by S. Walden
“Better?” he asked, looking up at me. The sun was bright, forcing him to squint, and I wasn’t sure he could see my nod.
“Let’s try again,” I said, and he went to retrieve the skateboard.
After thirty minutes I was pushing off and rolling slowly on my own. Always with my arms out, legs slightly bent, body tensed to the max. I knew I’d be sore tomorrow. Learning to turn was a disaster, and I fell forward every time I leaned into the board. I gave up and asked if we could play a video game.
“Now when you say play a video game, what are we talking about?” Ryan asked, helping me up off the street for the last time.
“I mean actually play a video game. You said you had a Wii. Can’t we play Super Mario Brothers or something?” I replied, walking with him to his house.
“Not into the hardcore blood and guts games?”
“Honestly? I’d much rather jump on mushrooms and flying turtles.”
“They have names, you know,” Ryan said. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Brooklyn.”
“Goombas and Koopas, thank you very much!” I said, satisfied.
“Wow, I think I just got a hard-on,” Ryan replied, and I smacked his arm. “I thought you didn’t play video games. How do you know about Goombas and Koopas?”
“I used to play with Beth when we were younger. It’s the only game I did play before you came along,” I replied, following Ryan to his bedroom. He stopped at the threshold and turned to face me.
“Well, I don’t know how I’ll keep my hands off of you, Brooke. Goombas. Koopas. Skateboarding. Not to mention killer mind and body. You’re my dream girl,” Ryan said.
I grinned. “Don’t even think about distracting me.”
Ryan threw his hands up. “Never. We’re playing together.”
“I’m Mario!” I shouted, going for Controller 1, and grabbing it just in time.
“You don’t have to have Controller 1 to be Mario,” Ryan said, picking up the second controller and settling beside me on the floor. “This isn’t the original Nintendo system.”
“Oh.”
“But I’ll still let you be Mario. Only because I love you, Brooke.”
And I warmed all over.
***
I read the note again, shaking and sweating.
Some little bitch has been running her mouth. Happen to know who she is?
That’s all it said, but it was accompanied by horizontal scratches etched into the sides of my car by a key, no doubt. I was pissed. Pissed and scared out of my mind. I turned around and scanned the student parking lot. No one in sight.
I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to take the information about the Fantasy Slut League public immediately. I was afraid of what these boys would do next. They were pissed because they weren’t getting any and pissed at me because I was the reason. They told me to back off, but I wouldn’t listen. It started with a trip on the bleachers. It quickly escalated to a near-drowning experience in the school pool. Finally it erupted with a keyed car. What was next? I didn’t want to find out. I didn’t want to imagine. I wanted the story out, the boys disciplined, and someone to pay for the fucking damage done to my car.
“Hey, Brooklyn,” I heard from behind. I whirled around to face Parker. Where did he come from? I had just looked over the entire parking lot a second before.
“Did you do this?” I asked, pointing to the scratches in my car door.
Parker whistled low. “Damn, that’s bad news.”
“Fuck you, and stay the hell away from me,” I spat, searching my book bag for my car keys. I felt unsafe. Why could I never remember to pull my keys and have them in my hand before exiting a building?
“Calm down, Brooklyn. I didn’t key your car,” Parker said.
I didn’t believe him for a second. “Yeah? Well, who else could it be?”
“Maybe it’s someone pissed at you for meddling in business that’s not yours,” Parker said. He backed me against the car. “Have you been meddling in business that’s not yours?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I said. I groped blindly for my keys, finally locating them and pulling them from my bag. “Move.”
“Well, it appears you are,” Parker replied, not moving. “I can’t even get a date.”
“Maybe that’s because you’re a dickhead.”
The side of Parker’s mouth turned up. “Someone needs to wash out that mouth of yours, Brooklyn. Absolutely filthy.”
“Leave me alone or I’ll scream at the top of my lungs,” I warned.
“Sure you will,” Parker taunted. “Now you listen to me.”
