That night, on my way home from aikido, I spotted Adam’s car at Starbucks. I parked a couple blocks away and ran back, mask in hand. The coffee shop was in a shopping complex, so it was fairly well lit, but there were plenty of shrubs around, as the town wanted to make what was effectively an upper-crust strip mall seem inviting and pretty. I crouched behind one of these shrubs and pulled on my mask. I didn’t know if there were security cameras or not, but it was probably a safe bet. I crept through the bushes and in between cars, using them and the shadows for cover. Finally, I found myself between Adam’s car and another. I took my keys from my pocket and went to work on the passenger side, starting near the rear tire. I gouged hard and deep, making the letters as big as I could, all the while, keeping my ears attentive to the sound of someone approaching.
I finished and crept back the way I’d come. I wondered when Adam would notice.
* * *
He hadn’t noticed by the next morning. I had a little laugh over it when I saw his car in the school lot. Several people were gathered around it—a couple taking photos. It was probably all over Instagram and Snapchat by now. I got the pleasure of seeing Adam discover it for himself a few moments later. I had to admit, I dug my phone out and took a photo for my own enjoyment. My smile grew when I looked at it: His face was red, twisted in anger as he stared at his car, and the word RAPIST carved into it, and signed with a big V. I could hear him swearing—promising that someone was “going to pay for this”—as I walked away.
It was the happiest I’d been in months.
CHAPTER 14
Thursday afternoon there was an assembly. The teachers didn’t seemed surprised by the announcement that we were to go to the auditorium, but the students were.
I heard Zoe call my name when I entered the auditorium. I found her sitting with Anna and Caitlin about six rows back from the stage. They had saved me a seat.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I sat down. “You know why we’re here?”
They all shook their heads. “No clue,” Caitlin said.
We sat there, looking around as the auditorium filled up around us.
Anna, who sat between Zoe and Caitlin, chuckled. I followed her gaze and saw Drew, Adam and Brody sitting down. “I heard Adam’s car needs to be repainted. He’s been coming to school with Drew.”
“Do you think it was her who keyed it?” Caitlin asked.
“It had to have been,” Zoe said. She looked at me. “What do you think, Hadley?”
Did she suspect me? I wasn’t going to admit to anything—not there. Not anywhere. If she didn’t know for sure, she couldn’t tell. And she wouldn’t have to lie.
So I shrugged. “Probably. She’s been stirring up a lot of shit.”
Anna glanced around at the students filling the room. “She could be here right now.” There was an element of wonder to her voice that surprised me. I wasn’t a hero. In fact, it was really hard for me not to humiliate them as thoroughly as they had my friend. I wanted to debase and hurt them. I wanted to ruin them, and completely lose myself in it.
Maybe I wanted to ruin myself too. Punish myself.
The others looked around as well, and I made myself take a look. I had to keep reminding myself that I needed to act as though I didn’t know who the vigilante was, either.
Once everyone was in the auditorium, teachers closed the doors and stood sentry beside them. A few moments later the principal walked across the stage to the microphone in the center. She was dressed in a black suit, and she wasn’t smiling. “Thank you all for coming.” Chatter in the room died down, but only because we were all so curious. “I called this assembly because I feel there needs to be a discussion of recent events. Over the next month, we’re going to have periodic assemblies during which we will hear from different people on the topic of bullying, stalking, violence and sexual assault.”
Some idiot in the back of the room actually cried, “Woot!”
The principal arched an eyebrow. “Today we have our first guest who will be talking to you about sexual assault and how to prevent it.”
“Close your legs!” another voice shouted. Laughter followed this. I looked over my shoulder at the same time as everyone else. A few rows back, a junior I didn’t know sat surrounded by laughing friends. What a dick.
“Mr. Matthews,” the principal said, “would you please escort that young man to my office and have him wait there until I can return?”
Suddenly the kid’s expression went from smug to scared. I smiled. Served him right. I hope she reamed him a new one. A smattering of applause broke out when Mr. Matthews—one of the younger and more buff teachers at school—took the kid by the arm and practically dragged him down the steps to an exit. I clapped too.
“If there’s anyone else who would like to display their ignorance by making a sorry excuse for a joke, please do so now, or save us all from having to hear it, and leave.” The principal’s voice boomed through the microphone. “A teacher will escort you to my office where you can wait your turn to have a little chat.”
The room went silent. She waited a beat, sweeping that unflinching gaze over all of us. That was power. That was strength. I wanted to be her. She dared anyone to make a noise, and no one—not even Drew—called her bluff.
“Our speaker today has more than fifteen years of experience in law enforcement. She has worked with victims of sexual assault and has advocated for programs to help survivors. Currently she’s teaching a self-defense course that is free to anyone who would like to join. She will provide you with information at the end of the discussion. Please welcome Detective Diane Davies.”
Most of the applause was polite, but you could tell who was in the class, because they cheered and whistled. Even though my heart was pounding in anticipation of what the detective might say, I had to give a little shout-out too.
