Page 571 of Filthy Elites

Why the fuck isn’t she taking the assistance she needs? She has a learning disability; she shouldn’t be graded the same way the rest of us are. As soon as I wonder, I answer my own question. She’s stupidly stubborn. Proud, even. And she should be, given her achievements.

I scan through the rest of the academic material, to reread the personal things.

She's worked at various cafes in the westside, quitting for the same reason each time: getting tired of guys touching her ass. Since her mother's salary improved, she took a pay cut and started to work at Manny's Bouquets. Her boss, Ginny, grudgingly admits she does her job well, though she'd prefer if she arrived at three. Given that school finishes at three thirty, that's not about to happen.

Camden nailed it. She did run her old school. Erica became captain of the cheer team at the end of her freshman year, until junior year. I read Rhys’s comment: “Her peers were more than happy to spill the dirt. She’s universally hated.”

“We called her the Ice Queen.”

“She didn’t even pay attention to people. Sometimes, you’d talk to her and she’d just get up and leave.”

“She’s a massive bitch. Thinks she’s better than us.”

“She never dated. Westside boys weren’t good enough for her. Even Vince. Vince’s adorable.”

“They were friends since second grade, when his parents moved here. Vince plays guitar. He wrote her a song.”

“He was helping her in lit class.”

“Vince declared his love for her at homecoming. It was so romantic. What do you think she did? She turned around and left.”

“Cold.”

“Mean.”

“Bitch.”

I can put the pieces together. She and her best friend were both popular, but Erica has a way of making people feel inferior, so when push came to shove, they all turned their backs on her rather than him. The more I read, the angrier I feel on her behalf. As for that guy, Vince? It sounds like he was playing the school. Why the fuck else would he make a fool of himself in public? He was trying to pressure her into giving in.

Unease clogs my insides. I’d been pressuring her, too.

I keep reading. A few of the people who commented on her character weren’t as enamored with Vince, so they were more informative, though none seemed to like Erica much, either.

“Erica wants out of this town. Always has, like most people born in the westside. The difference is, she’s ready to do whatever it takes to make that happen. When we were on the cheer team together, Pauline asked her why she turns down all the guys who ask her out. She said she doesn’t want any attachment to this shitty town. That was freshman year. She never wavered.”[…]“Damian? Damian doesn’t date. That was just fucking. I mean, a girl has to eat, right? They started seeing each other when everyone else dropped her last fall. I think they met at the ice rink.”

The folder only names three current friends: Damian, her booty call, Morgan, a stripper with an affinity for computers, and Lola, a prostitute who graduated last summer.

Rhys’s investigator proceeded to check clues about said ice rink next. There’s only one in town, so finding it wouldn’t have been hard. The short note read: “Erica’s been figure skating since she was twelve. Several sessions per week.”

There’s a QR code I scan with my phone, and it opens a video taken from the bleachers. A dozen fast, well-trained skaters speed around in circles, but my attention goes to the girl dressed in a black leotard with pink leg warmers. She’s at the center of the rink, twirling in endless circles, faster and faster. The music changes, and she takes off, arms crossed over her chest. Then she jumps, once, twice, a third time, making two turns on the last one, before landing with one strong leg up.

I’m captivated. When the video stops, I’m frustrated there isn’t more. I play it again.

It hits me then. I don’t know Erica Simons at all.

It’s past time I change that.

ChapterTwenty-Four

I skate after work,and get up the hill around nine thirty. To my surprise, the brownstone is lit up when I walk in.

“Audrey?” I call with a frown, half expecting someone else entirely.

“In here!” she shoots back from upstairs.

I climb the stairs and follow the ruckus to her room. Music blasts loudly and all her clothes are piled up on her bed. “Winter cleaning?” I guess.

Audrey’s kneeling at the bottom of her closet, pulling out top after top. “I’m looking for my sequined dress! The gold one, you remember? I only wore it once, and I can’t bloody find it!”

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