by Claire Adams
“Claire killed herself, Mom. What are you talking about? What exactly do you think he did?” Mom gasped.
“You don’t know? Oh, baby girl.” Mom’s voice dropped and I heard a mixture of fear and sadness in her tone. “It wasn’t just some troubled girl who killed herself. Claire White…a group of boys from that school drugged her and raped her, Becky. They took pictures of her while they were doing it and spread them all around the school.” I felt my blood starting to run cold; I remembered what I had seen on Claire White’s memorial page, what the people had said about the different boys who had been involved all going to jail. And then the comment that Johnny should be with them. Oh God.
“They raped her? And took pictures?” I heard my voice as if it was far away, I was in so much shock at what Mom was telling me.
“Yes, Becky. That Claire White girl was so ashamed of herself — she was bullied and made fun of and it was so awful that she killed herself. She couldn’t deal with it. If…if Johnny could to that to one girl, he could do it to you, too.” I shook my head. For a moment, I couldn’t believe it, not any of it.
“What happened to the boys?” I wanted to hear it. I wanted to hear her say it.
“The boys are all in prison; all of them except Johnny.” The words made my stomach sink to my knees.
“Well if Johnny’s not in prison, he must not have been involved,” I ventured to argue. I could imagine my mom shaking her head.
“The world doesn’t work like that all the time, Becky, and you know it. He’s a big hockey player — he probably got off scot-free just because of that. Nobody wanted him to be carted off to jail when he could be playing.” My throat felt tight, my mouth was dry. “He was a really big deal in that town; a home hero on the ice.”
“I…I mean, come on, they have to uphold the law. I’m sure there’s just something…” I couldn’t think of anything, though.
“Our investigator was only able to discover that there was a sealed file on Johnny about the investigation. Nobody knows what’s in it — except for law enforcement. And Johnny, of course. But nobody really knows what his involvement was. Becky…if he wasn’t involved at all, then why would he have a police file?” I didn’t have any answers for her. I had no idea what to say to that. I took a deep breath. There had to be something that I could find out from Johnny himself, something to make this right. I had been wrong to call my mom before talking to the man I loved himself.
“I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” I told my mom.
“Becky, please be safe, sweetie. If Johnny was involved in something like this…and your dad says that the frat he’s involved with is wild partiers…”
“Mom, I’ll call you back. Don’t worry about me.” I finally convinced her that I was not going to get murdered in at least the next twenty-four hours and hung up the phone, my whole body feeling numb.
Chapter Two
After a few minutes of sitting in my room in shock, my brain started to finally thaw. Mom had to be wrong about Johnny’s involvement in that case. Even if he was a big deal hockey player in his hometown, it wasn’t like the law could possibly have overlooked that, was it? He didn’t come from a wealthy family. He didn’t come from the kind of family that had a lot of clout. I had to talk to him about the situation, as much as it would put a strain on everything between us. I had to know what was really going on.
As I sat in my room making up my mind, I thought about all of the things I had heard and seen and done with and about Johnny. I thought about the trip out into the woods and how simple and wonderful the date had been, but how scared I had instinctively been when he’d turned onto the trail in his huge truck, away from the town, away from prying eyes. I thought about our trysts in the closet at the country club and in my bedroom. I thought about the way that he had never been anything but sweet to me, but the way I had seen him on the ice, pushing, shoving, and all but brawling with the other teams’ players. I thought about my dream that I’d had — the nightmare of seeing him beating Claire to death with his hockey stick. But that hadn’t been even remotely based in reality, I told myself firmly. Claire’s death had been at her own hands.
But then I thought that if Johnny had been involved in Claire’s rape, then it would be just as though he had beaten her to death. If he had even been one of the guys taking pictures, sharing them around, laughing at the poor girl who had already been victimized, it was just as bad as if he had abused her — it was abuse, even if it wasn’t physical.
