reading

Contents

About this book

Dedication

THE CRUNCH POINT

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

THE PLAN

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

WEEK ONE

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

Chapter sixteen

Chapter seventeen

Chapter eighteen

Chapter nineteen

Chapter twenty

Chapter twenty-one

Chapter twenty-two

Chapter twenty-three

Chapter twenty-four

WEEK TWO

Chapter twenty-five

Chapter twenty-six

Chapter twenty-seven

Chapter twenty-eight

Chapter twenty-nine

Chapter thirty

Chapter thirty-one

Chapter thirty-two

Chapter thirty-three

Chapter thirty-four

WEEK THREE

Chapter thirty-five

Chapter thirty-six

Chapter thirty-seven

Chapter thirty-eight

Chapter thirty-nine

Chapter forty

Chapter forty-one

Chapter forty-two

Chapter forty-three

Chapter forty-four

Chapter forty-five

Chapter forty-six

WEEK FOUR

Chapter forty-seven

Chapter forty-eight

THE FUTURE

Chapter forty-nine

a letter from holly

Read on for a sneak preview of …And a Happy New Year?

Also by Holly Bourne

About Holly Bourne

one

I wasn’t even wearing a short skirt.

Stupid thought. Totally stupid thought.

But, afterwards, as I stewed and cried fat hot tears of rage, I kept thinking…

…I wasn’t even wearing a short skirt.

If you really want to know what I was wearing, so you can reassure yourself that I was the perfect victim in all this, it was just a normal pair of jeans. And my lacy jumper. BUT CALM DOWN – all that erotic lace was FULLY HIDDEN under my duffle coat. So, unless pervy van men have X-ray vision – and let’s all for a minute thank God that they don’t – I was wearing nothing, nothing, to trigger what happened that day.

Which was this…

I was running late for college, due to an epic argument with my parents about My Future. This was a regular thing. My Future is their obsession, but this particular spat over My Future had been pretty nasty. For reasons known to nobody, not even me, the argument ended with me shouting, “Meditate on THIS!” and grabbing my crotch. I’d then slammed the door in their stunned faces and dashed down the road. Almost crying.

It was cold and bright. A nice October day, but one where the golden sunshine has no impact on the temperature. I was half-running, partly because of my lateness, and partly to keep warm.

I saw the van as I turned the corner.

Two builder-types sitting in the front seat noticed me straight away. They stared at me through the windscreen. The way they assessed me sent an instant blodge to my stomach.

That female intuition blodge.

The there’s-going-to-be-trouble blodge.

No – screw that. It’s not female intuition. I’m not psychic – I’m just highly experienced in sexual harassment, like pretty much every other girl on this earth who dares to walk places.

The van was parked on my side of the quiet, residential street. The only side of the road with a pavement. I paused for a second, weighing up my options. I sensed trouble, but I had to walk past the van. Even though I already felt sick from the way they looked at me. Like I should be ashamed…

Maybe I’m wrong about them, I thought. One of them was as old as my dad. Maybe they were just innocently looking out their windscreen. Maybe there wouldn’t be any trouble. And because I was exhausted and alone and already upset and all-the-things-I’ve-just-told-you, I didn’t walk past them with my normal confidence.

I instinctively averted my gaze, pretended they weren’t staring, pulled my coat further over my totally concealed chest and walked faster towards them.

I was approaching the van. I could still feel their eyes on me. But I was almost there. And almost there meant almost past them…and…it would be fine…I would be fine…and it was broad daylight anyway and I could always scream but I wouldn’t need to scream because it would be okay and I’d imagined these builders being worse than they are, and…and…and…

…and then the van door opened.

I stopped dead. Their open door now blocked the pavement. The younger man was slowly getting out and I looked up, all darting and scared. Because why had they opened the door? I heard a slam and flinched. It was the other van door. Because the other guy had got out too. My head whipped in his direction and I saw him walk around the bonnet, closing me in. He was bald, old, all red in the face like he’d had one too many for too many years.

I had one man in front of me, one behind. I was pinned in. Hardly any space to get around either of them.

The man blocking my way forward spoke first.

“You look very sexy in that red lipstick,” he said, his voice so leery I shuddered and recoiled.

Oh yes. I forgot to tell you. I was wearing red lipstick. IS IT MY FAULT NOW?

He bent over, right in my face, giving me no choice but to look at him. He was younger than the other – with fluff instead of proper facial hair.

The bald man behind me joined in.

