What's a Girl Gotta Do? (9 page)

“So, how do you think they're going to react, when you turn up next Monday, honking a giant horn and calling everyone sexist?”

I actually hadn't thought about that. “They'll think, Aren't we lucky to have such an awesome student?” I said.

Mum shook her head slowly, all the glow from the letter unglowed in her face. “It's not great timing, sweetie, that's all. It's a great idea though…”

“I know. That's why I'm doing it. Now.”

They shared yet another look.

“Is there anything we can do to stop you?”

“Have you ever been able to stop me doing anything?”

And they didn't say anything. Because they hadn't.

thirteen

Two days before the project began, Will messaged me, asking to meet in the photography studio at college. He'd got special permission to film there during half term. An annoying bubble of excitement raced to the top of my stomach when I got it – but I pushed it away. I did not have time to fancy unsuitable boys right now… Especially ones who play the classic
I'm an equalitist, not a feminist
trick.

When I got there, I literally stopped in the doorway in shock. He'd transformed the shabby studio into a white glowing cube of light. There was a professional white backdrop set up, with at least four giant lamps with huge bulbs, and even one of those reflective silver umbrellas. A chair stood on the stark white background, in front of a massive camera.

“Woah,” I said, stepping in. “Did you do all this?”

Will was adjusting the setting of his camera, all bent over. I could just about see the tops of his boxers poking out the waistband of his jeans. They were a posh brand. The sight made me all squiffy.

He looked up, acknowledging my arrival, but then squinted back down into the lens.

“Yeah, I did,” he said into his camera. His deliberate emotional distance made me like him more. Which I'm sure was the point. Luckily, I was good at this game. Good as in, I don't play it. Ever. I sent my brain extra signals, instructing it not to fancy him any more.

“It's all very fancy.” I walked over and deliberately tilted his camera. He threw up his hands as he stood up.

“Oi!”

“Whoops.” I smiled and shrugged my shoulders.

“I did all this for you – why are you sabotaging it?”

I smiled again. “Because it's fun.” I walked onto the white sheeting, feeling him watching me. “What are we doing here anyway?”

I spun on my heel, and he was back fiddling with the camera. I didn't know for sure he'd been watching. He held his framed eye to the lens.

“Sit on the stool,” he answered.

I stayed standing. “Say please.”

“Jeez, Lottie. I'm doing you a favour here. Can you please act like it?”

I sighed and sat astride the stool – my legs wide apart.

“Very demure,” he sniped, but I saw a hint of a smile.

“I pride myself. Now, why are we here?”

One last twist of a lens and he straightened – looking right at me. He was SO serious. Serious vibes just radiated off him – along with superiority vibes and cockiness vibes.

“I thought it would be good to film an opening interview,” he said. “You know, to capture what you hope you're going to get out of this project? What you think the hardest bits will be. What you're hoping it will achieve, etc. etc. It will be interesting to watch it back when the project's over.”

I nodded, and tucked my hair behind my ears. “Okay, cool.”

“Hang on; I need to mike you up.” He came over with a little clip-on mike and held it out towards my chest. “Normally I'd just clip it on, but if you're a feminazi, you're going to accuse me of sexual assault if I do that, aren't you?”

I snatched the mike off him and clipped it to my blouse. It was my favourite one – white, with little red hearts all over it.

“Do you really think it's appropriate,” I said, “to compare wanting equal rights for everybody with a group of people responsible for mass genocide?”

“You'd totally have flipped if I'd touched your boob though.”

I shook my head. “That's not the point. And, also, yeah, I would've done, and that doesn't make me any kind of Nazi – it makes me someone who believes she should be the only one who decides who can and can't touch her boobs.”

Though – to be fair – I would probably let Will touch my boobs…

Hang on – BAD LOTTIE – NAUGHTY LOTTIE. God, I hated being so attracted to people all the time. It was exhausting being so in touch with one's loins.

“Let's just get this over with,” Will said, and he clicked something that made a red light come on.

“Are we filming?”

“Yes.”

“I'm not ready. Where's it going to go?”

“On the video channel I've made for you. And you don't need to be ready. You just need to answer questions.”

“Hang on, I need to put some lipstick on.”

Another smirk. “Now, if you're a feminist, then why is it okay for you to wear lipstick?”

