by Mintie Das
“Cries rape? What you’re describing is a backward, outdated way to treat sexual assault. You’re putting all the suspicion on the female.” Dan pauses for a second. “I have a teenage daughter that we all know is hell on wheels. But if she ever tells me that someone hurt her, I’d back her up without question. Doesn’t matter how much she had to drink.”
I want to stand up and applaud. Maybe Dan isn’t so bad. In this clan of ignorant bastards, at least, he seems enlightened.
“Well, that’s the point, Dan. If your daughter told you.” Joanie purses her thin lips. “But Naomi didn’t claim rape. It’s her parents who are saying it.”
“Because Naomi can’t! Her parents have to be her advocates,” Leslie counters.
Except that’s what Naomi told me just yesterday. She didn’t use the word rape, but that’s what she described. And I was the ignorant one who referred to it as a sex tape, like Hopper and Joanie are doing now.
“We don’t need to sit here and debate whether she was raped because there’s a video that shows us exactly what happened. And I never heard her say stop,” the sheriff retorts.
I really don’t know what to think but I do realize now that we all blamed Naomi and didn’t even question what we saw.
“That was a one-minute clip. We have no idea what happened before or after. I have to admit, in a court of law, it would be difficult to prove intoxication based solely on a video.” Dan runs his hand through his neatly trimmed blond hair. “But she doesn’t need to shout ‘Stop’ or ‘No’ for it to be nonconsensual sexual activity. We’ve all seen the recording and you can’t say beyond a reasonable doubt that Naomi was coherent. To put it to you in simple terms, Sheriff—having sex with someone who is too inebriated to know what’s happening is a crime.”
“Listen, son, I’ve been doin’ this since you were fourteen and walkin’ beans in the summer for thirty cents an hour and still knew your place.” Hopper glowers at Dan. “There’s two sides to every story.”
“Well, I hope you’re open to listening to both of them because it sounds like you’ve made up your mind,” Leslie says. “I understand that the medical report said that Naomi had heavy tearing and bruising in her private areas.”
I read the same thing. The police concluded it was older bruising that hadn’t occurred when Naomi was murdered. They dismissed it just like I did. Surely it can be used as evidence for her rape? I want to ask Dan but I remember that I’m invisible.
“Pfft! That can be from anyone. You can’t make me believe that Naomi and Trent were waiting for marriage,” Joanie scoffs. “According to my niece Collette, Naomi had a few guys on the side.”
My knuckles are clenched so tightly that they start to ache. Of course Collette and her gossip would find its way in here somehow.
“Which is exactly my point, Joanie!” The mayor takes a bite of his toast. He hasn’t spoken for most of the conversation and it looks like the others have no idea what he’s talking about.
“You plumb lost me, Stan.” Hopper shrugs.
“It’s one thing when there’s a crime up at the college. They’re mostly out-of-towners down here from the suburbs. Outsiders,” Mayor Stevens clarifies. “But a rape scandal on top of a murder involving a popular local girl and two of our beloved student athletes—that would be devastating to our community. That’s why we need this all to be resolved with as little collateral damage as possible.”
“And I certainly shouldn’t have to remind anyone here how generous Shawn Rainey has been to all of our campaigns.” Joanie smiles. “He’s already spoken to me about making a sizable contribution to our civic-center project.”
A set of chills run down my spine confirming what my mind had already suspected. Maybe not consciously, but hearing Caleb Rainey is one of the boys in the video doesn’t come as a surprise. Although knowing it doesn’t make it any less sickening. He’s a predator, which could also make him the preta.
“And what are Nathan Hunter’s parents buying our town to ensure that their son’s innocence is not questioned?” Dan asks, barely concealing the disgust in his voice.
My body instantly turns to Jell-O as I try to comprehend what I’ve just heard. I have to grip the edge of the table to keep myself from sliding off the seat. Nathan Hunter? Trent’s best friend and Naomi’s good friend? Nate is cocky and used to getting what he wants, which isn’t that different from a lot of the guys in Meadowdale. But a rapist? I would puke but there’s nothing inside of me.
