by Holly Bourne
“What makes it worse is she’s, like, everything I hate about girls – all rolled into one girl.”
Lottie narrowed her eye-linered eyes. “What do you mean everything you hate about girls?”
“Chill out, let me explain. She’s like – well – she’s a cheerleader, for one.”
Evie’s mouth opened. “A real one? You mean, they’re, like, real?”
Lottie nudged her. “Of course they’re real. Did you think they weren’t?”
“I thought maybe they only lived in movies about high school. I mean, think about it, if they are real, that’s pretty damn weird, right? Like, they’re a group of girls who exist in every American school, whose sole purpose is to wear tiny clothes and cheer the achievements of men. That. Is. Screwed. Up.”
“Exactly!” I said, pointing at the screen. “And she is one. Her name’s Melody, and she always goes on about how ‘sexual’ she is.”
Evie pulled a face while Lottie furrowed her eyebrows.
“And what’s wrong with being sexual?”
“Oh, CALM DOWN, Simone de Beauvoir. I’m just trying to paint a picture.”
Lottie was “sexual” too, I guess. Well, she liked sex. But it didn’t bother me the way it bothered me in Melody. I stumbled on my words, trying to figure out why.
“I wish you’d stop telling me to calm down. You know how I feel about that phrase.”
“God, I’m getting all my feminism wrong today,” I moaned.
Evie smiled. “Go on…you were complaining about her sexualness…?” Lottie scowled again.
“Stop stink-eyeing me, Lottie!” I said. “I know girls are allowed to like sex. But Melody deliberately shoves it in everyone’s faces…” She didn’t look convinced, so I galloped on. “Like, the other night, at dinner, before the kids arrived, she said, really loudly, ‘Oh, I know I’m just going to get so horny this summer, stuck in the middle of a forest.’ I mean, who says that?! And then, of course, all the guys looked round and she pretended to be embarrassed.”
Evie nodded. Lottie looked a tiny bit won over.
“And I know you’ll probably yell at me for this too – but she wears actually no clothes. Like, well, minimal amounts of clothes, showing off her insane figure. And, yeah, it’s hot. But it’s not THAT hot. She actually wore a bra the other day instead of a top – again, before the children arrived.”
I thought about Kyle, the way he’d danced with her by the fire – the way his hands held and rocked her hips.
“And then we had to do this campfire performance thing – where we all put on a show. My group and I did Monty Python—”
“Which one? Which bit?” Evie butted in, the film queen.
“The Knights who say Ni? Holy Grail?”
“Nice one.”
“I know…and totally non-sexual – because, well, because it’s CAMP. But Melody and her friends did a strip show to The Pussycat Dolls, and then brought boys up to lap dance them.”
Lottie held her hands up to the webcam. “Wait wait wait wait wait wait. You say she lap danced to The Pussycat Dolls?”
“Yes.”
“In public?”
“Yes. In the middle of a circle of twenty plus people.”
Lottie let out a long sigh. “Christ, she sounds like a NIGHTMARE.”
Finally! Finally she was getting it.
“I told you!” I punched the air and accidentally knocked the old webcam off its perch. “Whoops.” I bent down to get it.
Lottie’s voice was still banging out of the speakers.
“I’ve literally just finished reading a book about girls like Melody. It’s amazing…” I got the webcam back up. There was hardly any Evie visible – Lottie had got all close up in her excitement. “Basically,” she continued, “Melody is what this book calls a Female Chauvinist Pig.”
“A what?” Evie’s voice said from behind her.
“A Female Chauvinist Pig. Like a male one, but female.”
“I got that much,” said Evie. “But what does it mean?”
“Right, I’ll explain… Hang on, I need cheesy snacks. I cannot lecture on women’s equality without a stash of cheesy snacks…”
God I wanted cheesy snacks. For the eightieth time I wished I could climb through my screen.
Lottie disappeared and then reappeared with a coating of neon orange around her mouth. She was still crunching cheesy Wotsits as she started talking.
