The Nowhere Girls(39)

“We have to do more than that,” Rosina says. “We have to punish them. We have to do something to make them hurt too.”

“I have an idea,” Grace says.



ATTENTION:

Boys and Young Men of Prescott High School

We are sick of your shit. We have been putting up with it for too long. That ends now.

Our bodies are not toys for you to play with. They are not pieces in a game for you to manipulate and trick. We are not notches on your bedposts.

We believe Lucy Moynihan. She was telling the truth. In your hearts, you know it too. You know who hurt her. You see her rapists at school and in the community every day. You sit by them in your classes. You party with them on the weekends.

But you do nothing. You look the other way and let your friends hurt, use, and rape more girls. Or worse, you encourage them. You cheer them on. Or worse, you do it too.

Guys, we know you can do better. Call out sexism when you see it. Tell your bros their rape jokes aren’t funny. When you hear guys talking shit about girls behind their backs or bragging about their lays, call them on it. Help girls when you see them being harassed or taken advantage of. Be the bigger man.

Don’t keep silent when you know something wrong is happening. Don’t look the other way.

We won’t. Not anymore.

So until you face these facts and take action to change your behavior, and to hold your friends accountable for theirs, you do not deserve us.

Our demands are simple. We require:

1. Justice for Lucy Moynihan

2. That the male students of Prescott High School treat us with the respect we deserve

We do not want war. We want you on our side.

But until that happens, and until our demands are met, we will not engage in any sexual activity with the male students of Prescott High School. This includes but is not limited to: sexual intercourse, oral sex (aka blow jobs), manual sex (aka hand jobs), kissing, frenching, necking, making out, heavy petting, dry humping, wet humping, porking, screwing, banging, boning, boinking, and any other ridiculous word for hooking up that you can think of.

Do we have your attention yet?

Let us be clear: Rape is not about sex. It is about power and violence and control.

We know a sex strike cannot stop rape. Our strike is meant to get the attention of those of you who think you are off the hook, those who do not rape but who allow it through your silence about those who do, through the tiny things you do every day that make girls feel like they are less than you, that make girls feel afraid. Even if you do not rape, you still hurt women. Even if you do not rape, you feed rape culture by not actively trying to stop it. It is time for you to know this. It is time for this to end.

We hereto declare that the young women of Prescott High School are officially on a sex strike.

Make friends with your hands, boys.

Sincerely,

The Nowhere Girls





US.


The notes are everywhere—on walls, on ceilings, on floors, inside lockers and backpacks and purses—bright fluorescent late-night printouts from some unsuspecting parent’s printer. The school is littered with them. They will be cleaned up, but they cannot be unseen.

“What the fuck is this shit?”

“Is this serious?”

“Have Eric and Ennis seen this?”

“Fucking bitches!”

These are the words said out loud, with laughter, with rage, with ridicule. But there are also slight smiles, imperceptible nods of the head, invisible support that is so far hidden.

Girls walk through the hallway a little taller. They meet one another’s eyes, share smiles with girls they never would have thought to acknowledge before. They keep their secret, and it burns like sunlight in their chests.

*

Erin sits at a desk in the back corner of the school’s front office entering data into a computer spreadsheet. Her desk is not quite hidden, but it is pretty close. She is almost comfortable.

One thing Erin has learned during her time in the office is that Principal Slatterly likes to keep her office door open, and she always has a fan going. “She’s going through the change,” Erin overheard Mrs. Poole say while gossiping with one of the guidance counselors.

Erin overhears a lot in her corner. Sometimes people forget she’s there. Or even if they know she’s there, they somehow think she’s not capable of hearing them.

Like right now, Erin can hear every word of a phone conversation Principal Slatterly is having in her office. She heard Slatterly say, “This is Regina Slatterly returning Chief Delaney’s call.” She heard her silent waiting. Then she heard a series of almost meek “Yes, sirs,” as if Slatterly were a child being scolded.

“We’re working on getting all the flyers down,” Slatterly says. “The situation will be contained.”

Erin stops typing.

“I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” Slatterly says. “The girls aren’t doing any harm. It’ll fizzle out in time. . . . Yes, sir. . . . No, sir. . . . It’s just, I’m not so sure they’re actually doing anything illegal. . . . No, of course not. . . . I understand. . . . Yes, I’ll take care of it. . . . Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Tell Marjorie and the kids I say hello.”

Erin hears the phone rattle back into the console. Then she hears quite possibly the loudest sigh in the history of sighs.