Going Under (33 page)

“Now’s probably a good time, then, huh?” I
asked.

“What, to blow the whole lid?” Terry
replied.

I nodded, and he shrugged.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t get all the evidence
you wanted, Brooke,” Terry said. He sounded genuinely
apologetic.

“It’s all right. I can be content with
this.”

“Any of those girls willing to come
forward?” he asked.

“I only talked to two of them, and you’re
right. It’s unfair to ask them to expose themselves with little to
no evidence. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking that those boys are
assholes who deserve to be punished. There’s nothing wrong with
that,” Gretchen said. “I’m proud of you, Brookey.”

I smiled. “Well, I guess I’ll get all the
documents together and then figure out who I want to send them
to.”

“Do you realize how huge this’ll be?”
Gretchen asked. Excitement underlined her words.

“I don’t know how huge,” I admitted. “But I
hope it encourages some girls to speak up.”

Terry nodded. “I just want you to be safe
about it.”

“Yeah yeah,” I said, dismissing him with a
wave of my hand. “You always say that, and I’m always safe.” I
never did tell Terry about my terrifying pool experience with
Tim.

Gretchen leaned into Terry. “So when are you
asking me out on a date? It’s obvious you like me. That’s why
you’re mean to me and ignore me all the time.”

“All the time?” Terry asked, amused. “I’ve
hung out with you a total of four times. And you’re too young for
me.”

“So you
do
like me!” Gretchen said,
trapping Terry at the end of the couch and resting her head on his
shoulder.

“I’m thirty-six,” Terry said, and I watched
as he struggled with the desire to put his arm around my very
pretty friend.

“I like them older,” she cooed, nuzzling his
neck.

“Oh my God. I’m still in the room,” I
said.

Gretchen sat up laughing. “I’m just playing
around, Brooke! Jeez, I’m nineteen. Can you imagine? It’d be like
that
Sex and the City
episode when Samantha dates that old
fart. Remember? She tried to have sex with him but then she caught
sight of his flabby ass in the light?”

Terry looked outraged, and I couldn’t hide
my grin.

“I don’t have a flabby ass,” he snapped.

Gretchen cocked her head and smiled
demurely. “You wanna do me, don’t you?”

“Stop!” I screamed. “I can’t listen to
anymore of this!”

“What does Ryan think about the Fantasy Slut
League?” Gretchen asked, changing the subject. It was completely
unexpected and made my heart jump.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Gretchen’s eyes went wide with disbelief.
“You haven’t told him any of this stuff?!”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to,” I
replied.

“Brookey, he’s your boyfriend, for Christ’s
sake! You’re sleeping with him.”

“Oh God,” Terry groaned.

“And you don’t tell him about this sex
league?” Gretchen looked offended.

“Why should I? I didn’t want him worrying,
and I didn’t want to involve him. It’s not his thing, okay?” I
said.

The truth was that I didn’t want to involve
Ryan in the things I knew about Cal and his friends because I liked
having him separated from it. I liked that I could escape it all
when I was with him, and there was no way in hell I was giving that
up.

“But he could have been helping you this
whole time!” Gretchen argued. “He could have spied on them or
something.”

“I don’t think so,” I countered. “Cal hates
his guts. Ryan wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near him.”

“Still,” Gretchen pressed. “He could have
been encouraging and supportive or something. Isn’t that what
boyfriends do?”

“Gretchen, I like that he doesn’t know
anything. I like that I don’t have to talk about this slut league
with him. I like that I get to escape it all when I hang out with
him, okay? Can you understand that and leave it alone?” I closed
Terry’s laptop and slid it onto the coffee table.

“Yes, ma’am,” Gretchen mumbled, and I rolled
my eyes.

“Would it be totally bitchy to say I’m glad
you two haven’t met yet?” I asked.

“Yes, you bitch,” Gretchen replied. “What?
Are you gonna cancel the dinner plans we all have together?”

“No.” I felt my face flush.

“Good, because it’s high time I met this
Ryan person. You shouldn’t have kept him away for so long. Don’t I
get a say in who you date?” Gretchen asked.

“Um, no. Are you crazy?”

“No, I’m not crazy,” Gretchen said. “Just
feeling a little left out, I guess.”

