The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)

Your Doppelganger

Previously: "The Deal with Dorothy" 

"Yeah, I'm not— Um—"

Brewer tilts his head and cocks his eye. You'd never noticed before what a smug-looking bastard he could be.

"I'm not interested," you tell him. "Whatever this is with Dorothy, or with you, I—"

"Alright," he says, a little coldly. "You don't have to explain." His lip curls slightly. "Maybe you'll find someone else."

He brushes past you. You turn to glare at his back, then take off in the other direction.

* * * * *

You've lost all your appetite for this place, so you go to leave. That's easier desired than done, because the parking lot is crowded with teens holding outdoor parties of their own, and there's a line of cars pushing into the lot rom the street. It takes you almost a quarter hour to get out.

There's a light on in the living room when you get home, but you take time in the truck cab to change back into your regular clothes, and stuff those you bought for the Warehouse into a plastic bag that you shove under the truck bench. Your mom is asleep on the sofa when you go in, but she instantly wakes up. You prepped a story on your way home, so you don't give her a chance to ask what happened.

"I'm sorry," you say, "I was at this guy's house, and then we went out to another guy's house and I got a ride with him, 'cos it was easier, and I got stuck there."

"Why didn't you text or call?" she asks in a voice that is exhausted and aggravated.

You forgot to come up with an idea for that bit, but you're able to improvise: "I left it in my truck."

"You couldn't have borrowed someone else's phone?"

That last objection defeats you, so you just plead that you forgot. She gives you a very frowny look, then sends you upstairs with the reminder that you have church in the morning. You go straight to bed without even brushing your teeth.

* * * * *

Your dad grounds you the next morning, and he's quite stern about it, but he doesn't yell, and only gives you a brief lecture about needing to be "more on the ball" about these things. Your little brother smirks at you.

After church and lunch you ride your bike around the neighborhood, then park your ass on your bed, thinking about last night, and what you wanted, and what you came real close to getting—maybe. Why didn't you take advantage of it? Probably, you glumly decide, because it would have felt like taking advantage of Dorothy. She wouldn't even be thinking of you if you did it with her, Brewer told you. He said it like that would be an advantage—no strings attached! no consequences! But maybe it was a turn off.

Because, say it out loud: She won't even be thinking of you while you do it.

The more you think about it, the more irritated you get, especially with Brewer. Is that really the kind of guy he is? You'd never given much thought to him before. He always struck you as a smooth guy—smooth glance, smooth skin, smooth hair—and maybe he's smooth in other ways. A smooth customer, angling for advantage, slipping out of corners, gliding away from the consequences of his actions. Did he figure you're that type too, or that everyone is that type? And why would he do that?

Then you wonder if that other guy has something to do with it, the one that girl said you look like. That resemblance, Brewer seemed to be implying, meant that Dorothy would want to fuck you if that other guy didn't, because with you it would easy to pretend. Could Brewer have fallen for the same thinking? Could he have looked at you and also seen the other guy? And if the other guy is the sort to do what Brewer was asking, could he have thought you were of the same kind?

* * * * *

You got texts from Dean and Patrick, inviting you to meet up, but you declined both because you didn't want to see them and because you are grounded. But shortly after suppertime you text Patrick back, asking if he knows a guy named "Eric Murphy." (You are pretty sure that's the name.) Patrick replies that he does, and when you ask if the guy is online anyplace, Patrick sends a link to an x2z user page.

You wince when you see that his user name there is "Boner Law."

The pictures uploaded tell the tale better than the misspelled, lower-case run-on sentences in the few short notes he's posted. Holding up a beer can (label clearly readable) in front of the high school office. Laying stretched out on a couch across the laps of five girls (one of them Dorothy). Standing on the roof of a car, in a swimsuit, holding a "hang ten" pose.

Using as a pillow the fat breasts of a girl whose head has been cut out of the top of the frame.

And in all of them he is grinning like a maniac.

Does he look like you? It's hard for you to judge.

While you're looking his stuff over, Patrick continues to text, asking why you're asking about the guy. When you tell him that some people at the Warehouse said that you looked like him, Patrick texts back Lol did it help you get laid?