When Detective Davies walked out onto the stage, my jaw dropped. She was wearing a black skirt that ended just above her knee, black pumps and a white shirt that fit her more closely than the T-shirts she wore in class. A couple of guys whistled.
Diane’s brows rose as she stepped up to the microphone. “Thank you, Principal Tate, and thank you to whoever just whistled for helping me jump right into the topic of sexual harassment and assault, which I like to define as uninvited sexual attention and behavior.” She went on to give stats that made the room fall dead silent.
“Principal Tate told you I teach a self-defense course. I started it so that I could teach girls to better protect themselves from sexual assault, but that’s not what I’m here to discuss. Today I want to talk to you about preventing sexual assault. Do you know the best way to prevent a rape from happening? And no, it’s not keeping your legs closed.”
Silence. We all stared at her as her gaze wandered over the crowd.
“The best way to prevent sexual assault or rape is to not assault or rape anyone.”
I swear to God every female in the place went nuts at that moment. The shouts and applause were deafening. There were guys shouting and clapping too, but it was mostly just the girls. I’d never felt so much a part of something huge as I did in that moment.
Detective Davies held up her hand and we quieted. “That remark wasn’t just for the guys in the room, though most sexual assaults are committed by men against women. Men also assault other men, though it’s a smaller percentage, and there are women who have assaulted men, and other women. I’m not here to make this a female versus male debate, or accuse all men of being potential rapists. I’m here to tell you what behavior is not okay, what you can do to prevent sexual assault, and how to report one should you witness it.”
She was awesome. If I liked Detective Davies before this, I freaking loved her at that moment. She talked to us, not like victims and violators, but as people who should be looking out for one another. Who should respe
ct one another.
“Someone who has been raped has been through a traumatic event. I’ve known women who have PTSD from their attack, who take years to recover, whose lives have been ruined. Do you want to be the person responsible for that? You aren’t stupid—you know what no means. And if someone is too drunk to say no, or passed out, that is automatically a no. If you are found guilty of rape, you will go to prison, where you might very well become a victim of sexual assault yourself.
“By the same token, I want you to imagine the worst thing that has ever happened to you. Now, imagine that everyone in this room knows about it, but instead of giving you sympathy and support, they’re laughing at you, and leaving messages on your social media that what happened was all your fault—that you deserved it. Can you imagine telling someone it’s their fault their mother died of cancer? That they’re to blame for a traffic accident simply because they were sitting in a car? No, you probably can’t.
“As a society, we tend to blame the victim of a sexual assault. We say they asked for it because they wore something revealing, or because they’d been drinking. If I took my sidearm and shot one of you right now, would it be the victim’s fault for being in the same room as a person with a gun? No, that’s just foolish. You blame the person with the gun.”
“What if the person asks you to shoot them?” Oh, God. It was Drew. I’d know his douche-bag voice anywhere.
Detective Davies looked right at him. I knew that because I saw her jaw tighten when she made eye contact. “I’ve had people try to use me as a way to commit suicide, and I’ve never once pulled the trigger. If someone asks to have sex with you, that’s an invitation. They still have the right to change their mind. Without consent, it’s rape, Mr. Carson.”
I could have marched right up onto that stage, grabbed her by the hair and kissed her right on the mouth. Oh, that amazing woman, to stand there alone, under the bright stage lights, and call him out. She was my hero.
“Are you an expert in sex, Officer?” Drew asked.
There was a small burst of nervous laughter from the crowd.
“Detective,” she corrected. “Rape has little to nothing to do with sex, but I am an expert, unfortunately, when it comes to victims. I’ve never raped anyone, though, so I’m not an expert in that. How about you?”
Silence. I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder at Drew and his friends. Instead, my gaze settled on Jason Bentley, who was sitting in the row across the aisle from mine. He stared at Detective Davies, his face pale. Since the Homecoming dance I hadn’t seen him with Drew much at all. He’d become quiet and withdraw. Maybe, he was developing a conscience.
But that didn’t mean I had any sympathy where he was concerned. He’d helped drive Magda to suicide, and for that I hoped he suffered for the rest of his life.
As for Drew, I wished I had my phone out so I could take a picture of his red, angry face. I couldn’t help but look at him. He still wore that smirk of his, but he looked pissed off.
Detective Davies was talking again, having shut Drew up. She talked a little more about how guys should behave—how anyone should behave—and then gave advice on how to protect yourself. She ended with information about the self-defense class and various hot-line numbers.
And then, she said, “One last thing. You’ve all heard of the person the media calls the Pink Vigilante. We know she is definitely responsible for attacks on a few guys, and maybe responsible for a few more incidents. A lot of people agree with her actions—” hoots and whistles cut her off “—but some of what she’s done is against the law. No one, no matter how noble the motive, is above the law. If you see this individual, call the police.”
My heart skipped a beat, even though I heard a lot of people say they had no intention of turning me in. I knew then that I couldn’t trust Detective Davies, no matter how much I liked her. She was a cop, and she didn’t understand.
