Wrecked(14)

“Yeah,” Haley says. This she gets: that “first time” meeting with your parents. When they tell you they love you, but you no longer feel like the girl they thought you were or want you to be. The soccer star and perfect student, happy and “killing it” at college. Now past tense, and the new you reflected in their voices, in their eyes. Their disappointment and pain like gasoline poured on your personal pyre.

If it was hard for her, what must this be like for Jenny?

“Then there’s my father,” Jenny continues. “He’s beyond angry. He called the dean’s office and wanted to know why they hadn’t expelled him already, ‘what are you doing to protect my daughter,’ blah, blah, blah. They told him they’ve got a process and they have to stick to the procedures they have in place and . . . well. He can get pretty worked up.”

“It’s his daughter. Of course he’s worked up,” Haley says.

“Yeah.” Jenny sounds unconvinced.

Haley pops four Tylenol into her mouth at once and washes them down with a single gulp. She stretches out on her own bed and closes her eyes. “Expel him,” Haley repeats. “He’s another student.” This realization blossoms in her head. She’d assumed otherwise. She had no reason to assume anything, of course, except . . . she had. She’d assumed darkness. A burly stranger, some man reeking of alcohol and unwashed clothing. Surprising Jenny as she walked back to her dorm alone late Saturday night. After she drank too much at a Conundrum House party. One of those houses on the fringes of campus, where it was thickly wooded and quiet.

Jenny doesn’t reply. Which is when Haley remembers she’s not supposed to ask questions.

“I’m sorry,” she says immediately. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s fine.”

“No, seriously, I’m sorry. I mean, I’m here if you do want to talk about it. But I’m also here if you . . . don’t.”

“Thanks.”

They’re quiet for a while. Haley attempts to relax the muscles in her neck, will the little soldiers of advancing pain to retreat. The room is hot. God, Jenny always closes the windows. Haley can’t handle getting up again, straining to lift the heavy--paned thing.

“What did you think of her?” she hears Jenny ask.

Haley frowns. “Her?”

“Carrie.”

“Oh.” Haley considers. There’s a lot one could say. “Intense. Beautiful. In a Viking sort of way, but without the horned helmet.” Jenny makes a sound that could be a soft laugh. “What do you think of her?”

“Same. Especially the beautiful part. It surprised me, actually, when I finally met her. I didn’t picture her like that. We’d been talking on the phone on and off for a couple of days, and she had this . . . voice. I want to say strong, but that’s not really the word.”

“Emphatic?” Haley supplies. “Convincing?” Bossy, she doesn’t add.

“Yes, exactly. But then, when I finally met her and Gail? I didn’t expect her to be so pretty. Weird, right?”

“I don’t know. Do we match our voices? What if you talked to someone behind a screen, then they had to describe what you look like based on your voice. Would they get it right?”

“Good question.” Jenny is quiet again.

“How did you picture her?” Haley continues. It’s an effort, to keep talking. The warm room, the headache. She wants to sleep. But Carrie said Jenny needed to talk.

“Zits.”

Haley startles. “Zits?”

“Her voice felt like a bad complexion to me,” Jenny explains.

Haley can’t help it: she laughs out loud. Who knew Jenny--Mouse had a sense of humor? “She’s got the most amazing eyes, doesn’t she? I kept wondering what color they were.”

“Amber,” Jenny says without hesitation. “It’s from lipochrome. A yellow--colored pigment. I noticed, too.”

“Pardon my French, but how the hell do you know that?”

“I’m a biology major,” Jenny says, as if that explains it.

“You’re a biology genius, more like.”

“Yeah. Real genius,” Jenny says quietly. The tears return to her voice.

“I thought only snakes had yellow eyes,” Haley says quickly.

“Yellowish,” Jenny replies, sniffling. “But also some cats. Owls. A certain penguin, found in New Zealand.”

“Cool,” Haley says. “And good to know. I was feeling the reptilian in Carrie, but maybe she’s more feline.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

“There’s nothing reptilian about her,” Jenny says sharply. “She’s kind. And smart. She’s been helping me so much. Do you know, she actually went with me to the health clinic so I could get an STD test? I really don’t know what I’d have done without her. I’ve been so . . . alone. So totally alone in this. She and Gail have helped so much.”

“I know,” Haley says quickly. “She’s nice. I wasn’t hating on her. I just don’t know her.” She hears the quick whoosh sounds of tissues pulled from the box.

“Nothing is what it looks like. Or sounds like,” Jenny says, almost viciously. “Think a rapist is some tats--covered dude with a knife? Try a friendly guy with a great smile.”