Much Ado About Something

by Michelle Ray

  Sula got up to join the girls in the other room and Peter swatted her on the butt, which was interesting and surprising, but everyone pretended it was no big deal.

  When she was gone, Peter leaned in and asked, “You haven’t told B you knew about the video before Clay showed it to the school, right?” When I shook my head, Peter said, “Don’t.”

  “I can’t keep it from B. It’s killing me that I haven’t told her yet. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t.”

  Clay, whose face was still hard to look at even though it was healing, said, “You’ve got to be an idiot to consider telling her. She’ll be pissed and B’s mom is out for blood.”

  “She hates me anyway.”

  Clay picked at the surgical tape on his eyebrow. “You want to make it worse? I’m already going down. Don’t jump onto my sinking ship.”

  “I can’t let you lie for me.”

  Clay dropped his head, and Peter said again, “Don’t tell B. Not if you ever want to see her again.”

  I sat there wondering how I could go on hiding the truth.

  Beatriz

  My parents went out to a party, but called the house phone every half hour to be sure I answered and told me that if Ben tried to come over, there would be hell to pay. They’d actually tried to make my brother stay home to babysit me, but after he cursed me twenty different ways, I promised my parents I would remain completely, depressingly alone.

  Ben called just before midnight.

  “They’ll never know if I swing by,” he said.

  “No, Ben. I’ve already done enough wrong.”

  “You didn’t do — Fine. Um, listen, B, I . . .”

  “What is it?” she asked, sounding worried.

  I was speechless. She knew me so well. How could I hide anything from her? But how could I tell her? B did not forgive easily and she did not forget. I would lose her. I knew it. And I couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Tears welled up in my eyes. I loved her so much that picturing her vanishing made my limbs ache from wanting to hold her again.

  “B, I . . .” I tried again but lost the words.

  Beatriz

  My insides were ice. There was something so wrong that he couldn’t tell me. Not another girl, I was almost positive of that. What was he afraid to say?

  Ben

  Some people banged out of the house and onto the deck. They were laughing and shrieking and saying the ball was about to drop. A cork popped and glasses clinked. The countdown began.

  Ten.

  “B, do you love me?”

  Nine.

  “Yes.”

  Eight.

  “Will you love me no matter what?”

  Seven.

  “Why?”

  Six.

  “Ben, what’s wrong?”

  Five.

  “I love you, B.”

  Four.

  “I love you, Ben.”

  Three.

  “You make me happier than I ever thought I could be.”

  Two.

  “And you make me happy, but—”

  One.

  Full of love and dread, and with quick prayer, he said, “I saw the video before Clay sent it out.”

  Beatriz

  I know I didn’t hear that right.

  Ben

  “Happy New Year!” everyone shouted.

  “What?” B asked.

  I turned my back to the party. “I said—”

  “I know what you said!” she snapped. “How could you not tell me?”

  I was temped to climb the fence behind Peter’s house and dive right off the cliff. It had to be less painful than this. “I wanted to be with you so much. I decided that if you knew, it wouldn’t change anything, and this way I could help you.”

  “Help me?”

  “With Hope and—”

  “You’ve broken my heart twice now, Ben. I — I—” She hung up.

  “NO!” I screamed at the phone. “NO! Come on, B!”

  I dialed again, but it went straight to voicemail. I started running for my car. Peter grabbed my arm, but I pulled away from him and kept going. I couldn’t breathe, and I had to get to her, had to explain.

  I texted B:

  I’m sorry, okay. I’m coming over to explain.

  Beatriz

  I read Ben’s message and had to stop him, but just then my mom texted:

  Happy New Year. We’ll be leaving in 5 minutes.

  I texted back:

  Fine. I’m here.

  And

  Ben, do not come over. There’s nothing to explain. You knew about the video before Clay showed it. You should have stopped it. You let me rely on you, fall in love with you, sleep with you and you were part of this the whole time? Screw you.

  My fingers hurt from pounding the screen so hard. My arms hurt. My heart hurt.

  I was livid. So livid that I had to get out. To move. I grabbed my running shoes and headed to the street. I knew it was crazy to jog at midnight on New Year’s Eve, but I wasn’t thinking straight.

  As I ran, I mulled everything over. How could he do it? How could he keep something that important from me? And how could Hope be dead? If I hadn’t encouraged Hope to go after Clay, would she be alive? Was it all my fault? Was it Ben’s? Clay’s? No, it was an accident. But without them . . . My mind spun and spun as I pounded down the road.

  When I got home, Ben was in my driveway.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I said, half whispering, half yelling so I didn’t bother the neighbors.

  “You said, ‘Fine, I’ll be here.’”

  “No I didn’t! I said not to come!”

  He pulled out his phone and held it out.

  I read the screen and he was right. “Then who — Holy crap,” I said, staring at him wide-eyed, realizing what I’d done.

  At that moment, my parents came rolling up. When my father saw Ben, he slammed on his brakes, and my mother came flying out of the car.