I looked into his eyes. I swear they were the color of coal.
“Quit being nosy. Let me and my friends do our thing, and we’ll be more than happy to let you do yours. A truce sort of thing, huh? I mean, I’d hate for someone to find you face down in the school pool, know what I’m saying?”
I shook violently, rattling my keys.
“Tim was generous. I don’t know that I’d be,” Parker said.
“Are you threatening me?” I whispered.
Parker burst out laughing. “God, Brooke! I didn’t think you were one of the dumb bitches!”
I filled my lungs with the maximum amount of air possible and opened my mouth to scream. Parker slammed me against the car and clapped his hand over my mouth.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he hissed in my ear. “Get your ass in your goddamn car and drive away.”
He squeezed my face before backing away enough for me to open the car door. I remained composed as I slid inside, turned the key in the ignition and drove off. Once I turned onto the street, however, I burst into tears, crying so hard that I made it just a mile down the road before pulling off on the shoulder to have a satisfactory breakdown.
Fuck them! my mind screamed at me. Don’t let them intimidate you. They’ve been intimidating girls for far too long.
“I know!” I screamed back. “I’ll do something! I will!”
But first I cried until I was completely spent. I cried until a police officer pulled up behind me and asked if everything was all right. I told him I was upset that my boyfriend broke up with me, and he told me I shouldn’t be driving while I was so emotional.
“Well, excuse me for living,” I sniffed.
“Really?” he replied.
“Well then, excuse me for being a woman.”
The officer was patient. “Just trying to keep the roads safe, ma’am.”
“The roads are the least of your problems,” I mumbled.
I watched his mouth turn up in a smile. “How’s that?”
I wiped the last of my tears away. “Well, you’ve got burglars, drug dealers, murderers, all kinds of low-lifes roaming around, and you’re worried about a car parked on the side of the road.”
“Just doing my job, ma’am. Making sure you’re safe.”
“Then go arrest some rapists or something.”
“I’ll do my best. Now make sure that seat belt is buckled tight, and you be careful.”
I told him to go fuck himself once he was out of earshot. The exchange was exactly what I needed. It gave me perspective. I wasn’t scared Brooke. I was warrior Brooke, and I was about to take some assholes down.
You wanna threaten me? I don’t think so, bitch.
Twenty
Everything was ready. I had all the documents sealed in an envelope addressed to “Patrick Langston,” a rookie reporter for the Raleigh News and Observer. I decided to go with him after some research into the staff because he was new and I figured this story could be his big break.
I mailed the packed manila envelope Monday morning before school, excitement mixed with dread sneaking out of my fingertips and dampening the package with sweat. I couldn’t say that I regretted abandoning my original plan with Cal. I realized it was unhealthy, and who was I to think I could endure what these other girls experienced simply because I was filled to the brim with vengeance? No,
I simply couldn’t, and I knew I made the right decision in mailing the information about the Fantasy Slut League. I never discovered the “smoking gun” evidence to get Cal, Parker, and Tim charged with rape, but I could hope that after the story broke of their salacious club, some girls might have the courage to come forward.
I could only hope.
I committed to staying after school to take pictures of the boys’ baseball game. I promised Ryan I would be over as soon as the game ended. We planned an innocent night of playing video games; his parents and sister would be home, and we were all going to hang out together. It would be the first time I spent any significant amount of time with his family, and I was nervous. I had met Ryan’s parents when we first started seriously dating, but this would be the first night I actually talked to them. I wanted them to like me.
“Hey, Brooke,” Cal said, sliding into the bleacher.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I said, putting my sunglasses back on as the sun peeked out from another cloud.
It was becoming extremely difficult just to be anywhere near Cal. He made me nervous, and he knew he did. We both knew we were playing at some fake friendly game, but neither one of us would voice it aloud.
“Last minute. Ms. Kerrigan asked me to help you out,” he explained. “She, uh, viewed those last pictures you took and thought you might need some help.”
