Echo Bridge (8 page)

“We can get proof,” said Farah. “We just don’t have it yet. He never describes forcing himself on anyone in his emails. Maybe we can get into his phone.”

“You can do that?” I stared at her, both awed and creeped out. My cell suddenly seemed very warm in my pocket, like it might burn a hole through my coat.

“In theory, yeah, but since I never have, it would take me a while to figure out. Plus, I’d have to get some higher-level encryption programs and set up IP masking to avoid getting caught. I’m set on getting a scholarship at Stanford next year, and I can’t risk intellectual property violations.” Farah closed her laptop and held it up. “But there are people who already have all that and can do this in less than an hour. I don’t know how much they charge, but we’ve got an appointment for Friday night.”

“An appointment with who?” I asked.

“A professional,” Farah said.

By Friday night, I had managed to put things right with Ted and with Molly, at least as right as they could be without telling the truth. I apologized to Ted again when he called as promised on Wednesday night, and we exchanged a few cutesy endearments on the phone. On Thursday when we parked by Echo Bridge, I swallowed my nerves and gave him a blow job. Like sex, this was something that had been a part of our relationship that I’d pulled back from after the night in the bathroom with Hugh. I was a little relieved to discover that it wasn’t any worse than it had been before. Going down wasn’t my favorite thing to do, but I liked how much Ted liked it, and that was something Hugh hadn’t taken from me.

I found Molly organizing her tennis gear in Thistleton before rehearsal. After school, the room was deserted, most students at sports practices on the fields across campus. When I said her name, she turned and put her hands on her hips. I held up my hands in surrender.

“I want to apologize if I seemed condescending the other day,” I told her. “I’ve just seen Hugh treat some girls poorly in the past, and I don’t want him to do that to you. But I get that you can look out for yourself, and I want you to know that I’m your friend, and I’m here if you ever need to talk, okay?”

“Okay,” Molly said, still wary. “Thanks. Sorry if I was bitchy, too.”

“Let me know if you ever want to run lines for
The Crucible
, okay?”

“Sure,” she said. I could tell she still didn’t trust me. I remembered how frightening Melissa’s and Hilary’s false friendliness had been when I’d first started dating Ted, when I was still an outsider.

Friday afternoon, I watched Ted’s soccer game against Middlesex with Hilary. My attention was drawn to the man in the suit with the clipboard on the sidelines more than to Ted and the boys on the field; this was the Cornell recruiter who would decide Ted’s fate. Fortunately, Belknap won, and Ted scored four times. When the game was over and Ted had led our boys in congratulating the other team, I watched the coach re-introduce Ted to the recruiter. From down the field, I could see the confidence in Ted’s posture, the way he shook his hand and ducked and laughed, probably receiving some compliment on his playing and leadership. They spoke for a few minutes, shook hands again, and Ted returned to his teammates before coming over to me with a grin and his arms open wide.

“I know it’s probably bad luck to say it, but I think Cornell’s a lock,” he said, softly enough that only I could hear and no one could accuse him of bragging. He gathered me up in his arms and swung me around. “Could that game have been any better? Did you see that fullback try to trip me? What an ass.”

“Great job, baby. Congratulations.” I squeezed my arms around his neck. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m pumped.” He kissed me, set me down, and gave a passing player a high five. “But I can’t hang out tonight—Tom’s coming down from Hanover, and we’re doing family dinner. My dad wants to take us hunting tomorrow.” Tom was Ted’s older brother, who was pre-law at Dartmouth. Mr. Parker was big on those kinds of father-son bonding activities. Ted slung an arm around my shoulders. “Give you a ride home?”

As we walked up the stone steps that led through the woods from the gym to the schoolhouse, the sun, already setting, threw golden shafts of light through the branches, bringing to mind the dreamy, creamy light in the Australian New Wave classic
Picnic at Hanging Rock
, which was created by placing a bride’s veil over the camera lens. The fall foliage had peaked, and more red and yellow leaves fell every day, like the trees were doing a slow strip tease. Friday afternoon had always been my favorite time of the week, and climbing those steps with Ted as we had so many times before, it was easy to imagine this was just another Friday.

* * *

That night, it was Lexi’s Caddie that pulled into the drive for me instead of Ted’s Rover. Dinner had been cleared, and my father was sitting at the table, reading
The New Yorker
and drinking tea while my mother loaded the dishwasher.

