(Seraphina)

It was around December when I finally decided to tell Emily's other friends about me being raped. Emily agreed with me, saying that they were confused at the party when the cops showed up and they couldn't find us. I nod, telling her to tell them to sit with us. When they sit down at the table and start eating, one of the girls asks me if I had something important to say. I pull out a piece of notebook paper and write this with a black pen:

"I was raped."

The girls read the sentence and continue the conversation, the girl with red hair writing with a red pen and the girl with black hair writing with a blue pen.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know."

"Did you get pregnant?"

"No, I've been taking birth control pills since my freshman year."

"Did you get any STIs?"

"No. I was checked at the hospital. I was and still am in the clear."

"Was the rapist Ethan Montgomery?"

I freeze, reading the noirette's question. Emily freezes too, getting out a purple pen to join the conversation. I take deep breaths before answering:

"Yes. Ethan Montgomery raped me."

"We have to report him!"

"He did this to Emily. He probably did this to so many girls here."

"I have a better idea. Girls write on the bathroom walls. What if one of us starts a list of guys to stay away from, starting with Ethan Montgomery?"

"Good idea. Let's eat lunch, then go to the bathroom."

After we finish eating, we run to the bathroom without being caught. I go into the biggest stall and see many conversations. I find a blank spot and write this with a black, permanent marker:

Guys to Steer Clear Of:
•Ethan Montgomery

I usher the girls into the stall, and they applaud my handiwork. I smile as we leave the restroom. Emily holds my hand gently, whispering, "I'm so proud of you." I blush lightly and hide my face in my jacket sleeves. After a few hours have passed, the redhead leads the noirette, Emily, and I to the bathroom.

"Look," she says, showing up the conversation. Many other girls have written short and long paragraphs next to Ethan Montgomery's name. Many write him like this: a bastard, a rapist, everything under the Sun. He even tried to rape guys, too, which surprises me.

I feel very proud of myself.

~•~

I walk to my art class the next day. Mr. Quinn looks at me from a painting he's working on and ushers me into the classroom. He puts down his paintbrush and gives me a small box wrapped in red wrapping paper. I open the present, and it's a bottle of pepper spray.

"Pepper spray?" I ask him, raising one eyebrow. He nods.

"I figure that you need something to defend yourself with," he says. I hug him, and he hugs me back. I sit down and put the pepper spray in my pocket. As the students come into the classroom, he tells me two things:

1.) If something's eating at me, I need to find a way to use it in paintings or writing.

2.) He's here if I want to talk.

I nod and smile. After school, I start to help clean Mr. Quinn's classroom when he gets called to a staff meeting. I'm putting away old materials that students use in their projects when Ethan Montgomery comes into the room. He looks pissed. The redhead and noirette told the cheerleaders, and they told everyone in the school, that's what I'm getting.

"So I raped you?" he snarls, walking towards me. I back away and try to run around him, but he grabs my wrist tightly. "You fucked things up for me. Did you know that? I could have any girl in this school. Willingly. Why would I rape you? You're not even attractive."

I would argue on that point. Emily is interested in me, and both boys and girls wave at me shyly when I make eye contact with them.

"You are going to go to every person in this school and tell them that you lied!" he yells. Using my free hand, I grab the pepper spray that Mr. Quinn gave me and open it. Shaking the bottle, I spray him in the face. He lets go of me, hands flying to his face.

I rush to one of the carving knives for linoleum blocks and grab one. Ethan Montgomery rushes for me and pushes me against the wall. I shove the blade against his throat, pressing against the skin. Shards of glass are in the materials bucket. Pushing him off of me, I try to run again before he grabs me around my waist. He presses one of the shards against my cheek, cutting me when I push him away. I pin him against the wall, putting the carving knife back where it was and grabbing the shard of glass off of the floor. He had dropped it when I pinned him.

Someone opens the door by kicking it, and the cheerleading team is there. Emily is there too. So is the redhead and noirette. The field hockey team is there, also, with their field hockey sticks. I make eye contact with them, panting in anger, fear, and from how much I had tried to avoid Ethan Montgomery.

I am now aware of a sharp pain in my wrist and the cut stings when tears start falling. "Blondie, come on," says Emily softly. "Come on, Seraphina."

I drop the glass shard and walk into Emily's arms. The head cheerleader and field hockey captain gang up on Ethan Montgomery, who is attempting to see.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" the head cheerleader asks him. "Everyone knows what you did. Say something, asshole!" The two teams gang up on him as Emily grabs my backpack. The redhead and noirette rush out of the school, probably going to the police station. We walk out of the classroom, Mr. Quinn coming down the hall with my social studies teacher.

Mr. Quinn asks me if I used the pepper spray to defend myself. I say, "yes. I also used a shard of glass and a carving knife. Might want to wash them both off." He nods, patting my shoulder and wiping a tear away.

My social studies teacher asks me what happened. I choose not to answer. The teachers go into the art classroom and investigate the situation. Emily drives me to the hospital. A bruised wrist and stitches for my cheek. They'll heal after some time.

On the last day of school, Emily takes me to a garden. It's beautiful and amazing. The events from my dream occur, except my phone doesn't ring. We kiss each other. It feels right, kissing Emily.

At home, my parents finally sit down with me and ask me if I want to talk. Emily is here. She starts to stand up, but I put a hand on her forearm. I stand up and the words that I kept bottled up for years finally come out.

"You guys ignored me. You still ignore me. You told me to stop talking, and then you decide to tell me to talk? That's bullshit. You don't care what I have to say. You don't care about me at all. To think that after all these years, I'm just going to keep quiet? No, I'm saying what I've wanted to say for a long time. I didn't want to talk to you guys because I was scared that I was going to say the wrong thing. I was raped at the end of the summer, and I have recently been diagnosed with selective mutism. Is that what you want to hear? Are you finally proud of me for talking? For speaking my mind?" I say, anger and spite in my voice. They look stunned, not saying anything.

Around April, Charlotte comes over. "I hate being an H. All I am is a little slave. I'm supposed to be decorating the gymnasium for the prom, and I can't get any help," she says. "Sera, you have to help me."

I don't speak, still stunned that she's crawling back to me.

"That's great! I owe you one. What if I help redecorate your room? Like a brighter shade of pink or eggplant?" she asks me.

"No. I won't help you," I say.

"But you have to," she says.

"I don't. I was nice to you at the beginning of the school year when I didn't even like you, and you blew me off. You are a self-centered social climber and a bitch. I think that you should leave," I say, my voice loud. It doesn't hurt to talk now.

Around the end of the school year, Emily and I start dating. I'm now a junior and Emily a senior. What could the new school year bring for us?