Revenge of the Red Club

by Kim Harrington

  To Mom

  CHAPTER 1

  WE WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO LOOK at our phones during school hours, but I slid mine out of my pocket anyway. I had to see if the new edition of the Hawking Observer had posted. My middle school’s newspaper was hosted on the school website. We had a sportswriter, an advice columnist, a reviewer, and one intrepid investigative reporter (that was me).

  I loved seeing my byline, Riley Dunne, beneath a story. Though one of these days I had to get a new photo. The one they used was from two years ago, when I’d entered Hawking Middle in sixth grade. Sure, I still had the same mousy-brown hair and wore the same hoodie-and-jeans ensemble most days. But now I was two years older and had recently gotten my braces off.

  This new article was a biggie. I’d completed an in-depth investigation into the supposedly gluten-free chicken nuggets at lunch, which had given my friend Cee a no good, very bad day. She had celiac disease, so eating anything with gluten was harmful. After some before-school cabinet snooping, I’d found that our cafeteria’s food supplier had switched brands, and the new breading was certainly not gluten-free.

  I refreshed the page again. Still no update. I hoped my editor hadn’t killed the story. But Ms. Bhatt was usually pretty cool about my investigative reports, and she hadn’t mentioned having a problem with the article.

  Math class was going to start any minute, so I put my phone away. Then I looked up and saw the new girl, Julia Alpert, coming down the aisle in white jeans and a cute purple top that stopped right at the waistband. She seemed sweet, but kind of shy.

  Stella Duval looked her up and down from one row over. “You’re not supposed to wear white pants after Labor Day. You know that, right?”

  Stella had more rules for fashion than the entire US government had laws. She dressed each day like school was a beauty pageant, which wouldn’t be bad if she didn’t judge other people who didn’t go all out. Personally, I thought if you wanted to wear sweats, go for it. You wanted to wear a dress and heels when it was snowing out? Get it, girl. But Stella had somehow appointed herself the unelected fashion judge of our school.

  Julia didn’t respond. She just stared down at her desk. I opened my mouth to make a snarky comment back to Stella, but before I could, Mr. Barlow blew into the room like a human tornado. Papers flew off the top of the pile he was carrying, and he nearly knocked over a cup of coffee on his desk when he laid them down.

  “I have your tests graded,” he announced, and a rumble of nervous chatter went through the room. Chairs squeaked as kids shifted in their seats.

  With that news at the forefront of my brain, I stopped thinking about my article and started worrying about algebra. It was a tough class in general, but that test had been even harder than most. Mr. Barlow walked the aisle, passing the exams back facedown on students’ desks. This was supposed to somehow keep students’ grades private. But you knew exactly how someone did as soon as they flipped their test over. Eighth graders weren’t exactly known for their poker faces.

  I watched as Ava, my best friend, got her test in the seat beside me. Her face fell, and I saw a flash of a seventy-something as she slapped the test back down. She hadn’t studied much. She hadn’t had time. Ava was a competitive gymnast. Her parents drove her forty minutes almost every day to an award-winning gym because she’d surpassed the one here in town. Even weekends, for hours and hours. Ava was good. Like Olympics good, in my opinion. But because of all the time she put into gymnastics, she didn’t have as much time for other things—like grades, having a social life, etcetera. I was the only friend she actually spent time with outside of school. We’d lived next door to each other our whole lives, but it was getting harder to find time to get together.

  Mr. Barlow headed down my row next. My stomach curled up into a tiny ball. I tried to look for any hint in his face, like disappointment, or OMG, you totally rocked this. But I saw nothing. This test was so hard. What if I’d bombed it?

  He placed the paper facedown and moved on behind me. I gingerly turned it over. Eighty-nine! I blew out a breath so hard it almost blew my test off my desk.

  “I know this test was difficult,” he said, returning to the front of the classroom. “But I’m not here to hand out easy As. I’m here to challenge you. And I think every single one of you can rise to that challenge if you put the effort in.”

