Wrecked(42)

“I know, I know you do,” Haley said quietly. “Listen: that was a dumb question. I didn’t notice the board, either. I’ll bet he wasn’t outside the door while you were in here. You would have heard him, you know? We have a pretty squeaky pen. I always hear Madison writing stuff.”

Jenny lowered the pillow. Her eyes were red with tears, but she attempted to smile.

“Definitely squeakiest pen on the hall,” she agreed.

“So let’s not worry about when you noticed it. All that matters is that you saw it when you came back from breakfast. Now, here’s something: does Jordan usually wear a baseball cap?”

“How would I know that?”

“Did you notice a guy with a baseball cap on our hall, or just outside our building?”

“Half the guys on this campus wear baseball caps. Why?”

“Eric from downstairs says a guy with a cap was writing on our door this morning.”

“That was him.” Jenny said this definitively. No room for argument.

“Well . . . maybe,” Haley said. “Might have been someone else. This guy I know from math? He’s been trying to reach me.” Haley summoned a mental image of Richard’s hair. She’d spent a lot of time lately wondering if it was blond or brown. She couldn’t remember ever seeing it cap--covered.

“But what difference does it make who did it?” Jenny moaned, suddenly tearful again. “Just the fact that someone—”

“Of course it makes a difference! When we report this, we’ll tell them what Eric saw. Jordan’s not supposed to be anywhere near you, right? Not even in the same dining hall? If Eric saw him in our building, looking for our room, they will definitely make him leave. You’ll feel safer then.”

Jenny’s expression was anything but reassured. “Report this?”

“Right now. I’ll go with you to Carole.”

“I don’t want to report this.”

Haley was silent. Jenny’s words could have been a door slamming. Within an inch of her nose.

“If I make a big deal about this, it’ll just get worse,” Jenny said. “I can’t let him know he upset me. That’s what he wants! He’ll just do it again.”

“Jen,” Haley said. “You have to report this.”

“No! I don’t have to. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to, Haley.”

“Well, yeah, you do. You reported somebody for rape, and so now you have to follow through. You can’t pick and choose what you tell them, Jen. If he’s still bothering you, you have to report it.”

“Don’t bully me!”

Where had Haley heard Jenny say that before?

Then she remembered: on the phone. With her parents. Her father, specifically. Who can’t decide whether he’s more furious with MacCallum for not expelling Jordan on the spot or with Jenny for choosing Haley as her advisor. He’d been insisting she needed a lawyer instead.

When she first heard about his objections to her, Haley had felt a little insulted. Did Mr. James think she was some jerk who wouldn’t look out for his daughter? But as this thing has gone on, she’d begun to suspect the man had a point.

Haley was in over her head. And Jenny was complicated.

“I’m not bullying you,” Haley replied. “I’m trying to help! You texted me, remember?”

“Then be a friend and please respect what I want. And I don’t want to report this!”

“Fine.” Haley stood. She was through. “Then I hope you’ll respect my need to get to class. I’ve already missed too many.” She grabbed her pack and marched out, slamming the door behind her for effect.

All this happened, what, five hours ago? But it feels like days. Her still--bruised brain, struggling simply to keep up with her reading assignments, feels overwhelmed by Jenny’s problems.

As Haley sits at the now--empty table, Richard’s still--full mug in front of her, she plucks a brown paper napkin from the dispenser between the salt and pepper shakers and blows her nose. Maybe it’s for the best. The two of them were doomed anyway. Not only is it a matter of time before Carrie sees them, but the coincidences here are too much. He’s Jenny’s rapist’s housemate. She’s Jordan’s accuser’s roommate. Just breathing together in the same room is probably some code of conduct violation.

Definitely for the best.

So why does she feel so bad?

She pushes back her chair with a loud scrape . . . and startles when someone slips into Richard’s just--vacated seat.

The someone wears a café apron. One of the work--study students who bakes and serves coffee.

“What’s your hurry?” Gail says to her.





. . .


Exley makes sure they all have drinks. Then he watches.

Tamra with the smudgy eyes and her friend Marliese. They drain their cups and elbow their way to the center of the room. Laughing, arms over their heads, hips in a slow, suggestive swivel, they dance together.

Marliese is pretty. A good dancer. She smiles as if she’s having so much fun.

Tamra knows he’s watching. She knows without looking his way. She dances and she laughs because he’s watching.

. . .





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