Vigilante

  “Of course,” she said with a smile. “You can chop the onion for me. You are always so good at that.”

  I smiled. “That’s because none of you can do it without crying.”

  Helping her cook was something Magda and I often did. I envied their mother-daughter relationship. It wasn’t that I didn’t love my own mother, or that we weren’t close. But Mrs. Torres seemed to understand Magda—and Teresa—in a way my mother didn’t understand me. There were times I thought Mom had forgotten what it was like to be a teenager. Mrs. Torres remembered. She tried to pay attention to modern music, current events, even TV shows. I knew that she took an interest in everything Teresa did, but never seemed to do it in an overbearing way.

  We cooked, and we made dessert for later. We talked—sometimes about Magda—and sometimes not.

  “Hadley,” she said, turning toward me. “I would like to ask you something, and I would like it if we could keep it just between the two of us.”

  “Okay,” I said. I was a little worried where this might be going.

  “I am worried about my boy.”

  “Gabriel?” As though she had another son. “Why?” Gabriel was smart, got good grades, worked part-time, was nice and absolutely gorgeous. What could she possibly be worried about?

  “Since Magda...left us, Gabriel has become more and more withdrawn. He seems so angry. I’m worried what he might do if he can’t let go of that anger.”

  “I’m not sure I’m a good one to talk to,” I replied honestly. “I’m angry too.”

  “We’re all angry. You should be angry when someone you love is taken from you too soon, but there is also sadness that comes with grieving. I see it in you, and Teresa. I see it when I look in the mirror. I do not see it in Gabriel. He has not grieved for his sister. He won’t allow himself to do it.”

  I thought of all the times Gabriel had hugged me when I cried over Magda. All the times he had been there for me. I’d thought I’d also been there for him, but maybe I hadn’t been. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him cry for his sister. I don’t remember having seen him cry at all. I thought he had because of the anguish I’d seen on his face, but had his eyes ever been actually wet?

  “Do you want me to talk to him?” I asked.

  “Would you?” She looked so relieved. “I don’t know if he’ll open up to you, either, but if he decides he wants to talk, I think you are the only one he will talk to.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted that responsibility. Wasn’t sure I was strong enough for it. I was so overwhelmed by my own grief, my own anger, and I didn’t think I had room to shoulder anybody else’s. But this was Gabe, and I had to be there for him if I could.

  “Okay. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Thank you. You’re such a good girl.”

  I wanted to correct her on that, but I couldn’t. Let her think it. If I’d been so good, I would have watched over Magda better that night instead of being pissy. I would have been more understanding, and then she wouldn’t have killed herself after her best friend had been such a thoughtless bitch.

  Everyone said it wasn’t my fault that Magda killed herself. It was because of the rape, because of the bullying. But I knew, in my heart, that the way I’d spoken to her that day had been the last straw.

  She had said it all in the note she left. “Tell Hadley I’m sorry she got pulled into all of this.” Pulled in, like I hadn’t had a choice. I hadn’t made Magda feel like I wanted to stand beside her, and in the end, Mags had felt completely alone.

  I had to live with that.

  Gabriel arrived home shortly after five, as dinner neared completion. I followed him into his room, closing the door behind us. He looked startled when he turned around and found himself alone with me.

  His dark eyes narrowed. “Mom sent you in here, didn’t she?”

  I didn’t bother to lie. “She’s worried about you. She thinks you’re so full of anger you can’t properly grieve for Magda.”

  “That’s because I can’t just hand over everything to Jesus, and expect it to be okay.” He looked disgusted. “She thinks if she prays enough we’ll all find peace. She thinks my sister’s in heaven hanging out with God and the Apostles, a couple of saints too, probably. She thinks that’s wonderful. I would rather have my sister here than imagine her with a halo and wings.”

  “Believing that makes it easier for her. She needs to believe that there’s a heaven, and that Magda’s in it. It doesn’t matter what you think of that. You need to find a way to stop being so angry at your mother, at Magda.”

  He laughed, but it was a harsh sound. “Really? That’s rich coming from a girl who has to beat people up several times a week to even feel remotely normal. I don’t think you’re the best person to lecture me on anger and letting go of it.”

  I shrugged. “You’re right. I’m not. But I’m trying, and I think it might finally be working.”

  “Well, good for you. How nice that you’re just able to forget what those bastards did to her and let them get away with it.”

  “I haven’t forgotten anything.” I jabbed him in the chest with my finger. It probably hurt me more than him. “I have to see those assholes five days a week. I have to sit in the same room with them. I have to listen to them talk and laugh. I have to watch them live, while knowing Magda is gone. So, don’t you get snotty with me, Gabriel Torres. The other day they were all in a car together, and for a moment I was terrified they were going to grab me and do to me what they did to Magda. That’s not something you have to think about.”

  His face hardened. The muscle in his jaw stood out beneath his cheek. “If one of them so much as touches you,” he growled, “I’ll kill him.”

  He trembled with anger. I didn’t know what to do about that, and I was too astounded by his confession to do anything more than stare at him. He lifted his hand and touched my hair, rubbing the strands between his fingers. My breath caught in my throat. This was not like our hugs, or even when we sometimes held each other’s hands.

