Chapter 8 Metrotown Mall
(Excerpt from beginning of chapter)
In the parking lot of Dover Secondary School, 3 boys with long hair lean against a dented blue Taurus; the stereo cranks Ludacris. A police cruiser is parked near the front entrance: Columbine and other high school shootings have made police presence a normal part of high school life. A girl with straight, blonde hair, a perfectly powdered face, and lips touched with pink gloss glides by me. Dressed in a pink-shirt that barely reaches her midriff, she caresses her stomach absentmindedly. A blue jewel is nestled in her navel. Thin, clear bra straps have fallen from her shoulders; she does not seem to care. She has a boy on either side. One has his arm around her shoulders and the other has his hand on the small of her back, with a single finger looped in the thong that rides above worn, white jeans.
In the office, there are 6 girls on the couch across from me. We are all waiting to see the school counselor. One has wet hair and her T–shirt is soaked. The female police officer looming over them later tells me that the tough-looking blonde doused the wet girl with a Snapple, calling her a “man-whore.” The counselor arrives and ushers me into his office. The girls stand in the doorway, yelling and complaining about each other. He escorts them to a conference room. A young woman wanders into his office to use the phone. There is a small tattoo of a broken heart peeking from the sleeve of her T-shirt. She tells me about the girls and the ongoing battle over boyfriends. “Most girls are labeled a slut, a bitch, or a loser,” she says. “The drunk me always gets talked into messing around, which makes me a slut.” “Have you ever traded sex for anything?” I ask. “Maybe drugs,” she says.
The counselor returns and asks if she told me about the nude pictures. “A lot of girls use webcams to strip for guys,” she says nonchalantly. “We had a student who was dating a young man, and when they split up he put her naked photos on the Web. Everyone including her family saw them,” he explains. Seeing the vice-principal, he runs out to speak with him. He returns a few minutes later with Samantha. She has pulled her long hair into a ponytail, and is wearing a sweat top. She looks more like a cute cheerleader than the sexy girl I had seen earlier in the hall.
Samantha, 16, had been recruited into prostitution at a mall.
In the parking lot of Dover Secondary School, 3 boys with long hair lean against a dented blue Taurus; the stereo cranks Ludacris. A police cruiser is parked near the front entrance: Columbine and other high school shootings have made police presence a normal part of high school life. A girl with straight, blonde hair, a perfectly powdered face, and lips touched with pink gloss glides by me. Dressed in a pink-shirt that barely reaches her midriff, she caresses her stomach absentmindedly. A blue jewel is nestled in her navel. Thin, clear bra straps have fallen from her shoulders; she does not seem to care. She has a boy on either side. One has his arm around her shoulders and the other has his hand on the small of her back, with a single finger looped in the thong that rides above worn, white jeans.
In the office, there are 6 girls on the couch across from me. We are all waiting to see the school counselor. One has wet hair and her T–shirt is soaked. The female police officer looming over them later tells me that the tough-looking blonde doused the wet girl with a Snapple, calling her a “man-whore.” The counselor arrives and ushers me into his office. The girls stand in the doorway, yelling and complaining about each other. He escorts them to a conference room. A young woman wanders into his office to use the phone. There is a small tattoo of a broken heart peeking from the sleeve of her T-shirt. She tells me about the girls and the ongoing battle over boyfriends. “Most girls are labeled a slut, a bitch, or a loser,” she says. “The drunk me always gets talked into messing around, which makes me a slut.” “Have you ever traded sex for anything?” I ask. “Maybe drugs,” she says.
The counselor returns and asks if she told me about the nude pictures. “A lot of girls use webcams to strip for guys,” she says nonchalantly. “We had a student who was dating a young man, and when they split up he put her naked photos on the Web. Everyone including her family saw them,” he explains. Seeing the vice-principal, he runs out to speak with him. He returns a few minutes later with Samantha. She has pulled her long hair into a ponytail, and is wearing a sweat top. She looks more like a cute cheerleader than the sexy girl I had seen earlier in the hall.
Samantha, 16, had been recruited into prostitution at a mall.