Going Under

by S. Walden

“We’re through. That’s what it means,” he replied, and started for his car parked a few spaces away.

  “Hallelujah,” I mumbled, watching him drive away.

  ***

  “I have the perfect guy for you,” I said in a singsong voice.

  “Oh jeez,” Beth replied. “Brooke, it’s time you face the truth. You’re not the best matchmaker.”

  “Okay, Kevin was all wrong, I admit,” I said.

  “And Jason,” Beth said.

  I shrugged.

  “And Andrew and Ian.”

  “Oh my God. Okay already!”

  Beth giggled.

  “I’m telling you that this guy is the one.”

  Beth sighed. “Describe.”

  “Okay. So his name is Finn, and he goes to my school, and he’s really tall and plays lacrosse.”

  “What does he look like?” Beth asked.

  “I’m getting to that. Chill,” I said. “He’s got blond hair and brown eyes.”

  Beth scrunched up her nose. “I don’t know if I like that combo.”

  “What are you talking about? Sandy hair and dark eyes? It’s totally hot,” I argued.

  “Whatever,” she said. “Continue.”

  “And he goes to church,” I said.

  “So what? That makes him a good guy or something?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe,” I said.

  “Hold up. Why would you even bring up the whole church thing?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Beth’s face lit up with realization. “You think I’m a whore!”

  “What?!”

  “You want me to date this church guy because you think I’m a whore!”

  “Oh my God, Beth. What have you been smoking?” I asked.

  She laughed and shook her head. “So what? He’s gonna convert me or something? Make me a good girl again? I think I remember you being the one who lost your virginity at fifteen. Not me. At least I waited until last year.”

  I bristled. First off, I never lost my virginity at fifteen. I lied about it because I was tired of being the only virgin Beth and I knew. Yes, there’s just as much pressure for a girl to lose it as there is for a guy. Second, Beth had a lot of nerve comparing my sexual past with hers. Maybe she waited until she was seventeen, but in those ten months since she lost her virginity, she had slept with four guys.

  “Go ahead and say it,” Beth said. “I can see it written all over your face anyway.”

  “You’re sleeping with too many guys, Beth,” I blurted. “It doesn’t . . . look good.” I averted my eyes.

  Beth was quiet for a moment.

  “Why can a guy sleep around and it gives him this awesome reputation, but when a girl does it, she’s a freaking slut?” she asked finally.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s the world we live in, I guess. Some things will never be fair.” I glanced at Beth, trying to find the courage to ask. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her open palms, and I wondered if she was trying to read them. “Why have you slept with four guys, Beth?” I asked, and then added quickly, “And I’m not trying to sound judgmental.”

  “What if I told you that I just like having sex?” she asked.

  I grinned. “That’s really the reason?”

  “Yeah, that’s really the reason,” Beth replied. “And so I guess that makes me a whore.”

  “Stop calling yourself a whore. You’re not a whore,” I replied.

  “You know, it’s funny,” Beth said. “Guys want a ‘good girl’ who’s pure and sweet and inexperienced, but then he expects her to be this rock star in bed. It’s totally messed up. It’s a standard no girl can live up to.”

  “Who cares what guys think?” I said.

  “You do,” Beth replied. “And I do, too.”

  I didn’t like that answer. I didn’t like it because it was true. I did care what guys thought about me. That’s why I worked hard to be pretty, to have a fun personality, to come across virginal (because I was anyway) and sweet and kind. Especially kind, and especially kind to other girls. I never wanted to be that bitchy girl who treated other girls like shit. I didn’t think most guys liked that anyway. They wanted someone with a kind heart, and even if I had to fake it, I would to find my perfect boyfriend. I hadn’t found him yet, but I knew he was out there.

  “Did you give him my number?” Beth asked.

  “Who?”

  “This Finn guy. Did you give him my number?”

  “Would you be pissed if I did?” I asked.

