Wrecked(30)

“Uh . . . sure,” she repeats. She begins following him in the direction of the house.

Now the silence is awkward. She doesn’t know whether that’s because this suddenly feels like . . . something . . . or because he’s mentioned Conundrum.

He lives in the house, sleeps in the house, right next door to where Jenny was raped.

She doesn’t want to act weird. She hopes she’s not acting weird.

“So,” she says, “I hear Conundrum is the campus Animal House.”

Richard looks straight ahead. “I wouldn’t know. I’m having enough trouble keeping up with the animals in my own house.”

“Oh?”

“We got a little carried away earlier this semester and are pretty much on social probation right now. No parties, and spot checks to make sure no one underage is drinking.”

“Hmm. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a hard--partying sort of guy.”

He laughs, but he’s not smiling. “There’s hard and there’s hard. I mean, I like to party. But when stuff is getting broken, people are getting hurt, and the place is ruined, it’s time to back off.”

“Are the people in the house backing off?”

“Most of them are. It’s not a big deal, just have to lie low until the sanction is over. I’m actually a little relieved we can’t host. My GPA needs to recover.”

They approach Taylor. At this point the sun has set and lights are on. It’s actually a nice house, one of the newer ones on campus. They go inside. There’s a big common room on the first floor, with a huge fieldstone fireplace. Couches.

“You want to wait for me here? I’ll just be a minute,” Richard says. She nods, and he dashes off. There isn’t anyone else around, and she finds a seat for herself in a big armchair in the back of the room. She sinks low into it; the springs beneath the cushions are broken.

The floors are sticky and smell sour from spilled beer. All of the furniture seems askew, as if it had been moved to the side then hastily shoved back with no particular layout in mind. The walls are dull white, but one large spot is whiter than the rest, as if it’s been patched. The fireplace contains ash and burnt log remnants. Sheets of newspaper and a box of matches on the hearth.

Haley gets up, moves to a window. The house is set on a leafy lot. This whole part of campus seems tucked away.

From down the hall she hears voices. A group of guys heading for the front door. Their words carry.

“How about the Grille?”

“Why should we pay for the Grille when we can get free food in the dining hall?”

“Okay, fine. Let’s go to Lower hall.”

“Bockus, what part of this don’t you get? They’ve got Philly cheesesteaks in Main hall, and some stir--fry vegan crap in Lower. We’re going to Main.”

“Seriously, man, what’s up? Are you, like, allergic to Main hall all of a sudden?” The front door opens, closes, and their voices disappear.

Haley peers out the window again, but can’t see much in the waning light.

Bockus. Where has she heard that?

“There you are. Ready to go?”

Haley startles. Richard has reappeared. His hair is wet. He’s changed into a flannel shirt and jeans.

“Whoa,” he says, laughing. He steps closer, touches her. This little gesture, his hand cupping the crook of her elbow. “I think I just scared you.”

“You did. Lost in my thoughts.”

“Sorry.” His hair drips slightly onto the soft collar of his shirt. Like he hadn’t taken the time to dry off properly. “Where do you want to go? I hear there’s decent meat at Main tonight.”

She tries to imagine the expression on Carrie’s face as she walks into the dining hall with Richard. Haley realizes she’d rather endure tempeh at Lower hall than witness that face.

“Let’s go somewhere quiet,” she says. “I’m still avoiding light and noise.”

“Tell you what,” Richard says. “I’ve got a gift card for the Grille. Let’s use it.” The Grille has cozy, dim booths and great burgers. Jalape?o fries. This is good.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “I don’t want you to have to use up your card . . .”

Richard steers her toward the door. “It’s fine,” he says, “as long as you know: I’m not splitting. This boy eats the whole entrée.”





. . .


She floats. The dress floats. Their words, laughter, like bubbles, float.

Jenny twirls.

“Whoa, girl.” Laughter. The room sways. More laughter. Music.

“Oh, I love this song!” Jenny knows the words. She sings. She’s surprised by her own voice, how it carries, brightly, even the high notes. Soaring song, one of those that connects with a hidden place in your chest. The others join in, girl chorus, singing this one song.

Their blended voices sound unnaturally good in their own ears. They sound like, feel like, stars.

. . .





12





Richard


She has no idea how attractive she is.

This isn’t a word Richard would usually apply to a woman verging on his height, who, if she weren’t injured, could most likely outrun him and bench--press more than he weighs. Who wears no makeup, restrains her reddish--brownish hair in a permanent ponytail, and seems constantly clad in a revolving assortment of hoodies.