The Anti-Virginity Pact

by Katie Wismer

  “Before that,” I say. “We called about a dog fight last night. You wouldn’t happen to know what happened with that, would you?”

  He cocks an eyebrow and flips the page in his notebook. “I can find out.”

  “Thank you.”

  Harper squeezes my hand in reassurance, and I have to clear my throat before speaking. “What would we need to do to press charges against a rapist? We have a couple of girls willing to come forward.”

  If the officer is surprised, he doesn’t show it. He just leans back in his seat and nods. “I can get you the paperwork. And I’ll need to get a statement from each of the girls.”

  It makes me wonder how many other girls Derek has hurt and scared into not coming forward. If they’d be willing to join in if they heard that Melanie and I spoke up first. I’m not sure if just two names will be enough, but for now, it’ll have to be.

  32

  I spend the next week living out of a suitcase at Johanna’s house with Harper running interference between me and my parents. We haven’t spoken since the police station. And no matter how many texts they send, voice messages they leave, or letters they make Harper give me at school, the betrayal in my chest is just as hot and tight as it was the first day. Johanna keeps telling me to give it time, but it seems like no matter how much time passes, I’m no closer to forgiving them. I’m no closer to trusting them again.

  They arrested half a dozen people at the dog fight warehouse that night and rescued twice as many dogs. It should feel like a win, but the knot of guilt in my stomach about leaving the dogs behind doesn’t lessen, because there was way more than half a dozen people there, and way more than a dozen dogs. Which means the fighting is not going to stop. And some of those dogs didn’t make it out.

  Johanna’s parents are out of town on another trip, and I’d never really noticed how quiet their house was during the day. No siblings blasting music like Harper does during her workouts, no parents laughing in the kitchen. No neighbors near enough to hear mowing their lawns. Squirt’s been pretty exhausted since the whole ordeal and has filled her days with napping on the couch, so not even the tiny clicks of her paws against the wood floor break the silence.

  Jo is upstairs changing out of her school clothes. I stand in front of the fridge, eyeing the calendar tacked to the surface with a small reflective magnet. Jo’s parents’ travel schedules are mapped out with yellow highlighter and black sharpie, the destination of each trip scribbled in crunched cursive letters. There’s nothing to differentiate work trips from vacations, but I guess in the lives of a pilot and flight attendant, it might not really matter. What is obvious, however, is the ratio of days they’ve been gone—twenty-five—to the days they’ve been here this month—five.

  The doorbell rings and reverberates through the house, breaking me out of my thoughts.

  “I’ve got it!” I call, taking a step back from the fridge. Squirt’s tags jingle as she lifts her head to watch me head toward the front door.

  The very last person I expect to be waiting on the other side is Ashley Miller.

  She looks almost back to her usual self today, her blonde hair straightened, wrists covered in tiny gold bracelets. She’s wearing jeans with tan wedges and a maroon shimmery tank top to match the glitter on her eyelids. Her lipstick is so dark it looks like blood. She’s twirling her hair between two fingers when I open the door with so much fervor, it looks like that single motion is grounding her to the spot.

  I keep my hand braced around the door. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  Her face contorts like it wants to look condescending, but she freezes halfway into making the expression, maybe thinking of better of it.

  She hugs her arms around herself, her confident energy suddenly dissipating. “Can we talk?”

  The anger stiffening my shoulders relaxes at her tone, quiet and resigned. “What do you want, Ashley?”

  Her trademark expression breaks through the mask, just a crack, lifting a single eyebrow. “Are you planning on slamming that in my face?” She eyes my hand on the door.

  I drop the arm and step out onto the porch, closing the door behind me. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  She huffs like I’ve inconvenienced her and paces over to the bannister.

  “I heard about what happened with your parents.” She doesn’t look at me when she says it, her attention focused on the mountains in the distance. “I didn’t think…I didn’t realize…” she huffs again, but it doesn’t seem to be from annoyance this time. “The point is, I didn’t think it through. I didn’t know it would be that big of a deal, and I wish I hadn’t done it. I’m sorry, okay?”

  At first, I’m too stunned to move. The word sorry in her voice is so foreign to my ears, my brain almost can’t understand it. As soon as my chest thaws from the shock, however, a hot surge of anger takes its place.

  I was just ruining your life for fun. Didn’t realize it sucked so bad, lol sorry—isn’t exactly going to cut it. I open my mouth to say something, but she keeps talking.

  “Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. It’s…I heard about your case against Derek. Obviously. And—”

  “If you’re here to try to threaten me out of pressing charges again, you can just—”

  “That’s not why I’m here.” She finally turns around to face me, and for the first time, I notice how dark the circles beneath her eyes are. She crosses her arms over her chest, a look of determination hardening the lines of her face. “If you need someone else to testify or whatever, I’ll do it.”

  If I thought I was shocked before, it was nothing compared to the utter bafflement that silences me now.