“You wore it especially for us, didn’t you, love? We like it. We really like it.”

My heart beat so fast I thought it would combust. My breath was already short and sharp. There was a man in his garden across the road, deadheading a plant. I looked at him desperately, silently asking for help. But he seemed to be deliberately pretending not to notice.

“What’s wrong, love? Why aren’t you talking to us?”

“I…” I stammered. “I…”

“Shy, are you? Shy girls don’t wear lipstick like that.”

The younger man stepped forward again; I had no personal space left. His breath stank of something sweet, like he’d been drinking Red Bull. I looked around frantically, sizing up the gap around him. Calculating if I could fit through.

I saw a chance. I took it.

I barged past, pushing his arms up as I fled down the road as fast as I could. My feet thumping hard on the pavement, my heart going nuts. Were they going to chase me? It was broad daylight.

“PRICK-TEASE,” one of them yelled after me.

The insults pelted off my back. I ran and ran – so sure they’d follow me. So sure this wasn’t finished yet.

“COME ON, LOVE, IT WAS ONLY A COMPLIMENT.”

“RUDE BITCH.”

The cold air hurt my lungs, ripping down my throat. My stomach wanted to empty itself. I shook so hard I could hardly run in a straight line.

I couldn’t hear their footsteps behind me. When I reached the end of the street, I dared myself to quickly look back.

The two men were leaning up against their van. They were laughing. Leaning over and grabbing their knees, giggling like children.

And, as I struggled to hold back the tears that had bubbled up and lodged in my throat, I thought:

But I wasn’t even wearing a short skirt.

two

Steadily, my day got worse.

I got to class just in time and whimpered my way through politics and economics – hardly able to concentrate. My hand shook as I held my biro, scratching down notes that made no sense. I kept replaying the scene in my head. The way they’d looked at me. The way it had felt when they’d blocked my path.

I felt so many emotions at once, as my teacher droned on at the front about the failures of our first-past-the-post voting system.

Shame – like I was to blame. For wearing my stupid lipstick, just because it matched my bag and, until that morning, had always made me feel happy.

Embarrassment – at letting them get to me so much. Though it felt like the builders had ripped off my clothes and exposed me to the whole neighbourhood.

Fear – that they’d be there on my walk home…

And pure, white-hot rage. At them – why did they think they could treat me like that? Why didn’t that man help me…? But also at myself… Lottie, why the hell didn’t you yell back? What sort of weakling are you?

When my lesson finished, I went straight to the college canteen for my philosophy study group. A few of us queued up for chips, as was our custom. By then, I’d stopped shaking, but I still had all the emotions.

“Hey, Lottie.” Jane joined me in the queue, with a milkshake on her tray. “You okay? You look kind of wiggy.”

I smiled back at her. Jane was old friends with Evie, one of my two best friends. We’d been put in the same philosophy class again for our A-level year and I was finally warming up to her after a couple of false friendship starts.

“I’m okay…” I found myself lying. “You ready for all the fun of deontology?”

Jane sighed and ran her hand over the new pink section of her hair.

“I’m ready for you to help me understand it.”

I nodded to Mike, and a few others who’d joined the queue behind us as we inched our way towards the hot food section. I stood on my tiptoes to see the state of the chips.

“Ergh,” I said loudly, “they’re nearing the end of the batch. I hate end-of-the-batch chips – they’re always soggy and cold.”

“Maybe someone before you in the queue will order them first?” Jane said.

“Let us hope, Jane. Let us hope.”

But nobody ordered chips before I got there. I looked down at the measly leftover ones – some crispy, some bent and soggy – and frowned. I turned to the other study group guys in the queue behind me. “So, it’s going to be very ‘utilitarian’ of me if I order these,” I joked. “I’m going to take the hit by finishing off this batch of old chips, but then you guys get the good ones.”

But no one was really listening and it pissed me off, because now I had a plate full of poo chips and no one laughing at my amazing philosophy joke.

While Mike and the others ordered chips from the lovely new tray that was brought out, I walked towards the table in the corner we always used. It was stuffy and smelled of egg sandwiches. The sunshine flooded through the giant glass windows, making my face hot and the egg-sandwich smell worse. When we’d all assembled, there were seven of us in total – me, Jane, Jane’s boyfriend Joel, and four other guys. Mike was running the group today. I’d kissed him when drunk and overexcitable about my five As on AS results day and he hadn’t quite forgiven me yet for not letting it turn into anything more than that.

