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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Deep Disguises"  You decide that whatever is going to happen to Dane without you will be better than whatever happens to him with you. Let him get settled in to his new body and identity—insofar as he can get settled in. You light the joint and suck in an experimental breath, and explode in a hacking cough as the acrid fumes hit the back of your throat. Tears spring into your eyes. It's nearly a full minute before you catch your breath, and another minute before you can take another hit. That one goes down easier, and so does the next one, but that's all you want to chance at the moment. You pinch out the joint and return it to your pocket; and maybe it's your imagination, but you might feel a little dizzier, a little more disoriented. The harsh smell off Dane's clothes, which had faded a bit as you'd got used to it, bursts out again, refreshed. You sling Dane's canvas bag over your neck and onto your shoulder as you step outside the portable. Voices—not near, not far—sound from somewhere in the area. You'd rather know who they are before joining them, so you turn back toward the main school building. At the edge of the last portable you carefully look out, in case the Gordon-disguised Dane is nearby. But the coast is clear. "Dane!" You jump and whirl at the shout from behind. Adrian Semple grins at you. "Don't freak out, dude," he laughs. Semple is dressed better than Dane, if torn jeans, t-shirt, and jeans jacket can be "better" than anything. His hair, which hangs in curls and kinks down to the top of his shoulders, is so dirty that the light brown has faded to something closer to gray. But his eyes are bright. "Ayyy, it's only you, man" you gasp, and throw your arms around him in a loose bear hug. "Where you been?" You try willing your IQ down by at least forty points. "Back there waiting for you," he points, and takes your elbow in his hand. "Did you get lost?" "Yeaaaahhhh," you gasp in your best impression of Dane. "I heard voices and took a detour—" Adrian laughs. On a hunch, you decide on laying the predicate for a mutual body swap in case the real Dane should make a scene. "Did you see Gordon Black around here earlier?" "No," Semple says, and his tone is sharp. "Why, did you see him?" "Yeah, I think so. It was pretty freaky." "It's okay, it's only us back here," Semple says as you round a corner. Four people look up from the grass where they're squatting. There's Karl Hennepin, in his skinny jeans and skinny tie, with that stupid fedora. Brad Murphy, with the confused look of someone who's been slapped across the face with a fish and is wondering whether such an absurdity actually occurred or whether he only imagined it. A girl, whose name you can't place, in a sleeveless blouse and sleeveless vest decked over with beads and bangles, whose mischievous smile lights up a cherubic face. And the one who surprises you with his presence: Erik Carstairs, a spiky-haired blonde football player, and the only one with a joint between his lips. He grins at you through a veil of smoke, and hands it over to you. "Hey, thanks," you say. "I was wanting—" You close your eyes and tense all over as you take a toke, willing yourself not to cough. "Awesome." You hold it out to the middle of the group, and Adrian takes it from you. "It's not cool," says Brad. He's turned toward Hennepin and Carstairs, so you can't make out exactly who he's talking to. "Does it matter," asks the girl. "Are you having fun," she asks one of the guys. "Sure," Hennepin says with a shrug. "I mean—" He takes the joint from Semple and huffs from it. "Sure." "But who's paying for it?" Semple asks. "The motel rooms, I mean." "Don't be crass," says the girl as she takes the joint from Hennepin. "The point is," Semple says, a little shrilly. "She's the one with all the money, and if she's ashamed to be seen with him—" "Who says she's ashamed," says the girl. "Don't get me wrong, Kelsey's a cunt, but—" "Exactly," says Semple. "Her and her friends. If she doesn't want 'em to know—" "That's real nice," says the girl. She takes another hit, and her eyes narrow behind the curling haze. "Telling your friend that his girlfriend's ashamed of him." "She's not his girlfriend, not if she's keeping him hidden inside motel rooms," Adrian retorts. "That's what's not cool," says Brad. "The way she's hiding it." "And if he's having fun?" the girl repeats. She hands the joint over to Carstairs. "What if it were the other way around," Semple asks. "What if it was a guy who wanted the girl to keep it secret? Oh, and he made the girl pay for everything?" "That's not—!" The girl shrugs tightly. "And if the girl