“But there’s no more Red Club!” Ava cried.
“They would still be nice to you. I could give you their names—”
Ava interrupted, “And, what, I’d walk up to them in the hall and ask how to keep a tampon string from showing when you’re wearing a leotard? It’s not the same.”
She was right. She could’ve easily asked these questions during a club meeting. But without the club…
“You know, I never understood why you needed that club so much.” Ava wiped her eyes. “I didn’t get why it was such a big deal. And now that I need it, it’s gone.”
“It’s okay,” I said, brushing the hair off her face. “First off, we’re going to get it back. And second, I have something that might cheer you up.”
I leaned down and unzipped my backpack. Then I handed my present to Ava, who gave me a little smile in return.
“A Snickers,” she said. “My favorite. Want to share?”
I grinned. “Absolutely!”
By the time I went to bed that night, I’d gotten tons of text updates from Cee, Stella, and Camille. They’d heard from a bunch of girls from sixth to eighth grade who were upset because it was our first Wednesday without the club. A few girls had gotten together here and there at one another’s houses, but it wasn’t the same. It was fractured. The grades stuck together; friends stuck together. What had been great about Red Club was that there were no cliques. No one was left out. That wouldn’t happen if we were broken up into a bunch of tiny Red Clubs meeting in various places.
And some girls couldn’t get to any meetings at all. It was easy to stay after school and meet in the library. The late bus could bring the girls home just like after any other school club. But they had a harder time getting to other locations. We needed to meet at school to make it work. Which meant we needed Mr. Pickford to change his mind. But I’d tried talking to him. I’d tried getting an advisor. I’d tried begging. Nothing had worked.
I had to figure out who the secret complainer was. And fast.
CHAPTER 14
“YOUR MOM IS STILL WORKING from home, right?” I asked Cee on our way out of school Thursday.
“Yeah, why?”
“Think I could come over and ask her some questions for my investigation?”
Cee thought for a moment. “Yeah. If you bring cookies.”
I giggled. “Done.”
Julia’s mom hadn’t been at the school committee meeting. That didn’t completely rule her out, because she could have met with Pickford privately. But I had hit a dead end with her. The next person on my list of suspects would be a little more difficult to investigate. Mainly because she was my own mother. I’d already asked her if she’d complained about the club, and she’d denied it. But I needed to be sure.
There was another mom I knew who went to all the meetings, and she loved talking to me. And that was why, later that afternoon, I stood at Cee’s front door with a plate of freshly baked gluten-free cookies. Well, freshly bought, but whatever.
“If it isn’t my second favorite girl from Hawking Middle,” Mrs. Butler said, opening the door. “Come on in. Cynthia told me you wanted to talk some things out.”
Cee and her mom were really close, and Cee told her everything. So I knew Mrs. Butler would be up on all the details of the school drama.
She poured us three glasses of lemonade, and we sat in the living room on their puffy couch, munching cookies.
“What do you want to know, honey?” Mrs. Butler asked, leaning back against the cushions.
“I’m trying to figure out who complained about the Red Club and got it shut down. I was thinking maybe Julia’s mom, but she wasn’t at the school committee meeting.”
“Okay…,” Mrs. Butler said.
I took a deep breath. “But my mom was at the meeting.”
Mrs. Butler nodded once. “Yes, she was.”
“So… did she… complain about the club?” I asked.
Mrs. Butler frowned. “Why are you asking me? Why don’t you just ask her?”
I stared down at the cookie in my hand. “I did. And she said she didn’t complain. But…”
“You don’t know if you believe her,” Mrs. Butler filled in.
I nodded, and my cheeks reddened with shame. This had seemed like a good idea, but now that I was here, investigating my own mother, I felt guilty.
“Also Mrs. Scruggs,” I blurted quickly. “I’m also curious about her.”
Mrs. Butler blew out an exaggerated breath. “Well, Mrs. Scruggs has a lot to say at every meeting, including this one. But she didn’t mention the Red Club and neither did your mother. This last meeting was intense. There was a lot of talk about the dress code and enforcing the handbook. But I don’t remember anyone specifically mentioning your club. Sorry, girls.”
I felt a wave of relief, but then also frustration. I was no closer to figuring out the identity of the secret complainer than when I’d walked through the door.
Mrs. Butler looked from Cee to me. “Girls, it’s not just one person. What’s happening at your school is a cumulative effect.”
I scrunched my face up. “A what?”
“Things build up.” She glanced around the room, eventually settling her eyes on the glass of lemonade in front of her. “See this glass? It’s only half full, right?”
I nodded.
“Cynthia, put a bit of your lemonade in there,” she ordered.
“Just pour it in?” Cee asked.
Mrs. Butler nodded. “Go on.”
Cee poured some lemonade from her glass into her mom’s glass.
“Now you, Riley,” she said.
I poured some of mine in too. The lemonade was now dangerously close to the top of the glass.
“Again, Cynthia,” she said.
Cee gave her an unsure look but did as she was told. The lemonade spilled over the rim and onto the coffee table.
“Now, whose fault was that?” Mrs. Butler asked. “Was it Cynthia, who poured first? Or Riley, who poured on top of that? Or Cynthia, who went back to pour again?”