Mike gave me his obligatory evil over the table and began. “So, guys, I talked to Mr Henry and he said that deontology and utilitarianism will definitely be on the exam…”

His words faded to background babble as I picked up a cold chip unenthusiastically and the morning whirred through my head again. It had been SUCH a bad argument with Mum and Dad. Dad still hadn’t got over me dropping my fifth A level at the start of term. Even though I only need four to get into Cambridge. And he’d tried, yet again, to change my mind this morning – even though we were a month into the academic year now. Mum had flittered nervously between us, as always. Trying and failing to keep the peace.

“You need to think about your priorities,” Dad had said. It was always Dad who started these things. “You only get this one shot, Charlotte.”

Mum chipped in. “I know this Spinster Club is very important to you, darling. And we’re so proud of you…but don’t you think the time is better spent doing that extra A level, just in case?”

Me, Evie and my other best friend, Amber, had formed a feminist discussion group last year called The Spinster Club and it had really taken off. College had even turned it into a proper club – FemSoc – that we ran together. The whole thing made me supremely happy, but Dad wasn’t so chuffed.

“Look, Charlotte,” Dad added, “aren’t you worried how this feminism group will look on your UCAS application? I mean, it’s not the most…traditional of extra-curricular activities. Doesn’t your college have a debate team or something? It’s a bit more Cambridge…”

He was such a hypocrite! All let’s save the world and we’re all equal until it came to his ambition for his one and only daughter. Then his obsession with The Prestige And Importance Of Education rendered him all double-standardy. And Mum, well…she was mostly chanting half the time or just saying what she thought she should say to make us stop fighting.

I shook my head, bringing myself back to Mike’s drony voice droning on and on…

“Okay, so the way I see it, utilitarianism is all about the greater good…”

He was so stupid… We’d gone through all this on, like, day one of this module. I hated it when I wasn’t allowed to run study group but we all took it in turns. Why had I kissed him again?

“So, if we apply this theory of utilitarianism to…” Drony drone drone… My brain faded out again and I watched Jane play with her pink hair.

Those builders…the way they’d looked at me…

I’d spent the morning arguing with Mum and Dad about feminism – only to walk out my front door and straight into a glaringly obvious reason why we needed feminism.

Why didn’t I yell back at them?

The way they looked at me…

I shuddered. So noticeably that Jane gave me a small I’m bored too smile.

I gave her a half-smile back, and turned my attention to a group of students over at the ancient college jukebox – shoving a pound in and giggling.

There was a pause, and the first song echoed around the cafeteria’s speakers. A murmur of laughter rippled through the tables.

They’d chosen Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On”. It was beginning to become a college-wide joke to constantly play this song on the jukebox.

“And, well, if we look at last year’s exam questions…” Mike tried to continue over the shrills of Marvin’s voice, but he wasn’t getting through. Joel had already turned to Jane and begun his own over-the-top serenade. His ponytail flapped behind him as he dramatically mouthed along with the lyrics. Jane wiggled her shoulders…even my own pen tapped in time. I relaxed into the cheesy music until Mike said loudly…

“So a really easy way of understanding utilitarianism is to think about chips in the canteen.”

My pen dropped to the floor, and when I re-emerged from picking it up, Mike was pointing at my plate.

“So, Lottie here sacrificed a nice plate of chips for herself by taking the last of the stale batch, knowing more of us would get better chips after her. A perfect example of utilitarianism, right?” He grinned around at everyone, inviting them to laugh at his point – and they did.

Everyone was smiling, nodding. I shook my head. Too confuzzled to speak.

“That’s a good point, Mike.”

“Yeah, I never thought it could be as simple as that. But you’re right.”

“Sorry about your chips, Lottie.” Joel saluted, like I was a soldier. Then they all laughed again.

I caught Jane’s eye, to see if she’d noticed. She shrugged and rolled her eyes at Mike, confirming my outrage.

I didn’t laugh. I didn’t nod. I didn’t agree with the others.

I couldn’t believe it.

That was my point. And my joke!

And Mike was shamelessly passing it off as his own.

What was worse was that everyone was listening to him.

Because Mike had said it.

Not me…

Mike.

And the only reason I could see it being better now than when I’d said it was…because Mike was a boy…

three

By the time the bell rang at the end of the day, I was completely het up. I’d worked through lunch, trying to get through all the extra reading I needed to do to get an A* in English lit. In my own company, I let the festering muck of my morning seep into my entire being.

I felt a mixture of numb, furious and helpless.

