by Ford, Lizzy
Chris looks at the invites curiously. Joseph offers an amused smile.
“How was brunch?” he asks.
“Strangely enough, I had fun.”
“With Molly?” Chris asks.
“Yes. Please tell Shea no, Chris.” I march out of the study and return to my room, proud that I’ve put my foot down with Daddy for the first time in my life, even if indirectly.
Looking around, I decide to sit at my desk instead of the closet. Gianna’s question about where we see ourselves in the future is on my mind again. For the first time in weeks, I turn on my computer. I start to research pregnancy, abortion and what other options there might be.
I’ve never been much for studying. Teachers won’t fail me, because my dad is who he is, which means I don’t pay much attention in school. When I start feeling overwhelmed about pregnancy again, I open a new browser and start looking at schools.
Where should I go to college? I text Molly and Ari.
There are thousands of colleges. I know Daddy’s money will get me into any of them, so I start looking at a map of the country to figure out where I might want to live. It’s just as overwhelming as figuring out what I want to do once I get to college.
West coast. As far as you can get from here, Molly texts back.
You’re going to college? Ari replies.
I smile. I search for schools in California, Oregon and Washington. The choices of West Coast schools my family would approve of are limited, considering most of the Ivy League schools are on the East Coast and too close to home. Stanford might be acceptable to them or maybe even U.S.C., since it’s a good school and private.
My phone vibrates again, and my heart skips a beat to see it’s from Dom.
We lowly Bronx taxi drivers clean up real good for these things. ;-) is his response.
I snort. I take that to mean he’s going. If he’s there, maybe it won’t be as bad.
Do you think I could be a veterinarian? I ask Molly and Ari. Their texts are fast and short.
No.
I roll my eyes. I like animals better than people, but I’m not exactly book smart. Maybe it doesn’t matter what I do in college. Maybe I can do whatever I have to for a degree then help animals on the side.
I pull up my list of charities I donate to routinely as part of Daddy’s strategy to keep them from taxing my trust fund dispersals. There are only four I like, three of which are humane societies. The fourth I just added, a local charity that funds women’s shelters in the area. I don’t think I could work at one, though, after being forced to do my community service there. I can do the next best thing and send them money.
I type in a new search, this one for Robert Connor. I’m terrified of seeing his picture again. Most of the search results on the front page are for making it into round two of the NFL draft. I click on one and read, trying hard not to look at his picture. He’s always smiling in his pictures. I’m relieved to see he’s headed to Florida.
That means he’ll be gone from my life forever. California is as far as I can get from Florida. Reluctantly, I look at his picture. Fear goes through me. My hands start shaking again. I stare at him, hating him, wanting to tear his picture up and throw my computer. He’s pictured with several of his teammates in the background. Breathing unsteadily, I focus on them for a moment and freeze.
Madison. Madison is on the football team with him. I stare. I can’t be completely sure. The picture is pixilated and fuzzy. This time, I search for pictures of their football team. I find their official photo on the college website and look for the faces I know.
Madison Stewart, tight end.
My second attacker has a name. My fear is rising almost beyond my control, but I Google him, too, and see he’s headed to Florida with Robert.
Panicking, I close my computer and go to the closet. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I take deep breaths the way Dr. Thompkins taught me.
“There’s no one hiding out to hurt me. I’m afraid, but there’s nothing to fear,” I tell myself out loud. I feel silly, but he said I need to hear it to reinforce it.
Slowly, I conquer the fear and calm down. I start thinking about what Gianna told us to think about. It makes me nauseous to consider how different life will be like in a year or two, if I have a baby. I’ll always have money, but college with a kid? And Molly is right: Daddy will keep using me if I don’t say no or find a way out of the spotlight. Would my kid suffer the same fate? The product of rape makes for a great political statement.
I don’t know why, but suddenly I’m crying. I’m trying hard not to think about being pregnant. Molly is so right about me. I can’t handle the political life. I need to get away as soon as I can.
“I’m afraid, but there’s nothing to fear,” I whisper.
By Monday morning, I’ve accepted Mom isn’t ever coming home. At least, not in the near future. I’m not as devastated as I thought I’d be. Molly has been texting me, and I’m reading one of her notes when I arrive at the women’s center. If possible, the throng of reporters and paparazzi has gotten even larger. I look at them, dismayed, then grip my phone tight and hurry to the front door. It’s raining today, and I forgot my umbrella. The distance is short enough to keep me from ruining my makeup.
I duck inside and look towards Wendy, secretly hoping to see Dom. He’s not there. The waiting area is already crowded. I woke up late; it’s past nine, when the clinic opens. I make my way through the building and go to my cube. I start inputting the forms and text between forms.
“Hey, kid,” Gianna greets me. “Doing okay?”
I look up at her and nod. She’s dressed in a bright pink shirt today.
“How do you feel about Friday?”
“It was good,” I say. “I’d like to come back this week.”
“You look better today. Get some sleep this weekend?”
“Not really. I still have a lot of nightmares. I had brunch with my sister Saturday. We’re not like you and Dom, but she was really cool for once.”
“That’s great. And your mom?”
I shake my head.