  He lifted a marker and wrote a problem on the whiteboard. “Everyone got number three wrong, so we’re going to go over that one together. I need a volunteer for the board.”

  No one raised their hand.

  “Okay, I’ll just call on someone.” His eyes scanned the room. I immediately began rummaging in my backpack on the floor. He certainly wouldn’t call on me if I was super busy looking for a pencil or whatnot.

  “Julia.”

  It worked!

  Poor Julia, though. What a day. First Stella called her out on her post–Labor Day wear, and now this. But as she stood up to walk to the board, things suddenly got way, way worse.

  Julia had an uninvited guest—Aunt Flo, the most obnoxious, unwelcome visitor. And Julia certainly hadn’t been expecting Flo to show up. I didn’t think she even knew she was here. But due to that dark red stain on her white jeans, the whole class would know soon.

  Julia started her walk down the aisle.

  I yanked my hoodie over my head. I’d be cold in just a T-shirt, but this was more important. I ripped a sheet of paper from my notebook and stuffed it in my pocket. Then I dashed down the aisle, swooped my arms around her, and quickly tied the sweatshirt around her waist.

  “You need this,” I whispered.

  I continued down the aisle and tossed the crumpled-up piece of paper from my pocket into the trash. Then I casually walked back to my seat. Nothing to see here. Just had to throw some scrap paper away.

  But unfortunately, some people had seen. Bad people. The front of the class was oblivious, but Brody Scruggs and a couple of his buddies from the back were snickering and laughing with one another.

  Mr. Barlow turned around. “Is there a problem?”

  They clammed up and shook their heads. But as soon as Mr. Barlow turned away to hand the marker to Julia, evil grins spread across their faces once again.

  Ava gave me a nod and whispered, “Good work,” under her breath.

  I only wished I’d been faster. Or that Julia’s Aunt Flo hadn’t decided to visit on a day that she got called up to the board. Or that she hadn’t broken the Labor Day white-pants rule.

  “I hope you’re not going to take that sweatshirt back,” Brody sneered.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” I asked, giving him a fake bewildered look.

  He rolled his eyes. “You know why.”

  I shrugged. “I really don’t.”

  Mr. Barlow turned around. “Is there a problem in the back of the room?”

  I nonchalantly began scribbling numbers in my notebook, not a care in the world. Brody huffed beside me. But I doubted that he was upset about getting in trouble for talking. He got in trouble a thousand times a day. What had really gotten under his skin was that he was unable to get under mine. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of getting upset, and I wouldn’t let Julia do it either.

  I smiled as I looked at the numbers I’d written down. It was time to introduce the new girl to the Red Club.

  CHAPTER 2

  WHEN THE BELL RANG, JULIA turned in her seat. “Riley, thanks for the… um…”

  I waved her off. “No worries. Give me my sweatshirt back another day. But in the meantime, before you go to lunch I have something to show you.”

  She raised one eyebrow, which was pretty cool. I tried to do that in a mirror once, but I only looked like a really confused person painfully raising b
oth eyebrows.

  “Just trust me,” I said.

  Ava sidled up next to us as we walked out of the classroom. “Riley, heading to lunch, right?”

  “Yeah, I just have to show Julia the thing.”

  “The thing?” Julia repeated, a little nervous now.

  “You know.” I widened my eyes at Ava. “The thing.”

  Ava let out a little groan. “Oh. The thing that I’m not in.”

  “Yet!” I reminded her. Then I guided Julia by the arm. “This way.”

  Ava went on her own to lunch, which she didn’t seem happy about. But as a club member, I had a responsibility. Lunch had to wait.

  Hawking Middle School was shaped like a giant square, with four connecting hallways and a big open courtyard in the middle that we never really used because it was cold most of the year in Massachusetts.

  “I really need to stop by the bathroom,” Julia whispered.

