Vigilante, Page 3

  I stared at her. Was she serious? She did know that Magda had been drugged, right? Being able to throw a punch wouldn’t have helped her. “Why me?”

  “Because I think helping other girls might give you a place to channel all that anger.”

  “I’m not angry.”

  Instead of laughing like I expected her to, she gave me an understanding look. “No, you’re heartbroken.”

  Maybe she understood a little better than I thought. “This class, are you going to teach them to actually fight, or will it just be things like blowing whistles and sticking people with keys?” Because Magda had taken one of those classes, and it had done her absolutely no fucking good.

  “There might be a little bit of whistles and keys. But we’ll be teaching them to fight, and to fight dirty. We’re talking forcing testicles to retract, that kind of fighting.”

  For the first time in months, a genuine smile curved my lips. “I’m in.”

  * * *

  “You should eat something.”

  Sitting at the kitchen table, I looked up at my mother. She had that pinched expression on her face that I’d seen a lot since Magda died. It was an expression I understood to mean that while she was worried about me, she was also annoyed with me. I think she thought that I should be over it by now.

  But did we ever get over losing someone we cared about? I mean, it wasn’t like Magda had moved to another city, or had gone away to school. She was gone. Forever. Three-quarters of my life had been spent with her and then, during the space of a few hours, she’d stopped being. How did you just “get over” that?”

  “I’m not all that hungry.”

  Mom spooned some scrambled eggs onto my plate. “At least eat these. You need the protein.”

  She was right. I wasn’t one of those kids who thought my parents were wrong all the time. Usually they were right. Well, Mom usually was. My father pretty much just pissed me off whenever I saw him.

  Then again, it didn’t take much to upset me these days.

  I didn’t argue about the eggs. I ate them on autopilot, not really tasting them. I couldn’t live the rest of my life like this—numb except for bouts of rage. I knew it was part of the grieving process, but it was also exhausting.

  “You’ve gotten so thin.”

  I ate another mouthful of eggs as a response. I hadn’t really lost much weight. After the funeral I did lose about ten pounds, but some of those had come back. The difference was that I had been working out like mad. Aikido was the third martial arts class I had taken since I was thirteen. It hadn’t started out as me just wanting to hit or kick something. I signed up for martial arts because I wanted to be fit, and it was really the only thing I found fun enough to stick with. And now it was the only thing that calmed me down.

  Magda hadn’t been into the kicking and punching. She liked to run and had been on the school track team. The muscles in her legs had been like granite. I ran with her once in a while, but I could never keep up.

  Regardless, I was working out more, turning the soft parts of my body into something hard and strong.

  “The police officer that was at class last night asked me to help her with a self-defense class for girls.”

  Mom look surprised at this. “Really? Why would she do that?”

  I shrugged. “She thinks I’m good. And she knew Magda.”

  There was that pinched look again. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Hadley.”

  “I do.” And it wasn’t until that moment when she opposed it that I realized I had already made up my mind about it. “I’m good at it, Mom. And if I can help even one girl escape what happened to Magda, it will be worth it.”

  She sighed. “I suppose if I say no you’ll only do it anyway.”

  “Why are you making it sound like I want to go out and do something reckless? Or something that might get me hurt or in trouble? Jesus, Mom.” I shook my head. “I just want to do something good.”

  She looked pained, like I was doing this deliberately to hurt her. I had no idea why she was so opposed to this. I had no idea what was going through her head. It was almost like she blamed Magda for my emotional state. It didn’t make sense, but I was sure it was true.

  “Fine. Help at the class. If your grades start to suffer, you will quit.”

  I nodded. “Sure.” But I only made the promise so she’d stop talking about it.

  Mom wasn’t done. “Your father isn’t going to like this.”

  It was so tempting to say that I didn’t care if Dad liked it or not. I wanted to ask why she was so worried about his opinion anyway. It wasn’t like he was ever around. He was always working or... Whatever.

  “I’ll tell him,” I said. “He’ll be okay with it when I tell him that I think it would be good for me—help me work out the guilt I feel for Magda being raped.”

  My mother winced. The R word always made her intensely uncomfortable. “It wasn’t your fault. You know how much I liked Magda, but she ought to have known better than to be drinking at a party with that many boys around.”

  My fingers tightened around my fork. Her words—so stupid and careless—made me remember what I’d said to Magda that day about being punished for making a mistake. She hadn’t done anything wrong. “No, those boys ought to have known better than to drug and rape a girl.”

  “Hadley...”

  “Don’t you say it. Don’t you dare say it.” I didn’t understand how she could think it, let alone believe it. I knew, however, that my mother wasn’t the only woman to think that Magda had asked for what happened to her. Hell, even I had thought it once or twice. God, I wish I could take it back, because that guilt was a weight I’d carry the rest of my life. “Even if I walked into school stark naked with a box of condoms and a bottle of lube, I would not be asking to be raped.”

