The Nowhere Girls(67)

The room is silent. No one has an answer. No one has a solution.

Grace clears her throat. “I think what Margot would do right now is take a vote.”

“That’s her solution to everything.” Sam sighs. “But deciding something doesn’t necessarily make it right.”

“It’s the only thing I can think of,” Grace says. “I’m sorry if it’s not perfect. But unless someone comes up with a better idea, I think it’s all we have right now.” She clears her throat and looks around the room. “Does anyone have anything they want to add before we vote?”

The room is quiet.

“Okay,” Grace says. “All in favor of keeping the sex strike, raise your hand.”

The room is full of hands, but the faces attached to them are resigned, unenthusiastic.

“All opposed,” Grace says.

Far fewer hands fill the air now.

Sam shrugs. “It was worth a try.”

“Are you still with us, Sam?” Grace says.

Sam smiles a tired smile. “Of course I am.”

Then something in the air shifts, some kind of invisible movement. Eyes follow eyes until they are all focused on the same thing. Lisa Sutter gets up and walks across the room to meet the figure that has appeared in the doorway.

“Abby?” Melissa Sanderson says, wide-eyed, like she’s seen a ghost.

Lisa stands almost protectively next to the girl who has materialized out of the shadows.

“Who is that?” Grace whispers to Rosina.

“Abby Steward,” Rosina says with disdain. “Graduated last year. One of the queens of the troll table. Total mean girl.”

“Hey, Melissa,” says the girl named Abby. “Hey, Lisa.” She is something close to beautiful, but there is something too sharp in her features, something strained and hard.

“She could be a spy,” Erin says. “What if she’s a spy? What if she’s going to turn us all in?”

“Oh my God, Abby!” says one of the cheerleaders. “How have you been since graduation?”

“I’m all right,” Abby says. “Taking some classes at PCC and working at Applebee’s.”

“That’s great,” the cheerleader says. “So nice to see you.”

“Yeah,” Abby says. “Whatever.”

“If someone could be murdered by uncomfortable small talk,” Rosina says, “I would definitely be dead right now.”

“Why’s everyone being weird?” Grace whispers.

“Abby is Spencer’s Klimpt’s ex-girlfriend,” says Rosina.

“I can’t stay long,” Abby says, backing up half a step toward the door. “Lisa told me about your meetings and everything. And I just—I wanted to come by and tell you something.”

A ballroom full of girls are sitting at Abby’s feet, staring at her, waiting.

Abby picks at something on her fingernail. “So, like, you guys know I dated Spencer Klimpt almost all last year?” She leans against the wall, trying to look relaxed, like she couldn’t care less about what she’s doing. But she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. She puts one in her coat pocket, tucks an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear with the other, then folds both arms across her chest. She covers her mouth with thin, trembling fingers, as if they could hide her words, as if they could protect her from what she came here to say.

“So, he was, like, bad,” Abby finally says. “Like really bad. Like I think he’s crazy. I think he likes hurting girls.” She looks up briefly with a startling softness, suddenly not the bitchy mean girl of her reputation. “He was really controlling, you know? Like he always had to know where I was and who I was with. And he’d get rough, like violent, sometimes.” She twists a ring on her right hand. Her eyes dart around the floor, the walls, the ceiling. She looks anywhere but into another person’s eyes. “It wasn’t really rape, right? Because I was his girlfriend?”

“It was rape,” Lisa says.

“It was absolutely rape,” says Melissa.

“The first time he did it, I cried afterward,” Abby says. “He told me to shut up and just left me lying there because he said I was annoying him. When he did it again, I knew not to cry. After that, I just knew to never say no.”

Lisa leans against Abby and puts her arm around her. Abby stiffens but lets her.

“I never told anyone before, besides Lisa,” Abby says. “I kept it a secret. I got really good at covering up bruises with makeup.” Lisa hugs her closer. “But now I know I have to talk about it,” she says, looking up. “You all have inspired me, I guess. I knew I had to tell you. Someone has to do something.”

“You have to tell the police,” Connie says.

Abby shrinks into herself. “No,” she says. “I have no proof. They didn’t believe Lucy Moynihan, they won’t believe me. I was his girlfriend.” She looks out at the circle of girls, her eyes pleading. “You have to do something.”

“We’re trying,” Lisa says.

“Eric Jordan’s a pig with no respect for women,” Abby says. “He’ll do anything to get laid. And Ennis, I don’t know. I think he’s just following Spencer and Eric. But Spencer, he’s a bad guy. A really bad guy.”