Shedeservedit, p.15
#shedeservedit, page 15
“We need to get her to the hospital,” he said to his parents, still just standing there staring.
“Don’t…want,” she slurred.
“Shh,” he said, putting his arms around her and holding her until his mother wrapped her in a blanket. His father picked her up and carried her out to the car.
They made him go back to bed, his mother whispering she’d call as soon as she could, and they headed off to the emergency room.
The rest of the night isn’t clear in his memory. He never could remember much.
He vaguely remembers going back up to his room, shivering with the cold.
His phone was vibrating on his nightstand.
He unlocked it.
Text messages, lots of them.
Ur sister’s a hor
Ur sister’s a drunken bitch #shedeservedit
Ur sister’s a skank
Message after message.
Pictures.
Pictures of her naked.
Her eyes barely open, naked guys with her.
Carrying her around like a blow-up doll.
He ran to the bathroom and vomited.
He started deleting the messages, wanting the pictures and videos and messages off his phone, not wanting to ever see them again, not understanding he wasn’t taking them off the internet or that everyone in town was seeing them…
This was Kyle’s revenge for Jada’s having the nerve to break up with Dylan.
They came home at ten in the morning.
Jada’s face was bruised, swollen, her eyes red. She went straight up to her room, and the door slammed behind her.
Pete and Althene both looked beaten, defeated.
“No one can know,” his dad said, going over to the cabinet and getting a bottle of whiskey down with shaking hands. “Is that clear, Alex? No one will know about this. She is grounded forever. She’s never leaving the house again.”
“It wasn’t her fault,” Alex heard himself saying, sorry he’d deleted everything from his phone, wishing he could show his parents. “Jada doesn’t drink.”
“If she hadn’t sneaked out,” Althene said bitterly, “none of this would have happened.”
Alex walked out of the kitchen and went upstairs.
Jada’s door was locked, but she opened it when he knocked softly, closing and locking it again once he was inside. She sat down on her bed. “They raped me, Alex,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, her entire body shaking. “They got me drunk and they raped me.”
He sat down on the bed next to her, knowing he should tell her about the text messages, the videos, the pictures, but not knowing how, not wanting to.
“I got to the party, and Dylan gave me a drink. I didn’t want it, said I didn’t want to have any alcohol, it always made me sick, and Kyle started making fun of me, so I drank it. And then everything got fuzzy, and I don’t remember.” She slammed her fists down on her bed, the tears flowing again. “I don’t remember. But the nurse, the nurse at the emergency room, she said I’d been raped, there was trauma and evidence and she did a rape kit and took pictures and it was awful and they called the cops, but I don’t remember what happened. I don’t know who it was.”
The pictures, the video.
“And the cops said there wasn’t anything they can do cause I’d been drinking—like it was my fault somehow, and Mom and Dad, they’re acting like it was my fault.”
This wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t sneaked out.
“Why, why did I trust him? Dylan texted me, wanted to apologize, wanted me to come to the party, said he was going to make everything better, he wanted to get back together again. Why would he do this to me…”
He held her while she cried, not knowing what to say. Finally, she got under the covers and took one of the pills they’d given her at the hospital.
“Not a word to anyone,” his father said when he came back downstairs. “It never happened—is that clear?”
Monday morning, at school, right after the first period bell rang, over the intercoms: All football players report to the gymnasium for an important meeting.
Coach Musson collected their cell phones and dismissed them all, except for Alex.
“Are you going to be a team player, Alex?” Coach Musson said, once they were alone in his office, hands folded in front of him. “I need to know you’re going to be a team player. I don’t know what your sister—”
My sister.
“—told you, but all that happened was some drinking was involved, and things got out of hand. Both Kyle and Dylan—”
Should burn in hell.
“—have already given their statements to the police, and everyone agrees that it’s best if everything is just kept quiet.”
Ur sister is a skank #shedeservedit
“And that’s better for everyone, don’t you think?”
No one needs to ever know.
He nodded.
“Good,” Coach Musson replied, a smile on his face. “I knew I could count on you to be a team player. Now, get back to class.”
Chapter Fourteen
That wasn’t very smart.” India sighs, pushing the button that lowers the driver’s side window. “You shouldn’t have lied to the police, and you should have told them about the money.”
Alex slumps down into the passenger seat, his knees pressing against the glove compartment. “I know, I know, it’s been driving me crazy ever since last night. But my dad was sitting right there with that look on his face, and I just didn’t think, I panicked. I know it was stupid, trust me. I didn’t think—I didn’t want him or my mom to know that I sneaked out to see Jada. If they’d just told me they already knew, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“Are they going to tell the police you lied about being home?”
“I don’t know what they’re going to do,” he replies, running his hands through his hair. He shakes his head. “After I walked out on them, I thought they’d come up and talk to me, but they didn’t.” He closes his eyes. He’d gone up to his room and texted India, asked her to come get him. He changed out of his church clothes, grabbed his letter jacket, and headed back downstairs. His parents were still in the kitchen, but he called out to them that he was going out and didn’t wait for a response. He went out the front door and waited for India at the foot of the driveway, by the mailbox. He half expected to be ordered back inside, but nothing.
