by Kelley York
Got that right. I stare at her, wordless. Is this some kind of plot? Is Autumn downstairs calling the cops and telling them I’m here?
She wrings her hands together. “I just…I had to see you. I needed to apologize.”
“A-apologize?”
“Things…moved really fast.” She won’t meet my eyes. “Autumn convinced me to tell my parents, and…the police were here and asking me questions, and they kept pushing. They wanted a name, any name. I was afraid if I didn’t think of something to say, they wouldn’t investigate at all and so—”
“So I was the scapegoat,” I finish drily.
Callie lifts her eyes a little, shoulders slouched. “You were the only thing I remembered.”
I want to be angry with her, and I can’t manage it. I’m not Callie. I don’t know what she went through those first few days, or what she’s still going through. Not for a second do I think she named me out of malice, but because she felt it was the only choice she had. This is going to scar me until they find who really did it, yes.
But it’s scarred Callie Wheeler for life.
“The lab results d-don’t fully clear me,” I point out, leaning back against the door. I feel like distance between us is good, so I refuse to move farther into the room. “S-so what makes you sure now that I, you know, didn’t do it?”
Callie sits back down on the edge of the bed and hugs her knees to her chest. “I remember throwing up and you taking me upstairs. Then it gets kind of fuzzy…but the more I think about it, the more I remembered you leaving. Like, I remember opening my eyes and seeing you walk out the door. The next time I woke up…” She trails off and it’s then that I notice how pale her face is, how accented the dark circles under her eyes are, and it’s not because she isn’t wearing makeup. She looks…haunted. “I couldn’t see him…”
She leaves it at that and I don’t push. Honestly, I’m not sure I want to know all the details. “I’m s-sorry, Callie.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know why you’re apologizing.”
“B-because…I should have stayed. All of this could have been avoided.” If I’d found another girl at the party to look after her or something, anything. This is just as much my fault as it is anyone’s. Callie doesn’t correct me, either. She just looks at me with sympathy and regret because undoubtedly she wishes I had stayed, too.
“Everyone involved has regrets,” she says quietly. “I regret drinking. You regret leaving. Autumn regrets not going. She was supposed to come with me, you know, and when she found out what happened…she hasn’t stopped blaming herself. In reality, it’s no one’s fault but the person who did it.”
“A-and you’re certain now that person wasn’t me?” I have to ask, because this—her answer—could determine a lot in the coming weeks or months or even years.
Callie admits, “Completely? No. But it’s a feeling, and I’m tentatively trying to go with it for now. Sorry, I’m afraid that’s the best I can offer at this point. I’m looking at you and I just don’t feel like you were capable of it.”
Not the best response, but… “I’ll take what I can get.”
She brushes the long blond hair from her face and turns away, a haunted look passing over her eyes. “I think that’s all any of us can do right now.”
Autumn drives me home without saying a word. I can’t think of anything to say to her, either, so I don’t bother trying to make small talk beyond giving her directions. She pulls up to the curb—where there are no reporters waiting for me, thank God—outside my house and stares straight ahead. “I guess I owe you an apology, too.”
The sullenness of her tone almost makes me smile. “No, you don’t. Y-you didn’t know.”
She presses her lips together thoughtfully and then turns off the engine. When I get out of the car, she does, too, and begins to follow. I don’t ask what she’s doing because it’s obvious: she plans on coming in with me. Holy shit. I’ve never brought a girl home. Mom will still be at work so it’ll just be us, but still…
I let us inside, heart thudding loudly against my ribs. The living room seems like as safe a bet as any, so I gesture for her to make herself comfortable. “S-something to drink?”
“I’m fine.” She toes off her shoes and sinks down into the couch, one leg tucked up beneath her. Still nothing as to why she followed me inside. Brett has been my only houseguest, and he’s easy; he’ll help himself to whatever he wants. Autumn, though, looks around the living room in mild curiosity and I’m stuck standing there awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. “Jesus,” she finally says. “Stop hovering. You’re making me nervous.”
