Chapter 25 – Not Ready to Make Nice (2)

Eppie Fontaine, thief and accused, stood unfazed.

She wasn’t at all worried that Coordinator Carr looked like she was about to cry.

She wasn’t at all worried that Simone Goode had brought campus security from CSULA to serve swift justice.

She wasn’t even worried about Valorie Sanders, who looked like a cat that had just found the cream canister unlocked.

This was because she was an adult. A very experienced adult. One with real-world experience in matters of litigation and legalism that far, far exceeded the understanding of the situation that these children were engaged in.

Why would she be afraid of goddamn kids who knew nothing of fine print?

At 7:30 AM, she arrived at school, ready to start her day. Unlike the other students, she carried her Norton’s for English, Algebra for Math and her World History readings in her duffle, together with changes of clothes. As a student living on campus, she never accessed or used it ever since she cleared out her old one, and cleared two of her courses.

It was kind of laughable that Valorie, against her boyfriend’s peace offering, had orchestrated this childish accusation, and had done it with every conceivable witness, from the Coordinator of Programs to CSULA Campus UPD, to her clique of Seniors and Juniors, and her friends, including her two roommates.

First of all, the last time she had used the locker was in week 2. That’s 8 weeks away. The officers were free to dust for prints if they didn’t believe her.

Second of all, she never used the locker, and CCTV for 10 or more weeks was more than enough evidence to support her claim of innocence.

Third of all, she had Eric, and she could afford Eric’s services for the short trial needed to prove her innocence.

Fourthly, it was written in black and white that any items stowed in the lockers or brought upon the campus as “luxury goods” with an excessive value were forfeit, and that the campus or LAPA was in no way responsible for the students’ poor choices. On this single line alone, Eric could create a case that placed the onus of fault on Valorie.

“I knew you were desperate, Eppie.” Valorie was doing one of those impressions where the rich clicked their tongue and asked the world aloud why the poor were so poor, and why they were morally inferior to their genteel betters. “You could have just asked me. If you are hungry, if you need cash for whatever reason that didn’t involve drugs or alcohol, I would have gladly helped a fellow LAPA student.”

“Valorie, speak again, and I am returning to the office.” Carr was clearly a choreographer and dancer and not an actress, for she wore her disgust on her sleeve for all to see.

“It’s not a crime to be compassionate,” Valorie looked to her, then to Simone, then to herself again with a punchable smugness. “But I’ll be quiet now. Please proceed, Coordinator Carr.”

“Hold on.” Eppie suddenly felt that it was against the fibre of her moral being to allow Valorie her moment of triumphant revelry. “How are you so sure that there’s anything in there, Senior Valorie? I told everyone already that I don’t use the locker. I don’t even carry the key on my person.”

“Ha!” The bodacious redhead snickered. “Feeling guilty? Are you afraid now?”

“Why should I be afraid?” Eppie stood her ground, her tiny body erect and firm as she squared off against the tall redhead. “If there’s something in there, then someone has defrauded me or is trying to frame me. You and me, we lawyer up. Our counsels do discovery. Orphan versus Nepo. In a court of law, Senior, not even your father can help you, unless he’s no longer seeking re-election.”

“You—” Valorie’s face turned almost the same hue as her hair. “What makes you think you can even afford an attorney—”

“Oh, you didn’t know Director Vaughan paid me handsomely for the Met performance?” Eppie channelled her old self, her innocent face suddenly acquiring strange, uncharacteristic guile. “Of course you don’t. It’s not like you knew her. Well, not that it matters. It’s not like anyone there cared who you were.”

If the girl could ignite, she probably would have, but for the fact that they were in public, and made of flesh and water.

“Ah, to think of the two of us, I was the first to perform at the Met. Now that’s odds for the playbooks, hmm?” Eppie enjoyed herself immensely.

“Eppie, enough!” Susan Carr hissed at her. Her eyes were very round and staring. They were also screaming.

“Coordinator Carr,” Eppie bowed her head. “I am merely asserting my innocence against this outrageous attack on talent, spurred by jealousy—”

“Who the fuck is jealous of a nobody— “ Valorie’s eyes flashed. Her hands were up. She was ready to swing for the face.

“You seeing this?” Eppie raised her voice, using the very technique that Cooper had taught to project herself across the basement hall and beyond. “WHICH ONE OF YOU HAS BEEN A VICTIM OF THIS KIND OF BEHAVIOUR?”

The crowd was silent.

They knew.
At least some of them must know.
But none wanted to answer a tiny blonde girl who stood alone, and who had no backing, even if they were friends with her on MySpace and had liked her songs.

Valorie chuckled as her rage dissipated.

“When that locker is opened,” the girl spoke with such vehemence that Eppie was sure she was channelling Persephone from the underworld. “You’re going straight to prison.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Eppie shrugged in mockery. The world of 2007, unlike that of 2032, really wasn’t that complicated. The Rule of Law still existed, and she was neither a migrant, a minority, nor poor. “Whatever is in there, I’ll be out by dinner. Wanna bet?”

“Open the Goddamn locker, Susan!” Valorie snapped at the Program Director. “I want my bag back!”

Susan really did look like she was about to leave, but as a faculty member whose work was extremely beholden to the support of the PTA, she obliged.

The locker clicked open.

Susan Carr stepped back.

The students pressed in to see.

Nothing.

Not a goddamned thing.

Their Director stared at the empty space.

Valorie Sanders stared at the empty space.