by S. Walden
“It’s okay,” I said. “But I really am thirsty.”
Cal jumped up and shoved the camera in my hands.
“I’ll go. You stay here,” he said. “What would you like?’
“Just a water,” I replied, looking down at the camera. I hoped he didn’t expect me to take pictures while he was gone. I didn’t even know how to use this monstrosity.
“Okay,” he said, and hurried to the concession stand.
I stuck my face against the camera tentatively and looked through the lens. I tried the large button on the right side and snapped a picture of the gym floor. I pulled the camera away to study my shot. It was a blur of muted yellow. I tried again, shoving my face against the camera and moving it up and down the bleachers. I couldn’t believe the crowd that showed up to watch a volleyball game. Not nearly as big as a basketball game would draw, but it was still a healthy number. The girls’ team should be proud, I thought.
I almost put the camera down when I spotted Ryan sitting in the top corner of the bleachers. He watched me looking at him through the lens, his brows furrowed. He didn’t look happy. I tried to focus the lens, and succeeded in getting a slightly sharper view of him. His hair was a sexy, tousled mess, like that 1960s throw-back style so popular with the boys right now. I’m glad his bangs didn’t obscure his piercing eyes, though. Nothing should ever cover up those eyes.
His jaw was clenched, and I wondered why he was angry. I thought absurdly that he was angry with me, and I couldn’t understand what I’d done wrong. I stood paralyzed, unable to take the camera off of him. He refused to avert his eyes. I almost thought he was trying to tell me something, but I was too stupid to understand.
“What are you doing?” It was Cal addressing me from behind.
I whirled around to face him, peeking from behind the camera.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Cal looked at me, then up at the stands.
“You don’t want to have anything to do with that guy,” he warned. “He’s one of those crazy loners. I think he’s on meds or something. A ticking time bomb.”
I lowered the camera. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I was just taking pictures of the fans.”
Cal snatched the camera and searched the recent shots. “Oh yeah?” he asked, finding no shots at all.
My face flared up again. “Well, I was trying to anyway.”
“I’m serious, Brooke,” Cal said, handing me a bottled water. “I just want you to be safe.”
I took the drink, thinking that “safe” had nothing to do with it. What I really heard underlining Cal’s warning was, “You get involved with that guy, and you can forget about me.” I was thrust into the middle of another unfair situation. Karma, maybe, for my past mistakes. I was undeniably attracted to Ryan. And I felt an attraction on his end. But I couldn’t do a thing about it. I couldn’t even talk to the guy, at least not at school. I couldn’t risk Cal seeing.
“Did you hear me?” Cal asked. “I want you to be safe, Brooke.”
I nodded, looking up at him. He looked at me with the deepest concern, and I forgot that he was a bad guy. He didn’t sound like one now. He sounded like he wanted to protect me, take care of me, and I almost believed him.
Almost.
Five
The stairs at the end of Hallway D curve down so that it’s impossible to stand on the top landing and see someone standing on the bottom landing. Even if you hang your body over the edge and strain your neck. The stairwell is accessible by a door on the top and bottom floors. Secluded, and I imagined couples dipping under the stairs for quick make-out sessions between classes. The stairwell was creepy when you found yourself in it alone, always a little darker than the rest of the school, like the janitors reserved the leftover, low-quality bulbs for this section of the building.
I was on the last stair heading for the first floor hallway when I heard the door to the top floor open and a chorus of hushed voices talking in urgent whispers. My instinct was to move quickly and soundlessly under the stairs, so that’s what I did.
I heard a deep male voice. “Is anyone in here?”
I remained silent.
There was a brief pause before the low talking resumed.
“Dude, we can totally trust him. He wants in,” the same deep male voice said.
“How’d he even find out?” another asked. “I didn’t tell him. Are you running your mouth?”
“No, man. He found that slip of paper with your name on it.”
“What the hell? I told you we shouldn’t draw names at school.”
I couldn’t make out how many boys there were, but it sounded like three. Possibly four.
“Dude, it was convenient. No one could meet outside of school,” the first boy said.
A new voice piped up. “When are you sending us the score sheet?”
“Fuck the score sheet. We’re not talking about the score sheet right now. I wanna know what Aaron knows,” the second boy said.
“I only told him that it’s a secret club, and that we’d have to discuss his initiation,” the first boy replied.
“Well, if he wants in so bad, he can go fuck that sophomore virgin on the cheerleading squad. Then we’ll talk.”
A few chuckles.
“Man, her ass is so round and perfect. She’s hot.”
“How do you know she’s a virgin?”
“I’ve got a spy. Anyway, I’ll have to think about it. I don’t know about Aaron. There’s something about him that rubs me wrong.”
“Maybe the fact that his swim times are better than yours?”
“Screw you, man.”
“I’m only joking. Look, I know you’re all concerned about people finding out, but I’m not stupid. I wouldn’t bring his name up if I didn’t think we could trust him.”
“It’s Cameron, right? She’s your spy?”
