Wrecked(56)

As he opened the door, Uncle Bruce made one last request. “Please let us contact the college and let them know Jordan will be changing advisors,” he said. “Can we count on that much from you, Richard?”

“Sure, you can tell them I quit,” Richard said.

Uncle Bruce smiled. “We’ll tell them we released you,” he corrected.

It occurs to Richard now that this “release” might give him a little space—just a little—to talk to Joe about the case. It might feel good, actually. To finally unburden himself to someone he trusts.

Then again, it could be an honor code violation that bites him on the ass. Better to say nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Richard repeats. “I’m not trying to blow you off. I actually can’t talk about this.”

Slumped in his armchair, Joe doesn’t look at all satisfied with Richard. He looks a little sick. “Guys in the house told me she reported Bockus for rape.”

Richard stands. He’s so done with this tonight. “Like I told you, direct all questions to Jordan.”

To his surprise, Joe stands, too. Seizes his arm. “I was serving that night. I was handing out punch to whoever wanted it. And I’m pretty sure I gave some to that girl.”

Richard glances at the hand gripping his arm, and Joe lets go. He wouldn’t have pegged Joe to react like this. All people can worry about is whether they’ll get nailed for underage drinking. “So what? You’ll get a citation. No worries; they don’t call your parents until you get five.”

Joe shifts his feet. Like he can’t decide whether to run or kick something. “It’s not that,” he insists. “I just . . . Do you know what she looked like? There was one girl that night who was really wrecked.” Joe’s voice trails off for a moment. “I feel like shit thinking I might have served the girl who then went off and got hurt.”

Richard glances toward the stairs. What can he tell him? Joe probably did serve Jenny. There’s nothing Richard can say to make this guy feel better.

“I’m sorry,” Richard repeats. “I can’t talk about it.” He walks out of the room and heads up to bed.





. . .


She loses track of Tall Boy. The music is like something she can touch.

umph umph umph umph

Blurred bodies packed around her bump, pulse, swirl. Vaguely familiar strangers’ faces. Eyes closed, heads bounce. They look at everything and nothing, see everyone and no one. Not even her. No one sees her.

umph umph umph umph

She can’t breathe this close air. She presses against the circle, searching with her hands for the way out. Her foot rolls. One face, livid, whirls.

Tamra.

“Bitch! That was my foot!”

umph umph umph umph

Then Tamra disappears into the not--light, dissolves in the throbbing haze of shadows and music that concusses the air, the floor.

She doesn’t know Jenny. Doesn’t see it was Jenny.

. . .





27





Haley


“Whoa. Where’s the fire?”

Haley’s crash landing at the dining hall table startles even full--throttle Madison. Half Haley’s coffee sloshes onto the tray when she plunks it down. Madison, nursing a second cup, stares, amused, as Haley sits and takes an enormous bite of her bagel.

“I have,” Haley says, mouth full, glancing at her phone, “ten minutes to eat and get across campus before Jenny’s meeting with the investigator.”

Madison’s eyes widen. “Didn’t you set the alarm, Miss Punctuality?”

“Of course! Then I get a knock on the door this morning, and it’s Jenny’s parents. Plus their lawyer. Looking for her! They wanted to take her out for breakfast before the interview, but apparently she never told them she’d changed rooms.”

“Weird,” Madison comments.

“I tried to describe to them where Out House is, but they looked all confused, so finally I walked them over. And I’m getting the third degree the whole time, you know? How’s she doing, why’d she move? I said as little as possible because I don’t know what Jenny wants them to know. Anyhow, I had to go all the way over there, then race over here . . .” She takes another big bite, with a coffee chaser. She could have used the caffeine before this morning’s James Interrogation.

It was interesting: while the parents couldn’t shut up, the lawyer (introduced to Haley as “Mr. Talbot”) had been silent. And he was the very person Jenny had asked them not to bring. Insisted they not bring. He and her dad were still pushing for Jenny to file a report with the local police.

“My father thinks he knows me better than I know myself,” Jenny had once commented to Haley. They were comparing notes on their parents. Sort of a mine’s--worse--than--yours competition. “‘You’ll like this, sweetheart,’”Jenny had said, dropping her chin to her chest and lowering her voice in a dead--on imitation of her father. “‘You won’t want to do that. You’ll want to do this.’ Sometimes I just want to say to him, ‘How do you know? Because I’m still figuring out what I like. Or what I want to do!’ ”

Haley had been unimpressed. Her mom, she felt, was infinitely more controlling. “So why don’t you? Say it, that is. What’s the worst that could happen?”