Mistrust (9 page)

“Did you tell him you wanted to wait, like you said you were going to?”

“Yeah, I told him in the limo on the way to the prom and he was understanding. Well, he was kinda pissed to start, but got over it quickly.”

“What about Reece?”

“What about Reece?” I repeat the question to Sam. “Reece is super sweet, there’s no way he’d do this.” Frustrated, I jump off the bed and pace around my room. “Listen to us. We’re trying to accuse everyone, when it really could’ve been anyone.” Suddenly I stop and turn to look at Sam. “Oh my God, Sam. What if it wasn’t meant for me? What if it was meant for someone else?”

Sam shakes her head. “How many times have we watched the news to see a girl’s been attacked, Dakota? Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing and targeted you specifically.”

I begin pacing again and there are a million thoughts running through my mind. “Crap.”

“What?” Sam looks at me questioningly.

“If what you say is true; if it
was
a targeted attack, then who’s to say it was a student? It could just as easily have been a teacher.”

“A teacher?” She scratches her chin with a look of absolute disgust on her face. “But that’s . . .” She shudders and grimaces. “That’s seriously messed up. Ugh.”

“I’m thinking about a specific teacher.”

Her gaze is fixated on the corner of my bed then slowly she lifts her eyes to meet mine. Realization quickly sets in. “You mean Mr. Collins?” I nod my head. “You can’t go saying things like that about a teacher, Dakota.”

She’s right I can’t but something about Mr. C isn’t right. “I know, I know,” I sigh. Taking a huge breath, I go and sit beside her on the bed. “I haven’t looked at my phone since Saturday night. Maybe I should see who’s tried calling and messaging.” I get up and go to the nightstand where my phone is still plugged in and charging. “Damn it, Sam, I don’t want to look at this.”

I hold my phone in a feeble attempt not to buckle under the pressure of what might be on it. “I’ll do it,” Sam offers. “There’s nothing on here that can shock me. So . . . I’ll do it.”

“You know what I’m scared of, right?”

“Whoever sent me
that
picture, has probably sent it to you too.”

I desperately want to look but I’m terrified of what might be there. Dread is bubbling away inside me, and panic prickles from my scalp down to my toes. “I’m not sure I can do this,” I whisper while still holding the weightless phone to my chest. “It hurts, Sam.” I look at her and see the same pain I’m feeling reflected in her eyes.

“I know it does, but it has to be done.” I nod, agreeing with her. “I’ll do it.” She holds her hand out to me, silently asking for the phone.

Hesitantly, I unfold the arm hugging my phone close to my chest. It takes me forever to find my courage, so long that I’m sure the moon is at its highest point for the evening. I know it’s not. Reality is outside of time for me now. “I’m not sure I can do this.” Gripping the phone I pull my hand back hastily. “I can’t.”

“You have to know what’s going on. We don’t want to be surprised if anything is said in there.” Sam points to my phone. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

She’s right. She’s
always
right. “I’ll do it,” I say taking a huge breath. “Okay.” I move to sit on my bed, and Sam sits beside me. She puts her hand on my thigh and gives me a gentle, reassuring squeeze. I turn my phone on, wait until it’s powered up, and enter my PIN.

Messages upon messages, a register of countless missed phone calls all brightly display on the screen. First, I scroll through the missed calls. There are over forty of them, from practically everyone I know. There are also four calls from an unknown number which corresponds with what Mr. C said at school.

“You need to look at all the messages too,” Sam says encouragingly.

“Yeah, I know.” I meet her eyes for a moment before turning away completely consumed by shame. “Here goes.” My body violently reacts to the knowledge of what may possibly be on my phone. “Oh God,” I mumble as I roll through the messenger app. There’s a vast catalogue of communications, mostly my friends asking where I am and what’s happened to me. I’ve got messages from Levi, Reece, Jordan, Mariah and Lindsey as well. A few from Mom asking if I’m having a good time, and even one from Sam.

