by Patty Blount
“And what about me, Mr. McCloskey? And the rest of the girls in this school? Don’t we deserve something, too?”
“Ashley, the scavenger hunt was an unfortunate incident orchestrated by boys no longer in attendance here. I’ve already spoken to the coaching staff, the rest of the faculty, and security to make sure activities like that hunt are not repeated. What more do you want?”
I grab my bag and take off. It was a waste of time to come here. Nothing’s going to change.
Unless I force it to.
• • •
“So what are you gonna do?” Tara asks me after school. We’re sitting on the athletic field, watching Mr. Davidson, the new coach, try out players, waiting for an opportunity to talk to him.
I have to talk to him and make him understand in a way Mr. McCloskey never has. But Tara’s question makes me anxious.
“I have no idea,” I finally admit. “All I know is I don’t like the looks I got from damn near everybody in class when that announcement was made. I feel like they just declared open season on me.”
Those words trigger something in my stupid brain that sends me sliding back down memory lane to that time when I really had been hunted…and hurt. There’s so much I remember about that day, and so much I can’t. Mom always says Thank God to that.
Me?
I’m not so sure it’s a good thing.
I remember feeling so happy, I was giddy with it. Vic Patton. A senior! And he wanted to hang with me. My belly flipped, like it does at the top of a roller coaster. It kept flipping in all the best possible ways when he took my hand and led me to the field, under the bleachers, and when he kissed me. Even now, two years later, I can still taste the beer on our tongues…feel the tingles. So many tingles. We sat on the ground under the bleachers, but it was disgusting under there. Dirt, cigarette butts, and the smell of sour, moldy bread from the dozens of old beers that had spilled there over time. We drank too much of the six-pack he carried. We kissed, and his stubble scraped my skin. I liked it. And then I didn’t. I began to feel sick and dizzy and sleepy. The next time my belly did that flippy thing, all that beer wanted to rush back up. But Vic pushed me down into the dirt. I can feel it, right now, feel the dirt and the bits of plastic and metal and glass—bite into my skin. Nothing tingled, nothing felt good, but he was still kissing me, touching me in places I didn’t want him to touch and—
“Ashley. Ashley!”
Tara’s hands on my shoulders suddenly bring her face into focus. Not Vic’s.
Not Vic’s.
A shiver of revulsion skates up and down my spine. And I want to just fold up into a tiny ball and roll away.
“Oh, Ashley, it’s okay now.” She hugs me, and that’s when the tears sting the back of my eyes.
“No. No, it’s not, Tara.” I hold her tight. “And I don’t think it ever will be again. I was late this morning because I couldn’t get dressed without obsessing whether every outfit I own is asking for it.”
“Oh, honey,” she says, tightening her hold on me. “I’m so sorry.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Nobody gets it, Tara. Nobody. They think I should be over it by now. First, they bring back football, and then, in six more months, he gets out of prison. What happens to me then, Tara? How am I supposed to heal? How the hell am I supposed to function when the whole world says this is only my problem?” I feel the familiar tightening in my chest and want to sob, but I can’t, because if I do, I might never stop. Damn it, I thought I was past this. I thought this part was over. It’s been two years of painfully slow progress trying to forget, trying to put it behind me, and then I find out I’ll have to spend the rest of my life living in a world doing its best to make sure I can never forget.
Forget.
I pull away from Tara, swiping my nose, almost amused by that word. God, I used to forget things all the time. I forgot the answers to the chem quiz I studied for. I forgot the steps in the dance routine I’d practiced. I forgot to clean my room and do the dishes. I forgot that Derek told me to take the bus home. No big deal, right? Everybody forgets stuff.
I wish I could forget this. I wish so hard, but the only thing that does is give me a headache.
I try to hold it in, but that sob bursts out of me, loud and raspy. Tara’s arms come back around me, and I know my life is never going to be like it was again.
“You’re safe now.” She repeats it over and over again.
Am I? Am I really?
“You don’t have to do this. Let’s leave. Let’s just go.”
Go? Oh, yes! Let’s go. Let’s hop in a car or on a train and see where it takes us. I can change my name. I can be someone besides the Bellford High School Rape Victim.
“This can’t happen again, Tara. It just can’t.”
I have to stop this from starting again. I have no idea how, but I have to try. Nobody should feel the way I feel.
I reach up and squeeze her hand in thanks, then give pacing a shot. The grass crunches softly under my tennis shoes. We watch Mr. Davidson examine his prospects, who seem to be comprised of every single boy in our school. They stand in lines like good little soldiers while he walks up and down the ranks, twirling a whistle around his hand.
I know, somewhere in the logical part of my brain, that football doesn’t deserve the blame. It’s just a game. But football plays a part. I don’t know if it’s the flow of testosterone going unchecked that does it or if the players let the entire town’s adoration go to their heads. Or maybe it’s all that male bonding. I just know that when boys get off that field, they’re…different.
Aggressive.
Belligerent.
And feel like they deserve to get anything they want for punishing their bodies out there on that field.
Is it fair of me to blame the game for that? Probably not. I’m basing this on past experience. An experience I seem doomed to keep reliving.