“The Hunters are part of the backbone of this town. They’ve been a proud farming family for sixteen generations,” Hopper says, as though this alone clears Nate of any wrongdoing. “They don’t need to prove nothin’. I’ve known Nate since he was in his mama’s belly and I can tell you all those Hunter boys come from good stock.”
Hearing the way Hopper is talking about Nate, it’s clear that he hero-worships him just like we all do. That’s why we trust him. That was why Naomi trusted him.
“I don’t have to tell you all just how important Nathan is to our community,” the mayor adds. “He’s going to bring home the national trophy for our Pioneers baseball this year and he’s all but guaranteed a scholarship to a Division One university next fall.”
“So are you suggesting that we ignore the possibility that these boys committed a violent crime because one has a rich daddy and the other has a golden pitching arm?” Leslie asks tersely.
“We need to protect our own, damn it!” Joanie cries. “The Talberts are from one of those hoity-toity Chicago suburbs. These boys were born and raised right here.”
Protect our own. Those words ring in my ears. Immigrant families like mine are perpetual outsiders. I guess that also extends to families like the Talberts when they’re forced to go against the pack.
“Oh, come off it, Joanie!” Leslie’s cheeks turn red with anger. “The Talberts have lived here for years and they’ve been an important part of this community. Naomi was beloved by many. She was like our very own princess and I know my two little girls wanted to be just like her.”
Hopper jumps right in. “Settle down now, ladies. No need to get all worked about this. We need to keep our emotions in check here.”
I half expect the next line out of the sheriff’s mouth to be something about PMS or how fragile the weaker sex is.
“Naomi was an angel. God bless her soul,” Mayor Stevens says, sounding about as authentic as his combover looks. “Wayne, I won’t tell you how to do your job, but you need to at least consider those boys as suspects in the murder. It would look bad if townsfolk thought you were taking sides. But as far as rape, just from the rumblings that I’ve heard, the town is already pretty divided about that. We all know the Talberts lost nearly half their bookings after that sex video came out. And now with them being so vocal about all this rape hubbub, they’re getting more cancellations due to the deep loyalties that lie with the Raineys and the Hunters. I think it would be in everyone’s best interest to help the Talberts rethink pressing rape charges.”
“I tried talkin’ some sense into Jim last night but he’s just downright stubborn about it.”
Jim Talbert is a shrewd man. I can’t see him being easily swayed by the likes of Wayne Hopper.
Dan raises his hand. “Stop! I don’t want to hear this, Wayne. I’m not going to break the law.”
“No one is asking you to, Dan,” the mayor says. “I’m thinking about the Talberts here too. They’ve just lost their daughter, their business is in trouble, and now they want to suffer through a rape trial? I’m sure with a little pressure—”
“What kind of pressure, Stan?” Leslie pushes her plate away.
“Maybe pressure is the wrong word. Perhaps we should just get the Talberts to look at the whole picture.” Joanie leans forward. “We all agree that Naomi’s death was a tragedy. But I don’t see any reason to add more heartbreak by accusing two boys of something that there is no way to prove they did. It’s he said/she said and the she is dead. I know it sounds cold to
put it this way, but Naomi has no future. And those boys do. A rape accusation could ruin their lives. If things get worse and they actually end up goin’ to trial for this, then they’re as good as dead themselves. What’s the point of putting them, their families, and this town through all that?”
I spit into Joanie’s bowl of oatmeal, then swish it around using the dirty talon of my middle finger. To me, she’s the worst kind of racist, bigot, misogynist—whatever you want to label her—because she genuinely believes that what she does is for the greater good. That is, the greater good that fits her narrow white and morally right standards.
“How about for the sake of justice, Joanie?” Dan asks dryly. He doesn’t suffer fools and he’s arrogant enough to show it.
