Let Me Know (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Amber

I walk through the Marketplace, coffee in hand, toward our usual table for lunch. Jordan is sitting there alone, reading a textbook. Chase usually sits with us, but he and Marcus have a project they need to work on. At least that’s what Jordan told me. I haven’t heard from Marcus since I called him about the video two days ago. He hasn’t responded to my messages or texts, and I have no idea why. I even told him in one message that I don’t blame him for what happened. He was upset by his brother’s death—I get that. What I don’t get is how the guy who is tender with me in bed could be so different from the one on the video. That guy is nothing like the Marcus I know and love. And Marcus has never given me any hints he’s into that stuff—just the opposite. Which is why I wish he would talk to me and tell me what’s going on. I wish anyone would tell me what’s going on.

Someone grabs my arm. Buzz Cut. The asshole who grabbed my arm a few weeks ago, when the media first mentioned the phony letters to Paul. He smiles at me, but there’s nothing friendly about the gesture. In his other hand is a local newspaper. I can’t read the entire heading, his thumb is covering it, but I can see enough to know the article is talking about me, the video and Paul.

I snatch my arm away from his hand and scan the area. People are watching us with the same level of interest that’s been directed at me ever since the first news story broke about the letters to Paul. No one seems interested in helping me. Why put an end to the free lunchtime entertainment if you don’t have to?

Buzz Cut steps closer, leaving mere inches between our bodies. Instinctively I move back. “Rumor has it you and your boyfriend broke up,” he says. “I take it he wasn’t man enough for you. Only a certain type of man can handle a woman like you.” Before I can move away, he runs his fingers down my arm. “Only I can handle a woman like you.” His words are slow, no doubt intended to sound seductive. He misses the mark by several light-years.

I remove the plastic lid from my coffee. “Handle this.” I hurl the hot contents at his hoodie-clad body.

Laughter thunders around us, matching the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears.

Buzz Cut’s face reddens and he pulls the soaking fabric from his body. “Why the hell did you do that for, fuckin’ bitch?”

“Thought you like it rough,” I spit at him, and instantly regret it. The last thing I need to do is encourage his misguided beliefs.

I don’t give him a chance to say anything else; I storm past him. He doesn’t come after me, and I don’t look back to see if he’s where I left him. The laughter dies away, and a murmur of excitement fills the food court as I sit across from Jordan at our table.

Jordan closes her book. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I shake my head, but I’m not sure if it’s because I’m not all right or because I haven’t seen a ghost. “Apparently there’s a rumor going around that Marcus and I broke up.” I try to swallow back the growing ache in my chest, but it leaks into my words. Is that why he hasn’t called or texted? He finally decided he’d had enough of me.

Bit by bit, my wall goes back up as my insides shrivel at what this means. Marcus must have started “dating” again, and that’s how Buzz Cut knew.

Her eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean?”

“Marcus hasn’t called me since he told me about the video. And now guys believe I get off on being tortured during sex, because the cops haven’t issued a statement saying the letters are forged—”
because they haven’t been able to prove it
“—and because Marcus’s sex video went viral. This morning Brittany found a letter shoved under our door. It was a very graphic drawing of what a guy wants to do to me.” I close my eyes at the memory, but the pornographic image is embedded in my brain.

I shudder and reopen my eyes. “I don’t even know who sent it.”

“Did you tell Becca?”

I nod. Fortunately the R.A. hadn’t left for her class yet. And it wasn’t the first letter I’ve given her since Marcus’s video went viral. Plus I told her about some of the sexual comments and innuendos the guys on our floor have been saying to me. At her encouragement, I filed formal complaints for each letter and comment. “She didn’t know who it was either, but she’s going to talk to the appropriate individuals so further action can be taken.” Beyond her having words with some of the offenders.

I tell Jordan what happened with Buzz Cut.

She pinches her lips together, and I wish more than anything I had kept quiet about what happened. Right now, I need her to be the Jordan who’s always grinning. “So what are you going to do? Keep coming here for lunch and let those assholes harass you?”

I raise an eyebrow at her swearing, something I’ve never heard her do before. “Until it all blows over, I’m going to hang out in the library where no one can bother me.”

“You mean hide out.”

I shrug. With everything going on, it’s not like I’ve been hungry. Now I don’t have to pretend that I am.

Jordan sighs and toys with the bread on her sandwich while I play with the heart and lotus charms on the bracelet Marcus gave me for Christmas. A reminder of him I’m not sure I’m ready to give up yet.

“I wish more reporters were like Oprah,” Jordan says.

“What do you mean?”

“She did things to help her ratings. There’s no doubt about that. But she did things on her show that would make a positive difference. She cared about her ratings, but she also cared about people. She gave people a voice to be heard. Really heard.”

And I bet Oprah doesn’t get nervous talking in front of a million viewers. I bet if she faced in court a guy who had brutalized her, she wouldn’t fall apart. She’d be strong.

She’d be the person I want to be. Need to be. I’m just not sure if I can.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Marcus

I step out of the elevator with Chase right behind me. Jordan is standing across from us, scanning the main floor of the engineering building.

