“I thought that was a joke. Patagucci is a thing?”
“No, but Kyle is. A very hot thing. Remind me to visit Jenny sometime this week after practice.”
Haley takes another big bite, shaking her head at Madison. “You are so lame,” she says, mouth full. “Pretending to care about Jenny so you can scope out guys at Out House.”
Madison looks hurt. “Of course I care! Why would you say that?”
“Fine. What one thing have you asked me about her since the night she was raped?”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to talk about it!”
“Not the details of the case. But ‘Hey, how’s Jenny doing?’ is perfectly all right. Better yet: why not ask her yourself?”
To Madison’s credit, she actually looks embarrassed. “Okay, you’re right,” she says. “Not that I don’t care. But that I don’t ask. Now I feel like an awful person.”
Haley wraps the last of the bagel in a napkin and gathers her things. “You’re not awful. You’re typical. No one asks her. I get that it’s awkward, but it just makes her feel . . . shamed. As if she’s done something wrong, or she’s stained in some way.”
Madison grimaces. This strikes a chord. “T and Company have been . . .” Madison trails off.
“Bitches?” Haley supplies. “Yeah, I know. They ignore her when they see her and whine that they’re going to get in trouble because of the vodka. I even think they posted some of those comments on The Board.”
“Well, I don’t know if they would do that,” Madison says. “But I get it. About supporting her.” Haley slings her pack over her shoulder. “Tell her I said good luck today, okay?”
Haley smiles. “Go see her,” she urges. “Bring her chocolates. While you’re there, maybe Kyle the lumberjack will wander by.”
When Haley gets to the Dean of Students Office and beelines it for the front desk, she can’t help glancing into the waiting room to her right: Mr. and Mrs. James, plus the lawyer, occupy two low couches. The student receptionist directs Haley upstairs where Jenny and the dean wait.
She finds the two of them seated on either side of a wide desk. Dean Hunt looks . . . professorial. About her dad’s age. Bearded. Not in that lumbersexual--hot way Madison was going on about. He’s too preppy. And old. But he looks fit. And familiar.
Dean Hunt greets Haley and they get started.
“So, Jenny,” he says. Leaning back in his chair, like they’re settling in for a pleasant conversation. “I’ve read your statement. But I’d like you to walk me through it. Tell me what happened, from the beginning, and take as long as you need. We’re in no rush. I might ask a few questions as we go along.”
Jenny sits up straight in her chair. “Well, I arrived at the party with the girls from my hall. There was a line—”
Dean Hunt puts up one hand, stopping her. “I mean start at the beginning.”
Jenny hesitates. “Arriving at the party isn’t the beginning?”
“Go back further. Start with the student who invited you.”
“Oh. Brandon Exley invited me. That’s in my statement.”
“I know, Jenny, but I’d like to hear it again. I want to make absolutely sure I’ve got my facts straight.”
The same story. Told the same way. That’s how he’ll know it’s the truth. Richard was dead right about this guy.
Jenny begins again. And Haley hears about Brandon Exley. The older boy Jenny occasionally spoke to in Econ, who invited her to the party and said she could bring friends. How the girls in the hall were all for it, and everyone got ready together. How she’d never gone to an upperclassmen party before and borrowed a dress. How they pregamed in Tamra’s room.
Dean Hunt doesn’t comment. He just nods when she mentions the booze.
“You were all drinking?” he asks matter--of--factly.
Jenny nods.
“Do you recall how much?”
Jenny hesitates. “Tamra just handed me a cup. I have no idea what was in it.”
Dean Hunt writes something on a yellow pad. It’s the first time he’s written anything. “Can you describe how you felt at that point? Dizzy, clearheaded, tired . . . ?”
“Happy,” Jenny says quietly. “We were all listening to music and singing and having a lot of fun. I wish we’d never left.”
“If you had to rate your clarity of mind from one to ten, with one being completely sober and alert and ten being unconscious, what would you rate your clarity as you left Tamra’s and started for Conundrum House?”
Jenny looks pleasantly surprised. Something about assigning numbers, as if the events of that night could be measured, their acidity calculated along a pH scale, appeals to her.
“Three,” she says.
Dean Hunt writes. “What happened next?”
“There was a line when we got there,” Jenny continues. “Mostly guys. They couldn’t get in without a woman. A freshman. That was the rule the party organizers made up.”
Dean Hunt looks surprised. “Not just any woman?” he asks. “A freshman?”
“That’s how Tamra got us right in,” she says. “She cut to the front. The guys at the head of the line were pretty happy when we all walked up.”