The Swallows

by Lisa Lutz

  “Coach will not agree to that,” I said.

  “We’ll see,” Linny said.

  Two loud and two soft knocks interrupted our conversation.

  I opened the door. Alyson Mosby, a junior I knew just by name and sight, stood in the hallway, flanked by Mel and Kate.

  “Welcome,” I said, sweeping my hand across the room, like a butler or something.

  Linny sat up and looked eagerly at our new guest.

  “And now we’re an army of five,” Linny said.

  “Time to go, Linny.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why,” I said. “Out.”

  Linny tried to hold her ground, but we’d been through this before. She’s small enough that I can physically remove her if necessary. I gave her a moment to decide whether she wanted to leave with her dignity or not.

  “I have an appointment,” Linny said, quickly departing.

  After Linny was gone, Kate made introductions.

  “Alyson Mosby, meet Gemma Russo.”

  “A pleasure,” I said. “Did Kate tell you about our work?”

  “She told me you had some plans. I’m unaware of any actual work being accomplished,” Alyson said.

  “We’re still in the planning stages,” I said.

  Then I looked at Mel. “Where are we, by the way?”

  “I’m working on it,” Mel snapped.

  I told Alyson to have a seat and asked if I could get her anything.

  “Like what?” Alyson said.

  Mel opened the supply drawer and listed off the sundry edibles.

  “You’re out of licorice, FYI,” Mel said.

  “I’ll have a licorice,” Alyson said.

  It seemed like a good sign that she still had a sense of humor. I took a seat next to her on the couch while Kate took a position on the coffee table.

  “A cup of tea,” Kate said, “if it isn’t too much trouble.”

  “Coming right up,” said Mel.

  This is all I could tell you about Alyson Mosby: She was a junior slummer. Science was her thing. Never part of the Ten, but Ten adjacent from what I could tell. Pretty, with giant brown eyes, a long neck and thin lips. She was a forward on the soccer team. She looked like a real athlete, with noticeably muscular legs. I once overheard three boys arguing about the relative attractiveness of those legs. Their conversation could be reduced to these three opinions.

  Boy #1: a work of art.

  Boy #2: too beefy.

  Boy #3: I only care what’s between them.

  I gave Alyson my brief sales pitch and asked if she had any questions.

  “I know what happened to Kate. I guess I’d like to hear your war stories,” Alyson said.

  Mel turned on the kettle and gave me this look.

  “You mind going first, Mel?” I said.

  Mel pulled up a chair.

  “Okay. Long story short,” Mel said. “Mick asked me out last year. My roommate was in complete shock. She acted like it was a miracle that someone like him even knew my name. He said all the right things. He acted like dating a girl with a brain was such a thrill and he was always complimenting me, which I’d never had before. But I see now how it was totally over the top. He said that I was the kind of girl that he could fall in love with and, like an idiot, I believed him. We started hooking up and stuff, just making out. Once I was convinced that he really liked me, we started to do more. And then he became weirdly fixated on oral sex—I mean, like on him. I realized later it was a long con. But at the time, I—God, I was stupid.”

  “How’d you learn about the contest?” Alyson said.

  “He was a dumbass,” said Mel. “I went to his room one day to meet him and his computer was open. I didn’t know what I was looking at, I just knew it was about me and it was awful. I called my big sister, Madison, at college and she said she’d heard some stuff over the years. She told me what she knew. After that, I tried to ignore Mick. I couldn’t even look at him. Eventually he sent me a text and asked me why I suddenly stopped liking him. I replied with a one-word text: Dulcinea. Then he wrote back: Don’t tell anyone. It’s our secret. It was so creepy.”

  I felt guilty knowing the details of Mel’s humiliation without having my own depraved story to reciprocate. As I was debating whether I should make up a story, Mel asked Alyson about hers.

  “Remember Mike Cage? He graduated last year?”

  “Yeah, I remember him. Mike? Really?” said Mel.

  Mike seemed like that guy that sensible girls date. He was smart but lacked looks or charisma. In theory, he was the nice guy you’re supposed to want but never really do.

  “We started going out middle of my freshman year,” Alyson said.

  “And you liked him?” Mel said, her face scrunched up in disbelief.

  I was grateful Mel was asking the questions that we all were probably thinking.

  “I know, I know,” said Alyson. “But he was super nice at the start. And my mother always told me to date men who are grateful to be going out with you.”

  “If you guys were a legit couple, why would he submit your name to Dulcinea?”

  “The editors got into his head. He was always an outsider, and suddenly members of the Ten were acting like he was one of them. It was more important to him than I thought it was.”

  “Were you ever suspicious?” said Kate.

  “Yeah. I mean, at some point I definitely noticed Mike was weird about blowjobs. Like, he didn’t seem to want to do anything else. I had a theory that he’d watched too much blowjob porn and got locked into a fetish,” said Alyson.

