done it.”
I searched James’s face for forgiveness and still didn’t find it. Anger flicked at me then. So the large manly drug dealer didn’t care to forgive small, weak, kitten-like Frances for slapping him? Well, he could go directly to hell. I straightened my shoulders and walked past him.
“Frances.”
I took another two steps before I stopped and turned. Now it was my turn to say nothing and look blank.
But James clearly wasn’t impressed. And I saw now that his blankness wasn’t blankness at all. It was something I recognized. Something I knew all about.
Control.
“I’m going to tell you something,” James said. “And you’re going to listen, and one day you’re going to be grateful that I told you this, because you need to hear it. For your own safety. Are you listening?”
His voice wasn’t loud. And he was standing at least five yards away from me. But I felt as constrained as if he’d been in my face, with both hands heavy on my shoulders.
I nodded like a spring-necked doll.
James said, “You believe that because you’re small and female, no one will take you seriously. The other night you assumed you had the freedom to hit somebody bigger than you if you chose. You thought it was safe. I’d never hit back.”
“No,” I said, confused. “No, that wasn’t what I was thinking—”
“Shut up,” said James quietly. “I’m talking.”
I shut up.
“Then you weren’t thinking,” he said. “Which is actually worse. In this case, you were right. I would never hit you back.” And then suddenly—without rising in volume—his voice lashed out. “But I am not everybody. And your size and your sex are no guarantee of safety.”
In that moment, if my brother’s life had been offered to me in exchange, I couldn’t have moved my eyes from James’s face.
“It’s a dangerous world, Frances. Don’t go around thoughtlessly creating opportunities for violence.
Ever.
Because if you do, I promise you: Violence
will
occur. It will come looking for you.”
James didn’t move a step closer. It only felt as if he had.
I stared at him. I felt my rage kicking in my gut, and my despair looking for a place to go. I was full of confusion. Why had I slapped James? It had seemed clear to me at thetime. I had felt that I had to do something, make something change, or I would explode—implode—
One of Daniel’s hated quotes echoed within me.
One should not use violence or have it used.
Abruptly, the little scene was over. James brushed past me. He walked rapidly away, toward Pettengill. Still confused, uncomprehending, I watched him go.
Gradually my mind cleared. My first coherent thought was that, post-grad or no, James Droussian was definitely not dumb. And then I knew something else too.
That hadn’t been a kid talking to me just now.
I
hadn’t
made a mistake in the woods the other night. I had seen exactly what I thought I’d seen: two men. Two men, one of whom was James.
James looked young. Looked eighteen or nineteen. But he wasn’t.
James Droussian—if that was his real name—was an adult.
C HAPTER 10
A minute later I knew I had to be crazy. Daniel’s death, the awfulness I felt—it was making me imagine things. Because really, what would an adult James Droussian be doing at Pettengill? Why pretend to be a teenager? To set up a prep-school drug business? Ridiculous.
However, as I trudged back toward my dorm, I allowed myself to linger on the drug business idea, because it didn’t seem
entirely
ridiculous. It was impossible not to know that at least half to three-quarters of the Pettengill student body used something, sometimes. Weed and mushrooms for the burnouts. Diet pills for girls like Brenda Delahay, desperate to get or stay thin. Steroids for the jocks. Amphetamines for some of the fiercely competitive studiers. Cocaine and meth and ecstasy for the partiers. Very few people had a realproblem, of course, but there was quite a lot going on, and surely it had to
I searched James’s face for forgiveness and still didn’t find it. Anger flicked at me then. So the large manly drug dealer didn’t care to forgive small, weak, kitten-like Frances for slapping him? Well, he could go directly to hell. I straightened my shoulders and walked past him.
“Frances.”
I took another two steps before I stopped and turned. Now it was my turn to say nothing and look blank.
But James clearly wasn’t impressed. And I saw now that his blankness wasn’t blankness at all. It was something I recognized. Something I knew all about.
Control.
“I’m going to tell you something,” James said. “And you’re going to listen, and one day you’re going to be grateful that I told you this, because you need to hear it. For your own safety. Are you listening?”
His voice wasn’t loud. And he was standing at least five yards away from me. But I felt as constrained as if he’d been in my face, with both hands heavy on my shoulders.
I nodded like a spring-necked doll.
James said, “You believe that because you’re small and female, no one will take you seriously. The other night you assumed you had the freedom to hit somebody bigger than you if you chose. You thought it was safe. I’d never hit back.”
“No,” I said, confused. “No, that wasn’t what I was thinking—”
“Shut up,” said James quietly. “I’m talking.”
I shut up.
“Then you weren’t thinking,” he said. “Which is actually worse. In this case, you were right. I would never hit you back.” And then suddenly—without rising in volume—his voice lashed out. “But I am not everybody. And your size and your sex are no guarantee of safety.”
In that moment, if my brother’s life had been offered to me in exchange, I couldn’t have moved my eyes from James’s face.
“It’s a dangerous world, Frances. Don’t go around thoughtlessly creating opportunities for violence.
Ever.
Because if you do, I promise you: Violence
will
occur. It will come looking for you.”
James didn’t move a step closer. It only felt as if he had.
I stared at him. I felt my rage kicking in my gut, and my despair looking for a place to go. I was full of confusion. Why had I slapped James? It had seemed clear to me at thetime. I had felt that I had to do something, make something change, or I would explode—implode—
One of Daniel’s hated quotes echoed within me.
One should not use violence or have it used.
Abruptly, the little scene was over. James brushed past me. He walked rapidly away, toward Pettengill. Still confused, uncomprehending, I watched him go.
Gradually my mind cleared. My first coherent thought was that, post-grad or no, James Droussian was definitely not dumb. And then I knew something else too.
That hadn’t been a kid talking to me just now.
I
hadn’t
made a mistake in the woods the other night. I had seen exactly what I thought I’d seen: two men. Two men, one of whom was James.
James looked young. Looked eighteen or nineteen. But he wasn’t.
James Droussian—if that was his real name—was an adult.
C HAPTER 10
A minute later I knew I had to be crazy. Daniel’s death, the awfulness I felt—it was making me imagine things. Because really, what would an adult James Droussian be doing at Pettengill? Why pretend to be a teenager? To set up a prep-school drug business? Ridiculous.
However, as I trudged back toward my dorm, I allowed myself to linger on the drug business idea, because it didn’t seem
entirely
ridiculous. It was impossible not to know that at least half to three-quarters of the Pettengill student body used something, sometimes. Weed and mushrooms for the burnouts. Diet pills for girls like Brenda Delahay, desperate to get or stay thin. Steroids for the jocks. Amphetamines for some of the fiercely competitive studiers. Cocaine and meth and ecstasy for the partiers. Very few people had a realproblem, of course, but there was quite a lot going on, and surely it had to
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