The Word for Yes

by Claire Needell

  The room went silent. She hadn’t ever fully formed the thought before, that what had happened with Gerald was in part a result of her own actions, her drunkenness, but maybe something more. If it hadn’t been Gerald, she wondered, would it have been someone else? She remembered the tall, good-looking boy, and the cruel way he had laughed at her. She had tried her best to push the entire episode out of her mind, but now here she was, blabbing to Eliza from Montana, and saying she didn’t know what.

  “You see, Jan? Jan’s mom? I bet you think if a girl’s wasted it’s what she deserves if a bunch of guys do her and tape it? And everyone in ten countries watches on YouTube? She totally deserves the slut-banging and bashing. That’s what you’re saying. That’s the Western Taliban, right here in the United States of Assholes. We don’t stone girls, we film them.” Eliza paused either for effect, or to breathe.

  “But I’m not going to rag on you anymore, honey, because you’re still a baby girl and there’s time for you. But you there, big sis, you need to come tonight. We’re going to dress up in insane in-your-face stuff and walk the walk, like serious hoes. Because that’s the point, little sister. You should be able to rock it all the way off.” She paused again and pointed her finger directly at Melanie. “And no motherfucker frat boy can take his dick out unless you say he can. First. That’s rules one through ten right there.”

  “Okay,” Mom said. “On that note, I say we go get our tour, and some lunch. Enough consciousness raising for one morning.” All three girls turned and looked at Julia Russell, who’d remained silent for most of Eliza’s rant. But Melanie could see her mother at least in part approved of the conversation. If she hadn’t, wouldn’t she have stopped it? Melanie took a deep breath and turned back to Jan, who threw her a quick glance as she grabbed her backpack. Jan looked impressed, Melanie thought. Impressed that she’d stood up to weird Eliza. Maybe Jan did know about her, Melanie thought. But if she did, she wasn’t saying anything. Good. Melanie stood a little straighter. Jan was the only sane member of her family. The only one who remotely understood her.

  Outside, the sun was bright and the air was warmer. There was a slight, earthy smell to the air now, where earlier it had simply been crisp. Melanie followed behind her mother and Jan, who had linked arms. Erika walked alone, too, but a few steps ahead, gazing at the brick buildings that lined the quad. It was a pretty campus. The buildings were old, some white stone and some brick, but none looked imposing. Melanie could imagine going to school in such a place, but she knew Brown would be out of her reach. But if Eliza were the typical Brown student, Melanie thought she might want to go someplace more mainstream.

  Eliza had said she was wrong to think things might be her own fault, at least a little bit. She said it like that was ridiculous or worse, like it was a crime, and she, Melanie, had been brainwashed, was already some kind of robot girl. No, it didn’t make her feel better to think she was a victim of the male species, especially not the way Eliza said it, which made her feel stupid.

  It made her feel dizzy to think about it, and somehow, she felt even guiltier. Now Erika, and maybe Jan, too, thought girls who went to those kinds of parties, and had stuff happen to them, were stupid, worthless people who let guys ruin their lives. Eliza had said there was still time for her, but there wasn’t. If Eliza and Jan were right about stuff, she was already one of those girls, and she wasn’t sure how or if a person could change that. If she’d been so stupid already, maybe that was just who she would always be. She knew she wasn’t a smart girl like Jan or Erika, and she had always wanted to go to parties like James Jamison’s. It was just that the party had gotten a little too out of hand. . . . But now she didn’t know.

  Melanie felt warm out in the bright sunshine and she wished she hadn’t worn such a heavy sweater. She felt an ache in her back again, and then a sudden rush. She felt a wave of nausea, and with that wave came an emotion. It was revulsion. She pictured Gerald’s pale face. His grimness at school, his staring at her in English. She felt another wave. She knew this feeling. She’d had it often toward Erika, even toward Mom sometimes. It was hate and it was absolute.

  She wished she had hit him when she had the chance, hit him hard, so his mouth swelled, his nose bled. She wished it was him who had been found on the stupid white rug, bloody, in pain. She wished that wicked, dark wave of desire had made her strong and not weak. No, she thought, no matter what Eliza said, it wasn’t too late for her, and she wasn’t a brainwashed girl. She was filled with hate. But hate was something Melanie knew how to deal with. She stood up a little straighter and tossed her hair. She stopped and shifted her purse higher up on her shoulder.

