Nets and Lies (9 page)

I stared at Mom in disbelief. I never imagined her throwing me under the bus in the first two seconds, but she had. Maybe even a small part of me hoped she would say the words—that she would utter the lie that had to be spoken. But she didn’t.

Dr. Micheltree looked expectantly at me. “Yes, Jordan?”

This was it—the big moment. The invisible line drawn in the sand that I had to cross. I swallowed nervously before I finally found my voice. “I was raped.”

Dr. Micheltree’s eyebrows shot up and disappeared into her forehead. “Here on campus?”

I nodded.

She stared at me in shock. “I’m so sorry, Jordan. When did it happen?”

“Last night.”

“And where was it?”

“The gym.”

I held my breath, waiting for her to ask the one question she seemed to have forgotten. She knew when and where, but she seemed unconcerned with who it was. I mean, wouldn’t you think it would be the most important question? It sure as hell would be to me. But the truth was, she was more concerned with her precious school’s appearance—like who could get their ass in a sling because they weren’t properly supervising students.

Her brows furrowed together, and she finally asked, “Do you know who it was?”

“Yes.”

“Who?” she prompted.

I glanced over at Mom. She bobbed her head in encouragement. I looked back at Dr. Micheltree. “It was Coach Thompson.”

I expected a range of reactions from her—shock, disbelief, horror, outrage…anything but what she said was certainly not one of them. “You must be mistaken.”

The wind left my body in one long whoosh. “Excuse me?” I croaked.

She avoided my gaze by staring down at her lap. “I said, you must be mistaken. Mark Thompson is one of the finest teachers we have here at Newton. His reputation is impeccable.”

Before I could argue with her, Mom leaned forward in her chair. “Just what are you trying to say?”

Dr. Micheltree clasped her hands together. “I feel that perhaps your daughter is mistaken.”

Mom’s face reddened. “You think she’s mistaken about being raped? And just how does one go about being mistaken about something like that?”

“I just feel she needs to be careful who she is accusing.”

Anger washed over me. I heard Coach T’s voice in my ear.
“Go ahead and go to the office. They won’t believe you….”

“You think I’m lying, don’t you?” I demanded.

Dr. Micheltree refused to answer. “One second please. I want to call Mr. Sands in here. He’s an Assistant Principal as well as our athletic director.”

“I’m not lying!” I shouted.

She held her hand up to silence me. “Just a moment, Jordan.”

Within a few seconds, I heard Mr. Sands name being paged over the intercom. He must’ve been close by because he appeared in the doorway just a few minutes later.

He didn’t seem too surprised to see me. After all, wasn’t I the badass with a reputation and record? “Hello Jordan,” he said, pleasantly.

“Hi,” I grumbled. I’d gotten to know Mr. Sands fairly well in the four years I’d been at Newton. He was my administrator so whenever I got written up for doing something, I had to go to him for my punishment. In all those years and through all the shit I’d done, we’d had plenty of opportunities to strengthen our relationship.

He walked over to have a seat next to Dr. Micheltree’s desk. “Just what seems to be the problem?”

“Jordan wants to make a rape claim against Mark Thompson.”

The color drained from Mr. Sands’ face. “Excuse me?”

I nodded. “He raped me Monday night in his office.”

Mr. Sands gave me a sad look. “Jordan, do you know what you’re saying?”

“Yes, I do!” I snapped. Their doubt in my credibility was seriously pissing me off. Regardless of what Coach T had threatened, I never imagined
I
would be questioned. I thought it would all be him. “Why would I lie about something like this?”

Mr. Sands glanced over at Dr. Micheltree, and she gave a short nod of her head. “Jordan,” he began, “you do understand the seriousness of the accusation you are making. Whether guilty or not, educators never recover their reputations after something like this happens.” He paused and drew in a deep breath. “I know that teachers can sometimes be unfair and make students angry. Sometimes they can get so angry over an F on a paper or a snide remark they decide they want to make a teacher pay. This isn’t what this is about, is it?”

I smirked at him and fought the urge to shout,
“This isn’t about some stupid F or a smart ass remark! It’s about him screwing me for three months and then dumping me for no apparent reason!”

But I didn’t. I merely shook my head from side to side. “No, Mr. Sands, this isn’t about revenge. I was raped.”

He leaned forward in his chair. “Jordan, I’ve known you for the last four years. In that time period, you’ve managed to stay in trouble fairly consistently.”

I snorted. “So?”

“Just try to hear me out, okay? I mean, here we’ve got you, a student who has been known to cheat on tests and lie about her whereabouts when skipping class. Then we’ve got a coach like Mark Thompson. He’s been teaching for fifteen years without blemish or complaint. Never has a girl come forward in all those years with such an accusation.” He shook his head. “Who would you believe?”

Once again Coach T’s words echoed through my mind. I clenched my teeth and growled, “I was raped!”

Mom sighed in exasperation. “JoJo, give the doubters your evidence. Maybe then they’ll eat their words.”

