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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The New Queen"  Help Chelsea? You could. On the other hand, if Chelsea gets shipped out of state, there goes the only threat to your new identity—the original girl who you have now replaced. You could just ignore Chelsea's plea, but you can't resist replying with a series of gloating texts: Lol sucks to b u. Actully it's great to b u but that's me now lol. Have fun where u go now n remeber maybe u shld of been nicer to people when u were u n not a stoner loser like u r now lol. Then, as a cherry on the shit sundae you're whipping up for her, you send her a selfie—the best, most smirkiest duck-face you can make! You do feel a little guilty afterward. But then you remember how she sent her brutish boyfriend after you. Maybe after I graduate, you think, I'll go find her and give her life back to her. Anyway, you don't hear back from her. * * * * * Tuesday was warm and sunny, but a cold front blows through during the night and you wake Wednesday morning to the rumble of thunder. You make a face at the lowering clouds and fumble with an umbrella as you walk out to your car. Luckily, it doesn't start raining before you get to school, so you arrive fresh and dry in the ensemble you carefully pieced together: a heavy jeans jacket and sweater atop a short skirt and ankle-length boots, all under by a sporty beret cocked at a jaunty angle. Yesterday, was like the first day of vacation, and you blew through it joyfully without paying much heed to what you were doing. Today you feel a more serious mood settling over you. There are things that need to be done. Cindy Vredenburg needs to be isolated on the squad, for a start. You made a careless start on it yesterday by trying to sweeten up Yumi. That was a mistake. You were being too sentimental there—Yumi was the only cheerleader you really liked back when you were, well, yourself—but she hates Chelsea too much to be easily seduced. No, the best way to start on Cindy is by weaning the Garner sisters away from her. If you can peel them away, then Lin and Yumi will eventually follow. And to work on the Garner sisters ... There's Marc, their brother, I could maybe go to work on him, you muse. And to get to him there's his girlfriend, Hannah, that soccer player who moved over from Eastman this year. She's a one-girl avalanche, so bleagh on her ... But I hear she's gotten crossways with her new teammates, and ... Gyuh, I like Anita Nuevo even less than Hannah ... Yes, get Hannah on Team Chelsea by shivving Anita and her friends, then get Marc on board ... You're thus preoccupied as you enter the gym. Pre-class basketball practice is still going, and on instinct you glance around for your boyfriend, but he's nowhere to be seen on the court. You frown ... Steve Patterson is in the thick of things, though. He catches sight of you and straightens up with a hard look on his face. You make a face back at him. He stabs a forefinger at you, then points at the stairs to the gym loft, and flashes five fingers at you. You roll your eyes and turn toward the girls' locker room. A lot more than five minutes pass before you trudge up to the loft to see what Gordon's best friend wants. But by that time you've remembered that Gordon's body is now inhabited by Dane Matthias, so you can hazard a fair guess what Steve—who hates Chelsea as much as she hates him—would want to talk to her about in the privacy of the loft. He looks pissed off when you enter, and a pissed-off Steve Patterson is a scary thing indeed. He's six-foot-five of rangy muscle, with lean, strong limbs and eyes the color of the frozen fog that floats over an Arctic sea. He's one of the alpha bullies in the senior class—second only to Gordon—and you can hardly keep from shitting yourself when he brushes past you in the hallways. Now, viewed from inside Chelsea's body, he's even bigger and more threatening. But Chelsea Cooper despises him too much to fear him, so you just put a hand on your hip and ask him, in your most impatient tone, "Well?" He gives you a long, appreciative look up and down. Then he says, "The fuck is going on with Gordon?" "I don't know, Steve. What are you talking about?" "The fuck do you think I'm talking about? Did I hear that you and Gordon shared a blunt this weekend?" Dammit, he must have been talking to Kendra! Or Gloria! You make a mental note to stomp them hard the next time you see them. "I don't know, Steve, how would I know what you hear? I try not to pay any more attention to you than—" "Where the fuck did Gordon get a blunt?" "Where does anyone get a blunt in this school?" Steve's eyes seem to freeze. "How many does he have?" "Search me." His hands flex, and a cold smile pulls at his lips. "Maybe I should." "Oh, fuck you, Steve, if you try anything—" He jabs a finger at you. "Then you find out where the fuck he's getting those things from, and you get them away from them." "What fucking business is it of yours?" "I heard he busted out a couple of blunts the last time you and him were up here. Now, maybe it's all fun for you, you silly cunt of a cow—" "You guys drink beer all the time, what's it matter if there's a little weed too? The football team—" Patterson advances two long steps at you, and jump back. Your heart is beating hard as he looms over you. The light in his eyes would would put frost on a burning match. "Did you give it to him, Chelsea?" he demands. "Were you the one that brought it up here, told him you—?" "No! I don't know where—! Have you talked to Dane Matthias about it? He—" "I talked to Matthias on Friday, and there's no fucking way he'd have passed any more to Gordon after what I said to him." You remember Patterson's warning—you were "Dane" that day, and you'd have to agree with Patterson's assessment of the threat he gave you. "So either Gordon picked up a fat stash, or someone else is slipping him some. He missed practice Monday and yesterday, and he missed it this morning." His eyes narrow. "The fuck is going on with him?" "Talk to him if you want to know, Steve." "What has he said to you?" "Nothing, and I don't badger him about his private life." Out of Chelsea's mouth that is a lie, and an obvious one, and you can tell that Patterson wants to belt you for saying it. He bends over you, and you glare hotly back at him—a blowtorch repulsing his looming iceberg. "He needs to get his shit back together, Chelsea," Patterson growls at you. "For the team's sake, for his sake, and for your sake." "I—" "You know what his dad will do to him if he keeps on this way. His dad doesn't tolerate any kind of shit from him. And as for you—" He straightens up. "What's the line you use against girls who date potheads? Well, if Gordon doesn't fix his shit, you're gonna find out what it's like to have that line used against you." With one last freezing glance, he stalks from the loft. The stairs outside creak like thunder under his heavy tread. * * * * * "God, you look fine from here," Caleb says. You're in the elementary school basement, and he's reclining behind one of the desks with his feet up, and ogling you with open lust. "Is that you or Kirk talking?" you demand. Caleb texted you to say he scored his goal last night—a copy of the brain of Anthony Kirk, AP shit heel. He ignores you. "Yeah, I'd love to turn you over, peel your clothes off one at a time like the petals off a rosebud, and—" You give him a dirty look. Maybe you should take the mask off while hanging out solo with him. Yeah, and maybe you could shove your face into a spinning fan blade while you're at it, too. Chelsea's body feels too good to crawl out of. Instead, you turn his lust against him. Convenient for your purpose that he should be so openly horny. "How about you give it another go as Gordon?" you suggest. "Be my boyfriend?" He only grunts. "Why would I want that? I couldn't hack it last time—" "We'll get a copy of Gordon's brain for you, dumbass. That way you can— I got no problems doing back flips as Chelsea, you know—" "I bet you don't!" "—so you wouldn't have any problems on the court if you had Gordon's brain along with his body." But Caleb shakes his head. "I already got a look at what his life is like. Besides, you wouldn't put out for me, would you?" "Um—" "Yeah, that's a no from both of us. Besides, who would cover for me? I'd have to leave someone behind to be me, and it'd have to be someone smart enough to handle my classes without my brain. I mean, with what I know about this shit, I'm not sharing it with—" "Come on, man," you plead. "I need help!" You tell him what Patterson told you up in the loft. But he draws the wrong lesson from it. "Patterson," he muses. "He could cover for me, he's smart enough. And the cocksucker would deserve the demotion." Next: "Improperly Paranoid" |
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