“Do you remember who the guys were?”
“I have no idea. They disappeared once we got in. It was crowded and pretty dark.”
“Did you know about this rule before you went?”
“No, but it explains a lot.”
Dean Hunt tilts his head. “Explains what?”
“Why Brandon Exley invited me,” she says. Just above a whisper. A catch in her voice. The first so far. “I’m a freshman. And he knew I’d bring others.”
There’s a box of tissues on Dean Hunt’s desk, but he doesn’t make a move toward it. Haley reaches over and plucks a few, hands them to Jenny.
“Thanks,” Jenny says.
“Did you see Brandon Exley at the party?” Dean Hunt asks.
Jenny dabs at her nose before answering. “Not at first. It was so crowded. But eventually he saw us and came over. I introduced him to everyone and then he sort of . . . cleared a path for us. To the drinks.”
Dean Hunt writes. Haley wishes she could see what, exactly. She’s fascinated by what he chooses to record and what he just listens to.
“Tell me about that. The drinks.”
“There was this garbage can full of something. It was really sweet. They were handing out cups of that.”
“Who was?”
“Some guys. I don’t know their names.”
“They were handing you cups that were already full?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t fill the cup yourself?”
“No.”
“Did you actually see them fill your cup from the garbage can?”
“Uh . . . yes. They would dip them in and hand them out.”
“Did anyone hand you a full cup that you did not see filled from that garbage can?”
Jenny pauses, narrows her eyes. As if she’s trying to focus on a blurred image. “I don’t think so.”
“And you don’t know who served you?”
“Well, Brandon Exley. Once. Then there was this guy who was sort of working the can, serving a lot of people. He gave me a few. I don’t know him.”
“Can you be more specific than ‘a few’?”
Jenny pauses. Bites her lip. “No. I never exactly emptied my cup.”
“Because you didn’t drink from it?”
“Because he kept putting more in.”
Dean Hunt jots. His jawline tightens. “Can you rate your clarity at that point?” he asks, his eyes glued to his notepad.
“After a while it might have been . . . five. Six, maybe.”
She started dancing, Jenny explains. At first it was fun, but then she felt dizzy. She felt like the room was spinning and she couldn’t really make out faces. She lost track of the girls; they seemed to drift away on the dance floor. Marliese was grinding with some guy, and Tamra disappeared. She suddenly realized she was alone and tried to push her way out, but she was still holding her cup and she spilled punch on some girl.
“‘Watch it, bitch!’ That’s what she screamed at me,” Jenny says. “It felt like . . . I don’t know. Hell? It was dark and loud and someone was screaming at me, and I felt like I was going to throw up or cry or both.”
Jenny needed air. She wanted to leave. But she couldn’t find the exit. It was so dark, and there were so many people in the way.
“It was a seven,” she says quietly to Dean Hunt, even though he didn’t ask for a rating.
“That’s pretty high,” he says. “Are you sure?”
She nods. “I threw up,” she continues. “In a wastebasket. Somehow I wandered into a quiet room and just . . . barfed.”
“Can you describe the basket?” he asks gently.
Jenny draws back, straightening. “Describe it? You mean, what it looked like?”
Dean Hunt reaches behind him and pulls out a waste-basket. It’s a metallic cylinder, lined with a white plastic bag. “Did it look like this?”
Jenny’s eyes widen. “No,” she says. “It was red. And plastic. Actually, it wasn’t a wastebasket—it was a recycling tub! And there were bottles in it. Empty water bottles. I remember . . . Oh my gosh, this is coming back now . . . I remember feeling sorry. So sorry. Because somebody was going to have to rinse out the gross tub and deal with the bottles.”
Those are returnables. You don’t put returnable bottles in the recycling tubs. Even Haley knows that.
You also don’t keep tubs in the common areas. Only the bedrooms.
Dean Hunt returns the cylinder to its place behind his desk. He writes some more. “What happened after that?”
“I managed to get outside,” Jenny says. “I remember the fresh air felt so good. I walked a little. Not far, because I could still see the house and hear the party. I remember thinking I would walk back to the dorm, by myself, and I was about to leave when someone said hello. And it was him. Jordan.”
“He followed you?” Dean Hunt asks.
“Maybe. I don’t know. He was just there. Standing under a tree.”
Haley can’t help it: she shivers. This creeps her out. Poor Jenny.
“What did you do?” Dean Hunt asks.
“I said hi. He asked me my name. I remember thinking it was strange. That he was out there all by himself. Drinking. Not the same thing. It was a bottle of something.”