by S. Walden
Three
My father stood in the middle of the bedroom looking nervous.
“Well, what do you think?” he asked. He glanced at me for a moment, then turned to the window.
“About what?” I replied.
“The room,” he said. “Is it all right?”
“Yeah, it’s great,” I lied. It looked like a room that belonged to a 10-year-old girl in love with Justin Bieber and the color purple. I would change it immediately.
“That’s good,” Dad replied, relief evident in his voice.
I grinned. It was impossibly uncomfortable standing together in the bedroom, but neither one of us made a move to leave.
“You feel like pizza tonight?” he asked after a moment. “There’s a really good joint up the road. Family owned.”
“Sounds good,” I said. I plopped down on the bed.
“I usually cook,” he went on. “But I didn’t know what you like to eat.” He scratched the back of his neck.
“I eat anything,” I replied. I wasn’t going to make it too easy for him.
He sighed. “You do, huh?”
I grinned up at him, and he chuckled. And then he relaxed, and I did the same.
“Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“Where did you get these posters of Justin Bieber?”
“Wal-Mart,” he answered. “Why? You don’t like him? The lady at the store said—”
“It’s okay, Dad.”
He shuffled over to the curtains framing the one window in the room and tugged on them.
“You probably don’t like these either, do you?” he asked.
I smiled again, and he shook his head.
“I’m not listening to those women in the office anymore,” he said irritably, but there was humor running underneath the words.
“Well, we can fix anything with receipts,” I offered, and he nodded. “Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“I know you didn’t really want this, and I’m sorry,” I said. I thought it was better to just be honest.
It was a weird situation for all of us. Mom was across the country by now. Dad was still living in the past in the same house that smelled of summers when I was nine years old and hosted the best sleepovers with Beth in the history of sleepovers. Everything looked the same, but it was the smell that made my heart ache. And I was in a new place, too. I knew he didn’t understand why I asked to live with him. I didn’t really understand it except that I felt compelled to attend Beth’s high school my senior year.
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “I want you here. I really do. I just haven’t been a full-time parent in a while, that’s all.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry,” I said. “I’m pretty easy and independent. I just landed a job at that diner you used to take us to. You won’t have to worry about giving me money.” I shouldn’t have said that last part.
“Why would you think I’d have a problem giving you money?” Dad asked. He pulled out his wallet.
“No, I just meant that I don’t want you thinking you have to change your whole life now that I’m here. I can take care of myself. I won’t be in the way,” I said, and I saw the hurt in his eyes.
“What life?” he asked quietly. I didn’t know what to say.
He stared out the window while I traced the cheetah print on my comforter. I had no idea Dad wanted me here. Living with him. I looked around the room then. Really looked, and I saw it. The time and detail he put into everything. The bright purple throw pillows on the bed that accented the comforter. The full-length mirror attached to my closet door that boasted a thick frame painted with purple and white flowers. The fuzzy-trimmed bedside table lamps. Purple as well. My old pom-poms attached to the top of the mirror over my dresser. He even found my old My Little Ponies and lined them on top of the dresser. I wanted to cry for how wrong it looked and how right it felt. I wouldn’t change a thing, I decided. Well, the posters would go.
“You have any interest in going with me to register for classes?” I asked. I knew I’d be the only senior there with a parent, but I didn’t care. I wanted to start over—look sweet and innocent—and I thought that Dad accompanying me would give that impression perfectly. God knows I needed a new identity.
“Well, I don’t want to be in the way,” Dad replied.
“How would you be in the way?” I asked, hopping up from the bed. “Come on. Afterwards you can take me shopping for school supplies.” If he wanted to give me things, who was I to refuse?
“Okay,” Dad said, a note of excitement underlining the word.
***
You know when someone is staring at you. You feel it. The hairs on your neck stand up if it’s an odd feeling, if you’re not quite sure you like it. If the person makes you uneasy, even if you haven’t spotted him yet. Or you might feel the wave of heat crash onto you starting at your head and swooshing down your body to your toes. If you like it. If it’s a good feeling, even if you haven’t spotted him yet.
