US.
“I think this is considered breaking and entering,” Erin says as they walk into the empty warehouse. “This is most definitely illegal. I am not comfortable with this.”
“We’re not breaking anything,” Rosina says. “The door was wide open.”
“I’m not convinced,” Erin says, but she doesn’t seem as upset as she should be.
The space is huge and empty, just a concrete floor surrounded by walls of multipaned, dirty windows, with no furniture anywhere. There are already over a dozen girls here, including every one of the girls from the first meeting, even Connie Lancaster, the girl who essentially ended it. Everyone is slightly damp from the day’s relentless drizzle, standing around looking suspicious, huddled tight in their usual cliques, eyeing each other with disdain. It seems more likely that they’re about to go to war than join forces.
“I don’t think they like your location selection either,” Erin tells Rosina.
“How did you even know about this place?” says Grace.
“Let’s just say I have made it somewhat of an art form to discover places where my family can’t find me,” Rosina says.
Gray light filters into the empty space through clouded windows, muting all color. Everything is a gradation of shadow. Someone whispers, “What is she doing here?” and everyone assumes the “she” means herself.
“I don’t like this,” Erin says. “Everyone looks mean. What if they’re mean? What if this ends as badly as the last meeting?”
“It hasn’t even started yet and you’re already panicking about how it’s going to end?” Rosina says.
“There are so many more people,” Grace says nervously.
“Dude,” Rosina says. “That’s a good thing.”
“I thought Grace was supposed to be the positive one,” Erin says, wringing her hands. “Why isn’t Grace being positive?”
“Oh, thank God!” Rosina says, looking over Erin’s and Grace’s head. “Margot Dillard’s here. Finally, someone’s here who will know what to do. Or at least pretend she does.”
“Oh, this is so exciting!” Margot Dillard, Prescott High School student body president, exclaims, clapping her hands together. She goes around the room greeting everyone, as if this is her party and she invited everybody, as if she doesn’t even notice the dismal surroundings.
“Holy crap,” Erin whispers. “Cheerleaders. I can’t handle this.”
Four girls walk into the room, statuesque, impeccably groomed, and somehow impervious to rain.
“Big deal,” Rosina says.
“It is actually kind of a big deal,” Grace says.
“I don’t understand why everybody gets so excited about cheerleaders,” Rosina says. “None of them is particularly accomplished at anything except jumping up and down and occasionally spelling ‘Spartans’ out loud. I can spell a whole lot of words way more complicated than ‘Spartans’ and no one ever cheers for me.”
“You like that one cheerleader,” Erin says. “The nice one.”
“No, I don’t,” Rosina says.
“Yes, you do. You said she’s the most beautiful girl in school.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh my gosh,” Grace says. “There are like twenty people here already.”
“Oh my gosh,” Rosina teases.
“Twenty-three,” Erin says. “I counted.”
“Does this group have a designated facilitator?” Margot Dillard says with her big, presidential voice.
“It’s like she has a microphone built into her throat,” Rosina mutters.
“The last meeting was pretty unfacilitated,” Sam Robeson, drama club girl, says.
“Well, every meeting needs a facilitator,” Margot says. “Would anyone like to nominate a facilitator?”
“I nominate Margot to be the facilitator,” says Elise Powell.
“Thanks, Elise,” Margot says with fake surprise. “Does anyone want to second Elise’s nomination?”
“I second it,” says either Trista or Krista.
“All in favor, raise your hand,” says Margot, and all the hands in the room go up.
“Thank God,” Grace says.
“Thank gosh,” says Rosina.
“How about we all sit down in a circle,” Margot says.
“On the floor?” says one of the cheerleaders as everybody shuffles into position.
“You won’t die if you get a little dirty,” says another cheerleader—Melissa Sanderson, the one with the sweet smile and kind eyes who has brought Rosina’s wandering grandmother back home more than once, and who has always stood out as a little different from her pack of popular girls.
“Before we get started,” Margot says after everyone gets settled, “I just want to say thank you to whomever started this. I know you want to stay anonymous, which I understand completely. But if you’re in this room, and I think you are, I want you to know that this is the kind of grassroots organizing that leads to real and lasting change.” There are some halfhearted nods around the room, a few shrugs, a few muted sneers and snickers.
“It’s like she’s practicing for a real run for office,” Rosina whispers. The cheerleader named Melissa laughs as she sits down right beside her, and Rosina looks down at her lap. Erin glares at both of them.
“Why did you blush?” Erin asks Rosina. “You never blush.”
“Shhh,” says Grace.
“I’d also like to suggest that the group stop using our school e-mail for communication, because it’s too easily traceable,” Margot continues. “I’d recommend disabling it entirely. We can spread news by good old-fashioned word of mouth.”
“She’s really taking over, isn’t she?” Melissa whispers to Rosina. “Do you think she’s the one who started it?”
