“You’re funny—uh, no, do you smoke cigarettes?”
She looks at me. Watching me. Her eyes like green sapphires. She takes a deep pause.
“As long as they’re unfiltered.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No, I’m just tough like that. I break the filters off before I smoke,” she says, almost slurring, and stares at me blankly. Then smirks. “Of course I don’t smoke unfiltered. What am I, a maniac?”
I laugh, and I didn’t expect to laugh. Maybe I’ve underestimated her. I ask her if she wants to come with me somewhere that we can talk. She says sure.
Ali trails me as we walk over to the C-wing. “You don’t have to walk five feet behind me. You’re not a servant,” I say. So she scoots next to me, just staring. Which is fine for now. It can’t stay that way—it’s too annoying. Besides, the other girls won’t like it. They’ll see it as a weakness.
I think about texting Cate and Suki so that I can give them a heads-up about Ali, but surprising them will be a better tactic. Anyway, I need to keep those bitches on their toes. I can bring anyone into the C-wing bathroom I want.
ALI
Have you ever walked next to a girl like Blythe Jensen? Her hair is a commercial. It’s blond and has a wave and somehow no frizz. It swings from side to side. Her skin is so smooth that she has no bumps. It’s glowy and flawless. I rub my own scaly elbows and make a note to myself: use more moisturizer.
I’m going to have a minor breakdown. She’s bringing me into the C-wing bathroom. The C-wing is designated as a senior bathroom. This is not a school designation. This is just a known fact. If you’re not a senior and you have a class in C-wing, you do not use that bathroom or else you might as well transfer to another school. A select group of senior girls smoke cigarettes in there. (Everyone’s gone back to cigarettes. Because if vaping is going to kill you, you might as well just smoke the old-fashioned way.)
There’s some code. You have to knock a few times. But I’ve never even tried to get in. I know this sounds implausible—hello, this is a school—but we have a big school. Three wings! Three floors in each wing. Two bathrooms on each floor. Three different vice principals even. No one gets busted for smoking up in C-wing. Teachers aren’t interested in going up there, to the third floor, all the way down the hall. Practically nowhere. They’ve gotten away with it for years. And I’ve learned to just fear it. To stay away.
BLYTHE
Even though no one has caught us smoking in the C-wing bathroom, we’re all still a little on edge about someone busting in. You just need to say, “It’s cool,” or rap on the wall a few times before you walk in, but I never see anyone new here. People are scared. It’s fine with me. The fewer people who come, the less attention it gets. It should be exclusive. It should be hard to find.
I turn to Ali outside the bathroom door and place my index finger on my lips. I whisper: “Don’t say a word.”
I kick open the bathroom door, and Suki, Cate, and Donnie all gasp. Suki chokes, coughing on her inhale. They shove their cigarettes behind their backs, as if that would help their asses if they had gotten caught.
ALI
It’s the Core Four. Suki Fields. Cate Sandoval. Donnie Alperstein. Blythe Jensen, their fourth.
I take a quick look around. Cate has these big gold hoop earrings with her name spelled through the middle: CATE.
Suki is wearing a floral skirt down to her calves. A tiny T-shirt that says SO TIRED.
Donnie Alperstein in denim shorts. Button-up shirt to the collar. Black Converse high-tops. She has smoky blue tips in her curly hair, and I flash back to seeing her at Sophie Miller’s party, laughing in a crowd of people.
The party. That night.
Sean Nessel on top of me.
Shake it off. Close your eyes and make it go away. Breathe, Ali. Breathe.
The girls collectively hold their breaths and hide their smokes behind their backs. When they see it’s just Blythe, they exhale, and a massive cloud of smoke hits my face. Don’t cough, I tell myself. Just breathe.
BLYTHE
“What’s up, bitches?” I have a big smile on my face.
“What the fuck, B?” Suki says.
“Thanks for giving me a heart attack at seventeen, Jensen,” Donnie says.
