Going Under (31 page)

“They’re really bad, Cal,” I said. “I told
you I was no good.”

Cal sported a furrowed brow as he flipped
through the pictures.

“You’re right, Brooke. You can’t take a
picture to save your life.”

I shrugged, then screamed as I was pushed
into the pool. I broke the surface breathing heavily, wiping my
eyes to discover my attacker. I let loose a string of filthy words
as I watched Tim dive in beside me. He hid beneath the water, and I
feared he was circling me like a shark. I couldn’t touch the bottom
and started panicking, kicking my legs hard to tread water.

I moved closer to the edge of the pool and
was nearly there when Tim popped up blocking my way.

“You’re a jackass,” I hissed.

“Just having a little fun, Brooklyn,” Tim
replied. He pushed off from the edge, wrapping his left arm around
my waist and pulling me along in the water.

“Let go!” I screamed, struggling against
him. My head felt heavy from the water pulling on the ends of my
hair, raking wet furrows in a trail behind me.

I turned to look at the others in the water.
Oh my God. How could I be so stupid? There was Hunter hanging on
the edge of the pool watching. Aaron oblivious to the scene as he
continued his laps. Mike, slipping through the changing room doors,
ignoring my plight. Parker staring at me from a bench on the far
side of the pool. All the boys in the Fantasy Slut League, and no
one was coming to my rescue.

I twisted harder, pushing against Tim’s arm
with all my might. But he was too strong, and in that second I
cursed God for making women so fucking weak. “Get off!”

“Okay,” he said, releasing me and pushing me
under the water.

I fought ferociously, certain he would drown
me. I hadn’t the opportunity to take a breath before being plunged
beneath the surface, and already felt my chest burning for air:
just one small breath of life.

Tim eased up, and I shot out of the water
breathing in hungry gulps of wetted oxygen.

“What are you doing?!” I screeched, pulling
away the matted hair from my face.

“Playing around,” Tim replied. “Jeez, we’re
just having a little fun. Take it easy,” and he plunged me beneath
the surface once more.

I dug my fingernails in his wrists, but it
did nothing to loosen his grip. He was holding me down longer, I
could tell, as my chest began burning urgently, demanding the
oxygen I couldn’t provide. I wriggled this way and that to no
avail, feeling the urgent burning move down into my belly, through
my legs to the tips of my toes. My body was screaming silently, and
I couldn’t save it.

Tim hauled me out of the water, and I clung
to him on instinct, breathing deeply between coughs and splutters.
He took advantage of my vulnerability by wrapping my legs around
him, settling me on his hips so that I could feel his arousal. I
tried to break free, but he held me tightly in his arms, shaking
his head at my silent plea.

We were at the shallow end of the lane, a
place where he could firmly plant his feet and move us round and
round in small circles. I thought he was trying to lull me into a
false sense of safety, and I had no choice but to cling to him
harder, praying he wouldn’t dunk me under the water again.

“Did you have fun?” he asked.

I felt the tears spill over to those words
as I shook my head. I imagined I looked a mess with wet, matted
hair and black mascara running down my cheeks. Not only was he
successful in making me feel weak and helpless, but also in making
me feel ugly.

“Brooklyn,” Tim said. “It was only a little
bit of fun. Why are you upset?”

He slid his hands over my bottom, and I
squirmed.

“Keep doing that,” he said, and I
stopped.

“I hate you,” I sobbed quietly.

“Brooklyn, you don’t hate me. But I should
hate you. Why are you spreading rumors about me at school?”

“I’m not spreading rumors about you,” I
choked.

“You’re not? Then why did Ashley think I was
a rapist?” Tim asked.

“You are a rapist,” I said, trying once more
to free myself from his grasp.

“Stop struggling,” Tim ordered. “Now, lucky
for you she believed me when I told her you were a crazy psycho
bitch ex-girlfriend. And lucky for you, she got her friends to
believe me, too. So you get a free pass this time, huh?”

He slipped his hand between my legs. “But
just this once. Now give me a kiss, and I’ll let you go,” Tim
said.

I shook my head.

“Just one little kiss,” Tim cooed.

“Hey, man, what’s the deal?” Cal asked,
hovering above us. “Give her to me.”

