by Holly Bourne
I stared at it for a long time…
I knew I didn’t have to decide what I would do, that wasn’t the homework. I knew what to write to pass the exam (well, to do more than pass, to get an A). Deontologists wouldn’t hit the switch. They would call it murder; they would say you could never justify letting one person die, even if it saved the lives of five others. Whereas utilitarians would hit the switch in a second – one person dead is a lot better than five people dead. If the overall outcome was better, what’s a few moral sacrifices along the way?
What would hitting the switch mean in my life? I started to think.
Like Dad said, getting into Cambridge meant I was statistically more likely to become prime minister, or even just an MP. In theory, I could use Cambridge to become someone who has the power to change things. Make things better in the long run. Is that worth giving up FemSoc for? Flick the switch? Let the train career into people like Megan while I wait to help more people further down the line?
I stood and made my way over to my window ledge, hurling myself up onto it and against the glass – watching the sleepy street under me. After a while Mum came home and barged in, all high from her chanting, to tell me she loved me. Dad got in a little later, knocked gently on my door and sat on my bed briefly.
“Sorry, Lottie. You know I don’t like to fight with you. It’s just you only get one future. And I only push because I care about you.” I gave him a half-smile from my ledge. “I trust you’ll make the right decision,” he said, with meaning. Undoing all his apology. But it was too late to get mad, so I smiled again until he left me and went to bed.
My stomach hurt, my head throbbed. I knew then, looking out at the orangey glow of my little road, that I was on the cusp of a choice. One of those big choices. One of those choices that makes you.
Maybe most people get to delay a decision like this. But those men today, Megan today, everything today, had made me realize that, for me, I was out of time.
What sort of person do you want to be, Lottie?
What sort of compromises are you willing to make, Lottie?
Are you going to hit the switch, Lottie? Are you going to wait to change things, and accept a few casualties in the meantime? Or are you going to start changing things now?
I was exhausted from being angry. I was angry about being exhausted.
That exhaustion – it had stopped me talking back to those men.
It had stopped me calling Mike out for stealing my point.
And, directly or indirectly, I just knew – somewhere deep inside of me – that those moments, those glimmers of time when you’re supposed to shout about something you see that’s wrong but you don’t… They somehow lead to something like what happened to Megan.
I knew then what I had to do.
The decision ballooned inside me, trickling through my guts. The energy of clarity cascaded through my limbs, filling me up till I felt golden and light.
I got down from the windowsill.
With a decision.
With a plan.
I wasn’t the sort of person who would flick the switch.
seven
I dressed carefully the next day.
A tiny pair of shorts that had shrunk in the wash, worn over fishnets from a fancy dress party. A cropped jumper I rolled up even higher. My kick-ass knee-high heeled boots that I usually only wore to parties. No coat. Even though it was freezing. I backcombed my dark hair even bigger, and shoved extra eyeliner on around my green eyes.
Just before I left for college, I applied a second coat of red lipstick.
I’d rummaged in Mum’s top drawer that morning and nabbed her old mobile phone. We’d bought her a new one for her birthday but she didn’t understand how to use it. I’d only receive nonsensical text messages saying things like GARDEN COMING ALONG NICELY and IT WILL BE COLD OUT COAT.
It was colder than yesterday – all grey and cloudy – with no sunshine to even trick you into thinking it was warmer. My stomach was freezing – and my breakfast hung out below my crop-top, my belly spilling over the top of my shorts.
Would this attract unnecessary attention? Yes.
Did I care?
No. Today I did not.
I strode with purpose, my scarf flapping behind me in the wind. It was a gamble – assuming the builders would be parked in the same place, assuming, if they were, that things wouldn’t get out of hand.
I was going to gamble though.
I turned a corner onto the road they were on yesterday, and paused for a second. There, there was the van. And the same two men were in it, sharing a Thermos of tea.
