The Nowhere Girls(36)

If this has happened to you, it is not your fault. We are here for you. We are here for all of us.

Together, we are so much stronger than this bullshit we’ve been putting up with for far too long. Together, we can change it.

Join us!

Our next meeting will be 4:00 p.m., Tuesday, September 27, at the old cement factory warehouse on Elm Road.

Love,

Your friends, The Nowhere Girls





The Real Men of Prescott

Hot girls are trained to make it hard for you to fuck them. Being untouchable heightens their value. But all girls want a strong man, not some sensitive beta pussy who talks about his feelings. Girls want to be taken; it’s in their natures, so sometimes they put up a fight hoping you’ll get a little rough. The truth is, sometimes no doesn’t mean no. Of course, the feminazis will never admit this, but I’ll bet you a hundred bucks most of those chicks like it rough.

Women want a man who takes charge. They want a master. But remember, only when you gain complete control of yourself will you be able to gain complete control of her.

—AlphaGuy541





US.


“I think this is considered breaking and entering,” Erin says as they walk into the empty warehouse. “This is most definitely illegal. I am not comfortable with this.”

“We’re not breaking anything,” Rosina says. “The door was wide open.”

“I’m not convinced,” Erin says, but she doesn’t seem as upset as she should be.

The space is huge and empty, just a concrete floor surrounded by walls of multipaned, dirty windows, with no furniture anywhere. There are already over a dozen girls here, including every one of the girls from the first meeting, even Connie Lancaster, the girl who essentially ended it. Everyone is slightly damp from the day’s relentless drizzle, standing around looking suspicious, huddled tight in their usual cliques, eyeing each other with disdain. It seems more likely that they’re about to go to war than join forces.

“I don’t think they like your location selection either,” Erin tells Rosina.

“How did you even know about this place?” says Grace.

“Let’s just say I have made it somewhat of an art form to discover places where my family can’t find me,” Rosina says.

Gray light filters into the empty space through clouded windows, muting all color. Everything is a gradation of shadow. Someone whispers, “What is she doing here?” and everyone assumes the “she” means herself.

“I don’t like this,” Erin says. “Everyone looks mean. What if they’re mean? What if this ends as badly as the last meeting?”

“It hasn’t even started yet and you’re already panicking about how it’s going to end?” Rosina says.

“There are so many more people,” Grace says nervously.

“Dude,” Rosina says. “That’s a good thing.”

“I thought Grace was supposed to be the positive one,” Erin says, wringing her hands. “Why isn’t Grace being positive?”

“Oh, thank God!” Rosina says, looking over Erin’s and Grace’s head. “Margot Dillard’s here. Finally, someone’s here who will know what to do. Or at least pretend she does.”

“Oh, this is so exciting!” Margot Dillard, Prescott High School student body president, exclaims, clapping her hands together. She goes around the room greeting everyone, as if this is her party and she invited everybody, as if she doesn’t even notice the dismal surroundings.

“Holy crap,” Erin whispers. “Cheerleaders. I can’t handle this.”

Four girls walk into the room, statuesque, impeccably groomed, and somehow impervious to rain.

“Big deal,” Rosina says.

“It is actually kind of a big deal,” Grace says.

“I don’t understand why everybody gets so excited about cheerleaders,” Rosina says. “None of them is particularly accomplished at anything except jumping up and down and occasionally spelling ‘Spartans’ out loud. I can spell a whole lot of words way more complicated than ‘Spartans’ and no one ever cheers for me.”

“You like that one cheerleader,” Erin says. “The nice one.”

“No, I don’t,” Rosina says.

“Yes, you do. You said she’s the most beautiful girl in school.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Oh my gosh,” Grace says. “There are like twenty people here already.”

“Oh my gosh,” Rosina teases.

“Twenty-three,” Erin says. “I counted.”

“Does this group have a designated facilitator?” Margot Dillard says with her big, presidential voice.

“It’s like she has a microphone built into her throat,” Rosina mutters.

“The last meeting was pretty unfacilitated,” Sam Robeson, drama club girl, says.

“Well, every meeting needs a facilitator,” Margot says. “Would anyone like to nominate a facilitator?”

“I nominate Margot to be the facilitator,” says Elise Powell.

“Thanks, Elise,” Margot says with fake surprise. “Does anyone want to second Elise’s nomination?”

“I second it,” says either Trista or Krista.