I don’t think that is even psychologically possible.

Why did they take more notice of MY point when Mike said it?

Why hadn’t I stood up to those disgusting builders?

Why did stuff like this keep happening?

All I wanted was to go home and reset, but we had a FemSoc meeting. Evie was chairing this one and I knew how nervous she was about talking in front of people. I had to go for moral support. I picked up my books and made my way to the meeting room in the art and photography block. My phone buzzed with another we’re sorry message from Mum. She couldn’t handle it when we fought. It wasn’t in her “ethos” to have “negative energy” with anyone.

Her words…not mine. So not mine.

I didn’t even know what today’s meeting was about. I hadn’t had time to look through the agenda Evie had emailed last night. We hadn’t expected FemSoc to take off the way it had. Last summer term we’d campaigned to get this offensive song removed from the college jukebox. We won – which was great. Half of college hated us for it – which wasn’t so great. But lots of girls expressed an interest in joining and we now had over twenty members. We’d only had two meetings so far this term, but more girls had turned up to each one. And Evie, Amber and I still ran our own private Spinster Club meetings out of college – so we could spend time together, just us.

You can’t adequately share cheesy snacks with twenty plus people.

I pushed my way through the heavy double doors and the hubbub of everyone’s conversations hit me as I stepped into the meeting room. Some of them waved hi as I walked to the front, and I waved back weakly – hardly able to muster the energy. My emotions still swirled around my body, like a vortex had opened up in my guts. The worst thing was that today had felt so ergh…but really…what had happened that was so extraordinary?

Evie was a jangly mess, her normally sleek blonde hair all straggly from running her hands through it. Amber had her arm around her, muttering reassuring things.

I made myself smile. Not wanting to worry them. Not at Evie’s big moment. I plopped my bag on the chair next to them. “How’s the blood pressure?” I asked.

Evie took an exaggerated breath. “Remind me why we decided to make this a public club again?”

Amber wrapped her arm around tighter. “Because it will look good on our uni applications?” she joked.

I shook my head. “Not according to my dad.”

They both made aww shucks sympathy faces – they’d counselled me through many an argument about this with my father.

“And, anyway, it’s public because we want to save the world. And we cannot do that holed up in Evie’s unnaturally tidy bedroom, eating cheese on toast and preaching to just each other.”

“Stop being so reasonable.” Evie’s eyes darted out over the crowd. “You know it doesn’t work on me.”

I smiled sadly. I knew… Evie has OCD – though she’s got it pretty under control at the moment. She got really ill last year, before Amber or I knew about it. I felt guilty for asking her to run the meeting. It was tough being Evie’s friend sometimes. You had to maintain a delicate balance of not pushing her too hard to do things that scared her as it made her feel crap about herself, versus knowing that sometimes the odd nudge helped her grow.

I put my arm around her, so we were all hugging. “You’re going to be fine. You know that, right?”

She smiled. “I just still can’t believe you’re letting someone else talk.”

“Hey,” I said, while she and Amber burst out laughing. “I’m not that bad…hang on…yes, I’m definitely that bad.” I had a reputation for being quite…umm…chatty. Though today all I wanted to do was sit in the corner quietly and mull. My mood had got steadily worse.

The last few trickles of girls came in and the room quietened, sensing the meeting was about to start. I pulled out my notebook and pen and started sucking on the end.

Evie rustled some papers and stood up, readying herself. Amber pulled her chair up next to me. “You think she’s going to be okay?” she whispered. “I saw her wash her hands beforehand…”

The blodge of guilt blodged blodgier.

“I think she’ll be fine,” I said, though not entirely convinced. “She does still do that sometimes. Just as long as it’s not all the time, I guess.”

“You read her agenda?”

I shook my head. “Not had time.”

Amber inched forward – a stray bit of her frizzy red hair tickled my cheek.

“Speaking of being okay, are you okay?” she asked. “We missed you at lunch. And, well, you look upset about something.”

I sighed again and opened my mouth to tell her – but just as I did, Evie coughed to signal the start of the meeting.

“Hey, everyone.” Her voice squeaked with nerves. She coughed and started again. “Hi, everyone.”

The girls, all sitting in rows facing us, quietened respectfully.

“Thanks for coming.” Evie’s hands shook but her voice got stronger with every word. “So, in the last meeting, we decided we wanted to campaign for something. You’ve all put forward some ideas, and I thought today we could run through them and see if we could get a shortlist to vote on? There’s a lot here we could really get our teeth into… Can someone at the back dim the lights, please?”