  “How dare you come here, young man, after everything you’ve done?” She was shrieking — for once not concerned about neighbors hearing our business. “And you,” she bellowed, pointing a painted fingernail at me. “What are you doing out of the house?”

  “I went running.”

  She laughed. “At midnight? Please. You were with him. After everything we talked about!”

  “It’s not like that. Look at me. I’m sweaty and — I went running! I was alone. He just got here. He wanted to talk.”

  “Oh talk! I’m sure.”

  Emerging from his car, my farther was staring hard at Ben, holding my mother’s phone.

  “Ben,” I said under my breath. “Get out of here. Now.”

  Our eyes met and Ben looked like he was about to argue but ran for his car instead.

  Ben

  As I hopped into the car, I could hear B’s father yelling after me, but I didn’t stop.

  I wanted to kick myself. Why didn’t I just tell B before? Because she would have been mad and broken up with me, and I would have lost the chance to show her that I was a good guy. But she didn’t think so anymore, and I wasn’t sure she’d ever let me explain or show her the best me again.

  Beatriz

  “You slept with him?” my father asked waving my mother’s phone and the confessional text I was dumb enough to send to the wrong person.

  I never lied to my parents, and what good would denying it even do? “Yes.”

  My mother yelled, “I knew it! I told you that this would happen, Miguel. I said her being with that boy would lead to this, and I was right. You always downplay my concerns. But I was right!”

  “Why do you care?” I asked quietly. Such a stupid thing to ask, but I couldn’t help myself. “I’m eighteen. It wasn’t a one-night stand. I was with someone who cares about me—”

  “Enough,” raged my father. “You disgust me. I thought we taught you better.” He stormed inside, followed by my mother.

  I was furious and ashamed, and furious for
being ashamed. Sula was right. I wasn’t wrong.

  Ben

  When I got home, I called B’s phone, but she didn’t answer. I called again and again, wondering if she was ignoring my calls or just away from her phone.

  On the thousandth call, she picked up.

  No, not B. Her mother.

  “Stop calling, Ben,” she said before hanging up.

  * * *

  “Maggie, you were close to Bryce?” the president of the school board asks.

  “Um, yes.”

  “Did you know about his recording himself with, um, young ladies?”

  Maggie clasps her hands in her lap. “No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  15

  Peter Donato First day back. Good luck to everyone, especially Clay.

  Beatriz

  I looked for Ben in the parking lot and around the lockers but he was nowhere, so I headed to class. Thinking. Thinking.

  I was still mad about his keeping the secret from me, but he said he didn’t know what the plan at the dance had been, so I guess I had to believe him.

  I trusted him.

  A couple of people looked at me as I walked into history, and a cell phone binged next to me. Then another. And another. Whispering caught like a brush fire, but I couldn’t check because my phone had been taken away by my parents.

  A girl muttered, “Bitch,” as I sat.

  I was sure she didn’t mean me. And then I was sure she did. But why?

  I started unpacking my bag, trying to ignore it.

  Kai walked up to my desk and asked, “What did you do?”

  I looked up, my binder frozen in midair. “What do you mean?”

  He leaned in and scowled. “Why’d you tell your parents about Ben and the video?”

  That stupid text would haunt me forever. “I — You know about that?”

  “Everyone knows.”

  Ben

  “I had to take a whole day off for this,” muttered my father.

  “That’s what you’re worried about?” asked my mother.

  “Yes, because it’s costing the studio a ton of money to have me not work.”

  “Well then go to work,” she said bitterly. “Put movies ahead of your children once again.”

  I jumped out of the car the second it was in park.

  Beatriz

  I dragged myself to second period, my eyes scanning the room as I entered.

  No Ben. Why?

  Dr. Deutsche raised his bushy eyebrows and said, “You’re late. And you’ve been called to the office.”

  Not good.

  The requisite whispering followed me as I walked back out of class.

  When I reached the headmaster’s secretary, I registered the solemn look on her puffy face. I was asked to wait a moment while Mr. Robertson was buzzed, and I looked into Ms. Crouse’s office. The dean was meeting with someone’s parents. The kid slumped in the middle chair, head in hands, was Ben.

  The secretary startled me when she said Mr. Robertson was ready.

  I forced myself to walk into the correct office. Mr. Robertson was standing behind his solid dark wood desk, his tan a little deep for this time of year, his face a show of solemnity. Then I saw my parents, and a sinking feeling washed over me.

  “Thank you for coming. Please sit,” said Mr. Robertson, smoothing his perfect dome of reddish gray hair.

  I did as I was asked. Air whooshed out the sides of the leather cushion and my nervous-sweaty legs stuck as I tried to adjust myself.

  “Beatriz,” Mr. Robertson began, his perfect teeth gleaming in the unnatural light, “your mother telephoned me this weekend and explained that Ben Richardson had knowledge of the video before it was shown. As such, he will be punished to the limits of our ability to do so.”

