And I found myself getting angry at both of them. Nora for acting like “that’s what guys do” excused it, and at Boy Band, because it pissed me off that there was a chance, however small, that he could have been right. And I realized that what makes sexism so infuriating isn’t just the obvious things, but the things you’re not entirely sure about. Those insidious moments that make you wonder if you’re just being paranoid, or if you’re entirely right, but being gaslit by people who want you to believe you’re crazy. How maddening to live with such uncertainty! To feel diminished by a world that keeps you on such shaky ground!

And then, on top of it, to have your own boyfriend kindly and politely suggest that maybe all this pent-up anger is just because it’s your time of the month.

Needless to say, when I left school that day, I was ready for a fight. Just the frame of mind to be in when you’re about to pay a visit to the county jail.

25

Two White Girls Visiting a Black Kid in Jail

Spoiler alert: it didn’t happen. What did happen, though, made me wonder if a “correction” was exactly what this world needed.

The county jail was exactly as it had been before. Only the clerk behind the glass was different. This time the officer was a guy clearly bitter about being the interface between those on the outside and those on the inside. You could see in his face that he believed there were only two kinds of people in the world: those in jail, and those who hadn’t been caught yet. Layton, his timing always terrible, texted Hey, just as we approached the clerk. He must have just gotten out of football practice. I texted him back a heart just to shut him up and turned my attention to the jail clerk.

“We’re here to see one of your inmates,” I said.

“Doesn’t work that way,” he said.

It had worked that way last week when I was a guy, but I wasn’t going to argue. “So how does it work?” I asked.

“Let’s start with a name.”

“Leo Johnson.”

At the mention of Leo’s name he suddenly became much more attentive, and twice as suspicious. “You want to see Leo Johnson?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“And what is your relationship?”

“We’re friends of his.”

“Friends.” The officer spat the word out, flat and dull, like gum into an empty trash can. “Do your parents know the kinds of ‘friends’ you keep? Nice girls like you? You shouldn’t have anything to do with Leo Johnson.”

I wanted to hit him for the disdain and disapproval in his voice, but the glass between us prevented that.