Going Under (5 page)

“
That’s not true,” I argued. “You have to
come forward, Beth. You can’t let him get away with it.”

“
Are you crazy?” she shrieked. It came
out harsher than I think she expected. I shrank away from her,
confused. “God, Brooke, do you even know what you’re asking of
me?”

***

I hated the first day of school. This one
was made monstrously worse by the fact that I knew no one. Yes, the
prospect of starting with a clean slate was attractive, but being
as it was my senior year, I didn’t know if I wanted or cared to put
the energy into making friends. It seemed too hard, and then I had
already decided to put all my time and energy into destroying Cal’s
life. I wasn’t sure how a new friend or group of friends would fit
into that picture.

I wandered down the main hallway looking for
Hallway D. I quickly discovered how complicated the school layout
was, mirroring that haunted mansion out west whose owner had
workers building onto it every day until she died. Twists and turns
that seemed to lead nowhere—a haphazard sort of architecture with
no rhyme or reason. A person could get lost in here, and I wondered
if it was designed that way on purpose. I imagined teachers
snickering in the teachers’ lounge watching surveillance video of
confused students scurrying about like rats trying to locate their
classrooms. Perhaps it was one big psychological experiment.

I don’t know how, but I eventually stumbled
upon Hallway D. Of course, I had no idea how to get to my first
class from here, but I’d worry about that when the bell rang. Right
now I scanned the lockers shoved on one side of the hall until I
located mine. I stored away the few binders and notebooks I brought
with me and slapped a magnetic mirror to the inside of the locker
door. That was it. I was ready. I closed the door and looked
around.

A few girls glanced my way as they passed
by. I decided to smile, but they kept walking, either oblivious to
my kind gesture or determined to keep me out of the fold. Whatever.
I wasn’t looking to make friends. I was looking to annihilate Cal,
and I watched as he walked towards me. I tensed, feeling uncertain
about the outfit I chose to wear. I was usually only self-conscious
around guys I was attracted to. I was certainly not attracted to
Cal, but I found myself wanting to impress him. I needed to impress
him. That was the whole point. If he found me unattractive or
uninteresting, I’d have no chance. My entire plan would spoil like
old fruit.

“It’s Brooklyn, right?” he asked, breezing
right by me.

“Uh huh,” I replied, and watched as he
disappeared down the hall flanked by his loser friends.

What the hell was that? And then I realized
exactly what it was. He wasn’t going to make this easy for me. He
was going to make me work for it, work to earn my place in the
group of popular seniors. Work to earn the place right beside
him.

Fuckhead.

That’s fine. I’d do whatever was necessary
to achieve my goal. I’d swallow my pride if it meant seeing justice
done. I took a deep breath and meandered down the hall, searching
the classroom doors for 1A. Eventually I found it, and was pleased
with myself that I beat the tardy bell. I walked in to find most
seats already occupied and became instantly irritated.

I liked sitting on the outskirts of the
classroom. No, that’s not quite right. I
needed
to sit on
the outskirts of the classroom. But the only available seats were
directly in the center of the room. I reluctantly settled in a row
four seats from the front and tried hard to push down the instant
anxiety.

I struggled with intense claustrophobia for
as long as I could remember. I never took elevators, had to be
completely sedated on airplanes, and always drove in the slow lane.
I had access to the shoulder that way. I had an out. Now I sat with
students surrounding me, and for a brief moment, I closed my eyes,
imagining I was out in the middle of a great big field, empty space
stretching as far as I could see in all directions. I succeeded in
slowing my racing heart.

I learned this trick in therapy, discovering
its effectiveness in certain situations. But it didn’t work in
elevators. I learned that the hard way after trying to accelerate
my progress, feeling rather cocky after having successfully flown
on a plane across five states without a sedative. I thought I could
totally handle an elevator, but soon found myself huddled on the
floor screaming and breathing into a paper bag.

