Stories were powerful things. She had been telling stories all her life. Supposedly she had been reporting facts. But facts on their own had no value. Facts happened. But truth meant something. And in the end, it came down to whoever could tell the best—or the loudest—story.
Noah Landry had a story. But Rachel had one, too, and so did Lucy.
In the half second that she was alone, she reached into the box labeled with Nina Faraday’s name, removed the evidence binder, and slipped it under her coat.
Ten
We
The weeks of the school’s investigation into the party at Ryan Hawthorne’s house was, we imagined, a little like living under occupied rule. Nebulously we understood that the Investigative Committee was related to the sheriff’s ongoing investigation but independent. But to us the committee was everything—imbued with authority we didn’t understand, empowered to interrogate, to interrupt, to demand evidence, to disrupt our class schedules. An external investigator was appointed by the school board, a man named Jerry Marbles who had once played quarterback for our football team. We sensed an Administrative gambit in the selection of a former football player; the football team had long been the neglected little cousin of the swim team and, back in the early 2000s, had even been forced to cede its mascot to Sean the Shark. The message was clear. Jerry Marbles would be neutral, a fair evaluator. He would have no special affinity for the swimmers.
Mrs. Steeler-Cox was the only woman appointed.
The Investigative Committee convened daily for two weeks in the media room just off the SLD Tutoring Center. Even when we saw no proof of their activity, we could feel their foreign influence. It was in the muted quiet of the halls between classes as we shuffled fearfully past one another under the watchful stares of the hallway monitors, whomwe were sure had gone turncoat. It was in the uneasy sensation of being watched and the paranoia that made us spin around in empty hallways and clam up in crowded ones. It was in closed doors and open ones. It was in Principal Hammill’s disapproving squint and the fact that Ceecee in the front office no longer had a candy bowl on her desk or smiled and called out when we passed by Administration.
It was in the seat, mounded with jackets and backpacks, that Lucy Vale had once occupied at the Strut Girls’ lunch table. It was in the way the Strut Girls closed ranks, moving in a tight huddle, often gripping hands as if they were facing an invisible menace. It was in Lucy’s locker, now defaced with graffiti.
Periodically, turning the corner to grab a soda from the cafeteria or a book from our locker, we were startled by a vision of a sheriff’s deputy lingering outside the front office, or of Ryan Hawthorne somberly pulling on his winter jacket as if layering up for an outdoor funeral. We came to dread the announcements that spiked our days with adrenal shots of anxiety.Savannah Savage, please report to the front office. Jeremiah Greene, please report to the vice principal. Nick Topornycky, please come to the front office after your next class.The sound of the intercom cracking to life puddled our stomachs with dread. We grew to despise the sound of reverb.
Bailey Lawrence was called to give her account. Lucy was upset, she said, because some old photos of her had spread around the school. She and Noah had been fighting about it. It was one of the reasons they’d broken up. It was Lucy’s idea to go to Ryan’s party. Lucy was embarrassed and angry.
She wasn’t going to just stay home and cry about it.
Savannah Savage reported that the morning after the party, Lucy Vale had seemed confused about what had happened the night before. Uncertain. She’d said shethoughtshe and Noah had done things in front of Ryan Hawthorne and JJ Hammill. Shethoughtthat she’d been raped. Maybe.
Noah Landry said Lucy had called him three times in a row from the party. He was worried about how drunk she’d sounded. His friends had texted him to come get her.
Lucy Vale had wanted to get back together, he said. It was her idea to hook up that night. It was her idea to go all the way.
He denied that JJ Hammill or Ryan Hawthorne had been in the room.
Ryan Hawthorne and JJ Hammill denied that there was a video.
Still, they were all suspended from competition until further notice.
The news was as good as nuclear. It exploded our lives right before championship season. Our hopes of another state trophy vanished in a mushroom cloud of Administrative interference.
Right away we spoke of protests, of organizing a picket line, a sit-in, or possibly a hunger strike. We wondered if the Investigative Committee had violated any fundamental rights. We dangled the possibility of suing.
@stopandfriske:this is bullshit
@stopandfriske:what happened to innocent until proven guilty?
@spinn_doctor:the woke mob
@lululemonaide:do you have to make everything political?
@lululemonaide:this is about money
@lululemonaide:admin is just afraid of losing booster money
@spinn_doctor:you think money isn’t political?
We tried to distract ourselves, but it was no use. During January, the gravitational pull of Lucy versus the swim team was so heavy, it warped every conversational thread, every piece of gossip, somehow back to the same place.
@stopandfriske:have you guys talked to Hannah Smith?
@badprincess:which Hannah Smith?