  “I’m tired, Meredith,” she says, as if this explains everything. She leans back against the rail and smooths her hands over her hair. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand. My mom…well, it’s always been family over everything. No matter what or how badly someone screws up. Anyway. I’ve seen it happen. The first time, I was fourteen and didn’t really understand it. All I knew was Mom wanted us to keep it quiet, and she said she’d deal with it. And I thought maybe he’d learn. Maybe he’d, I don’t know, grow up? But he hasn’t stopped. He got kicked out of Northfield sophomore year, but they kept the whole thing quiet. He’s never had to own up to anything. My point is, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep watching it happen. So if you need help with your case, I’ll help.”

  I stare at her. I stare at her for what feels like a very long time, and judging by the way she starts to fidget, it is a very long time. As her words sink in, a confusing cocktail of emotions wars in my chest. I don’t want to understand what it’s like to go along with what your family wants even when you don’t agree with it. I don’t want to understand feeling stuck and not knowing what to do. I don’t want to understand regretting choosing wrong. I don’t want to feel anything but hatred for this girl who did everything in her power the last few weeks to burn my life to the ground. But at this point, I’m angrier with myself than I am with her.

  I’m angrier with my parents.

  “Who’s at the—?” Jo steps out on the porch in oversized gray sweats, a grungy blank tank top, and her second-day hair piled in a bun. “What the hell are you doing here?” she demands.

  “It’s okay—” I lay a hand on Jo’s arm.

  Ashley’s eyes flicker from Jo to me before taking a step back towards her car. There’s something in her eyes as she looks at the two of us that actually makes me feel a little sorry for her. I’ve never really thought about how good of friends the girls in the Pretty Committee likely were—or rather, how not good. She might have dozens of minions, but she doesn’t have a Johanna.

  “I was just leaving anyway.” She locks eyes with me again before getting in her car. “My offer stands.”

  Two Weeks Later

  It’s only eight o’clock in the morning and it’s already past ninety degrees. My dress sticks to my back and legs beneath my graduation gown, and my make
up is probably melting off my face. I readjust the heels on my feet for the thirtieth time that morning. I just want so badly not to trip on my way to the stage. Although, all things considered, what’s one more humiliating moment in front of my peers?

  Squinting against the sun, I locate my family sitting in the stands of the football stadium.

  Maman and Papa sit with Harper between them, and when they catch my eye, they flash hesitant smiles and wave. Things are still strained between us, but a week ago, I moved back in. I haven’t heard a Bible verse since, but I catch them watching me often. And there’s a lot of awkward silences. There’s still a part of me that mistrusts them, and I’m not sure if that feeling is ever going to go away.

  Johanna’s parents sit beside my father, sporting their impressive new tans from whatever vacation they’ve just returned from. When I mentioned their attendance to Johanna—who is now sitting to my right—she’d merely rolled her eyes, saying something about how she almost didn’t recognize them since it’d been so long, but she’d been trying to fight a smile. It sounds like they’re planning on spending the entire summer here—their normal favorite vacation time—so they can spend Johanna’s last summer before college together. Well, except for the surprise trip to Paris they’re taking her on next week, but she doesn’t know about that yet.

  She reaches over and grips my hand tightly. Both of our palms are sweaty from the heat.

  “I can’t believe it! We’re actually graduating,” she squeals.

  I grin back and squeeze her hand. This day had been a deadline in my head for so long, and now that it’s come, and neither of us have completed the task we’d set out to do, I feel oddly liberated. Because I don’t care.

  By the time they actually start calling names, it must be a hundred degrees. Once people return to their seats with their diplomas, they immediately double them as fans. Luckily, with the last name Beaumont, I’m called toward the beginning—and sans catastrophe, I manage to get my diploma, and the slight breeze it offers makes the rest of the ceremony a little more bearable.

  Then Johanna’s name is called, and she hurries up, grinning, her red hair flowing down her back in perfect curls. I swear she’s the only one here who looks good in the graduation hat. On her way back to her seat, she flips off Mr. Graham behind her diploma—luckily he doesn’t see—and winks at me.

  When Ashley’s name is called, she makes her way to the front, taking her time, looking as confident as ever. She has to pass our seats on her way back, and for a second, we lock eyes and exchange a nod. I would never describe our relationship as friendly, but at least now there’s noticeably less malice.

  “What was that about?” Jo murmurs.

  I clap along as the remainder of the names are called and shrug. “We’ve just come to an understanding, is all.”

  “What’s that saying again?” she teases. “When hell freezes over?”

  I smirk. “Stranger things have happened.”

  ✦✦✦

  After the hugs and pictures and tears, Jo heads off with her parents, and I climb in the car with Harper, Maman, and Papa. Jo’s graduation party starts in an hour, leaving us just enough time to go home and change. Papa waits until we’re parked outside of the house before pulling the envelope out of his pocket.