  She wasn’t going to let a stupid boy like Gerald, and those stupid people at school with their idiotic Instagram accounts, make her feel worthless. Maybe Eliza was right about some things, but maybe there was something wrong with what she said too. But right now, she didn’t want to know what anyone thought about anything. She wanted everyone to shut up. She felt another wave of nausea, but it wasn’t hard to ignore now. Her back ached again, too, but this time she knew why. She had gotten her period.

  14

  The tour of the Brown campus had been wonderful. Erika particularly liked the engineering and biology buildings, which were, as they should be, in the exact center of campus. The engineering building was tall, a tower, and the biology building wound itself around like a maze. She loved this too. Still, Brown was not her ideal school. There was a strangeness to the quad area that Erika did not like. There were kids who seemed to be sitting around with little to do, the way you sometimes saw kids in the city, kids who lacked purpose. Erika could deal with people who weren’t like her, who didn’t know what they were supposed to be doing in life. That was most people, anyway. No, what she didn’t like about Brown was its slant. The whole campus occupied a side of a hill. If Erika went to a hillside campus, she would want the campus to go all the way over the top of the hill, and not to merely hang off the hill on only one side, the way Brown did. It would make her nervous, she felt, to be hanging there. It would be altogether better to go someplace that was simply flat.

  After the day on campus, Erika, Jan, Mom, and Melanie had an early dinner, though Melanie said she didn’t feel well, and just moved her pasta with meat sauce around her plate, unjustly committing at least one unfortunate cow to a second annihilation—first its animal life was taken, and then it failed to be eaten as dinner. In the interest of keeping the peace with Melanie, Erika restrained herself from saying something about eating what had been murdered for her wasted culinary pleasure.

  But then the most exciting thing had happened. Melanie and Mom went back to the hotel, and Mom agreed to let Erika spend the night in Jan’s room. Erika had a spare toothbrush in her purse, and everything else she needed she could borrow from Jan.

  “I’ll text Eliza,” Jan said. “You can sleep in my bed, and I’ll use my sleeping bag and camping pillow on Eliza’s. I’m sure Eliza can find someplace else to sleep. She does it all the time.” Jan rolled her eyes when she said this.

  “Oh,” Erika said. “I thought she didn’t like girls who, you know, hooked up.” She and Jan were on their way to the protest that Eliza had told them about earlier. But they weren’t there really to protest, more to watch. As they approached West Quad, they heard the beat of drums, and other instruments, a flute, perhaps, and a tambourine. It was dark and a crowd was gathering, so it was difficult to see exactly what was happening. On one side, there seemed to be a group of boys sitting sprawled on the steps of what Erika assumed was a fraternity house. The boys weren’t doing much of anything, just sitting, some with red cups in their hands. She smelled pot, too, and she wondered whether the campus police would soon arrive, or did these things go unacknowledged, the way they did on city streets?

  “Oh, I don’t know where Eliza stands on guys,” Jan said. “But she likes girls, no doubt.” Jan kept walking until they stood on the outer edge of the crowd across from the frat house. One boy held
a sign that said We love lesbos on it. Some boys yelled for the girls to kiss. They all seemed to be watching the girls eagerly, without shame. They didn’t seem aware that they were being protested against.

  In the area in front of the frat house a group of girls marched in fishnets, thigh-highs, heels, bras, thongs, and leotards. One heavyset girl had cut out two holes from a black leotard, so that her nipples showed, but these she had covered with colorful stick-on tassels, which twirled as she walked. The boys jeered at her. One boy pretended to vomit. Another girl wore a shiny gold bikini. She was tall, with dreads and a flat stomach, small breasts, and long limbs, like Erika, herself. She wore only the gold bikini and a pair of high heels, though it was a cold night. Across her chest was written in bold black letters the single word: Raped. At first the boys were silent as she passed, and then one boy staggered onto the top step of the frat house and yelled “You loved it! Bitch!” over and over again, until one of the other boys threw a cup of beer at his head, and then lunged at the boy’s knees, tackling him so that both boys rolled off the porch and into the bushes, where Erika could hear yelling, but could no longer see either one of them.

