“Then what do you want?” she shouts. Spot presses his body against her legs.
Erin doesn’t understand what’s going on. Why is Otis looking at her like this? Why is he being so nice to her? Why are they standing face-to-face like this? She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say now, what she’s supposed to do with her body, if she’s supposed to look him in the eyes, and if so, for how long? Most of all, she doesn’t understand why Otis likes her, why she likes him, why all this is happening when she promised herself she’d never let it.
“Do you want me to leave?” Otis says gently.
“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Erin says. She takes a deep breath. She sits down on her bed. “I need space. Sometimes I just need space.”
“Whatever you want is okay.”
“If I ask you to leave, it doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”
“Okay.”
“Because I do,” Erin says. “Like you.”
“I like you, too.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Now will you leave?”
It is after midnight when Otis sneaks back out of the house. Erin knows she will not sleep tonight. She knows there is no hope of guessing what Data would do in a situation like this.
She texts Rosina and Grace: EMERGENCY! Cancel all after-school plans. We need Grace’s parents’ car.
Erin turns off her whale songs and gets on the computer. She has work to do. This is no time for being underwater. This is no time for being mad at her best friend. Some things are just too big to be afraid of.
ROSINA.
It’s Monday, and Margot, Elise, and Trista are back from suspension, and everybody’s treating them like war heroes, even though all that happened was they basically got a vacation from school. Margot’s prancing through the halls like she’s an even bigger deal than she thought she was before, Elise can’t stop smiling and giving high fives, and even little Trista (hair stripped of purple and back to its natural brown) looks like she’s walking taller.
Rosina knows she should be happy for them. She should be happy for all the Nowhere Girls, including herself. Slatterly was trying to send a warning with the girls’ suspensions, but it totally backfired. They’re martyrs now, proof of the cause’s righteousness. The Nowhere Girls are more popular than ever. It’s like no one’s even scared of Slatterly anymore.
No one but Rosina. Fearless, fierce Rosina. She wants to punch the irony of this in its face.
Rosina has no more chances. Apart from school and her shifts at the restaurant, she is on house arrest. If she gets in any more trouble at school, she will be expelled. If she gets in any more trouble, period, she is no longer her mother’s daughter. That’s what Mami said: No serás mi hija. Rosina’s fought the world so hard, she fought her way out of her family.
She fell asleep in Abuelita’s bed last night, unsure whether her grandmother heard the latest screaming match with Mom, if she had any idea what it was about, if she knows what Rosina’s been accused of, or if she slept through the whole thing. All Rosina knows is Abuelita’s skinny arms held her close as she cried, her frail body surprising with its warmth. She shushed Rosina to sleep like a baby, calling her Alicia, her dead daughter’s name.
There is no fucking way Rosina is letting anyone at this stupid school see her cry right now. She punches a locker with her fist. Her eyes dry up as her knuckles burn.
“What’d that locker do to you?” she hears Erin say behind her.
Rosina sucks up the pain and spins around. Erin immediately shoves a stapled stack of papers in her face.
“I need you to review this packet by the end of the day,” Erin says.
“I thought you weren’t talking to me,” Rosina says.
“I am calling a temporary cease-fire.”
“Wait a minute,” Rosina says. “First tell me what’s going on. What the hell was that text about last night?”
“No time,” Erin says. “I’ll explain on the car ride there.”
“On the car ride where?”
“Fir City.”
“Why do you want to go to Fir City?”
“Read the packet.”
“I have to be at work at five,” Rosina says. “I can’t get in trouble anymore.”
“This is more important than work,” Erin says. “We have to help Cheyenne.”
“Who’s Cheyenne?”
“A girl that Eric Jordan and Spencer Klimpt raped two nights ago.”
“Shit,” Rosina says. “No. You’re lying. This can’t be happening.” But Rosina knows Erin does not lie.
“Otis Goldberg overheard them talking about it at the Quick Stop. Then Eric Jordan beat up Otis Goldberg. Then Otis Goldberg told me about it. Then I texted you and Grace. Then I stayed up all night making this packet.”
Erin keeps talking as Rosina lets this sink in. She is numb because there is too much to feel.
“Cheyenne Lockett. Sophomore at Fir City High School, Fir City, Fir County, Oregon. Address is Eleven Temple Street. Here is a map and driving directions.” She flips a page. “Here is a synopsis of an article on how to best talk to a victim of sexual assault.” She flips to another page. “Here is a bulleted list of information we need in order to build a rape case that is so solid even the most apathetic and corrupt cop can’t ignore it.”
“I can’t,” Rosina says. “I can’t go after school.”
Erin looks at her. Blinks. “You are not Rosina,” she says. “Rosina would never say that. If you see the real Rosina, tell her to meet Grace and me in the parking lot immediately after school.” Then she turns and walks away.
Erin is right, Rosina thinks. She is not the real Rosina. She is someone who needs a home more than she wants to help people. She is not brave. She is not a hero.
She is scared. She is so fucking scared.
AMBER.
Mom’s new boyfriend spent the night again. Amber wakes up to the sound of him pissing in the toilet, which is about a foot away from her head, with only the thin trailer-wall partition between them. The length of time and the heaviness of the stream makes Amber think last night was at least an eight-drink night for each of them. She has this shit down to a science.
She doesn’t take a shower because she doesn’t want to chance seeing him in the hall again wearing only a towel. So far, all he’s done is look, but she knows where those looks lead. He’s no different from the others. A couple of weeks of looks, then a couple of weeks of comments when Mom’s not in earshot, then luckily by then they’re usually gone. But if they last much longer, their comments turn into touches, into grabs. And that’s when Amber starts looking for other places to sleep. It’s hard to say if those other places are much better. But at least they’re her choice.