by Molly E. Lee
Dean cocked a brow at me, setting our bags down on the table, seeing I wasn’t ready to leave. “But it doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous,” he said, and I snapped my eyes to his.
“What?”
“I checked it out after…after I saw Tessa’s comments. It’s on the dark web, which we both know means the person is trying to hide. And even if the topics it discusses are helping people, the owner would be naive to think people wouldn’t get hurt in the crossfire.”
I gaped at him, guilt and anger twisting my stomach. “Crossfire?”
He tilted his head, his eyes searching mine. “The parents who are protesting it, the people who are writing in. Tanner being up in arms about it. The stuff the blog is posting about. It’s awesome, but it’s dangerous. Things like that are begging for conflict. One person’s beliefs will always offend another. It’s just the way the world works.”
I narrowed my gaze, trying like hell to calm the fire inside me.
“The way the world works,” I said coolly. “You know, you’re right.” I shook my head, adrenaline coursing through my veins. “It is the way the world works. People get offended. By legit everything. And maybe it is risky for someone to want to help on a social media level and leave their self so open to attack and criticism, but at least that person is trying to create change.” I huffed.
The parents’ outrage, Hannah’s situation, Tanner’s personal vendetta against the school.
I was over it.
Over so many things.
Thousands of people wrote in to Ask Me Anything.
Thousands of people searching for comfort in a world full of judgment.
And I would not shy away from that. Not because of backlash or fear or any of it.
I trashed the post I’d mentally sketched earlier.
New words and ideas took shape, forged in anger and hurt for my friend. She was a great person. Her grades stellar, her aspirations for the future even better, and she had a boyfriend who loved her. Like the kind of true love you read about in books.
“I get that,” Dean said, drawing me back to the present. “I’m just saying I hope the person behind it has a thick skin and is ready to deal with the hits that will inevitably come.” His eyes churned with worry and…regret?
I nodded, trying to calm down. Several months ago, I might’ve torched the blog because something like this had happened.
Hannah didn’t deserve this.
But I had gained strength and had healed through the posts, through connecting with the people who needed it. So, I’d have a thick skin, sure, and I’d keep on going. Keep on doing what little I could to change…something. Anything.
One post at a time.
And in the meantime, I’d just have to find a way to make it up to Hannah.
“How’s your TOC prep coming? The challenge, too?” I finally asked Dean after I’d cooled down a bit as we walked to the parking lot.
When we stopped between our two cars, he admitted, “Slow. I had a change of direction.” He smirked, mischief flashing in his eyes. “I’ll be ready for you by the deadline.”
I smiled. Good. Maybe his would be more direct and effective against Tanner’s vendetta than mine. Our simple challenge of riling up Tanner had taken an entirely new turn in light of what I’d learned from the people writing in to my site. The meaning and worth went so much deeper than this now. Bigger than a challenge to get back at another male in power pushing his beliefs on the masses. There were so many like him in the world—people who downplayed victims’ experiences, male or female, or were so set in their ways they believed all who didn’t live the way they did were wrong.
Dean brushed his fingers over my forehead, shifting a piece of hair that had fallen out of place. “I’m slightly terrified of the look in your eyes right now.”
I laughed, the tension easing in my shoulders. “I’m just pissed.”
“I know.”
“It’s unnecessary,” I said. “I hate that Tanner is even in a position to push his ideals in our faces. But he’s one in a sea of powerful people trying to claim they know what’s best for all of us.”
Dean arched a brow.
“Like his stance against birth control and sex and all of it. He rallies against something that should be a choice for each individual. He’s not the only one, and it even goes beyond the sex stuff.”
“Like what?”
I sighed. “Like the fact that I’m just as good a hacker as you, but you—a boy—are the one who’s been deemed the best and resident hacker genius of the school.”
Dean’s soft smile fell.
“I’m not blaming you,” I hurried to add, furrowing my brow as I tried to rein in my rant.
“If you want the title, you can have it,” he said, waving his arm toward the darkened school. “Then Tanner would have you at his beck and call because he’d blame you for the video prank and task you with—” He hissed, raking his fingers through his hair. “All his bullshit. Maybe you would’ve gotten the video down sooner.”
“That’s not what I’m saying—”
“What are you saying?”
“That there are problems here. That there are serious differences between the way boys and girls are treated in this school—hell, likely everywhere—and it’s total BS. And that, on top of every other agenda Tanner or people like him pushes, is why blogs like Ask Me Anything pop up.”
“Back to that now?” His tone was sharper than I’d ever heard it. “I’m sorry about Hannah. I really am. But…that blog is a direct act of rebellion. I’m not saying I don’t freaking love the idea, but everyone who decides to write in should know that there is always a risk of getting caught, or catching backlash for it.”
I smacked my hand on my thigh. “If people would just talk to each other and actually listen, not just plan a counter-argument—so much bullshit could be avoided. Being there for each other. Having some damn compassion over judgment for once. That’s what the blog is about.”
