“Mom, stop.” I’m so uncomfortable I want to flee the room, but I understand why she’s jumping to the wrong conclusions. “Nothing happened. I know how it looked, but trust me, it wasn’t—”
She holds up a hand to stop me. “Don’t even try it, missy. I need coffee before I can deal with this. Come to the living room. We’re going to have a serious talk.”
“Mom, we don’t need to have a talk. Not about this. Please, I am literally begging you—”
“Nope. You are not getting pregnant. We are talking about this.”
I sigh heavily as my eyes roll back into my head. “I told you, nothing happened!”
“I told my mom that, too, and nine months later you were born. Living room. Couch. Now.”
I huff, flinging myself off the bed and stomping down the hall to the living room.
I can’t believe she won’t even let me talk, but I tell myself brewing a pot of coffee will give her time to cool down. It could just as easily go the other way, though. It could give her more time to stress out about something that didn’t even happen.
Mercifully, by the time she comes in she seems to have calmed herself down a little. She stands in front of the couch and looks down at me as she grips her mug of coffee.
“I was 15 the first time I had sex.”
I sigh, sinking back into the couch. “Oh. Okay, we’re going to have this conversation.”
“It was with a boy I had been making out with in a stairwell at a party. I had only met him a couple times before. That night was the first night we had even spoken to each other. It was extremely unspecial. That is not what I wanted for you,” she says, sitting down beside me and placing one hand over mine. “You deserve special, sweetie. You deserve for your first time to be with someone who loves and respects you.”
“Mom, we weren’t—I’m not—it wasn’t like that. Nothing happened.”
She stares at me hard, wordlessly expressing she doesn’t appreciate my sad attempt to lie to her. “Honey, he was half undressed. A boy you like, a boy who snuck into your bedroom in the middle of the night, was lying in your bed with his shirt off and you in his arms.”
I push out a breath. “I know. I get how it looked, but you have to believe me. We fell asleep in my bed, yes, but we didn’t do anything before that. I didn’t have sex last night. Don’t you trust me? You know I’m not a liar. You know I’m responsible and I make good choices.”
She nods once, not arguing that. “I absolutely do. I also know that sometimes even the smartest, best, most responsible girls in the world make really bad decisions for a boy they really like. Especially a very persuasive boy who talks them into breaking rules and sneaking out and doing all these things those great, smart, responsible girls know they are not allowed to do.”
My shoulders sag. “I get that those things have not helped my case, but you need to trust me on this. There was a good reason he took his shirt off, I just can’t tell you what it is. He didn’t mean to leave it off, we just... I don’t know, we were laying there talking and we were tired and we fell asleep, but I swear nothing happened.”
She looks over at me, weighing my words, but she doesn’t say anything for a long moment. She eyes me as she takes a slow sip from her mug, then she lowers it and says, “All right, then tell me about this good reason.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I promised him I wouldn’t,” I say, dread flooding me as I think about that promise. “Just know that it was innocent.”
Mom frowns at me, probably frustrated that I’m not being forthcoming. “Just answer me this. If you were to have sex—”
“Oh my god.” I close my eyes and hide my face just for good measure.
Going on a little more assertively, she says, “If you were to have sex, you would use protection, right? Since you’re not on birth control—unless you’ve done that behind my back somehow, too—then you would use a condom? You would not be reckless enough to have unprotected sex, right?”
I want the floor to open up and swallow the couch so I don’t have to endure this conversation any longer. “Right.”
Mom nods. “Okay.”
I frown at her as she leans forward and puts her mug down on the coffee table, then she stands and heads toward my room. “What are you doing?”
“I’ll be right back and we’ll continue this conversation.”
“Mom,” I say, pushing off the couch and running down the hall after her.
This time I’m the one standing in the doorway and she’s in my room. She walks over to my bed, checking the nightstand and the floor beside my bed.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“Checking for a condom wrapper,” she tells me.
“I told you, we didn’t have sex!”
“Then you won’t mind if I double check to make sure.”
I huff in annoyance. “You won’t find anything. I have no idea if he would even have a condom with him but I certainly didn’t. That is not what he came over for.”
Mom has stopped patting down my bed. She’s facing the foot of the bed now, staring at the bundle of cloths and towels I forgot about. My stomach sinks and I step inside the room, seeing the bloody one on top—the one she’s staring at.
“What the hell is this, Riley?” she demands, her tone more serious than I’ve heard it before.
I swallow, my voice stuck in my throat.
Mom’s gaze snaps to mine, fire in her eyes. “Did he hurt you?”
“No!”
Despite my quick objection, her gaze travels up and down my body and she comes over, grabbing my shoulders and looking me up and down. “Did he… did he touch you? I need to understand where this blood came from, Riley. I’m starting to freak out.”
“It’s not from me,” I tell her, pleading with my eyes for her to drop it.
That only causes her frown to deepen with confusion. “I—I don’t understand.”
