“That didn’t look like calculus to me.”
“No,” Haley admits.
Gail’s eyes narrow. “You do know he’s Carrie’s latest, right?”
“I thought that was over.”
Gail pauses, thinking. “It is. But she’s . . . territorial. Just because she doesn’t want him doesn’t mean anyone else can have him. Especially her friends.”
“I’m not her friend,” Haley says quickly.
“Hmmm,” Gail responds. She looks at Haley critically. Assessing. “She’s not a bad person to have in your corner. And she likes you.”
“Unless I start dating her old boyfriend,” Haley adds. “Not that it’s even a remote possibility. I just messed that up for good.”
“He didn’t look like a happy camper,” Gail agrees. “Want to talk about it?”
You have no idea how much I don’t.
The look on his face. Anger. Hurt. He’s absolutely right: he’d done nothing to deserve her suspicion. It’s just . . . she’s heard so much negative stuff about him. Plus he lives with the damn rapist! Does she buy his insistence that they’re not friends?
“No. But thanks,” Haley says.
“Well, for the record, I always thought he was a nice guy. Definitely gets failing grades for political correctness, but his heart’s in the right place. So are a lot of his other parts. Which compensates, know what I mean?” Haley smiles, as if she knows. “But just in case you two do kiss and make up, your secret’s safe with me. I won’t say anything to Carrie.”
“Thanks,” Haley repeats.
Gail glances at the wall clock behind the counter. “My break’s almost over. How’s life treating you otherwise?”
“Actually, there is something.”
Gail leans back in her seat, arms folded across her chest. “Five minutes. Shoot.”
“It’s Jenny. I don’t know, Gail, it’s strange. But I think she’s being stalked, and for some reason she won’t report it. We pretty much had a fight over it this morning.”
Gail sits up straight. A thin line forms between her eyebrows. “I don’t know anything about this.”
Haley describes the morning’s drama. Leaving out, of course, her conversation with Richard. More omissions. As she speaks, Gail reaches into her café apron pocket and pulls out her cell phone. Her fingers fly over the screen. She scrolls, reads.
“Damn. Damn!” Gail stands. “It’s on The Board.” She tugs at her apron strings. Yanks the thing off. “We’ve got to go.”
Haley stares at her. “I thought you were working?”
“It’s on The Board!” Gail repeats angrily.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Gail looks at her like she’s too stupid to live. She thrusts her phone at Haley’s face.
“The Board,” she explains. “It’s an app. People share whatever garbage pops into their heads. You can read whatever’s posted within a ten--mile radius. Oh, and did I mention? No one uses real names.”
On the screen, Haley sees a cartoon of an old--fashioned bulletin board. Alongside, in glowing blue, a column of Twitter--length comments, each marked by a thumbtack--shaped icon. She manages to read a few lines before Gail snatches it away.
Someone oughta take the no--good c*** out and rape her again
She’s nasty as shit
Bitch is psycho. She’s not hot enuf to rape
For a moment, Haley wonders if she might actually vomit. The words are like a kick to her gut.
“Oh Gail. Oh no,” is all she manages.
Gail grabs her mug and Haley’s from the table and practically hurls them into the nearby bussing tray.
“Carrie and I call it ‘The Bored,’ as in haters who don’t have anything better to do with their lives,” she explains. “But this is beyond bored losers. It’s totally the same person who wrote on your door. C’mon!” She strides to the café counter, tossing her apron in a plastic bin near the bussing cart. She disappears into the small kitchen out back, and Haley hears her urgent conversation with someone. When she emerges, she carries her backpack and a jacket.
“How do you know it’s the same person?” Haley asks, hurrying to keep up as Gail exits the café.
Gail’s got her phone out, reading as she racewalks. “Damn!” she repeats. “The comment field is huge. God, people are sick.”
Haley stops. “How do you know it’s the same person?”
Gail interrupts her sprint to explain. “When you start a thread, you label it,” she says. “This one’s called ‘Lying Bitch.’”
Haley feels the vomit threaten to rise again. Gail resumes jogging, and this time Haley follows.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“Carole Patterson’s office,” Gail replies. “Whether Jenny likes it or not, we’re reporting this.”
. . .
“Having fun?” he shouts.
“Jenny,” she shouts back.
Tall Boy leans closer. Motions for her to repeat herself.
“Jenny!” She’s practically yelling. How funny is that? She laughs.
He smiles down at her.
“What’s your name?”
He replies. She points to her ear, shakes her head, laughing. Tall Boy laughs, too. They abandon conversation.
He serves punch as she stands alongside, listening to the music, sipping.
. . .
22
Richard