Chapter #40Scoping Out a New School by: Seuzz   Before you get too deeply into Jessica's life, it's probably best to talk to Patterson, so you go into the gym, where the basketball team is practicing. It's a cacophony of shouts and echoes and the slap of the ball on the court. A thin but sizable crowd of gawkers spreads out over the far bleachers, but you sit by yourself.
When they're done, the boys retreat to the locker room and the crowd disperses. To your no very great surprise, no one waves or gestures to you. You feel your face tighten, but you force yourself to relax; that kind of expression is probably one reason no one goes out of their way to be friendly to you. Alyssa and her friends, of course, do their best to keep the other alphas away from you, but the non-alphas are probably just too intimidated to try approaching you. Only Adam Karter has ever regularly plopped down next to you, but he's a silly asshole—
Your gaze grows distant. If you're to acquire masks of people, Karter would be a good one. He floats from circle to circle, and seems mostly welcome, for he makes no demands, and the sillier girls like his attentions. Alyssa, of course, and any of the girls that flutter around her, are natural choices as well. If his behavior at Westside is any guide, Patterson will be after girls mostly, and he'll want cheerleaders.
These reflections are interrupted by a shout, and you look up to see Joe Durras grinning at you from the locker entryway. Frank stands at his shoulder, looking at you with measured skepticism. Joe mutters something at him, and with a shrug Frank exits. Joe himself jogs over. He's dressed in knee-length cargo shorts and a shapeless, sleeveless shirt, and his hair gleams wetly. "How'd we look?" he asks.
"Good enough. What's on the agenda for today?"
"Oh, you know. Hang out, get in trouble." He stands on the bleachers a few steps below you and leans forward, planting his hands on either side of your hips, and grins in your face. "You wanna piss Alyssa off?"
His face is bright and clear, and there's mischief in his eyes. "Like how?" you ask.
"Make a scene. Not here. In front of her. We can practice now, though."
"Mmm. Are you really sure you wanna be seen with me?"
"Sure, that's the point. Being seen with me." He leans in a little closer. "Or we could just make ourselves the object of rumor. Get caught behind the school. Lots of fluster and the buttoning of clothes that have been undone in embarrassing places." He lightly touches your windbreaker. "I'm glad to see that zipper doesn't go all the way to the top."
The memory of last night—the hunger for hands not your own on this body—comes back. But this is Patterson, not Joe Durras, and you'd like a fuller knowledge of his agendas. "Have you got a long-term plan in mind, or are you just winging it with your wing wang?" you ask.
He chuckles dryly at the back of his throat. "I got lots of stuff to worry about, I won't lie. You could help relieve me of some of the tension."
"You still have the masks at Westside for that. Which reminds me, how did things go for you last night at the cemetery?"
He groans.
"Are you all business? It went fine. Your golem is back at my place. Our place, mine and Frank's. You can stop by any time and use it." He clucks his tongue lasciviously. "Either side, any use, any combination, with any company you—"
"What about your parents?"
"Ain't got none. It's just me and Frank out there. Kinda creepy, actually." He glances over his shoulder. "I could use some real company," he goes on before you ask why Frank and Joe haven't got any parents. We need to make you up a new mask anyway. A new Will Prescott, under your control. But now you've got me talking business, and that's boring."
The bell rings. "Gonna be business for the next few hours, I'm afraid," you say. You rise, but he remains crouched over, so that you wind up standing inside his embrace. He rubs you lightly on the back, but you don't reciprocate.
"I'll walk you to class," he says. "Since you don't wanna play, I'll ask if you wanna go to the team meeting at Westside this afternoon."
"What business do we need to discuss?"
"Probably nothing you need to know. I'm gonna tell Lynch and Tilley what's going on, check in on their job status. Or you can just meet up with me at my place around seven."
It might be better than staying in and watching another movie, or it might be worse. "I'll have to see," is all you say.
He keeps his hands off you on the walk to class, and chatters inanely, both at you and at passing acquaintances. At the door to Parker's, though, he takes your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.
