the trash talk, the private jokes, the confidences shared via text or behind the hand ... <br/>
<br/>
So if Anita Nuevo plops down next to you and bitches about Hannah Westrick, you need to be able to jeer at her rival as a fat-thighed buttinski.<br/>
<br/>
If Almida Jones and Hope Bianucci get into a shoving match at practice, you need to quickly pin Hope in a headlock so Almida can yell at her without getting smacked.<br/>
<br/>
If Katy Conlee asks to borrow your homework ... If Haley Flanagan gets too wasted at a party ... If Gabriela Costa gets a ride to school with another new guy ... then you need to set up a three-way study session with Katy and Meghan Velasquez, put a fence of hard-faced girls between Haley and the football squad, and post a photo of Gabriela and her boyfriend-of-the-night to a special, private Twitter account with appropriately snarky comment.<br/>
<br/>
And if Dominique, out of nowhere, starts tweeting pictures of strange guys with comments about how "yummy" they are, you need to ...<br/>
<br/>
Well, you need to sit there with your jaw hanging open in sheerest surprise, thinking, <i>Double-yew-tee-eff, guys. Double-yew. Tee. Eff.</i><br/>
<br/>
Which is what you do. Easily and naturally, without even stopping to think that what's you need to do. <br/>
<br/>
Because you're Stephanie Wyatt, and her instincts are vibrating right beneath your own.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Nobody else seems to pick up on Dominique's interest in this Spencer Savory guy, but it has definitely thrown you for a loop. Dominique doesn't date or sleep around -- like Stephanie, she holds herself aloof from that scene -- so it surprises you to see her so boldly making "yummy" noises about a guy she doesn't even know.<br/>
<br/>
Before you can firmly wrap your mind around what has just happened, the door to the classroom bangs open, and Dylan Lloyd steps in. "Ladies, time for class. Who wants an escort?"<br/>
<br/>
"Shit," Meghan murmurs behind your shoulder, and Almida visibly tenses. They both share first period with Dylan. He's on the boys' basketball team -- his reddish-gold hair is plastered down darkly from his post-practice shower -- and lately he's been trying to hang out with you and your friends.<br/>
<br/>
"We'll catch up when we're ready," you bark back at him. "Don't wait for us."<br/>
<br/>
Brave words from Will Prescott. A mundane threat from Stephanie Wyatt. But Dylan only grins.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fucker.</i> You glance over at Dominique, but she's got her attention locked on her own phone. So you shoot her a quick text -- <i>lets distrac dylan</i> -- and watch her from the corner of your eye. <br/>
<br/>
A minute after getting your text, she straightens up, stretches, and hops to her feet. "I need to stop by my locker before first," she announces to the room, but directs her attention at you.<br/>
<br/>
"I'll go with you." You slip your phone into your pack.<br/>
<br/>
Dylan is still lounging in the doorway, and he grins back as you approach. "You know, I bet Gordon would <i>love</i> to have someone tutor him in Spanish," he tells Dominique.<br/>
<br/>
"Then he should get Chelsea to tutor him," she retorts as she pushes past him.<br/>
<br/>
"Cheslea only speaks English. English and bitchy-mouth."<br/>
<br/>
You snort. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, it's something I heard Gordon say." Dylan rolls his tongue inside his lower lip. "He's not happy, you know, he might be lookin' for a trade."<br/>
<br/>
You roll your eyes. Only when you're halfway down the hall do you remember why you even bothered to leave early. You look back. "Don't you want to escort someone?" you call back at him.<br/>
<br/>
He falls back against the door jamb with folded arms. "I can wait."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Well, so much for that bright idea.</i> Not that you're broken up at having gotten away from him. <br/>
<br/>
But dealing with the creeps (like Dylan) on the boys' team is going to be a downside to this impersonation.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So are the classes, which are dull. You did manage to get that Spanish homework done, so you're not in trouble in first period. Like Astronomy, it's a class where Stephanie hasn't any close friends, so you make do with the cell phone, and with Vanessa Bailey when it's time to partner up and do an in-class translation. You manage not to embarrass yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Then comes the Language Arts class "Reading for Pleasure," where you sit with Corale Weaver and Nell Hammond -- a.k.a. "Dump Truck" and "Earth Mover," though only behind their backs -- who are the two centers on the basketball team. But Nell -- who has muscles on top of muscles, so many that at a distance she is easily mistaken for Shawn Sax, the only African-American player on the boys' team -- is also a voracious reader, and she catches you up on where you should be in <i>Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.</i> Corale, who is round and doughy and very, very white, also takes more notes from Nell than from Ms. Gladstone.<br/>
<br/>
And all three of you do your best to ignore Jason Lynch, Ryan Schuler, Matt Nichols, and yes, Dylan Lloyd, who are also in the class.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's right at the start of third period that you get a text from Maria: <i>what lunch u have?<br/>
<br/>
fifth.</i><br/>
<br/>
A delay. Then: <i>meet with jessica?<br/>
<br/>
sure what about<br/>
<br/>
OMG SPENCER HAS TO SEE THE NURSE.</i> It takes you a moment to recognize it as an interruption from <i>annaadamslucky7</i>. Maria's reply: <i>stuff.</i><br/>
<br/>
You acknowledge, and are scrolling up to reply to Anna when you catch Katy Conlee, in the next desk over, intensely scrolling through her own messages. "Something up?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't know." Her manner turns shy. "What's up with you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Setting up a lunch date with Jessica Garner." You rub your nose.<br/>
<br/>
She scrunches up her eyes in the most adorable way, even though it's a pout of worry. "You're not eating with us?"<br/>
<br/>
You tense a little. She's obviously angling for an invite, for Katy Conlee has a super-obvious case of hero-worship where Stephanie is concerned, even to the point of changing her schedule around so as to share more classes -- like this one, American Government -- with her. Normally you'd be happy to hang out with her, which is the usual lunch plan. Stephanie treats Katy with modest kindness, but you find yourself loving her sugary little grins and the way her long, soft, flaxen hair bounces around. But, of course, this meeting with Jessica means business. "I don't know what it's about," you tell her.<br/>
<br/>
"Does it have to do with Marc?" <br/>
<br/>
And you tense a little more. "I said I don't know."<br/>
<br/>
Meghan Velasquez, who's sitting behind you, pipes up. "Yeah, Jessica's trying to set up Stephanie with her brother."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God!" <br/>
<br/>
"She's kidding," you tell Katy. You don't dare look at Meghan, though your heart is suddenly beating very hard. You know perfectly well that's not what Jessica wants to talk to you about, but Stephanie can't help getting heartsick at the idea of a set up with Marc, and you don't want your expression to betray anything.<br/>
<br/>
Besides, now you're suddenly unnerved that Meghan has picked up on Stephanie's crush. And she would have shared it. <i>Are all your friends whispering behind your back that you've got a crush on Marc?</i><br/>
<br/>
Katy leans forward with a dimpled smile and a gleaming eye. "Do you think you could mention to Jessica," she whispers, "that I think her brother is -- " She titters. "A blaze?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Yes, I've heard that Marc does like to smoke a bowl or two on weekends,</i> you want to retort. Katy's slang is usually off base, as it is here. "Tell her yourself. You don't exactly keep it a secret."<br/>
<br/>
She gasps and shrinks back in her seat with a reproachful expression. You almost apologize, but she's touched a sore spot.<br/>
<br/>
And is that sore spot ever going to get less tender? Not for Stephanie, you'd bet, and that means not for you while you're here.<br/>
<br/>
So maybe you should do something about it. </span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212111113231111211111121111
author_id: seuzz
title: Lather and Gossip
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Jessica texts you to set up a lunch meeting by the tennis courts. There's a crowd there -- some sophomore boys taking a lunchtime break -- but it's noisy enough that no one can overhear you talking.<br/>
<br/>
Business is handled pretty briskly -- Fairfax needs to set up a time when you can help him take Chelsea out and put Josiah in. After some back-and-forth, you tell Carlos you can be available for a six o'clock ambush, which will give you time to get the Wyatt family's new furniture moved. You're pleased to see that Carlos is much more in character as Jessica than he was last night, and he confesses that he and Mike are dismayed at how out of character Fairfax is being as Maria. Even the other cheerleaders noticed her atypical concentration at practice: "Lin said, 'My God, it's like she's actually <i>paying attention</i> to the routines.'"<br/>
<br/>
The first step in a change of plans -- short-term and long-term -- occurs after lunch, when you're in the locker room dressing out for basketball practice.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
These are the periods you've been looking forward to all day. Stephanie looks forward to them as well, but you've been twitching on the inside, waiting for them to arrive.<br/>
<br/>
What's the attraction? A little bit of it is the break from the academic. No books, no reading, no written exercises, no boring teacher droning away at the front of the class. Just you and your body in action.<br/>
<br/>
More of it is the chance to exercise and to execute cool, skillful moves that look good because you <i>are</i> good -- now that you're Stephanie Wyatt -- at doing them. It's your chance to play with other girls who are good at them, and to watch them, and to know that they're watching you, and that they're admiring you and the way you're so good at doing this stuff.<br/>
<br/>
But the best part, you have to admit to yourself, is going to be in the changing rooms before, and especially <i>after</i>, practice.<br/>
<br/>
You delay your arrival at the gym until just a few minutes before the tardy bell is set to ring. Julia Paez and Samantha Carpenter, already changed out and on the court, are stretching and warming up when you stride in. That's okay. They're tall, skinny girls without much in the way of breast development, so you didn't miss much with them. And when Corale and Nell pass you on the way out, you're actually kind of glad that they got to class early.<br/>
<br/>
Everyone else is already inside, in various states of undress.<br/>
<br/>
Almida is changing her bra for a sports top, and you get a brief glance of her dark breasts. It's probably an unkind thought, but you can't help being reminded of a certain kind of picture that shows up in National Geographic, of village women in sub-Saharan Africa walking around in skirts and no tops. <br/>
<br/>
Kristy Suffolk is already in a long, sleeveless top and is just pulling her shorts up. She drops onto a bench as you pass her, and starts to pull socks over her small feet and up her strong calves. <br/>
<br/>
Haley Flanagan is stripped to her bra and panties. All her concentration is bent on pulling her long, dark hair back into a tight pony tail. She shifts forward when you mutter, "'Scuse me" at her, and you brush her bare back with your shoulder as you pass.<br/>
<br/>
Katy is at her locker, which is right next to yours, and she does a double take as you come up. She's still in her blouse, but she's peeled off everything else -- except her panties -- to expose shapely legs that are just beginning to lose their summertime glow. She smiles in relief. "I was wondering if you were going to show up."<br/>
<br/>
"I just skipped lunch is all." You twirl in the combination of your locker and swing the door open. Carefully you align it so that the mirror on its inside frames Hope Bianucci, who standing directly behind you on the opposite side of the room. "Jessica's business -- Pft, rather have spent it with you."<br/>
<br/>
"What was it about?" There's a little pout inside her voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Just Jessica drama, 's'why I'd rather been with you." You pull off your polo shirt and carefully fold it up. <i>Shut up, Katy,</i> you think at her. <i>Finish changing. I don't want you to notice me scoping out Hope in this mirror.</i> A quick glance in it lets you catch Hope as she reaches behind to unhook her bra.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you didn't miss anything anyway." Katy waits until you've pulled off your shorts before leaning in close. "Hannah was sitting with Brownie again today."<br/>
<br/>
"Someone's gotta be able to tolerate her."<br/>
<br/>
"I know, right?" She glances over her shoulder. "But that thing that you and Anita cooked up with Dominique -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Shh. Just get changed, okay?"<br/>
<br/>
She turns back around with a pout, which finally gives you the chance to stare at Hope as you absent-mindedly pull on your own things. Your heart beats wildly in your throat as she strips to her skin before pulling on her workout clothes.<br/>
<br/>
Her Italian ancestry shows in her skin tone, which darkens easily under the sun and which even now, in the first weeks of October, glows under a dusky tan. She is tall and slim, with strong, tapering, scissor-like legs and washboard abs. Her breasts are large, and they point slightly upward, like pears; she gives you a good look at them as she's unfolding her gym clothes, by turning in profile. Her hair is brown with sun-bleached highlights, and it hangs in a straight curtain down below her shoulders. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Bitch,</i> Stephanie whispers in your ear, but you're feeling a little damp down below from staring at her. Only after she's pulling her tank top on, and pulling her hair free, do you tear your eyes off her.<br/>
<br/>
By that time you've got your own cotton shorts and cotton t-shirt on, and you drop onto the bench to change socks and shoes. When you look back up into the mirror, Hope has left her locker.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Practice is exactly as relaxing -- meaning it's exactly as exhausting and as energizing -- as you'd anticipated. It feels amazing having the basketball in your hand, and to be able to make it go and do exactly what you want it to do. You also get to boss some of the other girls around, telling them to straighten out their form or how they should have been moving. All of them -- except Hope -- accept your suggestions humbly, because Stephanie can snow them almost as easily as she snows Will Prescott.<br/>
<br/>
But the best part of the practice session comes at the end, when you and half a dozen other girls crowd under the showerheads to lather up and scrub. You don't even have to keep your eyes to yourself, as there's a lot of shouted talk over the shrill hiss of water running through pipes and the rattle of spray hitting tile.<br/>
<br/>
"So what's with Dominique and this yummy guy?" Almida calls from the other side of Meghan Velasquez -- which gives you a chance to eyeball Meghan from the corner of your eye while looking back at Almida.<br/>
<br/>
"Beats me!" you shout back. "Never heard her talk about a guy that way before!"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't picture him as her type!"<br/>
<br/>
Samantha, standing behind you, speaks up, and you give her an attentive stare as she washes under her breasts. "What kind of guy <i>do</i> you picture as her type?"<br/>
<br/>
"I never thought about it!"<br/>
<br/>
"You think Dominique is <i>his</i> type?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know the guy!" This would be exasperating if you weren't so stimulated by all the lean girl bodies surrounding you, with water and lather rippling down them.<br/>
<br/>
"I bet she's going to try getting you to set something up with him!" Almida yells.<br/>
<br/>
"She already did!" you blurt out before you can stop yourself.<br/>
<br/>
"No!" "Oh my God!" "Dominique?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, sort of." You shut off your water, and gesture everyone to shut off theirs. Then you pull them all -- Almida and Meghan and Samantha and Katy, who's also there, of course -- into a close huddle, and your pussy starts to steam at being so close to theirs. "She didn't actually <i>ask</i> me to, but she did ask me if I knew him." You waggle an eyebrow. "That's practically like asking me to set something up, you know."<br/>
<br/>
They all squeal. "You should totally try setting them up," says Meghan. Samantha: "Why is she so interested in someone who doesn't go to school with us?" Almida: "'Cos most of the guys here are assholes?" "There's gotta be someone here for her, they're not <i>all -- </i>" "Maybe he's taken." "Who, Yummy Guy?" "No, the guy at Westside she likes." "Who would that be?" Meghan nudges you. "Have you ever asked her about it?" "No." "So find out." "I'm not going to -- !" "It's easy," says Almida, "just tell her you can't set her up with this yummy guy, then ask her if there's someone else she wants you to set her up with."<br/>
<br/>
This is appalling. "Why do you want to know who she's -- <i>if</i> she's -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos it's interesting." Almida grins.<br/>
<br/>
And that's when you see a way out for Stephanie.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The guys at Argosy help you and Will load furniture into the back of his truck, but it's just you and your beta unloading them at Wyatt Acres. (Craig has weaseled out by running off to an SAT-prep session with his friends.) It takes you three trips. At the end of it, you clap him on the arm and tell him he did a good job -- and when your mom's back is turned, you pass him a beer from the fridge. "So, are we, like, dating now?" he asks sarcastically.<br/>
<br/>
No, but by the end of the week, maybe you'll be going with someone. That way the school will finally know that Stephanie Wyatt is available.<br/>
<br/>
But it's got to be someone so inappropriate that Marc Garner will swing in to rescue you from him.</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212111113231111211111121112
author_id: seuzz
title: The Second Shortest Way Into Stephanie's Panties
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Jessica texts you after fourth period, as you're on your way to the cafeteria, and diverts you to the tennis courts. They're not empty -- some sophomore kids, it looks like, have taken them over for lunchtime play -- but it's noisy enough that you and the other fake can talk quite openly without being overheard and understood.<br/>
<br/>
It has to do with Chelsea Cooper, and the gang's plan to replace her with one of your own. "You still willing to help out Philip and Josiah after school?" Jessica asks.<br/>
<br/>
"If I can. I want to. But my pop needs me to help move some furniture this afternoon -- " You break off, thinking of the furniture in the storage complex, and how the complex is the perfect place to seize and replace people. "Anyway, I need to do that. Need to find someone to help. Someone with a truck, too."<br/>
<br/>
"I could get Marc to help you," Jessica says. "Except we don't have a truck."<br/>
<br/>
Your heart leaps at that suggestion and the opportunity. <i>Marc helping out Stephanie.</i> It's what she wants. It's what she needs. For years she's been waiting for it to happen.<br/>
<br/>
But it won't happen as long as she just stands around. If she's not going to do it herself, then one way or another someone else is going to have to do it for her.<br/>
<br/>
And you know which direction you'd rather help her from: the thrusting direction of Marc Garner.<br/>
<br/>
Now you know why you were thinking of the storage complex as the perfect place to do replacements.<br/>
<br/>
"Except we don't have a truck," Jessica repeats with a little more emphasis.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Sorry, I'm just thinking -- " You hesitate for only a second, then take the plunge. "Look, I have to talk to Fairfax. Maria, I mean. I, uh, I wanna make a change." You pull at your ear and look everyplace but Jessica's face.<br/>
