Haley knows this isn’t the time to argue with Jenny, but she can’t let this go. “I know that’s how you felt, but I don’t think he thought you were crazy. He thought you were drunk. And he asked hard questions because he was trying to sort it out. No one thinks you’re crazy.”
“Everyone thinks I’m a liar,” Jenny says. Her voice is flat. “I’ve been called a slut. An attention--seeker. A lying bitch. A few more horrible things I can’t even make myself say. On the Internet and on my door. Where I live. I walk into the dining hall and everyone stares. Like I’ve got ‘The Raped Girl’ stamped on my forehead. No, not even that, because he was never found guilty. It’s ‘The Girl Who Cried Rape.’ And the whole time I’m making a sandwich or pouring milk or walking to class, I look around and wonder which of them posted those things about me. Who believes me? Who pities me? Who hates me?”
As she speaks, the emotion creeps back into her expression, her voice, again. Her eyes fill. Haley’s do, too. She glances around the circle. Even Carrie wipes her eyes.
“I know you think the point was to get him out of here, Haley,” Jenny says. “But the fact is he’s free and I’m left with all this crap. And it’s wrong.”
. . .
The corridor sways.
“Whoa,” Jordan mutters, leaning against the wall. He pauses, waits for his feet to steady. One hand holds a bottle of water, the other a cranapple juice. She might have changed her mind.
Plus, it masks the real reason for his departure: he wanted a couple more condoms from the bathroom dispenser. He only had the one he’d been carrying in his pocket.
When the fun--house motion of the hallway slows, he continues his walk back to the room. He swings the door open.
She’s not there.
“Jenny?” he says. As if she’s playing a game. Hiding in the closet or under the bed. He knows she’s not in the bathroom since he was just there.
He hears voices down the hall. People returning from the party. The house had been silent up to now. He briefly considers asking if they passed her, saw her, but decides against it. Decides against announcing that whatever girl he brought back to his room tonight has slipped out without telling him.
Jordan tosses the bottles on the floor, strips off his clothes, and climbs into bed. He’s asleep within minutes. A deep sleep, untroubled by the loud laughter and door--slamming of still--staggering housemates.
Dreamless sleep.
. . .
40
Richard
Against his better judgment, Richard agrees to meet her. He has trouble saying no to Haley.
“What’s the politically correct therapy--speak term? Oh, I know: ‘I don’t feel safe.’ But in this case, I mean literally,” he’d said. “Mona and the rest of her coven will be waiting for me right outside the door with a hanging noose.”
Haley didn’t laugh, which wasn’t reassuring. Made him think this had occurred to her as well.
“Just tell her what you told me,” she pleaded. “I think it would be good for her to hear.”
“Why would she ever want to speak with me?” he continued. “I’m the enemy.”
“Once she hears what you did, she’ll know you’re not.”
“Why can’t you tell her?”
“Because I think it would be good for you, too,” she said. “It’ll give you some closure.”
Closure. More therapy--speak. He feels like the entire campus is engulfed in it following the assembly. Not that it’s a bad thing, but with his tendency to accidentally stamp through the carefully laid minefields of politically correct language, it’s nerve--racking. He keeps expecting something to blow.
He’s nervous now, sitting in the Hard Math Café, waiting for Haley and Jenny. Gail told them this would be a good time, and she was right; the place is deserted. Partly because half the campus has already cleared out for Thanksgiving, partly because at two o’clock people are still running off fumes from the lunchtime caffeine.
As he waits, he gets a text. It’s a guy from the house, Colin. Wants to know how many, if any, people are staying through the break.
“Damned if I know,” Richard mutters to himself as he shoots Colin a response. But maybe, he thinks, given his new role, he’s supposed to know.
Exley had scarcely left campus before guys from Taylor approached Richard. They wanted him to take Exley’s spot as the house social chair.
He couldn’t have been more surprised.
“I’m not really the person to fill the Doctor’s shoes,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I was at Wednesday night pool shots.”
“We’re thinking a new direction might be good,” Colin said. “Like maybe some coed events that aren’t ragers? Might be your thing. Now that you’ve gotten all domesticated, with a girlfriend and everything.”
“Right, we’ll do chick flick night and serve chardonnay and brie. I’m not that guy, either,” he said, laughing. But he said yes. What the hell. Maybe the college would lift the sanction on Taylor House if they could prove ten or more of them could congregate without getting hammered.