“Because I want to wear lipstick.” I made my voice all slow and dumb.

“But isn't that quite hypocritical? You say you don't want to be objectified, but then you put red lipstick on?”

“Is this for the video? Or are you just taunting me for fun?”

“I'm just…” Will fiddled with the lens again. “Trying to figure out your rules for The World, as they don't seem to be very consistent.”

I tilted my head at him. “Do you actually want to hear my reasoned argument about why it's okay for feminists to wear lipstick? I have one prepared. Though my hunch is you're just trying to undermine, rather than genuinely listen to me.”

Will shrugged. “I guess I could hear it. Though it seems like an unimportant thing to focus on when there's, like, starving people in the world, and disease and stuff.”

I held up my hands. “Hang on…you've attacked my choice to wear lipstick, and now I'm trying to argue back, you're going to make me feel bad for spending time arguing with you when I could be helping orphans?” I blew out a breath in disbelief. “Have you helped any orphans today, Will? Have you given any money to charity today, Will?”

His ears were starting to go red. “No,” he admitted.

And most of the first half of his memory card was just a film of us arguing.

WEEK ONE

fourteen

I applied my war paint.

After my usual copious amounts of eyeliner, I got out a purple lipstick I'd once experimented with and vowed to never experiment with again, and dabbed lines across my cheeks.

In my bag was: a giant clown's horn – ordered online, 'cause you know I don't normally need a giant clown's horn – hundreds of badges and posters, some paper plates, two tubes of squirty cream, and countless other mini horns.

I looked at my reflection… I looked nuts. But I also looked fierce. I needed to look fiercer than I felt.

I was ready.

“What have you put on your face?” Mum asked me over breakfast. Dad, fortunately, had already gone to prepare for an early lecture.

“War paint.” I poured myself some orange juice. “My project starts today.”

“Oh dear,” was all Mum had to say about that.

The doorbell rang just as I was finishing my toast. “It's for me.” I swung my bag over my shoulder and ran to open the door. It was Amber, Evie and Will – Will had his camera running.

“HAPPY VAGILANTE DAY,” the girls cheered, pulling me out the door for a hug.

“Your war paint is awesome,” Evie said. “I want some.”

“I've got the lipstick in my bag, hang on.”

Will shoved his camera in my face just as I was handing over my purple lipstick.

“How does it feel, Lottie?” he asked, all uber-professional. I grinned into the camera lens and pointed to my face.

“This feminist is READY to declare war on patriarchy.” Then I dipped into my bag. “Hang on, I've got horns for everyone.”

“HORNS!” Amber delved in to grab herself one. I could tell she was already far too excited. “All my life, I've wanted an excuse to toot a horn.”

She honked it right in my face, making me wince. “Oww, Amber. We only honk it when we see sexism, remember?”

“Oh sorry.” But she honked it again.

Will walked backwards to get us all in shot. “So, you've just left the house, Lottie. Do you see any sexism?”

“Not yet, but it's only been five seconds.”

He peered up from his lens and I saw the corners of his eyes twinkle – if that's possible.

“You decided to still wear make-up?” he commented, just loud enough for us to hear. Instantly three horns honked right into his face.

“FIRST SEXISM OF THE DAY – FIRST SEXISM OF THE DAY!” I yelled, delighted that it was Will himself to give me my first instance. He needed vast amounts of being cut down to size.

“Why is asking that sexist?” he asked, not breaking professionalism, as we all started walking to college.

I threw him major shade. “A,” I said, “we had this argument the other day, so God knows why you're bringing it up again. B, just by asking this, you're judging my choices as a woman.”

“Woooah, hang on.” He put his hand over the lens briefly. “I'm not judging your choices as a woman.” He made quotation signs with his fingers when he said “woman”, which put my back up a bit. “I'm judging you as a female campaigning against sexism but wearing a faceful of make-up at the same time.”

Evie rolled her eyes at him. “Will, just film already. Stop being difficult.”

Amber honked the horn right in his ear, and his face scrunched up. “Yes, WILL. IF that's even your real name.”

Will rubbed his ear. “What? Why wouldn't it be my real name?”

“I'm just saying.” Amber tapped her forehead with her finger, confusing all of us.

I put my hand up to stop everyone. “Guys, come on! The project has only been going two minutes, and we're already attacking a boy.”

