Friends Like These(29)

“Let me know if you want any help,” Dan offers casually, like it’s for the first time. “And you sure you’re okay? This is . . . a lot.” He knows better than to be too explicit.

“Listen, there’s some unfortunate overlap here, no doubt. But I do think it’s a coincidence.” I put my sunglasses on as I get into the car. “Besides, you know me— I’m good at seeing only what I want to see.”





ALICE


I don’t know how long I’ll be able to go without telling my mom. I always tell her everything and my mom is always there for me, no matter what. My friends don’t understand that because they all have these fucked-up relationships with their families. I don’t— my mom is my best friend.

But my friends and I have a pact about the roof. Absolute secrecy. Forever. My mom wouldn’t like the sound of that. She’s never really loved my Vassar group. Worries about their influence on me. Maybe she’s right. They’ve already convinced me to pretend that guy never existed. Because who cares about some random blue-collar townie, right?

Okay, that’s not fair. That’s definitely not how my friends feel. They’re not bad people (not even Keith, no matter how hurt I am). They’re scared, that’s all.

We were all terrified— that’s why we didn’t call the police. It was chaos on the roof. All of us so freaked out and wasted— it’s hard to remember who said what when. And then, all of a sudden, we were running down the steps and back to our dorms.

I almost called the police when I was back in my room. “But it’s too late now,” Maeve said before she headed up to her senior-year single on the floor above. “You can’t just make that choice for everyone.”

So I called my mom instead. I only told her that something bad had happened, not what. Right away she demanded to know whether I’d been sexually assaulted. She thinks people are getting raped left and right at Vassar.

I told her that I was okay, that I would be— but that I couldn’t tell her what had happened, not yet. And she said exactly what I needed her to: “When you’re ready, then. But I hope you know you can tell me anything. I’m always here to help.”





MAEVE


FRIDAY, 8:54 P.M.

By the time we got to downtown Kaaterskill it was nearly 9:00 p.m. The storefronts were all dark except for the little “gourmet” market with the smudged windows at the top of the block. Cars were clustered in front of the Falls at the far end, the glow from the huge front window lighting up both sides of the street.

I could already imagine the damp heat inside, the yellow light, warped floor, and sticky tables. The beer would be cheap, the liquor bottles dusty. The drunk white men— and they would all be white— would be wearing graphic T-shirts, their body odor mixed with too much Polo Ralph Lauren. And that look in their eye like they already knew exactly how they’d fuck you— bent over and from behind.

What a disgusting thought. I shook my head, quickly willing it away. Dark thoughts like that had a way of multiplying. I needed to be back in Manhattan with Bates.

But my only option at the moment was to focus on making it through this weekend and staying positive, for everyone’s sake. Especially for Jonathan, who was not only Bates’s best friend but also— let’s face it— kind of my boss. I smiled as I got out of the car, then followed him across the street.

“Hey,” I said, jogging to catch up.

“Hey,” Jonathan said, not even looking at me. Stress was emanating off him. He pointed his chin toward Finch and Keith. “We are screwed with Finch here.”

“I think it’ll be fine. We’ll just have to be a little more careful.” I put a hand on Jonathan’s back. “Don’t worry.”

“Yeah, sure.” Jonathan did not sound convinced.

That was the problem with being everyone’s eternal optimist: they always thought you were putting an unrealistic spin on things.

“Hey, have you heard from Bates tonight?” I asked.

“Oh, uh, no, why?”

Bringing up Bates in the midst of everything else was a little self-involved— maybe more than a little. But I couldn’t help it. Two of my texts had gone unanswered now: Miss you already, from the car, and then after we got here, You okay?

“I just— I texted him and didn’t hear back,” I said. “I want to be sure he’s okay.”

“You know Bates, he’s the worst about responding,” Jonathan said. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

But Bates was not the worst about responding to me. And Jonathan’s tone was so careful. Was Bates deliberately not answering me, and Jonathan knew why?

“Right, yeah,” I said, trying to sound curious, not concerned. “I’ve just— Bates has been kind of distant lately in general. I thought you might know something.”

“Listen, Bates is a good friend. But he’s weird with women. I did tell you that at the beginning.” Jonathan turned to look at me. “He always finds a fatal flaw in every girl he’s dating. Or he manufactures one. And then he uses it as an excuse to break up with them just as things are getting serious.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling ill. “So what’s my fatal flaw?”

“It’s not your flaw. That’s my point,” Jonathan says. “It’s Bates.”