*
Kevin is led out through the door of the police station in Hed, hands holding onto him carefully as if he can’t walk on his own. On one side his dad, on the other his mom, and around them like a protective wall of flesh and blood is a group of middle-aged men in jeans and smart, tailored jackets, ties knotted as tightly as their fists are clenched. Most of them are sponsors of the club, two are board members, several are prominent businessmen and entrepreneurs in the region, one a local politician. But if anyone asks, they would never present themselves that way, just say: “Friends of the Erdahl family. Just friends of the family.” A few steps behind comes the junior team. One or two of them still look a bit boyish, but en masse they’re men. Silent and menacing. There to prove something, to someone.
Kevin’s mom tenderly wraps a blanket around his shoulders as they help him into the car. The men surrounding them don’t slap him on the back the way they usually do, they pat his cheek lovingly instead. Perhaps that makes it feel easier for them. As if it’s the boy who’s the victim.
*
Benji is sitting on a low wall twenty yards away. His cap is pulled down low over his forehead, his hood pulled up so that the shadows hide his face. None of the adults even notice him, but Kevin does. For a single second, just as his mother is wrapping the blanket around him and before the car door closes, his eyes meet those of his best friend. Until Kevin looks down.
*
By the time the cavalcade of cars following Kevin’s dad leaves Hed, Benji is already long gone. The only person left on the street outside the police station is Amat. He puts his headphones in, raises the volume, sticks his hands hard in his pockets, and sets off to walk all the way back to Beartown on his own.
*
Ana walks into the school dining room, the same storm of shrieks and clattering as usual. On a desert island in the corner sits Maya, alone, so isolated that no one has even sat down at the tables next to hers. Everyone is staring without looking. Ana walks toward her but Maya looks up, like a creature caught in a trap warning another not to get too close. Maya shakes her head softly. Ana’s footsteps shift the gravity of the whole planet with each step she takes, as she lowers her head and goes and sits down at another table, in a different corner. The shame of that moment will follow her until her dying day.
A group of older girls—Ana recognizes them from the kitchen at Kevin’s party—head toward Maya. First as if they’re pretending she doesn’t exist, then, in a flash, as if she’s the only thing that does. One of them steps forward with a glass in her hand. Maya sees the others position themselves as a barrier toward the rest of the room, so that even if everyone sees exactly what happens, everyone will be able to claim afterward, when the teachers ask, that their “view was obscured.” That they “didn’t see the incident.”
“As if anyone would want to rape YOU, you disgusting little bitch . . .”
Milk runs down Maya’s hair, drips down her face and down inside her top. The glass doesn’t break when the girl hits her across the brow with it, nor does her brow. For a fleeting moment Maya sees the fear in the girl’s eyes when she starts to worry she’s gone too far, that Maya might start bleeding and collapse on the floor. But Maya’s skin is thick. And her attacker’s eyes are soon filled with derision again. As if the person she attacked is no longer human.
*
Everyone sees it but no one sees it. The dining room is simultaneously filled with noise and utterly silent. Maya hears the giggling as a muffled roar in her ears. She sits there calmly with pain throbbing through her brow and forehead, and slowly wipes herself with the few small napkins on her tray. They quickly run out. She refuses to look around for more, but suddenly someone puts a thick pile down next to her. A different hand, almost as big as her own, starts wiping the table. She looks at him and then shakes her head, almost beseechingly.
“It’ll only get worse for you if you sit here,” she whispers.
“I know,” Leo says.
Her little brother sits down beside her and starts to eat. In a sea of stares, he seems unconcerned.
“So why do it, then?” his big sister asks.
Leo looks at her with their mother’s eyes.
“Because you and I aren’t like them. We aren’t the bears from Beartown.”
37
Sooner or later, almost every discussion about the way people behave toward one another ends up becoming an argument about “human nature.” That’s never been an easy thing for biology teachers to explain: on the one hand, our entire species survived because we stuck together and cooperated, but on the other hand we developed because the strongest individuals always thrived at the expense of the weak. So we always end up arguing about where the boundaries should be drawn. How selfish are we allowed to be? How much are we obliged to care about each other?
People say, “But what about a sinking ship? What about a burning house?” because those are dramatic scenarios to imagine. It’s hard to win a debate against that. Because if it were a life-and-death situation, who would you save if you could only choose one? Who would you pull out of the freezing water first if the lifeboat only had a limited number of places?
Your family. You always start with your family. That’s what she tells herself. She’s freezing; she turned up the heat and is wearing four layers, but she’s still shaking. She’s gone from room to room in the house. She’s cleaned Kevin’s room, has gotten rid of all the sheets and pillowcases, has dumped all the T-shirts and jeans from the washing basket into charity collection boxes many miles away from the house. She’s vacuumed up all potential blouse-buttons and flushed any traces of marijuana down the toilet.
*
Because she’s his mom. And that’s where you start.
*
When the police arrived she was standing tall in the doorway. Their lawyers had pointed out that they could object, delay, make things difficult, that the search of the house and any forensic evidence could be deemed inadmissible given that the police only showed up a whole week after the alleged offense. But his mom insisted on letting in the men in uniform. She repeated time and time again that her family had nothing to hide, although she was unable to stop wondering if she was trying to convince them or herself. She can’t stop shivering. But she’s his mom. So where do you start, if not there?
*