We Know It Was You Read online

  He pulled out his cell phone and stared at it, as if waiting for it to tell him what to do. There was no one to call. Even if his mom could come pick him up, he had no idea where Virginia and the Asian Fusion guy were going. He should have made Virginia get a cell phone. That was obvious now. But he hadn’t wanted to embarrass her by pointing out that she was the only girl in school who didn’t have one. And now she was driving off with a pervert and a room ransacker and who knew what else, all because Benny couldn’t shove his way through a crowd, or endure the social awkwardness of telling Virginia she needed a phone.

  He stood there on the street, not knowing what to do. Virginia can take care of herself, he thought. But he wasn’t sure if he really believed it.

  The track, 8:30 p.m.

  Stomp! Stomp!

  Zaire sat on the bench next to the water cooler, waiting for the god-awful Wildcat Stomp to be over so she could leave. The principal was watching the whole thing, making sure the de-hypnotism worked this time. Because God forbid the world should be without a bunch of imbecilic girls screaming into megaphones about how great it is to be a Wildcat.

  The mascot suit didn’t appear. Someone had gotten rid of it or something—that was the rumor anyway. Zaire didn’t know. She didn’t care, either. Kirsten Fagerland was jumping around in what looked like pretty much a burlap sack with a pair of plastic eyes and ears glued to it. Kirsten had obviously been instructed to be as energetic as possible to make up for how awful and cheap it looked. The bulging eyes looked manic and imploring. Love me! Love me! But it wasn’t possible. Never again would anyone at Winship look at a mascot and be anything but creeped out. The thought should have made Zaire very pleased with herself, but it didn’t.

  It was getting harder and harder to feel satisfied. She used to get a rush of power from her little pranks, but lately nothing seemed to penetrate her numbness. So what if she could make Brittany say she loved Satan? So what if she could make Winn Davis spill his orange juice? It didn’t feel powerful anymore; it felt pathetic and masturbatory. Zaire knew what she really needed to do, but she couldn’t seem to do it. Her first plan had gone completely haywire, and now apparently Benny Flax was watching her, which was annoying because she couldn’t hypnotize him. He had too many mental walls or something. Zaire didn’t know. She wasn’t an expert on this stuff. She’d only started doing it to get close to Gottfried.

  Gottfried was famous in the Boarders for his insomnia. Back in Germany he’d seen an experimental sleep therapist who’d used hypnotism as a sleep-inducing device. Learning this, Zaire had immediately set about teaching herself to do it, as an excuse to be alone with him in his bedroom. She was good at it, which shouldn’t have surprised her. Zaire was good at everything she set her mind to. All it took to be a hypnotist was confidence and tranquility, and for one’s subject to have the right kind of mind—loose, willing, pliable. Soon Zaire was hypnotizing Gottfried to sleep at least five times a week. Gottfried relied on her, needed her. And Zaire had seized on that need like a parasite. But it wasn’t enough. Gottfried needed her, but he didn’t love her. He loved “American girls.”

  She spotted him in the front row of the bleachers. A fat blond woman with cheap highlights was practically sitting in his lap. She was feeding him a hot dog and occasionally licking ketchup off his lip. Gottfried had the stupidest grin on his face. Zaire wished she could hate him, but she loved those idiotic expressions of his. She envied his goofy charm and effortless happiness. He was the only person Zaire had ever met who seemed to actually live in the moment, instead of just pretending to.

  Zaire watched as the woman whispered something in Gottfried’s ear. Gottfried laughed delightedly. Zaire had never been able to make Gottfried laugh. She’s ugly! Zaire thought, wanting to shout it in Gottfried’s face. Why did he like ugly old trailer park hags better than her? What was wrong with him?

  What’s wrong with me? Zaire thought, which was the real question. She was smart and sophisticated and mature. Why didn’t he want her? She pretended to examine her nails in case Gottfried caught her staring at him. Not that he would. He was too wrapped up in his big-boobed, puffy-lipped, cheetah-print-wearing white-trash cougar to notice anything else.

  I have to finish this, Zaire thought, suddenly determined. I have to get this done. No more dicking around. Benny Flax can fuck off and go to hell. I’m finishing this tomorrow.

