“This has nothing to do with Garrett, does it?” Sydney asks. She stands up from her chair and Mrs. Reacher watches her cautiously.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mrs. Reacher says, and it’s obvious that she’s lying. I want to scream at her to tell the truth. Why is everyone so willing to lie all the time?
And it’s those lies that are so insidious. The way society pretends these terrible things aren’t happening—their racism, their sexism. The way they pretend it’s justusoverreacting.
I’ve realized since leaving the academy that the outside world is tearing itself apart. Tearing itself to shreds. It’s about sex, about race. It’s economics and beliefs. There are so many ways humans are dividing themselves.
And I’ve seen the looks that Sydney gets, the extra scrutiny, the veiled threats. When she speaks, she’s told to shut up. We’re both discriminated against for being girls. But in addition to that, Sydney is discriminated against because her skin is darker. It doesn’t matter that she literally has the same beginnings as me—created at the academy. Because humansseeher differently. And they project their biases onto her.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Sydney tells her. “You’re suspending me when I didn’t do anything wrong.”
I stand up in a show of support for Sydney, but Mrs. Reacher is already on her phone, calling for security to see us out. Sydney doesn’t look at me, but I imagine that if she did, I would find pain there. And I can’t make it better. We don’t have the power to change the world.
Yet.
And for a moment, Rosemarie’s poems hold some appeal. The idea of shutting down this society and rebuilding it. But what about situations like this one with Mrs. Reacher? Do Rosemarie’s poems take that into account?
It’s oversimplifying it to say this is all just an issue of men behaving badly.
Mrs. Reacher hangs up the phone. “You are both suspended for the next seven days. You will not be allowed on campus duringschool hours or be allowed at any after-school programs. You will be responsible for—”
No after-school programs. That would mean the rugby games.
“And what about Garrett?” I demand.
“You’ll be expected to apologize, of course,” Mrs. Reacher says. “But he’s not required to accept it.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sydney mutters angrily.
“Ten days,” she snaps at her. “You’re suspended ten days for insubordination.”
“For pointing out that you let sexual abuse go unchecked?” Sydney asks. “I’ll gladly take your suspension.” Sydney pushes her chair out of the way and starts for the door.
She slams it when she leaves, and I turn back to Mrs. Reacher. Maybe it’s just leftover programming, but I still try to fix this.
“Garrett was sexually terrorizing a girl in the lunchroom,” I say, trying to appeal to her sense of decency. “And it’s not the first time he’s done something like this.”
“No one has ever filed a complaint,” Mrs. Reacher says, her shoulders rocking back and forth as she settles into her chair. “If it were true, these girls would need to come forward. They would need to show proof and agree to arbitration. The board would then decide if action is warranted—on either side. After all, we wouldn’t want false accusations. It’s simple,” she finishes.
Simple.I realize now why none of the girls have come forward, why they whisper. They’d be unfairly judged, while the boys got a slap on the wrist. They’d be subjected to more and constant harassment, while the perpetrators received high fives and glowing recommendations for what they’ve been put through. What proof would be enough for them? Words, bruises, blood? They’ll move the goalpost each time.
The girls whisper because if they speak, they’ll be smacked down. They whisper to stay safe. They whisper with the hope of getting out of here and never coming back.
The look of superiority on Mrs. Reacher’s face is infuriating.
“You’re condoning this,” I say. “You support this behavior to the detriment of women.”
She sniffs an annoyed sound. “I think you’re reading a little too much social media,” she says, any remaining sympathy in her voice dissolving. “You and your troublemaking friends want a fight, something to post about. You look for it. But you won’t find it here, Philomena. We’re not buying the act.”
Part of me wants to grab the pencil off her desk and stab it through her hand. But I won’t use violence to respond to her violence. And keeping quiet in the face of injustice is violence.
Ten days is too long to be away from the school. Mrs. Reacher has ruined our plan. We’ll have to find another way to get the information we need. Which means …
“I quit,” I say, all my niceties slipping away.
“Excuse me?” Mrs. Reacher acts like she misheard.
“I quit this school,” I say. “You’re a terrible person, Mrs. Reacher. And at first, I thought maybe you didn’t realize it. But I see now that you do. You fully embrace it.”
