Rules for Being a Girl

Bex nods and heads back inside the office, perching on the edge of the desk, but I hover awkwardly in the open doorway, crossing and uncrossing my arms.

“So,” he says, in that same cheery voice—and am I imagining it, or does it sound just the tiniest bit hollow? “I just wanted to chat really quick about the editorial you uploaded last night.”

“Sure,” I repeat cautiously. The essay was the last thing I thought about before I fell asleep and the first thing I thought about when I woke up—I think it’s one of the strongest things I’ve ever written—but something about that tone in his voice has me second-guessing myself all of a sudden. “Why, are you not into it?”

“No, no, I think it’s great,” Bex says quickly, holding his hands up. “It’s really smart, and thoughtful, and edgy—and obviously the writing is top-notch. I guess I just wanted to make sure you’d thought through all the angles before we published it, that’s all.”

I frown. “What’s there to think about?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Bex says, tilting his head to the side. “You’re taking some pretty bold positions, don’t you think?”

“I guess,” I say slowly. “I mean, I didn’t think they were that bold.”

“Look, Marin, don’t get me wrong.” Bex smiles. “It’s a stellar piece. This school is just full of a bunch of dopes, that’s all. As your adviser, I want to make sure you’re prepared for whatever blowback might come your way.”

“You think I’m going to get blowback?” I ask, surprised. The idea hadn’t actually occurred to me, and all at once I wonder if that makes me completely naive. “From who?”

“I have no idea,” Bex says immediately. “Not from me, obviously. I just don’t want you to be taken off guard if people aren’t crazy about what you have to say, that’s all.”

I nod, crossing my arms a little bit tighter until it almost feels like I’m hugging myself. I’m getting the distinct impression he thinks I should pull the piece altogether, and part of me wants to agree with him—after all, the last thing I want is for people around school to think I’m some kind of militant feminist.

The other part of me can’t help but wonder if somehow this is related to what happened in his apartment.

“Isn’t that the point of being the editor of the paper?” I ask finally, forcing myself to relax my posture, to stand up straight and push my shoulders back like someone who knows her own mind and isn’t afraid to speak it. “Saying stuff that makes other people uncomfortable sometimes?”

Bex looks at me for a long moment, an inscrutable expression on his face. “Fair enough,” he says, as the warning bell rings for homeroom. “We’ll put it in the next issue.”

The seed of doubt Bex planted in my head spends all morning growing roots and leaves and flowers; by the time third period rolls around, it’s practically a national park. I’m hoping for a pep talk from Chloe before the bell rings, but when she scurries into Bex’s classroom her painted eyebrows are knitted tightly together.

“Okay,” she says, making a beeline down the aisle and perching on the edge of my desk, blowing a tendril of yellow hair out of her eyes and dropping her electric blue leather tote bag on the linoleum with a quiet thump. “Can we talk about your editorial for a sec?”

My heart sinks. “You don’t like it either?” I ask.

“No, it’s not that, I just—” Chloe frowns. “Wait, who else doesn’t like it?”

I shrug, glancing over my shoulder up at the front of the room and lowering my voice. “Bex was weird about it this morning. I don’t know.”

“He was probably just looking out for you.”

“Why do I need looking out for though? Like, what about this piece is so bad that—”

“It’s not bad!” Chloe interrupts. “It’s just . . . a little . . . shrill.”

My mouth drops open, stung. “What’s shrill?”

“I mean, your voice is shrill right now, for one thing,” Chloe teases gently, laughing a little. “Easy, tiger. I don’t know. It just kind of sounds like you hate all boys, first of all. Or like you think you’re experiencing some great oppression because you have to shave your legs. Or like you’re about to turn into one of those girls who doesn’t shave her legs in the first place.”

“Of course I’m still going to shave my legs!” I protest. “That’s not what I’m—”

“Look,” she tells me, “I’m not saying we should pull it. And I’m not even giving you a hard time for going rogue on me, even though I thought we were supposed to be coeditors of this whole thing. I just think you should be ready for blowback, that’s all.”

“Blowback?” My eyes narrow, suddenly suspicious. That’s the same word Bex used. “Did you talk to Bex about this?”

“What?” Chloe shakes her head. “No!”

For some reason I don’t entirely believe her, though it’s possible I’m just being paranoid. I don’t totally trust my own judgment today. Make that lately.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “So we’ll run it?”