“As long as you’ve got someone else to talk to. You’re bringing a lot of attention to our center with that army of reporters out there.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s actually a good thing. We might be able to replace all our aging equipment and expand the dorms. Normally, we don’t see this level of donations until Christmas. I guess Christmas is coming early this year.” Gianna grins. “All because of the attention you’re bringing to us and our cause.”
“That’s good, I guess.”
“Alright, get to work. I’ll check in with you later.”
I’m pleased by her comments, though I haven’t done anything directly to help. I’m glad the throngs of press are useful to someone. Ari sends me links every day of the articles I’m in. Oddly enough, they’re positive.
My time goes quickly today. There’s tons of paperwork to input into the system, and the women around me don’t talk to me. Just before it’s time to leave, my phone vibrates, and I see Ari’s sent me another link. I pause in typing and click it open.
Serial rapist strikes again. Victim brutalized, may not live.
She sends me another text.
They mention you were the seventh victim. I thought there were two guys??
I drop the phone. It clatters to the tile floor, earning me a look from the woman across from me. I grab it and hunch over it, reading the article. The unidentified girl was twenty years old and at a party in DC Saturday. Ari’s right. The news report mentions only one attacker and how it might be the latest in a series of party rapes, whose highest profile victim is me. Number Eight is listed in critical condition. There are no pictures, but the report lists possible brain damage. I can’t help thinking this was one last, celebratory rape before the football season starts, and the guys leave their hometown for good.
For the first time in years, I say a prayer. Number Eight has to survive. There has to be some
mercy or goodness or something in this world. There has to be a god who thinks like Dom and Ari and isn’t confused about what’s really right, like I am!
“See you Wednesday, Mia!” Ricki calls to me as she breezes by the office area.
I look down to see it’s time to go. Shutting down the computer fast, I leave. It’s raining harder, and I dart to the car and hop in. Water pounds the roof and windows. I read the article again.
I can’t let myself think about my incident. It’s there, in the back of my mind, making me sweat despite the cool interior of the car. I think about the latest victim and start to wonder if Dom was right. Could I have stopped this?
Maybe you should talk to someone, Ari texts.
I rub my face. I’m about to defy my daddy to pursue an abortion. How can I manage that quietly while also costing him the election by naming Robert Conner publicly?
I can’t, I text back.
Dom texts me the same link. I feel like shit for a different reason. I feel like I’m the one who hurt this girl, and Dom now knows how much of a coward I am. My eyes water. Just when I think I can pull it together, everything falls apart again.
I hesitate then text Dom. Same DNA?
I wait for his answer, not wanting to know the truth. I arrive home and go to my room to change out of my wet clothing. The black portfolio is on my desk again. I cross to it. It holds only the police ball invitation, Shea’s instructions on what to wear and what time to be ready for the car.
It’s in three days, on Thursday. There’s no way I can face a room full of cops knowing I could’ve helped them save this girl from the pain she’s in. My phone vibrates.
We’ll talk. When/where? Dom’s message hits me hard. I sink into my chair. Up ‘til that moment, I’d been praying he’d tell me it wasn’t related. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to face him and tell him no one more time. I don’t know if I can, now that someone else got hurt.
On my way over! Ari’s text helps me breathe again.
I stand and pace. The hope I’d begun to feel crumbles and is replaced by that raw sensation I hate.
Ari gets there quickly and enters my room, cursing the rain. She jerks off her sweater and changes in the middle of my room. Sighing, she looks at me, then the closet.
“You’re okay?” she asks.
“No.”
“Well, you’re not in the closet. That’s really good, Mia. I’m proud of you!”
Her sweet faith in me makes me want to cry. She hugs me hard then sits on the bed to pull off her wet shoes.
“School starts next week,” she reminds me. “Can you go?”
“Yeah.” I sit back at the desk. “Ari …”
“Okay, I did something,” she says. She takes a deep breath. “No names, no circumstances, nothing. I talked to someone on Daddy’s legal team. I asked them how someone can come forward about a crime without you know, coming forward about a crime.”
“And? Is there an anonymous way of doing it?” I ask.
“Short story, no,” Ari answers. “The accused has the right to face his accuser.”
“Then there’s no way –”
“They can subpoena you.”
“Meaning …”
“Meaning they can force you to go in and testify.” Ari looks happy about this.
“That doesn’t help me.” I slump. “So there’s still nothing.”
“Mia, don’t you get it? If they have enough evidence, they can make you come in. I think that’s what they were fishing for when you went in. Think about it,” she continues. “If they make you go in, your daddy couldn’t get in the way. You’d have to tell them, right?”
“If they could do that, Chris would make it go away,” I remind her. “I don’t want to go in. I don’t want to relive everything. Or lose my family.”
“Your family treats you like shit anyway.”
I hear it in her voice. She thinks I’m wrong. Maybe she knows what I’m secretly thinking, that I really could’ve helped this girl. Maybe she thinks the same about me. I study her. Does she blame me for this happening?
No, Ari loves me. She’s the sister I never had. All I ever see in her eyes is compassion and understanding.
“Dom wants to talk to me about it,” I say uncertainly.
