Hannah Harrington - Speechless

After all, everyone knows Chelsea Knot doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut.

I go to pull another pillow over my head, but my hand instead curls around my ratty stuffed dog, Nelly. It’s pretty lame to sleep with a stuffed animal when you’re sixteen, but I never could bring myself to get rid of her when I finally became too old for toys. Dad gave her to me when I was seven years old and had to get my tonsils out. I hug Nelly tight to my chest, smoothing out her matted gray cotton fur with one hand.

Yeah, I can do this. I can play dumb like Kristen said. No one has to hear it from me. I can stay quiet, even if no one else steps forward. Even if it means Warren and Joey get away with this. Even if Noah never wakes up.

What if he doesn’t? And what if no one points the finger at Warren and Joey? If that happens, can I really live with myself?

I already know the answer to that. I lie there for a while with Nelly tucked under my chin, trying in vain to come up with other options, some way out of this that leaves me unscathed, but they all circle around to the same conclusion. Kristen’ll be furious with me, I know it, but…but she’ll understand. She has to understand. I can’t not say anything.

The walk downstairs is like trudging down the Green Mile. Mom and Dad are in the living room, cozied up on the couch watching television.

“Mom?” I say, voice shaking. “Dad?”

They both twist around to look at me, and their expressions of content transform into identical looks of worry. It’d almost be funny if it were any other situation.

Dad mutes the television. “What is it, honey?” he asks.

I take a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“I have to tell you something.”

Three Days Later

day one

RAT.

The word is scratched across my locker in fat black marker for everyone to see, lettered in abrupt, messy slashes, like whoever wrote it didn’t even pause, didn’t have to think twice about what they were doing. I can feel the eyes of everyone in the hall boring into my back; hear their titters behind me, providing the soundtrack to my humiliation. Blood rushes up to my face and turns my pale skin as red as my hair. The familiar hot prick of tears stings behind my eyes, waiting for their cue to spill over.

Well. This semester is gonna suck.

I stand there and stare at the new label I’ve been branded with, forcing myself to suck in deep breaths through my nose in the vain hope it will help subside the urge to burst into tears. I can’t say anything. The article, folded neatly and tucked in my front pocket, is a constant reminder.

In an effort to keep myself from crying, I start reciting times tables in my head, except I suck at multiplication and lose track by the time I get to four times six. Okay. We’ll go with the prompt: rat. List all animals that start with the letter R. Rabbits, raccoons, roaches, rhinos, rams, ringworms, roosters, rottweilers (do dog breeds count?), reindeer…oh, and can’t forget red hawks—like the Grand Lake High Red Hawk. Our school mascot. Is there even such a thing as a red hawk? I’m dubious. If there is, I’ve never seen one in Michigan. Whatever. The Red Hawks, our basketball team, are definitely animals, and I’m making up the rules, so I say it counts.

This little game does the trick, and once I’m confident in my ability to stave off the tears, I calmly spin my combination into the lock and pop it open. My geometry book is right where it should be, on the top shelf, so I slide it into my backpack and shut the door. Everyone is looking at me, waiting for my reaction. They probably think I’m about to collapse into sobs and have a meltdown of epic proportions. Part of me is dying to do just that, but I know it’s exactly what they want; they’re hungry for it. That is, after all, the goal of a public shaming. Everyone loves kicking the popular girl the second she’s been knocked off the pedestal.

No way am I giving them the satisfaction. These are the same people who two weeks ago envied me and clamored for my attention, and now I’m supposed to, what? Get on my knees and beg for their forgiveness? Embrace the role of whipping girl they’ve designated for me? That is so not happening. Their opinion of me never mattered before, and it’s not going to matter now. Nothing has changed. I’m still the same Chelsea Knot. Bow down, bitches.

I stride down the hall with my chin tipped up defiantly, ignoring the pressing stares. As I come up to the corner, at the edge of my vision I see Kristen huddled with a few other girls. I can’t help but slow down and sneak a glance. Since school started up again, she’s studiously avoided me, and I stopped trying to call after leaving her a week’s worth of pleading voice mails that went unanswered. I’ve tried telling myself that it’s only time she needs, that maybe the shock of her boyfriend’s arrest hasn’t worn off yet, and once it does, she won’t hate me for doing what I did. She’ll understand. We’re best friends.

When I approach, she looks the way she always does: immaculately put together, with every strand of her glossy blond hair perfectly in place, her makeup flawlessly applied. She’s wearing this creamy cable-knit sweater matched with a black skirt, more modest than her usual wardrobe, and when she sees me, I catch her midsmile. Her expression is almost demure. For a brief, shining second I think it’s going to be okay. She’s going to be on my side.

But then her face changes as she sees me. God, that look. She’s staring at me like I’m a bug she’d squash under her heel if it wouldn’t make such a mess.

She levels an icy glare at me as I pass and sneers. “What are you looking at, bitch?”

And that’s it. The final judgment. She might as well have stamped SCUM on my forehead.

The other girls around her giggle nervously, Tessa and Natalie among them. Now that I’m out of the picture, the pecking order has changed. They’ll all be vying for my old rank. I wonder which one of them will be bestowed the honor.

What everyone else thinks doesn’t matter, but what Kristen thinks does. I can’t pretend otherwise. I knew she’d be mad, but I also thought she wouldn’t throw so many years of friendship out the window. But that look on her face…my slim hope that her anger wouldn’t last dissipates, crushed to dust in some imaginary fist.

Tears, again. I fight them down and hurry around the corner without a word. At least I know where Kristen and I stand for good. Kristen, my supposed best friend. Former, now, I guess. What was I thinking? Warren is her boyfriend. I told the cops what he and Joey said at the party, after they found out about Noah from me. What they said about teaching him a lesson. And now they’ve both been arrested. It doesn’t matter if it was the right thing to do or not. Of course she hates me.

I should’ve expected this. I really did expect it, on some level. I just didn’t realize it was going to be so hard.

* * *

Mr. Callihan gives me a funny look when I hand him the note before class.

“A vow of silence?” he says dryly.

I nod, fiddling with the strap of my bag. Mr. Callihan has never liked me much, but that’s okay because I don’t like geometry, either. It’s my worst subject, and the most boring. I typically sit in the back next to Megan and talk to her as much as I can before Mr. Callihan threatens me with detention. My hope is he’ll be so keen on the prospect of me shutting up during his lectures that he won’t ask a million questions about why I’m keeping quiet. The last thing I want to do is try to explain. It’s why I came prepared with the note.

“Well.” He sighs. “You’re lucky I don’t grade on class participation.”

I take my usual seat next to Megan, who is diligently copying down the warm-up problems in her notebook, all of her attention focused on what she’s writing. She glances at me as I swing my backpack onto my desk, and then just as quickly averts her eyes again. I know she has to have heard what happened; everyone has. It even made the front page of the Grand Lake Tribune. Sure, the article didn’t include the dirty details or mention me by name, but too many people witnessed my scene in Kristen’s kitchen to keep my role in everything under wraps, and I’m sure Kristen didn’t hesitate to fill in the blanks with her own revisionist history designed to paint her in the most flattering light. And I know the gossip grapevine well enough to know how fast that story would’ve traveled.