Eddie walks me to my classroom before going down the hall to his own. I take a deep breath before walking into my English class, bracing myself for a new round of sneers, taunts, and possibly threats.
I’m distracted and edgy the rest of the day. After art, I tell Eddie to let Mr. Fredericks know I’ll be running a few minutes late for rehearsal. I go to Mr. Dansen’s office alone. My dad is waiting for me when I arrive.
“I think we need to notify the police,” Dad says when the door to the principal’s office closes behind us.
“No.”
Mr. Dansen raises his hand to halt my protests. “Rowan, your father and I have been discussing this. The school district has a zero tolerance policy against bullying, so it’s my duty to take this matter further. I need to notify the board, and from there, the police. I questioned the individuals on the list Eddie gave me, and of course, they all deny knowledge of any notes left in your locker. They have each received a two-day in-school suspension for their part in damaging your belongings. On the other matter, I’ll act accordingly when and if more evidence comes to light. Will you be available this evening if the police need to contact you?”
“I have rehearsal until five. After that, I’ll be at home.”
“I’ll drive you,” Dad says.
“No, it’s fine. Morgan can take me.”
“I’d feel better if I drove.”
I blink back tears as I walk to the auditorium, marveling at how quickly my life has spiraled out of control. When will it end?
Despite my distraction, rehearsal goes well. Dad is waiting for me outside the auditorium, which gives me zero time to talk to Morgan about what’s going on. With a promise to call her later, I follow Dad out to his car.
The detective who is handling the assault case calls later to talk to me about the threatening notes. There’s nothing I can add that hasn’t already been covered by Principal Dansen. I count down the days until graduation. I can’t wait until the nightmare of high school is behind me once and for all.
***
“It sounds like a lot has happened since you were here last,” Laura says. “How do you feel about that?”
“Scared. Depressed. I walk around with this constant feeling of dread, like if I let down my guard for even a second, something else horrible will happen.”
“Is the medication helping?”
“Yeah. For the most part. It calms me down so I don’t have a full blown anxiety attack, but it doesn’t stop me from worrying all the time.”
“That’s what the medication is supposed to do. It helps you cope. It’s not supposed to numb you. You have a lot of feelings to work through, Rowan. The medication won’t make those go away. Are you sleeping better?”
“It’s still hard to fall asleep, but once I’m sleeping, I usually stay that way. I’m not having as many nightmares.”
“That’s because you’re talking about the stuff you kept inside for so long. Your worries and fears aren’t manifesting in dreams, because you’re addressing them while you’re awake. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah. It does, actually.”
“How do you feel about going ahead with the play?”
“Weird. I’m still not sure I want to do it. It feels like I’m begging for attention, like I’m living up to being the attention-whore everyone is accusing me of being.”
“Like you’re asking for it?”
I pause, shocked by her words. “Yeah. It’s like I’m bringing the bullying on myself by throwing myself into a spotlight. Part of me is afraid people will think I’m lying about the rape, because I’m strutting around on a stage instead of crying in a corner like I’m supposed to be.”
“Where did you get that idea?”
“That’s what everyone is saying.”
“Who’s everyone?”
“Okay, not everyone. My drama friends are still cool.”
“So it’s just a group of vocal jerks who are making you feel that everyone hates you?” Laura cracks a smile, a rarity for her.
“Basically. Yeah, but when everyone—I mean, some people are staring and saying stuff, it feels like it’s everyone.”
“But when you think about the people who are on your side, or the people who aren’t taking any sides at all, it sort of puts it into perspective, doesn’t it?”
I’m silent for a moment, thinking about Laura’s words. “It does. It makes me feel a lot better.”
“Good. Now, back to the “I asked for it” mentality. Where do you think that comes from?”
Laura is silent for a long time. She isn’t going to answer this one for me. I have to come up with an answer on my own. I stare out the window for a couple of minutes.
“Well, that’s the whole thing with rape, isn’t it?” I ask. She nods as if to say go on. “Rapists always want to make the girl feel like she asked for it. Like, if the girl hadn’t been drinking, or wearing too much makeup or whatever. And the girl is so ashamed—I’ve been so ashamed, I’ve been doing that to myself. Like, what did I expect to happen at a drunken party? Or, was I a tease who tried to hold out for sex too long?”
“And how has that attitude affected your life?”
“It’s affected everything. I blame myself for everything now, and second guess myself.”
“The bullying isn’t your fault. Just like the rape isn’t your fault. If you don’t blame yourself for the rape, you can’t blame yourself for the aftermath.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t blame yourself for Mark getting into trouble. Or for Eddie fighting with Mark, and subsequently getting into trouble himself. You can’t blame yourself for the people who are bullying you on Mark’s behalf. All of this started with Mark.”
“Right, but sometimes I still think if I’d kept my mouth shut, none of the other stuff would have happened.”
“What would your life be like right now if you’d kept quiet?”
“Well, I wouldn’t be here talking to you.” I think for a second. “I might still be with Eddie and he wouldn’t be in trouble. I wouldn’t feel so bad about being in the play. I wouldn’t have to cringe every time I opened my locker.”