  “Huh?” said Mel. “Is that a thing?”

  “My mom says that if boys fixate on a particular kind of porn, they lose their ability to ejaculate when not viewing their porn of preference,” said Alyson.

  “That’s what happens with foot fetishists, right?” said Kate.

  “Exactly,” said Alyson.

  Mel tilted her head to the side and gazed up at the ceiling.

  “You know of any double-blind studies on the subject?” Mel said.

  “So,” I said. “Mike became fixated on BJs. But when did you figure it out?”

  “I didn’t figure anything out,” Alyson said. “Mike and I went to a basement party and Toby Givens—you know, Ty Givens’s younger brother? Pervert runs in the family. Anyway, Toby walked right up to me and asked me to suck him off. I asked why, meaning, Why would I do that? He just said, ‘I heard you’re good, but I want to make sure your boyfriend isn’t padding your scores.’ ”

  “No way,” said Mel.

  “Yeah,” said Alyson. “Toby was super drunk. Some of the editors heard and took him away. I asked what he was talking about and the guys played it off. But Mike was a bad liar. I kept asking him about it over and over again. Eventually he cracked and told me everything.”

  “Really, he just told you. Everything?” said Mel.

  “I promised I wouldn’t break up with him if he confessed. He confessed,” Alyson said.

  “And then what happened?” said Mel.

  “I broke up with the piece of shit.”

  Kate and Alyson exchanged a high five.

  “Well done,” said Kate.

  “Did you tell anyone?” I said.

  “I talked about it with a few friends. When I got a little sister this year, I warned her about the boys. But…I don’t know. I’ve been thinking there’s more to be done.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” I said.

  There was a weird pause after that. I had hoped that the conversation would shift to another topic and I’d be spared having to tell my own Dulcinea confession.

  “What’s your story?” Alyson said.

  “It’s not very interesting,” I said.

  “It was Jonah, was
n’t it?” said Alyson.

  I didn’t look at Mel or Kate as I told the lie.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Too bad,” said Alyson. “I always thought he was one of the good ones.”

  Ms. Witt

  Back inside my cottage, I took sheets of aluminum foil and molded them to the windows. I had chosen this place for the privacy and realized I was living in a fishbowl.

  Keith jogged by as I was circling my cottage, confirming that the foil obstructed any view of the interior.

  “Greg asked me to invite you to dinner,” Keith said.

  “He sent you here to invite me?”

  “You don’t have cell reception and he knew I was probably going for a run. He’s making rabbit stew. Should I tell him you’re coming?” he said, squinting at the foil reflection.

  I wanted to talk to Greg about a few things, but I didn’t want to have rabbit stew for dinner.

  Reading my mind, Keith said, “Whenever Greg invites me to dinner, I either pregame or postgame in the kitchen at Dahl. And I always bring beer. But maybe you like mulled wine and sweet vermouth.”

  “Tell Greg I’ll be there,” I said. “And thanks for the advice.”

  “Cool,” Keith said, turning back onto the trail.

  That’s when I noticed the tread on his footprints.

  “Stop,” I said.

  “What’s up?” he said, turning back around.

  “Why are your footprints all over my cottage?” I said, pointing out the clear prints by my front door.

  “I installed the floodlight,” he said.

  “Oh,” I said.

  I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to thank him or not.

  “Was it wise to connect another electrical device to a system that’s already barely functioning?” I said.

  “I didn’t. It has a battery,” Keith said.

  “Have you been leaving notes for me?”

  “Why would I leave notes when our conversations are so awesome?”

  “Huh. Must be Loafers,” I said.

  “What?” Keith said.

  I pointed out one of the prints with the smooth sole.

  Keith studied the other footprints. He was staring at them for a really long time. Then he looked up and scanned the landscape. His expression darkened when he met my eye.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

  He jogged away before I could ask him what he meant. Only later did I think it was odd that he didn’t comment on the aluminum foil.

  * * *

  —

  The rabbit stew was intended as a peace offering, even though I considered it yet another layer to his debt.

  Greg answered the door wearing a white apron that looked more appropriate for a butcher shop than a kitchen. I delivered a bottle of dry red wine. Greg ushered me into his weird parlor room. I could smell rabbit stew cooking.

  “In my defense, I wasn’t fully cognizant of this imbroglio between you two,” Greg said. “May I ask what happened?”

  “Do you really want to know?” I said, unscrewing the wine cap.

  “I suppose not,” he said.

  I knew that would be his answer. My father has male friends with whom he shares and exults in his misdeeds, and then there’s Greg.

  “How is the cabin working out?” Greg said, placing two cordial glasses on his bar.

  “It’s okay,” I said, as I poured the wine. I took a sip from my glass and poured another finger. “You need bigger glasses.”

  “I would like you to consider other living options,” Greg said. “There is another campus apartment that you might find—”

  “No, thank you. I’m good for now. I have a few administrative questions for you.”