Dr. Micheltree and Mr. Sands both stared expectantly at me. I suppose they were waiting for me to whip out a soiled pair of panties or something with conclusive DNA evidence.

“Coach T has a scar on his right hip. It runs from his pelvis down to his inner groin.”

The room grew eerily silent. It felt like all the air had been sucked out. Dr. Micheltree leaned back in her chair, unable to speak. Mr. Sands stared down at the floor. Neither one of them would look at me. They both acted like I was some diseased element on their picture- perfect campus.

It pissed me off.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, Jordan. We heard you,” Dr. Micheltree said softly. When she looked up at me, hurt pooled in her eyes. But it wasn’t hurt for me. I could read it so easily I almost bolted from my seat to slap her.

It was all for Coach T.

Since they didn’t have any sympathy for me, I decided to give them something I’d even held back from Mom—something that would really make them hate Coach T. “He did it to Melanie Reeves too! I found her panties in his office futon!”

Everyone’s heads swiveled to stare at me. Even Mom’s expression changed to horror, but I think it was because she was afraid I had just overplayed my hand. When she recovered, she cleared her throat. “So, now that you see the truth, what are you going to do about it?”

Dr. Micheltree exchanged a glance with Mr. Sands. “We’ve never had an accusation of this kind here at Newton. It’s unprecedented.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “That’s all well and good, but I want to know what you’re going to do to the son of a bitch?”

“There’s protocol already in order, Ms. Bradford, of what we are to do. We must call the Sheriff’s department. Jordan will have to be interviewed and then—”

I sat up in my chair. “What happens to Coach T while all this is going on?”

“Until formal charges are brought against him, he’ll continue working at the school.”

I gasped, and Mom grabbed my hand. “You mean to tell me he can commit rape and walk the halls a free man?” she asked.

Dr. Micheletree nodded. “Only until formal charges are filed. I’m sure the Sheriff’s Department will expedite the situation.”

“Well then, I suppose we need to get to the Sheriff’s Department right now then?” Mom asked, picking up her purse.

“I suppose so.”

Mom motioned for me to stand up. Dr. Micheltree and Mr. Sands didn’t look pleased we were leaving. I figured the sooner we went to the authorities, the sooner their perfect school was wrecked.

We’d almost reached the door when Dr. Micheltree cleared her throat. “Ms. Bradford,” she began. Mom and I turned back to look at her. “I do hope we can keep this as quiet and as uncomplicated as possible.”

I cringed as Mom shuddered by my side. I braced myself for what she was about to say. She flashed Dr. Micheltree a winning smile. “Of course. I’ll be happy to keep it as uncomplicated as coaches who can’t keep their dicks in their pants!”

And with that, she slammed the office door behind us.

I didn’t sleep at all on Monday night. After I woke up a little after two to find Will gone, I couldn’t go back to sleep. For the rest of the night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Both an emotional and physical ache rippled through my body. And even though I wanted to sob with despair, I couldn’t cry. I was eerily calm while over and over like a movie on repeat, I relived what had happened in Coach T’s office.

At six-thirty, Mom came bustling in to wake me. “How are you feeling, honey?” she asked, sporting her pink flowered robe.

“I’m okay,” I lied. It was pretty sad how good I was becoming at bending the truth. The Old Melanie was literally disgusted by it. But lying not only preserved my sanity, but it insured my survival. And no matter what, I had to survive.

“Were you able to sleep last night?”

I shook my head. “I think I’ll stay at home and take it easy today.”

The truth was I just couldn’t face Coach T yet. Not only would I run the chance of seeing him during school, but I would definitely have to see him at practice. The thoughts of walking past his office to get to the locker room caused my stomach to lurch and churn.

“That’s probably best. I’ll go bring you some breakfast before I leave for work.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She kissed the top of my head before heading on to wake my younger brother, Luke.

When Mom came back an hour later, she brought me breakfast and some Advil. As she started to leave, she turned back to me with a smile. “Now try to get some rest today. And don’t you worry a thing about basketball. I just got off the phone with Coach T, and he told me to tell you not to come in to practice.”

The Advil lodged in my throat. I gulped down the water before I looked at Mom. “Y-You talked to him?” I couldn’t bring myself to speak his name.

She nodded as she absentmindedly smoothed my rumpled sheets. “I didn’t want you to get in any trouble for missing practice. You know how ridiculous he can be about that.”

“Yeah.” Coach T often joked that the only reason to miss practice was for a death in the family—and that was your own.

Mom smiled. “I think he feels just awful about what happened.”

My chest heaved, and I fought to find my voice. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I think he feels he’s to blame—you know for asking you to go get that silly pump. I assured him it could’ve happened to anyone and not to blame himself.” She glanced up at me. “Melly, you look so pale! If you’re not better this afternoon, you’re going to the emergency room, young lady. No ifs, ands, or buts!”

My mouth had gone dry. “Okay, Mom.”