Going Under

by S. Walden

  Lucy snickered. “Well, according to them, Cal brought me home drunk. They got in a huge argument and said he wasn’t allowed to date me anymore. Then they got mad at me for being irresponsible about alcohol. Somehow it became all my fault.”

  I shook my head in disbelief.

  “The best part is what happened at school,” Lucy went on. “Monday morning I confronted Cal about that night. I wanted to know what happened. Of course, he told me I was crazy. And then he told me he wanted nothing more to do with me, that I was a crazy psycho lush. He spread all kinds of nasty rumors about me. I lost my friends. I quit cheerleading. Somehow, I turned into the psycho bitch at school. People were actually afraid of me. Of me!”

  Lucy burst out laughing, her fragile frame shaking uncontrollably. “Are you looking at me, Brooke? Are you seeing this?” she asked between giggles. “How could anyone be afraid of this?”

  “Lucy . . .”

  “I weigh a hundred pounds, Brooke! A hundred pounds! I can’t even walk my Saint Bernard because I’m not strong enough! I don’t have a mean bone in my body! I don’t even know how to be mean to other people. How do they do it, Brooke? How are people mean, ‘cause I’d really like to know? I mean, if people are gonna be afraid of me and all, then I’d like to know how to be a fucking bitch!”

  Several patrons turned in our direction, and I instinctively jumped from my seat. I put my arm around Lucy and led her out of the coffee shop to my car.

  “I mean, if I’m a fucking psychopath lush bitch then I need to know how to act the part!” she screamed in the parking lot. There was no more laughter, only angry tears coursing down her cheeks.

  I helped her into the passenger seat of the car and fastened her seat belt.

  “He ruined my life!” Lucy dug her hands into the sides of the seat. “And I can’t do anything about it! Not a thing!” And then she let out a long, mournful wail. I thought I’d heard it before: complete and utter wretchedness, but I realized I hadn’t. Even I, in all my misery and guilt over Beth, had never made a sound like that.

  I shook because of it. I was scared of it. I didn’t know how to comfort her. I never understood the complete desolation one feels when her will, her rights, are stripped from her. And she doesn’t want to hear “I’m sorry” from someone who doesn’t have a clue. It’s offensive.

  I crouched on the ground beside Lucy, letting her cry. Not shushing her. Not feeling embarrassed as people walked in and out of the coffee shop staring at us. Not even offering words of sympathy. I wasn’t concerned with anything but my dawning epiphany. It’s as though I heard Beth’s voice whispering from heaven’s gates, and she was forgiving me. Or maybe it was me, for the first time in months, able to let go of my past sins. Able to forgive myself. All because of Lucy, and her revelation to me. I didn’t want to be a victim. I didn’t want my world ripped apart. I wanted justice, but I realized it had to be sought by different means. I wanted to protect my body, my mind, because I was witnessing what happened to someone when her right to do that was stolen from her.

  I drove Lucy to my house. We huddled inside my bedroom all afternoon, and I shared everything with her just like I did with Dr. Merryweather. She breathed a sigh of relief when I promised her I had abandoned my plan to set up Cal, and encouraged me to take my information about the Fantasy Slut League public. I suggested she go forward, but she argued the absence of hard evidence.

  “Will you at least tell your parents?” I asked.

  Lucy shrugged. “What could they do about it?”

  “I don’t know, but they’re your parents, and they love you.”

  The side of Lucy’s mouth turned up. “I suppose.”

  “Will you think about it?” I pressed.

  She nodded then took my hand. “Yes, Brooke. But I’m only considering what you’re saying because you’re so nice.”

  I smirked. “I’m not a nice person, Lucy.”

  “Yes you are. I know Cal was feeding you all kinds of bullshit about me, but you were always nice, even when I stopped talking to you for awhile.”

  “I should have told you what I was doing with him a long time ago,” I said. “I just didn’t know who I could trust.”

  “It’s understandable,” Lucy said. “I’m just glad you didn’t actually like him.”

  “Gross. No way,” I said, and she grinned.