  For a moment, the small parade stopped in front of the rest of the boys and the tall, pretty dreadlocked girl just stood there in front of them and the rest of the girls marched around her, some banging on drums, with one petite brunette in a thong, a football jersey, and go-go boots playing the flute. Erika saw Eliza, wearing the same skirt and fishnets she had on earlier in the day, but with a black fisherman’s cap, a black leather jacket, and a red and black bustier replacing the cropped sweater. She was standing talking to one of the boys, whose hair was tousled—perhaps the boy who’d knocked the other boy from the porch—and he seemed to be listening earnestly to her with his arms across his chest. He had on a button-down shirt and had dark hair. He carried no sign, and held no plastic cup. He smiled in a friendly way at the nearly naked girls who marched in circles in front of him.

  Soon, a simple chant rose up among the girls: “End campus rape,” with the tall girl still standing in front of the gaping boys, and the other girls circling around her. Then, a blond girl, wearing short shorts and motorcycle boots, began going from one girl to the next, writing raped across each girl’s forehead. Some of the boys kept up with their own chant, “Kiss, kiss, kiss, show us your tits, tits, tits!” But then the short-haired boy who had been speaking to Eliza went over to the crowd, and Erika could see him shaking his head, and then the boys went silent.

  Gradually, more scantily clad girls appeared with markers, made their way through the crowd of regularly dressed kids, and began writing the word raped across everyone’s heads. The crowd included both boys and girls and almost everyone submitted, allowing the girls to write in bold, neat letters across their foreheads. Erika saw the little blond girl getting closer to her and Jan, and she reached out and grabbed Jan’s arm, but the crowd had gotten dense, and some people were moving closer to the girls with the markers, and other people were trying to get away, and Erika lost her grip on Jan.

  Erika wanted to get away, but not without Jan, who had been swallowed up by the crowd. Erika pushed forward and again reached out to grab Jan’s jacketed arm. Jan had been wearing a suede jacket. Something dark brown. Finally, she saw her. She reached out and put her hand around Jan’s forearm, pulling her close. Most of the time, Erika avoided physical contact, even with her sisters, but now she wanted to hug Jan, for Jan to hold her hand, for them to run away out of the crowd together. At first, Jan was stuck, but then she made her way through, and was moving closer to her.

  Then, suddenly, Erika felt a full mouth on her own, soft and welcoming. She was being kissed, but was utterly unaware of anyone having approached her. It was a kiss unlike any other. There was a flavor to it, like lemon and cardamom. Then Erika broke free.

  The girl in front of her had short brown hair and freckles across her nose. She was wearing a suede jacket, like Erika had imagined Jan wearing. The girl had the awful word scrawled across her forehead, and once she removed her mouth from Erika’s she held the marker up to write it on Erika’s face as well.

  “No, don’t!” she heard Jan say from somewhere in the dark. “That’s my sister!” But Erika had put her hands up to her forehead just in time, and the girl had only gotten the backs of her hands. After that, Jan appeared miraculously next to her. Jan knew the girl with the freckles who had kissed her. “Sarah, don’t, that’s my sister. She has to go home tomorrow! This shit doesn’t come off!” Jan was laughing.

  “Oh, sorry,” Sarah said. “I think I kissed your baby-dyke sister! Oh, I’m a corrupter of innocents!” Sarah covered her face in mock horror. Jan shook her head.

  “Well, there’s your first taste of college, Erika,” Jan said as she patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll survive, like the rest of us. Barely.”

  “No, it was fine,” Erika said, flustered, and she covered her mouth in embarrassment. The older girls laughed, and Erika looked away. She usually didn’t like kissing, or the idea of kissing. But this kiss that came out of the dark, and was followed by this freckled girl, was a little like those cheap toys that come with fast-food meals. It was something she hadn’t expected, hadn’t wanted, but it had made her heart leap a little, although she couldn’t begin to say why.

  15

  Morris Foster’s bedroom was filled with birds.

