During the break between classes, my desk mate nudged me gently. "Do you have... you know? Can I borrow one?" Seeing her awkward, squirming expression, I understood immediately. Just as I was about to reach for a pad, strange bullet comments—like a livestream chat—suddenly floated across my vision: [Lily, don't lend it to her!] [The school bully is going to snatch it. Sarah won't admit she asked for it; she'll tell everyone the blood on the back of your pants is yours!] [Because of this one pad, in a month, you’ll go insane, and Sarah will die.] ... Despite the frantic warnings floating in the air urging me to ignore Sarah, I calmly pulled out a sanitary pad and placed it squarely in front of her. "It's the extra-long overnight kind. Don't worry, it's safe." 1 Sarah Jenkins stared at the unwrapped pad sitting openly on the desk, completely frozen. I knew why she was shocked. Zach Stone, the school’s notorious bully, often led his pack of guys to make fun of girls on their periods. It had gotten so bad that girls in our class handled menstrual products like contraband—hiding them in sleeves, stuffing them in pockets, or passing them under desks in opaque black bags like secret agents. But today, I put it right there on the table in broad daylight... As if it were a pack of tissues, not a source of deep, teenage shame. "Don't like the long ones? I have a regular flow one, too." 2 As I reached for the second one, Zach acted exactly as the floating comments predicted. He snatched the pad off Sarah’s desk. He tore open the packaging with exaggerated excitement, shouting, "Sarah Jenkins! You need a mattress this big? Is it a crime scene down there? No wonder your chest looks bigger this week." "Whoa, Zach, how do you know her chest got bigger?" one of his lackeys jeered. "Sarah is Zach's childhood neighbor, how do you think he knows? Hahaha!" The boys in the class roared with laughter. Sarah clamped her legs together tight, burying her head low. "It... it's not mine. It's Lily's. She's on her period. If you don't believe me, look at the back of her pants..." Just as the comments warned, Sarah stabbed me in the back. I felt a pang of sadness. We’d been desk mates since seventh grade. We promised to go to the same high school. I never thought she’d do this to me. "Sarah, every girl gets a period. It's normal..." "Lily, leave me out of it! I don't want to talk about that stuff publicly like you. It's humiliating." Sarah didn't wait for me to finish. She scooted her desk an inch away, drawing a clear line between us. [I'm so mad! Sarah has no conscience. Lily tried to help her!] [Is the system glitching? Can Lily not see us? Why did she lend it to her?!] [Lily, you'll regret this. Zach is about to give you a nickname. Everyone's going to call you 'Period Girl'!] Period Girl? That’s a terrible nickname. Zero creativity. I looked away from Sarah and lifted my eyelids. Zach was dangling the open pad in front of my face with two fingers, waving it back and forth. "Stand up, Period Girl. Let everyone see how dirty your monkey butt is." 3 "Not as dirty as your mouth." I stood up abruptly, snatched the pad from Zach’s hand, and SLAP—I stuck the adhesive side right over his mouth. "Zach Stone, since you're so curious about feminine products, have a taste. If that doesn't satisfy your curiosity, meet me at the girls' bathroom after school. I'll stuff a used one in your mouth." A used one... The classroom went dead silent. Veins popped on Zach’s forehead. He ripped the pad off his face, threw it on the ground, and kicked my desk over. "Lily Harper! Are you crazy? I'll beat you to death!" He towered half a head over me, eyes bloodshot with rage. The bruising on his cheekbones and the scabs on his knuckles were trophies from his street fights. In the past, if Zach looked at me like that, I would have apologized and ran. But today, I hooked my lips into a cold smile. Under the stunned gaze of the entire class, I unwrapped the second pad I was holding and smoothly slapped it onto his forehead. "Remember, I'm not Period Girl. I'm your Period Grandma!" [Did I see that right? Lily slapped him with a pad AGAIN?] [SATISFYING!!!] [Lily, you are actually unhinged. Next time a guy jokes about periods, I'm doing this!] [Period Grandma, I'm dying! Lily, you're brave!] [Don't celebrate too early. Zach isn't someone to mess with. Don't forget the ending for Lily and Sarah.] The chat cheered for a moment before turning dark again. They said that in a month, Sarah would die, I would go insane, and most of the students and teachers of 10th Grade Homeroom 3 would live in the shadow of this event forever. And it all started with this one sanitary pad. 4 Truth be told, I used to be just like Sarah. I hated my period. I hated how it embarrassed me. When I first got it in sixth grade, I thought I had a terminal illness. In middle school, the cramps made me shake. P.E. class was torture, but I was too ashamed to ask for a pass. In high school, the cramps were manageable, but the stress made my cycle irregular. Getting it during class, during exams, leaking onto the chair... I’d been through every nightmare scenario. Add to that Zach’s gang of boys. They loved bullying girls on their cycles. They’d pinch their noses and say we smelled weird, or shout "Monkey Butt" if someone leaked. My period became my monthly horror show. I had to be terrified, cautious, hiding it like I was smuggling drugs, just so Zach wouldn't notice. Zach wasn't like the other boys who were clueless about anatomy. He seemed to have studied menstruation. He could spot a girl with cramps. He judged who was due based on physical changes. If someone was late, he’d start rumors: "She missed a month? She's definitely pregnant." In reality, stress can make you miss two months easily. But Zach didn't care. It was like he had a vendetta against every girl, nailing us to the cross of shame to satisfy his sick amusement. But is menstruation wrong? It's a normal physiological function! Are we wrong? We’re just normal teenage girls! Everyone knew what Zach was doing was wrong. But 10th-grade girls are sensitive, and physically weaker. Most chose silence. Some told parents or teachers. But our homeroom teacher, Mr. Miller, was an old-school academic who only cared about grades. He’d talk to Zach, and nothing would change. Calling parents didn't work either. Zach’s dad was even more unreasonable than Zach. I heard his dad once yelled at Mr. Miller, calling menstruation "filthy, unlucky, and disgusting." He even scolded parents in the group chat for letting their daughters take sick leave for cramps: "There are men in this group! Just say she's sick. Why do you have to force us to know about her cycle?"
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