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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "How to Make a Switch"  You hesitate for just a few moments before deciding: "I'll go ahead and do a switch." "Awesome," Cindy says. "Looks like you're gonna have a lot of fun." She giggles and nudges you. "Yeah, alright," Marcos says. "Come on you guys," he calls to the betas. "You done there?" "Just drying it," Beta-Carlos says. He blows into the mask, then hands it to Marcos. It might be your imagination, but you think you see look of sullen resentment on the beta's face. "Here," Marcos says as he passes it to you. "You'll probably wanna do this next part alone. Don't dawdle," he adds, and with a quick flick of his hand gestures everyone out of the bay. He pulls the rolling metal door down with a shuddering rattle—but not so quickly that he can't flash you a hard grin and a harder wink before it closes on you. You turn back to Kristy. Carlos and them have left you with a nice little puzzle, you realize now. She's going to wake up soon, so you need to drop that mask of yourself onto her. But she's still in her clothes, and what will happen if your own form hulks out inside of them? Well, you're not much bigger diameter-wise than her, it seems, and her clothes are draped pretty loosely on her. You could probably go ahead and take the chance— Damn! Your eye falls on her feet. Your own boat-like pedals would never fit inside them. You cast a quick, fearful look up at Kristy's face, then kneel beside her and grasp a shoe. You loosen the lace of one, then the lace of the other. Another quick glance up at Kristy. Then, after wedging the mask in your armpit, you gently pull one shoe off her. No movement or response. You drop the shoe, and wince as it knocks the hard cement floor. You grasp the other shoe— Kristy groans. You freeze. No time for finesse, you judge, and rip and hurl the other shoe away. You catch the mask as it falls out of your pit, and lunge at Kristy's face. Her brow furrows, and you think you see just a glimmer under eyelids before you drop the mask onto her. It's like a smooth, flat stone slipping into a smooth pond without sending up a ripple or a bubble. For a moment the universe doesn't seem sure who it is that's supposed to be lying on the bench. Then reality takes a quick, decisive breath. Now the person on the bench has a narrow face with a fading summertime tan under a thatch of straw-like hair. He crinkles his brow and his eyes pop open "Oh Jesus," he gasps as he does a double take. Then: "Ow! What the—?" He sits up with a grimace, and tugs at the jeans he's wearing. "What the fuck, man?" You finally find your voice. "You know what's going on?" "No! The fuck am I wearing?" "Kristy Suffolk's clothes." He freezes, then looks up at you with a scowl. "Why'd you put me in Kristy Flippin' Suffolk's clothes?" "I didn't put—! Those are the ones she was wearing! What's wrong with you?" "I'm wearing the wrong set of clothes, that's what's wrong with me!" You take a quick, sharp breath. "You know you're a beta, right?" "Well, dur, If I was the real cocksucker I wouldn't be arguing with some asshole who looks like me about how come I'm wearing Kristy Suffolk's clothes!" His eyes are bright, but you think you see real fear in them. You draw a deep breath. "Do you remember putting on the mask to put, uh, our most recent memories in it?" "Since it's the last thing I remember, yeah," he retorts. "I put a mask onto my face, then the next thing I know I'm the young Mrs. Doubtfire!" He pulls Kristy's jeans half-way off. "And I've got her panties on too?" he shrieks. "Listen!" He looks up sharply at your order, and claps his mouth shut. "Kristy was laying there. You remember that?" He nods as you point at the bench. "There wasn't time to take her clothes off her, so I just popped that mask onto her. That's how come— You popped into existence inside her clothes, that's what happened. You're lucky I got her shoes off her." Your beta stares at you, then pulls out his shirt to peer down inside it. "Got a bra on too, I see." He shoves a hand down the front of his shirt. "Funny to think I got her tits somewhere under my chest hair." "Look, just get out of her things. I'll give you my clothes, and you can get into them." You kick off your shoes. "Why, what are you going to do?" "I'm going to put on her mask, dur! Gonna—" You gulp at the wolf-like leer that creeps onto your double's face. "Gonna go home as her." "Oooh!" your beta chortles. "You're gonna be my girlfriend?" "I'm gonna make you my bitch