I looked to my right because I saw something
beautiful in my peripheral vision. There he was, Funeral Guy,
sitting on the edge of the room against the far window, staring
ahead at nothing in particular. I started to shake and closed my
eyes again, imagining the field. The problem was that he was in it,
walking towards me, and before I could react, he gathered me in his
arms and kissed me roughly. My God, he was hurting me, and I wanted
him to! I kissed him back just as feverishly, and then felt his
hands go to the button of my jeans. He didn’t ask for permission
but started undressing me, like I didn’t have a choice.

My eyes flew open, and I shifted in my seat.
This was incredibly inconvenient. Yes, a small part of me suspected
that he went to this school. Why else would he be at Beth’s
funeral? But I wasn’t prepared to see him in any of my classes. And
I knew I couldn’t get involved with him. For one, I had no idea if
he was even attracted to me. Two, I couldn’t very well pursue him
when I was trying to get Cal’s attention. Three, I had sworn off
boys, Cal notwithstanding.

Stupid Cal. He was already ruining my life,
and my plan hadn’t even started coming to fruition. I glanced at
Funeral Guy again. He was staring straight at me, and my elbow
jerked involuntarily, knocking my notebook off my desk. I reached
down to retrieve it and slammed my forehead on the side of the
desk.

“Motherfucker!” I hissed, and heard a tiny
gasp next to me.

“You okay?” a girl asked.

I rubbed my sore head and sat up. “Does it
look bad?” I moved my hand so the girl could get a good look.

“It’s just a little red,” she said,
smiling.

I rolled my eyes at the chuckling that
ensued behind me.

“I just love being the source of the joke,”
I said, jabbing a thumb towards the back of the room.

The girl turned around in the direction of
the laughter, her smile fading instantly, and I watched as her face
filled with something unsettling. I wasn’t absolutely sure, but I
thought it was fear. She whipped her head back around.

“Don’t worry about them,” she said quietly,
fidgeting with her pen.

“I’m not,” I replied, a little offended that
she assumed I’d cared so much what those students thought about
me.

I turned around to look at them. I’ve no
idea when Cal walked into the room, but I felt my face go instantly
hot. He grinned at me and waved. I placed my hand back over my
forehead and shrugged, rolling my eyes. He shrugged back, the
friendly gesture unnerving me. I didn’t want him to be so damn
nice, but wasn’t that the way of predators? If they came across
intimidating or frightening, they’d never have the opportunity to
attack.

I turned back around. My forehead still
throbbed. “I’m Brooke, by the way,” I said, addressing the
girl.

“Lucy.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Lucy smiled but said nothing. She was a
pretty, petite blonde with large hazel eyes. She reminded me of a
bird—small bones, fragile body. I thought she could stand to eat
more, but then maybe she ate like a horse and never packed on
weight. I watched her open her notebook when she heard the
classroom door open. The teacher entered, and I tried to pay
attention, though it was hard with Funeral Guy to my right and Cal
to my back. The idea of Cal sitting behind me, watching me when I
was powerless to move, really pissed me off. I’m sure he enjoyed
it. I’m sure he would enjoy all fifty-one minutes of it, and I
closed my eyes again, trying to conjure the field.

***

I had to be at work in an hour, giving me
just enough time to do a little investigating.

Lucy.

Something didn’t sit right with me about
her, not because she seemed like a bad person, but because she
seemed genuinely frightened of Cal and his cronies in class this
morning. I wanted to know who she was. A tiny part of me suspected
the worst, but I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions. I wanted
my intuition to be wrong as I tore open Beth’s freshman yearbook
which her mother had given me.

I found Lucy on the third
page—Homecoming—and she was the freshmen princess. I studied her.
She was posed in a wave, acknowledging the cheers erupting from the
stadium bleachers. She looked happy grasping her escort’s arm. I
flipped through several more pages before I spotted her on the
varsity cheerleading spread. There she was, smiling brightly,
suspended in the air in a cheerleading move called the Liberty. I
knew the move because I used to be tossed in the air to do the same
thing. Her form was perfect, and I felt a tiny bit of jealousy. It
was stupid, but it was there all the same.

I continued scanning, finding her on a host
of other pages: yearbook club, chorus, volleyball. I froze when I
landed on the prom page. Lucy was there, dancing with Cal, his arms
wrapped tightly around her small waist, holding her protectively.
No, possessively. My mind started racing. Was Cal her date? Did he
take her home? Did he rape her before he took her home?