<br/>
"What kind of change?"<br/>
<br/>
You tug harder at your ear, like you're trying to pull it and the rest of your face off, like a latex mask. It's really none of Montoya's business, is it? But then you blurt it out.<br/>
<br/>
"I want to stop being Stephanie, I want to be someone else." You wince a little as Jessica's eyes narrow. "Nothing against being Stephanie, it's awesome, but ... " You run a very dry tongue over your lower lip and stare past Jessica's ear. "But I want to be someone else."<br/>
<br/>
"You can't just hop around, Will," Jessica growls. "It's only been twenty-four hours."<br/>
<br/>
"I know, but -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Philip wants this to be a semester-long project."<br/>
<br/>
"He's talking about switching out of Maria," you riposte.<br/>
<br/>
"Eventually. But not, like, this afternoon, not right after getting into Maria."<br/>
<br/>
You look around to make sure that no one can hear you. There's one kid on the tennis courts who's staring at you, but he quickly looks away when he sees you do a double-take at him.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, here's the thing," you murmur at Jessica, drawing up so close you can catch the tang of her shampoo. "Stephanie's got a crush on a guy, and it's pretty goddamned awkward." You purse your lips, and give her a meaningful stare.<br/>
<br/>
She gawps back at you, then bursts out laughing. Heads turn your way, and you frantically try to shush her. "It's not funny!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes it is! It's hilarious! 'Cos it's Marc, right?" She wipes her eye as your jaw drops. "That's what Philip told us last night after you left. He told us that you told him -- "<br/>
<br/>
"That bastard!" Your phone buzzes with a text, but you ignore it.<br/>
<br/>
"Like he's going to a keep an awesome joke like that bottled up." She laughs out loud again. "Oh, fuck me with a -- " <br/>
<br/>
All at once she seems to remember who she is and who she's supposed to be, and stifles whatever exotic curse she was about to unfurl. <br/>
<br/>
"Listen," she says, but her expression is still mirthful. "You're just going to have to live with it, Will. Tell you what, Mike and I will try to keep Marc out of your way so you don't -- Hrrrrkkkccchhhh!" It sounds like she's trying to fart her larynx out through her nose. "Sorry. Sorry!" She pats her chest, and coughs. "Look, just deal with it, man. I mean, it's not like I don't gotta deal with, uh, Jessica's crushes, you know, same as Mike has to deal with -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Wait, what? Who does Jessica have a crush on?"<br/>
<br/>
"Huh? Oh, I don't even remember, I'd have to concentrate." Jessica pulls away from you, and it suddenly strikes you that she's struck a rather mannish pose, with legs splayed and arms akimbo. "So, you know, don't dwell on it. It's easy if --"<br/>
<br/>
"It doesn't work that way with me, <i>Carlos,</i>" you hiss. "And tighten up your act." She gives you a funny glance. "You look like you're about to scratch your balls and spit in the dirt." She flushes, but pulls her feet together. "Anyway, that's not the problem I've got, and I still want to switch, and that's who I want to switch into."<br/>
<br/>
"Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Marc. I want to impersonate Jessica's brother."<br/>
<br/>
"Unh! Marc? You want to -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"Quiet!" You look around again. No one seems to have noticed Jessica's outburst, but you draw up very close and grasp her elbow. "Yes, that's who I want to be. Because, between you and me -- " You look around again. "I want to be the one who takes Stephanie Wyatt's virginity. And Marc Garner is the only guy who can do that."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"We're not here to get laid, Will," Maria says. Her mouth is a grim line, and her dark eyes are flinty.<br/>
<br/>
You can't help but feel amused. Maria Vasquez has clear skin, bounteous hair, and luscious boobs and thighs. Every straight guy in school would love to plow her up and down, and Fairfax would only have to blink slowly and smile in order to get an invitation to screw. "No, but it's something we can do in our free time," you retort.<br/>
<br/>
It's after school, and a thick, viscous line of students is vomiting out of the nearby breezeway into the student parking lot. "Look," you continue as white spots show in Maria's cheek. "Whatever trouble we get up to is our business. Your business, what you want from this, is just this ... this <i>survey.</i> Well, don't you see that Marc is a natural place to watch it from? He's got all kinds of friends on the sports squads, not to mention he hangs out with the AP crowd, <i>and</i> he's got Eva and Jessica for sisters. He's, like, standing at a bunch of crossroads, he can watch and report on all kinds of traffic -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Aren't you going to be too busy getting laid to pay attention?"<br/>
<br/>
"Aren't Mike and Carlos going to be too busy playing with their boobs? Come on!" You scowl. "We're supposed to socialize. Marc socializes."<br/>
<br/>
"It's very awkward, Will, changing your position so soon." Her eyes narrow. "And who's to say you're not going to decide to change again right afterward?"<br/>
<br/>
"I promise I won't."<br/>
<br/>
She looks you up and down. "And you're talking about taking Marc out of character, aren't you? Doesn't he already have a girlfriend?"<br/>
<br/>
You stifle a spasm of anger at the thought of Hannah Westrick. "Yeah, well, he'll have a different one. He'll have Stephanie."<br/>
<br/>
"Why?" Her eyes narrow. "Why do you want to do this? If it's about getting inside Stephanie's panties, well, you're already there."<br/>
<br/>
You brush a little perspiration off the side of your face. It's not a warm day, but the conversation is heating you up. And you don't know how to explain yourself. You watch the line of students uncoiling behind Maria while she waits for you to speak again. Will Prescott comes out while you're watching, but he hangs back warily instead of coming over.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm a little confused by it too," you admit. "But maybe I just want to make Stephanie happy. This would make her happy. If she came back, she'd only miss a day, if we did it today -- "<br/>
<br/>
"We can't do it today," Maria snaps. "There's no time."<br/>
<br/>
"She'd only miss a couple of days. And then, as Marc, I could make her happy by being her boyfriend."<br/>
<br/>
Maria regards you evenly. "Do you have some kind of crush on her?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't think so." You rub your nose. "She's never been particularly nice to me. She doesn't respect me. She barely even <i>thinks</i> of me." You feel your face tighten. "Maybe I just want her to look at me, and to want me. Even if she doesn't know it's me."<br/>
<br/>
"Hmph." Maria looks faintly nauseated. "And what happens when we wrap up the survey, and Marc comes back? He'll just break up with her."<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate, then shrug. "Not my problem. I'm doing this for me, not her." You raise your chin. "We're doing this for <i>you,</i> man, so don't give me any shit about how I'm taking advantage of her. You're taking advantage of Maria and everyone else for this <i>experiment</i> or whatever it is that you're -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, alright!" Maria's lip curls. "If this is what you really want." She puts a slim finger in your face. "But this is it. You don't move again until someone else moves."<br/>
<br/>
You nod, and don't say it aloud: <i>Maybe I'll stay as Marc </i>after<i> everyone else moves.<br/>
<br/>
Maybe I'll stay as Marc after everyone else goes back to being themselves.</i><br/>
<br/>
Would Fairfax and them even notice if you quietly let a beta continue to live out your life?<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You get immediate use from that beta after parting with Maria. You'd already texted Craig, telling him he can drive the car home, and you and Beta-Will drive out in his truck to the furniture store to pick up the new furniture. It takes you three trips to get it all back to Wyatt Acres, and your mom asks the fake Will to stay for dinner, but a warning look from you sends him home.<br/>
<br/>
 Besides, you have another appointment to keep. Westside High is getting a new Chelsea Cooper.</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212111113231111211111121113
author_id: seuzz
title: Patience and Patients
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Stephanie eats in the cafeteria, occasionally supplementing whatever garbage the school is serving with food brought from home. You assume that's where Jessica -- Carlos -- wants to meet, and you're striding that way with Katy after fourth period (Plant and Soil Science; a bullshit class that Stephanie hopes will at least help turn her thumb from a sickly yellow to a pale green) when you stop to answer a blizzard of texts. Only the one from Jessica is important -- the rest are updates on Spencer Savory's stomach condition, and wishes to him for a speeding recovery from lots of girls who yesterday had no idea that he even existed. That photo of him splaying sexily on his bed has been making the rounds of Westside.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm meeting Jessica over by the tennis courts," you tell Katy. Her frown deepens when you add, "Save me a spot in the cafeteria in case this doesn't take long."<br/>
<br/>
"What if it takes you all lunch?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>What does it matter?</i> you want to reply. "I'll text you when I know."<br/>
<br/>
You frown at the tennis courts as you approach. There's a bunch of kids on them, goofing around with rackets and balls, but they're not dressed for PE, so maybe they're just playing on their lunch break. Jessica is loitering nearby, watching them with folded arms. She wears a very serious expression, but that's not unusual for her. <br/>
<br/>
"Gotta talk to you about afterschool plans," she says in a low voice, "since, uh, Maria's got fourth lunch and we've got fifth. You still willing to help out Philip and Josiah after school?"<br/>
<br/>
"If I can. I want to. But my pop needs me to help move some furniture this afternoon, and I gotta round up someone with a truck to help."<br/>
<br/>
"I could get Marc to." Your heart leaps up. "Except we don't have a truck." It crashes.<br/>
<br/>
"Could he get one?"<br/>
<br/>
"Look, what time can you be free to help, uh, Maria?" Again, there's just a fractional hesitation before the name. "What time will you be done with that other stuff?"<br/>
<br/>
"I wanna get it done as soon as possible. By six at the latest."<br/>
<br/>
"Then we'll set it up as a dinner date with, uh, Chelsea."<br/>
<br/>
"That's great." You step up close. "And you have to stop doing that."<br/>
<br/>
"Doing what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Those little hiccups. 'I'll tell, <i>uh</i>, Maria. With, <i>uh,</i> Chelsea.'" You lean in very close and murmur. "It's just, 'I'll tell Maria and she'll make plans with Chelsea.' Because, you know, that's who -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be such a fucking pest about it, Will," she retorts. "No one's listening -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Not here, but -- "<br/>
<br/>
"And if someone does notice, so what? Jesus!"<br/>
<br/>
You grimace. "Well, maybe. I guess you might be right."<br/>
<br/>
"Fucking A, I'm right."<br/>
<br/>
You don't much feel like being gracious, but it seems like the wisest course. "Alright. And I'm sorry I got pissy with you last night. I should'a just waited till this morning, seen how you were doing."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm doing fine," she says. "Eva's fine too." She thrusts her lower lip at you.<br/>
<br/>
"And so's Maria, right?" You sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"Well -- " <br/>
<br/>
That gets your attention. "Something wrong there?"<br/>
<br/>
She snorts. "Philip, man, he's like you, he's treating it like a job." She squints at you. "Except with him he can't get the personality quite right, while with you, it's like you can't <i>stop</i> being in character."<br/>
<br/>
You remember the way "Maria" was acting before school. "Yeah, I talked to him in the parking lot just before the bell, and he seemed a little, uh, off. At least, from what I'd expect from Maria," you tell her, and Jessica nods. "How's he doing in class?"<br/>
<br/>
She sighs. "At practice he was so <i>into</i> it, trying to do the moves right, it was like -- " She makes a face. "Yumi and some of the others noticed. Lin said, 'My God, it's like she's actually <i>paying attention</i> to the routines.'"<br/>
<br/>
"So she's normally not -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, normally she's a total space cadet. Is that your phone?" It had buzzed earlier, and now it's buzzing again, but again you ignore it. "Anyway, if she starts getting good grades on her math quizzes, that's when people will start wondering what's up with her."<br/>
<br/>
"Then we better get Chelsea taken care of before <i>she</i> notices anything wrong. Tell, uh -- " <i>Dammit, now he's got </i>you<i> doing it.</i> "Tell Maria to set up a dinner date and send me details. Make it for between five-thirty and six, and I'll be sure to make it."<br/>
<br/>
"You want me to get Marc to find you someone with a truck?"<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate, then shake your head. You're just going to have to live with this "crush" business. "I'll get Will Prescott to help. He owes me. Or I owe him," you correct yourself. "Not sure how the accounting works there."<br/>
<br/>
A faint smirk disfigures Jessica's face, and briefly you can see Carlos Montoya's face behind it.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
The text was from Katy, asking if she needed to hang onto a seat for you, but you told her to let it go. Instead, you went looking for your beta.<br/>
<br/>
You started out on the front quad, where Carson Ioeger's red bandana was floating prominently atop his head. But though Caleb and Beta-Keith were eating with him and James and Jenny, your beta wasn't on hand. "Hey, where's your friend Will?" you demanded of Caleb, and ignored the grin that distended Keith's face.<br/>
<br/>
"Off making a movie," Caleb said.<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's with Carlos and Michael. Montoya and Hollister," Keith explained. His eyes shone, and he seemed about to choke on suppressed laughter.<br/>
<br/>
"Huh. So where would I find them?"<br/>
<br/>
"How's your brother?" Carson asked. His expression was very satirical as he squinted up at you.<br/>
<br/>
"He's fine. Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"Where's he at?"<br/>
<br/>
"Duke."<br/>
<br/>
"What's he studying?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's majoring in biomedical engineering. Why?"<br/>
<br/>
"You hear that?" Carson turns to James. "That sloppy stoner's majoring in biomedical -- "<br/>
<br/>
"He's not a 'sloppy stoner', asshole." Every muscle in your body tightened. "You don't get into Duke with a full scholarship, and get into those kinds of classes -- "<br/>
<br/>
"He's not a stoner? My mistake." Carson grinned up at you impudently. "Because he sure dressed like one." <br/>
<br/>
You didn't need a mirror or a cell phone camera to know exactly what kind of icy glare your face had frozen into. You've seen the look directed your way often enough. "Is that why <i>you're</i> dressed like one?" you retorted. "You think it worked for my brother, it'll work for you? If you get into better than a state college, Ioeger, come find me and I'll give you a hundred dollars." Carson suppressed a smile, but said nothing. "And if you see Will before I do, tell him not to skip Astronomy. I need to talk to him."<br/>
<br/>
It felt good, you had to admit to yourself as you stalked away, being able to talk at those guys that way. <br/>
<br/>
And except for Beta-Keith, they had no idea who you actually were. <br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You don't catch up to your beta until Astronomy, and you almost missed him because you were absorbed in your texts when he came in. But you happen to glance up, and with a chuck of the chin you summon him over. "I need your truck again this afternoon. Can you help?"<br/>
<br/>
His expression is shifty. "Is that a question, or a -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
"Wait for me by the gym after school. We're gonna move some more furniture."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, that was fun yesterday," he mumbles, and shuffles back to his desk.<br/>
<br/>
He's hunched over in the same sullen attitude when you catch up to him in the quad in front of the gym. "The hell's the matter with your face, Prescott?" You grab him by the jaw. "Try smiling more. Eugh," you have to add when a sickly grin spreads over his face. "Well, come on." You grab him by the elbow.<br/>
<br/>
"Is this gonna be a regular thing?" he whines as you squeeze into the pack of students pouring through the breezeway into the parking lot. "Moving furniture for you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Nah, just yesterday and today. Oh, and my mom was asking about you yesterday." You can't suppress a grin at his expense. "She asked me if you were cute." He's scowling when you glance over at him. "At least try to <i>take</i> a compliment, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't mean it."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't say it. But I told her some girls might think you were cute. Bailey thought you were cute," you blurt out almost before the thought has formed itself. Suddenly you feel hot with indignation. "Christ, Will, why'd you have to buzz off, leave her dangling like that? She's the best you're likely to get." You sense him, rather than see him, tense all over. "It's not like I can set you up with any of <i>my</i> friends. They're out of your league. Though maybe if you cleaned up -- "<br/>
<br/>
It's like you can't help yourself. You're almost getting aroused telling this scarecrow what a loser he is, and how much he'd have to change about himself to get anyone of Stephanie Wyatt's class to pay attention to him. <br/>
<br/>
" -- cleaned up and maybe put on a little mass, got a little confidence without being a frigging goofball about it -- "<br/>
<br/>
You're out of the breezeway now, clear of the crowd. He turns a slit-eyed glare on you, and his lips peel back.<br/>
<br/>
Abruptly you snatch the cap off his head. He snarls, but freezes when you give him a look. You brush back his stiff, out-thrusting bangs of straw-like hair. "Huh."<br/>
<br/>
"What?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>It's your personality,</i> you want to tell him. <i>If you got serious about something and stopped being such a neurotic, self-conscious loser -- <br/>
<br/>
If you cleaned up and tightened up your act --<br/>
<br/>
If you got a sensible girlfriend and listened to her and did what she told you -- </i><br/>
<br/>
It would be hard work, but if you set out to improve Will Prescott, using Stephanie Wyatt's instincts, he might actually have a shot with the kind of girl he wants.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111132121112
author_id: seuzz
title: Exit, Through a Trapdoor
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Yeah, this is too weird. You got rid of that book because it freaked you out. Now that you've got a closer look at it, you <i>really</i> don't want to get mixed up in it. So you're grateful for the escape hatch, and with a shy, tight smile you clamber through it.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, no problem," says Carlos. He sidles back over to the foot locker and dips his hand into it. "I understand. But in case you change your mind -- "<br/>
<br/>
You don't see the blow coming until it's in your face. Something blue swallows up the world.<br/>
<br/>
For a moment you feel yourself hanging suspended, then an immense weight pushes you deep into the earth. Deeper than any grave. Deeper than any mine. Deeper even than human thought, because before you stop falling you have ceased even to think. <br/>
<br/>
You buckle beneath the weight, and know no more.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's a very long time before you wake up, but that's another story.<br/>
<br/>
One that might get told eventually.<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321212