“I didn’t realize you read it religiously,” he said. “And people should know what they’re getting into up front. And Tessa is one of those people writing in. Luckily our parents are cool, but with the shitstorm surrounding it, I’d rather her not be anywhere near it. There should be a disclaimer upon entry of the site. Something that warns anyone who writes in what they’re really getting into—that there is a growing protest against it, that parents aren’t on board and neither are school officials. That writing in could have consequences, like tonight with Hannah.”
He could’ve thrown an ice-cold bucket of water over me and I’d be less shocked. Though I could see his side, it was hard through my internal raging.
“Hey,” he said as I struggled to find words. “I get the bullshit in this school, okay? I get that all over the place there are tons of people who get flack for being different—girls or boys or anyone in between. I grew up with a baby sister and I’ve seen firsthand how she catches shit for things Sean and I wouldn’t. I’ve watched Dad teach her things he never taught us. How to keep an eye on her drinks and how to get out of a hold if some creep sneaks up behind her.” He sucked in a breath. “I get it. And you’re right, the blog…whoever is behind it probably has the best intentions. And I’m sure it’s awesome to have someone who understands, too. Not everyone does.” His eyes were genuine as he reached for my hand. “I’m all for strong girls,” he said. “That’s why I like you so much.”
His words, his deep understanding, melted the rage flaming in my chest.
My heart swelled and ached, and I had so many conflicting emotions storming my body I felt too tight in my own skin.
“You’ve always been a good listener,” I said. My thoughts flashed way back to when we first met physically—instead of online. I’d spotted him on his laptop, told him he needed more stickers as a joke, and our friendly rivalry had started. But even then, h
e’d always been there. Listening, helping, never hesitating when I sent him a chat box and a question. “DC,” I finally said.
“What can I say?” He smirked. “I love…” His eyes widened before he forced out a laugh. “Love to hear your voice.”
The air in my lungs tightened, my heart picking up its earlier speed.
“Says the boy who spent the first two years of high school only speaking to me through chat boxes,” I teased, my breath catching.
“Hey,” he said, stepping closer. “It’s our thing.”
I reached up and brushed my lips over his. “I like our things.”
He walked us until my back was against my car, kissing me long and hard and sweet. I tensed for a breath, waiting for the cold to seep into my bones from being pinned against the car. From being trapped. Locked in his embrace and his kiss.
But again, it didn’t come.
There was only Dean and how safe I felt in his arms. How much power I felt thrumming through my veins, knowing I was in control. Knowing he’d stop if I so much as blinked the wrong way.
But I didn’t want him to stop.
The taste of him—Red Bull and spearmint—swirled and churned and wound me up so much it was almost enough to erase every thought in my head.
Almost.
“Mmm,” I mumbled against his lips, loving the way his body was flush with mine. “I told Hannah I’d call Jake for her.”
He growled, his eyes on fire as he gazed at me. “Never,” he said, a laugh in his tone, “say another dude’s name when my mouth is on yours.”
A warm shiver rippled down my spine. “Or what?” I challenged.
He kissed me again, hungrier, faster, until my entire body trembled under his. Too quickly, he ended it, stepping so far away from me, the cold air raised chills on my skin.
The grin on his lips was more enticing than Loki’s when he was in the middle of chaos.
“Night, Pixie,” he said, walking around his car and sinking behind the wheel.
I smirked, shaking my head.
The boy was good.
Great.
And he was all mine.
Question of the Day
CrossFitandUnicornsForLife asks: “I’m not from Wilmont. Our school doesn’t have a dress code like yours does, so I know I shouldn’t be complaining. But try not to hate me and hear me out. I was sent home early today because I refused to change my top during weight conditioning. This is an elective class but one I chose to take because I like to stay in shape for sports. Anyway, I had on a tank top. Not a spaghetti strap, not a cami, but a razorback tank top. The teacher told me to go put on a T-shirt because the amount of skin I showed was distracting the boys. The same BOYS who were shirtless! Like…I was stunned. I said as much and then I got written up and sent home for talking back. My parents totally understand and aren’t mad at me, but we’re all pissed at the situation.
Again, I know you have a dress code at Wilmont, so this is probably super annoying. I’m grateful to have the freedom to—mostly—wear what I want to class, but this…I don’t know what to do. I thought about going straight to the principal, but being that he’s a guy, I wasn’t sure he’d understand. So I just went home.
But I’m still fuming.
I need to do something! The guys are allowed to wear nothing but shorts and yet my SHOULDERS were distracting? How does that compute? How can I stop this from happening to another girl? I know the clear answer is to not wear tank tops to conditioning, but the guys get to go on not wearing shirts? How is that fair?”
I don’t hate you.
I may envy your non-dress-code school, but never hate. ;)
I do, however, hate that this happened to you. Hate that it’s just so typical. You’d be surprised how many similar stories and questions I have in my inbox! Or maybe you wouldn’t. Either way, it’s totally unfair.