I sighed. “Gretchen . . .”

“Brooke, you’re too young to be having sex,”
Terry said.

I looked at Gretchen, and we both burst out
laughing. Perhaps Terry just said it to ease some of the tension.
It worked.

“What?” Terry asked. “I’m some sort of
ancient or something? Just because I’m a little bit conservative,
that’s funny?”

“Conservative?” Gretchen said. “You’ve got
tats all over you.”

Terry shook his head. “Gretchen, get a
clue.”

“Terry, I’m not talking to you about sex,
okay? Can we change the subject?” I asked.

“Fine, but I don’t understand kids these
days,” Terry replied.

“Oh, who are you kidding? I know all about
the ‘90s, buddy, and I can only imagine the stuff you were into,” I
said.

Terry blushed and grinned.

“It’s not like I’m putting out for every guy
on the block,” I said.

“Exactly,” Gretchen said. “You’re in a
committed relationship.”

I nodded and watched Terry carefully.

“Gross. Whatevs. Just don’t let anything get
traced back to me when you take all this crap public. Got it?”
Terry said.

“I’m careful. I keep telling you that,” I
said. “When are you going to trust me?”

“I trust you, Wright,” Terry said.

***

“I’ve never seen you look so sexy,” Ryan
said, grinning.

It was the springtime, and we were standing
in the street, my foot poised on his skateboard. I was wrapped from
head to toe in protective gear: helmet, elbow pads, knee pads, even
hockey gloves.

“Hockey gloves?” Ryan had asked earlier as
he scrounged around in his closet.

“It’s inevitable. I’ll fall on my hands, and
I don’t want them scraped up,” I replied. “Just give them to
me.”

Ryan handed the gloves over and kissed my
lips.

“You’re adorable, and I love you,” he
said.

My mouth dropped open in shock.

“Don’t say anything,” he said. He kissed my
lips again. “I don’t need or want you to say it back. But I wanted
to tell you because it’s what I feel. And what I know. So when
you’re ready, you tell me. But for right now, just don’t say
anything.”

I nodded, mouth still hanging open.

“And just because you’re so cute standing
there in disbelief, let me say it again: I love you, Brooklyn.”

I flung my arms around him and smacked the
side of his head with my bulky helmet.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry,” I said, and crushed my lips to his.
I could have stood there in his bedroom all afternoon kissing him,
but he wanted to teach me how to skateboard.

I hovered near his mailbox staring at the
asphalt. Suddenly it looked really frightening, especially if I
fell face forward into it.

“I’m digging this picture,” Ryan said. “I
like your foot on my board.”

I burst out laughing.

“What?” Ryan asked.

“Why does that sound dirty to me? Like
sexual?”

Ryan smirked. “Brooke, keep that little
sweet foot right on my board. My board, Brooke. Mmmm.”

And I laughed all over again.

“Seriously, though, there’s nothing to
riding a skateboard. The tricks are a different story, but all
riding requires is pushing off with your foot and then positioning
your feet on the board that’s most comfortable for you.”

“I’m afraid of falling over,” I said.

“Well, you will. But that’s what all your
pads are for,” Ryan said.

I waved to a car passing through the
neighborhood that honked at us. It wasn’t a hey-I-know-you honk. It
was a girl-you-look-hot kind of honk. I looked down at my knee
pads. Maybe they
were
a bit sexy.

Ryan walked me through the basics: pushing
off, positioning my feet, stopping by pushing down on the back of
the board. I was more than nervous. I was never good at roller
skating. I definitely couldn’t roller blade. In fact, I hated any
wheels besides car wheels underneath me. I was out on the street
with him now only because I liked him enough to get scraped up for
him.

“I’ll hold your hand at first just until you
get used to the feel of it,” Ryan said.

“You better,” I replied.

I kicked off with Ryan holding my hand and
jogging beside me. I gripped him hard, wobbling on uncertain feet
as we rolled along down the street.

“Okay, Brooke. Stop,” he said.

I shook my head. “You stop.” And I squeezed
hard on his hand.

Ryan stopped short, and I fell, the
skateboard slipping out from underneath my feet. It rolled along
lazily down the street while Ryan tended to me.

