“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. I was . . . I was manipulated by Sean. You don’t understand how social politics work. It’s like a puzzle, and I haven’t been as valiant as you. I’ve been stuck in this system for a long time.”
She looks at me so carefully, studying me. A new air about her now. Something superior.
“Blythe, I’m going to write something about what happened in the school paper.”
It takes my breath away. Like a brick in my chest. Everything swirling. My life in a stupid newspaper.
“You can’t. You can’t just do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because people are going to have questions. People are going to look to me for answers. People see me in a certain way, Ali. I know you understand this.”
“Ah, I see,” she says, taunting. “You don’t want people to judge you. You don’t want people to know that you purposely became friends with me to convince me that Sean Nessel was a nice guy. The kind of guy who wouldn’t do something so awful. Isn’t that what you said?”
I’m not used to Ali talking to me this way. Wasn’t I the one to show her how to walk through the hallway? The one to teach her how to stand? Her captain, her confidant. For just a little while, leading her through the crowded school corridors. Inviting her into C-wing. Now, her face angry and bunched. Her hands clenched. This is a different girl. Not the mousy Ali I first met. This is a girl out for blood.
“So you’re just going to write about me and you think that’ll be it? No consequences?”
“It’s not about you, Blythe!”
“Don’t say it’s not about me, when I am a big part of this story. People are going to ask if I knew about it. They’ll ask if Sean talked to me about it. If I tried to hide it when I should have reported it,” I say, trying to slow my breath. Trying to get her on my side. The school paper. The archaic school paper. Who even reads newspapers anymore? But they have a website. It’s the kind of story that’ll go viral. I can see it now: Popular Girl Covers Up Rape by Soccer Star. “Ali, look. Don’t you understand that he tricked me, just like he tricked you?”
“I don’t believe that. Your eyes were wide open, Blythe.”
“Oh my God, Ali. So you are going to just throw me under the bus, aren’t you?”
“I’m going to tell the truth.”
I have to convince her that this is not a story she wants to tell. Not like this.
“I thought we were friends,” I say. I sound desperate. I sound fake. I wish I never said it.
She walks up two steps. She doesn’t even turn around.
I have to think of something that’ll stop her. Something that will make her think, to pause, just for a second. To be reasonable!
“You should know I’m not running the Initiation,” I say. “I’m not stepping up. I’m backing out.”
Finally Ali stops. Turns to me.
“Good. You shouldn’t be anywhere near that. I’m proud of you, Blythe.”
“You’re fucking proud of me?”
“Yes. Because I know it’s an uphill battle. And I know it must be hard to say no to those people. And I know how fucked up it made you,” she says.