“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?”
“We’ll run it,” she promises with a smile. She bumps my shoulder with hers before she sits down.
My editorial runs on the front page of the Beacon the following Monday, right next to the results of last week’s swim meet and this week’s lunch menu.
I find Jacob in the cafeteria before first period, where he’s eating an egg sandwich and scrolling through Snapchat on his phone. “Hey,” I call, relieved by the sight of him. I was up half the night wondering if I was making a huge mistake—opening myself up to all kinds of unnecessary drama, upsetting the status quo—but that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? After all, it’s just an editorial. And really, is any of it even that controversial? I mean, the rules for being a girl are ridiculous. Anyone can see that.
Jacob doesn’t smile back. “Hey,” he says, and that’s when I notice the paper spread out in front of him like a placemat.
“Don’t tell me,” I say, sitting cautiously down in the chair beside him. “You’re not a fan.”
Jacob shrugs. “It’s not that I’m not a fan,” he says. “It just . . . didn’t make me feel very good, that’s all.”
“It didn’t?” I ask, momentarily confused. “Why not? I mean, it’s not about you.”
“Maybe not,” Jacob counters, “but everybody’s going to think it is. Like, is this really what you think all guys are like?”
“The piece isn’t even about guys though,” I protest. “It’s about the expectations on girls, that’s all.”
“I guess,” Jacob says, sounding wholly unconvinced.
“You know, you could try to say something nice about it,” I snap, suddenly irritated. “Since I’m ostensibly your girlfriend and all.”
“Ostensibly my girlfriend?” Jacob’s eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”
I glance around the cafeteria, uneasy; it’s pretty empty at this hour, but we’re hardly alone. I can see a pair of freshmen a few tables over pretending not to listen. “It means I would love if you could try to be a little bit more supportive, that’s all,” I say, lowering my voice to a murmur. “I’m sorry. I’m just not a hundred percent sure about how people are going to react to it, so—”
“So then why did you publish it in the first place?” he interrupts. “And also, like, you obviously don’t care what I think either way, since you didn’t even give me a heads-up—I had to hear about it from freakin’ Joey, which—”
“I don’t need your permission to write an editorial.”
“That’s not what I’m saying!” Jacob shakes his head. “Do you hear me saying that right now?” He sighs.
“Come on,” he says, reaching for my hand and squeezing. “I’m sorry you’re stressed out about it. If it makes you feel better, it’s not like people are exactly clamoring to read the Beacon the second it comes out.”
“Seriously?” I ask, pulling away. “Probably nobody even read it? That’s the best you can do?”
Jacob’s shoulders stiffen. “What’s your problem this morning, huh?” he asks, sounding honestly baffled. “Are you on the rag or what?”
I blink at him for a moment. “Okay,” I blurt, shoving my chair back with a loud, grating screech. Suddenly I don’t care who’s paying attention. “You know what? I don’t think this is working.”
“Wait a second.” Jacob’s eyes widen. “What’s not working?”
“This.” I gesture between us. “You and me, all of it. I think . . . maybe I just need some space. From you. Like, permanently.”
I’m actually shocked to hear the words come out of my mouth, and from the look on Jacob’s face, I can see he is too. Ten minutes ago, breaking up with him wasn’t even on my radar. But suddenly it seems like the only logical choice.
“What the hell, Marin?” Jacob stands up too, so we’re eye to eye, his chair clattering. “Where the hell is this coming from? Like, okay, I’m sorry I said that thing about you having your period. That was fucked. But it’s nothing to break up over.”
“Isn’t it?” I ask, although now that I’m actually thinking about it, it feels like so much more than that one stupid comment. It’s the list his lacrosse buddies made last year ranking freshman girls in order of hotness. It’s how he laughed at Deanna in the cafeteria. It’s his smirk when we talk about the dress code, and the way he always assumes I want Froyo and not ice cream. It’s a million little things that I told myself didn’t matter, except for all of a sudden they completely do.
“I don’t know, dude.”
“Fine,” Jacob says, throwing his hands up. He’s pissed now, his mouth gone thin and his cheeks an angry pink. “We’re done, then. You know, it’s probably better we break up anyway, if this is what you’re going to be like now.”
“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows. “And what exactly am I like?”