I introduce the girls to Ali; though I might as well say, I’ve got the girl who fucked Sean Nessel.
Does Ali know that’s her story? That she’s the girl who fucked Sean Nessel this weekend?
I pass Ali a cigarette and let the girls give it to her a little. Suki eyes Ali, then turns away, uninterested.
“So. Why did you bring her here?” Suki says. “Is she going to do a tell-all with us?”
“Yeah, Blythe is, like, going to interview her about Sean,” Donnie says, laughing.
“Give us the lowdown,” Cate says, laughing. “’Cause I bet she got real low.”
“Ever heard of don’t kiss and tell, you sluts?” I say. “She’s not going to tell you shit about her relationship with Nessel. And he wouldn’t expect her to.”
I frame it like that. Relationship. Ali doesn’t even know what I’m doing, what I’m giving to her by framing it like that. She doesn’t know what these girls could do to her. What I could do to her. I’m donating status to this girl Ali Greenleaf—she better take it.
ALI
Donnie hikes herself up on the bathroom sink. Swinging her legs and blowing smoke rings. She calls Blythe by her last name, Jensen—almost like she’s taunting her. “New pair of boots, you shoe-whore, Jensen.” Or “Oh, Jensen, you’re so cute when you’re being head slut-shamer in charge.” But Blythe smiles with every one of Donnie’s digs. She seems to like it.
I stare at Donnie because she’s so pretty—I’ve never been this close to her. I always thought Blythe was in charge of this group, but now I wonder if it’s different. There seems to be a divide. Blythe and Donnie, top tier. Suki and Cate, underlings.
“Like something you see, Greenleaf?” Donnie says, taking me by surprise and flicking her ashes at me.
I just kind of blink.
Cate starts at writing on the bathroom wall. THE CORE FOUR. “The asshole janitor scrubbed my last design.”
“That asshole janitor is my father,” I say.
I don’t know what makes me say it. It just flies out of my mouth, and I automatically want to apologize for it, say something like, “I’m just kidding,” but instead I smile and say nothing.
Then all of them, the Core Four, start laughing, even Cate. And then it’s a whirlwind of laughter. They think I’m funny.
I finally breathe.
BLYTHE
“So,” I say, turning my body to Ali. My knee touches her knee. She doesn’t pull it away, and I whisper, “My boyfriend, Devon, and Sean are best friends.” I click my mouth, making smoke rings. “Do you know Devon Strong?”
“I know who he is.”
“Anyway, Sean really, really respects you. He’s waiting to hear back about early acceptance from Duke and then there’s the State Champs and then he’s going to build huts for needy Costa Ricans over Presidents’ Day weekend, which means he needs to be in great shape, because ten huts in three days, he’s kind of inhuman, right?”
Except we both know he is human. And humans cry. And humans make mistakes. Especially male humans.
“He doesn’t usually drink that much, Ali. That’s not his style.”
I don’t even know why I’m saying this. I know it’s not true. Everyone knows it’s not true.
But Ali glares at me. Her eyes don’t exactly tear up, but they get squinty. As if she’s insanely angry. Because I’ve said something so awful. I’ve insulted her. She gasps. She tosses her cigarette toward the toilet, and it flies by Suki like a rocket.
“Nothing happened,” Ali says.
Except something did happen. And we both k
now it. And Sean knows it. And Dev knows it. And too many people know it to pretend like it didn’t happen. My fear is that a month from now, when she’s ready to talk, there’ll be accusations. Crying fits. Post-traumatic stress, or whatever. Anyway, I promised Sean.
I can’t stop thinking about him crying at my car. And I know I should think of the way Ali looked traumatized as she ran out of Sophie Miller’s house the other night. Find empathy in my heart. But my loyalty is with Sean. It just is.
“Look, I’ve had experiences too,” I say. “Experiences that I’m not so happy about. Do you know what I mean?”
But she’s blank.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, and looks down at the floor.
