Echo Bridge

by Kristen O'Toole

  Farah and I squinted at each other. I didn’t see the point of a standoff. I’d gone this far already.

  “Hugh Marsden raped me,” I said. I blinked and looked away from Farah at the room around me, but I wasn’t looking at anything anymore. I couldn’t believe I had said it out loud. It was like a valve had released just a little of the pressure inside my body, just enough to make living bearable.

  “Well,” said Farah, her face relaxing into sympathy, “that’s horrible. I’m sorry, Courtney. He’s a psychopath.” She slipped a MacBook out of her bag and opened it, tapped some keys, and turned it around so I could see the screen. “Unfortunately for all of us, he’s a psychopath with a get-out-of-jail-free card. He almost broke my jaw once.”

  I took the laptop from her and looked. There were a lot of open applications and lines of text that I didn’t understand, but in the center of a screen was a transcript of an instant message chat:

  BCDHdmstr: Evening, Coach.

  CoachJup: How we doing, Bill?

  BCDHdmstr: Met with the student today. Informed her we would not be initiating disciplinary action.

  CoachJup: Good. How did she take it?

  BCDHdmstr: She wasn’t happy but I handled it. The alleged incident didn’t even occur on school grounds so she didn’t have reason to raise charges with us.

  CoachJup: Will she go outside the school, you think?

  BCDHdmstr: I doubt it. I pointed out that her record would present a problem in a he said/she said scenario.

  CoachJup: Glad to hear it. It’s an unfortunate situation but we need Marsden on the ice this season.

  BCDHdmstr: Taking these scenarios public is never good for anyone, including the alleged victim. I’m not about to let some jilted teenager jeopardize our championship chances. A successful hockey program brings in a great deal of alumni donations.

  CoachJup: We do our best, Bill.

  “Is this for real?” I asked, looking at the two other girls.

  “I have access to everything that happens on the Belknet,” said Farah. “Emails, search histories, IMs, everything.”

  “Oh, my God.” I stared at Farah with horror and fascination. The secrets she must know—I immediately began trying to remember every single email or chat I’d ever sent on the school intranet, wondering what things Farah must know about me.

  She could read my expression. “I mean, there’s way too much happening on there for me to actually see all of it,” Farah explained. “I kind of monitor information, so I know what’s going on, but there’s really no way for me to actually use any of it without coming forward about how much access I have. I break several federal privacy laws every day.” Sighing, she said, “And the crap I see is enough to ruin my faith in humanity. Or at least in men. You would not believe some of the shit the guys at Country Day say-slash-type to each other.” Seeing my face, she quickly added, “I’ve never had a reason to delve into Ted Parker’s email account, and I’ve never read anything bad he’s written about you. He’s on the receiving end of some pretty detailed emails from his buddies, though.” She made a face. “It’s enough to make the World of Warcraft dorks look good, if I didn’t know about their Internet porn habits.”

  “None of the teachers know you have access to all this stuff? Farnsworth?” I asked.

  Farah shrugged and took the laptop back. “Maybe Mr. Lester”—he’s the computer teacher—“but he’s really big on the ethics of the information age, so I think he kind of chooses to trust that I am, too.” She shrugged. “I don’t see why I ought to be ethical when everyone else is practically inhuman.”

  “How did he almost break your jaw?” I asked.

  Freshman year, Farah started getting messages from an unfamiliar email account. Messages like “jihad anyone lately?,” and “we r watching u towelhead,” and lots worse. Farah’s favorite was “your a guantamera abortion.” She assumed the sender had meant “you’re” and “Guantanamo,” although even that didn’t make much sense.

  “My mother’s Iranian, but my father’s American, and they raised me to be an atheist. Unfortunately, the assholes of the world jump to bizarre conclusions based on—” She pointed to her face. Her coloring and features were unquestionably exotic, which is to say, foreign. When the messages turned threatening—“i’m gonna slit your throat and screw your dead face sand nigger”—Farah signed up for Mr. Lester’s after-school computer classes. She knew she wouldn’t learn how to hack an email account or trace an IP address, but she figured she should start with the basics. A few months, a few private message boards, and a subscription to 2600: The Hacker Quarterly later, and she knew the emails were coming from Hugh Marsden. Farah had always been careful to keep both her distance from him and one eye on him. Their sole in-person interaction had been at a party sophomore year, when they’d encountered each other near the keg in someone’s garage.