Then there’s an unknown number with an attachment in the body of the message. My finger hovers over the message. I want to click and see what it is, but at the same time, I’m scared too. “It’s okay,” Sam says. She moves her hand from my thigh, and drapes it over my shoulder, bringing me in close to her. “No matter what it says, we’re going to get through this together.”

I nod and offer her a weak smile. “Okay,” I worriedly sigh while letting out a huff of air. “I can do this.”

“You can.”

I touch on the message from the unknown number and it takes me to the top, the very first message. It’s from the night of the prom and it reads, ‘You’re a whore.’ The next message says, ‘You’re a lousy lay.’ My heart is frantically pounding, and my entire body is vibrating so violently I can barely control my hand as I try to get to the bottom of the message. The third message is the worst so far. It says, ‘You were moaning like a two-dollar hooker, but I’ll never fuck you again.’ There’s still more, but I can’t bring myself to look at it. “Oh shit.” I feel the phone slipping from my fingers and hear the quiet thud as it hits the floor. “What the hell happened?” I ask, but know there’s no one in this room who can give me an accurate answer.

Sam leans down and picks up my phone. She stands and leans against my bedroom door. “I’m going to see what’s happening.” I turn away from Sam.
Out of sight out of mind, right?
But there’s nothing ‘out of mind’ about this. It’s completely consuming me. My life has been dramatically altered. This has changed me forever and no part of me will ever be the same. “It’s the same picture that was sent to my phone. And one more message which says ‘Enjoy the show, I have plenty of pictures with you as the star.’”

“Oh.” Sitting on my bed, I’m numb. Completely dazed, and non-responsive to whatever the hell happened. Something died inside me the night of prom, and now, another piece of me has cascaded down to the pit of eternal darkness.

“It’s okay, Dakota, we’ll get through this.”

With no expression, and absolutely no emotion, I simply nod at whatever Sam said.

“Dakota.” I can hear her calling my name, but I can’t bring myself to respond. I’m powerless. “Dakota,” Sam’s tone has now taken on a sense of urgency. “Dakota!” she almost shouts at me. Blankly I turn my face to where her voice is calling me. “Screw this,” she says. She looks down at my phone, does something then lifts it to her ear. “Damn it, the number has been disconnected. Hang on.” Vaguely I register what she’s doing. I think she opens her messenger, compares the number, then brings her phone to her ear. “Bastard,” she spits. “Different number and they’ve both been disconnected.”

“It’s okay,” I say in a detached tone. My voice reflects my lifeless emotions. On the inside, where no one can see, I’ve . . . departed. That’s exactly how everything inside of me feels. Empty, cold . . .
extinct.
“You tried.” My stomach churns with those two words stumbling out of my mouth. “There’s nothing else we can do.”

“Like hell there’s not. We’re not going to give up on this, Dakota.” Sam is igniting a tiny spark deep down in the pit of my stomach. “We may not know who the hell this person is, but we’re not going to let them rule your life either.”

I collapse on the bed and absolutely hate myself. “I’m so damned weak. I’m not sure I can get through this.” Hugging my pillow, I bury my face in it, completely ashamed of myself.

“Jesus, Dakota. Weak? Are you serious?” The bed dips beside me. “Weak is not the word I’d use.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Then we have to tell Mom and Dad.”

“NO!” I say with authority. “You promised me you wouldn’t say anything.” I look to where she’s sitting.

“Then you can’t blame yourself either.” Sam takes a deep breath and moves her hand out, silently asking for my mine. “I don’t know what you’re feeling. But I can imagine how painful, and . . .” She looks off into the corner of the room, trying to find the words she wants to use. “And humiliating this must be to you. But you didn’t bring this on yourself, all you did was go to your junior prom, expecting to have fun with your friends. There’s nothing you could’ve done differently, and if it wasn’t you someone else would have been targeted at the prom.”

“That makes me feel sick. The thought of someone else waking up in the back field. I can’t even imagine it. I don’t wish this on anyone, Sam.”

“Come on.” She pulls me up from my bed. “We’ll get through this,” she says as she engulfs me in a hug. “Together.”

