Special Treatment

CW: mentions of sexual assault and derogatory language

Fighting the sudden urge to pee, Elena stood at her English teacher’s desk and waited for her to look up from her gradebook. Like a starting pistol at a track meet, the final bell had set loose a stampede of teenagers; all of them except Elena in her modest, daisy sundress.

“Oh, Elena.” Mrs. Henderson tossed her bangs. “What can I do for you?”

Squeezing her thighs together, Elena said, “Well, about the reading we’re supposed to do this week…”

“Yes?” Mrs. Henderson asked, her eyebrows pinching together. When Elena merely averted her eyes and wrung her backpack strap, Mrs. Henderson asked, “Is something wrong?”

Elena had been mulling over a similar question for days: Had it been wrong? Had what he’d done to her been wrong? Her self-doubt and fear of urinating on the floor seemed to stifle her voice.

“The reading,” she choked. “The reading we’re doing this week.”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Well, about it… Um… Well…” Elena’s frustration climbed until hot tears leaked like the secret from her eyes. Since it happened, the assault had always been on her mind but not once on her face.

Mrs. Henderson steered Elena to a desk. Sitting next to her, Mrs. Henderson unstuck hairs from Elena’s wet cheeks.

“I-I don’t know if I can do the reading, I’m scared,” Elena said, shuddering, her palms pressed against her temples. “I know there’s this scene, this scene where…”

Sympathetically, Mrs. Henderson asked, “Did something happen?”

Wary of reliving the trauma by recounting the events, Elena shook her head.

“Tell me. It’s okay.” Mrs. Henderson stroked Elena’s long hair. “Tell me.”

The touch made Elena shrivel with disgust. She’d let him touch her hair, too. Sitting in the passenger seat with her basketball uniform on, drinking the pink lemonade he’d bought her, she’d told him about her parents’ divorce and about wanting to be a veterinarian. Thinking back on that moment, she realized he’d never said anything about himself.

“I can’t do the reading,” Elena spluttered, the words rushing out as if the faster she spoke, the quicker the agonizing conversation would end.

“But what scene, Elena? What is—?”

“I’m scared,” she repeated, shutting her eyes to try to dissolve the sensation of Mrs. Henderson’s fingers in her hair.

Amidst the hum from the vents, Mrs. Henderson said, “It’s part of our module, Elena. You can’t skip it.”

You can’t skip it. If only Mrs. Henderson had told her that sooner, like when she skipped practice to ride around in his Honda. To escape the surfacing memories, Elena let her surroundings blur around her like getting a head rush on a rollercoaster. She imagined being at practice dribbling the ball and counting each time it struck the floor; at least until she noticed a trickle of something running down her leg and onto the court. Then, the ball escaped her.

When Elena’s mind got tired of pretense, and the incomprehensible whirlwind of thoughts dissipated, his face emerged from the emptiness.

“What are you scared of?” Mrs. Henderson asked, staring intensely at Elena.

Knock, knock. A curly-haired boy in an Adidas hoodie took up almost the entire doorway. He held a booklet of raffle tickets, slapping it in his palm.

With her head in her hands and her face sloppy from crying, Elena peered up at him. When she did, her dress grew warm underneath her.

--

The following morning, Elena’s classmate, Leah, painstakingly traced copies of a flyer advertising a play she’d helped produce. She‘d taped the original to the window in the teacher’s lounge so the sunlight illuminated the design.

“What do you think, Ms. Kimble?”

From the coffee maker, Ms. Kimble, the head of the drama department, said happily, “Those are looking excellent.”

Mrs. Henderson stood next to Ms. Kimble, stirring sugar into her coffee, the white specks disappearing in the chestnut eddy. To her colleague, she murmured, “I think Elena might have been raped.”

Ms. Kimble looked at her, baffled. “What? Why do you think that?”

“She asked if she could skip the reading assignment,” Mrs. Henderson explained. “But then Tanner came in the room…. I just had this feeling. And then—"

“Do you think she was at that party?” Ms. Kimble asked.

“Party?”

Leah looked up from her stack of fliers.

“I heard,” Ms. Kimble began matter-of-factly, “there was a party at Jameson’s house over the weekend, and half the junior class was there drinking.”

“Oh, so you think she was at that party?”