  “I don’t think Beth handled what happened to her the right way, but I see why she did it,” Lucy said after a time.

  I listened, not wanting to interrupt. I wanted to hear the perspective of another victim.

  “It’s easy to sink into a bad depression. I did. It’s easy to withdraw. It’s easy to see no purpose in anything: your daily routine, your relationships with others. Everything becomes pointless or scary. For me it was pointless. I think for your friend, it was scary. And when you’re scared of the world, you want to escape it.”

  I hung my head.

  “I wish she were stronger. I wish she were still here. It’d be nice to have a friend who understands what I went through. Someone who experienced it, too.”

  Suddenly I had an idea. I pulled the tarnished half-heart from underneath my shirt. I had started wearing the necklace again about a week ago, hidden under my shirts, resting against my heart. I learned from her mother that Beth was buried with a few of her most special personal belongings, and the half-heart necklace was one of them.

  I unfastened the chain and gave it to Lucy.

  “What’s this?” she asked, fingering the charm.

  “Beth gave that half to me on my eighth birthday. She was buried with the other,” I explained. “I want you to have it.”

  “Brooke, I can’t take this!” Lucy said, thrusting the necklace into my hands. I pushed back shaking my head.

  “I want you to have it, Lucy. I really do. I know you didn’t have any connection to her in life, but now you can.” I searched for the right words, but I knew my sentiment would come out sounding sappy. “Maybe it can bring you some comfort or something.” I averted my eyes. I felt kind of silly and overly dramatic in that moment.

  Lucy hesitated for a split second before fastening the chain around her neck.

  “Thank you, Brooke,” she said softly.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Nineteen

  Word spread around school about the boys. None of the girls besides Lucy and me knew about the actual league, but they knew to stay away from Cal and his cohort. No loud talk, just urgent whispers creeping through the hallways like smoke, sending signals and warnings. The impact was immediate. I checked the current scores for Game 3, and no one had earned a single point.

  “Sexual frustration is a bitch,” Gretchen said, leaning over the back of Terry’s arm chair to get a better look at the computer screen. I heard the sharp intake of Terry’s breath.

  “Stop looking at her ass,” I scolded. “She’s practically a child.”

  “I’m about to turn nineteen, thank you very much,” Gretchen replied, standing up and turning to face her gawker. “Is sexual frustration a bitch for you, Terry?” she asked in a playful, sultry tone.

  Terry ignored her. “Wright, is there a reason you felt the need to bring Gretchen over here?” He pushed past my flirty friend and plopped on the couch.

  “She’s spending the night with me,” I replied, distracted. I was searching for the picks for Game 4.

  “There’s no Game 4 set up yet,” Terry clarified when I asked.

  “Yeah, but shouldn’t they have the list of girls by now. They had those pretty early for the other games,” I replied.

  Terry shook his head. “Maybe they’re spooked. I mean, look at those scores. Well, lack of scores. Maybe they know something’s up, and they’re laying low.”

  Gretchen sidled over to the couch and sat next to Terry. “I like your tats.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I like them, too,” Terry replied, then moved farther down the couch.

  Terry wouldn’t talk to me for we
eks after I brought Gretchen to his house for the first time. Yes, I shouldn’t have exposed him, but I trusted Gretchen, and we were on our way to the mall. It would have been really freaking inconvenient to make her wait in the car or drop her off somewhere to wait for me while I picked up new information Terry had for me. He eventually forgave me once he learned he enjoyed flirting with my friend.

  “Now’s probably a good time, then, huh?” I asked.

  “What, to blow the whole lid?” Terry replied.

  I nodded, and he shrugged.

  “I’m sorry you couldn’t get all the evidence you wanted, Brooke,” Terry said. He sounded genuinely apologetic.

  “It’s all right. I can be content with this.”

  “Any of those girls willing to come forward?” he asked.

  “I only talked to two of them, and you’re right. It’s unfair to ask them to expose themselves with little to no evidence. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “You were thinking that those boys are assholes who deserve to be punished. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Gretchen said. “I’m proud of you, Brookey.”