A small part of him worries his things will be boxed up and sitting on the porch when India brings him home, but he’ll deal with that then.
They disowned Jada, hadn’t they?
She kisses him on the cheek. “It’ll be okay,” she says in a soft voice. “And I love you no matter what happens.” She smiles at him. “I know you didn’t kill Lance.”
That makes him laugh. “I hope they believed me. But who knows?”
They hadn’t believed Jada, after all—they’d blamed her.
Blamed her for being raped.
She pats his leg and looks at the menu board. “Do you know what you want?”
He rubs his eyes. “Get me the double cheese-bacon combo with Tater Tots with a large vanilla Pepsi.”
They’re sitting in her car at the Sonic drive-in on Sixth Street with the engine running, warm air blowing out through the vents. The day has turned cold, despite the sun and blue sky. The wind is whipping around the car, like it’s trying to find some way inside. He shivers and slides down farther in his seat. Every slot at the Sonic is taken, and he feels bad for the girls on roller skates bringing out food trays to the parked cars. Some of them look familiar in their purple and gold letter jackets. India orders and puts her window back up. Once they’re sealed back inside the car, she takes his hand in hers. “You’re going to have to tell that agent the truth,” she says. “And we’re going to have to tell him about the money.” She sighs. “I still can’t wrap my mind around where he got that kind of money. Did you try to sign in to his laptop?”
“The bag is still under my bed.” He looks out the passenger window, starting to fog up a bit. “I don’t think my parents saw me bring it in—obviously—but I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe I should just give it to the cops and be done with it.” And hope they believe me. Why would they? I already lied to them. More than once.
He wishes he knew a lawyer—one he could talk to without his parents present, or one they wouldn’t be paying for.
“He never once told you anything about making extra money somehow?” She frowns. “He certainly never seemed to have extra money. Lexy never stopped complaining about how he wouldn’t spend any money, how half the time she had to pay for everything.”
“I didn’t know that.” He turns to look at her.
“Lexy complained all the time.” She rolled her eyes. “Never in front of you, of course. I don’t know if she ever bitched at him about it, but God, she never stopped with me.”
“All he ever talked about was getting out of Liberty Center.” He taps his head against the passenger window. “I knew he was saving every cent he could for college.” Tell her the truth, Alex. They’re all going to find out anyhow.
“And why keep all that money in his gym bag? Why wasn’t it in the bank?”
“I don’t know.” He turns his head to look out the window, leaning his forehead against the cold glass.
“But you haven’t been close since—” She stops herself and chews on her bottom lip.
Since the week of the county fair.
It hadn’t even been two months since his life blew up in his face.
It seems like so much longer.
Graduation couldn’t come early enough for him.
The fucking bonfire.
He’d texted India that night as soon as he got up to his room and closed the door.
Home. I miss you.
YAY!!!
How was the bonfire?
It was okay. I just missed you the whole time.
He doesn’t deserve her. She never once pushed him to tell her why they stopped double-dating with Lance and Lexy.
“Do you ever think if we’d been there that night it wouldn’t have happened?” India asks. Her voice shakes a little bit.
They haven’t talked about it since school started.
“I don’t know,” he answers her honestly. “I’d like to think we would have stopped it, but I don’t know.”
She bites her lower lip again, her eyes damp, as she nods. “We’re cowards,” she half whispers. She picks up a tissue and wipes at her eyes. “I don’t know, Alex.” She chokes up, takes a moment to collect herself. “I have to believe we would have done something. I have to.”
He takes her hand and doesn’t say anything.
Would you have? That voice taunts inside his brain. Are you sure you would have tried to stop it? Would you really have protected Kayla? You didn’t stand up for your own sister, not even with your parents. Why would Kayla have been any different? Did you defend her? Did you say anything to anyone?
Maybe if you had, things would have turned out differently, you know that?
He squeezes her hand tighter.
“Do you think Bracken…He was here Friday night,” she goes on, shivering. “You don’t think—”
“I don’t know.”
“I can’t stop thinking about the money.” India taps her head lightly against the driver’s side window. “Where do you think he got all that money from?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Alex scratches his head. He hates lying to her. Tell her the truth. Tell her everything. She loves you and she deserves the whole truth. “He—he changed.”
After that horrible night when Alex carried his sister inside with vomit frozen in her hair and blood seeping through her jeans, Lance had been furious, even angrier than Alex had been. Lance wanted to kill Dylan and Kyle, kill everyone who was at the party. Alex had to calm him down, tell him to keep his mouth shut, tell him it was none of his business and to just let it all go.
Dealing with it himself was hard enough without dealing with Lance’s macho bullshit on top of it. It was hard enough having to deal with a sister who seemed dead inside, dealing with parents who blamed her for what happened to her, refused to press charges, told them both it needed to be forgotten, to pretend it never happened.
