my “don’t fuck with me” boots.
“How do you know him?” She stands there, wet and shivering.
“Willa, you scared the shit out of me.”
Willa locks the door. She holds the WANTED poster in her hands. “I said, how do you know him?”
She’s a little wobbly and looks scared. The bruises on her neck stand out under the fluorescent lights, and all of a sudden I feel like hugging her.
“I don’t know him. I was playing around on the poster.It was stupid of me. I’m into art, it’s what I do—draw.”
She walks toward me—her eyes wild, pupils dilated. “So you don’t know him. You’ve never seen him?”
“Does that look like him? The guy who raped you? Did you see him here tonight, in the stands?”
“How the hell would I know?” I smell her breath. The sweet, familiar odor wafts my way and fills my pierced nostrils. She turns, looks into the mirror, and straightens her crown. “I don’t remember anything from that night.” Willa takes makeup out of her bag and touches up the bruises on her neck.
“Does it still hurt? Your neck?”
“What do you think?”
A little blood trickles out of her nose and lands on an embroidered daisy on her dress.
“Um, your nose. It’s… I think it’s bleeding.”
Willa dabs the blood with the corner of a wet paper towel and glares at me through the mirror.
We couldn’t be less similar, Willa and me. My dark, ethnic look; her fair, all-American look. And yet, at that moment, standing side by side, looking at each other through the mirror, we are one and the same.
And then I see it—like a little light clicking on in her head. She knows I know, and I know that she knows I know.
“I can try and help you, Willa. I can, if you want.”
“What are you talking about?
You
help
me
?”
I hear Eva Marie and Sarah in the hallway. “Willa? Willa? Are you okay? You in there?” they yell, pounding on the door.
I jot my cell phone number on the flyer and hand it back to her. “I’m here if you need me.”
Willa looks down at my number, folds the flyer, and slips it into her purse. She unlocks the door, and the girls fall into the room. They stop when they see me and make a face like they smell something bad.
“Are you okay?” Sarah hugs Willa. “We couldn’t find you. We were so worried.”
“I’m fine—let’s get our pictures taken.”
The door slams in my face.
My windshield wipers work hard while I drive home, and the wind whistles, bending saplings alongside the road in half. I sit a little forward in my seat, slow down, and concentrate on the wet, slick road ahead of me.
Jesus, what a night,
I think to myself.
Willa was tweaked, no question. And the face on the poster, with the shading I did, the cleft I drew… it must look like him. Why doesn’t she want anyone to know that she remembers him?
A light floods my rearview mirror, shining bright in my eyes.
What the…?
I adjust the mirror and see a car behind me. The lights barrel toward me, pulling up close.
“Shit,” I say out loud. “What’s their hurry?”
I speed up, thinking I’m driving too slowly. But the car speeds up with me and is now tailgating me—dangerously close.
My street is coming up ahead, on the right. I wait until the last second, without turning my blinker on, and pull the steering wheel hard to the right. My tires screech and fishtail as they follow my order. The car behind me turns and screeches along with me, speeding up, getting even closer. The bright lights shine and flicker in my eyes.
“OH MY GOD! It’s going to hit me!”
I abruptly turn left, careening into my driveway. I slam on my brakes with both feet, and the menacing car speeds off into the darkness.
Holy shit.
I try to collect my breath.
My cell rings in my purse. My heart won’t stop racing.
I take a deep breath and answer. “Hello.” The phone wobbles in my shaky hands.
A slurred voice. “Monday, before school at seven. The antique barn on Lilac Lane. Meet me—”
“Willa?
“How do you know him?” She stands there, wet and shivering.
“Willa, you scared the shit out of me.”
Willa locks the door. She holds the WANTED poster in her hands. “I said, how do you know him?”
She’s a little wobbly and looks scared. The bruises on her neck stand out under the fluorescent lights, and all of a sudden I feel like hugging her.
“I don’t know him. I was playing around on the poster.It was stupid of me. I’m into art, it’s what I do—draw.”
She walks toward me—her eyes wild, pupils dilated. “So you don’t know him. You’ve never seen him?”
“Does that look like him? The guy who raped you? Did you see him here tonight, in the stands?”
“How the hell would I know?” I smell her breath. The sweet, familiar odor wafts my way and fills my pierced nostrils. She turns, looks into the mirror, and straightens her crown. “I don’t remember anything from that night.” Willa takes makeup out of her bag and touches up the bruises on her neck.
“Does it still hurt? Your neck?”
“What do you think?”
A little blood trickles out of her nose and lands on an embroidered daisy on her dress.
“Um, your nose. It’s… I think it’s bleeding.”
Willa dabs the blood with the corner of a wet paper towel and glares at me through the mirror.
We couldn’t be less similar, Willa and me. My dark, ethnic look; her fair, all-American look. And yet, at that moment, standing side by side, looking at each other through the mirror, we are one and the same.
And then I see it—like a little light clicking on in her head. She knows I know, and I know that she knows I know.
“I can try and help you, Willa. I can, if you want.”
“What are you talking about?
You
help
me
?”
I hear Eva Marie and Sarah in the hallway. “Willa? Willa? Are you okay? You in there?” they yell, pounding on the door.
I jot my cell phone number on the flyer and hand it back to her. “I’m here if you need me.”
Willa looks down at my number, folds the flyer, and slips it into her purse. She unlocks the door, and the girls fall into the room. They stop when they see me and make a face like they smell something bad.
“Are you okay?” Sarah hugs Willa. “We couldn’t find you. We were so worried.”
“I’m fine—let’s get our pictures taken.”
The door slams in my face.
My windshield wipers work hard while I drive home, and the wind whistles, bending saplings alongside the road in half. I sit a little forward in my seat, slow down, and concentrate on the wet, slick road ahead of me.
Jesus, what a night,
I think to myself.
Willa was tweaked, no question. And the face on the poster, with the shading I did, the cleft I drew… it must look like him. Why doesn’t she want anyone to know that she remembers him?
A light floods my rearview mirror, shining bright in my eyes.
What the…?
I adjust the mirror and see a car behind me. The lights barrel toward me, pulling up close.
“Shit,” I say out loud. “What’s their hurry?”
I speed up, thinking I’m driving too slowly. But the car speeds up with me and is now tailgating me—dangerously close.
My street is coming up ahead, on the right. I wait until the last second, without turning my blinker on, and pull the steering wheel hard to the right. My tires screech and fishtail as they follow my order. The car behind me turns and screeches along with me, speeding up, getting even closer. The bright lights shine and flicker in my eyes.
“OH MY GOD! It’s going to hit me!”
I abruptly turn left, careening into my driveway. I slam on my brakes with both feet, and the menacing car speeds off into the darkness.
Holy shit.
I try to collect my breath.
My cell rings in my purse. My heart won’t stop racing.
I take a deep breath and answer. “Hello.” The phone wobbles in my shaky hands.
A slurred voice. “Monday, before school at seven. The antique barn on Lilac Lane. Meet me—”
“Willa?
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