by J. L. White
But he has to. He has to agree. If only I could talk to him and persuade him myself. But what would I even say?
“You may want to tell him...”
“I don’t think I need your help knowing what to say, Miss Maddox.”
I’m unceremoniously ushered to the door. Only when I’ve stepped onto the porch do I think to turn and say, “Thank you, Dean Jennings.”
He only gives me the same disappointed look he wore when I got here, and closes the door.
When I get in the car I fill Jack in and we ride the rest of the way home in silence. I keep my phone in my purse, trying to resist the temptation to call or text Shane. Did I really just promise no contact? For how long? Until I graduate? Forever? The dean can’t demand that of us forever, surely, but the six weeks until graduation seems just as long.
I put my hands to my face. God, what did I just do?
I feel Jack pat my knee gently. “It’ll be okay,” he says.
I shake my head back and forth, my hands still on my face, feeling the tears swelling and threatening to break free. Jack pats my knee again and a sob breaks out of me.
“Shhh,” he says. “It’ll be okay, honey. I promise.”
But I can only crumple over my lap and cry. Jack rubs my back as I cry harder than I ever have in my life.
By the time we get back to the apartment, I’ve cried every last tear in my body and I’m spent. I’m leaning back against the seat, my head leaning on the door frame, staring out the window.
Jack turns off the truck and I sit there while he goes around to open my door. He holds his hand out to me and I take it. Feeling too heavy-limbed to carry my own weight, I slide out of the truck and lean against Jack. He wraps his arm around my shoulders, supporting me.
“One day,” he says gently, “this will only be a memory.”
“And where will I be on that day, Jack?” I ask dully. Alone? Without Shane?
He’s silent a moment as we approach the front door. He doesn’t know any better than I do.
“Happy,” he says at last. “You’ll be happy on that day.”
He tucks his head down to catch my eye. I give our Jack a weak smile as a reward for his efforts, but I really don’t believe a word he’s saying.
Chapter 24
The dean calls early the next morning before I’ve even gotten out of bed. He informs me Shane has accepted the terms, and that I’m to stop attending his class.
“You’ll turn your final essay in to me,” Dean Jennings says brusquely. “I’ve just emailed you what you need to know. You’ll see I’ve altered the assignment to make up for you missing the last classes.”
“Okay.” Maybe I should be happy or relieved or something but I’m not. I’m glad Shane gets to keep his job. I truly, truly am and I don’t regret asking for that at all.
But this no contact thing... I feel I’ve been given a death sentence.
“I need to hear you promise me you won’t try to contact him,” Dean Jennings says. “Not in any way. And you should know, I will consider any accidental meeting to be deliberately breaking your promise whether it was accidental or not. Any messages delivered by friends. Any notes in a bottle. Anything. If I find out about anything, the deal’s off.”
“I understand. I promise. I won’t try to contact him.”
He sighs on the other side of the phone. “Fine. See that you don’t. Goodbye Isabella.”
“Dean Jennings?”
There’s silence, but he’s still there.
“I’m truly sorry I let you down.”
Silence again.
“Goodbye, Isabella,” he says, softer this time.
I look at my phone until the screen goes black, then I pull up the dean’s email. He’s more than making up for me missing the last several weeks of class. My final paper is to be 25 pages long with no fewer than seven sources and properly-formatted footnotes.
The topic? The Ethics and Consequences of Teacher-Student Sexual Relations.
Great.
I turn off my phone and stare at the ceiling, numb to the world.
The numbness lasts for two whole days. I only force myself to eat something small and tasteless when I’m too lightheaded to function. I largely stick to the apartment and barely even notice the stares on campus. When someone makes some stupid comment, I don’t even feel it.
In fact, I don’t feel anything at all. It’s goddamned glorious.
When the dam finally breaks, I’d give my entire world to go back to being numb.
Sam’s the first one to come home and discover me sobbing helplessly in the living room.
“Oh, honey,” she says, coming to my side. “I’m so sorry.”
“I can’t do this,” I sob. “I can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can,” she says gently.
I shake my head stubbornly.
Sam sits next to me on the couch, tucking her knees up to her chest just as I’m doing. She puts her arm over my back. “You can get through this. You’re strong. You can do it.”
I can’t even answer. I just keep crying. She sits with me quietly, letting me cry myself out. At last I’m empty and quiet, my arms are wrapped around my ankles and my chin is resting on my knee.
“It’ll all blow over in a few more days,” Sam says. “People will go back to their own lives and forget to bother you. Just ride it out.”
“It’s not that,” I say dully. “It’s Shane.” My voice quivers a bit as I say his name. “I can’t stand being away from him.”
Sam rubs my back quietly for a moment. “It stopped being just fun for you,” she says softly. “Didn’t it?”
I nod.
“I’m sorry,” Sam says. Sam, who thinks it’s a tragedy to fall in love.
I turn my head to look at her, resting my temple on my knees. “I’m not.”
She gives me a sympathetic look.
“I’d do it all over again,” I say. “If I could.”
