by Alex van Tol
It’s so unfair. But she’s right.
If this gets out, she’ll be destroyed.
But what the hell am I saying? Josh committed a crime. And here we are, tripping on the realization of how hard it will be to make him pay for it. It’s so much easier to walk away and not create any ripples. But that’s so wrong. That asshole should pay for what he did to Lindsay.
“Linds,” I say. “I’ll stand by you.” I reach over and take her hand in mine. “You know that. You need to turn Josh in. You can’t let him get away with this.”
“Yeah?” Her gray eyes snap angrily. “Easy for you to say.”
I sigh. “It might not be as bad as you think.”
She pulls her hand out of mine. “Look, forget about it, Mike. Okay?” Her voice wavers. “Just…move on.”
“Linds.” I go to take her hand again. “Hey.”
Wrong move.
“Stop it. Just stop it!” Suddenly her voice breaks, and she’s crying. “Just leave me alone. I don’t know why you even care. Have you forgotten what you walked in on last Friday?” She wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I’m not who you think I am, Mike. I’m not the perfect little Lindsay you used to know. Little Miss Gymnastics, Little Miss A-plus Student, Little Miss Never-Slept-With-A-Guy. That girl’s gone.” She fights for control, her breath hitching and her voice rising as the words rush out in a blaze of anger. “She’s long gone, Mike, and she’s not ever coming back. And I don’t know what you’d want with a dirty slut like me. So stop wasting your time.”
A wrenching sob follows and then she’s on her feet, hands over her face, stumbling away. From the bench, from the school. From the video that could completely trash her reputation at Westpark High.
From me.
Chapter Fourteen
On Thursday, I arrive at school to find the worst has happened. The video has gone viral throughout the school. People are talking about it. Texting about it. Forwarding it to each other. Huddling in little groups in the field, watching it on their phones and iPods. The teachers are clueless; what else is new. Everyone’s trying to figure out who it is. Names are flying, but none stick. I’m glad for Lindsay’s sake they can’t identify her. They can’t tell who the guy is either. Josh and his buddies must be locked up on that. He’s smart. He knows enough not to let himself be identified.
I pass a group of people whispering near the locker room. I wonder if Lindsay has seen the video yet, or if she’s avoiding it. She’s avoiding me, there’s no doubt about that. Every time I saw her yesterday she turned and headed in a different direction.
Now I’m faced with a choice. The video is public. I have direct proof that Josh assaulted Lindsay. I have enough to take it to the police, whether she wants me to or not.
I want to see this jerk fry.
But then I think of how Lindsay said it would destroy her if the cops got hold of it.
It’s a pretty raw deal. Making it with Josh at the party would have been something to talk about. Shag ’n’ brag. Her friends would envy her for that. One more notch in her belt. A big one.
But now that there’s actual video footage of her little party trick…that changes everything. Whether it’s fair or not. There’s a fine line between hooking up with a popular guy…and becoming a Paris Hilton porn star. And unfortunately—with Bryce’s thoughtful help— Lindsay crossed that line without even knowing it.
She’s right. With this footage, the whole game changes. She’ll be labeled a whore once people find out it’s her. The worst part? After the initial gossip dies down, Josh will be more popular than ever. It’s like some sick cosmic joke. He’ll be the stud, she’ll be the slut, and the world will continue to spin.
I skip my last class to think.
It’s a tough call. I want to take this to the cops. I want that scumbag to be busted wide-open for what he did to Lindsay. I want him to pay a big ugly fine, or do a few years in jail, or pull some heavy community service or whatever they do with creeps that film themselves screwing girls at parties.
But like Lindsay says, if this goes to the cops, they’re going to want evidence. All kinds of statements from people. It’ll get out. And it’ll wreck her reputation, which is impossible to recover from. She’ll have to move schools. And even then she might not get away from it. It’s so frustrating. I’m beginning to understand how hard it is for girls who find themselves in situations like this. Their choices are limited to Bad or Worse.