author_id: seuzz
title: The Magic Word Is "Money"
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Sorry, I've got some other stuff I have to do this afternoon," you tell Stephanie.<br/>
<br/>
You'd really like it if she begged, and you wouldn't mind if she got mad, but she only nods and shrugs it off. Someone trips you as you make your way over to your chair, but you swallow the snarl when you see it's Rennerhoff.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Five thousand dollars is a lot of money, and the promise of even a fraction of it sorely tempts you. Through all of eighth period you jog your leg and tap your pencil as you try to reconcile your desire for that kind of money with your gut sense that there's something peculiar in back of Braydon's report.<br/>
<br/>
But at last you yield to temptation, and after the bell rings you dive into the hallways to find him. It doesn't take you long, and his eyes light up when he sees you coming. It's like he can read your decision in your face.<br/>
<br/>
"Let's go straight up to the university from here," he says. "I'll drive." For a moment the old anxiety bubbles up, but you push it back down again. It makes sense to get a ride with Braydon, since he knows where you need to go.<br/>
<br/>
Talk in the car isn't strained, exactly, but you and Braydon Delp don't have a lot in common. So after some brief talk about classes, and after filling a few minutes by talking about Mike and Carlos and the day you spent watching that dumb old movie with them, you both lapse into silence. Braydon, you notice, gets kind of a worried look about his eyes as you draw up close to the university, and he looks around nervously once you're parked in a lot next to a big brick building. "Something wrong?" you ask him.<br/>
<br/>
"I just don't know if I can park here," he says.<br/>
<br/>
<i>A guy who claims to be into black magic is worried about a parking ticket?</i> You shrug at the strangeness of it.<br/>
<br/>
He leads you inside and up a stairwell to the top floor. Halfway down daylight spills from an open doorway into the dry, airless corridor. Braydon puts his head into the office and knocks on the door. "Professor Blackwell?"<br/>
<br/>
"Ah yes," answers a plummy voice. "Mr. Delp, is it? Come in! And were you able to -- ?" The voice breaks off as you look into the room.<br/>
<br/>
The speaker is an fat man in his mid- to late-fifties, you'd guess. Stringy hair trails over a white pate, and a scraggly, graying moustache-and-goatee clings about a fleshy, red-lipped mouth. From the neck down he is encased in a black turtleneck under a gray sports coat, and dark wool trousers. He heaves himself from behind his desk, and splays his apple-like belly over it as he extends you a clammy hand. "And you are?" he asks. His eyebrows lift over his piggy eyes.<br/>
<br/>
"Will Prescott," you say, and surreptitiously wipe your palm on your shirt after he's released your hand. "Braydon was telling me that there's this book you're trying to find?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yes," he says, and settles back into the groaning chair. "He told me you've seen it about. You purchased it from Arnholms? Damnable bit of luck, that," he says when you nod. "It was the capstone of my collection, if that's the book you found, and I've been frantic since losing it. If you can tell me where it's got to, I would be most obliged to you. And," he adds, "I would show you so with a handsome monetary reward."<br/>
<br/>
"But I'm not sure it is the same book," you reply.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, nonsense." He snorts. "From what Mr. Delp here has told me, it's absolutely the same book." He rattles off a lot of Latin. "In red leather covers with gold-leaf lettering, and pictures of faces marching down the frontispiece."<br/>
<br/>
"Something like that," you admit.<br/>
<br/>
"And you paid -- What was the figure you gave to Mr. Delp?" He turns toward Braydon, and the latter says, "Two dollars."<br/>
<br/>
"Quite a bargain," the professor continues. "And why was it so cheap?" He cocks his head.<br/>
<br/>
"Some of the pages seemed like they were stuck together."<br/>
<br/>
"That identifies it definitively," he says. "There <i>is</i> a trick to being able to turn the pages, it's one of the, oh -- " He waves his hand lazily in the air. "It's one of the little parlor tricks its author used to delight connoisseurs of his craft. I don't know any other book that uses it. So that settles it," he finishes with a hearty sigh. "The only point now is deciding how much I will pay you for this information, and how much more I will pay you if you are able to actually bring it to me. Or bring me the person who currently has it."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know who has it," you say, and at the same time Braydon says, "A guy named George Mendoza." He looks at you. "Right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Mendoza's the last guy I know who had it," you say. "But he told me he sold it to someone." The room is beginning to feel very close and warm, and you're feeling awkward on your feet. "So I don't know -- "<br/>
<br/>
"But you could ask this Mendoza fellow, surely," says the professor. "And he could -- I beg your pardon, is something wrong?" He leans forward with a frown.<br/>
<br/>
Only then do you realize how much you've tensed, and you force yourself to relax. To your relief, Braydon takes up the explanation.<br/>
<br/>
"George Mendoza's -- Well, he's not really a nice guy," he says. "He's not really someone who -- "<br/>
<br/>
"He stole it from me," you blurt out. "The book. He and his friends took me out behind the school and wound up taking it from me." You feel yourself flushing.<br/>
<br/>
The professor turns very grave. "I see. Yes, I do see. I'm very sorry to hear that." His brow darkens. "I understand perfectly. And yet, I do suppose Mr. Mendoza, if I judge his type correctly, would be willing to <i>sell</i> the information as to where he placed the book?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah." You kick at the floor with your toe. "He told me he'd tell me who he sold it to, if I gave him -- I think he said a hundred dollars. Maybe it was two hundred. But I don't even know if he was serious," you add. "He's just an asshole, and maybe -- "<br/>
<br/>
"If I gave you two hundred dollars," says the professor, and he reaches inside his jacket, " would you offer it on my behalf to Mr. Mendoza for information on -- ?" He has pulled out a thin leather wallet, but he pauses with it in his hand. "Or perhaps you could simply give him my card, and tell him that if he gets in contact with me, he might learn something to his advantage."<br/>
<br/>
You glance at Braydon, and the two of you hold each other's eye. "I think," says Braydon slowly after a moment, "it would be hard to trust him. George Mendoza, I mean." He turns back to the professor. "If you gave him money, he might lie. He might think that then he could get some more money out of you."<br/>
<br/>
"Mm. Now I <i>do</i> begin to understand your obvious trepidation. Well, I do appreciate this additional information." The professor pulls two crisp new twenty dollar bills from his wallet. "That is for your help today," he says as he hands one to you and one to Braydon. "And here -- " Now he draws out two small business cards, and hand them to each of you as well. "I'll leave it to you to decide which of you approaches Mr. Mendoza. I will give three hundred dollars to the one who brings Mr. Mendoza to me so that I may discuss with him the whereabouts of the <i>Libra Persona.</i> That is my home address on the bottom, which is where I will discuss the matter with him. Email me when you have talked to him and set up a time for us to meet. It will have to be after five o'clock. Otherwise, I am at your convenience."<br/>
<br/>
He beams -- his face is like a loathsome moon leering over the horizon -- and stands to shake your hands before dismissing you.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"So what do you think, Will?" Braydon asks when you're outside again.<br/>
<br/>
"Did he pay <i>you</i> to bring me in for that talk?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Well, not directly, not with money." Braydon scratches the back of his head. "It turns out that he's, uh, kind of an expert on the stuff I'm interested in." He glances over his shoulder. "He's not going to tutor me, exactly, but he said he'd spend a couple of afternoons with me going over some questions I've got. But I have to get the book back to him first."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Great.</i> This Professor Blackwell is basically a grown-up version of Braydon. "And that five thousand dollars he was talking about?"<br/>
<br/>
Braydon hangs his head. "Well, he said to mention that kind of reward, because he is willing to go that high to get the book back. But I'm not in it for the money. So," he says after drawing a deep breath. "If you want to be the one to talk to Mendoza, you can probably figure out a way to get, like, five thousand out of him. I won't fight you for it."<br/>
<br/>
"You don't want to talk to Mendoza yourself?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not really, but I will if it's the only way to -- I'm just giving you a chance is all." He stops with a frown, then with a curve of the lip resumes walking. "You can have the money, but Professor Blackwell has to get the book."<br/>
<br/>
He leans over the windshield of his car -- you'd reached it while you weren't watching -- and snatches a white slip from under the wiper. "Fuck," he snarls. "I thought this was the wrong lot."<br/>
</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321213
author_id: seuzz
title: At Stephanie Wyatt's Feet
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>At least Stephanie is asking you for a favor, and you like the idea that she's putting yourself at least a little bit in your debt. It's the closest you've ever come—the closest you're ever likely to come—to standing on something like an equal footing with her.<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, I think I can help with that," you say. "What is it you need moved?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just some old junk. Won't fit in anybody's back seat."<br/>
<br/>
"Okay. So how do we want to, uh, coordinate? Like, where do I need to go and—?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'll ride with you," she says," and give you directions."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Whoa.</i> "Alright, that sounds like a, uh, a plan."<br/>
<br/>
"I guess it does." <br/>
<br/>
Then she sits back with her iPhone. That appears to be the end of the conversation, so you retreat to your own seat. <br/>
<br/>
You're distracted (naturally) and your feet catch on something, and you just stop yourself from falling on your face by grabbing at an empty desk. The hissed laugh tells you what happened even before you turn to see Rennerhoff leering at you. He tucks his feet back under the desk.<br/>
<br/>
<i>What is this, third grade or something?</i><br/>
<br/>
You glance back at Stephanie, to see if she noticed this latest humiliation, but she's absorbed in texting.</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212131
author_id: seuzz
title: Putting the Magic Back in the Tricks
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Sorry, I've got some other stuff I have to do this afternoon," you tell Stephanie.<br/>
<br/>
You'd really like it if she begged, and you wouldn't mind if she got mad, but she only nods and shrugs it off. Someone trips you as you make your way over to your chair, but you swallow the snarl when you see it's Rennerhoff.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Because you're not mature enough for this kind of thing," Carson Ioeger says. "That's how come." He leans back in his chair and sniggers openly at you.<br/>
<br/>
Your retort is pre-empted by the purse-mouthed school librarian. "Please don't put your feet on the tables," she softly scolds as she walks by. Carson, with a tight smile, drops his great boat-like feet to the floor with a thud. But after she's gone, he leans back and puts them back up. <br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, like <i>you're</i> real mature," you retort. "And what was so mature about gluing all of Javits's books together that time?"<br/>
<br/>
"Very little," Carson admits. "Which is why we're trying to get away from that kind of thing." He looks over as the library doors open. A squad of sophomore girls charges in, and he returns to you. "Pitch me an idea for a prank, and if I like it, <i>maybe</i> we'll let you help implement it."<br/>
<br/>
You rub your nose. It's three-fifty -- only a quarter-hour since classes ended -- so the library is still fairly crowded. A few students have drifted in to do some homework; those who'd camped out for eighth-period study hall are beginning to pack up their stuff; but there are other knots and wads of students milling about like it's happy hour at a bar.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I didn't say I wanted to help you guys work on something," you tell Carson. "I'm just looking for something to do today."<br/>
<br/>
"Something happen to Johansson and Tilley?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug. "I'm kind of trying to avoid Keith. He's got this extra-credit thing he wants me to do."<br/>
<br/>
"You should take him up on it," says Carson, and his bantering tone turns serious. "Your C-plusses won't earn themselves the old-fashioned way."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you." You knock his feet off the table, and he grins. "And I can't hang out with Caleb in case -- "<br/>
<br/>
"But what's this extra-credit thing Tilley wants you to do? Does <i>he</i> need the help?"<br/>
<br/>
"Keith needs help with lots of things. But it's for Hawks's classes."<br/>
<br/>
"Your film class? Ha!" Carson throws his head back and laughs again. "Extra credit for a freaking class where all you do is -- "<br/>
<br/>
"You took Mr. Hawks for English last year, you know what he's like!" You slap at Carson's feet again as he raises them back to the table, but he kicks your hand away with a grin. "He's the same way, only more so, because he <i>knows</i> that people think that -- " You sputter off inconclusively.<br/>
<br/>
Carson waves his hand. "Yeah, yeah. Point is, you need extra credit, so -- "<br/>
<br/>
"I do not!"<br/>
<br/>
"No? What's your grade in there currently?"<br/>
<br/>
"He hasn't given us a mid-term grade or anything."<br/>
<br/>
Carson snorts. "You know what I mean. What grades have you been getting on the assignments?"<br/>
<br/>
You glower. "Well, it's a dumb extra-credit idea anyway!"<br/>
<br/>
Carson laughs again. "That's what I thought." The library door opens. This time it's James Lamont who enters, and Carson sits up. "But though I'm flattered you want to hang out with us -- " He stops and frowns at the look on his friend's face. <br/>
<br/>
For Lamont is wincing. "Gotta cancel on you, man," he says, and waggles his iPhone at Carson. "My mom needs me to babysit."<br/>
<br/>
"So? We'll take the sprog with us. You can't get 'em started too young."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be stupid, I'm not gonna bring along -- "<br/>
<br/>
"So how am I supposed to -- ?"<br/>
<br/>
They talk over each other before simultaneously falling silent. James looks very pinched, but his expression turns thoughtful when his gaze falls on you.<br/>
<br/>
Carson follows his glance. "No," he tells James.<br/>
<br/>
"Why not?" Lamont lowers his voice so that you can't hear anything except " -- into it -- " and something that sounds like "owe it to him."<br/>
<br/>
Carson glances back at you again. "Hang tight, Prescott," he says, and putting an arm around James he draws his friend off into a corner.<br/>
<br/>
You slouch, and your stomach sours as you await the decisions and dispositions of others. <i>It would sure be nice to be in charge of something for a change,</i> you think, <i>instead of having to wait for other people to decide whether or not I get to do stuff with them.</i> Lower and lower you sink, and you cross your arms, and when Carson's voice rises in volume, you ostentatiously turn your back on him.<br/>
<br/>
You don't look around when the voices finally cut out, but when a hand shoves the bill of your cap down over your face, you fly up with a snarl. Carson only leers at you. "Come on, you wanna be involved? Now's your chance."<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Phfbpt!</i>" But you were begging earlier, and you need to be somewhere with someone that will give you an excuse to dodge Keith and Braydon and Stephanie, so you hike your backpack to your shoulders and follow Carson out.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"We're going for stuff that's more conceptual these days," he explains on the drive away from school. He'd insisted on your leaving your truck behind -- "I'll drop you off back there later" -- so you could ride with him. He's very mysterious about the destination.<br/>
<br/>
"I mean, gluing Javits's books together, or his feet to the floor, is a lot of fun," he continues. "But it's crude. There's no artistry behind it, no magic. Really," he sniffs, "it's not much better than what <i>those guys</i> do to the rest of us."<br/>
<br/>
"Except you're doing it to them, which makes it funny," you put in.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, yeah." He chuckles, and smoothly changes lanes. "But these days we're trying for an effect that is more, um, indirect. We're trying to get inside their heads instead of up their noses."<br/>
<br/>
"Like how?"<br/>
<br/>
"By invading their space. We're trying to do it, even, without them knowing we're the ones doing it, or that someone is even doing something to them."<br/>
<br/>
"Like how?" you repeat. "I mean, give me an example of -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, take that gag you mentioned about gluing Javits's books together. A, he knows that was someone doing something mean to him. B, he had a pretty good idea who did it."<br/>
<br/>
"He thought it was Keith."<br/>
<br/>
"Right, and it was pretty fucking insulting when he <i>did</i> blame it on Tilley, like it was the kind of dopey shit someone like Tilley would come up with. That's when me and James starting talking about -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Can you just get to the point?"<br/>
<br/>
"The point is, C, it still really put a dent in his day. Me and James, when we got to talking about it, decided that <i>that's</i> really what it should all be about. Hurting guys like Javits and Patterson and Black, but without them <i>realizing</i> it was someone who did it to them. To them it should feel like karma."<br/>
<br/>
"You just don't want them hauling you and James onto the roof of the gym and leaving you there, like Seth did to Keith after -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, how did he get down, anyway?"<br/>
<br/>
"<i>He</i> said he shimmied down a drainpipe, but me and Caleb think he just took turns dropping onto lower and lower roofs until he reached the ground. He hasn't got the upper body strength to -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Well, whatever, the thing is that, me and James, we're not scared of them doing something like that to us," Carson continues. "We just want to leave them spooked. Like, you ever have that feeling there's someone plotting against you, that there's a secret enemy out there who's out to get you, but you're not sure who?"<br/>
<br/>
"No."<br/>
<br/>
"Really? Huh. Well, what about conspiracy theories? Like, the Illuminati or the CIA. You ever get the feeling, when you're watching the news, that maybe there's someone in back of all the bad stuff, organizing it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, sometimes," you tell him, more to get him to shut up than because you do. You hardly even pay attention to the news.<br/>
<br/>
"So, it's kind of like that," Carson says. "That's the feeling we want them to get. That <i>maybe</i> all the bad stuff that's happening is coincidence, or <i>maybe</i> there's a kind of plot against them. But they can't tell for sure."<br/>
<br/>
You squeeze the bridge of your nose. "Example, Carson?" you ask him for the third time.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, you have to understand that me and James, we <i>really</i> don't want any word of what we're doing and how we're doing it leaking out. That would totally ruin things for us. In lots of ways.<br/>
<br/>
