by McKayla Box
Maddie takes us through the downtown area, then just north and across the highway to the beach. There is a massive harbor with sailboats, long docks, and a wide, curving beach. We drive a little past that and wind around the end of the beach to a tucked in strip of land and sand. There's a massive parking lot and I immediately spot tents on the edge of the sand. I see familiar faces in the parking lot and it doesn't look all that much different from Sunset, save for the tents and backpacks people are carrying.
We find a spot in the lot and get out. Music drifts toward us from the sand. A few people yell at us, waving hello. We open up the trunk and pull out our stuff. We set it on the ground, then Maddie and I grab the tent and lug it across the lot to the sand. We find an open spot and set it down.
Maddie shakes her head. “I hope Bridget knows what she's doing because I sure as shit don't.”
I laugh and we walk back to grab the rest of our stuff. The four of us manage to get everything to the edge of the lot and then Bridget goes to work on the tent. It takes us thirty minutes – her laying it out and then barking orders at us – but we get the thing up and get our stuff inside. There's tons of room and we roll out our sleeping bags and stake out our own little corners.
“No promises that I'll be in here tonight, ladies,” Gina says. “Just letting you know now.”
“There are no underclassmen here,” Maddie reminds her. “That would mean you'd have to hook up with someone in our actual class.”
“I'm down with trying new things,” she says. “Or finding non-Sunset boys.”
“As long as you don't bring them in here,” Bridget says. “None of us need to see that.”
“You might learn some things,” Gina counters. “I could put on a class for you guys. Let me know if I should be on top or bottom. Or both.”
We all laugh. I love that she's unabashedly sexual. She doesn't pretend to be anything else and she's not embarrassed by it. She leans into who she is and I envy that. I admire it.
“I'm gonna get my board,” I tell them. “I don't wanna leave it on top of the car.”
I crab crawl out of the tent and walk back up the sand to the parking lot. I'm pulling the straps off the board when I see Shanna's car pull into the spot across from us. I fumble with the straps trying to get them undone quickly so I can get out of there, but I'm not fast enough.
Shanna gets out from behind the wheel. “I knew I smelled skank.”
Jessica and Lisa get out of the backseat, glaring at me.
And Athena emerges from the passenger seat, grinning at me.
Like a pack of bitchy wolves.
I ignore her and keep working on the straps.
“Can't believe you showed up here,” Shanna says. “You've been in hiding for the last couple of months.”
“I'd hide that face, too, if it was mine,” Athena says.
Jessica and Lisa laugh.
I walk around to the other side of the car and work on the other set of straps.
Shanna walks over toward me. “I hear my mother is going slumming.”
“I told my dad to make sure and wear a condom,” I say without looking at her. “And to take antibiotics.”
“Not sure why she agreed to go out with his tired old ass,” she says.
“Wrong question,” I say, unlatching one of the buckles. “Ask her why she asked him out.”
Her face reddens and I smile.
“Whatever,” she says. “She'll figure out he's just as much of a loser as you are.”
“Maybe.” I look at her. “Or maybe she'll fall in love with him and we can all move in together.”
“Yeah, right,” Athena mutters.
I focus on Shanna. “Or better yet. Maybe she'll fall in love with him and he'll kick her ass right back to the curb so you'll have some company.”
“Fuck you,” she snarls.
“Fuck you,” I say.
I pull the last strap off and lift the board off the roof.
“You are so sorry,” Athena says. “I will be so glad to never see you again after graduation.”
“You're graduating?” I ask. “Wow. Congrats. Didn't think you could read. But good for you. Really.”
Her face reddens.
I re-buckle the straps on the roof, pick up the board, and tuck it under my arm. “I'll warn everyone that you're here. So they'll know it's not just the trash that's smelling up the beach.”
“What did he ever even see in you?” Shanna says. “Did you have to pay Trevor to go out with you? That's the only thing that makes sense.”
“No shit,” Athena murmurs.
Jessica and Lisa nod like the good little parrots they are.
“He didn't pay me,” I tell them. “Let me think about why.” I bite my lip and pretend to think. Then I snap my fingers. “I think I know why!”
All four of them glower at me.
“I think it was because I made him come so hard,” I say.
I turn and walk back to the beach before they can say anything else.
ELEVEN
It's all pretty chill for the first couple of hours. People are showing up, getting settled. Some people get in the water, others sit around eating and talking. The girls and I walk all the way down to the harbor, then get ice cream on the pier. It's easy and I'm feeling better about being with them. The anxiety is ebbing away and I'm glad I came.
The sun is almost down when we head back. Fires dot the beach and it looks like most of our class is there.
Except for Trevor.
I've looked at the parking lot way too many times already, trying to find his truck. But it's not there and neither is he. I don't see Brett or Jake, either, and I'm bummed. I really thought he was going to come. I don't know why it matters so much to me, but part of my agreeing to go is because I wanted him to be there, too.
But he's not and I can't lie.
I'm disappointed.
And I'm not sure what that means.
Maddie sets up a mini-bar inside the tent, complete with cups and a cooler full of ice. “We're open for business, girls.”
