What's a Girl Gotta Do?

by Holly Bourne

  Although he hadn’t looked at me, I took a step forward so we stood side by side.

  Mr Packson looked flummoxed. Totally and utterly bamboozled. I didn’t dare say anything; I didn’t dare breathe.

  “Give me a minute, could you please?” He waved us away with his hand.

  I didn’t need to be told twice. I half-ran out the room. My body had had far too much adrenalin surging through it far too many times today. I sank onto the comfy sofa in the lobby area and splayed my legs out. I felt Will sink onto the cushion next to me.

  I didn’t turn to look at him, because I was feeling lots of conflicting things. But I said: “Wow, you really came across like you cared. If I didn’t know better, I would say you were a right feminist.”

  “Good thing you know better then, hey?”

  I could feel his smile. “So, why?”

  “I’ve put a lot of work into this documentary already. I think I can use it as my big piece to get into film school. I don’t want it to fall apart on its first day.”

  I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see. “So, nothing to do with the greater good then? You just want to further your own career?”

  He finally turned to me, making the tips of our knees touch. I overruled my natural instincts and moved my knees away.

  “Hey, look, I never said I was against feminism. I just believe in equality for everyone and, well, logic and reason. I have to, I’m a documentary maker! I believe in finding the truth. And you’re always going on about this-sexist-thing-happened, and that-sexist-thing-happened, but that’s just you saying so. I’m more interested in seeing concrete evidence.”

  I crossed my arms. “So me telling you something isn’t evidence? Women all routinely saying the same awful stuff happens to them isn’t considered evidence?”

  “It’s not scientific and objective evidence, no.”

  “So if I told you I had a shower this morning, would you say I was lying? Would you want photographic evidence?”

  Will grinned. “Well, yeah, of course I’d want photographic evidence of you in the shower.” And I hit him.

  “Ouch. Come on! You left that one wide open.”

  “You’ve basically just admitted to not believing an entire gender’s experience,” I said, aghast.

  “I’m not saying I don’t believe you!” He ran his hands through his hair. “I’m just saying, I’m a reasonable guy…and I respond better to reason. To stats. Not…anger.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not responding to a lifetime of repression in an appropriate way for you?” I made my voice all sarcastic. “I’m sorry, how rude of me. Next time I feel too scared to walk alone in case I’m fucking raped, I’ll make sure I tell you about it really politely, to spare your feelings, and then I’ll let you hook me up to a freakin’ polygraph test so you can check I’m not exaggerating just for kicks. SORRY IF MY RESPONSE TO FEAR IS UPSETTING YOU.”

  I yelled so loud the receptionist came out from around the corner to tell us to shush.

  “Hey,” Will said, his face reddening. “I just saved your arse in there.”

  I pulled a face. “You did not!”

  “Did too. You were totally flailing.”

  “Well, it’s tiring. Living with sexist bullshit every day. I know you think I’m HALLUCINATING it all or something – but there is a lot of it out there.” I pulled my horn out of my bag and honked it right in his face. He covered his ears with his hands.

  “What was that for?”

  “You,” I said. “Thinking you’ve come to ‘rescue’ me…” I smiled. “I was doing fine by myself.”

  Which wasn’t strictly true, but whatever. In a second, he’d grabbed the horn off me.

  “Oi, give me my sexism horn back.”

  He held it behind his back. “You can’t honk it at me! I’m part of the project!”

  I went to snatch it, but he dodged. I clambered at him, tugging at his jumper, and he continued to evade me. We were both giggling, out of breath… God it was fun flirting with someone who looked like him. But I couldn’t, especially after all the exasperating things he’d just said… I pretended to give up and lay back in the squishy sofa.

  “It’s my project, Will. I said I’d call out everything I saw – and, while I appreciate your input today—”

  “Input? I just saved the whole thing from tanking!”

  I ignored him. “I’m not going to allow you to make yourself Switzerland in this battle. If you act all male-superior, I will honk my horn at you. And…if you continue to keep it from me…I will not think twice about pie-ing the crap out of you.”

