Remi’s heart pounded. She wasn’t ready to divulge what was going on with Bianca, or reveal truths that would change their lives forever. Matter of fact, it wasn’t her place to tell them. She wouldn’t bear that burden. Not now. Not ever.
“Say your friend went to this frat party, and someone slipped something in her drink.”
Mila gave Zoe a sideways glance. Zoe gave her a look that saidit’s okay.
Remi’s eyes moved quickly between the girls, from Zoe to Mila, and then back to Zoe.
Zoe continued with her hypothetical statement. “What if she passed out, and when she came to, she was in one of the bedrooms of the house, completely naked? And she didn’t know what took place. She just grabbed her clothes and ran out of there as fast as she could.”
“Did this friend of yours go to the police?”
“No,” said Zoe. “But she went to the clinic, where she found out she was raped.”
“She should’ve filed charges.”
“What if she doesn’t know who to file charges against—doesn’t know who did this to her?”
“Has this friend talked to her parents—her mother?”
“She doesn’t have a good relationship with her mother. It’s not like you and me, Mom. I can talk to you about anything, just about. She can’t talk to her mom like that.”
At that moment, Remi knew.
She looked at Mila—straight in the face. “When did this happen?”
Mila didn’t say anything at first. She just dropped her head and stared at her plate for a moment. When she looked up tears began to flood her eyes. Her voice cracked. “Before Christmas break.”
Remi understood. The anger, the distance, the toboggan on her head—all the time.
“Remove the hat. Let me see your hair.”
Mila slowly removed the hat from her head, her face drenched in tears. A bald spot sat at the crown, jarring Remi. Remi’s heart ached. She stood, walked over, and reached out instinctively but stopped herself, afraid to make Mila feel worse.
“Oh, baby …” she whispered. “Why didn’t you tell someone?”
Mila just shook her head, shoulders curling inward as though trying to disappear.
Remi wrapped her arms around her, held her tight.
“Do you want to do something about it? Go to the police? Get a lawyer?” Remi asked. “You might want to talk to someone who can help you through the trauma of it, sweetheart. Because clearly, it’s taken a toll on you.”
“No, I want to forget it ever happened—erase it permanently from my brain,” Mila whispered. “I want my hair to stop falling out.”
“Sweetheart, your hair won’t stop falling out until you find peace, until there’s a resolution.”
“I wish I could transfer to a different school. I couldn’t wait for summer break because I don’t want to go back there.”
Remi smoothed Mila’s hair gently, her hand pausing at the rawness of the bald spot.
“Then I will advocate for you not going back.” Remi wasn’t sure how she would do that, considering she wasn’t speaking to Bianca—and wasn’t sure if she would again. “We’ll figure something out.”
Mila looked at her, eyes wide. “Promise?”
“I promise to do what I can, sweetheart.”
Fresh tears slid down Mila’s cheeks.
“We’ll deal with it,” Remi said. “There are other schools. Other paths. What matters is you. Your safety, your mind, your heart.”