“Together,” I say, though really, I feel so alone.

“What happened to you two last night?” Mom asks as she sits down opposite Sam and me with a cup of coffee.

My hand freezes, with my spoon mid-air and my stomach nervously churning as a cold wave covers me. Sam elbows me, and her gaze goes to my spoon. “Dakota bet me she’d win in a race down to the park, but she cheated. She took off before I even had a chance to put my shoes on. She cheated, because she went barefoot.” Sam lifts her eyebrows and looks at me.

Crap, she’s good at lying.
“Yeah, I did,” I confirm and smile at Sam’s story. Taking another spoonful of my cereal, I block out the sound of Mom and Sam’s insistent chatter.

“Did you hear what I said, Dakota?” Mom asks while Sam kicks me under the table.

“Sorry, what?”

“What’s happening with you? I could swear you just transported somewhere else, like you weren’t even here,” Mom says, standing to take her cup to the sink.

“Just thinking about cheerleading practice.”
Great, now I’m lying too.

“I said when you’re ready, let me know. I’ll take you two to school today because I need to head over to the mall.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I say and go back to my cereal.

“You have to watch it, Dakota. She’s going to know something’s not right if you’re always spacing out and not being here.” Sam says in a low voice, pointing to the floor, trying to tell me to be more aware of what’s happening around me.

“I know. I’m trying.”

“You have to try harder.” Her voice of reason screams at me. Her stern features tell me she’s right, I do have to try harder. Not to forget, but to hide the truth and the shame. I hate the fact Sam knows, but there’s not much I can do about that now. She’s involved because of a malicious, gutless person hiding behind their phone. But I need to protect Mom and Dad from what happened. I’m not sure I would be able to bear their judgment if they knew.

“Okay, I’m going to make more of an effort. But you need to let me know if I go weird.”

Sam’s lips turn up in a quirky smile. “Like more weird than normal?”

Playfully smacking her arm, I smile at her. “Thanks, Sam,” I say, standing to take my bowl to the sink.

“Don’t forget it when I want to borrow something of yours to wear.” Rolling my eyes, I simply nod. “Including that cute red sweater, and black knee-length pencil skirt.” This time I shake my head, but smirk. “Oh, and that purple dress.”

“How about I give you free reign over my entire wardrobe?” I say sarcastically and turn on my heels to look at her with raised eyebrows.

“Yay!” She claps her hands together and brings her bowl over to the sink. “I knew you’d see it my way.” Her smile is cheeky, and her eyes reflect the playfulness of her words. “Now, let me see, what should I wear on my date?” She rubs her hands together and leans against the counter.

“With Calvin?” I tease. “Has he even asked you out yet?”

She pushes on my shoulder and laughs. “His name is Taylor, not Calvin. And noooooo,” she draws out her response. “He
hasn’t
asked me out yet, but he will.” She does a little jiggle on the spot. “I just know it.”

“How about we wait for him to ask you first, then we can pick what you can wear.”

Sam stops dancing and gives me the funniest look. It’s a cross between ‘how dare you’ and ‘he’s so asking me out, sister.’ “Whatever.” She flicks her hand at me. “He’s asking me out.”

Her features turn serious, and for a split second I think she’s mad until she starts laughing. I can’t help but join her with my own chuckle.

“You ready, girls?” Mom calls while slinging her handbag over her shoulder. “Hurry up, we’re going to be late.” Mom’s already at the front door, and Sam and I grab our book bags.

“Hey,” Sam shouts from her room. “I call shotgun.”

With my bag on my shoulder, I run past Mom, and out to the car. “Hurry up, Mom!” I yell for her to unlock the doors so I can get in the front.

“I called it,” Sam pushes by Mom who’s now locking the house. She bolts over to me, and with her hips, shoves me out the way.

“Hey,” I protest.

“I called it.”

“So?”

“I called it.” She stands guard over the front door, like an offensive lineman ready to block me from getting near the front passenger door.