The Nowhere Girls(35)

A boy around two years old hands Grace a naked Barbie with no head. “Thank you?” Grace says as he toddles away.

“Over here,” Rosina says as she opens a laptop sitting on the dining table. She moves a laundry basket off a chair and motions to Grace to sit down. They stare at the screen as Rosina signs into the e-mail account they created for the Nowhere Girls, with no real names or identifying information attached to it.

“Hey, look,” Rosina says. “We got new e-mails!”

A fight breaks out on the other side of the room. “Mine!” says one of the kids.

“No, mine!” says another.

“Give me that,” Lola says, grabs the toy from the dueling cousins, sits on top of it, and goes back to watching her show.

“See,” Rosina says. “She’s totally ready.”

“What do the e-mails say?” Grace says. “Do you recognize any of the addresses?” All the school e-mail addresses are the same format: [email protected], but none of the names look familiar to Grace.

“If you haven’t already noticed,” Rosina says, “I’m not exactly a social butterfly. There are more than a thousand students at our school. It is highly unlikely that I know the first and last names of approximately five hundred of them.”

“You sound like Erin,” Grace says.

“I think this is from one of those little Emo girls at the meeting,” Rosina says as she clicks on the first e-mail. “She says we should meet somewhere more secret than the library. Good point.” Rosina clicks on the next one. “Here’s one from Elise. She just wants to know when the next meeting is. Oh, man, I thought she was going to take credit for those signs. That girl has some cojones.”

“You think she did it?” Grace asks.

“Of course she did it.”

Rosina smiles at the computer screen. “Well, look at this. We got one from Margot Dillard.”

“Who’s Margot Dillard?”

“You don’t know? Only your two-term Prescott High student body president,” she says in a singsong voice. “Let’s see. . . . ‘Dear Nowhere Girls.’ Isn’t that polite? ‘I am very interested in joining your group. It appears that you can do much in the way of promoting empowerment among the young women of Prescott High School. I am very devoted to fighting for women’s equality and would like to be involved in your positive social action. Please let me know when and where your next meeting will be, and how I may be of service. Sincerely, Margot H. Dillard, Prescott High School Student Body President.’ Jesus!” Rosina says, leaning back in her chair. “It’s like she’s applying for a job at the fucking bank.”

“What’s that one?” Grace says, pointing to a “From” e-mail address not in the regular school format, just a bunch of randomly generated numbers and letters from a common e-mail provider.

“Huh,” Rosina says, opening it. “Whoever it is must have really wanted to stay anonymous.”

Grace leans over Rosina’s shoulder as they read the e-mail in silence:

Hi, whoever you are.

When I got your first e-mail, I just ignored it. I thought it was bullshit. But after today and all the signs at school, I started thinking maybe it’s not bullshit. I don’t know if I’m ever going to come to your meetings, but I think you should keep having them.

The reason I’m writing is because the thing that the signs are talking about—that really happens. It happened to me last year. I was a freshman and he was a senior and I was so flattered he was into me. I thought he really liked me. It was at a party and he kept giving me drinks. Then he took me out to his car.

I told myself he must have not heard me say no. I blamed myself. I thought it was my fault for getting drunk.

I’m not going to tell you who this is, because if you go after him, he’ll know it was me who told. But I just want you to know I’m grateful for what you’re doing. I think a lot of girls are, even if they don’t know it yet.

Thank you.

Rosina and Grace stand there for a long time, not talking, reading the e-mail over and over again.

A child in the living room starts wailing, breaking their trance. The cousin who must be Erwin pokes his head out of the hallway and says, “Rosina! Will you quiet that kid up?”

Rosina looks at Grace, her jaw set, her brown eyes sharp and glistening.

“When is our next meeting?” Grace says.

Rosina’s hands shake as she starts typing.





To: undisclosed recipients From: TheNowhereGirls

Date: Friday, September 23

Subject: ONLY YES MEANS YES (and info about our next meeting) Dear friends:

There seems to be some confusion about this, so let us make something very clear: Taking advantage of someone who is intoxicated is sleazy and wrong. IT IS RAPE.

Getting a girl drunk for the purpose of having sex with her is not “loosening her up.” It is not a seduction technique. It is RAPE.

Having sex with someone who can’t consent doesn’t make a guy lucky. It makes him a RAPIST.

Got it?

Somehow we’ve all decided this is just the way things are. This is just what guys do. This is just what girls have to deal with. But we refuse to accept that anymore. We are done letting guys decide what they get to do with our bodies.