“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.
“All in favor, raise your hand,” says Margot, and all the hands in the room go up.
“Thank God,” Grace says.
“Thank gosh,” says Rosina.
“How about we all sit down in a circle,” Margot says.
“On the floor?” says one of the cheerleaders as everybody shuffles into position.
“You won’t die if you get a little dirty,” says another cheerleader—Melissa Sanderson, the one with the sweet smile and kind eyes who has brought Rosina’s wandering grandmother back home more than once, and who has always stood out as a little different from her pack of popular girls.
“Before we get started,” Margot says after everyone gets settled, “I just want to say thank you to whomever started this. I know you want to stay anonymous, which I understand completely. But if you’re in this room, and I think you are, I want you to know that this is the kind of grassroots organizing that leads to real and lasting change.” There are some halfhearted nods around the room, a few shrugs, a few muted sneers and snickers.
“It’s like she’s practicing for a real run for office,” Rosina whispers. The cheerleader named Melissa laughs as she sits down right beside her, and Rosina looks down at her lap. Erin glares at both of them.
“Why did you blush?” Erin asks Rosina. “You never blush.”
“Shhh,” says Grace.
“I’d also like to suggest that the group stop using our school e-mail for communication, because it’s too easily traceable,” Margot continues. “I’d recommend disabling it entirely. We can spread news by good old-fashioned word of mouth.”
“She’s really taking over, isn’t she?” Melissa whispers to Rosina. “Do you think she’s the one who started it?”
“Are you blushing again?” Erin says.
“Now,” Margot says, “I think we should go around in a circle and introduce ourselves and say a little about why we’re here. I’ll go first. My name’s Margot Dillard. I’m a senior and your student body president, and I’m here because I want to change the misogynist culture at our school. Okay, your turn.”
“Um,” the next girl says. “My name’s Julie Simpson. I’m a sophomore. I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see what this is all about?”
“My name’s Taylor Wiggins,” says another girl. “I’m here because I’m sick of the way guys treat girls. Like how they always tell their buddies whenever they hook up with someone, without even thinking about her privacy or anything.”
“Yeah,” says another girl. A few more nod their heads in agreement.
“I’m Lisa Sutter. Senior. Captain of the cheer squad. But you all know who I am, right? Anyways, I’m here because my boyfriend, Blake, cheated on me and I want to punish him.”
“I’m Melissa Sanderson,” Melissa says. “I guess I’m just tired of everyone expecting me to be a certain way because I’m a cheerleader or whatever. Like maybe I’m not really who everyone thinks I should be, but I feel like I have to hide it. I don’t know, maybe that doesn’t have anything to do with what this group is about. But it feels like it does, or at least it should. Because, I don’t know, there has to be more than one way to be a girl, right?”
“Totally,” Rosina says.
“Why are they looking at each other like that?” Erin whispers to Grace.
“Shhh,” Grace says.
“Hey, weren’t you guys friends with Lucy Moynihan?” someone says, and everyone’s attention immediately focuses on two nondescript girls on the other side of the circle.
“Can I pass?” the first girl says meekly.
“Isn’t the Mexican girl next?” says the other.
“Mexican girl?” says Rosina.
“You were at the party with her that night,” someone else says. “I remember you. Both of you.”
“Come on, Jenny,” says the first girl. “We knew we were going to have to talk about her. That’s why we came here.”
“You were friends with Lucy?” Grace says, then immediately shrinks back, as if startled by the sound of her own voice, so loud, in front of this many people.
“No,” says Jenny, at the same time her friend says, “Yes.”
“Which is it?” says Margot.
“We weren’t, like, close or anything,” Jenny says, not looking anyone in the eye. “We just knew each other.”
Her friend looks at her in disbelief. “Jenny, we were friends with her since kindergarten.”
“Were you with her at the party that night?” Margot asks.
“Yes,” says the girl who is not Jenny.
“We weren’t with her when it happened,” says Jenny. “She was totally flirting with Spencer Klimpt all night, and then she, like, ditched us to go do whatever with him. You remember that, don’t you, Lily?”
“She drank a lot that night,” says Lily, looking down. “He kept giving her drinks. She’d never really gotten drunk before that night.”
“Yeah,” says Jenny, but her voice is different from her friend’s, as if they are remembering two completely different girls. “She was drunk.”
“So you blame her?” Rosina says with an edge to her voice. “Because she was drunk?”
“She could barely keep her eyes open,” Lily says, her voice cracking. Tears well up in her eyes as she stares at Jenny, who refuses to look up at her. “He was practically dragging her up the stairs.”