I can’t tell if she’s trying to convince herself or me.
@JosieTheJournalist: OBVIOUSLY #notallmen are horrible but if we are discussing all the ways women suffer at the hands of misogyny maybe now is not the time to remind me of that
All I can think about on the plane to Atlanta that night is what Penny said. About Roy Lennox. About how people are still watching his movies and honoring him because they don’t know what he’s done.
They should. Everyone should know what a creep he is.
He shouldn’t be able to keep making movies and harassing women on his sets. He shouldn’t be able to go to award shows and get hailed as this great genius when he’s hurting people. Other people on the plane are snuggled under blankets, eyes closed, but I’m too anxious to sleep.
“You’re being quiet,” Alice says. “You’re not gonna ramble on about that guy?”
I don’t have the energy to tell her to be quiet. I just feel sick. The plane lurches and I shift forward like I might puke.
“Hey.” Alice places a hand on my arm. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
“No,” I say, my voice almost a moan. “Alice, what would you do if you knew about something bad but you couldn’t tell anyone?”
Alice frowns. “Did you do something?”
“No,” I say. “You have to swear you won’t tell.”
She searches my face.
“Okay,” she says. “What is it?”
It all comes up like vomit. I’m not sure if journalists are supposed to pour their hearts out to their older sisters, but that doesn’t keep me from doing it. In a whisper, I tell her everything Penny told me about Roy Lennox, about what he did, about how there might be other girls, about Marius signing on to his next film.
“Jesus,” Alice says when I’m finished. “Fuck. He always seemed like a creep, but wow.”
“It’s ridiculous,” I say. “He’s probably still doing it because no one knows.”
“I don’t know.” Alice shakes her head. “I think—it sounds like an open secret.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means the girl—whoever told you—will probably warn other girls. I really doubt she’s the only one,” she says, pushing up her tray table. “And I’m sure there are executives and other men who know about what’s going on. It’s shit, but that’s how these things go.”
“It shouldn’t be the girls’ responsibility to warn each other, though,” I say, leaning back in my seat. I hate being anxious about things I can’t fix right away. “This shouldn’t—it shouldn’t be a thing.”
“Yeah.” Alice goes quiet for a second. “Maybe you could write about it.”
“What?”
“You write all the time,” she points out. “Doesn’t that help you figure things out?”
Normally it does. I hate carrying things around in my head, but putting them on paper lifts the weight a little.
“I guess so.” I tap my fingers against my tray. “It just feels wrong, like I’m in over my head. Who am I to tell their stories?”
“I mean…” She pauses. “This sucks, but I feel like every woman has a story. You know that guy who used to harass Maggie at the supermarket? And the really shitty boyfriend I had junior year? Stuff like that.”
I’ve never been coerced into sex by a creepy older dude. No older dude has done anything to me, period. Sometimes guys are weird at Cora’s when I’m working the counter—telling me about how I grew up pretty or asking how old I am—but that isn’t the same as what Penny went through. And I’ve never had a shitty boyfriend, just shitty crushes and first kisses.
Middle school, though—that was definitely a different story.
It was when the anxiety first started up. I’d get sick every morning before going to school and barely slump through the day. I’m not sure how I survived it. I remember general themes of middle school, like being self-conscious, not wanting to wear the right-sized bras, and covering myself in the locker room. I used to sit alone at the lunch table. No one paid much attention to me at all, except when they were saying something rude.
Lots of kids used to tease me or make fun of me, but Ryan King…he was the worst. The absolute worst. He made everything horrible. I haven’t brought him up since it happened. I try to shove everything from middle school to the bottom of my brain. Sometimes it works. Other times, like with my memories of Ryan, it doesn’t.
“Do you remember…?” I swallow. “Like, do you remember Mom coming to have a meeting when I was in middle school?”
“Mom had so many meetings when you were in middle school,” Alice says. “So you’re gonna have to narrow that down for me.”
“Whatever.” I flush. “Forget it.”
“No,” Alice says, kicking me with the tip of her foot. “Tell me. Was it about you throwing up? Or when you hid in the bathroom for a whole class period?”
God, I really hate thinking about this.
“No,” I say. “It was like—there was this one kid who was, like, really into my boobs. I don’t know. You remember how I grew really fast? He used to, like, track every new change and tell everyone when I was wearing a bra. And, like…he followed me to the bathroom once. And tried to take off my shirt.”
Alice is quiet.
“I think—” My throat is dry. “I don’t even know why I’m talking about it. But I keep thinking about Penny, and it’s hard not to think about it. How scared I was. And he kept saying it was just a joke. At the meeting, with Mom and the principal and everyone, he just kept saying it was a joke. I was crying and I felt stupid, like everyone thought I was making a big deal out of nothing.”
“Not everyone,” Alice says. She rubs her jaw. “I remember now. Mom flipped the fuck out. And then Dad found out and they