  “I know. That’s all part of this. Don’t worry. We’re almost there.”

  My eyes scanned the locker numbers as they counted down. We were in the thirties, then twenties, then teens.

  “Here we are,” I said, stopping at locker number one.

  Julia looked from the locker to me as if I were crazy. “You brought me to your locker?”

  “I brought you to our locker.”

  “ ‘Our’?” Julia looked even more confused now.

  “This is the locker of the Red Club, which you are now a part of.” I handed her the sheet of paper I’d written the numbers on. This was always my favorite part. Like I was bestowing an honor on a fellow member.

  But she didn’t look impressed. “I don’t get it.”

  And I forgot. She was new to our school. She didn’t know.

  “That’s the combination.” I motioned to the lock. “Open it.”

  Still skeptical and probably desperately wanting to hit the bathroom, Julia spun the numbers on the dial and pulled open the door.

  Nothing amazing happened. No music played. No Red Club banner adorned the inside. It looked plain, actually, with a paper grocery bag on one shelf and a plastic bag on another.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “This is our emergency stash,” I said. “Once you’re a Red Club member, you have the combination and you can use it if you are in need.”

  I reached for the bag on the top shelf. “Pads and tampons are in here.” Then I showed her the bottom shelf. “Three pairs of sweatpants in there, various sizes. Just wash them and return them to the locker.”

  Her face brightened. “I can change into a pair of those right now?”

  “Yep! And do you need a tampon, or do you have one in your bag?”

  “Um, I don’t…”

  I scrunched up my forehead. “Is this your first time?”

  “No, I had it once before, over the summer. But then it didn’t come again for a few months.”

  I nodded quickly. “That happened to a friend of mine in the club. People expect to get it on the regular right after their first one, but it doesn’t always work that way.”

  Julia stared at the bag of period paraphernalia, looking overwhelmed.

  “Just take a couple of pads for now,” I said. “We’ll talk more at the meeting this afternoon.”

  “Meeting?” she repeated.

  “The Red Club meets in the library after school every Wednesday. You don’t have to come. But I think you’d really like it if you did.”

  “It’s like a support group?” she asked.

  “That and more.”

  The tightness in her shoulders seemed to release. “That sounds nice. I’ll be there.”

  Julia bounded off to the bathroom, pads and sweatpants shoved in her backpack. I reached across my shoulder and gave myself a little pat on the back. Job well done. And now, time for lunch. My stomach growled angrily. But Ava would be even angrier. She hated it if I missed lunchtime with her for any reason. She was my best friend and I loved her, but sometimes she acted like she was my boss. I quickened my step, even though I was only a couple of minutes late.

  The intercom clicked on and the principal’s voice boomed through the hallway speakers. “Riley Dunne, please report to the office.”

  I swallowed hard. It looked like I was about to be very late.

  CHAPTER 3

  THIS WASN’T THE FIRST TIME I’d been in Principal Pickford’s office. I wasn’t a troublemaker, not in the traditional sense. But I didn’t back down from the truth, and that sometimes landed me in this uncomfortable, stiff-backed chair staring at the framed photographs Pickford kept on his walls. Most of them looked like Florida, and one was my favorite—a single palm tree on a beach.

  “Riley,” he said, pulling my attention away from the beach and toward him. He wasn’t mad. I knew his angry face. And there was a rumor that his shiny dome of a head glowed red when he got really upset, though I’d never seen that for myself. Today he just looked… tired. “You’re a good student.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He clasped his hands on the top of his dark wood desk. “I don’t like bringing you in here.”

  “I don’t like being in here, sir.” I added quickly, “No offense.”

  He considered me for a moment through his circular wire-rimmed glasses. “Do you know how busy I am?”

  I assumed this was a rhetorical question, so I stayed silent.

  He continued. “Very busy. This is a twenty-four-hours-a-day job. I get phone calls and e-mails around the clock. I am responsible for every teacher, staff member, and student in this building. Sometimes I lie awake at night thinking about the problems I’m going to have to face the next day. So, do you know who my favorite students are?”

