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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Bully Sessions"  "Coulda been worse," says Caleb. "Mendoza could have been there." It's lunch time—fifth period—and you're sitting out on the front quad by the corner of the library. Normally you and Caleb and Keith would be on the grass between the Health and Music wings. That bit of real estate, though, is a little too isolated for your taste this Monday afternoon—the same day as your morning humiliation—so at your urging the three of you have joined some other friends at their more public location, between the front of the school and the teacher's parking lot under a sunny sky. "Mendoza's not so bad," Keith says. "I've never had any trouble with him." "Then how do you know how bad he is?" Caleb retorts. "I don't often have much trouble with Javits, how'd you like if I said he wasn't so bad?" "It's so cute listening to you guys complain about Thomason and his friends," says Carson Ioeger. He's leaning back on his elbows, gazing up at the blue sky through some shades. His long, frizzy hair—released for once from his dirty bandana—hangs off the back of his head like a matted bush. "Now, if you want to talk about an asshole with a fine bouquet, you have to seek out your Lynches, your Pattersons, your—" "Stop bragging," Caleb says. "Just 'cos you think you attract a higher class of bully." "I know we attract a higher class of bully. We're high-class kinds of guys. Word?" Carson puts out his fist, and his best friend, James Lamont, pounds it with his own. "World of difference, my friends, between being pantsed by a guy like Gordon Black, who's set up to be king of the senior prom, and being pantsed by— I didn't even know Spencer was still in school." "They must've let him out of the dog pound at the end of summer," you mutter. "Anyway, whatever Black and Patterson—" "And Lynch," says Lamont. "Let us not forget Jason Lynch. He wouldn't like that." "Whatever they've done to you is not worse than what Thomason's gang can do to you," you say. "Run over by a BMW or run over by a Hyundai, it's just the same." "Au contraire," says Carson. "Lynch and Patterson—" "And Black," says Lamont. "Let us not forget Gordon Black. He wouldn't—" "Shut up," says Carson. "All of them—" "At least you don't have them whaling on you every week," says Keith. "Fuck, I can't even go to Starbucks without Javits showing up to—" "You've got something special with Javits," says Caleb. "And we've got something special with Black and Lynch and Patterson, let's not forget him," says Ioeger. "Our bullies give me and Lamont a quality of attention and of pedigree that yours—" "Do they give you quantity?" you retort hotly. "Because I had seven of them jump me this morning." Carson looks over at you. "I'll trade one Patterson for any seven of— Hang on, were Kirkham or Chen there?" He pulls down the shades to fix you steadily. "No, just Thomason and Spencer and Nicholas Horner and—" "Oh, Horner, pff. I'd give you my sympathy if Kirkham or Chen were part of your story, but if you were just dealing with Horner—" "There were seven of them!" "Seven dumbasses," says Carson. "Mind you, Thomason and Tanner Evans can be pretty inventive, but the others are just— You can get rougher play down in the freshman class." "How would you like it if Thomason jumped on your back and squeezed your head between his thighs, like this—" You crudely indicate where he had you. "And he was slapping your head, shouting 'Look at my chubby, I'm gonna make it cum,' and then dumped your—" Carson and James gape, then burst out laughing. Even Caleb looks startled, and his lips twitch. "What?" you exclaim. "That's what they were doing!" "That?" Carson gasps. "He was pretending you were his dick? Oh, I'm sorry, Prescott, that's pretty messed up, but it's still hilarious." "Fuck you!" "I'm sure it was horrible at the time, but did they hurt you?" "It was humiliating!" "But did they hurt you?" Lamont asks. "If you mean, did they punch me or—" "Was there any serious physical discomfort at any time?" Carson demands, mirth bubbling behind his eyes. You hang your head. "Psychically scarring, I'm sure," says Lamont. "We shouldn't laugh, but—" He and Ioeger lock eyes, fight to suppress their smiles, then burst out anew in a fit of laughter. They fall against each other. So you storm into the library, where you stalk into a corner by the stacks, kick a chair from a table, and fall into a slump with arms crossed. Fucking pricks the pair of them, Ioeger and Lamont, so fucking proud of themselves for the way they mouth off at the jocks, striking a blow for the lower classes against the aristocracy of the senior class. They get to flatter themselves as heroes or some bullshit like that, which makes the pain