by Lori L. Otto
“Well,” I concede, “the next time you’re home, then. If Zaina needs you, then be there for her. I won’t discourage that. I still care about her, Max. You can’t just switch that off–you know that from experience.”
“I don’t care about him anymore.”
“I know, Max,” I say, but only to appease him because I know he does. He tells his brothers that he does, and Jon tells me.
“Can’t you just let Zaina stay with you this week to try to work things out?” he asks me.
“Oh, she put you up to this, huh? No, Max. That’s not an option. I’ve got school, and it wouldn’t work anyway.”
“She’s going to try tonight.”
“Try to what?”
“To work things out.”
“How?”
“You know… appeal to your natural instincts.”
“Oh, great,” I say. “Maybe I’ll go stay with her parents. I’ve turned her down before. Why does she think tonight would be any less difficult?”
“She’s going to make it very hard for you to say no.”
“Shit,” I say. “Max, I have a kitchen floor full of mulligatawny to finish cleaning, so I need to go. Thanks, as always, for the heads-up.” I guess, if nothing else, I’m grateful he’s loyal to both of us.
“Don’t hurt her any more than you already have,” he warns.
“I’ll try not to.” I set my phone on top of the island to finish hand scrubbing the floor and cabinets, knowing that I’m inevitably going to miss spots that Jenny will find next weekend. After I make that realization, I quit being meticulous, stopping entirely when I don’t see anything more to clean without looking too hard for it.
I expected Zaina to come out of the bedroom, but she didn’t. Instead, I heard the bathwater running. It’s a good idea for her to relax. It’s been a long day of travel for her, followed by an emotionally exhausting night. Maybe she’ll just go to sleep.
After getting all of my books together for class tomorrow morning, I go into the guest bathroom and open up a new toothbrush that I’d purchased in case someone ever stayed over and needed one. After brushing my teeth and washing my face with the hand soap on the counter, I climb into the bed Coley had been sleeping in last week. I’m grateful that Jenny didn’t come today, because there’s still a vestige of the scent of her piña-colada shampoo on the pillow. I’d hoped there would be some sign of her here once I realized I’d be sleeping in this room. It only gets me more excited about the prospects of sharing a room with Coley, the actual woman, and not just the remnants of her that she left behind.
I set my phone in the charger and remember her voicemail. Looking at the closed door to the bedroom, I tap the key to play it and then the speaker button after making sure the volume isn’t too loud.
“We’ve been skating down a slippery slope,” her engaging voice articulates rhythmically, “avoiding words and hands and eyes and lips.” She pauses, and I sense it’s deliberate coming at the end of a stanza of her poem. I hear her intake of breath before she continues. “But I’ve never been so high on hope… of the chance of a relationship.” She clears her throat. “I hope you feel what I do, Trey. I also hope it’s tomorrow when you listen to this. You said you’d tell me on Monday if it was okay for me to have hope. I’ve decided I can’t wait for your consent. I can’t help it if I feel hope, just like I can’t help it if I feel love for something… or someone.”
I pause her message and laugh to myself, having had this exact conversation with Zaina earlier, and only then come to the stark realization that she just said she loved me. Was she referring to me? Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. She only implied it. And she really didn’t even do that. She was just comparing her feeling of hope to a feeling of love.
But everything I feel for her has felt reciprocated. Every look seems to be mirrored in her eyes. Things I’ve wanted to say to her have been surreptitiously said or implied in one way or another. I know for a fact she likes me. That she’s attracted to me. She could love me.
She should love me. Once again, I smile at the thought of her. I look back at the phone and check the time. It’s not Monday yet, but midnight is approaching. I press play and listen to her voice again. “I don’t expect a call. I know you’re busy, and I know this is her night. I’ll see you in class tomorrow. Just give me a sign when I see you. I hope you’re okay. I know it wasn’t easy. I hope you can sleep. Good night, boss.”
chapter seventeen
Outside of the classroom, I catch my breath and wipe my forehead on my sleeve, trying to hide the evidence that I ran all the way from my apartment to The Wit offices. My watch shows that I’m still seven minutes late. I take a few more gulps of water, pray that I don’t smell offensive, and go inside.
I mouth an apology to Professor Aslon, squeezing into my row behind Coley and sitting down quietly next to her, trying not to interrupt our advisor’s morning talk. I get out my notebook and pen, as well as the spare notebook I’d stopped by Livvy’s to pick up. It’s the whole reason I’m late. Keeping my eyes attuned to the front of the class, I slide the small, red Moleskine to my left until I feel Coley take control, pulling it toward her. I feel like I’m in middle school, passing secret notes, the risk level high of getting caught since we’re on the front row.
Aslon doesn’t see anything, though. Slowly, I look over at Coley and smile, hoping she appreciates the gift. Hoping she relates it to her poem. She wanted a sign. I tried to be creative with it. She had related our flirtations to a tango. Late last night–no, it was early this morning–I had found an all-night office supply store and picked up the notebook and a white paint marker. Knowing my penmanship was crap, I took it to Livvy’s and left it with her concierge. Before I even left her building, I’d sent her a text, asking her to do me this one incredibly important favor–before 10 this morning.