I can’t believe I wanted to be passed from
one predator to the next, but in that moment I thought Cal was the
good guy. He was my rescuer.

“Chill out, man,” Tim said, releasing me. I
reached for Cal who pulled me easily out of the water. He wrapped a
towel around me and held me close.

“Not cool, dude. She was scared to death,”
Cal snapped, running his hands roughly over my arms to warm me up.
“You can’t rough house with girls like you can with guys, you
douchebag.”

He walked me over to my book bag then out of
the pool area to my car. If I were in my right mind, I would have
noticed two things: first, Cal never jumped into the water to come
after me. He was no rescuer. And two, he had a towel in his arms
ready for me. I pictured him, watching the entire scene then
strolling lazily to the towel rack before intervening.

Later that night as I lay in my bed shaking
with fear and anger, I realized they planned it. There was no real
swim practice. They lured me to the pool under false pretenses,
then to the edge of the water for Cal to look at the pictures I
took. And Cal stood there and watched as Tim pushed me underwater,
forcing me to endure minutes of torture that felt like hours. He
let Tim grope me before feigning outrage. Throughout the entire
ordeal he was silently telling me one thing: “Don’t fuck with me.
Don’t fuck with my friends.”

I pulled the covers over my head and burst
into tears. I wouldn’t mess with him anymore tonight. The truth was
that I was genuinely afraid of him for the first time. So I chose
to entertain the fear, let it grip me and manifest itself in the
sounds of quiet, desperate sobs. But I would only let him do this
to me tonight. Tomorrow the fear would be gone.

***

“Jessica Canterly,” Terry said on our way to
the parking lot.

I whirled around to face him, stopping cold.
“Yeah?”

“In and out of psych wards since tenth
grade. Family moved out of state after her freshmen year. Serious
shit. She did everything. Cut herself. Developed every eating
disorder in the book. Pulled her hair out,” Terry said. “I’m
talking serious shit.”

“I knew it,” I whispered.

“Now, hold up,” Terry replied. “Just because
she has all these psychological problems does not mean she was
raped.”

“It doesn’t?” I asked. I wasn’t trying to be
a smartass.

“No,” Terry said. “I found stuff on her
dating back to seventh grade.”

“So maybe Parker saw her as an easy target,”
I replied. “If she’s already crazy, who’s going to believe she was
raped?”

Terry shrugged. “It’s not right,
Brooke.”

“Too hard to say, ‘It’s not right, Wright’?”
I asked.

“You’re a dork and completely unfocused. I
was saying it’s not right to assume something without hard proof.
You know that.”

I scowled. “That asshole is a rapist. I know
he is!”

“Okay then. Have you figured out how you’re
going to prove any of this?”

“I have, actually,” I replied. I smiled a
smug little smile, and Terry rolled his eyes. “Can we have this
conversation somewhere else? It’s freezing out here.”

“Get in your car,” Terry said.

“No way. We’ll get in
your
car and
waste
your
gas on the heat,” I replied.

“Whatever.”

We slipped into Terry’s unassuming Acura and
blasted the heat.

“Okay, Wright. What’s your plan?”

“I’m going to ask them to come forward,” I
replied.

“You’re what?”

“The girls who’ve been raped. I’m going to
ask them to come forward.”

“Why would they agree? It’s been years for
some. No rape test. No DNA evidence. Their word against the guys’.
Are you serious?” Terry asked.

“If I can get them together—”

“So you’re a group therapist all of a
sudden?”

“Shut up. If I can get them together and
encourage them to come forward together, I think there’s a real
chance these boys will get some well-deserved justice,” I said.
“Strength in numbers.”

“That’s the stupidest plan I’ve ever
heard.”

“Hey! It’s not stupid. It’s the only thing
I’ve got!”

“You might have to come to the realization
that these boys may never see justice. Okay? You may have to be
satisfied with exposing their league and embarrassing them, because
that may be all you get.”

“No!” I slapped my hand on the
dashboard.

“Wright, do not do that to my car,” Terry
warned.

“I’ll never be satisfied with a little bit
of embarrassment. I want them in jail. They’re criminals who belong
in jail.”