  “I guess not,” Beth replied. She walked over to her closet and started rifling through her clothes. “I guess I have to wear something conservative on our date, huh? Since he’s a church guy and all.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I said he went to church. I didn’t say he was the youth pastor.”

  “I’m feeling kind of nervous about this,” Beth admitted. “What if I come across all prostitute-in-Proverbs-with-the-spiced-sheets girl?”

  “That’s what you remember from youth group? I asked.

  “Whatever.”

  “Beth, he’s just a nice guy. I’m sorry I even brought up the church thing. You’re freaking out about it,” I said.

  We were silent for a moment.

  “Is it my fault?” I asked quietly. “Did I make you feel badly for sleeping with four guys? I didn’t mean to, Beth.”

  “No,” Beth said. “No, Brooke. It’s not you. It’s just the world we live in, right?” Her mouth quirked up into a grin.

  I grinned back. “Trust me. You’re gonna love him.”

  Six

  “So, what do you think?” Gretchen asked.

  “About what?” I replied.

  We were sitting in the food court at Crabtree Valley Mall drinking strawberry smoothies from Orange Julius.

  “The party tonight! God, you’re so spacey sometimes.”

  “I don’t want to go to a party,” I said.

  “Brooke, you’re really starting to get on my nerves,” Gretchen said. “Your whole life is becoming school and work. You’ve got no friends besides me. You’ve got no boyfriend because you’re too chickenshit to talk to that beautiful Ryan guy. And you’d rather go to dinner with your dad tonight than come with me to an awesome party.”

  I forced a smile. “Gosh, you really have a way of making a girl feel good about herself.” I slurped my drink.

  “Brookey! I don’t want to go alone!”

  “Then don’t go,” I said. “Look, I promised my dad we’d go to dinner tonight. I haven’t lived with my dad in years. Hell, I don’t even know the man. Is it okay with you that I spend a little time with him? Jeez, you’re so selfish, Beth.”

  Gretchen’s head snapped up. “What did you say?”

  “I said you’re selfish,” I replied.

  “No no, after that,” Gretchen said.

  “Huh?”

  “You called me ‘Beth’.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did, Brooke. You called me ‘Beth’,” Gretchen said, eyeing me suspiciously.

  I didn’t remember calling Gretchen “Beth.” But I must have. Gretchen’s face told me so.

  “What’s going on?” Gretchen asked. “Is this why your life blows right now? You still feel guilty so you think you’re not allowed to have friends or a boyfriend or go out and have fun?”

  “No,” I replied. I felt suddenly defensive.

  “Well, that’s what it looks like to me,” Gretchen said. And then she lit up like a realization smacked her square in the face. “Are you dreaming about Beth?”

  “No,” I lied. I wasn’t going to tell her that every time I closed my eyes, I dreamed of Beth or Finn. I wasn’t going to tell her that I woke up most mornings caked with sweat. I certainly wasn’t going to tell her that my nightmare last night was so intense I fell out of the bed.

  Gretchen tried for patience. “Beth is gone.”

  “I know that!” I snapped.

  I didn’t resist when Gretchen too
k my hand. “I’m not trying to sound mean when I say that. But she’s gone, Brooke. And she wouldn’t want you to live like this. Punishing yourself.”

  “I’m not punishing myself,” I argued.

  “When you don’t allow yourself to have a life, that’s punishing yourself,” Gretchen said.

  “I have a life,” I said. “I just can’t tell you about it.”

  Goddamnit. Why did I say that?

  “What are you talking about?” Gretchen asked. She looked worried.

  “Nothing. I don’t know why I said that.”

  “Bullshit. Don’t play games with me, Brooke. What am I not supposed to know?”

  I looked at Gretchen’s heart-shaped face framed by thick locks of dark brown hair. Her brown eyes bore into me, and I almost caved. The girl in me wanted to confess everything right then and there. Tell her about Beth’s rape. Tell her about Cal and my plans to expose him for the monster he was. The girl in me wanted to confess because it was torture keeping secrets, and girls like to talk. I’m no exception. But the tiny little wise woman in me knew it would be a horrible mistake. The wise woman said, “Brooke, Gretchen runs her mouth.”