My sister came through for me. In beautiful hand-lettering, she wrote “Let’s Dance.”
From Coley’s grin, it’s obvious she gets the reference. Inside, on the first lined page, I’ve invited her out on a date this Friday. Saturday would have been better. Neither of us would have been tired from school, but I couldn’t wait until then.
“Trey?”
“Yes?” I’ve heard my instructor speaking since I walked in the door; I’ve not comprehended a single syllable.
“We will be running the story today online. It will publish at noon.”
I glance around the room, not even knowing if any of them are aware that Asher was arrested, that Pryana was raped, that Coley and I had even been working on a story about sexual assault at Columbia.
“Would you like to come talk to everyone about the article?”
I lift my brows, feeling awkwardly put on the spot, but I stand up and walk to the podium. “Do they know anything?” I ask her quietly to the side, hoping to God that wasn’t what she was talking about for the past ten minutes.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
When I look back up, I realize Pryana is in her normal chair in the class. She gives me an encouraging nod before walking up to the front and taking my seat. She grasps Coley’s hand for support.
Just the facts, I think to myself.
“Last Monday, Coley and I found out that a friend of ours was raped after my fraternity formal,” I begin, looking once again at our managing editor.
“Go ahead,” she says.
“It was Pryana,” I say, then look down at the empty podium in front of me, wishing I had notes or something. “She had been drugged and had no recollection of the night. Since I had been at the dance, I could piece together a few things that she couldn’t remember and began to help in an effort to figure out who sexually assaulted our friend.
“Pryana’s date was Asher, who’s also in Sig Rho, which I was a part of until last week. I’ve seen Asher with other women and had witnessed what I thought was a questionable incident at the beginning of the year. At the time, the woman told me it was nothing. When I quest
ioned her this past week and told her that I feared he may have been involved in something involving a friend of mine, she admitted to me the truth: that Asher had assaulted her at that party. Not only that, but she knew another girl who had a story eerily similar to Pryana’s.
“Coley interviewed her this past Wednesday. Neither of these women had gone to the police, fearing they wouldn’t be taken seriously because they’d been drinking. Because of their behavior. Because he was Asher Knoxland.
“While police were investigating Pryana’s case and coming up with no evidence that was leading them to Asher, the other two victims came forward. This was enough to add more people and resources to the investigation. Over the weekend, they found a cab driver that put Asher at Pryana’s apartment, and they found her keys at his apartment.
“This, after he adamantly stated he hadn’t been to her place.
“He was arrested early yesterday morning. We are running a story today that exposes Asher Knoxland as a sexual predator on the Columbia campus. We are opening up the possibility to many others like him who haven’t been reported due to other people who are afraid to report their assaults. We are hoping more will come forward… that this story leads to more stories–not necessarily pointing fingers at the accused–but about how we can create a safer campus for women and men alike. A campus where all victims feel comfortable reporting assaults and know that their reports will be taken seriously. We want to build a community of support for the victims. We don’t ever want someone of privilege–an Asher Knoxland, or even a Trey Holland–to get away with something like this due to their money or stature.”
I look around the room at the shocked looks on my fellow journalists’ faces. “I know this comes as a surprise to everyone. He used to be one of my best friends. One of my fraternity brothers. I started out defending him, saying there was no way he could do such a thing. And he hasn’t been convicted of any crime yet. That’s something we address in the article, and it’s something we have to remember here. But there’s a lot of credible evidence against him at this point.
“As most of you know from last week, Asher and I have cut ties. I’m sure this article will…” I don’t even know how to finish the sentence. I can’t even imagine how angry it will make him.
“That’s something I need to speak with you about,” Professor Aslon says. “If you and Coley can come to my office. As for the rest of you, any inquiries should be directed to me. Pryana, why don’t you take over from here?”
“I’m on it,” she says after taking a deep breath. I follow Coley out of the room and downstairs into Professor Aslon’s office.
“We have about fifteen minutes to discuss the byline,” she says quickly.
I look back and forth between Coley and our instructor. “I assumed it would be both of us.”
“Do you want that? Are you afraid of any sort of retaliation? I don’t mind saying it’s a staff article, or even putting my name to it,” she offers. “Of course both of you can put this in your portfolios with my contact information for validation or use it on any future resumes or other applications, no matter what we decide to do. I just want you both to feel comfortable with this.”
I shrug my shoulders. “He already knows I was writing something. I admitted it last week in class,” I remind her. “But you,” I say, looking down at Coley. “I don’t know what you want to do.”
“I only helped research and edit,” she says.
“You contributed more than that, laureate, and you know it,” I say, catching the slip of her nickname a few seconds too late. “I mean… you were a big help.”
“I don’t know him that well, though. I know he frightened me the night after your formal,” she admits. “And I know what he’s capable of.” She looks to me for advice.
“I would always give you credit. Just like she said, you can put it in any book of yours and give them my name. I’ll tell them every way you helped with this story and why we decided to leave your name off the byline. I wish I could say Asher’s not violent, but look what he’s done. And I know he’s vindictive.”
