Girl Master of Disguises (Lesbian Story, GirlxGirl)

Chapter Three - Oddly Persuaded by a Note

Buggy's trying to focus on how her feet are positioned in her martial arts class. One wrong step can result in a hard fall that can leave bruises all over. If the people around her would shut up, she'd be able to concentrate.

     Since the news about Malik the Model, people at the university have been talking non-stop about the kidnapping. One out of every few conversations in the mess hall would be about Malik. Whispers saying something like, "That poor model," can be heard during lectures. Hell, there was a rumor the teachers would spend their free time having kidnapping-related discussions.

     Now that Buggy's in the rarely-speaking class, she was hoping for some sanity. Unfortunately, her wish isn't going to be granted any time soon. "Hehe, like, his name is Malike," someone says.

     Another person pipes up, "You idiot! It's pronounced 'muh-leak'."

     "Like, what's the difference?"

     "Miss Gills," the professor (he prefers to be called Sensei) says. "Would you please demonstrate a move for us?"

     "Bust a move!" someone snickers nearby.

     Without giving him warning, Buggy does 'bust a move'. She merely sweeps her foot under him, causing him to fall back and narrowly miss the extended hands to catch him. Buggy returns to her spot while the guy gets up in a dazed state.

     Sensei puts his hands behind his back. "That wasn't what I had in mind," he says. "But I wasn't being specific enough. I'll accept it this time." Buggy can't tell if he's trying not to laugh. Maybe that's how his surprised expression looks.

     "Yes, Sensei," Buggy mumbles.

     When the class ends for the day, she can hear a girl in the locker room say, "How does she do that? I've in karate and I can't spontaneously sweep someone under their feet."

     Ignoring the conversation after the declaration, Buggy stuffs her uniform in a gym bag and leaves the room wearing comfy sweats. She's not going to wear something tight and uncomfortable after a workout, no matter what kind.

     Buggy gets to the upcoming bus. Street after street she watches people walking by, signs flashing advertisements, pigeons being chased by little kids. The ride seems to be shorter than usual to Buggy. She doesn't mind, though. Now doesn't seem like a good time to be alone with her thoughts.

     She walks up to her apartment in the building, throwing her things to the side as soon as she's walked in the front door. Buggy immediately feels off. Was there an intruder here? she thinks, looking around the place. 

     It's not until she enters her bedroom when she sees a note taped to one of the two windows, the other opened wide. "Oh God, who decided to play tricks on me?" Buggy moans, getting closer to the paper. She rips it off and tries her best to read it. Whoever wrote the message decided to be difficult by smudging the words, making it illegible. 

     Now squinting, Buggy holds it right up to her face. She gives up after a moment and closes the window. She's not paying the heater bill for it to be outnumbered by the cold winter air. 

     Buggy brings the note over to her desk, turning on the lamp. She gets out a piece of paper and a pencil for her to use for deciphering what the writer wanted her to know. With her hand ready, Buggy focuses on the first letter. 'U', no. 'L'? probably not. 'M'. Is Buggy reading this note right-side up? Wait. It could be a 'W'. 

     She writes the letter down, and move on to the one next to it. It looks like a capitalized 'E'. Buggy marks it down and moves on again. Not bothering to try to guess what the whole message is, she doesn't stop until she has the last letter recorded. 

     Sliding the original paper aside, Buggy reads what she has written down:

WESTCHESTER TRAIN STATION
THURSDAY 9:30 AM

     Huh? What does this mean? Buggy can tell it's when and where she needs to go. But why, though? What could possibly be so important that whoever wrote this wants to meet with her at a train? Maybe James is doing something, and wants Buggy to be a witness. Or bail him out of jail.  

     Speaking of the devil, he sends her a text:

     Turn on the news at channel 9! 

     Not asking why (mostly because it's pointless), Buggy turns on the TV. The same reporter as before is now looking frightened. "Her job must be on the line," Buggy jokes before a picture of something unidentifiable appears above the reporter's head. 

     "When the modeling agency received the ransom note from the kidnappers, we thought that would be the only communication," she says. "It's been four days since then, and quite recently the agency received a picture of Malik." 

     For probably the dramatic effect, the picture clears up, showing the model tied up in the cover. Buggy can see bruises and cuts around the partial face the picture shows, the legs, the bind-up hands. How Malik received those wounds, Buggy only has a couple theories. 

     The picture disappears, now that the reporter seems to want all the focus back on her. "The agency are worrisome about Malik's condition, and wish to have him back into their hands. The people who took him, if you're watching this, please. Do the right thing and bring him back." 

     The reporter keeps talking about the kidnapping for a few more minutes before the channel shifts its focus on Malik, now describing his life in Jamaica from his birth to before the agent found him. Not caring even a little, Buggy shuts it off. She looks at the note again. If she decides to go to Westchester, she'd most likely have to take a taxicab. Buggy's unsure if buses go there. 

     Before Buggy realizes what she's doing, she marches into her room, opens the secret one, and grabs a traveling bag. Several outfits she thinks might be useful go in the bag, which are then followed by the wigs considered necessary. 

     The bag now full to the brim, she unzips it and puts it on her bed. Buggy gets her laptop and sends an email to each of her professors, saying her family is in need of an extra hand in their business for the next week or two. She sends them all, and closes the laptop. 

     She looks at the note from the window, still laying at her desk. Somehow, a few smudged words have convinced her to go, and possibly save Malik from further pain.