Chapter #21Invader from Mars by: Seuzz   The question that's been haunting you all day—What the fuck am I doing?—gets an answer next period. You've just fallen into your desk and are slouching with your phone when Beth Larter (who is also in that class) comes slinking over. You don't stop yourself from giving her an appreciative once-over: she's dressed in sloppy, hip-hugging jeans and a football jersey, and you get a rise out of the brief fantasy of throwing her onto a bed and pulling the clothes off her.
"So I heard your practice got crashed yesterday," she says, and slouches in a way that thrusts her boobs in your face. "Can anybody come out to watch or is it just, you know—?" She shrugs.
Behind her, you see Mandy Simpson and Natalie Dawkins—two of the "Rumorati"—shifting their heads to watch and listen.
"It's s'posed to be practice, not a block party," you mutter back.
"That's too bad," Beth says. "So it's just Dana and Logan who get to come out and watch?"
"Go sit down," you growl, and with a sniff Beth obliges. You accidentally catch Natalie's eye, but quickly look away and turn around in your seat.
But you're not mad at Beth. That little scene was just her way of telling you that she's up to speed on what's going on with you. But it also crystallizes a thought that's been slowing forming in your head: I gotta stop just randomly possessing whoever.
Yourself and Beth were an accidental pair. Dana is a friend of yours, but she's got nothing to do with Beth. Mars has nothing to do with any of the others. All this jumping around isn't going anywhere. No wonder you're asking yourself what you think you're doing.
Do you have a plan? No. Could you have a plan? You don't know what it would be. But you could at least stop being so goddamned squirrelly and focus on possessing a group of bodies that actually belong together. Right now, just as it's weird to have Beth come up and confront you—
And you can tell it's weird by the way Natalie and Mandy are whispering to each other.
—or having Dana show up at practice, it would be weird to have any of your quartet of bodies hanging out with each other.
Which doesn't mean that they can't start hanging out. It only means that you need a base to build on.
And with Mars Renteria, you've got a couple of different ones you can build.
* * * * *
You give some thought toward making your move at night, but quickly reject the idea. Besides the fact that you want to get it done fast, you remember what a clusterfuck last night was. You don't want a repeat.
So you get out to your car early after class—not even bothering to change out books—and crawl into the back seat, where you gag yourself until you begin to heave: your chest shudders, your guts unwind, your limbs shake, all goes dark as you feel your eyes rolling back in your head. Something wet and heavy and slimy rushes up your throat and over the back of your tongue—
—and you fall into a heap onto the seat and quickly coil into a tight spiral. You raise your "head" for a panoptical view of things.
Mars Renteria is looming over you, his jaw hanging limply open and his tongue lolling; his eyes are purest white, except where they are bloodshot. He is gray and green in the face, which is slack and a little bloated. He looks like a corpse that has been left a little too long in the sun after being dragged out of deep water.
Then his eyes roll back into position; his mouth closes; the muscles in his cheeks and jaw tighten and retract. He is alert again; more than that, he is watchful, for he glances over his shoulder before giving one last careful look at you before closing the door.
You unspool and drop into the footwell behind the passenger seat, and slither under it.
No time at all seems to pass before you hear the doors open, and the seat above you creaks and sags under a heavy weight. There's the rustle of clothes, and the rattle of seat belts being drawn tight before the motor turns over.
"So you got plans this afternoon?" That's Mars talking.
"Ge' my homework done."
"Fuck, whaddaya wanna do that for?"
"Whaddayu want me to do?"
"I dunno. Sometimes I wonder if we're related."
"Bruh, I wonder that all the fucking time!"
A pause while the car moves.
"So what about tonight? You gonna have any of your friends over?"
"The fuck d'you wanna know for?"
"So I'll know if I wanna take off someplace I don't gotta listen to all your gay-ass squalling."
"Well, why don't you take off someplace? Fuck if I want you around."
"Fuck if I want you around. I just wanna know if—"
"I'll get someone to come over! Okay? Jesus, bruh, you—"
"You don't gotta do anything for me. Christ, look at this dipshit here." The car horn yelps. "Move it, ya fuckin'—! Oh look at this."
Motors whine as a car window comes down. A new voice sounds, distantly at first, but it rapidly closes: "The fuck is your problem, motherfucker?"
