“No thanks,” I say brightly. “I’ve got homework.”
“Okay. But remember what they say about all work and no play.”
I force a laugh. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’m not turning into a workaholic.”
We make a little more small talk, but finally and to my relief, Dad says he better go. I let out a long sigh as I close my phone. Step one in tricking Dad into believing I’m perfectly fine. I pick up the remote and flip through the TV channels, searching for something — anything — to block out my thoughts … and the gnawing pain inside.
Finally I settle on a glitzy old movie from the sixties called That Touch of Mink that’s just beginning. It stars Doris Day and Cary Grant, and in the beginning it seems like a sweet, simple story about a woman who falls in love with a very rich man. But as I watch, I realize it’s really about a whole lot more, and as it progresses I can’t believe it — Cary Grant’s character expects Doris Day to have sex with him just because he bought her a bunch of stuff and took her on a trip. But she, like me, has been saving herself for marriage. It’s touch and go there for a while, and sometimes I almost laugh, but eventually it ends happily when Cary Grant marries her.
I turn off the TV. What disturbs me most about this frothy movie was that Doris Day had a best friend. Throughout all her troubles, Doris had a roommate who watched out for her, warned her about men, listened to her, and tried to help.
And the reason I find this so upsetting is that I have no one like that in my life. No one! And it feels so unfair that I have to carry this burden on my own. I have never felt so totally alone in my entire life.
...[CHAPTER 12].................
By Sunday night, I have assured Dad that nothing is wrong with me. I wouldn’t have needed to do this except he asked me about last night’s date and I almost started to cry.
“It’s just that Harris and I had a little fight.” And this wasn’t entirely untrue. “You know how it goes sometimes. It’s really no big deal.”
“He seemed like such a nice guy.” Dad looked disappointed. “Maybe you can patch things up.”
“I … uh … I don’t think so.” I glanced away, not wanting to make eye contact. “I actually think we might break up. It might be for the best.”
Again, this is probably not far from the truth. Especially considering that Harris has not texted or called or anything. I can think of no good excuse for his bad behavior except that he is over me. I just wish I were over him too.
The truth is, I still have feelings for him, and the more time passes, the more I start wondering about ways to smooth this whole thing over. I imagine myself going to him, saying that I’m sorry, that he caught me off guard, and that if he’ll be a little more patient in the future, I will try to get with the program. I also consider pretending that my biggest concern is about birth control and that I have no intention of being sixteen and pregnant, but for all I know Harris might’ve used protection. I honestly can’t remember anything past a certain point — besides pain, that is.
Of course, this sends me down a whole new road — what if I am pregnant? Why didn’t I pay more attention to this stuff in health class last year? Probably because I mistakenly believed that my pledge of abstinence made me immune to such worries. So before going to bed, I go online and do some quick research, but by the time I finish reading several sites, I’m even more confused.
It’s nearly midnight by the time I’m in bed. How would Harris feel if I was indeed pregnant — how would he deal with that? But I really don’t want to think about this mess anymore. And I don’t want to think about Harris. All I want to do is sleep this thing away. I may even attempt to play sick tomorrow and stay home from school. Maybe I’ll be ill for an entire week. The comfort of thinking I could pull this off soothes me enough to fall asleep.
But tomorrow comes and I realize I can’t afford to miss that much school. Also, call me crazy, but I’m hoping that Harris regrets his behavior Saturday night. Right now he might be rehearsing an apology for me. And after I dress, very carefully, I wait where I can see the parking lot and watch to see if his car is coming. Finally, it’s just five minutes before school and I realize I need to walk … and that I’ll be late.
I feel nervous as I go into the school building and past security. I am definitely late, which means I have to check in at the office and get a tardy slip to get into class. But it’s a relief not seeing anyone I know in the halls — especially Harris. This gives me a chance to compose myself, and because I’m still considered a new student, the office assistant is fairly nice about the tardy slip.
As I go into my class, I keep my eyes downward, hand the teacher the note, and slip into a seat in back. It’s impossible to focus on math and, fortunately, everyone is working quietly at their desks and I attempt to do likewise. At least I pretend that I am. But the figures look blurry and my brain doesn’t seem to be working properly. Eventually the bell rings and, waiting for the others to leave, I take my time to close my book and notebook, gather my things, and exit the room.
I’m trying to fly under the radar. I’m not even sure why; it just seems like the right thing to do. I suppose I don’t want to bump into Harris, not that there’s any chance of that since I don’t see him anywhere. I actually start to wonder if Harris might be feeling so bad that he stayed home from school. Is it possible?
It’s not until I’m on my way to biology, third period, that I realize some people (friends of Harris and Emery) seem to be glancing at me. And unless it’s my imagination, they are acting differently. Then, in fourth period, Saundra actually whispers something to Deidre, and the two of them look at me and giggle before they look away. I have no idea what’s going on with them, but I do feel worried.