“He started it,” both Evie and Amber yelled.

I nodded, then threw Will more shade. “He did, and he knows he did…but no angry ranty feminismy-ness. It puts people off, remember?”

“Thanks, Lottie,” Will said. He raised his eyebrows at me – in an almost flirty way. Gah! He was already so annoying!

“Now,” I continued, “I'll explain to you
again
why I'm wearing make-up at MY BIG MEETING ABOUT IT this afternoon. If you would just WAIT, I have a whole PUBLIC SPEECH prepared about my frickin' make-up for this afternoon's special FemSoc meeting. So will you quit trying to shame me before I've even started, Mr Cameraman who's supposed to be HELPING me?”

“Okay okay okay.”

“Thank you.”

I spied my first opportunity just as we approached a bus stop.

“I need the clown horn,” I yelled, pulling it out and running towards the stop.

“She's found one, she's found one!” Amber ran after me – excitement radiating off her like a child who'd just run through the entrance to Disneyland. I drew up to the bus stop, where four or so people were waiting, and I started madly honking my horn at the advertisement on the side of it.

“Attention, attention.” I raised my voice. “I just have to let you know, this poster is TOTALLY SEXIST.”

Will and Evie ran up to me with the camera. I could see the bus drawing up behind them. I didn't have long to try and win these people over.

I pointed to the advertisement. It was for a new Hollywood film and the movie poster was shot between a woman's legs. You couldn't see her face or any other part of her apart from her perfect legs that most women could never get unless they lunged instead of breathed and then married a Photoshop specialist. The lead male was shot in all his bodily gloriousness and posed between the inanimate legs. He was allowed a face, a head, shoulders, arms, and all other body parts to be included on the poster at the same time.

“This poster is sexist,” I repeated, feeling slightly disheartened by the fact that people were ignoring me – instead looking at the arriving bus and fumbling for their bus passes in their pockets. “Why just have a random pair of women's legs? Would you EVER see a film poster like this the other way round? Where the body parts of men were cut into pieces and assembled nicely around a full-bodied woman?” The loud hiss of the arriving bus drowned me out. Everyone got on, pretending I wasn't there. Apart from a very elderly-looking lady who said, “You look just like my son, Michael,” before wobbling her way up the steps.

The bus left us in a cloud of exhaust fumes.

Amber slow-clapped. “Wow, Lottie. You really got through to them.”

I coughed, feeling my face go red. “The important thing is I pointed it out,” I said, half to them, half to the camera lens. I smirked, remembering what I had with me. “And… I'm not finished with this poster yet.” I kneeled down, unzipped my bag, and yanked out a paper plate and a can of squirty cream.

“Umm, what the heck do you have there?” Evie peered over my shoulder.

“Shh.” I pulled out a marker pen and wrote
This is sexist
on the back of the plate. “I am making a cream pie.”

Amber, Will and Evie all crowded around me.

“You're…you're…
Bugsy Malone
-ing the bus shelter?” Evie asked, wonder in her voice.

I nodded. “You said to make it funny.”

Amber put her hand up while Will zoomed in. “Umm, what's ‘
Bugsy Malone
-ing' mean?”

As I was too busy determinedly squirting cream onto the plate to answer, Evie explained.

“Have you not seen the film? They all carry these things called splurge guns – they're like machine guns, but filled with cream instead of bullets. And they splurge each other instead of killing each other, because it's all acted by kids.”

I stood up, brandishing the plate on my palm. “Will? Make sure you get this.” I spun on my feet and hurled the pie at the poster. It splattered marvellously, right between the woman's butt cheeks, dripping down onto her airbrushed legs. The cream stuck the plate there – with
This is sexist
clear for anyone to see. I cannot adequately describe the soaring euphoria I felt as I let go of that pie, nor how it quadrupled when I heard it splatter over that poster – but it's safe to say I felt the happiest I've felt in a long time.

People don't throw enough cream pies – that's what I've decided.

People walk past too many bullshit posters and don't throw cream pies.

Evie, Amber and Will looked on, stunned, as more trickles of melted cream eked their way down the poster. I heard a hiss behind us. Another bus was coming.

“What now?” Will asked, moving the camera from the poster back to my face.

“Now?” I asked, staring right back at him. “Now, we run.”