by Anne Eliot
“You did what!? You were trying to get the scoop without just asking me? Dad!”
Dad shrugs. “You've been pretty evasive. I only called Coach to ask his opinion on the guy. I was curious.”
“About Corey Nash?” I say, almost laughing. I risk some guarded eye contact with Coach Williams. “They called you, about Corey? And you knew what you knew—but you didn't tell the whole story? Why not?”
Coach speaks to me as though the others aren't in the room. “He wanted the chance to tell you first. Told me he loves you. Said he wanted to tell you so he'd be there to catch you if you freaked out and fell off the deep end. He didn't want you to find out alone or from anyone else. And most importantly, without him there to help you.”
“Oh I freaked out. And then I fell, Coach. Major. And nobody caught me or helped me. Not my boyfriend, and not my parents—that's for sure.”
I dart an accusing look at Dad. “I fell hard. Crashed and burned, if you want the report straight from the lips of your crazy daughter.”
I feel tears welling into my eyes as I remember Gray's hands dropping to his sides as I screamed for him not to touch me. Is that what he'd been doing? Trying to catch me? I push all thoughts of him being anything but my enemy away. I can't think of him. Not now.
Dad's turning all purple and he's shouting at the top of his lungs. “What does that mean? Coach, what is there to tell? Someone say something that makes sense. What in the hell is going on here? Jess, start talking—your mother and I have already assumed the worst.”
I pace into the front door alcove and look out at our lawn.
“Fine. I've been lying to you all summer,” I say.
“I knew it,” says Mom.
I turn. They're all waiting, arms crossed like a jury that's already found me guilty.
Well—I'm about to flip it. This is my trial, not theirs.
A whisper is all I can muster for my first accusation, “You've been lying to me too.”
Coach Williams shifts his feet. My dad looks away. Mom's blinking really fast.
I move closer and muster more courage, more decibels for my voice. “Dad…what have you assumed would be the worst? Between me an my boyfriend—what's the absolute worst that I could do?”
I can tell Dad's pissed but trying to keep it together. He humors me with an answer. “My worst, Jess, would be that your Corey is some sort of player who's taken advantage of you. I read the guy's over-the-top declarations of texted-love. And, frankly, I'm suspicious as hell. You say you've broken up with him; but his last two messages were sent less than an hour ago. And he's been apologizing for how much he hurt you since last night? Did that kid hurt you?”
My heart twists. And I can't speak. Think. Breathe.
Did Gray hurt me? Did he ever really hurt me? Never. Not once. I think it's been the opposite.
I imagine Gray's gentle smile. The endless concern for me in his eyes. Even before I'd proposed the stupid contract. How he'd thought he was waking me up so I wouldn't miss the interview—even though he knew exactly who I was.
And yesterday, his hands were so gentle. And his lips. Soft and urgent, but so careful against mine in the Fairy Grotto. Then the pain in his eyes as I screamed in his face. Told him I hated him.
I hurt him. Not the other way around.
It's all I can do not to cry.
I solidify my expression into my default bored look and concentrate on breathing.
Dad shakes his head at me. He's annoyed because he thinks I'm not responding to him on purpose. And as usual. I want to tell him it's not that, I simply can't open my mouth right now or air will hit the back of my throat…and then we'll never get to finish this conversation.
Dad tosses a glance at Coach Williams. “Coach will confer that high school guys are scammers. You know what I mean. My worst, Jess, is that you've fallen for this silver-tongued devil. And you don't want us to know how far things have gone. If he hurt you then I'll—”
“Stop. Dad. I'm a senior. Not a middle-school kid.” I've got control of my tears now, and I realize I'm blushing. “This type of parent-speech is way too late for,” I pause and nail Dad with my best glare, “—someone totally messed up like me.”
“Jess, don't you speak to your father like that. Answer our questions,” Mom yells.
I shake my head. “What's the question? Holy! Are you and Dad actually asking me if I've slept with this guy? We're going to talk about how many bases I've been to, in front of Kika and Coach Williams?” I bark out a laugh. “I suppose it's fitting that Coach knows the details of my summer make-out session. Because he knows all my other exploits, don't you Coach? Why not the new ones?”