I shifted uncomfortably. The last pictures I took were of the swim team “practice” where Tim almost drowned me. I wanted so much to say something to Cal about it, but I knew he would accuse me of being crazy, say that Tim was just goofing off even if it was a bit rough, and that I needed to stop being such a drama queen.
“So, is it okay that I’m here?” he asked.
“Sure,” I replied. “In fact, you could just take over if you want.”
That worked for me. It meant I could get to Ryan’s house a whole lot sooner.
“No no,” Cal said, laughing. “You’re not getting out of it that easily. You’ve gotta take notes for your page summary and little picture captions, huh?”
I shrugged and nodded. “I guess you’re right.” I handed the camera to Cal and pulled a pen out of my book bag. There was something inherently wrong with taking notes on a Friday afternoon after school. I sighed and put pen to paper.
“So how are things going with Ryan?” Cal asked.
I jumped in my seat, and Cal noticed.
“What? I can’t ask you about him?” he said.
I thought for a moment. “You said he was crazy. I just assumed you wouldn’t think it was a good idea, me dating him and all.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea. But I’ve learned that you’re gonna do what you want,” Cal replied.
I bristled. “He’s nice to me, and I like him.”
“That’s good,” Cal said. He snapped a shot of one of our players sliding into first base.
I’m not quite sure I understood Cal’s statement that I was going to do what I wanted. I didn’t think I really ever gave him the opportunity to see who I truly was, apart from the bowling date. And that really wasn’t completely me. I’m not normally an angry person. Parker brought out those colors, but it wasn’t the full picture. The full picture was one of a girl who was trying to make up for past mistakes, be loyal to her deceased friend, be a good person.
I said very little to Cal as the game continued. I mostly took notes or doodled when nothing was going on or I didn’t understand what was going on. I did ask him baseball terminology from time to time, and he answered happily enough.
Well into the fifth inning, he asked if I wanted something from the concession stand.
“A Sprite,” I replied, half distracted on my cell phone with Dad. “Thanks.”
Cal returned with two Sprites, uncapping both bottles for us while I took a few hasty notes about a recent homerun. It was the middle of May, but it felt like summer decided to visit early. The sun was blazing, and I was thirsty. After downing half the bottle in one gulp, I thought it would have been better to get water instead. Beads of sweat broke out around my hairline, and the back of my neck felt oddly stiff.
I tried to concentrate on my note-taking, but the words on the page kept going in and out of focus. I looked out on to the field, and asked Cal why there were three players on first base.
“There’s only one player, Brooke,” Cal replied.
I shook my head and chalked the whole thing up to being dehydrated. I finished my Sprite and thought about purchasing a water.
“You okay?” Cal asked, looking at me with furrowed brows. Actually, there were five Cals, and they were rotating counter clockwise. “Brooke?”
“I feel funny,” I said. I slurred it, I think, and tried to push my pen behind my ear. I missed my ear completely, and the pen fell back behind me somewhere. I turned around to look for it, clutching someone’s knees behind me to steady myself. “Sorry,” I mumbled when she jerked her legs aside, and forgot why I had turned around.
“Brooke? You don’t look so good,” Cal said. “You’re all white and stuff.”
“Well, I’m a white girl, Cal,” I replied, then giggled. It wasn’t even funny, but for some reason I thought it was the funniest thing I’d ever said. I laughed hard, watching as my spiral notebook slid off my lap and on to the ground. Cal picked it up and put it in my book bag.
“Come on, Brooke,” he said, lifting me up by my upper arm. “Let’s get you some water. You must be sun dazed or something.”
I laughed again. I thought “sun dazed” sounded funny. I kept repeating the words over and over until they sounded strange in my mouth.
I stumbled behind Cal who walked me to the student parking lot. I watched him rummage around in my book bag for my keys, open my car door, and throw my bag in. He tucked my keys in his pants pocket.
“Let’s get you feeling better,” he said, tightening his grip on my arm.
