“I need to speak to Mr. Lang,” Abby said. “It’s . . . this is his daughter’s friend. It’s really important.”
She’d crossed the barrier and now Gretchen’s parents knew. She couldn’t come back.
“Abby?” Mr. Lang barked. “What happened?”
“I couldn’t find Mrs. Lang,” Abby said. “So I called you. Gretchen’s home and—”
“I’ll be right there,” he said. “Don’t move.”
He hung up. Abby stood holding the phone and listening to the refrigerator hum. Then she went back upstairs to wait. Minutes dragged into hours. She found an issue of Seventeen and tried to do the “Is Your Best Friend Competing with You?” quiz, but her head was crawling with too many thoughts. She couldn’t focus.
Gretchen snored lightly, the way she always did. Abby watched her sleep. When they’d first spent the night together, in fourth grade, Abby had noticed that Gretchen always smiled in her sleep. She’d told her about it the next morning.
“That’s because I always have good dreams,” Gretchen had said.
Gretchen wasn’t smiling now. She looked dead. A wet patch spread across her collar where sweat trickled down her neck. Abby wanted to unwrap the blanket a little, but Gretchen was holding it too tight.
She waited. The phone rang at nine thirty and again at ten fifteen, but Abby didn’t know if she should answer, so she let the machine pick up. The only sound in the house was cold air hushing through the vents and, downstairs, the crisp tock-tock-tock of the Langs’ grandfather clock in the front hall. Gretchen slept, and Abby watched, and after a long while she heard the gravel crunch and car doors slam. Good Dog Max let out a single bark. The Langs were home.
Abby was coming down the stairs as they were walking up to the house. Mrs. Lang was turned away, reprimanding a delighted Max for getting into the garbage again. Mr. Lang was already talking as he opened the glass door.
“Abby, what—” he began.
“Shh,” Abby said, putting her finger to her lips and pointing meaningfully upstairs. “She’s sleeping.”
“Why aren’t you in school?” he stage-whispered.
Feeling very important, and a bit unsure of herself, Abby motioned for them to go into the TV room at the front of the house. It was dark in there, far from the stairwell, and way too small for the giant leather sofa that dominated the middle of the room.
“We got a call from the office that you two cut class,” Mrs. Lang began.
“I have to tell you something,” Abby said. “It’s not good.”
“We know Gretchen is very sick,” Mr. Lang interrupted. “We know she hasn’t been herself. We’re already taking steps.”
“She’s in trouble,” Abby said. “I think something bad happened.”
Mr. Lang gave Mrs. Lang a look. Did they already suspect?
“Abby, what has Gretchen said to you?” Mr. Lang asked. Then, like a typical adult, he didn’t wait for her answer. “What Gretchen is going through is very scary, and I don’t blame you for backing off from your friendship a little. But we’ve talked to doctors and they tell us that what’s happening is an unfortunate sickness of the mind and spirit that happens sometimes as girls grow up.”
Abby knew what kind of doctors they went to.
“Have you seen her arm?” she asked.
Mr. Lang made his sad face.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said. “It’s terrible when a young person hurts herself. But it can be a reaction to a lot of things. We’ve found someone in the church who Gretchen can speak to, and that’s how she’s going to start getting better.”
“I know you’re as alarmed by her behavior as we are,” Mrs. Lang said, smiling. “But we have everything under control.”
Instantly, Abby was furious. How dare they act like they knew what was going on? They didn’t know a thing.
“She was raped,” Abby said.
Saying “rape” out loud sounded more melodramatic than she intended, but it also wiped the smiles right off their faces. The Langs exchanged another look, as if Abby was being difficult.
“Oh, Lord,” Mrs. Lang said.
“You can’t toss around those accusations,” Mr. Lang said. “You have no idea what’s going on here. You’re a child.”
