Chapter 15 Solana
SOLANA
I’m not even sure I have the right place when I turn up to the school counselor’s office. The smell of mayonnaise and chicken wafts through the door along with the sound of bright laughter. I hover uncertainly in the doorway, wondering if I should turn back now.
But then Mrs. LaRosa spots me and waves me in. She’s on the phone, barely looking up from her sandwich.
“Honey,” she chides in a light tone, “I told you the marble countertops. Not the granite, remember?”
I sit down, my hands twisted in my lap. My stomach’s been churning for days, but it’s grown five times worse over the past hour.
Ever since Kel cornered me in the bathroom.
…I need help.
I need some direction. Someone to tell me how to handle this situation. I’m in over my head and have no idea what to do.
Silver’s not an option anymore. Not after what happened between us.
Mrs. LaRosa takes her time getting off the phone with her husband. She sits at her desk as if she has an open schedule. She’s round and middle aged with a feathery ash-brown haircut that looks like she hasn’t updated the style since 1995.
Her desk is a disaster of folders stacked everywhere and about a million photos of her and her husband and their poodle.
I catch a glimpse of solitaire on her computer screen before she promptly angles the monitor away.
“Okay, okay. Love you too, honey. Bye.” She hangs up, taking another bite of her sandwich, and finally looks directly at me. “So, Serena, what’s this about?”
“It’s Solana.”
She shrugs like the difference doesn’t matter. “What’s this about?”
I draw a shaky breath and decide to go with the basics. It seems the easiest place to start when my thoughts are as jumbled as they are.
“A couple weeks ago, some friends and I... we had fake IDs. We went to a club.”
She bites into her sandwich, chewing while I talk. A piece of lettuce sticks to her lip.
“That’s illegal, you know,” she says through a mouthful of chicken salad, cupping her hand in front of her mouth as an afterthought. “Students possessing fake IDs. But go on. I’m listening.”
I pause, staring at her in mild confusion.
…she can’t be serious?
I push back the doubt creeping in and press on, hoping I’ll warm up to her. She’ll actually be helpful.
“I... I can’t remember all the details of what happened that night. But we were drinking and having a good time. But then I woke up naked. In a guy’s bed.”
“I have to be honest with you, Seren—I mean Solana. If both parties were drinking, it becomes a he-said, she-said situation,” she cuts in, gripping her half-eaten sandwich. “These things happen. They’re unfortunately very common.”
My mouth falls open, though no sound comes out. She must read the disbelief on my face because she sighs and elaborates.
“Look, honey.” She finally sets down her sandwich, wiping her fingers on a crumpled napkin. “This is why it’s your responsibility to know your limits. Don’t drink more than you can handle. Don’t go home with men if you’re not prepared for the consequences.”
“I’m not—”
“You can’t cry rape the next day just because he doesn’t call.”
“That’s not what I’m doing!” I cry out in offense. My face heats up and I can feel myself starting to shake. “Someone slipped something in my drink! It was in the toxicology report. Someone drugged me.”
She leans back in her chair, creaking under her weight. “If you don’t remember what happened, there’s nothing I can do. Nothing anyone can do, really.”
“But—”
“Besides,” she interrupts again, picking up her sandwich for another bite.
“You were underage. With a fake ID. Misdemeanor to drink underage. Felony to possess falsified identification. If the school pursues this—and the police get involved—you’d be on the hook for those things.
You could wind up expelled. Is that really what you want? All over some night of regretful sex?”
I stare at her, now at a loss for words. The righteous anger that had swooped in only a couple seconds ago ebbs away, replaced by the usual daunting hopelessness. The sense of dread because there’s no escaping this; there’s no fixing what’s happened.
I’m going to be made to suffer no matter what.
“Never mind,” I croak, throat sore. I stand up and hitch my bookbag over my shoulder. “I have to go.”
“Wait, that doesn’t mean you can’t receive help yourself. I was speaking strictly in terms of filing any official reports. I can still recommend a support group!” she calls after me. “For troubled students, it’s a group where you can—”
But I’m already out the door, striding fast down the hall.
I burst through the front door, my legs barely carrying me after the long day I’ve had. I ditched my last class and was so desperate I took an Uber from Wheaton to Pulsboro.
An expense I can’t afford right now, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
I come home expecting solitude but find the smells of weed and motor oil.