Muttering an apology, I quickly sit on the other side of the couch. “Um…”
Autumn doesn’t look at me. “I’m going to find him, you know. I’m going to find whoever did this to Callie and I’m going to ruin him. I don’t care if it was you or someone else, I’ll find out.”
Some of the rigidity slips out of my shoulders. If this is what Autumn wants to talk about, I can listen. She always appears to be ready to burst at the seams, and I can’t help but wonder if she has anyone else to talk to about it. Certainly what she says to Callie will be more on the supportive side and less angry, and besides that…I can’t shake what Callie said to me about Autumn blaming herself for this. “I want to find him, too. I want to help. If the cops can’t do anything else, th-then maybe you and I can.”
She scoffs. “Working with the rapist suspect to find the real rapist, huh? There’s an idea.”
“C-can I ask you something?”
“I guess.”
“You’re taking this whole thing really personally. I m-mean, she’s your friend, but—”
“She’s my best friend,” Autumn corrects. “When she first moved here, she could have easily fallen in with the popular crowd. And she started to, initially. Then she saw some girl being a bitch to me in the halls every day for no reason, and she ditched them, just like that, and took my side. She’s the sweetest, most loyal girl you could imagine…but she’s also really gullible. I wanted to keep her safe, and I guess I’m just pissed at myself for failing.” Autumn shifts to pull her other leg up and turns to face me fully. A frown twitches at her brow. “If this is question time, it’s my turn. Why aren’t you, like, pissed off? I’d be pissed if someone accused me of rape.”
I smooth my hands over the tops of my thighs. “I-I don’t know? ’Cause I g-guess it’d be worse to be Callie, so I don’t feel like I should complain.”
“Just because one person is going through something painful doesn’t mean what you’re experiencing is somehow less relevant.” Autumn twirls a strand of hair around her finger. Her nails are painted gray and filed to short, slightly dulled points. Somehow it suits her. All claws and fangs but not as sharp as she first appears. I smile a little.
“I’m n-not mad. Not to say I’m thrilled, either, but I’m trying my best to get through it.”
Autumn draws one knee up and rests her chin on top of it. “Tell me about it. Like, tell me what you’ve been going through.”
“I d-don’t think you want to hear it.”
“Yes, I do. I want to know what it’s been like for you.”
I can’t begin to understand why she’s curious about my situation. Because she feels somehow responsible for me being in this position? I really hope that isn’t the case. But if she wants to know… “My mom doesn’t believe I’m innocent,” I murmur.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Why?”
“N-no idea. Just doesn’t.”
“That’s seriously fucked up. What else?”
Honestly, I don’t know where to start. I feel like complaining is the last thing I should be doing. But Autumn is waiting for an explanation and so I give her one, maybe minus some of the details, but I tell her about the night the detectives came and took me to the clinic. I tell her about staying at Brett’s because Mom can’t stand to look at me, about Aaron and his friends cornering me in the bathroom…and I tell her about Craig
Something-or-Other because I feel that part is important. If he’s coming to talk to me, he might be going after Callie, too.
“Oh,” Autumn says after a moment. “Craig Roberts. Yeah. I know who that is. Skinny guy, dark hair, kinda hot?”
“Uh, I guess so.”
“Definitely a reporter. Callie hasn’t said anything about him showing up at her house, but she’s had a few smaller journalists from the newspaper trying to get her to sit down and ‘share her story’ or whatever.” She makes a face. “Which is kind of dumb considering, you know, she was just raped and we don’t even know who did it. They probably want to make an example out of her for why people shouldn’t drink at parties or something.”
“Maybe,” I agree, almost amused at the way she can keep a conversation going without my having to say much. It’s kind of nice. I prefer listening to her over talking.
“Well, your friend Brett is probably right about not talking to him. Newspeople never report things as they get them. They’ll twist your words around and edit the hell out of them to make you out to be some terrible person.” She shrugs.
“And th-that would bother you?”
“If it’s not true, then yeah, it would bother me.”