“Uh, Ali, you ran out of the party like a crazy banshee—I mean, everyone saw you. But Sean’s a good guy. He doesn’t want to, you know—he doesn’t want you to be all freaked out.”
ALI
Everyone saw you. That’s what she said.
Everyone saw you. I don’t want to be known as the girl that everyone saw. I just want to be known as the cute girl. Or the hot girl. Or the cool girl. Or the whatever girl. Not the girl everyone saw with blood smeared on her jeans.
What does Blythe mean when she says, “I’ve had experiences”? What does that even mean? Was what happened to me an experience? Is that how they’re defining it?
I feel my legs tingle and my stomach cave. I hold my hand against the cool bathroom wall, and it’s the only thing that’s keeping me from completely passing out right here.
“You okay?” Blythe says.
Oh, yeah. I’m so okay.
Not.
And then the bell rings.
10
ALI
I race down the hallway to get to my physics class and my teacher, Mr. Chui, gives me a late notice, my third this month. I slip onto my stool next to Sammi.
Terrance Carter from the school newspaper sits on the other side of me.
“You smell like smoke,” he says.
“Wow, you must be a real investigative journalist,” I say, sneering. “You should get a hat that says scoop or something.”
He turns away. Terrance and I go way back. We were in an advanced reading class together in third grade. Now he walks around in this trench coat like he owns the school because he’s the newspaper editor. My entire relationship to the school newspaper is based on how they cover Sean Nessel. If Sean Nessel was in the paper, I’d bring it home. I’d cut it out. I’d stick it in the collage book.
Sammi opens up her notebook and starts scribbling to me.
Where the hell were you?
C-wing bathroom
How??
Blythe Jensen.
“What the fuck?” she whispers.
I shrug because I don’t know, which is really the truth. I rub my stomach and groan.
“Is it hot in here?” I say to Sammi and throw my hair up in a bun, the back of my neck sweaty.
She goes back to the notepad.
I’m worried about you.
I know. We’ll talk after class. PROMISE.
Mr. Chui draws a rocket on the board. He says the rocket is going to launch a projectile with a strong velocity.
My body gets real hot. Like clammy-sweaty hot, and I can’t stop it, and then I launch my own projectile . . .
I puke.
* * *
* * *
I convince the nurse that I’m fine. Just a nervous stomach. I slap my cheeks. Look. I’m perfect.
“I have to call your father anyway. And if you feel at all nauseous again, you need to come right back here.”
“Fine,” I say. Anything to avoid going home. I don’t want my father eyeing me all afternoon.
* * *
* * *
Lunch room. Sammi doesn’t say a word to me in the lunch line. She waits until we get to a small table in the back. Just me and her. She gets in my face and does that yell-whisper. “What the fuck is going on? You smelled like smoke in class. C-wing? Then you puke?”
“Shhhhh.”
“Ali, what really happened with you and him?”
“This isn’t something I want to even admit to myself.”
She practically chokes on her tater tot. “What does that even mean?”
Sammi has been my best friend since second grade and telling her is like telling myself. That’s how close we are. That’s why I don’t want to say it out loud. I pull her face close and put my lips to her ear.
“Why are you breathing in my ear?”
“Shhh. Just listen.” I hear the echo of my breath against her earlobe. Back and forth. Breathe in. Breathe out. “Remember I told you about what happened with Sean Nessel?”
She nods. Her face frozen. Eyes bugging out of her skull.
“He forced me.”
She pulls her face away. Her eyes squint in that way they used to around that time my mother left and I would make up stories about where she was. My mother is exploring the moon, actually. My mother decided to be a rock climber. Anything sounded better than My mother went to rehab because she has the alcoholic disease and also she’s moving to this weird place in New Mexico.
He put his hand over my mouth, I want to tell her. But I can’t say it out loud. I can’t say any of it to her. If I say it to her, it’ll never stop. That voice in my head will keep going. I’ll relive that night on repeat. And I want to get it out of my mind.