I punched 999 into my mum’s phone, and shoved it into my shorts pocket, my thumb hovering over the dial button.
I closed my eyes, took three very deep breaths and started walking towards them. I saw the younger man spot me and nudge his friend through the smudged windscreen. He looked up, surveyed me, my outfit, and they both grinned at the same time.
The van door opened, but I strode straight towards them.
“Look who it is,” the younger man said. He blocked my path again, but I didn’t care today. My thumb was still poised over 999, while my own phone was in my other hand.
“Red lipstick girl. I like what you’ve got on today, red lipstick girl.”
“You’ve got lovely curves,” the older man said, getting out and walking around the bonnet. Like it was all okay. Like they hadn’t made me run away in sheer terror only the day before.
I held out my phone ostentatiously, and took a picture of them. The loud clicking sound filling the air between us.
“Hey, what you doing?”
I didn’t reply. I just punched in the phone number plastered across the van with shaking fingers, and hit call. Praying, praying to God even though my parents tried to raise me a Buddhist – praying it wasn’t their company…
And thankfully, it wasn’t their phone that rang. I felt a small trickle of relief, though my hands still shook.
“Hello?” said a gruff voice down the line.
“Hello?” I said, staring the builders down with the stinkiest of stink eyes a stinky eye could muster. “Is that U&T Scaffolding Ltd?”
The whites of both their eyes doubled in size.
“What you doin’, lipstick?” the younger one asked.
“It is,” the phone echoed.
I took a step forward, even though everything in my body told me to take a step back.
“Can I speak to the manager, please?” I said.
The moment the words were out of my mouth the older man kicked into action, putting his hands up. He yelled “Hey hey hey, come on. Whatcha playin’ at?” The hand in my pocket quivered uncontrollably over the 999 button, but my voice didn’t break.
“You’re speaking to him.”
I took one more step forward, so I was almost chest to chest with both men. Our breath mingling in the frosty air. I wanted to talk fast, to get it over with, but I resisted. Speaking as slowly and confidently as I could, I said, “Two members of your staff are sexually harassing me every time I walk past their van.”
“Hang on a minute!” the older guy protested.
I ignored him again. “I’m just trying to walk to college,” I continued. “But they’re blocking my path and pestering me. Now, do I need to call the police or are you going to discipline your staff?”
“You little bitch,” the younger man muttered, almost to himself.
I shook my head at him menacingly. “One of them just called me a bitch.”
There was a pause on the phone, a sigh… I wasn’t safe yet; I was so far from safe.
Then the voice said, “I think I know who you mean… What’s the number plate? Can you see? Are you okay, love? Or are they threatening you?”
I read off the number plate while they stood there, open-mouthed.
Another pause. Then, “Tell them they need to come into Head Office this afternoon.”
“No, you tell them,” I replied. “And if t
hey ever speak to me again, I will call the police.”
I hung up and looked at them both squarely. Their faces furrowed. Like they were waking up from a dream, they shook their heads. Now was the most dangerous time… right now.
“Come on, love, we were only joking. There’s no need to take it so far.”
“It was just a compliment,” the older one added. “Ring ’im back and tell him it was just a compliment.”
“You can take a compliment, can’t you?”
I put my hands on my freezing-cold hips and stood strong.
“It wasn’t a compliment,” I said. “It was sexual harassment. I should be allowed to walk down a road without some men I don’t know letting me know whether they find me attractive or not. I should be allowed to wear whatever I want and walk wherever I want without being threatened or objectified, or even just bothered.”
“Fucking whore,” the younger one muttered.
“Careful,” I shouted, holding up the photo of them on my phone. Just as I did it, the older man’s phone started ringing. “You don’t get to make me, or any other girl, feel like I did yesterday ever again. Gotit?” I said, almost growling.
He looked genuinely scared. It tasted amazing, the victory on my tongue. He was finally feeling how I felt yesterday – scared, helpless, confused as to why this was happening to him. He answered his phone.
