Liam Nordstrom: May 31, 2013
As my bike rounded the last curve before the house, I could see the news vans backed up along the street. White truck after white truck with telescoping dishes, lined the road all the way down, intertwined with the paparazzi vehicles. I had spent enough time with Will to recognize vultures. Blue and red lights sprung from the cop car, bouncing in all directions as the officer tried to manage the traffic on the narrow street. Jared Borne’s girlfriend Penelope in her white BMW convertible stopped in the middle of the road ahead of me and I slowed my bike. As she handed her license to the policeman, she glared at me in her rearview mirror.
I didn’t have time to worry about pissing her off because the crowd recognized me. Even with my dark helmet, they knew. With cameras raised the reporters locked me in their sights and descended upon my bike, like a pack of hyenas. I wasn’t going to wait to be swallowed by them, so I squeezed my motorcycle past Penelope hoping the cop would understand. When I pulled up to the top of the drive bright lights from the news trucks burst on. I kicked down the stand and rocked my ride back securely onto its mount. I hesitated for a moment, knowing I would be bombarded with accusations any second. Unsure if I should head off the speculation or avoid interaction with the trolls, I dismounted my bike and pull my helmet off. I thought leaving the helmet on would be a sign of weakness or guilt and I had neither.
“Liam.”
“Liam, did you know she was underage?” asked a faceless woman, holding a mic out like a torch under my nose. Seriously, did the girl hold a press conference already?
“Did she change her mind? We’ve all been there. Tell us your side,” came a shout from the darkness created by the blinding lights. The crowd revved around me and the noise blended together, leaving no distinguishable allegations.
I pushed my way to the front door just as it opened. My roommate Nak stood inside, his dark hair messed and his shirt askew. He moved just enough for me to get through and once I was in, he slammed the door closed, catching a microphone in the fissure. After three attempts to secure the door, he snap the lock.
“Tough day, eh?” he said. Nak didn’t usually talk like that, but it was a standing joke we had about his Canadian upbringing and he knew it would lighten my mood.
“Yep. So much for a quiet evening at home.” I glanced over to Leslie sprawled on the couch, looking not quite her pulled together self. “Sorry about the feces on the driveway,” I added. They knew what I meant. Nak shrugged. Nothing ever bothered him. That’s why we got along so well. “Have they been out there long?”
“A couple of hours. They’ve been at the door several times, but we ignored them. Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. “Some teenage girl is accusing me of statutory rape. It wasn’t me. I’d never seen her before in my life and I was with Kelsey that night. Besides the girl’s a brunet,” I said, as if my last sentence completely put to rest any doubt.
I knew Nak and Leslie were planning, a long time coming, quiet evening in and I didn’t want to take any more of their night. “Is Kelsey in there?” I pointed toward my room.
“Yeah. When did you give her the key?” asked Nak, settling next to Leslie and propping his feet up on the coffee table.
“This morning,” I admitted with raised eyebrows, anticipating their comments.
“Getting serious,” Leslie announced with a smirk, as if I hadn’t realized what giving her a key meant.
I shrugged and took off down the hall to my room.
Kelsey slept curled in a small ball on my bed, classical music leaking from her headphones. Still wearing her shorts and tank, her face was clear of makeup—natural and beautiful. She probably washed it off minutes after she arrived. For someone whose career involved applying layer upon layer of cosmetics to other’s faces, I always thought it strange that she peeled hers off the first chance she got.
I grabbed a quick shower without waking her and snuck into the kitchen for a sandwich, bringing it back to my room to avoid messing up Nak’s night anymore then I already had. Kelsey was sleeping on her stomach, now, with her knee bent and her butt up in the air. Hmm—love those shorts. The girl could sleep through anything. I doubt she would notice if I removed them.
I slid her iPad out from under her right thigh, where it was trapped, with full intention of turning off her music, when the picture left from her last Internet search popped before my eyes—the now familiar face of the girl who accused me of assault stared back at me as she leaned against my motorcycle. Oh Crap!
Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler
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