Page 42 of Beware of Dog

“I was born in Jersey,” Shep reasoned, and started to sweat.

“Shep, where are you right now? I can tell you’re outside.”

It would be easy to lie. It wasn’t like Mav had GPS trackers on their phones; he’d never know the truth from a fib. But that was part of his mysterious sway: lying to Maverick felt shitty.

“On a bench,” he said, and sweat trickled down the back of his neck, despite the wind chill.

“A bench where?”

Shep made a face. “The NYU campus.”

He waited for a sigh that didn’t come. Instead, Mav’s voice took on a slight vibration. He soundednervous. “Does Raven know? Does Toly know?”

“That I’m on campus?”

“That you’re in love with Cass.”

Shep was so shocked that Mav had said it out loud, that he’d put it inthoseterms, that he burst out laughing. “Jeeeesus Christ, Mav! Are you serious? What part of me makes you think I can be ‘in love’ with anybody?”

Mav didn’t laugh. “I’m not the guy who’s gonna lecture you about your love life, but I think you should be careful.”

“I repeat:Jesus Christ.” Inwardly, Shep felt feverish.

“I also think that if you want to be with her, you should make sure you’re serious about her first. And you should call Mercy Lécuyer and ask him what it’s like to piss off a girl’s family in this particular way.”

“Nothing’s happened,” Shep said.

“But that doesn’t mean it won’t.”

Shep’s protest formed and died before he could give it voice. He thought about last night, and the way Cass fit against his side; her small fist clenched in his shirt.

He wasn’t going to make the first move. He wasn’t going to bethatcreep. But he’d never been any good at refusing her. If she decided she wanted him—and that seemed likelier and likelier as time went by—he wasn’t going to tell her no.

“Shep.”

“I hear you.”

Mav made a satisfied noise, and then said, “And about Sig Blackmon—”

“I won’t go near him.”

“You better not.”

What he didn’t say, and which Mav doubtless knew, though: if Sig came near Cass, all bets were off.

Twelve

Jamie’s rape made the news. There was no helping it, really, but the story went viral thanks to the Blackmons’ efforts with the press. His parents went on all the local primetime news shows, pleading their son’s case, citing the Duke Lacrosse incident and every other false accusation they could find. His mother, puffy-faced, over-Botoxed, sat with hands folded, perhaps grave, perhaps bored, her mood impossible to determine from her expression. His father adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses and stared directly into the camera. “Our Sig is a victim in all of this. It’s terribly unfortunate, but girls have learned that they can get attention, praise, and sympathy if they accuse a boy of assaulting her.”

Cass turned off the TV with a disgusted, “Ugh.”

Jamie packed a suitcase and went home to Brooklyn. Tears coursing down her face, she said, “My parents found out. They—they’re mad, but they know I’m not lying.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Cass said. Every day, she was more fearful that the stress would become too overwhelming, and Jamie would drop the charges.

Loath as she was to admit it, the quiet of their shared room was welcome once Jamie left. Cass tried to focus on her classwork and ignored the nasty glares of the other girls in the dorms. She heard whispers, but no one was brave enough to address her directly.

She learned why two days after Jamie left.

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