  Chatahoochee Mall parking lot, 9:15 p.m.

  A security cruiser circled past slowly. Min-Jun didn’t seem anxious about it. He just checked the rearview mirror to make sure it was gone, then started rolling a joint on his knee.

  “You smoke?”

  Virginia shook her head. Maybe she should have said yes, to stay in character. But Min-Jun didn’t seem to care either way. He lit the joint and inhaled deeply. Virginia looked at his hands. They were smooth and long-fingered. Musician hands. When he blew the smoke out, he said, “Mind hotboxing?”

  Virginia shrugged, not knowing what he meant. She looked out the window for the reassuring presence of the cop car. She knew it was stupid to wish it would come back with the Fiesta full of pot smoke—they’d probably be arrested—but she had the anxious feeling she’d be safer in jail than alone with Min-Jun in the parking lot of this vast, empty strip mall. Half the stores had closed down in the recession, so it was mostly dark, desolate storefronts abutting a shoddy discount warehouse with its rows of forty-cent soda machines and grizzled old cashiers who must have screwed up pretty badly in life to be ringing up condoms and quarts of milk at the age of eighty-five.

  What am I doing? Virginia had asked herself at least five hundred times since deciding to get into Min-Jun’s car. But then she’d hear Benny’s voice in her mind: Do you want to contribute or not?

  “So,” Min-Jun said. “Here’s the deal. I’ve got an international distribution network, but no inside guy anymore. The money’s not fantastic—I mean it’s just tits and ass—but at least I can sleep at night. I’m voyeur-only, that’s where I draw the line. With underage girls it’s way dicey. I need to sleep at night, you know?”

  Virginia looked at him. “Uh-huh . . .”

  Min-Jun took another hit of the joint. Then he unbuckled his seat belt. For a second Virginia was alarmed, like maybe he was about to pull down his pants or something. But he just twisted in his seat to reach into the back. He rustled around for a while. His face was so close to Virginia’s that she could smell his unwashed hair. Finally he produced a small stack of videotapes. He thrust them into Virginia’s lap. Locker Room Wildcats Vol 4, Locker Room Wildcats Vol 8. The covers were splashed with cheap clip art of pom-poms and still-shots of boobs.

  “We use old-school tech because it’s harder to rip off. I bet you’ve never even seen a VHS, have you, you little baby. . . .” Min-Jun leaned back in the driver’s seat and looked at her with a cool, admiring grin on his lips.

  Virginia was having trouble breathing normally. It was scary, the way he was looking at her, but also undeniably flattering. No one had ever looked at her like that before—like they wanted to eat her. Like she was a scrumptious, very-bad-for-you dessert.

  He kept staring at her. “I’ll be the only one on the scene with an inside girl. I bet you can get me some real slumber party shit, can’t you?”

  Virginia shrugged. Then she asked, in what she hoped was a matter-of-fact tone, “How was Choi getting all this footage? Was he always in the mascot suit?”

  “Nah, nah,” Min-Jun said. “Volumes one through ten were made with crappy little hidden cameras. We thought we could ratchet up the price if we got more intimate footage. Up close and personal with your fave Wildcats, you know?”

  “Totally,” Virginia said, starting to feel a little ill. Breathe, she told herself. Then she realized maybe it was the pot smoke making her feel strange. Don’t breathe.

  “So is it true the football players realized he was in the suit and chased him off the bridge?” Min-Jun asked.

  “No, that’s just a rumor.”
r />   “So what the hell happened?”

  Virginia shrugged. “Maybe he had an attack of conscience.”

  Min-Jun scoffed. “I doubt it. Like I said, I sleep at night. It’s just a little skin. They’re just girls. What they don’t know can’t hurt ’em.”

  “Deep,” Virginia said.

  Min-Jun laughed. “I like you, Vir-gin-iaaa,” he said, stretching out her name as he stretched himself out too, leaning back even farther in the driver’s seat. “You’re a cool girl. So let’s take a look at Choi’s final chef d’oeuvre, shall we?”

  “Well, I don’t have it on me,” Virginia said.

  “Oh, where is it?”

  “Um . . .”