Someone scuttled to the light switch and plunged us into gloom. Evie clicked a laptop and the big white screen behind her lit up.

“Trust Evie to make it all super-organized,” Amber whispered to me. “I bet you ten pounds she gets out a special pointy stick.”

I smiled in the darkness. “When I hosted the last meeting, the only prep I did was sing ‘Eye of the Tiger’ to myself into the mirror,” I whispered back.

“Think what would happen if we combined the pointy stick with ‘Eye of the Tiger’. I reckon you’ve just come up with an excellent strategy for taking over the world.”

Just as we started laughing, Evie gestured to the screen behind her.

“Okay, girls, here’s the first entry. Sonia put this forward.” Sonia, a short girl with incredibly long, blonde hair, nodded and smiled. “It’s a new aftershave advert that Sonia thinks we should campaign against. Hang on…” Evie fiddled with the mouse to click play. “Right, here it is.” She pointed to it with the handle of her umbrella, which was almost a pointy stick. I would’ve giggled if the video Evie was pointing at wasn’t so completely distressing.

Loud edgy music blasted out as a girl and boy – both insanely good-looking – rolled around on a bed with exposed brickwork in the background. Then the boy flipped himself on top and started pinning the girl’s arms down as he kissed her more aggressively. She laughed, but tried to fight him off. My heartbeat had already quickened and I felt my insides turn in on themselves. This wasn’t good…this so wasn’t good. Then the boy reached into his jeans pocket and got out some of the aftershave, sprayed it on, and the girl stopped resisting. She started gasping and groaning as the guy kissed her neck and then it faded to black.

There was a stunned silence. A cough the only thing punctuating it as the room digested what we’d just seen.

“Umm, Sonia?” Evie asked. “Do you want to stand up and explain why you think we should use this as a starting point for a campaign?”

She nodded, and stood, tucking some hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, so…I saw this on TV last night and, well, I think we can all agree it’s worrying. I mean it’s essentially normalizing force in regards to sex, even romanticizing abuse and rape in relationships…”

And that’s all I heard before I saw Megan, a new member, stand up quietly and practically run out of the room. Her face was all red and pinched, like she was trying hard not to cry.

I stood up too. Not many people seemed to have noticed, most were listening to Sonia.

“I mean, I’m sure you all know that statistically, girls are more likely to get raped by someone they know – like a boyfriend or an ex. This advert is practically encouraging that. It’s basically saying ‘Buy our aftershave and it will help you abuse your girlfriend – she won’t even mind! She’ll like you pinning her down!’”

Evie had noticed though, and silently nodded at me, encouraging me to follow Megan. So I stood up and pushed my way out to the corridor, looking both ways to see where she’d gone.

I found her in the nearby ladies’ toilets, washing her hands under the tap. Crying.

“Oh, hi, Lottie,” she said, like nothing had happened. Even though her hands were shaking and tears rolled down her face. She stood upright, hastily wiping the evidence of distress from her cheeks.

“Hey. I just wanted to see if you were all right?”

I didn’t know Megan hugely well. It sounds awful, but I knew her more as “Max’s girlfriend”. She’d gone out all through Year Twelve with this guy, Max, from a band we knew called The Imposters. She was in mine and Amber’s art class but never spoke much. She and Max had seemed so in love – I hardly ever saw her without him. So we were all surprised when he’d broken up with her over the summer. Even more so when she’d joined FemSoc, as she’d never expressed an interest when they were together.

Megan still had her hands under the water, even though all the soap was off them. Her dark hair hung over her face.

I stepped closer, seeing that all of her was shaking – not just her hands.

“I’m fine.”

“Megan?” I stepped closer again. “Did something in the meeting upset you? The advert?”

She stood up straight then, looked me right in the eye. Her cheeks were all blotchy and her eyelashes were clumped together with wet mascara. She turned the tap off, shaking her head slightly.

“I’m fine…I’m fine… It’s just…well…that advert… Max…it kind of brought something back.” Her voice broke on the word “Max”, stuttering over his name. “He…he…” She trailed off, shaking harder.

What?!

“Megan, did Max, do someth—”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cause a fuss,” she interrupted suddenly – her voice strong again. “I must be getting my period or something.”

She yanked a towel out of the towel dispenser, dabbed at her face, dried her hands and chucked it roughly into the bin. It bounced back out again. What was she saying? What had happened to her?

