What We Saw(24)
The name of the alleged victim has not been released, but several sources close to the investigation say that there have been “troubling” reports of her behavior. Initial accounts indicate that the young woman was very drunk at the time of the alleged incident, and had refused to leave the party earlier with friends. One source, who spoke on condition of anonymity, stated, “It would appear, in our preliminary investigation, that the student making these charges wanted to be where she was and remained at the party of her own volition.”
Further complicating the issue, images and messages circulated on social media suggest that some in attendance deemed the young woman’s attire to be provocative. Additional online comments seem to indicate she may have been dating one or more of the young men involved.
Deputy Barry Jennings, the arresting officer, refused to comment on an ongoing investigation, saying only, “The allegations are serious and could plague these boys for the rest of their lives.”
Scholarship opportunities for two of the players have already been called into question. University of Iowa, which has a signed commitment from Deacon Mills in advance of the Buccaneers’ top seed in next week’s state tournament, is said to be “reviewing the situation.” Representatives for Duke University, said to be seriously courting John Doone, could not be reached for comment.
The four young men are still currently in custody, pending arraignment and bail hearings, set for later today.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
fourteen
IF SLOANE KEATING’S live coverage last night was scant on quotes and details, no one seemed to notice. There was nothing live to cover, really, just an empty parking lot. Still, the fact that she was there, reporting from our high school, had the entire town in rapt attention. Will was texting all night, and Mom left Margie Doone three different messages before we all found ourselves in the living room to watch the ten o’clock news together for the first time in . . . well, maybe ever.
The wind had picked up, and the chilly breeze gave Sloane’s report the effect of a bizarre newscaster music video, her blond hair whipping about lightly, her lips perfectly lined, her eyes huge and gleaming white, like alien dinner plates. She was a Pixar princess in shoulder pads.
Overnight, however, she’d managed to gather more information, and though her blog post this morning on the regional page of the Des Moines Register lacked live video, what it did have were a couple of cold, hard facts and the scent of scandal. Just before fourth period, Lindsey pointed out that Reuters had picked it up.
The news vans in the parking lot sent a strong gust of wind across the lit embers of everyone’s imagination. In the cafeteria, you could almost see heat waves rippling the air over the three tables of Buccaneers. The guys on the team were talking about last night’s practice. Coach Sanders had gotten choked up, and told them that if there was ever a time to come together as a team, this was it—both on and off the court. He swore he was doing everything in his power to get Dooney and Deacon to the tournament next weekend.
Kyle kept drumming on Stacey: liar, slut, liar, slut. Phoebe and the Tracies were there, too, nodding and tapping their nails on the table: Bitch’ll be sorry. Bitch’ll be sorry.
Ben was quiet, just listening. Lindsey picked at her food, then said she had to finish some homework before next period. We all made plans to hit the thrift store after school and get outfits for Spring Fling. When Ben heard this, he smiled for the first time all day.
In two minutes, the tone will sound to end my journalism class and the school day. Mr. Jessup shot down any discussion of the events at hand, insisting instead that we spend the hour working on next week’s blog posts for our online student news site. I wanted to tell him that there was actual journalism going on in the parking lot, but decided against it. Sometimes it’s easier just to go with the flow. From my seat by the window, I can see two more news vans have now joined Sloane’s team (Thirteen’s on the Scene!) from Des Moines at the edge of the parking lot: one from Cedar Rapids and one from Sioux City.
When class is over, I stand by the window for a moment, watching as the cameraman from Cedar Rapids frames up a shot. He centers squarely on the fifteen-foot-tall Buccaneer plastered across the side of the gymnasium. It was painted by the Buccaneer Boosters last year with materials donated by Christy’s dad, who owns Hank’s Hardware and Lumber. This single act of goodwill by her father (whose name, surprisingly, is Harold, not Hank) started a campaign called Buccs Buy Local! Instead of driving out to Ottumwa and shopping at Home Depot, people started coming back to Hank’s and asking Harold for help finding stuff in his cramped storefront on Second Avenue. Christy says it saved the business, which had all but dried up. This town loves its basketball team. I remember Dooney’s face in the hallway on Monday. Loyal. I like that.
I take a deep breath and gather up my stuff.
Christy and Lindsey are coming from yearbook and fall in next to me. Rachel meets us at the stairs with her flute case, fresh from band.
“This time next week, we’ll be headed to the field to run drills,” Rachel moans.
“Bring on the pain!” Christy shouts and pounds on her locker like she’s King Kong.
Lindsey laughs. “I’m going to remind you of that when you’re puking next week.”