  “Oh, Hadley!” She made a face. “Don’t be so crude.”

  “What if it had been me, Mom? Would you blame me? Would you say those things about me?”

  “Of course not!” She looked offended that I’d even suggest it. God, she really didn’t have a clue. “I hope I raised you well enough that you wouldn’t get yourself into such a situation.”

  I’d had enough. There was a very real possibility that I was going to stab my mother with my fork if I didn’t leave the house at that moment. I pushed back my chair—it screeched against the floor—and practically jumped to my feet.

  “I have to go. I’ll be late for school.” I grabbed my bag and stomped from the kitchen, throwing open the door so hard that it banged against the wall.

  “Hey!” my mother yelled. “There’s no need for that!”

  I ignored her and kept walking. I was halfway to school before I realized that I still had the fork in my hand.

  CHAPTER 4

  I ran into Zoe at lunch that day. Actually, I was outside sitting on the grass, letting the sun beat down on me in the hope that it might thaw the coldness inside, when she plopped down beside me.

  “So,” she began, “are you going to the party Saturday night?”

  I turned my head toward her, looking at her through the dark lenses of my sunglasses. “What party?”

  “Jason Bentley is having a party Saturday night.”

  I laughed—it was not a happy sound. “No.”

  “He asked me to tell you about it.”

  I peered at her over the top of my sunglasses. She was shitting me, right? “Seriously? Why would he do that?” Was he trying to mess with me?

  She pulled a pair of pink cat-eye sunglasses from her bag and put them on. “He didn’t say. He just asked me to tell my ‘pretty blonde friend’ about the party.”

  “And you thought he meant me?”

  Zoe smiled. “He saw us talking in class.”

  He must have asked h
er to do this before he came after me yesterday. “I’m not sure why he would think I’d want to go. Zoe, you know he’s one of the guys who raped Magda.”

  She glanced away. “He was never charged.”

  Was I the only person who had a grip on reality around there? “That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I know. I’m sorry, Hadley. I’ve known Jason for years. I just don’t want to believe he could do such a thing.”

  And I never believed Magda would kill herself. I never thought my father would turn out to be an asshole. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t do it, either.”

  “So what, you’re just going to avoid all social gatherings your last year of high school?”

  “No. Just the ones Bentley and his friends are involved with.”

  “They’re going to be at all of them. They’re the most popular guys in school.”

  “I know. That’s how they managed to get away with it. They’re rich and popular. They’re also rapists. If you go to that party, don’t let Drew Carson get you a drink.”

  “I don’t let anyone get me a drink.”

  So maybe she wasn’t as gullible as I thought.

  Zoe pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Has it occurred to you that maybe if you go to the party, people will see you and remember what happened to Magda? Maybe another girl will think twice before going off with one of them.”

  I stared at her. I didn’t know why it was so important to her that I go to this damn party, but she had a point. “I’ll think about it.”

  She smiled. “I can pick you up.”

  If she’d wanted me to go to the party with her why hadn’t she just said so? I wanted to warn her that I wasn’t much of a wing man, but I couldn’t make the words come out. I wasn’t in the market for a new best friend, either. Still, I kept that to myself.

  Instead, I said to her, “We’re starting a self-defense course for girls at my dojo. Diane Davies—she’s a cop—is putting it together. She’s asked me to help. Are you interested?”

  Zoe’s pretty face brightened. “You mean like teaching us to fight?”

  I nodded. “It would be about protecting yourself from an attack, but yes, we teach you to fight.” Maybe I shouldn’t make that promise, but if Detective Davies wasn’t going to do it, I would.

  She grinned. “Cool. I always wanted to learn how to fight. When does it start?”

  “Thursday night. I know that’s soon, but we wanted to get going as quickly as possible. It’s at seven. Here’s the address.” I gave her one of José’s cards.

  “Thanks.” She glanced at it before putting it in her bag.

  “If you know anybody else who’d be interested, feel free to spread the word.” The more girls we got, the less chance there was of Drew Carson and his friends being able to continue hurting people. Warning girls that their drinks might be spiked only did so much.

  “I will.”

  We sat there for a while, not saying much. It was nice to hang out with someone. I hadn’t done that since Magda died. Lunch was almost over when I heard laughter. I turned my head toward it and saw Drew, Jason, Brody and Adam standing together farther down the lawn. They were talking to a group of girls, all of whom looked at them like they were special. I didn’t understand it. We all knew what they had done. Everyone in that school knew what had happened that night. For fuck’s sake, everyone in the goddamn town knew what had happened that night. Why, then, did the four of them get to continue on with their lives as if nothing had ever happened? Why did people treat them as though they were innocent, even though they had taken pictures of what they’d done to my friend?

  And why did Magda, the best person I’ve ever known, get treated like she had done something wrong? I could almost understand why guys wouldn’t care, but I would never understand why the girls didn’t.