  Will looked at me, amused, before slowly surrendering my horn.

  “Well, it was worth a try.”

  “Have you thought about – I dunno – actually emotionally backing this project? Listening to what I’m saying, and thinking about why I’m saying it, rather than trying to make it into an intellectual discussion you can win? Try being on our side, rather than just shoving a lens in my face and making snide comments?”

  He stretched his arms up, the bottom of his stripy jumper riding up as he did so.

  “Why are you so obsessed with, like, winning me over to your side? Why do you care that I’m not totally behind it?”

  I threw my hands up. “I don’t know. Maybe because I’m trying to CHANGE THE WORLD, and it’s fucking hard work and it would be nice if people agreed with the indisputable FACT that you are much more screwed in this universe if you identify as a girl, compared to if you identify as a boy – instead of arguing with me. And, maybe, just maybe, we could work TOGETHER to make things better for EVERYONE if only you’d stop being a pedantic butthead.”

  I waved my hands so aggressively that the horn flew across the waiting area. I sighed and went to pick it up.

  “You just need to calm down a little.” He said it so patronizingly, I could’ve killed him.

  Instead I picked up the horn, ran back, put it as close to his ear as possible and honked it loud twice. The receptionist hushed me again, shooting me dagger stares.

  “OUCH! Stop it. What was that for?!”

  “You just told me to calm down. I wasn’t being uncalm! I was just being a girl and sharing an opinion – that is NOT UNCALM…” Okay, maybe now I was uncalm… “You wouldn’t have said that if I was a guy. If I was a guy, and I was just talking about something I believed in, just slightly louder than I usually talked, you wouldn’t use the words ‘calm down’ to me. You only tell boys to calm down when they’re pissed out of their heads and about to punch someone in the face and get everyone barred from the pub, but, no…girls, all we need to do is raise our voices slightly and have an opinion and then it’s like CALM DOWN, YOU MAD COW!” I had an adrenalin re-surge. Just when I thought this project was silly, or over the top, or could potentially ruin all my life plans…I just reignited like one of those trick birthday candles that don’t blow out.

  Will didn’t have a chance to respond – though it looked like he was gearing up for a fight. Half his mouth hung open, in stupored disbelief, the other half was in a snarl. But Mr Packson’s door was suddenly flung open and he strode out, wringing his hands.

  “Charlotte? William?”

  We glared at each other then followed him back into his room. He walked behind his desk but didn’t sit down. I bet he’d learned that on some kind of head teacher training day.

  “I’ve been thinking…” He looked over the tops of our heads. Not a good sign. “And I’ve decided, Charlotte, you can continue with this project…” It was my turn for my mouth to drop open.

  “Really? Thank you, sir…”

  He held up his hand to indicate he wasn’t finished. “With some adjustments, of course.”

  Will and I looked at each other.

  “For one,” he continued, “I can’t believe I’ve got to say this, but no cream pies!”

  “But…!”

  “None, not on college property. If I see even a hint of squirty cream on these premis
es, I will suspend you instantly. And you know what that means.”

  I looked down, wanting to argue, knowing I couldn’t. I knew… No Cambridge… Dad would go beyond nuts.

  “And it’s not just pies. You cannot physically touch a student in an aggressive way at all during this month… I mean, you’re not supposed to anyway. I will do what I can to support you, Charlotte. And I want you to write something for the college newspaper…” He turned to Will. “You can tell that to the local paper. And William? You are free to leave. I need a few words with Charlotte by herself.”

  Will stalked out – no doubt triumphantly thinking that he was responsible for the project being saved. But my relief overrode my annoyance.

  The door shut behind him and Mr Packson beckoned for me to sit down.

  “Take a seat, Lottie.”

  Well, at least I was back to being Lottie.

  He sat down too, and surveyed me over his pen pot and framed photo of his toddler.

  “What’s going on, Lottie?” he asked. “You’re a month away from your Cambridge interview. Why would you distract yourself with something so…” He ran his tongue under his bottom lip. “Time-consuming?”