"I promise, I won't tell anyone."<br/>
<br/>
"You better not, because if you do -- " Carson's face tightens. "I promise we will do to you everything we've got planned for them. Only more so."<br/>
<br/>
He doesn't frighten you, and you calmly repeat your promise.<br/>
<br/>
"Alright," he says. "I'm not going to tell you about the next thing we've got planned, but we're already putting it together. That's what we were doing when you ran into us on Sunday. But I'll tell you the last thing we did."<br/>
<br/>
You're briefly distracted by his casual reference to "when you ran into us on Sunday." You haven't seen Carson and James outside of school in weeks. And you spent all day Sunday with Carlos and Mike. <br/>
<br/>
So you don't really follow the start of what proves to be a short lecture in chemistry, and only start paying attention when he says, "So it's a much better way of getting that rotten egg smell everywhere."<br/>
<br/>
"Wait, what?" you interrupt.<br/>
<br/>
"I said we used ammonia sulfide instead of hydrogen sulfide. It disperses better, which distributes the smell farther even as the ammonia reacts to sunlight. We've heard them talking about it, so we <i>know</i> it stinks up there in that loft of there's."<br/>
<br/>
"Are you saying you dropped a bunch of stink bombs in the fuck room?"<br/>
<br/>
"More or less," Carson says.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111132121312
author_id: seuzz
title: A Story About Stephanie's Brother
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Stink bombs?" you exclaim. "After that build-up, I was expecting better than stink bombs!"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you," Carson snarls. "You wanna get out now?" He veers toward the shoulder of the road.<br/>
<br/>
"No! Ah, fuck it, let it be stink bombs. I got nothing better anyway." You slouch in your seat.<br/>
<br/>
"No, just some extra credit you're blowing off. It sure makes me feel special," Carson grumbles, "that you only wanna hang out 'cos you got nothing stinking else to do."<br/>
<br/>
"That's not true! I ditched -- " You count them up on your fingers. "Three other possible commitments. Four, if you count Caleb."<br/>
<br/>
"Right, your life is so full."<br/>
<br/>
"I did!" You tick them off one at a time. "There was Keith and that extra credit thing, that's one. Caleb, I had to dodge him in case Keith went looking for him. Braydon Delp wanted me to go up to the university to talk to some professor or other."<br/>
<br/>
"Keyserling?" Carson does a double take at you. "What's with you blowing off all these academic commitments?"<br/>
<br/>
"It wasn't an academic commitment, it was about a -- ! Never mind! I'm sick of telling that story. Anyway, that's three. Oh, and Stephanie Wyatt wanted to borrow my truck to move some stuff."<br/>
<br/>
"Stephanie!" Carson barks. "Wyatt? God!" He shakes his head.<br/>
<br/>
This reaction startles you, but you quickly decide he must be thinking of those rumors Caleb mentioned. "Yeah, I know, right? Caleb says she's a dyke."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's her business if she is," Carson snorts. He peers down his nose at the traffic coagulating at the upcoming intersection. "I'm thinking abut her brother. Jesus. You remember her brother? Kevin?"<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't know she had a brother."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh she's got one. One at least. I hope that's all. He was a senior when we were freshman. You must remember him."<br/>
<br/>
"No. So what about him? I guess he made an impression on <i>you</i>. I mean, I remember Lucy Vredenburg," you continue when Carson says nothing. "She was a couple of years ahead of us, but -- "<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, Lucy! Fuck me, yeah!" Carson sucks hard on his lower lip. "Those senior girls, oh yeah, I remember all the senior and junior girls when we were -- " He pounds the car console with his fist and falls silent. You too go into a bit of a reverie as you remember some of those girls -- or, at least, their bare legs and ripe boobs and cascading hair. <i>God -- or whoever arranged this seating chart -- is very good,</i> you thought to yourself your sophomore year when you were put behind Brenda Tremaine in your Spanish class. Brenda, who wore her hair short and the backs of her dresses low. Her neck made you think of ice cream -- so lickable!<br/>
<br/>
"But Kevin Wyatt." Carson's voice shakes you out of the memory. "Fuck."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah? So what about this guy?"<br/>
<br/>
Carson only compresses his lips and concentrates on the traffic. He darts you a couple of glances when you say nothing else, then shrugs. "Oh, not something I like to talk about."<br/>
<br/>
"Why? Was he an asshole, he did stuff to you back in the day? Like Black and Patterson do to you now?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, but he was on the basketball team, and I think Patterson learned at least some of his asshole tricks from him. I heard he really fucked up some guys in his time. And he wasn't big, either, not like Gordon and Patterson are big. I mean, he was taller than most, and he worked out. But he looked pretty normal otherwise. Oh, except he wore his hair in a mullet. Christ." Carson shakes his head again. "And you know the really fucked up part? He actually looked <i>good</i> in it."<br/>
<br/>
You grin. "You thought he was good looking?"<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you. I got testimonials. He was Mr. Leopold's teacher's aide the year I took freshman Algebra, and I got to watch all semester as all the girls crawled all over him like maggots on a dead dog. He wore these cheap, tight t-shirts and torn jeans, and flip-flops, and he had this weedy moustache like he was a fucking stoner. But he was on the basketball and track teams, too, <i>and</i> when I looked into joining the debating club I found out he was the president of it and also taking AP classes out the ass. I heard later he got a full scholarship to Duke, fuck 'im, and not an athletic scholarship either."<br/>
<br/>
"No wonder you're jealous."<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't say I was jealous," Carson retorts. "That's not why -- He was disgusting, that's how come -- " He wrinkles his nose and rubs it. "I only told this to James and a couple of other guys, because I didn't want it getting around and back to Kevin what I'd seen, 'cos I didn't want him to come around and, you know, do to me what he'd done to some other guys. And then I just didn't want to talk about it."<br/>
<br/>
"You're still not talking about it."<br/>
<br/>
"And maybe I won't! Shut up, Prescott." And he falls quiet for a bit.<br/>
<br/>
But having stung himself into the memory, apparently he can't keep it back. "So, anyway, and I'm just going to get this out as quickly as possible, one day I'm out by the portables being stupid when I hear these noises coming from out back, like people are talking, but real indistinct. So, like a moron, I go around to see what the deal is. And I come around the corner, and there's Kevin Wyatt. He's standing there, facing one of the portables, and he's bracing himself against it, you know, palms up against it, like he's doing calisthenics or like he's trying to push it over. But if he is, he's trying to push it over with his pelvis, because he's going 'Nnhn, nnhn, nnhn, nhhn' at it with his dick."<br/>
<br/>
Your jaw drops. "You mean he was jerking off?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. Because there was a girl wedged between him and the portable. Her skirt was down around her ankles and his jeans were down around his knees, and it was like he was trying to jam her through the wall with his cock."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus!" You'd heard rumors of such antics going out at the portables, but Carson has actually seen such?<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah. And she wasn't facing him, either. She was turned to the wall, so I guess he was taking her, you know, by the back door."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck!"<br/>
<br/>
"And the really disgusting part, the absolute cherry on the shit sundae that was Kevin Wyatt thrusting his cock up this girl's ass, al fresco, on school property?" Carson hisses at the memory. "He was smoking the whole time. Had a cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth, and he was sucking on it and blowing out these little streams of smoke over the top of her head while she's going 'Ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh!' in this squeaky little voice." He shudders. "And while I was watching, trying to collect myself so I could run away without leaving my jaw behind, he takes the cigarette out of his mouth, looks to the side, and spits. Big old blob, right at the ground. Then he puts the cigarette back in his mouth. And all the time he's still thrusting at her, didn't even break rhythm once."<br/>
<br/>
You can't find your voice.<br/>
<br/>
"Yep," says Carson. "That was Stephanie Wyatt's big brother, and if he's typical of the breed, they can keep to themselves as far as I'm concerned."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Well, that story makes you glad that you didn't help Stephanie, even if her big brother is off at Duke and there's no chance of running into him at her house. And somehow it puts her in a much worse light. Your heart sinks even as your gorge rises.<br/>
<br/>
And that knocks you back into a semi-reflective mood. Why should this story about her brother bother you so much? Obviously it's not on account of what you now know about her brother, because until Carson told it you didn't even know he existed. No, it's because you're disappointed that Stephanie is related to such a cretin. <br/>
<br/>
But why should you care enough to be disappointed? It's not like she's ever been one of your favorite people. On the contrary, Carson's story ought to confirm every bad impression you ever had of people named Wyatt. In fact, given the stereotype you've been carrying around in your head -- plus Caleb's rumormongering -- you can almost imagine Stephanie strapping on a dildo and doing the same thing to one of your own classmates.<br/>
<br/>
But this story does cause your heart to sink. <br/>
<br/>
Maybe -- <i>Oh God, could it be?</i> -- that with all the weird fixating you were having on her recently, you were getting a little bit of a crush on her?<br/>
<br/>
You do a full body spasm, almost pitching yourself through the windshield.<br/>
<br/>
"You okay over there, Prescott?" Carson asks. Only now do you realize that the conversation had entirely failed.<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, yeah. Just got a real vivid picture of that scene you painted for me."<br/>
<br/>
"Have a nightmare about it tonight, why don't you? I know I sometimes dream about it, and those are the mornings I don't wake up with wood."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, anyway, the point is that I'm with you now instead of with Stephanie or any of those other guys. But where are we going?"<br/>
<br/>
"Enemy territory," he says. And such is Carson's vocal mannerism that you can't tell if he's being sarcastic. But a few minutes later he's turning into the parking lot of Eastman High School. <br/>
<br/>
"So what's here? Does it have to do with your next prank against Black and them?"<br/>
<br/>
"Like you care," he sneers. "Let's just say I'm here to talk to some guys."<br/>
<br/>
"Can I come in with you?"<br/>
<br/>
"You can come in," he says as he slides into an empty parking spot, "you can stay here, or you can walk home. Your call, and I ain't hangin' around to see what you decide."<br/>
<br/>
But it's not much of a choice, is it? You hop out and hustle after as he lopes up to the front doors of the school.</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212132
author_id: seuzz
title: The Turkey Shoot(s His Mouth Off)
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"So, I really appreciate you doing this," Stephanie says. You're trotting along behind her toward the student parking lot. She's shorter than you, so why does it seems like you have to hustle to keep up? A couple of sophomores loom in your path, but Stephanie elbows them aside, and you catch their expletives on the back of your neck. "I'll buy you a coffee or something when we're done," she continues.<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to do that," you say before you can stop yourself. "What I mean is, you basically already paid me back when, uh, at Besandwiched—" You grimace to yourself. Why did you have to bring <i>that</i> episode up? "You gave me a ten to pay for yours and for, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah," she says. "I heard you left right after I did. You left the party early the other night, too." She turns her head just enough so that you catch the eyebrow she's cocking at you.<br/>
<br/>
"I got a text, I had to go."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh huh." You burst into the sun-drenched parking lot. "Where you parked?" she asks.<br/>
<br/>
You point, and are finally able to take the lead. "I got a call from a friend," you insist, picking up the story with the improvised lie you gave that girl. <i>What was her name?</i> "He was at another party, and we—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, whose house?"<br/>
<br/>
Your throat closes up. "What?"<br/>
<br/>
"Where was this other party?"<br/>
<br/>
<i>Shit.</i> "Oh, um, I don't know, because—"<br/>
<br/>
"I thought that's where you had to go, to meet your friend." Somehow, it sounds like she's put quotation marks around the word "friend."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I didn't say that, I said I got the phone call—"<br/>
<br/>
"Bailey said you had to pick up a friend. That's how come you left."<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself reddening. "She told you about that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah. I came to check up on you guys, and you'd gone. Is this it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Is this what? Oh." You'd almost passed your truck. "Yeah. Um."<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie pats the rear gate. "Nice. You get a lot of use out of it?"<br/>
<br/>
"I drive it around."<br/>
<br/>
"I mean for hauling stuff."<br/>
<br/>
"Um, no, not much. Mostly I just like to—"<br/>
<br/>
"You just like to drive it around." Her grin is sharp, with a smirk behind it. <br/>
<br/>
It's always bothered you that she never smiled at you. But this grin, like the one the other day— <br/>
<br/>
<i>She's laughing at me,</i> you think, <i>the way Rennerhoff and those guys do.</i> It makes you wish she would just go back to ignoring you. <br/>
<br/>
"So can you let me in?" she asks as she pulls at the door handle. You unlock everything with the remote, and she's swung herself inside, dropped her pack, closed the door, and belted herself in place while you're still getting in.<br/>
<br/>
You give her a sidelong look. The smile she returns you would be pleasant if it looked more sincere.<br/>
<br/>
"Where are we going?" you ask after you've got the motor on.<br/>
<br/>
"Just turn left onto Borman," she replies. "I'll give you directions from there."<br/>
<br/>
And that's all she says until you're accelerating onto the thoroughfare back into town. After a block she settles back and plants the sole of one foot against the glove compartment. "Oh, you don't mind if I put my feet up, do you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, go ahead." You wish you had the guts to tell her not to. "My friends always do."<br/>
<br/>
"I kind of thought so." She swipes a fingertip across the console. "On account of all the dirty shoe prints up here."<br/>
<br/>
She's right. Now that you look more closely, you realize that the caked-up dust that disfigures the passenger side of the cab is arranged in grooves and whorls, like the bottoms of tennis shoes. "You're pretty good at noticing things, aren't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I keep my eyes open." She tugs on her seat belt. "Why didn't you like Bailey?"<br/>
<br/>
You were dreading the return of that topic. "I didn't. I mean, I didn't have anything against her, I just had to go, and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Bullshit. Come on, Will, I'm being honest with you, why can't you be honest with me?"<br/>
<br/>
"Honest? I am being—" Except you're not. "We just didn't hit it off, okay? What does it matter to—?"<br/>
<br/>
"You were awful quick to decide that. What was it that made you decide so fast? Oh, you gotta turn at the next light. Right."<br/>
<br/>
You shift lanes. "I didn't— It just didn't feel, like—"<br/>
<br/>
"Did she bore you?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! I dunno! What's it to you?"<br/>
<br/>
"I just thought the two of you would hit it off, and I wanna know how come it didn't work."<br/>
<br/>
"It just didn't, I'm sorry! Jeez!"<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have to get excited, Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
"I'm <i>not</i> excited, why are <i>you</i> so—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Calm down, it's no big deal."<br/>
<br/>
Silence falls. It's a sullen silence on your part. You've no idea what Stephanie is thinking or feeling.<br/>
<br/>
When you can't take the quiet anymore, you say, "Well, part of it was that she's a junior." You sense, rather than see, Stephanie turn a disapproving stare onto you. "So, that was—"<br/>
<br/>
"It's only a year's difference, Will, and she's real mature."<br/>
<br/>
"As mature as me?" you blurt out, and instantly kick yourself.<br/>
<br/>
"At least."<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie's face, glimpsed from the corner of your eye, is barely a blur, but you can see the color of her teeth. And the implied grin is like an exploding shell in your guts.<br/>
<br/>
"You think I'm immature, is that it? You think I'm, like, so immature that— that—" You choke on your own indignation.<br/>
<br/>
"I didn't say that, Will."<br/>
<br/>
"No, but you think that! Don't you?"<br/>
<br/>
The returning silence lasts so long that you twist around twice to look at your passenger. She hangs one arm casually from the hand rest and still has one foot propped against the console. Her lips curls in just the faintest smile, and her eyebrows arch with amusement. But she says nothing until you jam to a stop at the intersection with Orlando Road. <br/>
<br/>
Then she snickers softly and looks away. "I'm sorry, Will. I shouldn't tease you. You're doing me a big favor, and I'm trying to do something nice back."<br/>
<br/>
"Nice? This is nice?" Your face burns.<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, I thought I was being nice the other night. I thought you'd like Bailey, so I put you with her at the party. I didn't mean to insult you. Did I?"<br/>
<br/>
"No," you say through gritted teeth.<br/>
<br/>
"So you just didn't like her? It's okay if you didn't. Oh, go straight down Farm Road."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, I liked— Sort of. But—"<br/>
<br/>
"But she's a junior."<br/>
<br/>
"Alright, how about this, you know I just broke up with someone." It's a poor excuse, but you're flailing now.<br/>
<br/>
"No I didn't know that."<br/>
<br/>
"I thought you said you keep your eyes open."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't see <i>everything,</i>" she retorts. "But you're still tender about it? She broke up with you?"<br/>
<br/>
"It was complicated," you mutter.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm sorry. I didn't know, I wouldn'a pushed you into anything at the party if I did. Only you looked kind of lost. I thought I'd do you a solid."<br/>
<br/>
Now you're feeling crushed and embarrassed on account of your earlier outburst. "'m sorry," you mumble. "I didn't mean to— I shouldn'ta yelled at you. It's just— I guess I'm still kind of turned all upside-down about it all."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I get it," Stephanie says. "I thought you were lonely and looking for company. But you're not?"<br/>
<br/>
You shrug.<br/>
<br/>
She says nothing, but continues to study you. Then she shrugs in turn, and turns it into a stretch, arching her back and throwing her arms out.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, I'll leave you alone," she sighs. "How about that? Bailey was my one bright idea for you, but I fucked that up, so—" <br/>
<br/>
She bolts upright, and looks around. "Shit, we totally missed our turn back there. Coupla blocks back. You need to—"<br/>