"The fuck is your problem?" Mars yells back.
"Bruh—!"
"Get outta my fuckin' way, man!"
"Get outta the fuckin' car!"
Mars curses, and the door opens. Mentally you tug at him, but you feel strong resistance to your pull, so you relent.
The seat above you creaks and rustles as Oscar shifts. Outside, people yell, and car horns sound. The car shudders slightly under a body blow.
Then a car door opens, and the seat above you squeaks as the weight vanishes off it.
More yelling. Louder yelling. Then silence. The seats groan and settle again, the doors softly close.
"You okay?" Oscar asks after a pause.
"I'm fine. Why, it look like it's gonna bruise?"
"I dunno. He just clocked you good with that one punch."
"That motherfucker's gonna bruise."
"You did get him good."
"Fuckin' right. Right of way, my ass."
A car horn sounds behind, and the car jumps ahead before shuddering to a stop.
"So if you're not doing anything, what about a game?" Mars asks.
"What game?"
"Pff, whaddayu think?"
"Buckets?" Oscar laughs. "If you wanna get humiliated!"
"Dollar a bucket."
"Dollar? You don't got that much!"
"You don't got that much!"
"Show me! Show me, bruh! Put 'er there, right now, right here, what you're gonna lose! I'll refund you the difference!"
"Fuck you!"
The seats groan and creak, and from the front comes the sound of giggles and soft slaps.
* * * * *
Talk is suspended as the car lurches ahead a bit at a time. Then it accelerates and peels out. But then—
"What are you doing?" Oscar asks.
"Pullin' over into this lot. Gonna get you yer money."
"What money? Ooohhh! Nah, really?"
"I'll put down my money, you put down yours—"
"I don't gotta put down no money, not if—!"
"—and we split the pot, dollar a bucket when we're done."
"I don't got any on me!"
"Fine I'll put down mine anyway."
The car pulls to a gentle stop. There's rustling in the front.
You creep out from your hiding place. You rear up, latch onto the back of the passenger seat, and pull yourself up it.
"Okay, that's twenty, and twenty-two—"
"You're gonna lose so much, bruh!"
"Hang on. How about a—"
You creep onto the shoulder of the car seat, and extend a narrow pseudopod from your head. Like a periscope, it lets you see around the corner of the headrest, giving you a view of Oscars tangle of dark-brown hair.
"—'Buy one get one free' card?"
"Where from?"
"Koffee Kauldron."
"I don't ever go there!"
You bunch yourself up, and lean out around the corner. The side of Oscar's face comes into view. He's turned toward Mars.
And as you just lean out far enough, you and Mars catch each other's eye. His lips curve faintly.
Oscar turns, and his cheek brushes against you. "What the—?" he says.
And that's all he says before you lunge at him, covering his mouth and nose. A hand slams against you, pressing you against his face. You push yourself up his nose—
But then his mouth opens, and you twist to force yourself in past his teeth. His tongue writhes as you grapple with it, and then it goes still as you ooze in past it. The world goes dark as you pull yourself in deeper and deeper. His throat muscles squeeze you, then seem to dissolve at your touch as you slide down his gullet. Down and down you sink, and you sink further and further in—
Until you feel yourself oozing into a bucket seat. You snort and blow and open your eyes, and relax your grip on the hand that is pressing hard against your face. You force yourself to relax as your limbs warm to life.
You give one last snort, and shift your head to look over at Mars. He is looking at you very carefully. You grin under the palm he still has pressed to your face, and, though watchful still, he drops his hand and pulls back over into his seat.
"Bruh," you groan at him. "I told jya a snake got in my room last night!"
* * * * *
You don't have Oscar's memories, but you've got Mars's memories of how he acts, so you ride the rest of the way home with your feet (bare, in flip-flops) propped against the console while slouching deeply in your seat with your phone out. Mars wants to know what comes next.
"Hang out here," you reply, "till I get the hang of things. After that, mom and dad."
"Is that the plan?"
"That's the plan. It'll gives us a base. And after that—"
You open up Oscar's contact list, and scroll through a bunch of names you don't recognize.
"And after that, we start having parties and sleepovers. Doofuses walk in, but it'll be us who walk out!"  You have the following choice:  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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