“I’m fine,” I said, but I knew I wasn’t. I was looking at him through half-mast lids, unable to open my eyes completely. My body hummed with electric liquid, and I wanted to love everything around me in that moment, the moment I discovered what love truly felt like. Warm and sultry, like an old black and white movie.
Cal helped me into a car, but it wasn’t mine. I guess it was his. I was fascinated with all the buttons on his dashboard, and decided I’d like to press them.
“Don’t do that,” he ordered, when he climbed into the driver’s seat.
“But I like them,” I argued.
Cal laughed and pulled out of the parking lot.
“Where are we going?” I asked, not caring in the least. I thought I needed a bed to lie down on, and I didn’t care whose bed or where it was located.
“Nowhere, Brooke,” I heard Cal say as I dozed off to the low sounds of the radio.
I woke up to darkness. Cramped darkness. I didn’t know where I was, but the panic set in immediately, my heart racing as I tugged on my arms. My wrists were bound behind my back with something thin and tight, digging painfully into my flesh. I tried to focus, letting my eyes get accustomed to the darkness, and realized I was in someone’s closet. And it was packed with boxes and heaps of clothes and other junk that surrounded me. I had only a small space to call my own right in front of the door.
I kicked my foot out by reflex creating a loud thunk against the hollow door.
“Is someone awake?” I heard from the other side.
I kicked the door again. It wasn’t as loud. I realized I was tired. My limbs felt heavy and strange, and I pushed my foot out like I didn’t really care. Like I didn’t truly have a purpose for doing it.
“Brooklyn? Are you up?”
It sounded like Cal’s voice, and I nodded.
“Let me out,” I said. The words felt like weights on my tongue. It was the hardest sentence I think I’d ever said.
“Brooklyn, I’m trying to help you,” Cal said. “Help you get over your fear of tight places.”
I thought I would die
. My chest hurt from the rapid pounding of my heart, and I was waiting for the inevitable explosion. I was terrified, but my body was trapped in a sluggish state. I couldn’t feel any adrenaline pumping throughout my limbs, signaling a fight to live, to escape. Only the focus of pounding at the center of my chest threatening a panic attack of monumental proportions.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Just search for a way out.
“Brooklyn? How are you doing in there? I know it’s a bit tight.”
I breathed in as deeply as possible, putting pressure on my stressed heart, then let out the loudest scream I could muster.
A sharp banging on the door silenced me instantly.
“Don’t do that, Brooklyn,” Cal demanded. “Or you’ll be sorry.”
“Please let me go,” I begged, and felt the first of many tears roll slowly down my cheeks.
“Brooklyn, can’t you see that I’m trying to help you?”
“You want to hurt me,” I sobbed, twisting my body in an attempt to free my hands. The ties felt like they were growing tighter, and my hands started going numb.
“No, Brooklyn,” Cal said. “You only think I want to hurt you. But I’m going to make you feel good.”
There was something sinister in the words, but my drugged brain couldn’t pinpoint it.
“Just breathe,” Cal instructed, and I did what I was told.
I breathed in and out, closing my eyes and trying to conjure the field. It was no use, however, as my hands went completely numb save for the occasional tingling pricks.
“I hurt, Cal!” I cried in panic. “Please let me out! My hands hurt!”
“I know, baby. But you’re not ready yet,” he replied.
I kicked the door in frustration, trying to focus all my energy into my foot. I managed a respectable thud, and Cal raised his voice.
“Brooklyn, stop kicking my fucking door! I’ll keep you in there longer if you don’t behave!”
I moaned softly.
“That’s right, Brooklyn. I want you to moan for me. I want to hear you freak out,” Cal said. “Go on. You know you want to. Go on and have the biggest panic attack of your life. I wanna hear every bit of it.”
“Why are you doing this?” I cried. My heart thumped painfully, and I knew in a few minutes he’d get exactly what he wanted. I couldn’t fight it off much longer.