<br/>
So you turn around. It's her house she's guiding you toward, and she lives in Acheson, just like you, but close to the river. It turns out there's an old bureau that needs to be moved to her grandmother's house. <br/>
<br/>
As you and Stephanie and her uncle lug it into the back of the truck, you're thinking about that girl at the party again.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Bailey.</i></span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111132121323
author_id: seuzz
title: The Search for Something Instead of Nothing
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>The drive out to Stephanie's grandmother's house is very quiet, and so is the drive back to school so you can drop Stephanie off at her car. She thanks you for your help as she gets out, and you tell her "No problem," which you follow it with a blurted, ""M sorry I got kind of ticked at you." She only flashes you a tight smile in reply.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Tilley texts you after supper to ask what you're doing. <i>Nothing,</i> you text back while lying on your bed and staring at the ceiling. Then Keith asks if you want to hang out and do "nothing" together.<br/>
<br/>
You almost decline, but decide it would be dumb to be so anti-social. You gather up your school books and drive out to his house.<br/>
<br/>
It's a pokey little place in a shabby part of town. Keith pulls you down a short hallway to his room, and you wave at his dad, who's watching TV, as you pass. You're not often at Keith's place, and you give his bedroom a brief, cursory glance around. But it looks just like yours—posters on the walls, piles of clothes on the floor, some dirty dishes and stacks of video games on every free surface. <br/>
<br/>
You drop your back pack on his bed, and plop down next to it. "Whassat?" Keith asks, and jerks his chin at your pack.<br/>
<br/>
"Homework."<br/>
<br/>
"Thought you said you hadn't nothin' to do."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't. That's just to make it look good for my folks." You lift your cap long enough to run your fingers through your shock of hair. "Don't you have homework?"<br/>
<br/>
Keith laughs, something halfway between a cackle and a spasm. "Sure, but I don't give a fuck about it." He shoves some crap off the chair at his desk and falls into it. "Not tonight."<br/>
<br/>
Something about his manner arouses your curiosity. He waggles his legs, and his eyes are bright and darting, except when they light on you, and then they get a gloating kind of gleam. "You got plans or something?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"M'neh." He puts his feet up on his bed.<br/>
<br/>
Oh, but he had plans today, didn't he? "How'd the Carlos and Mike thing go?"<br/>
<br/>
"What thing?" For a moment he looks startled, even alarmed, but quickly thrusts the reaction behind him. "Oh, that. It was great. You should'a come. But it's too late now." He cocks his head and regards you thoughtfully. "I guess."<br/>
<br/>
"I guess," you agree. "I think I'm gonna skip the extra credit and get my A the old-fashioned way."<br/>
<br/>
Keith hoots. "You're gonna suck off Mr. Hawks? Isn't that the 'oldest' way to—?" He catches the pillow that you hurl at him. "Well, it's your loss. Say, you wanna play—?"<br/>
<br/>
He pulls a box from the middle of a teetering stack, but the title he proposes is lost in the clatter of falling game boxes. You wait until he's restored some order to his desk before grunting a negative. "I think I just wanna hang out and talk."<br/>
<br/>
"'Bout what?"<br/>
<br/>
"Girls?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" Keith's face lights up, and you almost back out of the topic before you're done raising it.<br/>
<br/>
But you now realize that's the reason you came over. You wouldn't talk about it with Caleb, because he's unsympathetic and has basically told you to go stuff yourself over the subject of Lisa. But Keith doesn't mind talking about girls, and though he approaches the subject from the perspective of a goat in heat, he's a more sympathetic interlocutor than Caleb would be.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't wanna talk about Lisa, though," you tell him.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, that's a relief."<br/>
<br/>
You shoot him a quick, spiteful glance. "I've decided to be over her. Look to the future. Find someone else."<br/>
<br/>
"That's awesome, man. So what kind of proportions are you looking for?"<br/>
<br/>
"What do you mean, proportions?" Keith answers by groping at his chest. "Don't be disgusting. I'm serious. Girlfriend, not ... cum fantasy. They're different things, you know."<br/>
<br/>
Keith rolls his eyes and rolls his shoulders. "Whatever. But what are you looking for? And don't tell me 'a good personality', 'cos I want something I can jerk off to."<br/>
<br/>
It's a minute or so before you answer. Then, because you're thinking of Bailey and the party last Friday, you ask, "Would you date a junior?"<br/>
<br/>
"If she puts out I'd date just about anything. Well, there's limits, like whether she's got a mustache or something," Keith cackles.<br/>
<br/>
"No, I'm serious. If you got set up with a girl who was a junior, would you feel insulted?"<br/>
<br/>
He shrugs. "Not if she's hot. There's some bate-worthy sophomores, don't know if you've noticed, and how come not if you haven't?"<br/>
<br/>
"I told you, I'm <i>serious.</i> Come on, man!" You return Keith's leering smile with a frown. "Would you be insulted of someone said, I know who'd be perfect for you, and it's not a girl in our class, it's someone who's a junior?"<br/>
<br/>
His smile fades, to be replaced by a puzzled sneer. "Why would I care as long as she's—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Hot," you finish for him, and roll onto your back to stare at his ceiling. "Never mind."<br/>
<br/>
"No, now you got me worried," Keith says. "Are you really this hung up on personality? I mean, I get that you're trying to be. Girls get kind of psycho if you're not, like, yeah, it's you, not your tits I love. But—"<br/>
<br/>
"It's not personality I'm talking about. It's, uh, maturity." Now you feel shy about admitting to why you think you were turned off toward Bailey. "If someone put you with someone who was immature, wouldn't you feel insulted, like they were saying that <i>you</i> were immature?"<br/>
<br/>
"You mean like undeveloped?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck." You cover your face with your hands.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh!" Keith snaps his fingers. "You're worried about, like, social status? Like, it's a low status thing to be dating someone in the grade below instead of in your own class?"<br/>
<br/>
You start to deny it, but then reflect that it would have seemed a real feather in your cap if, during your junior year, you had dated a senior girl. "Maybe," you sigh.<br/>
<br/>
"Dude, that's fucked up. Don't worry about your social status. 'Cos frankly, you don't got one. It's true!" he yells when you shoot him a dirty look. "I don't got one either, I'm down here with you!"<br/>
<br/>
Then he abruptly falls into a fit of laughter. "Oh, nothing," he says when he's recovered himself. "But come on, let's just talk about tits and pussies."<br/>
<br/>
So you do. It's not as fun as it should be, not at first, but Keith jollies you along, and you're smiling again by the time you go home.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're back in a reflective mood by the next morning, however, when you arrive at school. All during first period you eye Lisa contemplatively. How did you come to be with her over the summer?<br/>
<br/>
Well, it just sort of happened. You were at the mall one day by yourself, and you saw her sitting alone in the food court. You went over to say "Hi" since you'd known her in a friendly way for a long time, and you wound up sitting down and talking to her for an hour or so. It never occurred to you that it was more than a friendly, casual talk, not even after she called you a few days later to see if you wanted to join her and Eva and Jessica for a movie. (And, to be honest, you'd gone more because of Eva and Jessica.) And from there you just started seeing and hanging out with her more, until it became no big thing to meet up and sit together and speak of nothing while leaning against each other. Not until school was about to start did it occur to you in a really serious way that you had a girlfriend, and did you start talking to Keith and Caleb as though you had. By the tired look in Caleb's eyes, at least, you could tell that he'd already noticed.<br/>
<br/>
So if you wanted get another girlfriend, maybe you could arrange it so the same sort of thing happened in the same sort of way?<br/>
<br/>
But that thought doesn't occur to you until you're on your way to your last class of the day. So, before you can think better of it, you lope into Astronomy and directly over to Stephanie's desk. "So, uh, sorry again about yesterday," you tell her. "For getting mad at you," you explain when she only looks up from her phone with a blank look.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. 's'okay. Thanks for your help."<br/>
<br/>
"Uh, I thought about some of the stuff we talked about. Um—" Now that's it's come to the point, you do take some small fright, and scratch at your scalp. "Next time there's a party, would you mind sending me an alert?"<br/>
<br/>
Stephanie blinks, and only says, "If I remember."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, then, would you mind if on Friday I shot you a reminder? Like I did last Friday?"<br/>
<br/>
"No, I wouldn't mind."<br/>
<br/>
"Thanks. I'm, uh, trying to kind of come out of my shell."<br/>
<br/>
"That's good," Stephanie says, and she sounds as enthusiastic as though you'd told her you were trying to grow a mustache for Halloween. You stumble your way back over to your seat.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You'd meant to ask her a different question—about what the popular hangout spots were for her and her friends—but had chickened out at the last minute. Instead you lob the question at Eva Garner when by chance you see her in the parking lot after school. But in her case, you phrase it as, "If I wanted to randomly bump into girls outside of school, where should I go?"<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know, Will," she sighs. "And I don't have time right now to talk about it."<br/>
<br/>
"You have an appointment?"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I gotta meet up with some guys for a YouTube thing."<br/>
<br/>
"Carlos Montoya? Mike Hollister?" you ask in surprise. She nods without looking at you.<br/>
<br/>
Interesting, and since you were almost part of their scene, it's a good excuse to follow her out and to keep talking.</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321213231
author_id: seuzz
title: A Friendly Face in an Unexpected Place
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"I was talking about doing something with them too," you tell Eva. "Mind if I tag along?"<br/>
<br/>
"Knock yourself out," she says, but doubles her pace. You grimace at her retreating back, but double down on your determination to chase after her.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Eva beats you out to the storage place, but you've still got the code that Carlos sent you on your phone, so you're able to get inside without having to ride in on her rear bumper. It turns out you're not too far behind her, though, for as you pul upp you're just in time to see her disappearing into the temperature-controlled unit.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Do I really want to do this?</i> you ask yourself. <i>Do I really want to be this pathetic? She doesn't want to talk to me, and I already blew those other guys off.</i> Almost you turn the engine back on, and drive off.<br/>
<br/>
But courage returns when you see Keith's car parked a little ways off. As long as he's here, there will be one friendly face at least. That'll make it easier for you to tell Carlos and Mike that you changed your mind and want to work with them on some YouTube reviews.<br/>
<br/>
And <i>that</i> will give you a reason to be on hand when they talk to Eva. Maybe you'll even get to be in a "bit" with her!<br/>
<br/>
Eva is way off down the central hallway, peering into one of the bays—probably the studio—when you enter. She turns as you call her name, but you can't make out her expression. Someone must have said something to her, though, for with a start she turns back around and vanishes into a bay. You take off in a sprint to catch up to her.<br/>
<br/>
You find her standing in the middle of a small cluster of boys: Carlos and Mike, Philip Fairfax, and Keith. They all turn as one with a look of surprise as you step up to the doorway. "Hey guys," you exclaim. Eva gives you a brief, distracted frown.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus Christ, Will," Keith says. "What are you doing here?"<br/>
<br/>
"Um, I came out with Eva," you stammer. "I mean, not <i>with</i> her. But we ran into each other and she said she was coming out, and— Um—"<br/>
<br/>
You find the words dying in your throat. The air is tense in way you don't like, as though you've interrupted a scene that you were definitely <i>not</i> invited to. It's like this one time last year, when you were at a party and you went outside to get a breath of fresh air, and you tripped onto Tony Peterson and Haley Flanagan in a pitch-dark corner of the yard. You tried talking to them in a friendly way, but the air grew frostier and frostier until at last—like an utter <i>doorknob</i>—you finally realized what kind of situation you'd stumbled onto. (You would have known what was going on, you tried telling yourself afterward, except it was too dark to make out clearly (until it was too late late) that Tony and Haley were cupping each other's asses while they offered mute, one-word answers to your prattling inanities.) You are getting the same kind of vibe off Mike and Carlos now.<br/>
<br/>
Eva, though, just seems impatient and peevish. "Okay, so what exactly kind of thing are we talking about here?" she demands of the boys, but they seem to be having a hard time tearing their attention off of you. "Because I've got the minivan, and my brother and sister are—"<br/>
<br/>
"Keith," says Carlos, "how about you take Will over into the workout room, find out what he wants, and we'll take care of— I mean, we'll talk things over with Eva."<br/>
<br/>
"Huh?" says Keith, like a dope.<br/>
<br/>
"I said—" Carols starts to say, but Philip pokes Keith hard. Keith comes alive with a jerk, and stumbles over to grasp you by the shoulder. "Hey, come on," he says, and pulls you out the door.<br/>
<br/>
"So what the fuck are you here for, man?" he demands when he's got you in the storage bay next door. "Yesterday you were all, like— An' I don't remember asking you out here today!"<br/>
<br/>
You feel yourself bristling. "Well, I changed my mind," you say. "I mean, I had other things I had to do yesterday. Had to help Stephanie Wyatt move some furniture. Then today—"<br/>
<br/>
"You tol' me last night you were gonna do extra credit by sucking off Mr. Hawks!"<br/>
<br/>
"I did not!"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure, you said you were gonna get a good grade it the old fashioned way!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, fuck you! Anyway, I changed my mind! I got to thinking and, you know, I—"<br/>
<br/>
"Is this on account of you coming out with Eva?" Keith asks. His glance turns very shrewd.<br/>
<br/>
You hesitate, then give up. "Yeah, alright, I ran into her in the parking lot, and—"<br/>
<br/>
"Thought so! Well, we're gonna do something with her, and—"<br/>
<br/>
He breaks off and looks over your shoulder. You glance back to find Fairfax standing inthe doorway. He catches your eye only briefly, then gestures at Keith. With a mumbled, "Be right back," Keith follows Philip outside. They disappear toward the studio.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Well, fuck this,</i> you fume. You weren't expecting to be greeted like the prodigal son returning, but you didn't expect to be treated like a leper, either. Particularly by Keith. <i>Maybe I should just take off,</i> you think. It's clear you're not wanted, and it would probably be better if you took the hint and left—like you did with Tony and Haley that one time—before Keith or Carlos or Philip comes in and has to bluntly tell you to fuck off.<br/>
<br/>
But still you hang back, on the chance that things might yet work out. That starts to sound really fucking unlikely when loud voices break out next door. You can't make out the words, but Keith and some of the other guys seem really spun up about something.<br/>
<br/>
An awkwardly long time passes, though, before you hear the squeak of sneakers in the hallway outside. You turn in time to see Carlos and Mike come charging in. You've just time to register the hard and unfriendly expressions on their faces before they grab you. You gasp and are about to shout, but Carlos shoves something into your face. The world goes dark, and the floor seems to vanish from beneath your feet. You fall into darkness and know no more.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You're woken by a rocking motion, but your head is filled with an acrid, burning sensation, like smoke, and you keep your eyes clenched shut even as you grimace. Whatever hellish sleep you've woken from, you wish you could fall back into it.<br/>
<br/>
You're thrown to the side as the vehicle—you've enough awareness to tell that you're in the cab of a car—makes a sharp turn, and a motor roars as it pulls up an incline. The world jerks to a stop and the motor, after gunning once, shuts off. The sun is hot on your face.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey," a familiar voice says. "I know you're awake there. Come on, sit up!"<br/>
<br/>
A hand slaps at your face. You bat it away, but sit up with a groan and pry your eyes open. <i>This had better fucking be good,</i> you think as you raise up to scowl at the world.<br/>
<br/>
You're parked facing a brick wall, next to a garbage dumpster. When you glance behind, you spot a Carl's Jr. <br/>
<br/>
So you're more or less across the street from the storage center. You irritably wonder why the guys have dragged you over here when there's business to be done. You have the vague but alarming impression that you've mislaid a couple of very important hours.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, so, what the fuck—" you start to ask as you turn around to confront the driver. You're gonna have a thing or three to tell him, particularly about hauling you around over bumpy roads and getting you carsick while passed out. But you freeze when you see who it is behind the wheel of the truck.<br/>
<br/>
It's Will.<br/>
<br/>
He's glaring at you hard, his rabbity eyes gleaming angrily from beneath the brush of stiff, straw-like hair that sticks out over his forehead. His upper lip is peeled back in a snarl, showing big, yellow teeth. He looks like he's going to bite something off you.<br/>
<br/>
He raises a long forefinger and holds it before your face. "Don't freak out, man," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Freak out about what?" you demand. Now that you're sitting up, you're feeling a lot better, and as you glance about the smoke inside your brain seems to dissipate. "What're we doing here? And what was I passed out for?" You squint out the window against the afternoon sun. "I don't feel like I was having a good time, man."<br/>
<br/>
Then the words drain away, down the back of your throat.<br/>
<br/>
<i>This is all wrong,</i> the thought forms in your head. <i>I shouldn't be sitting next to Will. Because I </i>am<i> Will. I </i>am<i> Will Prescott!</i><br/>
<br/>
"I said, don't freak out on me," Will warns you again.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah?" you retort. "Well, before I start going all Assassin's Creed on your ass, how about you tell me what the fuck is going on here, uh—?"<br/>
<br/>
So who is it—really?—sitting next to you? Carlos? Mike? Probably not Philip. Definitely not Josiah. But you know that if you're Will Prescott, it must be one of those guys, wearing that mask they made of Will.<br/>
<br/>
A feeling like a cascade of cold water washes down your back. You grab the rearview mirror and swing it around to look into it. The pimply face of Keith Tilley stares back at you.<br/>
<br/>