I asked Callie earlier, and for some reason Autumn’s opinion matters to me, too, so I feel compelled to repeat the question: “Are you positive now it wasn’t me?”
Autumn examines her nails. I find she does that a lot when she doesn’t want to make eye contact. “Honestly? No. I’m still half-and-half. But Callie is starting to think you’re innocent, and if you’re going to help me try to find who did it…”
I open my mouth to say something when my phone rings. Autumn is silent while I pull it out of my pocket and look at it. Amjad. I’ve never turned down a call from him, so I hold up a finger to let Autumn know I’ll be a sec and answer, “H-hello?”
“Vic,” Amjad greets. He sounds…weird. Stuffy, maybe. “Can you work tonight, maybe?”
I glance at the time. It’s five now, and the shop stays open until eleven. It’s a longer shift than I’m used to working and I’ve never done it all by myself, but my desperate need to never let Amjad down rears its head. “Y-yeah, of course.”
“You are wonderful. Thank you.” He apologizes a few times before I get him to hang up, and then I rise to my feet with a sigh.
“Um…I g-got called in to work. I should go.”
Autumn blinks and stands up. “I didn’t know you had a job. Where at?”
“J-just a few blocks away. Rick’s Convenience Store?”
“Oh, I know where that is.” She pulls the keys from her pocket and inclines her chin. I hesitate, unsure if this means she’s offering me a ride or if I need to retrieve my bike, but she isn’t saying good-bye, so…
We pile back into her car and she drives me up to Rick’s, pulling to a stop just outside the door. I offer to run inside and grab her a slushie, but Autumn insists she needs to get back home and she’ll take me up on the offer some other time. I get out of the car and watch her drive away, feeling oddly alone without her presence.
With a sigh, I open the door and step inside. Amjad is behind the counter and I don’t have to look twice to realize he isn’t feeling well. “W-what’s wrong?”
“Ebola,” he laments. “Maybe scarlet fever. Something deadly.”
I raise an eyebrow. He beckons me behind the counter to begin showing me the details I’m unfamiliar with: how to lock up the store, how to close down the register and put the money in the safe, how to set the alarm on the building. I already have my own key, but this will be the first time I use it, and I’m already panicking a little and trying to write the details down so I don’t forget. What if I mess something up or set off the alarm or something?
But Amjad seems to have the utmost faith in me. I think that makes me feel worse. He says the stock is all done so all I have to do is man the register and handle customers. When he leaves me alone, the silence of the small store is enough to almost send me into an anxiety attack. What do I do if someone I know walks in? Can Amjad see me through the cameras to tell if I’m screwing something up?
I sit behind the counter, stomach in knots. For the first thirty minutes, the only customers I see are those who pull up to the gas pumps outside and pay with their cards directly at the kiosks. Gotta love modern technology.
By six, the evening crowd has begun to descend from downtown Sacramento as a majority of offices close for the weekend. Most of the people who come into the store are there for sodas, beer, energy drinks, and the occasional lottery ticket, and thus far, no one I recognize has wandered in.
I text Brett to let him know I’m at work and not at home, since by now he’ll be leaving tennis practice and wondering where the hell I am. I’ll walk to your place after work or I can go home, I tell him, not wanting him to feel obligated to come get me. But he texts back, Going out with some of the guys then I’ll be there around eight, and I have to smile a little.
And at exactly eight o’clock, I hear the door chime and look up from the game on my phone, expecting to see Brett there and—
“Evening, Vic,” Craig Roberts says.
My spine goes rigid and I cram my phone into my pocket like I’m doing something I shouldn’t be, even though I’m not, and do my best to keep a straight face. “W-welcome to Rick’s. Can I help you?”
“Man, it was hard to find out you even worked here.” He glances around and approaches the counter. “No one I talked to even knew you had a job.”
One corner of my mouth twitches. “Sir, if you’re not going to buy anything, I’ll have to ask you to l-leave.”