“Jessica. You are out of line,” Dad says.
“Am I?” I turn to Mom whose face has opened up in shock, like she's registering what I've just said. I press on. “Let's just get one thing straight before we continue. My boyfriend treating me badly, or pressuring me, is the least of your worries.”
I hold Coach's gaze next. “My boyfriend never even tried to kiss me until last night. And I had to make the first move to get him to do it. Which didn't go so very well because all he wanted to do was talk! Talk, talk, talk!” I fling my arms up in the air. “The talking part, not the kissing part, is why he's now my ex-boyfriend.”
“What?” Dad's sputtering so badly now, I almost feel sorry for the guy.
I continue. “I fell asleep in the car on the way home; and I had my nightmare. But this time—it was not a foggy dream. It was minute by minute. I remember everything. Like it happened yesterday.” I cross my arms and look around the room. “And I know that you lied to me. All of you!”
“Oh, Jess. We didn't lie!” Mom gasps.
I have to work to keep my face straight because I want to crumble. Have the world's biggest tantrum and hate them all. But I don't do any of that.
I'm trying to fill up my emptiness with something—with someone new.
I want to be the girl who's done hiding her feelings and lying and being lied to.
When I speak again, my voice is calm and resigned. “I'm kind of hungry, but before we eat, let's all just take a moment to fill each other in on the truth for once, shall we? Who wants to start? Mom? Dad?”
Neither parent seems to be able to meet my gaze. “Coach? Kika? Or should I carry on?”
“I'll start.” Kika sniffles. “Jess isn't dating Corey Nash. She's dating a black haired, green eyed, tall guy. A guy named Gray Porter. Corey Nash is Gray's best friend and he's dating a girl called Michelle,” Kika chokes out.
Mom's put her hand on her heart and her eyes have gone wild with worry and disbelief. “Gray Porter? Gray Porter!! That's the guy on the text messages? Impossible. Tell me it's impossible.” She paces across the entryway toward me. I avoid her and her probing gaze by crossing to the opposite side.
“It's no wonder you've had such a huge relapse,” Dad adds.
“You knew my nightmares had returned?” I ask, incredulous.
Dad nods. “You'd said you wanted us to back off. We were trying to respect your privacy. Waiting until you came to us. A mistake, obviously.”
“You seemed so happy in all other aspects of the summer. We thought you were learning how to work through things on your own—” Mom starts.
Kika starts crying. “I thought I was the only one who knew. Why didn't you guys tell me you knew? I was so worried about Jess.”
“You kissed Gray Porter, yesterday?” Dad's ramping up again, his arms are flinging around like he's some sort of octopus. “That little punk! Gray Porter? Holy shit.” His eyes go wild and he looks at Coach. “I'll murder him.”
“I won't let you,” Coach shouts. “Gray had Jess's best interests at heart. And he does love her. I believe him.”
“He's seventeen. What does that kid know about love? Jess is not allowed to be in love with that kid. And you—YOU KNEW!” Dad moves before anyone understands what he's doing.
He shoves Coach Williams by the neck until he's pressed
up against the wall. One of our family photos tips to the side and then slides down with a crash. “You knew who Jess was dating when I called you the other day? I'll murder that kid, but first I'll kill you right here!”
Dad slams Coach into the wall again, and Coach Williams pushes back. Hard.
Dad goes flying clear across the entryway, but starts back toward Coach like he really does mean to kill him!
“Daddy!” Kika screams, hysterical now.
“Stop. Stop. Stop!” I shout. “You're all acting crazy.”
Dad trips and falls with a thump at the foot of the staircase. He makes no move to get up just shakes his head and stares at me. “What the hell? Jess—did you really date Gray Porter all summer?”
“Dad. It's not what you think. I paid him to date me. I didn't know who he was on that level. He never told me. I met him at the interview. I offered to help him get the paid internship if he agreed to be my summer boyfriend. You and Mom wanted me to prove I was ‘better’ only I wasn't better at all. Gray needed the money. He didn't hurt me. He didn't hurt me once.”