Moses is home, sprawled across our worn couch with his phone in one hand and a joint in the other.
“Damn, Sol, you look like shit,” he teases. “What happened, some guy break your heart?”
He’s being a typical older brother, giving me a hard time, but he still misses that now isn’t the time. I’m not up to shit talk. I’m not up for anything at all.
I don’t answer as I rush to my room and slam the door. He doesn’t follow, probably figuring I’m being dramatic as usual. It really is some dumb guy problem I’m upset about.
But I can’t even blame him. He has his own life to be concerned about without bogging himself down with my issues.
I fall onto my bed fully clothed, shoes still on, and let unconsciousness drag me under within seconds.
When I wake up, the room is dark and my throat is dry from lack of use. The numbers on my phone read 9:47 p.m.
The house is silent. Moses is gone again, probably to some party or club meeting.
I drag myself to the kitchen where a styrofoam container sits on the counter with a note in Moses’s sloppy handwriting.
Headed to Houston for an event. Be back tomorrow.
Got you wings from that place you like. Cheer up, sis.
The wings are cold and congealed, the sauce turned thick and unappetizing. I force myself to eat one, chewing and swallowing.
Tomorrow’s my final audition for Magnolia. I should be practicing, running through my Southern accent, perfecting my emotional beats.
But the lines swim in my head, meaningless words from someone else’s story when my own has become a nightmare.
The knock at the door is sharp and aggressive, coming out of nowhere. Three hard raps that make me freeze mid-chew.
Through the peephole, I see the last person on earth I want to deal with right now.
Kel stands under the porch light in a black hoodie, hands shoved in his pockets. My body goes cold then hot and then cold again.
“Go away,” I mumble.
“Open the door, Lana,” he urges. “I have something to tell you. About that night. About why everyone at school’s been staring at you. I know you’ve noticed.”
I almost choke on the air I inhale, going still where I am in front of the door.
So it hasn’t been my imagination. People have been staring. They’ve been casting judgy looks and grinning as if amused and muttering behind my back.
“Open and we’ll talk about it. We’ll come to some agreement, okay?” he says. “Don’t make this situation any worse than it is.”
I know I shouldn’t do it. I know it could be yet another stupid mistake.
But what if we can figure out a solution? What if I can get whatever info he’s keeping from me so I finally know what’s going on at school?
My hand moves to the deadbolt. I crack the door open only an inch, the chain still on.
“Lana, let me in,” he sighs. “It’s just me, alright? Let’s get this over with and talk it out like adults.”
I draw a weak breath, then slide the chain off to let him in. He quickly strides inside, brushing past me.
“Spencer told me what happened in the alley. Some psycho threatened to cut off his fingers,” he starts, cutting me a sidelong glance. “You’re saying you didn’t know?”
My brows knit. “Kel, I’ve already told you I didn’t send anyone. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. What about the stares I’ve been getting? What’s going on?”
“You say you don’t know,” he says cryptically. His gaze has traveled from me to the rest of the living room, roving over small details like the old box TV and the photos hanging on the wall. “But you never mentioned you were related to bikers.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“You sent them after me,” he says. “You were gonna have them handle me? Ran into Shay this afternoon. She told me your uncle is a Steel King. That true? Seems like it judging by these pictures.”
He gestures to one across from him on the wall of Uncle Eddie and his Harley.
My stomach twists into knots. “Kel, I didn’t tell anybody to come for you. Why would I do that? I can’t even remember what—”
“Don’t lie to me!” he yells suddenly. “You think you can sic your bikers on me? Think you can threaten me?”
“I didn’t do anything! I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You want to play stupid when I came here to make a truce? Fine.”
“How can we make a truce when I still don’t know everything that happened that night!?”
“Then let me refresh your memory about it.” He pulls out his phone, the screen bright in the dim room.
“Yeah, I slipped something in your drink. Just a little Special K to loosen you up. Everyone knows you’re a fucking boring prude.
You thought we were hanging out with you because of your sparkling personality? ”
“So… you drugged me,” I whisper.
“I made you fun,” he corrects. “You should’ve seen yourself after it kicked in. Offered to suck my dick right there in the car, in front of Spencer and Diego. Pulled your top down and flashed us. You were finally interesting for once in your life, Lana.”
“You’re lying.”
…but even as I say it, fragments flash through my mind—hands on me, loud crass laughter, the world spinning as I struggled to keep up.