But I can’t just do nothing. If he doesn’t get busted for this, Josh could easily take advantage of some other girl. And who’s to say his friends won’t start doing it too—especially if they know they won’t get caught?
I can’t let him get away with it.
But if I turn him in, Lindsay’s reputation will be killed—and so will our friendship. She’ll see this as the ultimate betrayal. I will lose her forever.
But if I don’t do something…I might lose her anyway. The last thing she said to me on Tuesday before she stormed off. That bit about how she’s a slut. She’s going to start to believe it. I’m worried she’s just going to get worse. More drinking. More drugs. More sex.
More of what she never stood for.
I think back to Tuesday’s conversation. I see Lindsay’s point. She can’t go to the cops without this whole thing coming apart at the seams. But I don’t want her world to fall apart either.
I decide to take matters into my own hands.
Chapter Fifteen
I don’t have to go to the police. I don’t have to blow this whole thing wideopen. I can deal with this myself.
At least I can try.
It scares the hell out of me, but I can confront Josh about the video.
The last bell has rung, and students are pouring out of the main doors. I know where to find Josh. He’ll be hanging around the portables out back. He and his little band of emo drama freaks like to hang out there after school. Maybe they read Chaucer and Yeats. Smoke up and challenge each other to fake duels. I don’t know.
I decide to go now, before I can chicken out. My heart is racing and I have to keep wiping my palms on my jeans. I try to think about what I’m going to say.
I spot him leaning against the railing of the stairs to one of the portables. He’s alone. I’m glad. I still have no idea how I’m going to handle things.
As I approach, I realize how tall he is. Much bigger than me. That’s okay. I’m not going to be intimidated by him. I’m the athlete, not him. He might beat me in a Shakespeare smackdown, but I’d kick his ass in the gym any day.
Josh looks up. I give him the faintest of nods. I don’t know how to negotiate this kind of thing, so I just plow in.
“Pretty crazy video that’s going around, eh?” I say.
He studies me coolly. “What video is that?”
“I think you know the one,” I say. “It involves you. And a very drunk girl at a party.”
He’s trying to look like he has no idea what I’m talking about. I expected as much.
I push on. Right now it’s just the two of us, and I don’t know how long I have until his buddies arrive.
“I know you’re behind it,” I continue. “You and your friend Bryce.”
Josh narrows his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
I force myself to keep an even tone. “I’m talking about last Friday’s party, Josh. When you and your friend took a girl—and your camera phone—into the bedroom. She was drunk and high. Remember that? Or have you forgotten?” I reach into my pocket and pull out my cell phone. “Want me to refresh your memory? I have it right here. As does pretty much every other person in the entire school.”
Josh looks at me for a moment. Then he smirks. “I’ve seen the chick in that video,” he says. “Looks like a nice little piece. But I don’t know anything about it.”
“I think you know quite a bit about it,” I say. “And guess what? What you did is illegal.” I drop my voice. “Could cause you some ugly trouble if you were ever to be brought up on charges
.”
His expression doesn’t change. He’s good at this acting thing.
“Why would I be charged?” he says. Smooth as silk. “There’s no proof that it’s me. Nobody knows who either of those people are in the video.”
I shake my head. It’s my turn to smile. “That ‘nice little piece’? She’s my best friend. And I’m the one who put her back together once you guys left the party.”
Josh’s smile falters a bit.
I spot my opening and go in for the kill.
But I don’t get the chance. As I open my mouth to tell him I’m going to the cops with it, he lunges at me. I’m not expecting it. He comes at me from the third stair, catlike, knocking me flat on the concrete. Before I can roll out from under him, his fist slams into the side of my face. Things go black on that side for a few seconds. Blurry on the other.
I bring my hands together and smash them across his neck. He grunts and swoops backward, catching himself before he hits the pavement. I roll to the side and take another hit to the face. I roll again, twice, to get away from him and gather my legs under me. Something warm drips into my mouth.
