March
Lulu Meets the Dean
LULU WAITED IMPATIENTLY outside Dean Choudhary’s office, dressed in her spin clothes. Right now, she didn’t give a shit how she looked for some dean. Her crossed leg bounced up and down. She was pretty sure she was experiencing some sort of clinical depression. Even Song had asked if something was wrong.
In the days since that little scene in the post office, she had holed up in her room. No one at Fellinghams was responding to her emails or texts. She simmered with frustration and hurt when she thought of them. And then OTA! What had gone wrong? Had Shelley said something to her mother about the clothes or that ridiculous scepter? Lulu had thought about reaching out to Wendy Faircloth but realized it smacked of desperation. Her inability to do anything was more frustrating than anything else.
What the hell was she doing at the dean’s office, anyway? Shitty grades were why most students got hauled in here, and she had no issues there. Her grades were tolerable, mostly B’s, although about to head south on account of her not going to class in almost two weeks. The dean of students was someone she might have been just as glad to never meet.
The email had only said:
Ms. Harris,
Please come meet me in my office tomorrow at 11 am. There is a matter I’d like to discuss with you.
Dean Choudhary
Who the hell does that? Just summons you without giving the slightest hint why? What was this “matter”? He could have said he wanted to “catch up and chat,” say, and that could have been anything. Have you thought about going out for a play, Ms. Harris? Or: We were hoping you might volunteer for some community outreach. Instead, it was a “matter.” Was it about the scepter? Seriously? She didn’t care what some goddamn dean had to say. She was probably just going to drop out anyway. Sheldon would get over it.
The door swung open. It was the dean. “Ms. Harris, would you please come in.” She walked in and saw that her nosy RA, Yolanda Perez, was there. What the hell was she doing here? Didn’t she have posters to pin somewhere?
“Have a seat, please,” said the dean.
Lulu settled into one of those wooden “college” chairs, the ones with the spindles and a college crest on the top of the frame.
“Ms. Harris…” began Dean Choudhary.
“If this is about the scepter, I can assure you that it’s all a silly misunderstanding.”
“Yes, about that: I’d like to personally apologize if you were upset by how campus security handled the matter. We’re going to make counseling available to you should you want it.”
Hmm, that wasn’t what she expected. Yolanda still hadn’t said a word.
“However, I feel obliged to point out that stealing is an expulsion-level offense. Are you aware of this, Ms. Harris?”
Lulu said nothing, but she was thinking she wanted to drop out before the bastards could kick her out. The last thing she needed on top of everything else was people in New York talking about how she got the boot. Oddly, though, the dean didn’t sound angry at all. He sounded … conciliatory?
“Ms. Harris?”
“I didn’t know that, specifically, but really, I didn’t steal it.”
“There are those who believe otherwise.”
“I know, but I am a member of Fellinghams. How could I steal it?”
“Were a member, is my understanding.”
Christ, did everyone know about that, too?
“Ms. Harris, be that as it may, it’s come to my attention there may have been an … incident.”
Now what? “Sorry, I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
“Your RA, Ms. Perez here, has made us aware of something. Something troubling. Yolanda, would you please explain?”
Lulu could see the bulges of Yolanda’s flesh pressing through the spindles of her chair. No one should have to see that, she thought. Yolanda produced her phone and showed Lulu the photo Yolanda had taken the morning after the Beta party. At least a quarter of Lulu’s face was a purplish blue, causing her to instinctively recoil.
“Not pretty, is it?” Yolanda let it sink in. “Harris, I think you were a victim of sexual assault. Actually, I know you were. You spent that night somewhere other than your room, you were disheveled and had clearly been drinking, and I don’t think you hit yourself in the face. We’ve spoken to members of your former club, and they confirmed you were at the Beta house the night before. One of those animals did this to you, and you need to help us by telling us who it was.”
“What Ms. Perez is trying to say is that we’d certainly appreciate your assistance with this,” said the dean. “The fraternities have been a troublesome aspect of our culture here at Devon for some time.”
“Isn’t this my business?” asked Lulu.
“If there’s a sexual predator—or predators—on this campus, it’s everyone’s business,” said the dean. “We’d like to identify who it is so appropriate measures can be taken.”
“This is all just a big misunderstanding. Really, it is.” Lulu looked out the window, wishing she were anywhere else. She should just get up and walk out right now.
“Like the scepter?” asked Yolanda. “You seem to be at the center of a lot of misunderstandings.”
Dean Choudhary jumped back in. “Ms. Harris—Lulu—we’re really just here to help. We—the university, that is—are willing to overlook the whole incident with the scepter if you could assist us in this matter. We need to identify the individual or individuals who did this to you. Under Title IX rules, you will not have to personally confront anyone. I think you will find the process … unobtrusive. Indeed, you might find it personally restorative to unburden yourself. It must be a terrible thing to carry around.”
Lulu thought about waking up next that hairy thing on the Beta couch. Ugh. She was pretty sure she had been a willing participant, but really, who was to say? She couldn’t remember a damn thing. Maybe the hairy man-boy roofied her. He probably did, the creep. But did she really need to go through any of this shit? It might be fun to get the man-boy in trouble, but if she fessed up, everyone would know she’d had sex with that ape, forced or not. Yuck!
She looked at Yolanda and the dean, who both leaned toward her. What was that look on their faces? It was … eagerness.
Yolanda jumped in. “We have a whole support network for you here, Lulu. There’s no shame in it. You are a survivor.” Yolanda was practically glowing as she said the word.
Survivor.
Through the hazy fog of her depression, Lulu remembered the article in Newsweek about Mattress Girl and how she became world-famous, fêted globally by the media and women’s organizations, even attending the State of the Union. She had 2 million followers on Twitter, even more than Cricket Hayes. Lulu’s mental gears, addled as they were, ground away as she weighed her options. Maybe there’s a way forward. Sitting there, with the eager faces of Yolanda Perez and Dean Choudhary boring in on her, it came together.
“All right, it’s true.”
“Could you be more specific, please?” asked Choudhary.
“There was drinking, then I was assaulted. There was no consent. That bastard did it.”
A look of triumph swept over Yolanda’s face.