Girls with Razor Hearts
* * *
I still have nightmares. I sleep in the bed with Sydney wearing one of Jackson’s T-shirts and a pair of his boxers. Marcella and Brynn are in the other bed while Jackson takes the floor between us.
In my dream, Anton is waiting for us at a train station. For a moment, I’m not sure if I’m in the past or the future. He looks older, but I feel younger.
“I gave you this life,” he says, holding an ice pick in his hand. “And I can take it away.”
When I turn to run, something catches my ankles, pulling me down. And then I’m being dragged along the train platform, screaming for help while others, humans, just watch curiously.
And then Anton is above me, leaning close to my face.
“It’s you and me until the end, Philomena,” he says. “You know this.”
And then he raises the ice pick to jab through my eye.
* * *
“Mena,” Sydney whispers.
I yelp, sitting up and gasping for breath. Light streams through the curtains, and it takes me a moment to get my bearings. I’m in the motel room.
“Mena, it’s okay,” Sydney says, rubbing her palm over my back. “You were having a nightmare.”
I look around, still breathing heavily. I find Brynn and Marcella at the edge of their bed, riveted by the TV.
“Where’s Jackson?” I ask, momentarily confused as I wipe the sleep from my eyes.
“He went to get bagels,” Brynn says, still watching the television. After a moment, she mutes it and turns toward me, her eyes wide.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“It’s all over the news,” Brynn says.
“What is?” I ask. The girls start filling me in on what I missed.
Garrett Wooley, it appears, has run away. At least, that’s what the news reports say. After the initial story surfaced late last night, two girls came forward today to say that he attacked them and then intimidated them into silence. When the police went to his house to question him, he was gone.
“And the other boys?” I ask. “Jonah and Lyle?”
“Well,” Marcella says, leaning on her elbows. “Another girl accused Jonah of the same thing, and he was arrested. They had a video that he posted in a private forum. Anyway, he hired some big-time attorney; I think it’s his father. But Lyle agreed to testify against Jonah. And Garrett, if they ever find him.”
Marcella goes on to say that the boys’ misconduct has become a major news story. Other guys have come forward to corroborate some of the reports—starting with Demarcus. Mr. Marsh resigned from the school, but he’s cooperating with the district attorney on an investigation into Ridgeview. The vice principal has been dismissed and is named in at least one of the lawsuits.
And it’s so easy that it’s frustrating at the same time. All the accusations are suddenly given more weight because they’re seconded by a man. How quickly would society change if all men did this? If all men stood up for what was right?
I guess it starts somewhere. Maybe it’ll start with Ridgeview.
The phone in the motel rings, and we all look at it curiously. Marcella gets up on her knees and moves toward it. She pauses a long moment before answering.
“Hello?” she asks quietly. Her posture stiffens, and then she looks at me. Clearly, they’re asking for me. I nod that it’s okay, whoever it is has already found me, and I hold out my hand.
I bring the phone to my ear without saying anything at first.
“Hello, Mena,” Winston says. “I’m outside your room. Would you mind coming out to speak with me?”
I’m stunned, and when I can think of no reply, I hang up. I look around at the girls.
“Was that Winston?” Marcella asks, horrified.
“Yes,” I say. “He’s outside.” I point toward the window, and Brynn claps her hand over her mouth.
“What do we do?” she asks behind her palm.
“Well, I guess I’ll go talk to him,” I say. I turn to Sydney. “Call Jackson and tell him to stay away until Winston’s gone. I don’t want him to get hurt.”
“Got it,” she says, reaching for her phone.
I get up, smooth my oversized shirt, and tug down the hem of the boxers. I check with the girls, and when they say it looks all right, I walk outside.
Winston Weeks is resting against the hood of his shiny black car, parked in front of my dusty motel room. He couldn’t look more out of place if he tried. But he literally laughs when he sees what I’m wearing.
“You look precious, Philomena,” he says.
“How’d you even find me?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
“That boy you travel with isn’t subtle,” he says, trying to hide his contempt for Jackson.
“Okay,” I say. “Then what do you want?”
“Don’t be difficult,” he says. “I’m here to talk to all the girls.” He starts for the door, but I quickly dart in front of it, blocking his path.
“I think you should ask them first,” I say. “You don’t get to decide that they’ll talk to you. Get permission.”
I enjoy Winston’s discomfort. Asking means he can be refused. For all his preaching about our rights, the idea that we have autonomy—when it doesn’t suit him—makes him uneasy.
Welcome to the future, Winston Weeks.
“Of course,” he says after a moment. “Hello, girls,” Winston calls out, annoyingly formal, especially here. “May I come in and speak with you for a bit?”
There’s no response, but then the door opens, and Marcella looks out, eyeing him suspiciously. She turns to me to make sure I approve. I tell her it’s fine. She opens the door the rest of the way.
I walk inside with Winston Weeks following behind me.
He surveys the room, a heavy look of disgust in his expression. He starts to sit down but then thinks better of it. He goes to stand in front of the television, as if commanding our attention.
“We need to talk, girls,” he says. Marcella rolls her eyes. “Last night’s entire incident with those boys was counterproductive for our cause. I’m disappointed.”
Sydney scoffs from the other side of me. Marcella leans forward.
“Sorry, Dad,” Marcella says, earning a laugh from Brynn.
“Those boys at Ridgeview were horrible,” I say. “I’m glad they’re finally facing consequences.”
Winston allows this. “I understand, Philomena,” he says gently. “But sometimes there are bigger monsters that need to be slain first. That’s what you girls don’t understand yet. The narrative shifts. Sure, these boys lost their scholarships, maybe a few will actually do time. But nothing changes, not at this level. Soon there will be think pieces about their lives being ruined. Some will even call it a hoax. Starting at the bottom protects no one. You should have gone for the red meat first.”
Winston would have let the boys of Ridgeview get away with mass harassment if it meant they could serve a purpose for him. Allowing the misbehavior of other men when it benefits him.
“Although it was noble of you to help the female students of Ridgeview,” he continues, “it could have ruined everything.”