I had to find a way to get to the bottom of it. I had no idea where Johnny was — if he was in class, if he was anywhere on campus, if he was back at the frat house or in the dining hall. I texted him. Hey Babe, you busy? I couldn’t bring myself to unload the whole horrific mess on him in text message form. That wouldn’t be fair. I had to talk to him face to face. I fidgeted in my dorm room while I waited for him to answer. Even if he was in class, I knew his phone would be close at hand. He’d feel it vibrate and then he’d respond. I could find a few minutes to talk to him alone — somewhere.
I started pacing my bedroom floor back and forth, waiting. Minutes passed by achingly slowly. After five minutes, I knew I had to try again. Hey Babe, thinking about you. How’s it going? I sent it off and chewed on my bottom lip, pacing some more. I felt like a lion trapped in a cage; all I wanted to do was break out and run amok. I took a deep breath. Maybe Johnny didn’t have his phone on him. Maybe he had it in his backpack and it was on the ground somewhere. Maybe he didn’t know I was texting him because it was on silent. I tried one more time, sending a quick string of emoji. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where he was on campus. I didn’t even know that he was on campus. But I absolutely had to talk to him. I had to get his side of the story on the issue of Claire White.
As I waited for a response from Johnny, I thought about the fact that Claire’s memorial page had been full of comments about the boys who had driven her to suicide. I thought about the person who had anonymously said that Johnny deserved to be in jail with the rest of the boys. That what he had done to the poor girl wasn’t love. I had memorized that stupid posting in my head; I had worried about it so much. I had driven myself crazy about it and then completely forced myself to forget it rather than confront Johnny about it. I chewed on my bottom lip some more as I waited for him to answer at least one of my texts. He had to have his phone near him; I couldn’t imagine why he wasn’t replying. Scenarios flashed through my head. As ridiculous as I knew them to be, they were so real in the instant — scenarios of him being arrested, him committing a crime, or being lynched.
I had to get out of the room. I couldn’t just stay there — not without answers, not without at least trying to talk to Johnny about what my mother had uncovered. She was right about one thing: the Claire White case was much bigger than just some girl who had been troubled, who Johnny hadn’t been able to save. Whether or not he had any part in the attack on her, he hadn’t been entirely forthright with me, and I would have to get the full truth from him before I could put my mind at rest. He told me he loved me. He told me he’d loved me ever since he set eyes on me. How could he be as terrible as that and love someone? He’d told me he loved Claire, too.
As quickly as I had run into the dorms, I found myself snatching up my keys and ID card, slipping my phone into my pocket, and heading out of the room. I nearly tripped over my own feet trying to get down the stairs, too impatient still to wait for the elevator. I didn’t want to run into anyone. I just wanted to find Johnny, talk to him about everything that was going on. I didn’t have any idea of what to even believe anymore. How could someone who was so gentle and sweet have drugged and raped a girl he claimed to love? How could the charming, polite, smart guy I had fallen head over heels for be the kind of guy who could bully and torment a girl to death?
I got to the ground floor, somehow managing to avoid falling down the stairs after several near-misses when my feet didn’t quite land fully on a step. My heart was pounding, and
I could feel my eyes stinging. I had to find Johnny. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, convinced I had felt it vibrate — nothing. I put it back in my pocket; in my panicked state, I didn’t want to drop it on the cement walkway and break it — that would put me out of touch with everyone. I tried to slow down the rapidly beating of my heart and get myself together, but every minute the situation weighed on me more and more. I started out of the dorms, trying to think of where Johnny could be. I checked the dining hall first. If he wasn’t in class, or at the frat, he would be there, I thought. Or at practice. I peered in and didn’t see him anywhere. I even pissed off one of the workers by not even bothering to wait in line and swipe my card, instead making a beeline for the dining area to see if a closer inspection would reveal him.
When I was sure that Johnny wasn’t there — none of the hockey players were, nor any of the members of his frat — I started towards the gym, thinking he might be training, working out to prep for another game. If he was, that would make it harder to get him alone, but I absolutely had to try. I hurried off across the campus, my blood roaring in my ears and my eyes burning and tingling with tears I was on the edge of shedding. It was so hard to hold them back. I had to keep a hold of myself. I had to keep my composure until I could get Johnny alone, until I could talk to him. I told myself that it had to be a misunderstanding, that I would confront him about it and that he would tell me everything.
