Something Happened to Ali Greenleaf

by Hayley Krischer

  I’m not used to Ali talking to me this way. Wasn’t I the one to show her how to walk through the hallway? The one to teach her how to stand? Her captain, her confidant. For just a little while, leading her through the crowded school corridors. Inviting her into C-wing. Now, her face angry and bunched. Her hands clenched. This is a different girl. Not the mousy Ali I first met. This is a girl out for blood.

  “So you’re just going to write about me and you think that’ll be it? No consequences?”

  “It’s not about you, Blythe!”

  “Don’t say it’s not about me, when I am a big part of this story. People are going to ask if I knew about it. They’ll ask if Sean talked to me about it. If I tried to hide it when I should have reported it,” I say, trying to slow my breath. Trying to get her on my side. The school paper. The archaic school paper. Who even reads newspapers anymore? But they have a website. It’s the kind of story that’ll go viral. I can see it now: Popular Girl Covers Up Rape by Soccer Star. “Ali, look. Don’t you understand that he tricked me, just like he tricked you?”

  “I don’t believe that. Your eyes were wide open, Blythe.”

  “Oh my God, Ali. So you are going to just throw me under the bus, aren’t you?”

  “I’m going to tell the truth.”

  I have to convince her that this is not a story she wants to tell. Not like this.

  “I thought we were friends,” I say. I sound desperate. I sound fake. I wish I never said it.

  She walks up two steps. She doesn’t even turn around.

  I have to think of something that’ll stop her. Something that will make her think, to pause, just for a second. To be reasonable!

  “You should know I’m not running the Initiation,” I say. “I’m not stepping up. I’m backing out.”

  Finally Ali stops. Turns to me.

  “Good. You shouldn’t be anywhere near that. I’m proud of you, Blythe.”

  “You’re fucking proud of me?”

  “Yes. Because I know it’s an uphill battle. And I know it must be hard to say no to those people. And I know how fucked up it made you,” she says.

  I take a step back. Once she was so broken. Now look at her. This self-assured girl. So self-assured that she’s going to destroy everything in her path. Bring down the big man. And the lady. Me. She wants to punish me.

  “I promise I’ll make him apologize to you,” I say. “He has to apologize to you. It’s stupid that this hasn’t happened already, in fact—”

  “You don’t understand,” Ali says, seething now. Face-to-face. Turned to me. Back down the steps. “I don’t want an apology from him. I don’t want him near me. I wish you could just support me. And just be honest about how this all started. You could come clean. You were manipulated too. But you could say you made mistakes. It would be better.”

  “Better for who?”

  She doesn’t answer me.

  I feel tears on my cheeks. I don’t even know why.

  “I’m the only person in control of my own destiny, Blythe. I’m the only one. You know that’s my only option. You would never let anyone be in control of the story if this was happening to you. Don’t wait for them to get out of the way. Make the room yourself. That’s what you told me when you were talking about managing the stupid hallway. Well, guess what? This is my life.”

  I can see people looking at us from a lower staircase. I don’t want to wipe the tears away from my cheeks because then it would really look like I am crying.

  * * *

  * * *

  In C-wing. The Core Four. One cigarette after another.

  “Don’t tell Ali anything,” I say. I instruct.

  “What does that mean?” Suki says.

  “It means she’s writing an article for the school newspaper and talking about what happened to her.”

  “I don’t want to say I told you so,” Cate says.

  “That’s your response? That’s the most original thing you can come up with? ‘I told you so’?”

  “Actually, it’s kind of badass. To out Sean like that,” Cate says.

  “How insane would that make Sean?” Suki says, smiling, then looks away, inhales deep on her cigarette. “I kind of love it.”

  “I don’t kind of love it. I really love it,” Donnie says. “Dude gets what’s coming to him, B. I’m sorry, but it’s true. I have so much more respect for her now. I’ll pass that paper around. I’ll take screenshots of it and ’gram it until someone presses charges.”

  “I hate to bust your bubble,” I say. “But will you love it when she goes after all of us? How we’re bitches and how we’re manipulators? How you basically slut-shamed her and how I orchestrated my friendship with her to cover up how Sean raped her? How we created a situation, an environment, so that she couldn’t talk about it?”

  Suki’s face goes blank.

  “But why would she do that?” Suki says.

  “It’s not like any of you were nice to her. You think she cares?” I say. “She wants to tell the whole story. That’s what she told me. She said that I should ‘come clean.’ And trust me. I fucking begged her.”

  “You begged that bitch and she, what? She said no to you?” Donnie says.

  “Yes.” That’s right. I knew that part would fire Donnie up. “The police could question me, do you understand this?”

  “People will ask why you didn’t report it,” Cate says. Her eyes dumb and wide.

  “No shit.”

  “You’re part of the story,” Donnie says.

  “So are you, Donnie,” I say. “So are you.”

  41

  ALI

  “Hurry up,” I say to Sammi at her locker.

  Sammi shoves her books in her bag.

  “They don’t scare me,” she says. “The Core Four. What a stupid name.”