So I pull my T-shirt down a little on the one side. Since we’re in the cafeteria, I hold back my tears; they’re choking me.
I hear her gasp. I know she sees it, the bruise above my collarbone, close to my shoulder.
I quickly cover it up. No one’s going to see that again. Sammi’s circling her eyes with her hands. Rubbing them.
She whispers, “Is that why you ran out of there?”
I nod.
“And you just left this information out when you were at my house last night?”
Her eyes tear up. Her face reddens. She covers her face with her hands. Tears stream over her knuckles.
“We are not telling anyone,” I say, breathless. “Not anyone.”
“Cherie? Can’t I at least tell her?”
“Oh my God, Sammi, especially not her. She’ll make me go to a protest with a uterus strapped around my head.”
“But you have a bruise on your shoulder. He forced you. I mean. This isn’t right, Ali.”
“I was drinking those tiny bottles of vodka. My stupid collage books?” Saying it out loud takes my breath away. I grit my teeth. “He was my target. Everyone saw me.”
“But, Ali—”
“You saw me, Sammi. You said it yourself. You saw me drinking with him. Everyone saw me drinking with him.”
“So what? We’ve learned about this a million—a zillion—times. It doesn’t mean it’s consent just because you were drinking.”
“But don’t you see, that’s everything. Because—I wanted to do it.” I think about my back scratching against his soccer jacket. His hand over my mouth. I rub my eyes. I wonder how long I’m going to have to do this just to get rid of those images. Then if I have to tell people? And if they don’t believe me? It’s one thing for the stupid health teacher to mindlessly talk about consent because it’s in the curriculum, because that’s what’s expected of her. She wants to preach consent and #MeToo and #GirlsToo. But I’ve seen too many news stories, too many articles, I know that in real-life situations, girls don’t get the chance to defend themselves. Especially not when it comes to the captain of the soccer team.
I try to explain this to Sammi. That my whole life is on the line here, that she can’t tell anyone because if she tells even one person, my whole life is going to explode. That Sean Nessel will ruin my life. But she keeps pressing. She won’t stop. So I just shake my head, close m
y eyes, pretend I don’t exist. Like this is happening to someone else.
“And then?”
But I say nothing.
“And then what happens? He just gets away with it?”
I shake my head. Nothing comes out. I’m nothing. I’m not even here.
“If you said no. If you have a bruise on your shoulder. Ali,” she says, looking around, covering me up, holding my hands, pulling me closer, her voice so low and quiet. “You have to tell someone.”
“Oh, like who?”
“Someone other than Blythe Jensen.”
I forgot that I was just in very close quarters with Blythe Jensen and that Sammi is not happy about that either.
“Blythe doesn’t know anything about it.” She looks at me like I’m crazy. “I know she brought me to C-wing, but she doesn’t know about that. I didn’t say anything to her about it.”
“Come on, Ali. He must have told her to be friends with you. So that you wouldn’t say anything.” She’s trying to be protective, but it feels really condescending, so I sit back in my chair and pull my hoodie out of my backpack. I suddenly have the chills. Maybe it’s Plan B side effects. Maybe it is a stomach bug. But of course it’s not. It’s me. It’s just me.
“Obviously I know why Blythe brought me to C-wing. I’m not stupid.”
And of course she’s right. It was more than that. I’m not going to pretend—at least not to myself. I know it’s transparent. I know Blythe picked me to go because it has to do with Sean. Blythe has three entities she’s loyal to: the Core Four, Devon Strong, and Sean Nessel. She told me while walking out of C-wing that she, Dev—that’s what she called him, “Dev”—and Sean were like this. She curled three fingers so they entwined.
But I liked it. I liked going into C-wing with Blythe. I liked being around her. Her command of those girls in that stupid bathroom, it made me want to follow her. The way she throws her hair to the side, like no one can touch her.
Something Happened to Ali Greenleaf Page 6