Wrecked(78)
She considers this. Trust. Such a huge word. Such a massive concept, really. There’s been a trust deficit in so many of her relationships. Her mother. Coach. Jenny. Carrie. Does she trust Richard?
He annoys her. Excites her. Makes her furious. Makes her laugh. Makes her think. And she knows, without a doubt, that he would never intentionally hurt her. And she can tell him just about anything. Which she tends to do. Sometimes, unfortunately, in front of lots of people.
“Yeah, I do,” she says. “Completely.”
Their waitress chooses this moment to bring their meals. They disengage their locked fingers so she can place the plates on the table.
When the waitress leaves, Richard looks over at Haley. “I’m glad.”
Haley smiles at him. Picks up her fork. She knows she should say something, anything, deep and profound about them, but in fact she’s thinking his chicken looks way better than the gluey glop, flecked with brown bits, on her plate.
And like that, she knows what to do.
She scoops a big forkful of steaming risotto, then blows gently to cool it. She carefully extends it across the table toward Richard.
His eyes widen. “Soccer Girl. Sharing?”
She doesn’t reply, just holds the fork steady. Richard leans forward and allows her to feed him a bite of her meal. He nods his head in approval as he chews. When he’s done, he cuts a piece of chicken from his plate and holds it out to her. She places one hand on his, guiding the fork to her mouth.
It’s delicious.
Richard waits for Haley to finish before he asks, “So. You’re good with this?”
“I am so good with this.”
. . .
They walk into his room. There is a bed, a desk. Shelves and a chair. Jenny sits on the bed. Her feet hurt. She kicks off the painful shoes.
He sits next to her. She realizes something. Important.
“I don’t know your name,” she says.
He laughs again. “Yes, you do. I told you. Jordan.”
“Jordan,” she repeats. “Like the river.”
“That’s right, Jenny,” he says. He touches her mouth with one finger. “Or should I call you Swirly?” He laughs.
She doesn’t. She wants to tell him it’s not funny, the swirling, but she feels quieter and quieter. Maybe if she just sits here a minute.
His finger traces her cheek. His lips move to hers. Press, a little at first, then harder.
This is kissing, she thinks. Her hand moves to his hair. It’s soft. She kisses him back. It’s nice.
“You’re so pretty,” he says.
. . .
36
Richard
The word is that the inquisition has ended. Dean Hunt has stopped interviewing witnesses.
Only then does he finally get back to Richard.
It’s been, what? A week since Eric pointed out Exley? Richard hadn’t wasted any time. He’d walked right from the dining hall that day to the dean’s office. Asked the receptionist if he could see him.
One week later, Richard has an appointment. He is not shy about sharing his frustration over this.
Dean Hunt seems unconcerned.
Worse yet, he seems unimpressed. As Richard unpacks his theory that Exley is not only the Dr. Feelgood of The Board but is very likely the person who wrote on Jenny’s door, the dean betrays no hint of emotion.
“So, that’s it?” he asks when Richard finishes. “His friends call him ‘Doctor’ and some kid saw him wandering around the freshman dorms?”
Plus he’s a douche, Richard doesn’t add.
Dean Hunt glances at his watch. “Richard, I appreciate your wanting to help, but I need more than that. Did you actually see Brandon Exley post as Dr. Feelgood on The Board?”
“No,” Richard says. “But like I said, I saw him and Jordan doing something on his phone right when it all started. Can’t you bring him in and check his phone?”
Dean Hunt laughs quietly. “I have questioned and checked the phones of virtually every witness. Including Mr. Exley. And like Mr. Bockus, he doesn’t have that application. No one does. Not a single person. And they all handed over their devices when I asked. One fellow, not very savvy I may add, volunteered his phone before I even asked the question. What do you make of that?”
Richard is dumbfounded. Especially because Joe told him he had The Board app. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t you?” Dean Hunt continues, one eyebrow raised as he regards Richard. “I do. Each student deleted the app before he or she came in. After our interview, they could easily re-install it. They banked on the chances that the college wouldn’t go through the trouble and expense of subpoenaing the company and getting the names of everyone at MacCallum who uses The Board. I’m not even sure it’s possible. At any rate, it’s a distraction. It sheds no light on the case I’m investigating against Mr. Bockus.”
“But I thought he was also charged with bullying Jenny,” Richard says.
“It’s not on his phone, and no one testifies they saw him do it. Even you, Richard; what did you see? Nothing, I’m afraid. Unfortunately, a hunch isn’t enough.”
Something rises in Richard’s throat. Outrage, like some toxic gall. He knows in his gut that it’s Exley. It’s screaming at him. Why can’t this guy see it?