I look past my mom at the pile of cloth on the foot of my bed. “The blood is his,” I say softly, my heart threatening to beat its way out of my chest. I swallow before I go on, trying to figure out how to say it as I go. “He had a cut on his head and a split lip and a black eye. He showed up here last night because he didn’t have anywhere else to go, I’m the only one who knows…”
My mom tries to cover up her alarm, but she’s not doing a great job. Despite the clear concern etched across her face, she manages to keep her tone even when she asks, “Knows what, Riley?”
Tummy twisting into knots, I don’t know what to do. I’ve come this far and Mom knows something is wrong. I know she won’t let it go until I tell her, but once I tell her… I don’t know what will happen.
“Riley?”
I look up at her. “His stepfather is violent. He doesn’t like Hunter, and they butt heads a lot, especially when he starts fighting with Hunter’s mom and Hunter tries to protect her. Sometimes…” I pause, unsure how to finish this sentence. After a few unsteady breaths, I tell her, “Sometimes he hits him. He did last night, and it was really bad, that’s why Hunter didn’t meet me for the movie. He couldn’t.”
Mom looks like I’ve dropped the weight of the world on her shoulders. I didn’t mean to, that’s why I tried to avoid this. “What do you mean, he couldn’t?”
“He was unconscious,” I whisper, looking down at the ground. “He and his mom got in a fight after he came to because Hunter keeps thinking she’s going to make Dennis leave, but she doesn’t. I think he finally realized last night she’s not going to. Her husband smashed Hunter’s head against a sink, Mom. He was unconscious on the bathroom floor and she didn’t even call an ambulance because she was too worried what it would mean for her husband.”
Covering her mouth in horror, Mom says, “Oh my god, honey. You’ve been dealing with this all on your own?”
I shrug helplessly. “I didn’t know what else to do. Hunter swore me to secrecy and he told me his mom was handling it. When he had the black
eye, he said it hadn’t even happened before, but I’m trying to rationalize how this could escalate from a black eye to what he described last night, and… I don’t know if he’s being honest about that. That seems like a really dramatic escalation. He’s so worried about protecting his stupid mom that he’s not protecting himself and I don’t know what to do. I’m terrified something will happen to him,” I say, bursting into tears.
“Oh, honey.” Mom comes over and wraps her arms around me, pulling me in for a hug. “You should have told me sooner. I’m so proud of you for trying to help your friend, but this… this is serious.”
“I know it is.” I sniffle, holding on a little tighter. “I asked him to take his shirt off last night so I could take pictures of all the welts on his body with my cell phone. I thought in case he wanted to report Dennis, he’d need evidence.”
Mom sighs, calmly petting my hair. “That was good thinking.”
“He made me promise not to tell anyone.”
“I know,” she murmurs reassuringly. “You had to, though. A secret like this can’t be kept. When someone’s getting hurt…” She shakes her head. “You did the right thing, honey. I wish you had told me sooner, but… I’m glad you told me now.”
Chapter Eleven
HUNTER ISN’T AT school the next day, but I’m not surprised. Now that we can text each other, he told me his face is too fucked up right now to come to school. His mom told the principal they had to go out of town this week, so he sent schoolwork home so Hunter wouldn’t fall behind.
Hunter was in such a hurry when he left my house that he left behind his gray wrestling hoodie. I asked if he wanted me to bring it over one day after school, but he said he doesn’t want me to come to his house right now. He told me he has others, so I can just keep it.
Under normal circumstances, I would be pretty happy about the prospect of wearing Hunter’s hoodie around my house, but my heart is so heavy right now, there’s no joy to be found in it.
The talk Mom wanted to have with me definitely changed once she learned about what has really been going on with Hunter. Maybe her opinion of him changed a little, too, but I can’t tell if it did or she just feels for him. No kid should have to go through this, and it shouldn’t be my mom willing to fight for him—it should be his.
Mom made an appointment with the principal and the guidance counselor on Wednesday to talk to them about it. She wanted to get in as soon as possible, but she had to work Tuesday and couldn’t afford to call off.
She made me tell her every detail I knew about the violence at Hunter’s house. I told her about the day I went over there, even though I knew I might get in trouble. I told her how Dennis acted and how even though I asked him to come back to our house until things settled down, Hunter stayed to protect his mom. I told her about the day I found him on the bridge and brought him back to our house. I sent her the pictures I took of his injuries Monday night.
I hate that it feels so much like I’ve sold him out. I wish he hadn’t asked me to keep this awful secret. I know we have to tell someone who can intervene because next time maybe Dennis injures him more permanently or even kills him, but I also have a strong hunch that when this comes out, Hunter will feel I’ve betrayed him.
Maybe I shouldn’t have gone about it this way. Maybe I should have gone to Hunter and appealed to him and convinced him to come forward instead of outing him like this, but once I told my mom, I lost control of the situation.
Even if he’s mad at me, even if he hates me for it, I can’t just stand by and allow this to keep happening to him. The integrity of an unbroken promise won’t be sufficient solace if next time Dennis attacks Hunter, I have to go to his funeral.
I know we’re doing the right thing, but it doesn’t feel like it. It feels wretched, and I’m sad all the time.
On Wednesday, I’m called down to the principal’s office during class.
Mom is there with the guidance counselor and the principal. They ask me about Hunter, even though I’m sure my mom has already told them everything. I guess they want to really make sure before they accuse the richest woman in town of child endangerment.