  “Listen, if this is about the price, we can negotiate. I can go as high as three hundred. Three-fifty. Four hundred.”

  “Can we open a window?” Virginia asked.

  Min-Jun shook his head. “Not a good idea. The smell. So where’s the video?”

  Virginia took a deep breath. “I really need some air.” She reached for the door handle and pulled it. It was locked. She yanked on it. Still locked.

  “Girl, chill.” Min-Jun laughed.

  “Just let me open the door a crack.”

  “Chiiiiill . . .”

  Virginia looked at him. He was staring at her, that weird grin still on his face. He licked his lip, his tongue flicking out like a lizard. Suddenly he didn’t seem very attractive anymore. His thin lips and his expressionless eyes made Virginia want to throw up. She looked down. But what she saw at her feet made it even worse. It was a pair of girl’s underwear, blue spandex with a white W sewn into the side. It was the kind all the cheerleaders wore under their little skirts, flashing when they did flips and cartwheels.

  “Oops,” Min-Jun said.

  Virginia looked up, terrified that Min-Jun had noticed her noticing. But he didn’t seem to care. His indifference disturbed Virginia more than anything. It was almost as if he’d put the panties there on purpose, so he could enjoy watching her reaction. He took another hit of the joint, his eyes never leaving her face.

  “Wanna try ’em on?” he asked, nodding toward the panties, sounding half serious.

  “I’m not a cheerleader,” Virginia said.

  “I know. That’s what I like about you,” he said back.

  Virginia glanced at the door. In the darkness it was hard to see where the lock was, and she didn’t want to reach for it again until she knew exactly what she was doing.

  “I thought you said you were voyeur-only,” she said. Then it hit her. “Oh my God. Did you go through my room? Was that you?” She shouldn’t have said it. Now he knew that she knew. Min-Jun just laughed, seeming really stoned.

  Get out of here, she told herself, eyeing the door again. Where was the lock? And where was the cop car? If only it would just cruise past again, she could bang on the window and scream for help.

  “Just try ’em on,” Min-Jun said. “They’ll look good on you.”

  In the midst of her panic, it occurred to Virginia how hypocritical he was being. If he liked that she wasn’t a cheerleader, why was he pushing her to put cheerleader underwear on? Make up your mind! she wanted to scream at him. Make up your mind and let me out of this car!

  She felt a hand on her thigh. She screamed.

  “Whoa, whoa!” Min-Jun said.

  “GET OFF ME! GET THE HELL OFF ME!” Virginia barely recognized the sound of her own voice, it was so shrill and hysterical. Her hand flew to the door and she hit it over and over, looking for the lock.

  “Jesus, I thought you were cool!” Min-Jun said, snapping out of his daze.

  Finally her fingers found the lock, and she yanked the door open. Smoke spilled out. She tried to lunge, but realized she was still wearing her seat belt. Frantically she fumbled with the buckle and flung it off. Min-Jun’s hand had found her thigh again and was squeezing it hard.

  “Girl, be cool! It’s cool! Get back here!”

  Virginia screamed in his face and wriggled out of his grip. Then she hurled herself from the car, tripping over herself and tumbling onto the concrete. She felt her knees and palms scraping as she skidded. Half stumbling, she got back to her feet and started running. She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t know if he was following her. She didn’t look back. She just ran from the darkness into further darkness, her feet pounding on the concrete as her heart pounded in her ears.

  Then she had to stop. She wasn’t in good shape like Benny. She slipped into a shadow next to the closed dollar store to catch her breath. She scanned the parking lot for Min-Jun. The dingy Ford Fiesta was sitting by itself at the far end. And Min-Jun was still inside—she could just barely make out his round, white face though the windshield. She thanked God he hadn’t chased her, but her relief was short-lived; it was scarier, somehow, that he was just sitting there. He must have known she was there. He must have seen her ducking into the shadow. And maybe the second she tried to run, he’d start the car and mow her down.

  Can he see me? Virginia looked down at her hands. She was pretty sure she was completely shrouded in blackness. It was safe in the darkness, but she was trapped in it. There was another patch of shadow next to the deserted bank, but how could she get there without exposing herself to the parking lot’s floodlights? It was like that game everyone played as kids—lava—where you die if you touch the floor. Except in this version, you die if you touch the light.

