“You begged that bitch and she, what? She said no to you?” Donnie says.
“Yes.” That’s right. I knew that part would fire Donnie up. “The police could question me, do you understand this?”
“People will ask why you didn’t report it,” Cate says. Her eyes dumb and wide.
“No shit.”
“You’re part of the story,” Donnie says.
“So are you, Donnie,” I say. “So are you.”
41
ALI
“Hurry up,” I say to Sammi at her locker.
Sammi shoves her books in her bag.
“They don’t scare me,” she says. “The Core Four. What a stupid name.”
“I know. I’m not scared of them. But after the thing that happened with Blythe today—I just don’t want them doing anything. Any retaliation. They’re like animals, those girls.”
“Can I tell you what I’m afraid of?”
“What?”
She looks down at the ground. Shakes her knee. “That you’ll still be friends with Blythe after all this is over.”
Sammi’s face drops, wary of the future, and I can see why. I can see how I just left her. And how that’s been for her.
“I don’t see my friendship with Blythe being the same.”
“There was a real friendship?”
“Yes. I know it’s hard to believe.”
“No. I’m trying to understand. I am.”
“There was something. We had things in common. Some stuff that’s hard to explain.”
There’s this feeling, this sadness, when I think about Blythe. That conversation in the stairs—I haven’t seen that desperation on her before. All the years I’ve spent watching her from afar and now I know her. And she knows me. The two of us share something so awful. Experiences with these boys, these men, who have done such horrible things. I don’t know if I want to share that with Sammi. I don’t know if I want to share that with anyone.
Sammi and I catch up to Raj, and the three of us walk down the hallway together, just like it used to be. For a second, for the first time in a while, I feel satisfied, like I can do anything now.
Terrance and his giant trench coat appear around the corner. Savannah by his side.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he says, his voice booming, panting. “We read your story. It’s really powerful, Ali.”
Terrance has questions for me that are going to sound judgmental, he says. But he has to ask. Go ahead, I tell him.
Did I tell anyone right away? Yes. I told Sammi right away. I told Blythe. I told Raj. I even confronted Sean Nessel himself. People saw me run out of that party. Blythe saw me run out of that party. My story holds up.
“So there’s a protocol—” Savannah says, and glances over at Terrance. She bites her lip.
“Because the school paper isn’t its own entity. It’s part of the school—”
“And you’re writing about rape—”
“And underage drinking—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I say. I’m confused. The two of them. Explaining school codes and regulations and my constitutional rights. And none of it makes sense.
“Look, Ali,” Terrance says. “Ms. Knox, our student adviser and journalism teacher, has to look at it first. And if she looks at this story, she has the obligation to report it.”
I’m stunned. My words can’t even come out of my mouth fast enough, and I hear myself saying, “No. No. No.” Backing away. I’m not listening. I can’t hear them.
“Who does she have the obligation to report it to?” Sammi says, taking my hand. Bringing me back into the conversation. Holding me close to her.
“A number of people. The principal. Ali’s parents. Maybe the police. Ali’s a minor. It’s complicated.”
Time feels suspended. Everything stops.
“The police?” I say. Why would the police believe me? I went up there with him. I had collage books of him. I showed those books to Blythe. I feel sick all over again. Nothing will happen to Sean Nessel. People will just protect him like they always do. Just like Blythe has done.
“Forget it. I’m not doing it, then. Rip it up. Forget the whole thing.”
I shake my hand free from Sammi’s. My shoulders like blocks. The police showing up at my house, interviewing me about what happened and filing a report. At the police station. Questions. More questions. No way.
“You don’t understand, Ali. We want to do it. We don’t want to turn back,” Terrance says. “So we have two options: We take over the paper, print the story, and say fuck you to the system. Maybe we’ll win awards.”
“But most likely we’ll get suspended and they’ll still call the police,” Savannah says.
“Here’s another option,” Terrance says. “We can circumvent the school paper.”
“How do we do that?” Raj says. His voice low, concerned. Like a dad. Like my dad.
Terrance swings his bag in front of him. Whips out his laptop. Opens it up on a cold radiator. Signals us to get in closer. Like we’re a team. Like we’re in this together. He shows us a home page. Red graffiti letters: THE UNDERGROUND.
“What is this?” I say.
“It’s my zine.” He smiles a goofy smile. Proud. It’s just one page. And as he scrolls through the site, there aren’t any stories. No photos. Nothing. It’s just an empty page. With a really cool masthead.
“There’s nothing in it,” Sammi says, her voice slipping into that sarcastic thing she does. “Aren’t zines supposed to have words?”
“We’re just getting started,” Terrance says. “It’s got layers. It’s going to be amazing. Once we get it off the ground.”
“I have something to say,” Savannah says. Her voice cracking a little, raspy. She’s one of those people who seems to be in the background, despite her pink hair. Her cat-eye glasses. Her bright dresses. She’s like a peacock that you don’t want to go near or you’ll get your face bitten off.
“I know that the zine isn’t the same as the school paper. But it’ll give you