“John? John?” He turned away and signalled for his colleague to do the same. “John, no! She’s just some crazy bitch who can’t handle a compliment…”
I dodged past the open van door and walked away, leaving them behind me.
“Come into the office, why? What? Are you being serious?”
Every part of me wanted to run. To put as much distance between me and their anger as possible.
But I didn’t run down the road.
I walked.
And I smiled.
eight
I had philosophy first thing.
I breezed in, two minutes before the bell, and everyone stared. I was too high to care.
I usually sit next to Jane and Joel, but today I scooted in next to Mike.
“Hi, Mike,” I said, way too friendly. “How’s tricks?”
“Lottie!” He looked up from his textbook. It was open at the page I’d read last night – he’d highlighted the train question in yellow.
I will not be the sort of person who flicks the switch.
“I’m all right,” he said. “Though this module is kicking my butt.” He ran his hands through his blond Draco-Malfoy hair then clocked my outfit. His eyebrows shot up his face.
Ignoring him, I dumped my stuff out onto my desk.
“Okay, so this is going to sound totally strange, but why did you steal my point yesterday, Mike?” I asked.
His eyebrows danced higher. “What?”
“My analogy about philosophy,” I continued. “Yesterday you copied it and pretended it was yours. Everyone laughed and gave you the credit? Remember?”
He looked at me like I was truly nuts. But I wasn’t. And even if I was – it was his nuts that had made me nuts.
“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mike said, but the confusion had vanished from his face and it was getting red, glowing against his white-blond hair. He knew exactly what I was talking about.
“Look, it’s not a huge deal,” I continued, leaning over the desk and then realizing, in this outfit, that wasn’t the best idea. “I just find it strange, that’s all. Don’t you?”
To be fair to Mike, his eyes stayed level with mine, despite my very low-cut top.
“I don’t mean this the wrong way, Lottie,” he stammered. “But, well, you sound a little…bonkers.”
I threw back my head and laughed. Bonkers. I hadn’t heard the word bonkers in ages. Why didn’t we all use it more? It’s such a bonkersly brilliant word. And, actually, it totally summed up how I felt. I WAS bonkers. I felt bonkers. But in this really special and useful way.
I laughed while Mike stared at me with his mouth open, looking half-intrigued, half-terrified of what I was going to say next. I was done here. I’d made my point. It really wasn’t a huge deal, but I couldn’t let it go totally unnoticed. Not any more.
I took off my big scarf, and instantly regretted it. The college central heating hadn’t been switched on yet and my tummy turned to a puffy plain of goose pimples.
“Anyway, Mike, you can continue pretending you have no idea what I’m talking about. But next time…next time…don’t think I won’t call you out on it.”
He didn’t reply, just kept his eyes determinedly locked on his textbook rather than my cleavage. But, as our teacher came in, I heard him mutter, “Totally, totally bonkers.”
Everyone was at lunch. Amber, Evie, Evie’s not-quite-boyfriend Oli, Jane, Joel. Two baskets of chips lay in the middle of the table, with a liquidy pile of burger sauce. Joel had the worst habit of mixing mayonnaise with tomato ketchup wherever he went.
“I am here,” I announced, instead of a straight hello. “And I have the most excellent of plans.”
Everyone but Joel and Jane (who’d seen me in philosophy) stared in shock. An actual chip fell out of Amber’s mouth onto the table.
“Umm, Lottie?” Evie asked. “Why are you dressed like Jodie Foster in Taxi Driver?”
I looked down at my ensemble. “Not seen the film.”
Oli, a fellow film nerd, elaborated. “She’s asking why you look like a child prostitute.”
“Oh!” I grinned madly and tapped my nose. “It is part of the plan.” I pulled up a chair and sat right between Oli and Evie, just for laughs. They’d managed, after a year of nervously looking at each other, to have one whole kiss. Two weeks before, at this girl Anna’s house party. But both of them were so shy they were pretending it hadn’t happened. I yearned for their innocence. I’ve kissed soooo many boys. And that’s not the half of it.