  I felt punched in the chest. “What?”

  “All of the boys will be expelled or suspended. Ben will be no exception.”

  The room wobbled. “Mr. Robertson,” I said with an unsteady voice, “Ben wasn’t involved the way the others were.”

  “That boy is not innocent,” said my mother sharply.

  “Mamá, Ben has been by my side every second of this. He—”

  My mother said slowly, “He is guilty of your cousin’s death. You should think about the company you keep.”

  Fire flared in my stomach and licked up into my throat. “He wouldn’t have knowingly done anything to hurt Hope or me. He didn’t know what would happen.”

  My mother glowered. “Stop trying to protect your lying cheat of a boyfriend.”

  I felt like I was watching all of this from behind glass, and no matter how much I pounded and shouted, no one heard me and I was powerless to stop it.

  Mr. Robertson tapped his pen a few times and stuck it in his pocket. “We are considering contacting the colleges Ben has applied to.”

  I grabbed onto Mr. Robertson’s desk. “Don’t do that. He worked hard—”

  “Does that mean he should get a pass on bad behavior?” asked my mother, her voice slicing through me.

  “How can you do this?” I shouted. When my mother didn’t answer, I turned my attention to my father. “Papá, you know Ben. You like him. Why do you want him to suffer for something he didn’t do?” I thought of Hope’s face as everyone watched a video she insisted wasn’t her, and of Clay’s anger and of Bryce’s satisfaction. Ben had looked miserable while it was happening, and he said he’d tried to stop them. My parents were glaring at me, looking to hurt Ben and embarrass him not because of the video but because of our road trip. Of this I felt certain. “What you are doing is no better than what Bryce and Clay did to Hope.” My eyes were hot and stinging and I prayed I could keep myself from crying in front of all of them.

  “It’s not the same at all,” growled my mother.

  “And Hope died running away from Tío, not because of that video.”

  “You shut your mouth!” my mother shouted, rising to her feet.

  “Beatriz!” Mr. Robertson barked, but reset himself, and with forced calm continued, “thank you for your testimony. You may go.”

  After floating out the door, I stood pointlessly in the middle of the waiting area. The Richardsons were still with Ms. Crouse. The discussion seemed to have heated up between the adults, but Ben was still slumped with his head down. Then Ms. Crouse rose suddenly, said something, and Ben’s parents stood. Ben stood as if his body weighed three times as much.

  Ms. Crouse opened the door and motioned for Ben to go ahead.

  I stepped forward. “Ben—”

  But I couldn’t finish because his father had taken him by the back of his collar and shoved him down the hall and around the corner.

  Nauseous, I wheeled around and pleaded with Ms. Crouse. “Please. This is his life. He knew something, sure, but there’s no way he could have known how far—”

  “This is not up for discussion, Beatriz,” she said, pressing her lips together. She hesitated for a moment, and I thought she might add more, but she closed the door.

  Ben Richardson Everyone needs to stop calling and texting. Everyone.

  Antonio Garcia The next person who insults my sister is dead.

  Ben

  My parents yelled at me all the way home, talking trash about B and her family, about Messina Prep, and about my stupid choices. Then they began to fight with each other about whose parenting was more responsible for the disastrous children they produced.

  I stopped listening and leaned my head against the window with my eyes closed. Shadows and light fluttered against my darkened lids as we passed under trees and freeway overpasses.

  I pictured B’s face when she saw me on New Year’s Eve, sweaty after her run, her face all distorted by anger and disappointment. Telling her was the right thing to do, but I shouldn’t have waited as long as I did.

  But her face. It’s not like I didn’t know she’d be upset, but that look. It was the disappointment more than the anger that got me. Oh, B.

  She still hadn�
��t texted or called or replied to any email. I had to accept that we were done.

  Except she had come to Ms. Crouse’s office. What had she wanted to say?

  At home, I shut myself in my room. My parents had threatened me with everything, but what did I care? I could live without TV. I could live without music. I could live without going out with my friends. But I couldn’t live without B. And that’s what had me most worried. Even though I could kill her for replying to the wrong text, I wanted her. I wanted to see her.

  I turned on my computer and there were a ton of messages, mostly trashing B and her family, and even though I knew people were trying to be supportive, each message ripped at me.

  I considered running to my car and driving away from it all, but I didn’t want to go alone.

  I wanted to go with B.

  Ben Richardson I mean it. No more m

  Ben

  My father came in my room without knocking and grabbed my laptop while I was typing and picked up my phone. “You think you’re going to play around on this after what you did?”

  I had a great many things I wanted to say, none of which my father would want to hear, so I settled for spite. “Take it, but lock it up somewhere safe in case Alex shows up. He hasn’t come back with your car yet, has he?”

  My father hesitated in the doorway looking like I’d slapped him then walked away. With my means of communication.

  I stared at the walls, wondering again what B had wanted to say outside of Ms. Crouse’s office.