*All characters in this story are fictional and above the age of 18.
**The world depicted is fictional.
***Please do not read if you are offended by misogyny, or non-consent.
*****
I breathed in a deep lungful of air. The interior of Matt's car smelled nice. Focusing on my breath was trick I used to stay calm during sports. The steady flow of air was reassuring in an otherwise uncomfortable situation.
Signs whipped by as we cruised down the road. It hadn't taken me long to lose track of where we were headed. I had my driver's license, but I rarely drove. Mom had the family's only car. Back while I was in driver's ed, mom had saved up to buy me a car, but cars were expensive and she used the money for my soccer camp instead. At first, I was a little disappointed, but it wasn't so bad being ferried around. I was lucky to have a mom with a car anyway.
I checked my phone. Text from Evelyn. She'd sent me a link to a blog. "
10 must know techniques for a modern woman in demand
" I closed my phone.
I'm not going to read some sexist article.
I texted her back, '
not interested'.
I glanced over at Matt—my phone buzzed again—Evelyn. I opened her message. A GIF of a pregnant woman greeted me. She was dancing with apparent excitement.
I squirmed in my seat. I could still feel the place inside me where I'd failed to wipe away my teacher's semen in time. I had managed to briefly ignore reality, but Evelyn's message burst my bubble. Pregnancy was back in the forefront of my mind. My knee started bouncing up and down, a nervous habit.
In the last two hours, two men had ejaculated inside of me. I couldn't ignore the fact. I couldn't afford another mistake.
Abashed, I tilted my phone away from Matt and opened the link Evelyn sent me. If there were any tricks to be learned, I needed to know them, and soon.
"So, you got any fun plans for your birthday?" Matt broke the silence. I looked up from my reading with a jolt, several minutes had passed. I put my phone in my pocket and looked up at him.
Is he mocking me?
Matt drummed his hands on the steering wheel. As far as I could tell, his question was genuine.
I shrugged, "Just soccer practice. I'll probably go home after that. It's only Wednesday, and I've got homework to do." Matt laughed.
"Why would you even bother with homework? Once you're out of High School and settled down, no one's going to remember what grades you got. The only thing you girls have to worry about is that one class—" he looked over and snapped his fingers in my face, "Come on, what's it called?"
"EPC" I said. Matt raised an eyebrow. "Etiquette and Personal Care," I offered. He nodded, but he didn't seem to be listening to me. His eyes were on the road.
"Girls have it so easy. My parents are making me take prep classes for the College Readiness Exam, meanwhile girls only need one class to graduate, and it's about dressing yourself! I mean, I have to wear clothes every day and I don't even get credit." He laughed at his own cleverness. I felt annoyed.
"EPC isn't that easy; we have to remember—" Matt's waved his hand in front of my face.
"Yea, yea. Relax, it's a joke." He glanced down at me, "in fact, I think I understand why they have to teach you about clothes."
I followed his gaze to my outfit. My skirt sported several clay stains, and my blouse was wrinkled with buttons missing. Worry gnawed my stomach, my concern had nothing to do with Matt's dumb joke.
I look like a child who can't dress herself.
I still had EPC later today, and there was no way my outfit was going to slip past Mrs. Hoffman's inspection. Feeling embarrassed, I tried to think of a new topic.
"My mom's making me take the College Readiness Exam." I said. Matt's reaction was immediate. He snorted and hunched over the wheel. I looked down at my shoes, wishing I hadn't spoken.
"Seriously? That's so weird. Aren't you failing math?" He said. "I guess your grades are normal for a girl, but the CRE has advanced subjects." He pulled the car into a parking lot as he spoke. With annoyance, I realized we were at a fast food drive-through. This was not the type of food I wanted before soccer practice.
"Well I'm top of the class in English." I responded. The claim was a stretch, but I wanted to shut Matt up. Truthfully, I had gotten B's this year in English. I was frustrated because English was my best subject, but no matter how good my work was, I always received a B. To add insult to injury, my teacher only gave me vague feedback like "
Could be stronger.",
or
"needs edits."
"Everyone gets A's in English," said Matt, "but what did you get on the last math quiz?" My cheeks grew hot. Matt sat behind me in math. He must've seen I'd failed. I couldn't think of a response, so the silence stretched. Feeling he'd made his point, Matt turned to the drive through to order.
I looked out the passenger window as Matt ordered. Was he really getting A's in English? Before this year, if someone had asked who the better student was, I would've said myself. Now I didn't feel confident at all. The uncertainty made me feel stupid, I hated the feeling.
The car pulled forward—I swiveled back toward Matt.
"Wait, I didn't order anything yet," I said. When I looked up at Matt, he stared down blankly.
"Sorry, we're in a bit of a hurry." He grinned, "Besides, I want you in tip top shape." He reached down and pinched my stomach. A sharp pain jolted through my abdomen. I bristled.
"Are you serious? After you insisted, I go to lunch with you? I need to eat something too." Matt's selfishness made me forget my insecurity, I was livid. I glared at Matt, but his only response was to pat my thigh.
"Calm down. It's not that big of a deal, I'll save you something." Matt sighed, "Geeze. Why do girls always expect guys to buy them stuff?" He shook his head to himself.
Listening to his comment made me fume. I tried to compose my thoughts, but my anger made thinking difficult.
Here's an idea Matt, let women have jobs, then we won't ask you to buy us stuff.
I wanted to correct his sexism, but his initial comment had paralyzed me. Now, the window for a retort was past. If I said something, I'd open myself to further ridicule. I shut my mouth.
Matt pulled the car up to the cashier's window, and offered his card to the employee. When the employee stooped to grab Matt's card, he paused. I looked over—the man's eyes flicked away from me. A familiar instinct said he'd been staring at me. I made sure not to look in the cashier's direction. The man was a few years older than us, and I didn't want his attention.