The Anti-Virginity Pact

by Katie Wismer

  I look away from her. “It seems like everyone’s moved on to the next scandal.”

  “It was only a matter of time,” Jo mutters. “These people are like piranhas. They can’t resist fresh blood.”

  “What about you?” I lower my voice and nod my head sideways at Mr. Graham. “Are you all right?”

  Her cheeks redden to match her hair. “He hasn’t even looked at me since I walked in. But if he just wants to pretend nothing happened and go on like usual, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  As she says it, Mr. Graham steps up to the front of the class to begin his lecture, his eyes avoiding our side of the room. He manages to keep it up the entire time he talks, as if some kind of magnetic force repels his gaze every time he gets close to Johanna. When he starts passing out papers halfway through the period, Johanna’s head snaps up, panic filling her eyes as she watches him get closer to our desks.

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” she mumbles, and quickly scurries out of the room. Mr. Graham shows no sign of noticing her abrupt departure.

  I have half a mind to go after her when Ashley turns around in her chair to face me. Her expression is innocent enough—it almost looks friendly—but there’s something off in her eyes. “I know it was you,” she says under her breath, still smiling.

  I don’t react. I don’t break eye contact. I don’t even breathe.

  The corners of Ashley’s mouth twist, and her next words come out as a quiet snarl. “If you think pressing charges is going to make your life anything but a living hell, think again. I’ll see to it myself.” She pauses and sizes me up with a flick of her eyes.

  The shock is so heavy that I can’t even muster up the energy to feel angry. I thought she’d want everyone to know it was me; that would just give her a whole new spectacle to entertain herself with. Isn’t that why she’s had Nora making so much noise about this? Unless Nora went rogue and did this on her own.

  But then why hasn’t Ashley spread this news around like did the pact? It clearly isn’t because she suddenly has amiable feelings toward me, and it isn’t an act of mercy. So the only logical explanation is she has something else up her sleeve, something worse than being tormented in the halls as I walk from class to class. After all, she already gets to witness that. Maybe she’s grown bored of watching her monkeys rattle my cage.

  I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

  “If you think you can get away with dragging my brother’s reputation through the dirt, think again. I won’t let that happen. So go ahead and tell the police about Derek. Our family knows every attorney in this state. We’ll bury you.”

  Derek.

  Derek is…her brother?

  I wrack my brain. I didn’t even know Ashley had a brother.

  I have to remind myself to breathe.

  I must take too long to respond, because she shakes her head with a disgusted expression. “What did you expect was gonna happen?” she nearly spits. “Of course someone went after you.” And with that, she turns away.

  Of course someone went after you, as if this is my fault. As if her own brother hasn’t been going around raping girls for sport. My mind flashes back to that day in the library, the way she’d looked at Melanie crying. She knew. She knew what happened to her. Did she threaten her to stay quiet too? Seething hot anger shoots through my system. My hands are shaking so badly that I can no longer grip my pen to take notes.

  I’m done standing by and letting Ashley get away with murder. If no one else is brave enough to stand up to her, then it might as well be the one person in this school who has literally nothing left to lose.

  24

  I’m supposed to work at the shelter today but call and cancel at the last minute. What was once my solace, my place to get away from all things high school and my parents breathing down my neck, has transformed into a painful reminder. I don’t think I could handle walking through those doors to find Squirt’s cage empty, not after everything else that’s already gone wrong.

  Not even the UC Davis acceptance letter I received today—something that would’ve brought me to happy tears a few weeks ago—is enough to lift my spirits. It doesn’t matter much anyway. Not with news of the scholarships I applied to still a week out. There’s no use getting excited about a school if I’m not sure I can go yet.

  I texted Harper earlier to be ready. That I’d pick her and Melanie up after school and the three of us would go straight to the police station.

  But when I pull up to the house, I hesitate before getting out of the car, my phone in hand. I scroll through the pictures from that night at James’ house, my insides twisting at the sight of them. This whole plan was a terrible idea, and I should probably just delete them before anyone else gets hurt.

  But then I hear the words Ashley snarled during class echoing in my head, and all I can think about is how badly I wish she knew what this feels like.

  I glance up and spot Sam through the windshield, waiting on the front porch. I quickly lock the phone and shove it back inside my backpack, the guilt flushing hot against my skin.

  “Is this becoming a regular thing with us?” Sam asks as I head up the driveway. “I don’t know what to think, Mare. You apologize the first time for ignoring my calls for days, but then you do it again.” He pauses. Glances at the ground. Back to me. “Are you okay?”

  I nod, but don’t respond at first. Because it isn’t him. It isn’t his fault. I haven’t wanted to talk to anyone lately. It just so happens that everything in my life went to shit all at the same time, and Sam got caught in the crossfire.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls,” I finally say.

  “Mare, don’t you get it?” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t care less about the calls. I’m just worried. Especially after—”

  “There’s just been a lot going on lately, Sam,” I cut him off.

  “Is this still about the pact and the kids at school…” He trails off, wincing. “Or what happened at the party?”