“It was all of us,” I said, suddenly understanding.
“It builds up,” she repeated. “Whether that’s poured lemonade or complaints. It builds up.”
“So stopping one person from complaining won’t help because there are so many other people piling on?” Cee said.
Mrs. Butler asked, “What if it is Julia’s mom? Or Mrs. Scruggs? Let’s say you find out for sure. Then what will you do?”
I jutted my chin out. “Talk to them. Change their mind.”
“Then beg them to call Pickford and take it all back,” Cee added.
Mrs. Butler gave us a look. “Do you really think the principal is going to go back to ignoring most of the handbook again? He’s just going to say, ‘Forget everything I said this week’? Do you think the school committee would let him do that?”
She was right. He’d never do that. I sank down deeper into the couch.
“Girls, I don’t know if you understand how difficult Mr. Pickford’s job is.”
Cee crossed her arms. “Why are you defending him?”
Mrs. Butler wagged a finger. “I’m not defending. I’m explaining. What do we know? Parents called complaining about the chicken-nuggets newspaper article. Parents complained about the dress code. Someone complained about the Red Club. There are only so many complaints you can listen to before you want to just give up and give in.”
When I really thought about it, it must have been tough to get those calls every day. Someone was always mad about something. But you couldn’t just give in!
I walked home with my stomach full of cookies and my head spinning. The club. The newspaper. The dress code. It was all connected by a common thread—people complaining. So maybe if we could fix one, we could fix them all? But how? I had to think of a solution that got our club back and would also return the rest of the school to normal.
But that seemed impossible.
After dinner I finished my homewor
k. Then I went up to my room. This was normally when I’d work on a newspaper article. But that was pointless with no newspaper. I felt the urge to write, though. I missed it.
To scratch my writing itch, I tried working on a short story. A mystery one, so my dad would enjoy reading it. But no matter how I tried to structure the words, it wouldn’t work. I had a group of suspects in the story, but I hadn’t yet figured out the villain. And without knowing the villain, I couldn’t plant the true clues. I needed to know the end before I wrote the beginning, but it wasn’t coming together. Writing for the newspaper came more naturally to me. Journalism was based on the five Ws: who, what, where, when, and why. Just the facts. I didn’t like to make it up as I went along.
I needed the newspaper back. I needed the Red Club back. But I was failing at everything I tried to do to help, even investigating the secret complainer.
What else could I do?
CHAPTER 15
FRIDAY NIGHT, MY MOM PULLED up to the front of the school. “Are you sure I can’t get out and take some pictures? Look, Cee is standing there waiting for you. I need some pictures of the both of you. It’s your first dance!”
Terror shot through me. I was nervous enough. I wasn’t in my normal comfy clothes. I’d be expected to dance at some point, and I was pretty sure I’d look like a disaster on the dance floor. And Cole was in there somewhere. I didn’t need an awkward Mom moment on top of it all.
“I promise I’ll take pics with my own phone sometime tonight, okay?” I pleaded. “And I’ll text them to you.”
Mom agreed, but with a disappointed sigh.
I opened the door to get out, and Mom waved at all the girls waiting on the sidewalk. “Have fun! You all look beautiful!”
I shut the door quickly and closed my eyes until she drove away.
“She’s gone,” Cee said, sidling up to me. “Your power of closing your eyes to make someone disappear worked.”
I chuckled. “Was it that obvious?”
“My mom was super embarrassing too,” Cee admitted. “She yelled out the car window that I should make sure the boys keep their hands to themselves.”
Cee wore a flowy, pale yellow dress that looked beautiful against her dark skin. She had on a chunky silver necklace that complemented it perfectly.
“You look awesome,” I said. “Love the necklace. Was that a Cee Butler original find?”
Cee nodded, adjusting the clasp with her fingers. “Some old lady sold it for a dollar. It was a bit tarnished and dull, but after a solid polishing, I got it looking just like new!”
I leaned in to take a closer look. “Amazing.”
“Your dress is so pretty.” Cee tilted her head to the side. “Where did you get it? It looks familiar. I wonder if I tried it on.”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Julia dashed up to us with a look of fear in her eyes. “Oh, Riley. Oh no.”
“What?” I asked, my heart speeding up.
“Oh no,” Cee echoed, staring at something over my shoulder.
Camille ran over as well. From the panicked expressions on the three girls’ faces, there was clearly something horrifying coming up behind me. Various possibilities flitted through my mind—werewolf, vampire, rabid fox, serial killer. Nothing else could explain how intensely they feared for me in that moment.
Preparing myself for the worst, I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw… Stella. Not Bigfoot on a rampage or a ghost set on revenge. Just Stella, walking this way… in my dress.
We were wearing the same dress. Though she filled it out differently—better.
“She’s going to kill you,” Camille whispered. “Like, straight-up murder.”
As Stella got closer and realized what I was wearing, her face contorted into anger.
“Didn’t you send a pic for the Instagram page?” Camille asked.
I blinked. “The what?”
“The Instagram dance page Stella set up,” Cee explained. “Everyone sent her pics of their dresses, and she posted them on the page so no one would buy the same one.”
