This choice: Wait to give a name, keep playing honestly • Go Back...Chapter #42Going Alloway: Thursday Afternoon by: Masktrix   You have little choice but to sit tight. If Todd is Niamh, she’s beaten you already. And while the hair test is great, this is only a bit of fun, isn’t it? Either way, you’ll know where you stand tonight. If Niamh guesses wrong, it more or less (with some room for doubt) eliminates Todd Baldwin and Mathilde Ambard. That leaves eight suspects and two guesses remaining. Your chances have shot up to a measly one in four.
The first period after lunch, you get your biology test back from Tuesday. A solid B. Not really what Mariah was hoping for, but not a disaster, either. There are a couple of As in the class though; Niamh, to the surprise of no one… and Scott Ricci. The two managed to get virtually identical scores. You make a move to ask him how he did it, but the moment the bell goes he’s away with Sean and Jared and the opportunity slips. He’ll have to wait until tomorrow.
***
“You’re my photographer?” Alyssa Erikson leans onto her crutch as you approach, a DSLR around your neck.
It’s a self-evident question, so you just give an enigmatic shrug; why else would you be walking with near a thousand dollars of camera?
“So, what I’m thinking is, I do the interview, they do a few scenes, you take a few snaps. Work for you?”
“Sure,” you say as you head into the theater. Zero is waiting there, along with Frances Washington. Three suspects in one place. Perfect. That’s why, when Mr Winn asked for a volunteer to snap the newly selected cast of this term’s play, of course you put your hand up.
“Where you want us?” Zero asks. He’s taken off his blazer and is lounging against one of the ridged corners. The school has its own theater-in-the-round, complete with LED light rigs and control booth, and the two figures seem comically isolated in the wide space. Alyssa looks at you.
“Uh, in that corner? Try and play around on the height of the space, give it a little depth?”
Zero nods, and hops to his feet. “Of course! Anything for the press!” He laughs, and throws himself into a dramatic pose. “Something like this, perhaps?”
“Maybe we should just get on and act it?” Frances interjects.
“Yeah, Zero. Don’t try and pose, just let it flow,” you agree. “And hi, I don’t think we’ve met? I’m Mariah.”
“Fran,” the girl says, bounding down. Any mousiness has well and truly passed. “Great to meet you.”
“We’ve met before,” Alyssa interjects. “Your first or second day, I think?”
“Oh yeah, sorry,” Fran says. “I was kind of quiet. But that’s what happens when you transfer in your final year.”
“How come you did that, anyway?” Zero asks, pushing a little. Fran shrugs.
“Sucked off my English teacher.”
You all blink. She just stares with world-weary resignation.
“What? You think I haven’t heard the rumors? Apparently I was also chucked out of Bosworth because I took the motor shop’s hotrod for a joyride, set fire to my dorm room, and was arrested in an international drug sting.”
“So which was it?”
Fran glares at Alyssa. "I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s no one’s business. Now, c’mon, can we do this thing?”
You lift the camera up and turn it on, framing Zero and Fran as they begin to do various melodramatic, overblown poses for the school’s Christmas production of Sweet Charity.
Evidently Frances has acting chops, and must be able to sing a little, or she’d never have been cast. It feels like Niamh wouldn’t have taken on such a disguise… although maybe, in trying to probe the mystery of Frances Washington, she’d stumbled on talents she doesn’t possess herself. As Fran launches into a song and you take as many snaps as possible, you can’t help but wonder: if you suddenly had the ability to sing like her, could you resist holding it in?
By the time the period has ended, you’ve got more than enough snaps for the magazine, while Alyssa has a few choice quotes to paste into her article for the magazine. You both head off to your respective classes, gossiping a little as you navigate the halls.
It’s then you see another of your final suspects coming the other way. Kristen Wright-Wallace, head bowed, is hurrying after Abigail Steiner, the hawkish features of Vee Macklin on the other flank. You step aside as they pass, Abi giving you a cheery smile, while you try and avoid eye contact. Hypno eyes, Mariah’s brain confirms, are definitely a thing.