Craig arches one of his perfectly shaped brows—I bet he gets them waxed—and turns around. He surveys the area briefly and grabs a package of powdered doughnuts from a nearby rack. “Guess I can screw the diet for one night. So, tell me about the party, Vic.”
He tosses the doughnuts onto the counter and my eyes don’t leave him. What do I do? I’m not in a position where I can run away, and maybe he was counting on that. I also don’t have Amjad to hide behind. I’m pretty sure Amjad could take this guy in a fight easily. “I’m n-not interested in discussing anything about my personal life with you, Mr. Roberts.”
He holds up his hands defensively. “Hey, I’m with you, kid. I thought you’d be glad to tell your side of the story, especially since several people are getting Callie Wheeler’s.”
My heart stops for a beat. He’s lying. He’s probably lying. Callie wouldn’t talk to any reporters; I’m sure her parents wouldn’t allow it. Autumn would have told me earlier, right? “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Is it true she picked you out of a lineup by the sound of your voice?” he presses. “What about when she returns to school, what happens then? Any idea?”
My blood is slowly starting to boil. Sometimes, I wish I were the violent sort just to get people like him to shut the hell up. “G-get out, please.”
“I’m still a customer, you know.” He points at the doughnuts.
“And I have the right to refuse service to assholes,” I say icily. “P-please leave.”
This time, Craig’s smile fades, darkens to something that makes my stomach roll. “I’m trying to help you out here. Getting on my bad side isn’t the best idea.”
I’ve got nothing left to say so I simply stare at him, halfway contemplating hitting the alarm under the counter that’s meant to alert police of a robbery. Too bad I’d probably be the one they threw into the back of their car.
Craig takes the hint, at least. He pulls a business card out of his wallet and deposits it on the counter along with a couple of dollars, says, “Keep the change,” grabs his donuts, and leaves.
I slouch back in my chair, hands clammy and trembling. Visible effort is required to pull myself away from the edge of having an anxiety attack. Craig’s card stares up at me from the counter and I almost throw it away. Almost. Something tells me I should save it, just in case, so I slip it into m
y back pocket just as Brett wanders into the store.
“Sorry I’m late. Stopped to grab a bite to eat with Mitch and Connor and we lost track of time.” He doesn’t look at me immediately, but rather heads to the slushie machine and grabs the biggest cup we have. Cherry slushies are his Kryptonite, I swear. When he returns to the counter, he takes one glance at me and frowns. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
“Craig Roberts dropped by,” I say, and watch the color drain from Brett’s face.
“Goddammit. What’d he say?”
“Said it w-wasn’t a good idea for me to make an enemy of him.” I slouch forward and rest my elbows on the counter with a sigh. “He’s probably right, but I d-don’t think telling him my side is going to help.”
“It won’t. He’ll spin it to suit whatever angle he’s trying to get at.” Brett pushes a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Sorry. I should’ve gotten here earlier.”
I shake my head. Can’t exactly expect someone to be with me every second of every day. I have to be capable of dealing with things myself. “I th-think I handled it. He said that Callie had given him her s-side of the story. Do you think she did?”
A frown pulls at Brett’s face as he sips his slushie. “I don’t know. I mean, if she wanted to still press charges despite the whole no-evidence thing, then going to the media would be a good way to get exposure for the case and pressure the police into doing something.”
I desperately want to tell him about my earlier conversation with Callie and why I don’t think she actually talked to Craig. And I would, if my lawyer were anyone other than Brett’s dad.
I can’t even talk to my own best friend. Remaining silent on so much is starting to make my heart hurt.
Chapter Nine
I don’t pretend to understand the point of going to the restraining order hearing the following Monday, but Mr. Mason insists it’ll look better on me if I do. He has me dress in the nicest outfit I own, which is left over from a wedding I went to with Mom a year ago. The black slacks and button-up shirt’s sleeves are just on the short side. The sleeves, at least, I can roll up to my elbows and still look nice. There isn’t much I can do about the pants except wear some of Brett’s black socks and hope no one notices. I tried to slick my hair back and tame the curls a little, but there’s really no helping that.