“There’s a bunch of students who live in town, drive in or catch the, uh, ‘bus of shame’,” you say, delving through Roxanne’s memories as you categorize a likely person to make a switch with. “They’d be perfect. I can investigate during the day, and head back and meet up with you guys at night, keep you updated on what’s going on.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Caleb acknowledges. Dylan doesn’t seem particularly invested. “They all wealthy pricks?”
You shake your head. “Some of them are rich – like Kelsey Blankenship rich – and others got a scholarship from the local Catholic church. Roxanne’s one of those kids. Damn…” you pause for a moment, getting a glimpse of just how on the breadline Roxanne’s family really are. For her, the St. Francis Xavier School isn’t just a small upgrade on going to Westside or Eastman; it’s a chance at getting out of this one-horse town.
“Makes sense,” Dylan comments. “Elite preppy school full of assholes, gotta have some normal kids in there to keep ‘em grounded.”
“Nah,” you say, eyes almost glazing over as Roxanne’s did when she had to learn the history of the place. “It’s part of how they made it. Jesus, it’s a fucking country estate. Used to be owned by the Latty family. As in, the ‘Latty’ in ‘Lattyville’. When the family left, they set up a trust fund, managed by the local church. A certain percentage of students have to come from there each year. Otherwise, you’ve got to be two of rich, Catholic or academically brilliant. The fifth and sixth forms, uh, the juniors and seniors, they are dormed in the main building, Founder’s Hall. Then you’ve got New Hall, the school itself, a fucking boathouse…”
“OK, we didn’t ask for a tour,” Caleb says. “The uber-rich are rich. What about the students?”
You nod, and concentrate. “OK, OK. Hmm. So, the ones Roxanne knows best are Gabe… Gabriel Santos. He’s Hispanic, lives on the north side of town, another one of the church-sponsored kids. He seems solid. Roxanne likes him. And there’s…” you blush, as a rush of emotions ripple from the band and you feel all the things Roxanne would love to do to the next person. “Uh… hmm. Ah, there’s a girl called Niamh Stirland, she lives down on the edge of Acheson. Kind of a cute gamer-girl type.”
“Ha! Looks like someone’s got a crush!” Dylan laughs, pointing at your discomfort. You shoot him a look.
“It’s the band!” you say, tapping your forehead. “Roxanne has the crush, not me.”
“Oh, she’s gay? Kind of makes all that blatant hitting on her pointless.”
You squirm a little. “I wasn’t hitting on her,” you mutter, embarrassed. Roxanne’s more pansexual if anything, but you decide now isn’t the time to delve into the finer points of her sexuality. Good,, a thought swells up from the band, because it’s nobody else’s fucking business. “Anyway, Niamh isn't an option. She doesn’t really hang around with the wealthier kids, mostly keeps with a geeky inner circle, talking about old retro games.”
“She sounds cool,” Caleb says. “Wonder why we’ve never crossed paths before. Sounds like a bust for a disguise, though. Who else?”
You shrug and focus. “All right. Ophelia Wilmot. Sporty, kinda-outdoorsy type. Roxanne doesn’t know much about her, except she seems pretty tight with a lot of the girls. She’s definitely more connected than the first two, although… do we think those three assholes would have switched into girls?”
“Why not?” Dylan says with a grin. “You did.”
You flush with embarrassment a little. “I don’t think they would, though. So far, we know they targeted two guys, Rory Bynum and this Marius Hall.”
“All right, so who hangs out with them?” Caleb says. You concentrate and think.
“Brandon Masterson,” you say firmly. Fucking asshole. Roxanne’s distaste for him leaves a thick coating of bile in the back of your throat. “Spends half of his life pushing weights, the other half talking about digital currency. Some trust fund tool who lives up in that estate with all the stupid English names.”
“Sounds like Charles’ kind of douche,” Caleb offers. “Could be a good way in?”
“Yeah. Let’s see who else… Ken…” you laugh. “Ken Zero? Really? That’s the guy’s name?” you shake your head. “OK, Zero’s basically a drama dork, nice enough but pretty hooked into the gossip scene. Roxanne mostly avoids him because he’s a little… OK, more than a little… extra. Definitely someone you could replace without suspicion, though, as he’s always sticking his nose into shit.”
You take a breath, clearly your thoughts. “Final candidate is Megan Jones.” Your vision swims of a dark-skinned girl, with hair in tight braids, wearing thick-rimmed glasses. “Kind of a classroom lawyer,” you say. “She’s local, but I think she’s there on an academic bursary. Totally political, young Democrat, pretty formidable, too.” Surprisingly, you feel Roxanne’s antipathy for her in your mind. Good peep at heart, though she’s sharp-tongued as hell. The problem with Megan is she’s too focused on appearing to be righteous, Roxanne says. She’s not a devil-spawned bitch like fucking Steiner. She’s just had to fight her whole life for this shot, and isn’t going to throw it away.
You decide to stop picking Roxanne’s mind. Megan Jones; Brandon Masterson; Gabriel Santos; Ophelia Wilmot; Ken Zero.
Five candidates. Five lives. Five ways into Xavier’s.
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