I pause at my bedroom door, my back to my mom. “Oh, yeah,” I say, surprised Claudia didn’t keep the flyer better hidden. My heart starts racing. Should I tell my mom about Moxie? She would probably think it’s cool, and even have good advice for me about how to keep it going.
But it suddenly hits me that Moxie isn’t all about me. And it’s certainly not about my mom. It belongs to all the girls at East Rockport High School. The heartbeat of the VFW hall is ours and ours alone.
“Are you involved in it?” my mom says, not giving up. “Moxie, I mean. It’s a cool name.”
“Well, I went to this thing tonight, so yeah, sort of,” I say, stripping off my sweaty clothes and searching for my pajamas. “Mom, I’m going to bed, okay? I’m just so sleepy. There was dancing and stuff, and I’m all achy. Can we talk more tomorrow?” I finally work up the guts to turn around and face her.
“Sure, yeah, let’s talk tomorrow,” she says, but her eyes look a little sad, her voice sounds just the tiniest bit wistful. “It just seems like you had fun. You look like you had fun, you know?”
“I did have fun, Mom, I promise,” I tell her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. After she leaves, I check my phone as I collapse into bed. There are a few messages from Seth. The last one reads, How was it? Fun I hope.
I tap out one quick answer.
sooooooo fun thanks for asking more tomorrow I’m sleepy! xo
Then I toss the phone on the floor, and as I slide into sleep, my mind is full of images of girls dancing together and smiling and holding hands, taking up all the space they want.
*
The meet up at the VFW hall changes the energy at school—and in a good way. Girls who normally don’t have much to do with each other say hi in the hallways, smiling at each other when they pass. I mean, it’s still the same in a lot of ways—I hear guys arguing about whether Emma Johnson deserved to win March Madness even though she’s still a junior, and Mitchell and his friends still tell girls to make them sandwiches and try to bump ’n’ grab—but still, there’s something about those first few days after Kiera’s event that feel different. Like we’re all just a little bit more aware. Awake.
“I wonder if whoever is making the Moxie newsletter is a senior,” Claudia says as she and I meet up with Lucy outside school before the first bell. “When they graduate, maybe it will stop.”
“Yeah, but even if it is a senior making the newsletters,” says Lucy, pulling her curls up into a ponytail, “it almost doesn’t matter. After Saturday, doesn’t it feel like Moxie could just keep happening no matter what?”
“So you don’t think Kiera started it?” Claudia asks.
Lucy shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Kiera’s flyer had a different feel to it than the newsletters. Just like my bake sale flyers had a different look. Because I didn’t make the newsletters either.”
“I think Lucy is right,” I say.
“That Kiera didn’t make the newsletters?” asks Claudia.
“Well, yeah,” I answer, “but also that it doesn’t matter who made them at all, even if they’re graduating. Because Moxie is a thing that’s everyone’s.” I glance at Claudia, hesitating, then say, “I mean, I think it belongs to girls who care about being feminists.”
Claudia doesn’t respond. Just nods, like she wants to think it over. At that moment, my phone buzzes.
Come to the front doors of the school you won’t believe it
“It’s Sara,” I say, peering down at the text. “Something’s going on around front.”
We make our way around to the front steps of East Rockport High. A crowd is gathering around the stairs that lead to two sets of large, gray metal doors. But you can barely see the doors because they’re covered in bright pink flyers. The buzz of students’ voices grows louder with each passing moment.
Sara spots us, races over with a flyer in her hand. Breathless, she hands it over and we stare.
“Holy shit,” says Lucy.
Because really, that’s all there is to say.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Of course, it’s all anyone can talk about. But weirdly, East Rockport almost feels quieter than normal. Because people are so stunned by the flyer that they are whispering, speaking in hushed voices. Not even opening their mouths so much as staring at each other with can-you-believe-it? looks on their faces.
Here and there, I catch snippets of conversation.
“Has anyone seen Mitchell?”
“Who do you think did this?”
“Do you think it’s true?”
Lucy has to leave us to head to first period, but Claudia and I walk to history class together, Claudia’s hand clutching the paper, her eyes scanning the words over and over.
“Claudia, watch out,” I say, tugging on her elbow. “You almost ran into a wall.”
“Huh?” Claudia says, looking up at me at last. “Oh. Sorry.”
“You okay?” I ask.
Claudia frowns and shakes her head. She doesn’t have to talk for me to know what she’s thinking as she stares at the flyer. This could have been me.
Claudia heads into history class, but just as I’m about to walk in, Seth comes around the corner, holding a flyer like everyone else. He leans in to kiss me, but I freeze up. I don’t feel like kissing.
“You okay?” he says, pulling back. A hurt expression crosses his face. I pretend it’s not there.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I say. “Just … that flyer. It’s disturbing.”
“I know,” he says. “You have any idea who did it?” But I shake my head no.
“You think it’s true?” he asks.
Now it’s my turn to pull back. My throat tightens up. My chest feels heavy.
“Of course it’s true,” I say. I look around and then, practically mouthing the words, I say, “I told you what he did to Claudia.”
Seth nods, like he’d forgotten all about Claudia. Maybe he has. “Yeah, of course. I mean, I know he did that. And it’s gross. But this girl”—he holds the flyer up—“she’s saying he tried to rape her.”
“I know,” I say. “And?”
“Just that that’s a really big accusation to make against a guy, that’s all.”
I don’t even know what to say. I stare at Seth. I want him to be on my side. Defending this girl with me.
“Look, I’m not saying it’s not true,” says Seth, flustered. “Just that this is a pretty big accusation and I’m just, like, surprised she put it out there like this instead of letting the school handle it.”
“But she said they didn’t listen to her, and when Claudia went to the school they told her to use winter break to forget about what happened,” I say. I can feel heat radiating off my face. I tug on the shoulder straps of my backpack and hug it closer to me. “Look, I’m going to be late.”
“Okay, fine, I was just making a point,” Seth says. “I’m not saying it didn’t happen.”
“I guess it kind of sounded like you were saying that,” I snap.
“Look, Vivian, calm down,” he says. “I’m not…”
“Let’s talk later,” I say, angry. “And don’t tell me to calm down.”
Seth steps back, like I’ve just punched him hard in the gut.
I walk into class, blinking back tears I didn’t know were threatening to spill out.
“You okay?” Claudia asks as I take my seat in front of her.