“About fucking time,” Gina says, crawling inside. “I was starting to feel dehydrated.”
“You want anything?” Bridget asks.
I shake my head. “Not right now. I'm good.”
Gina sticks her head out of the tent. “I'm not. I need vodka in my veins.”
“Like always,” Maddie says.
The three of them make their drinks and we walk down to the water. I dip my toes into the edge of it. It feels colder than the ocean in Sunset even though we're just a few hours north. But it's gorgeous under the moonlight.
We are walking north toward the cliffs that jut out into the water when I see them coming. Boys I don't know. Two with shaved heads, one with long, blond hair, and one with a mop of brown, wavy hair. They are all wearing board shorts and long-sleeved T-shirts, the requisite surfer boy uniform. They look about our age and they most definitely see us.
“Goddamn,” one of the shaved heads says. “The beach just got a whole lot better looking.”
“I was going to say the opposite,” Gina says. “Weird.”
He laughs. “I doubt that very much. But I like the fire. Well done.”
“Fuck off,” she says.
“I'm happy to,” he says. “As long as it's with you.”
His buddies laugh.
“You guys are wearing a bit too much clothing for the beach,” the one with the brown hair says. “It's bikinis only here. Or less.”
“I was hoping for a mask ordinance,” Maddie says. “To cover up your faces.”
The brown haired one smirks. Neither of the other three find it very funny.
“I don't remember you guys asking for permission to be on our beach,” the brown haired one says.
“I don't remember the state selling ocean front property to douchebags,” Bridget says.
I'm shocked to hear her speak up. It's not like her. Or not like what I was used to.
“Your
whole shitty school here?” he asks, looking past us. “Not cool to not ask permission.”
Gina rolls her eyes. “The locals only thing is super fucking tired, dipshit. Give it a rest.”
He smiles at her. “Happy to give you...something.”
“Gross,” Maddie says. “Let's go.”
We turn around to head back toward the campsite.
“View's better now,” one of them yells.
I turn around. “So's ours.” I give him the finger.
None of them laugh.
“I swear to god,” Gina says, as we walk back. “I don't know what it is about the beach and guys. They are like a bunch of fucking dogs, trying to piss on everything and call it their own.”
We all laugh and it's because we're laughing that we don't hear the footsteps on the sand behind us.
Before I realize what's happening, I'm being lifted up off the sand. One of them picks me up like I'm a baby. My heart races and I twist. It's the brown haired one that has me. The other three have done the same to the other girls and they are walking us toward the water.
“Put me down, motherfucker!” I yell.
“Feisty,” he says, grinning. “I love it.
I squirm, trying to get free, but he's too strong and he just holds onto me tighter as we trudge into the ocean.
“You like the beach so much?” he says, laughing. “You should check out the water.”
He lets go and I fall, splashing down into the knee deep water. The cold shocks me and I feel like I can't breathe. I get to my knees and come up, gasping for air.
The girls are in the water next to me, victims of the same thing. They all look shocked, their eyes wide, like they are confused about what's just happened.
“You ladies have a great time on our beach,” the brown haired one says, grinning. “Let us know if you need anything.”
They turn to go.
And the rage just explodes inside of me.
The rage at what they've just done to us.
The rage at what's been done to me over the course of the school year.
I am so tired of being pushed around and treated like I don't matter. I am so tired of being treated like shit because I'm a girl and because guys think they can do what they want with us. I am so tired of other girls turning on me when we should all be on the same side.
I am so tired of all of it.
I get to my feet and sprint at them.
At him.
I smash into the back of him and his body buckles like a floppy doll. We crash to the sand, him face down and me on his back.
“You stupid motherfucker!” I yell, grabbing a fistful of his hair. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I yank his head back and then slam it down into the sand. “You motherfucker!” I tighten my grip on his hair and jerk his head back again. “Don't ever fucking touch me!” I scramble to my feet and pull as hard as I can on his hair, trying to drag him across the sand. But his hair tears off from his scalp and I stumble backward, my fist full of his brown locks.
His three friends stand around him, frozen in disbelief.
I stand there, my chest heaving, my teeth gritted, ready to attack him again.
He rolls over slowly and tries to sit up. Blood is smeared around his nose and there is a bald spot where I've pulled his hair off.
My heart hammers in my chest.
He reaches up to his scalp, winces when his fingers touch the bare skin.
“Don't ever fucking touch me again,” I growl. “Ever.” I look at his friends. “Any of you.”
His friends back away from me. The one with the blond hair helps his bleeding, damaged friend off the sand, getting him to his feet. His knees buckle for a moment before he steadies himself.
I look at my hand.
My fingers ache, I'm holding his hair so tight in my grip. I rear back and throw it at them. His hair floats in the air and lands softly in the sand.
“You're fucking crazy,” one of the shaved heads says.
“You're fucking right I am,” I snap back. “You come near me or my friends again and I'll fucking scratch your eyes out and shove them down your throat!”
They back up, finally turn around, and head in the opposite direction.