  I smiled. “Well, I guess I’ll get all the documents together and then figure out who I want to send them to.”

  “Do you realize how huge this’ll be?” Gretchen asked. Excitement underlined her words.

  “I don’t know how huge,” I admitted. “But I hope it encourages some girls to speak up.”

  Terry nodded. “I just want you to be safe about it.”

  “Yeah yeah,” I said, dismissing him with a wave of my hand. “You always say that, and I’m always safe.” I never did tell Terry about my terrifying pool experience with Tim.

  Gretchen leaned into Terry. “So when are you asking me out on a date? It’s obvious you like me. That’s why you’re mean to me and ignore me all the time.”

  “All the time?” Terry asked, amused. “I’ve hung out with you a total of four times. And you’re too young for me.”

  “So you do like me!” Gretchen said, trapping Terry at the end of the couch and resting her head on his shoulder.

  “I’m thirty-six,” Terry said, and I watched as he struggled with the desire to put his arm around my very pretty friend.

  “I like them older,” she cooed, nuzzling his neck.

  “Oh my God. I’m still in the room,” I said.

  Gretchen sat up laughing. “I’m just playing around, Brooke! Jeez, I’m nineteen. Can you imagine? It’d be like that Sex and the City episode when Samantha dates that old fart. Remember? She tried to have sex with him but then she caught sight of his flabby ass in the light?”

  Terry looked outraged, and I couldn’t hide my grin.

  “I don’t have a flabby ass,” he snapped.

  Gretchen cocked her head and smiled demurely. “You wanna do me, don’t you?”

  “Stop!” I screamed. “I can’t listen to anymore of this!”

  “What does Ryan think about the Fantasy Slut League?” Gretchen asked, changing the subject. It was completely unexpected and made my heart jump.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Gretchen’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “You haven’t told him any of this stuff?!”

  “I didn’t know I was supposed to,” I replied.

  “Brookey, he’s your boyfriend, for Christ’s sake! You’re sleeping with him.”

  “Oh God,” Terry groaned.

  “And you don’t tell him about this sex league?” Gretchen looked offended.

  “Why should I? I didn’t want him worrying, and I didn’t want to involve him. It’s not his thing, okay?” I said.

  The truth was that I didn’t want to involve Ryan in the things I knew about Cal and his friends because I liked having him separated from it. I liked that I could escape it all when I was with him, and there was no way in hell I was giving that up.

  “But he could have been helping you this whole time!” Gretchen argued. “He could have spied on them or something.”

  “I don’t think so,” I countered. “Cal hates his guts. Ryan wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near him.”

  “Still,” Gretchen pressed. “He could have been encouraging and supportive or something. Isn’t that what boyfriends do?”

  “Gretchen, I like that he doesn’t know anything. I like that I don’t have to talk about this slut league with him. I like that I get to escape it all when I hang out with him, okay? Can you understand that and leave it alone?” I closed Terry’s laptop and slid it onto the coffee table.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Gretchen mumbled, and I rolled my eyes.

  “Would it be totally bitchy to say I’m glad you two haven’t met yet?” I asked.

  “Yes, you bitch,” Gretchen replied. “What? Are you gonna cancel the dinner plans we all have together?”

  “No.” I felt my face flush.

  “Good, because it’s high time I met this Ryan person. You shouldn’t have kept him away for so long. Don’t I get a say in who you date?” Gretchen asked.

  “Um, no. Are you crazy?”

  “No, I’m not crazy,” Gretchen said. “Just feeling a little left out, I guess.”

  I sighed. “Gretchen . . .”

  “Brooke, you’re too young to be having sex,” Terry said.

  I looked at Gretchen, and we both burst out laughing. Perhaps Terry just said it to ease some of the tension. It worked.

  “What?” Terry asked. “I’m some sort of ancient or something? Just because I’m a little bit conservative, that’s funny?”

  “Conservative?” Gretchen said. “You’ve got tats all over you.”

  Terry shook his head. “Gretchen, get a clue.”