“Could’ve been.” Ms. Kimble sighed. “His parents are in a lot of trouble for providing the alcohol. I heard they’re getting sued,” she said, one eyebrow raised.

“Well, they ought to be. Something should happen,” Mrs. Henderson remarked.

Lifting the paper cup to her lips, Ms. Kimble asked, “Do you think she’s trying to get out of trouble?”

 “Who, Elena? What do you mean?” Mrs. Henderson asked, bemused.

“Saying something happened to her so hopefully everyone will look over the fact she was there drinking,” Ms. Kimble suggested, taking a slow sip. “Kids get creative sometimes.”

Mrs. Henderson stared into the steam rising out of her coffee. She thought about the puddle on the chair. “I’m not sure.” Her face strained, Mrs. Henderson asked, “Have you heard about this, Leah? Have you heard about Elena?”

Leah shook her head earnestly. “Nope, I haven’t heard anything about Elena.” With a glance at Ms. Kimble, she said, “but if I do hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

--

Despite her stacked schedule, Leah had found time for soccer tryouts. However, her joy at making the team had quickly nosedived. Leah had always been small for her age, and some teammates were concerned about having her on the field; concerns they passed around the locker room.

While Leah tied her cleats on the sideline next to her veteran teammate, Hannah, she asked, “So, wanna know what I heard?”

Hannah yanked the laces hard as though trying to rein in a wild horse. “Sure, let me hear it.”

Seeing an opportunity to get Hannah, the team all-star, to forgive her stature, Leah continued, “Elena says she got raped at that party.”

Hannah’s brow tented. “That party at Jameson’s house?”

“Yeah, that one. Elena told Mrs. Henderson something happened to her there.”

“Wow,” Hannah said, nonplussed. “I mean, why was she even there, though? She doesn’t seem like someone who likes going to parties.”

“Yeah, I don’t know.”

A trail of mucus began to drip from Hannah’s nose. “Ugh, allergies.”

“Here.” Leah dutifully reached into her duffel bag and pulled out a handful of napkins as though she’d been preparing for this moment.

“You’re a lifesaver.” Wiping her nose and watching the other girls dash around with the ball, Hannah asked, “Can it be rape if you’re drinking, though?”

Leah looked across the field thoughtfully as if the answer lied beyond the goal. Was Hannah’s question a test to prove she was fit for the team? She felt queasy trying to decide if drinking equaled consent.

“No, I don’t think it can be rape. Like… If she chose to be around him and stuff… I don’t know.”

Hannah said, “I don’t think so either.”

Her agreement convinced Leah that maybe everything she’d told Hannah was correct; and that she deserved to be on the team.

--

At lunch the next day, Hannah gingerly placed her tray next to her off-and-on friend, Natalie. Classmates picked soggy breading from their corn dogs and darted around the room between tables like bees to flowers, seeking the latest news.

Under her breath, Hannah said, “Elena had sex with Sammy’s boyfriend.”

Through a mouthful of turkey wrap, Natalie exclaimed, “What? Has Sam heard?” Her surprise encouraged Hannah to keep talking, regardless of how much or how little she actually knew. Validity came second to the fact she and Natalie hadn’t exchanged this many words in months.

“No, I don’t think so,” Hannah said, swirling her fry in ketchup.

“Oh, imagine if Sam knew,” Natalie moaned. “That would hurt her so bad.” She wiped sauce from the corners of her mouth like she might tears of sympathy from her eyes. “I didn’t know Elena had a thing for him.”

“Me neither.”

Natalie tried to take another bite of her wrap, but it unraveled in her hands. “Why would Tanner be interested in her in the first place?” she sneered as she tried to refold the tortilla. “I mean, it’s not like she’s his type, really.”

“No, not really. She’s sort of…” Hannah gazed at Elena, unassuming and sitting on the other side of the cafeteria in her basketball championship shirt. Knowing how much Natalie detested the basketball team, Hannah added, “I don’t know, just a loser, I guess.”

Natalie asked quietly, “I mean…. Do you think maybe Elena’s just saying that?”

Hannah used her fork to help Natalie shovel everything back into the tortilla. “I mean, could be.” Quickly, Hannah’s mind worked to come up with a reason why Elena would ‘just say that.’ It took more effort than she expected. “He’s popular and she’s not. Of course she’d want to get with him, right?”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Natalie took a bite from her now cleanly put together wrap and gave Hannah a thumbs up.