“Right,” she said. “This Melody sounds like a Female Chauvinist Pig.”
“She’s too stick thin to be a pig,” I butted in.
“Shh, I’m in intelligent mode.”
“You’re always in intelligent mode,” Evie pointed out. She had a slight orange tinge around her mouth that made my heart happy – because she never would have been able to have that and not notice it a year ago.
“That’s because I’m very intelligent. Now, I’ve been learning about this thing called ‘raunch culture’. It’s basically this very clever thing that’s happened which makes women strip off all their clothes and make men happy by shagging them all the time, in the misguided belief that this behaviour is liberated.”
“Huh?”
Lottie always used words that were too long. She sighed, as she often did whenever she tried to explain stuff to us. “Okay, so there was the female sexual revolution right? The pill got invented and women could boff anyone they wanted without getting pregnant. It was all free love and sharey sharey sex, and AIDs hadn’t happened yet. And finally, women weren’t forced to only have crappy boring missionary sex with the guy they married when they were seventeen—”
“I can’t believe you just said ‘boff’,” I interrupted again. “Evie is rubbing off on you.”
Evie giggled behind Lottie’s face.
“Shh… Boff, sex, shag, fuck, whatever. We started doing it and it was a feminist triumph. Whoop de doo for girls finally being allowed to have sex. And oh my God, we might even ENJOY it too.”
“What has this got to do with Melody though?”
Lottie shot me another look. “You KNOW I’m getting there, it just takes me a while. Anyway, now after this revolution this book argues that things have gone a bit too far. Women, like, HAVE to be sexual now. To the point where our ‘sexiness’ is making us into, like, a sexiness product. I mean, look at the gross porn all the guys at college watch, for one. Or any advert where a woman washes her hair and gets an orgasm from her shampoo. Or the way you can’t buy a pair of denim shorts now that cover your butt cheeks. Or how in adverts for anything, women’s bodies aren’t shown as a whole – we’re just disjointed legs, or cleavages, or hands – just our sexual bits cut off and shoved onto a page to sell a watch or something. Women are ‘supposed’ to be sexy now – otherwise we’re prudes, or one of those hairy feminists nobody wants to sleep with. You see how we’re judged all the time? How awful it is to be described as no one wanting to shag you? We have to be ‘hot’ now, otherwise we’ve failed at life. And if we achieve stuff and we’re not hot – it’s the first thing people lob at us to undermine everything we’ve achieved.”
We let Lottie stop for breath.
“Riiiight,” Evie said, in her slow voice which meant she was getting it. I was sort of getting it.
“So something that was supposed to liberate us has essentially become a way of controlling us again?” I asked, shyly.
Lottie pointed and beamed at the camera. “Yes, exactly!”
I always felt so proud when she did that. She was like our teacher sometimes. She was so going to kick butt when she got to Cambridge. I couldn’t wait for her to be the next female prime minister and point and squeal whenever I saw her on the telly.
“And this makes Melody a pig how?”
“Well, this is the thing I’ve been learning about…” How did she have time to teach herself such things? She was already doing five A levels, needing an A in each. “… We used to be able to blame men for everything. They were the baddies, they were the ones telling us what
to do, they were the ones keeping us down, and they were the ones responsible. But in this raunch culture, the sticking point is that it’s GIRLS TOO who are contributing to this bullshit. They’re complicit in their own oppression…”
“In English, please,” Evie said.
Lottie sighed and thought about it. “Okay, sexy girls like Melody have teamed up with male chauvinist arseholes. They’re adding to this bullshit that it’s better to be sexy than smart or strong. Does that make it clearer?”
Evie smiled. “A bit… I think.”
“So now girls are all in on this big quest to be ‘The Hottest One’. Whether that’s by showing off our butt cheeks in those fucking annoying shorts, going to strip clubs for ‘fun’ or pole-dancing classes for ‘exercise’ but really just so we can tell men that’s what we do. Or we’re pushing our boobs together whenever we take a photo, or talking loudly about our orgasms so everyone can hear how sexualized and hot we are. It’s all a big competition. Who’s the hottest? Who’s the sexiest? Who’s winning the most against other women? Me me me me me. This is the problem. They think they’re being all liberated, but actually they’re competing against other women to see who can be sexier to men.”