  “I know. I’m not scared of them. But after the thing that happened with Blythe today—I just don’t want them doing anything. Any retaliation. They’re like animals, those girls.”

  “Can I tell you what I’m afraid of?”

  “What?”

  She looks down at the ground. Shakes her knee. “That you’ll still be friends with Blythe after all this is over.”

  Sammi’s face drops, wary of the future, and I can see why. I can see how I just left her. And how that’s been for her.

  “I don’t see my friendship with Blythe being the same.”

  “There was a real friendship?”

  “Yes. I know it’s hard to believe.”

  “No. I’m trying to understand. I am.”

  “There was something. We had things in common. Some stuff that’s hard to explain.”

  There’s this feeling, this sadness, when I think about Blythe. That conversation in the stairs—I haven’t seen that desperation on her before. All the years I’ve spent watching her from afar and now I know her. And she knows me. The two of us share something so awful. Experiences with these boys, these men, who have done such horrible things. I don’t know if I want to share that with Sammi. I don’t know if I want to share that with anyone.

  Sammi and I catch up to Raj, and the three of us walk down the hallway together, just like it used to be. For a second, for the first time in a while, I feel satisfied, like I can do anything now.

  Terrance and his giant trench coat appear around the corner. Savannah by his side.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” he says, his voice booming, panting. “We read your story. It’s really powerful, Ali.”

  Terrance has questions for me that are going to sound judgmental, he says. But he has to ask. Go ahead, I tell him.

  Did I tell anyone right away? Yes. I told Sammi right away. I told Blythe. I told Raj. I even confronted Sean Nessel himself. People saw me run out of that party. Blythe saw me run out of that party. My story holds up.


  “So there’s a protocol—” Savannah says, and glances over at Terrance. She bites her lip.

  “Because the school paper isn’t its own entity. It’s part of the school—”

  “And you’re writing about rape—”

  “And underage drinking—”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” I say. I’m confused. The two of them. Explaining school codes and regulations and my constitutional rights. And none of it makes sense.

  “Look, Ali,” Terrance says. “Ms. Knox, our student adviser and journalism teacher, has to look at it first. And if she looks at this story, she has the obligation to report it.”

  I’m stunned. My words can’t even come out of my mouth fast enough, and I hear myself saying, “No. No. No.” Backing away. I’m not listening. I can’t hear them.

  “Who does she have the obligation to report it to?” Sammi says, taking my hand. Bringing me back into the conversation. Holding me close to her.

  “A number of people. The principal. Ali’s parents. Maybe the police. Ali’s a minor. It’s complicated.”

  Time feels suspended. Everything stops.

  “The police?” I say. Why would the police believe me? I went up there with him. I had collage books of him. I showed those books to Blythe. I feel sick all over again. Nothing will happen to Sean Nessel. People will just protect him like they always do. Just like Blythe has done.

  “Forget it. I’m not doing it, then. Rip it up. Forget the whole thing.”

  I shake my hand free from Sammi’s. My shoulders like blocks. The police showing up at my house, interviewing me about what happened and filing a report. At the police station. Questions. More questions. No way.

  “You don’t understand, Ali. We want to do it. We don’t want to turn back,” Terrance says. “So we have two options: We take over the paper, print the story, and say fuck you to the system. Maybe we’ll win awards.”

  “But most likely we’ll get suspended and they’ll still call the police,” Savannah says.

  “Here’s another option,” Terrance says. “We can circumvent the school paper.”

  “How do we do that?” Raj says. His voice low, concerned. Like a dad. Like my dad.

  Terrance swings his bag in front of him. Whips out his laptop. Opens it up on a cold radiator. Signals us to get in closer. Like we’re a team. Like we’re in this together. He shows us a home page. Red graffiti letters: THE UNDERGROUND.

  “What is this?” I say.

  “It’s my zine.” He smiles a goofy smile. Proud. It’s just one page. And as he scrolls through the site, there aren’t any stories. No photos. Nothing. It’s just an empty page. With a really cool masthead.

  “There’s nothing in it,” Sammi says, her voice slipping into that sarcastic thing she does. “Aren’t zines supposed to have words?”

  “We’re just getting started,” Terrance says. “It’s got layers. It’s going to be amazing. Once we get it off the ground.”

  “I have something to say,” Savannah says. Her voice cracking a little, raspy. She’s one of those people who seems to be in the background, despite her pink hair. Her cat-eye glasses. Her bright dresses. She’s like a peacock that you don’t want to go near or you’ll get your face bitten off.

  “I know that the zine isn’t the same as the school paper. But it’ll give you a voice. Because from what you wrote in this story, your attacker has a strong voice. And it seems to me, as an outsider, that there were a whole lot of people protecting him. I guess the question you have to ask yourself . . .” and she stares directly at me, her eyes welling up, because I don’t know, maybe she has a story too? “Who was protecting you?”

  No one, I think. Not Blythe. Not her obnoxious friends. Certainly not Sean Nessel.

  “Think of the amount of people you could reach if it goes viral,” Terrance says. He fiddles with the keyboard. His voice trailing off. “I know it’s nothing now. But with your story in it, it could become something. It could become something meaningful.”