“So your plan is to trick these girls into
what? Coming over to your house for a sleepover? Then you expose
each of their painful secrets to the group and tell them they need
to take those painful secrets public? With no evidence? No proof?
Do you hear how fucking stupid that is?”

“Fuck you.”

“Typical teenager response,” Terry
scoffed.

“I hate you.”

“And there’s another.”

“Shut up and help me then!” I screamed.

“I don’t have an answer, Brooke. I don’t
have a plan. The only thing I can tell you is to go public with
your knowledge of their club.”

I hung my head. “You said you’d help me get
them. That’s what you said.”

“I know, Brooke. But I can’t make them
confess to rape. And I can’t make those girls come forward. They
have every right to stay silent. That’s their right, and I think
you forget that. You think they have a duty to your friend, but
they don’t. Their justice isn’t her justice, don’t you see? They’re
individuals with individual experiences. I’m not saying it’s
healthy for them to hold on to their secrets, but it’s their right.
You can only do so much. And you’ve done everything you can, and
I’m proud of you for wanting to protect them. I really am. Expose
the league and you’ve settled your debt with Beth.”

I was crying. I realized it when Terry
fished a napkin out of the glove box and handed it to me.

“Can’t I just shoot them all in the head?!”
I cried, blowing my nose into the musty paper.

“Oh my God. First you want to be a rape
victim, and now you want to be a murderer?”

“It’s murderess, dumbass. I’m a girl.”

“Wright, you need to visit a therapist,”
Terry said.

“I already do,” I blubbered.

“Well, thank God for that.”

I shot him a nasty look.

“And quit crying, for Christ’s sake. You cry
all the time. Aren’t you supposed to be big and tough?”

I looked at him stunned. “For real?”

“Yeah, Wright. ‘For real’. Straighten up and
stop acting like a total wimp. You wanna be some badass fem
crusader? Then start acting like one.”

“You are the biggest jerk on the
planet!”

“Yeah, and one hell of a good friend to
you,” Terry replied.

Well, I couldn’t argue that.

I drove home with “Big Girls Don’t Cry”
playing over and over in my head. Don’t ask me how I knew the song.
It wasn’t Frankie Valli singing, though. It was Terry instead, and
I laughed my ass off imagining him leading the Four Seasons to the
tune. No tears. Exactly how he’d want it.

***

“Are you never going to talk to me again?” I
hissed, watching Lucy stack her books and binder in a neat little
rectangle on her desk. I leaned over and pushed the top book on to
the floor.

“Hey!” she yelled.

“Freaking talk to me,” I said.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you, Brooke,”
she snapped, and leaned over to retrieve her book.

“Why are you so pissed at me?” I asked.

“You’re a smart girl, Brooke,” Lucy said.
“You figure it out.”

“Does this have anything to do with Cal?” I
asked, lowering my voice to a barely audible whisper.

Lucy looked flustered. “Don’t say his name
out loud,” she replied.

“What the hell? He’s not Lord
Voldemort.”

“And don’t say his name either!” she
cried.

I sat there confused. And then I burst out
laughing. Lucy glared at me. But apparently my laughter had some
kind of effect because her face broke into a grin. And then she
giggled. And then she laughed, too. Hard.

“Okay okay,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Does
your not talking to me have anything to do with
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? And I’m referring to Cal.”

“Yes,” she said, her laughter dying
away.

“All right. What’s the problem?”

She turned around, but Cal hadn’t come into
class yet.

“I told you to stay away from him,” she
said.

“You never told me why,” I replied.

“Because he’s a bad guy,” she said.

“What makes him bad?”

“Stuff.”

“Like what?”

“For goodness sake, Brooke! Why can’t you
just leave well enough alone?!”

“Because I think he did something to you
that you’re not telling me. And I know he’s done it to other girls
because guess what? I knew Beth. Beth Cunningham? She was my best
friend.”

Lucy’s eyes filled with instant tears.

“No. Do
not
cry. Haven’t you given
him enough of your tears already?” I remembered Terry’s words to
me. To stop crying. To be strong.

She stared at me, and then she looked up at
the ceiling trying to get the water to recede. She was determined,
and focused on the ceiling for a long time before she thought it
was safe to face me again. When she did, her eyes were dry.