“And then . . . he raped me,” I say, my lips trembling.

“Oh, Claire,” she says, reaching for me with her arms. “I’m so sorry.” As she holds me tight in her arms, she tells me over and over, “It’s not your fault.”

It feels so good to hear that, to have an adult tell me it’s not my fault. I wish I could stay like this, feeling the warmth and comfort of her words, like a shield.

“I’m here for you no matter what you decide to do,” she says, looking into my eyes when we finally both let go. “Have you thought about what you want to do?”

I shake my head.

“I think the first step is to go back to school and tell Mrs. Mandalay what happened,” she says.

“I don’t want to go back.” I shake my head. My fingers press into my coffee mug, feeling the burn on my fingertips. “I don’t want to see him at school.”

“That’s exactly why you need to come back!” she says. “Claire, you have certain rights as a student. One of them is the right to feel safe. If you come back and tell the school what happened, I’m sure they’ll take the necessary actions to suspend or expel Jay for what he did.”

I look up at her.

“Claire, you’re not alone in this,” she says. “The school wants its students to feel protected. Look how quickly they got rid of Mrs. Wallace. They have an obligation.”

Emotion pokes through as she says the words and I want to believe her.

“That’s why they have administrative proceedings and other disciplinary procedures—they have systems in place to protect their students.”

I think about how decisively Mrs. Mandalay kicked out Mrs. Wallace after she wrote that email.

As Ms. Jones reaches over and puts her hand on top of mine, I look into her eyes. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. But you’re a strong girl, Claire. ‘Stronger than iron,’” she quotes from one of my essays. I smile at her from the blur of my tears.

“You’re going to get through this.”

Later that night, my parents call. I ask them if I can move out of Dani’s and check into a hotel for a few days. I can’t live with her anymore, not after what she did to me. They say okay. When I tell them I’m thinking of going to the headmistress to tell her what happened, they’re not so quick to agree.

“Hold on, before you do that,” my dad cuts in. “Let me speak to Jay’s dad next week. If there’s a way to do this quietly . . .”

It infuriates me that he somehow thinks there’s a better way to do this and it involves my silence. “What if I don’t want to do this quietly?” I ask.