I glance at the parking lot, where the losers and stoners slink off at lunchtime, then turn back to Junie. “The library sounds good to me.”
* * *
“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.” We’re sitting at one of the five round tables set up in between the stacks of books, and Junie can’t stop talking. “I mean, I’m not saying I don’t believe it, of course I do believe it, I just can’t believe it—you know what I mean?”
I shrug, wondering why my best friend seems so nervous. It’s not as though she’s the one accused of anything. Or the one doing the accusing. But Junie can be kind of intense—her parents raised her to care about everything, to try to see every side of every story. That must get overwhelming from time to time.
Especially at times like this.
Junie shifts in her seat, twisting a lock of her short dark hair around one finger, then dropping it to chew on her nails. Unlike me, Junie looks like she always has a tan, thanks to the rich complexion she inherited from her mom. Plus, she got green eyes from her dad’s side of the family, and they’re so light they make her skin look even darker. Also unlike me, Junie’s wearing long sleeves that come down to her wrists and boots with her jeans. Junie’s one of those girls who’s so pretty, she doesn’t need to show any skin or wear makeup or put product in her hair to get people to look at her. People will always look at her.
“Where were you yesterday?” she asks finally. “I didn’t see you.”
“I ate lunch in here,” I explain. “I sort of just stayed after the bell rang.”
“Right.” Junie nods absently. “It was crazy out there.” She gestures vaguely to the hallway beyond the library entrance.
“What are people saying?” I know they’re saying more than asking how everyone involved is doing, even if that’s all they’ve been saying to me so far. I wonder how long until they start saying those other things to me.
Junie goes back to toying with her hair, trying to look nonchalant. (We’ve been best friends ever since her family moved here halfway through sixth grade—I know when she’s lying.) “Oh, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. That’s why I asked.” Sometimes I wonder if Junie and I aren’t really well-suited as best friends. Maybe the choices you made in sixth grade should expire before junior year.
“I mean, I think people believe it—’cause like, the evidence is hard to ignore.” Junie points at her own face, as though she’s the one with the bruised eye. “I think it’s hard because everyone’s always loved Mike.”
“Right.”
“Right!” Junie echoes enthusiastically. She starts chewing at her thumb again, her eyes darting around like she’s worried someone might be watching us.
Finally, she says, “I heard the track coach said that this could ruin his chances for that college scholarship.”
I know how much that scholarship means to Mike. Mike’s told me that his parents are stretched pretty thin. His little brother, Ryan, goes to a private school too—not here at North Bay, but to another school that caters to children with special needs, because Ryan was born with a learning disability. I got the idea that Ryan’s school is even more expensive than North Bay.
And college is even more expensive than that. So the scholarship would be a big help. Plus, I think he just wants to win it.
“Why? It’s not like any of this is going to affect his ability to run fast.”
“Apparently there’s, like, a morality clause to the scholarship that he’d be in violation of if it turns out he really did it.”
“What do you mean if he really did it? You said people believe it. The evidence and all that.” I point at my face like Junie pointed at hers.
“Yeah, but maybe it was an accident. Or just, you know, a misunderstanding?” Quickly, Junie adds, “I mean, that’s what some people are saying.” Junie always says I mean a lot, but I think she’s saying it even more than usual today. “Some people are saying the opposite.”
I wonder what the opposite is, but I don’t ask.
Junie continues, “I heard some girls are planning a rally to call for his expulsion.”
“A rally?”
Junie shrugs. “Yeah. You know, a protest. Some kind of demonstration.”
“Will you go?”
“Will you?”
The truth is, I never actually considered that Mike could get expelled. I’ve only ever heard of one student being expelled from North Bay Academy, and that was for plagiarizing a paper.
I don’t think I’ve heard of any student getting expelled for this from any high school. Because I don’t think I’ve ever heard of this happening. I’ve read about sexual assault accusations at other schools, and of course, I believe that boys who commit sexual assault should be expelled. But Mike isn’t accused of that.
“If he gets expelled, then he definitely wouldn’t be eligible for the scholarship anymore,” I say finally.
Mike must be freaking out about losing the scholarship, must be wondering how his girlfriend—the person who’s supposed to love him the most—could jeopardize his future. Even if he did hurt her—bruises heal, but college debt can last a lifetime. I should know; I’m already looking into student loans even with college still a couple years away. I’m on scholarship here at North Bay, for academic excellence. I have to keep my grades up and even though no one ever said so, I think I’m also supposed to be generally well-liked, well-behaved. I try not to forget that I’m here out of the goodness of the administration’s hearts.
“True.” Junie nods. “But I’m not sure that students can call for expulsion. Even with a protest it’s not, you know…” Junie pauses like she’s searching for the right word. Finally she says, “It’s not definite he’ll get expelled. The school doesn’t have a policy for something like this.”
Junie looks like she’s waiting for me to say something, but I don’t know what to say. That I’m happy it’s not definite? That I wish it were?
“What do you think will happen?” she asks finally.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
Suddenly, I feel very, very tired.
This all would be so much easier if everyone involved had just kept quiet.
Plenty of women never tell. They don’t come forward and say their boyfriends are hitting them. They find thicker cover-up and better cover stories. They opened a cabinet and a mug fell on their faces. They walked into a doorknob in the middle of the night. Sure, it’s completely implausible—why would anyone be eye level with a doorknob?—but that’s what women in the movies say. They cover for the men in their lives, at least at first. Eventually the woman stands up for herself and says: Enough.