“Megan? I’m sorry if the meeting triggered something…something that happened between you and Max?”

Megan shook her head. “No, you didn’t. It didn’t, I mean. I’m fine. Fine.” She must’ve seen the doubt on my face. “Honestly!”

“Megan?” I found all I could do was just repeat her name. “You can tell me…”

“Nobody will ever believe me anyway,” she said, almost to herself. Then she looked up at me and smiled. She actually smiled. “I might not come to the rest of the meeting, if that’s okay?” she asked, like she needed my permission. “See you in art tomorrow?”

And before I could stop her, or say something, or hug her, or do anything other than stand there feeling confused and sick, she’d breezed out of the toilets – leaving only the sweet smell of the college apple soap behind her.

four

The FemSoc meeting was almost over when I slipped back inside. I’d spent a while sitting on one of the toilets, my face in my hands, trying to digest what had just happened.

Evie was just wrapping things up while Amber scribbled down people’s ideas on the whiteboard.

“Thanks for all your great ideas,” Evie said. “It sounds like we’ve narrowed down what we want to do. We can go through a shortlist at next week’s meeting and vote then. I’m really excited, guys.”

Everyone descended into talking and laughing and there was a fizzing in the air of good ideas.

I stood, still helpless. Amber noticed from across the room and mouthed, “Are you okay?” and I nodded…then shook my head. Amber held up her hand to say give me a minute and I gave her a small smile. Part of me felt broken. I’d had hairline fractures inside me all day, and this meeting, and Megan, had suddenly ripped them into chasms.

Normally I would’ve been the one talking the loudest, getting the most excited, getting everyone else fired up by my enthusiasm. But today, all I could do was picture Megan’s shaking hands. The way her voice had stumbled on the name “Max”. All I could see was those two guys and the way they’d looked at me, and how I hadn’t done anything about it. All I could think was, even if I had stood up to them, it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway.

Nothing makes a difference anyway.

Not to people like them…

So what was the point?

Evie flopped over her desk as people started filing out and I gave her a huge hug.

“You were amazing,” I managed to say.

“Really? My hands are still shaking.”

“Honestly. Totally brilliant. You’re a good public speaker, you could definitely be a politician or something.”

She broke the hug and smiled up at me, looking worried. She could obviously see something in my face.

“I thought you were the one who wants to be prime minister?”

I did this raw odd laugh I didn’t recognize.

“Lottie, are you…?”

Amber bowled over before she could finish, wringing her hands. “Lotts, what’s wrong? Why did Megan leave? I was about to follow her, but I saw you go.”

I let out a huge deep sigh – not sure what to say.

“She was crying in the loos,” I started. “I think that advert was a bit close to home. She mentioned Max. You know? Her ex-boyfriend, in Ethan’s band? She…” I inhaled sharply, Megan’s words cutting through my insides like shards of ice. “She didn’t say exactly, but she implied…she…”

“Go on,” Amber prompted, her eyes all wide.

“Well, she implied that maybe Max had done something to her…sexually… Well, I think that’s what she was implying. She didn’t spell it out. But she was shaking… I think that advert definitely triggered something…”

Evie welled up. “Damnit! I’m so stupid! I didn’t think to warn anyone beforehand what the advert was about… I’m so dumb!” She thumped the table and we all listened to the noise echo around the silent room.

I was trying to think of everything I knew about Megan and Max. They’d seemed happy…although I did find it weird that she followed him everywhere and didn’t talk much. They held hands wherever they went. She wore his hoody all the time. And Max…he seemed nice… He played guitar with this guy we knew called Ethan. He smiled at everyone. He once got up at our college Battle of the Bands and dedicated a song to her. Everyone was shocked when he broke up with her over the summer… I mean…he broke up with her… But now Megan was implying he’d done something awful to her… Well not exactly implying… She just couldn’t stay in the room when Evie played that advert. I was guessing. But I also had a horrible suspicion I couldn’t ignore – from the way she ran out of that meeting, from the way she said his name – that he’d done…something to her.

Amber broke the silence and gave Evie a squeeze. “We’re all new to this, Evie. I didn’t think of warning anyone either. And we don’t know for certain anything did happen with Max and Megan.”

“It did,” I insisted, even though I was practically just saying it to myself. “It must’ve done. The way she shook, girls… And she said ‘no one will believe me anyway’. Surely that must mean something?”