I felt the hairs on my neck stand up because I knew who it was. And I didn’t like it. Or him.
I looked down at my outfit. I don’t know why I cared, but I was starting over at a new school, and I wanted the first impression to be the right one. Dark jean shorts with a see-through billowy top. I wore a camisole underneath the top and let it hang off of one shoulder. My feet sported jeweled sandals. I wore just a bit of make-up. Mostly I focused on accentuating my dark blue eyes. Gold tones to make them pop. Thick mascara on my upper lashes. I kept my lower lashes naked. I liked the contrast. I even curled my hair and left my locks loose, cascading down my back in soft blond waves.
This was so important—first impressions. I was trying to start fresh. I was confident that most students at Charity Run didn’t know who I was because my old high school wasn’t a rival. They wouldn’t know my history with Beth, my history as a terrible friend. I had a chance at a real transformation. I would be a good girl my senior year. I would walk the halls every day and feel Beth’s ghost—a constant reminder of my betrayal—and welcome the pain. It would be punishment I deserved. And if I was lucky, eventually I would be reformed.
Dad struck up a conversation with the teacher helping me, so I decided it was time to turn my face, to let my surveyor see me fully. I jumped when I saw him. I thought he would be somewhere across the gym, but he was standing right behind me. The heat crashed over me then, but not the good heat. I was nervous, and my skin burned with it.
He smiled at me. I returned my own, shy and uncertain.
“You a senior?” he asked casually.
He towered over me, brown hair buzzed, chocolate eyes dark and foreboding. His arms were thick with years of competitive swimming, and for a split second, I imagined Beth trapped by them, unable to move, to escape as he took whatever he wanted from her. A violation of the most personal nature. Too devastating for Beth to overcome, so she took her life in her bedroom closet instead.
A righteous anger flared in me immediately, and just like that, I discovered a purpose. My purpose. It flooded me instantly, a great wave slamming into my mind and my heart, carrying with it the courage and conviction of my newly formed plan. I knew how to apologize. I knew how to make things right with Beth. I was a warrior in that moment, and I was going into battle on behalf of my friend. I’ll fucking bury this guy, Beth. I’ll do it. Just watch me do it. And I transformed into the predator. He just didn’t know it yet. He thought I was the prey, and I’d let him.
I swallowed. “Yeah,” I said, combing my fingers through my hair. I wanted it to look like a sweet little nervous habit. I cocked my head playfully as I looked up at him.
“That’s gotta be hard. Moving to a new school your senior year,” he replied.
“Not really,” I said. “My old school sucked.”
I watched as his eyes roved over my body. He was covert about it, but I wasn’t blind. My skin crawled, and I felt an overwhelming urge to attack him. I’d be no match, I knew, but perhaps I could claw h
is eyes out before he slammed me to the floor, knocking me unconscious.
“Well, I hope you like this school better,” he said after he finished his assessment.
“I guess it doesn’t matter either way,” I said. “It’s our last year.”
“True,” he replied. “But I plan on making it a good one.”
Yeah, I bet you do, you fucking asshole.
“Oh, me too,” I said a little too enthusiastically. He seemed to like it.
“I’m Cal, by the way,” he said, extending his hand.
I took it tentatively. I didn’t want to. Adrenaline was pumping overtime, and I was afraid I’d squeeze his hand so hard I’d rip it off.
“Brooklyn,” I replied. “But everyone calls me Brooke.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Brooklyn,” he said, curling his lips into a pleasant smile. He squeezed my hand before releasing it.
Hmm, so he had no plans to call me “Brooke.” At least not yet. What was he playing at? Perhaps he didn’t want me to think that I had captured his attention. Maybe he didn’t want me thinking we would even be friends. He was, after all, one of those popular guys. I, on the other hand, had no social status and had no ambitions to be popular.
“Nice to meet you, too, uh . . . what was your name again?” I worked my hardest to suppress the grin. You don’t wanna give me “Brooke?” Okay then. I won’t even give you a name.