--

Leaning across the aisle in physical science class, Katelyn whispered in Natalie’s ear, “She’s such a slut.”

Natalie’s face lit up. “I know! Did you hear about it, too?” she asked, dragging her pencil eraser across her lips.

“She really thinks people are going to believe he raped her.”

Natalie was dumbstruck. “Rape?”

“Yeah, that’s what she says,” Katelyn murmured. “My parents are friends with his parents, they’re all really good people. It’s too bad what she’s doing to him.”

Natalie pondered this morsel of new information. Because Katelyn let Natalie copy her science homework, which Natalie struggled desperately to comprehend, she knew Katelyn to be pretty smart. If Katelyn didn’t believe in rape, how could Natalie?

“Well, if it was true, we’d all know about it already,” Natalie decided. “The police would be involved, and it’d be in the news or something.”

“Yes, that’s just it!” Katelyn whispered. “She hasn’t even reported it. Just running her mouth, trying to ruin his reputation or his relationship or scholarship, whatever her motive is. I heard she got Mrs. Henderson to let her skip a whole week’s worth of reading over it.”

After a second of deliberation, Natalie began, “You know what?” To flaunt her deductive reasoning skills, she said, “I think Elena just didn’t want to do the reading assignment.”

--

Fighting the urge to pee, Tanner raised his hand and asked the Spanish teacher, Señora Johnson, “could I go to the bathroom?”

Once he got permission, he hopped out of his seat, whistling as he walked down the empty hallway to the boy’s bathroom.

Meanwhile, in English, Elena rose and left for the guidance office with her personally assigned novel to read privately. The rest of the class watched, some jealous of her “special treatment.”

En route to the office, Elena stopped at the water fountain to fill her bottle. On the other side of the bulletin board, a boy exited the bathroom, drying his hands on his hoodie.

Elena felt herself turn to stone. She watched him like she might a snake snoozing on a rock just to ensure he kept a safe distance away.

With a wry smile, Tanner said as he passed, “You’re missing.” He pointed at the water splashing off the mouth of the bottle and onto Elena.

She stretched her damp shirt away from her stomach.

Walking backwards down the hallway, Tanner called, “Oh. Lemme know if you wanna… I don’t know, get some lemonade sometime.” He shrugged. “Just try to keep it between us, okay?” He made a heart with his hands. Then, he turned on his heel and continued to class.

Slinking into the girls’ bathroom, Elena tore some paper towels out of the dispenser and wrapped her shirt in them, shivering from the encounter or wet clothing, she couldn’t be sure which.

Jen, a girl Elena vaguely recognized from another class, adjusted her septum ring in the mirror. “Oh, do you need some help?”

“Oh, you don't have to....”

“Put it under here,” Jen said, helping Elena hold her shirt under the air dryer. Once it stopped whizzing, Jen dabbed Elena’s warm shirt with paper towels and asked, “Was that Tanner out there?”

“Yeah,” Elena mumbled.

“You know,” Jen began. “I heard something about him.”

“Oh?” Elena felt the same stirring in her bladder she’d felt when she’d spoken to Mrs. Henderson, along with a tightness in her throat.

Grimly, Jen said, “I heard he raped a girl on the basketball team. Isn’t that gross?”

Elena dropped her shirt and met Jen’s eyes. “Do you think it’s true?” she asked, her heart racing. “Do you think she’s telling the truth?”

Jen exclaimed, “Yes, I do!” She tossed the paper towels in the trash. “Something ought to be done about it, but y’know, nothing will.”

“Why do you say that?”

Jen returned to the mirror, prodding her piercing. “I don’t think she’ll ever come forward about it, because she’s scared of what’ll happen if she does. She’s afraid that no one except maybe you and me will believe her.” Plainly, Jen added, “It’s wrong.”

Elena nodded stiffly and let a wave of relief pass over her, not because she’d become okay with complacency, but because someone else thought what he’d done was wrong. And, if no one else, Jen recognized the distinction between hearsay and real suffering.

“Yes, you’re right,” Elena said, invigorated to the point of tears. “What he did to that girl was very wrong.”