  He had three parakeets and a cockatiel, all of which darted freely around the room. The male parakeet, a blue one, liked to perch on Morris’s head, but the two females, one yellow and one white, preferred the sides of the cage and the wooden slats of the window blinds. Erika liked the birds, but feared the male. Once, when she was younger, the male had dive-bombed her head and had been caught in her hair. Foss had had to come in and “get the damn bird out of that white-girl hair.” After the ordeal, Erika had taken a shower to wash the bird crap out of her hair. She remembered Foss had let her use his shower because the boys’ bathroom was only fit for a couple of “stink boys.” Foss’s shower had smelled nice, like pine needles. He had given her two plush towels to dry off with. The towels had been black. Erika had never seen black towels before, but she figured maybe if you were a rich, single guy that’s what you used. Morris’s mother had never been around as long as Erika could recall. There was a vague story of an illness when Morris was very young, but Erika wasn’t sure if the woman had actually died or had become incapacitated, whether the illness had been physical or mental, and it was now much too late to ask. Morris’s mother had been a talented and beautiful singer, that was all she knew.

  The blue bird sat on top of Morris’s head as Morris sat playing Gun Metal on his computer. Every so often Morris banged his hand on his desk and the bird momentarily took flight like a cartoon bird, landing again once Morris calmed down. Morris didn’t worry about bird crap on his head since he kept his hair so short it was almost shaved.

  “I don’t know, Erika. Just don’t know. Why don’t you talk to her? Get the whole story.” Morris bounced in his chair as he spoke.

  “That’s the point. She’d never tell what happened. If she even knows. You didn’t see how drunk she was, Morris. You weren’t in the room.” Binky was curled up in the corner of Morris’s room, working on a math problem. She looked concerned, though, and Erika was thankful for that. Binky chewed on the end of her pencil and brushed a piece of long blond hair out of her eyes. “What do you think, Erika, would Melanie ever talk to you?”

  Erika stared hard at Binky. Binky was lucky, even with her hearing problem. She had full lips, deep brown eyes, that long hair—of course, Erika was a sometime model, a beautiful girl herself, but Binky had changed in the last year. Somehow Binky had figured out how to make Christopher Primrose like her. Maybe it was that simple trusting look she had. She didn’t doubt people like Erika did. Erika never seemed to know what other people would do—even when she thought really hard about it beforehand. Who would have thought Melanie would have done what she did
at the party? Who would have thought that freckled girl would kiss her at Brown, and that she, Erika, wouldn’t be disgusted? Would have enjoyed it? And then there was Gerald. She’d known Gerald for years, and he was one of the few boys at school who never made Erika feel nervous. He was “just Gerald.” That was the way Melanie had always referred to him. He never struck Erika as a dangerous sort of boy.

  “I don’t know. But I think someone should be told, like my mom, or Ms. Jensen in the guidance office. Then they can figure it out. I mean, assuming Gerald is the one who raped her.” Morris suddenly stopped playing Gun Metal, and Binky put down her math book. They both stared at Erika. Erika thought back on the protest at Brown. She wished Morris and Binky had been there, too, had seen that word, spelled out in black across the tall girl’s forehead. It was like a sign, although Erika tried not to believe in superstitious things. More like it was just reality, and it wasn’t hiding any longer in the corner of her mind.

  “Yo. That’s no word to throw out like that, girl. You can’t just go telling the guidance counselor or your mom someone did your sister! You don’t even know the whole story. Maybe she wanted to fuck the dude? Ever think of that?”

  “She was drunk, Morris, she couldn’t have said yes.”

  “I’m just saying—once you use that word the kid is toast, and I never thought he was a bad kid. And just because he was in the bathroom down that hall, that was not the scene of the crime, you know? Anyway, don’t they hang out—maybe they hooked up and you don’t need to sweat it? Melanie is a down girl.” Morris stared at Erika shaking his head, making her feel stupid. She hated when Morris did that. He never did that when they were working on a science project, or doing math together—then she had his respect. But now Erika felt like a loser. Melanie was her sister, after all. She would know it if she were dating someone, or if she were “down,” whatever that meant. It wasn’t up to Morris what she decided.