![]() ![]() My eyelids shut like I was trying to avoid the scary part of a movie. I locked eyes with my best friend, Annie. White geometric cubes rained down from the windowsill as the tree branches shook angrily outside. Martindale stood by the sliding doors and grasped the frame to steady himself. My head banged against the hard bottom of the desk as I was tossed around like a rag doll. I squeezed under a cluster of metal-legged desks for safety with five of my classmates. This was no pretend earthquake anymore: it was the biggest one I’d ever felt. Windows rattled back and forth and books tumbled off the shelves. Just before the bell rang, I was knocked to my knees. But new kids at my school, the International School of the Sacred Heart, usually freaked out at the tiniest tremor. I’d lived in Tokyo since I was six months old, so I barely noticed the small quakes anymore. Sometimes we had one every week, and we had just felt one on Wednesday. In Japan, earthquakes were pretty routine. Martindale’s room on Friday afternoon, I noticed some girls giggling as they climbed under their desks, pretending there was an earthquake only they could feel. Maybe I’d even thread leaves into my blond hair like the wreaths worn at the ancient Olympic Games.Īs I made my way into Mr. She was chair of the silent auction and had been working on the Bingo fund-raiser for months. I hoped Mom would let me borrow one of the nicer sheets that shimmered in the light. In the meantime, I wore my regular school uniform: navy knee-high socks and a white button-down shirt tucked into a thick polyester blue-and-green-plaid skirt. I was twelve and loved any excuse to dress up, but was holding out until I found the perfect sheet. Some of my friends were already wrapped in exquisite togas. You’d never seen Bingo like this: the entire gymnasium and cafeteria filled up with students, parents, and teachers who pounded their fists on the tables in frenzied excitement. Later that night was the annual Bingo fund-raiser at our all-girls school in Tokyo, and this year it was a Greek-themed event. Ihad only one question on my mind as I walked toward my sixth-grade math class: Which bedsheet would make me look like a real Grecian goddess? Prepare to be inspired by this remarkable young woman and her story of survival, advocacy, and hope in the face of unspeakable trauma. Chessy’s story offers real, powerful solutions to upend rape culture as we know it today. It takes a magnifying glass to the institutions that turn a blind eye to such behavior and a society that blames victims rather than perpetrators. This memoir is more than an account of a horrific event. Then, in the face of unexpected backlash from her once-trusted school community, she shed her anonymity to help other survivors find their voice. Chessy bravely reported her assault to the police and testified against her attacker in court. Paul’s School, a prestigious boarding school in New Hampshire, when a senior boy sexually assaulted her as part of a ritualized game of conquest. ![]() In 2014, Chessy Prout was a freshman at St. This is the true story of one of those girls. The numbers are staggering: nearly one in five girls ages fourteen to seventeen have been the victim of a sexual assault or attempted sexual assault. ![]() “A nuanced addition to the #MeToo conversation.” - ViceĪ young survivor tells her searing, visceral story of sexual assault, justice, and healing in this gutwrenching memoir.
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