  There’s a pause, and this time it feels important, like it’s one of the biggest decisions I’ve ever had to make in my life.

  “Are you ready to do this, Ali?” Terrance says to me. “Because if you’re ready, this is going to be a goddamned tornado.”

  I think of Sean’s hand over my mouth and his horrible, disgusting excuse: I got carried away.

  I think of the blood between my legs.

  I think of the bruise I had on my shoulder for a week.

  I think of my father and how I’m going to explain this to him.

  Everything in my body is telling me to walk away right now. To forget the article. To tell them it was a mistake. But I close my eyes. Think back to that night. Me crying on the floor. And I want everyone to know.

  “I’m ready,” I say.

  42

  “Ask Me If I Care”

  by Alistair Greenleaf

  It was like any other day. I was smoking in the C-wing bathroom at school when I noticed another student, Reggie. All I said was, “How ya doing?” and she proceeded to tell me how she was raped.

  “Raped?” I said.

  “Oh, yeah. We were both drunk at this party. I willingly went up to a bedroom with him. No doubt, I was into it at first. But then I said no, because I got scared and didn’t want to go any further. Plus I was drunk and confused. And he, well, I guess I was just a body. An object.”

  Do I want to know this? I thought. Do I care? Why did I ask her how she was doing?

  It’s a simple question, just one to make the time go by when you’re smoking in the handicapped bathroom, crammed in with a bunch of other girls. Four other girls were there. The kind of girls who stare down at you. Who judge you for breathing. The kind of girls who protect each other at all costs.

  “There was one girl who knew about it,” Reggie said. “She knew it all.”

  “How did she know?” I asked.

  “Because the guy, you know, my rapist, told her. It was her job to persuade me not to tell. And she even had her own experience as a freshman. But her assault was sanctioned, whatever that means,” Reggie said.

  Now I know all this, this tale of sexual assault, and I don’t want to know it!

  I want to un-know it! I was just being friendly. I didn’t expect her to reveal her personal life. I didn’t expect her to talk about rape.

  I feel bad for this girl. Rape is almost impossible to prove. The most popular kid in school? His best female friend? Their word against hers? Isn’t this the exact reason why statistics show that most sexual assaults aren’t reported?

  Still, is this information I need to be privy to?

  People walk up and down the hallways of our school and ask at least twenty times a day, “Hey, how you doin’?” It brightens their day and makes it seem like you’re actually interested in their existence.

  I was just trying to smoke, y’all.

  “I was a virgin before this whole thing started, just a girl enamored with this boy. Made a collage book of him and everything. I’m sure it wasn’t his intention to rape me, but when I said no—and I said no loudly and clearly—he put his hand over my mouth, pinned my shoulder down to the floor,” she said.

  I noticed the bruises on her upper arm peeking out. The marks where he must have held her down.

  Oh God, why do I deserve this grueling tale? Why do I have to be left with the responsibility of knowing this?

  Because I asked her how she was doing.

  Have I learned my lesson? Will I take a chance and ask someone how they’re doing, or will I simply nod and turn away?

  The latter will probably avoid any type of unwanted conversation, but it will take me a while to get out of the old habit.

  “Anyway, no one is going to believe me because he’ll just say ‘She wanted to do it . . .’ or ‘I can get any girl I want, why would I rape
someone?’”

  No, a simple hi will do just fine.

  43

  BLYTHE

  It’s been a few days since I spoke to Ali. Hoping she’ll change her mind. That maybe she has. The two of us passing each other in the hallway like clouds. A nod. An acknowledgment. Hardly anything.

  Suki sees it first on Instagram.

  “There’s something going around. Something about Ali,” she says.

  “Like what?”

  “Something about Sean. Something about you.”

  “I told you she was going to do that school paper thing,” I say. “We already knew this.”

  “No, B. Something else. In some trash blog,” she says. Her face weighted down. Serious. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

  * * *

  * * *

  In C-wing stall. Donnie, Suki, Cate, and I read Ali’s article. It’s published on a website. Something ridiculous called the Underground. Anything that can be accessed by anyone is not “underground,” but that’s beside the point.

  “She’s fucked our whole senior year,” Donnie says.

  “Oh, stop. Who’s going to read this article? This thing? Some stupid article from a newspaper dork?” Cate says.

  “Tap through to see the list of likes,” I say.

  “This morning it was practically nothing. Like twenty. Maybe thirty,” Suki says.

  We refresh Instagram. Suki’s mouth open. Her hand to her lips as she scrolls down the list. And scrolls. And scrolls. “I don’t know. It’s a lot. It’s over a thousand maybe.”

  I grab her phone out of her hand. “Over a thousand? Who the hell is liking this thing?”

  I scroll down through the list. All the people, none of them any faces or profiles I even recognize.

  “If the school finds out about this,” Cate says.

  “And she had to go and mention C-wing, didn’t she?” Donnie says.

  “She had to say there was one girl who knew about it. She knew it all. What a bitch. I didn’t know about it all. That’s not even remotely true,” I say.