“But wouldn’t you still be looking over your shoulder for Mark?”
“Right. Because he’d still be in school. I’d still be worried everyone would find out my secret. I’d still be having nightmares. And I’d still hate myself every single day for letting Mark rape me.”
“Do you hate yourself, Rowan?”
I blink back tears. “Part of me does, yeah. But mostly, I hate Mark. Sometimes I’m so angry, I want to go to his house and beat the crap out of him. I want to see him lose his scholarship and end up in jail, while I go on to Broadway to be famous.”
“Happiness is the best revenge,” Laura says. “Be happy and successful. Live the life you want. If you’re able to do that, he’s lost his power over you. Rape is about power and control.”
I’ve heard that before, but for the first time, it really makes sense to me. That’s why Mark had always smirked at me in the hallways. That’s why he wasn’t afraid of me turning him in. He was so secure in his power over me, he never imagined I’d speak out. What he did to me paralyzed me, and the longer I’d gone without saying something, the stronger he felt. The more control he had.
Ever since my secret was revealed, I’ve felt like my life was spiraling out of control, but in reality, it’s the opposite. From the moment I told my parents and the police what Mark had done, I’d gained more and more control over my life. Or at least, I’d wrenched that control away from Mark. I’ll never forget what he did to me, but I don’t have to let it take over my life.
And just like that, I’m one step closer to being free.
Chapter Twenty-Three
With only one week to go until opening day, it’s crunch time. Rehearsals have been extended until five-thirty, and we’ve added an extra dress rehearsal on Saturday. Five performances are spread out over a one week period, and then once the
play is behind me, I can focus on studying for final exams.
The past month has been a blitz of school, rehearsals, therapy sessions, and chats with police detectives. I still receive the occasional threatening note in my locker, but I guess the bullies have already said everything that needs to be said. They hope I die. They hope I get raped. I’m a liar, I’m ugly, I’m stupid. Whatever. I’ve become almost desensitized to the threats. Or maybe my mind is on overload from everything that’s going on.
I open my locker and a note flutters out.
Bitch.
Well, that’s original. I pick it up and shove it in my purse. I’m supposed to turn all the notes in to Principal Dansen, but I don’t have time to go running to his office every time someone calls me a name. I figure I’ll collect them for a week and turn them in on Friday.
I greet everyone as I walk into the auditorium. That’s one thing that’s changed for the better over the past few weeks—my relationship with Eddie. We’re easier around each other now, which makes it much more pleasant to rehearse. My heart still hurts when I think of what happened between us, or what could have been between us. I miss Eddie. I truly miss him. Our conversations. Hugs. Silent walks hand-in-hand. Everything.
But we both have our separate issues to resolve. One day, maybe after graduation, I’ll sit down with Eddie and really talk to him. I owe him an apology. Not for what happened with Mark. Eddie made his own choices when he decided to fight with Mark. But I want to apologize for the way I cut Eddie off and refused to take his calls. Yes, I was hurting. Scared. Confused. Yes, I had a reason for doing what I did. But a reason is not an excuse, and I still want to apologize for hurting his feelings.
I still care about Eddie. I still love him. I still harbor a secret hope we’ll get back together, but in all honesty, I don’t think we will. Too much has happened. I’ve waited too long to apologize. Some things can’t be fixed.
“Okay, everyone, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover today,” Mr. Fredericks says. “Rowan, can I talk to you for a second?”
Everyone is scrambling to get in to position while I walk over to where Mr. Fredericks is standing.
“Rowan, we need to run through the whole play. Today and at every rehearsal this week. I call it an undressed-dress rehearsal.” He chuckles at his own joke, the same joke he’s been telling for months. “Up until now, we’ve sort of glossed over some of the scenes.” He looks apologetic. “I know that ever since… You and Eddie aren’t really getting along the way you used to, and… We can adjust the scenes if we need to. You know, the original play doesn’t specify…”
Oh, God. What he wants to know is if I’m too emotionally traumatized to kiss Eddie. Up until now, we haven’t kissed during the so-called kissing scenes. It hasn’t been necessary. I know Mr. Fredericks can adjust the play to suit me if he wants. There doesn’t have to be any kissing in Romeo and Juliet, but most productions include it, and most audiences expect it. Everyone in school expects it. If we cut out the kissing scenes, people will talk.
I take a deep breath and think about what Laura and I have talked about. Does it matter what some people say? Do I care about the opinions of people who are going to judge me regardless of what I do? I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. If I don’t go ahead with the kissing scenes, people will think I’m emotionally damaged. If I do go ahead with the kissing scenes, people will say that’s proof that I wasn’t raped, because a “real” victim couldn’t stand to be touched. So really, it doesn’t matter what I do or don’t do. Like Laura says, some people are going to talk no matter what.
What do I want to do? It will be weird kissing Eddie, but only the first time. We’re actors, after all. I don’t want to change the play based on the perceived opinions of other people. The show must go on.
“I’m okay, Mr. Fredericks. I don’t think anything needs to be changed.”
His shoulders relax and some of the pink fades from his cheeks.