My heart hammers inside my chest and I flex my fingers, then uncurl them. My hands are shaking. All of me is shaking.
I push the wet hair from my face and turn around.
Maddie, Gina, and Bridget are standing up now, just as wet as I am, staring at me.
“Jesus fucking christ,” Gina says. “You're a fucking lunatic. That was awesome.”
“You ripped his fucking hair off,” Maddie says, laughing. “You tore it off.”
Bridget comes up to me and hugs me. She's shaking. I'm not sure if it's because she's scared or cold.
Probably both.
“They're all gonna have to go change their underwear,” Gina says, pushing her own wet hair off her forehead. “Because I think they all shit their pants.”
Bridget laughs, still hanging onto me.
I try to laugh, but I can't find it.
It's not in me.
I'm so angry over what they did and over everything that's happened. There's nothing funny in any of it. And I am done taking it from anyone ever again.
Bridget finally lets go of me. She looks at me. “Are you okay?”
I take a deep breath and nod. “Yeah. I think so.”
“That was...insane,” she says. “And I don't mean that as an insult.”
I don't know what to say because I'm not sure what it was. I just know that something snapped inside of me and I'm not interested in putting it back together.
“Let's go,” I say.
“Will his hair grow back?” Maddie asks. “I've never seen anything like that.”
I shrug because I don't know the answer.
I hope that it doesn't.
Because I don't want him to ever forget what he did to me.
And I don't want him to ever forget what I did to him.
TWELVE
We get back to the campsite, change into dry clothes, and find a fire to sit around. I change my mind about drinking and let Maddie make me a vodka and soda. My nerves are shot, my heart is still racing, and I need to calm down.
Word has spread about what happened and people are glancing in my direction.
But I don't care.
For a change, I really don't care.
I'm proud of what I did and part of me wants them to come back so I can do it again.
I'm not afraid.
And it's making me reconsider a lot of things.
“Should I have gone to the police?” I ask.
“Rather than make the fucker bald?” Gina asks. “Fuck no. He got what he deserved.”
I watch the fire crack and pop in the concrete ring next to us. “No. I mean about before. With Shanna and with Athena.”
“What do you mean?” Bridget asks.
“What they did to me was wrong,” I say. “In every way. And, yeah, I guess I got them back or whatever. But does that even matter? Should I have gone to the police? I mean, Shanna fucking drugged me and Athena made a fucking fake porno with me on it, then sent it around. There are laws against all of that.”
None of them say anything for a moment.
I watch the fire, a blur of oranges, reds, and yellows.
“I don't know,” Maddie says. “On one hand, yeah, maybe? But on the other hand?” She shakes her head. “It's not really that simple.”
“Why not?” I ask. I'm not second guessing her. I'm genuinely curious.
She's got her sweatshirt pulled over her knees. “I mean, because we're girls, I guess? People don't believe it when shit like that happens to us, right? They think we're making it up, that we want attention or stupid shit like that. And then, even if someone does believe us, then what? It becomes about us, not about what happened.”
“Why'd you wear that top with your tits hanging out?” Gina says, making a face. “If yo
ur ass is hanging out of those shorts, what do you expect people will think of you?”
“Maybe if you hadn't been drinking, nothing would've happened,” Bridget says, rolling her eyes. “I can totally hear people saying all of that.”
Maddie nods in agreement. “Yeah. All of that. And with the video? It wasn't that someone put a sex tape out there. It was oh my god look at her fucking a guy she's not supposed to be fucking.” She frowns. “I mean, shit. Even we did that. We're part of the fucking problem.”
I nod slowly, thinking about all of that. They aren't wrong. Those are all things that either happened or would've happened. The focus always gets lost. Always.
“But isn't that why people get away with shit?” I ask. “Because that shit happens and then we just feel like there's nothing we can do about it, so...we don't?”
They all nod.
“I mean, those fuckers tonight assaulted us,” I say. “They grabbed us when we didn't want to be touched and then carried us and dropped us in the water. And then laughed about it.”
“Until you scalped that kid,” Gina says.
“Yeah, but what ultimately happens to them?” I ask. “What? He has a broken nose? A bald patch? So he goes to the doctor and a hair stylist to fix those things. What actually happens to him for what he did?”
We all know the answer.
“Nothing,” Bridget finally says.
“Yeah,” I say. “Nothing. And that's total bullshit.”
The three of them nod.
The fire inside the ring crackles, ringlets of smoke drifting into the air.
“So should I have done something?” I ask. “Should I have gone to the police after I found out about the drugs in my drink? Should I have gone to the police to ask what I could do about the video?” I pause. “Or did I just chicken out?”
No one says anything for a long time.
“I don't think you chickened out,” Bridget finally says. “I would've done the same thing. I think it's our default position. We brush stuff off like it's no big deal. And you got back at them, which sort of felt like...something.” She pauses. “And there's no guarantee that anything would've done anything if you'd reported any of it. And that makes it all feel sort of...pointless.” She looks at me. “So I don't think you were a chicken at all. It's what I would've done. I might not even fought back the way you did.”