“Number four,” says Margot. “Don’t call us ‘fucksocks.’?” The room erupts in laughter.
“Who calls women ‘fucksocks’?” Sam says.
“I read it on The Real Men of Prescott blog,” Margot says.
“Oh, God,” says Rosina.
“Number five,” says Melissa. “Don’t read The Real Men of Prescott blog.”
Then the laughter suddenly fizzles out. One by one, everyone turns her head, on high alert, like prairie dogs sniffing for danger.
“Holy shit,” says Connie Lancaster. She does not bother whispering.
Amber Sullivan is standing in the doorway, a defensive scowl already on her face. The room is silent as everyone stares in her direction. Tense. On guard. Amber doesn’t move, as if she’s being held in place by their suspicious glares. For a moment it seems like the girls have decided to block Amber’s entrance with nothing but their eyes.
“Why’s she here?” someone whispers.
“I don’t trust her,” whispers someone else. “She’s totally going to tell on us.”
“Amber!” Grace finally says. “I’m so glad you came.” Grace seems to be the only person who’s happy Amber showed up, including Amber.
People half relax as Grace ushers Amber into the room. A few people even say hi, as if Grace’s small act of inclusion was all it took to think of Amber as someone suddenly worth knowing.
“Wow,” Melissa whispers to Rosina. “It’s brave of her to come. Girls hate her.”
“Do you?”
“No, of course not,” she says. “I feel sorry for her.”
“That’s worse,” Rosina says. “If someone hates you, at least they think you have some kind of power.”
Melissa looks at Rosina in a way she can’t read, forcing her to look away. For a moment Rosina wonders if maybe she’s a little autistic herself, like Erin. It was almost painful, that eye contact. She feels the ache somewhere in her chest, in the place Erin’s panic attacks start.
“Okay, ladies,” Margot Dillard says. “Everyone comfortable? Do we want to check in about how the sex strike is going for everyone? Has anyone experienced any pushback from their boyfriends?”
“You mean ex-boyfriend?” says head cheerleader Lisa Sutter. “I always knew he was an asshole, but this whole thing has brought it to a new level.” She looks at Amber with a homicidal gleam in her eye.
“Yeah, I had to dump mine, too,” says another girl. “He laughed at me when I told him I was doing the strike.”
“They’re like little kids,” Lisa says. “They don’t understand the word ‘no.’ It just, like, doesn’t compute in their tiny brains.”
“Not all guys,” another girl says. “My boyfriend’s being really supportive.”
“Yeah,” says Sam Robeson. “I still don’t understand why the nice guys have to suffer. I don’t understand why we have to suffer. Girls are being punished by this sex strike too, you know.”
“If it makes you feel any better, Sam,” Lisa says, “I don’t think Amber’s doing the sex strike.”
A few surprised gasps. A few nervous giggles.
“Amber still has sex with lots of guys, right?” Lisa says.
“Lisa,” Melissa says gently. “I think you need to drop it.”
“Drop it?” Lisa says. “Why should I drop it? You think I should be nice to her? She slept with my boyfriend.”
“Ladies,” Margot says in a high-pitched, nervous voice. “Let’s not forget that we’re here to connect and create a safe space for all girls. So let’s try to come together instead of driving one another away. Okay?”
Girls murmur. Some nod in agreement. Some roll their eyes. “Whatever,” Lisa says. “Majority rule, right? I’ll just keep my mouth shut for the rest of the meeting since no one wants to hear what I have to say.”
“That’s not true,” Margot says. “We still—”
Lisa puts her hand up like a stop sign. “It’s fine. Seriously. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m so sorry, Amber,” Grace whispers, but the room is so quiet everyone can hear her.
“It’s not like I don’t know what people say,” Amber says. “I know what you think of me. I know you all think I’m a slut.”
“No, we don’t,” someone says weakly.
“That’s sweet,” Amber says with a voice that is anything but sweet. “But you’re full of shit.”
“It’s not fair,” Sam Robeson says. “Guys can have as much sex as they want, but as soon as a girl does, she’s labeled a slut.”
“But they still want you to be sexy,” says another girl. “Or else they don’t even see you.”
“But not too sexy,” says Margot. “Especially if you want people to take you seriously.”
“So do you even like sex, Amber?” Connie Lancaster asks.
“Connie!” her friend Allison whispers.
“I’m curious,” Connie says. “Really. I’m not being mean.”
The room turns silent, waiting for an answer.
Amber doesn’t say anything for a long time, just looks around the room at everybody looking at her. Their eyes are more inquisitive than hostile, like they actually want to know what she thinks and feels, like they actually want to know her. “I don’t know,” Amber finally says. The eyes have softened her. The surprise of this strange place and these strange girls, looking at her in this strange new way.
“But you hook up with a lot of guys, right?” Connie says, her voice almost kind.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“But you don’t like it?”
“Sometimes,” Amber says. “But not always.”
“Why would you do it if you don’t like it?”
Amber takes a long time to answer, as if the question was in a foreign language and she is taking time to translate each word. “I don’t know,” she finally says. “I guess it just seems like . . . why wouldn’t I?”
A few almost imperceptible nods around the room. Hate turning into pity turning into something else entirely.
Amber straightens up, turns hard again. “Yeah, so maybe I don’t like it every time. So what? I just don’t think sex is all that special. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“The youth pastor at our church says virginity is like a flower,” says Krista. “Losing your virginity before marriage is like plucking the petals off a flower. No one wants a flower without petals.”
“No offense,” Sam says. “But that’s crap.”
“Amber,” Grace says. “We don’t have to talk about this anymore if you don’t want to.”
“I think we should stop talking about this entirely,” someone says.
“No,” Sam says. “This is exactly the kind of thing we need to talk about.”
“Well, I think we can all agree,” Lisa says, “if anyone needs to go on a sex strike, it’s Amber.”
“Lisa, stop,” says Melissa.
Lisa motions a zipper closing across her mouth.
“You really think a sex strike is going to make them respect you?” Amber laughs. “You think they could ever respect you? You think they respect any of us? It’s a waste of time trying to get guys to respect you. So I’m using them just like they’re using me. It’s totally equal.”