A throat clears behind me and nearly launches me into orbit. “Um, hey, Ashley.”
I whip around and find Sebastian Valenti standing there. I force myself to relax.
“I, um, just wanted to see how you’re doing. You know.” He waves a hand toward the big football meeting happening in front of us. “I figure this has to be pretty upsetting for you.”
Upsetting? There’s that word again. Try stuff-of-nightmares terrifying.
Sebastian clears his throat again. “Yeah, so. Anyway. I was thinking, if you want to talk to Mr. Davidson, tell him… I don’t know. Tell him what happened two years ago. I could go with you. Like, for support.”
“Yeah, um, that’s a great idea.” Tara nudges me. “Right, Ash?”
“Yeah. Sure. Okay.”
Sebastian smiles, and it’s really sweet. He doesn’t smile that much. I don’t know why. He’s tall and broad—he’s built like the football player he used to be. His hair is sandy brown, and it flips in the front in the most perfect way that makes me want to run my fingers through it. It swooshes like the Nike logo. His eyes are green right now. Every time I look at him, all I can think is…sweet.
I turn to Tara. “Will you stay?”
She looks surprised for a second and then nods, her black hair swinging. It’s longer now than when I met her two years ago. No longer cut in a chin-length bob, it skims past her shoulders in a shiny black curtain. “Whatever you need, Ashley.”
Then Sebastian sits on the grass, kicking out his long legs in front of him, and watches the meeting. After a minute, Tara and I do the same. It’s a pretty day. Birds chirp. The sky is bright and blue. A stupid vocabulary word pops into my brain. Idyllic. Yeah. That’s the word.
As long as you don’t peel back the curtain, look too closely.
“What are you gonna tell him?” Tara asks.
My mouth goes dry. I hate talking about the rape, about the hunt, about all of this shit. But I have to, if I am to
have any prayer of preventing it from happening again. “All of it, Tara. Every minute.”
Sebastian and Tara share a glance.
“Even Derek?” she asks.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yeah. Him too.”
Everything means all the family crap, even Derek’s betrayal.
4
Derek
NOW
LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK
“You okay?”
I jerk when Brittany slides next to me, startling me out of my dark thoughts. “Holy shit, Britt.” I scrub both hands over my face to feel something besides numb. It doesn’t help. And the thing is, I know she’s not making small talk. She’s genuinely worried about me.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I shrug. “Don’t you have a class now?”
Britt nods and squeezes my hand. “Yeah, but I figured you’d come to the stadium, so…” She trails off and lifts one shoulder in a tiny shrug.
Yeah. So.
“Derek, does she hate me?” She shifts to face me head-on, and her eyes swim with tears. “I mean, she doesn’t return my messages.” Another shrug. “I don’t even know if she’s okay with you and me.”
Brittany has really amazing eyes. So blue, they’re almost purple. I have no damn clue why I never made a move on her back in high school. I sigh and put my arm around her. “Britt, she kind of hates the whole world right now, you know?”
That was a lie. Ashley hates only two people—me and Vic.
“Yeah. But the whole world didn’t tell her to relax when she expressed her disgust and outrage over that stupid hunt.” She screws up her whole face, and it hits me that the disgust and outrage she’s talking about is directed at herself. “I told her to let it go. I told her to just roll with it and support the team. I even told her she was wrong that day when she tripped Doug.” She jumps up and paces, her flip-flops making that sound I always thought meant summer. Now it’s just epically out of place.
I stand up and catch her as she paces. “Britt, I did something a lot worse than that.”
Brittany’s eyes fill with understanding. “You didn’t mean it.”
God, I wish I could say that. But no. “Yeah. I really did at the time. Trust me. She doesn’t hate anybody more than she hates me.” Not even Victor, and that makes me want to puke. “Why do you think I’m here at a school so far away from home?”
“Oh, Derek. I’m so sorry.”
A tear spills over and slowly rolls down Britt’s face, and I’m totally wrecked by it. I pull her in for a hug.
“I live with it. Maybe someday she’ll forgive me.”
“I hope so. But I think you need to forgive yourself, too.”
My eyebrows shoot up at that. Forgiving myself is probably about as likely as winning the lottery or getting struck by lightning. I know what I did. I know I can’t ever take it back. And I know there’s nothing I can do to make it right.
“Don’t give me that look. I’m serious,” Britt continues. “I think you should take a closer look at that GAR thing.”
“Britt, nothing I ever do is gonna—”
“Not for Ashley. For you.” She gives me an extra hard squeeze and pulls away and sits back on the bench. “Derek, I know you. You’re a physical person. You need to do something, take action, or you feel useless.”
Jeez, we’ve been at school for less than a month, and she’s already whipping out the psych shit. I shake my head and pray for patience.
“And,” she continues, obviously ignoring the eye roll I just gave her. “It’ll help people here. You’re this big strong football player. Your involvement will encourage others to participate. That’s how you get a groundswell moving.”
“A what?” I ask, even though I don’t really care. I sit next to her again. It’s the only place I ever feel warm now. Next to Brittany Meyers.
