Wrecked(26)

. . .





10





Richard


The man leaning against the Audi parked outside Taylor House doesn’t need to introduce himself. Jordan’s resemblance to his uncle is uncanny.

“Excuse me, are you Richard Brandt?” He wears khakis and a black Polo shirt. The mallet--wielding horseback rider on the left side of the chest is purple.

Richard has finished classes for the day. This is when he usually returns to the house, changes, and goes for a run.

Uncle Hard--ass was the last thing he expected to find waiting for him.

“Uh, yeah,” Richard says.

The man extends his hand. “Bruce Bockus,” he says. “I’m Jordan’s uncle. I hope you don’t mind my dropping by un-expectedly. I wonder if we could talk? Somewhere private?” Uncle Bruce’s grip is firm. A little too firm.

“Where’s Jordan?”

“He’s in class. He won’t be joining us.”

Richard shifts his weight from one foot to another. “Does Jordan know you’re here?”

“He told me where I could find you.”

“Yeah. Well.” Richard glances at his watch. “I don’t have a lot of time. I was about to go running, then I have to grab some dinner before math tutoring.”

Uncle Bruce puts up both hands, palms facing out. “I just need a few minutes.”

Richard breathes out heavily. “I guess we can talk in the common room. Usually no one’s around this time of day.”

“As long as it’s private,” Uncle Bruce says.

Richard presses his lips in a thin line. “It’s as private as we’re going to get.” He has no intention of inviting this guy up to his room.

The first floor common area is empty. Richard leads Uncle Bruce to a couple of armchairs in a back corner. It’s sunny, and in full view of the entrance. They sit.

“I understand Jordan has told you about what’s going on,” Uncle Bruce begins.

Richard nods but doesn’t say anything.

“Jordan tells me you might have some concerns. In case you’re asked any questions.”

Richard decides to cut through the bullshit. “Mind telling me why you’re here?” He knows how this sounds. He doesn’t care. He’s annoyed.

He’s been annoyed all day, actually. Most of last night, too. After Jordan left, he had trouble sleeping. He had trouble thinking about anything but their conversation, turning it over and over in his mind, imagining things he’d rather not.

It had been a hookup, right? That’s how Jordan described it. He could picture it: dark, loud, crowded, everybody wasted on whatever Exley had mixed that night. It’s how these parties rolled, every weekend. The expectations were clear, the music predictable, the outcomes mutually satisfying. For guys and girls alike.

What went wrong? Because happy hookups don’t end with someone crying rape.

He’s sorry Jordan ever mentioned it. He feels lucky that he was at Carrie’s that night and never stepped foot in the Conundrum party.

So why does he feel like he’s getting sucked into the black hole of Jordan’s mess?

Uncle Bruce laughs. “Fair enough,” he says, but his expression has changed. Politeness has been replaced by something hard--edged.

“Because I’m not involved,” Richard says. “I wasn’t around the night this happened. I just live in the same house as Jordan. Along with twenty other guys. So what’s up?”

Uncle Bruce sits forward in his chair. His knees practically touch Richard’s. “You’re not involved. Except you are one of only two people my nephew confided in about having sexual intercourse with someone that night.”

“Listen, Jordan and I talked. I get that you don’t want me to go around blabbing what he said. I didn’t, and I won’t. As far as I’m concerned, the less I say and the less I know, the better.”

“That’s good, Richard. I just want to make sure you understand why this is so important.”

“I understand.”

“Jordan seems to think you were concerned that he wanted you to lie for him. I’m here to assure you that no one wants you to lie.”

“Like I told Jordan last night: I don’t blab. But I don’t lie. I’ll keep my mouth shut, but if someone puts me on the witness stand and asks me what I know, I’ll repeat what Jordan told me.”

“Then we have to ensure that you never make it to the so--called witness stand,” Uncle Bruce says.

Something about this doesn’t sound comforting. “Excuse me?”

“We think we’ve figured out how to keep you off the list of witnesses. You’d never have to testify about anything.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Against my advice,” Uncle Bruce explains, “Jordan is going to challenge this charge. Which is going to be a real shitshow. I don’t want to tell you how poorly prepared colleges are to deal with this sort of thing. Plagiarism, dorm damage, public drunkenness—easy enough. But it’s ridiculous to expect a kangaroo court of deans and dining services staff to adjudicate violent crime.

“But Jordan wants to fight. And according to the college handbook, both he and his accuser are entitled to have an advisor with them throughout the process. Hearings, interviews, anything related to the investigation, the student can have his or her advisor right there, on hand. Now, this advisor can’t be a parent, but it can be a lawyer, faculty member, or dean. Or friend. So we thought of you.”