if you don't shut the fuck up and behave!" * * * * * You get out of your things and he gets out of Kristy's. You sit on the bench, crouching so as to shield your nakedness a little, as he pulls on your clothes: khakis, suspenders, three layers of shirts, boots and hat. "So what are you waiting for?" he asks as he settles and resettles the last. "A little privacy." He looks you up and down. "You not gonna let me see Kristy in the raw?" "I haven't decided yet." "Oh, you're gonna want it from me," he snickers. "Just get out of here." "Whatever you say, boss." He lifts the door, then pauses long enough to roll his tongue around inside his cheek and ask, "But we wanna be convincing together, don't we?" "Just get out!" The door rattles and booms as he slides it shut. You listen. A moment later you hear a muffled voice. Then half a dozen people (it sounds like) start laughing very loudly in the next room. Fuckers. But there's nothing more to it but to do it. You look down at the mask and stroke the name. Then you lay back on the bench, hold the mask over your face, and gently drop it into place. For the second time that evening, darkness obliterates your senses. * * * * * They told me I wouldn't get the memories right away, you think as you stare at yourself in the mirror. They told me I'd have to sleep on them, and that it wouldn't be morning until I remembered what Kristy remembered, and felt what she felt, and could act like she acted. They told me it takes hours to get fully into the impersonation. You'd woken to a feeling of confusion, which was rapidly dispelled, however, by the cold and the fluorescent lights. You knew exactly where you were. But you had two memories of how you got there. One memory was of driving out after having sat at Starbucks for ninety minutes, so you could rendezvous with your friends and get yourself a kind of fake girlfriend. The other memory was of driving out to meet Cindy Vredenburg and Jessica Garner to talk about making some kind of video highlighting girls' sports at WHS. You'd only been there ten minutes or so before Will Prescott walked in, at which point Carlos and Mike jumped at you and shoved something cold into your face. Speaking of Will Prescott: ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Friday night —The Warehouse: "He's in there, we'll go find him," Jessica shouts in your ear as she pushes you toward the doors of the main dance hall. "Who is this guy again?" you ask. "Will Prescott! You'll like him!" You're still frowning with puzzlement and trepidation when a kid comes sauntering up to you. He's in a denim shirt and suspenders, and is wearing a ... very striking hat, like something Indiana Jones would wear. For a moment he only grins at you shyly from under his lowered brows. Then he puts his hands on your hips. You're too startled to do anything but dance along when that's what he starts doing. It is, after all, what you're supposed to do on a dance floor. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Saturday afternoon—Your bedroom: You feel your forehead pucker as you study the picture of ... Will Prescott? He looks vaguely familiar, though you're sure the hat must be a new addition to his wardrobe. The photo—sent you by Cindy Vredenburg—is a little blurry, but it shows him leaning against one of the makeshift bars at the Warehouse and staring intently down into a bowl of peanuts. Why he finds them so fascinating, you couldn't guess. But then, why does Scott Bickelmeir think you'd be interested in a picture of him, shirtless? That's another photo attachment you received this morning, and it's the tenth one you've got from him in the last week. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Monday morning—School. "I don't know this guy," you protest to Stephanie. "I never heard of him before Friday." "Don't you pay attention?" she retorts. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. Who do you prefer, the devil you don't know or the Bickelmeir you do?" "Does this Prescott guy at least know tae-kwon-do? 'Cos if he gets between Scott and me, Scott'll—" "Leave that to the rest of us. We can explain things to Scott. Ain't that right, Dominique?" "Whatever you say, boss-lady!" Dominique Hughes calls back without lifting her eyes from her cell phone. * * * * * So, you think as you think as you regard yourself gravely in the mirror. Kristy's got her own reasons for going out with me. Which I guess gives me two reasons to be my own girlfriend. * To continue: "Sufferin' Suffolk!" |
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