Ben nods. “Yeah, it’s too bad, but I liked what happened in practice today. We’re all pulling together. Tough as bucc.”
Another glare from the mom next door. I don’t think she heard the b on bucc but she does hear David say, “Hells yeah, bro,” as he bumps firsts with Ben.
“Can’t believe Stacey Stallard might cost us state,” Christy moans.
“No way,” Will pipes up. “They still got Ben and Reggie. Plus LeRon and Kyle.” He turns to Ben. “You can still pull it off, right?”
“Not gonna lie,” says Ben. “I’d feel better if Dooney was playing.”
“I’ll bet Stacey would feel better if she hadn’t gone to his party.” Lindsey says this quietly, but it’s a lit match in a gas can.
Christy leans forward to face Lindsey across the round booth. “Whatever it is that Stacey says happened is her own damn fault. That girl is a hot mess.”
“How can you say that?” I ask.
Before Christy can answer me, Rachel does. “Look at us, Kate. We’re not like her. You’re not like her.”
Lindsey frowns. “So what?”
“Yeah,” I agree. “You keep saying that, but what do you mean?”
“All I’m saying is there are rules.” Rachel’s face has gone chalky. Her voice is soft and quavers a little, as if she’s desperate to convince us of something. She stares into her plate, afraid to look at me. “You don’t get wasted. You don’t take off your top. You don’t flirt with raging drunks.” She leans in and grips the edge of the table, lowering her voice. “You don’t dress like a slut. You have to play by the rules. If you don’t, this is what happens.”
Even Christy is silent, all of us taking this in. Rachel glances up and realizes we’re all looking at her. “Don’t you guys get it?” Her eyes meet mine. If I were closer, I could fold her into a hug. If we were alone, I could tell her it’s going to be okay. She looks to Christy, who is suddenly busy chasing a piece of ice around the bottom of her empty glass.
“Oh, what?” asks Rachel. “So, now you think I sound crazy?”
After a moment of silence, Lindsey reaches over and takes Rachel’s hand. “No,” she says. “Just scared.”
Lindsey is right, but not only about Rachel. Fear is the reason I can’t let this go, either. It’s the reason Rachel needs to believe that whatever happened is Stacey’s fault. It’s why she insists that we’re all very different from Stacey. Because the truth is that if it could happen to Stacey, it could happen to any of us.
By the time we pay and walk to our cars, it’s dark outside. The air is humid and a light fog rolls through the parking lot, making everything vague, obscuring the details. We’ve all been wandering around in a haze about what really went on at Dooney’s party: who was there, what happened, how it happened. There are two sides right now: Stacey claims she was raped. Dooney says she wasn’t. Everyone says there’s no way to know for sure.
But there is a way to know.
There’s a video.
I glance at Ben, wondering if he might’ve been able to hear my thought, but he kisses me and helps me into the truck. He tells Will not to eat the leftovers before he gets home. He tells me he’ll be right behind me so we can study for our geology quiz.
I’m extra cautious driving home. Visibility is limited and my knuckles go white from squeezing the steering wheel, just like Rachel’s did grasping the edge of the table. As Will talks about Tyler and the tournament this weekend, I wonder which is worse: the fear of the unknown? Or knowing for sure that something terrible is true?
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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thirty-two
“IMAGINE BEING SO dedicated to finding the truth about something that you’re willing to go against the prevailing thought of everyone around you, and become an outcast.”
Mr. Johnston is talking about a geologist named Alfred Wegener, but I’m sleepy and having a hard time focusing until he says this.
Last night, while Mom and Dad ate leftover Combo Plus, Will quizzed Ben and me on the differences between igneous, metamorphic, and sedimentary rocks. I lay awake for a long time after I went to bed, phone in hand, typing “Coral Sands rape video” into the search field in the browser, then deleting it. I’m still not sure if I’m more afraid of knowing what happened or not knowing. Last night, I couldn’t bring myself to look.
“Sometimes inspiration just requires looking at things from a different point of view.” Mr. Johnston’s voice snaps me back into the present.