“A groundswell. Think of it like mob mentality, only positive.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
I love her voice.
I love her, but I haven’t said the words yet. Probably because I don’t know if she feels the same way. Or maybe because I’m chickenshit. She’s with me, so I guess that means she likes me. And she kisses me and lets me touch her, which has to mean she likes me likes me, right? Yeah. ’Course it does. But I know who I am. And I know what I am. So that makes it really hard to accept that there’s somebody who could love me who’s not my parents, and I’m actually not all that sure about them anymore.
Love. Holy shit.
I feel this pain whenever I think of Britt. It’s a good kind of pain, a feeling that says, “Hey! Your heart can race for something besides football, pal!” That’s how I feel right now with Brittany sitting next to me.
But I can’t tell her if Ashley hates her. I don’t know what Ashley thinks about anything anymore.
“I miss her,” Britt says after a few minutes.
And that ratchets my pain up to stab levels because God, so do I.
“Yeah.”
“She’s…I don’t know. Vacant?” Britt asks.
Vacant.
I try out the word and shake my head. “No, not vacant. It’s like she’s behind this impenetrable fortress, you know? Something she erected to keep out all the voices throwing shade at her for canceling football.” I was one of those voices. Stab, stab.
“Oh God, you’re right. The girls at school were great, though—most of them, anyway. When she went public, they were ready to pick up pitchforks and storm the principal’s office behind her.”
I laugh once. “That’s cool. You should have. There were too many others who wanted to pick up pitchforks and run her out of town.”
“Sebastian was like this real-life hero,” Brittany says. “Wish the rest of the guys followed his lead.” She doesn’t say it, but there’s blame implied.
I nod because she’s right—we should have followed his lead. I rub my chest where pain is starting to burn a hole. “I hated him for a long time.”
“You did? Why? He saved Ashley.”
I rocked my head, acknowledging the truth in that. “Yeah. He did.” I didn’t. “I just wish…” I trail off, hating to think about what I let happen to him.
“What?” She takes my hands and runs her thumbs over the knuckles in soft, soothing little circles, and the ache spreads out.
“Nothing.” But that’s a lie, and we both know it. I force myself to be honest with her even though it scares the crap out of me that she’ll leave when she finally sees me for the asshole I am. “Okay, that’s not true. I was gonna say I wish I’d understood that back then. I thought everything he did was because he was into Ashley, you know? He’d say anything to get her to like him back. But that wasn’t it.”
“You don’t think he likes her?”
I wave a hand. “Oh, he likes her. Even now, I can tell he likes her. But it’s more than that. He doesn’t do anything unless he thinks it’s right. He won’t cover for his best friend if that friend did something he thinks is wrong. He won’t share his homework. I used to think he was totally disloyal, you know? I mean, we have this giant mega-crisis coming down on the team after the police arrested Victor. My parents wanted the coach arrested, the principal fired, and the whole school board replaced. They were ready to go on the freakin’ Today Show to blast the entire school district for that scavenger hunt. So the guys all band together for the greater good, right? Protect the team. But Sebastian won’t go along with any of it. God, I hated him for that.” What Brittany said earlier about mob mentality suddenly hits me like a kick to the nuts. She has no idea how accurate that was. Nobody wanted to be the one voice standing up for what was right. Not even me, and it was my sister who got hurt.
“Protect the team how?” Britt asks, her eyes narrowed.
I swallow hard. “Um. Sticking to a particular story mostly.”
And her eyes bug out. “Did you—oh, tell me you didn’t lie to the judge.”
I shift uncomfortably. “Uh, not exactly.”
“Derek, it’s pretty much a yes or no thing.”
“I know. I know. I mean, it wasn’t lying. It was downplaying what happened.” Please, please, don’t ask me any more questions.
I have to change the subject.
Now.
“I don’t hate Sebastian anymore,” I quickly admit. “He knew what it was gonna cost him, and he did it anyway because Sebastian’s the only actual man on that team, Britt. The rest of us were all scared boys playing pretend.”
I swear I have no damn idea what Brittany’s doing with me.
She angles her head, studying me for a minute. “Mmm, maybe. But you eventually agreed with him.”
I give her the yeah-right look. “Not until it was way too late.” The pain in my heart reaches critical mass, and I close my eyes.
Brittany’s hand squeezes mine. “She’ll forgive you, Derek. She just needs time.”
I laugh once. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, Britt. It’s been over a year since the trial, and she hates me a little more each day. It’s my punishment, Britt.”
“Your punishment?” she asks.
I sigh loudly. “You know what I mean.”
Brittany presses her lips into a thin line and watches a jogger hit the track that circles the football field, but she stays silent. I let it go for as long as I can. Her arms come around me, and she holds me tight. I cling to her like she’s solid ground after a lifetime afloat in rough seas, but it doesn’t help. I still know who I am and still know what I am.
And neither deserves her.
I pull away, swipe a hand under my eyes, and grab my stuff. “I have to go. Thanks for—you know—listening and coming after me and—and all of it, but I have to go. I’ll…call you or text you later.”
I take off before she can say a word.
Like I said. Chickenshit.
TWO YEARS AGO