He chuckled. “Cal.”
“That’s right,” I said. “Cal. Is Cal short for anything?”
He smirked and looked over his shoulder before turning back to me. “Yeah. Calvin. But everyone calls me Cal.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Calvin,” I said. I cocked my head to the side and grinned.
“Hmm,” he replied, and I imagined he was thinking about the type of panties I wore.
Dad tapped my shoulder at the perfect moment. I had to get away from this guy. I wanted to throttle him, knowing what he did to my friend, and I was heady from the plan still unfolding in my brain. And frankly, I was scared of Cal’s physical size.
“Ready?” Dad asked.
I breathed deeply, then thought of the perfect response. “Yes, Daddy,” and he looked at me strangely. I watched Cal’s reaction to my words, certain of his arousal. “Bye, Calvin.” I lifted my hand in a tiny wave.
“Hey wait,” he said hurriedly. He reached for my registration card. “Can I see your class schedule?”
“Sure,” I said, handing him the card. “Any particular reason why?”
“Uh, well, I can tell you about the teachers,” he said.
Bullshit. He wanted to know what classes he could take with me. Gotcha, you son-of-a-bitch, and the image of a big, fat tuna wriggling on a tiny hook came to mind. A slow, tortuous death, and I smiled, imagining the last desperate flop.
“Like Ms. Walker. She’ll have you doing all sorts of presentations in class. Good if you like public speaking, but I think most of us freaking hate it,” he said.
I nodded.
“And Mr. Hatchet—”
“Yikes, that’s a scary name.”
“No kidding. He’s a jerk. Just so you know. Don’t try to win him over with your feminine charms. It doesn’t work on him. He won’t even take legitimate excuses for missing class. Not even doctors notes.”
“Sounds like a jerk,” I echoed.
“Um, the rest are okay. I see you’re doing Yearbook? I was planning on that, too,” Cal said.
Were you, Cal? Were you really planning on doing Yearbook? Give me a break.
“Well, if you do, maybe we can work together. You know, go take pictures together or whatever,” I offered. Sickly sweet. Good girl.
“Yeah, maybe,” he said, and handed me the card. “I’ll see you later.”
“Okay. See you next week, Calvin,” I said as he walked away.
“Making friends already, huh?” Dad asked as we made our way out of the gym to Dad’s old pickup truck.
“Hardly,” I replied. “Though he seemed nice enough.”
The lie felt heavy in my mouth. He wasn’t nice enough. He wasn’t nice at all, and I knew it.
***
Make him pay.
That much was settled. I’d make him pay. I just didn’t know if I’d do it by taking a baseball bat to his balls, putting a 9 mm to his head and pulling the trigger, or something more subversive. The idea came to me in the gym, and I entertained it now. The idea of letting him have me. Seduce him without him knowing, give him the perfect opportunity to take advantage of me, then make him pay for it afterwards. Could I actually go through with it, though? Could I give up my body as a sacrifice to seek vengeance? Was I strong enough? Crazy enough?
I could never do it if I was a virgin, but I wasn’t a virgin. Not that it makes being raped any less painful or traumatic. Still, I thought that having my virginity out of the way made it less life-shattering. And would it really be rape, anyway, if I lured him into doing it?
I’d never been sexually assaulted, had absolutely no idea how that affected a woman, and felt a little ashamed for thinking that I could handle it. Like I had a clue about the reality. My arrogance knew no bounds, and I convinced myself that the emotional impact would be miniscule because I was strong enough to handle it. Honestly, though. Could I really testify in court, go through all of that, without the certainty of getting him behind bars? Could I risk being thrust into the public eye? Not every state protected the identities of rape victims once they came forward. Did North Carolina? I’d have to research it.