  I stared at them, that familiar burn of anger and helplessness churning in my stomach, spreading up into my chest and throat until I thought my ribs might cave in from the heaviness of it, and I might choke to death.

  They would all be at the party at Jason’s. They would be there, and so would those girls. And one of those girls would get Drew’s attention. Maybe he already had her picked out. He would get her a drink, and he would put something in it that made it difficult for her to fight back or even move. And he would take her to a bedroom, where he and his three best friends would take turns violating her while one of them took video and photographs. And if anybody found out about it, they would say she was willing. That she wanted it. That she was a slut. And they would get away with it, because they always got away with it. I knew of three other girls who had been assaulted by one or more of those assholes, and nothing had been done about it.

  The edges of my vision were black, as I gasped for breath. Was this a panic attack? Or was I finally being suffocated by my grief, guilt and rage? My anger was not a bad thing. My anger was righteous. Teaching girls to defend themselves was only a small part of what needed to be done. Someone had to show those boys that they would not be allowed to hurt people, that there was a price. They owed Magda her life, and that was a debt they could never repay. But as I sat there watching them, caught between imploding and breaking down, I realized something with absolute clarity. The four of them had to pay.

  And it was at that moment that I realized I was going to make sure they did.

  * * *

  I arrived at the dojo early Thursday night. Detective Davies was already there setting up. José was with her. They smiled when I walked in.

  “Thanks for helping get this off the ground,” Detective Davies said to me. “I hope we get a good turnout.”

  I shrugged. “We probably won’t. A lot of the girls from school don’t think anything bad could ever happen to them.”

  Her smile faded. “Until it does.”

  “Yeah.” How much violence against women had she seen since becoming a cop?

  By the time class started we had five girls, including me. To be honest, it was a better turnout than I expected. Zoe was one of the girls. She had her auburn hair in a ponytail and was wearing leggings and an oversize T-shirt.

  “I have a couple of friends who will come next week,” Zoe said. “They both had band meeting tonight.”

  “Great,” I said. The more the better.

  Detective Davies started the class by talking about nonviolent ways for girls to protect themselves. She talked about not leaving your drink unattended at a party, and not drinking anything that you hadn’t poured yourself.

  “You know,” one of the girls said, “it would be a lot easier if boys didn’t act like assholes.”

  The detective nodded. “It would be. No matter what happens, you’re not to blame for any of it. Unfortunately, the unfairness of the situation is that there are boys, and men, out there who will hurt you if they can. And until society stops allowing that, women have to look out for themselves and each other. That’s one of the most important things—you girls looking out for each other.”

  I swallowed the bitterness that rose in the back of my throat. Guilt tasted like shit. I should’ve taken better care of Magda. I should’ve watched out for her and protected her instead of turning my back. The reality of it was that I’d been jealous. Jealous of the fact that boys seemed to find her so desirable and barely looked at me. I tried to tell her Drew was a jerk, but she didn’t believe me. I had wanted her to find out for herself, but not like that. Never like that.

  Detective Davies went on to talk about things like pepper spray and using keys as a weapon. She talked about having safety words with your friends, so that if you thought a guy was a threat you could warn each other.

  Half an hour passed before she got to the actual physical part of the class. The five of us sat on the mats in front of her chai
r.

  “How many of you have heard of Krav Maga?” she asked.

  I put my hand up. So did Zoe.

  “Krav Maga is a form of fighting developed for the Israeli military. It combines several kinds of martial arts and street fighting. Like a lot of disciplines, it promotes avoiding violence, but if that is unavoidable the idea is to terminate the conflict as quickly and efficiently as possible by using attacks aimed at vulnerable parts of the body and designed to do as much damage as necessary.”

  “By vulnerable do you mean the balls?” a girl named Jenna asked. A couple of the other girls giggled.

  Detective Davies smiled. “That’s one place. But a lot of times men expect that to be the first point of attack, and they’re good at protecting what’s between their legs. Also, what if your attacker’s not a guy?”

  We all exchanged glances. None of us expected a threat from one another. But I’d seen girls fight before, and they were nasty.

  The older woman continued. “It is rare for women to perpetrate sexual assault against each other, but we can be just as violent as men. If you are attacked by someone who doesn’t have testicles, you need to know other areas to strike. Of course, these areas are also vulnerable on men. The eyes, the throat, the solar plexus, which is the area right here—” she gestured to an area in the center of her chest “—the knees, the face, the fingers... All of these areas are vulnerable. And I will show you ways to hurt all of them.”

  I smiled, and so did the other girls. I guess she was right when she said we could be just as bloodthirsty as guys. But I don’t think any of us were gleeful at the idea of being able to hurt somebody—well, except for me. It wasn’t about inflicting pain. It was the idea of not having to be afraid. Sure, you still had to be smart, but there was power in the idea of being able to fight back.

  We started with practicing how to fend off an attacker while on our feet. Detective Davies showed us how effective a shove could be, but then also turned it around and showed us how to use momentum against our attacker if they tried to shove us.