  Gabriel took a step toward me. We were already close, and he made us even closer, so that we were no more than a fist apart.

  “Promise me you’ll be careful,” he beseeched, his dark eyes full of emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  I swallowed. My mouth and throat were dry, and my heart was beating so hard I thought I’d wake up with bruises tomorrow morning. “You’re not going to lose me. Not ever.” My voice was strained, strangled by the tightness in my throat.

  He let go of my hair and slid his hand around the back of my neck. His palm was warm against my skin. Our gazes locked as I tilted my chin up. I knew what he was going to do, and I wasn’t going to stop him. I would never stop him, no matter how far it went.

  Gabriel lowered his head. My eyes began to close as my lips opened. I could barely breathe. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to kiss him back. I could feel his breath—it smelled of peppermint. My hands clutched the front of his T-shirt. I felt like I was on fire, and he was rain.

  Just as his lips were about to touch mine there was a knock on his door. We froze, breathing each other’s air.

  “Gabe? Hadley?” It was Teresa. “Dinner’s ready.”

  “We’ll be right there,” Gabriel replied.

  I let go of his shirt and tried to step backward, but he still had his hand around my neck and he held me fast.

  “You need to know,” he murmured, “that if she hadn’t knocked I would’ve kissed you. And the next time I get the chance, I’m going to. Are you okay with that?”

  Wasn’t it obvious? God, he was so incredible. “Yes,” I rasped.

  He let me go then, stepping back so that I could leave the room before him. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. We both knew what was going to happen the next time we were alone.

  And I was so
okay with it.

  CHAPTER 8

  I didn’t see Gabriel again for the rest of the week. Part of me was disappointed, but there was another part that was glad to avoid him. It was the part that felt guilty for feeling anything other than anger when my best friend was dead. Rationally, I knew Magda wouldn’t want me to be like this, and that she would laugh about me having a crush on Gabriel. She would want me to be happy. It was me who didn’t want to feel it.

  I knew if I was going to continue down this road, getting whatever revenge or payback I could for her, I was going to have to find a way to conceal my identity. I was just lucky that Jason hadn’t woken up and seen me. I couldn’t count on Adam, Brody or Drew being drunk, or even stoned, when I went after them.

  So Thursday night before defense class—it would be my third martial arts class that week—I was sitting in my closet digging through a box of winter gear. I had to dig to the bottom to find what I was looking for, but I did find it. I pulled it out of the box and held it in both hands, smiling at the sight of it.

  It was a pink ski mask that Magda had bought me last Christmas when we’d decided we were going to take up skiing. We never did ski, and I’d never worn the mask. It seemed right to me that I would wear it in her honor when I confronted her rapists.

  Maybe the mask was too flashy, but I’d seen a stack of them at Target, and at a kiosk in the mall. I wouldn’t be the only woman in town to own one, and since I’d never worn it before, there was little chance of anyone figuring out it was me beneath it.

  I closed the box and shoved it back in my closet. Then I hid the ski mask in my underwear drawer. When I went downstairs, my father was in the living room. He’d arrived home earlier that day from a trip. He was gone more than he was at home, and I didn’t mind it.

  “Where are you going?” he asked with a frown.

  “Self-defense class,” I replied. “At the dojo.”

  “That’s your fourth class this week. You’re not going. Upstairs and your homework instead.”

  I stared at him. “It’s my third.” And how the hell did he know about it anyway? “My homework is done, and I have to go because I help teach the class.”

  He looked like he didn’t believe me. Maybe if I gave him a roundhouse kick to the head he wouldn’t be so dubious. “They can do without you for one night. You’ve been out too much.”

  Before I could stop myself I asked, “How would you know how often I’ve been out? You’re never here. I’ll be back by ten.” I turned to walk away.

  “You’re not going.”

  I sighed and faced him once more. His cheeks were flushed with anger. I don’t know why he’d decided to make this some kind of power struggle between us, but he had.

  “Look, Dad, this class is important. If you don’t want me to go, you can call Detective Diane Davies and explain to her that you don’t think training girls to protect themselves from muggers or rapists is important. Otherwise, I’m going. You lost any right to order me around when you chose your job over my sixteenth birthday.”

  All that redness in his face drained away, replaced by the stark pallor of guilt. Did he honestly believe his absence had gone unnoticed?

  “Anything else?” I asked. “I don’t want to be late, but if you need some father-daughter bonding, we can totally do that.”

  He stared at me like he didn’t recognize me. I could tell him it was mutual, but I was going to be late. So, I said nothing. I left him sitting there, grabbed the keys off the hook by the door, went outside, got in the car and drove to class. I got there with five minutes to spare and the urge to hit something hard gnawing at my insides.

  There were four new girls there when I walked in. Anna, Zoe and Caitlin were already there, and they introduced me to the newbies. One was Zoe’s cousin Julie, who went to a different school. She’d brought her friend Kelsey with her. The other two girls—Megan and Holly—had seen a flyer for the class at Starbucks. It was nice to have new faces. Nice to know that there were girls out there who wanted to know how to protect themselves.