Because that’s what happens next. I don’t hear from Hunter, but I hear it from my mom.
The school obviously found out Hunter wasn’t really out of town, but he still doesn’t come to school all week. On Friday after school, I send him a text to see if he’s okay.
“You’re dead to me,” he texts back.
My heart sinks and my stomach knots up. I swallow past a lump in my throat and text him back. “I’m so sorry, Hunter. I had to tell someone. I was afraid for you.”
He doesn’t respond.
_______________
The following Monday, Hunter is back at school. I find out pretty immediately from overhearing other people whispering about it.
There are so many rumors flying around about the week he was out.
Some people have it right. Some have it completely wrong. There’s even a crazy one flying around that his father—some big shot from Europe—is in town and that’s why Hunter wasn’t in school last week.
The truthful version of the controversy surrounding Hunter could have made him seem more human, but somehow it has morphed into a complete fiction that has only made him seem even cooler than he already was.
In history class, I overhear the girls at the desks in front of me gossiping about it.
“I heard Hunter’s dad is some exiled Italian royal who married this French actress and they live in a chateau just outside Paris. He cheated on her with Hunter’s mom back when she was a model.”
“Wait. Like, actual royalty?” the other girl exclaims, aghast.
The first girl nods. “I think his dad was a king or a prince—I don’t remember exactly what Ciera said. Hunter’s dad is totally Italian royalty though, that’s the gist,” one of the girls in my history class is gushing while we wait for the bell to the ring.
“Does that make Hunter a prince?” her friend asks, grinning.
The first girl sighs like she can’t even stand it. “Ugh, he’s so hot. I mean, he already was, but like… wow.”
Disgusted, I roll my eyes and flip open my textbook. I want to tell them both they should pay a lot more attention in this class because the Italians voted the monarchy out in the 1940’s—there is no Italian royal family. I suppose it’s possible Hunter’s dad descends from the last king of Italy, but it’s most likely just nonsensical fodder for the gossip mill. Since Hunter’s dad exists only in our imaginations, he can be as impressive as anyone can imagine.
Of course I know Hunter doesn’t even have a relationship with his dad, so he’s definitely not in town for a visit.
I don’t get to see Hunter until lunchtime. Since he told me I was dead to him and we never even interacted at lunch when he didn’t hate me, I know it’s a risky move to approach him, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
I sent him more apology texts trying to get him to talk to me after the one he responded to, but he didn’t respond to any of them. I don’t think he blocked my number because they seemed to keep going through, he just didn’t answer. I even tried calling to talk to him once, but he didn’t pick up.
I get it if he doesn’t want to talk to me right now, but I hope he’ll forgive me once the dust settles. In the meantime, I just want to make sure he’s okay.
I catch his eye as I approach and he does a double take, staring at me like he can’t believe my nerve.
His eye looks a lot better now. His lip is pretty much healed, but the wound on his head still looks bad. I wonder if it will become a scar.
I tear my attention from his hairline and meet his green-eyed gaze. I can’t decide if he looks more amused that I’m approaching him in public, or… something else. There’s an undercurrent of malice I’m unaccustomed to, and it sets my nerves on edge.
“Hey Hunter,” I begin, a little more cautiously than I would ordinarily feel approaching him. It’s that gleam in his eye that’s
throwing me off.
“Riley,” he acknowledges, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I just…” I pause, swallowing, and glance at his friends seated around the table, watching me. I shift my gaze back to Hunter. “Can we talk?”
Still holding my gaze, he shakes his head. “I don’t have much left to say to you.”
“Oof,” one of his friends comments to another.
“That’s cold,” the other one remarks back.
Hunter’s lips tug up in a smile that doesn’t quite seem friendly.
Mark Poplowski, never the brightest kid in the bunch, speaks up. “I thought you two were cool. I thought you liked her or something.”
“Eh.” Hunter shrugs almost noncommittally. “We were, but things have been a little weird since her mom walked in on us in bed together.”
My eyes widen and I feel the color drain from my face. I can feel the surprise in the guys at the table, but Hunter is as casual as can be as he decimates my reputation.
“You two…?” his one friend trails off.
Poplowski doesn’t dither. “You’ve been banging the nerd?”
My chest starts to tighten as Hunter shows his pearly whites, smirking across the table. “Why else would I be hanging out with her?”
“Aw, shit,” one of his friends says before busting up laughing.
I can’t breathe.
Hunter looks back at me, the malice in his eyes no longer camouflaged or confusing. He hates me, and he wants me to know it. “I told you it’s over, Riley. Don’t make it harder on yourself than it has to be.”
His friends laugh at me—the stage five clinger who apparently can’t let go after the prince of assholes took my virginity and got caught in my bed the next morning.
I cannot believe he just did that. My whole body feels shaky, and my stomach is sick. Not because everyone’s laughing at me now, not because of the lewd way Mark looks at me after hearing I put out, but because Hunter did this to me. He knew exactly what he was doing. He’s punishing me, just like he punished his old best friend for whatever he must have done to earn Hunter’s wrath.
Bully Me: Class of 2020 Page 41
