“At least give me my phone back,” Connie says.
“You have to promise not to play any music,” Erin says. “The dance party is over.”
“Okay, y’all,” Grace says in an almost-loud voice. “Um, let’s get in a circle, everyone. I’m Grace. Margot asked me to lead the meeting while she’s gone.”
People slowly find seats on the dusty wood floor. Erin sits by Grace, Rosina sits by Erin, and Melissa sits by Rosina. Melissa does not notice Erin’s eyes shooting daggers in her direction.
“I wonder where Amber is,” Grace says to no one in particular.
Across the circle, Lisa Sutter says, “Who cares?”
“That’s not nice,” says one of her cheerleader friends.
“She’s not nice,” says Lisa.
“Hey, y’all?” Grace says. She clears her throat. “Can we try to focus on what can bring us together rather than what divides us? We’re not going to get anywhere if we keep fighting each other.”
“Or sleeping with each other’s boyfriends,” Lisa mutters under her breath.
New beers are opened as empty cans are crushed and thrown into dark corners of the room. How many of these six-packs were purchased from Spencer Klimpt at the Quick Stop? How many girls recognize the irony of this?
“Where’s Elise?” Rosina says.
“She has a date,” says one of her softball friends.
“She’s skipping the meeting for a date?” Connie Lancaster says. “Doesn’t that go against everything she believes in?”
“Dude, just be happy for her,” Rosina says. “If anyone deserves a little romance, it’s Elise.”
Melissa leans against Rosina with her whole body, and Rosina forgets how to breathe.
Everyone is seated. The room is dark around them, faces illuminated by the unstable light of candles and flashlights as the girls sit in a circle facing each other. There are almost forty girls here. They’re practically piled on top of each other.
“Oooh, are we going to have a séance?” someone says.
“Let’s play Truth or Dare!” says someone else.
“I need to say something,” Sam announces before Grace even has a chance to decide what she is going to say next. “I think we need to call off the sex strike,” she says.
“You’re just horny,” her friend says.
“I’m not joking,” Sam says. “I never wanted to do the strike. From the beginning, I thought it was a bad idea.”
“Oh, poor you,” a girl says, obviously drunk. “So you’re not getting laid? Big deal. At least you can get laid. Some of us here will probably die virgins.” Her friend is trying to shush her, but it’s not working. “I’ve never even kissed anyone. How pathetic, huh? Some of us might never get boyfriends.”
“Or girlfriends,” mutters someone else.
“But you all have hands,” Rosina says. “I hope you know how to use them.” Melissa giggles next to her.
“It’s not just about that,” Sam says. “I think the strike sends the wrong message. We’re protesting rape, right? But rape isn’t about sex. It’s about power and violence.”
“We’re protesting a lot of things besides rape,” Melissa says. “And like you said, rape is about power. It’s about their physical power over us, about them using their bodies to overpower ours. So we’re asserting our power, right? By not letting them have our bodies?”
“But we’re not just withholding sex from guys,” Sam says. “We’re withholding it from ourselves. It’s like going on a hunger strike because they’re pelting us with tomatoes. It doesn’t make sense. We’re still suffering because of them. They’re still controlling our bodies.”
“Personally, I don’t feel like it’s that much of a sacrifice,” Connie says. “But I don’t have a boyfriend, so I guess I don’t have a whole lot to give up.”
“Sam,” Grace says, sitting up a little straighter as she speaks. “What do you propose we do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how to fix it. All I know is it doesn’t feel right to me.”
“But we can’t just take it back,” Rosina says. “That would be like surrender. That would be like them winning.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Sam says. “It’d be us making a decision for ourselves. They have nothing to do with it. I mean, look at what we’ve done so far. Look at how things have changed. It had nothing to do with the sex strike. It was about us supporting each other. It was about standing up for ourselves and not taking any more shit. Sex is ours, too, you know? Empowerment isn’t just about saying no. Isn’t our pleasure empowering too?”
“I don’t think it’s time yet,” Melissa says.
“I agree with everything you said, Sam,” Grace says. “I think most of us probably do. But, honestly, I don’t know if people will listen to us otherwise.” She sighs and looks around the room apologetically. “It seems like sex is still our best tool for making sure we’re heard.”
“Well, that is supremely fucked up,” Sam says.
“Everything’s fucked up,” says Rosina.
“Don’t you see it?” Sam pleads. “We’re using sex to get what we want. We’re still playing by their rules. How is that okay?”
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.”