"The fuck did you do to me?" you whisper, more to yourself than to your friend behind the wheel.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm saving your ass, man," Will says.</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212132311
author_id: seuzz
title: A Friend's Favor
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Da fuck?" you mutter as you examine your ugly face in the rearview mirror. Your eyes twitch beneath the monobrow—that thing like a black and fuzzy caterpillar—and you gingerly touch a crusted-over zit in the middle of your forehead.<br/>
<br/>
"Look, I'm gonna need you to keep calm," Will says. He takes a deep breath. "'Cos this is gonna blow your mind."<br/>
<br/>
"Just tell me who the fuck you are," you retort, even as you continue to study your face with grim fascination. "I mean, obviously I know who you're made the fuck up like— But who—?" You squint at him. "Tilley?" you hazard. "Is this your idea of a sick, fucking—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Okay, just calm down, man," he says for about the tenth time.<br/>
<br/>
"I am calm, you dumb fuck. You're the one who's freaking out on—"<br/>
<br/>
You sit up very straight and look around the restaurant parking lot. "Mike and them coming?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
When Will doesn't reply, you turn to frown at him. His eyes are nearly bugging from his head. "Pull the fucking sock out," you tell him. "I asked you a question!"<br/>
<br/>
"N-no," he stammers, "it's just us. You and me, uh, man." He licks his lips. "You're taking this pretty goddamn well," he bleats.<br/>
<br/>
"'Cos I got a pretty fucking good idea what's going on!" You squint off back in the direction of the storage center. The pieces ... Well, they're not exactly falling into place, but you do have a very good sense of what the pieces are and how they're shaped. "You and the guys, back at the complex. You were gonna do something with Eva. But then I showed up and—" You rear back. "And <i>you're</i> wearing that mask you got onto me out in the portables a coupl'a days ago!"<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus Christ!" Will throws himself out the driver's side door.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, don't freak out on me, man!" you yell after him. You glance around again, and only now do you recognize it's your own truck you're sitting in. "Just tell me what's been going on since, um—" <br/>
<br/>
You cast your mind back. You can remember everything that happened to you up until this afternoon, you can also remember what happened to Keith only up until ... yesterday afternoon?<br/>
<br/>
The really freaky part is, you're not surprised that you can remember stuff he did, like hanging out with Mike and his friends, and making magical disguises and plans to use them.<br/>
<br/>
"Cindy!" you yell, and jab an accusing finger at Will, who's staring with haggard eyes at you from outside the truck.<br/>
<br/>
"Eep," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, you were going to turn yourself into Cindy! Oh, you cocksucker. Nnhn!" You bite down hard on your lower lip as a boner unfurls inside your jeans. "And Mike and Carlos, it was gonna be Eva and Jessica for them! Josiah ... Chelsea! Philip ... Maria!"<br/>
<br/>
"How the fuck are you getting this?" Will shrieks.<br/>
<br/>
"If you don't want me knowing what goes on in your garbage fire of a brain, don't stick me with a copy of it, you dumb, cocksucking—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Will!" Your doppelganger scrambles back into the truck cab. His eyes are feverish. "Are you telling me you know all about, um—?"<br/>
<br/>
"What you and Carlos and them've been getting up to? Oh, fuck, yeah! YouTube videos my pimply ass! Where the fuck did you get the—? Oh shit!"<br/>
<br/>
You feel your eyes pop as a few more locks open, and a few more memories come. Like the old, leather-bound grimoire that Philip showed you and the others, with the Latin spells and the sigils that show how to make magical masks that can duplicate the memories and features of other people. It's the same book—you'd swear it!—that you bought at Arnholm's, and lost when you brought it to school! But how did Fairfax get ahold of it? Did Philip buy it off Mendoza?<br/>
<br/>
"Will," the other you says in a quavering voice, "if you remember everything ... Um ... You're not pissed at me, are you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Depends." You reach for his face, but he pulls back. "I keep asking you who you are, but you—"<br/>
<br/>
"It's me. Keith." He seems to be having trouble catching his breath. "I, um— Listen. There's stuff that I need to catch you up to speed on."<br/>
<br/>
"I bet there is." You point at his chest. "Because you were planning on giving yourself a pair of awesome jugs, if I'm remembering right."<br/>
<br/>
He makes a face, and nods. "Just as long as you don't flip out too hard on me," he says.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
It's your own fault, it turns out. Because you just <i>had</i> to follow Eva out to the storage facility.<br/>
<br/>
You had a chance to join the gang. That's what yesterday's invite was for. Keith had pleaded and cajoled the others—you can remember what he said, from his own memories—into giving you a chance to join the club, and they had reluctantly agreed. You were supposed to go out to the storage center yesterday, where Carlos and the others would have shown you the masks, and shown you what they could do, and offered you a chance to join them in a little light body-swapping. <i>Mike and Carlos are gonna turn themselves into Eva and Jessica,</i> Keith was going to explain to you—he had it all rehearsed out in his head. <i>Josiah's gonna be Chelsea Cooper, and Philip is gonna be Maria Vasquez. Yeah, we're all gonna turn ourselves into cheerleaders. Oh, and me? I'm gonna be Cindy Vredenburg! So who do </i>you<i> wanna be?</i><br/>
<br/>
But then you turned him down, and Carlos and the others said <i>I told you so</i>, and they returned to their original plans which had no place for you. Eva was to be their first victim, which is why they invited her out today. They were going to copy her into a mask, and then Mike—unless it was going to be Carlos—was going to put on her mask and use her and her phone to invite her sister and her friends out, one at a time, to be replaced with imposters. <br/>
<br/>
As for the girls themselves—<br/>
<br/>
Well, it's a good thing that Keith already knew what was going to happen to them, so that he doesn't have to explain it to you. They were going to be shoved under masks of the boys who were going to replace them, and a kind of amnesiac spell would make them docile, mind-controlled slaves of the imposters who had replaced them. That way the boys wouldn't seem to disappear after turning themselves into cheerleaders, and the girls would be kept out of the way where they couldn't do any harm.<br/>
<br/>
But then you barged in on them. They argued about it after Keith took you aside to keep you busy, and then they argued some more after they pulled Keith back into the studio. (And as they argued they stood over the unconscious Eva, who was splayed out on the floor while the first mask copied her.) They weren't going to explain things to you, and they weren't going to ask you to join the gang. No, they were going to get you out of the way the same way they were going to get the girls out of the way. By trapping you under a mask that they could control.<br/>
<br/>
Then Keith jumped in to save you. Except he didn't tell them he was going to save you. He just volunteered to give up his dream of transforming himself into the sexy cheerleader Cindy Vredenburg so that he could take your place as Will Prescott. <i>He's my friend,</i> he told Carlos and Mike and Philip. <i>I owe it to him.</i> He told them that he was going to impersonate you for as long as they were going to impersonate the girls. <i>It's my own fault for trying to get him involved,</i> he said.<br/>
<br/>
So instead of trapping you under a mask of yourself, Keith said that he'd trap you under a mask of himself. But he double-crossed them at the last minute, and after driving off with you in your truck, he didn't put the stuff into the mask that would put you under his control, and instead is leaving you free and conscious alert—but at the cost of being transformed into him. <i>We'll give the guys a chance to show them that you're a team player,</i> he told you. <i>You'll play like you're me, like you're brainwashed into acting like me, and you'll be totally trustworthy, and then we'll be all, like, psych! It was really Will all along! Then you can join up and it'll all be cool!</i><br/>
<br/>
The only part of Keith's plan that didn't go off was that he wasn't expecting you to have all of his memories so quickly. <i>It usually takes, like, a couple of hours before the memories start coming,</i> he said. (A fact you know because you remember everything he knew about the masks.) <i>Like, I'm not remembering anything that you know,</i> he said while point at his fake face. But even that worked out well, because he didn't have to explain nearly so much to you as he was afraid he'd have to.<br/>
<br/>
You take it all in calmly, because most of it—thanks to the memories that Keith has saddled you with—is familiar to you. Naturally, you're a little sick at the thought of what Carlos and them were planning to do to you. And you're not feeling real friendly toward Keith, even considering the massive favor he's doing for you, because he's been pairing off with them instead of you. But you keep your temper under control.<br/>
<br/>
"So there it is," your friend concludes after he's given you the rest of the story, and you've talked it over a little while, mopping up the details.<br/>
<br/>
"There it is," you agree. You eye him up and down. "I guess maybe we should swap clothes," you add, for despite the switch in faces, you are still in your original wardrobes.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess so," he says. Still, it's with evident reluctance that he pulls off his shirt.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Yes, this is going to be real interesting,</i> you think as you pull off your pants.</span></div></div>


path: 1133121112112111111132121323111
author_id: seuzz
title: Faking It for a Friend
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"Okay, remember," says the guy who looks like you used to, as he pulls your shapeless white ballcap down over his brow. "You're supposed to be me—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I think I got that," you retort.<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a look. "So you're supposed to act like me. Not like yourself. And you're supposed to do what I tell you. And you don't fuck around when—"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I got it, man. Like, yo!" You make one of the dopey "gangsta" hand gestures that Tilley is so fond of, and jerk your chin at him.<br/>
<br/>
He gives you a look of alarm. "The fuck was that?"<br/>
<br/>
"That was me being you."<br/>
<br/>
"No it wasn't! That was—"<br/>
<br/>
"I think I know how to be you." You put a finger to your temple and mime blowing your brains out. "Kch-pww!"<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, no!"<br/>
<br/>
"Just take me back to pick up your car. My car." You jerk your chin at him again. "You know."<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus," he mutters again, and a little green shows in his cheeks as he turns the motor of your truck over.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You wanted to go inside and show off to Carlos and them like you were totally "beta-Keith" ("beta" being the gang's term for the brainwashed clones they are leaving behind as replacements), but Tilley shrilly rejected the idea. "We can't take any chances, man," he said.<br/>
<br/>
So it's his bad luck when you pull up in front of the climate unit just as the door opens and Eva Garner comes prancing out in the company of Philip Fairfax and Carlos Montoya. She smiles brightly at Will, and twirls in place, showing off her strong, bare legs and bright gold hair.<br/>
<br/>
"Like it?" she asks with a smirk as you and Will fall out of the truck. "It's not like I'm trying to show off, but—"<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus," Will says, "I thought you'd all be gone by now! What've you been doing, man, jerking off all this time?"<br/>
<br/>
"More like finger-banging himself," Carlos mutters. "Come on, man," he addresses Eva, "get back over to the school and— <i>Mmphgh!</i>" He stiffens in alarm as Eva grabs him by the face and kisses him with her open mouth.<br/>
<br/>
"You like that?" she giggles after releasing him. Carlos staggers back, almost knocking Philip over. "It'll be even better when you're Jessica and we can—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yo!" you call out, and strut around the truck to join the rest of the gang. "Long as you're passing out party favors, babe—" You reach out to tweak one of Eva's breasts.<br/>
<br/>
"Ew!" She slaps you away, then does a double-take at Will. "You're cute, though. Cuter, at any rate. Why don't you do something about—?" She reaches up to tweak a hair off his upper lip.<br/>
<br/>
"We just stopped by to swap out cars," Will says as he slaps her back. "You can take off now,"  he gruffly informs you.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, <i>can I?</i>" you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"Go home!"<br/>
<br/>
"Fucking nerve on this asswipe," you mutter, and turn to saunter over to Keith's car. "Gets himself a new face and suddenly thinks he's all hot shit. Ain't even the fucking face he was all fucking hot for, neither." You throw a hard finger in his direction as you pull open the car door. "Don't forget they all know what you really look like under that thing, so don't think you're fooling anyone, cocksucker!" <br/>
<br/>
As you put the key in the ignition, you notice Philip Fairfax watching you with an expression of hooded curiosity, and you make a face back at him as you put the car in reverse.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Keith? Is that you?" The voice echoes from the kitchen as you step into the house.<br/>
<br/>
It's the question that your dad—<br/>
<br/>
And you get a sharp twinge in your chest as you reflect that, for the next few days at least, this will be <i>your</i> dad and <i>your</i> house and <i>your</i> life.<br/>
<br/>
—asks every time you come home. Even though it's not likely to be anyone else, so why does he ask?<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, was hanging out late with Carlos and Mike!" you holler back.<br/>
<br/>
"Mac and weenies'll be ready in a few minutes!"<br/>
<br/>
You shuffle down the hallway to hurl your backpack into your room. It bounces off the bed and bounces onto the floor. You leave it there and lope back to the kitchen. Mr. Tilley is standing in front of the stove, stirring a large pot with a wooden spoon.<br/>
<br/>
He's a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair buzzed close to his scalp. His leathery face settles easily into a tired smile as he turns toward you. "Slaw salad's in the fridge," he says.<br/>
<br/>
"Awesome." You take the bowl out and move it to the wobbly table in the dinette corner of the kitchen. Then you set out two plates, two sets of forks and spoons, and two glasses that you fill with instant ice tea. Your dad carries the pot  over to the table, to plop a couple of great globs of Kraft macaroni and cheese, studded with plump Oscar Meyer wieners, onto your plates. He bows his head in a brief prayer after sitting down; you wait until he's lifted his face again before tucking into your meal.<br/>
<br/>
"You get any more work done with your friends?" he asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Mmpgh!" You nod while gulping down on a fat wad of noodles and cheese. "Got a cheerleader out there helping us too!" you mumble with a full mouth. "Gonna get some more of the cheerleaders to help us out too!"<br/>
<br/>
"Really." His eyes gleam with curiosity. "How are the cheerleaders involved?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, see—" You pause long enough to swallow the mouthful, and wash it down with some tea. "Carlos and them, they're gonna do some video work for the squad? Making and posting videos of routines and stuff, y'know, to show 'em off? But the basic plan, in back of it—" You grin down your nose at him. "Get summa them to help out with the review videos. Like, you know, sit in on the reviews, talk about the movies 'n stuff. Be, y'know—" You jerk your shoulders in a shrug. "Be s'mthing nicer to look at than Carlos and Mike!" You grin.<br/>
<br/>
Your dad laughs softly. "Well, that's smart. Like the weather girls on TV."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah!"<br/>
<br/>
"They better be careful the girls don't take over completely."<br/>
<br/>
"Eh, they're just gonna be there to look at. None of 'em'll know enough to talk about the movies and stuff. That'll be for Mike and Carlos to handle."<br/>
<br/>
"And you."<br/>
<br/>
"That's right!" You lick a fingertip, and make a checkmark in the air.<br/>
<br/>
You talk a little more, about his day at the hardware store that he manages, and your school day, then you take care of the dishes and the rest of the kitchen. When you're done, he gives you a short shopping list of things to pick up for dinner tomorrow, when it will be your turn to fix. Then, as he settles with a sigh in front of the TV, you retreat to your bedroom to do homework.<br/>
<br/>
Keith is dumber than you, and you can feel his mind dragging behind you like an anchor as you struggle through his Calculus homework. But most of your classes are the same or equivalent, so it's not much worse than your own homework. (The only challenge is the homework for the "French for Reading Knowledge" class he is taking, but you avail yourself of Keith's preferred cheat, and use Google Translate to handle most of it.) <br/>
<br/>
And as you work, you field texts from Will.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fuck ur dads a hard ass,</i> he says.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Lol sux tb me,</i> you unfeelingly reply.<br/>
<br/>
<i>F u I got n trbl fr bg late n then he yell at me fr looking at hm wrong or smthing.<br/>
<br/>
Yeah that happens.<br/>
<br/>
F u and f ths dumb astronomy shit<br/>
<br/>
Tes devoirs de francais sont faciles comme de la merde douce.<br/>
<br/>
F u better not b using google<br/>
<br/>
U want me flunk ur classes instead<br/>
<br/>
F u btw u sure got a tiny cock i almost cldnt find it in ur boxers.<br/>
<br/>
Lol no u got tiny cock now I got cock like fire hose now n u know it roflmao.</i><br/>
<br/>
And from there the texts degenerate into a weird contest where he has to brag about how insignificant his penis is now while you brag about the mighty hammer you can now boast.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
That night, you lay in Keith's bed, staring at his ceiling. <i>Why am I not freaked out by this?</i> you ask yourself.<br/>
<br/>
Well, you are, at least a little. Every few minutes, as you did homework, you looked around with an involuntary twitch and thought, <i>This isn't my bedroom. This isn't my house. This isn't me! I'm not Keith Tilley!</i><br/>
<br/>
But that was all. Just a twitch. Then with a sigh of aggravation you'd settle back to your work, scribbling out translations and math problems in Keith's crabbed handwriting. (Even that occasioned no more than a twitch—<i>I'm writing just like Keith!</i> you marveled, and then almost forgot how to bunch up his letters, like traffic in a twenty-six-car pile up, as the script reverted to your own.) When your dad—Keith's dad!—knocked on your door to ask with some help in the garage, it felt as natural as anything to get up and follow him.<br/>
<br/>
<i>It's because I've got his memories,</i> you tell yourself now. It's easy to forget and to be him when your brain wants to follow the grooves laid down by his brain. And Keith understands exactly how these masks work, and who's behind it, and what's going on. <i>He wouldn't freak out. Maybe that's how come I'm not,</i> you think.<br/>
<br/>
But you're still uneasy. That stuff his friends were going to put inside Keith's mask, to make you a mindless, obedient beta—maybe some of that stuff <i>is</i> inside the mask, affecting you? Maybe you'll wake up in the morning and forget you ever were someone else?<br/>
<br/>
You're still awake after midnight, and when you wake the next morning, your muscles ache all over, as though you thrashed yourself half to death during the night.</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321213231111
