“Is Darcy okay?” asks Mr. Hathaway, lifting a foot covered by a paint-smattered Birkenstock as he crosses his legs.
“I know she’s getting the help she needs,” he responds. “Her parents are adamant they want her to finish the semester. She’ll be returning to class next week. As a school, we need to try and eliminate chatter by then.”
“I think we should speak with some of our female students—” Marge begins, but she’s interrupted by Bowles.
“We’re not drawing attention to the matter,” he says, raising his hand to stop Marge from speaking. It’ll take more than a hand to silence her, though.
“I’m not suggesting that,” she says, slowing her pace and staring directly at Bowles. “But if you want chatter to quiet down before she returns, I think we should at least address the incident. We could speak to students about safety measures and how to prevent future assaults.”
“No one is using the word assault,” Bowles says, this time with a sterner voice. “Darcy hasn’t even used that word. We don’t need to start throwing terms around.” Clearly Bowles doesn’t want to explore the various implications of the word assault.
“Do we know who is responsible for the attack?” I ask.
“No,” Bowles says, looking down. “We aren’t even certain there was an attack. Now Darcy claims she hurt her leg in a fall. Police are looking into what happened. If you ask me, it sounds like a party that got out of hand. No one seems to remember much of anything. Including Darcy.”
Seconds later, we’re dismissed. Marge stays behind, I’m sure to argue further with Bowles about what should or shouldn’t be said to students. She can do that sort of thing. She already has tenure. I’m not sure how I feel about her suggestion, honestly. On one hand, hosting an assembly might bring more attention to the topic, attention Darcy will surely resent. On the other hand, students are bound to be afraid. Bowles is antsy because he doesn’t want to expose students to the world. He doesn’t realize it’s about preparing them for the world. A world that can be cruel and unforgiving, sometimes evil.
I follow Pam to the guidance wing and walk into her office. She shuts the door and sits. She puts her elbows on the desk and places a palm against her forehead. It’s no secret among the staff that Bowles and Pam occasionally bump heads, and the heavier the issue, the harder the collision. Pam is a free spirit, wanting to encourage students to think for themselves. Bowles is as conservative as it gets, wanting students to fall in line and keep their heads down until they walk across the stage with a diploma.
“Are you okay?” I ask Pam, allowing her a few seconds to think.
“This situation is a nightmare,” she admits, looking at me with tired eyes. “I can’t even imagine what Darcy is going through.”
“Can you tell me what really happened?”
“Okay, here’s what I know,” she says, her voice a whisper. I’m happy she has more information than Bowles is willing to give. The meeting raised more questions than it answered. “Darcy hosted a party at her house after Spring Fling. No parents. Lots of alcohol. Police think some local college kids might have brought the booze and drugs. Darcy thinks someone slipped something in her drink. She doesn’t remember much after a certain point in the night.”
“She was roofied?” As I say it, I realize I’ve never used this word before. It’s something thrown around on cable crime dramas, never used in connection to one of my students.
“She was knocked out with something. Her friends just thought she was wasted. Didn’t even bother to check on her before leaving. Word must have gotten out police were headed that way. By the time officers arrived, there weren’t many students left. They found Darcy in her backyard. Her dress was torn, and she had three deep cuts on her thigh.”
“Oh my gosh,” I say, covering my mouth.
I imagine Darcy outside and alone, her friends too concerned with their own situations to find her. I consider her parents, their reaction to receiving the news their daughter had been attacked at their home. The Moores are a well-known family in Victory Hills. Their son graduated two years ago. Although I didn’t have him in class, he was the type of student everyone knew. He played football and earned a sports scholarship to some school in the northeast. Not that he needed it. The Moores are wealthy and involved in the community, less involved when it comes to parenting.
“Do they think she was raped?” I ask Pam. Clearly this is the word Bowles is trying to keep from being thrown around. It’s the word that comes to most people’s minds when they hear a teenage girl has been drugged and attacked.
Pam looks down, her expression a mix of concern and sickness. “Darcy doesn’t remember a lot, but she says she wasn’t.”
“Do you believe her?”
Pam’s nostrils flare as she exhales. “I don’t know what to believe at this point. Like Bowles said, Darcy’s now saying she hurt her leg in a fall. I’m not sure if she’s protecting someone, or if she just wants the whole mess to blow over.”
“Did she go the doctor?” I ask. “They should be able to tell if her injury was accidental.”
“The doctor pretty much refuted Darcy’s claim about the fall. The wounds were too precise. Darcy and her parents were just ready to leave by that point.” She seems, for the first time, judgmental. Toward the parents. “What Bowles didn’t mention, and what makes everything much worse, is that there were pictures of her taken the night of the party. Very unflattering pictures taken when she was drunk. They were sent to half the
