In Too Deep

by Amanda Grace

  I hit “send,” and then sign out before he can respond.

  Thirteen

  The next morning, I take almost an hour to get ready. I can barely brush my teeth without gagging because I’m so nauseated, and I can’t get my hair in a straight ponytail because my hands are shaking so badly. What was I thinking, yesterday? Carter has more power in his pinky than I have in my whole body. A whole clique of friends—entire sports teams—have his back.

  I sit down on my bed for a second and stare at my computer. It’s not too late to log on and post the message. I should do it, right now, before things get worse.

  But instead of opening my laptop, I just sit and stare at the computer from across the room, my feet tapping on the floor. Carter went off on me and cussed me out for something I didn’t even do. And he’s messed with a lot of people. Used them to get what he wants, or laughed right in their faces. He walks around like everyone owes him something, like he’s some kind of god and we’re just the peasants, there for his use. Disposable.

  Maybe he can squirm, just for one more day, and then I’ll fix it. I give the laptop one last lingering look and then get to my feet.

  I’m only halfway down the front steps before I stop. Nick is walking up my sidewalk.

  “I thought you would want a ride,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. He glances behind me, at the front door, as if concerned my dad might burst out.

  I glance back, too. Dad is still inside. “Oh. Uh, you don’t have any … activities after school?”

  His face falls. “Oh. Um, yeah. A couple things for the graduation ceremonies.”

  “I can follow you.”

  “Yeah. That sounds good.” He steps forward and, after glancing at my house to be sure Dad’s not watching, gives me a quick hug.

  We part and head to our cars, and I breathe a deep sigh once I’m in mine. I’ll tell him when we get to school. I’ll climb into his car and we’ll talk, and then when I step into the halls, he’ll either be with me or he won’t.

  We accelerate down the streets, weeks-old cherry blossoms swirling in the air around us. It would be pretty if my mood weren’t so dark.

  It doesn’t take long for us to arrive, and I pull into an empty parking stall a few spaces down from him and jump out of my car. He’s opening his door just as I get to the Mustang, but I slide in and shut the passenger door behind me. So he just settles back down and turns to me.

  “You all right?” he asks, squeezing my shoulder.

  “Um, okay, I guess.” Not really. The panic rises in waves. I’m doing it. I’m going to tell him.

  “You’re not just saying that?”

  I shake my head and swallow, trying to clear the boulder in my throat so that I don’t stumble on my words.

  “Do you want to go to the senior party together?”

  I blink. “The senior party? Like a date?”

  He smiles. “Yeah. Basically.”

  My jaw drops. “Yeah. I mean, I’d love to.”

  “Great.”

  I feel like my stomach’s dropped out completely.

  “I can’t believe we graduate this weekend,” he adds. “It always seemed so far away, and now, here it is.”

  I twist around in my seat and lean against the headrest. We sort of lean into each other, drawn together like magnets. “I know, it’s like—”

  At tap tap tap, I jerk upright, my heart pounding wildly. Then I remember … we’re not at home, we’re at school, so it can’t possibly be my dad.

  Nick visibly swallows and then clicks the button for the window, and I wait, my heart in my throat, as it lowers, the tint giving away to the early spring sunshine.

  All I see is the letterman jacket, and my grip on the door tightens, especially when I see the baseball symbol inside the letter, four slashes next to it. A senior. A guy who has lettered in baseball every year.

  Carter.

  But when he ducks down, I see it’s only Gary, a guy who has been on the team with Carter every year. My stomach unclenches as he squats alongside the Mustang with his forearms resting on the windowsill. My relief that it’s not Carter doesn’t last long. Because he’s still one of Carter’s crew.

  I feel myself break into a sweat, my skin too warm, the collar of my T-shirt too tight. He opens his mouth to talk to Nick, and then his eyes sweep toward me and he stops.

  And then I know. He didn’t expect me to be here, because he freezes for a long second before recovering. “Hey Sam, you doing okay?”

