The campus was mostly deserted. Late afternoon, fall, getting dark. One of the popular boys was still hanging out in the quad. Alone. Smoking.
“Hey!” He yelled. “You! Girl! YOU!” He stepped out to block my way as I walked by. “Hey, hey.” I looked up to see him shuffling toward me. “Let me put this in there for you.” He was waggling his dick at me through his open fly.
When I backed up, he charged at me, holding his dick like he was going to jab me with it. Big, broad-shouldered, grinning but angry — a wall between me and the way home.
I was 15. It was the first time — and last — I wore a skirt to school. After that, my uniform was oversized men’s cardigan sweaters from Decelle’s and jeans.
There’s a memorial plaque to him in the town square.