My stomach flipped over. “I didn’t know about it. I’ve never been to a dance before, and I just decided to go to this one last week.”
Someone started humming the theme to the movie Jaws.
“You’re dead,” Camille stated flatly, as if it were an undeniable fact.
Stella came right up to me, wordlessly, which was even scarier than yelling, and placed her hands on her curvy hips. To be honest, Stella looked much better in the dress. She’d paired it with long, dangly earrings and silver heels. Her long red hair was held in a complicated updo. And she filled out the top of the chest department a lot better than I did. I had flats—and I wasn’t talking about my shoes.
Finally, after what seemed like a year of silence, she screeched, “Are you out of your mind?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s okay. It’s not the Met Ball. You’ll live.”
“You’ll be lucky if I let you live,” she said between gritted teeth.
I threw my hands up. “It’s just a dress!”
All the girls gasped simultaneously, like I’d said the king of all swears or something.
“Just. A. Dress,” Stella repeated, enunciating each word separately.
Maybe a different tactic was in order. “Listen, I’m sorry. I only decided to come to the dance at the last minute.”
“Go home and change,” Stella ordered.
“I—I can’t,” I stammered. “This is my only dress.”
Stella growled like a ferocious animal. “So now I have to go home and change. Wonderful.” She whipped out her phone. “Let me see if my mom will even come back and pick me up. I know she’s not going to. She has plans tonight.”
Cee took me by the elbow and led me toward the front door of the school. “Now’s your chance,” she whispered. “Let’s head inside while she’s busy with her phone. She won’t kill you in the school. Too many chaperones and witnesses.”
I watched as a boy opened the door and headed inside. The brief moment when the door hung open gave me a glimpse of lights and people. Music boomed until the door closed, muffling the sound again.
A thought dawned on me. Cole was in there somewhere. And he’d see me and Stella in the same dress.
Cee nudged me with her elbow. “Let’s go, okay?”
But my feet wouldn’t move. I managed an “um.”
Cee’s forehead creased. “Stella’s not really going to kill you.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?” she asked.
In my rush to explain, a bunch of word vomit came pouring out all at once. “Cole. Same dress. V-neck. Flats.”
Cee shook her head. “Slow down and try again.”
I took a deep breath and let my thoughts congeal. Cee knew about my raging crush on Cole, and I’d texted her about our awkward dance conversation. She’d understand.
“If Cole sees us both…,” I began.
Cee waved her hand. “Boys don’t care if two girls are wearing the same dress.”
“It’s not that.” I scuffed my shoe back and forth on the pavement. “It’s how we wear it. I don’t exactly fill it out like Stella does. Compared to her, I look like a little girl playing dress-up. What if Cole sees us both and thinks…”
“That you look different from Stella?” Cee said with raised eyebrows. “Who cares? Cole asked if you were coming to the dance, not her. He likes you.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, and no amount of incredible boobage is going to change that.”
“Thanks, Cee.” I rested my head on her shoulder for a moment.
She patted it. “Now let’s get inside before that incredible boobage comes to kill you.”
Between my fear of talking to Cole and my newfound fear of being murdered by Stella, I had my doubts that I would survive this night.
CHAPTER 16
I HAD TO HAND IT to Stella and the dance committee. The place looked amazing. Between the twinkling lights
, the cutout leaves, and the stars hanging from the ceiling, it didn’t even look like our gym. And it didn’t smell like it either, thankfully.
Circles of girls from each grade danced to an upbeat pop song, now and then yelling out an enthusiastic “woo!” Most of the boys hung by the wall, pretending to check their phones, but really checking the girls out. I wasn’t quite in the mood to start jumping and dancing. My nerves were still too frazzled. And then they suddenly got a lot more frazzled, because Cole spied me and started heading my way.
“Oh, look who’s coming,” Cee teased. “I’m going to get some water.”
“No!” I pleaded out of the corner of my mouth. “Don’t leave me.”
“I’ve got to get a drink,” she said. “It’s about to get hot in here.”
She dashed away, and I made a mental note to yell at her later.
Cole smiled as he got closer. My legs were trembling like cafeteria Jell-O. I started silently screaming at my brain, THINK OF SOMETHING COOL TO SAY! He was going to be here any second!
And then he was there, standing right in front of me.
I opened my mouth and said, “Hey.” Really, brain? That’s the best you can do?
“Hey back,” he said with a grin.
I could practically feel my cheeks turn red.
“Are you having fun?” I asked. There. An actual question. Brain progress.
“I just got here,” he said. “How about you?”
“Um, yeah, I just got here too.” I glanced around the gym. “Everything looks fun. Yay, fun!” Ugh, smooth, Riley! My face was now officially on fire. It felt like flames of awkwardness were shooting from my cheekbones.
A slow song started, one that I didn’t recognize.
“Do you want to dance?” Cole asked.
He held his hand out, and I looked at it like it was some ancient artifact I’d never seen before. A boy’s hand! Fascinating! Let’s stare at it for an awkward length of time rather than grab it!
I tried to talk myself into it. How long was the average song? Four minutes? I could survive that long without bursting into flames. Maybe.
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