“Dude, shut up.”
“Parker, when are you sending the score sheet? I’ve got a date this weekend.”
“Man, stop deleting shit from your email. I’ll send it when I send it.”
“I’ll send it,” the first boy said.
“So it’s Cameron, right?”
“Shut up! Everyone just shut the hell up! Let me sort this out.” It sounded like Parker’s voice. “You know, it really pissed me off when Cal put me in charge of all this shit.”
I listened as they walked down the stairs and shuffled into the first floor hallway. I took a deep breath. Secret club. Score sheet. Initiation. Sex with a virgin. What the hell was going on? And who could I talk to about it?
I crept out from under the stairs and pushed open the door leading to the first floor hallway.
“Parker, grab mine, too!”
I bumped into Parker, who was headed back into the stairwell, and he glared at me, shocked. Then his face changed from shock to agitation and suspicion. Shit. I don’t think I put enough time between our exits!
He pushed past me and headed up the stairs, leaving me to wonder if I’d been found out and if my plan had just been thwarted.
***
If I thought I could go the rest of my life without seeing Finn again, I was living in a fantasy world. He attended my old high school, so at least I didn’t have to see him on a regular basis. But I worked at a fairly popular diner frequented by people from all over town. He was tactful enough to steer clear of my house, but I knew eventually he’d find out where I worked and show up, all under the guise of simply wanting to eat.
It was a slow Tuesday night, and I was on the verge of asking my manager if I could go home. Amanda, another waitress, wanted my section to try and make a little more money, and I was happy to accommodate her. I was too distracted anyway. All I could think about the entire evening was the conversation I overheard in the stairwell. Secret club. Score sheet. Initiation. Sex with a virgin. I kept repeating those words like a mantra because I didn’t want to forget them. I also thought that something would magically reveal itself
to me if I kept saying them over and over. I was itching to talk to someone about it, but I didn’t know who I could trust.
I loved Gretchen with all my heart, but I could not trust her with this. She knew nothing about Beth’s rape, and I intended to keep it that way. Beth trusted me with that information, and I swore to tell no one. Not even her parents, though it pained me every time I saw her mother. Plus, I knew Gretchen. She would start a crusade, much like I was doing, except mine was a crusade of one. She’d want the entire world involved, and I wasn’t prepared to go there. I wanted to be quiet and wise about it. She’d blow the whole thing with her loud mouth.
“You’ve got someone at Table 2,” Amanda said.
I peered over to my table and instinctively balled my hands into fists. Amanda saw.
“You want me to take him?” she asked.
I shook my head. “You can have the rest, but I’ve got to take this one. He didn’t come here to eat,” and she understood completely.
I walked over to Finn and stood silent, waiting. He looked up at me and smiled.
“You look cute in your uniform,” he said.
I didn’t reply.
“Jesus, Brooke,” he said. “What do you want me to say?”
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“I wanted to see you. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at the funeral.”
“You think it would have been wise to talk to me at the funeral?” I asked.
Finn shook his head. “No, I don’t. But you just disappeared. It took me forever to find out you hadn’t moved to California. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shook my head in disbelief. “I don’t have to tell you about my life anymore, Finn. We’re over.”
“Look, us being together had nothing to do with Beth’s suicide,” he snapped.
“Shut your mouth about it,” I hissed.
“You love me, Brooke, but you feel guilty,” Finn said.
I hung my head. There was a time I thought I could love Finn. We never said it, and he made me angry when he brought it up to Beth the afternoon she caught us. But I knew I could never love him now. There was too much hurt. Too much guilt, and I couldn’t do that to myself anymore.
I looked at him, taking in his soft blond hair and brown eyes. He was cute, would always be cute. He’d just have to go be cute for some other girl.
“I can’t take your order, Finn,” I said finally.
“I don’t want food. I want you,” he said softly.
“Please don’t say things like that,” I pleaded.
“Come home with me, Brooke. We’ll just talk. That’s all we’ll do.”
I felt the pull for a fraction of a second, my body leaning into him remembering his mouth, his hands, all the ways he touched me just right. But that’s all it ever was, just touching. It was an instant revelation. No love. Just touching, and it was easy to back away.
“No, Finn.”
He looked at me with sad eyes. “You break my heart, Brooke.”
I shrugged and walked to the kitchen, passing by Amanda.
“He’s yours,” I said, but Finn had already left the table.
I don’t know why I dragged my feet about going home. I hung around the dirty dishes instead, watching Gregory load the machine with glasses and plates. Gregory was a student at Wake Technical Community College with ambitions to be a rock star. He played the drums, and from what I heard, he sucked at it. He was the dishwasher who yelled at me my first night, and unlike Terry, he never apologized. I thought he was a tool, and then I realized a tool was exactly the kind of guy I needed to talk to. I could trust him with the information because he wouldn’t care.
“What do you want?” Gregory asked, not looking at me. He continued shoving plates in the washer.
“I gotta question for you,” I replied.
“Well, I may or may not have an answer,” he said.