  “Okay, maybe I’m having a bit of a hard time,” I said. “I still feel guilty about Beth. And Finn came to see me at the diner the other night and we ended up kissing.”

  Gretchen’s eyes went wide. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

  “I know!” I said. “But I stopped it. And then I hit him and told him he was a piece of shit and we were over.”

  Gretchen’s body filled to the brim with pride. I could see it bursting out of her eyes and her enormous smile.

  “You are kickass!” she squealed.

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  “Were you ever planning on telling me this?” Gretchen asked.

  “I told you now,” I said.

  “Yeah, but that’s because I caught you.”

  “I would have told you,” I said. “I was just ashamed about the kissing part.”

  “He’s such a jerk. Why the hell would he think you’d want to get together with him?”

  “Beats me,” I said, finishing my drink.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re finished with him,” Gretchen said. “This is a good step in the recovery process, Brookey.”

  I smirked. “I imagine you’ll make a fine psychologist someday.”

  “Get real. I’m totally doing make-up for celebrities,” Gretchen replied.

  I laughed.

  “And I’m sorry about giving you a hard time about hanging out with your dad. That wasn’t right.”

  “No big deal,” I replied.

  “But if you change your mind about the party, I think some guys from your school are gonna be there. Don’t know if you know them, but I think they’re on the swim team or something.”

  My heart clenched immediately. “Who?”

  “I don’t know their names,” Gretchen said. “I just know they have a reputation for being pretty hot.”

  That meant Gretchen would make a beeline for them, flirt it up and possibly let one of them put his hands on her. She was too generous with her breasts, and the amount of boys who’d seen them and touched them was in the double digits. I couldn’t let that number climb any higher, not when I suspected the worst of the swim team members.

  “When’s the party?” I asked.

  Gretchen cocked her head. “So now you want to go? Five minutes ago you were all about spending quality time with your dad, and now you want to go? What? You got a crush on one of them?”

  “No, I don’t have a crush. I was just curious what time the party was,” I said.

  “I don’t know. I’m not planning on getting there until eleven or so,” Gretchen replied.

  “Don’t go without me,” I blurted. It came out sounding like a warning.

  “What is up with you?” Gretchen asked.

  “I just want to go, okay?” I said. “You’re right. I need to stop moping and being antisocial and all that. Just promise me you’ll wait for me. I’ll go with you after I have dinner with my dad.”

  “That’s fine,” Gretchen said. “But I still think you’ve got a crush you’re not telling me about.”

  I convinced myself that Cal wasn’t the only predator, not after overhearing the conversation in the stairwell. The swim team was up to something. Maybe not all of them, but some of them were participating in a devious game. A sex club, Gregory said. And the slightly paranoid part of me thought they were showing up at this party to find girls. Victims. And there was no way I was letting Gretchen go alone. I made that mistake with Beth and paid the ultimate price.

  I sat in the restaurant feeling antsy and irritable.

  “So Pam says the customer expects a solution tomorrow, and I’d like to know who she thinks is going into the office on a Saturday morning,” Dad said. “If the customer hadn’t screwed up the device after we told them specifically not to activate it until clearance from the engineers, there wouldn’t be an issue.” He shoved the pizza in his mouth.

  I nodded, having no idea what he was talking about. My mind was on other things. It raced with thoughts of swim team members snaking their way through the crowded party, brushing past girls and letting their hands graze intimate body parts.

  “Am I boring you?” I heard Dad ask.

  “No,” I lied. “I’m totally listening.”

  Dad chuckled. “Why?”

  I laughed. “Because you’re paying for dinner.”

  “Cute,” he replied. “You get that smartass sense of humor from your mother, you know.”

  I shrugged and watched Dad’s face fall. Any time either one of us mentioned my mother, he turned sullen or serious. I didn’t want to go there with him tonight. We were at a pizza joint, after all.

  “Dad, when was the last time you had a date?” I asked.

