by Patty Blount
Frowning, he stops walking, so I do, too. He faces me and holds out a hand. My palms start to sweat. You’re safe. I swallow hard and repeat the lie. When I look into his eyes, I see the complete absence of things I always saw in Vic’s and even in Derek’s.
No games.
No challenges.
No lies.
No taunts.
Slowly, I put my hand in his, and wow, my heart is thundering in my chest, and my lungs feel like they might burst, but I’m doing it. I’m touching a guy.
He’s good. He’s safe. He’s good. He’s safe. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.
Even more slowly, Sebastian raises his other hand and puts it over his heart, and I know it’s for my benefit, so I won’t get scared. “I will never give you a reason to be afraid of me.”
He walks me all the way home, up the porch steps and to the front door.
“Is anybody home? You’ll be okay by yourself?”
I don’t mind being alone. It’s being alone inside a big house that makes a lot of strange noises that scares me. But I’m afraid to let Sebastian inside. I feel like a traitor. He just made me a solemn vow, but the last time I trusted a boy, I got raped.
“Ashley?”
I jerk back to the present. “Oh. Um. Sorry about that.”
“Okay. So, I’ll, uh. How about if I just sit right here? You go inside, lock the doors. If you’re scared of being alone, you can talk to me through the window. And if you’re scared of me, you can close the window.”
I—I…oh my God. I can’t find the words, so I nod and run inside. The house is still. So still, I can hear it settle. I toss my stuff on the sofa and open the window in the front room. Sebastian is exactly where he said he’d be, standing on the porch, right in front of the window.
“Hey.” I smile.
“Hey.” He smiles back in that way that makes his eyes light up. “Everything’s okay in there?”
I shrug. “The house is talking to me.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Your house talks?”
“You know,” I say, shaking my head. “All those creaks and whines houses make when you’re by yourself?”
He nods. “They scare you.”
“Yep.” I am so seriously messed up.
I sit down on the sofa, tucking my legs under me so I can face Sebastian outside. “So are you psyched to be playing football again?”
He shrugs. “Not yet. Maybe I will be once we get started. I don’t know.”
“You’re not one of those football-is-life guys, are you?”
He grins and nods. “Hell, yeah, I am. I started playing when I was maybe nine years old. I love the game. But…” He trails off, letting the smile disappear. “It sucked for me, the year you got hurt.” And then he winces. “I’m sorry. That came out totally wrong. I mean, obviously it couldn’t have sucked as much as it did for you,” he amends, and then he gives up, shaking his head.
“What happened?”
He glances at me and then shrugs. “The guys ruined it.”
I nod, getting it. “Oh. The hunt.”
“That was just part of it. The other part started on the first day of practice.”
“What part?”
“You know. The tests. Guys push each other, see how far they can get. Vic was always pushing somebody.” He turns, leans against the porch rail, and crosses his arms. “He went after another kid in the locker room, making fun of him, nothing terrible. I let it go until he called the guy a homo.”
I lean forward. “What do you mean? You let it go?”
Sebastian waves his hand. “I get that a lot of it’s just guys being guys. So I ignore it. I let them have their fun. But the kid’s face went, like, gray. I seriously thought he was gonna puke. I figured he really is gay and hasn’t come out yet. So I told Vic to back off.”
Wow. That’s just such a Sebastian thing to do.
“Next thing I know, I’m on Vic’s list. Practices were hell. He made sure every guy on that team hit me extra hard.”
Jeez. I had no idea. “What you said before, about the guys jumping you in the locker room. What about Derek? Was he one of the guys who hurt you?” I have no idea why I want to know. I guess I need to.
Sebastian shakes his head. “No. I know exactly who they were. Most were seniors, and they’re gone now. Graduated. But there are two still left. Don’t worry. I know how to handle them now.”
I hate this. Those boys, all those boys, punishing me for getting raped, punishing Sebastian for trying to stand up and do the right thing. I hate them. God, I hate them all.
“I’m really sorry he hurt you, Ash.”
My whole body jerks. “Yeah. Me too.” I pick at the fabric on the sofa.
“You miss him?”
With a start, I realize he’s talking about my brother. “No.” I shake my head, and my voice is firm. “I don’t miss Derek now. I miss Derek the way he was before high school, back when we were little. You didn’t know him then, did you?”
Sebastian shakes his head. “No, I didn’t meet him until football.”
“You’d have liked him. He was ridiculously cool.” I blink because my eyes suddenly burn.
Sebastian angles his head, studying me. “You think you’ll ever talk to him again?”
“I talk to him now.” I don’t mention that the talking Derek and I do now consists mostly of shouting insults back and forth.
“No, I mean, like you did before. When he was ridiculously cool. Could you forgive him?”
Sorry, Ashley.
That phrase, delivered with Derek’s trademark charming smile and fake remorse just to appease Mom, suddenly replays in my brain. Derek always got away with everything.
Once he beheaded one of my dolls, and I screamed bloody murder, as one does when her favorite doll is mutilated. Mom came running, expecting us to be bleeding or gasping for our last breaths. When I showed her what Derek did, she ordered him to apologize.
