One would think boys are less inclined to gossiping than the girls, however that assumption is obviously wrong.

There were always rumours going around the Dorm. Jaime had found himself the centre of some rumour at some point, although by then, it would be impossible for any kid to not get involved in a rumour at least once by the time they were a Junior. Once, a studious nameless bookworm who deliberately holed up in the library and avoided all human contact somehow winded up in an incredulous story of him being a shot caller of Castleton’s Traffick Route, and God-knows but the school had went to an unnecessary length to inspect the poor lad’s life, legal officers held warrant to root through the kid’s trunk and bedsheet and rip through his prized book collections until the kid buckled under pressure and withdrew his file. Nobody knew who spread the rumour, but the so-called investigation never look deep into the matter. Jaime got his own suspicion regarding the validity of the “legal officers” and the warrant the Headmaster had utilized, albeit he never say anything. It was unsaid that the Headmaster only wanted to make an “exemplar” out of the case and proved that Castleton Prep was a strict, dignified elite environment, and that was simply how things worked in an “elite environment.”

Rumours were not just rumours. Everybody knew it was more than words of mouth and playful jabs between blokes. With kids flooding from all over the world, each equally unafraid of getting his hands dirty, rumours are necessary tools to advance and scythe down enemies and underlings. Eventually, even the most pacifist one would have to show their claws.

It was simply a matter of survival, the nastiest wins, dirty tricks allowed, of course.

The first rumour about Jaime came from another American boy in Castleton. Jaime couldn’t bother to recall his name. Maybe something like Austin or something equally unmemorable. The only thing Jaime sure of was that the maybe-Austin-maybe-not had a Seattle accent that ticked Jaime off the way Aunt Myra’s fake-Southern-English voice did.

Jaime and let’s-call-him-Austin were the only Freshmen applied and get accepted for the Opening Ceremony Committee. However, their positions were different: Austin was an Errand Boy, while Jaime got selected to be the Treasurer. It was said that magnet of the same pole would repel, and this was the case for Jaime and Austin. They both sensed each other’s aggressive power-hunger from miles away, long before they shook hands and gritted a Good luck in front of the interview room. Since both purposefully avoided the other party’s presence, Jaime had assumed they were mutually agreed without speaking to steer clear of one another. However, he watched his back, knowing the inevitable to happen. He wasn’t blinded to Austin’s shaded snarling gaze.

One day, shortly before the Committee had started, Austin had casually asked. “Hey, Kenneth, isn’t your daddy Goldman Kenneth? Like, the fraud politician?”

Fishburne raised his head from the accounting he and Jaime were tallying, which gave Jaime no choice but also to look up. “Yes,” He said curtly, then added as an afterthought. “He’s my adopted father.” He did not bristle, did not let the fear and anger seeping into his voice. His father’s reputation as a fallen Congressman had never been brought up. It was a lifetime ago, virtually nobody knew or cared.

Till that point.

“Really? So there’s some hope that the apple won’t fall near the tree,” Jaime’s eyes tightened at Austin’s careless tone that begged for the whole Committee to tune in his words. “We’re in the same school back in Welsh together, remember? You were always stealing other kids’ pencils. I hope you are better than your Daddy, Kenneth. We don’t have a million dollar for you to rob off.”

Questioning eyes immediately swiveled to Jaime’s face, studying him as they had just seen him for the first time, their gaze probing his skin as if somehow his mask would fall off and there would worms crawling out of flesh. Jaime had to restrain his muscles from lunging forward and throttle the arrogant blond to death. Heat flushed his cheeks, but he pressed it down.

Instead, he merely tilted his head in a frown. “Where’s Welsh? Some paper town?”

“You know where it is,” Austin smirked, and snapped back to his Errand-Boy mode as though nothing had happened. He asked around if anyone need him to run and grab their printouts, or help proofread their work.

They all settled and resumed their task. Nonetheless, the atmosphere was different now—tense, taunt and watchful. It was an unnoticeable change, but it was there, hitting him in the face. Whenever he suggested adding something to their already straining budget, the Committee darted glances around uncertainly and drilled him harder than usual for explanation. Fishburne examined him closely over the numbers he presented, dark gaze tried to peel off Jaime’s layer. Distrust was palpable in the air. He felt it wiggled under his skin, prickled his nerves and haunted him into his sleeps. Jaime felt as though he was the child that was first presented in front of many Kenneths, powerless and foreign, an object to be gawked.

The worse thing was that, like in the past, Jaime couldn’t do much aside from pretending not to squirm under those complex skeptical eyes. He could only grit his teeth and carry on, scribbling pages after pages until his hands left red trails on smudged paper, and uplifting everybody’s works to prove his worth.

፨

Later of the same week, Jaime bumped into Austin at the library.

They were waiting for the printer grunted and grilled its way to ink a few pages. Austin smiled at him, didn’t bother to tuck his menace under the cover of politeness. Jaime nodded in greeting and bent to take his English essay, riffled through the paper and passed Austin what was his without commenting on the familiar article that he was caught peeking at years, years ago. His father’s death glare made him look away.

He didn’t ask what sort of dirt-digging Austin was doing. What use would a news article nearly four decades ago proved, aside from affirming the rumour? Was he wanting tangible evidences of his honesty or what?

“It’s uncanny, don’t you think?” Austin spoke up as Jaime turned his heels. Jaime paused, but didn’t turn his back. “You grow up to be so much like him, despite he was your ‘adopted’ parent. You have his mouth and his eyes,” Jaime said nothing. Austin continued, waltzing past him, halted briefly so that their shoulders touched. The newly-printed photo of his father clutched below them. “I say you’re a bastard, and this whole adoption thing is just something your father had used to cover up his track. After all, Jane West wasn’t neither a fertile nor a particular beau.”

Jaime dragged his eyes to Austin’s, his sneer betrayed nothing in his head. “Plausible.”

Austin slapped the back of his hand on the photo and crooked his lips into a sneer. “My Mum calls it true journalism.”

“Indeed. True journalism,” Jaime repeated.

“Uncover and report the truth,” Austin said. “My Mum exposed your ‘adoptive’ father, and I shall expose you piece of plastic shit. You might get in the Committee fair and square, but fuck me, I bet your student life isn’t. I just need to find out what’s your dirty little secret. And I’m going to find it out, soon.”