That wasn't really like Patterson, you think as you sink into your desk afterward.
The thought doesn't relieve you, though, for you remember his words from yesterday: With him pretending to be Joe, no one will see the double-cross coming.
* * * * *
The day passes tediously. Second period is cheerleader practice. Whatever Alyssa's real feelings about you, she runs practice professionally and courteously, couching even her corrections of you in warm and encouraging tones. But there is still the moat between you and the other girls.
During breaks you find yourself eyeing them appraisingly: Alyssa; Kyra DaSilva; Becky Torres; Leslie Keys; Rhianna Miller; Nina Barraza; Ann Sibley; Nikki Cave; Lorena Espinal. Alyssa, of course, is the captain, and it is something of a testament to her force of personality that she has the position. She is more of an athlete than an acrobat—a weight-lifter who took an unfortunate detour, you find yourself thinking unkindly—but what she lacks in grace she makes up for in raw strength.
Becky Torres (who is very blonde, despite what her name might imply) is probably the only one who rivals Jessica in the body department, and that's mostly because of her great, globe-like breasts. Her legs and ass and arms are a little too skinny, and her teeth a little too prominent. How she came to combine that last name with her Scandinavian cattle-farmer coloring is anyone's guess.
Kyra got her visit from the breast-pump fairy only when the sprite was running low on pressure, but she has the best face of the bunch, probably: dark Italianate coloring and almond-shaped eyes topped with a boyishly short haircut. Rumors of lesbian inclinations run rampant, if Lawrence Farmer is to be believed, but there's no reason for her to keep it a secret, not at Eastman. Maybe she just frequents a hair stylist who's come back from the not-too-distant future.
Concerning the dusky Nina and Lorena there isn't much to be said, except that like Alyssa they acquit their jobs reasonably well but with a minimum of finesse. They also have the ungracious habit of talking thickly to each other in Spanish when they want to say something undiplomatic, which seems to be quite often.
Rhianna Miller is the only other African-American on the team, but she's slimmer and lighter than Alyssa, which means she moves more fluidly. She just has no memory for what moves she should be making, and she giggles when she screws up.
Ann is the smallest member of the team, and with her short legs and fiery red hair she should answer to the adjective "pert." But she is very intense, as though she expects there to be a "Tumbling" section on the SATs.
Leslie is the tomboy who curses when she screws up. Like Ann, she hangs out more with the AP set than the athletes, though the distinction between the two groups isn't nearly as clear cut at Eastman as it as Westside.
And then there's the unfortunately named Nikki Cave, who with her dark hair and Iberian coloring can't quite escape the impression of hairiness, even though she is exquisitely plucked and exfoliated. She also seems to walk around in a cloud bank of humidity which—fairly or not—gives her the reputation of being not just easy but eager for long, hungry, weekend-devouring fucks.
You have enough time at practice to look over all of them, and maybe you are too naked at sizing them up, for at one point Ann catches you looking in her direction. She turns quickly and mutters something to Kyra and Leslie; they glance at you and mutter back with expressions that suggest a sudden memory of what it is like to drink curdled milk.
* * * * *
Joe manages to be a constant presence (though you have no classes with him), popping up constantly near the door to your classrooms. He's not around at lunch, though you actually go looking for him. Frank isn't around either: maybe business has drawn him off during that extended break from classes.
When the final bell rings you find yourself entertaining a choice. Patterson said you didn't have to go to the "team meeting," but he also seemed to strongly imply you should meet with him. You're not eager to see him, even though he seems much less threatening under Joe's face than under his own; in fact, his being under Joe leaves you feeling even more on guard. But it's not a good idea to skip out on him entirely. The meeting sounds like it will be tedious, and after Caleb's behavior on Sunday you've no great desire to show yourself to Keith, let alone to Gordon and Jason. But if you go to the meeting, you will have a good excuse for not going over to the Durras house this evening.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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