Ialmostsmile. “Bad DJ?”
“There was a band. I left before the dancing.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her pull her knees tight to her chest. She’s probably cold. If I were wearing a hoodie, I’d offer it to her.
“Sophomore year, I started dating this guy. He was new, which never happened at my school. His dad was a hotshot lawyer who transferred to his firm’s Manhattan office. Most of the guys I knew, I’d known since kindergarten, which got boring. All the girls had crushes on him, but he only really paid attention to … me.” She drops her chin to her knees, still focused on the water.
“He asked me to a school dance—Fall Fling. After, we all went toa friend’s to raid her parents’ liquor. We ended up alone in a bedroom. I’d said—I’d told him I was ready for sex. But when it was actually going to happen, I panicked. I told him no, and he got … mad. Then super apologetic. Asked what he did wrong, how he could fix it. I left as quickly as I could, told my friends I wasn’t feeling well. I didn’t tell anyone what had happened because I was embarrassed. I thought he’d be embarrassed.
“I texted him the next morning, saying we were done. He called me. Messaged me incessantly. I blocked his number, but he used an app that kept generating different ones. He started showing up when I was out with friends. They thought I still liked him. They liked him. And he acted so normal all those times. I started wondering if I’d made it all up in my head. Or overreacted. We’d both been drinking that night.”
She sucks in a ragged breath.
At some point while she was talking, my fingers curled into fists. I don’t remember it happening. But the tendons in my hands are protesting, pulled taut and tight for too long. I ignore them. There’s more. I know it, even before Wren continues.
“That spring, I stayed late after tennis practice. I had a big match the next week—I remember I was trying to adjust my backhand. He must have been watching me. He followed me into the locker room when I finished practicing and tried to … force me. Said I owed it to him and … other stuff.”
I barely hear her shaky inhale over the sound of blood roaring in my ears.
“A janitor heard me screaming. My parents came to the school. So did his. My dad—I’d never seen him like that. He was going to sue. Call the police. Press charges. And I … I wanted to pretend it’d never happened. Not deal with two years of whispers and gossip and speculation and be the girl who got assaulted for the rest of high school. His dad was an attorney. They would have fought it. Dug up all the messages I’d sent him. Everyone knew we’d dated, had seen me flirting with him.
“He got expelled. His parents said they’d send him to a private treatment facility, get him help. They disappeared overnight, no explanation, and I acted like I had no idea why Third had stopped showing up to school. And then, earlier tonight, I overheard some of the guys saying they’d been talking to him recently. Over video games, I guess, or maybe on social media. And I … I froze. I thought I’d fixed?—”
I pull a hand out of the sand. Slowly so I don’t startle her, but quickly enough that I can capture her chin and turn it toward me, giving her no choice except to meet my gaze. “There’s nothing tofix, Wren.”
“There is,” she whispers. “I’m—I was never good at intimacy, I guess, but now I’m really fucked up.”
“It was him, Wren. You did nothing wrong. None of it’s your fault.”
“What if he hurts someone else?”
“That will also behisfault.”
“But if I’d pressed charges?—”
“As a minor, if he’d been convicted, how much time would he have served? Assuming he had no prior record.”
Her mouth twists. “I don’t know. Probably not much. He didn’t … there wasn’t any physical evidence. Just my word against his.”
I exhale, trying to release the rage in my body at the same time. It doesn’t accomplish much.
Wren sighs, too, running a hand through hair that’s tangled in the wind.
“How’d you get here?” I ask. There weren’t any other cars when I parked.
“Cab.”Her hand falls back to the sand. Her fingers are painted the exact same shade of pink as her prom dress. It’s such a smallWrendetail. “You don’t—I didn’t know you’d be here. I didn’t come here for you to, like, comfort me. I just needed … this was the first place I thought of to get away from everything.”
“How long have you been here?”
“What time is it?”
I check my phone. “After midnight.”
“About an hour.” She sighs. “I’ll go to a hotel. I was supposed to spend the night at a friend’s—at Gia’s. My parents aren’t expecting me back until tomorrow afternoon. If I come back early, they’ll ask questions.”
“Doesn’t your family have a house here?”
She shakes her head. “My aunt and uncle do. I doubt anyone has been there since … since New Year’s. Who knows what the alarm code is now.”