Amber blinked a few times, shook her head, like she was trying to dislodge what I was saying. “Well, we don’t know for certain, but, yeah, we’ve learned we need to warn people next time if we’re going to mention abuse in our meetings.”

My mind flashed back to that morning – to those men. The way they’d so obviously felt entitled to me. That my body was theirs to comment on.

And even though it seemed petty compared to everything else, I thought of Mike, and how he’d stolen my point. How he maybe hadn’t even realized it was mine. How it got more acknowledgement regardless. Was that petty? Or did things like that lead to bad stuff happening too? Was it all linked? Did all the horrid little moments where girls got treated like crap somehow create a society where the horrid big moments could happen – like whatever had made Megan’s voice shake in the college toilets?

I closed my eyes and pushed my thumbs into them, liking how the pressure felt.

“Lottie?”

God – if what I’d guessed was true, I couldn’t even imagine how Megan felt. For her not to say anything. To just let everyone carry on thinking Max is some nice guy in a band. My head started banging, like a tiny monkey was inside my brain, smashing the sides in with a hammer.

“LOTTIE?”

I looked up.

“Shit! Lottie, what’s wrong. Are you crying?”

Was I? I stared down at my hands – they were wet. I touched my face. It was drenched with tears. I heaved a sob. One I didn’t even know I’d been holding in.

“Lottie? What is it?” Amber asked. Both of them kicked into supportive-friend mode, their arms around me, cooing and asking and caring. The kindness in Evie’s eyes. The strength of Amber’s grip on my shoulder. It was the release I needed.

I cried.

There was snot. There was more snot.

“I just…I should have said something… I should have stood up to those builders…” I stuttered as my shoulders rose and fell. “And…I wasn’t even wearing a short…skirt… and Megan…and Megan…and that fucking advert…that FUCKING ADVERT.”

Evie had printed off the accompanying poster of the advert. I swiped it off the table, trying to rip it in two. But Evie, being Evie, had bloody laminated the thing. So all I did was bend it slightly and hurt my hand.

“You see!” I yelled out. “That just represents EVERYTHING that I’m crying about… I try to rip that FUCKING ADVERT and I’M the one who gets hurt… It’s so pointless. Fighting… Trying… It’s all so FUCKING POINTLESS unless…unless…you fight all of it. And who has the strength to do that?”

“Woah, Lottie. It’s okay. What builders? It’s going to be okay,” Amber said. I looked up just as she said it though, and she was making frantic eye-movements at Evie. I wasn’t usually the emotional one of the group. I think they were shell-shocked.

“Amber’s right,” Evie soothed. “Just let it out.”

They let me cry it out. Because they knew that’s what I needed. Because they’re awesome like that.

My sisters who aren’t my sisters.

My blood who aren’t my blood.

My choice, my friends.

They waited until I was done. Until there was copious amounts of snot trailing down my lacy jumper so it looked like the scene of a slug orgy.

Eventually Evie said the words I needed to hear.

“We need cheesy snacks. Come back to mine?”

five

After devouring three bags of Wotsits, I was feeling slightly better.

Amber stared at me in disgust. “You’ve got an entire beard made out of cheesy neon goo,” she said. “If you hadn’t been crying uncontrollably for the past hour, I would take many a photo.”

I put my hand to my face and it came back covered in orange stickiness. I licked my finger.

“That’s disgusting,” Evie announced. “You’re triggering me by being so gross.”

I smiled, then saw her face. “Seriously?”

She nodded. “Seriously.”

We both laughed, but I still grabbed a tissue from the box on Evie’s bedside and dabbed off my cheese beard. I took extra care to put it in the bin.

“Would you judge me for ever if I eat a fourth bag?”

“Yes,” they replied in unison.

“But I’m upset!”

Amber crossed her arms. “You still haven’t told us why.”

I shrugged, not knowing where to start. I didn’t want to relive it. I looked around Evie’s room helplessly. It was less sanitized-tidy than it used to be – but still waaaaay neater than mine and Amber’s. Evie had explained that you can just be a tidy person without it having anything to do with OCD but we chose to ignore that. Her giant film collection dominated one wall – the shelves of DVDs towering up to the ceiling. Evie was the only person I knew who still bought DVDs. I stared at them vacantly, though I’d already borrowed the ones I wanted to watch.

“How about,” Evie started, “you tell us why you’ve become sadness personified and afterwards I’ll reward you with more cheesy snackage?”

I gave a small smile. “It will have to be one hell of a cheesy snack.”

She levelled me with her deep blue eyes. “I have Boursin in the fridge.”