“Sorry, Ashley,” he said, and then stuck his tongue out the second Mom turned her back.
“He’s not really sorry!”
I kept crying, but it didn’t matter. Derek was the golden child in our family. He’d discovered that superpower before he could tie his shoes, and he wielded it like Thor’s hammer.
I’ve already spent most of my life forgiving Derek. I gave him chance after chance, but somewhere along the way, he’d stopped wanting those chances. So damn if I’ll ever give him another one.
“Ashley?”
Sebastian’s voice startles me.
“Are you okay? You looked really sad.”
“Fine.” How easily the lies come now. “And to answer your question, no. I don’t think I can forgive him. Because when I really needed him, when I needed him the most, he said he could barely look at me.”
Sebastian’s face turns murderous, and I need an immediate change of subject.
“Sebas,” I start, and he laughs. “What?”
“You know you’re the only one who calls me that?”
“What? You don’t have any nicknames?”
“Sure I do.” He takes out his phone, swipes and taps, and joins me at the window. “Got three little sisters. They all call me Baz.”
“Baz?” I can’t help it. I snort out a laugh and examine the picture he’s holding up. The girls are adorable. He’s right; they are little. One looks like she’s still in diapers.
“I should probably call you that, if that’s what you like.”
His eyes meet mine. “Nah. The way you say it, it sounds like sea bass. I like it.”
My face heats up. “Okay. Sebas.” And now I can’t remember what I want to ask him.
Oh. Right.
“That website I showed you and Tara before…do you really think we can make that work? Here at Bellford?”
> “Definitely.” He stretches, and it hits me how uncomfortable he must be, standing on my porch, talking to me through a window. I could open the door and let him in. But I won’t. I might lie about being fine to keep up appearances, but that doesn’t mean I actually am fine.
“Hang on.” I hurry to the closet in the hall, grab a small folding step stool, and bring it to the front door. I quickly open the door, shove the stool outside, and lock it again. “I figured you must be tired of standing.”
“Yeah.” He smiles. “Thanks.”
Sebastian grabs the stool and sets it up right under the window. I laugh because it’s just such a Sebastian thing to do. I take out my phone.
“What?”
Shaking my head and still grinning, I record a little bit of video of Sebastian in front of my window. “Nothing. It’s just pretty cool you’d do this for me.”
“Well, I get that you’re scared. I’m your friend. My job is to make you less scared, not more.”
I put the phone down. “I don’t know if that’s how it works, but thanks.”
He waves that away and changes the subject. “You know how we always have pep rallies before a big game?” Sebastian asks, and I nod. “I was thinking that this year, we can make the entire thing a sign-up day for the pledge you showed us before.”
My eyes widen. “That’s a great idea.” I take out my phone and start browsing. “I remember hearing about the NFL doing these public service announcements. Maybe we could get some of the AV kids to help with that, too?”
“Yeah, yeah. Good idea.” He taps a note into his phone. “We have to come up with a name for this.”
I’d already given this a ton of thought. “What do you think of Bengals Against Rape or BAR for short? I was thinking we could do this whole sexual assault awareness program around it called Raise the BAR.”
Sebastian looks impressed. “Not bad, Lawrence. How long have you been thinking about this?”
I shrug. “A long time.” Almost two years, to be exact.
“So why didn’t you ever suggest it?”
I give him a wry look. “Told ya before. I’m the girl who canceled football. Nobody’s gonna climb on board with any idea I have.”
“I did,” he says softly.
“Yeah, well, you’re Sebastian Valenti, defender of the weak, fighter of injustice. Did you see the way Andre looked at me during the principal’s announcement this morning? That’s how almost everybody treats me. Except you.”
He doesn’t say anything for a minute or two…just scrolls through his phone. “There,” he announces. “I sent Mr. Davidson an email telling him I’ll play, I’ll be his captain, if he’ll agree to the pledge.”
“‘O Captain! My Captain!,’” I say with a grin.
Sebastian flushes pink and looks down with a little huff just as Dad’s truck pulls into the driveway.
“Hey, Sebastian!” Dad holds up a hand when he steps out of the vehicle. “What are you doing out here?”
“Joe.” Mom extends Dad’s name into three syllables so that everybody except Dad gets why it’s a monumentally stupid question.
“Oh. Right. Well, come in. We’re home now.”
Sebastian shakes his head. “I gotta get home. Ash, is it okay if I email you later with more ideas?”
“Yeah, absolutely. I’ll do the same. We’ll compare.”
“Cool. See ya.”
I watch Sebastian fold up the step stool, place it carefully near the front door, and walk away. When he reaches the curb, he glances back over his shoulder to give me one more wave.
There’s this tiny little sigh inside my chest, and I don’t know what it means exactly. But I do know this: it doesn’t hurt.
6
Derek
NOW
LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK
I jog through the tunnel that leads out of the stadium. Campus is crowded, full of eager freshmen—unlike me—ready to live the college life. A sea of red Rockets T-shirts fills my vision. Girls in clusters giggle with to-go cups of coffee in their hands. Guys with earbuds bounce to rhythms only they can hear. And everywhere, everywhere, are those friggin’ rally signs.