  His voice is soft, quiet, like he’s afraid I’m going to bolt at any second. I guess it’s my death grip on the door handle. I nod but I don’t speak because I can barely swallow. Gary is in my AP chemistry class. We’ve been lab partners several times.

  He looks me dead in the eyes. “Um, I was just going to talk to Nick. About, you know, making sure he watches out for you. I wanted to make sure you didn’t think we were … ” His voice trails off a bit and he swallows, shifts around. “All on Carter’s side. Just because we’re on the same team.”

  I can’t move.

  Gary turns to Nick. “I know how Carter is with girls. What he’ll do to get what he wants. I have to listen to it every day. Do you know he told Tracey Pearson he loved her just so she’d finally give it up? Some of the guys applauded him, even after they found out he dumped her. And yet still, I never thought he’d go this far … ” His voice turns whispery and he glances at me. Like I haven’t overheard the whole thing.

  My breathing gets shallow. This is surreal. I hardly know this guy and he believes me even when he shouldn’t. Why do people trust me like this? Why do they believe the things I’m saying? They shouldn’t. They should trust Carter, the only guy in this school who really matters

  to anyone.

  Nick darts a glance over at me.

  “You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not sitting right here,” I say.

  Gary looks back at Nick. “Look, I wasn’t going to say anything, but I heard the guys talking last night and they’re going to retaliate. And I thought you needed to know.” He clears his throat. “I was just going to tell you so that you could, you know, protect her or something.”

  It’s like all the blood drains from my body at once. Gary stands. “Just keep an eye on her, okay?”

  I can’t see his face now that he’s standing, just his letterman jacket. And then he whirls and stalks off, just as a deep rumbling sounds through the air. I twist in my seat and see the big black Charger pulling into the lot. He must have washed it, because I don’t see any streaks of yellow.

  I struggle with my seat belt. Carter. Oh God, it’s Carter. My hands can’t find the buckle.

  “Sam,” Nick says.

  I jerk and twist and pound at it, my heart climbing right into my throat and strangling me.

  “Sam,” Nick repeats. A frantic plea twists free of my throat as I jerk hard on the buckle.

  “Sam!”

  I still at the bite in his voice.

  “Calm down. You’re in my car. Carter won’t expect you to be in here. And the windows are tinted.” There’s an edge to his voice I didn’t expect. An odd, growling sort of tone. He hits the button and the window goes up.

  A chill sweeps over me. He thinks I’m freaking out because Carter raped me and that’s why I’m terrified

  of him.

  I twist around in my seat, stare at Nick. “Sorry.”

  He leans back in. “You don’t owe me an apology.”

  “But I do,” I say. Words swirl around me, but the ones I need fail to materialize. How can I say it in a way that will make him understand? “All of this has gotten so … out of hand.”

  I twist around, watch through his back window as Carter climbs out of his car, just a half-dozen parking spaces from us. He slams the door as his buddy climbs out of the passenger seat, and the two cross the gravel lot. He still has that swagger of his, the way he ambles toward school as if he owns it.

  I can’t take my eyes off him. He glances t
o his left, and then to his right, shoving his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket. We watch in silence as he crosses the lawn toward the back entry of the school.

  “He looks nervous,” Nick says, as I slide deeper into my seat.

  “Yeah, I was just thinking that.”

  “I’ll go talk to him,” he says, pulling the keys from the ignition.

  “Don’t!” I say, too loud. I drop my voice. “Please. Just … it’s not necessary.”

  “Sam, how can you just let him get away with this? Someone needs to—”

  “Listen to me, Nick.” My stomach rises toward my throat. I have to tell him now, before we walk into school. “The thing is … ” I rake in a deep breath of air. “Carter—”

  The shrill sound of the bell interrupts me.

  “Crap, I still need to get a book out of my locker,” Nick says. “Can we walk and talk?”

  “Oh, uh, sure.”

  I climb out of the car, pulling my backpack over my shoulders as we go.

  “What were you saying?”