I digested what she’d said. “And think who benefits from all this the most?” I said, sadly, thinking yet again of Kyle’s hands on Melody’s hips. “Guys.”
“EXACTLY!” Lottie gave me a triumphant point. “How is this good for feminism? How is this our ‘liberation’? It’s backfired. Men are doing really really well out of this raunch culture. Instead of girls burning their bras and fighting to be paid equally, we’re all worried we’re not sexy enough and are competing with all the women we should be fighting alongside – not against – over who has the nicest tits.”
Evie ducked away and came back with another handful of crisps. I watched her eat them with her hands and felt another beam of pride. Her OCD symptoms were getting so much better.
“So,” Evie asked, through a mouthful. “Why is Melody a pig then?”
And, even though I hadn’t read any of Lottie’s posh books, I found I knew the answer. “Because girls like her are just as bad as Male Chauvinist Pigs when it comes to how girls are oppressed?”
Lottie looked like she was going to explode with joy.
“Yes! We’ve become both the victim of raunch culture, and the perpetrators of it.”
“ENGLISH,” Evie and I demanded at the same time.
Lottie sighed once more. “Okay, umm, the do-ers of it?”
I let out a small smile. “So we can hate her then?”
“NO, Amber! Remember, hating other girls is never the answer.”
I pouted. “But she’s a cheerleader.”
Evie finished her mouthful of snacks. “I hate the sound of her.”
“Thank you!” I gave Lottie a look.
“No hating!” she repeated. “She’s still a victim. A very annoying victim, granted, but still a victim of the patriarchy.”
I stuck my lip out. “She doesn’t act like a victim.”
“Okay, fair enough,” Lottie said. “She does sound like a nightmare. And you say she’s all over Adonis 101?”
“Kyle? Yes…”
“Stop looking at the floor all mopey, O American one. I’ve not finished talking. We’re supposed to fight this stuff, remember? I need to equip you to fight Melody.”
“Please don’t say we have to jelly wrestle?”
More smiling. “No… But you can counter her by setting an example. Stop being so hung up on how sexy you are or aren’t, that’s just the raunch culture talking. Being hot is not the ultimate aim – getting equality is. And you’re not going to get respect or equality if you’re too busy worrying that your arse isn’t as toned as someone else’s.”
My tummy hummed with love for them. I looked at the big clock on Kevin’s kitchen wall. Only ten minutes to get to the lake.
“I have to go in a min,” I told them. “They’re trying to put me in a canoe.”
“NO!” said Evie. “We’ve not even heard all your news yet. I want to know if any of the kids are actually called Randy.”
“Just the one.”
“Seriously?”
I nodded. “Seriously.”
Evie sat back, so she was almost in darkness. “Well, I’ll be darned.”
Lottie and I glanced at each other, sharing the secret face we used whenever Evie talked like a grandma.
“You want my advice?” Evie asked, all knowingly.
“About what?”
“Everything.”
“Oh, you know the meaning of life, do you? You’ve kept that quiet this whole conversation.”
“Yes, well it’s hard competing for airtime with Lottie. But, okay, this advice is not about everything. But about Kyle, and Melody. I can see how it’s making you feel.”
She could see how it was making me feel, even though I was just a collection of pixels on her monitor… She wasn’t blood, she didn’t grow up with me, but yet she could see it all…
“Go on then.” My voice caught.
“Just be yourself. Just be happy being you. The best way to fight girls like Melody is to not buy into all their crap. Be strong, be outspoken, be respected for the right stuff. You naturally do all that, Amber. That’s why we’re friends.” All sorts of bubbles caught in my throat. It was like hiccuping backwards. “How’s stuff going with your mum anyway? You settling into spending time together?” Evie’s eyes were all big and concerned.