“Justice? Don’t forget that I’ve known you since the sandbox and you’re not foolin’ anyone with this Atticus Finch routine.” Joanie smirks. “Everyone here knows the governor has been sniffin’ around Naomi’s murder and that sex tape. That’s what’s got you so interested in this case.”
Dan shoots Joanie a look that could break ice. “The governor is interested in this case for several reasons and it’s my intention to cooperate with him as much as I can. That’s why I’m supporting the two FBI detectives’ request to turn over the case to them. You’ll get the paperwork before lunch, Wayne.”
“What?” Mayor Stevens jumps in his seat. “This is the first I’ve heard of this!”
“Don’t look at me. I didn’t know about it till this very moment,” Hopper bellows.
“That’s because it’s the governor and the FBI,” Dan says. “They don’t need to fill you boys in on anything and they certainly don’t have to ask your permission. All they needed was for Wayne and his team to prove themselves incompetent, and they did that with flying colors.”
The three men sit and stare at each other without saying a word. I wonder which one of them will be the first to pull out his manhood and measure it.
“Uhhh . . . you guys want anything else?” my stoner boss Zak asks as he strolls up to the table. His eyes are red and glassy. Eight a.m. might be too early for most people to smoke up but Zak loves a good wake-and-bake.
I wave my hands to shoo him away. This show is damn good and Zak is like an unwanted commercial break.
“Just the check,” Dan replies as he turns on his million-dollar smile.
“Got it right here.” Zak places the bill in front of Dan, which I can clearly see irritates Hopper.
“When the FBI wants your full cooperation, what do you plan to tell them?” Joanie demands as soon as Zak walks away.
I feel a slight quiver at the back of my neck. She’s definitely angry but I also hear genuine fear in her tone.
“The truth, Joanie,” Dan answers coolly.
“I’d step carefully,” the sheriff says, doing his best Dirty Harry impression. “Once the feds start lookin’ into town business, Lord knows what skeletons they might dig up.”
Dan pulls out his wallet. “Wayne, why don’t you save your empty threats for the teenyboppers and anyone else dumb enough to believe that there’s actually any authority behind that badge? Us big boys will handle the real work.”
“We’re all on the same side here.”
“Clearly we’re not, Joanie,” Leslie barks. “We might have colluded in the past on petty town matters, but to cover up a rape—”
“Alleged!” the sheriff slams his fist down on the table. His MHS State Football Championship ring clinks against his coffee mug. “I’m truly sorry the girl was killed. No one deserves to go that young. But don’t try to make this into somethin’ it’s just not. Those boys did the same thing any red-blooded males would do when a pretty young gal throws herself at ’em. We’re just so lost with our political correctness, racial sensitivity, and sexual-harassment hogwash that we’re tryin’ to turn everyone into a criminal these days.”
“Wayne, sometimes I really wish I were recording you,” Dan says as he stands up and looks down on the rest of them. “Because you are such a dumb son of a bitch, I know you’d go viral in an instant.”
I practically want to throw my arms around Meryl’s dad right now. I always thought she was more like her mother but it looks like her dad’s got quite a bit of badass in him as well.
“I’ve had just about all I can take myself,” Leslie declares as she joins Dan.
“Think you’re bulletproof just ’cause you got the governor’s ear, Mr. DA?” Hopper sneers.
“Nope. I just know that if I go down, I’m taking you all with me.” Dan smiles smugly. He walks to the door then turns around. “One more thing: We don’t need to keep up with these breakfasts anymore. As far as I’m concerned, our business together is done.”
I watch Dan and Leslie leave Grandma’s. Judging by the expressions on Joanie’s, Stan’s, and Wayne’s faces, their business together is far from over. Who knew these guys are like a Hicksville House of Cards? Now I have to figure out if Naomi is a mere guest star in all this drama or the lead.
I feel my insides grow weak when I think of Naomi. She was raped and she doesn’t even know who did it. But I do.
Stan, Joanie, and Wayne continue to discuss Dan and the FBI, but I’m too caught up in thinking about Naomi to listen. Plus they’re not really saying anything that they haven’t already said. Except that Hopper’s using a lot more expletives now.