  My mind spins and pictures flash behind my eyes—the posts Nora has plastered all over the internet, Ashley’s threats, Derek pining me down, James kissing my neck, the Pretty Committee laughing out the windows as they drove away…

  I press my knuckles to my temples as if I can force the memories out of my head. “I can’t do this right now, Sam. I just—this is all me, okay? This has nothing to do with you.”

  “The ‘it’s me, not you’ speech? Really?”

  “No! I just—” I sigh and press my knuckles harder against my skin. I just want to scream, I can’t do this right now, but if I push him away one more time, I’m worried he won’t come back. I take a few deep breaths before saying, “Do you want to come inside and talk?”

  We’re two steps into the house when I notice them. My parents are standing at the end of the foyer, blocking both the stairs and the hall to the kitchen. Their arms are crossed, expressions severe. I’m not sure what’s more unsettling, their seemingly choreographed stance, or the fact that they’re both home at three in the afternoon. It isn’t unusual for Papa, but Maman usually doesn’t get home from the boutique until around six.

  Sam and I freeze, and for a moment we all just stand there staring at each other.

  “Um, hi,” I offer, slipping my backpack from my shoulders and setting it on the ground. “Is everything all right?” I glance behind them, wondering where Harper and Melanie are.

  Maman heaves a mighty sigh and glances at Papa. “We’d like to speak with you.”

  Sam shoots me a worried glance, the tension from the last few minutes replaced by an entirely new kind. “Um. I can come back—”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Papa cuts in, his voice surprisingly sharp. “It would probably be best if you’re here for this discussion as well, Samuel.”

  Samuel?

  Exchanging another glance with Sam, we follow my parents through the hall and join
them at the kitchen table. My gaze bounces from Maman to Papa and back again, trying to gauge the severity of the situation. Based off their rigid body language and Papa’s out of character formalities, it’s bad.

  Maman pulls out a sheet of paper from her purse, smooths out the wrinkles, and lays it on the table between us. I lean forward to inspect it, and my heart careens into the pit of my stomach. It takes me half a second to recognize the document.

  I just want to go back and punch drunk me in the face for signing that goddamn thing in the first place.

  “It was in our mailbox,” says Maman. “Your father called me after he read it and I came home straight away.”

  I want to crawl under the table, curl into a ball, and die.

  This is the moment I’ve been dreading—more so than the kids at school finding out, than Harper finding out, than trying to find a way to explain things to Sam. And the sheer disappointment, heartbreak, and betrayal in my parents’ eyes solidifies exactly what I’d feared.

  I say nothing. Even if I wanted to, even if I could mentally formulate words to try and patch up this situation, my throat feels so tight, I don’t think I’d be able to squeeze anything out.

  “I just don’t understand,” Papa says, shaking his head. To my horror, he looks as if he’s about to cry. “What is this, Meredith?”

  “It’s nothing,” I gasp out, my voice shrill. I snatch the paper from the table and smash it into a ball. This damn piece of paper has caused more damage than I ever could have imagined. I can’t let it destroy my family, too. “It’s nothing, I swear.”

  “There’s no need to be defensive. We just want to talk about it. We just want you to be honest with us,” Maman says calmly, laying her hands on the table. “We’re just trying to understand, ma bichette. Please explain it to us.”

  My doe. She hasn’t called me that since I was kid.

  “It’s nothing,” I repeat, squeezing the paper in my fist in anger. Anger at Ashley for being so damn vindictive, but also at myself for getting into this situation in the first place. “It was just this stupid joke Johanna and I made a while ago. It isn’t real. It’s nothing to take seriously or worry about, I promise you.”

  Their eyes shoot to Sam, and the accusation there is clear.

  “I thought we raised you better than this,” Papa mutters, shakes his head, and looks away as if he can’t stand the sight of me.

  “Is that,” Maman points to the paper in my hand, “what this,” her finger wags between me and Sam, “is about?”

  “Absolutely not,” Sam jumps in, and I’m suddenly grateful he’s here. Maman and Papa are probably still trying to remain civil in front of him, which makes me wonder how much worse this would be if I were alone. “With all due respect, Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont, Mare and I are dealing with this, and I can assure you that piece of paper means nothing anymore.” Sam waves his hand as he says it as if to illustrate its insignificance.

  I look to him in surprise. If he’s defending me, that must be a good sign, right?

  Papa’s eyes snap back to us, anger stiffening the lines of his mouth. “The two of you have dealt with this?” He puts air quotes around the words. “Have the two of you already done it?”

  Sam’s eyes go wide. “Sir, that’s not what I meant—”

  Papa is on his feet. Red creeps up his neck. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so livid. “How could you do this?” he demands. “How can you go against all you believe in like this? I thought you were stronger than this, Meredith. That you knew better. Corinthians 6:18—”

  I put my face in my hands. “Papa, please, no Bible verses right now.”

  “Flee from sexual immorality,” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body. Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own—”

  “Stop,” I beg, clenching my hands into fists so tight that my nails bite my palms, but he just talks louder, his voice raising with each word.