  He jerked his head up, glaring at me.

  “Whoa, it was just a question,” I said. I took another bite of my calzone.

  I watched his eyes soften and the hint of a smile play on his mouth.

  “Five years.”

  “Holy shit, Dad! Five years?!”

  “Brooklyn, must the whole restaurant know?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just, wow. Five years. Yikes.” I sipped my Coke, eyes wide, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

  “Will you wipe that look off your face?” he asked. “There’s no one out there. What do you want from me? And anyway, I’m your father. We shouldn’t be discussing this.”

  “What does being my father have to do with it?” I asked. “Now my English teacher is single. And she’s cute.” I bit into my calzone and continued with my mouth full. “And surprisingly not an idiot.”

  “Are most of your teachers idiots?”

  “Yes.”

  Dad chuckled. “Glad to know my tax dollars contribute to well-deserved salaries.”

  “Oh, Dad,” I said airily. “Let’s not get all political. Let’s talk about Ms. Manning.”

  “Let’s not,” Dad replied.

  I ignored him. “She’s in her early forties, I think, but she totally looks like she’s in her thirties. Nice skin and hair. She always looks really professional. Dresses to the nines. Her shoes are fabulous.”

  “Brooke . . .”

  “And she’s an avid runner. She told me she runs about four miles a day and tries to do a long run of about ten miles every Saturday,” I continued.

  “Brooke, please.”

  “And she’s competing in her first half-marathon this November.”

  “Brooke!” Dad interrupted. “I’ve got a gut, okay? I’m not dating a runner.”

  I pursed my lips and watched Dad run his hand through his chestnut hair.

  “Dad, you barely have a gut. And you’re really handsome. It’s time you get back out there on the field,” I said.

  Dad burst out laughing.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” Dad snorted. “I just love the way you compliment me, t
hat’s all.”

  I grinned. “Well, it’s true. It’s barely there,” I laughed. “Go date Ms. Manning and start running with her, and it’ll be gone in a week. Jeez, it’s so unfair. Men can lose weight like that!” I said, snapping my fingers.

  “Oh, no they can’t,” Dad argued.

  “Well, whatever. Will you just promise me that you’ll keep an open mind and start looking?” I should have left it right there, but I couldn’t. “Mom’s gone.”

  “Hmm,” Dad replied. He rubbed his forehead and looked at me. “Kind of like how Beth’s gone.”

  I tensed. “What are you saying?”

  “Honey, you don’t do anything but go to school and work and hang out with Gretchen. I’m not blind.”

  “As a matter of fact, I’m going to a party tonight.”

  Dad’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh really? Where is it and who’s throwing it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Some rich guy whose parents are gone for the weekend.” I winked at him.

  “Very funny, Brooke,” Dad replied. “Where is it and who’s throwing it?”

  I sighed. “Gretchen’s friend, Olivia. It’s totally cool. I mean, I’m sure some people will bring alcohol, but Dad. Come on. You know me.”

  Actually, Dad didn’t know me at all, and I thought he’d say it out loud. But that would have embarrassed the both of us, so he opted for something else.

  “And what if the party gets busted by the cops and you’re arrested for being there with alcohol?”

  “They wouldn’t arrest me, Dad. They’d just call you.”

  “Oh really? You know this from past experience? And anyway, you’re eighteen. Legally an adult. They wouldn’t call me to pick you up.”

  I huffed. “Dad.”

  “Brooke.”

  We stared at each other for a few seconds.

  “I’m not letting Gretchen go to this party by herself,” I said.

  “Any particular reason why?”

  “Um, yeah. Have you met Gretchen? She’s ridiculous,” I explained.

  Dad laughed. “Fine, but she’s not drinking either.”

  “Dad, she doesn’t touch the stuff. Empty calories,” I said, finishing off my calzone. I eyed Dad’s second slice of pizza.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he said, picking up the slice and taking a huge chunk out of it.

  I considered him while he ate. “You think we should have done this a few years ago?”