Smiling at Everything

"Excuse me?" Jazz asked.

"Well, not put you on the spot but recently a Mr. Carr, a convicted rapist and drug dealer, made a speech in reference to his possible retrial for an acquittal on all his charges. He apologized to the girls he raped, I suppose as some media stunt, and your name came up," the interviewer said, "I looked up the trial and the names of the girls aren't mentioned in any of the files. This case hasn't gained a lot of popularity so the information is strictly under wraps."

Jazz's mind raced. That son of a bitch dropped her name. Hadn't he done enough to her? Did he have to ruin her career too?

Even worse, he was trying to get acquitted. Would she be called in again to testify? Would they use the same testimony she gave the first time? Would he be released? How would she exist if he was released? Coach Carr was a threat to her sanity and safety. The jury couldn't possibly trust him enough to find him not guilty.

From the sidelines, Zack watched Jazz's slight change in posture, worry filling him. She didn't want to talk about this, he knew she didn't. The interviewer was just doing his job, but Zack couldn't help his anger toward the man for bringing it up.

If her friends were going to find out, they couldn't find out like this.

"That doesn't really prove anything, does it?" Lestat asked before Jazz could answer, "There's likely to be more than one Jazz Presley in the world."

It was ridiculous to think Jazz had been raped. She was the epitome of perfection. Rape victims weren't supposed to be perfect. They were supposed to be broken down, depressed individuals with no motivation. Jazz was motivated in everything she did, from her music to her makeup. Jazz couldn't be a rape victim.

"I thought the same thing," the interviewer stated, "But the man committed all his crimes in Maryland, which is where you all are from. Of course, I tossed the thought aside until I saw a special on television a week or so ago about a separate rape trial, in which Jazz's name came up far more often."

Jazz felt her smile wanting to slip, begging to fall from her face and release a series of tears. She kept her smile up, trying to forget that the trial regarding the most miserable time of her life was shown on television.

It was never supposed to be aired like that.

"Just because Jazz's name is in it, doesn't mean it's her," Dante pointed out, "Like Lestat said, there has to be another Jazz Presley out there."

Why was this guy getting on Jazz's case? She had never been raped and to accuse her of being raped more than once was obnoxious.

"The special actually showed clips from the trial," the interviewer said, "We can show one on the screen back here," he motioned behind him where a large screen sat.

"Go for it," Lestat said.

Jazz desperately wanted to tell the interviewer not to. But she couldn't without coming off as suspicious. The clip would play and her secret would be exposed.

Jazz glanced at Zack. He looked just as defenseless as her. There was nothing he could do either, not without looking a tad odd. Zack, noticing Jazz's eyes on him, mouthed "Its okay." He was trying to help somehow but Jazz's nerves remained high.

At least she would still have him after this.

The screen behind the interviewer lit up, catching everyone's attention. An image of a man looking down at his paper work appeared. Jazz's heart clenched, fully realizing she would be exposed through a scene played in an interview.

"Its Robert," Dorian exclaimed, hopping on the couch.

Robert, the man who was looking at his paper work, stood from his table and approached the witness stand, the camera following him as he did so. In the seat at the witness stand sat a girl, brown hair perfectly in place, nose red, blue-grey eyes glassy. She didn't smile but kept her mouth in a tight line.

"Jazz, is that you?" Dorian asked.

Jazz didn't say anything, eyes glued to the screen. Her smile dropped as she watch Robert's image come up with a question to ask her younger image.

"Jazz," Robert said, "Can you point out the man who did these things to you?"

The girl directed her gaze to her lap and didn't respond to Robert's question.

"Jazz, honey, you need to point out the man who did this to you so we can help you," Robert encouraged.

The younger version of Jazz looked up at Robert, who smiled down at her. She turned her head to a table where two men sat, raised a hand and pointed at one of the men. The camera focused on the face of the man Jazz pointed to for a moment before focusing on Jazz and Robert again.

"And do you know him?"

"That's Mr. Peters," she said, voice low, "He was my English II Honors teacher this past year."

"You're supposed to be going into your freshman year of high school this coming school year but you'll be a sophomore instead, am I right?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you've already taken a sophomore level English class. You must be a very intelligent young lady."

"I was allowed to jump a grade when I was younger and I was given the opportunity to test out of some high school courses."

"That's fantastic. What do you plan to be when you get older?"

"A musician."

"You'll probably be an amazing musician, Jazz."

"Thank you."

"If you don't mind, I'd like you to tell the court what happened. I'm sure you're intelligent enough to know that lying under oath will get you in a lot of trouble."

The young version of Jazz remained silent for a moment. The camera zoomed in on her face. Tears attached to her bottom eyelashes, no longer capable of staying behind the floodgates.

"Take your time," Robert said.

Throughout the trial, he kept his voice gentle when dealing with Jazz, she remembered that clearly. He had been trying not to make her afraid of him, the same way he tried to make her comfortable with him when he married her mother years later. Jazz had been thankful that he had been so nice to her.

"I," Jazz paused, "During the school year, I would stay in Mr. Peter's room during lunch because I don't have any friends to sit with and he offered to let me eat in there. It was cool because I could talk to him about stuff while doing homework. I didn't feel so alone. And he would help me with pre-calculus homework. Three weeks before the school year ended, he told me I was failing his class while I was eating lunch in his room. I asked him how because I thought I turned everything in and he showed me his grade book. All the grades that were supposed to be there were erased. I told him I had all those assignments at home with grades on them and that I could bring them to school the next day to fix the confusion. He said that wouldn't be necessary. The only way that I could fix my grade would be to," Jazz paused again, "perform sexual acts at his request."

The camera angle changed again, showing both Robert and Jazz.

"And how did you respond to that?" Robert asked.

"I said I wouldn't do it and that I would go to the principal."

"How did he react?"

"He said no one would listen to me because I was just a freshman. I told him I could get a lawyer involved easily. My parents make enough money so I could hire a lawyer to get the situation settled."

"What did he do when you said that?"

"He shoved me onto the desk and pinned me down by my wrists. He threatened to hurt me if I got anyone involved. Then he tied my wrists together with these rope belts that he had for the play our class did. He let go of me for a moment to undo my shirt so I tried to get off the desk. He slapped me. It hurt and ended up bruising that afternoon. He threatened me again with violence and hooked my wrists to the sharpener attached to his desk so I couldn't move. He undid the front of my shirt fully, moved my bra out of the way, and," Jazz halted.

"What did he do, Jazz?"

"Stop the tape," Jazz demanded.

The recording paused immediately, the screen returning to its blank surface moments later. It was silent. Jazz remained staring at the blank screen. The eyes of everyone in the room burned into her. They all knew now.

"Jazz," Neon started, "What haven't you told us?"