My heart hurts as I walk to sit next to my dad. “He tried to be my friend. He even tried to give me back my money, long before he ever tried to kiss me. He's good. He's honorable. I'm the one who sucks. He tried to tell me everything. I wouldn't listen.”
“That kid promised to never approach you or speak to you again! What in the hell was he doing trying to tell you anything?” Dad's eyes are filling with tears. If he cries in front of me I'm going to lose it.
“Why would you make such an agreement with anyone?” Mom interjects, voice shaking.
I glance at her. “Why would you make Gray Porter promise not to speak to me? Why would you and Dad hide the details of what happened to me three years ago? You gave me no names. Why did you and Dad not let me be tested for drugs in my system? That guy put something in my drink and you knew it.”
“Jess…it was a complicated decision. We had so many reasons not to pursue prosecution. We wanted to protect you,” Mom says.
“Well I had reasons for what I did too. I want to go college. I thought if I could pull off what appeared to be a ‘normal summer’ including a boyfriend, then you guys would back off, stop the helicopter parenting, and let me go. I want some sort of life, messed up or not, I want to move on.”
Mom takes the now sobbing Kika into her arms on the staircase, while Dad struggles to his feet and helps me up. He shoots a pointed glare at Coach Williams.
Coach Williams glares back.
“It's my fault. This was all my idea,” Kika pipes in. “I made Jess a ‘how to be normal’ checklist before the interview. It was a joke. One of my suggestions was that she land a boyfriend. I never knew she'd use it. This is my fault. Don't you see?”
My heart clenches. “This is nobody's fault,” I say. “Isn't that what you all have been hammering into me for three years? This is nobody's fault. It's pretty clear we all did some stupid stuff, and we all lied. Or didn't tell—or whatever. But it's all about what happened three years ago and…I finally believe this is nobody's fault. Not even mine. I could blame you, Mom and Dad, and you too, Coach, for the whole summer. Three years ago, you should have told me everything. If you had, I'm certain I would never have asked Gray Porter to sign onto my scheme during that interview, that's for damn sure.”
Mom starts sobbing harder than Kika.
“We couldn't tell you. It was too terrible. And since you didn't remember anyway, we thought we were helping,” Dad says.
“I know, Dad. But if any of you are holding back other secrets about Gray, or that night, then I want to know. I deserve to know,” I insist. “It's important. Please.”
Mom pulls herself together. “Gray Porter offered himself as a witness to your attempted rape. He even confirmed you'd been drugged because the other kid told him. But your therapist and the police advised us not to prosecute.”
“Why?” My heart sinks and I'm flooded with a new wave of anger.
“Gray's offer made legal action possible, but you were so depressed. Our attorney said you wouldn't be a credible witness. You had no concrete memories of the event, and because you'd been drinking, we were told the other attorney would tear apart your reputation.”
Mom chokes up so badly she can't say more. Dad continues, “We didn't want to drag you through the courts —we didn't want you to have to face kids talking about it at school when you didn't remember the events yourself. We thought it best to leave it all alone. No one knew what you'd been through besides all of us, the bastard who started it all—and Gray. But he promised to keep your secret,” Dad says.
“And the guy who did it? He—never even got in trouble? How did you shut him up?” I ask Dad.
“Our attorneys worked it out. If he'd ever approached or spoken to you we were on standby to prosecute. After the team won state and the kid signed to a university, they moved out of state. No way was anyone in that family going to talk. Not with the kid's college hockey on the line.”
“I couldn't kick him off the team, but you can bet I tried,” Coach adds. “Your family would've had to fill out a school district incident report. A report that would have exposed the details of that night; but again, even the report might not have held any weight. It all happened off school property, and you didn't remember.” Coach sighs. “The kid denied everything, of course. His parents hired one of the best attorneys in Denver. The school superintendent told the principal that if I continued to make noise, I'd lose my job. I had my family to consider,” Coach mutters. “And Gray, well he—he went through a lot after that. He hated me after the file was closed. Hated everyone. Hated hockey.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God.” I imagine the puny version of Gray Porter in the oversized hockey gear confronting my parents and Coach because of me and that night.
