Tamra looks confused.
“Let me get this straight,” Haley continues. “You came together and left without her? Left without knowing where she was? You broke the number one rule, the I--got--your--back--at--a--party rule. It’s like deserting a man behind enemy lines. If you were an Army Ranger, they’d probably court--martial you.”
Tamra’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, well, you know what? I’m not an Army Ranger. And I’m not a babysitter. If Jenny can’t handle playing with the big kids, she should stay home.”
“No one expects you to be a babysitter, Tamra. But next time? Try being a friend. Even if it’s just for one night.”
The pancakes are cold, but she’s lost her appetite anyway. She doesn’t like imagining Jenny off with these girls. Counting on these girls. They look out for each other, but everyone else? They don’t even see them.
Tamra should be mad right now. No one talks to T this way. So this is the part where she huffs off and ignores Haley for the next four years.
Unfortunately, T keeps talking.
She wants something.
“So, what exactly happened? Do you know?”
Haley flashes her best fake smile. “Sorry. I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
“Haley. Let me lay this out for you: We pregamed in my room that night. I’m the one with the fake ID. I bought the vodka. Now I’m about to get called before an investigator, so I’d like to know what I’m walking into.”
Cry me a river. The fake smile disappears. She is hanging on to self--control by a fingernail.
“Totally. God forbid somebody was underage drinking in college, Tamra. My advice would be to keep your mouth shut, let the rapist get away, and Mommy and Daddy will never find out you got drunk one night.”
The surprise on Tamra’s face lets Haley know she slipped. “Somebody raped her? Oh my god. Who was it?”
On cue, as if sensing from somewhere across campus that Haley desperately wants to tear herself away from this conversation, Jenny texts. Her phone is on the table, and she can see the message.
Can u come to the room? I need u.
“This has been fun, but I have to go,” Haley says, gathering her things.
Tamra jumps up. “Oh, c’mon. You can’t drop that and just walk away!”
Watch me.
“I get why you’re mad,” Tamra continues. “And you’re right, we shouldn’t have left the party without Jenny. My god. Rape. That’s awful! But we honestly didn’t know anything bad had happened to her. We were all pretty wrecked.”
Haley hoists her pack over one shoulder and picks up her tray with the cold pancakes. She sidesteps around Tamra, toward the exit, but T is on her.
“Just . . . do you think you could talk to her?” Urgency in Tamra’s voice. “Ask her to take me off the list? I don’t have anything to tell them. I barely remember what happened at the party.”
“Ask her yourself,” Haley says shortly. She walks toward the bussing station and the revolving conveyor belt where you load trays.
Tamra follows. “I’ve already tried.” Pleading now. Very un--T--like. “She won’t talk to me. Barely makes eye contact.”
“Can you blame her? You ditch her at a party and she gets attacked? You know what: I don’t want to talk to you, either. You suck.”
They’ve reached the bussing station, where Haley shoves the tray into the rotating carousel, grabs the plate, and begins furiously scraping her wasted breakfast into the compost bucket.
It’s crowded, and Tamra, insistent, presses close. “Oh, so you’re saying this is somehow my fault?” she hisses into Haley’s ear. Finally, angry. “For your information, nobody ‘ditched’ anybody. She wandered off. The rest of us all managed to stay together; what’s up with her? So if you want to know what sucks, I think it sucks that she didn’t come to me before reporting everyone and dragging us into some investigation.”
Haley stops scraping. “It’s all about you, isn’t it? Unbelievable.” She tosses the now--empty plastic plate onto a tray, pushes past Tamra, and exits the dining room. T, thankfully, doesn’t follow. As Haley walks quickly through the throng of students in the lobby, her phone sounds again.
Haley? Please.
She moves to one side, begins typing a quick response — coming—and feels someone tap her shoulder.
Eric something--or--other, who lives on the floor below her. She barely knows him.
“Hey. Did that guy ever catch up with you?” he says.
She presses send. “What guy?” They begin walking toward the door.
“I don’t know him. He was leaving a message on your whiteboard. I was a few doors away and told him you were at breakfast.”
Haley sighs. Richard has been texting plus leaving her voice messages. She’s ignored them all. “Light brown hair? Blue eyes? A little taller than me?”