by Amanda Grace
I get back up and look at myself in the mirror again. I twist my mouth to the side and fight the urge to pick at my hair, then leave the bathroom. My shoes clack across the cement, until I round the corner and see Nick leaning against his Mustang.
He’s decked out in a crisp blue jeans and a new, deep blue button-up, a ball cap sitting crooked on his head. He smiles and it’s impossible not to smile right back at him. “You look amazing,” he says, his eyes sweeping over me.
“Thanks. You look pretty good yourself.”
It’s crazy, to think I’m really going to the senior party with him, my best friend all these years. I hate that it took all this for us to finally get together, that we lost those three or four years we could have been something.
And I’ll miss the next few years after he learns what really happened. It’ll probably take that long for him to forgive me. But I can’t live with myself otherwise. Everything will turn into a pumpkin at midnight, but for now, I can pretend I’m really the girl at the ball, the girl whose true love might just love her back.
Nick opens the car door with a flourish, a cheesy, over-acting sort of sweep of his arm that makes me giggle, and a piece of me unwinds.
“Your carriage awaits,” he says.
I think I’m going to roll my eyes, but I don’t, because somehow I find the whole stupid thing charming. I have hours until I plan to tell him, so I may as well enjoy them.
I sink into the seat, smoothing out the beaded dress, somewhat anxiously crossing my ankles, which is kind of silly because … it’s Nick. But being dressed up like this, and knowing that this may be my last night with him if he doesn’t react well to the truth …
“You should dress like that more often,” he says.
I snort. “Like I’m going out on the town? When there’s nowhere in this town to go?”
“Well, no, not like that. Just … with your hair done up and makeup and all that.”
I shoot him a skeptical look.
“I don’t mean all decked out. I just mean … you’re always burying yourself in sweatshirts and sunglasses. It’s nice to see you just embrace it.”
“Embrace what? Freezing my ass off?”
“I was going with your natural beauty, but whatever.”
I giggle nervously. Natural beauty. I don’t know if I believe him, but I like hearing those words spoken about me. “You’re such a nerd.”
“That’s why you love me,” he says.
I snort and it turns into an odd cough, and soon enough I’m wracking my lungs. That’s the third time he’s said it this week.
He smiles back at me, and then I know he knows, and my cheeks flush. I turn to look out the window as he backs out of his parking space.
We drive north, silence falling around us as we head toward a pier in Olympia. The parking lot that stretches along the road is mostly full as we glide into one of the last available spaces. Nick puts it in park and we sit in silence for a long moment, staring out at the glittering water in front of us, the city lights reflecting on the dark water.
“You okay? You’ve been kind of quiet.”
His tentative tone makes my heart clench. He’s saying it like he’s worried about me, like I’m still grappling with a supposed rape.
I guess people are right. Maybe the truth really would set me free. It doesn’t make it easier to say it, though. I turn to him and smile, hoping it reaches my eyes. “Yeah. I’m just ready to put all this behind me.”
He reaches over and squeezes my hand and then tells me to sit tight as he walks around the back of the car. He opens my door, reaches out to grasp my hand, and pulls me to my feet. I smooth out the beads on my dress as I stand, then cross my arms at my chest. It’s colder here, on the water. The spring night air has given way to a gentle, salty breeze coming off Puget Sound.
I take Nick’s arm as he leads me across the uneven pavement, up to the big ramp that leads to the boat rented for the occasion. We all had to pay a hundred bucks for tickets, but it’s a tradition—an eight-hour party that lasts until four a.m. We’re not allowed to know anything else about the party ahead of time, or what, exactly, we paid a hundred dollars for.
We climb up the ramp, my hand gliding across the cool iron railing until we’re on the deck of the boat. Sparkling white Christmas lights zigzag back and forth over the deck, creating a canopy we walk under as we make our way to the propped-open double doors.
