“Of course they did,” Grace grumbles.
The pastor speaks: “I have to tell you, something like this would never have happened ten years ago, when the people of Prescott really cared about family values. But people from outside the community, with different values and priorities, are moving here and changing the culture, changing the way we do things, creating conflict and problems where there have never been any. You know, I sympathize with these girls, I do. I know how hard it is being a teenager, what with all their hormones and pressures from school, and disappointments from dating, and the mixed messages they get from the media. I can see how that would lead to some destructive feelings, and then you add the mob mentality of this thing, and it’s just getting out of control. I think what these girls need to do is take a deep breath, go home to their families, and pray.”
“That guy is such a blowhard,” Mom says.
“And there you have it,” the reporter says. “It’ll be interesting to see where this goes. Principal Regina Slatterly was able to tell us that three members of the group have recently been identified and are receiving disciplinary action, but the leader of the group is still unknown. Of course, we’ll keep you posted with any new developments. I’m sure I speak for all of Prescott when I say I hope this gets resolved soon and things can go back to normal for the students at Prescott High. Back to you, Jill.”
Grace turns the TV off. She grabs the pint of ice cream from her mom and sticks a big spoonful in her mouth to keep herself from saying something she’ll regret.
Mom shakes her head. “Interesting they didn’t ask any of the students what they think.”
Grace sucks on her ice-cream spoon.
“Do you know anything about this group?” Mom says. “These Nowhere Girls?”
“I’ve seen their posters around school,” Grace says, digging in for another scoop.
“So you’re not involved or anything?” Mom says.
Grace shakes her head. She thinks the spoon sticking out of her mouth is the only thing keeping her from spilling everything.
“It’s intriguing,” Mom says.
Grace pulls the spoon out of her mouth, fights the smile that wants to form on her lips, fights the urge to throw her arms around her mother.
Instead of any of these things, Grace stands up and says, “Did Dad tell you my ceiling has a leak?”
“He must have forgotten to mention it,” Mom says.
“Well, it does.”
“Then I guess we need to take care of it.”
“Yeah,” Grace says. She hands her mother the ice cream. “I’m going to head up to bed now. Thanks for dinner and everything.”
“Okay, honey.”
“You did really good on your interview.”
Mom smiles and opens her arms. “Come here.”
Grace lets herself be held. She closes her eyes and for a moment imagines telling her mother everything. Maybe Mom wouldn’t be proud exactly, but at least she’d know what Grace is capable of. She might get mad, she might be disappointed, but she’d certainly be impressed.
But Mom can’t know. It’s bad enough what happened to Trista, Elise, and Margot; there’s no way Grace is going to take that chance with Mom. She can’t burden her with that knowledge. She can’t ask her to keep that secret. Mom has way too much at stake.
“We’re doing good,” Mom says, squeezing Grace’s shoulders.
“We are,” Grace says. But what she’s thinking is, You have no idea.
The Real Men of Prescott
Bad news, men. The feminist apocalypse may be upon us. If you live in Prescott, you already know what I’m talking about. If not, here’s the short of it—the girls of Prescott High School have been possessed by evil feminist cunt forces and have decided to declare a sex strike. Something about wanting “respect” from guys and “justice” for some girl who got fucked last year and cried rape because she thought being a victim would be cooler than being a slut.
And it’s not just the ugly girls who have their granny panties in a bunch. Even some of the dumb hot princesses who have nothing to complain about have gotten the idea in their head that the best way to get respect is to turn frigid. Really, girls? You think guys will respect you more if you take away the only thing we actually like about you?
Have they ever stopped to think that maybe if they say no all the time, guys will stop taking no for an answer?
—AlphaGuy541
US.
Today’s homeroom announcement from Principal Slatterly: School employees, at their discretion, have authority to separate girls who are congregating for nonschoolwork-related reasons.
“She’s not even pretending to not be a fascist anymore,” Connie says.
Coach Baxter is late. He storms in, throws some papers on his desk. “The cheerleaders?” Coach Baxter rants at the front of the classroom. “I’m sick of this. The marching band was one thing, but now the cheerleaders are boycotting games?”
“They should have done it a long time ago,” says the boy who plays trumpet in the marching band.
“Get out!” Coach Baxter growls. “Get out of my classroom right now.”
“Gladly,” says the boy as he picks up his bag and walks out the door.
“I’m coming with you,” says the girl who sits next to him, one of the marching-band drummers.
“This is ridiculous,” Coach says as the door closes behind them. “All of this. What happened to respecting authority? What happened to tradition?”
No one has an answer for him.
*
“Hey!” Melissa says as she practically leaps into her seat at the lunch table. “You guys will never believe this!” She leans in, bouncing with excitement. It is almost impossible for her to keep her voice down. “I convinced Lisa to talk to the cops about being on Spencer’s list.”
“Really?” Grace says. “Oh my God.”
“Melissa!” Rosina beams. “You’re amazing.”
“Get a room,” Erin mumbles.
“She says she thinks she can convince Abby to do it too,” Melissa says.
“It just takes one person to be brave,” Grace says. “Then others will follow her lead.”
“Yeah, well,” Melissa says, “I think Lisa’s thinking more like blackmail. But whatever, that’s between the two of them.”
“You guys?” Erin says.
“Grace, you’re friends with Amber, right?” Melissa says.
“I’m not sure you would call it that, but yes, I guess so.”
“Do you think you could talk to her?” Melissa says. “Maybe she’ll come forward too.”
“She’s on the list?” Rosina says.
Melissa nods. “Number four. I’m like ninety-nine point nine percent positive.”
“Hey, you guys,” Erin says again.
“She wasn’t in class today,” Grace says. “But I can call her.”
“You guys!” Erin yells.
But it is too late. The security guard is towering over them. “That’s it,” he barks. “Party’s over. Break it up.”
“What do you mean?” Melissa says.
“I mean move.”
“Where are we supposed to go?” Rosina asks.
“I don’t care,” the guard says. “You just can’t sit together.”
“This is bullshit,” Rosina says.
“What was that?” he growls.