At the end of the assembly, we all stood up to go to our scheduled final class of the day.
I had just stepped out into the aisle when I heard someone say my name. It was Detective Davies. Stomach fluttering, I approached her.
“I’ll just keep you a moment,” she said. “I wanted to ask if you could come early tonight. I think we might have a large influx of new girls, and I want to coordinate lessons with you.”
The fact that she treated me like a partner in the class was awesome. It was also confusing. “Sure,” I said with a shrug. “It’s your class.”
“Our class. I couldn’t do it without you. That’s what makes this next bit difficult.”
Shit. Here it came. I stared at her.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed that so far the vigilante has targeted three boys who allegedly assaulted Magda Torres.”
“There’s nothing alleged about it,” I informed her.
She nodded. “I know. I still have to say it, just like I have to ask you if you can account for your whereabouts the nights of the incidents.”
Fuck. “Yeah, I can.”
Her shoulders relaxed a little. “That’s good—just in case someone questions you. You’ll want to be able to give them details.”
Wait...was she telling me to make sure I had my story straight? I blinked. “Okay.”
“Good.” She smiled. “See you tonight, then.”
“Yeah, sure. See ya.” I turned and walked away. I would make sure I covered my ass as much as possible in case the police did want to question me. But more important, it was time for the Vigilante to pick a few new “targets” so Magda’s rape wasn’t so obviously the motive behind her—my—actions.
It shouldn’t be hard—a lot of people had posted about their own experiences on the video the girl had uploaded of me fighting the guy outside the club. Some had even given names. If that didn’t work, I could always see if Gabe would take me to a college party. It was sad, but I was pretty much guaranteed to find a rapist-in-training at a kegger.
Good thing I had class tonight. The Vigilante needed to get to work.
CHAPTER 15
Detective Davies had been right. Our little self-defense class increased in numbers again that night after she spoke to the school assembly. She had me bring the new girls up to speed as the more experienced girls practiced the newer moves.
My plans to extract further justice for Magda were being thwarted. Drew, Adam, Brody and Jason rarely spent time apart, and since the keying incident, they’d been hyper vigilant. Vigilant against the Vigilante. Oh, the irony. But that was okay. I was patient. And the longer I waited, the less Detective Davies looked at me like a suspect and more like someone she trusted.
That night after class I went looking for trouble. And I went out looking every night after that too. Sometimes I found it, sometimes I didn’t, and sometimes it found me. Very little of it was actually reported. The incidents where the girls were sober and coherent, those were the ones that got mentioned on the news, but the ones where the guys were the only witness? Not so much.
Turns out that guys aren’t so eager to report being beaten up by a girl, especially when they were trying to hurt another girl. Not all the girls reported on me, either. I didn’t know if it was because they were trying to protect me, or because they were ashamed. I didn’t ask, because to be honest, I really didn’t want to know.
Mostly, I spent a lot of time putting up posters and signs that I’d been careful not to make on my own computer. I bought colored paper at Staples and made the signs at the local internet café.
The paper was pink and the posters said things like: RAPE IS NOT A SPORT and WHAT PART OF ‘NO’ DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND? My favorite said V IS FOR: Vigilance, Vengeance, Vehemence, Venerate, Veracious, Veritable, Verge and VIGILANTE. Of course, there was always some douche bag who hand-wrote vagina on them. It never failed.
I made stickers too. Most of them just had a big pi
nk V on them. I put them on the wall inside the stalls of every girl’s bathroom at school. I was careful not to put them anywhere else in case I got caught because of the principal’s vandalism rules. But outside school, I put them everywhere—the library, the local fast-food restaurants, the tiny movie theater, gas stations, the coffee shops, town bulletin boards, the park...everywhere I could. And then I started noticing them on binders and textbooks, messenger bags and backpacks. People were making their own.
Adam Weeks made a T-shirt that said “V is for violate, bitch.” Principal Tate stopped him in the hall and told him to go home and change. Over the next few days a dozen girls came to school wearing shirts they decorated themselves. One had vigilante written in script in pink bubble paint. Another was glittery. Some just had a big pink V on the front or back. Zoe showed up at the next self-defense class with enough shirts for every girl there to have one. It was just a plain white tee, but the front said—in pink, of course—I Am Vigilant.
When Zoe gave one of them to Detective Davies, I held my breath. I expected her to refuse or to say that we shouldn’t wear them. I didn’t expect her to put it on over her sports bra. And when we were all sitting together as class began, I didn’t expect her to ask what she did.
“How many of you have received unwanted sexual attention?”
We all looked at each other. Some of us raised our hands, others looked at the floor. And a few girls who were either very lucky, or liars, shook their heads.
Detective Davies nodded. “Quite a few of you, then. Most of you know that I spoke out against the woman the press have called the Pink Vigilante. That is such a stupid name. What does pink have to do with it? Because her mask is pink? It’s like they’re trying to make her sound cute. If it was a guy would they call him the Blue Vigilante? No, they’d just call him Vigilante, or fucking Batman. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have swore.”