The question infuriates you. So much so that it leaves you only with the choice of either frostily ignoring it completely, or calling up Patrick to tell him what nearly happened to you.

Foolishly, you choose the latter.

"So did you?" is the question Patrick answers the phone with. His tone is gleeful.

"I know you think it's funny, man, but it kind of isn't."

"What happened?" He sounds like he has instantly sobered up.

Haltingly, circling around and doing a lot of backing and filling, you tell him of the previous night. How you were talking to a girl who was supposed to meet up with Eric at the Warehouse, and how he stood her up; how one of her friends seemed to know that this was going to happen and suggested that you could take advantage of the situation; how the guy even offered to pay for the room where you'd be doing it.

Patrick listens with a close intensity, with a lot of questions. He asks who the girl was, who the girl was that Eric went out with instead, and who the girl's friend was who offered you the money; why the guy thought you could get a blow job or more out of the situation; how the girl looked at you when she saw the resemblance between you and Eric, and did she seem interested; whether any of her girlfriends were there and if they noticed the resemblance; and (of course) why you didn't follow through.

"Because when I fuck a girl I want her to be thinking of me!"

He snickers at that.

"Bruh," he says, "it would squick me out if I thought a girl was thinking of me while we were doing it. I don't want to think what I look like while I'm taking my hog for a walk!"

"Well, I want it to be me! Not this other guy!"

"Still, I'd'a done it," he says. In a more grumbling tone, he adds, "Guess you get enough you can skip a meal."

"Or I can just spank the monkey," you retort.

There's a pause, and then Patrick says, "Oh!"

"What?"

"Oh! I just mean— You're thinking of the girl."

"What did you think I was thinking of?"

"Oh, I just thought— Okay, I get it."

"You get what?"

"I get it! That's all."

He wishes you luck for "next time" and hangs up.

* * * * *

There's a two-part unexpected sequel to all this the next day.

The first occurs at your locker between fourth period and lunch. When you finish putting your books away you turn to find a kid grinning at you almost into your face. He's a little shorter than you, maybe, and like you he's wearing a shapeless white ball cap. His eyes glint as madly as his grin.

After you stared back at him, slack-jawed, for a long moment, he laughs once and hops away, turning around a couple of times as he runs off to laugh at you again.

It takes you a minute to realize that it was Eric Murphy.

The second part comes as you are leaving for home. You are opening the door to your truck when someone yells "Toot toot!" behind you. You turn as the same Eric Murphy skids up to stop by your side.

"Hey man," he gasps, "didn't mean to freak you out at your locker! I wanted to say hi but I was late gettin' somewhere. I'm Eric!" He puts his face close to your ear. "So I hear the girls go to you when I'm docking with someone else!" He slaps you on the arm and laughs.

"Uh, yeah," you say with a grimace, and back away. "So who told you—? Oh, shit. Patrick?"

"Yeah!" Eric exclaims. "He told me what happened last night at the Warehouse. Shit, man, why din'cha do something with Dottie? I had her so wet last time I had my fingers up her—" He holds up two fingers, pressed close together. "Last night would'a been payoff but, you know—" He shrugs, a quick spasm of one shoulder. "Would'a been yours!"

"I just wasn't— Um—"

"Sure," he says, "I get it. You probably don't know Dottie. She comes on to you, you're like, What the fuck? Bruh, first time a girl up and kissed me when I wasn't looking for it, I fuck near shat myself!"

"That's great," you babble. "Um, I gotta go—"

"Sure. Just do me a quick solid, give me a ride around the block so I can make my pitch." Without waiting for permission, he barges past you to clamber into your truck through the driver's side door. You swallow your shock and follow him in.

"Hey, s'fuck's this?" he asks as he picks up the book he had to move to take his seat.

You glance over, then give a quick history of where you found it, and why you only paid two dollars for it, as he looks it over.

"Cool," he says. "I'll give you ten bucks for it."

That's all for now

*
"Table of Contents (Vol. 5)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)"