There was no one in the gym. I checked my phone again, staring at my screen, opening up the lock screen just to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. I clenched my teeth, trying to make myself breathe through my nose slowly and steadily. I couldn’t think where else Johnny could be. Why isn’t he answering my texts? I had a sudden paranoid thought that he knew exactly why I was trying to get in touch with him and that he was avoiding me, just like I had avoided him when I had been under the impression that he was some kind of sociopathic abuser. You don’t know that he isn’t. Maybe being sweet and kind is how he lures people in. I heard my mom in my mind, telling me that if he could do that to one girl, he could do the same thing to me.
I didn’t even realize I was running as I left the gym, frantic to find Johnny. I had to talk to him about this. I had to find out the truth and tell him how scared and worried I was. I had to talk to somebody. I had no idea of even where I was going; I just had to keep moving or I thought the fear and sadness and frustration would engulf me.
As I was hurrying across campus with no idea of where I was trying to go, I spotted Georgia near the dorms. Maybe, I thought, maybe she knows where Johnny is. Maybe she’s seen him. If nothing else, I had to unload what my mom had told me about the whole sorry Claire White situation, the horror of it all. “Gigi!” I called out to her, running towards her. She turned on her heel at the sound of my voice and I realized that I was already starting to cry.
“Becky, girl, what’s going on?” Georgia pulled me off to the side of the walkway, towards the “smoker’s circle,” a group of tables that almost no one except for the campus smokers seemed to ever use. No one was there; it was, for once, almost totally vacant. Everyone was either in classes or the dining hall, giving the area around the dorms a deserted feeling.
The words began to tumble out of me as I cried, hiccupping and gasping for breath from all the running I had done in such a short time. I felt a sharp ache in my side and tried to regain control of myself. “The p-p-private investigator — he thinks — he thinks Johnny was involved…” Georgia stared at me in shock, shaking her head.
“First of all, who the hell hires a private investigator to dig up dirt on their daughter’s boyfriend?” she shook her head again in disbelief. She paused for a moment. “That poor girl. That poor girl. God.”
“I have to find Johnny and talk to him,” I said, starting to gradually get my breathing back to normal. My side was aching so much I couldn’t help but rub at it, even though I knew it wouldn’t do anything to help the stitch there. I sagged against the table, rubbing at my face. “I can’t just…I…” I looked at Georgia. “I never actually talked to him about it,” I admitted. “But with this…how can I not? I have to talk to him, like, soon.”
“Becky, he’s not even on campus,” Georgia said, looking at me in bewilderment. “Remember? The team has an away game. He’s — I have no idea, but he’s probably hours away somewhere. I don’t even know what time the game is.” I groaned. I couldn’t believe it; not only had I totally forgotten about the game, which made me feel more than a little guilty, but I couldn’t talk to him. I buried my face against my arms, telling myself not to start crying again. I knew people would start coming back from the dining hall soon and I didn’t want to start any more rumors than I could help. I had to think. Johnny would almost certainly call me later — on the bus or in the locker room after the game. But I couldn’t talk to him about the terrible accusations my mom’s private investigator had turned up over the phone. I couldn’t do that to him in front of his friends, and I didn’t even know if he’d be able to hear me if I did. His last call from an away game had been so short. But I couldn’t wait until he had gotten back from the game; I knew I couldn’t cope with not knowing for however long he would be away. I had to do something, but I didn’t know what. Georgia rubbed my back and told me to breathe, and as much as I tried to think, I couldn’t seem to keep my brain from going numb.
Chapter Three
As soon as I had managed to calm myself down, Georgia convinced me to come back up to the room and actually think. “You’re not going to accomplish anything going off half-cocked,” she pointed out. I let her lead me into the building and onto the elevator. She shoved a box of her coveted chocolate chip cookies into my hands. “Eat, woman. Eat. When was the last time you ate? Can you even remember?” I couldn’t. As we sat there, talking about anything but the situation with Johnny and pretending to watch TV, a plan started to form in my mind.
