Before You Go

TWELVE

That night, after Michael leaves, I find the two things he left for me. The first is a bag of all my ballet slippers. I pull them out and set them all around my bed, reaching out to stroke the leather and satin.

Next to the bag is a piece of paper—a message on the university letterhead that reads in bold print, “Company B dance tryouts are December 30.” Then in Michael’s scrawl: I think you should consider it. I’ll be back to see you again soon. In the meantime, let me know if you need anything. I’ve got your back, little sis.

That he does, I think curling up under my covers.

I don’t know what I would’ve done without Michael last year, especially the day Thomas’ friends came after me. The day that continues to give me nightmares.

I remember I could feel them behind me as I headed to my dorm room. It had only been a week since everything went down, but I quickly became the resident scapegoat. Once everything became public, my friends abandoned me, playing shocked and horrified and Thomas played the victim. He actually had everyone believing that the whole thing was my fault. I was the slut who came to strip at the party, got drunk and out of control, and started pointing fingers. And poor Thomas had to sit out two games while the embarrassing mess got sorted out.

His act worked well. After all, he had the pictures to prove it.

Even my parents wouldn’t rock the boat with his family. Apparently, the partnership between Mr. Richardson’s company and my stepfather’s was what funded my mom’s lifestyle, and she wasn’t willing to give it up.

When I turned the corner that day, I could feel Eric Milton and gang on my heels. Eric was Thomas’ best friend and he was pissed that Thomas was forced to sit out two games because of me.

Then they all started in with that whole fake cough routine—hurling the worst of insults.

“Slut.”

They started closing in.

“Trash.”

I moved faster.

“Whore.”

I was in the hallway, just a few more steps to my room.

Johnny Milton yelled, “There she is guys, the poster child for STDs.”

I didn’t say anything. I just kept walking, inching toward my door.

By this time people are peeking out of their dorm rooms, gathering in the hallway. Then Milton threw a condom at me and said, “Tabby, maybe next time you decide to put on a little show and make your way around the hockey team, you should use protection.”

The package hit my back.

When I reached the door to my dorm room, it was papered with photos of me at the party posing with various guys. Of course, their faces were blacked out. I was topless and bombed out of my mind, there in color for everyone to see.

I remember the way the walls tilted in and the floor moved in waves. I was dying. Bit by bit. The name-calling and attacks were getting worse and there was nobody to save me.

I took it. I took whatever they threw at me every day, because I deserved it. Because what I did was bad, and gross, and stupid. And it made me bad. And gross. And stupid.

I stopped in my tracks, stared at the ground, and told my feet to run, but they didn’t listen. Slowly giving up, I took a deep breath and tried to focus. Milton moved in, catching my shoulder. He spun me around so I faced him and his gang of mutts.

But before Milton could say anything, someone approached him. A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Then a rough spin landed him ninety degrees in the other direction. The rest of Milton’s pack scattered.

It was Michael.

And Michael’s fist.

It dove in and landed on the side of Milton’s face.

There was a loud slapping noise, followed by a crunch. I tightened my arms around my body. Michael was silent for the entire altercation, until his ass kicking left Johnny Milton curled up on the floor. Then he bent down and leaned in real close.

“You got off easy this time, you dumb f*ck,” he spit. “The next time you bother my sister, you won’t get up. You get me?”

Milton moaned.

“I said, do you get me?” Michael asked again after a kick to Milton’s ribs.

“Yeah,” cough, cough (real ones this time). “I get you, I get you,” he said.

Milton never bothered me again.

Too bad that wasn’t the end of it.