Chapter #62The Last of Seth Javits by: Seuzz   "Someone else for you to torture," Caleb snickers as he hands you Seth's phone. Jeremy's text is short and direct: meet n talk?
"I thought Jeremy and Seth were friends," you say.
Caleb's lip curls. "Sure they are. Besties. That's how come you should go take a poke at him."
You wince, but you get what Caleb is saying. Jeremy was one of your friends once, until he had a growth spurt right after middle school and decided he'd rather be a jock. He's never bullied you or your friends—or anyone else that you know of; he's still too wimpy for that—but he is cold and sneery toward you. Like he's fucking embarrassed he ever hung out with us, Caleb once said, then added: I know I'm fucking embarrassed I ever hung out with him.
You feel Caleb's eyes on you as you stare at Jeremy's text, but he doesn't say anything, and after he minute he turns around and starts busying himself with straightening up the motel room. You slink off to the other side of the room, to crouch by the wall and study the phone and the unconscious Seth Javits with a sidelong glance.
Seth and his friends. Seth and my friends. What am I going to do about them all? you wonder, after I'm Seth? Naturally, that leads to deeper and more unsettling thoughts: How much of him am I going to be after I am him? How much of him should I try to be? And: How much of him can I be while still being myself?
For you still feel it, like a faded bruise: the oppressive sense of Dwayne Macaulay's personality closing itself around your own.
When you pick the brain-band up from off Seth's forehead, it seems to burn your fingertips.
* * * * *
Seth's body is the next thing to be copied, and while the mask is inside him you retreat to the bathroom to disrobe and crawl into the hard, chilly bathtub with a coarse towel draped over your midriff. You're trembling, and not just from the cold, as you lift the brain band to your forehead ...
* * * * *
... and the cold shocks you awake again. You feel like you're suffering from a full-body ice-cream headache. A pile of clothes is weighing on your lap, with a mask the color of blue ice on top.
At least you know who you are and where you and how you got here, but that knowledge leaves you feeling very grumpy. It's like there's someone inside your skull with you, and he's bellowing at you. You'd like to make him shut up, and you rub your face impatiently. But you hold back from putting on the mask, for you're half afraid that if you put the mask he'll come bursting out and take full charge. But you soon thrust these fears aside, for the sooner you get into Javits's body, the sooner you'll be able to slip on his clothes and get warm again.
You half expect to see a purple bruise staining the cheek of the mask, but it is smooth and uniform. With a soft, sour groan you press it to your face. Your fingers feel like icicles.
* * * * *
"Jesus H. Christ! You're still not dressed?" Caleb gapes when you come stalking out of the bathroom.
"It's freezing in there," you retort as you drop your things onto the bed. "Where's Seth?"
"Standing in front of me, flaunting his junk." Caleb turns his head and glares at the wall. "If you're cold, put something the fuck on."
"I meant the original." The bed is empty.
"You mean 'Dane'?" Caleb crooks his fingers around the name. "He's waiting outside. I think I might join him."
"Fine with me. You can take him home while I get checked out here." You snatch up Seth's red briefs. Gross, you think as you slip your feet and legs through them, but they feel very natural after you've snapped them into place. "Then we can meet up someplace."
Caleb's eyebrows shoot up. "I thought your first order of business would be checking in with Cindy."
You freeze with your jeans clutched in one hand.
Cindy.
~ ~ ~
"What do you mean, 'yet'?" Your girlfriend's lips and eyes twist into a piercing scowl. "You mean you were going to go meet her?" she shrieks. "You were actually planning to— Don't tell me to be quiet, Seth!" she spits as you try hushing her with your hands.
"I just meant that I was going to see her at school," you protest. "I can't help it if she comes around—"
"Let me out, Seth!" Cindy pounds you with her tiny fist. Out of the corner of your eye you see the other patrons of the coffee bar turning in your direction. "Let me—!"
"Calm the fuh— down, Cindy," you growl. "People are looking."