Sam leans against my side and we sit there as silent tears run down my cheeks.
“Maybe this isn’t the end for you guys,” she says.
But all I hear in my head is Shane’s voice the last time I talked to him. Maybe it wasn’t hard for him to agree not to see me, because he was done anyway.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe.” But I’m not feeling as hopeful as I wish I could be.
That evening we Firework Girls are gathered around the kitchen island addressing envelopes for Chloe and Brad’s wedding. They were going to secretly do it without me, to avoid hurting my feelings, but I found out and offered to help. I want to. It’s nice to think about something besides my own problems, even if just for a little bit, and it’s not Chloe’s fault this is happening. I don’t want to ruin things for her.
As I grab another envelope and check the list of addresses for the next one, we hear the front door open and shut.
“Jack?” Ashley calls.
“Yo,” we hear from the living room.
Sam hops up and scurries into the front room.
“Maybe Jack can take us to a frat party this weekend,” Chloe says, adding another completed envelope to the pile. “I don’t want to just sit around.”
“Aren’t you going out with Brad?” I ask.
“He’s so busy with school work right now. He’s got this final project that’s just killing him.”
We hear urgent whispers coming from the front room.
“Hey, what are you two whispering about in there?” Ashley asks, leaning back in her seat so she can peer into the living room.
“Nothing!” Sam calls, in her I’m-up-to-no-good voice. She and Jack come into the kitchen. They’re both eyeing me.
“What?” I ask.
As Sam settles back in her chair, Jack comes up to the island and sneaks a cookie from the plate in the middle of the island. “Nothing.” He slides next to me and puts an arm around my shoulder. “How’s my girl?”
“Fine,” I say.
I’m determined to be fine. I’
ve been crying enough lately. Right now I’m just going to sit here with my girls and help Chloe with her wedding plans.
“Oh, hey,” Sam says to Jack, bouncing back out of her seat again. She crosses to the counter and retrieves her tablet. “I have something for you.”
“Oh yeah?” he says, pulling her to his chest and saying in an exaggerated Don Juan voice, “How long I’ve been waiting for this moment, mi amore.”
“Cut it out,” she says, pushing him away and smacking his arm. “Look.”
She flips around her screen. “It’s a logo for your company.”
He takes it and looks at it. “Wow. That looks awesome! Wait, what company?”
“If you’re going to freelance, you need a company. That means logos and shit. Here look,” she says, taking the tablet back and tapping the screen. “I made you some letterhead and business cards too.”
“I don’t really have a company,” Jack says, as if the idea of committing to a company is as abhorrent to him as the idea of committing to a marriage. “I’m just doing some random jobs for random people.”
Sam rolls her eyes. “Okay,” she says, patting him on the arm. “Well, when your non-company decides to interact with your clients, I mean, your random people, this is here if you want to use it.”
“What’s that?” he asks pointing.
“For your email signature. And this could be your website banner.”
“Oooh,” he says, taking the tablet back from her and ogling the screen. She looks up him with a satisfied grin.
He gives her a nervous glance. “But I’m not really starting a company.”
“Okay,” she says lightly. “No problem. You don’t have to start a company. It’s just stuff to look pretty. No need to panic.”
She climbs back into her seat and winks at me. I smile.
“I’m not panicking.”
“Just let me know if you want me to change anything....”
“No, it’s great. Really, Sam. Top notch.”
She smiles, addressing another envelope.
“Maybe I could use the website banner,” he says vaguely, wandering out of the kitchen still looking down at her tablet.
“Whatever you want sweetie,” she says, grinning.
By the time we’ve finished addressing the invitations, all three hundred and three of them, and are settling down to watch a movie, we discover what Jack and Sam were whispering about when he first got here.
“Um...” Chloe says in a strange voice. We all look at her. She’s scrolling through something on her phone. She looks up at Sam and Jack. She’s just staring at them with this weird look. I can’t tell if she’s angry or amused or what the hell’s going on, but she’s not saying a word. Just staring at them.
“What?” Ashley asks.
“Have you been on the student group page lately?” Chloe asks.
Ashley’s face hardens. “Hell, no.”
But Sam and Jack grin at each other like little partners in crime and go back to watching the screen.
“What?” I ask.
Chloe clears her throat dramatically and starts to read. “Many thanks to an anonymous source for identifying the cowardly picture taker, famous Hartman womanizer Justin Kirby.” Chloe lets her phone drop a bit as she looks at Sam. “Posted four hours ago by Samantha Lawson.”
Sam’s grinning like a lunatic. “Keep reading,” she says.
“Oh, I have,” Chloe says. “Here’s another. ‘Justin Kirby. Isn’t that the guy with a subscription to the Mickey of the Month Club?’ Posted by—”
“Jack Thomas Anderson,” Jack says proudly. “Keep going.”
I sit up straighter, looking between Sam and Jack, and Chloe, who gives me a slight grin before continuing. “Well, after a few commenters wondering if Sam really knows who took the pictures and other people saying your friends are just throwing things out there, coming to your rescue, things take an interesting turn.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, there are several derogatory comments toward our fair friend Justin Kirby. It seems more than a few guys on campus think he’s a man whore—”
“Hey, hey,” Jack says raising his hands. “Nothing wrong with being a man whore.”