  “He gave me this look,” said Farah, and I knew the look she was talking about, an amused and evaluative leer. “So I asked him if he’d taken down any jihadists lately. He threw me into the wall.” The idea that this had happened at a party—I was probably there, inside the house with Melissa somewhere—where there must have been a bunch of people around who hadn’t done anything made my stomach churn. Farah did say that Horse Riley had seen it, helped Farah up, and yelled, “Hey, man, what the hell?” at Hugh, but Farah had shaken her head and said it was no big deal. Horse got her a dishtowel full of ice for where she’d hit her face. She heard Hugh mutter something about towelheads and suicide bombers followed by a round of raucous laughter at the keg. She left soon after; she had a feeling the muttering would get louder the more they all drank. Farah stopped going to parties after that.

  Lexi sighed. “As long as Hugh keeps scoring goals, Farnsworth will do whatever he can to protect him.”

  “Farnsworth’s not omnipotent,” Farah said. She opened her laptop with one hand while with her other hand she began tugging at the short locks of hair that stood up at the crown of her head, twisting them into spikes. It was obviously something she did without thinking.

  “Nice use of SAT vocab, Farah,” Lexi said dryly. “But what’s your point?”

  “That there are other authority figures we can bring down on Hugh,” Farah dropped both hands to the keyboard and began typing.

  The cops again, I thought. I wasn’t sure I could handle it. I already felt like things were moving too fast. The events of the day—yelling at Hugh in front of everybody; my fight with Ted; my first real conversation with Elaine; admitting what happened to not one, but two people, both of whom I’d barely spoken to before that afternoon—caught up with me all at once. I pressed myself back into the high, deep chair, wishing I could take it all back. If only I’d stood another foot out of Hugh’s reach in Thistleton Hall—he never could have touched me casually, never would have set me off. I’d still be alone with what he’d done to me, but I’d be able to control the situation, too.

  I didn’t want to go to the cops. Lexi was right: Farnsworth would back Hugh; that was how Country Day worked. I could see the bewildered look on my mother’s face when it all came out, the pity on my older sister’s—Anna would never let something like this happen to her. I could hear the endless tide of whispers that would sweep the school. And there was Ted, of course, who’d discover that neither his best friend nor his girlfriend were the people he thought they were.

  “But it’s our word against Hugh’s and Farnsworth’s,” I said. “Those IMs don’t even prove Hugh did anything.” I was practically whimpering, and Farah shot me a disbelieving look.

  “We can get proof,” said Farah. “We just don’t have it yet. He never describes forcing himself on anyone in his emails. Maybe we can get into his phone.”

  “You can do that?” I stared at her, both awed and creeped out. My cell suddenly seemed very warm in my pocket, like it might burn a hole through my coat.

  “In theory, yeah, but since I never have, it would take me a while to figure out. Plus, I’d h
ave to get some higher-level encryption programs and set up IP masking to avoid getting caught. I’m set on getting a scholarship at Stanford next year, and I can’t risk intellectual property violations.” Farah closed her laptop and held it up. “But there are people who already have all that and can do this in less than an hour. I don’t know how much they charge, but we’ve got an appointment for Friday night.”

  “An appointment with who?” I asked.

  “A professional,” Farah said.

  Chapter 6

  By Friday night, I had managed to put things right with Ted and with Molly, at least as right as they could be without telling the truth. I apologized to Ted again when he called as promised on Wednesday night, and we exchanged a few cutesy endearments on the phone. On Thursday when we parked by Echo Bridge, I swallowed my nerves and gave him a blow job. Like sex, this was something that had been a part of our relationship that I’d pulled back from after the night in the bathroom with Hugh. I was a little relieved to discover that it wasn’t any worse than it had been before. Going down wasn’t my favorite thing to do, but I liked how much Ted liked it, and that was something Hugh hadn’t taken from me.