Figuring she’s here to see my best friend, I turn to Chase. “I’ll see you later.” I’m about to walk away when he grabs my shoulder.

“She’s here to see you.”

There’s only one reason Jordan would want to talk to me. Amber. I stride over to her, not caring if I’m bulldozing into anyone. “Is she okay?”

“Are the rumors true? You broke up with Amber?” Her voice holds a note of anger I didn’t think would be possible with Jordan. She’s one of the most optimistic people I know.

I can’t even answer the question. Technically, I haven’t broken up with Amber. I can’t bring myself to say the words to her. Instead, I’m the asshole who’s not saying anything at all. I’ve read her texts and listened to her messages over and over and over again. Each time I do, I feel like I did every time Frank hit me, every time I feared I could be the one he raped next. Helpless.

I might not say the words to confirm that I’ve broken up with Amber, but I can tell Jordan interpreted my silence correctly. She gapes at me, fighting for the right words to say.

“Oh my God,” she whispers. “How can you do that to her? I thought you loved her.”

Chase looks at me like he’s wondering the same. I haven’t told him about the nice little chat I had with Amber’s mom last week. Every time I’ve come close to telling him, so he can lie to me and tell me everything will be okay, the words remain wedged in my chest. It will never be okay. I chose my education over Amber. I have a signed contract to prove it. Amber’s mom came prepared and didn’t give me the chance to dwell on it. It was either sign the contract then, or she would have contacted the university and destroyed my future. But without Amber in my life, my future is destroyed either way. All I can hope for is that one day she’ll meet a guy as great as Trent, a guy she deserves.

Jordan lifts her hand. Before I can register what she plans to do, her palm strikes my face. I swear everyone in the hallway heard. They watch us with growing interest. Jordan is oblivious to this as she glares at me. Chase glances back and forth between us, unsure if he should defend me or support the girl he’s falling for.

“You selfish jerk,” Jordan says, voice filled with tears. “Ever since your video showed up on the internet, guys have been harassing her. And now that you’re no longer a threat, because of the rumors you dumped her, it’s been open season on Amber.”

Fuck. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about with the trial. “Who?” I snap, and ball my hand into a fist, suspecting I know who one of the assholes is.

Chase puts his hand on my shoulder. “Dude, don’t shoot the messenger. Jordan and Amber don’t know who the guys are.”

I glare at him. “What do you mean they don’t know?”

Jordan answers. “One of them is the guy you almost got into a fight with in the food court. He grabbed her yesterday at lunch.”

“Has anyone else touched her?”

“No, but guys have been sending her drawings and letters that are pretty explicit. She’s filed complaints with the university and police, but until they can discover who’s sending them, there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

I drag my fingers through my hair. When did things get so fucked up?

* * *

By the time I return to my apartment building several hours later, after driving around aimlessly, Chase’s car is parked in his usual spot. I left the engineering building after my run-in with Jordan, and since then I’ve been trying to figure out what to do about Amber’s situation. As long as I’m not around to protect her, she’ll be at risk. Her mom never thought of that when she planned to eradicate me from her daughter’s life.

Feeling like I haven’t slept in a thousand years, I plod to the building. I have a test this week I need to study for, but I don’t have the energy right now. Soon Amber’s mom won’t have to worry about my attending the same university as Amber. The way I’m going, I’ll flunk out on my own. In my head I hear Frank laughing, telling me I’m just a worthless piece of shit.

I enter the apartment. Chase is sitting on the couch, TV off, a beer in his hand. He’s slouched forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at a pile of papers on the table in front of him.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

He glances up, face pale. “What the hell is this, Marcus?” He lifts the top piece of paper.

I shrug. “Looks like paper to me. Why?”

“It’s a contract. A fucking contract you signed.” He slams it on the table. “Why the hell did you sign away your rights to see the girl you supposedly love?”

Compounded with everything else, his anger and staggering disbelief at what I did goes beyond what I can handle. I slump against the wall, my legs barely keeping me up. Chase is used to my crazy shit, but clearly he never expected me to pull a stunt like this.

“Why were you in my room?” I mentally kick myself for leaving the contract on my desk.

“My calculator batteries died. I figured you’d be okay with it if I borrowed your calculator for my math assignment.” He’s not the slightest bit remorseful for entering my room without permission, even though we respect each other’s privacy. That’s why I hadn’t been worried about leaving the contract out. Reading it again and again and again has been my punishment for walking away from Amber.

“Why the hell did you sign it?”

“I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t, I would have lost my scholarship. And then I would have lost Amber for sure.” I would have had nothing to offer her.

“Shit” is all Chase has to say.

“It’s killing me. I can’t even explain it to her, because if I do, I lose everything.” Her mother covered all her bases to keep me away from Amber.

“Shit. What are you going to do about it?”

I flop onto the couch next to him and press my elbows into my thighs, my face into my hands. “The hell if I know.”