“...and an ass pirate,” Chloe continues.
“Ass pirate?” Ashley says. “Is that a clever way of saying he’s a fucking rapist?”
“There are all kinds of comments about Kirby’s reputation for preying on women, and...” Chloe says meaningfully, looking at me, “there’s even a few women who admit he’s taken advantage of them.”
“What?”
“Even some of the frat boys are coming down on him for being a low-life piece of shit, which he is. Of course, his stupid frat brothers aren’t saying a word, but whatever.”
Chloe lowers her phone and gives Sam and Jack a look I’m finally able to recognize: pride.
“Well done,” Chloe says nodding.
Sam and Jack grin and fist bump without even looking at each other. “I figured that rat bastard could squirm a little himself and see how he likes it,” Sam says.
Jack leans forward, looking around Sam to me. He’s giving me his big, goofy Jack grin. “You like?”
I laugh. For the first time in days, I actually laugh. “Yes,” I say nodding. “I like very much.”
And then there are the nights.
The nights are when everyone’s gone to sleep and I’m in my room alone.
This is what happens at night: I curl up in bed and my heart bleeds all over the sheets.
Every. Single. Time.
Chapter 25
The last day of finals week, and one week before commencement, I go to Dean Jennings’ office to deliver my paper.
He watches me set it on his desk, then gestures to the chair behind me.
“Have a seat, Isabella.”
“I’ve followed your terms,” I say, wondering if he’s going to question me.
“Yes,” Dean Jennings says quietly. “Yes, I’m confident that you both have.”
I don’t ask him how he’s so confident.
He picks up my essay—all 28 pages of it—and starts flipping through the pages.
“I know why you had me write that,” I say.
He looks at me soberly. “Do you?”
I nod. “Thank you.”
He closes the paper and sets it back on my desk. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Isabella,” he says gently.
“No,” I say. “You don’t understand.”
I am glad Dean Jennings had me write the paper. I learned a lot about the terrible abuses that do happen in colleges and universities all over the country. I’m grateful for having a dean who, in the end, is on my side instead of going the route of shaming the victim, as happens at schools that turn a blind eye to what predatory professors are doing at their schools.
So in the end, yes, I’m grateful the dean had me write the paper. But not for the reason he thinks.
“After writing that paper, I understand even better the kind of situation you’re worried about, but...” I gesture to the paper on his desk. “That right there is not what happened between us. We crossed a line. We did. And I’m sorry about that. But professors like that,” I say, pointing again to the paper. “That’s not Shane. And I wasn’t a victim.”
Dean Jennings laces his fingers together, considering me.
I sigh and stand. “I won’t take any more of your time.”
I extend my hand. He shakes it, standing himself. I hold on, shaking his hand warmly and looking him in the eye. “Thank you, Dean Jennings. Not just for what you did for us, but for everything you’ve done for me over the years. You do a great job.”
He smiles at me then, giving me an affectionate look. “Ah Isabella, it’s been my pleasure.”
I smile, release his hand, and head for the door.
“Oh, Isabella?”
I turn.
“You should know, there’s an investigation on Justin Kirby. A detectiv
e may be calling you.”
“A detective?”
Dean Jennings gives me a grim smile. “Some people have come forward. Apparently a certain social media thread gave them the courage they needed. We may finally have the evidence we’ve been looking for.”
My heart starts pounding, a bitter-sweet satisfaction swelling in me as I now have hope Justin Kirby may finally get what he’s long deserved.
“How many?” I ask.
“So far? Ten.”
I raise my eyebrows and lower my head. Ten. That fucking bastard.
I look at the dean and nod. “Thank you for telling me.”
He nods back. “Take care of yourself, Isabella.”
“I’ll try.”
And with that, I leave Dean Jennings’ office for what I sense will be the last time.
It’s two days after graduation. My parents flew in for the occasion and it was amazing to celebrate such a huge accomplishment.
Shane wasn’t in attendance at all.
Maybe because he didn’t want to see me. Maybe because Dean Jennings requested it. I wouldn’t know, because I can’t talk to him about it.
But, on the plus side, Justin Kirby wasn’t there either. He was arrested the night before.
I’m okay with that.
I come back from dropping my parents off at the airport to find the girls in the living room, gathered around Chloe, who’s crying.
“What happened?” I say, approaching her and kneeling down.
“Brad broke things off,” Ashley says.
“What?!”
Chloe’s not even looking at me. She’s just crying into her hands. I just now notice she’s not wearing her ring.
“Why? What happened?”
Ashley and Sam exchange glances. Sam looks ready to go nuclear.
“He’s been having an affair with some girl for three months now,” Ashley explains.
“Wait. What?” I do the math in my head. “He proposed two months ago!”
“Apparently,” Sam says, her voice tight, “he thought proposing to Chloe would help him ‘get over’ his little hussy.”