“I…umm…” I looked at the big ticking clock. Five minutes. I didn’t have time to tell them. I didn’t have time to let it all out if there was no time to clean myself up again afterwards. Where would I start anyway? We’d spent no time alone since I’d got here… She left me on my own with thirty kids then got mad when someone dared help me… She didn’t sort me into Gryffindor…
“It’s…er…complicated,” I compromised. “Too complicated to get into now. When I’m too busy worrying how my arse is going to fit into a narrow boat made of plastic.”
They both instantly saw through my cover.
“You’re all right though?”
“Umm…”
They both got nearer the screen.
“Don’t get into a bloody canoe,” Evie said. “Stay here. Tell us about it.”
“I will. Just not now.”
They turned to look at each other, silently communicating.
“We’re always here,” Evie said. “You know that, right?”
“I know. What you guys up to tonight anyway?”
“Going out,” Lottie answered. “The Admiral apparently doesn’t ID since it got a new owner. We’re going to go try our luck. Jane and Joel might be coming.”
“Yikes, those two are like furniture now.”
“Indeedy.”
“Well,” I stood up to turn off my webcam, so not wanting to turn it off. “I better get going.”
“Remember,” Lottie said, as we waved goodbye. “Be you. It’s all you can ever be anyway. But own being you. It’s a fab thing to own.”
“I love you guys.”
“We love you too.”
And, just as the screen went dark, I heard them singing the end of “American Pie”.
SITUATIONS THAT ARE DESTINED TO FAIL:
A tall girl
+
A chubby girl
+
An obese boy
+
A canoe
Fourteen
“I can’t get my stupid legs into this stupid canoe.”
I pushed around with my feet, hoping they’d find an extra alcove to fold my limbs into.
“Well I can’t get my stupid torso into this stupid canoe.” Whinnie’s voice came from behind me.
“Me neither,” wailed Calvin, behind her. “In fact, I think I might be stuck.”
I twisted round uncomfortably to take in the scene. Calvin was indeed wedged right in the back seat, his fat spilling over the red plastic, looking like melted
drips of ice cream running down the side of the canoe. Whinnie wasn’t faring much better. She wiggled her body about, but it was like trying to get a square peg into a round hole.
We caught each other’s eyes and both started giggling.
“This was the worst idea.”
“Absolute worst. We didn’t have these stupid boats last year. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have come back.”
“Why is everyone else finding it so easy?” I asked.
If you ignored us, the scene was practically idyllic. We’d joined teams with Gryffindor for canoeing, and primary-coloured boats dotted the lake everywhere. The sun beat down on us, the water reflecting slivers of light onto our faces. It was pig hot, but the lake somehow generated its own breeze, lifting my curls, fanning them around my face. I heard distant calls of joy from other boats, the steady sloshing noise of oars piercing through water.
Whinnie and I laughed so hard the boat rocked dangerously.
“Don’t!” Calvin squealed. “If this capsizes, I won’t be able to get out.”
I tried not to laugh harder. It wasn’t fair on him. We weren’t even supposed to be sharing canoes with other counsellors, but when we’d asked the kids to buddy-up, unsurprisingly no one would go with Calvin. Just as his bottom lip began to wobble, Whinnie and I had both jumped in at the same time, offering to be in his boat.
Kevin had agreed, giving me an I’m-proud-of-you wink that instantly made me want to withdraw my kind offer.
I heard him call across the water from his gold canoe. Yep, his was gold, the only one. That’s the thing about Kevin. He acts all Hey-champ-I’m-such-a-great-guy-counsellor-type – but then he gives himself a gold canoe and preys on vulnerable women in rehab.
“You guys okay over there?” His voice echoed around the vast expanse of the lake.
“We’re managing,” I called back as haughtily as I could, considering I was yelling through both hands.
“You’ve not left the pier yet!”
“We’re just taking our time,” I called again. “We’re fine.” I looked at Whinnie. “You okay in there?”
She gave a small smile. “I feel like I’m wearing a corset made out of canoe, but I am in.”
“Let me just try my legs one more time.”