“Abortion is a human right. A right that, when legally stripped away, doesn’t actually prevent the procedure from taking place. It only prevents safe abortions from taking place.”
I must be staring with my mouth wide open, because Bo looks at me and grins, as if this is the exact reaction she was going for. She then goes on to argue why abortion should be legal everywhere. I almost laugh. I’m completely baffled that someone has the balls to do this at Catholic school. Her presentation is complete with statistics and sources from scientific journals. She even quotes the Constitution. Bo’s a badass. I like her. I make a mental note to try and make friends with her later.
There are a few girls nodding along in agreement every now and then, but for the most part, everyone looks monumentally uncomfortable. Especially Mrs. Havens. I don’t know why, but I absolutely love that.
Once Bo is done, Mrs. Havens looks fully unimpressed. “I expect better from you, Ms. Taylor.”
Damn, is she going to publicly shame everyone like this?
“Why? Because I’m Chinese?” Bo snaps back. “Sorry for not living up to your model minority BS.”
“And not everything is about race, Ms. Taylor. You may have a seat.”
Bo rolls her eyes and sits back down. Mrs. Havens asks for another volunteer, but since no one raises their hand, she chooses me to go next.
After seeing Bo’s presentation, I’m not as nervous. Mine might get me a side-eye from Mrs. Havens, but it’s not the most controversial topic today. Bo gave me an extra boost of confidence.
I get up and walk to the front of the room. Deep breath.
“Ms. Flores, unroll your skirt, please. That’s against the dress code.”
I look down and realize my shirt isn’t pulled out far enough to hide the rolls in my skirt. Dammit.
“I’m too short for these skirts. It’s way too long,” I say under my breath, but I know Mrs. Havens heard me, because she sighs. Some kid coughs while I’m unrolling my skirt.
“Bet money she’s the next one at the abortion clinic.” A few hushed snickers.
“Excuse me?” My eyes dart around to try and find a guilty face. The voice came roughly from where my new “friends” are sitting. They aren’t laughing, but Karen looks like she might be trying not to.
“Ms. Flores, please go ahead with your presentation,” Mrs. Havens says, probably trying to keep me from losing my shit. I ignore her. I’ve heard too many stereotypes about teenage Mexican girls to let it slide. My face is burning too hot to remember my bullshitted presentation anyway.
“Why do I look like the type of person who would get an abortion? Is it because I’m Mexican? Because I don’t want my skirt to reach the floor? Because I have to work to pay my tuition? Did you even listen to that girl?” I say, gesturing wildly at Bo. “People like me are less likely to get abortions. We can’t afford it!”
“That’s enough, Ms. Flores. Your presentation, please.” Mrs. Havens tries to stop me, and my brain is telling me to shut the fuck up and do the presentation I stayed up all night preparing, but I can’t stop.
“You know what, this is my presentation. You know who’s most likely to get an abortion at our age?” I stare right at Karen. I’m only like 40 percent sure it was her who said it, but she deserves a talking-to either way. “Rich white people. Rich white people with the privilege of having the choice of what to do with their bodies and the rest of their lives. And you know who’s most likely to lie about getting an abortion? People who grow up in a religion that gets off on shame and guilt, who can’t safely carry proof of their ‘sin’ on their bodies or risk being shunned by their families and excommunicated by their church.”
“Ms. Flores!” Mrs. Havens’s face shakes as she shouts my name. She takes a breath to calm herself down before continuing. “Sit down, please.”