It was hard enough seeing Dylan and Kyle laughing and joking and walking around at school like great big studs, like they hadn’t destroyed his sister, giving him a smug smirk every time he saw them, daring him to do or say anything.
It was hard enough listening to Coach Musson, telling him to keep his mouth shut for the sake of the fucking football team, that he had a bright future and Coach didn’t want to mess it up for everyone over a party that got a little out of hand.
It was hard enough dreaming every night about killing Kyle and Dylan, torturing them until they begged for mercy that would never come.
It was hard enough looking Coach Musson in the face without punching him until his face was an unrecognizable bloody mess.
“Just don’t, Lance, okay?” he’d finally said one cold January night as they sat in the very same Sonic drive-in, waiting for their food.
“They just think they’re God’s gift to everyone!” Lance slammed his fist down on the dashboard. “I’m sick of it!”
“What are you going to do?” Alex felt tired, so tired he wished he could just pack a bag and start driving. It didn’t matter where—anywhere would be better than Liberty Center. He was tired of being home, of listening to his parents screaming at each other, at Jada, at him. And Jada…Jada was broken.
That was the worst part of it, really.
Jada had always been full of life, fun. Her eyes always sparkled, always a bounce to her step. Even when she was dating that Charlie Arroyo loser and smoking pot all the time, she seemed alive. She was always up for something, anything, if it sounded fun. She taught him to ride roller coasters with his arms up, so it felt like he was flying. She taught him how to dress, what colors looked good on him, how to comb his hair right, how to not be afraid of everything. Even when she was being cruel, hurting his feelings and making him cry, he loved Jada, envied her, wished he could be more like her. She was so clearly their parents’ favorite. Everyone liked her.
But since that night, she’d changed.
She had no interest in anything. She didn’t style her hair, blowing it dry and combing it flat. She stayed in her room all the time, stayed off social media—he couldn’t blame her for that—he was too—didn’t take calls, didn’t do anything. She went to school and came home every day, going straight up to her room. He could hear her muffled sobbing in there sometimes, behind her locked door. She wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn’t look him in the eyes, wouldn’t look at him. When she went to church on Sundays, she didn’t wear makeup, wore dark colors, flat shoes, nothing that would call attention to herself, shrinking into herself as everyone stared at her because, of course, everyone knew.
Everyone in Liberty Center knew, and they all blamed her.
He didn’t know how she went to school every day, knowing what people were saying. He experienced it himself, walking up to a group of people who’d suddenly stop talking and exchange looks, waiting until he walked on before starting to whisper again. He knew what they were saying about her. He could hear it in the locker room, the weight room. She was a slut, a sex-hungry skank who couldn’t get enough of boys, and the more the merrier.
That wasn’t his sister. That wasn’t Jada.
Going to school every day was torture. He wished he could just disappear a lot, hoping a hole would open in the ground and swallow him whole.
People told him all the horrible stories under the guise of being a friend, saying, You should probably know what’s being said, their eyes glittering with malice, the sparkle in their scandalized voices letting him know they enjoyed telling him Jada, his sister, the cheerleader and homecoming queen candidate, who just a few weeks ago everyone loved and admired and respected and wanted to be like, was now just a trashy skank who drank too much and smoked pot and took on an ex-boyfriend and his best buddy when she was so drunk she couldn’t talk, could barely stand. He’d seen the pictures, too—before Coach Musson clamped down on everything, got rid of everything. But they were still out there. The internet was forever, and they still popped up from time to time—someone would send them to him from an obviously phony email address.
What do you say to someone when you’ve seen a video of him saying, Kyle and Dylan fucked her hard! They really gave it to her!
How do you look two of your teammates in their smirking faces without killing them after seeing a picture of them carrying your naked sister by her hands and feet like she was a sex toy?
You don’t. You can’t.
The first day of school after Christmas break was when Mrs. Palladino called him into her office.
Mrs. Palladino was the school’s guidance counselor. Her son Mark was on the football team, and her daughter Lisa was a majorette with the marching band. He’d never had anything to do with Mrs. Palladino before—he knew who she was, of course, and she and her male counterpart, Mr. Lysacek, were always around. Mrs. Palladino had gray streaks in her dark hair, olive skin, and round dark eyes, and a beauty spot just to the right of her mouth. She was stocky and short, always wore black skirts and bright blouses, dark hose and dark shoes with a low heel. She was a heavy smoker, and her office reeked with the stink of stale smoke. She stood up as he knocked on her open door and smiled, exposing her even, nicotine-stained teeth. The smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and she held out her small hand for him to shake. “Come in and shut the door, Alex.”
He shut the door and took her clammy, warm hand. The nails were bitten down but painted a bright red. She pulled her hand away from his and gestured for him to sit down as she settled back into her rolling chair. She folded her hands and leaned forward onto her elbows. “How are you, Alex?”