I gave him an even look. Okay, I had a few questions for him.
“Why do you dislike me?” I asked.
He chuckled. “Why are girls so self-absorbed? I don’t dislike you. I don’t think anything about you at all.” He looked at me, his facial expression asking, “What else?”
I blinked, then smirked. “Were the popular girls mean to you in high school?” I should have kept that smartass question to myself as I watched Gregory load a handful of knives into the dishwasher.
He paused and cocked his head, considering me. Then his mouth turned up into a smirk that matched my own. “Actually no. I fucked every one of them.”
I dismissed him with an eye roll. “Okay, whatever. If you overheard a bunch of guys talking about secret clubs and score sheets and having sex with virgins, what would you make of it?”
He screwed up his face in thought.
“Just a hypothetical question,” I added.
“Well, I think you’re talking about some kind of sex club,” he said.
“That much I figured,” I replied. “But score sheets?”
“Maybe they score the girls. How should I know?”
“You mean, like, how good they are in bed?”
“Yeah. Maybe they score the girls on their sex acts.”
“Have you ever heard of anything like this?” I asked.
“No, but then again, I don’t immerse myself in the kinky sex culture that you apparently do,” he sneered.
“Screw you. It was a question.”
“Go away, Brooklyn. I have work to do.”
“Yeah, whatever. Thanks for your help.”
On my way out, I waved goodbye to Terry, who asked why I wasn’t going to hang around after work and drink with him. I headed for the parking lot.
It was instant irritation—seeing Finn. I thought he’d gone home, but apparently he was waiting for me. What if I had to work the entire evening? Was he planning to hang around my car for hours?
I walked over to him. “Finn—”
He cut me off with a kiss. My instinct was to draw back and slap him. But I didn’t. And I didn’t feel any of the things I should have felt: outrage, shock, shame. Instead, I let him kiss me, standing there like a statue, trying to remain emotionally disconnected from it. That didn’t last long, and that’s when I should have pulled away.
I pressed my lips to him harder, and he took it as a silent invitation to open my mouth with his tongue. It was all so familiar, sensual and frightening. I didn’t like how Finn could make my body respond to him so easily, that I could lose all resolve to be a better person with his kiss. I felt his arms snake around my waist, drawing me closer to him, and I slumped against him, letting him hold me while his mouth continued to explore mine. Familiar sparks traveled the nerves up and down my legs. They popped occasionally in various places along my thighs, under my feet, and I was afraid I’d lose the strength to stand.
Get off, get off! I screamed inside. And then Beth’s face flashed inside my brain, and my resolve resurfaced, fighting my sexual desire. Thank God the resolve won.
I pushed Finn away. “We can’t,” I breathed.
“Brooke—”
“We’re horrible people!” I cried.
“What are you talking about?” Finn asked.
Was he really so stupid or just completely delusional?
“We treated Beth like shit, Finn! We sneaked around! We lied to her!”
“You’re right,” Finn replied. “I should have broken up with her before we got together.”
“Why didn’t you?” I asked. I had never asked him before.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “She started getting really depressed. I don’t know why, but it seemed wrong to break up with her when she was like that.”
I knew precisely what he was talking about, and I knew precisely why Beth was so sad. The heaviest part of my guilt lay in the fact that Beth revealed her rape to me, trusted me with the information, trusted me with her vulnerability, and I continued to sleep with Finn behind her back.
“But it wasn’t fair to you to keep dating
her,” Finn continued.
I looked up sharply. Fair to me? He had a lot of nerve. I recognized my guilt, welcomed it, deserved to feel like shit, and he wasn’t going to take that away from me.
“What I did was wrong. I hurt my best friend. No guy is worth that,” I said.
I watched Finn tense. I didn’t mean to be so insulting, but I knew no other way to get through to him.
“So you walk away from me because of Beth?” he asked. “She’s dead, Brooke.”
“What are you saying? That we might as well get together because Beth’s not here to see it? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Look, I’m not waiting around forever, Brooke,” Finn said.
“I don’t expect you to.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you felt nothing when I just kissed you?”
“Sure, I felt something. I felt horny. That’s it,” I snapped. “I don’t love you, Finn. I cannot be with you. It’s wrong on so many levels.”
“You’ll continue to fight your attraction to me because of some dead girl?!”
It was automatic. I swung my hand with all my might, making contact with the side of Finn’s head. It was a sloppy hit, somewhere between a slap and a punch, but it was effective. He grunted and rubbed his temple.
“What the fuck?!”
“You’re a heartless piece of shit!” I screamed. “She’s not some ‘dead girl’! She was my best friend!”
He stood silently for a moment, rubbing his head.
“I feel sorry for you, Brooke,” he said. “You’ll ruin your life because you can’t get past your guilt.”
“Ha! And I suppose by ruining my life you mean living without you?” I asked. “Don’t worry, Finn. I have no plans to let you ruin my life.”
“You’ll be sorry, Brooke.”
“What the hell does that even mean?”