I went into my room in the dorm and grabbed my laptop. There had to be information on the game; my parents had had my car dropped off at the campus, so I didn’t have to rely on anyone for a ride. If I could find out where the game was and what time it was scheduled, I might be able to make it there in time to talk to Johnny. The idea was starting to scare me. What if I did talk to him and he admitted to everything? I couldn’t bear the thought that the guy I loved so much could possibly be as cruel as the allegations against him made him seem. I couldn’t help but think, though, that with so many different sources against him, there had to be something. He had to be involved somehow.
Georgia didn’t say anything as I started searching. I found the team’s site and their schedule. “What are you going to do?” she asked me finally. I took a deep breath. The game was less an hour from starting, and the location was two hours away by car if traffic was good. I worried at my bottom lip.
“I’m going to the game.” I looked at Gigi.
“Are you sure? I mean, it’s not going to exactly be easy to talk to him.” I shook my head. My eyes stung and felt dry and achy from the tears I’d shed. The stitch in my side was finally gone, but there was a weird tingling throb in its place that threatened to erupt back into sharp pain with any movement.
“I have to figure out a way to get him alone,” I told her. “I can’t just wait until he comes back. You know I can’t wait.” Georgia started to open her mouth to counter and then closed it, shrugging and nodding.
“Yeah, you’re a mess. You should have talked to him about this before.”
“Shoulda coulda woulda,” I said, frowning. “I thought I was just being crazy. I thought it was just some bullshit thing that people were blaming him for. But if there’s a police file on him… Georgia, what if my mom is right? What if he did it and only got off because he was some big hockey star?”
“Do you really think he’ll admit it?” I pressed my lips together.
“I’ll know it, even if he doesn’t admit it,” I said after considering it for a moment. “Unless he’s some kind of monster, there’l
l be some sign that he’s hiding something from me, and I’ll know what to think. But I have to at least try to get to the bottom of this.”
“Well, we agree on that, at least. You need to know if you’re dating some kind of abusive asshole who drugs and rapes his girlfriends and invites his friends to partake in it.” She shook her head. “But I just can’t believe it. I mean, it can’t be that bad, at least not his part in it, can it?” I exhaled.
“I don’t even know what to think anymore. I have to do something.”
“Just don’t get yourself killed. Stay calm.” I rolled my eyes.
“Might as well tell me to stop breathing as to stop worrying. I’ll stay as safe as I can.” I plugged in the address of the away game into my phone’s map function and put my laptop back into my room. I could easily afford the ticket to the game if I had to. I knew there was no chance I’d be able to see Johnny before the game started, there just wasn’t enough time for me to get there. I’d get into the stadium where he was playing and wait for him and find some way to get him alone — however I had to do that.
Georgia wished me luck and I hurried down to the parking lot. My car wasn’t the nicest or most expensive one there, but it was a good, reliable Volvo. My dad had bought it for me new when I got my license and made sure that I knew every last one of its features as well as how to change a tire before he let me take ownership of it. My parents also insisted on paying for AAA, just in case of some other kind of trouble with the car on the road, especially now that I was no longer living with them. I got into the car and hooked my phone into the stereo system, forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths. I was not going to speed off of the campus and onto the Interstate just because I wanted to get to Johnny as fast as possible. I was going to do my best to remain calm and make it to Johnny’s game in one piece.
I started up the car and pulled up my playlist. I hoped that at least some music would help me get through the drive or help me to keep my sanity. I started the directions and selected an album by Elliott Smith, thinking that the quiet acoustic music would soothe my nerves. I pulled out of my parking spot and found my way onto the road leading off of campus; it was so rare that I ever had to leave that I hadn’t really paid attention to the routes into and out of the property. The directions brought me to the Interstate and I started to feel my heart beating faster again in my chest. Deep breaths. You’ve driven on the Interstate a hundred times. I started singing along with the music coming over my stereo and for a little while, my panic seemed to dissipate. I could focus on the road as long as I kept singing.