  “Because it’s the right thing to do,” I repeated. For, like, the millionth time in my life.

  “Do your parents know? What’s going on with this, I mean?”

  I nodded.

  “And I can guess how they’re taking it…”

  I nodded. Mr Packson and my parents had met a few times, always to discuss “my shining future”. Dad had always been a bit like a pit bull terrier with him. He wasn’t used to how they were treated compared to at my old school – where parents were treated like bosses of their own corporations, the children just an “asset”. You could schedule a meeting with any teacher, any time, and they’d fall all over themselves to tell parents what they wanted to hear. When Mum and Dad first wanted to quiz Mr Packson about my Cambridge chances last year… Well Dad wasn’t happy when he had to wait a week and a half for a free slot. He’d made his unhappiness known.

  Mr Packson smiled – like knowing my parents disapproved made him like the idea all of a sudden. “Are you sure this isn’t going to impact your studies?”

  I nodded. “There’s more to life than studying, anyway.”

  “Be careful, Lottie. You’re playing with your future here. I know how much getting into Cambridge means to you and your family.”

  I sighed. “Yes, it does. But this project doesn’t clash with my interview date. And, you know what?” I thought about Megan again. “Sometimes you need to be able to look at yourself in the mirror. I don’t want to be a hypocrite…”

  He did another small smile. I was SO his favourite student – even if I was also his most difficult.

  “We need to talk ground rules though; I can’t have you personally attacking the teachers.”

  I shook my head this time. “It doesn’t work that way. I can’t pick and choose.”

  He didn’t lose his temper. He just sat back in his chair, like I was about to tell him a story. “How does it work then?”

  So I explained it to him – the whole idea, all the rules, I even told him about the van men and how I got the idea.

  “Jesus, Lottie,” he exclaimed, in the annoying disbelieving way men tend to have when you tell them such a thing.

  “It’s okay,” I told him. “‘I’ve still been walking that way and the van’s gone. I’m hoping they maybe got fired or disciplined or whatever.”

  After I’d finished, he leaned back further – mulling it all over. I tried not to look at his bald patch too much – but everyone at college said it was shaped like a kidney bean, and it really, really was.

  “So…” he said. “You have to call out every bit of sexism you see in some way, but you don’t do each thing more than once?”

  I nodded, still eyeing the bald patch. “You got it.”

  “So, those horrid builders, say. You wouldn’t take them on again?”

  I sort of shook my head. “I wouldn’t take them on in particular… But if some other guy catcalled me, I’d still take him on – because it’s a new person. And, if the same person did something ELSE sexist, then I’d holler too. But, other than that, once it’s out and I’ve hollered, then that’s that.” I wasn’t sure why I was suddenly using the word “hollered”, but I liked how it sounded – like I had spunk. Which, let’s face it, is a sexist word, but I bloody do.

  “So Teddy and his mates aren’t safe?”

  “They’re safe from cream pies. I’ve agreed to back down on the cream pies on college premises.”

  “That’s very generous of you.”

  “I know.”

  “I still can’t have you attacking the teachers personally though…” He had another think. “I know… Calling it out? What does it involve exactly?”

  I shrugged. “It’s different for different things, it’s all a bit ad-hoc if I’m honest. But, generally, in some way or another, I have to make it clear to society or whatever, that it’s sexist.”

  Mr Packson was grinning. “Would telling the head teacher of your college make it clear enough? If he promised to listen and take it in?”

  I could see where this was going… I narrowed my eyes. God, he was clever. Though I needed to compromise somewhere. I couldn’t get suspended – we both knew it.

  “I guess…”

  He leaned so far back in his chair that he put his feet up on the desk, and folded his hands behind his head.

  “Well, go on then, Lottie. You have my full attention. Tell me every single sexist thing our staff does – let it out. I’m the head teacher and I’m going to totally acknowledge it.”

  I chewed my lip and wished Will was here to film it – though I suspected Mr Packson wouldn’t be doing this if he knew it was going onto our channel.