I spit. Blood.
More comes. I spit again.
Then I’m up, charging at him like some kind of deranged bull. I’ve never been in a fight before. All I know is that I want to take this guy out. I want to win. I want to have the last word.
The top of my head connects with the center of his chest. I can almost see the POW! in bold zap lettering, like something out of a Batman comic.
Josh’s feet actually leave the ground. He flies backward, crashing against the side of a black pickup truck. He grabs at the mirror but misses and slides to the ground. Then I’m on top of him, pinning him against the door. Gripping the bottom half of his face with my hand.
I sit on his knees to stop him from getting up.
Josh’s hands grab my wrist, trying to pull my hand away from his face.
But I won’t let him. I hook my finger and thumb around the back of his jaw. If he pulls my hand off, the lower half of his skull is coming with it.
I whack the back of his head into the truck a couple of times. Just to get his attention. He groans. There’s nothing else he can do. He can’t talk, because my hand’s clamping his jaws shut.
I lean in nice and close so he can hear me.
“You get seven years for sexual assault, Josh,” I say. “I’m almost sure you weren’t planning on spending any time in the can after graduation. Aren’t you gunning for that nice theater program in New York?” He grows still. His eyes lock on mine, huge and bloodshot. “What you did to Lindsay could destroy her reputation at this school,” I continue. “Not only that, but it’s against the law. I’m ready to go to the police with this, and Lindsay is totally prepared to press charges. Plenty of people saw you guys leaving that room at the party.”
I’m bluffing with this last bit, but Josh won’t know any different.
“So,” I say. “You wanna hear what I think you should do?”
He nods. He might have whimpered too, but I can’t be sure.
“Good. Here’s what I think you should do. I think that video should just die a quiet death. Without you ever breathing a word about who’s in it. Stop spreading it. And most importantly, don’t even think of doing that to a girl ever again. That shit wrecks people’s lives, Josh.” I give his head another smack against the truck. “You feeling me?”
Josh groans again. Nods.
“You’re not going to make me go to the cops on this, Josh, are you?”
Whack.
Josh shakes his head.
“Atta boy.” I stare at him for a long moment. Then I give him an extra little push and let go. Suddenly free, Josh grabs his jaw with both hands and moans.
I stand up, resisting a childish urge to kick him.
Instead I turn and walk away without looking back.
Chapter Sixteen
I swing my leg over my bike and start to pedal.
My head is buzzing with all this stuff. My world has been turned upside down in a matter of days. Lindsay has pretty much confessed that she’s into me—and has been for just as long as I’ve been into her. But she’s so messed up. She’s angry and out of control. Her life is in a monster spiral. She’s got naked pictures of herself being spread all around the Internet.
And I’ve just beat the crap out of the guy who’s responsible.
Everything looks very different than it did a week ago. Life is weird like that.
I decide I’ll head to Lindsay’s house. I’ll tell her something she’ll want to hear: that Josh has promised never to let it slip about it being her in the video. She’ll be relieved not to have to go to the police— even though I would prefer that she did. I want him to pay for what he did.
Although I guess I did make him pay just now. Just a little bit. I’m looking forward to telling Lindsay about my little meet-up with Josh.
As I rip along the streets, another more important thought hits me: I still haven’t told her anything about how I really feel. About her. I’ve been meaning to, but I just haven’t found the right time. She has yet to hear the words from me that she’s probably needing to hear right about now.
That she’s been needing to hear for, like, months.
As far as I know, Lindsay has no idea that I’m in love with her.
I pedal faster. As I race toward her house, I imagine how great everything is going to be when I finally tell her how I feel.
When I get to her place, I knock. It feels weird. Before things fell apart, I used to just go straight inside.
No one comes.