author_id: seuzz
title: School for Counterfeits
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>As usual, you're early to school—Keith likes to get to Westside early, so he can be sure of dodging his archenemy, Seth Javits, on his way in. This morning, though, you've got another motive for being early—to be sure of catching Will Prescott as he arrives.<br/>
<br/>
The parking lot is filling up fast before you see the white truck that used to be yours pulling in. The figure behind the wheel is just a blob, and not until he's parked and dismounted to you recognize him as ... one of your friends.<br/>
<br/>
It's a lot weirder seeing him this morning. Yesterday was like a one-time weirdness. <i>Oh, look,</i> ran the subtext of that scene inside your truck, <i>he's me and I'm him. This is bizarre.</i> This morning, though, to see him drive up in your truck, in your clothes—burgundy t-shirt, floppy trousers, low-slung ball-cap pulled down over stiff spit-curls—with your backpack, fresh arrived from your house, where he spent the night in your bed ... <br/>
<br/>
Well, the last time you had this feeling was when you changed schools back in elementary school. <i>This isn't my school,</i> you found yourself thinking the first few days, as a kind of homesickness swept over you. <i>I'm only here for a few days and then I'm going back to my real school.</i> It made the nausea worse to know that you were lying to yourself. <i>But this is my school. Now. And it's going to be my school from now on. Yuck.</i><br/>
<br/>
Is it going to be the same way now? Are you going to be Keith Tilley from now on?<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, 't'sup?" you call out to Will as you strut up to him. (Maybe if you throw yourself into the role, you will feel better.) "You reck-con-siled to flunking all your pop quizzes today?" You punctuate the jibe with an insolent jerk of the chin.<br/>
<br/>
Will shoots you a spiteful glance. "Jesus, you're just <i>trying</i> to be a prick about it, aren't you?"<br/>
<br/>
"Don' know what you mean, man. I's just askin' 'bout your ack-si-demics." You snigger. "You know. 'Accidents.' 'Academics.'"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, is that what you were going for." He hunches under his backpack and darts his eyes—his rabbity eyes—about the parking lot. "You don't have to lay it on so thick, you know."<br/>
<br/>
"No, I don't know. You're not talking a lot of sense, Prescott."<br/>
<br/>
He wheels to give you long, sharp stare. You chuck your chin back at him and smirk. It looks like his eyes are starting to water when he asks, in a very low voice, "You remember when we got together yesterday?"<br/>
<br/>
You are—briefly—tempted to pretend to have amnesia, to freak him out hard by laying on the "Keith" act without a break. But you find that you—or maybe it's Keith's own personality—can't keep a straight face.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh sure," you drawl. "Like, I remember you telling me I had to be 'Keith Tilley'"—you hook a couple of big air-quotes around the name—"like I was some brainwashed dopester who didn't know better. So, you know." You shrug and roll your tongue around inside your cheek. "I'm gettin' in practice."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, keep it under control, man." Will seems to bristle all over. "If you overplay it and any of the guys pick up on it—"<br/>
<br/>
"How are they gonna do that? It's just gonna be a bunch of betas I'm hanging with, right? The real guys are gonna— Oh, hey!" Every muscle in your body flexes, including the ones in your shorts. "Are we gonna start hanging out wit' cheerleaders? With Eva and— Did the guys get ahold of Jessica last night? What about—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Shut up!" Will glances around the parking lot. "Yes, they got Jessica."<br/>
<br/>
"What about Maria? And—?"<br/>
<br/>
"That's on today's schedule. And no," he peevishly adds, "you're not going to be hanging out with cheerleaders!"<br/>
<br/>
"How come not?"<br/>
<br/>
"Take a selfie and then ask yourself how come not."<br/>
<br/>
"Ain't <i>you</i> gonna be hanging out wit' cheerleaders?"<br/>
<br/>
"Well, yeah."<br/>
<br/>
"And ain't I gonna be hanging out wit' <i>you.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Not if I can help it," Will snarls back, and stalks away. You let him go, and content yourself with a private chortle.<br/>
<br/>
At least you've given Tilley a pretty good idea of how annoying he can be.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You get another chance to badger him in the Film as Literature class you share second period. "When're you gonna come out and do that extra credit thing for in here?" you ask after he settles into the desk in front of you. "My peeps is all set up for you. Hey!" You poke him in the back. "I'm asking you when—"<br/>
<br/>
And you get a third chance to bother him at the start of fourth period, which is Keith's free period, by waylaying him in front of Ms. Gladstone's classroom as he and Caleb are on their way in. "Hey, we eatin' like it's just us today?" you ask. "Or we hanging out with Carson and them? 'Cos I got a feeling in my shorts like Eva Garner's gonna be showin' up to hang out with Jenny."<br/>
<br/>
Then you return to meet them at the end of fourth, as they head out for lunch. "So I's gonna go hang out with Jenny an' them," you inform them, "but if you two's wanna go off and suck each other's dicks—"<br/>
<br/>
"You go hang out with Jenny, then," Caleb interrupts you. He seizes you by the elbow and steers you down the hallway. "I'll hang out with them too, so it won't be too gross for them."<br/>
<br/>
"Cool. I mean, what?" You glance back down the hallway after Will, but only catch a glimpse of the back of his ball cap before he vanishes into the surging lunchtime crowd.  "Where's Prescott off to?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's meeting with some guys to talk some video he has to make."<br/>
<br/>
"Mike and Carlos?" you exclaim. "My peeps?"<br/>
<br/>
"You don't have 'peeps', Keith."<br/>
<br/>
"Sure I do! Me and them, we—"<br/>
<br/>
"We're going to have lunch out front. Didn't you say something a feeling you had in your shorts?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah. But— Well, whatever." You give up on following Will out. You figure you can pester him after class.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You didn't actually have a premonition about Eva (or her sister) showing up to eat lunch with Jenny and her friends out front, and she doesn't, so you get the full brunt of it from Carson and James. "You seen your boyfriend around today?" Carson asks you.<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you! What boyfriend?"<br/>
<br/>
"Javits."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, <i>fuck</i> you! No, I not seen him." Instinctively, you glance around with a flinch. Seth Javits, psycho basketball player, sometimes hassles you, but he really has it in for Keith. You shudder at the memories you now have of some of the things he did to your friend.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm asking because I know he's constantly up your ass—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>"Fuck you!"</i><br/>
<br/>
James says, "Well, next time you and him are on a date—"<br/>
<br/>
<i>"Jesus!"</i><br/>
<br/>
"—throw up an amber alert or something so we can come around to watch."<br/>
<br/>
"What you fuckers want to do with <i>watching?"</i> you sputter.<br/>
<br/>
"We don't want to <i>watch,</i>" Carson starts to say. "We—"<br/>
<br/>
"So how do you usually summon him?" James asks. "You put the lights out in the E wing boys' bathroom, and chant his name backward three times while gazing into the mirror?"<br/>
<br/>
"How about <i>you</i> give it a try, cocksucker?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, leave Keith alone," Jenny interrupts. "If you want to find Seth— Don't you guys have any classes with him?"<br/>
<br/>
"He's not smart enough to keep up with us."<br/>
<br/>
"Johansson's got math with him," you pipe up.<br/>
<br/>
"Thank you, Keith," Caleb grumbles. <br/>
<br/>
"Javits never takes Johansson dancing," Carson says. "At least, not as much as he—"<br/>
<br/>
"Or how about Prescott?" With glee you seize on the idea of getting the real Keith in trouble with his nemesis. "If you're looking for bait to dangle in front of Javits—"<br/>
<br/>
"And where is our number-two dipshit today?" Carson asks.<br/>
<br/>
"Dipshit?" You frown in shock.<br/>
<br/>
"Business lunch with some other guys," Caleb says.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh," says James. "That's how come you came looking for company."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Dipshit?</i> you think again. "Yeah, he's taking a page from my play book," you say, "gonna get him some extra credit by making a video."<br/>
<br/>
A pained look flashes across Carson's eyes. "Extra credit by making a <i>video?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"Sure. For our film class. Me and my peeps have a YouTube channel, and he's gonna make a video for it. Talk about a movie or something."<br/>
<br/>
"I don't know which is more embarrassing for him," Carson says. "That he's trying for extra credit by making a <i>video review</i> for a YouTube channel, or that he's taking the kind of class where a video review will get him extra credit."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey! I'm in that class and I did a video for extra credit!"<br/>
<br/>
"And here you sit, thinking that's some kind of brag."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you! Fucking smug, know-it-all prick!"<br/>
<br/>
You're still fuming about it as you and Caleb saunter back to class. "And where do they get off," you demand of him, "calling Prescott a dipshit?"<br/>
<br/>
"The number-two dipshit," he corrects you.<br/>
<br/>
"So who's number one?"<br/>
<br/>
"If you have to ask, Keith, the answer is you."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You make it to the end of the day without being spotted by Seth, and you spend the last two periods watching Jessica Garner—who shares those classes with you—from the corner of your eye. <i>That's really Carlos Montoya,</i> you tell yourself, though nothing about the girl looks out of character as she chatters with Jenny and some other friends. You wonder how she'd react if you—a supposed beta who knows all about what's going on—tried horning in on her and her business.<br/>
<br/>
So it startles you when you get a text from Carlos' number. Beta-Carlos apparently wants to meet up with you.</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212132311111
author_id: seuzz
title: Life Among the Fakes
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>You promised Keith you would keep quiet and not rock things until you'd proved to the guys that you could be trusted with their secrets, so you hold back from barging in on Jessica. For the same reason you decide not to pester Keith.<br/>
<br/>
That leaves Beta-Carlos and his friends as the only ones to hang out with after school. Assuming that you don't just want to go back to Keith's house.<br/>
<br/>
Which you don't.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Where meet?</i> you text him back. <i>What do?<br/>
<br/>
Vid stuff,</i> he replies. <i>And waiting.<br/>
<br/>
Wait for what?<br/>
<br/>
Gus to help.</i><br/>
<br/>
You don't know who Gus is, but something about the clipped responses makes you think further questions won't be welcome, so you just agree to meet up with him and the others at the storage complex at five.<br/>
<br/>
You kill the balance of the afternoon in the school library, doing homework, though you are careful (as Keith would be) to slip out and away from school before post-class basketball practice can break up.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Yo," you call out as you step into the storage bay where Carlos keeps his workout equipment. He's dressed out in shorts and t-shirt, sitting on the workout bench, doing curls with a heavy dumbbell. His face is flushed dark(er) from the exertion, and he's drenched with sweat despite the chill in the air. "Thought we was doing something with the cameras."<br/>
<br/>
"You're early," he grunts back. "When I'm done here."<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, you ever think about filming yourself doing your workout? How come?" you ask when he shakes his head.<br/>
<br/>
"Just never did."<br/>
<br/>
"You could post it and send links to summa the girls, show 'em what kinda stud you're— Ungh!"<br/>
<br/>
You had bent to lift one of the discarded dumbbells, and find it a lot heavier than you were expecting. Carlos sets his dumbbell down and, with a smirk, picks up the spare and finishes his curls with it. "Fucking showoff," you mutter at him.<br/>
<br/>
Mike shows up a minute later, and together you and he open up the studio while Carlos changes into a fresh set of clothes. Hollister is distracted as he works to set up the cameras and monitors. "Christ," he says, "I jerked off twice last night <i>and</i> had to beat off the wood I had when I woke up this morning."<br/>
<br/>
"Fuck you, what do I wanna hear about that for?"<br/>
<br/>
"Just saying." He wipes his forehead. "Thinking about Eva and all. You know."<br/>
<br/>
"You whacked off to Eva?"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, like you never did!"<br/>
<br/>
"I mean—" His confession puzzles you, but you're skittish about asking a direct question, lest you blow that cover you're trying to protect. "Didn't— I thought you and the, uh, the guys— Yesterday." You feel yourself redden as Mike stops to give you a hard, direct look. "I thought yesterday you and Carlos were gonna, with the things, and Eva and Jessica—"<br/>
<br/>
"Spit it out, Keith," Mike says. "You thought me and Mike were gonna switch places with Eva and Jessica."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah!"<br/>
<br/>
"And we did. Just like you and whatsisname switched. You cream yourself last night, thinking about <i>him?</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"No! But, um—" You drop your voice to almost nothing. "You're a beta, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Christ!" Mike looks like he's going to hit you. But he only retorts, "Yeah, same as you, doorknob!"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Well, I was just confused, 'cos of the way you were talking. You know, like, about Eva."<br/>
<br/>
"What's confusing about it? I jerked off to Eva. Fuck me, man!" He rolls his eyes toward the ceiling and vibrates in place. "When I think of the tits and pussy my alpha gets to play with—!"<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, <i>my</i> alpha's tits and pussy," Carlos says as he saunters in. He's looking fresher in clean clothes, but his skin is still shiny, and there's an unmissable ... odor ... drifting off him. "You know what they were doing all night last night with each other, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Love you like a sister!" Mike jeers. The two high-five each other.<br/>
<br/>
Words fail you, and you're shocked into deeper silences as the two of them, in ever-mounting, ever-more-graphic detail, spiral into fantasies about what their originals will be doing with their tongues, tits, pussies, and assholes. It only ends when they notice you blushing hard, and break into cackles of laughter. "So come on, man," Carlos jeers at you, "whaddaya think <i>your</i> alpha's getting up to with his new junk?"<br/>
<br/>
"Putting it inside <i>your</i> alphas," you mutter back. They only howl louder with laughter.<br/>
<br/>
"Come on," Carlos says after wiping away the tears of mirth, "The movie. What's a bit we want to do for it?"<br/>
<br/>
"What movie?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"<i>Cravenmoor.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
"I ain't seen it yet."<br/>
<br/>
"No shit," Carlos retorts. "Me and Mike saw it last night. Didn't see <i>you</i> with us."<br/>
<br/>
"But I thought you guys— With Eva and Jessica—"<br/>
<br/>
"After that. We needed something to do." He no longer sounds amused. "Something with a goat?" he asks Mike.<br/>
<br/>
"What am I s'pposed t'do here," you ask, "if I ain't seen it?"<br/>
<br/>
"Run the camera." Now Carlos sounds exasperated.<br/>
<br/>
"Where's Josiah and Philip? Aren't they coming out?"<br/>
<br/>
"No! They're off with the other guys. You know. Maria and Chelsea." Now he looks pissed.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh. Is, uh, my alpha with them?"<br/>
<br/>
"I dunno."<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't you have a business lunch with him today?"<br/>
<br/>
"No. And what do all these questions have to do with keeping the camera pointed at me and Mike?"<br/>
<br/>
"None, I guess," you mutter. You step behind the camera as Mike and Carlos settle in behind the desk. "Just didn't picture myself as a substitute for a substitute for a substitute," you continue to yourself, "when I said I'd come out here with you."<br/>
<br/>
Carlos snorts, and he and Mike settle in to talk about what kind of comedy "bit" they can wrap around a horror movie about a cult that worships a demonic goat.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
You've only been at work for an hour—a very long and boring hour, as far as you're concerned—when you're joined by unexpected company: Philip Fairfax. Your scalp prickles a little when he comes in. Fairfax, Keith's memories tell you, is the one who has more or less been running the project. He's a science-fair-type honor student with a serious demeanor behind his black-frame glasses, and even in a white t-shirt and corduroy pants he gives off a science-nerd vibe, as though he should be shooting off model rockets in his back yard in his spare time when he's not helping NASA launch real rockets as part of his summer job.<br/>
<br/>
"Guys," he says as he looks around the studio. "Keith," he adds, nodding at you. "How's the new video going?"<br/>
<br/>
"We need props," Mike says. "A goat's head. Or a goat skull."<br/>
<br/>
"How'd the thing go with the girls?" Carlos asks.<br/>
<br/>
"It went," Philip says. "My alpha is now in place."<br/>
<br/>
"Hooo!" Mike chortles, and his eyes gleam wickedly. "So what's it like for you, man? Knowin' your alpha's got some—" He mimes fondling a pair of enormous jugs.<br/>
<br/>
"This is a science project," Philip retorts, a little stiffly. "It's not about ... having fun."<br/>
<br/>
"Well, you're not having fun," Mike jeers back. "You having fun?" he asks Carlos.<br/>
<br/>
"I'm not having fun. My alpha is. I bet your alpha is too," he tells Philip. "You can be honest now, you're with friends. We're <i>all</i>"—he even catches your eye as he speaks—"sitting on the same shitter."<br/>
<br/>
Philip hesitates. "There were certain pleasures he was anticipating as a byproduct," he admits.<br/>
<br/>
Raucous laughter from the other two. "What about Josiah?" Carlos asks. "When were they gonna try for—?"<br/>
<br/>
"Already completed. His alpha sent his beta home. My alpha asked me to check in on you two." He turns a querying eye on you. "And to see how this one is doing."<br/>
<br/>
You flush. "You think there's something wrong with me?"<br/>
<br/>
"I have no opinion," Philip replies while Carlos sniggers. "Not any of my own. My alpha—" Again he hesitates. "My alpha harbors doubts about your alpha. Perhaps I shouldn't have admitted that," he adds.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, your alpha can suck my alpha's dick," you retort.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't take it personally. Remember, we're not really the people we're impersonating, there's no reason to get defensive."<br/>
<br/>
You notice that the beta's mild reproof has deflated the other betas, at least a little. An awkward silence settles over the studio.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, as long as everything is nominal here," Philip resumes, "I can report and return home. But I also have to secure this." He hefts the backpack he's carrying and turns to Carlos. "Can I have the key to the gym?"<br/>
<br/>
Carlos grunts and pulls a copper-colored key from his shorts pocket. Philip catches the toss and exits the studio. He returns a minute later to toss Carlos the key back, and leaves for good.<br/>
<br/>
The interruption seems to have destroyed the others' mood, though, and Mike suddenly declares that he's tired and hungry and doesn't want to work on the video anymore. Carlos agrees, and the three of you pack up the equipment, close the studio, and shuffle out. You glance at the gym door as you pass, and ask Carlos what it was that Philip's beta had to "secure" inside it.<br/>