I tore open Beth’s sophomore yearbook. I
scanned all the sports and social activities pages, but found no
pictures of Lucy. She was featured only on the sophomore class
spread. I stared at her picture, but I didn’t see anything in her
eyes or the way she smiled that evoked the happy, social freshman.
There was something empty about that smile, like she didn’t believe
it and didn’t expect anyone else to.

I flipped through Beth’s junior yearbook. No
Lucy. Anywhere. Even her picture on the junior class spread was
missing, a “No Photo Available” in place of it.

My heart clenched, and I wondered how I
could ache for a person I didn’t know. I suspected other victims,
but I didn’t want to discover them. It would complicate my plan. I
wanted justice for Beth. I was responsible for her. I was willing
to sacrifice myself for her, but I didn’t want to be responsible
for anyone else. And I didn’t want the knowledge of any other rapes
to grow Cal into a horrific monster that frightened me. I couldn’t
do anything to him if I was scared of him.

I tossed the yearbook aside and checked my
watch. It was time to go, and I was grateful for the distraction,
grabbing my apron that was slung over the desk chair and hurrying
out of the house.

***

“What are you doing here?” I asked as I
approached Gretchen.

“What do people normally do in restaurants?”
she replied.

I smirked and grabbed the pen from behind my
ear.

“I told you I would call you when I got
home,” I said, flipping to a clean sheet on my order pad.

“Yeah, but I couldn’t wait that long,”
Gretchen confessed.

“I’m busy tonight, Gretchen. I can’t hang
around and chat,” I said. I glanced at my other tables. No refills
needed. No one looking to get my attention. Good so far.

“I know, Brooke. I’ll hang out until the
crowd dies down.”

“You’re gonna hang out at one of my tables
all night?” I asked. “You better leave me one hell of a tip. I’m
trying to make money here.”

“Relax,” Gretchen said. “Do your job well,
and I’ll take care of you.” She winked, and I scowled.

“Hilarious. Really,” I muttered. “What do
you want?”

“This salad thing and a Diet Coke,” she
answered, pointing to the menu.

“Fine,” and I made my way to the order
station. I punched in Gretchen’s order, then went to pour her a
Diet Coke.

I started my waitressing job the day after I
moved in with my dad. I got the job because I lied about having
experience waiting tables, and the manager was so grateful he
wouldn’t have to train someone. He repeated that sentiment about
ten times during the interview, and I almost confessed my lack of
experience out of pure guilt. And fear. No training whatsoever?

I was good at bullshitting, but waiting
tables was hard. You had to be quick. You had to remember
everything. You had to try your hardest not to piss anyone off,
especially your customers. And the hostesses. They wouldn’t seat
anyone in your section if you pissed them off. The truth was that I
hadn’t a clue what I was doing, but I learned quickly after a cook,
dishwasher, and expediter all yelled at me my first night.

“Put the fucking order in the fucking
computer, Wright!” Terry, the main chef, had yelled after I asked
him why my order wasn’t up for Table 12.

“I wrote it down for you,” I said, pointing
to my handwritten order form lying on the counter next to his
grill.

“Fucking teenagers,” he mumbled as he picked
up the sheet, crumbled it, and threw it in the flames.

“Hey! What the hell?!” I cried.

He pointed to the computer.

“You burned my order,” I seethed.

“You didn’t have it memorized?” he
asked.

I flipped him off and stormed out of the
kitchen, apologizing profusely to Table 12 for needing to retake
their order. Thankfully, they were nice about it and asked if it
was my first day on the job. I didn’t expect a good tip and was
surprised when they left me a little extra. It was pity change, but
I’d take it all the same.

I was caught off guard when I approached
Gretchen once more with her drink. She sat staring transfixed, and
I followed her gaze to a family that had just been seated. I nearly
dropped the glass but refused to take my eyes off the family. Or
rather,
him
. Funeral Guy. Again. Did he know I worked here?
How ludicrous, and completely egotistical. I had to keep reminding
myself that the world did not, in fact, revolve around me.