Learning Curve

Monday December 16th

Scottie

There is nothing like a New York City winter wind. Between the giant skyscrapers and the concrete pavement, it’s as if each frigid gust has the power to freeze your bones. I pull my black puffer coat tighter around my body as I speed walk from the Logan Center to Delaney and burrow into its warmth.

It’s only a little after six, but the sky is already dark, and the moon has set up shop for the evening.

Tonight’s cheerleading practice went over by an hour, and it took every ounce of strength I had inside my body to plaster a smile on my face and show up. My focus was shit and Coach Jordan bitched at me quite a few times when I kept screwing up my scorpions, but I showed up, and for right now, that’s all I can ask of myself.

Coach Jordan did pull me aside to ask if I was okay, but she doesn’t need to know the gory, my-alcoholic-mom-had-sex-with-a-student details. Everyone on my squad knows—even the girls who weren’t at the Delta Omega party—and that’s more than enough trauma for me.

I lost count of how many hushed conversations stopped the instant I was within hearing distance at practice or how many times I caught Kayla giving someone a quiet vibing.

Coach obviously knows something happened with Nadine since she’s off the squad and out of school, but the dean evidently felt he could leave it at that.

Thank everything.

My stomach growls as I pass the upperclassmen apartments, and I make a last-minute decision to reroute to Brower Center to grab a bite to eat. I’ve barely eaten anything since it all happened, save the sandwich that I’m pretty sure Julia made appear mysteriously at my door Saturday night, and a single apple first thing this morning. I cut through the alleyway between Delaney and the on-campus apartments and jog across Broadway when I find a break in traffic.

The lights of the Brower Center are still on, and a group of students wearing Santa hats and shaking jingle bells greets me near the door. I’m pretty sure they’re part of Dickson’s a cappella group who’ve chosen to spend the evening providing a Christmas-carol ambiance to any poor students who are still left on campus for winter break.

I start to offer a smile in their direction, but when a guy with red hair and a pirate’s smile looks at me curiously, my current reality hits me like a ton of bricks. I avert my eyes, but it’s too late. He knows who I am and spreads it among his friends hurriedly.

I run for the door and shove it open, but laughter interrupts their version of “Jingle Bells” before I can make it inside. I move quicker, letting the door fall closed behind me to separate us, but as I unwrap my scarf and trudge toward the double doors of the dining hall on the first floor, I hear them start a rendition of the song “Stacey’s Mom”—though, my name takes center stage in the chorus.

Scottie’s Mom.

Tears well in my eyes before I can even pick up a tray, and when my breath gets shaky and my vision turns blurry, I forgo the whole dining experience, sneak out the back entrance of Brower, and don’t look back.

The wind is still cold, but my body is an inferno of embarrassment. I run as fast as I can until I’m safely inside Delaney and take the stairs all the way to the fifth floor to avoid seeing anyone else.

My hands tremble from low blood sugar and I feel moments away from passing out, but I power through until I’m standing at my door, keys in hand. A plastic bag is hanging on the doorknob, and I pull it inside with me without looking because the less time I’m out of my dorm room, the better.

I drop my cheerleading bag to the floor and let the tears fall from my eyes unchecked. At this point, I’m so used to crying that I multitask while doing it.

I peer inside the bag and am surprised but grateful to see that it’s filled with a boatload of my favorite snacks. Granola bars, trail mix, cookies, chips—you name it, and it’s in here. I have no idea who dropped this off—I’m assuming Julia or Kayla—but I don’t waste any time tearing open a bag of Chips Ahoy and shoving a cookie into my mouth. My salty tears mingle with the sugary treat, and I plop down on my bed to sob and eat the rest of the bag at the same time.

I reach for the remote to my television to drown out the silence, putting on a new episode of Love is Blind for consistency. But they’re only just getting started on their blind dates when a soft knock sounds from my door.

Carefully, I tiptoe over and look through the peephole, half expecting to find an angry mob of Pitch Perfect wannabees, but all I see is a police officer in uniform instead.

“Scottie Bardeaux, it’s Officer Walters with the campus police,” his deep male voice announces. “I just wanted to chat with you for a few minutes.”

Son of a bitch.

For the past few days, Office Walters has left me several voice mails, trying to get me to come down to the station, and I’ve ignored every single one, but this in-person visit has officially put the kibosh on my avoidance.

It’s now or never. Time to get it over with.

I scrub a hand down my face to wipe away evidence of my sadness-snack-binge and answer the door.

“Scottie?” Officer Walters offers a soft smile, and I don’t have the strength to return it.

Instead, I nod. “That’s me.”

“Sorry to bother you, but it’s important that we get you down to the station to give an official statement about the events that took place on Friday night at the Delta Omega house.”

I sigh. I almost ask him if it’s necessary, but then I remember Finn’s involvement in all of it and Dane’s attempt at pressing charges for assault, and I know that I need to do what they ask, even if it feels like the equivalent of swallowing a cup full of nails.

“Okay,” I agree and grab my purse, keys, and phone to follow his lead.

Even though the station is only a few blocks away, Officer Walters drives me in his patrol car and cuts our travel time to five minutes flat.

He escorts me inside, past the lobby area, through a hallway that requires a badge to scan in, and into the back area of the station.

“Scottie?” A female voice fills my ears, and I nearly trip over my own feet when I glance over my shoulder to see my mom standing there.

Her normally pretty face is an exhausted mess. She has dark circles under her green eyes, her clothes are wrinkled, and her long brown locks are in a messy bun on top of her head. She’s me in about twenty years and a half million bottles of vodka. I hate how much I look like her.

“Can we talk?” she asks, and I shake my head. “Scottie, please, I know how awful all of this looks, and I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.” She starts to step closer to me, and I lift my hand in the air.