“I’m so sorry, Brooke,” he said, chuckling.
He helped me off the ground and checked for damage. I think he just
enjoyed running his hands up and down my recently shaved legs. “I
swear I didn’t do that on purpose.”

“Yeah right,” I said, swatting his hands
away.

He trapped my wrists with both hands and
held them by my sides while he rained light kisses all over the
front of my legs.

“Better?” he asked, looking up at me. The
sun was bright, forcing him to squint, and I wasn’t sure he could
see my nod.

“Let’s try again,” I said, and he went to
retrieve the skateboard.

After thirty minutes I was pushing off and
rolling slowly on my own. Always with my arms out, legs slightly
bent, body tensed to the max. I knew I’d be sore tomorrow. Learning
to turn was a disaster, and I fell forward every time I leaned into
the board. I gave up and asked if we could play a video game.

“Now when you say play a video game, what
are we talking about?” Ryan asked, helping me up off the street for
the last time.

“I mean actually play a video game. You said
you had a Wii. Can’t we play
Super Mario Brothers
or
something?” I replied, walking with him to his house.

“Not into the hardcore blood and guts
games?”

“Honestly? I’d much rather jump on mushrooms
and flying turtles.”

“They have names, you know,” Ryan said.
“You’ve got a lot to learn, Brooklyn.”

“Goombas and Koopas, thank you very much!” I
said, satisfied.

“Wow, I think I just got a hard-on,” Ryan
replied, and I smacked his arm. “I thought you didn’t play video
games. How do you know about Goombas and Koopas?”

“I used to play with Beth when we were
younger. It’s the only game I did play before you came along,” I
replied, following Ryan to his bedroom. He stopped at the threshold
and turned to face me.

“Well, I don’t know how I’ll keep my hands
off of you, Brooke. Goombas. Koopas. Skateboarding. Not to mention
killer mind and body. You’re my dream girl,” Ryan said.

I grinned. “Don’t even think about
distracting me.”

Ryan threw his hands up. “Never. We’re
playing together.”

“I’m Mario!” I shouted, going for Controller
1, and grabbing it just in time.

“You don’t have to have Controller 1 to be
Mario,” Ryan said, picking up the second controller and settling
beside me on the floor. “This isn’t the original Nintendo
system.”

“Oh.”

“But I’ll still let you be Mario. Only
because I love you, Brooke.”

And I warmed all over.

***

I read the note again, shaking and
sweating.

Some little bitch has been running her
mouth. Happen to know who she is?

That’s all it said, but it was accompanied
by horizontal scratches etched into the sides of my car by a key,
no doubt. I was pissed. Pissed and scared out of my mind. I turned
around and scanned the student parking lot. No one in sight.

I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to
take the information about the Fantasy Slut League public
immediately. I was afraid of what these boys would do next. They
were pissed because they weren’t getting any and pissed at me
because I was the reason. They told me to back off, but I wouldn’t
listen. It started with a trip on the bleachers. It quickly
escalated to a near-drowning experience in the school pool. Finally
it erupted with a keyed car. What was next? I didn’t want to find
out. I didn’t want to imagine. I wanted the story out, the boys
disciplined, and someone to pay for the fucking damage done to my
car.

“Hey, Brooklyn,” I heard from behind. I
whirled around to face Parker. Where did he come from? I had just
looked over the entire parking lot a second before.

“Did you do this?” I asked, pointing to the
scratches in my car door.

Parker whistled low. “Damn, that’s bad
news.”

“Fuck you, and stay the hell away from me,”
I spat, searching my book bag for my car keys. I felt unsafe. Why
could I never remember to pull my keys and have them in my hand
before exiting a building?

“Calm down, Brooklyn. I didn’t key your
car,” Parker said.

I didn’t believe him for a second. “Yeah?
Well, who else could it be?”

“Maybe it’s someone pissed at you for
meddling in business that’s not yours,” Parker said. He backed me
against the car. “Have you been meddling in business that’s not
yours?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking
about,” I said. I groped blindly for my keys, finally locating them
and pulling them from my bag. “Move.”

“Well, it appears you are,” Parker replied,
not moving. “I can’t even get a date.”