%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Morning, Ella"  "There's none of them I'd want to be," you tell Autumn after a moment's thought. "None of them you'd want me to be." I hope, you silently add. "But Will," she says in a soft, pained voice. "What about ... you. The guy we put in for you. This isn't good for him." Her dark eyes are liquid with pity. "He's not real, is he?" you reply. "Well— Okay, I guess not," she stammers. "But think about what it would be like if that was you." "But it's not me. And it's why I wanted out of that." "But if you go back—" "Why would I want to do that?" She doesn't answer, but continues to stare at you with pained eyes. Discomfited, you look away and look around. You are seated on the bleachers that overlook one of the athletic fields, around the perimeter of which thirty or so freshman and sophomores, boys and girls, in t-shirt and shorts, or sweatpants or track pants, are jogging. You are reminded of your own freshman time in PE, which stank of jocks and assholes, and also of underweight (or overweight) victims like yourself. You remember being forced to play games at which you sucked—football and baseball—games at which you were only lame—basketball and volleyball—games at which you were painfully humiliated—dodgeball!—and the only game at which you had any facility—tennis. And you remember the eye rolls you got from the girls as you struggled to coordinate your hands and feet and eyes. It was dreadful, and it was the happiest relief when you left the gym for the last time at the end of your freshman year, knowing you would never go back. Yet here you are, with a new set of memories and experiences. You stretch your strong legs before you, and stretch your back, and let your long hair bob about your ears and shoulders. Freshman PE was also when you decided that not only were you good, you were going to get better. Soccer was the team sport that all the sporty girls were going in for, and it was fun. On the field, at least, though off the field turned out to be a different matter, for Stephanie Wyatt was on the team too, and Stephanie was a bossy girl who set up her own clique and made sure you weren't in it. But you were taking PE as well, and Coach Carter (who taught that class) encouraged you at all the sports, and when your sophomore year came she convinced you to switch from soccer to softball. And you took Personal Fitness classes each year (until this year), which kept you in the gym and on the field, and let you widen your range of friends to include girls like Autumn and guys like Cameron. It's no exaggeration to say that PE has been the core of your high school experience, and as you watch the underclassmen jogging along past you, you feel the urge to hop off the bleachers and run out to join them. "Well, I hope you want to do that," Autumn says, for this fantasia of mixed memories has passed through your head in a matter of seconds. "I want to do that. I want to spend time with my guy. As my guy." You look at her, and wonder what the passing students would think if you leaned over and kissed her. It would be sexy, you think, because I'm a sexy girl and she's a sexy girl. And after wrapping yourself up more tightly in Ella Jaynes's confident memories, you are confident enough to do it. But you don't, because it wouldn't be prudent. "That's what weekends are for, aren't they?" you reply, and your surge of confidence allows you to meet and master Sydney's pleas. "We'll do things on Fridays as a couple of girls—or as girls and Brothers," you quickly correct yourself, "and then on Saturdays we'll switch out and be us on weekend." You smile at her, showing all your teeth. "When we'll have all day with each other and no classes or assholes in the way." You fall back on your elbows, feet on the bleacher below and head resting on the bleacher above and behind, and smile at her some more. Your boobs rise and fall with your breath. "And here at school, we'll be other people." Autumn looks a little abashed. But with a shrug she relents. * * * * * You relent this far as well: You tell her of the Wednesday night concert you're supposed to attend, and suggest that "Will" and "Sydney" could go along too. That way you can start setting "him" up with the friends you've got now—and the new versions of them you'll be making But then Sydney has to ask you who you're taking as your date. "Anyone here wanna go to a concert up at the university tomorrow?" you exclaim on entering your seventh period class. Animal Science doesn't have a big enrollment, and only half the class has got there by the time you arrive, so only a handful of head turn in astonishment toward you. "What about you, Chuck?" you call to Chuck Johnson, looking past "Kid Cowboy" (a junior who wears denim and a light cowboy hat, whose name Ella has never bothered to learn) to catch his eye. Chuck Johnson was one of the guys that Ella had in freshman PE, and they've been distantly friendly ever since. He's a handsome guy in a bland kind of way, with short brown hair that he keeps almost completely hidden under a white seed cap, and rosy blooms under his tanned cheeks. He's quiet and fairly intelligent, you've heard, though he is one of the Ag students, who lives on a farm southwest of town. Strong and trim, too, though far from jacked. So why are you basically asking him to be your date to the concert tomorrow? Because you are sick of people asking if you've got one. "What concert?" he asks, his eyes shifting under a worried brow. "Up at the university concert hall, or something. There's, like, twenty of us going. You wanna go? Pick me up and take me?" You push past Kid Cowboy and Alec Stockwell, who are looking between you with laughing eyes, to stand beside him looking down. "Who's going?" he asks, sounding a little panicked. "Look, just say 'no' if you don't want to." You put your shoulders back and shake your hair out a little. You lean against the table he's sitting at, and raise your leg so that your knee just lightly bumps his elbow. If you were him, and Ella (or practically any girl) had done this to you, you'd have broken out in a hard sweat by now. "Um— Wednesday?" he says. You nod. "What time?" "I'll have to get back to you. Eight o'clock, I think. Probably lasts an hour. We'll probably all go do something after." "Um— Sure!" He says it in kind of a lurch, sounding as though he's stepped over an edge and is praying that there's a deep pool of water below. "Great! Thanks! I'll text you when I know the time." Then, instead of moving off to another seat, you drop into the chair next to him with your pack on the table. You lean in close. "This is a huge favor," you murmur at him. "Thanks!" "Don't mention it," he says, and can't stop his eyes from dropping to your chest. * * * * * So when Christine texts you at the start of eighth period, to ask if you've got a date, you're able to tell him that Chuck is taking you. And you're also able to text Cameron to say that he is relieved of "emergency date" duties. Christine replies with a thumbs' up emoji. Cameron doesn't reply before you've turned your phone off. Last period (and the hour after) are softball practice, and it gives you a giddy rush as you stride into the girls's changing room, where you find dozens of girls in various stages of undress. Wow! you think as you try not to faint. I've dreamed of being able to do this! And now here I am! And you're one of the girls taking your clothes off. Track pants and a softball jersey are your uniform for today (and for most days), and you feel your confidence surging again as you get your sports clothes on and your ball cap pulled down over your hair. You are laughing cheerfully with your friends Maggie and Jenna and Mandy and Shea and Angie and ... Well, pretty much everyone except Gianna Blalock, who is a weird girl who is probably on the spectrum somewhere and who everyone tolerates only because she's the best pitcher on the team. Coach Carter is waiting out on the field, and she oversees the stretching and the jogging, then sets up batting and fielding practices. Being one of the team's catchers, you spend most of your time at the former, knocking fat softballs into the outfield where Autumn and Jenna (among others) chase and catch them. Only after the final bell has rung does the coach organize an actual game. As there are not enough players to field two complete teams, nine girls start in the field and seven start at bat, with girls moving off the field and batters moving onto it as play cycles through the roster. Though you are concentrated on play, you have enough attention left over to chat and laugh with the girls hanging nearby to take their turn at bat. You don't get a chance to talk to Autumn until after practice. You usually get a ride home from Jenna, but today (as yesterday) you tell her that Autumn is giving you a ride. "Are you going to make a switch soon?" she asks you on the drive to your place. (At least she isn't asking you again about a date for that concert.) "I told you, I want to look around, make some decisions before doing something." "Well, what would you say if I made a switch?" she asks. "With Nathan. Just temporarily, to help you 'look around'," she adds when you swing around to gape at her. Vote on how to continue the story: "BoM Poll: Getting Through the Afternoon" |
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