  I threw back my head in defeat.

  “We’re going to be here a long time.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  “All right then. Well, my philosophy teacher, he always picks boys to answer questions over girls. I counted it once, it’s like at least a 70:30 boy to girl ratio…”

  eighteen

  There was no greater sight than that of twenty FemSoc members honking their horns in the college cafeteria.

  As yet another sexist rock song came on the jukebox, we all stopped our meeting, jumped on our chairs and started honking for all we were worth. Amber seemed to be getting into it more than anybody. She jumped up on the table, her face red with excitement, and yelled, “WOMEN ARE NOT BITCHES!”

  Most of the cafeteria (Teddy’s mates) were booing us and deliberately putting sexist songs on the jukebox just to enjoy the drama, fifteen per cent were ignoring us, and ten per cent kept coming over to ask what we were doing, listening to us explain it, then saying, “Cool.”

  All I cared about was that ten per cent.

  Teddy was sat right next to the jukebox, giving me evils. Which was nothing new. I felt a surge of frustration. I really, really hadn’t done anything WRONG to him. We’d dated, I’d realized he wasn’t for me. I’d told him, nicely, as soon as I’d figured that out. Why was he still SO angry?

  Will was filming everything – albeit with a scowl on his bespectacled face. We’d had yet another fight after I emerged triumphantly from Mr Packson’s office.

  “You should have let me film Mr Packson,” he said. “I can’t believe you let all that footage go to waste!”

  “I’ll explain it all in my video diary tonight,” I promised, trying to calm him. “Plus, I told you, I don’t think he would’ve agreed to it if you were shoving a camera in his face.”

  After we’d suitably rejected the current song choice, we clambered back into our uncomfortable metal chairs and resumed our meeting.

  Evie opened a bag of cheesy Doritos and passed them round the circle. I noticed her helping herself to a small pile before passing them on and my tummy twisted for her. She wouldn’t eat from the bag once it had gone round t
he whole circle. It made me sad, even if she was so much better than she used to be.

  Megan sat next to me, sketching as I spoke.

  “So, you were explaining why you’re still wearing make-up,” one of our members, Georgina, prompted.

  I nodded and tried to regain my trail of thought…it had been interrupted a LOT by all the misogynistic rock.

  “Yes, I was. Because I thought that SOMEBODY…” I glared at Will. He glared back, but still kept filming. “…might ask. And I was right. I have decided to still wear my usual make-up for the duration of this project…but it’s not been a decision I’ve made lightly,” I said, as people started whispering. “I wanted to chat today about cognitive dissonance – have any of you heard of it?”

  Everyone shook their heads. Evie shook hers especially hard. “You’re obsessed with hard words,” she called over the table, and everyone laughed.

  “I know, I know, I know…I’ll try and explain it as quickly as I can. Basically cognitive dissonance is just a posh term for having two personal beliefs at the same time that contradict each other.”

  There was quiet. The last chorus of the rock song was fading, so I knew I didn’t have long. Especially as Teddy and the rest of His Lot were gathered around the jukebox now – pumping twenty pence pieces in and looking over with glee. I continued.

  “So an example is loving cute baby pig pictures on Instagram but then still eating bacon…or…umm…I dunno, really rushing and getting stressed about arriving in time for a yoga class.”

  Amber butted in. “So, it’s like hypocrisy?”

  I nodded. “Yeah…I guess. And, I mean, everyone is guilty of it. No one is perfect. However, I was thinking about how cognitive dissonance works in feminism…”

  The song ended and almost instantly some new song, “Pimp My Hoes”, started playing. I mean…really? I hadn’t even realized we had that song on the shitty jukebox yet, it was only just on the radio.

  Teddy and his mates cheered – “This one’s for you lezzas!” Teddy called through his hands – getting about twelve pats on the back from the ladz.

  Me, Evie and Amber found each other’s eyes over the table, rolled them, then got up again. The rest of FemSoc followed and we blasted our horns. This seemed to make Teddy and his mates even happier.