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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "New Bosses, Practically the Same as the Old Bosses"  "Not yet, not really," you confess in answer to Caleb's question. "I mean, not specifically. I am thinking about changing grades, though." He reacts as though slapped. "You what?" "I'm thinking about changing grades. Patterson wants us to get a bunch of new faces. But we're stuck up here in the senior class. We can't really get any masks of people down in—" "Whoa! Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa!" Caleb raises his hands. "Are you serious? You know what they want these masks for, don't you?" He points to the golem in the corner of the loft. "Sure." He stares at you. "And you're serious? Sophomores and ... freshmen?" You blush. "I don't know about freshmen," you concede. "But sophomores ... You and me were talking about, you know, back when we were sophomores." You were talking about it back when you were freshmen, too. Caleb blanches. "Well, look at it this way," you holler back at him, for you are suddenly embarrassed by your own suggestion. "Would you have done it with, like, Chelsea? Back when—" You jab a finger into the fake face he's wearing. "Would Seth have done it with Cindy when they were back in the tenth grade?" Caleb grimaces, but doesn't deny it. "So, like, what would be wrong with doing it, you know, with a golem—a golem in a mask—if you were in a mask too? In a mask of someone in the same grade as ... her. I mean, if they'd do it, and it was okay, then if you did it while being them, wouldn't it—?" "Uh-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah!" Caleb puts his hands over his ears. "I don't want to hear this! I don't even want to think about this without clearing it with Patterson first. Okay?" You hang your head. "Okay, fine," you say. "But don't use my name when you talk to him." "Oh, and who the fuck's name am I—?" Caleb catches himself. "Yeah, okay, I can tell him it was Tilley's idea—" "Fine, you can tell him it was my idea! Except, frame it as a question. Ask him if these masks, if he wants them only of seniors, or does he want them also from, uh—" "Alright, alright!" Caleb takes out his cell phone. "Jesus. But you know he's going to know what you're really asking." "I'm not asking that!" "Then how do you know what he's gonna think you're really asking?" Caleb retorts. He gives you a moment to change his mind, then with a grimace starts tapping at his phone. "You can fuck off now," he growls at you. "I'll come find you when I get an answer." * * * * * Less than an hour later, you are once again hustled in a headlock to the gym. At least now it's third period, and a class (Career Planning) that you'd be likely to skip anyhow. Instead of the loft, though, Caleb hauls you to the top of the bleachers that overlook one of the basketball courts. Boys in shorts and tank tops come sauntering out of the changing room in ones and twos until there's more than a dozen standing around. Shortly after the bell rings, Coach Brooks—a burly, middle-aged man with a bald, egg-shaped head and eyebrows like caterpillars, comes out with a couple of basketballs. He drops these in the middle floor after yelling at the boys to get them running around the perimeter of the court. "That's the JV basketball team," Caleb tells you. "Patterson said he likes your idea, and he said to use one of these guys to get you down into the junior or sophomore class." You don't ask him if this means that the freshman class is off limits. "He's got a couple of suggestions, too. The kid in the green shirt down there?" It's a Hispanic kid with a narrow, impudent face under a short pillar of dark hair. "Diego Rojas. He's gonna be captain of the squad next year, if Gordon and Steve have their way. He's a real shit, just like them. Bangs a different girl every weekend, kicks ass just for fun. The other main one he suggests is Roman Robey." "Which one's he?" "White jersey, just coming around the corner." This one is quite a bit taller than Rojas, with must stronger arms and shoulders and legs. He's got dark hair and brows, and his face lights up when he turns to grin at a brown-haired who is jogging next to him. "Fuck Rojas, it's Robey's who's gonna be team captain next year," Caleb tells you. "Black and Patterson had to work hard to keep him from making the varsity squad this year. They can't stand him. He's real popular. Girls love him, you can probably tell. Patterson says to make sure you fuck him up good if you take over for him. Or you could be McInery. That's the kid jogging with him. They're best friends, or something. That would be another way of fucking Robey up." You're not sure you're inclined to fuck up the lives of anyone, not if you're going to be impersonating them, and not if they are as popular and good-looking as the last two appear to be. "Are all these guys juniors?" you ask. "Rojas and Robey and McInery are," Caleb says. "If you want a sophomore, you should look at Randolph. James Randolph," he clarifies. "The blonde kid three runners back of Robey." The runner in question is shorter than the others, and he's got a much leaner, trimmer build. But he's got hair like spun gold that's swept up into a tight pompadour. "What's the story on him?" you ask Caleb. "Another friend of Robey's, but down in the sophomore class. The little bit of scuttlebutt I've heard is that he's popular with the girls too. That's what you should be looking for, you know, if you're gonna get the masks that Patterson wants you to get." "Any other sophomores?" "One more. The one that should be at the top of your list, in fact, if you're actually interested in getting masks and not just sucking up to Patterson by fucking up some guys he doesn't like." Caleb cranes his neck. "That one, just passing under the basket." He's another lean kid, on the small side, at least compared to the juniors. His brown hair is cut short and clings to the top of his head like moss. "What's so special about him?" you ask. "He's not much of a basketball player," Caleb tells you. "But he plays in a garage band. Los Scorchos, or something like that. Crappy music, but all the ninth- and tenth-grade girls are in love with him. His name's Liam Schoonover. What a name, right?" You enter the names into your cell phone on a notepad app, then watch the class practicing for awhile. But when you catch the coach giving you and Caleb a look, you nudge him and suggest leaving. "We can get a copy of any of those guys this afternoon," he tells you after you've left the gym. "I have to make a copy of myself, and get some of that stuff into it," you tell him. "I'll go see Patterson this afternoon to get that done." * * * * * It's five o'clock before you make it out to the house where Patterson is staying. It's Joe Durras who answers the door, and hauls you inside by your neck. "I hear you're looking to score us some prime jail bait," he tells you with a leer. "You are quickly turning into my favorite person ever, Prescott. Who are you gonna use to make the harvest?" That's all for now. |
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