Please Don't Tell - Laura Tims Page 0,75

arrow at but a voice inside you, and you can’t destroy it without destroying yourself?

We’re heroes, too. But we don’t look as good on a movie screen. The problem is that we don’t know what we are until we see ourselves somewhere. That’s what stories are for, except when we don’t look like the people in our stories, it keeps us in the dark. Things turn ugly in the dark. And when we don’t see our battles treated like real battles, when we don’t get to see how brave others are for struggling with the same thing as us, we don’t understand that we’re brave, too.

If getting out of bed in the morning is as hard for you as fighting a monster, then you’re a monster-fighting badass. If going to school makes you want to cry and you go anyway, you’re a hero and your story is worth something.

I changed my name to November because that was the month I got sent to a mental health facility after Adam Gordon raped me. I expected therapy to be bullshit. And some of it was. But mostly, while I was there, I realized what I wasn’t. I wasn’t weak. None of the people I met there were weak because they were sad. People say don’t let things get to you, but sometimes things just get to you and that’s the way it is. And it’s okay.

Originally, I was going to write this as a letter to him. But you are so much more important than he is. And I want you to know that wherever you are, whatever you’re struggling with, I see you. Your monsters are real, and you’re brave, and I’m proud of you.

The newspaper is recalled once Vice Principal Matthews realizes what was printed, but copies are everywhere. People hide it in their lockers, stuff it in their sweatshirts, read it under their desks in class. There’s a lot of whispering.

Levi isn’t in American History.

When the bell rings for lunch, November’s waiting for me outside the classroom door. Half the people passing by stare at her, and there’s a nasty comment somewhere in the crowd, but she ignores it.

“Do we really have to do this?” she groans.

“Yes. I’m escorting you everywhere today.” I glare at a freshman who points out November to his friend, muttering behind his hand.

“It’s cool, Joy. I don’t care what they think.” Her smile’s real. “I thought I would, but I don’t. I wrote it for the right reasons.”

“Are people being okay to you?” I say over the rush of hallway noise as we walk together.

“Some people are being dicks and some people are not being dicks. But that’s life.” She hitches her bag higher. “I got a few hugs.”

“Hugs?”

“Brodie Simmons said I helped with her depression. That is a nice thing to be told.”

“You helped me, too,” I say. It’s true. I can handle thinking clearly for the first time in forever. I still don’t know who the blackmailer is, but I’m going to figure it out. Today I’ll be there for November, but then I’m going to find a way to stop this.

November squeezes my arm. I push away my thoughts. I want to be the great friend she thinks I am. “So nobody’s harassing you?”

“Joy Morris, I can take care of myself,” she says. “The only annoying part of today was Vice Principal Matthews. She kept me in her office all morning. I’m banned from the school newspaper.”

“That’s bullshit!” I snarl, fuming. “I’m going in there and—”

“Who cares?” She smiles again. “I said what I wanted to say.”

We round the corner of the hallway and head into the cafeteria. The cafeteria has never gone silent before, but today it comes pretty close. November snickers as we get in line.

“By the way,” she says under her breath, “daily reminder that it wasn’t your fault.”

“Daily reminder that it wasn’t your fault, either.”

“Not working yet, is it?”

I shake my head.

“Maybe eventually,” she says quietly.

Before we can get our food, there’s a commotion by the doors. It’s Ben, trailed by Kennedy and Sarah. Ben has a sheaf of papers under his arm. He slams one to the cafeteria wall and tapes it there.

“Don’t start shit, Joy,” November says to me as Ben whips around and beelines straight for us.

“I thought you might be interested in this,” he says loudly. Now the cafeteria really is dead silent. He pushes a flyer toward her. I intercept it. There’s a picture of Adam’s face and the words Remember our