Abby could tell by their faces that the door was slamming shut. Because they were adults and easily frightened, she had wanted to lay the case out for them one piece of evidence at a time, but now she knew she had to throw it all on the table at once.
“When we were at Margaret’s house,” she said, “three Saturdays ago. I forget the date.” She should have remembered the date. “We took LSD—and I know we shouldn’t have, but we’d never done it before, we were just experimenting. I know now that I should have taken better care of Gretchen, but it was our first time and it wasn’t very strong. Gretchen got lost in the woods, and it was a few hours before we saw her again, and when we did she was different. I think she’s hurting herself . . .” How did this make sense? But then Abby had it again and was galloping forward. “She’s reliving the rape every night, like Vietnam veterans have flashbacks. It’s my fault; I shouldn’t have left her alone when we did the LSD, because that’s when it happened. We all swore we wouldn’t do it again. I promise.”
“You were doing drugs?” Mrs. Lang asked. Abby was frustrated that she was reacting to the wrong thing. “At Margaret Middleton’s house, you did drugs?”
“Someone attacked Gretchen,” Abby said.
“Where did you get the drugs, Abby?” Mr. Lang said in a controlled voice.
Abby didn’t want to tell on Margaret, so she decided to take the blame. Compared to what had happened in the woods, this was small beans.
“They were mine,” Abby said. “But it was just an experiment.”
Mrs. Lang started toward the door.
“I’m going to check on Gretchen,” she said.
Mr. Lang grabbed her arm.
“Grace,” he said, “Gretchen’s fine. You haven’t given her anything today, have you, Abby?”
Abby wanted to be honest, so she thought hard. She hadn’t bought her a Diet Coke, or any food; they hadn’t even stopped at Wendy’s.
“No,” she said. “She’s asleep.”
Mr. Lang steered his wife to the sofa and lowered her gently onto the leather.
“Abby,” Mr. Lang said. “We welcomed you into our home. We treated you like family. And you gave our daughter poison.”
“The drugs aren’t important,” Abby said. “I think Gretchen was . . .” But that sounded too qualified, too weak. They needed to know that she had no doubts about what had happened. “I know Gretchen was raped, Mr. Lang.”
“I asked you if you knew what was happening,” Mr. Lang said. “The night of the book club. I asked you to tell me the truth. And the way you lied to my face makes my blood run cold.”
Mrs. Lang’s eyes were wet as she took both of Abby’s hands and held them tight.
“How long has this been going on?” she asked. “No, don’t tell me. I know exactly.” She raised her eyes to Mr. Lang, who was staring at Abby. “The bloodshot eyes, the messy room, sloppy appearance, loss of appetite, the bad smells. Right under our noses. Right in our own home.”
Abby tried to pull away but Mrs. Lang gripped her hands tighter.
“No,” she said, “you don’t understand. Someone attacked Gretchen. Someone did this to her. The drugs, it was only one time. They’re not important.”
“Oh, Abby,” Mrs. Lang said. “Don’t you see? Her sickness starts with you. We’ve taken Gretchen to the doctor. There was no intercourse. You’re the one who hurt Gretchen. You did it, not someone else. You gave her the drugs that made her this way. There’s no ‘one time’ with drugs. And I bet this isn’t the first time you’ve skipped school together.”
Abby yanked her hands ba
ck and they slipped, sweat-slick, through Mrs. Lang’s fingers.
“I’m her friend,” she said. “I didn’t hurt her. Somebody else did.”
“Don’t lie to us,” Mr. Lang said. “We should have taken steps a long time ago. We thought being around Gretchen would be good for you. Not once did we imagine this is how you’d repay our kindness.”
They were acting like they were the victims, and that’s what made Abby’s mouth start talking before her brain could slow it down.
“Why are you blaming me?” she heard herself say. “You’re the ones who dragged her to that doctor who couldn’t even tell she wasn’t a virgin anymore. You’re the ones who spy on her all the time. You did this to her. This is your fault. I’m trying to save her!”