“Are you blushing again?” Erin says.
“Now,” Margot says, “I think we should go around in a circle and introduce ourselves and say a little about why we’re here. I’ll go first. My name’s Margot Dillard. I’m a senior and your student body president, and I’m here because I want to change the misogynist culture at our school. Okay, your turn.”
“Um,” the next girl says. “My name’s Julie Simpson. I’m a sophomore. I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see what this is all about?”
“My name’s Taylor Wiggins,” says another girl. “I’m here because I’m sick of the way guys treat girls. Like how they always tell their buddies whenever they hook up with someone, without even thinking about her privacy or anything.”
“Yeah,” says another girl. A few more nod their heads in agreement.
“I’m Lisa Sutter. Senior. Captain of the cheer squad. But you all know who I am, right? Anyways, I’m here because my boyfriend, Blake, cheated on me and I want to punish him.”
“I’m Melissa Sanderson,” Melissa says. “I guess I’m just tired of everyone expecting me to be a certain way because I’m a cheerleader or whatever. Like maybe I’m not really who everyone thinks I should be, but I feel like I have to hide it. I don’t know, maybe that doesn’t have anything to do with what this group is about. But it feels like it does, or at least it should. Because, I don’t know, there has to be more than one way to be a girl, right?”
“Totally,” Rosina says.
“Why are they looking at each other like that?” Erin whispers to Grace.
“Shhh,” Grace says.
“Hey, weren’t you guys friends with Lucy Moynihan?” someone says, and everyone’s attention immediately focuses on two nondescript girls on the other side of the circle.
“Can I pass?” the first girl says meekly.
“Isn’t the Mexican girl next?” says the other.
“Mexican girl?” says Rosina.
“You were at the party with her that night,” someone else says. “I remember you. Both of you.”
“Come on, Jenny,” says the first girl. “We knew we were going to have to talk about her. That’s why we came here.”
“You were friends with Lucy?” Grace says, then immediately shrinks back, as if startled by the sound of her own voice, so loud, in front of this many people.
“No,” says Jenny, at the same time her friend says, “Yes.”
“Which is it?” says Margot.
“We weren’t, like, close or anything,” Jenny says, not looking anyone in the eye. “We just knew each other.”
Her friend looks at her in disbelief. “Jenny, we were friends with her since kindergarten.”
“Were you with her at the party that night?” Margot asks.
“Yes,” says the girl who is not Jenny.
“We weren’t with her when it happened,” says Jenny. “She was totally flirting with Spencer Klimpt all night, and then she, like, ditched us to go do whatever with him. You remember that, don’t you, Lily?”
“She drank a lot that night,” says Lily, looking down. “He kept giving her drinks. She’d never really gotten drunk before that night.”
“Yeah,” says Jenny, but her voice is different from her friend’s, as if they are remembering two completely different girls. “She was drunk.”
“So you blame her?” Rosina says with an edge to her voice. “Because she was drunk?”
“She could barely keep her eyes open,” Lily says, her voice cracking. Tears well up in her eyes as she stares at Jenny, who refuses to look up at her. “He was practically dragging her up the stairs.”
“Jesus,” someone says.
“We should have done something,” Lily says. Her lips are wet with tears. “Jenny, why didn’t we do anything?”
Jenny just shakes her head. She looks folded, like she’s trying to squeeze herself into two dimensions, like maybe if she is small enough, she can slip away from all these girls staring at her and demanding answers.
“She called me the next morning,” Lily says through her tears. “She was crying so hard I could barely understand her. She said something bad happened, something really bad, but she wouldn’t say what. And I kept asking her, ‘What happened, what happened,’ and she kept saying, ‘I don’t know.’ ” Lily pauses and looks over at Jenny, who still won’t look up. “I was still so mad at her for ditching us at the party. We both were. Lucy was the one who made us go in the first place. Jenny and I didn’t want to.”
“She always wanted to be popular,” Jenny says, but now she doesn’t seem so angry. Now she just seems sad.
“I said, ‘Did you hook up with Spencer Klimpt?’ ” Lily says. “And she didn’t say anything, she just kept crying. So I hung up on her.”
“She would do anything to be popular,” says Jenny, but now she’s crying too.
“She kept trying to call back, but I wouldn’t answer,” Lily continues. “Then she just stopped trying.”
Lily takes a deep breath. “I didn’t hear anything until Monday, when she wasn’t at school, and neither were the guys, and everyone was talking about how she and her parents talked to the cops, and there were so many different stories and no one knew what to believe. But it didn’t matter because everyone knew it was three guys who mattered against one girl who didn’t. I mean, no one even knew her name. They were calling her ‘some freshman girl.’ They didn’t even know her name and they already decided she was lying.”
“What did you think?” Grace says softly. “Did you think she was lying?”
After a long pause, Lily says, “No. I believed her.” She looks at Jenny. “But I pretended I didn’t, just like everyone else. I was still so mad at her.”
