Wrecked(3)

Haley scrolls back to last night: Coach dropping her off. The screaming lights, warm bodies packed in the halls as she pushed her way up to her room and closed the door to the rager that persisted until dawn. She remembers turning the dead bolt, crawling into bed.

“What happened?”

Jenny doesn’t answer. Jenny doesn’t answer for so long that Haley actually turns to face her. The cell phone slides off her chest and hits the floor. When she reaches down to pick it up, she glances at her roommate.

Jenny has drawn her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around them. She rocks slightly, forward and back. Her gaze is fixed ahead, at nothing in particular, and her eyes brim with tears.

“Jenny?”

“I got in . . . really late,” she says. “And I turned on the overhead light. Anyway, I think I woke you up. You kind of . . . yelled. What the hell, turn that thing off. I’m sorry; I didn’t know you’d been hurt, or that you were even in here.”

Haley tries to place this. It’s disorienting to hear someone describe something you did that you absolutely cannot recall. At least, not the same way. She tries to remember details from Saturday night besides crawling into bed. The furor of the partying going on right outside her door.

A few bits come back. The door did open. A giant maw of white light and thrumming, sound made tangible, unleashed at her. She remembers thinking: Jenny. Being surprised it was Jenny. Because Jenny never stayed out late.

She doesn’t remember yelling. She doesn’t remember saying anything.

“I’m really sorry,” Haley says. “I don’t remember that at all, but I was pretty out of it. Light and noise are killer right now. I probably just . . . reacted.”

Jenny continues to rock. “It’s okay. You felt terrible and I woke you up. I was pretty out of it, too. I drank some stuff at a party and it really hit me.”

Haley sits up. Her eyeballs threaten to pop from her skull, but this warrants her attention. Jenny--Mouse at a party?

“Seriously? You partied? My roommate? Jenny, I’m so proud of you!” Haley manages what she hopes is an enthusiastic smile but suspects is more like a grimace.

“Yeah, well, don’t be.” Jenny presses her face into her knees, blotting her eyes against her jeans.

“Hey,” Haley says. “It’s okay, I’m not mad. God knows I’ve come crashing in here late plenty of times.”

Jenny doesn’t answer. But she does unlock her knees, rise from the bed. She moves to her desk, begins fussing with some papers.

Haley tries again. “So where was this party?”

“Conundrum,” Jenny says.

Haley’s eyes widen. Conundrum is one of the houses on campus. Some are “interest” houses and named appropriately: Green House for the environmental activists, Light House for students into religion. Others are just named after famous alums, and you could apply as a block and get to live with a pack of your friends.

Conundrum is supposedly an interest house for people from different clubs. An institutional effort to combat the social silo effect of people hanging out only with their teammates or fellow choir members or rock wall buddies. Officially, it’s meant to be an eclectic blend of students who wouldn’t normally hang out together.

Unofficially, it’s people who like to rage. Whenever, for whatever.

“Wow. Go hard, girl.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Jenny whirls around.

“Yeah, well, you know what? It sucked. The party sucked! I don’t know why I went. This guy I hardly know invited me. And it was a big, huge, stupid mistake.” Jenny moves to the closet. She yanks out her towel and grabs her toiletries bag. She really does remind Haley of a frightened mouse.

“Jenny. What’s wrong?”

The girl shakes her head hard, her long brown hair obscuring her face. “Nothing. I really don’t want to talk about Saturday night. I’m going to take a shower.” Jenny bolts from the room. The door slams.

What the hell? Fine. Be psycho. Next time I won’t ask.

A fresh wave of pain crashes behind Haley’s eyes. She needs to lie down again. But first: water. Haley steps over to the mini--fridge where she’s stashed bottles of Poland Spring.

Jenny’s backpack rests against the fridge door. Haley grabs the top loop to pull it out of the way . . . and it won’t budge. She pulls again, and fresh daggers shoot up her neck into the bottom of her skull.

What is in there? Haley can’t help herself: she unzips the bag. It’s stuffed with science and math textbooks, the type made with the ultrathin, photograph--rich paper that results in boulder--heavy books. Haley rezips and push--drags the thing out of the way, then retrieves a water. She takes a long, deep swig from the bottle before returning to her bed.

As she settles her head gently on the pillows and closes her eyes, she’s struck by how many times she’s seen Jenny heft that pack over her shoulders. She’s almost never without it; it’s like a fifty--pound growth she scurries beneath, from dorm to library to lab.

That girl is way stronger than she looks.





. . .


The walls of Conundrum throb, a testament to the power of stereo speakers. The windows rattle slightly, but no one hears that over the music. Doors slam, water streams in the showers. Deep male laughter erupts in short bursts.