“Is that what the drugs tell you?” Mrs. Lang said.
“I’m not on drugs,” Abby shouted. “I’m the only person trying to help Gretchen! You two don’t care about her! You just want to control her. You hit Gretchen! All you care about is that she doesn’t embarrass you!”
She wasn’t even aware of what was coming out of her mouth. She just threw words at them, hearing them only after they were echoing around the room. Mr. Lang cut her off.
“Get out, Abby,” he said. “We have given you every chance, but you have poisoned our daughter and our family. If we had known what kind of girl you were, we never would have welcomed you into our home. You’re lucky I’m not calling the police. I am giving you a very adult second chance right now. I am going to call your mother and let her deal with you, despite all the evidence that she has not done a very good job.”
Abby was desperate. Someone had to do something.
“This happened!” she shouted. “You can’t make it go away. She was raped!”
Mr. Lang’s face turned to stone.
“Let me tell you something, young lady,” he said. “If you repeat these vile allegations to anyone, then I will not hesitate to call the police and have you arrested for drugs. And that won’t be the end of it. You do not want to see what my lawyer can do to your parents.”
Tears spiked out of Abby’s eyes. No adult had ever hated her before, and she was reeling. But how could they not believe their daughter had been raped when all the evidence was right there in front of them?
“Is it you?” Abby asked. “Are you protecting someone?” She looked at Mrs. Lang. “Is it him?”
In an instant, Mrs. Lang was off the couch and she had Abby by one arm and was marching her to the door. Abby tried to pull away, but Mrs. Lang dug in her claws, leaving bruises on the soft skin inside Abby’s elbow.
“How dare you,” Mrs. Lang hissed, and then she kept hissing the words over and over all the way to the door. “Don’t come back, Abby. Do not come back. Not for a long time. Not ever.”
Then she shoved Abby outside and slammed the door. Through the glass, Abby watched her lock it. They were treating her like a criminal. They were locking their doors like she was some dangerous delinquent. As if she couldn’t just throw one of their stupid modern flowerpots right through the glass and get back inside if she wanted.
Abby walked to the street, the humid air thawing her as she went, and she realized that she was still wearing Gretchen’s sweater. It suddenly felt very precious.
When Abby got home, she saw that the answering machine light was blinking. One unplayed message. Her hand was shaking so hard, it took her three tries to press Play.
“Mary, this is Grace Lang,” Mrs. Lang’s tiny recorded voice said. Even though it was small, Abby could feel it filling her house with contempt. “I am calling because of what we have learned about Abby today—what she came to our house and admitted—and we are shocked. Please call us as soon as you get this message. This matter is very serious, and we hope there’s no need to get the police involved.”
Abby’s head felt light. A high-pitched whine rang in her ears as she pushed Erase, deleting Mrs. Lang’s message forever.
“I’ll save you, Gretchen,” Abby swore to herself. “They can’t stop me from saving you.”
Jenny (867–5309)
The next morning, Abby parked in the student lot and headed straight to the main office.
“Miss Toné,” she said, “I need to speak with Major.”
There was no emergency that Miss Toné hadn’t seen, and since Abby wasn’t visibly bleeding she made her wait until the first bell.
“I’ll give you a late slip,” Miss Toné said. “But you need to take a breath.”
Abby kept an eye on the window, trying to see if Gretchen was going to walk into school, but she never appeared. The bell rang and Major came through the door. He liked to roam the halls before first period, handing out demerits for bare shoulders, bizarre fads and fashions, or any sartorial expression of personal identity that had no place at Albemarle Academy. He had just finished writing up Jumper Riley for a dress code violation (hair touching his collar) when he saw Abby and stopped short.
“I’m Abby Rivers,” she said. “In tenth grade.”
“She’s been waiting to speak with you,” Miss Toné explained.