I meet my sister's gaze and whisper, “You were so right the other day, Kika. I suck. I completely suck,” which only makes her start crying all over again.
“Gray—he got beat up—because of me?”
Coach nods.
I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from crying as I remember the magazine article and what Michelle had told me about Gray quitting the team. The realization of what he gave up hits me. “He needed the money from the internship because he has no scholarship money. Because of me. Right?”
“I wouldn't go that far,” Coach says. “Gray made his own choices. I've offered him a spot on the team every year. He just hates me too much to accept. He's got a great heart, and he's a talented kid but he's also stubborn as hell. I won't let you take the blame for his bad choices, Jess.”
I let my own tears crash in. Gray has every right to hate me. Double hate me. Only he'd sworn all along that he loved me—that he'd been trying to protect me—that he simply wanted to be near me. To help.
“Oh, guys. I treated Gray so badly. I said so many terrible things. I told him—oh God. I told him that I'd hate him forever. But I don't. I don't hate anyone…I don't,” I sob.
Dad takes me into his arms. “Honey,” he croons, wrapping me up into a bear hug. I sniffle against his shirt, while I get control of my tears. “Jess, you were so young—you're still young to me and Mom. After—you were like a wounded bird. We only wanted you to forget. Hell, we all still wish for that.”
“But none of us can forget, can we?” I ask, looking up into Dad's face. “It happened, and none of us are ever going to forget. It's made us all—even Gray—completely different people. I'm so tired of everyone blaming everyone. I want it to be over.”
I pull away from my dad and sit heavily on the bottom step.
Dad follows suit. “I'll never be able to forgive the asshole who did this to you. To all of us,” he says. “I can't.”
I meet his gaze. “I want you to try. Mostly, I need to forgive myself for lying to you guys when I snuck out. I need to forgive myself for getting drunk that night. I need to forgive myself for being stupid enough to believe that jerk when he called me beautif
ul. I need to forgive my body for not being able to move after he'd drugged me. I couldn't fight him, you know? I hate that the most. I was wide awake, and I couldn't move.”
“Oh, Jess,” whispers Mom.
“Mom, I've hated myself for that part of it for so long. I don't want to do that anymore.” My voice cracks.
Tears course down Mom's face. “I'm sorry—for everything. If there's anything else you want to know, I'm here.”
I meet her gaze and resist my ingrained habit of keeping her at a distance.
I don't paste on any practiced expressions. Though it feels strange and a little scary, I go with what's real and smile through the last of my tears. “No. I'm good. I'm really good. I think the only fact I don't know is the guy's name. And I don't' want to know it. It doesn't matter, does it?”
“No,” Dad says. “As long as you're fine with that, it doesn't matter. He's long gone.”
“I promise never to lie again. If you guys can consider trusting me again—after you get over being mad about this summer?”
“We will consider it, Jess. Apology accepted,” Mom says.
I smile again. “There is one good thing I have to mention about all of this. I finally believe what you've been saying all along: That I was lucky. Lucky I wasn't raped. Lucky that Gray stopped it.”
“Jess, you don't have to talk about this,” Dad says.
“No—let me finish—I need to be clear with you guys, but also with myself. I was almost raped, and you all lied to me. I got an internship and a fake life, and I lied to you.”
I stand and look at each of them and smile wider. “I'm actually happy right now. It sounds crazy, but I'm even happy Gray couldn't figure out a way to tell me the truth all summer long. I can hardly believe I've meant something to him from the start. You know? Any other way might not have worked. And he meant it—he means it. I hope he means it. Do you think he still does?”
Everyone's looking at me like I'm crazy—that's nothing different—but this time, I'm crazy in love—not just plain-crazy, and it's the best feeling I've ever had!
“Jess. What's your point?” Dad asks, his gaze moving rapidly between me and my mom. “I can never understand the girls when they get like this. What's my next move? Do I pulverize some poor boy named Corey Nash, or kill Gray Porter? Does she like him or hate him? What do you want us all to do?”
