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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Boy Who Victimized Himself"  You text Stephanie to say that something's come up and you won't be able to make it to the study session; in a volley of replies, she cusses you out for flaking on the night's plan. No matter. You've already got things set up for you and "Will Prescott." * * * * * The Milagro Beanfield Warehouse is a pretentious hipster coffee shop a few blocks from the university. The best you can say for it is that it isn't weird like The Crystal Cave or The Flying Saucer. But its got a clientele that favors piercings, lumberjack beards, and distressed vintage clothes that cost more than some of the best things in your either your or Kristy's closets. Scott and Sean are seated in a back booth, drumming their fingers on the scarred wooden table. "Hey," you say as you settle into the booth opposite them. To Scott: "I almost didn't recognize you with a shirt on." He only looks puzzled. But Sean's eyes narrow. You instantly regret your opening gibe. But you're nervous, and you're nervous (you now realize) because you're scared of them. Normally you wouldn't be, for both Sean and Scott have decent reputations, even if the latter runs with a rough crowd. But this isn't school, and they've got reasons to get excited, and they are both of them very big. Okay, they're not "Thor" big, but they are brawny and hard-bodied, and as they stare at you now with their hard eyes and hard faces under their frayed and dirty ball caps—caps like you used to wear, but you'd bet their ball caps smell of sweat and testosterone, while yours only ever smelled of shampoo—they are like a two-man tribunal, and you can't help blushing at what they're probably thinking of you. You can't help feeling that the taunt You look like a girl can't be far from their lips. "What do you want to talk about?" you ask when no one says anything. "We wanna talk about stuff that's going on," Sean says. "The stuff that went on this afternoon." He lifts his chin. "You. Us." "Didn't Philip and them explain it all to you? Aren't you up to speed?" Sean's jaw tightens. But Scott leans forward. "If you think we're up to speed, why'd you come to meet us? Will?" he says softly. "Isn't that your name?" "Yeah, that's me. But I came out here because it sounded like you had something you wanted to say to me." Sean surprises you by declaring out of nowhere, "I'm not gonna apologize." Then he adds, "So I was flirting with you over the cell phone, so what?" It takes a moment for the scene to clarify, but when it does you jump back in the booth. That isn't Sean. It's Taylor. Your eyes shift between the brothers. Which means that it's Sean who is wearing Scott's mask. "Yeah," Scott says. He smiles faintly. "Fooled you. My brother hasn't seen our mom in a couple of months, so he's gonna play me for a couple of days, maybe a week or so. I'm taking over as Scott." "Do Philip and them know?" "What's it matter?" asks the guy who looks like Sean. He leans back with a tilted chin. "Do they have to know?" "Well, I guess it doesn't matter too much." "You gonna tell 'em?" "I, uh—" You blink a couple of times, then force yourself to stop. "Like I said, what's it matter?" "It doesn't, really," Scott says. "For what it's worth, we did tell them. They even made up a new mask for us, so Taylor could wear my face home." That's strange. "Aren't you guys twins? Could your mother tell the difference?" "Not always." Sean—you can't help thinking of him as "Sean," just as you can't help thinking of the other one as "Scott"—pushes up his sleeve, disclosing a tattoo that winds about his bicep. "But Sean got a tat' awhile back, so I needed a copy of that." "Okay, business," Scott says, and he lays his folded hand on the table. "Mainly we wanted to meet up because we heard you're also new to this club. Like with us, it's an accident you got in. Is that true?" "Well, more or less. What did Fairfax and them tell you about me?" "How about you tell us about yourself?" You make a face, then shrug and relate your history, starting with how a bunch of cheerleaders tried giving you a makeover, and ending in the accidental discovery that those cheerleaders were actually guys using magical masks to do some weird sociology experiment. "So you joined up with them," Sean says. "Got a mask of your own." You look like a girl, says the glint in his eye. "How come?" "'Cos it looked like they were having fun. Also, I guess—" You pause long enough to squeeze the quaver out of your voice. "I wanted to help with that experiment." "You really wanna be popular, huh?" You're about to retort something sharp, but Scott