There’s an enormous ballroom inside. Swing music plays in the background as a disco ball sends sparkling lights splashing across the walls. Throngs of people, mingling in clusters, are sprinkled on the dance floor. A few tables span from one side of the room to the other, and waiters are busy bringing out trays of food. The opposite wall has dozens of round tables, covered in green felt, with men and women in black button-downs standing on one side, dealing cards. We pause in the doorway as I take it all in.
“It’s a casino night,” Nick says. “Cool.”
I nod, staring across the open expanse at the crowds laughing and talking. The hum of their voices grows louder. It’s as important as spring break and senior skip day.
“Let’s go sign in and see how this works.”
We move further into the room and I pull my gauzy shawl closer, as if to protect myself from the looks of my classmates. I follow Nick to the long table closest to the door, and he leans in and gives our names. The red-headed woman, one of two math teachers at MHS, reaches under the table and pulls out two small plastic baskets. “These are your chips. Gamble them any way you like. At the end of the night, you can cash them in for prizes.”
“Got it,” Nick says, handing me my chips.
We push our way through the crowd, Nick holding my fingers so we don’t get separated. Finally, we emerge into a clearing near the disco ball. Yellow light splashes across the floor beneath our feet.
“Let’s dance,” Nick says, his voice close to my ear.
“No one is dancing,” I say, darting a look at the empty floor, white lights from the disco ball glimmering across the hardwoods.
“So?”
“So everyone will stare. And you’re a terrible dancer.”
“I’ll pretend not to be insulted. Also, everyone will stare at you anyway. So let’s give them something to look at.” He pauses. “Even if it’s just me making an idiot of myself.”
“What do I do with these?” I ask, holding the chips up.
“They’re called pockets.” Nick takes the chips from my hand and shoves them into his pocket, then drops his own into the opposite pocket. His jeans bulge with the chips and it looks ridiculous, but he just smiles at me in that genuine way of his.
I swallow and look at up him, finding myself nodding even though I hadn’t planned on it.
He interlaces his fingers with mine and pulls me across the floor, and we dodge the clusters of our classmates until we’re standing in the empty expanse under the disco ball. Some of them turn to look at me, to watch me, but I ignore them until we’re facing each other and I don’t have to look at anyone but Nick.
The swing song bleeds into something slower, something we can both manage. And then he’s reaching for my other hand and placing them both over his shoulders, and his hands are on my waist as the song seems to grow a little louder and the whispers seem grow quieter.
I let him pull me close enough that I can lean into him and close my eyes and concentrate on the swaying of our bodies. The whispers die out completely and I am glad, in this moment, that I’m here. I’m liking this. The first normal thing that’s happened in a week. I guess it’s a blessing the senior party goes all night. Maybe it will never end.
Minutes pass and I keep my eyes shut, so I’m surprised when I open them to find that the floor has filled in. A dozen couples are dotting the floor around us and I recognize Tracey, Macy, and Veronica among them. They smile at me and nod as they sway with their partners, and I smile back.
“See? Not so bad, right?” Nick gives my back a squeeze and I nod.
>
“No, not so bad at all.”
The song switches and the beat kicks up a notch. “Do you want to keep dancing or go get something to drink?” Nick asks.
I pull away. “A drink would be good.”
He pulls me back through the crowd, which has continued to thicken. It might just be me, but I swear the stares aren’t as intense as they were before. Does it only take a week to get tired of a rape rumor? Are they over it already, moving on to the next big thing?
A few people I’ve never talked to outside of school smile and nod at me. Even a football player. I grip Nick’s hand tighter as we have to bump into a few people to make it through.
Soon we’re standing next to a few big troughs of ice. “Pepsi okay?”
I nod and take the sweating, icy can from his grip and pop the top.
“What next?”
I look over at the cluster of tables. “Let’s go try our hand at poker,” I say. “I kind of want to sit down. These heels are killing me already.”
He laughs. “I have to admit, they’re kind of hot, but I’m not sure you’re the high heels type.”
I smile, feel a blush warm my cheeks. “I’m not. Hence, they’re killing me.”
“Say no more,” he says, leading me once again by the hand. Maybe it’s silly, but it does make me feel a little less … lost.
