Beckoners by Carrie Mac Page B

in their plastic party poses.
    This was all wrong. Zoe looked at her watch; it was only quarter after ten. There was no way Janika would be ready to go home yet. Zoe counted the money in her pockets, but there wasn’t enough to pay for a cab by herself. Through the trees, she heard a whimper, followed by a harsh whisper. She slipped the money back into her pocket and crept towards the voices.
    The first thing she saw was Beck’s birthday card, face down on the damp ground. Then she saw Brady, up against a tree, his pants loose at the waist, his wide back obscuring Heather, no doubt, whose leg he gripped against his waist. What a grimy slut.
    Zoe stepped behind a tree and held her breath, not sure if she was going to laugh or gag. Then she heard Heather try to say something, but it was muffled. She peeked around the tree, just as Brady twisted slightly to the side. It wasn’t Heather at all, but Jazz, her eyes squeezed shut, cheeks wet with tears. She shook her head, struggling to push his hand away from her mouth. He grabbed both her small wrists in his free hand and lifted them above her head. He took his other hand away from her mouth so he could grab hold of her leg again.
    â€œBrady, stop,” she whispered. “Stop, please!”
    â€œShut up!” He shoved her harder, knocking her head against the tree. “You started this. You can’t just say no, not now.”
    Jazz kept her eyes shut and gulped back another sob.
    Zoe opened her mouth to say something, to scream at him to get off her, but no sound came out.
    She backed away, but then stopped. Was she supposed to stay? Where did she think she was going? Her head pounded. She lurched towards the house, waiting for her voice to come back.
    She knew what she was supposed to do. She was supposed to stop the first person she saw and get help. She was supposed to yank the guitar out of hippie-boy’s hands and smash Brady overthe head with it. But she ran past without even slowing down. Where the hell did she think she was going?
    To throw up on the patio steps, apparently. The alcohol seared her throat even more on the way up. She heaved long after she threw up everything in her, then she stood and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt, while everyone on the patio laughed at her, ice clinking in their drinks, bass thumping from inside.
    Zoe ran. Along the side of the house, down the driveway, out the gate, a sharp right then flat out as if a slash horror villain was chasing her, she ran. She had never run so fast in all her life, but her legs understood what was at stake and her breath settled into a train-pace that matched her speed. She ran so fast that before she knew it she was at the bottom of the mountain, halfway home. She slowed at the crossroads. Which way was it? She bent over, hands on her knees, and gulped for breath. She tried to remember which way the taxi had turned. It was this road, wasn’t it? Or was it the last one?
    Who knows how long she was there like that. Long enough for the moon to shift higher in the sky. Long enough for Zoe to become very cold. The next time she looked up was when a car passed. It slowed, and then reversed towards her. It was Simon and Teo, in Blouise, Simon’s ancient blue Toyota. Teo always drove because Simon had failed his driver’s test twice now and had given up for a while.
    Simon rolled down his window. “You want a ride?”
    â€œNo, I’m fine.” Zoe was surprised to find that her voice worked now. “I just need to know which way is back to town.”
    â€œTown? Aren’t you going to the party?”
    â€œNo, I’m not.” She pointed down the road. “Which way do I go?”
    â€œUh-uh, no way.” Simon shook his head. “I am not going to wake up tomorrow and find out that you were raped and left for dead at the side of the road. It would be all my fault.”
    The moment the word “raped” came out of his mouth,