"Good! Let me out of here!" She kicks at you. "Let me out before I tell the whole freaking shop just what a mother— fucking—!" She gasps as you brace yourself across the booth to stop her from moving. "You son of a bitch, I will scream and you'll have the cops on your ass if you don't—!"
"Then we'll take it outside." You jump to your feet. Cindy scrambles out and charges from the dining room. You run after her, sparing the barista only a hard scowl as he steps around the register with a frown. But he doesn't follow you into the parking lot.
"Cindy. Cindy!" You snatch at her, but she slaps you away. "God damn it! Will you calm down long enough to—?"
"I've put up with some real shit from you, Seth!" She wheels around and for an instant you think she's going to deck you in your undamaged eye. "But skulking around with Chelsea is the lowest—! slimiest—! shittiest thing you've ever—!"
Her complexion cracks, and it's like her face wants to crack open too. Her eyes roll up into a pair of baleful slits, and her lips peel back to show all four canines. Her hair—those glorious sheets of smooth, bouncy, platinum bangs—flies about her ears like banshee wings as she shakes her head at you.
"Cindy! Baby! I never— I never would—!"
"Fuck off, Seth! Fuck off and take fucking Chelsea with you!" Cindy stomps off to her car. You grip the tailgate of your truck and watch as she wrenches open the car door, falls into the cabin, turns the motor over and lurches backward out of the parking space. The way she bounces the car into the street ought to be comical, but you're actually worried she might get into an accident.
Also, you yourself are so pissed that you want to put your fist and foot through your fender.
Because it's not like it's your fault. You didn't ask Chelsea Cooper—Cindy's archrival on the cheerleader squad—to text you, asking if you and her could meet up sometime this weekend. You sure as fuck didn't ask Cindy to go scrolling through your messages while you were in the coffee shop bathroom. Snooping was her idea—
And yeah, that's exactly what she was doing, she was fucking snooping through your shit, so it was her fault that she found that text, which you were totally going to ignore.
Okay, probably totally going to ignore.
Still, she got pissed off when she found it there. And she got even more pissed off when you said I haven't seen Cheslea yet instead of I wasn't going to go see her, which is what you should have said.
You were still in the parking lot, staring down at Chelsea's text and wondering if maybe you should meet up with her—if Cindy's going to be pissed at you, she might as well have a good reason—when a text came in from Johansson, asking you to come out to the Lazee-Nites Motel because Prescott wanted to "clear the air" with you ...
~ ~ ~
"We had a fight," you tell Caleb.
"No!" His eyes light up. "Seth and Cindy? What about?"
"Fuck you, that's what about." You slump. First Cindy, then Prescott ... and now you are Prescott and you get to be Seth after he had a fight with his girlfriend and got ambushed by a freaking little shit like—
"So I guess you got the afternoon free," Caleb honks.
But do you? There's that text from Jeremy, you remember.
Christ. You can guess what that's about, too.
~ ~ ~
"Oh, God damn it," Jeremy moans. He falls against the gym wall and slides down it to slump on the grass. "I am so fucked." He presses his bunched-up fists into his eyes. "So fucked," he whispers.
You kick him in the hip. "You're not fucked, man. You're only fucked if you think you're fucked."
"Then I am fucked." He pulls his knees up to his face.
"Oh, Christ, man. I'm gonna kick your ass if you don't pull yourself out of it." And you would have, too, if he hadn't raised his head to show eyes bruised with unshed tears.
"You think I'm not fucked?" he groans. "What do you think's gonna happen? They were already talking about cutting me from the squad, even before—" His Adam's apple bobbles. "I'm fucked. No way I'm making it through these tryouts. I don't know how I made it through them at the start of the year." He hangs his head. "Patterson'll probably call me Sunday night, tell me not to even bother showing up on Monday."
That was last Wednesday morning, right after Coach Stokes announced there would be another round of trials to give the team a new roster.
Jeremy clutches his head. "I am so fucked."
~ ~ ~
"So we gonna hang out?" Caleb asks. "Talk about how we bend the new Seth Javits to our advantage?"  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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