by Katie Ashley
We eased down in the leather bound chairs in front of the desk. “Have you ever been in here?” Mom asked, in a whisper once Mrs. Tillery left the room.
“Nope. Just Mr. Sands office.”
“I see.”
Dr. Micheltree didn’t keep us long. She breezed into the office, her usual dark bob bouncing. “Good morning,” she said, with a smile. I couldn’t help but wonder how fake she seemed. I guess she was used to putting on a front for irate parents. “And what is it you’ve come to see me about?”
Mom cleared her throat. “I’m Ms. Bradford, and my daughter, Jordan, has something she needs to tell you.”
I stared at Mom in disbelief. I never imagined her throwing me under the bus in the first two seconds, but she had. Maybe even a small part of me hoped she would say the words—that she would utter the lie that had to be spoken. But she didn’t.
Dr. Micheltree looked expectantly at me. “Yes, Jordan?”
This was it—the big moment. The invisible line drawn in the sand that I had to cross. I swallowed nervously before I finally found my voice. “I was raped.”
Dr. Micheltree’s eyebrows shot up and disappeared into her forehead. “Here on campus?”
I nodded.
She stared at me in shock. “I’m so sorry, Jordan. When did it happen?”
“Last night.”
“And where was it?”
“The gym.”
I held my breath, waiting for her to ask the one question she seemed to have forgotten. She knew when and where, but she seemed unconcerned with who it was. I mean, wouldn’t you think it would be the most important question? It sure as hell would be to me. But the truth was, she was more concerned with her precious school’s appearance—like who could get their ass in a sling because they weren’t properly supervising students.
Her brows furrowed together, and she finally asked, “Do you know who it was?”
“Yes.”
“Who?” she prompted.
I glanced over at Mom. She bobbed her head in encouragement. I looked back at Dr. Micheltree. “It was Coach Thompson.”
I expected a range of reactions from her—shock, disbelief, horror, outrage…anything but what she said was certainly not one of them. “You must be mistaken.”
The wind left my body in one long whoosh. “Excuse me?” I croaked.
She avoided my gaze by staring down at her lap. “I said, you must be mistaken. Mark Thompson is one of the finest teachers we have here at Newton. His reputation is impeccable.”
Before I could argue with her, Mom leaned forward in her chair. “Just what are you trying to say?”
Dr. Micheltree clasped her hands together. “I feel that perhaps your daughter is mistaken.”
Mom’s face reddened. “You think she’s mistaken about being raped? And just how does one go about being mistaken about something like that?”
“I just feel she needs to be careful who she is accusing.”
Anger washed over me. I heard Coach T’s voice in my ear. “Go ahead and go to the office. They won’t believe you….”
“You think I’m lying, don’t you?” I demanded.
Dr. Micheltree refused to answer. “One second please. I want to call Mr. Sands in here. He’s an Assistant Principal as well as our athletic director.”
“I’m not lying!” I shouted.
She held her hand up to silence me. “Just a moment, Jordan.”
Within a few seconds, I heard Mr. Sands name being paged over the intercom. He must’ve been close by because he appeared in the doorway just a few minutes later.
He didn’t seem too surprised to see me. After all, wasn’t I the badass with a reputation and record? “Hello Jordan,” he said, pleasantly.
“Hi,” I grumbled. I’d gotten to know Mr. Sands fairly well in the four years I’d been at Newton. He was my administrator so whenever I got written up for doing something, I had to go to him for my punishment. In all those years and through all the shit I’d done, we’d had plenty of opportunities to strengthen our relationship.
He walked over to have a seat next to Dr. Micheltree’s desk. “Just what seems to be the problem?”
“Jordan wants to make a rape claim against Mark Thompson.”
The color drained from Mr. Sands’ face. “Excuse me?”
I nodded. “He raped me Monday night in his office.”
Mr. Sands gave me a sad look. “Jordan, do you know what you’re saying?”
