There I am walking through the halls of PTMS in my pink plaid skirt over my jeans looking like Avril Lavigne circa 2007, minus the make up and breasts. Even though I feel like a Rockstar wearing the heels I've stealthily stolen from my sister's room every day for the last 100 days, not a single person talks to me. Every person turns their gaze to their cold green lockers. Okay then, first period I'll find out What I've Done.
I sit next to a short boy that I talk to every day. He'll tell me. Instead, he barks at me, "you snitch."
Excuse me? I'm pretty sure I went home last night, placed my shoes back in my sister's closest, did science homework, sang Akon at the top of my lungs, stole said shoes, and came back to school this morning. I do know that I know nothing, Jon Snow, that I could have possibly snitched on. I haven't even reminded Mrs. J that we had science homework yet.
Finally the conversation goes a little something like this:
Boy: You snitched on Grapefruit. (Grapefruit being my code name to protect this fucker's identity.)
Me: What? Grapefruit. I hate that kid. I swear I haven't done anything to him except avoid him.
Boy: Grapefruit says that you and your parents are pressing charges against him. He has a court date next week.
Me: For what?
Boy: Grapefruit says that you got angry that he cornered you up against a locker and was kissing you and stuck his hand up your dress.
Me: WHAT?! HE NEVER DID THAT! Also, if he had that would be sexual assault. Wait. A. Fucking. Minute. You are telling me that he made up sexually assaulting me, and is telling people that I am pressing charges against him?
Boy: He didn't make it up. You are a snitch.
I'm paralyzed by bullshit, but Big Girls Don't Cry. Sure Grapefruit is a giant freaking asshole who deserves a cactus up his rear, but he's never touched, kissed, or fondled me. Why would he make this shit up?
For the rest of the day, I assure people I wasn't pressing charges against Grapefruit and that, as sure as Adam Levine is the hottest member of Maroon 5, Grapefruit did not sexually assault me.
Then, I realize the true horror of the situation. Me, the alleged victim of sexual assault, was looked down upon, shame in every eye that met mine, and judgement against my right to defend my body and to hold those who violate me accountable. Grapefruit looks as cool as a fat middle schooler can. He gained man points for supposedly slipping his fingers under my walmart undies. Looking like Cupid putting me in a Chokehold. He embellishes the story to include his tongue touching these Lips of an Angel. Yet, there I am trying to find The Sweet Escape from his lie, but not his actual touch.
Dear Grapefruit, in the words of Avril, "You try to be cool, but you look like a fool to me. Tell me, why did you have to go make things so complicated?" Don't you know that What Goes Around Comes Back Around? You are what is wrong with the society. Fabricating sexual assault, where you are the assailant, so that you look cool and that I am shamed. For all the people complaining about people making up rape stories, I still can't believe that it worked in your favor to make up a story about assaulting me. I hope you have realized how terrible of a human being you were. May the true victims of sexual assault be met with grace, belief, and support. May true assailants be met with justice and punishment not man points for getting 20 minutes of action.
Dear middle school, Thanks For the Memories.
The motherfucking princess,