“I’m scared,” Amber said.
“Seconded,” Evie said.
“You should have seen how weird she was in philosophy,” Joel added.
“HUSH,” I said. “I told you…I have a plan.”
“Well, what is it then?” Amber asked.
I stood up again, for extra dramatic effect – pulling down my minuscule shorts.
“I’m starting a project. Either for FemSoc, or the Spinster Club, or maybe even just for myself. It’s going to run for a month, I think. And, well, for an ENTIRE month I HAVE to call out EVERY SINGLE INCIDENCE of sexism I see.”
I waited for applause, but they all just looked at me. Apart from Joel, who’d stopped listening entirely and buried his face into a greasy hamburger.
“WELL?” I demanded.
“Every single sexist thing you see?” Evie was the first to speak.
I nodded. “Everything. Even the sexist stuff against boys too.”
Amber put her hand up.
“You don’t always have to put your hand up to speak,” I said.
“Yes I do,” she grinned. I have a habit of…er…dominating conversation when I get overexcited.
“What is it, Amber?”
“Why?”
I pointed at her. “Yes, ten points to Gryffindor. Why would I do such a thing? Why indeed?”
I pulled her out of her chair to dance with me. She was pretty wedged in but got up reluctantly and let me spin her under my arm.
“I decided after yesterday’s horribleness that it wasn’t so much all the sexual harassment that bothered me. It was the fact I didn’t stand up for myself.”
“But those men could’ve been dangerous,” Evie pipped in.
“They weren’t,” I said. “I took them on this morning and reported them to their boss.” I spun Amber harder but she broke free and dizzily turned to face me.
“You did what?”
They all stared at me like I was a teeny bit mad.
“I told you, I reported them. I even deliberately lured them in.” I pointed to my goose-pimpled body.
&n
bsp; “And that explains why she’s dressed like a child prostitute,” Oli whispered loudly to Evie, who giggled.
“Hush!” I called. “I can dress HOWEVER I like, thank you very much. Yes, I may have frostbite of the entire thigh and stomach area, but that is MY CHOICE.”
“Leave Oli alone.” Evie gave him a small look then instantly turned red. God, those two were hopeless. “There’s having your choices and then there’s choosing to dress as BAIT.”
“Evie’s right,” Amber said. “I mean, A, it sounds like you didn’t need to dress as bait anyway, they harassed you yesterday when you were all covered up in a winter coat. And, B, Lottie, that was dangerous! There’s a difference between finding trouble and trouble finding you.”
I pulled a face. “But you know I have a flair for dramatics.”
“Oh, we know,” Evie said pointedly, with a smile.
“As I was saying,” I continued. “I felt bad because I let it slide yesterday. And then I thought of all the other small things I let slide. Then I realized… What if it’s all connected?”
“What if all of what is connected?” Jane asked. Wow, I even had Jane’s attention. Probably because Joel was still totally entranced by his burger.
“Sexism. Well, all just general badness, but I’m focusing mainly on sexism. What if all the tiny shitty sexism things build up to allow the smaller shitty sexism things, and then what if all the small shitty things build up to allow the medium, and what if the medium things build up—”
“We got it,” Amber said, smiling. She loved to deliberately interrupt me when I was in full flow.
“Yes, well.” I pulled down my shorts again. Why were they so determined to be up my bumhole? I was being sexually assaulted by my own item of clothing. “That’s why I’ve decided that, for a month, I’m not going to let anything slide. You never know – I might even change the world!”
There was silence. Well, apart from Joel’s chomping noises.
Evie was the first to speak. “I like it, Lottie. I think you’re totally nuts, as always, but I like it.”
Amber nodded her freckly face. “I like it too. Though I think you need to think some stuff through.”
“Like what?”
