Nets and Lies(16)

When I finally finished, Mom stared at me wide-eyed. “Oh, JoJo, I’m so sorry!” She pulled me into her arms. “Who does that son of a bitch think he is? Tossing you aside like a piece of shit!”

“I know,” I moaned. For a fleeting moment, I felt comforted by her rocking me back and forth.

Mom’s breath echoed in my ear. “Don’t you worry, baby. He’s not going to get away with this. We’re going to see that he pays.”

“No, you don’t understand. When I told him I would tell about the affair, he mocked me. He said no one would believe me over him because of my reputation.” I shook my head and wiped my eyes. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe no one will take my word over his.”

Mom took my hands in hers. “It’s all about your story. You’re just a kid—he took advantage of you. He basically raped you.” When I started to protest, Mom held up her hand. “This is what has to be done. Now think. There must be something you have on him—something he can’t dispute.”

“Like what?”

Mom rolled her eyes. “Intimate stuff, JoJo. Like if he’s not circumcised or if he has a tattoo or a scar somewhere only you would know about.”

Frantically, I searched my mind for any incriminating details. Then an image formed in my mind. It was this past New Year’s Eve night. Coach T’s wife and Will remained out of state for the holidays. He’d come back early—claiming just to be with me.

After we rang in the New Year with champagne and strawberries, we lay intertwined in his bed. I tried ignoring his wedding picture staring at me from the dresser. Instead, I focused on him. “What’s this?” I asked, as I playfully traced a scar running the length of his hip. I’d felt it several times before, but I’d never thought to ask. It had rough, jagged edges, but in the middle, it was smooth to the touch.

“Oh that?” He asked, peering down at his hip. “That’s my gang wound.”

I cocked my eyebrows at him. “Bullshit! You’re too much a pansy to have ever been in a gang!”

Coach T laughed. “I didn’t say I was in a gang. I said it was a gang wound.”

“Uh-huh,” I murmured, propping my head on my elbows to stare at him.

“Yeah, this one time when I was in college at Northwestern, I passed by this basketball court where all these gang members were playing. Being the cocky ass**le I was, I strode out there and challenged them to a game.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re still a cocky ass**le.”

“Will you let me finish my story?” he asked, a grin hovering at his lips.

“Fine, fine.”

“So I beat one of their star players, this huge guy covered in tattoos. So he’s all pissed and needing to save face, so he pulls a knife on me. Cuts me from here to here,” he took my hand in his and rubbed my fingertips along the scar. “Sixty stitches later, I have a battle wound that never goes away.”

“Poor baby,” I said, bringing my lips to his.  “A couple of more inches, and you would have been in real trouble.”

“Umm, hmm,” he murmured before pushing me back down on the bed.

I jolted out of the vision. I stared at Mom before blurting, “He has a scar.”

Mom nodded. “Good, good. Where is it?” She closed her eyes and said, “Please tell me it’s somewhere incriminating, somewhere not everyone can see!”

“It’s on the inside of his hip down to his groin.”

“Nice! Oh yeah, that one’s gonna come back to bite his ass!” She practically clapped her hands together with glee.

But I didn’t share her excitement. Something about all of it made me uneasy. I nervously chewed my lip before saying, “Mom, I’m not so sure about accusing him of rape.”

“You’re already eighteen, Jo-Jo, so a consensual affair isn’t going to do very much to hurt him. But,” she paused, “if it’s rape, we can ensure that he really pays for how he took advantage of you both with his teaching career and maybe even jail-time.” She then nonchalantly untied her dark hair. It cascaded down her back before she tossed it absentmindedly over her shoulder. She acted like I’d just said I wasn’t sure what I should have for dinner, not that I wasn’t sure whether I should frame the coach who’d dumped me.

I sighed. “I want to hurt him, but...”

“But what?” she demanded.

“I-I…love him.”

Mom shot up from the workout bench. “Jordan, what have I told you about men and love?”

“You never, ever fall in love with them,” I recited, like an obedient child. Hell, I knew it by heart. She’d ingrained it in me since I was twelve years old. Normal moms encourage their daughters to fall in love and to experience romance. But not my mom.

She nodded in approval. “And why do you never fall in love with a man?”

“Mom, please—”

“Say it, Jordan!”

I glared up at her. “As long as man has your heart, he controls you!”

“That’s right. And you don’t ever want to be controlled by a man. You want to control him.”

“I know, I know,” I protested feebly. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just did.”