Wrecked(22)

It occurs to Richard that this is the moment when hidden cameras are revealed and people jump out from behind closed doors shouting about how it’s all a joke. Because this can’t be real. Jordan and the guys are messing with him not only for ditching the party last week, but also for blowing off shots tonight.

But Jordan’s teasing drawl is absent. In the close room, he smells like fear. It’s metallic and blue--edge sharp.

“That’s messed up, man.” Richard doesn’t know what else to say.

Jordan laughs. A short, cutting sound. His face, in the desk lamp light, contains shadows. He looks exhausted. “No shit.” He shakes his head from side to side, as if he can’t believe his own words.

“What are you going to do?”

“Just spent the last three hours in a hotel room with my parents discussing that. They pretty much flew up the highway with my lawyer uncle right after I called them.”

“They brought a lawyer?”

“Uncle Bruce,” Jordan says, “who’s a real hard--ass. Until you need a hard--ass. I wasn’t a big fan of his advice.”

“Which was . . . ?”

“He wants me to fold,” Jordan says, spitting out the words. “Can you believe it? He says colleges hate this sort of thing and just want to make the problem go away. He says all a girl has to do these days is point her little finger and bam! Dude’s expelled. He says I should withdraw. ‘Don’t argue with them!’ he says. ‘Get while the going’s good, start fresh somewhere else. Withdraw before they even begin their investigation and your record is clean.’ ”

“Do your parents want you to withdraw?”

Jordan makes this sound, like a snort. “My dad’s all over the map. He keeps saying stuff like, ‘But Jordan’s a legacy! A double legacy!’ Like MacCallum cares that he and Mom are alums? Like his crappy thousand--dollar--a--year donation makes a difference? Give me a break. My mother just keeps boo--hooing.”

Richard tries not to react to this. Even with financial aid, his parents struggle to pay his tuition. And forget about donations. “So what are you going to do?” he repeats.

“Here’s what I’m not going to do: act like I did it and withdraw,” Jordan says. “I didn’t rape that girl, and I’m sure as hell not slinking out of here like I did. I mean, think about it. If I quit and don’t defend myself? I don’t just look guilty, I look like some chickenshit, running away!”

“Can’t argue with that,” Richard says.

“Hell no.”

They sit quietly for a moment. Then Jordan clears his throat.

“So I’m going to fight it. I’ll tell Carole Patterson, in writing, that I didn’t rape Jenny James.”

Jenny. It’s the first time Richard’s heard Jordan give the girl a name.

“Thing is . . .” Jordan pauses.

Richard feels his chest tighten. Here it comes. Jordan wants something.

“My uncle,” Jordan begins.

“The hard--ass.”

“Yes, him. Uncle Hard--ass.” Jordan attempts to smile, but it doesn’t stick. “He says if I decide to fight the charge, I can’t say that I had sex with her.”

“How are you going to manage that? Since you did.”

“See, that’s what I need you to forget.”

Richard is not sure he’s heard correctly. “I’m sorry?”

Jordan sits forward on the edge of the bed.

“Listen, Richard. Just do me a favor, okay? Don’t tell anybody I was with Jenny. If you’re asked, tell them you didn’t go to the party and don’t know anything about what went down that night.”

He hears roaring. Distant, like something loud very far away. It reminds him of when he was a child at the beach and held a conch shell to his ear. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me you plan to lie about this? And what, you want me to cover for you? What the hell, Jordan?”

Richard stands. He’s no crusader. Unlike Carrie and the people she hangs with, he’s never stood on a street corner and held up a banner, or signed some pointless online petition. In Carrie’s eyes, that indifference was a big strike against him. He can live with that.

But he’s not a liar. And he can’t live with becoming one for Jordan Bockus, no matter how innocent he might be.

Jordan waves him off. “Is it a lie to say you skipped out on the party to be with your girlfriend? Sounds like the truth to me.”

“What if I’m asked what you said?”

“No one will ask you what I said.”

“And what about when they ask you?”

“I’ll say ‘I did not rape Jenny James.’ Because I didn’t.” Jordan sits back, arms folded across his chest, and waits for Richard’s reaction.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Not kidding. Uncle Hard--ass’s advice.”

“That’s it? You go in front of some, I don’t know, tribunal? And they ask you questions and all you say is ‘I didn’t rape Jenny’?”

“Pretty much.”

“Your uncle’s an idiot, man. You’ll look guilty as hell.”

“That’s what I told him. But he changed my mind.”

“Oh? How’d he do that?”