“Yes, I do!” I snapped. Their doubt in my credibility was seriously pissing me off. Regardless of what Coach T had threatened, I never imagined I would be questioned. I thought it would all be him. “Why would I lie about something like this?”
Mr. Sands glanced over at Dr. Micheltree, and she gave a short nod of her head. “Jordan,” he began, “you do understand the seriousness of the accusation you are making. Whether guilty or not, educators never recover their reputations after something like this happens.” He paused and drew in a deep breath. “I know that teachers can sometimes be unfair and make students angry. Sometimes they can get so angry over an F on a paper or a snide remark they decide they want to make a teacher pay. This isn’t what this is about, is it?”
I smirked at him and fought the urge to shout, “This isn’t about some stupid F or a smart ass remark! It’s about him screwing me for three months and then dumping me for no apparent reason!”
But I didn’t. I merely shook my head from side to side. “No, Mr. Sands, this isn’t about revenge. I was raped.”
He leaned forward in his chair. “Jordan, I’ve known you for the last four years. In that time period, you’ve managed to stay in trouble fairly consistently.”
I snorted. “So?”
“Just try to hear me out, okay? I mean, here we’ve got you, a student who has been known to cheat on tests and lie about her whereabouts when skipping class. Then we’ve got a coach like Mark Thompson. He’s been teaching for fifteen years without blemish or complaint. Never has a girl come forward in all those years with such an accusation.” He shook his head. “Who would you believe?”
Once again Coach T’s words echoed through my mind. I clenched my teeth and growled, “I was raped!”
Mom sighed in exasperation. “JoJo, give the doubters your evidence. Maybe then they’ll eat their words.”
Dr. Micheltree and Mr. Sands both stared expectantly at me. I suppose they were waiting for me to whip out a soiled pair of panties or something with conclusive DNA evidence.
“Coach T has a scar on his right hip. It runs from his pelvis down to his inner groin.”
The room grew eerily silent. It felt like all the air had been sucked out. Dr. Micheltree leaned back in her chair, unable to speak. Mr. Sands stared down at the floor. Neither one of them would look at me. They both acted like I was some diseased element on their picture- perfect campus.
It pissed me off.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes, Jordan. We heard you,” Dr. Micheltree said softly. When she looked up at me, hurt pooled in her eyes. But it wasn’t hurt for me. I could read it so easily I almost bolted from my seat to slap her.
It was all for Coach T.
Since they didn’t have any sympathy for me, I decided to give them something I’d even held back from Mom—something that would really make them hate Coach T. “He did it to Melanie Reeves too! I found her panties in his office futon!”
Everyone’s heads swiveled to stare at me. Even Mom’s expression changed to horror, but I think it was because she was afraid I had just overplayed my hand. When she recovered, she cleared her throat. “So, now that you see the truth, what are you going to do about it?”
Dr. Micheltree exchanged a glance with Mr. Sands. “We’ve never had an accusation of this kind here at Newton. It’s unprecedented.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “That’s all well and good, but I want to know what you’re going to do to the son of a bitch?”
“There’s pro
tocol already in order, Ms. Bradford, of what we are to do. We must call the Sheriff’s department. Jordan will have to be interviewed and then—”
I sat up in my chair. “What happens to Coach T while all this is going on?”
“Until formal charges are brought against him, he’ll continue working at the school.”
I gasped, and Mom grabbed my hand. “You mean to tell me he can commit rape and walk the halls a free man?” she asked.
Dr. Micheletree nodded. “Only until formal charges are filed. I’m sure the Sheriff’s Department will expedite the situation.”
“Well then, I suppose we need to get to the Sheriff’s Department right now then?” Mom asked, picking up her purse.
“I suppose so.”
Mom motioned for me to stand up. Dr. Micheltree and Mr. Sands didn’t look pleased we were leaving. I figured the sooner we went to the authorities, the sooner their perfect school was wrecked.
We’d almost reached the door when Dr. Micheltree cleared her throat. “Ms. Bradford,” she began. Mom and I turned back to look at her. “I do hope we can keep this as quiet and as uncomplicated as possible.”
