Rules for Being a Girl

“Of course,” he says, mollified. I’m somebody he recognizes again: good student, reliable coeditor of the Beacon, not one to make a fuss. A nice girl.

“Feel free to come to my office with any questions. We’re here to support you.”

I thank him one more time, keeping the smile plastered on my face as I head out of his office. I wave to Ms. Lynch, who’s scrolling industriously through Facebook on her office computer. I wait until I’m out in the empty hallway to let the mask slip off my face, leaning against a bank of sophomore lockers and taking deep breaths, trying to swallow down the whirlpool of dread rising in my chest. I wanted telling Mr. DioGuardi to put an end to this whole miserable episode.

But now it looks like it’s barely begun.

Gray’s waiting by my locker at the end of last period, tie already loosened and a charmingly ridiculous reindeer beanie—complete with pompom—shoved down over his wavy hair.

“Hey,” he says, with a smile that makes me shiver in spite of the sense of impending doom I’ve been carting around since my meeting with DioGuardi. “How did it go?”

I shrug. “Okay, I guess?” I fill him in as quickly and factually as possible, trying not to sound like a person at the mercy of her own emotional situation. “It sounds like I’ll know more

after the break.”

“Well, that’s good, right?” Gray asks. “That he’s bringing it to the school board?”

“No, it is,” I agree, though in fact the very idea makes me want to dig a hole in the nearest snowbank and live inside it till spring. Already I feel like an idiot for having ever imagined I could tell my story to DioGuardi and that would be the end of it. It feels like a theme in my life lately: what did I think was going to happen? “It is.”

“Good,” Gray says again, like it’s just that simple; still, I know he’s just trying to be encouraging. “You coming to pizza?”

I shake my head. Everybody at Bridgewater always goes for slices at Antonio’s on the last day of school before Christmas break; normally it’s one of my favorite afternoons of the year, the line spilling out onto the chilly sidewalk and the smell of cheese and pepperoni warm in the air. Today, though, I can’t face the thought of being around that many people. “There’s something I gotta do,” is all I say.

My mom is working on her laptop at the dining room table when I get home, paperwork spread out in messy piles all around her; my dad is already prepping the Feast of the Seven Fishes for Christmas Eve tomorrow night.

“Hey, guys?” I say, setting my backpack down in the mudroom, tucking my hair behind my ears. I steel myself against the panicky feeling of having set a series of events into motion, when I’m not even sure it was the right thing to do. “I think we probably need to have a talk.”

Twenty-One

I’m expecting fireworks from my mom in particular—after all, this is the same woman who marched down the street in her pajamas and put the fear of god in Avery Demetrios when she was mean to me at day camp the summer after fourth grade—but instead she just sits stock-still at the table and listens, one hand in my father’s and one hand in mine.

“He did what?” she asks when I get to the part about the kiss, but my dad’s grip tightens around her fingers, and she immediately presses her lips together.

“I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head like she’s trying to clear it, and I see her eyes getting watery. “Keep going.”

So I do, staring down at the table and telling them about my editorial and the response paper and ending with today and my conversation with Mr. DioGuardi. When I’m finished all three of us are quiet for a long moment.

“Goddamnit, Marin,” my mom says, and when I look up at her I’m surprised to see she’s wiping tears away with her whole palm. “I am so, so sorry he did that to you.”

We sit at the table for a long time, all three of us talking. My dad makes us a snack of cheese and crackers and grapes. They don’t ask any of the questions I’m expecting: Are you sure you weren’t confused? Did you give him the wrong impression? What the hell were you doing in his apartment to begin with? I don’t know why I feel a tiny bit guilty about that, like maybe they’re letting me off too easy.

All of us startle when the back door opens and Gracie ambles through, back from her carpool with her cheeks gone pink from the cold.

“I’m starving,” she announces, then registers all three of us sitting around the table like we’re conducting a séance. “What’s wrong?”

I hesitate for a moment, then take a breath and smile. “Nothing,” I promise, offering her a cracker; sitting here between my parents it feels like maybe it could be the truth. “Everything’s okay.”

I go to Chloe’s the day after Christmas, pulling my mom’s car into the driveway and skirting past the enormous blow-up snow globe on her parents’ front lawn. Every year the two of them get more and more into the holidays, three-foot-tall candy canes lining the flower beds and a motorized, light-up Santa waving from beside the chimney. To Chloe it’s literally the most embarrassing thing on the planet—none of our other friends are allowed to come over between Thanksgiving and New Year’s—but I’ve always thought it was kind of great.

Once her mom lets me in I wave to Chloe’s brothers, who are sprawled on the carpet in front of the Christmas tree playing Battleship, and find Chloe still in her pajamas in her bedroom, watching an eyeliner tutorial on her laptop.

“Hey,” she says, looking surprised when I knock on the mostly closed door.

I frown. “We’re doing the mall, aren’t we?” Chloe and I have done the mall the day after Christmas for the last four years, returning ugly sweaters from our various family members and taking advantage of the clearance sales. We always end with a peppermint mocha at the scruffy hipster coffee shop in Inman Square.

“Oh.” Chloe shakes her head, like this is totally new information and not something we’ve been doing since before we got our periods. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t know. I just figured you’d be with Gray.”

“What?” I didn’t even realize she knew about me and Gray, and it stings to think how little we’ve been hanging out. “Gray’s in New Hampshire with his cousins until New Year’s. But also, why would I be with Gray? This is our day, right?”