Chapter 2
The next day, the whole neighborhood knew about it.
I went out to get breakfast in the morning, and as soon as I stepped out of the building, I saw a group of old ladies gathered by the flower bed. They were chatting, but the moment I showed up, their voices cut off.
I could feel their stares prickling my skin.
As I walked past, they started whispering, low enough to be private and loud enough for me to catch.
"That's her. Looks so respectable."
"And that name of hers sounds like a man's. Figures."
"I heard she messed with the girl downstairs, and she's only nineteen."
"You never know what someone's really like."
I stopped in my tracks and turned to face them.
Those old ladies instantly clammed up, eyeing me like I was some kind of threat.
"Ladies," I said, keeping my voice as calm as possible, "it's not what you think. I didn't do anything wrong."
The one with the curly perm made a face. "Her mother was crying at the HOA office. You think she'd invent that?"
"Yeah," the one in the floral shirt jumped in. "How much must that girl have suffered to speak out? And you're still trying to deny it."
I knew nothing I said would change their minds.
Once gossip got moving, the truth couldn't catch it.
I walked away, their stares practically scorching my back.
On my way to class, I called my lawyer friend, Julia Brooks.
She was a classmate from college, and after graduation she went into a firm and handled civil disputes.
When she picked up, I gave her a quick rundown of what happened.
There was a three-second pause, and then she burst out laughing.
"Jordan!" Julia laughed so hard she could barely breathe. "That name of yours and the way you dress finally landed you in something real."
"Quit laughing," I said, rubbing my temples. "What do I do now?"
"You take it head on," she said once she got herself under control. "She wants to sue? Let her. A claim like that comes apart the second it hits a courtroom. Until then, you get to be the villain of the block."
She was right.
Over the next few days, I got a firsthand taste of what it means to be socially dead.
When I ordered takeout, the delivery guy looked at me like I was some kind of freak.
At the supermarket, the cashier handed me my change as if touching me would infect her.
Even one of my student's parents caught wind of it and asked me, in a roundabout way, if I was "having any trouble lately."
Gloria was raising hell.
She somehow got a reporter from a local tabloid to give her a tearful interview in the central garden.
I stood on my balcony, watching her dramatically slap her thigh and sob, saying stuff like, "It's not easy being a single mom raising a daughter," "My innocent girl got ruined," and "I have to get justice."
Sophie stood behind her mom, wearing a white dress, head down, shoulders trembling, wiping away tears.
They were putting on quite a show. I almost wanted to give them a round of applause.
Later, I bumped into Sophie in the hallway.
She was carrying a trash bag, and when she saw me, she looked like she'd seen a ghost. She spun around, ready to run.
"Sophie," I called out, making her stop.
She froze, then slowly turned around, refusing to meet my eyes.
"Look at me," I said, stepping closer.
She snapped her head up, panic all over her face. "What do you want? My mom said you're a bad person"
"You know I'm not," I said, meeting her gaze. "That night, I was at your door for less than a minute. I handed you the tuner, you said thanks, I said 'no problem,' and I left."
She bit her lip, twisting the edge of her shirt between her fingers.
"You're nineteen now, an adult." I kept my voice low, making sure every word hit home.
"Making up stories and lying in court can get you in real trouble. What did your mom promise you? Money? Or that purse you kept checking out at the mall?"
Her face went ghostly pale.
"How do you know?" Sophie blurted out, instantly regretting it. She slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with panic.
Then, like a startled rabbit, she dropped the trash bag and bolted downstairs.
I watched her go, shaking my head.
A week later, the court summons landed in my hands for real.
Everything was there in black and white, clear as day.
[Cause of action: sexual assault.]
[Relief sought: 650 thousand dollars for emotional distress, medical costs, and lost tuition.]
[Court date: September 12th.]
I stared at the paper for a long time, then snapped a pic and sent it to Julia.
She replied right away: [Got it. This is about to get interesting.]
It was going to get interesting.
I folded the summons and shoved it deep into the back of my drawer.
Then I lifted the piano lid and started playing.
I played Beethoven's Sonata Pathétique, hard, and the notes slammed into the air and hung there.