“Hi!” an overperky girl greets me with a toothpaste commercial smile. “Will you sign up to volunteer for Rock Stock?”
I’m about to sidestep her because I figure she’s going to try selling me on the rally, and I’m sick to death of it already. “Right. Rock Stock.”
“Yeah, it’s what we call it here because we’re the Rockets.”
Yeah. I know. “Uh-huh.”
“So will you volunteer?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m on the football team, so it depends. What kind of help do you need?”
“Everything,” she replies with a wave of her hand over the clipboard, indicating various events listed in loopy girly handwriting. “We need guides to show guests and alumni where to park, and we need staff for the barbecue, and oh, do you know anybody in the marching band? Because we really need some more drummers.”
“Uh, no. Sorry. It’s my first semester.”
“You’re a freshman? Awesome! Welcome to RHU.”
Did this girl drink a gallon of coffee this morning? “Um. Yeah. Thanks.”
“You know what would be really great? If you could get the whole team to support GAR.” And then she whips out yet another stupid blue-and-white flyer.
Cursed. I am so cursed.
“Not interested.” I step around her, but she doesn’t shake so easily.
“You should be interested. The rally is really important. A junior was assaulted off campus last week. You didn’t hear?”
I freeze where I stand, my eyes pinned on hers. “Are you messing with me?”
Perky Girl shakes her head, sending her long silky hair flying. “It’s absolutely true. Here. Take a look.” She shows me the back of the flyer, where the whole account is printed. A junior out with her housemates met some guys, shared a few drinks, and did some dancing. One of the housemates drank excessively, so a guy helped the girl and her friends get her home. Once inside the house, he asked if he could sleep on their sofa because he was too messed up to go home. They agreed. Everyone went to sleep. Hours later, the junior awoke to him on top of her.
He raped her while all her housemates slept peacefully in their beds.
“He seemed so nice,” the article quoted the victim.
I shut my eyes and shake my head. He seemed so nice. Ashley had said almost the exact same thing about Vic.
“Hey, are you okay?” Perky Girl puts a tiny hand on my arm.
“Oh, um. Yeah. Fine.”
“So will you sign up?” She holds out her clipboard and clicks her pen. “We’re trying to get the guys to come out and show their support.”
Yeah, because that’ll work. “Support what exactly?”
“Um, you know. Awareness about sexual assault.”
“I’m already pretty aware.”
She flashes another toothpaste ad grin. “And that’s really great. But we need you to help.”
How, exactly, am I supposed to help? I mean, don’t rape anybody. Duh. I get that part. Seriously, though. I told Ashley to stay home. She didn’t listen to me. So what can Guys Against Rape actually do to show this support that’s so desperately needed?
“There’s so much you can do,” the girl answers my unspoken question, and my mouth falls open. “We’re having our first meeting tomorrow night.” She circles the details on the flyer and hands it to me. “So what’s your name?”
“Lawrence. Derek Lawrence.”
“Great.” She dots the clipboard even though there’s nothing to dot in my name. I guess she thinks it’s cute.
It’s not.
“See ya!” She grins one more time and bounces off to talk to somebody else. I stare at the circle she d
rew around the meeting details and shove it into my pocket.
I’m not going.
A knot forms in my gut, a thick and oily clot of guilt. I sink on to the first bench I spot, clutching my middle and trying like hell not to puke. Damn it, I wish to hell I’d beaten the snot out of Victor Patton.
Came close to it.
“Hey, man.”
I twitch and find some guy sitting beside me. No idea where he came from. He’s older than I am, but not by much. Mid-twenties, maybe? Dark hair, dark eyes, some serious muscle.
I nod and shift away, willing my stomach to settle down.
“I’m gonna say something to you,” the guy says. “And you can tell me to fuck off, or you can listen. I see you sitting here, green around the gills, gripping one of those rally flyers, and see a look on your face I know well.”
I shift back to study him. He meets my gaze without flinching, and there’s something in his tone that tells me he’s not bullshitting.
“Somebody you love got assaulted,” he says, and before I can say anything—before I can even think of something to say—he adds, “Me too.”
I stare at him in disbelief. Are we supposed to do some kind of male bonding over rape…some sort of weird bro hug and then share our fucking feelings? That kink in my gut unclenches, and my breakfast comes up and out. I manage to turn away before I ruin this guy’s day and spew into the bushes behind the bench. It takes a few minutes. When I’m finally empty and want to crawl into the gutter to die, the guy shoves a bottle of water into my field of vision.
“Take it. Keep it.”
Grateful, I crack the seal, chug, and rinse out my mouth. Then I take a nice gulp, sit back on the bench, and wipe my mouth. “Thanks,” I offer a few minutes later, when I’m sure I’m not dying.
“Yeah, no big.”
There’s a long pause. “Girlfriend?” he asks after a minute.
And it takes me another minute to figure out he’s asking who I know that got raped. I shake my head. “Sister.”
“Oh, man. I’m sorry.”
I only nod. What else is there to say? In silence, we watch Perky Girl chase down two guys on Rollerblades.
He snorts out a laugh. “That girl has some serious fun attitude.”
