“Same goes for Cathy, then?” Mike asked without looking up, his tone even and very hurtful.
Pain shot through Xander, as he realized that was the same way he’d spoken to Cathy earlier. “I didn’t mean --”
Mike raised a hand to dismiss the thought, then abruptly changed the topic. “Is it just me, or does the fact that these two have gang connections unsettling?”
“Tell me about it. I didn’t even know there was a real gang, outside of the Godfather films anyway.”
“Not what I meant,” Mike said quietly. “I mean, these two guys are probably sitting around with twenty other guys, laughing it up about what they did to that girl.”
Xander grimaced, flipping the black leather book open to the index and began to scan through it. “Shouldn’t this all be computerized?” he asked in exasperation.
“The last few years, yes. But nobody’s bothered to go back and type in all the old files yet since we got the new systems in. Threw out all the old comps, remember?”
Xander smirked mischievously. “I remember the four of us fishing through the dumpster out back so that I could salvage some of the parts into a PC.”
“Good times,” Mike nodded, the both of them falling into a short, uncomfortable silence. Both of them trying not to dwell on Xander’s slip of tongue when he had said ‘the four of them.’ Because that would have implied Sara. Therefore, it was never actually said.
“Got it,” Xander said, turning his yearbook around so that Mike could see. He pointed down to the side-by-side pictures as Mike leaned in, putting his own book back on the shelf. “Allan Bishop and Bram Raine. Their last year was about ten years ago, before they got kicked out.”
The pages were yellowed a little even though they shouldn’t have been, their edges curling and cracking as Xander thumbed through them. The photos themselves looked like twisted black and white images from the twilight zone. He wasn’t sure if it was just the knowledge of what they had done, but something about the two yearbook photos seemed eerily sinister… As if they could see him through the old book. The first guy had shoulder-length brown hair and some bad acne, along with braces that shone with the reflection of the camera’s flash. The other man was thinner but looked wirier, his mouth the only one on the page not curled up into a smile. His expression was blank and devoid of emotion, and Xander didn’t need a colour photo to know that his eyes were red.
“I didn’t think Shnieder kicked people out,” Mike said, his voice a mixture of surprise and newfound respect for the sniveling weasel that had been gawking at his girlfriend earlier today.
Xander cocked his head to one side. “Back in the day he did, when he first got here. And it wasn’t just him; these two had a recommendation for expulsion from the guidance counsellor and everything.”
“Phillips?”
“Before his time. This was Dr. August O’Grady,” Xander corrected, pointing to a picture of the woman. She looked as though she’d seen a great deal of pain walk through her doors in her tenure, every cry of suffering taking its toll upon her face. Even her mouth hung open on one side, which would have given her an almost comical expression if not for the menacing glare of her eyes.
“I remember the stories the seniors used to tell about her,” Mike recalled with a start, pointing at the picture. “She was a witch!”
“I don’t know about that, but I think they should put that picture up in prisons. It’d start scaring people straight,” Xander smirked.
“No, you don’t understand,” Mike chuckled. “She kept permanent records on everybody. She’d give out detention slips for chewing gum. She even had one of those canes mounted on her wall. I heard she even used it once or twice.”
Xander slammed the book shut, a cloud of stale dust rising up as he did so. He turned and pointed to the files on his desk. “If she kept records on everything, then why isn’t there a single word about either of our two offenders in those?” he asked, his tone gravely serious.
Cathy sat in Math class, staring at the empty chair next to her. It was one of many throughout campus. As Mrs. Green babbled on and on about logarithmic functions and their practical use in today’s society - none whatsoever, by the way - Cathy sat in the fourth row with her back uncomfortably shoved against her wooden chair, a loose screw digging into her behind. As much as it bothered her, her attention was still focused on the seat adjacent to her. It was the seat that until a few days ago had belonged to Sara Johnson. She remembered all of the times the two of them had sat there gossiping about Jamie, Mike, and Grendel. How she’d tried to convince Sara over and over again to go out on a date with Xander, much to the blonde’s disdain.
Neither of them had ever done exceptionally well in Math... but it wasn’t like it was their fault, they reasoned. What kind of moron sticks Math on the third period slot anyway? Sara would often contest, usually just after Mrs. Green had handed out the results of their latest pop quiz. Right between Recess and Lunch was not a good time to start logarithmic functions, in my mind. It seemed to go against nature and puppies, as the perky little blonde next to her used to quote six times a period. Cathy never did understand what that meant, but she was certain it was a compliment to the puppy population of the world.
But she’d never do that again. She’d never sit there
