It had started as a game.

We jumped around the gym, pulling each other's hair and tripping each other's feet. We held hands and spun in fast circles. Michael had been the first to fly off the ring. He landed on the hard wood floor and laughed until he was out of air. Chris had not wanted to let go of my hand, even though the game was finished.

I wandered through the gym listening to Michael. He was like a toy volcano, erupting into sudden howls. The room felt like a coliseum. This is probably because it was empty, except for us. It was well after school by this time. I had just gotten out of track practice. I can't remember why Chris and Michael were around -- neither was in after school sports.

I saw the two of them huddle together and utter words that I could not hear. I floated aimlessly along, unaware that they were plotting a crime. I was twelve years old. We were in the seventh grade. Chris was my choir partner, and Michael and I were in the school band. Why would I think my classmates had evil tucked under their belts?

They had both crept quietly behind me. Like a pair of leopards, they sprung. Chris locked onto my left hand and Michael the other. There was lots of arm pulling and screeches from our shoes. The gym now sounded like a basketball game -- two on one.

At first, I did not understand their goal; I only tried to get away. But I was losing ground. I knew this because their faces got excited. They had been pulling me toward one side of the room. I did not know why. After Michael grabbed the boy's locker room door, the pieces flew together.

"Come on Chris!" he yelled. "Get her through!"

I remember Chris's face. He grinned and flashed his rosy cheeks at me, just like he had in class, earlier in the day. Then he let go of my hand to wrestle me through. I acted fast by gripping the frame of the door, and screaming as loud as I could. I was being manhandled like a steer at a rodeo.

My grip lasted until Michael picked up my feet and yanked me all the way inside. My elbows and palms crashed onto the cold cement floor.

"Grab her arms!" he said. "I have her feet!"

I was twisting and kicking when the door closed behind me. I saw the light streaming in from the gym swing sideways, until there was nothing left but a thin line. It was like watching the dial of a countdown clock reach zero.

In darkness, I heard the laughter of two boys and my own cries. What I did not hear were the voices of others. The three of us were alone, and Chris and Michael were my friends.

A swell of relief passed through me. This was the end of the game, I thought to myself. They had gotten me good. I stopped struggling and my cries turned into gulps of air. In this moment of recovery, I never saw the next thing coming.

"Who's hollering in there?" shouted a boy.

"Keep the door open!" Michael shouted back.

I saw a new door open and a boy stick his head out. My friends had pulled me into the P.E. locker room. What I did not know is that the boy's athletics team had a separate locker room. That room had been my destination all along. Chris and Michael had snared me, like a hunter would a rabbit. But at the age of twelve, I hardly knew the meaning of malevolence.

The boy opened the door wide, and beyond him were the red, fleshed bodies of the football team. They had just returned from the field. They were older than us and a lot bigger. When I saw them, I forgot about my choir partner and the boy from band. I became a frenzy that only knew how to lash her feet and bite into skin.

Once inside the athletics room, I was unable to count the hands that squeezed and clutched my body. The animals were starving, and I was a strung-up doe. The only piece of my body I could control was my head. It jerked at a violent rate to snap at fingers and to keep above the floor. At each flicker, penises flopped in my face and knees banged into my bones. It was like being inside of a body-part swarm.

The voices in the room clamored into a roar.

"Take her into the showers!" They chanted.

Quickly, I was pinned down to the wet, tiled floor. Water from the showerheads sprayed us all. The wild inside of me kept fighting. It wailed and tore flesh as my clothes were ripped off. I had blood all over my mouth when the coach came in. He saw twenty naked boys holding down one naked girl.

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER!" is what he shouted.