We cross the crowded room and I feel my confidence growing, like I can handle anything anyone dishes up. Like tonight can go okay, and I can tell the truth, and things won’t fall apart.
We take a seat on the stools near one of the poker tables. Now that we’re sitting, I notice that the once barely discernible rocking of the boat has taken on a graceful, slow sway. We must have pushed away from the dock. I twist and look out the huge tinted windows as the sparkling shoreline creeps away.
The dealer, a twenty-something guy with close-cropped blond hair, explains the game and asks for a portion of our chips. I take out five blue ones from the plastic tray and stack them on the felt in front of me.
Even with the rules, I’m not sure what I’m doing. I get a Jack, a Two, a Five, a Three, and a Seven. I plunk them all down but the Jack. “Uh, I’ll take four.”
He slides four cards my way. Nick asks for one, and gets a replacement.
I have two Jacks. Somehow that means I win, and I get an extra chip for my efforts.
Nick sets his chips down. “I need to use the restroom. Will you be okay for a little bit?”
I nod.
“You sure?”
“Yes, I can survive for five minutes. Go,” I say, waving my hand. “But I’m so using your chips if I run out before you get back.”
He pushes back from the table and disappears into the crowd. I turn back to the felt and ask for another hand, putting a chip down.
I play a couple of rounds, but there’s no sign of Nick. My classmates filter in my direction, littering the tables around me. I pull at the beading on my dress, nerves creeping back in. After another hand, I take my remaining chips and stand, a little wobbly on my heels, moving through the crowd in search of Nick. I brush by my classmates, nod and smile. A redhead, Britney, eyes me with interest, but everyone else just smiles warmly and turns back to their group.
There’s a garbage can along the back wall so I head that direction, hoping to ditch my empty Pepsi can. I drop it into the garbage and turn to head toward the bathrooms, when I collide with someone. My chips clatter loudly to the ground.
Furious blue eyes glare down at me. My mouth goes dry all at once.
Carter.
“I—”
“Shut up. Just shut up,” he growls.
The hairs on my arms stand on end at the tone of his voice, the absolute venom lacing his words.
My eyes sweep over his face, take in the dark shadows under his eyes. He looms closer, and then I realize they’re not shadows at all. His left eye, normally a sparkling blue, looks a little bloodshot and has a dark, black circle underneath. His cheek is so swollen he looks like a chipmunk, and his bottom lip is split, crusted with fresh blood. Did he go to the ceremony like this? Or did it happen here?
Everything inside me deflates. He looks nothing like the perfect golden god he was a week ago.
“You did this to me, and I want to know why,” he says, in a low, furious tone.
On purpose or not—it doesn’t really matter, does it? I did do this to him.
“I got jumped because of you,” he says, spitting the words. “Because of your lies.”
I try to form words, but it seems impossible with him this close to my face. It’s hard to just breathe—forget speaking. There’s at least a foot of air between us, but it feels like there’s nothing, like he’s sucking the oxygen right out of my lungs, pushing down on my rib cage.
I dart a look around, but we’re standing behind a poster perched on an easel and no one has noticed us. “Carter—”
“Why the fuck did you have to do this? Huh? Just for spite? Because I didn’t want you?”
Desperate to breathe, I take in a ragged breath of air, but it does nothing to stop the pain in my chest.
I want to tell him. Everything. Tell him I’m sorry for what I did, more sorry than he could ever, in a million years, know. Tell him I never meant for this to happen—that I hadn’t run out and created the lie, that I’d just stood by and watched it spin out of control.
Tell him that I deserve whatever he wants to do to me.
“Why? WHY did you have to ruin me?” His voice cracks, and I shatter.
He’s not as strong as I thought he was. His unwavering, solid front gives way to the pain I’ve caused him, and it’s enough to make my knees buckle. I have to put my hand out against the wall to steady myself.
I am dirt. Lower than low. This boy is broken, and I did it, and somehow I justified it, and it’s wrong. More wrong than I could have imagined.