  “What’s this?” I ask as he hands it to me.

  A shrug. “Open it.”

  I do, slide the contents out, and freeze.

  Maman and Papa exchange a soft smile.

  I hold the airline tickets up with a shaking hand. “Why am I holding four tickets to California?”

  “Well,” Maman says. “We know how much you wanted to go to UC Davis, and even with the scholarship, that school has quite the hefty price tag. So we talked about it, and we’re willing to pay for half, so you’ll have to get a job. But we thought it would be nice to have the whole family there to help you move in.”

  Harper leans over, eyes wide, and grabs one of the tickets. “We’re going to California?” she squeals. Clearly she was not in on the surprise.

  I meet Papa’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Thank you,” I mouth.

  There are tears in his eyes, but he just nods.

  “Now let’s go inside!” Maman calls, throwing open her door. “We have a party to get ready for! Mare, Harper, I brought home some dresses for you to choose from…”

  Harper and I share a groan as we head for the door. The house quickly turns into a flurry of activity as everyone gets ready and Maman tries to relocate where she’d put both my and Johanna’s graduation gifts.

  A notification on my phone flashes. Detective Brown, the officer on my case, left me a voicemail, but I’ll listen to it later. The case has moved quickly, and things are going well, especially once the word got out and three more girls came forward in addition to Ashley. But it’s not something that I want to think about today.

  I’m not letting anything get in the way of having a good day.

  Even though I did think about Sam earlier. Just for a little bit. I imagined him sitting in the crowd at graduation with my parents, or walking into Johanna’s party with me, his hand in mine. I imagined having to say a tearful goodbye as we packed up our things and headed our separate ways to colleges on the opposite sides of the country.

  We haven’t spoken since that very, very long night.

  I’ve thought about texting him more times than I care to admit, but every time, I’ve thought better of it.

  Because now I’ve started to patch things up with my family, I have a generous scholarship to help get me through my dream school, an adorable emotional support Maltese who is just as excited for college as I am, and I have a plan. Not one to lose my virginity or fulfill all of these milestones stupid romantic comedies made me think I needed. Not to find a boyfriend or get revenge on the high school mean girls.

  I have a plan for me. And that is so much better.

  Acknowledgments

  I wasn’t sure if this book would ever see the light of day, but here we are! I started writing this story back in 2014 as a senior in high school, only to abandon it when I went off to college and rediscover it when I needed it the most five years later. Turns out I didn’t really understand the story I wanted to tell when I was eighteen, but at twenty-three, I finally figured it out. And there are so many people to thank. So many people who helped me get here.

  First and foremost, thank you so much to my parents for your endless support and belief in my passions. Without you I never would’ve had the courage or the means to pursue all of my creative endeavors. Mom, thanks for reading the early drafts of all of my novels, even the terrible ones from high school. Dad, thanks for letting me fill the house with books and helping me build bookshelf after bookshelf even when it got a little ridiculous. And to Matt, having you as a brother has made me a better person. I love you all so much.

  To all of my teachers throughout the years who not only helped me hone my craft, but also gave me the courage to pursue writing. Just to name a few: Yoon Park, Marissa Voss, Lisa Werber, Kate Gunneson, Paul Hanstedt, Melanie Almeader, Mary Crockett, and Kristina Davies.

  To my friends who are more like family. I am grateful for you every single day. Thank you for being my Johanna(s).

  To my YouTube family. I have never felt so at home anywhere else. Thank you for giving me a place to belong and share my voice. Our channel is one of my favorite things in my life.

  To my favorite band Parachute for making music that turns around a bad day, every time.

  To Maxine, Dean, Bently, Louie, Gizmo, and Mis, the ultimate four-legged lights in my life. And to my childhood pets Licorice, Zipper, Squeeze, Carrot, and Chief. I’m so grateful I had the opportunity to grow up surrounded by so much love and compassion.

  To my brilliant beta readers Naemi, Katie, and Paige. Thank you for your insight, enthusiasm, and thoughtful feedback. To my editor Nina, thank for your belief in this story and guidance. To Nat for the gorgeous cover
, and all of my early reviewers who helped spread the word.

  And to you reading this. Thank you for sharing your time with me. I feel incredibly lucky to share my words with you.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Katie Wismer is a die-hard pig lover, semi-obsessive gym rat, and longtime sucker for a well-written book. She studied creative writing and sociology at Roanoke College and now works as a freelance writer and editor in Colorado with her cats Max and Dean.

  Her debut poetry collection The Sweetest Kind of Poison is available anywhere books are sold.

  When she’s not writing, reading, or wrangling the cats, you can find her on her YouTube channel Katesbookdate. She’s also on Twitter, Instagram, Goodreads, and katiewismer.com.

  Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed the book, please consider leaving a short review – it would mean a lot!