One thing I know for sure, I will not be eating at Harris’s table for lunch today. Whether or not he is at school, I do not plan to risk certain humiliation by assuming I’m still welcome there. In fact, as I’m leaving economics class, I decide to just skip lunch altogether. I’ll grab a soda from the machine and hide out in the library until fifth period. But as I’m waiting for the stupid machine to drop a can of Coke, Buck comes up and gives me a curious look.
“What’s the problem?” I ask him as nonchalantly as possible.
He shrugs. “Nothing.”
The can finally rolls out, and as I’m reaching for it, Buck comes closer to me, leaning over almost like he’s about to tell me a secret.
“Huh?” I look at him in surprise.
“I was just thinking that if I knew what you were really like, I might’ve gone for you myself, Haley.”
“What?”
He chuckles in a nasty way, then turns and saunters off. I’m pretty sure I know what he meant, but I have no idea how he knows about it. For that matter I have no idea what he knows about it. Part of me wants to chase after him and demand that he explain himself. But most of me feels tired … and afraid.
I pretend to read a book in the library and actually doze off until I hear the bell ringing. It’s time for fifth period. At least none of Harris’s friends are in my art class. That’s a relief. I arrive early in the art room, gather what I need to continue my watercolor painting, which I will never give to Harris now, take a seat at the usual table, and get to work. It’s hard to focus, and after I make a couple of mistakes, which I try to clean up with a tissue and some water, the other kids start trickling in.
“I heard you and Harris broke up,” Poppie says flippantly as she dumps her stuff on the table next to me.
I just nod without looking up.
“You’re not sad about it, are you?”
I shrug, still keeping my eyes on my painting.
“You knew it would happen, didn’t you?”
I look up at her with narrowed eyes. “Maybe you should get your own life to talk about, okay?”
She looks surprised. “Excuse me.” She takes off her jacket and hangs it on the back of the chair. “Just trying to be social.”
“Well, save your
self the breath.” I gather up my things so quickly that my jar of water slops onto the table. I swipe it with a sleeve, then head to the back of the room, where I settle at an empty table.
Of course, now I can’t focus at all. How is it that everyone knows about Harris and me? And just how much do they know?
“How’s your painting coming?” Ms. Flores asks me from behind.
I jump and nearly spill my water jar again. “Uh, okay, I guess.”
“I like that reflection of light on the fender.” She points to the front of the old blue truck. “Very nice.”
“Thanks.”
Now she looks concerned. “Is anything bothering you, Haley?”
“Not really.”
She slowly nods, like she’s doubtful of my answer. “Well, I can see you’re a good artist. And if you ever need to talk … I mean, I realize it’s hard changing schools in the middle of high school…. Anyway, I’m a good listener.”
My cheeks are flaming red, but I force a weak smile and thank her, hoping she’ll hurry up and move on. Does she honestly think I’m going to open up to her — a teacher?
I concentrate on painting blades of grass now. Because it’s fairly tedious, this doesn’t require quite as much mental energy. Using shades of gold and pale green, I imagine what this grassy meadow might smell like in late August. I imagine myself lying quietly in the grass, watching the blue sky and clouds rolling by. Will I ever have a peaceful experience like that again? Or is my life forever ruined by the horrors of one awful night? How does a person recover from that kind of betrayal?
“Poppie tells me you and Harris broke up,” Zach says in an offhanded way, like he thinks I want to talk to him, then plops himself down at my solitary table.
I just give him a very blank stare.
“Oh … ?” He blinks like he’s offended. “So you’re giving me the cold shoulder now?”
I just shrug. Perhaps I will give up speaking altogether, for all the good it does me.
“Let me guess,” he continues, unflappable, “Harris dumped you and now you’re brokenhearted.”
I continue with the silent treatment.
“The thing is, Haley, he’s not worth it. Take it from me. I’ve known Harris since grade school and he’s always been too full of himself. In fact, I didn’t want to say anything to you before, but Harris is pretty much a selfish jerk.”
I suck in a fast breath, controlling myself from speaking something in Harris’s defense, which is perfectly ridiculous.
“You know what they say, Haley.”
I roll my eyes at him, then look back down to my mixing tray, where what was once a nice golden green has become muddy.
“Easy come, easy go.”
I glare at him now.
“Oh, I see I’ve got your attention. How about another euphemism.” His brow creases. “Oh, yeah. There’s always more fish in the sea.” He smiles, jerking his thumb to his chest. “Like me, for instance.”
“Please, leave me alone,” I seethe.
“You’re handling this all wrong,” he continues. “The best way to get even is to live well and act like you’ve never been hurt. Don’t let them see you crying. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps and all that rot.” He laughs in a sarcastic way, like he’s questioning his own advice.
I soften slightly. “I know you think you’re making me feel better. But you’re not.”
“That’s because you won’t let me. You’re building up a wall, Haley. If you’re not careful, you’ll shut yourself in there so tight that you’ll never find your way out.”
“It’s my life.”
He nods. “That it is.” Now he stands, takes a mock bow, and goes back to the table where Poppie has been watching the whole thing. I see them talking, heads close together, and although I can’t hear what they’re saying, I can see they’re amused. Well, let them be amused. Let the whole school be amused. See if I care.