I somehow manage to hold back the bitter laugh boiling inside me. Ryan sacrificed himself so I could have a future. And now I’m sacrificing myself—my happiness and my dreams—for Amber’s future.

And like with my brother, I won’t be around to see her live it.

Her mom made sure of that.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Amber

Inhale.
Exhale
. I walk across campus, my mind a jumble of emotions. The side effect of watching an all-night Friends marathon after I woke up from a nightmare, combined with a
grande
dose of nervousness.

Not a good way to start a presentation.

I sit in my usual seat near the back of the classroom and wait for Emma. People keep peeking over their shoulders to glance at me. They know my presentation is today.

My palms grow clammier. I tighten my grip on my phone. It’s been two weeks since Marcus’s video surfaced and since the last time he called me. Jordan talked to Chase about it, and he couldn’t tell her anything. I’m not sure if that’s a “couldn’t” or “wouldn’t.” But despite the silent treatment, I keep checking my phone in case Marcus finally decides to contact me. In case he has a good reason for not telling me that we’re through.

Ahead of me, several students are bent over a newspaper and frequently glance back at me. It’s got to be the latest news about Paul and the trial. And the petition someone started, claiming that I should be the one on trial and not Paul. It’s already garnered several thousand signatures thanks to Marcus’s video. The regular news has at least decided to ignore it, but that hasn’t stopped the local tabloid from running the trash. It hasn’t stopped people from believing a petition is enough to change the justice system.

Emma slides onto her seat and throws me a look that says she’s sorry for being late.

“How are you holding out?” she asks.

“I’ll be glad when it’s over.”

Emma laughs. “I don’t get how you can play basketball in front of a huge crowd and not be even the slightest bit nervous. But do a class presentation and you’re ready to hurl.”

“That’s different. I don’t pay attention to everyone watching and cheering. I only notice the ball and my teammates. Everything else doesn’t exist.”

Emma nods. It’s the same for her. The difference between us, though, is her confidence goes beyond the court. Mine stops at the out-of-bound lines.

“Okay, class,” Professor Hale says. “We have a number of presentations to do, so let’s get started.”

The presentations start, but since I’m last, I get to sit, bouncing my fingers against my thigh, wishing time would either speed up so that I’m finished sooner or slow down so that I don’t have to go up there yet. For the next forty minutes, it’s all I can think about.

“Amber Scott, you’re next.”

I take a deep breath.
I
can do this
.

“Good luck,” Emma whispers.

I’ve never been jealous of anything about my best friend. She’s gorgeous, an amazing player, smart, popular. But as I walk down the steps to the front with everyone watching me, knowing I’m
her
—the girl the media loves talking about—I’m jealous at Emma’s ability to not let things like this bother her. If our places were reversed, she would own the audience and make the most of her situation.

My legs feel like I’m skating across a frozen lake. At any second the ice could crack and I’ll disappear into the deadly waters. They’re shaky, uncertain, wondering if it’s better to turn and run and hope for the best—or to keep going and take a chance that everything will be all right.

Because I don’t need to start new rumors, like I’m pregnant with Marcus’s child and had to run to the bathroom to puke—especially since puking is a real possibly right now—I stand my ground and take my place behind the lectern.

A few individuals lean toward the person next to them and say something. Their friend either giggles or whispers back. I swallow, trying to ease the sudden dryness in my mouth, and shuffle my index cards.

Emma smiles and nods for me to start. While everyone else wants to believe the lies, Emma’s here for me. Even when her brother died because of me. Even when I turned my back on her because the guilt of what happened overwhelmed me. Even when I caused her and her family insurmountable pain, Emma has been there for me, except when I wouldn’t let her.

Relieved no one can see my fingers tap-tap-tap behind the lectern, I take in another slow breath. “We, as members of our community, have an obligation to protect children and their fundamental rights. But often children are the forgotten members of society because they aren’t vocal. They’re expected to trust adults, but often it is the very individuals they are supposed to trust who let them down the most.”

I pause and gauge the audience’s reaction. They weren’t expecting me to talk about the role of advocacy in children’s rights. I can see it on their faces.

I continue my presentation and with each word I gain a little more strength. It’s no longer Emma I see in the back row. It’s a younger Marcus, Ryan and Alejandro who watch me, silently cheering me on. My heart beats fast. If it had wings, it would soar around the room. I’m lighter and freer than I have felt in a while.

The words slip out easily. A little too easily. And I have to focus hard on not sounding like an out-of-control train. I want to make sure that even on some deep unconscious level, everyone is thinking about the most vulnerable part of society, the part with the least voice.

I conclude with why community psychology is important for children’s rights. Everyone’s attention is solely on me. They’re not thinking about Rosemary’s allegations that I seduced her brother, or the allegations that I’m into violent sex. They’re thinking about the forgotten kids like Marcus, Ryan and Alejandro.

I smile as everyone applauds. The relief of being finished surges through me and chases away the last of the adrenalin overload, which has plagued me since the beginning of class.

I scan the audience, one last time. A girl near the back row bends down.

And that’s when I see him.