“They’ll fuck anyone, and then they cry ‘rape,’” Michael is saying as I walk into my English class. My face is burning with shame. I want to tell myself he isn’t talking about me, but I know he is. He’s one of Mark’s best friends. They played both football and baseball together.
“I know, right? Some girls are total sluts and lying bitches,” Madison says, flipping her hair over her shoulder and glaring at me.
“It’s pretty fucked up. A guy can’t even have sex with his own girlfriend without worrying he’ll be accused of rape after he dumps her, even if it’s almost a year later.”
“Everyone knows the truth,” Madison says.
“Do they?” Morgan asks, walking down the aisle toward her seat. “Or maybe a few pathetic bitches who have nothing better to do but gossip think they know everything. I guess it’s easy to judge when you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Morgan’s voice is shaking with fury. I’m embarrassed to be the center of attention, but grateful to Morgan for standing up for me. But mostly I’m angry. I’m furious that Mark told his friends to raise the alarm about my so-called lies about the rape. I’m furious that people are taking Mark’s side over mine. I didn’t expect anyone to take my side, but I’d at least expected them to stay out of it. I’m furious that I’m the object of scorn and disgust when I didn’t do anything at all.
My voice is trembling when I turn to Morgan and say, “You’re right. It’s easy to judge when you’re only hearing one side of the story. And why bother forming your own opinion when you can just repeat what everyone else is saying?”
Madison starts to say something, but goes silent when the substitute teacher walks into the room. She glares at me and mouths “lying bitch” before facing the front of the classroom. I’m shaking and burning with rage. My mind is replaying everything I should have said to her, but didn’t. My response to her had been lame, but at least I’d said something.
Morgan squeezes my hand after class and tells me she’s proud of me. Tears make her eyes glassy. My body is buzzing with a mixture of fear and fury, but as I stride toward my locker, I’m feeling better about myself than I have in a long time. I’ve finally turned a corner, and I can’t wait to tell my therapist about this breakthrough. For the first time in a long time, guilt and shame are not my overriding emotions. By taking up for myself with Madison, I’ve acknowledged the rape was not my fault. That I am guilty of nothing. Mark is the criminal, not me.
Filled with a strange sense of purpose and energy, I yank open my locker. A few papers fall to the floor. I pick them up and begin to stuff them back into my locker, when a large, red smear of marker catches my eye.
Die, stupid lying bitch is written in large, capital letters.
And the fear takes over once again.
Chapter Twenty-One
“You should definitely show this to the principal,” Morgan says when I show her the note before rehearsal.
“There’s no way he’s going to find out who wrote it,” I say.
“It’s a threat. This is serious.”
“I really don’t want to stir up more crap. Things are bad enough.”
“Because keeping secrets and trying to handle everything on your own has served you well in the past?” she asks sarcastically. “Sorry, but you know what I mean. This isn’t your fault. None of it is. So why hide it?”
She’s right. If I’d reported the rape when it had happened, my life wouldn’t be such a mess now. The police officer had basically told me that since so much time has elapsed and there is no evidence to support my allegation, it’s my word against Mark’s. He will probably be convicted for assault, but it’s possible his high-priced defense attorney will get the charges reduced. It is also very likely Mark won’t serve any additional jail time.
People look curious when Morgan takes her position as my understudy. On my way to the principal’s office, I think about all the ifs and should-haves. If I’d reported the rape sooner. If I’d stayed away from Eddie from the beginning. If I’d stayed away from Mark. If…
The secretary stares at me when I walk through the door.
“Can I talk to Principal Dansen?”
“Let me see if he’s available.” She picks up the receiver on her desk phone, and after talking to the principal for a moment, she says, “Go on in, Rowan.”
Principal Dansen is waiting for me when I walk in. He motions for me to have a seat. “How are you doing, Rowan?”
“Okay, I guess. Well…” I hand him the paper. “It was in my locker this afternoon. I don’t know who wrote it.”
“This is very serious,” he says, frowning. “Is this the first time this has happened?”
“Yes Sir.”
“I’d like to keep this. I don’t know if I’ll get to the bottom of this right away, but I’m sure going to try. Has anyone been harassing you?”
I pause for a moment, not sure how much I should say. Tattling is a detestable thing to do—I’d learned that in elementary school. But secret-keeping is worse. What constitutes harassment, though? Taunts? Mean looks?
“Nothing major,” I finally reply. “People have been saying stuff, not directly to me, but within my hearing. Nothing threatening, though. Just calling me a liar, basically, or saying I only accused Mark of…what he did in retaliation for him breaking up with me.”
“If anything else happens—anything at all, you come to me. I won’t tolerate threats in my school.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dansen,” I say as I stand up. Nothing has been resolved, but at least I’ve taken some responsibility for my wellbeing and safety by bringing the threat to his attention.
And that’s a breakthrough I can be proud to talk to my therapist about.
***
“Why didn’t you come to me first?” Dad asks when I tell him about the note and my meeting with Principal Dansen.
I shrug and take a bite of meatloaf. Both parents are waiting for my reply, their forks poised in the air as if they're in animated suspension.
