“Oh, perfect,” Matt groaned as the others laughed. “This jewel-guy didn’t have any lips at all!”
Sandy Braxton caught up with Matt that day at lunch. “So? Have you read any of the information on that datascrip I gave you? I found a big file about how many Civil War generals were officers together in the Mexican War. Hancock and Armistead both served together in Winfield Scott’s army. Lots of the officers who were in Pickett’s Charge were also in the attack on Chapultepec Castle — including Pickett and James Longstreet.”
“That’s really interesting,” Matt said nervously. With his visit to Maxim’s, he hadn’t even looked at the scrip. “Maybe we can make that the opening of our report. Can you tell me some more?”
Sandy glanced over to one of the tables in the cafeteria. “I was going to sit with some of my friends….”
Matt followed his eyes. Of course, it was a group of Leets — and there were three blond girls. “Well, maybe we can do it in between bites,” Matt suggested.
Sandy shrugged and led the way to the cafeteria line, where they loaded a pair of trays. Then Matt followed his new friend to the table full of Leets.
One of the girls looked ready to say something as Matt took a seat, but Sandy quickly spoke up. “This is Matt Hunter from my history class. We’re working on a project together.”
The girl muttered something to her friends. All Matt caught was “—could’ve taken the geek to another table, then.” The rest was drowned out by a wave of laughter and one girl’s “Lighten up, Tricia.”
Matt did his best to control his expression, ignoring Tricia’s nasty comment, pretending to be interested as Sandy rambled on about ancient history, while forcing down cafeteria mystery-glop and keeping an eye on the three blond girls. It was like juggling four things at once. Matt could only hope he didn’t drop one.
For instance, he had to listen to enough of what Sandy was saying to say something himself every once in a while. And he couldn’t make it obvious that he was checking the girls out. As far as he could figure, any of them could be the mysterious CeeCee.
Each girl seemed to hold her head at an angle and laugh as they joked and teased one another. And all of them, blond or brunette, twirled their hair around their fingertips as they talked. Some of the stuff they said he didn’t even understand. They either had their own in-group lingo, or they were using slang that hadn’t caught on yet with the rest of the mere mortals at Bradford.
“So, you going to the VIP-VP at Lara Fortune’s on Friday?” Tricia asked.
Apparently her slang was too advanced for one of the girls. “The VI-who-what?” she asked.
“VIP, very important person; VP, virtual party,” Tricia explained with a toss of her head.
Another girl rolled her eyes. “Krishna, but virtual parties are so…so heatherish.”
Matt got that comment. Heather was a very old-fashioned girl’s name, from before the turn of the century. The girl was saying that virtual parties were pretty much past it. When he stopped to think about it, the last one he’d been to had been for a friend’s seventh birthday.
“Not this one — it’s going to be red-line all the way. Her daddy shelled out big bucks for a way unbelievable locale. I know my dad blew a few zeroes for my virtual gown.”
“Gown?” the other girls chorused.
“It’s gonna be drop-dead formal,” Tricia announced smugly. “No proxies allowed — just your image and whatever someone can hack up for you.”
“I guess it will have to depend on my programmer,” one of the blondes said, twirling a lock of hair tightly around her forefinger.
“Not much time,” Tricia warned.
The other girl shrugged and grinned. “That’s what performance bonuses are for.”
Matt had to hide a grin of his own. Some poor programmer was in for a busy week. He forced himself back to Sandy, who was finally running down on his verbal data-dump.
“It’s interesting stuff,” Matt said, “good for a few paragraphs maybe, but I think you’re going overboard. These guys knew each other for years and years. This is just one small story.”
Sandy looked disappointed. “But I thought—”
“We’re supposed to concentrate on the Civil War, not stuff that happened almost twenty years before,” Matt said.
He tried to ignore the sneering comment from one of the girls as they got up to leave. “A real Dexter,” she muttered — another way of calling him a nerd.
Lunch was almost over, and everyone began leaving their seats. Matt rose, too, then suddenly froze.
“What’s the matter?” Sandy asked.
Matt pulled his eyes away from one of the lunch trays the girls had left. Sitting on the plastic was a little bow, woven together from strands of blond hair. He’d seen CeeCee tie a little knot like that at Maxim’s!
“That girl who was sitting here,” Matt said, tapping the chair in front of the tray. “I don’t think she’s in any of my classes, but she looks familiar.”
“Caitlin?” Sandy shrugged. “Maybe you saw her on holo with her dad — Senator Corrigan?” He paused for a second. “If you’re interested, well, I wouldn’t say you were out of your league.”
Yes, you would, Matt said silently.
“But Cat Corrigan is sort of — high maintenance — you know?”
Caitlin Corrigan. Slur those initials together, and you got…CeeCee.
No, Matt thought, he didn’t know much about Caitlin Corrigan. But he meant to find out.
Leif Anderson looked better when Matt came visiting him again through his computer. Although he sat in the same chair, Leif’s face wasn’t as pale, and he wore jeans and a sweater instead of pajamas and a robe. “How’s it going, Sherlock?” Leif asked with a grin.
“I may have a suspect from the Leets at school,” Matt reported. “Caitlin Corrigan.”
Leif’s eyebrows shot up. “Whoa! The Senator’s daughter?”
“What I need to know is how to get next to her.”
Leif didn’t seem to find that funny. He sat straight up in his chair, his lips going thin. “So you thought you’d check in with your old pal Leif to get a few lessons in social climbing?”
Matt was surprised at the sharp response. “I–I just thought that you knew these people.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean that I like them,” Leif shot back, then rubbed his forehead. “I’m still feeling crummy,” he confessed. “You’ve been in touch with me. So have David, and Andy, and most of the Net Force Explorers I know. A couple of pals here in New York have called to see how I was doing. But most of my rich so-called friends haven’t even bothered to punch in my number.”
“That sounds pretty cold,” Matt said.
“As far as those kids are concerned, I am a social climber.” Leif grimaced. “My father is a self-made man — that makes us what these folks call ‘new money.’ Cat Corrigan’s great-grandfather collected the family loot that paid for her grandfather’s political career. Her dad’s, too.”
“So what are you saying? She’s way out of my league?”
“I’m saying you can’t get in with that group — you can’t compete with their money.” Leif raised a finger. “But most of them, all they’ve got is money. When you’re rich, you don’t need brains, or hard work, or the other things we think are so necessary for success.”
All of a sudden, Matt found himself remembering Dr. Fairlie’s annoyed comments about Sandy Braxton. “I think I know what you mean,” he said.
“Skill and sneakiness can beat money any day,” Leif told him. “It’s how I got in with these people. You’ve just got to be outrageous.”