  The courage I had in the car falters. Students scurry past us, worried about being late. I have three, four minutes tops, before the next bell rings. Nick hates being late. He’s received an attendance award every quarter for as long as I’ve known him.

  “Nothing,” I say, as we reach the doors. “Can we catch up later?”

  My Chem final is a disaster. Gary is sitting next to me and he keeps darting concerned, sad little looks at me. Like he’ll actually be able to see the cracks in my façade spreading if he watches closely enough. All it does is strengthen my resolve to pretend like nothing is wrong.

  I fill in the last five multiple-choice answers without reading the questions. The words aren’t really registering anyway, so what’s the point?

  The speaker in the back corner of the room crackles to life. I twist in my seat and look at the big black

  box. “Samantha Marshall, please report to the principal’s office.”

  I tense. Crap. Crap. Crap. They must have figured out about my skipping class on Monday, when I ran from the bathroom stall and never went back to school. I never should have done that. Another broken rule. What’s with me? Can I get in serious trouble this close to the end of

  the year?

  Everyone swivels in their seats to stare at me, two dozen sets of intensely curious expressions. I’m not the sort of girl to get in trouble. Until now. I reach over and grab my backpack, my chair creaking. I loop my arms through the straps and nod at the teacher as I head to the door. I’m walking like entering the hall is stepping onto a gangplank. Who knows what’s at the other end?

  What am I going to tell the principal? I need an excuse for ditching, but I don’t think there is one. It’s not like the school can expel me three days before graduation. Right?

  Even so, I’ve never been in trouble, and my stomach continues to knot as I wander down the hall. This is probably going to mar my record. But I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m only going to UW, unlike Yale-bound Nick. My heart twists as I think of it. Who is going to show up at noon when he realizes I stayed home sick, and rifle through my cupboards until he finds a can of chicken noodle soup?

  The big wooden door is propped open, and I pass the little secretary desk and stand in the entry to Mr. Paulson’s office. He’s seated behind an enormous oak desk, a shiny brass nameplate in front proudly proclaiming his title. A wilted fern decorates the opposite corner. A battered wooden shelf unit fills up one wall, books and binders crammed into it. The blinds are pulled up and the early summer sun streams through, illuminating the dust suspended in midair.

  “Take a seat, Miss Marshall.”

  I chew on my bottom lip as I plunk down in the chair opposite his desk, trying desperately to appear casual and unconcerned. I need some kind of plan, some pressing reason for fleeing campus. A flu bug? Should have gone to the nurse. An emergency at home? He’ll want to verify that with my dad.

  “Do you know why I’ve called you here?”

  I shake my head. Play innocent.

  “It’s come to my attention—”

  His phone rings. I nearly jump out of my seat. He holds up a finger in the “one minute” symbol. “Paulson.”

  He’s nodding his head, listening to the faint buzz in the receiver. “Uh-huh. Sure. Three o’clock. See you then.”

  The receiver slams down and he turns his attention back to me. I cross my legs and then uncross them. Sit

  up straighter.

  “As I was saying. It’s come to my attention that your locker was vandalized.”

  I think I might sink right into the floor. This isn’t about my truancy?

  “It was fixed, of course, by our custodial staff.” He pauses and I guess my nod tells him that I’ve seen it. “Do you have any idea why someone would have done such

  a thing?”

  I swallow and shake my head, wringing my hands. “Um, no, I don’t know who did it,” I say.

  He stares at me for a long moment, leaning on his elbow, his eyes narrowed. It’s impossible not to gulp. Does he know I’m lying?

  “Vandalism does not occur at MHS,” he says. “And this is … particularly vulgar.”

  I widen my eyes and nod, pray I look more innocent than panicked.

  “Let’s hope this is the last, and only incident. You may return to class.”

  It’s hard not to leap out of the chair and scurry out before he has a chance to look into my attendance. I’m out in the hallways before I can even take a breath.

