Her words hung in the air, and Dewey's papers fell to the floor. Summer took in a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She wanted to take it back. The look of utter horror and confusion on Dewey's face made her want to take it back. Just a joke, you know. I didn't mean it. Yes, very mean and very nasty. Just a ...joke...Oh God. It was out; her nasty, dirty secret was out. That was all Summer could think about. She had finally admitted to it, and said it aloud.

I

Was

Raped

These three short, little words could possibly be the scariest words in the world, especially to Dewey Finn. Sure, he had heard about it happening, had read about it in the paper, and saw it on the news. But, for some reason, it meant something more to him now. One of his band members, nay... children had been hurt in an unforgivable way.

"Summer..." she blinked away tears, staring at the floor. "Summer, does anyone else know?" Silently, dumbly, she shook her head. Dewey sighed, putting a hand to his forehead. He'd never had experience with this. Busted guitar string? Sure. Tuning issues? Definitely. Getting a bunch of stuck-up concert yuppies to book a band comprised of little kids? Got it done. Emotional breakdowns? Not exactly.

"I'm sorry." Summer look at the ground, expecting something. She wanted to be punished. She needed to be hurt. I've done something wrong, she realized, I've made Dewey sad.

"For what?" Neither had an answer for this, and Summer kicked at the ground with a toe. It killed him to see one of his kids so out of it. Dewey wanted Summer to do something. He wanted her to yell, and scream, and be angry. "You have nothing to be sorry for." Summer, however, did none of these things. She stared blankly out the window, not reacting in the worst way. "Summer, girl, I'm gonna have to tell your parents."

"No!" Fear overtook her brown eyes, and she shook her head. "No, no, no. Don't tell them! Please, Dewey! Don't tell them."

"But, they deserve to know." Wiping her nose on her hand, Summer shook her head again. Her eyes were bright, feverish bright, and her cheeks were stained a blotchy red. "Okay, I won't tell them." She looked relived. It was short lived, as he picked up his keys.

"What are you doing?" Dewey paused, showing her what he had in his hands. Her reaction was not what he had hoped for. She had an almost desperate fear in her eyes, and she made a dash towards the door.

"I'm going to take you home, Summer. I don't want you walking around the city." Rapidly, the dark-haired girl shook her head.

"Oh, I can call my mother. Don't worry; I don't want to bother you." Already, she had her cell phone out and was dialing the numbers. "Hey, mom?" Her mother said something on the other line, and Summer nervously played with her hair. "Uh, yeah, practice ran a bit longer. Okay... I'll see you in five minutes." With a nervous glance around the apartment-turned-studio, Summer jerked on the door knob, and fled into the hallway.

Dewey could hear her staccato footsteps as she ran down the corridor and thundered down the stairs. "No girl should ever have to feel that way, ever."

oOo

After Summer left (fled, was more like it) Dewey had sat down on his bed, put his head in his hands, and mourned. Summer Hathaway was one of the least deserving girls for this to happen to. She always paid attention, she always did her homework, she never cheated on tests... she was without a doubt, the best student in her class. Dewey could still remember what she had said, on his first day at that memorable elementary school.

"...First off, let me welcome you to Horace Green..."

God, when did people get so messed up that they went around raping little girls? Damn it! Summer was only in middle school! Dewey ran a hand through his messy hair. Everything was messy now. But, Jesus, how would her parents react? How would the band react?

It didn't make sense, why would someone want to hurt Summer? If it weren't for the band, she would've been involved with student politics, and tutoring and millions of after school programs. If it weren't for the band, Summer Hathaway could've done anything she wanted in her life.

As he had so previously stated, Summer was going to be the very first woman president, she could run later this year even, and Dewey would vote for her. Hell, he'd probably do the rock and roll thing and somehow get a bunch of fourteen year old kids (IE: the band mates) into the voting booths to swing the polls her way.

An eerie silence fell over the apartment, like dust on a child's broken toy.