before the age of 7, my first grade class has a code red. as practiced many times before, the teacher shuts off the lights and us kids duck between the wall and a light, wooden bookshelf.

it's not many minutes into the silent darkness that a cold hand pushes its way into the back of my pants. i must be a good girl. i must stay silent. so i simply push away the hand, only for my refusal to be denied. my refusal, denied by a boy i once stood to say i had a crush on.

knowing eyes burnt my skin, but they were not as punishing as the sting of the cold hand groping me. knowing eyes did nothing but watch. knowing eyes said nothing, but followed my struggling movements like the dark's taunting shadow.

i did not say anything, not during a code red. i had to be a good girl. after all, he was just a boy.