I cringed as Mom shuddered by my side. I braced myself for what she was about to say. She flashed Dr. Micheltree a winning smile. “Of course. I’ll be happy to keep it as uncomplicated as coaches who can’t keep their dicks in their pants!”
And with that, she slammed the office door behind us.
I didn’t sleep at all on Monday night. After I woke up a little after two to find Will gone, I couldn’t go back to sleep. For the rest of the night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Both an emotional and physical ache rippled through my body. And even though I wanted to sob with despair, I couldn’t cry. I was eerily calm while over and over like a movie on repeat, I relived what had happened in Coach T’s office.
At six-thirty, Mom came bustling in to wake me. “How are you feeling, honey?” she asked, sporting her pink flowered robe.
“I’m okay,” I lied. It was pretty sad how good I was becoming at bending the truth. The Old Melanie was literally disgusted by it. But lying not only preserved my sanity, but it insured my survival. And no matter what, I had to survive.
“Were you able to sleep last night?”
I shook my head. “I think I’ll stay at home and take it easy today.”
The truth was I just couldn’t face Coach T yet. Not only would I run the chance of seeing him during school, but I would definitely have to see him at practice. The thoughts of walking past his office to get to the locker room caused my stomach to lurch and churn.
“That’s probably best. I’ll go bring you some breakfast before I leave for work.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She kissed the top of my head before heading on to wake my younger brother, Luke.
When Mom came back an hour later, she brought me breakfast and some Advil. As she started to leave, she turned back to me with a smile. “Now try to get some rest today. And don’t you worry a thing about basketball. I just got off the phone with Coach T, and he told me to tell you not to come in to practice.”
The Advil lodged in my throat. I gulped down the water before I looked at Mom. “Y-You talked to him?” I couldn’t bring myself to speak his name.
She nodded as she absentmindedly smoothed my rumpled sheets. “I didn’t want you to get in any trouble for missing practice. You know how ridiculous he can be about that.”
“Yeah.” Coach T often joked that the only reason to miss practice was for a death in the family—and that was your own.
Mom smiled. “I think he feels just awful about what happened.”
My chest heaved, and I fought to find my voice. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I think he feels he’s to blame—you know for asking you to go get that silly pump. I assured him it could’ve happened to anyone and not to blame himself.” She glanced up at me. “Melly, you look so pale! If you’re not better this afternoon, you’re going to the emergency room, young lady. No ifs, ands, or buts!”
My mouth had gone dry. “Okay, Mom.”
“That’s my girl.” She came back over and kissed me on the top of my head. “See you tonight.”
I nodded and forced a smile. But as soon as I heard the garage door slam, I sank back into bed. The thin veil holding my emotions in check ripped in two. Pulling the covers over me, I was finally able to cry again. Desperate sobs rolled through me as my emotions raged like a storm, shaking my body so hard the bed creaked and groaned beneath me.
Once I finished crying, my thoughts turned over like a switch, and I seared with white hot anger. I began screaming and thrashing like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum. The range of extreme emotions frightened me.
Finally, I was spent. Exhausted and hoarse, I tried catching my breath. It came in short, sniffling hiccups. As I lay there with my arm draped over my eyes, I thought about Coach T. I wondered if he was glad I wasn’t going to be at school or practice, or if he worried that my avoiding him meant my resolve was breaking. But knowing him, he probably wasn’t worried about me telling. After all, he could prey not only on using Will against me, but the shy part of my personality that would loathe the attention that coming forward would bring. He had me trapped in more ways than one.
Even if he knew I wouldn’t tell, I wondered if he was worried about facing me again. Like me, did he worry what he would say when he was around me? Or how he would act? Did he wonder how he could possibly stand next to me and act like everything was all right?
The thought overwhelmed me, causing my breath to quicken into anxiety-ridden pants. But thankfully and mercifully, I fell into a deep sleep.