  “Terry, I’m not talking to you about sex, okay? Can we change the subject?” I asked.

  “Fine, but I don’t understand kids these days,” Terry replied.

  “Oh, who are you kidding? I know all about the ‘90s, buddy, and I can only imagine the stuff you were into,” I said.

  Terry blushed and grinned.

  “It’s not like I’m putting out for every guy on the block,” I said.

  “Exactly,” Gretchen said. “You’re in a committed relationship.”

  I nodded and watched Terry carefully.

  “Gross. Whatevs. Just don’t let anything get traced back to me when you take all this crap public. Got it?” Terry said.

  “I’m careful. I keep telling you that,” I said. “When are you going to trust me?”

  “I trust you, Wright,” Terry said.

  ***

  “I’ve never seen you look so sexy,” Ryan said, grinning.

  It was the springtime, and we were standing in the street, my foot poised on his skateboard. I was wrapped from head to toe in protective gear: helmet, elbow pads, knee pads, even hockey gloves.

  “Hockey gloves?” Ryan had asked earlier as he scrounged around in his closet.

  “It’s inevitable. I’ll fall on my hands, and I don’t want them scraped up,” I replied. “Just give them to me.”

  Ryan handed the gloves over and kissed my lips.

  “You’re adorable, and I love you,” he said.

  My mouth dropped open in shock.

  “Don’t say anything,” he said. He kissed my lips again. “I don’t need or want you to say it back. But I wanted to tell you because it’s what I feel. And what I know. So when you’re ready, you tell me. But for right now, just don’t say anything.”

  I nodded, mouth still hanging open.

  “And just because you’re so cute standing there in disbelief, let me say it again: I love you, Brooklyn.”

  I flung my arms around him and smacked the side of his head with my bulky helmet.

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry,” I said, and crushed my lips to his. I could have stood there in his bedroom all afternoon kissing him, but he wanted to teach me how to skateboard.

  I hovered near his mailbox staring at the asphalt. Suddenly it looked really frightening, especially if I fell face forward into
it.

  “I’m digging this picture,” Ryan said. “I like your foot on my board.”

  I burst out laughing.

  “What?” Ryan asked.

  “Why does that sound dirty to me? Like sexual?”

  Ryan smirked. “Brooke, keep that little sweet foot right on my board. My board, Brooke. Mmmm.”

  And I laughed all over again.

  “Seriously, though, there’s nothing to riding a skateboard. The tricks are a different story, but all riding requires is pushing off with your foot and then positioning your feet on the board that’s most comfortable for you.”

  “I’m afraid of falling over,” I said.

  “Well, you will. But that’s what all your pads are for,” Ryan said.

  I waved to a car passing through the neighborhood that honked at us. It wasn’t a hey-I-know-you honk. It was a girl-you-look-hot kind of honk. I looked down at my knee pads. Maybe they were a bit sexy.

  Ryan walked me through the basics: pushing off, positioning my feet, stopping by pushing down on the back of the board. I was more than nervous. I was never good at roller skating. I definitely couldn’t roller blade. In fact, I hated any wheels besides car wheels underneath me. I was out on the street with him now only because I liked him enough to get scraped up for him.

  “I’ll hold your hand at first just until you get used to the feel of it,” Ryan said.

  “You better,” I replied.

  I kicked off with Ryan holding my hand and jogging beside me. I gripped him hard, wobbling on uncertain feet as we rolled along down the street.

  “Okay, Brooke. Stop,” he said.

  I shook my head. “You stop.” And I squeezed hard on his hand.

  Ryan stopped short, and I fell, the skateboard slipping out from underneath my feet. It rolled along lazily down the street while Ryan tended to me.

  “I’m so sorry, Brooke,” he said, chuckling. He helped me off the ground and checked for damage. I think he just enjoyed running his hands up and down my recently shaved legs. “I swear I didn’t do that on purpose.”

  “Yeah right,” I said, swatting his hands away.

  He trapped my wrists with both hands and held them by my sides while he rained light kisses all over the front of my legs.