“I don't know,” I finally say. “I guess I figured I'd end up in Dansen's office anyway, so why bother you while you were at school? Besides, I'm telling you now.”
Bad answer. Dad huffs out a frustrated sigh. Mom gives him a look of caution across the table. They exchange an entire conversation with that one brief look, and Dad relaxes.
“You did the right thing,” he says. “I would have gone into Dansen's office with you if you'd come to me first, but the important thing is you went in to talk to him. I'm proud of you.”
“Well, Morgan told me to talk to him,” I admit.
“She's a good friend,” Mom says. I agree. “What did Mr. Dansen say he's going to do about this?”
“He says he'll get to the bottom of it, but I don't see how.”
Sitting at the kitchen table, I feel silly. When I'd received the note, it was disconcerting and somewhat disturbing, but I'd never felt as if my life was truly in danger. Yeah, people hate me and it isn’t a pleasant feeling, but I don’t think anyone is going to actually kill me. Except maybe Mark. My stomach churns at the thought of him coming back to school. I hope the threat of his permanent expulsion will keep him from stirring up further trouble.
“Well, I'm off,” Dad says, crumpling his napkin and placing it next to his empty plate. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” Mom says.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Special school board meeting,” he replies. His eyes are burning with determination and vengeance.
My hands shake as I contemplate the reason for the special school board meeting.
“You know, you could go with your dad,” Mom says softly. “You wouldn't be expected to speak unless you wanted to.”
I shake my head. No. No way. I can’t face Mark and all those people, knowing what they know about me. What they think about me. When they look at me, will they imagine what Mark did? Will they imagine me crying, and struggling, and gasping for air underneath hi
m? Or will they see me as a calculating slut playing one guy against another, using Mark's life as a pawn in some twisted game of my invention?
Mom's face softens with pity, but I imagine there's disappointment there too. I'm disappointed in myself for not standing up and speaking out. For not facing my fears. But I can't do it. Not yet. Maybe never. Talking to the cops had been bad enough. I doubt I’ll have to testify, but if they ask me to, I’m not sure I can do it.
Dad leaves and I clear the table. Mom doesn't talk to me about Mark or the incident, but instead chatters about her day at work. I welcome the distraction and her attempt at normalcy.
When Dad returns two hours later, Mom and I are waiting.
“He's expelled.”
A pent up burst of air whooshes from my lungs. Relief mixes with dread that his friends will retaliate against me.
Dad continues talking. He's pacing the room, too agitated and excited to sit. “Mark's father and his expensive, big-talking lawyer were there, making threats and blowing hot air. They threatened to sue the district for compromising Mark's education. They threatened to go to the news. The board told them to go ahead. The board finally gave Mark the option of either working with a private tutor to graduate or to go to Northeast for the remainder of the year. Of course, Mark's dad threw a fit, saying his son did nothing wrong and was being penalized for no reason. His lawyer said there was no witness to the alleged assault, and that Mark was only helping a student who fell, a student who later made false accusations in order to get back at him for a painful breakup.”
A stream of angry expletives spill forth as Dad voices his opinion on Mark, his father, and the lawyer.
“Mark isn't expelled from the district, only from the school?” Mom frowns.
“Right. Or he can have a freaking private tutor paid for by the school district, which is bullshit if you ask me.”
Mom interrupts his tirade. “How can Mark's father complain? It sounds like Mark has been given a pretty light punishment.”
“If you can even call it a punishment. The board is trying to avoid being sued. They explained to Mark's attorney that they can’t allow Mark in the school while there is an active restraining order and a pending investigation. The lawyer blustered until the board finally told him that if he doesn't like it, they'll see him in court.”
“At least Rowan doesn't have to face him in school.” Mom reaches over and pats my hand. “I guess that's what's important.”
“The board's ruling might not seem like much of a punishment—personally, I think they should have expelled him from the district and told him to get his GED—but it's a bigger deal than you think. If Mark goes to a different school, USC is going to want to know why he transferred. If he’s tutored from home and can’t play baseball, how do you think that will affect his baseball scholarship?” Dad bites out a humorless chuckle.
“I’m sure his parents can afford to put him in private school,” Mom says.
“But how many of them have competitive ball teams? And of those, how many would be willing to take him at the end of his senior year?”
“Money talks.”
“The schools won’t want bad publicity. If Mark’s father wanted his son in private school, he would have enrolled him years ago.”
I interrupt. “Mark was in private school up until high school. His grades weren’t very good, so he got kicked off the baseball team in the eighth grade. His dad thought he’d have a better chance of keeping up his GPA in a less challenging school. He thought sports were Mark’s future, so he decided to enroll him in a public school with a good sports program.” I choose not to mention Mark’s comment about lower standards, and how his father thought his time was better spent in the batting cages instead of doing the five hours’ worth of homework every night that would have been required at the exclusive prep school where he’d barely gained acceptance.