nudges his brother first. "Sure," you reply. "I wouldn't mind being popular." "But Fairfax told us Kristy's supposed to be your girlfriend. Your new girlfriend." You don't like the words, but at least Sean's tone has lost its sneer. "Having a girlfriend can help a guy become popular." There's a pregnant pause. Then Scott nudges Sean again. "The barista's giving us some dirty looks," he says. "We should order something." Sean looks at Scott, then with a sigh clambers out of the booth and trudges up to the front. When he's out of earshot, Scott leans across the table. "You have my permission to kick his ass," he says in a very audible whisper. He holds your eye, then adds, "If he brings you a latte instead of something black, I mean." He smiles. You smile back faintly in reply, and wonder if this is supposed to be some kind of "good cop bad cop" routine. "Look," Scott continues, "my brother's acting like an asshole only 'cos he's embarrassed. That wasn't him sending you those pictures. It was Scott. Scott's personality. After pretending to be Scott all that time, not having any way of getting back to be himself—" He shrugs with his hands. "He told me he really did start thinking of himself as Scott." He cocks his head. "Something for all of us to keep in mind, maybe." "I think I can keep me and Kristy from getting mixed up like that," you retort. "Sure. But I'm just telling you he's pissy 'cos he's embarrassed. Anyway, what we want to talk about is—" He breaks off, and hesitates, and there's a hard silence between you until Sean returns with a tray and three mugs. Even after he's seated, it's a moment before Scott resumes. "Look, the point is, we got mixed up in all this on accident. Same as you, it sounds like. We're none of us part of the, uh, central crowd. The guys who started it, the guys making all the decisions. Are we?" "I'm friends with Keith." "Well, that's great. Really. Could you be friends with us?" "Sure." You look between them, and your face feels hot. "Is that all? Just ... be friends?" "Sure, be friends with us the same way you're friends with the other guys. Any reason you couldn't be?" "No." "Any reason you couldn't be better friends with us than with the other guys? Except for your friend Keith, obviously." Your throat constricts. "Do you want me to be?" Sean answers. "We just don't want them doing to us that they did to Seth Javits." "Javits deserved it," Scott snaps. "I didn't say he didn't," Sean retorts. "But they didn't do it to him 'cos he deserved it. They did it to him 'cos he was inconvenient." He turns to you. "Like maybe we're inconvenient." "Like everyone at this table, maybe, is inconvenient," Scott says, addressing the ceiling. His words remind you of what Keith said earlier: Philips seems annoyed at how many people have come piling in. "Look, I don't think Philip and them would do that to you," you stammer. "Like, they could'a done it to you at the complex this afternoon. When they got that mask off you." There's a lengthy pause as Scott and Sean hold each others' eyes. "Well, that's good enough for me," Scott says at last. Sean shrugs. Then, under his brother's stare, he too nods. * * * * * There's more talk as you all slowly consume your coffees. Scott and Sean ask you again about this "makeover" you got, and about what Keith and Philip and the others are getting up to. You find yourself sharing rather more than you probably intended. You tell them about the "voodoo prank" that Kristy and her friends plotted against Hannah, for instance, and how it has pissed Marc Garner off. The story seems to amuse them. So you don't feel like you're friends with Sean and Taylor Mitchell when the evening ends, but things do feel friendlier than when you came in. After Taylor—in Sean's mask and in his truck—drives off, Sean trots over to your car. "Can I get you to think about a couple of things?" he says. "First, can you remember that, you know, this stuff with the masks is a game and an experiment for you and the other guys. But for me and Taylor, it's our lives. One of us is going to have to be Scott," he explains, pointing to his face, "and one of us can never be Taylor again. Right?" You nod. "Second—" He hesitates again, then resumes in a rush. "I'm saying this as Sean Mitchell, not Scott Bickelemeir. But if you're going to be Kristy, would you think about being my girlfriend? We wouldn't do anything. I only ask 'cos it seems like it'd be easier for us to stay in touch that way. "I could even be, uh, Will Prescott, if that's the way you want to handle it," he adds when you're too shocked to reply. * To continue: "Surprises for Kristy Suffolk" |
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