“Is that Ted?” my father asked at the sound of Lexi’s honk. “Why doesn’t he come in and say hello? We haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He’s been really busy with soccer and college stuff,” I said, pulling on my coat. “And actually, that’s not him. He’s doing family stuff with his dad and his brother this weekend, so I’m, uh, having a girls night.”

“Oh, that’s fun.” My mother dried her hands on a dishcloth. “Will you be at Melissa’s?”

“Actually, I’m hanging out with some different girls tonight,” I said. “But you can call me on my cell if you need to.” I waggled my phone in the air and shoved it into my purse. My parents still forgot that I had my own cell phone. When my brothers and sister were growing up, they’d had epic battles over getting extensions of our parents’ landline in their bedrooms.

“Okay, honey.” My mom turned away from the sink and looked at me for a moment. “Did you have a falling out with Melissa and Hilary?”

“No, I’m just hanging out with some new friends.” I buttoned my coat and tied the belt. “I’ll be home at twelve, okay?”

“You’d better be,” my father joked. Midnight was my curfew, and I’d never broken it. It wasn’t hard—when I wanted to stay out later, I just told my parents I was sleeping at Melissa’s, whether the party was there or not.

“Courtney,” said my mother. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Mom,” I said. “Yes. Everything is fine. And even if it weren’t, you can’t start a heart-to-heart as I’m walking out the door.” I turned on the exasperation; clearly this scene called for Angry Teenage Daughter.

“Have fun,” said my dad as I stomped out.

Over the sound of the storm door slamming, I heard my mother say, “Don’t you think she’s been a little withdrawn lately? And now new friends…” I frowned as I walked down the flagstone path to the driveway.

“What’s up?” Lexi asked as I climbed into the passenger seat. The windows were down and the car smelled like cigarettes and leaf smoke from the night air.

“Nothing. My parents were being annoying.” I’d thought my parents and I had an unspoken agreement: they wouldn’t parent too hard, and I wouldn’t give them cause for worry. I figured they’d already done all the parenting they’d planned on with my siblings. But obviously I wasn’t holding up my end of the bargain. “My mom thinks I’ve been acting weird. I mean, she’s not wrong, but I’ve been trying so hard to seem normal. Obviously it’s not working, because she just asked a whole bunch of questions about Ted and my friends and why I’m not going out with any of them tonight.”

“You wouldn’t tell her the real reason?” Lexi narrowed her eyes. She looked tough with her cigarette set in one corner of her mouth. Her honey-colored hair was tied in a long braid that hung over one shoulder, and a bracelet of narrow leather wrapped around her wrist, crossing over the snake inked into her skin.

“God, no. She’d tell my dad, and they’d call the school, the cops, and Hugh’s parents, probably. That would be a disaster.” I paused. “Why, did you tell your grandfather?”

“No. But only because I’d have to explain that I smoke pot and wasn’t a virgin to begin with. Max isn’t big on cops. Max’s parents—my great-grandparents—were murdered by Stalin’s secret police when he was a child in Russia. So he believes in vigilantism on general principal.”

“Wow,” I said. Lexi’s grandfather sounded like no adult I’d ever known. “What happened to him? After his family was killed, I mean.”

“His parents’ political allies helped him escape to Paris, and he lived there with family friends until he came here for college. Harvard, obviously. Max has very high intellectual standards.” Lexi lit a cigarette. “The neighbors asked him to join their book club once. They were reading
The Secret
. He was totally horrified.”

I laughed and lit a smoke of my own. “He sounds kind of awesome.”

“Oh, he is,” said Lexi. “I’m lucky as hell.”

We crossed over Route 2 to the part of town where the houses were smaller and there were no historical landmarks to slow the sprawl of fast food franchises. Lexi pulled up to a small apartment building, opened her phone, and sent a text. A moment later, Farah opened the front door and ran out to the car. She went for the handle on my door, but jerked her hand back when she saw me through the window and got into the backseat behind me.

“Sorry, did you want shotgun?” I asked, but Lexi was already pulling out of the lot.

“Nah, I was just on autopilot. Usually it’s just me and Lex in this car. I don’t think I’ve ever sat back here.” I glanced over my shoulder as Farah slipped off her messenger bag and dropped it in the seat next to her.

