Stop by her room that night.

Later that night, I knocked on the door of Marisa’s bedroom. She was sitting on her bed reading some feminist book or other very deliberately, and only reluctantly did she look up at me. She wasn’t exactly unfriendly, but it was clear that male company wasn’t high on her wish list right then.

Since she wasn’t in the mood for small talk, I decided to cut right to the chase. “I was in the lunchroom today,” I told her, “and I heard everything that happened.”

A dark look passed across her face. I was sure she’d been replaying that conversation in her head nonstop all day, but it still hurt to be reminded of it. “It was nothing,” she said, putting on a brave face for me, “just some idiots doing what they do best.”

“I know, but while they were being stupid they said some really awful things,“ I told her, pushing ahead despite all indications that she didn’t want to be having this conversation, “and I didn’t want them to be the, y’know, only male voice on this stuff. I just thought that since I share their gender, it was important that I come in here and tell you….” Somewhere around there I ran out of gas. What exactly did I want to tell her?