Chapter #31The Belles of St Xavier's by: Masktrix   You rise just before 6.30am, stretching any tiredness in your muscles out of your limbs. Then it’s downstairs for a slice of toast, dressed in your green and gold uniform, before making your way to Mariah Alloway’s car, waiting outside. You hop into the passenger seat and cruise through Saratoga Falls, then up onto the I-62, for the half-hour drive to The St Francis Xavier School.
“Plans for tonight?” Mariah asks, prodding her glasses onto her nose and shuffling in her seat as she tries to stop the sun glare from the rear-view mirror. So far most of the trip has been listening to an EP from one of the local bands, and you’re almost at the Lattyville turn up to the ’44.
“Kind of,” you say coyly. Usually Niamh spends the first half of her evening on assignments and the second half on the latest RPG.
“Kind of? Spill.”
You watch as Mariah weaves her way past a big rig. “I met a guy. His name’s Will, and we got talking, and we were thinking of going to get donuts.”
“Oh, must be serious if it involves confectionary. Since when do you like donuts? Why haven’t I ever been invited for donuts with you? Or any type of cake-based activity, for that matter? I’m telling you here and now, I don’t care what we do as long as it has cake, cats, or, ideally, cake and cats. What I’m saying is… why doesn’t Saratoga Falls have a cat café?”
You both laugh as Mariah pulls off the interstate and onto the ‘44.
“Fine, if you’re going to crush my feline donut dreams, at least tell me about Will.”
How do you describe yourself? Niamh’s brain isn’t much help given she’s never met you. “He’s… I don’t know. He’s Will.”
“Insightful. Wouldn’t recommend submitting it in the essay competition, but insightful. He going to be OK with your trip?”
“Trip?” You flick through your mind, trying to recall the right memory.
“Uh, you’re going to England in what, two or three weeks?”
“Only for a few days.” Although it’s term time, the school is sponsoring a trip for a few students to the University of Cambridge as part of an international schools learning initiative. Niamh is keen on a Fullbright anyway, and St. Francis Xavier’s has school ties with a corporate sponsor linked to one of the colleges (and Keyserling). Your own mind is stunned. There’s no way Westside would ever do something similar.
“Only for a few days. Right. You get to see Big Ben and get school credit for it. Meanwhile, I get to work on integral calculus.”
“Am I supposed to pretend you don’t want to do integral calculus? I have literally seen you work on math problems for fun. Never mind what you’re supposed to be doing, just hackin’ away at a math problem.”
“She makes a fair point,” Mariah concedes. You both laugh again.
The sign for the school comes up a few miles later, and then you’re turning through the stone gatehouse. You don’t know what to expect, but as you drive past a wide stretch of manicured lawn and the school comes into view, your jaw drops. It looks like a movie set. Down a hill, a large country house looms, its slate grey walls draped in ivy, huge bow windows pushing out and topped with widow’s walks and faux battlements. To the west, the school buildings cluster in a quad past the chapel, with the red brick STEM building set slightly away, by the car park. Behind the house, you know, are the Stables – the study hall – an immaculate lawn, an amphitheater and a view straight down to the Mohegan river. You continue to drive past the Backwoods that hug the west side of the property.
“You OK?” Mariah asks as she slows for the speed bumps, then pulls up next to some asshole parked at almost a 45-degree angle, their front windows rolled all the way down.
“The view. Just doesn’t get old.” You’re a little awed by the place.
“No, I guess it doesn’t. C’mon, we’ll be late for chapel. I’ve got some study to do after swimming, so I’ll be heading back home about 6pm. I can drop you at this donut shop if you want.”
“You mean ‘I can drop you at this donut shop so I can get a look at Will’.”
Mariah grins. “Well, obviously. Which one is it? Party Town? Because you know they suck, right?”
“Don’s Donuts, over on 20th.”
“Less sucky. Let’s hope the I-62 across town is clear or it’s gonna be a full hour to get there, though. See you at 6pm?”
You smile and nod. That gives you plenty of time to get your property back.
***
You spent most of third period trying to work out an approach to Todd Baldwin. All you know is Niamh can’t stand him, although he seems perfectly pleasant. You’re doing the Thirty Years’ War, and your eyes glaze over a little at the battles, machinations and flowery names of European royalty. Apparently Sweden was a world power even before IKEA. Who knew?
“Something to contribute, Miss Stirland?” Mr Hunt asks. Unlike Westside, where you have at least some anonymity, you’re in a class of eight and there is no place to hide. Will Prescott would panic, but fortunately you are someone else.
“I was thinking about including the impact of Ottoman expansion on the stability of the Catholic League.” You have no idea what you’re talking about, but Niamh does.
“It’s not relevant to this paper, but a good idea for the end of term essay. Now…”
You go back to mulling over Todd Baldwin. You need to think of a reason for Niamh Stirland to approach him. Of course, with the masks you don’t have to be Niamh, but you’ve enjoyed the half-day you’ve spent as her so far. Then, just as the bell rings and the class breaks up, you find Todd Baldwin coming to you.
“Can I speak with you a sec, or do you need to rush off?”
“I’ve got a sec,” you say, packing up your things and looking at him warily. Baldwin isn’t as bad as Steiner – he’s nowhere near as subtle – but he will want something.
“The essay for next week. So, thing is, I’m really struggling with it and was looking to partner with someone. I’ve already checked with Hunt and he’d accept a group submission. You know I work hard, and you’re really on top of this period in history.”
“I know my Pappenheims,” you reply, confident Todd isn’t aware of the idiom. Pappenheim was a general in the conflict… and the phrase means someone who’s totally predictable.
“Exactly. I’ve tried asking Mathilde, but she just decided to write about her family’s involvement, no room for me. So, I was wondering if you fancy being my study buddy?”
Obviously Mathilde Ambard wanted to write about her family. She’s a genuine French blue blood, the kind who’d have eaten cake all the way to the guillotine 250 years ago. In the third form you had been tasked with tracing your family’s ancestry. When it as time for her to present, Mathilde walked up to the front of class and produced a slide of royal records indicating three direct ancestors had died at the Battle of Agincourt. With a Gallic shrug, she’d turned to Mrs Ronson and asked if that was far back enough, or if she wanted to see which one went on the Second Crusade?
“I’ve already written about the House of Vasa,” you say. “I don’t need any extra material.”
“Well, maybe I could do some image searches. A picture paints a thousand words! So, if I pull out say, four pictures, then I think I’m more than pulling my weight, right?”
Unbelievable. He’s trying to get away with making you write his homework in exchange for 30 seconds on Google. Niamh’s instinct is to tell him to go to hell. But, of course, you’re not really Niamh Stirland. You need the masks from Todd, and this is a perfect excuse.
“I have a better idea,” you say. “How about you meet me in the library at 5pm. I’ll bring the paper, and you can fact-check it. That’s always the worst part of writing an essay, and it’s a fairer division of labor.”
Todd smiles. It’s still a shortcut, and Niamh is on course for an A; let him think he’s won a victory. “It’s a study date. Thanks, Niamh, I know you’ll have done an incredible essay. Making sure it’s as polished as possible will be an honor.”
He walks away, and you tap your fingernail on your books. It’s lunch next, then you have a free period. It’s the perfect opportunity to create a mind band so you can find out exactly where your masks are. But Todd doesn’t seem too difficult to handle; maybe you don’t even need to bother with magic. And perhaps it’s better to not risk someone at Xavier’s discovering the Libra.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
| Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author