Unspoken(21)
“How do you know how she feels?” Grace tipped her head to the side.
“Because I ran into her as she was leaving and she looked like someone took out her insides, stomped the shit out of them, and tried to make her eat them.” What little patience I had was quickly eroding.
Noah sighed and leaned forward, speaking softly, “Some lacrosse guy grabbed her by the arm, called her a cunt, and implied she had a venereal disease.”
Noah clamped a fist around my arm as I half rose out of my seat to go and annihilate the entire table. I resisted for a moment.
“Think, man,” Noah said, pressing down. “Do you want to make this worse for her? For once in your life, use your head before you follow your gut. You destroying that table of jerkwads will only provide fuel for whatever rumors are going to spill out tonight. It’ll make it harder for her to forget about what happened.”
“I think Noah broke the table trying to prevent himself from adding to the scene.” Grace pointed to the edge of the table where the black plastic edging was crumpled and separated from the side of the wood.
I bit my tongue hard until the pain overrode the desire to go turn someone into a pretzel. Nodding at Noah to let him know that I’d gotten it under control, I asked, “The entire room heard this?”
Noah nodded and let me go. “Affirmative.”
I turned to Grace. “What do you know of this?”
She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know much. AnnMarie rushed our freshman year, but I don’t think she joined a sorority. She lived in a different hall than I did. About two months into our freshman year, rumors started that she had a thing for lacrosse players. She dropped out of campus activities and moved off campus with her friend Ellie after Christmas break. You never see either of them anymore. I think her showing up at the café surprised everyone. She always seemed nice.”
“She is nice. Niceness doesn’t change depending on how many people you sleep with. Assholes are assholes regardless of the number of their sexual partners,” I said sarcastically. Noah shot me a warning glare but I ignored it. “Take, for example, our lacrosse table. They only talk shit like that because they’re a club sport. They don’t get the recognition they think they deserve, so they bray like jackasses in hopes that people will look their way. Guys who’re getting it regular never act like that.”
Grace looked surprised, as if this had never occurred to her, but Noah just grunted an agreement. “Act like you’ve been here before and that you’ll be there again.”
Grace smiled at Noah like he’d said the most amazing thing. “Homer?” she asked him.
“No, Barry Sanders,” I said.
“Barry who?” She looked at me with some confusion.
“Running back. Detroit Lions. The quote is from him.” I rubbed a hand down my face. “Noah, let’s take the guy out back and beat the shit out of him. You know you want to.”
“Don’t tempt me. You know I can’t do that.” Which was his unspoken way of saying he’d hold the towel while I pummeled the guy. I just had to arrange it.
“So basically this one douche bag and his friends have driven AM off campus into some kind of self-imposed exile?” I concluded.
“I don’t think it’s so much self-imposed,” Grace said with a shudder. “I wouldn’t want to face that kind of confrontation.”
Why didn’t you do anything, then? I wanted to ask but I knew that question would only cause friction between Noah and me. Noah thought Grace was perfect and wouldn’t tolerate anyone questioning her behavior. I looked at her hard, though, and hoped she read the message.
I stood to leave, but Noah stopped me. “You can’t save everyone.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said and threw off his hand. I didn’t want to save everyone. I wanted to save AnnMarie. I wanted to save myself. Somehow it seemed the same thing at that moment and surely that wasn’t asking for too much.
Chapter Seven
AM
ELLIE LOOKED AT ME AS if I were a recently cracked windshield, just waiting for me to collapse into a million broken pieces. But I’d survived Central campus and its rumor mill for months. I was still standing even if I was still shaking from the encounter with Clay.
“I wish I could come up with better insults on the fly,” I complained. My heart was bruised, and I was pissed off that I shook like a frightened kitten facing a bathtub filled with water. I’m not sure if it was his size or just the confrontation, but I never felt like I got the better of Clay. “You’d think that I would’ve rehearsed one. All I can think of is ‘You’re an asshole.’”