%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Death Drive "  You don't want to give Roberta a ride, but when Virginia scurries off to get into a car with Zion and Kian, you surrender to the inevitable. "I'm parked across the street," you tell Roberta. "I thought we were kind of hitting it off back at Kian's," she says as she accompanies you back to your truck. "But I guess I'm now in the same doghouse as Naomi and Kennedy." "Not the same doghouse." She looks at you sidelong, then says, "Oh. I get you. A different doghouse." "Look, I don't know any of you," you tell her after you've climbed into your truck, "and maybe I don't want to. Too much drama." "If you think we've got too much drama, you should try the drama club. That was a joke," she adds. "I get it. But it's nothing personal with me, if you've got a problem with Virginia. I don't know her either, but—" "But you thought I was being really rude, and it made you feel chivalrous." You give her a look. She smiles back impudently. "You don't know me either," you remind her. "No, but I think I get you. You know," she says as you start the truck and plunge out onto Borman, "not every guy would've run off to follow Virginia to the girls' room. What did you talk about on the ride out here?" "Nothing. Stuff. Stuff to do with your charity drive." "Do you think she's cute?" "What?" You almost steer into oncoming traffic. "Do you think she's cute?" she repeats. "I think she's cute." "Well, she's not my type." "What is your type?" You sigh and squirm in your seat. Of all the fucking things to have to talk about. But Roberta doesn't let you off the hook. She just sits in the passenger seat, half turned, to stare at you with that impudent, knowing smile. "I don't know," you finally tell her. "No type in particular." "Well, what kind of girl do you jack off to?" "Oh, Jesus!" "Or aren't you particular there, too?" "All kinds! Alright?" "I won't ask if you'd jack off to Virginia. You probably won't, now. I think I'm probably giving you some kind of psychological block. I'm just trying to figure out— If you're not chivalrous, Will, then you must like her, even if you won't admit it. I mean, you chased her back to the girls' lavatory—" "I didn't know the girls' room was back there!" "Point is, you chased after her. Because you liked her? How come? Her looks, her personality? Because," she says as she swipes your ball cap off your head and examines it, "you both root for the same baseball team?" "What the—?" "Oh, I just thought it might have a team logo on it." She slaps it back on your head, and you resettle it with a muttered curse. "Do you know where you're taking me?" You look around, and realize that you haven't even asked her where she lives, that you're basically driving back to your place. So you ask for her address. "I wanna make you a peace offering," she says. "You can take us to the Dairy Queen and I'll buy you a cream-cone." "You don't have to do that." "Actually, you do. Because I'm not telling you where I live until we've had those cream-cones." * * * * * The Dairy Queen isn't far off, and the sushi wasn't filling, so you capitulate. Roberta insists on going inside rather than using the drive-thru, and on sitting at a table in the back while you eat your soft-serve ice creams. You never liked Dairy Queen particularly, but it's sweet, and she's paying for it. Roberta eats hers very slowly, as though trying to make your time together last, with lots of breaks between bites as she tells you about herself. She's from elsewhere in the state and moved to Saratoga Falls with her family when she was young. It's not the worst place in the world to live, she tells you, but she's not going to stay in town if she can help. Brown University, she tells you, is where she aims to go, if she can keep her grades up and get a free ride. Otherwise ... She shrugs and says that Oregon or Washington or Colorado might suit her. She also talks about the charity drive, and her relationship with the others who are helping out. What she tells you parallels what Virginia said. Zion Barber, the class president, organized it and is running it with a strong assist from some of his friends, like Kian and some other guys she names. But she's more cynical about him than Virginia. "He's a hustler," she tells you. "No, that's not fair," she corrects herself after a moment's thought. "But he is a politician. That's how come he gets along so well with Naomi and the others." And what does she think of them? "Peh. They're hustlers too, but they're self-hustlers. They hustle themselves. I mean, they're selling themselves, like, to colleges, but also to themselves. They want to be so good. I mean, I want to be good too, and I'm definitely gonna use this and anything else I can get into on my college applications. But I know that's why I'm doing it. Naomi and Kennedy and Natasha, though." She shrugs. "They're doing it for themselves, but they still thinking doing it makes them a better kind of person." And what about Virginia? "Oh, Virginia's a true believer. I bet she told you that, too. But she is." There's a gleam in her eye as she says, "That makes her and Timothy the only real victims of this whole scam." "It's a scam?" "I'm being metaphorical. Everything's going to charity, yeah. But Virginia's really only helping Naomi and Zion and them, 'cos they're the only ones that are going to get anything out of it." "And the people who get the clothes and food." "Pfft. No one's doing anyone any good, Will, as long as we live under a capitalist system." You don't want to get into politics, so you ask why she's got such a problem with Virginia. "I was hoping you'd ask me about Timothy," she murmurs. "Is he another true believer?" "No. It's just that Natasha's got him wound around her little finger, so he dives into the clothing donation box when she says 'Fold'. He won't even get anything good for his college applications out of it, and I doubt he gives a shit about the actual charity work." "You sure are cynical about everyone." Maybe her cynicism is rubbing off on you, or maybe you just have the urge to scrape her face across the same cheese grater she's using on everyone else. She shrugs and takes another bite of ice cream. "You said you didn't know any of us, so I'm telling you. I think you also said you didn't want to know about any of us, so I'm helping you there, too." "So tell me about Virginia. She told me you made a pass at her." Roberta's eyes actually go wide, and she stops in mid-chew. Then leans back and slowly and elaborately rolls the wad of ice cream around in her mouth before sucking it down. "I really pissed her off at the restaurant, didn't I? Go, me. I didn't make a pass at her, Will. Not never. She just wishes I did. It'd be another part of her self-victimization thing." "What do you mean?" "She thinks she's a victim. She wants to be a victim. She's helpless and she wants people to carry her. I mean, she's not cynical about it. She doesn't even know she does it. She just thinks she's helpless, so she never tries, and tries to get others to do it for her instead." "Do what for her?" Roberta rolls her eyes. "Jesus. Everything. Best way I can describe her is—" "You called her a vampire." "Well, yeah. But if you don't like that, think of her as like a drowning person, who won't even try to save herself, won't even try to swim. Just wants people to dive in and carry her, like a dead weight, back to shore. But you can't carry a dead weight back to shore, Will, you can only be pulled down by them and drown yourself. That's the problem I have with her. I've known girls—and guys," she pointedly adds, "who swim out to save her, and she latches onto them, and just pulls them under. She just sucks all the emotional labor from them, makes them work and work and work to make her feel better about herself but she never does. She just demands more. That's why I call her a vampire." You're all done with your cone, but Roberta still has the little nubby bottom of hers pinched between her fingers. She examines it. "That's how come I wanted to know why you went after her. Did you like her? Or did she make you feel ... chivalrous ... by going after her, by jumping into deep water to save her? Are you chivalrous, Will?" There's a taunt in the question. "Or were you thinking with your willie? For your sake, I hope it was only because she gave you wood." * * * * * Roberta finishes her cone and ducks into the restroom to wash her hands. You're left wondering what to make of this girl. Never mind if she's right about her friends, you've no way of judging that. But you find yourself of mixed mind about her. Part of you likes her for being so bold. The other part of you, she makes its skin crawl. You're walking back out to your truck, across a parking lot across which dusk has fallen, when you remember how you got here: You've got that mask you wanted to test out. Now you've got someone you can test it out on, and you doubt you'll find a more convenient time or location. But the part of you that Roberta fascinates wonders: Maybe I should show her the mask instead, and the book that made it. She seems very smart, and brave. Next: "A Book Study with Roberta" |
 Log in to Leave Feedback |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