  I found Molly organizing her tennis gear in Thistleton before rehearsal. After school, the room was deserted, most students at sports practices on the fields across campus. When I said her name, she turned and put her hands on her hips. I held up my hands in surrender.

  “I want to apologize if I seemed condescending the other day,” I told her. “I’ve just seen Hugh treat some girls poorly in the past, and I don’t want him to do that to you. But I get that you can look out for yourself, and I want you to know that I’m your friend, and I’m here if you ever need to talk, okay?”

  “Okay,” Molly said, still wary. “Thanks. Sorry if I was bitchy, too.”

  “Let me know if you ever want to run lines for The Crucible, okay?”

  “Sure,” she said. I could tell she still didn’t trust me. I remembered how frightening Melissa’s and Hilary’s false friendliness had been when I’d first started dating Ted, when I was still an outsider.

  Friday afternoon, I watched Ted’s soccer game against Middlesex with Hilary. My attention was drawn to the man in the suit with the clipboard on the sidelines more than to Ted and the boys on the field; this was the Cornell recruiter who would decide Ted’s fate. Fortunately, Belknap won, and Ted scored four times. When the game was over and Ted had led our boys in congratulating the other team, I watched the coach re-introduce Ted to the recruiter. From down the field, I could see the confidence in Ted’s posture, the way he shook his hand and ducked and laughed, probably receiving some compliment on his playing and leadership. They spoke for a few minutes, shook hands again, and Ted returned to his teammates before coming over to me with a grin and his arms open wide.

  “I know it’s probably bad luck to say it, but I think Cornell’s a lock,” he said, softly enough that only I could hear and no one could accuse him of bragging. He gathered me up in his arms and swung me around. “Could that game have been any better? Did you see that fullback try to trip me? What an ass.”

  “Great job, baby. Congratulations.” I squeezed my arms around his neck. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “I’m pumped.” He kissed me, set me down, and gave a passing player a high five. “But I can’t hang out tonight—Tom’s coming down from Hanover, and we’re doing family dinner. My dad wants to take us hunting tomorrow.” Tom was Ted’s older brother, who was pre-law at Dartmouth. Mr. Parker was big on those kinds of father-son bonding activities. Ted slung an arm around my shoulders. “Give you a ride home?”

  As we walked up the stone steps that led through the woods from the gym to the schoolhouse, the sun, already setting, threw golden shafts of light through the branches, bringing to mind the dreamy, creamy light in the Australian New Wave classic Picnic at Hanging Rock, which was created by placing a bride’s veil over the camera lens. The fall foliage had peaked, and more red and yellow leaves fell every day, like the trees were doing a slow strip tease. Friday afternoon had always been my favorite time of the week, and climbing those steps with Ted as we had so many times before, it was easy to imagine this was just another Friday.

  * * *

  That night, it was Lexi’s Caddie that pulled into the drive for me instead of Ted’s Rover. Dinner had been cleared, and my father was sitting at the table, reading The New Yorker and drinking tea while my mother loaded the dishwasher.

  “Is that Ted?” my father asked at the sound of Lexi’s honk. “Why doesn’t he come in and say hello? We haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “He’s been really busy with soccer and college stuff,” I said, pulling on my coat. “And actually, that’s not him. He’s doing family stuff with his dad and his brother this weekend, so I’m, uh, having a girls night.”

  “Oh, that’s fun.” My mother dried her hands on a dishcloth. “Will you be at Melissa’s?”

  “Actually, I’m hanging out with some different girls tonight,” I said. “But you can call me on my cell if you need to.” I waggled my phone in the air and shoved it into my purse. My parents still forgot that I had my own cell phone. When my brothers and sister were growing up, they’d had epic battles over getting extensions of our parents’ landline in their bedrooms.

  “Okay, honey.” My mom turned away from the sink and looked at me for a moment. “Did you have a falling out with Melissa and Hilary?”

  “No, I’m just hanging out with some new friends.” I buttoned my coat and tied the belt. “I’ll be home at twelve, okay?”