It’s the hypocrisy in situations like these that helped fuel my fire when creating this blog. The fact that girls are constantly reminded we are distracting to boys and we’re the ones who need to change instead of going to the source of the problem—teaching the guys to chill if they see a shoulder.
And, in reality, are they even distracted? Is there a team of boys out there reporting each and every girl shoulder they see? Or each legging-covered leg? Each bare knee when a girl wears a skirt or shorts? Is distraction a legitimate excuse or is it one the patriarchy has continuously fallen back on for who knows how long? Because, honestly, I’m distracted by a hell of a lot, and it has nothing to do with what people are wearing.
I completely agree with you and am angry on your behalf.
In my opinion, if you want this to change, if you want to help spare the next girl, then speak out. Take a picture of the outfit you had on and show it to your principal, the vice principal, the school counselor. Take it all the way up to the superintendent of the district if you have to. If you have social media, use it as a way to spread the word that you were subject to a massive case of hypocrisy and you’re not standing for it. The best way to create change and help others be spared from instances like this is making these instances known far and wide.
Ignorance is so often the reason for lack of forward momentum in the world, and we’re lucky enough to be born in the age of technology. We have platforms—like my little corner of the web—to speak out or vent or inspire. It’s up to us how we choose to use them. And it’s refreshing to see girls speaking out for change, outnumbering the amount of filtered Snaps.
We’re all we’ve got to create change for the future. The people in authority now? They’ll be long gone and we’ll be stuck with problems we helped create if we don’t speak out.
So that’s my advice to you.
Make the injustice known.
And perhaps, your voice will be enough to stop the hypocrisy in its tracks!
Keep me posted.
In the meantime,
Stay Sexy. Stay Healthy.
…
A little of the rage from earlier snaked out of my blood as I hit publish.
I’d selected the question specifically because of Dean and my conversation after Code Club. It had been in my starred file for a week, and it was time I addressed it. Especially when everything had hit me so hard tonight.
Dean’s words about the blog—calling it dangerous.
Hannah’s punishment for being caught on the site.
It was all gnawing at me, but the people I’d already helped…that was what soothed those hurts. I wouldn’t leave them in the dark.
But I had thought long and hard about what Dean had said and was considering putting a disclaimer on the site. Explaining about the heat coming down on the blog, and how it could also transfer to those who dared to write in. Full disclosure—I’d always told them I’d never lie to them. Save for my true identity. And the fact that I was a virgin issuing sex advice and beyond.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to ease the pressure building behind my eyes.
I’d started this blog with the intention of flipping off Tanner’s personal vendetta.
It had transformed into something so much bigger now. Something that not even my BFF getting in trouble over could stop me from continuing.
That notion was terrifying enough, but I held strong to my hope.
Hope was all I had.
Hope that I was virtually hugging those who needed it, or standing beside them when they felt so alone.
If nothing else…then that was worth it.
Question of the Day
SevenDegreesofFantastic2356 asks: “I’m not who my parents think I am. They think I’m their son. I’m not. I’m their daughter. I want to tell them. Ok, it’s more of a need than a want. I mean, I do want to, but the need to be honest with myself and them is overpowering everything right now. I feel like if I don’t tell them, or those a
round me, I may waste away. I’m scared of their reaction. I plan to transition fully in the years ahead and I’m worried they won’t understand. They aren’t bigots or anything—they were super understanding when I came out to them and as I continue to support, talk about, and rally for LGBTQIA+ rights and issues. But…this is more than that. This is me telling them I’ve been living a lie and my identity isn’t what they thought. What do I do?”
This is honestly one of the most touching and most intense questions I’ve received since starting this blog.
First, I want to tell you that you are not alone in this. That your feelings of “wasting away” are completely justified, but know that there are communities in place to help support you. And, though I may not be able to directly personally relate to your situation, I am here. That is why I started this blog, so people like you, like all of us with tough situations we feel alone in, can stand together and lean on each other for support.
Second, I’m totally proud and happy that your parents have supported you when you came out and when you rally behind LGBTQIA+ rights! That is a wonderful sign. It shows that they love you no matter what and are open-minded.
I’m also so beyond happy you mentioned your plans to transition over the years. It means you’ve done your research and know this isn’t a race to surgery, that there are a slew of steps you’ll need to go through before you get to the complete change at the end. I commend you on this! Because of the amount of time and effort and medical assistance that goes into transitioning, it’s more important than ever that you have the support of your loved ones. So I totally understand the desperate need to tell them. But I also understand the fear.
It’s never easy telling those we love something about our identity that they likely have no clue about. I’m sure if you were living on your own and not in financial need of their support, you might even torture yourself by avoiding telling them until you were close to the end of your transition. But I’m so glad you’re not willing to go down this road alone. You don’t deserve to. Their support will only help with your success in transitioning. And it will be good for them to start seeing you now as your true self, which I’m sure will help a ton with your overall health.