Mom and Dad continue to talk about Mark’s dismal future while I contemplate my more immediate future in the hallways at school. How will people react when they find out Mark won’t be coming back? I already know the answer to that. I’ll be blamed, vilified. Not everyone will hate me, but plenty of people will. Enough to make my life miserable.
Less than two months until graduation. I can survive, right?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Angry hisses and hostile glares follow me everywhere. Maybe it’s my imagination. Or maybe not.
“Lying whore.” A vicious nudge knocks my books from my arms, sending them flying. I bend down to pick up my English text just in time to see a large tennis shoe kick it down the hall.
“Sorry,” Michael says, smirking at me. “Was that your book?”
I battle my way down the crowded hall, trying to locate and gather my books. Somehow, each time I come close to retrieving one of my books, it’s kicked out of reach by one of Mark’s friends. This is obviously a calculated, albeit immature way of getting back at me.
At last, the final bell rings and the hallway empties. I skitter around, gathering my books. One is damaged, not beyond repair, but badly enough that I’ll have to pay for it. Pages from one of my fallen binders are everywhere, pushed against baseboards, trampled and bearing tread marks from a variety of footwear. I fight back tears as I pick up papers.
Footsteps approach. I freeze, remembering the last time I’d found myself accosted in the hallway. I glance over to see Eddie approaching. I look away, letting my hair fall over my eyes to hide my tears.
“Rowan? What happened?” he asks.
“Nothing. Why aren’t you in class?”
He’s silent for a moment before replying, “Some guys in my physics class were laughing about playing soccer with your books. I left class to check on you.”
“You just walked out?”
“I told Mr. Martin I had to get something out of my locker.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you?” He steps closer, and my body leans toward his, instinctively seeking comfort. I take a step back.
“I am. You’d better get back to class.”
“Where are you going?” he asks when I turn away.
“My locker.”
I stride down the hallway. I don’t want to carry an armload of papers with me to class. I open my locker to shove the disorganized mess inside. Several pieces of paper flutter onto the floor.
Footsteps come up beside me, then stop. Eddie bends down to scoop up the papers. “What the hell?”
“What?” I ask.
“Have you seen these?” he asks, holding one paper up for me to see.
Lying whore. Go get raped.
“You need to take these to Dansen,” he says, shaking the papers in front of him.
“I’ll do it later.”
“Later? Rowan, someone is threatening you.”
“Dansen already knows.”
“This has happened before?”
I shrug.
“I’ll go with you,” he says.
I’ve seen that look of determination on Eddie’s face before, and I know it’s pointless to argue with him. With only my English book and notebook in hand, I stuff everything else inside my locker, vowing to organize the crumpled, foot-printed papers later.
Eddie and I are silent as we walk down the empty hall. He waits with me outside Mr. Dansen’s office, and insists on coming in with me to talk to him. When we’re summoned inside, Eddie hands him the notes.
“These were in your locker, Rowan?” he asks.
I nod. Mr. Dansen spreads out the papers on his desk and looks at each one. “Some of these are quite threatening.”
“I, uh… I didn’t actually read all of them. We came straight here.”
“Do you mind if I call your father to come in here?” he asks.
“Sure. I mean, I don’t mind.”
Mr. Dansen asks his secretary to find a teacher’s aid to take over my father’s class for a few minutes. Then he looks at me.
“Anything else happen?”
“Just l
ooks. Comments in the hall.”
Eddie interrupts. “A few guys in my physics class were laughing about playing soccer with Rowan’s books in the hallway.”
“I’ll need the names,” Principal Dansen says, placing a notepad in front of him. “Were any of your belongings damaged?”
I place my English text on his desk. The binding is bent and several pages are coming loose.
“I promise you I’ll do everything I can to help you, Rowan. The individuals responsible for damaging your belongings are going to be questioned. I’ll find out if they’re also responsible for these notes.” He waves his hand toward the stack of crumpled papers.
I’ll show you rape
My eyes widen and my lips quiver as I zero in on the note on top. This is way out of control. Beyond out of control. I’m trembling when my dad walks in. His eyes are questioning when he looks at Eddie.
Principal Dansen motions for my dad to pull up a chair. He explains the situation. My dad puts his hand on my shoulder in a show of support.
“What’s the plan?” he asks.
“I’m going to talk to the students who were bragging about tormenting Rowan in the hallway. Eddie gave me a list of names.”
Dad nods at Eddie. “Thank you.”
Eddie nods in reply.
“Go get a pass to go back to class,” Principal Dansen tells us. “Rowan, why don’t you come see me after school?”
“I have rehearsal.”
“I won’t keep you long.”
“Thanks,” I say as Eddie and I leave the office.
“For what?”
“Helping me pick up my papers. Coming with me to the office. Giving the principal the list of names.”
“No problem.”
We lapse into uncomfortable silence. Well, I’m uncomfortable. Eddie seems relaxed, even though he must realize Mark’s friends are going to be out for his blood when they find out he tattled to the principal. Maybe he doesn’t care what people think about him, but doesn’t he worry about getting jumped? If these guys get suspended from school and they find out it’s because of Eddie, they’ll hunt him down.
Sweet Sorrow Page 17