  “You’d better be,” my father joked. Midnight was my curfew, and I’d never broken it. It wasn’t hard—when I wanted to stay out later, I just told my parents I was sleeping at Melissa’s, whether the party was there or not.

  “Courtney,” said my mother. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

  “Mom,” I said. “Yes. Everything is fine. And even if it weren’t, you can’t start a heart-to-heart as I’m walking out the door.” I turned on the exasperation; clearly this scene called for Angry Teenage Daughter.

  “Have fun,” said my dad as I stomped out.

  Over the sound of the storm door slamming, I heard my mother say, “Don’t you think she’s been a little withdrawn lately? And now new friends…” I frowned as I walked down the flagstone path to the driveway.

  “What’s up?” Lexi asked as I climbed into the passenger seat. The windows were down and the car smelled like cigarettes and leaf smoke from the night air.

  “Nothing. My parents were being annoying.” I’d thought my parents and I had an unspoken agreement: they wouldn’t parent too hard, and I wouldn’t give them cause for worry. I figured they’d already done all the parenting they’d planned on with my siblings. But obviously I wasn’t holding up my end of the bargain. “My mom thinks I’ve been acting weird. I mean, she’s not wrong, but I’ve been trying so hard to seem normal. Obviously it’s not working, because she just asked a whole bunch of questions about Ted and my friends and why I’m not going out with any of them tonight.”

  “You wouldn’t tell her the real reason?” Lexi narrowed her eyes. She looked tough with her cigarette set in one corner of her mouth. Her honey-colored hair was tied in a long braid that hung over one shoulder, and a bracelet of narrow leather wrapped around her wrist, crossing over the snake inked into her skin.

  “God, no. She’d tell my dad, and they’d call the school, the cops, and Hugh’s parents, probably. That would be a disaster.” I paused. “Why, did you tell your grandfather?”

  “No. But only because I’d have to explain that I smoke pot and wasn’t a virgin to begin with. Max isn’t big on cops. Max’s parents—my great-grandparents—were murdered by Stalin’s secret police when he was a child in Russia. So he believes in vigilantism on general principal.”

  “Wow,” I said. Lexi’s grandfather sounded like no adult I’d ever known. “What happened to him? After his family was killed, I mean.”

&nb
sp; “His parents’ political allies helped him escape to Paris, and he lived there with family friends until he came here for college. Harvard, obviously. Max has very high intellectual standards.” Lexi lit a cigarette. “The neighbors asked him to join their book club once. They were reading The Secret. He was totally horrified.”

  I laughed and lit a smoke of my own. “He sounds kind of awesome.”

  “Oh, he is,” said Lexi. “I’m lucky as hell.”

  We crossed over Route 2 to the part of town where the houses were smaller and there were no historical landmarks to slow the sprawl of fast food franchises. Lexi pulled up to a small apartment building, opened her phone, and sent a text. A moment later, Farah opened the front door and ran out to the car. She went for the handle on my door, but jerked her hand back when she saw me through the window and got into the backseat behind me.

  “Sorry, did you want shotgun?” I asked, but Lexi was already pulling out of the lot.

  “Nah, I was just on autopilot. Usually it’s just me and Lex in this car. I don’t think I’ve ever sat back here.” I glanced over my shoulder as Farah slipped off her messenger bag and dropped it in the seat next to her.

  “So where are we headed?” asked Lexi.

  “Just get on Route 2,” Farah said. “Once we get to Cambridge I’ll read you the directions.”

  “Your mom on another date tonight?” Lexi asked Farah. I could hear the smirk in her voice.

  Farah heaved an enormous sigh. “Yes,” she groaned.

  “Same guy?” asked Lexi. I got the feeling she had spent a lot of Friday nights at Farah’s.

  “Nope, she’s got a whole new candidate tonight.”

  “Farah’s mom,” Lexi explained to me, “is an online dating connoisseur.”

  “She’s a ho,” said Farah.

  “Where’s your dad? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking,” I said. I wouldn’t have asked anyone else, but Farah and Lexi were so frank and sardonic with each other that I didn’t think I could offend them.