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Everything Sylvia knows about surveillance and interview technique comes from hours of TV watched while leaning up against Carolyn's comfortable arm, and while she's too canny to take the success of conspicuous TV cops at face value, she imagines it's better to trail her target from as great a distance as possible, without losing line of sight for more than a second.  She also imagines she should keep her head down and dress inconspicuously and have some kind of sophisticated amplifier feeding telescopic sound through her spy-ware earrings, but in lieu of an inconspicuous outfit, anonymity, and tech she has--ha ha!--super powers.

She's learned, from her sessions with Smith, a trick for deflecting the eye, and it works especially well toward the end of the school day when the halls are crowded with kids intent on catching their bus or scoring some points with the hottie two lockers over.  She's learned to mimic the vibe of that kid--you know the one--who walks hunched over a protective armful of textbooks, greasy-haired and pimple-faced.  It's the kind of invisibility practiced by the socially insignificant, and not too long ago she'd have been able to do it without any kind of mental projection.  The telepathy amplifies it into something even more impenetrable.  It's likely even the pimple-faced kid would let his gaze drift over her without more than the passing thought of Loser.

Nick Hurley makes his way from the building with the Drama Kids.  Ginny is among them, but today he veers off and walks away as they head towards the Tasty Dog for their usual sit and sip.

He seems to be in a good mood, joking with people and they seem to be responding as Sylvia might expect them.  No lingering looks, no pretending he's not there.  To them, it's just another drama day.

Sylvia watches Nick leave the larger group and moves toward him.  The haze of insignificance dissipates, and in its place stands Quentin Riggs, the severely freckled stage techie who counts among Nick's closer friends.  "Hey, Nick!  Wait up!" he calls, jogging to catch up.

"Oh, hey Q.  what's up?"

"Dude," Quentin says, "not to be insensitive or anything but, oh my God, what the hell was that on the mind-control channel today?"

"Just between you and me, the most fantastic kiss of my life.  It was worth getting my ass beat by Elrod's goon squad."

"The man sent his mooks after you?  That is, as they say, the suck.  Was he there, too, or did he not want to dirty his hands with the blood of the peasantry?"

"He wasn't there.  They just told me that he sent them to make sure I knew who Sammy belonged to.  Can you believe that crap?  Like she's property of something.  She is sweet and kind and funny and smart and all he sees is another thing he can own.  I thought he was supposed to be cool and it turns out he's just another rich white sham."

"Dude," Quentin says, as if one word can encapsulate the injustice and wickedness of the world.  "That's just fuckin' creepy.  Are you just gonna stay hands-off then?  I mean, the chick is hot, but I dunno if she's get-the-shit-kicked-out-of-me-till-graduation hot."

"Q, you have no idea."  Nick says, "She is awesome.  She sings, and plays instruments, she likes old movies, and she smells like spring.  I'm either suffering from a hormone overdoes of I'm in love.  We've spent a lot of time together, so maybe it's just."  He looks at Quentin, "You know?"

"You are so hosed," Quentin tells him matter-of-factly.  "So you're crushing on Elrod's girl.  Why'd you have to go and kiss her with so many witnesses?  Why not just, you know, keep it on the down-low?"

Nick gives Quentin a sideways look.  "Dude, if you have to ask you wouldn't understand.  It's the perfect moment, you don't let those go to waste.  Besides, maybe, just maybe, there's a chance that she might maybe think I'm okay too.  That would be really nice."

Quentin gives Nick a disbelieving look.  "I say again.  Hosed."  He pauses and scans the area with the stony professionalism he's seen Ving Rhames wield in Day Of The Dead.  "You gonna need protection, boss?  My mad kung-fu skilz may not be enough to take on all of Tickle-Me-Elrod's Muppets, but I can make them think twice about jumping you again."  He flexes his stringy arms.

"No.  I got the message, and that little Psychotic School Special is probably going to ruin the winter concert plans.  So I should be safe.  Thanks though, I appreciate the offer."

"Awright, man.  I'll catch you later."