What We Saw(57)

“Aw, c’mon. He’s just getting the hang of it.”

Lindsey catches my eye, and I know what she’s thinking. Boys will be boys. I look away like I didn’t notice. I plaster on a big smile and try to find the confidence I had while holding the cold pack to my head during practice.

This has nothing to do with you.

It isn’t working.

After hearing Sloane in the parking lot and seeing Principal Hargrove’s reaction, the voice whispering questions is back. The volume goes up a notch when Ben tweets a picture of Christy and Rachel kissing either side of Will’s face. My brother’s snapback is cocked sideways and he’s making that duck-lips face, staring straight into the camera. Ben tags it #youngbucc, and it takes everything in me to ignore the whispers.

Is this how it started?

Innocent pictures of silly kisses?

When the pizzas arrive, there’s barely room on the table. Lindsey makes a toast to the new season and we clink plastic glasses full of Coke and Sprite as David Sissler jockeys a BLT, a Combo Plus, and a Meatworks into the middle of the table.

David is another one of those people I “know” without knowing. He was a starting point guard a few years back, just like Ben. Nabbed a scholarship to Florida State, but blew out his knee during his first season and wound up sitting the bench. He stayed in Tallahassee over that summer, supposedly to get back in shape. Instead of running drills and lifting weights, he ran a lot of pot to Tampa and drank a lot of beer. He got cut that fall. Without a scholarship, he wound up back here, slinging pizza at Happy Joe’s and reliving the glory days every time a current Buccaneer shows up.

“You guys ready for state?” he asks Ben.

“You bet.” Ben smiles.

“Heard Doone got out on bail. He still playing?”

We all turn to look at Ben for the answer. The rules are that if you miss practice the week of the game, you can’t suit up. Dooney and Deacon were both MIA today. Ben glances down at his plate. Just that tiny tell, and I already know what he’s going to say. It’s not good news.

When he tells David, Christy goes ballistic. “You’re freaking kidding me!” Her voice is so loud that we get a glare from the mom in the booth next to ours.

“That’s what happens when you miss practice.” Lindsey takes a bite of Meatworks.

“God, that sucks.” David looks like he’s the one who has to play without two of the five starters this weekend.

Ben nods. “Yeah, it’s too bad, but I liked what happened in practice today. We’re all pulling together. Tough as bucc.”


Another glare from the mom next door. I don’t think she heard the b on bucc but she does hear David say, “Hells yeah, bro,” as he bumps firsts with Ben.

“Can’t believe Stacey Stallard might cost us state,” Christy moans.

“No way,” Will pipes up. “They still got Ben and Reggie. Plus LeRon and Kyle.” He turns to Ben. “You can still pull it off, right?”

“Not gonna lie,” says Ben. “I’d feel better if Dooney was playing.”

“I’ll bet Stacey would feel better if she hadn’t gone to his party.” Lindsey says this quietly, but it’s a lit match in a gas can.

Christy leans forward to face Lindsey across the round booth. “Whatever it is that Stacey says happened is her own damn fault. That girl is a hot mess.”

“How can you say that?” I ask.

Before Christy can answer me, Rachel does. “Look at us, Kate. We’re not like her. You’re not like her.”

Lindsey frowns. “So what?”

“Yeah,” I agree. “You keep saying that, but what do you mean?”

“All I’m saying is there are rules.” Rachel’s face has gone chalky. Her voice is soft and quavers a little, as if she’s desperate to convince us of something. She stares into her plate, afraid to look at me. “You don’t get wasted. You don’t take off your top. You don’t flirt with raging drunks.” She leans in and grips the edge of the table, lowering her voice. “You don’t dress like a slut. You have to play by the rules. If you don’t, this is what happens.”

Even Christy is silent, all of us taking this in. Rachel glances up and realizes we’re all looking at her. “Don’t you guys get it?” Her eyes meet mine. If I were closer, I could fold her into a hug. If we were alone, I could tell her it’s going to be okay. She looks to Christy, who is suddenly busy chasing a piece of ice around the bottom of her empty glass.

“Oh, what?” asks Rachel. “So, now you think I sound crazy?”

After a moment of silence, Lindsey reaches over and takes Rachel’s hand. “No,” she says. “Just scared.”

Lindsey is right, but not only about Rachel. Fear is the reason I can’t let this go, either. It’s the reason Rachel needs to believe that whatever happened is Stacey’s fault. It’s why she insists that we’re all very different from Stacey. Because the truth is that if it could happen to Stacey, it could happen to any of us.

By the time we pay and walk to our cars, it’s dark outside. The air is humid and a light fog rolls through the parking lot, making everything vague, obscuring the details. We’ve all been wandering around in a haze about what really went on at Dooney’s party: who was there, what happened, how it happened. There are two sides right now: Stacey claims she was raped. Dooney says she wasn’t. Everyone says there’s no way to know for sure.