  Assuming this was another rhetorical question, I kept my mouth shut.

  “The ones I never have to see,” he answered. “The ones who don’t make me get frustrated e-mails or angry phone calls. The ones who don’t cause trouble for me—”

  “Sir,” I interrupted. “Why am I here?”

  He jiggled the mouse on his mouse pad, and the screen saver on his monitor dissolved. Behind it was today’s edition of the Hawking Observer, with my story at the top. It had posted!

  “This story went up thirty minutes ago,” Principal Pickford said. “And I’ve already gotten two phone calls. Two.”

  “From people thankful that the cafeteria is going to be more careful now?”

  He let out a groan. “No. They were not… thankful.”

  I straightened my shoulders. “Well, they should be. Because of that investigative report, the cafeteria will be extra careful from now on when their supplier changes ingredients.”

  “Because of that article,” he said, “people are going to panic and think that their children aren’t safe here. This is all blown out of proportion. The cafeteria made a simple oversight—”

  “An oversight that caused Cee to miss half a day of school,” I cut in.

  He sighed heavily. “If Cee felt that something was improperly labeled, she should have gone through the appropriate channels, not to an eighth-grade school-newspaper reporter.”

  I crossed my arms. “The bottom line is this. Cee had been eating those gluten-free nuggets for two years. But then they changed brands, didn’t check carefully, and didn’t remove the words ‘gluten-free’ from the menu. Now, because of my article, they’ll check everything carefully when there’s a change. And not just for gluten, but for allergens like peanuts. You wouldn’t want a careless supplier to cause a child to go into anaphylactic shock, would you?”

  He snorted. “Of course not.”

  I slid out my reporter’s notebook from my bag like I was going to take a quote. “You’re not telling me I should have covered up their mistake, are you?”

  “No, I’m not saying that!”

  “Then what are you saying, Mr. Pickford?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re dismissed, Riley.”

  I stood up quickly, shoving my notebook back
into my bag. “Okay, Mr. Pickford. Thanks!” I tried not to let him see my giant smile of satisfaction on the way out.

  By the time I got to my lunch table, Ava had nearly finished her salad. I pulled the sandwich out of my brown paper bag and took a huge bite.

  “What was that about?” Ava asked as she reached up to tighten her blond ponytail. She wore her hair in a ponytail all the time, even when she wasn’t practicing. “I heard your name on the intercom.”

  I chewed for a moment. “My latest investigative report didn’t go over too well.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you in trouble?”

  “I was at first, kind of, but not anymore.” I tore off another bite and chewed it quickly.

  “How did you get out of it?”

  “I used words.”

  She nodded. “You’re good with those.”

  My dad had this theory that everyone was born with something special. He called it a superskill—like a superpower, but instead of being able to fly, you could just cook really well or whatever. Ava was an amazing gymnast. My friend Cee had a head for business. My grandmother could take the most pathetic, half-dead plant and bring it back to life, every time. So far, my little brother’s only gift seemed to be an unlimited supply of gas. But my dad said that sometimes it took years for someone to find their superskill. I was lucky: I found mine early on.

  Words.

  I used them to change people’s minds, to change people’s moods. They were just a selection of letters put together in different ways, but words were so powerful. They could change the world.

  “So, long story short, I was thinking that I could fit you in today.”

  Unfortunately, I hadn’t been listening to Ava’s words. “Um, today?”

  She nodded with a big smile. “Yeah, right after school for like an hour. We could hang out at my house. I could show you the video of my competition last week.”

  Ahhh, she wanted to hang out. “I can’t today. I have a club after school.”

  “I have ice cream,” she offered, knowing my love for ice cream had no bounds.

  But I had to say no. Not even my beloved ice cream could pull me away from the Red Club. “I really can’t. I have a meeting.”