***
Sleep on Tuesday turned into a self-induced coma. I barely woke up long enough to speak to Mom and curl my nose up in disgust at the offer of food. I slipped in and out of consciousness—in and out of the nightmare that had taken over my life. Light turned to dark and then turned to light again.
Wednesday dawned, and I knew whether I wanted to or not, I had to go to school. It wasn’t just about facing my fears, but it was more about getting Mom off my back. I didn’t want her hovering around me, worrying that the bump on my head was the cause of my problems. As long as she was around me, I was afraid I might blurt out the truth.
As I rolled out of bed, I grabbed my cell phone. I glanced down at it and groaned. I had a million new text messages. I imagined they were from Lauren and other team members, and there were probably some from Will. Just the thought of scrolling through them overwhelmed me, so I just turned my phone off.
I didn’t bother fixing up. After I showered, I pulled my hair into a ponytail. I slipped on a pair of jeans and team hoodie. When I got downstairs, I found the kitchen empty. Luke had early practice this morning, so Mom had left to take him. I grabbed a piece of toast and a water bottle and headed out the door.
As I drove to school, everything seemed the same as it had before—the same traffic, the same early morning radio station’s corny jokes, the same morning parking lot antics at school. The world had kept right on turning despite what had happened to me.
But everything normal changed when I entered school. I heard it the moment I pushed through the double doors into the front lobby. It was a slow whine like an annoying gnat interrupting a picnic. The kind you couldn’t drive away by furiously swatting your hands.
As I started down the blue and white tiled hallway, it became a low rumble—ominous and dark like a storm brewing on the horizon. I glanced at the faces around me, my heart thudding to a stop. The usual goofy grins and wide-eyes of gossipers had been replaced by masks of shock and horror.
My first thoughts were that someone had been killed. The air constricted in my lungs. It was the same somber atmosphere as two years ago when a popular junior died in a car accident. Who could it have been? Suddenly Will’s face flashed before my eyes.
Oh, please, God. Not Will!
But as I passed by each buzzing group, conversation silenced.
I bit my lip and shifted my book bag that suddenly felt like lead on my shoulder. It took only a second for me to realize that a death wouldn’t silence conversation. No, that kind of swarming hum was reserved for rumor and accusation. Someone was in trouble. And then I knew.
The masks of horror were for me.
Numerous pairs of eyes burned through me, questioning, judging, mocking. At that moment, I would have done anything to escape—sold my soul if I had to. The slow burn on my face crept down my neck, and I began to wonder if it would spread out onto my arms as well.
There’s no way they know. Only you and Coach T know what happened, and there’s no way in Hell he’s told! As much as I tried to calm myself down, it didn’t help very much. My heart continued pounding. Just let me make it to my first period class. But when I hurried around the corner, I skidded to a stop. Dr. Micheltree and two men stood outside the classroom.
Suddenly, I forgot how to breathe. A voice in my head screamed, “In and out, in and out!” Picking up my feet seemed foreign, and if someone hadn’t bumped into me, I would have been forever cemented in that spot.
When they saw me, Dr. Micheltree started forward, parting the crowd like Moses with the Red Sea.
“Melanie, will you come with us please?”
Speaking was not even a possibility. Fear wound tightly around my vocal cords, restricting my air. I merely nodded. I followed her and the men back down the hallway.
The looks were even more intense now. I made the mistake of glancing up once, but after the expressions on people’s faces, I ducked my head back down again.
They don’t know. They don’t know. They don’t know! Once again I rationalized that only Coach T and I knew, and he would never, ever tell. He had sworn me to secrecy, hadn’t he? There were no cameras in the gym, and no one had been left at school that late besides us. No one could know!
As much as I tried believing that, I couldn’t possibly understand why I was being summoned to the office not two days after what had happened, nor why everyone looked at me like I was diseased or something.
I was thankful when Dr. Micheltree ushered me into the main office. It was virtually empty this time of the morning, so there was no one else to stare at me. The clicking of her heels echoed off the tile floors as we made our way down the long corridor to her office.