  “By all means,” Greg said.

  “Martha Primm. When did she arrive at Stonebridge and why?”

  “Oh. I wasn’t expecting a Martha question.”

  Greg took two sips and gazed down at the empty glass. I also finished my glass and poured another round.

  “The school board made me hire her about five years ago after an unfortunate incident.”

  “Can you be more specific about the unfortunate incident?” I said.

  “I was hoping for a more pleasant conversation this evening,” Greg said.

  “I’ll make you a deal. You tell me about the unfortunate incident over drinks and we can talk about botany or whatever you want over dinner. Again, what happened?”

  “A female student accused a male student of rape,” Greg said.

  “And how did you hear about this?”

  “The young woman came to my office and told me. We only had a career counselor on staff back then,” Greg said.

  “Is something burning?” I said.

  Greg turned and ran to the kitchen. I followed him. He switched off the burner and stirred the murky concoction.

  “So this girl came to you. What was her name?”

  “I can’t provide names,” Greg said.

  Greg returned to the parlor. I’d poured six times and yet we’d only drunk half the bottle.

  “You don’t have to give me real names. Just use Jane and John. So Jane came to your office and told you that John had raped her. What did you do?”

  “I didn’t know what to do,” Greg said. “There was no procedure that I was aware of. It was the first time anything of that nature happened on my watch. I didn’t know if I needed to take…Jane to the hospital or call the police. I was utterly out of my depth. I contacted a female member of the board and she told me that she’d handle it. Then the board member showed up with Martha the next day. I thought it was a good thing. I also thought it was better that Jane talked to a woman.”

  “What was the result?” I said.

  “Martha interviewed both parties and, after a day or so, um, Jane retracted her statement. She also decided to leave Stonebridge.”

  “All of this happened after Jane started talking to Martha Primm?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “And then Martha was hired full-time for her remarkable ability to squash testimony.”

  “I honestly don’t know what happened. Once Martha took over I wasn’t part of the process.”

  “So you did nothing?”

  “What should I have done?”

  The question was asked so earnestly, it was hard to be angry with him.

  “I’m curious,” I said. “When Jane came to you and told you her story, did you believe her?”

  “I did. But I thought it was best to remove myself from the situation.”

  “Why?” I said.

  “Young girls don’t want to talk to old men about such things. Am I wrong?” Greg said.

  “An old man who listens is better than a young woman who doesn’t.”

  * * *

  —

  I followed Keith’s postgame instructions and went to Dahl after my inedible meal with Greg. The kitchen was dark and quiet when I entered. While I was foraging through the industrial-sized refrigerator, I heard a crunching sound, then a crinkling sound, coming from the pantry.

  “Who’s there?” I said.

  “Alex?” a male voice said.

  I turned around and saw Finn standing at the mouth of the pantry, gently cradling a bag of potato chips in his left arm. I closed the freezer door and the room went dark.

  “Where’s the light?” I said.

  Finn flicked on an overhead light. His eyes, rimmed red, squinted against the bright fluorescents. He extended the bag.

  “Chip?”

  I took a greedy handful.

  “You okay, Finn?”

  “I’m so thirsty,” he said, just standing there.

  “You should drink some water.”

  “That’s a really good idea,” he said
.

  I filled a glass of water from the tap and passed it to Finn. He gave me the bag of chips in exchange, downed the entire glass in one extended gulp, then gazed down at the empty glass.

  “This reminds me of something,” he said.

  “Drinking water?” I said.

  “No. I met your mother.”

  “This reminds you of meeting my mother?”

  “The feeling is the same, you know?” he said.

  “I don’t. What feeling?”

  “Being caught.”

  “What did my mother catch you doing?”

  Finn expelled a long sigh. “Visiting you,” he said. “I made a bad impression.”

  “Nah, you were fine,” I said.

  I wasn’t going to tell him that only his eyebrows had drawn my mother’s notice.

  “Can I tell you something?” Finn said.

  His tone suggested a dark secret was forthcoming.

  “You can tell me anything,” I said.

  “I don’t want to be in the pantry anymore.”

  “I was hoping for a meatier secret,” I said.

  “I want to hang out,” Finn said.

  “With me?”

  “Yes. But not here.”

  I was enjoying stoned Finn and his peculiarly guileless conversation.

  “So, where do you want to hang out?”

  “My place is closer than your place,” he said.

  “That works for me,” I said.

  We raided the pantry for more provisions and made our way to his apartment. When we reached the front door to Dickens, Finn suggested I disguise myself, I assumed in case a student was roaming the halls. It seemed a bit unnecessary, but I played along. He gave me his coat, flicked up the collar, and wrapped his scarf around the bottom half of my face. I thought the sunglasses were overkill, but I managed.

  “Follow me,” he said in a whisper.

  We traveled four flights up the north stairwell and into his apartment undetected.