Bridgeport Academy » COMPLETE

62

Chris always looked forward to his Wednesday morning Advanced French Literature, but today it was because it was the one class he shared with Alex, and he needed her help. He had to get Michael busted before Michael got him expelled. Enter Alex. She was class prefect. If she accused Michael of something, everyone would listen.

Madame Claubert stood at the front of the room, her long gray hair pulled into a clip at the back of her head. She was one of those older women whose beauty just seemed to sharpen and intensify with age. Her cheekbones were perfectly chiseled, her neck long and swanlike, her body as taut as a ballerina's. French women were so sexy.

"Monsieur Brown, entrez." She stood inside the door, waiting to close it.

"Bien sûr, madame." Chris scooted inside and slid into the empty desk in front of Alex. She gave him her typical raised eyebrow half smile. 

"Thank you for joining us. Now we may get started." She held a stack of papers and passed them out to each row. "Please pair up and answer the ten questions in this examen petit." She clapped her thin hands together. "Dix minutes."

Chris spun around in his chair. "Mademoiselle Crane. Will you do me the honor?"

"Mais oui." Alex was wearing an army green sweater that made her skin glow and a khaki skirt that came to midthigh. She looked totally cute and completely young and innocent. Chris could see why Mr. Jordan would be attracted to her, but how could he be slimy enough to act on it?

"Listen ..." Chris said when they had answered half the questions. He glanced at her sideways, trying to be subtle. He didn't want to embarrass her or anything. "I heard stuff...but did anything ever actually happen between you and Mr. Jordan?"

Alex's jaw dropped. She pulled herself together quickly and gave Chris a withering glare that looked more defensive than angry. "Go to hell."

"No, no, I'm not trying to get you in trouble or anything," Chris said quickly, his fingers twirling his fountain pen. "You know I wouldn't do that."

Alex eyed him suspiciously. What did he want, then? He looked so eager. Chris wasn't normally much of a gossip. She bit her lip and pretended to scan the list of questions as Madame Claubert left the classroom. "So why are you asking?"

"You're probably not going to enjoy hearing this, but I ran into Jasmine in Soho yesterday." He paused. "She was with Mr. Jordan."

Alex let the words make their way to her brain slowly. She felt sick as their meaning registered. She knew it. She knew Jasmine  was wearing Michael's platinum link bracelet that night. How could she do that? Why? And Michael—she'd meant so little to him that the second Jasmine strutted along, he'd dropped her like last year's Prada pumps? She was such an idiot.

"What...bitches." Alex couldn't think of anything stronger to say. The image of the two of them in bed in the penthouse at the Soho Grand filled her with rage. What if she had actually lost her virginity to Michael? Then suddenly all of her confusion quickly metamorphosed into pure fury. He had lied to her. He didn't think what they were doing was unethical, he just wanted to be doing it with Jasmine. "He should be arrested."

"There's really no way to prove they're together, though. Just because they were in New York together doesn't mean..." He sighed.

"It does mean that to anyone who knows Jas." Alex fiddled nervously with the tiny gold studs in her ear. The ones Michael had kissed so sweetly. It was all part of his act, she thought angrily.

Chris slumped in his chair. "And I wouldn't want you to have to go public with your ordeal. I'm sure you've been through enough already."

The thought of having to tell the administration—in detail—what had happened between her and Michael—Mr. Jordan, whatever—made her feel totally sick. She shook her head. "Yeah, I don't think I could do that."

Chris shrugged. "Then we've got to get him on something else."

Madame Claubert opened the classroom door. "Vite! Vite!" she yelled jovially. "Deux minutes!"

Alex tossed her hair and flipped through her copy of the textbook. "Wait a second..." She dropped the book on her desk and clutched at Chris's arm. "The time I was at his house, he had a big bag of coke on his dresser. Maybe we can use that?"

"But you couldn't tell Marymount where you saw it." Chris drummed his fingers on the wooden desk. "Unless ..."

"Unless..." Alex continued, following Chris's train of thought. "I say I went to his house to pick up some DC files and he offered me some... I can say exactly where it is in his house, and..."

Chris nodded, finishing her sentence: "And what's Jordan going to say to that? He didn't offer it to you, that you just saw it in his bedroom when you happened to be spending the night?"

Alex's lips formed a giddy smile. "He wouldn't risk denying it and having me come out with the truth. Can you imagine, a Jordan being charged with statutory rape?"

Chris looked like he could have hugged her. "He'll be forced to resign."

For the first time since the whole Michael B. Jordan saga began, she felt like she was in control. "Exactly."

After French class, Chris gave Alex a good luck pat on the back. She smiled bravely at him and marched directly to Marymount's office in Stansfield Hall. Marymount's secretary, Mr. Tomkins, a balding man who wore only floral ties, was sitting behind an oak desk when Alex walked in. "Hello, Alex dear." Adults always seemed to like Alex, and Mr. Tomkins treated her like she was the bright spot in his day. "What can I do for you?"

Alex straightened her shoulders and said in her most businesslike voice, "I'd like to speak with Dean Marymount, please."

Mr. Tomkins's hand hesitated above the intercom as he prepared to buzz the dean. "What shall I tell him this is about?"

"It's confidential," Alex smiled apologetically. But not for long.