“Go.” There’s no hesitation in her voice. “If you get subpoenaed, you have to do what they say. Maybe you can find out if they’re going to do that.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Plus, he’s hawt.”
I roll my eyes at her.
“Tell him yes. Now. Before you back out and regret it,” she orders me. “Meet him somewhere where the paparazzi can’t see you.”
We’re both quiet for a moment. There’s determination on her face. I’ve been praying all day for Number Eight. Ari doesn’t blame me now, but what if Number Eight dies? I can’t lose my Ari. Sighing, I crumble to my best friend, who’s ten times smarter and better than I’ll ever be.
“I’m going to the police ball this week,” I say slowly. “I can meet him there.”
“That’s a great idea!”
Police ball, I text him.
“Oh, god that reminds me,” I say and tug Shea’s instructions on what to wear out of the portfolio. “She wants me to dress like some sixty-year-old woman.” I hand the note to Ari.
She makes a face. “Seriously? I’ve never been, but no. I mean, it’s a black tie affair. But a pantsuit? Usually Shea is on the ball with this stuff.”
“You know what dresses I have. I don’t think they’re quite right.”
Ari giggles. “Those are party dresses. You need a princess dress.” She pretends to dance around my room.
“You have princess dresses,” I say. “Don’t you go to these things?”
“Every once in awhile,” she replies. Unlike me, Ari likes dressing up. “We can go to lunch then shop for a dress tomorrow.”
“I hate this stuff,” I mutter. “I’d rather wear jeans just to make sure Daddy never invites me again.”
“I think you should try to look better than Molly,” she advises, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Then when you tell him you’re never going with him again, he’ll regret it more.”
“Seriously, Ari? You know Daddy better.”
“Whatever. Fine then. You should look nice for Dom.”
“I like Dom but what if he just wants me to testify to help his career? I couldn’t bear to find out that he wants to use me like everyone else,” I say firmly. “It doesn’t matter what I wear. Besides, I don’t want anything to do with men. Ever.”
She rolls her eyes and flops on my bed. I can’t help liking her idea, though, of looking good for Dom. It’s silly and stupid. I shouldn’t care.
I keep telling myself that the next day, too, even as I go through dress after dress at an exclusive boutique in Chevy Chase, after I do my time at the women’s center. This is one of the few places that can have a dress ready for the next evening. Ari shakes her head at everything I try on, even the ones I like.
Finally, I find a floor length, pale blue silk dress with sparkles. It looks good, fits well, and I love the cool, blue color. But it’s off the shoulder, and I’m not comfortable in something revealing.
“Yes!” Ari says, pushing the curtain to the dressing room open. “That’s it! Formal, floor length. We can put a scarf with it for your shoulders. And … hair up. I can do it!”
“You sure?” I ask, whirling around.
“Yep.”
I buy it grudgingly, hoping it isn’t ready in time. But Ari wins this round; they have a seamstress on staff that finishes the alterations before we leave the shop. For once, I kind of hope I look decent for a public appearance. I can’t help thinking it’s because of Dom.
Thursday morning, I stand in my closet and stare at the dress. It’s gotta be better than a pant suit, right? It’s definitely out of place among my typical choice of dresses.
There’s a knock at my door. I cross to it and see my half-brothe
r, Joseph, dressed in clothes I’ve never seen him in before. He’s wearing gym pants and a t-shirt. And carrying a basketball.
“You want to play a game?”
I stare at him like he’s crazy.
He chuckles. “I know you play. Molly used to complain about how unladylike it was to see you and Ari with Ari’s brothers out back.”
I can’t help my smile. “That’s why we played here sometimes instead of at Ari’s.”
“I thought so,” he says. “C’mon. Let’s go shoot.”
“Do you even know how to shoot?” I ask critically. My half-brother is known for his smarts, not his athletic prowess. I can’t remember hearing he played any sports in all his years of college.
“One way to find out!”
I close the door and change. I’ve never see this side of Joseph. Just like I’ve never seen the kinder side of Molly. Maybe this is what normal brothers should be like, but it’s … weird.
I join him in the backyard at the basketball-tennis courts area. Molly always played tennis, and I avoided it for that reason. I watch Joseph shoot the ball as I approach and hide a smile. He shoots with two hands, though his aim isn’t too bad. I’m wondering if this is his way of trying to meet me at my level or to be a better brother.
Grabbing a rebound, I shoot the ball then wait for it to bounce back before passing it to him.
“What made you feel like playing basketball this morning?” I ask.
His next shot is so off, I almost laugh.
“That’s what big brothers do, isn’t it?” he replies.
“I have no idea!”
“Yeah, me neither. Seems like a good place to start.”
I snort. He really has lost his mind. Flying back from who-knows-where to pretend like he wants to play basketball with the half-sister he hasn’t spoken to directly in years?
“How is Ana .. Ara ..” I drift off, not remembering the name of his long-time girlfriend.
“Arabella.”
“Right. How is she?”
“We broke it off last year.”
“Oh, sorry,” I mutter.
“It’s one of the reasons I decided to leave the UN.”
“You left? As in quit?” I ask, surprised. “Does Daddy know?”