  I tighten the straps on my backpack as I turn right, toward the cafeteria. The shrill bell rings out all around me and the doors fling open, students streaming into the halls, filling the place with an audible hum. I pick up my pace. I don’t want to run into half of the students at this school. Not the football players, the basketball players, the baseball players. I’m not sure I ever realized the influence Carter had over this school.

  I do now.

  An arm loops around mine and before I can react, I’m yanked out a side door. I am about to spin and launch myself on the stranger, but then I see Veronica’s face.

  “Carter was up ahead,” she hisses, dragging me into the courtyard. “You seriously need to pay more attention.”

  “Oh.”

  “You okay?”

  I groan. “Must everyone ask me that over and over?”

  She cringes. “Sorry, we’re all just worried about you.”

  “Who is we?”

  “Macy and Tracey and me. We were talking about it, and we think the four of us should meet up after school. Grab something to eat in town or something.”

  I raise a brow. “Are you sure? I’m not convinced they actually like me … ”

  She nods. “Yeah. I mean, they really care about what’s going on with you.”

  I chew on my lip, trying to hide the guilt. Nothing is going on with me. But Veronica looks strangely hopeful. Excited, maybe. “Really? You want to go?” I ask.

  “Yeah. And I think it would do you some good.”

  “Okay. Sure. I just have to text my dad.”

  “Awesome. I’ll drive. Meet me in the senior lot

  at three.”

  “Let me just ditch my backpack in my car and we can go,” I say as Veronica and I walk across the gravel parking lot.

  “Sure,” she says, nodding.

  A few beats of silence stretch between us before she stops walking. “You drive a yellow car, don’t you?” she asks.

  I look up to see a group of guys walking away from my car. Baseball guys, long and muscular, easy to spot in their letterman jackets and ball caps. They saunter by, looking as if they own the world. Brent, the guy from the courtyard, holds up his key ring and jingles it, the gleam of arrogance in his eyes as he stares at me.

  My eyes widen and I swallow, look over at my car.

  Slut.

  “Holy shit,” Veronica says. “I can’t believe they’d do that!” She whirls around as if to go after them, but do
esn’t actually move. Instead, she reaches out and gives my arm a squeeze.

  It’s carved right into the driver’s side door, with an arrow pointing up. So that when I’m sitting in the driver’s seat, it will point right at me. My hand flutters to my mouth and the nausea that just won’t quit swells again. I blink hard to keep the tears where they belong. What did I do to deserve this? Any of this?

  One of the guys lets out a catcall and I twist around, see him making some kind of obscene gesture with his hand near his crotch, and then they disappear, proud of what they’ve done.

  They’re taking Carter’s side. They don’t even know if it’s true or not, they’re just taking his side. Maybe they don’t even care if it’s true—they just want to screw with me.

  I’m hit with the horrifying realization of what this would do to me if it really was true … If I really was …

  A victim.

  They would do this no matter what. They’d take Golden Boy’s side and they’d ruin me. If it had really happened, I would shatter into a thousand pieces.

  But you’re not a victim.

  “Are you … ”

  I dig my own keys out of my pocket as the tears shimmer, burst free. Frantically, I scurry to my car and scrape at the metal. My hands shake as hard as my heart beats, my fingers gripping the keys so tightly they ache. Back and forth, back and forth, until I’ve gouged so much paint off the door that the word is no longer legible. Yellow paint flecks litter the ground around us.

  Veronica clears her throat but doesn’t speak. We just stand there for a second, staring at the bare metal on the car door. “So … that sucks.”

  I nod, feeling defeated. “Yeah. Let’s just go. I’ll deal with it later.” I toss my backpack into my car and then click the lock button, following her over to her own car which, thankfully, is vandalism free. It’s all I can do to keep my breathing under control.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe we should stay and file a report or something.”

  With who? My dad?

  “No, really, let’s just get out of here.” I pull my phone out to fire off a text to my dad, then turn my phone off.

  “Okay, suit yourself,” she says, unlocking her own car.