7

Randy called just before midnight, just when Lexie was ready to give up trying to figure out the proper spelling of “hegemonic.” She hoped she wouldn’t have to pronounce it out loud tomorrow when she turned in her first essay for her Comp Lit class. She smiled when Randy’s name blinked from her cellphone’s glowing screen.

“You’re terrible at responding to texts, you know.”

“Yeah.” Lexie smiled.

“I’m going to invite you somewhere, but I don’t want you to freak out.”

“Freak out? Why would I?” Lexie asked, doodling daggers on her empty notepad.

“It’s a club called the Thorny Rose. Heard of it?”

“No.” Images of English pubs or burlesque clubs flitted through her mind.

“Just Google it. But know that I have no attachments to it, I just think it might be good for you.”

Randy had made it sound like shredded wheat or some fresh air, but when Lexie typed the words “Thorny Rose Oregon” into her web browser, she wasn’t sure what Randy meant by “good for you.” The website was red text on a black background, making Lexie’s eyes ache from strain. Centered on the page was a single picture of a woman’s back covered in lash marks, like red tiger stripes.

Below were testimonials: “A breath of fresh air for womyn in the scene.” –DM

“Finally, a place where I can let myself go.” -KD

She shut her computer and took a breath, scanning her empty room as if anxious of being watched. Was she on the school’s network? She’d double check. But first, she reopened her computer and looked again at the website with the fair woman’s damaged flesh. It looked as though her skin struggled to hold back something just beneath.

The computer beeped at her as an email from her linguistics professor Dr. Rindt popped into her mailbox.

Dear Ms. Clarion, it read, I would like to schedule an appointment with you during my office hours on Wednesday February 20th at 2pm. Please confirm by replying to this message.

Lexie pulled a face and deleted the email, just as her phone buzzed with a text: Pick you up at 9 Friday, yeah?

Lexie thought about the blessed pain of the tree cutting into her back, which carried deeper pains to her mind: the terrifying joy of feeling Archer’s full hand within her, the stone pressing into her spine as Archer lay atop her, the steely regret of watching Archer drive away. Lexie reached back to stroke her shoulder where the tree’s scars should’ve been. Her flesh was smooth.

Lexie stared at the computer screen and the faceless, proud woman. She picked up her phone and typed the letter “K,” then pressed send.