“No.” I look at Officer Walters. “Why is she here?”

“Mrs. Bardeaux is here because she wanted to update her statement with a few more details.”

“If you want me to stay here and give a statement, then she needs to go. I refuse to be anywhere near her.”

“Scottie, honey, don’t say that,” my mom begs, but Officer Walters is quick to abide by my request.

“Hey, Paul,” he calls out toward an officer who is sitting down at the desk my mother is standing beside. “Please take Mrs. Bardeaux to one of the back interview rooms.”

“Scottie, I just want a chance to explain. I know there’s no excuse, but I want you to know the truth.” My mom is completely ignoring Paul as he tries to lead her away, and the unexpected time with her is wreaking havoc on my nervous system.

Anxiety claws at my chest, and my knees buckle so hard that I have to reach out a hand to steady myself on Officer Walters’s desk.

“Mrs. Bardeaux, please follow me,” Paul urges, but it’s clear at this point that nothing short of manhandling her is going to stop her from walking toward me.

“I thought you and Dane were still together. He told me he was your boyfriend. He told me that you wanted to see me. He—”

“Ma’am.” Officer Walters steps directly in front of me to block her. “You need to stop. She’s made it clear that she doesn’t want to speak to you. You need to respect that.”

“Scottie?” she questions, trying to peer around the officer to see me. I cower behind him, using him as my own personal emotional shield.

I don’t see it, but I hear it when Paul successfully guides her toward one of the back rooms. There are retreating footsteps and any manner of a million complaints from her, but finally, a door clicks shut and a strangled breath escapes my lungs.

“I apologize for that, Scottie.” Officer Walters offers me an understanding smile and gestures for me to take a seat near the desk I’m assuming is his. “Let’s move through this quickly and get you back to your dorm.”

My nerves are shot, and I feel like I’m seconds away from snapping in two. I nod and grit my teeth, forcing myself to power through.

“We found evidence on Nadine Jones’s phone that she was utilizing an app to send you harassing text messages,” he updates. “Were you aware they were from her?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Though, after what happened on Friday night and the fact that she was filming the whole thing, I assumed it was either her or Dane Matthews who were sending me those messages.”

“Have you seen the footage that Nadine Jones released on social media?”

Of course I have. It’s my ongoing living nightmare and one of life’s biggest mysteries that the explicit footage managed to get under so many platforms’ community guidelines.

“Yes.” I swallow hard against the bile that wants to migrate up my throat. “I’ve seen it. Too many times.”

“I want you to know that we have successfully deleted the footage from Nadine’s and Dane’s accounts, and we are working hard to locate it anywhere else that a third party has shared it,” he updates. “Once something is released on the internet, it’s hard to remove it entirely, but our Digital Forensics Department is working hard to do exactly that.” He slides a piece of paper and a pen over to me. “Now, I just need you to write down the events of Friday night from your point of view. Be as detailed as you can with names, places, and everything you saw.”

This is the last thing I want to do, an actual crime against any of the very little progress I’ve made since it happened, but I make myself do it anyway. I know it’s important, not only for me, but for Finn and all the other friends who’ve stood by me through the whole thing.

Once I finish, my face is wet with tears and my body feels like it’s been squeezed through a lemon press. I can feel the exhaustion settling into my bones, and my eyes are heavy with fatigue as I slide my statement over to Officer Walters.

He hands me a tissue. “Thank you for doing that,” he says. “I know it was hard for you, and I commend you on your strength. It’s not easy reliving painful situations.”

“This is one of the worst things that has ever happened to me,” I verbalize my truth and use the tissue to wipe off snot that’s trying to drip out of my nose. “And that’s saying a lot because my mother has been an alcoholic all of my life.”

“You’re a strong young woman, and I’m proud of you.” Officer Walters’s eyes are kind and understanding. “And I hope there’s never a next time, but if you ever receive harassing text messages or are put in a situation you feel is unsafe in any form, I want you to contact me directly.” He hands me his card, and I put it in my purse. “Now, let’s get you back to your dorm.” He gestures for me to stand, and I follow his lead back out of the police station.

The ride in his patrol car back to Delaney is silent, but as we turn the corner onto 116th Street, the entrance door looming ahead, I can’t stop myself from asking one thing. “Are Dane and Nadine going to go to jail?”

He keeps his eyes forward and his hands on the steering wheel. “I’m giving you all of this info off the record, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Since they’re first-time offenders, I don’t think they’ll get jail time, but they might have to deal with house arrest and a few years’ probation.”

I started the semester as Dane’s girlfriend. And now, I’ve ended the semester with Dane facing house arrest and probation for crimes he committed against me and my mom. It all feels like a fever dream.

Now that I know Officer Walters is willing to share a little more than the standard byline, I venture another inquiry.

“Is Finn Hayes going to get in trouble?”

I’ve got more than enough of my own problems to occupy me into the next lifetime and beyond, but Finn is still one of the main things I’ve been thinking about since Julia told me he beat Dane up.

“The dean made some sort of pseudo-deal with Dane Matthews’s father. Evidently, a number of the major donors of this year’s endowment threatened to pull it if Dane pressed charges, and as Dane’s father’s company relies heavily on a lot of the construction and development business with the university, he found it in their family’s best interest not to risk it. Their agreement will end up giving Dane a lesser sentence than he would normally face for harassment and cybercrimes, but I think it’s the right thing to do, given the ramifications this would have on Finn’s permanent record.”

Relief’s kiss is swift and intense as Officer Walters’s words overwhelm me. Finn deserves a fair shot at everything good in this world—maybe even more than everyone else—and the thought that I might be the reason he didn’t get it was unbearable.

For as much shit as I still have to deal with, this…this is still a win.