“I trust you. If I knew for a fact that he’d be behind bars for good, I wouldn’t mind, but… we don’t know that yet.”
“No, we don’t,” our advisor concurs. “He has a bond hearing today. But, Coley, the second he’s locked up for good, we’ll add your name. How does that sound? Is that good?”
I nod my head, looking at her.
“That sounds good.”
“Okay. Can you excuse us, Coley? I need to speak with Trey alone, and I’d like you to hear the rest of Pryana’s announcement.”
“Sure, of course.” She lifts her hand waist-high to say goodbye to me.
“Have a seat.” I scoot a chair closer to her desk and sit down. “I’ve promoted Pryana to president and editor-in-chief in light of everything that’s happened. She says she’s up for it. I’ll help her out, as needed. I know she’s ready for it; I just don’t know if she’s ready to return to the paper full-time yet after everything that’s happened, and I imagine this week will be telling for her and for us all. I worry about the Sig Rho brothers causing problems for her–”
“I’ll handle them. You have my word.”
She smiles. “I appreciate that. But it’s not just them. Other people on campus, too, who feel that rape is just a word girls throw around when they feel they’ve made a mistake. I’ve seen it and heard too much of it in my tenure here. It won’t be an easy time for her or Lucy or Kamiesha. What they did required such bravery, but this is just the beginning, unfortunately. I hope they all understand that.”
“From our conversations with them, Professor Aslon, they do. And they’re ready for a fight. Coley and I have committed to helping them, and we’ve made sure they’re in touch with the on-campus counselors who can oversee their recovery, too. I’m not just going to write the story and walk away. This is something that Coley and I believe in and want to follow through with.”
“I think that’s very admirable of you, Trey. And I hope you’ll continue to write stories about your findings when they come up.”
“We will.”
“Well, let me rephrase that. I hope you will guide Coley to write the stories. I’m going to need you to step in as managing editor now.”
“What?”
“I know Asher was grooming you for this. We all saw this as your path. Pryana and I both want this for you.”
“I’m only a sophomore.”
“Well, things haven’t exactly gone the way we planned for them to this year, so we’re just dealing with a little ambiguity. I’m going to need you to step up to the plate early. I still need you to be Coley’s editor for the rest of the semester, and you can continue helping her with this series, but we won’t be assigning any other stories to you. You’ll be helping Pryana with the main editing functions of the paper, too. Maybe even stepping in when she’s unable to complete a business-related task. We’ll work together as a team. And hopefully we’ll get really good at it the rest of this semester and hit the ground running next year.”
“Wow.” The conversation is completely unexpected for me. “I definitely want to do it, Professor Aslon, but I do have to disclose one thing before I say yes.”
“If you tell me you’re in love with Coley…”
I wait for her to finish her sentence, swallowing audibly as my heart starts pounding rapidly in my chest. I wring my hands together in anticipation. I don’t want to lose either opportunity. Maybe that’s greedy of me, but I don’t care. “Were you going to finish that thought?”
“Were you going to tell me that you are?”
“You once told me you appreciated incontestable honesty. Surely my demeanor is a good enough answer to your question. I don’t want to lie to you or hide the truth from you. I just broke up with my girlfriend. I finally have a chance to date this girl who’s in a class of her own, yet somehow perfectly suited for me. I promise I won’t compromise the standards of our paper. I promise I won’t
be nepotistic with assignments. I haven’t been lenient with her on editing. I’ve been very truthful and fair. We’ve conducted ourselves professionally since day one even though there’s been an attraction there since hour two.”
“Whatever you do, Trey Holland,” she says as she points directly at me, “do not mess up the chemistry you two have between you now. I have no desire to separate you two. The work you have done has been phenomenal. Her column has been the break-out hit this semester, and your writing has become much more relatable. I wouldn’t be surprised if a major paper picked up this story on Asher, Trey. It’s the best work you’ve done. It will draw the readers in and hold them captive until the last word. You rarely get that with investigative journalism these days. This is a human piece. It’s not drab news. This type of story is why I fell in love with writing. It’s impassioned. It’s… it’s award-winning.
“So, yes, you’ve got the job, and whatever you do in your personal life is none of my business. Just please keep doing what you’re doing with Coley. Direct her, and let her inspire you.”
“Wow. Holy shit. Sorry. But wow! I’m on zero sleep and didn’t expect to walk into this today. It started as a pretty dreadful day. Everything you said, though? It sort-of plowed right over any memories of last night, and I needed something pretty monumental to do that. Thank you so much for having faith in me to do this. I swear to you, I won’t let you or Pryana down. I’m ready for this.”
“Good. Let’s get you back into class. Pryana’s made the announcement already.”
“So you pretty much had to be okay with me and Coley, then, huh?” I ask her.
“I can always go back on my decisions, Mr. Holland,” she says, gently pushing me out of her office.
I introduce Coley to Dig Inn at lunch time, offering to share meals with her so she can try more of the items on the menu. She still had a hard time picking out what she wanted, so I told her we’d come back on Wednesday and do it all over again.
“You look a little tired,” she says to me.
