His excuses are as bad as Chelsea’s roundabout accusations. Now I’m so warm that a trickle of sweat glides down my back.
“I was drunk,” I mumble.
“Oh my God. You didn’t tell me you got drunk!” Chelsea pushes up from the ground. “Is that why you been out of it today? Do we need to go to health services? If you were drunk, that means you can’t remember if he did something. Come on.”
“Wha—no.” I swing my head between her and Bryson.
His face changes too, like he’s realizing the seriousness of what could’ve happened.
“I’m serious, Lourdes. Why’d you say he wasn’t there?”
We’ve been best friends for ten years and I’ve never seen her as serious as she is now. It’s in her wide brown eyes.
Bryson reaches out, tugging at my t-shirt. “Did he touch you?”
I scoff. “Are you serious right now? Are you changing your tune because of Chelsea?”
“I’m dead serious. You need to tell us if he did something to you.”
“Or how aboutyoutell me if your teammates did something to me since we’re so concerned about who touched who?” I pull my t-shirt out of his grip. “As a matter of fact, maybe there’s something you need to tell me because they sure had their hands all over me without me asking for them. I don’t remember a lot, but Idoremember that. I guess y’all were hoping I didn’t. I guess that’s the reason for all the alcohol you kept pouring down my throat.”
There’s a mixture of expressions his face twists into—shock, confusion, and then his eyebrows crawl together. “Are you trying to accuse me of something?”
“Did you tell them something about me, Bryson?” I ask, fighting off the prickly sensation of their sweaty fingertips crawling across my waist.
He doesn’t have to say it. I feel the truth in the air’s stillness between us. I can imagine all the words he said to them he won’t say to me.
“Don’t make something out of nothing and don’t flip the script. You got drunk and left with dude. Own your shit, Lourdes.”
“Get back.” Chelsea pushes her arm out toward him. “You ain’t say she was drunk. He could’ve did anything to her.”
“He didn’t! They’re the ones that were touching me. I—I was drunk and scared because I was alone, so I texted Ace because I knew he was going to be out with Brandy.”
I gulp down the rest like how those unintelligible tweets he made me log in and delete after breakfast Sunday morning were for him, howIwas for him, and how dead ass serious I took the promises I made to him even if I wasn’t brave enough to tell anyone else about them.
“They were over on the Southwest side, so he scooped me up.”
Bryson nods, biting into his lip while Chelsea takes my hand.
She still doesn’t trust my reassuring lies. Never mind that the real vultures had already tainted my curiosity about college parties. She should’ve been thanking Ace and his control-freak ways, but I forgot how weird shit was on Earth.
“You could’ve called anybody, Lourdes. Me, Lucy, Marcus.” She bobs her head. “Why theheckyou didn’t call Marcus to come get you? I would’ve rather you called anybody but that boy. If Marcus finds out you let him pick you up, he’ll—”
“He’ll what?” I snatch my hand.
“He’ll go ballistic!”
“Would he really?” I push my eyebrows up.
“Of course he would! He would’ve came and picked you up. You know tha—”
“Yeah,would’ve—like in the past. I don’t think you get that shit isn’t like it used to be.”
Only one person did.
Neither of them understand how five years could change a situation, a family, a person. Marcus couldn’t even make it through our front door most days. I don’t think Dr. Evanston’s fancy medical terms could explain how Mama’s diagnosis made her only son switch up or how college warped my friend’s brains into selfish cesspools.
I snatch my hand out of Chelsea’s and grab my backpack from the blanket. “I’m gonna be late for class. I’ll talk to y’all later.”