  “Galatians 6:19—but when you follow your own wrong inclinations, your lives will produce these evil results: impure thoughts, eagerness for lustful pleasure…anyone living that sort of life will not inherit the kingdom of God. Those who belong to Christ have nailed their natural evil desires to his cross and crucified them there—”

  “Stop it! Just stop it! I don’t want to hear anymore!” I explode, jump to my feet, and slam my hands on the table. Anger wells in my chest, all-consuming. I’m momentarily blinded by it, and the words are flying out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Can’t you see that I don’t care what the Bible has to say about it? What it has to say about anything? I don’t believe in any of it, and you shoving your beliefs down my throat won’t change that!”

  The moment the words are out, it’s clear there’s no taking them back. Papa’s eyes have gone so wide they look as if they might fall out of his head. Maman has one hand pressed to her chest, as if I just broke her heart and she’s trying to hold the pieces together.

  But they’re silent.

  For the first time in eighteen years, I have the floor. This is it. My chance to finally put the bomb that’s been threatening to explode inside of me out in the open.

  I take a deep breath to calm myself and continue in a more level voice. “I respect your beliefs and your views. All I’m asking is that you respect mine, and accept that they’re different than yours. I understand that this is important to you, and if it makes you feel any better, Sam and I haven’t had sex. But if and when I do decide to take that next step, whether it be with Sam or someone else in my future, it’s my decision. It’s my body. My life.”

  Papa closes his eyes, as if each word that leaves my mouth hits him like a bullet to the chest.

  “I love you both, and I never wanted to hurt you. You have to believe that.”

  “Believe?” Papa nearly spits the word. “You’ve just made it abundantly clear that you don’t believe in anything, so why should we believe in you?”

  I try not to let him see just how much those words hurt me. “Just because I don’t believe the same as you do, it doesn’t mean I don’t believe in something,” I say softly. “Religion isn’t the only way to believe in something, Papa.”

  “I don’t understand,” he whispers. “Why would you turn your back on the church? On your family? Why would you put your soul at stake over this? Your eternity? God loves you, Meredith, even if it’s hard to see right now. He sent his son to die for you. The Bible tells us—”

  “Why can’t you just hear me?” I demand, tired of being spoken over. Tired of no one listening when I talk. Tired of using my silence as an excuse to let people walk all over me. “I. Don’t. Believe. And I don’t want to. There’s nothing you can say that’ll change that. I’m not just having doubts. It’s not a phase, or me being rebellious. I don’t care what the Bible tells us because that book—and that’s really all it is, a book—has made me feel terrible about myself all my life. I can see that believing in it helps you and comforts you and is true for you, but it’s not true for me. I have the right to choose what I believe, and if you loved me half as much as you claim to, then you’d respect that.”

  He shakes his head in sharp, fast movements. “Get out of my house.”

  The room goes completely silent. At first, I’m certain I’ve misheard him. I knew he’d get mad, quote some scripture, maybe lock me in my room for the rest of my life, but this? Surely he can’t be serious.

  But his gaze is hard, unwavering.

  “Maman?” I whisper.

  She won’t even look at me.

  “Papa.” My gaze pingpongs between the two of them, but it quickly becomes apparent that nothing I say will get either of them on my side. The anger fizzling in my stomach surges up, filling my entire body with its heat. “So that’s it, then? You can’t control me and beat me into submission, so
you just throw me out so you don’t have to deal with it? How very Christian of you,” I spit.

  “I said get out of my house!” Papa booms.

  I jerk back. He never raises his voice. Never.

  “What’s going on?” Harper appears in the doorway, her wide eyes flickering around the room.

  “Come on, Mare, let’s just go,” Sam whispers.

  “Get out!” Papa yells again, snatching the crumpled pact from the table and throwing it into the hall.

  “Papa!” Harper gasps.

  I follow Sam into the hall before Papa can scream again. He marches after us, his footsteps booming against the floor. As soon as Sam and I reach the porch, I turn, an ache spreading out from my chest. “Papa—”

  He slams the door in my face.

  25

  When I climb into Sam’s car, I feel like my body is on autopilot. Papa’s glare through the window follows us down the lawn, and when it becomes clear he isn’t going to stop until we leave, Sam starts the car and heads out of the neighborhood.

  “Mare—” He stops himself.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “About not returning your phone calls. I know it sounds cliché and stupid, but it had nothing to do with you. I was just dealing with a lot, and I didn’t talk to anyone—not just you. I just needed some time.”

  “You could have just told me that.”

  He’s right, of course. I’m not sure why it didn’t even occur to me. Apparently, no matter what I do or how hard I try, someone is unhappy and it’s never enough.

  “I’ve had a lot on my mind, okay?” is what comes out instead. I don’t mean for my voice to sound so defensive, but I’m tired of being treated like I’m the only one who’s done anything wrong. “I’ve been dealing with some really shitty stuff, and calling you, or anyone else, wasn’t exactly on my priority list.” I bite the words out as hot, angry tears trail down my cheeks. I know I’m not angry at him and I’m not being fair, but it’s like my voice doesn’t even belong to me anymore. “I don’t have to keep in contact with you every second of every day.”