I chucked one of her pillows in the air. “WELL WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SO?”

Evie went downstairs and returned with a stinky circle of cheese covered in foil and some posh crackers. My tummy lurched. All the Wotsits in my stomach recoiled at the sight of the Boursin – feeling all ashamed of themselves for not being proper cheese. Not proper stinky garlicky Boursin – with all its garlic and herbs and garlicky herbs of yummness.

Evie wafted it under my nose, like I was a mouse in a cartoon.

“Okay I’ll talk.”

Amber gave me a look of utter disgust.

“What?” I protested.

“Never. Ever. Become a spy,” she said.

We all laughed.

I told them about the men. I told them about running away instead of fighting back. I told them about the fight with my parents – how annoyed I was at Dad’s pressure over Cambridge. His hypocrisy about wanting me to be a strong, educated and powerful woman…but also not wanting me to run FemSoc. I told them about Mike stealing my philosophy point and everyone reacting more when he said it. They already knew about Megan…

“Essentially” – I sprayed more crumbs as I helped myself to my third lump of Boursin – “I hate myself. And I hate the world. I’m just struggling to work out which one I hate the most.”

It sounded dramatic, but it was how I felt.

Amber was eating her (respectable) first bag of Wotsits. “Why do you hate yourself?”

I closed my eyes and pictured that morning again – the laughter, how it felt like victory laughter.

“Those men…” I said, my garlic-filled stomach twisting. “I should have said something…”

“Like what?” Amber asked.

“I dunno…anything…I just let them do that to me… I didn’t fight back.”

Evie laid a hand on my shoulder. “Lottie, it sounded more extreme than them just honking a horn as they drove past. I would’ve felt scared too.”

I nodded. “They seemed…worse than most. I didn’t know what they were capable of. I just froze.”

“Which is a totally natural response.”

“Yes,” Amber butted in. “You were just protecting yourself.”

“But what they did was wrong.” I was sure of that much. “I should have stood up to them. Now they’ll just think it’s okay to do what they did. They’ll do it to other girls.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“It feels like it is.”

“How?”

“I dunno. But it does…”

Evie gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Lottie,” she said gently. “You don’t have to fight back all the time…”

Don’t I?

“Sometimes you need to just let things go. To know when it’s not worth the trouble. To protect yourself.”

But who will protect people weaker than me?

I shrugged again. Knowing I didn’t quite know what I felt yet, that I was only on the cusp of it.

“What are we going to do about Megan?” I asked.

Amber’s face scrunched up. “How was she?”

“She was…okay. Well, that’s what she kept saying. It was clear she didn’t want to talk about it. I thought maybe we could try and include her in more stuff? Get to know her better.”

Evie nodded. “That’s a good idea. To invite her to more things… She doesn’t seem to have anyone she really hangs around with since Max. I still can’t believe it though. I mean, Max seems so nice!”

“That means nothing though,” Amber said. “You never know what goes on in people’s relationships behind closed doors. Besides, we can’t jump to conclusions about what happened between them. We have to let Megan tell us in her own time, if at all.”

“I know something terrible happened.” I shook my head. “It was all over her body language, the way she held herself.”

We sat there quietly, all of us depressed in our own ways. My brain was on a loop – playing the day over.

Amber stood up.

“Amber, you are standing up,” I said.

“That I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to dance to Joan Jett.”

“Why?”

“Because we need cheering up.”

And, before I had time to compute, she’d put “Bad Reputation” on her phone and started dancing like a maniac.

Amber doesn’t dance often. She is just under six foot, and all big of hair, so she’s usually too self-conscious. But when she does, it is a sight of a sight to be seen. She flailed her limbs in the air, she attempted to shimmy, she pogoed up and down.

“Are you guys going to join in?” she puffed. “Or just watch me here making a huge tit out of myself?”

Evie and I gave each other a look, then got up and joined her. Evie – all short and curvy – wiggled her shoulders and twisted herself in circles. I waved my hands over my head, grabbing Amber’s hands so we could twirl. They laughed and I smiled, and the beat of Joan Jett flowed through me and helped a little. But not as much as I needed it to.

“See!” Amber yelled over the music. “There are some days you can fight, and there are other days when all you can do is pretend none of it is happening and dance and laugh and dance.”

I twirled her under my arm again, still smiling, but my unusual bad mood wasn’t shifting.

All I could think was, But, while we’re dancing, what unspeakably bad things are happening outside of this bubble?