Going Under

“Because I know some girls who will be there, and they happen to be players for the current game,” I replied. “I want to keep an eye on them.”


“Ohhh,” Gretchen said. There was a pause before she continued. “You know, Brooke, you can’t keep them all safe all the time.”

“I know, Gretchen. But I can in this instance. I know who will be there, and I have a pretty good idea what will happen if I’m not there to stop it.”

“So what happens after that? You’ll keep attending parties? Thwarting these guys’ plans? Eventually they’ll get what they want. You can’t be everywhere at once. You can’t go on their dates with them. You need to take this shit to the media.”

I sighed with frustration. “Gretchen, I’m working on it. But I’m not ready to expose anyone yet. I don’t have enough information. Will you please be patient?”

Gretchen huffed. “How do you know Cal even wants us there? I mean, after that date and all?”

“He invited me,” I replied.

“He did?”

“Yep. Today after school,” I said. “He seems to think the date went rather well.”

Gretchen burst out laughing.

“Is he deluded?” she asked.

“What do you think?” I replied.

Gretchen grunted. “He makes my skin crawl. I don’t know how I’ll face him after what you told me.”

“I know, but you’ve got to play it cool. Don’t mess this up for me, Gretchen,” I warned.

“I won’t! Calm down. It’s just frustrating knowing something so horrible about a person and feeling powerless to do anything about it,” Gretchen said.

I thought for a moment. “Yeah. How do you think those girls feel?”

“You think the others are drugging girls as well?” Gretchen asked.

“I do.”

“How many do you think there are?”

“Well, I can’t find any concrete evidence on Parker yet. He’s a sneaky son-of-a-bitch. But I think he’s one. And I think this Tim guy is another. Actually, I know he is.”

“How?” Gretchen asked.

“A girl at school told me,” I said.

“She did?!” Gretchen sounded shocked.

“I was disgusted by what she told me. It made my heart sick.” I recounted the conversation with Amelia, leaving out her name. Gretchen and I sat in silence for a time.

“That poor girl,” she whispered. “She won’t come forward?”

“I think maybe she would if others would. Strength in numbers kind of thing,” I replied.

Gretchen sighed. “I’ve never gone to a party with any other purpose than to get drunk and have fun. This feels weird.”

“What feels weird?”

“Going to a party with a mission,” she said. “I want to help these girls, Brooke. I want to protect them.”

I smiled. “I’m glad. But Gretchen? Please don’t punch out one of the guys. It would kind of mess up the whole covert thing I’ve got going on.”

“Gotcha. No punching,” she said.

After we hung up, I went to pester my dad about his night out. I listed off all the appropriate behaviors for a first date, and the inappropriate ones.

“Brooke, I’ve dated in the past, you know,” he said patiently.

This was news to me. I thought he knew Mom since birth, started dating her in middle school, and married her right out of high school.

“You have?”

“Funny,” Dad replied. “I dated quite a few ladies in college.”

“Gross. Don’t tell me anymore,” I said.

Dad chuckled.

“What time are you picking her up?” I asked.

“Seven.”

“And are you wearing what we discussed?” I raised my eyebrows at him, daring him to object.

“Brooke, you spent three hundred dollars of my hard-earned money on that outfit,” he replied. “Yes, I will wear it.”

I used Dad’s credit card after school on Wednesday to buy him a pair of dark wash straight-legged jeans, fitted collar shirt, and a casual tweed blazer for his date. I was proud of myself for getting everything on sale. Dad, on the other hand, was pissed and wanted to take it all back.

“Just try it on first!” I demanded. “You’re not going on the first date you’ve had in a trillion years looking like a typical nerdy dad!”

Dad relented and put on the outfit.

“Five years, Brooke. It’s been five years,” he said, walking out of his room and standing in the hallway looking lost.

I think for the first time in years he felt stylish, and it made him uncomfortable. Then the more he moved around in his new clothes, the more confident he became. It was interesting watching the transformation unfold before my eyes. From dork to dashing in ten minutes.

“I’m ashamed this cost so much,” he mumbled, fingering the fabric of his coat.

“Dad, these are classic pieces. They never go out of style. You can wear them forever,” I explained.

“Oh, I can, huh?”

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