says she's having fun, then why isn't it okay?" Semple laughs—a whinny like a horse. "I wonder what Kelsey would say if you asked her that question." "She'd call it sexism," says the girl, "and she'd call it horrible. Because Kelsey's a hypocritical cunt." Semple laughs again, and gestures at Carstairs, who hands the joint—now almost depleted—back to him. But Adrian just gives it over to the girl. She takes it with a mischievous smile. "But man," says Carstairs with a leering laugh. "If Kelsey Blankenship let me park myself in her trunk for a little while, I'd put up with all kinds of cuntery. The girl punches Erik in the knee, though the football player hardly seems to notice. "You're talking about Karl's ... lady friend," she says lamely. The bell rings, ending third period. No one moves, until Semple looks over at you. "Are you skipping," he asking. "Uh, I dunno," you reply. "What's my next class?" Semple and Hennepin both laugh. "History." "Oh. Right." There are several history teachers, so that only narrows the range down. Semple's expression grows even more merry. "You know. Walberg." "Oh, shit. Not really?" Lots of laughter at that. You get uncertainly to your feet. "I guess I better go, then." No one stops you. "See you guys around. I guess." * * * * * You almost turn back or head in another direction when you realize that the real Dane might be inside, waiting for class to begin, but you press on, though watching carefully. You don't run into anyone, and no one untoward looks into the classroom before it starts. You do get kicked out of three different desks before landing in the one Dane usually takes, but your presumption doesn't seem to offend anyone. It does interfere with your sending a text to Caleb, though, saying you want to see him at lunch. He replies that it can't be done: "Keeping an eye on Will." Silently, you concede that should be a priority. At lunch you get a quick bite in the cafeteria, and prowl the school grounds, keeping an eye out for the guy who replaced you—Gordon Black as Will Prescott—and the guy you replaced—Dane Matthias as Gordon Black. You don't spot either one, and aren't sure whether to be pleased or not by this. You spend the rest of the day in the library—being extremely bored—because you don't get any real help in figuring out your class schedule, except from one unexpected source at the very end of the day, and that comes in a bad way. You're loping through the hallways, looking for someone who might help you get into Dane's locker—if you can even figure out where it is—when a hand catches and tugs you into a room. Mr. Trencher, the art teacher, smiles at you with gentle gravity. "I missed you today, Dane," he says. "Yeah?" "Yeah, you normally don't skip mine." He sounds genuinely disappointed. "Oh wow, I did miss it, didn't I? I got kind of confused." "I bet. You will be in class tomorrow, won't you?" "Sure. What time?" "Class time, Dane," he says, and lets you go. That's a disappointment to you too. You had Trencher your sophomore year, and you liked him a lot, though you didn't exhibit any talent for his subject matter. But that's a lead on another class. Maybe by the end of the month you'll be able to figure out your new schedule. The encounter with Trencher is followed by an encounter of a much worse sort. You're still roaming the halls when another hand—this one stronger and rougher—pulls you into a classroom. You freeze at finding that it's Mr. Walberg. He glowers at you and raises an eyebrow. You return his stare with a wide-eyed one of your own. Then with a snort he stabs a finger at a desk. "Sit." "Yes sir." You wait expectantly, but he says nothing else, and a few minutes later he leaves. He's gone quite a while, and you wonder if you can or should leave, but he returns first, and pays no attention to you, but works at his desk. You squirm and look around, and are on the point of asking several times what he wants. But he resolutely ignores you, until after fifteen minutes he looks up and growls, "If you haven't got anything to study you can at least be still." That's when it dawns on you: You're in detention! With a groan, you put your head on the desk. * * * * * It's an hour before you can go. On the way out you call Caleb, but the talk is short as he tells you gruffly that he's "hanging out with Will." It's beginning to sound bad. And that leaves you feeling in a bit of a pinch. If you hang out at the school, in the company of Semple or others of his ilk, you can likely easily get away if Caleb calls back. But it might be better to check out Dane's house, even though you might not be so easily able to escape it. * To continue: "Dane's Domicile" |
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