and grief they get back seem heroic, like martyrdom. Meanwhile you get trapped in a cage of rabid glee-monkeys, tossed about and humiliated, and there's no compensating glory in that. After a few minutes, Caleb comes in. He doesn't ask to be invited, he just sits next to you with a sympathetic sigh. "I'm sorry, man," he says. "They really shouldn't be like that, and they know it, and they'll be along eventually to apologize." "Fuck 'em." "I agree. It's gotta've been horrible, stuck in a circle with those guys, and all you can do is wait for them to get bored, and even then— Say, how did you get away?" You sink very low in your chair and don't say anything. "Did they let you go when the bell rang?" You look to the side, and shrug. "Will, how long were out there with them?" "A really fucking long time, it felt like!" "I know, it always seems like forever. But how did you get away? What?" "I said, some people showed up. Mr. Barrientos was one." "Oh, that's cool. I guess he saw what they were doing, came out to stop it." "Yeah." "They get in trouble? They did get in trouble, right? I mean, if he saw what they were doing to you." "There was a fight going on, okay? Some other guys showed up, and he saw they were fighting with Thomason and Spencer, and he came out to stop it. So no, no one got in trouble, he just broke it up." "Oh, so it was these other guys. Holy crap, you got rescued. Who was it? Will?" You draw a deep, ragged breath. "Jelena Petrovic and Sienna Goldman." Caleb's expression freezes. Then, wordlessly, he covers his face with his hands. "I swear to fucking God, Johansson, if you're laughing back there—" He gets up and, hands still to his face, stumbles back the way he came, tripping over chairs and bumping into tables as he goes. * * * * * You approach Astronomy—the last class of the day—with a deep sense of trepidation, for Horner, Call and Austin are also in that class. Usually they skip, but after the fun they had this morning, it seems highly likely they'll show up to torture you, the way Spencer and Horner did in third. Your feet drag as you approach Mr. Cash's classroom. But Horner is the only one inside. You watch him from the corner of your eye as you approach your desk, which is on the other side of the room. He doesn't react. And, a few minutes later, Joshua Call also ignores you when he comes in, to lean over Horner's desk and speak quietly to his friend. Neither so much as turn in your direction. And when class ends, Horner leaves without once, that you can tell, even noticing you were in the room. Which is both a blessing and a bit of an insult. Apparently the morning's session, which felt so traumatic to you, was just a bit of high-spirited fun to them, so trivial that they've completely forgotten it by the end of the day. But the reason they can bang you around is the same reason that they'll forget about it and you immediately afterward. You are such a bug to them that you're only good for a little momentary amusement, and that's all. Fucking hell, but Ioeger and Lamont are right: They do attract a higher class of bully in the form of Gordon Black and Steve Patterson and others. Even Keith Tilley does, in the form of Seth Javits. And somehow that gives your friends a mark of distinction that you (and Caleb; if you're going to be miserable you will claim some company) don't have. You exit G wing through the back doors, the ones facing the baseball field, and glance to your left toward the portables. You spot two persons of interest. One is Justin Roth, sauntering off toward the portables, probably for another post-class session with his friends. He was interested in that book, and wanted to buy it from you; and it now occurs to you that maybe you could work through him to retrieve it. For suppose you told him that Thomason and his friends had it, and that he could probably buy it from them. That would at least get it out of the hands of those guys: if your suspicions about the book are well-founded, then those lowlifes are the last people you want to see playing with it. And if Justin got it from them, you could probably buy it off of him. So that's one way you could get it back, and without having to approach those creeps directly. But you spot another way, maybe, of getting it back: Mr. Barrientos, walking between C wing and the Ag Annex. If you told him that those guys this morning had stolen some of your property, he might be able to get it back for you. That would be a cheap, direct, and eminently fair way of going about it. But those thugs would also understand that it was you who got them in trouble. And that might put you on their radar permanently. * To talk to Justin: "Hired Help" * To talk to Mr. Barrientos: "Things Best Left Buried" |
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