Master Nate sat, his slouched dark form against the orange plastic, in the front pew of Pinkberry and pretended to read. He would look up and smile, as if suddenly noticing a girl from school, when he had been tracking her every move, and get her into conversation, hoping she would sit. That was his schtick.
Lauren was a Junior with medium length auburn hair, long lashes and a high forehead. She flushed when we told her our plan. “How bad will it be for him?”
“He’ll be fired, maybe jail.”
She sat down with him and asked if he wanted to come to a party. He said he couldn’t until she said it was just her. He walked at her side, just behind, letting his hand bump into hers. We went ahead and waited on the balcony of Kristie’s parent’s place. He came into the apartment like a burglar, looking for cameras, and moved cautiously into the living room, ready to flee. He stood at the window, looking out past the cedar hedge and our heads in behind.
“You want some tequila?” She said it too quickly and offered the bottle like it was a bomb, and it looked like he would go, until she sat on the edge of the couch and stretched out her legs.
“I’m more of a tea drinker.”
She smiled. “Oh, I like tea.”
“That’s my girl.” He stepped toward her and leaned on the back of the couch.
“You don’t drink at all?”
“Just my tea.’ He reached out like he was waving away a spiderweb and then had his hand on her hair.
“Master Nate.” My voice sounded like it was coming out the back of my head.
He looked up, frozen like a cardboard cut-out, his eyes wide, his arms dangling in disrepair. “What’s that?”
Kristie had already dialed, walking straight past him and stood in front of the door. “I’d like to report a rape.”
“What?” Master Nate’s face collapsed, the weight of it pushing out his pink-grey lower lip. “Rape? No.”
She glared back at him, the judgement already in. “Yes, he’s right here.”