“Thank you!” Jenny whispers fiercely in Haley’s ear. “Thank you so much!”
Haley’s head swims as they descend the stairs. The groaning wood is practically verbal. Stu--pid! Stu--pid! each step seems to say. What has she just agreed to? She’d been totally caught off guard.
And scaredy--mouse managed to get what she wanted.
. . .
Boxes, bottles, cases, hauled inside: he begins.
The lemonade hisses softly as he pours it into the plastic garbage can. A cloud of yellow dust rises: four containers. Then, water: six gallon jugs. The air in the room smells sweet.
When he unscrews the vodka and begins draining whole bottles into the can, they take notice. Low whistles, laughter. The can slowly fills. He calls for someone to bring in the first case of beer.
He pops a can, pours.
“Stand back and watch the doctor at work, boys,” Exley says.
. . .
8
Richard
When Richard hears the soft knock on his door late that night, he doesn’t move. Seated at his desk, his hands freeze above the keyboard of his laptop where he’s been tapping out a paper. The handle turns, and his door opens a crack.
Seriously, though?
It’s Jordan. Who looks awful.
“Can I come in?” Jordan asks. As he walks in. Space is tight, pretty much just a rectangle with enough square footage for a bed, chair, desk, and dresser. Jordan sits on the bed.
“What’s up?” Richard asks. This is not Jordan’s usual Wednesday night face. For one thing, he’s sober. Wednesday is pool shots at Taylor: full shot glasses positioned at each of the six holes of their basement pool table, and your opponent had to drink whenever you pocketed a ball. You had to drink two shots if you scratched.
Richard hardly plays anymore. At the beginning of the semester he’d made a point of heading down to the basement on Wednesday nights after he returned from tutoring. A treat, he told himself, following hours helping frosh with their problem sets. But a month into it, with Thursday morning classes a hungover torture, it didn’t feel like much of a treat. Felt more like an expectation. Especially since if he decided to pass he had to endure rude comments the following day about his absence. Especially from “the Doctor.”
He’d used Carrie and Wednesday nights at her place as his excuse. “I know you want me, Exley, but she’s hotter than you,” Richard fired back one morning when Exley’s smack talk was too much to handle. A bunch of the other guys were around and they laughed. The Doctor backed off after that, but they both knew: lines had been drawn.
Jordan had never joined in with Exley’s goading, but he’d never defended Richard, either. Jordan was a Wednesday night regular, scheduling no class on Thursday before ten a.m. Richard suspected he chose his major based on which ones offered the most afternoon classes.
“Shots canceled tonight?” Richard asks.
“Shots?” Jordan looks puzzled. “I didn’t go. My parents are in town.”
Parents Weekend is still a ways off. “Is everything okay?”
Jordan runs his hand through his hair. “Listen, I have to ask you something. Do you remember last week, when you and I were talking about the Conundrum party?”
“And finishing off that Blue Moon we found in the fridge,” Richard says.
“I told you about that girl I met? The freshman?”
Richard nods.
“Did you repeat that to anyone?”
Richard tries to remember what Jordan said. Something about fish. Something about Country Time lemonade. He definitely remembers Jordan bragging about getting laid that night.
“I don’t think so.” Richard doesn’t tell him he’s been too preoccupied licking his wounds over Carrie to get around to publicizing Jordan’s sexual exploits.
“Well, did you or didn’t you?” Jordan demands. “I need you to be sure.”
“Whoa.” Richard puts his hands up. “I’m sure I did not repeat what you said.”
Relief spreads over Jordan’s face.
“Mind telling me what’s up with you tonight?”
“I just need to know, okay? Something’s going on.”
A boulder of dread thuds in Richard’s gut. More damage, this time at Conundrum? His parents can’t handle another fat bill arriving in their mailbox. Or maybe the college heard about the party and decided to kick them all out of housing. Would it help that he wasn’t there, or would they not care?
Then Jordan surprises him.
“So that girl,” Jordan says, “the one I told you about? She’s telling people I raped her.”
Richard’s shock feels cold. His brain goes numb, processes in slow motion. Responding, in words, is not an option.