“Freaking talk to me,” I said.
“I’ve got nothing to say to you, Brooke,” she snapped, and leaned over to retrieve her book.
“Why are you so pissed at me?” I asked.
“You’re a smart girl, Brooke,” Lucy said. “You figure it out.”
“Does this have anything to do with Cal?” I asked, lowering my voice to a barely audible whisper.
Lucy looked flustered. “Don’t say his name out loud,” she replied.
“What the hell? He’s not Lord Voldemort.”
“And don’t say his name either!” she cried.
I sat there confused. And then I burst out laughing. Lucy glared at me. But apparently my laughter had some kind of effect because her face broke into a grin. And then she giggled. And then she laughed, too. Hard.
“Okay okay,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Does your not talking to me have anything to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? And I’m referring to Cal.”
“Yes,” she said, her laughter dying away.
“All right. What’s the problem?”
She turned around, but Cal hadn’t come into class yet.
“I told you to stay away from him,” she said.
“You never told me why,” I replied.
“Because he’s a bad guy,” she said.
“What makes him bad?”
“Stuff.”
“Like what?”
“For goodness sake, Brooke! Why can’t you just leave well enough alone?!”
“Because I think he did something to you that you’re not telling me. And I know he’s done it to other girls because guess what? I knew Beth. Beth Cunningham? She was my best friend.”
Lucy’s eyes filled with instant tears.
“No. Do not cry. Haven’t you given him enough of your tears already?” I remembered Terry’s words to me. To stop crying. To be strong.
She stared at me, and then she looked up at the ceiling trying to get the water to recede. She was determined, and focused on the ceiling for a long time before she thought it was safe to face me again. When she did, her eyes were dry.
“Good. Now there’s a start.”
She smiled wearily. “I want to tell you a story.”
“Okay.”
“After school.”
We sat in a coffee shop ten minutes from school. I initially suggested the one across the street, but Lucy didn’t want to be so close to school when she made her confession. There’d be too many students coming and going. It was a popular hangout spot for Charity Run seniors.
We ordered café mochas then tucked ourselves into a dimly lit corner table.
“I can’t believe I’m gonna tell you all this,” she said, sipping her drink carefully.
“I kind of already know,” I said, trying to ease her anxiety.
“No, you don’t, Brooke,” Lucy replied. “You don’t know anything.”
I wanted to feel offended, but I couldn’t. She was right. I didn’t know anything about her horrific experience. In all honesty, I didn’t really know anything about Beth’s experience either. She never told me the details. She just described how Cal licked her tears and covered her mouth. And that was too much to know. I wish she had kept those things to herself.
“I was so excited to start high school,” Lucy began. “And I was a really happy girl back then. I had friends. I was involved in everything.”
“I know.”
“Huh?” Lucy furrowed her brows.
“Well, I kind of did some research in old yearbooks,” I confessed.
Lucy thought for a moment. “When?”
“When I first met you. That first day in class when I smacked my head.”
“Ohhh.” Lucy nodded.
I waited patiently for her to continue.
“I don’t think I’m the ugliest thing on the planet,” she said, “but I could never figure out what attracted Cal to me. I mean, yes, I was a cheerleader, but I don’t think I ever fit into that mold. I wasn’t popular. I just kind of did my own thing and had fun.”
“You must have been kind of popular to win a place on the homecoming court,” I said.
Lucy shrugged. “I guess I meant that I didn’t really hang out with popular people. I was nice to everyone.”
“Ahh. That’s why you won,” I said.
“Well, whatever it was, Cal liked it, and he started pursuing me from the moment school started.”
I shifted nervously in my seat, knowing the conversation was about to get intimate.
“We dated all year, and all year he was a gentleman. I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world, really.” Lucy stared off in the direction of a couple huddled at another corner table on the opposite wall. They were telling each other jokes apparently, because they were laughing hysterically.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded and continued. “I was so excited about prom. And we had such a fun night until he took me to that motel room.”
“He what?”
“Champagne. He fed me champagne all night. He didn’t drink a thing. He had a bottle in his car, and I drank some on our way to the prom.”
“Hold up,” I said. “He was driving? How old was he?”