Finally the bell rings, but as I’m leaving class, Ms. Flores is looking at me with an intensity that makes me wonder if even she knows what happened to me. But that’s impossible.
So far I have managed to avoid seeing Harris, but as I come out of PE, I nearly run right into him. I blink, then step back, biting into my lower lip, which is still sore. The pain brings tears to my eyes … at least I think it’s the pain. But instead of letting him see me like this, I glare at him. I want to tell him I hate him and he is the slime of the earth, but the words won’t come out. Instead I just narrow my eyes, shake my head in disgust, and hurry on past him. And as I’m walking, I hear him laugh. At least I think it’s him. It’s so weird and heartless I almost think I imagined it. What kind of beast is he?
By the end of the day I am emotionally exhausted. Fortunately, my last class is choir and requires little effort on my part. Just open your mouth and pretend to be singing. No one will know. Unfortunately, several of Emery’s friends are also in this class. They’re all talking about me now. I don’t know what they’re saying or how they know what happened, but I have no doubt that everyone knows something.
After class, Libby hurries to catch up with me as I’m leaving. “Wait.”
I pause and just look at her. “What?”
“How are you doing?” she says quietly.
I make what feels like about my tenth shrug today.
“I heard what happened.”
“What do you mean?” I hold my head high.
“With you and Harris.”
“You mean that we broke up?” I actually am curious as to what everyone knows … and also how they found out.
“That and a lot more.”
I sigh. “Do you mind telling me how much more? Just so I can be on the same page as everyone else.”
“You want the details?” She looks surprised.
I shrug again.
Now she seems uncomfortable. She glances around to see if anyone can hear us and lowers her voice. “Everyone is saying that Harris, you know, spent the night at your house and that you kind of, well, freaked out on him.”
“Freaked out on him?”
She nods uneasily. “Because he told you that you weren’t any good in bed, you know? And then you guys got in a big fight and broke up.”
“Oh …” I’m trying to absorb this. “And how did this story get out? I mean, how did everyone find out so quickly about this so-called big fight and all?”
She holds up her iPhone. “Harris texted the whole story to Cal and he forwarded it to Saundra and, well, you know how that goes.”
I want to set Libby straight and somehow clear my name, except no words come to me, and I’m on the verge of tears again.
“I just thought you deserved to know the truth,” she tells me.
“Right,” I mutter. “The truth.” I just shake my head and walk away.
She calls out to me but I keep on going. I head straight for the nearest exit and hurry out, and then I jog all the way home. When I get to the condo, I’m breathless and crying so hard that my side and my stomach ache.
I wish I were dead.
...[CHAPTER 13].................
I’ve heard of date rape before, but it always sounded like something weird and ugly and out of control — something that would never happen to a girl like me. Even now I question whether that’s what really happened or not. To be fair, I think I may have sort of led Harris on by dressing provocatively, inviting him into the condo, consuming alcohol with him, kissing him, and letting him take me into the bedroom … so how can that be called rape? Or even date rape?
And even if it was date rape, what am I supposed to do about it now? Harris has already spun his story all over the school — everyone believes him. Even if I could open my mouth, which I seriously doubt, it would be his word against mine. My stomach growls, reminding me that I missed lunch and only had juice for breakfast. I fix a bowl of cold cereal, and as I eat it, I attempt to think clearly. I usually consider myself to be fairly smart and on top of things, but I can’t seem to figure thi
s thing out. Mostly I just want to escape it. I want to run and hide.
I put the bowl in the dishwasher, then go to my room, climb into bed, pull the covers over my head, and close my eyes. If I can’t just die, I want to will myself to sleep for about a hundred years. Or at least until I’m an adult and can leave on my own and begin a new life without this kind of torment.
I wake up around seven and am not surprised that Dad’s not home yet. He usually works late. At first this annoyed me, but now I think it’s a blessing in disguise. One problem with Mom was that she had too much time on her hands. She was always hovering over me, asking questions, making accusations, and hatching plans to lock me safely away. Of course, in light of what I’ve done with my newfound freedom, a part of me wonders if Mom might’ve been right.
I pick up my phone and, in a moment of weakness, dial her number. I’m tempted to hang up on the first ring except she has caller ID and she might already know it’s me. I remember how the last time I called her, shortly after Dad got me this phone, she laid into me about how a cell phone would only get me into trouble.
“Hello?” Her voice comes through loud and clear.
“Hi, Mom.” I hope she can’t hear the tremor in my voice.
“What’s wrong, Haley?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Mom. I just wanted to call and say hey.”
“Hey? You mean hello?”
“Yeah, hello.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No, Mom. Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have called.”
“What’s your father doing?”
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now.”
“He’s working?”
“At home?”
“No, at work.”
“So he left you home alone?”
“Mom, I’m sixteen.”
“Precisely. You’re sixteen and home alone at night. Doesn’t your father realize what kind of trouble a teen girl can get into if she’s left home alone?”
“Oh, Mom.” I let out an exasperated sigh but at the same time realize she’s right.
Damaged: A Violated Trust (Secrets) Page 10