I wait until they leave to get up. I was going to go to the police station next but there’s a more pressing matter at hand. I have to find Naomi.
Twenty
I PICK UP A PASTEL THROW PILLOW. It’s hard to believe that it’s only been a week since I was sitting here in the Talberts’ living room with Naomi and the rest of the Squad.
I came back here after Grandma’s Griddle hoping to find Naomi, although I didn’t think I would, and I was right. I look around the room for what feels like the hundredth time today. I’ve been sitting here for a long while knowing that with every minute that goes by, the clock ticktocks toward my permanent death. I check my cell. It’s already past three p.m., which means I have twenty-one hours left until Naomi’s funeral, yet I can’t make myself leave this damn living room.
Nothing has changed in here since last week except now it doesn’t feel like there’s a separation between the downstairs and the upstairs anymore. Death lives here too.
I don’t need to look at the video ever again. I knew the first time that I watched it that those images would never leave me. Yet there was so much that I didn’t actually see. Lie and deny. Those are the blinders that have kept me alive. Now they will kill me.
I guess it’s kinda ironic that I can see bhoots because I’ve closed my eyes to just about everything else. Or maybe it’s that my eyes are open but I see what I want to see. Isn’t that how life is supposed to be these days? Perfectly curated images so that anyone can be exactly who she pretends to be?
Naomi was curated into the ultimate hot girl. It was hard to know how much of that was her doing and how big a role her father played in it. From the bikini pics to the Daisy Dukes and thong shots, it wasn’t clothes that Naomi was selling. It was sexual fantasy. She had hundreds of thousands of followers out there as well as right here in Meadowdale.
I would have traded anything to have guys want me the way they did Naomi. I can hear my high-school guidance counselor chime in right now about everyone being beautiful in their own way. Yeah, right.
Yet Naomi more than any of us must have understood that the point of being a sexual fantasy wasn’t the sex, it was the fantasy. A scarlet wave of shame runs over me. I watched that clip along with everyone else and I saw exactly what I wanted to see. It wasn’t evidence of a rape. It was evidence of Naomi’s imperfection.
The Naomi Talbert that we all knew died that day in the gym. She was no longer the goddess, the princess, or the good girl. Naomi was a slut.
That’s when everything gets confusing for me again. There’s this line us girls teeter on between slut and not slut. I don’t really know
where that boundary is. I just know you are supposed to get as near to the edge as possible but never cross over. In a town like Meadowdale, if you step over it, you aren’t allowed to come back. Yet it seems that no matter what we do, we somehow end up crossing that line.
Girls are sluts for having sex. Maybe not the girls with official boyfriends, but even then, everyone knows they’re doing it and people gossip about them.
Girls are sluts for liking sex. Boys are allowed to talk about sex 24/7 and we’re supposed to take an active interest in the conversation. But if a girl ever comes off hornier than a guy, she’s branded a slut for life. Just for liking it.
Girls are sluts. This is kinda what it all boils down to. It feels like for everything we do or don’t do, we’re judged. By everyone, including each other.
I slut-shamed Naomi. My first transgression wasn’t mistaking that clip as a voluntary sex tape; it was condemning Naomi for having a tape at all.
My heart aches. My next transgression is the mistake I’ve been making for longer than I care to admit: I see only what I want to see.
I look around the living room once again and my heart sinks at my realization. This is why I’ve spent so long here. I probably already knew it even if my brain didn’t register it, but I recognize the light blue sectional and the gingham wallpaper. They’re in the background of the video.
Naomi was raped right here.
I tremble with rage. I can hear the countdown to my death, but screw the Aiedeo—this isn’t just about them anymore. For the first time in this entire nightmare, I know exactly what I have to do.
* * *
“What am I doing here?” Naomi barks.
I open my eyes with suppressed excitement. To my utter amazement, my trick has worked this time. Even though I had to go at it solo since Dede is eating dinner at her favorite Chinese buffet with Mrs. Patel.