“I didn’t believe her,” Connie Lancaster says. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t. I believed what everyone was saying, that she made it all up to get attention.”
“I don’t get it,” Rosina says. “Why didn’t you want to believe her?”
“I don’t know,” Connie says, looking down, ashamed. “I hated her for talking about it. It was like she screwed up my life somehow.” Connie looks up briefly, then looks back down with a shudder. “I know how bad that sounds.”
“I remember she only lasted half a day when she came back to school,” Elise Powell says. “People were tripping her in the hall and calling her a slut everywhere she went.”
“And we just watched it happen,” says Sam Robeson, wiping her eyes with a purple scarf.
“Didn’t the ambulance come to get her?” says Trista or Krista. “I heard the school nurse called them because she was having a nervous breakdown in the office.”
“An ambulance showed up, but she didn’t go with them,” Connie says.
“I think her parents picked her up,” says Allison.
“And now she’s gone,” sniffles Sam.
“That is so fucked,” Rosina spits. “This is so incredibly fucked up.”
“I should have done something,” says Lily, quietly. “That night. I shouldn’t have let her go upstairs with him. I knew how drunk she was. I knew something bad was going to happen.” She starts sobbing. “But I thought it was her fault. I blamed her. She didn’t deserve that. I should have done something.”
“We all should have done something,” Sam says softly. “It wasn’t just you. We all ignored her when she came back to school. Nobody helped her. No one stood up for her.”
“A lot of people were at the party that night,” says Melissa Sanderson. “I was there. I saw her talking to Spencer. I knew what he wanted. I had no idea it was going to be anywhere near as bad as it was, that Eric and Ennis were going to be involved, but I knew enough. I knew Spencer was an asshole. I knew he had a habit of taking advantage of drunk girls. I knew she was a freshman. I knew it was wrong.” She closes her eyes, shakes her head.
“But it doesn’t have to be like that,” Rosina says. “It can’t be like that.”
“It’s only like that because we let it be,” Melissa says, locking eyes with Rosina. “We can help each other, but we don’t.”
“It’s time for things to change,” Margot Dillard says, with energy in her voice, like she’s getting ready to make a speech.
“But what exactly are we going to do?” Rosina says.
No one says anything for a very long time.
And then, in the silence, a small voice calls out: “What about a manifesto?”
“A what?” someone says.
“A manifesto,” Grace says a little louder. “Let’s write our manifesto. Let’s tell them exactly what we think.”
“We have to do more than that,” Rosina says. “We have to punish them. We have to do something to make them hurt too.”
“I have an idea,” Grace says.
ATTENTION:
Boys and Young Men of Prescott High School
We are sick of your shit. We have been putting up with it for too long. That ends now.
Our bodies are not toys for you to play with. They are not pieces in a game for you to manipulate and trick. We are not notches on your bedposts.
We believe Lucy Moynihan. She was telling the truth. In your hearts, you know it too. You know who hurt her. You see her rapists at school and in the community every day. You sit by them in your classes. You party with them on the weekends.
But you do nothing. You look the other way and let your friends hurt, use, and rape more girls. Or worse, you encourage them. You cheer them on. Or worse, you do it too.
Guys, we know you can do better. Call out sexism when you see it. Tell your bros their rape jokes aren’t funny. When you hear guys talking shit about girls behind their backs or bragging about their lays, call them on it. Help girls when you see them being harassed or taken advantage of. Be the bigger man.
Don’t keep silent when you know something wrong is happening. Don’t look the other way.
We won’t. Not anymore.
So until you face these facts and take action to change your behavior, and to hold your friends accountable for theirs, you do not deserve us.
Our demands are simple. We require:
1. Justice for Lucy Moynihan
2. That the male students of Prescott High School treat us with the respect we deserve
We do not want war. We want you on our side.
But until that happens, and until our demands are met, we will not engage in any sexual activity with the male students of Prescott High School. This includes but is not limited to: sexual intercourse, oral sex (aka blow jobs), manual sex (aka hand jobs), kissing, frenching, necking, making out, heavy petting, dry humping, wet humping, porking, screwing, banging, boning, boinking, and any other ridiculous word for hooking up that you can think of.
Do we have your attention yet?
Let us be clear: Rape is not about sex. It is about power and violence and control.
We know a sex strike cannot stop rape. Our strike is meant to get the attention of those of you who think you are off the hook, those who do not rape but who allow it through your silence about those who do, through the tiny things you do every day that make girls feel like they are less than you, that make girls feel afraid. Even if you do not rape, you still hurt women. Even if you do not rape, you feed rape culture by not actively trying to stop it. It is time for you to know this. It is time for this to end.
We hereto declare that the young women of Prescott High School are officially on a sex strike.
Make friends with your hands, boys.
Sincerely,
The Nowhere Girls