  Detective Davies smiled when she saw me. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it,” she commented.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” I put my bag to the side near the wall and did a few stretches before the class started. As she had last week, Detective Davies talked a bit before getting started with the physical instruction.

  “Statistics tell us that approximately one in five women are raped in this country every year. Personally, I think that’s a low number. I believe in reality it’s closer to three out of five women who experience some sort of sexual assault in their lifetime. Men are sexually assaulted, as well. Statistics say one in seventy-one. This is probably a low number as well, as men are even less likely to report an assault than women.

  “Almost every one of these victims reports a feeling of isolation. They believe they are going through this alone even though there are far too many people out there who know exactly how they feel. My goal in this class is to help keep you from being one of those people. But I’m not just here to teach you how to fight, or defend yourself. I want this class—you girls—to be a place where you can feel safe and express yourself freely. I want you all to be there for each other. This class is not just about protecting yourselves, but protecting other women and girls who may not be able to protect themselves.”

  I watched her as she paced a bit in front of us. She made eye contact with all of us, but I felt as though she were talking directly to me, as though she knew what I had done, knew what I wanted to do and was giving me permission. Rationally, I knew that she wasn’t singling me out, and that as a cop she would not condone any of us taking the law into her own hands. That wasn’t going to stop me, however.

  Maybe it made me a terrible person, but I didn’t regret what I’d done to Jason. It wasn’t as though I stripped him and posted naked photos. It wasn’t like I made it look like he used a stuffed sheep as a sex toy. He and his friends had done far more damage to who knows how many people. All I’d done was remind them that there were consequences for their actions. And I was going to keep reminding them until I thought they’d had enough. Posting that photo of Jason had alleviated some of the guilt I carried. I might not have saved Magda, but I could show those assholes that they couldn’t get away with what they’d done.

  I felt powerful, but more than that, I was hopeful. For the first time since Magda’s death, I was starting to feel like my own life might be worth living. That I might have a purpose, and only some of that hopefulness came from almost kissing Gabe. Yes, I might get into trouble if I was caught. I was aware that what I was doing, and planned to do, might backfire on me, but I was willing to risk that and face my own consequences if necessary.

  “Tonight,” Detective Davies said, “we’re going to go through some techniques for fending off an attacker. You know how girls are always said to fight dirty?”

  We all looked at each other and nodded.

  “Well, I don’t think that’s a bad thing. When there’s a very good chance that your attacker is stronger than you—and let’s face it, there are very few of us who are as strong as a guy our own age or size—you have to do whatever necessary to escape harm. You do that by pulling hair, jabbing eyes, kicking balls.” A nervous collection of laughter rose up from the girls.

  Detective Davies smiled. “If any of you are ever faced with physical danger—I hope to God you’re not—I want you to be able to put as much hurt into your attacker as possible, as quickly as possible, so that you can get away. In short, ladies, I’m going to teach you to fight like a girl.”

  We cheered, grinning like idiots. What this woman offered us was an escape from fear. Before Magda’s attack, I’d never really given much thought to sexual assault. I think a lot of us lived in a little bubble where we assumed it would never happen to us. And sometimes I think women, particularly girls
my age, don’t always know when they’re being assaulted, because assault doesn’t necessarily mean rape.

  But even though I had never worried about being raped myself, I have always been aware of the fear. Girls and women are told not to walk alone after dark. We’re told to travel in groups. Don’t go to a public bathroom alone. Don’t drink too much. Don’t smile too much. Don’t wear a dress that’s too short. Don’t wear pants that are too tight. If you do, you’re asking for it.

  I’ve never had to ask what it is. We all know, and we know from a time when we’re very young. We’re told that if we are attacked we probably did something to invite it. But I have never heard of a boy being told that he shouldn’t inspire the fear, that he shouldn’t behave in a way that causes fear or pain.

  “I’ve never heard anyone at any time say to a guy ‘don’t rape anybody,’” I said out loud. The girls nodded. “But almost every girl I know has been told by friends, family or the media, ‘don’t get raped.’ How did the responsibility fall on us, when we’re not the ones doing the harm? If somebody gets robbed, they’re not put in jail for it.” To my surprise this was met with more cheers and applause.

  “That’s right!” one of the new girls cried. “I’m so sick of it.”

  I looked up at Detective Davies. She was smiling at me in a way that was almost maternal. Like she was proud. I smiled back. “Can I help you demonstrate, Detective?”

  “Yes, please, Hadley.” She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck from side to side. “Since you’re all of the same age group, I’ll play the part of the attacker. Now, if I come at you like this, what do you do?”

  She came at me fast, grabbing me around the neck in a chokehold that bent my spine backward. For a second I panicked as I gasped for breath. Then I tried to picture it in my head. I couldn’t reach back and hit her in the body, but her head was close to mine.

  “I can scratch your arm,” I said.

  “Good. What else?”

  “I might be able to smash your face with my head if I can loosen your grip a bit. I can reach back and pull your hair. And I can stick my thumbs in your eyes.” I demonstrated all three of these as effectively as I could without being able to see what I was doing. Several of the girls groaned when I went for the detective’s eyes.