“Okay, super.” He turns away from me and yells. “Okay, places everyone.”
Rehearsal begins. My mind skitters ahead to that moment when Eddie and I will finally kiss, our first kiss since our breakup. Between scenes, it’s all I can think about—the dread and the anticipation. The scenes tick by, and before very long at all, scene five of the first act is upon us, and Romeo and Juliet meet for the first time.
There’s a buzz between us, and I don’t know if it’s the parts we’re playing or my true longing for Eddie that creates this delicious tension. Maybe I’m the only one who feels it. Or maybe Eddie feels it too.
Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.
Eddie leans in and kisses me. It’s a chaste peck on the lips, but it sends electricity straight through me. I trip over my next line, but quickly recover. My lips are still tingling when the scene is over.
Each time we have to kiss, it’s a little easier, but I find myself looking forward to these scenes far too much and wishing Mr. Fredericks would ask us to re-rehearse them. When we take a ten minute break, I stand with a group of friends, lost in my own thoughts, remembering a time when Eddie had insisted we rehearse alone in order to get to know each other better. I fantasize about some sort of magical reconnection with him, where nothing has to be resolved. Where Eddie comes up to me after rehearsal and insists we need some private practice.
When rehearsal is over, Eddie claps me on the shoulder and says, “Good job, Rowan.” It’s a friendly gesture one would give to a teammate or even a casual acquaintance. Not a romantic or intimate gesture at all. I’m disappointed as I get into Morgan’s car.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, why?”
“I thought the kissing scene might bother you.”
“So did Mr. Fredericks.” I fill her in on my conversation with the drama teacher.
“No wonder he looked like he was in pain,” she says, laughing. “But seriously, are you okay with having to kiss Eddie?”
“Kissing Eddie has never been a burden,” I say, trying to sound lighthearted.
Morgan can see right through me. “I know you miss him, Row. You two were good together.”
“Yeah, we were. Too bad…” I trail off. Morgan doesn’t press me. She knows what I was going to say. Too bad everything happened the way it did. Too bad the timing wasn’t better. Too bad I had been too messed up to have a real relationship while I had the chance.
“There’ll be other guys,” she says.
“I know.”
Too bad the only guy I want is Eddie.
***
I’m running late to art class, but I’ve left my notebook in my locker. I sprint down the hallway as the first bell rings. Students disappear into open classroom doors and the hall is almost empty when I reach my locker. I fling open the door and almost roll my eyes when I see another note. Before I can crumple it up and shove it in my purse, I catch a glimpse of the words. This one is different.
Thank you.
The second bell rings. Crap, I’m late for class. I slide into my seat next to Eddie.
“You okay?” he asks.
Without thinking, I hand the note to him.
“Well, that’s different,” he whispers.
The next day, there’s another note, and this one causes my heart to sputter and almost stop.
You’re not the only one. You were the first to tell, but you won’t be the last.
I’m not the first? If that note is referring to Mark, then that means… That means Mark has hurt other girls. It means someone else might step forward.
It means I’m not alone.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Rowan, get in here. Hurry.” My dad’s screams are frantic. Frantic enough that I actually stop what I’m doing and rush into the living room.
He’s perched on the edge of the sofa, his eyes glued to the television, his mouth hanging open in shock. I stare at the screen and then sink weak-kneed to the lounge chair to listen to the newscast. Mark’s face is splashed across
the screen. A mug shot.
In local news, a young man has been arrested on multiple charges of rape. Here’s Jose Miera with the story…
Hi, Jan. I’m standing here outside the Los Angeles County police station where high school senior Mark Evanston is being detained for questioning. Mark is the son of Hollywood Attorney, Gerry Evanston. According to my sources, Mark is being held until bail is set. So far, three women have come forward…
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
Like that note had said, I’m not alone. I’m not the only one Mark attacked. I was just the first to come forward. The first to set events in motion.
“They have to take it seriously now, Row,” Dad says.
“Yeah, but I wonder if there’s any evidence?” In my case, I’d waited far too long for any evidence to be recovered. I wonder if any of the other girls came forward quickly enough to have done a rape kit.
“If three people are accusing him, that’s evidence enough,” Dad says.
I’m not sure if that’s true, but maybe this will prove to people that I wasn’t just making it up. I wish it didn’t matter to me what people are saying, but part of me really wants to say, “I told you so.”
When Mom comes home, Dad and I are still in the living room, staring at the television, waiting for the next newscast to see if anything more is said about Mark.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
She puts her arm around me as Dad explains.
“Good,” she says. “Maybe this will give you some closure.”
Closure is a word people throw around all the time, but what does it really mean? Will I be glad if Mark does time in prison? Yeah. I will, if only for the simple fact that he can’t hurt anyone else if he’s locked away. And, yeah, part of me wants to see him rot in jail for what he did to me. But it won’t erase what had happened.
Morgan calls me a while later, and I go to my room to talk to her in private. Mom and Dad are still in the living room. Dinner has been forgotten, and we’ll probably order pizza or burgers later when Dad decides he’s hungry. For now, I’m just grateful I don’t have to cook. I’d probably burn myself or something.
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