<br/>
"That book they used to make us," he replies. "Everyone's made their switches, so they don't need it anymore. Not until— Well, not until whatever comes next," he lamely concludes.<br/>
<br/>
<i>So the book is inside the gym,</i> you think to yourself. <i>I know the codes to get into the complex and into the building. If I could pick the lock—<br/>
<br/>
If?</i> Keith Tilley jeers at you from the back of your head. <i>Dude, I can </i>totally<i> get you in there if you want!</i><br/>
<br/>
It's a surprise to you: Keith Tilley actually knows how to pick a lock. Which means you do too.</span></div></div>


path: 11331211121121111111321213232
author_id: seuzz
title: Too Many Girls
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>Eva doesn't look like she wants your company, and it might be awkward if you followed her out to see Mike and Carlos after the way you bailed on them yesterday, so you tell her you'll see her around. She strides off in a kind of power walk without wishing you a farewell, which seems to confirm your reading of the situation.<br/>
<br/>
But having thrown away one opportunity for social engagement, you shrink from others, and wind up at home, where you get an early start on your homework and goof the evening away. You do a little cursory research, though, on coffee shops and bakeries and other places where girls might linger in an available kind of way.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
<i>Wednesday morning.</i> You're at your locker between second and third periods when you're startled by a cheerful "Hi!" at your shoulder. You look over and do a double take. It's Eva, and she's grinning broadly and brightly into your face as she clutches her books to her bosom.<br/>
<br/>
"So we missed you yesterday," she chirps. "Out at Mike and Carlos's," she explains when you just gape at her. "Remember, we met up after school and I told you I was going out to see them?"<br/>
<br/>
That's right, you had forgotten about that. And why is she reminding you of it now? "So how'd it go?" you ask.<br/>
<br/>
"Great! Perfect! Life changing, practically!" She giggles and gasps. "We're helping them out with a video. Jessica and Cindy and me."<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah?" Three cheerleaders helping Mike and Carlos for a YouTube movie review video? And one of them is the snooty Cindy Vredenburg? That seems both remarkable and remarkably unlikely.<br/>
<br/>
"You know, they originally just wanted us for a bit," she continues in a prattling way, "but we had so much fun we're going to make it a regular thing."<br/>
<br/>
"That's great," you cautiously reply. Then you ask, "Did they mention me to you?" for you remember how yesterday you thought of using Mike and Carlos to establish a connection to Eva. "'Cos I was going to do something with them— I've been thinking about— Did you watch a movie? 'Cos I did, with them" —you feel yourself turning red as Eva's grin widens— "and I'm supposed to come up with something to say about it. I guess I should go talk to them," you lamely conclude.<br/>
<br/>
"I guess," Eva says, and her grin widens. "But I just wanted to pop by and say 'hi' and tell you that you missed out on some real fun yesterday!" She dimples at you, then launches herself back into the crowd.<br/>
<br/>
And your face falls. The hell is going on with her? Yesterday, when she had a chance to hang out with you, she was cold and wouldn't talk. Now, when it's too late, she decides it's 'too bad you missed out'!<br/>
<br/>
You do make a point of going over to speak to Mike and Carlos in fourth period, though. They eye you warily as you approach, and when you mention talking to Eva, and relate what she said, Carlos just nods.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, it sounds like they're gonna become a regular feature on our videos," he says with an odd lack of enthusiasm. And when you mention that you'd like to try out for that "extra credit" appearance to talk about that long-ass desert movie, he just shrugs. "We'll think about it," he says.<br/>
<br/>
As you turn to go, you notice Josiah Shank, who's sitting behind them, watching you with an almost bug-eyed intensity. But Shank has always been a weirdo, so you turn your back on him and shuffle to your seat.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Caleb and Keith are both in a bad mood when you meet up for lunch—Keith in particular is being a morose pill—so you announce you're going to eat with Carson, James and Jenny. They trail along anyway, and day worsens still when you ask Jenny where a guy can casually meet girls.<br/>
<br/>
"You're in the middle of a fucking high school, Prescott," Carson honks. "There's eight hundred girls trapped in here with us, and you wanna know where—"<br/>
<br/>
"Socially!" you retort. "Not in a 'learning' environment!"<br/>
<br/>
Carson hoots. "Like this place is a 'learning' environment!"<br/>
<br/>
"Does this have anything to do with that shit you were bugging me about the other night?" asks Keith. He ignores your hot stare to address the group as a whole. "Will wants to meet a girl who won't be embarrassed to be seen with him."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't we all," Lamont drawls.<br/>
<br/>
"I know a couple of girls," Jenny starts to say, but she's interrupted as Keith leaps to his feet with a harsh obscenity. He grabs his stuff and hightails it away.<br/>
<br/>
There can be only one reason for him to scamper off like that, but when you look around you don't spot Seth Javits anywhere. Instead, you do a double-take at the sight of Jessica Garner approaching your group. With her is Cindy Vredenburg.<br/>
<br/>
Now, it's not a rare thing for Jessica to come out to sit with Jenny and Carson and them. She's friends with Jenny, the same as she's friends with Lisa, and she actually treats Carson and James with respect—or at least with more respect than she treats you. But Cindy is an oddity. You've only seen her with Jenny once or twice.<br/>
<br/>
But she's coming this way now, and like Jessica she is dressed in a sleeveless blouse and a short skirt, and she shows leg all the way down to her ankles. You feel your eyes bulging.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey everyone," Cindy gushes as she and Jessica settle in with your group. She lays on her side and stretches those long legs out. "Where's Keith going?"<br/>
<br/>
"Anywhere but here," Carson says in a very neutral tone. "Is your boyfriend going to be joining us?"<br/>
<br/>
"Boyfriend!" she exclaims in a throaty gurgle, as though the words had to fight their way past a frothing laugh to reach her larynx. "It'd be funny if Seth <i>did</i> show up!"<br/>
<br/>
"Why's that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Jenny," Jessica says, "will you try talking Cindy here into <i>not</i> breaking up with Seth?"<br/>
<br/>
Jenny sits up very alertly, and Carson and James also perk up. "You're breaking up with Seth?" James asks.<br/>
<br/>
"I haven't decided yet," Cindy looks very puckish as she says it. "I mean, he's got his points. He's <i>so</i> sexy," she groans as she rakes the grass with long fingers. "It's just too bad he's such a motherfucking asshole too." But she says it in a dreamy way that is entirely at odds with the actual words.<br/>
<br/>
"Be sure to explain that to him that when you do dump his ass," Carson says. "The messier the break up, the more fun it'll be."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't I know it!" Cindy giggles. "I think about how I'm going to do it, and I just get goose bumps!"<br/>
<br/>
"Are you drunk or something?" Jenny demands.<br/>
<br/>
"This is what I mean," Jessica says. "Someone needs to talk some sense into this girl. She knew what she was getting into when she, uh, started going out with him."<br/>
<br/>
James sighs and starts putting his stuff away.<br/>
<br/>
"This all sounds like a lot a of fun, Cindy," he says, "but it's just going to end in tears and tantrums when you tell us this breakup talk is just a tease."<br/>
<br/>
"Don't you want to see me with a better class of boyfriend?" she asks. Her eye falls on you. "You're cute. What's your name? Hey, where are you going?" she adds as you get up and gather your stuff too.<br/>
<br/>
"With James," you reply. "If I tell you my name, you'll tell your boyfriend, and I've seen what he does to Keith." <i>What he does to me when he can't find Keith,</i> you don't add aloud.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't be such a pussy!" she retorts, which does nothing to change your mind. "The fuck was that about?" you ask James under your breath as you walk away with him.<br/>
<br/>
"She got laid last night, that's my bet," he replies. "Bed-breaking makeup sex after a humdinger of a fight. She's still pissed at him, but she's walking around with his phantom cock still up her cunny."<br/>
<br/>
You almost stumble and fall over at James's words. "Where do you get stuff like that?"<br/>
<br/>
"Jenny. You'd be amazed at some of the things she comes out with."<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Lunch was weird enough. But during your seventh period study hall, as you're lounging in the library, you look up from the game you're playing on your iPhone to spot Maria Vasquez coming in. You have the weird impression that she is looking for you, for she stops to give you a very direct—even penetrating—stare. There's nothing for you to do but stare back, as she's a dozen yards away, and anyway, you're not sure you've ever spoken to Maria. Then with a furrowed brow she turns and leaves.<br/>
<br/>
Odd behavior, and more than a little worrying. Maria is a cheerleader, like Cindy and the Garners, and it occurs to you that they must have been gossiping about you at lunch. Maybe Cindy was offended by the way you ran off, and she's spreading malicious gossip about you? Maria is friends with Chelsea Cooper, and the thought that you've come to the attention of the school's malevolent head cheerleader leaves you more than a little unnerved.<br/>
<br/>
And it must be your day to be noticed by girls after a long and—to your resentful mind—undeserved drought, for you have two visitors before the school day is out. Stephanie comes over in Astronomy—she <i>actually comes over to stop at your desk when she comes in the room</i>—to tell you that Meghan Farris will be hosting a party on Friday. "You wanted me to keep you informed," she says. It would be nice, except for the dismissive way she rubs her nose as she tells you.<br/>
<br/>
Then Eva shows up at your locker. "A bunch of us are going to the Warehouse on Friday," she says. "You should come."<br/>
<br/>
<i>The Warehouse? That merger of a dance club and a war zone?</i> You've never been. Dare you say yes?</span></div></div>


path: 113312111211211111113212132321
author_id: seuzz
title: The Wrong Kind of Party Crasher
chapter_content:
<div><div> <span>"The Warehouse?" you squeak. "Um ... Well ... Who all is going?" Your voice wobbles in your throat.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, the usual suspects," Eva says. "Me and Jessica. Marc and some of his friends." Her eyes light up. "Cindy'll be there. She was asking specially about <i>you!</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Your heart plunges. If Cindy Vredenburg's going to be there, then her asshole jock-bully boyfriend, Seth, will be there too.<br/>
<br/>
"Well, uh, maybe," you stammer. "But I was already talking to, uh, someone else about a party Friday night."<br/>
<br/>
Eva's face falls. "Who?"<br/>
<br/>
"Stephanie. Wyatt."<br/>
<br/>
"Stephanie?" Eva rolls her eyes. "You don't want to— Oh, come on, Will! Come out with us!" She tugs at the front of your shirt, and if she rubbed your swelling cock through the front of your jeans you could hardly get more stimulated. "We asked you first!"<br/>
<br/>
Technically, Stephanie asked you first. (Although she didn't really even "ask" you, did she?) So you tell Eva that you'll talk to her about it later.<br/>
<br/>
"That's a promise," she dimples, and touches your nose with her fingertip. Your nose tingles the rest of the day, like it's trying to cum.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
Both Eva and Jessica show up at your locker on Thursday to badger you into coming out to the Warehouse with them on Friday. You tell them that you've got a curfew you won't be able to wriggle out of, but eventually you cave. Complicated plans are made to give you cover for a night out, and you even agree to hang out with the girls and their friends after school, but you manage to (semi-intentionally) forget to meet up with them downtown like you promised. The fact is, you're feeling kind of bullied.<br/>
<br/>
"Pfft, I can't believe this is happening," Keith grumbles Friday evening, when he picks you up at your house. "You and them cheerleaders. You notice they never paid attention to you before now."<br/>
<br/>
You give him a look. He's been in a sour, angry mood since yesterday, when Eva and Jessica dragged you over to talk to him after school. Not that you blame him for being pissy. He's the "cover" that the girls cooked up for you: You told your dad that you will be going to party with him, then crashing at his place afterward. That way, if your dad calls to check up on you, he won't be surprised to hear party sounds in the background.<br/>
<br/>
But Keith wasn't planning to go to any party, and the expression on his face got uglier and uglier as Eva and Jessica forced him to agree to a plan that would let <i>you</i> go out to the Warehouse while pointedly leaving <i>him</i> out of it.<br/>
<br/>
"So why don't you come out with me," you ask him now. "You always wanted to go to the Warehouse, right?"<br/>
<br/>
"Tssh. Them girls'd be so pissed at me if I did that."<br/>
<br/>
"Who gives a fuck about them?"<br/>
<br/>
"Wonder why they give a fuck about you," he mutters, and gives you a slit-eyed side-glance.<br/>
<br/>
"Jesus, Keith, you don't gotta hang out with 'em. You can come out, then go off and do your own thing out there. Pick up your own girls."<br/>
<br/>
Keith looses a teeth-rattling sigh. "Eh, I got work in the morning anyway," he says. "It'd suck a lot worse if I had a hangover."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Fine,</i> you grumble to yourself. <i>Stay home and feel sorry for yourself.</i> You fold your arms and slump in your seat, and keep quiet the rest of the ride, until Keith drops you at your intermediate destination. "Thanks for the ride and all the help," you tell him. "I owe you."<br/>
<br/>
He mutters something unintelligible, and drives off.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
So here you are, against all expectations, at Meghan Farris's house. That was part of the plan that Eva and Jessica set up: A lot of people, they knew, would start off at Meghan's party before moving on to the Warehouse, and you could get a ride with one of them. <i>Look for Dominique Hughes,</i> they said, <i>or Josie Holden.</i><br/>
<br/>
But you start by looking for a more familiar face. <i>Any</i> familiar face. You find one in Cassie Harper.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh my God, Will, what are <i>you</i> doing here? I don't mean, like, you <i>shouldn't</i> be here, you can go anywhere you want and you probably do! But I didn't know you were coming out here! Are you friends with Meghan? Not that you have to be to be out here. I mean, my God, just look around! I think half the school's here, and it isn't even eight-thirty! When it actually gets going—"<br/>
<br/>
You have to draw a deep breath on her behalf, because it doesn't sound like Cassie's going to be drawing a deep one for herself any time soon.<br/>
<br/>
You've known Cassie Harper a long time, though sometimes it seems even longer because of how much and how fast she talks. It's like she can cram a year's worth of talk into just five minutes. Despite that, you do like her, you suppose. She's a pert, cute red-head, with faint freckles splotched all over her face. Her smile is wide and white, and her eyes shine like the beam of a lighthouse. She's a squirmer, too, and as she chatters brightly are you she shimmies in place like a cat trying to stand upright on its hind legs. You are tempted to grab her by the elbows to stop her in place.<br/>
<br/>
"I heard about the party from Stephanie," you tell Cassie when you are finally able to squeeze seven words in. But that's all you can get out before Cassie grabs the conversational ball and scampers off with it again.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, I saw Stephanie around her earlier! It's like her and all the sports teams are out here. Well, the girls' sports teams. None of the guys've shown up, though, you know, just— Oh hey, Carlos!" She playfully elbows another partygoer in the ribs. "I was just telling Will that it's kind of weird that none of the guys like on the basketball squad have shown up yet!"<br/>
<br/>
But it's a chubby, black-haired girl who's been standing at Cassie's elbow all this time who answers. "It's still early," she says. She looks at you. "I remember you from Mrs. Epstein's class our sophomore year."<br/>
<br/>
"Oh yeah." You nod at her. You have no idea what her name is, but you decide you'd rather try talking to her than to keep up with Cassie. "So, uh—"<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, shit," the girl says as she looks past your shoulder. "Hey everyone, get ready to kiss ass," she calls out in a voice loud enough to carry over the hubbub of the crowd. "Queen Kelsey's arrived!"<br/>
<br/>
You glance back. Sure enough, a regal figure has swept into the living room: Kelsey Blankenship, leader of the AP pack. She's dressed in a violet, sleeveless, one-piece dress whose hem barely falls past the bottom of her hips, and silver hoop earrings. A large, silver bracelet slides up and down her narrow wrist. She smiles narrowly into the room as she looks it over, picking out potential company on whom to bestow her imperial presence.<br/>
<br/>
Her eye lands on you, and lingers for only half a second before sweeping on. Cassie, her friend, and Carlos Montoya don't make the cut either.<br/>
<br/>
"What's she even doing here?" asks another girl who now joins you. She's shorter and even chubbier than her friend, but her hair is a lank, dirty blonde.<br/>
<br/>
"Slumming," sneers the other girl.<br/>
<br/>
"That's mean!" Cassie exclaims. "I mean, for Meghan. I'm sure Kelsey came out because—"<br/>
<br/>
"Face it, Cassie," her friend snorts. "This whole scene stinks of desperation. You said it yourself. Where's the basketball squad? You see any cheerleaders?"<br/>
<br/>
"I'm gonna get something to drink," you tell the girls as Kelsey sweeps into the dining room. You don't like Kelsey—she's the snottiest girl you know at Westside—but you're curious at the fact that she has shown up at this party, and without any of her usual friends with her.<br/>
<br/>
She's nursing a paper cup full of punch as you sidle up to get some yourself. "Hey, Kelsey," you murmur at her.<br/>
<br/>
She turns to stare at you. Then she blinks, and the most plastic smile you've ever seen breaks across her face.<br/>
<br/>
"Will! So great to run into you! I should've guessed you'd be here!"<br/>
<br/>
Before you can reply to this veiled insult, shouting breaks out behind you. You turn in time to catch it in the chest as a clutch of girls barrels through the room. Stephanie, her eyes blazing, yells, "Out of the way, Prescott!" as she knocks you backward. Domino-like, you plow into Kelsey before you can catch yourself, knocking her to the ground with you falling atop her. The front of her dress is drenched in punch when you both sit up.<br/>
<br/>
<div align="center">* * * * *</div><br/>
"Oh my God, Will!" Eva exclaims. She is so excited that you have to pull your cell phone away from your ear. "I heard there was <i>drama</i> out at Meghan's!"<br/>
<br/>
It's Saturday morning—closing in on noon—and you've been dreading this phone call: Eva calling to demand to know why the hell you stood them up at the Warehouse. You were at Meghan's only five minutes longer before bugging out with Kelsey's curses ringing in your ears. Bless Cassie for being nice enough to take you home!<br/>
<br/>
"Yes, we heard about it from Carlos," she says when you ask how she knew about it. "We're out here now. You should come out, we want to hear all about it!"<br/>
<br/>
"Come out where?"<br/>
<br/>
"To their YouTube studio. We're all here, gonna be watching a movie and making a video about it afterward. You can help!"</span></div></div>


