You've no idea why Kelsey would warn you off from lending Abigail your phone, and it's not like you really respect Kelsey's opinion anyway. So maybe it's just habit – it's always easiest to duck your head and go along with Kelsey when she's giving orders – that leads you to edge your way around the side of the club, putting distance between you and Abigail.
And that's how you stumble over one of the three reasons you came out here in the first place.
You're tramping around the grounds, looking for a place to lurk, when a cloud of white smoke belches from a nearby hedge. It's a topiary sculpture, a bush beaten into the shape of a dragon, and you have to wonder if there's a mechanical trick behind the smoke—some hidden piping meant to playfully heighten the illusion. You go over to investigate, and find a girl vaping on the other side.
It's J. M., the sullen redhead from your game at Monte Viso. She's slouching behind the dragon, dressed in a smart pant suit that looks like something Katharine Hepburn would wear. Her hair is done up neatly, tied at the back with a few strands loose at the front, and she’s put on a little make-up. She has a vape pen to her lips, and is gazing out across the river toward the town.
Your anger boils up at the sight of her. “So what the fuck does 'J.M.' stand for anyway?” you demand.
She jumps as she glances over at you, and makes a face.
“Jocelyn,” she says quietly. “Hello, Caleb.”
"Will," you correct her. “I’m Will. Caleb was the one smart enough to bail. So how does 'Jocelyn' become ‘J.M.’?”
She blows out another cloud of white mist. “All right.” She dabs her fingers at the air. “Jocelyn Margaret Moss. What would you do with that? A three-syllable mouthful that has people quoting A Knight’s Tale to you? 'Joss,' and be 'Joss Moss'? Or 'Jo,' and get called 'Jo-Mo'?”
You grunt. "I see your point. Sorry if I was rude."
“Not your fault. I blame my parents. I also blame them for giving me red hair and stubby little toes, and I definitely blame them for sending me to a boarding school on the other side of the country. If it were up to me, I’d be bodyboarding in Monterey right now. Instead, I’m here at a social event that might as well be a barn-raising, and almost got groped by some guy who looks like a walrus.”
“Pert white tits, baah?”
She gives you a long, sidewards glance, chews the corner of her lip, then nods. Silence enfolds you for a long minute.
“I saw you talking to Abi Steiner,” J.M. says. “She’s bad news. Goes to my school. She used to be OK, a couple of years back. Then, well, people change, I guess. Now it’s like she’s wearing a mask of who she was. The X-men – uh, the faculty – think she’s their darling angel, and even went and made her a prefect. Truth is she just burns people. Doesn’t even care.”
“You mean like Mary?”
J.M. frowns, but continues gazing out at the river. “No. Mary’s always got a plan, but it’s not usually vindictive. She was just in a mood that day. I tried to tell her to drop it, to leave you alone. I don’t think she realized how far you’d go.”
Then she does, finally, smile at you. “You know, you really do suck at mini-golf.”
"Yeah, but that wasn't the point. I just saw you and your friends and thought maybe I had a shot. Makes you do stupid shit.”
J.M. shrugs. “Maybe you did have a shot. Not with Mary. Or Corinne, for that matter, although I think she found your friend funny.” She takes a drag from her vape pen and blows out a steady white cloud.
“So, with you?”
She smiles without looking at you. “Had a shot, yeah. Before you went full-on commando raid. Tell you what. You’re sore, so I’ll make it up to you. What were you going to claim as your prize at the golf course, if you won?”
You hesitate, and she frowns.
“You didn’t even think that far ahead, did you? Wow, you suck at hitting on girls, too. And did you really think Mary was into you?”
“She said I was cute.”
“She wasn’t wrong. But you’re still hopeless." She takes another hit off the pen. "I should send you to the Guru. They’d love to see what they could do with you.”
“Guru?”
J.M. nods and lets another cloud drift away.
“That’s going to be your consolation prize for … what was it, 37 over par?” She shakes her head, and holds out your hand. For a moment you think she wants you to take it, then you realize she's asking for your cell. Kelsey's warning come back to you, but that was a warning about Abigail, and you doubt the same warning would apply here.
So you give your cell. J.M. opens up Google Maps, drops a marker, and hands it back.
“You go here," she says. "Just blow the rest of this party off – it’s a networking thing anyway. You’ll thank me in the long run.”
“I’m not sure I feel like thanking you for anything.”
She shrugs again. Another pause, the only noise the bustle of the party. This time it’s your turn to break the silence.
“Can you do me another favor? A kind of ‘sorry Mary screwed you over’ deal?”
J.M. doesn’t smile, doesn’t make eye contact, but shrugs to show she’s listening, dragging on the vape pen once more.
“Can I introduce you to a friend of mine? She wants to make contacts with the St Xavier’s crowd, that’s why she hauled my ass here.”
J.M. lets out one final stream from her vape pen, tucks the device out of sight, and pops a piece of gum into her mouth. “Sure,” she says.
As you lead her over to Brooke, you cast a quick glance at the address she’s marked for you.
Funny thing: it’s the same one Roxanne provided a few hours earlier.
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