Wordlessly, Major beckoned Abby into his office. It had the standard yellow-painted cinderblock walls and institutional furniture. The only decorations were an American flag in the corner, a large framed photo of President Reagan smiling off into the future, and a poster tacked to the back of the door. One half of the poster showed a football player smeared with mud and kneeling on the grass, bearing the words “I quit . . .” On the other half was a giant crucifix atop a hill backlit by the setting sun, saying, “He didn’t.”
Major settled his bulk behind his desk.
“Major,” Abby said. “I need to tell you about something that happened with another student. My best friend? Gretchen Lang? I think a teacher needs to know.”
He turned to a file cabinet behind him, withdrew a manila folder, set it in the center of his bare desk, and flipped through the pages. Eventually, he looked up.
“It says here that you’re one of our scholarship students, Miss Rivers,” Major said.
The digression threw Abby off guard.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “I am.”
Major nodded to indicate that this point was something they both agreed on.
“In fact, at this time, you’re our most senior scholarship student,” he rumbled. “That is a great responsibility, Miss Rivers. Our Albemarle family wants to reach down and find outstanding scholars among those less fortunate, then elevate them so that they might enjoy the opportunities of a well-rounded education. But first, you must help yourself.”
Abby had no idea what he was talking about, but she did her best to be agreeable.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Exactly. And that’s why I wanted to tell you about what happened to Gretchen Lang. She’s not a scholarship student,” she added lamely.
“No,” Major agreed. “I am familiar with Miss Lang’s situation. Now, school has already started and you’re wasting valuable classroom time, so what is it you have to tell me, Miss Rivers?”
Confronted with having to say it out loud, Abby did her best.
“She was attacked?” Abby said, trying to keep emotion out of her voice. “We were staying at Margaret Middleton’s house in Wadmalaw and Gretchen got lost in the woods, and while she was out there someone did something to her. She was gone all night, and now something’s really wrong with her.”
“She was attacked?” Major repeated.
“Yes, sir.”
“By?”
“By . . . a boy?”
“A student?”
“I don’t know,” Abby admitted.
Major leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and studied the poster on the back of his door for a long moment.
“So you believe that Miss Lang was sexually assaulted?”
Abby felt her heart start to b
eat again. He was taking her seriously. She nodded.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“And you believe that this crime happened when you were off campus at a slumber party in Wadmalaw on the Middleton family’s property?” he asked.
Abby nodded, then followed up with a belated, “Yes, sir.”
It felt good to get it off her chest.
“And why isn’t Miss Lang here telling me this?” Major asked.
Abby thought about what Gretchen would say if she was sitting there, the star student, scabby and stinking of perfume, hunched over in her chair, mumbling about Molly Ravenel.
“She’s a little bit confused,” Abby said.
“It might interest you to know that before you arrived this morning, I received a telephone call,” Major said. “Can you guess who it was? No? It was Gretchen Lang’s mother. She was worried that you and her daughter had had a falling out. She thought you might try dragging her daughter’s name through the mud. She told me she was concerned with the nature of your friendship with her daughter. The word she used, I believe, was ‘inappropriate.’ Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Abby’s head felt hollow. She was suddenly self-conscious about how young she was. How young and how stupid.
“I do not currently have an opinion on the nature of your friendship with Miss Lang,” Major rolled on. “But I am rapidly developing one. I noted your unexcused absence yesterday. I have noted the recent changes in Miss Lang’s behavior. Do not think I am unaware of students on this campus who are selling and consuming narcotics, Miss Rivers. I have made it my mission to discover who those students are, and I have been watching Miss Lang very closely. And after this phone call from Mrs. Lang, I am now watching you very closely as well. A worried mother’s allegations are not the same thing as proof, but if I find that you are in any way responsible for the change in Gretchen Lang’s behavior, if I find that you are her ‘dealer,’ I will turn you over to the authorities. Needless to say, that will be the end of your academic career.”
He closed Abby’s file and rested his palm on its cover.
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