I wait for a few more seconds and knock again. Still no answer. I glance at my phone. It’s 4:18 pm. Lindsay’s dad is still at work. Her mother is probably out shopping. Lorraine loves her afternoons at the mall.
I open the front door.
“Linds?” I call. I know she’s home. Her car is in the driveway.
No answer. Maybe she’s on the computer downstairs. I go and look, but she’s not there.
Maybe she’s got the laptop in her bedroom.
That’s where I find her. But she’s not on the laptop. She’s in bed, asleep. Wow, she must be really burned out from all this stress, I realize. She’s had a brutal week.
I sit on the side of the bed, feeling nervous. Which is dumb, because how many times have we sat together on this bed and worked on projects? How many times have we studied for tests here?
I reach a hand out and gently stroke her shoulder. “Linds,” I say. “It’s me.”
She doesn’t move. I shake her a bit. “Linds.” A few strands of hair have fallen over her face and I tuck them behind her ear. “Linds, wake up.”
But she doesn’t.
Suddenly I’m filled with a bad feeling.
I pull back the covers. She’s fully clothed.
Then I see the empty medicine container in her hand.
No.
I grab the plastic jar and turn it around until I can see the label. Lorazepam. Lindsay told me her mother is afraid of flying. I’m holding her bottle of tranquilizers for when she travels.
It’s a big container. And it’s empty.
“No!” I shout. I give Lindsay a hard shake, enough to flop her head off the pillow, but she’s unresponsive. I stare wildly around for the phone before remembering I have my cell with me. I snatch it out of my pocket and dial 9-1-1.
The dispatcher listens as I fluster through explaining the situation. He takes the address and tells me that an ambulance will arrive within six minutes. His voice is flat. Calm. Maybe he figures that’s reassuring to people who are losing it.
Like me.
“Is there a suicide note?” Flat-Voice Man asks me. “Any message you can see?”
I stare around. The word suicide ricochets around inside my head. Suicide? Are we really talking about suicide? What the hell?
I look on the bedside table. Under the covers. Under the pillow. On the floor.
The
dresser. The bathroom. The kitchen.
Nothing.
“No, nothing,” I gasp. I feel the tears threatening to overtake me. “There’s no note.”
She meant every bit of this.
Chapter Seventeen
The ambulance comes. Damned if I’m not going to ride along with Lindsay. The paramedics are fine with it.
I sit as close as I can to her, holding her hand. As I watch her chest rise and fall, I start making bargains. Please, God, if you’re out there, don’t take her away from me. Please. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just make sure she’s okay. I’ll work hard in school. I’ll help Mom more. I’ll be so good to Lindsay.
I hate that this has happened. I hate that I didn’t leave school right away to go to Lindsay’s place. But then, I had to take care of Josh. And I was so ready to tell Lindsay all about it. I had no idea what she was thinking. How bad things had gotten.
What if I had arrived ten minutes later? I shudder and look out the rear windows.
It’s started to rain.
Like my heart, the streets are cold and empty as we fly toward the hospital, siren screaming.
As soon as we roll to a stop, the doors open and Lindsay is wheeled out by two waiting attendants. The paramedics hop down and help. They whisk her off through the sliding doors and down a corridor, out of sight.
A nurse tells me she’ll need to have her stomach pumped.
She’s little, this nurse. Mom’s age. Tight-lipped, but warm. Her nametag says Joanne. She holds her clipboard precisely and asks me a million questions about Lindsay. Has she tried to commit suicide before? Whose drugs were they? Did her mother use drugs often? What happened to make Lindsay want to harm herself?
I answer most of the nurse’s questions honestly. But I lie and tell her I don’t know any reason why she would take the pills. That’s for Lindsay to talk about. If she makes it.
When she makes it. I’m not going to believe that she’s not going to make it.
I wonder how she’s going to be feeling when she comes around. Will she be pissed to find herself still here? Will she be mad at me for pulling her back from the Big Sleep?
