All the Rage

“I have to, uh…” I forget what I have to do. He’s asking me out on a date and I feel about a thousand different things at once and not all of them are bad. I stare at my nails. But. All I manage to get out of my mouth is, “I don’t know.”


“But that’s not a no?”

“I’ll have to see if … I’ll have to see.”

Because there are things I need to know but I don’t know how to ask him, wouldn’t begin to know how to put them to words. I don’t think you can. I study Leon’s profile, my gaze traveling down the ridge of his nose to the soft outline of his lips, to the sharp outline of his jaw. I wonder what it would be like to run the outside of my hand against it, to be close enough to do that. I am close enough to do that. I hate him a little, for the feeling between my legs.

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks.

“No,” I say. And then, “How would you describe yourself, Leon?”

“I’m awesome.”

“Seriously.”

“Ouch.” He clutches his chest. “What do you want me to say?”

“I can’t tell you or it won’t be true.”

“I think I’m great, for whatever that’s worth.”

It’s not worth anything. I look out the window again and I want to know what’s going on inside the semi. That girl looked like she knew what she was doing, like it was easy.

She didn’t look afraid.

“Look, when we go in, I’ll get my phone. We can swap numbers. Just let me know sometime tomorrow if you want to come and I’ll pick you up. Not a big deal if you can’t.”

He reaches over and squeezes my hand, startling me with his sweetness. But just because something starts out sweet doesn’t mean it won’t push itself so far past anything you could call sweet anymore. And if it all starts like this, how do you see what’s coming?





when i run, I don’t have to think about anything.

I don’t have to think about Leon, or my underwear, or mom, or Todd, or Penny, or Alek, or Brock. But then that last one—he comes up beside me and matches my pace. I take a quick look behind me. Everyone else specks the distance. I want to be them. They don’t have to worry about this. They can run without being chased because that’s what’s happening here. Brock is speaking to me with his body. It’s in the way he keeps it so close to mine. In the way he breathes, so heavy and loud, I can barely hear my heart. His arms lash at the air. He’s telling me the space between us is nothing, is something he’s letting me have, for now. I can barely keep myself ahead of him. I’m fast, but his legs are longer.

“This too close to you, Romy?” he pants. “Gonna cry rape?”

Air burns my throat and my lungs beg for reprieve, but I can’t slow. I need my body to tell his I will always be able to get away, that he should quit now and find someone weaker.

Sweat soaks the back of my T-shirt, pools underneath my breasts. I fall behind, coming shoulder to shoulder with him and as soon as I am, he snakes his foot out and hooks his ankle around mine and an explosion of words fills my head.

Tripkneesteethliphit the ground running, that’s what I do.

The track bleeds into my knees and my knees bleed it back out. My face eats the dirt, drives my lips into my teeth. I taste my own metal and salt. The breath is out of me. I let the pain. I let the pain mute color, sound, mute everything but itself until rough hands turn me over and Coach Prewitt’s face is inches from my own. I reel air back into my lungs while she gives me her spiel. It never changes.

“You eat, Grey? You eat today? Hydrate?”

“It’s not that,” I manage.

“Then what happened here?”

I wipe my mouth on my arm and leave a thin red line on my skin. Everything I say next comes out in slow bursts as I try to catch my breath around all the hurt.

“He—tripped—me.” I pause to cough. “Did it—on purpose.”

Prewitt turns to him. “This true, Garrett?”

“Like hell I did.” But he lacks conviction, breathless as I am.

“He was chasing me.”

“It’s track, Grey. Was everyone behind us chasing you too?” A few people laugh. He shakes his head, smirking. “Her legs went right out from under her. Damnedest thing.”

“If you weren’t running so goddamn close—”

“Enough of that,” Prewitt says. I struggle to sit up, but she claps a hand hard on my shoulder, keeping me still so she can inspect the damage. “Bit your lip. Knees took the worst of it, but you’ll live.” She grabs my hands and turns them over. My palms are, somehow, mercifully unscathed. “Head down to the nurse’s office and get yourself cleaned up.”

She pulls me to my feet. Blood trickles down all my newly opened spaces. I take a few cautious steps, legs stiff and ankle protesting. Prewitt notices.

“She’s faking,” Tina mutters.

“Yeah, that’s fake blood, you stupid—”

“I said enough,” Prewitt says sharply. “Young, walk her to the nurse’s office.”

Penny steps forward. I step back.

“I don’t need that,” I say. “Her.”

“You’re hurt. She’ll take you in.”

“No.” But no is a dead word. “I can get there on my own.”

“That’s not how we do it here.” Prewitt squints at me and all those lines around her eyes scrunch up. “And you know that.”

I’ve got another no on the tip of my tongue, but Prewitt’s just daring me to say it and I’m tired, so I part the crowd by limping through it. Penny has to jog to catch up and after that, we’re evenly matched. She might even be slowing down for my benefit, which makes me angrier than I can say, but if I could speak I’d tell her I hate her. I hate you. I want my silence to carry that to her, somehow, because she should know it forever and ever amen.

We reach the building. Climb the stairs up. The movement pulls at my split skin and God and Christ, it hurts. I watch my blood dot the floor as we reach the fork in the hall. Penny moves left and I go right.

“You’re supposed to go to the nurse’s office,” she says, but I keep putting distance between us. “You should get cleaned up.” A second’s silence. “Brock tripped you?”

I turn and walk backward so she can see me in all my wrecked glory.