And Sean? Well, Sean will be forgiven because he’s every other golden athlete. Their coaches scream from the sidelines. Go all the way. Press them until it’s over. Be relentless. They do not stop.
Can it be that what Amanda Shire told me that night is true? It might seem humiliating at first, but in time you’ll see that it puts you in control. Can it?
I feel for my doorknob and slowly open it. Sean is still whimpering about how his life is ruined. I walk backward into the house.
Sean is beside himself. Hands on his knees. Saying he’s going to puke.
“You’d take the moon if you could, wouldn’t you? You would lasso the stars right from the sky just to brighten your little section of the soccer field while the rest of us sat in the dark.”
“What are you talking about, B? Moons—what?”
“For the future, when a girl is wasted, don’t have sex with her.”
“Oh, Jesus, not you too. You’re going against me too?” He takes my hand and pulls me toward him. “Don’t you have feelings for me, B? I thought it was me and you?”
I push him back. I want to spit on him.
“You ruined your own life. You’re in the process of ruining mine too.”
His face crinkles up. He tries to go for my hand, but I slap him away.
“So you’re not going to help me?”
I slam the door in his face.
39
ALI
The sign on the door says PRESSROOM on legal paper scribbled in thick black marker. The newspaper crew takes their shit seriously. This is where you come when you want the first copy. Thursday mornings. After drama class, I’d stand outside the pressroom door like a cultish doe-eyed moron to satiate my Sean Nessel fix for my collage book.
Now I need the school paper for another reason. I need them to tell my story.
Terrance is sitting on top of a large desk with his laptop. He turns to me, surprised.
“Haven’t seen you here in a while, Greenleaf. We’re all out of papers.”
“I don’t want a paper. I want to write for you, actually.” I shift nervously.
“Well, you’d have to know how to construct a sentence,” he says, dryly.
“I can do that.” No flinching.
A girl with pink hair and cat-eye glasses who sits in the back corner of the room with her laptop looks up at me, blinks her eyes a few times, and then buries her head again, furiously typing.
“Talk to Savannah. She’s the managing editor,” Terrance says, and points to her.
So I shuffle to the back of the room and stand in front of Savannah’s desk.
She ignores me for about a minute, and I turn back around to look at Terrance. He’s still sitting on top of his desk, just staring at me.
Savannah then jerks her head up. Her eyes blink rapidly.
“I need someone to write about the school play,” she says with this squeaky mouse-like voice. “Interested?”
“I want to write a column. Like an op-ed piece.”
“Oh, she’s got something to say, Terrance.”
“You know what—I made a mistake,” I say, backing toward the door. I’m nervous all of a sudden. It’s too much. I don’t have enough bravery in me to fight with these people.
“No, no. Don’t leave,” Terrance says.
He jumps off the desk with his laptop under his arm. His big boots clunk to the back of the room.
“What’s your outrage, Ali?” Terrance says. “Tater tots? You hate them? They’re too fattening? Or maybe it’s the lettuce? You’d rather them use organic kale instead—”
“Okay, forget the kale. Maybe she wants the school to let the student body go off-campus for lunch,” Savannah says.
“Maybe she just wants the dress code to change. She wants to wear flip-flops to school,” Terrance says. “That’s it!” The floor vibrates when he speaks.
I put my story facedown on Savannah’s desk and write my email on the back, but I’m tempted to throw it out. I hate both of them. Savannah and Terrance and their stupid newspaper.
“My story is about rape,” I say, and my heart races, thumps in my chest.
Savannah stops blinking. Her eyes open like a stuck record player. Terrance scratches the fuzz on his chin.
“And the school play? Sure, I’ll do it. Just email me with a deadline,” I say and walk out the door.
40
BLYTHE
I don’t trust Ali will wait for me after class. I texted her a few times that I needed to talk to her, but her responses are just K. Nothing else. Now, I don’t know where she is. I’m not used to being ignored, and that scares me.
I scamper out of class right when the bell rings and race down the hall, my boots stomping under me.
Ali’s strolling out of her class, not even looking back.
“Ali!” I yell. It feels like the whole hallway turns around. People aren’t used to seeing me chase someone. This will be their first and last time.
I get real close to her. Scorch her ear. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” she says, defensive. Like she’s got something to hide.
“Except Sean came to my house last night. He was a mess. So it’s not nothing.”
I lock arms with her. I’m the leader again. “Come with me. We need to talk.”
In the stairwell. Bell rings. Hall is quiet. No one will see us here. And I want to talk to her. I don’t want to bombard her. Make her feel attacked. I want to just get through to her. Convince her that I’ve been dragged into this. And haven’t I been? Haven’t I unwillingly been part of this?
“I was confused.