  Virginia had only meant to stay there long enough to catch her breath. But the longer she stood still, the more impossible it became to make herself run again. She was frozen. She just stared at the car, and felt it staring back.

  The Boarders, 11:00 p.m.

  “Hello?”

  Benny stood on the front porch, deciding whether to go in. The door to the Boarders was wide open. Moths were fluttering toward the light. Benny had been walking back and forth in front of the school entrance for an hour, hoping that every car he saw magically contained Virginia. Then he’d remembered there was a back entrance that wound around the campus. Maybe he’d missed her. He’d run to the Boarders and found the front door hanging open like the saloon of a ghost town.

  He called again. “Virginia? Hello?” Nothing. He took a tentative step through the doorway. In one hand was his flute, and in the other the paper bag from Home Depot. It was a little pathetic, coming over to put a lock on her door when she was already off somewhere with a dangerous pervert. What good was a lock going to do now?

  Stop freaking out, Benny told himself. Installing the lock was less about Virginia and more about keeping himself calm. He’d decided that if he didn’t hear from Virginia by midnight, he would call Detective Disco and ask him to put an APB on the guy’s blue Ford Fiesta. So it was just a matter of keeping himself together until then.

  The house was empty. Everyone was probably at the OK Café, which was where Winship kids went after games to drink milkshakes and hang out. Benny was walking down the girls’ hall toward Virginia’s room when he saw that her door was wide open, just like the front door. And there were sounds coming from inside.

  “Virginia?” Benny called hopefully. He ran the last couple of steps to her room. The first thing he saw was a pile of clothes flying through the air. Then he saw who was throwing them, and it wasn’t Virginia.

  “You?”

  For a second Gerard froze.

  “Get out of here!” Benny shouted at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Then Gerard immediately started yelling, “Where is that video? Tell me! Where is that video? I’m giving it to the police! You won’t humiliate me again!”

  “Get out!” Benny repeated. “This is a private room, for Christ’s sake. What do you think you’re doing?”

  Gerard’s face was red. He opened a drawer, threw its contents on the floor, then slammed it shut. “Where is it? Tell me!”

  “She doesn’t even have it anymore. It’s gone. Now get out of here, you creep!”

  Gerard’s mouth gape
d open. “Me, a creep? ME, A CREEP? I’m the only guy at this school who ISN’T a creep! If I were a disgusting rapist like Trevor, I’d have all the girls I wanted. But what do I get for being a nice guy?” He swiped his arm across Virginia’s desk, sending all her stuff crashing to the floor.

  “Get out of her room,” Benny said firmly. “Now.”

  “Get out of my face!” Gerard said back, tossing more of Virginia’s stuff on the floor.

  “GET OUT OF HER ROOM, YOU FUCKING CREEP!” Benny screamed. “GET OUT OF HER ROOM OR I’LL KILL YOU!”

  Gerard stopped. All the redness in his face suddenly went white.

  Benny realized how hard he was breathing. He’d never screamed at anyone like that in his entire life. He stared at Gerard, not backing down.

  “Kike,” Gerard hissed under his breath, which Benny pretended not to hear. Gerard stormed past him into the hall. Benny watched to make sure he left. Then he sat down on the bare mattress of Virginia’s bed, the sheets tangled in a pile at his feet. He dropped his flute and his Home Depot bag and put his head in his hands. He was so tired all of a sudden. He wished he could go to sleep and not wake up for twenty hours. He checked his watch. Forty-five minutes until midnight.

  Benny was having a hard time getting his breathing to normalize. He felt a huge lump in his throat. Was he about to cry? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this upset. Virginia was probably dead. Or raped. And even if she wasn’t one of those things, she probably would be sooner or later, because the Boarders had no security, and she was so stupid she’d get in a car with anyone. He should have done a better job looking after her. It was his club, after all!

  He checked his watch again, but he could barely read it because his hand was shaking. Forty minutes until midnight.

  “You okay, man?”

  Benny looked up. Gottfried was standing in the doorway.

  “I hear da shouting . . . ,” Gottfried said, his eyes flickering around Virginia’s trashed room.