My God. My mind was spinning, entertaining grand ideas of revenge. I wanted this for Beth. I wanted this for me. Perhaps it would bury my guilt and grief for good. I considered the type of guy Cal was. What if he’d raped other girls? Was it my duty to seek revenge? I felt in that resolute moment that I had no other choice, that my entire existence was defined by this crazy plan. There’s something really messed up about you, Brooke, I heard myself saying. Maybe. But it felt right. I hadn’t felt right about anything in a long time.
I lay on my bed, my brain flooded with question after question. It was working overtime, and I couldn’t keep up with it. Maybe I was just going crazy. Maybe I would wake up tomorrow and scratch the whole plan. But who was I kidding? The anger I felt in the gym when I stood before that predator was too real, too powerful and right to ignore. There’s anger, and then there’s righteous anger. I felt the righteous anger, and I knew I had to act on it. I would purify my heart by becoming impure.
I fell asleep knowing old events would resurface, creep into the forefront of my mind from my subconscious, make me relive the pain all over again to solidify my decision. I would wake up determined because I had no choice. And if I fought it, the dreams would continue to haunt me until I surrendered to my fate.
“You have to tell me what’s wrong,” I pleaded.
Beth sobbed into her hands, rocking back and forth like someone on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I didn’t want her to have a breakdown. I didn’t know what to do if she did.
“Beth, please,” I urged, wrapping my arm around her and drawing her into me. She rested her head on my shoulder.
“He raped me,” she whispered.
I immediately thought of Finn, and my heart sank. It couldn’t be Finn. Finn would never do such a thing. I couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it, because I was sleeping with him. I was head-over-heels for him.
“Who?” I croaked. My pulse sped up as I clutched my best friend.
“You don’t know him,” Beth answered. “He goes to my school. His name is Cal.”
I pulled away and took Beth’s hands. “Beth, you need to tell me what happened.”
Beth shook with a fresh wave of sobs as she nodded reluctantly.
“I went to a party. That party I told you about,” she began.
I cringed. It was the party I didn’t attend. She wanted me to, but I made up some lousy lie about hanging out with my mother when I was, in fact, going to see Finn.
I felt like shit.
“I think he drugged my drink,” Beth continued. “I started feeling really out of it. Lightheaded, I guess. He took me upstairs to his room so I could lie down. I didn’t want to. I kept telling him I didn’t want to!”
She burst into tears, long ragged sobs that sounded painful in her chest.
“It’s okay,” I said, stroking her back. All I could think was that I wasn’t there. If I had been there, this wouldn’t have happened. My fault. My fault.
“He took my clothes off,” she said. “I told him no. I tried to scream it, but my tongue felt so huge. Like it was swollen. He said I wanted it and that I was just a tease.”
“You don’t have to tell me anymore,” I whispered. I couldn’t stand to hear it.
“No! I have to! I have to get it out!” she screamed, and I nodded.
She took a deep breath, trying to settle the hitching in her chest.
“I cried, and he licked my face. I think he was licking my tears. And then he had sex with me while he covered my mouth, and he told me not to tell anyone because no one would believe me. He knew I wasn’t a virgin. He knew I had slept with guys on the swim team. Those idiots must brag about it or something.”
My head swam with a mixture of guilt: guilt for not going to the party with Beth, guilt for her attack, guilt for sneaking around with her boyfriend, guilt for lying to her.
“He’s right, Brooke,” Beth said. Her voice quavered uncontrollably. “No one would believe me. He’s all-American swim team champ. I’m the girl who’s fucked three guys at school. No one would believe me.”
“That’s not true,” I argued. “You have to come forward, Beth. You can’t let him get away with it.”
“Are you crazy?” she shrieked. It came out harsher than I think she expected. I shrank away from her, confused. “God, Brooke, do you even know what you’re asking of me?”
***
I hated the first day of school. This one was made monstrously worse by the fact that I knew no one. Yes, the prospect of starting with a clean slate was attractive, but being as it was my senior year, I didn’t know if I wanted or cared to put the energy into making friends. It seemed too hard, and then I had already decided to put all my time and energy into destroying Cal’s life. I wasn’t sure how a new friend or group of friends would fit into that picture.