Gin

It takes almost three weeks for my face to heal. And when I look in the mirror that first morning after every bruise has healed, I see a different girl looking back at me.

I’ve been hurt and scared before, but never like I was that day in the locker room. I survived, though, and I was braced to survive the aftermath too. I figured there would be more harassment after, because I’d be perceived as screwing with the Roper status quo yet again.

Not this time, though. There were stares and whispers the day after, but the anger that had been directed at me pretty much disappeared. People saw my beaten face, heard what Jack had tried to do to me, and decided enough was enough.

Girls have come up to me since and thanked me for what I’ve done. Even guys look at me with something new. I don’t know if it’s respect or just neutrality, but it’s better than before.

There’s a girl with wiser eyes looking back at me now. She’s a few pounds thinner, because her jaws ached so badly it was hard to eat solid foods for a while.

Still, I sipped my protein shakes in the cafeteria every day, my head held high and my security guard conspicuously nearby at another table. The day I returned to school, Chase was waiting at my lunch table. He’s sat beside me every day since, Lauren glaring at him most of the time.

We’re here, though. Still standing. Finding a way through this new normal at Roper High School.

There have been parent-teacher meetings, teacher-student meetings, school administration-teacher meetings and parent-student-teacher-administration meetings since I was attacked. We’ve all talked openly about the Sweet Sixteen, and it’s been made clear that anyone who does anything like that again will be expelled.

There was a lot of pressure on both sides. A regional women’s advocacy group wanted every football player investigated and charged with assault if they’d taken part. The football-program-loving good-old-boy network pushed for a clean slate, fresh start approach. No one gets charged for anything that happened in the past, but moving forward, they will be.

Except for Jack. The prosecutor charged him with sexual assault, and no one objected to that.

Eventually, we all accepted the second proposal. I didn’t want to see Chase’s future ruined over it, because he’s been beside me in every way since Jack attacked me. And I’m starting to realize the problems at our school didn’t come so much from individuals, but from a culture that worshiped football and thought that consent was a black-and-white, yes-or-no issue.

Chase and I have been spending as much time together as we can. He helped me finish painting and building the play set, and he comes home with me for dinner most nights.

On Saturdays, we binge-watch shows on Netflix and cook. Chase decided that should be my mom’s day off from cooking, so we come up with something each week to cook for her. Ever my mother, she asks me for a list midweek and has the groceries delivered for us.

We’ve gotten comfortable with each other. Confessed truths. Listened. In a very short time, Chase has become my best friend.

I’m moving Ellie’s bedroom wall into place for play rehearsal four days before opening night when suddenly, it gets lighter. I turn and see Chase grinning at me, now doing most of the work.

“Thanks,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear as we set it down. “Don’t you have practice?”

He grins. “I’m on my way.”

The football team has won the past three games. The Mercer loss was part of the rock-bottom moment we all seemed to experience together.

The ground was pulled out from under Roper after the attack. The football program this town takes so much pride in was exposed to be imperfect. The players, human. Some of them, flawed. Others, embarrassments.

And the worst part, in the eyes of many proud former players for the team? The loss. They’re still breaking down the Mercer game in coffee shops all over town.

There’s no hope for some of those guys, like Chase’s father. But I think we can help the younger guys learn a new way. Maybe not all of them, but some, at least.

In a twist of irony, or more likely karma, Jack is now the one under attack at school. People call him “Jack the Raper.” It pisses me off that some people see everything as a game—every decision a weighing of two things to see which one is more popular. Before, the Sweet Sixteen was cool. But the tables have turned, so now lots of people say they never thought it was a good idea.

“Where’s Madison?” Mr. Douglas calls out across the theater, his voice echoing through the space. “She was supposed to be on stage in her first costume almost fifteen minutes ago.”

“You didn’t hear?” the lighting tech, Caroline, says. “She fell in gym class and messed up her ankle. She’s at the hospital.”

Mr. Douglas puts his hands in his already-crazy hair and pulls. “What? The hospital? We open in four days!”

Caroline shrugs. “Maybe she’s fine, I don’t know.”

“Well, someone call her and find out.” He shakes his head and rubs his temple. “Okay, where’s Grace?”

Madison’s understudy, a junior, looks up from the textbook she had her face buried in while sitting in front of the stage. “What? Me?”

“Are you ready to take over for Madison if we need you? We’ll have to get all the costumes re-fitted.”

Grace’s mouth drops open. “What? No! Like, the entire part? No, I just took the understudy thing so I’d have something for college applications.”

Mr. Douglas grimaces. “Well, we’d better hope Madison’s okay, or else there’s no play.”

Aiden, our Prince Charming, has a stunned expression that sums up everyone’s mood as the theater falls into silence. I’ve spent three hours a day building and painting this set since school started, and so have the other crew members.

“She has a broken ankle,” Caroline announces.

No one says a word. We all look at Mr. Douglas, who sighs heavily.

“Guys, I’m so sorry, but I think we have to call it off.”

“That’s not fair!” Evelyn, our fairy godmother, is on the verge of tears. “All because she flaked out?” She points at Grace.

Mr. Douglas puts out his hands in a calming gesture. “Let’s not place blame. This is an unfortunate reality sometimes, because stuff happens. Maybe we can put on the play in the spring, but right now, we have no one who knows Ellie’s part and has two functioning legs.”

“What about Gin?” Chase’s deep voice sounds across the theater.

I turn to face him, shocked. “What?”

“What?” Mr. Douglas echoes, his face scrunched in confusion.

Everyone turns to Chase.

“She knows all the lines,” he says. “She knows that part better than Madison. I hear her telling Madison the parts she misses all the time.”

My face flushes at the suggestion.

“Is that true, Gin? Do you know all the lines?”

“I mean…I guess I do, but…you don’t want me. I’d be awful.”

“Awful is better than no play,” Aiden says hopefully.

“Better for you,” I say, laughing humorlessly. “I’m the one who’d be humiliated.” I shoot a death glare at Chase. “This is a terrible idea.”

“You’d be great,” he says, still digging my hole.

“Okay, no.” I put my hands up, shutting down the plan he’s hatching. “Ellie is a happy blonde, not a goth-looking, reclusive artist.”

“But…can’t you lose the black hair color by Saturday night?” Mr. Douglas asks.

“I don’t know the first thing about acting!”

“I’ll run lines with you nonstop until we open,” Aiden offers. “Just do this, Gin. We’ve put so much work into this.”

I scowl at Chase, who gives me an innocent look.

“My mom’s a great seamstress,” he says. “If the costumes would need to be altered.”

Mr. Douglas nods, looking at me. “We have every costume here except the one for the ball. Madison was planning to bring one of her prom dresses for that.”

“Okay, then it’s not gonna work,” I say, starting to panic. “Because I don’t even have a prom dress, let alone multiple ones.”

“I’ve got one you can borrow,” Grace offers.

I turn to her and narrow my eyes; she gives me a sheepish smile.

“It’s ultimately up to you, Gin,” Mr. Douglas says. “You’re our only hope at this point.”

“Oh, great.” I roll my eyes and throw my hands in the air. “Put that under my name in the program. Gin Fielding—the only hope.”

Aiden pumps his fist in the air. “She’s talking about the program, which means she’s saying yes!”

The whole cast and crew cheer, and I cover my face, sneaking another glare at Chase, who’s cheering too, and also looking quite proud of himself.

As if I haven’t been the talk of this school enough already this year, now I’m going to be known as the girl who fumbled her lines or tripped and fell off the stage with hundreds of people looking on.

So much for my low-key senior year.