“Looks things are back to normal,” Alyssa says at your side. “Shame.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on! I thought hanging with Hallie you’d be as plugged in to the rumor mill as I am!” Alyssa tilts her head. “When Abi left the Halloween party – so my sources tell me – Kristen was in a total state. Somehow she pulled it around. Most of the sixth formers who were there say, once Abi was gone, it was like a weight had been lifted, she started laughing and joking. Carried it through this week, too. In the dining hall on Monday, she told Abi she’ll have whatever damn lunch she wants. Abi was doing that good girl routine of hers, couldn’t say anything back. Doesn’t look like Kristen 2.0 lasted, though.”
“Huh,” you say. “Shame.” Was it Kristen that told Abi to back off, or Niamh? You remember how guilty Niamh felt about everything she said to Kristen when she was Abi. Maybe good, old fashioned Catholic guilt prompted her to choose her as a disguise. And if Vee Macklin was behind you in the queue for coffee on Monday, then Kristen was definitely alone in her room – the swap would have been easy…
“This is where we part,” Alyssa says as you pass the English rooms. “I’ve got my scoop, time to get it typed up. Talk to you tomorrow.” She pivots the crutch and heads off into one of the classes. You watch as she goes, then look at the winnowed list of names on your iPad. Kristen has just shot up your list of suspects… but it’s not enough evidence yet.
But there’s something gnawing you about Alyssa, too. Maybe you’re remembering it wrong, or maybe she alternates depending on how she’s feeling, but you could have sworn on Monday she used the crutch with her left arm, not her right.
***
Swim practice. Mariah’s surprisingly nimble in the water. Today, however, Coach Upson wants to work on stamina. So you spend an age chugging up and down the pool until you’re short of breath, then doing even more. The pool isn’t full size, and it’s impossible to tell the time with only a minute counter spinning around. So, by the time you’re finished changing, rubbed the chlorine from a leaky pair of goggles out of your eyes and wrapped yourself up in multiple layers… you’re just in time to see the last bus for Saratoga Falls depart.
God dammit. You trudge back to Founder’s Hall, where it’s at least warm, and think about what to do. Mariah’s parents’ dental practice holds its late hours on Thursday and you don’t have the taxi fare. You’re stuck at St Xavier’s.
“Alloway,” you glance up. Dalton Reeves is making his way down the corridor toward you, straight as a ramrod. You can feel Mariah groan inwardly. This is not going to make your life easier. “Why are you still on the premises?”
You give him a fixed, irritable stare. “Because the bus doesn’t wait if you have to dry your hair, and my parents work until eight on Thursdays. So, thanks to you and your stupid-ass car ban, I’m trapped here. I hope you’re happy.”
“Can’t make exceptions,” he says, with his usual stiffness.
“Spare me,” you say. “Your punishment is stupid. I wasn’t at the party. I wouldn’t want to be at the party. I don’t care who was at the party. I am a little damp, a little tired, and I want to go home.” You have no idea if Niamh is Dalton or not, but you’re done with today.
“This isn’t about punishing the guilty,” he explains. “It’s about deterring them from ever attempting something again. Even if they try and arrange a shindig, how many people are going to go along with it now?”
“I honestly don’t care.”
Dalton, for a moment, looks surprisingly sympathetic. Then he does something you don’t expect. His hand juts out and he clicks his fingers, halting a passing student in the corridor.
“Adam Edwards,” he says. “You still want that exeat for tonight? I’ll sign it on one condition: you drop Miss Alloway here off in town.” The fifth year looks thrilled, Dalton looks inscrutable, and you look confused.
“I thought exeats were…”
“Banned for the sixth form, Alloway. Edwards is one of the few in the fifth form with his own set of wheels.” He gets out an officious looking pad and signs a sheet on the top. “Meet Miss Alloway out front in ten, Edwards. Dismissed.” He gives a smile as Adam heads off, sheet in hand, to get his things from the third floor. “Thank you for your help yesterday, especially on the astrophysics. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
You begin to say thank you, but Dalton waves you away. “It’s not just about the orders, it’s also about how you interpret them. Have a good night.”
It’s a strange turn to a strange day. You have no idea if Niamh was Todd and has already identified you, but you have to give Shelly a name. You think you’ve narrowed it down to three. If you’re right, you’ve got a 66% chance – although one of your prime suspects needs further investigation tomorrow. For now, you concentrate on the students you encountered today.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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