“So where are we headed?” asked Lexi.

“Just get on Route 2,” Farah said. “Once we get to Cambridge I’ll read you the directions.”

“Your mom on another date tonight?” Lexi asked Farah. I could hear the smirk in her voice.

Farah heaved an enormous sigh. “Yes,” she groaned.

“Same guy?” asked Lexi. I got the feeling she had spent a lot of Friday nights at Farah’s.

“Nope, she’s got a whole new candidate tonight.”

“Farah’s mom,” Lexi explained to me, “is an online dating connoisseur.”

“She’s a ho,” said Farah.

“Where’s your dad? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking,” I said. I wouldn’t have asked anyone else, but Farah and Lexi were so frank and sardonic with each other that I didn’t think I could offend them.

“Nah. He lives in Newton with Mrs. Zarin 2.0. On the upside, when he left, he bought me a ton of awesome computer shit. On the downside, now that he’s got a couple of replacement babies, he’s decided he only wants to pay a wee fraction of my college tuition, which sucks, because his salary still determines my financial aid. So if I don’t get a scholarship, I’m looking at UMass.”

“Amherst isn’t so bad,” I said, and Farah snorted behind me. I was afraid to say more. It was obvious to me that paying for college was a constant worry for both Lexi and Farah, and it had never even crossed my mind. My parents had paid for all my older siblings to attend the school of their choosing, and they would for me, too. For the first time, it occurred to me that this was quite a financial feat.

“So are you going to tell us who this appointment is with?” Lexi demanded, and I was grateful for the change in subject.

“This guy I know from a listserv,” said Farah.

“Oh, lord. Are you taking us to catch a predator, Farah?” Lexi laughed. “Are we on camera for
Dateline
?”

“Don’t be stupid,” snapped Farah. “I know him from a Taqwacore message board. We’ve been emailing for a year. He dropped out of MIT to work as a freelance IT security consultant for a bunch of pharmaceutical and tech companies.”

“An IT security consultant is going to help us hack Hugh’s phone?” Lexi asked skeptically. “Isn’t he supposed to make sure we
can’t
do that?”

“That’s just his day job,” said Farah, as if that explained everything. “Stop asking so many questions and drive.”

“Have you met this guy before?” I asked.

Farah exhaled loudly. “No, okay? But this isn’t like meeting some random who pokes you on Facebook. Like I said, we’ve been emailing for a year. He’s practically famous, in some circles.”

“Yeah, circle jerks,” muttered Lexi. “Don’t tell me this is all a ploy so you can meet your virtual crush, Farah.”

“Blow me, Lexi,” Farah said mildly. “He can help us. Even if he’s not up for it, he’ll find us some one who is. Trust me.”

After twenty minutes in the car, we arrived in Cambridge and turned onto Memorial Drive, which ran along the Charles River past Harvard and then MIT. I gazed out the window at the full moon shining on the Charles and wished that we were just going out like normal girls to see a band somewhere or to party at Hong Kong, a Chinese restaurant in Harvard Square that turned into a dance club after ten o’clock and was notoriously lax about fake IDs. I wished we weren’t on a mission.

Lexi performed an expert parallel parking maneuver on a narrow street just outside of Kendall Square, and we walked up to the address Farah specified: a tall apartment building with a lot of huge windows and terraces on the upper floors. A banner on the front advertised renovation and luxury living in Athenaeum Lofts.

Lexi whistled. “This is where he lives?” She dropped her head back to gaze up at the top of the building. “A lot of dark windows.”

Farah pointed to the sign. “Guess there are a lot of unoccupied lofts.”

Instead of a doorman, there was a portly man with a gray beard sitting behind a desk inside the front door, with a bank of security cameras behind him. Farah gave him an apartment number, and he lifted a phone and asked for her name.

“Mad Judy,” Farah said. Lexi and I, standing behind her, exchanged a glance, but after the security guard repeated the name into the phone, he hung up and nodded at us, pointing to an elevator bank.

Lexi barely managed to hold it together long enough for the elevator to arrive. Once the doors slid closed, she burst out laughing. “Mad Judy?”

Farah folded her arms. “It’s a Buzzcocks song,” she said. “It’s my handle. It’s the only name Mr.—this guy knows me by.”

“Wait,” I said, as Lexi kept laughing. “Does that mean you only know this guy’s screen name?”