“My parents heard about this. They wanted to know why I was booed at graduation. My own mom looked at me like … like … ARGH!” He runs his hands through his hair and for a second, I think he’s going to actually rip it out. He turns away and his chest heaves and he looks back at me, so broken and so angry all at once.
My lip trembles. “Carter, I’m—”
“No,” he says, anger winning. “You’ve talked enough. It’s my turn.”
I swallow hard against the boulder in my throat, but it’s no use. I feel as if I’m choking.
“Everyone believes you. Everyone thinks I really did it.”
“I didn’t start the rumor!” I blurt out. “I swear—”
“I’m not a rapist,” he says, his voice nearly a growl. “Everyone thinks I am and I’m not.” He grinds his teeth. “I don’t understand how you could do this to me.” His voice has bounced back to hurt. Now he sounds empty, like a little boy. Is he this conflicted, this much of a mess? He pulls back, and for the first time, there’s more than a foot between us. I take in a big swallow of air, trying to bring myself together, trying to make him understand that somehow, I’ll fix this. Somehow, everyone will know the truth.
Just as I open my mouth to say something, a fist flies.
At Carter. I stand in shock as Carter crumples to the ground and Nick rushes forward, throws his arms around me, and drags me close. I blink against the light.
“Are you okay?” His warmth seems to wrap around me all at once and I should feel safe, but I don’t. I feel sick. “Sam, I … God, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you. I didn’t know he was here, or I wouldn’t have left you alone.”
Carter moans somewhere near our feet. Dread fills me up like a giant sandbag, getting heavier and heavier until I want nothing more than to sink to the floor.
“I can’t believe … God, are you okay?”
The tears brim, roll down my cheeks. I hate myself more than anything in the world right now, as Nick’s arms tighten around me and I see a few guys from the baseball team appear around us, helping Carter to his feet.
I want to bury my face i
n Nick’s button-down and let it all out, tell him everything, start to finish, like I should have to begin with.
I wriggle around, place my hands against Nick’s chest. I push, needing some air, enough distance to tell him the truth. He’s caught off-guard and loosens his arms, and a gap widens between us. My eyes shimmer as I meet his, studying the deep blue, the yellow flecks near the pupil. Because when I open my mouth, when I tell him the truth, I’ll probably never get this close again.
I’m done with this. I’m done with all of this. I’ve ruined both Carter’s life and my own with one little lie. Maybe I never meant to tell it—maybe I’m not the one who spread it to begin with—but I had the chance to stop it all and I didn’t. I let myself get swept up in it. I made choice after choice that condemned Carter. I gave him the split lip, the black eye, the swollen cheek. I ruined him, a little more every day.
I try to clear my throat but there’s a giant, sandy rock jammed in there. I try again. “Nick—
“Sam!” Someone is hollering my name. I turn and it’s Veronica, Macy, and Tracey, pushing through the crowd to get to me.
I shake my head at them, and Veronica’s expression changes. She glances at Carter and then back at Tracey and Macy. Tracey’s lips part and she starts to step forward, and I know by her expression she wants to stop me from doing what I’m about to do. But I put up a hand and she freezes, and then I turn back to Nick.
I sniffle and look at the crowd gathering around me, at Nick’s confused blue eyes, and at Carter’s narrowed ones as he holds a hand to his soon-to-bruise cheek.
I clear my throat, and then in loud, carefully articulated words, say, “I lied.”
No one moves. No one even breathes. I swallow, raise my voice. “Carter didn’t do it.”
The expression on Nick’s face slices straight through me. It’s disgust, disappointment, shock.
Veronica stands there, eyes shining, as if in awe. There’s a strange sense of power that washes over me as I look at her.
I’m doing the right thing.
I turn back to look at the growing crowd. “I went into his room that night. But I was drunk—” I stop. I don’t need to place any of the blame on Carter. I don’t need to tell them what he said in that room. “And I tripped, hit my face on his dresser, and ripped my top.” I clear my throat again. “When he left his room and I followed him, I think I was crying. Somebody took one look at me sobbing, and saw my bruised cheek and torn shirt, and jumped to conclusions.”
