Revenge of the Red Club

by Kim Harrington

  “Uh, Riley? Are you okay?” Whoops. I guess I was staring more than I thought.

  “Yes! S-sure,” I said, with total confidence and not dorky at all.

  I put my hand in his and let him lead me to the center of the dance floor. Only three other couples were slow dancing, and they were couples couples. Like, people who were actually dating. Did this mean we were dating? No, we had to discuss that first, right? Was that how it worked?

  My mind had gone from blank to overstuffed in a matter of seconds, and I needed to slow it down.

  Cole put his hands on my waist, and I put my hands on his shoulders. We started to sort of sway back and forth. I could barely hear the music over the sound of my own heart going absolutely bonkers in my chest. There was no way I was going to survive four minutes like this.

  “It stank not having a newspaper meeting this week,” Cole finally said.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “I miss it.”

  “I wonder how long Pickford will take to restart it,” he said. “A few weeks could mean anything.”

  “I tried submitting an article about the dress code.” I let out a sigh. “Rejected, of course.”

  He chuckled. “Wow, you must really miss writing if you tried to get him to publish an article when the paper is not even supposed to be running.”

  I snorted. “You don’t even know. I miss it so much, last night I tried writing a short story!”

  “How did that go?”

  I smirked. “I should stick to nonfiction.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. As we chatted back and forth, his hands still on my waist, I realized that I wasn’t nervous anymore. I was dancing with Cole and my face wasn’t on fire. Words flowed freely from my brain to my mouth. I was doing this! Maybe I would survive the night after all.

  “Riley!” Camille rushed up to us, breathless.

  Cole stopped dancing and moved back a bit, ending the moment.

  I gave Camille a look that said, Really? You have to interrupt right now, when I’m having the best four minutes of my life? A very specific message, but my eyes were good at expression.

  Camille looked from me to Cole and back again. “Sorry, but this is an emergency. It’s Stella.”

  “What about her?” I asked. If this is part of some plan to ruin my night because I accidentally bought the same dress, I swear…

  “They won’t let her in,” Camille said.

  “What? Why?” Cole asked.

  Camille looked at me for a long moment. “They dress-coded her.”

  I blinked quickly, not understanding. How was that possible? We had the same dress, and they’d let me in.

  Cole shook his head. “This whole dress-code thing is so stupid. It was like one day they just decided and gave no warning. And it’s so insulting to boys.”

  My eyes snapped up to his. “What? How?”

  “It’s saying we’re such idiots that we’ll be distracted all day if part of a shoulder is showing. Like, no. Give us more credit than that.”

  I stared at him. I’d never thought of it that way. “You’re right. That’s totally insulting.”

  And then I thought about Stella, stuck outside, not allowed into the dance. How she must have been feeling.

  I looked up at Cole as I felt our perfect moment slipping away. “I have to go.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Check on your friend.”

  Camille led me to the exit, where we were stopped by one of the chaperones. I immediately recognized that pinched-up face. Mrs. Scruggs, Brody’s mother. She had newscaster hair that fell in a blunt bob and was hair-sprayed so hard it didn’t move when she shook her head.

  She stepped between us and the door. “And where do you think you’re going?”

  I jutted my chin. “Outside to talk to our friend.”

  She crossed her arms over her pale pink cardigan and fingered the pearls hanging around her neck. “You know the rules. If you leave, you can’t come back in.”

  I didn’t know the rules, actually, it being my first dance at all. But I glanced at Camille and she nodded sadly. If I left now, I wouldn’t get another dance with Cole. Over Mrs. Scruggs’s shoulder, I saw Stella sitting on the steps outside, her face in her hands. Cee was already out there, an arm around her shoulder.

  “Well then, I guess the dance is over for us,” I said, pushing past Mrs. Scruggs and out the door.

  Cee glanced up at us as we approached, and I knew from the look in her eyes that things were not good. Camille sat down on the other side of Stella. I took the lower step, beneath them, and turned to face everyone.

  “What happened?” I asked softly.

  Stella lifted her face from her hands. Her perfect makeup job was smeared, and strands of red hair fell from her updo. “My mom couldn’t come back, so I decided to just head in—same dress and all. But they coded me.”

  “Why?” Camille asked.

  She sniffed. “They said the dress was inappropriate.”

  I still didn’t understand. “But I have the same dress and they let me in.”

  A single tear slipped down Stella’s cheek. “I guess it’s not the dress, then. I guess I’m inappropriate.”

  I looked at Cee, whose eyes had narrowed in anger. Camille’s face reddened.

  Stella continued. “If I wasn’t curvy, I’d be inside that dance right now. I can’t help my body type.”

  “You shouldn’t have to wear a muumuu because you fill out a dress well,” Cee said. “You should be able to wear the same dresses everyone else can.”

  Camille slapped the stone step. “It’s not fair!”

  “I’ve always loved my body,” Stella said. “I’m curvy. I’ve got things other girls don’t.” She looked at me. “No offense.”

  I waved it off.

  “But now,” she continued with a hitch in her voice, “I feel humiliated. I kind of hate my body right now. It feels… wrong.”

  I reached out and placed my hand over Stella’s. We weren’t exactly best friends and she could be a snob sometimes, but I felt awful for her. This whole thing was ridiculous.

  I squeezed her hand. “You are not wrong. You are beautiful. They are wrong.”

  Cee looked off into the distance, slightly shaking her head. “Between shutting down the Red Club and enforcing this ridiculous dress code, it seems like they’re targeting girls.”

  Stella’s expression darkened. “I’m no one’s target.”

  Now that was the Stella I knew.

  “Here’s what we’ll do,” I said. “We walk up to the chaperone together, showing that we’re wearing the same dress—”

  “They won’t let you back in,” Camille interrupted. “Remember?”

  “And I don’t want to go in,” Stella seethed.

  “What do you want to do?” Cee asked.

  Stella’s green eyes flared. “I want to get revenge.”

  CHAPTER 17

  I STOOD OUTSIDE THE GYM, nervously wringing the strap of my backpack in my hand.

  Cee strolled up with her own bag slung over her shoulder. Her crimson Harvard sweatshirt hung low over her black leggings.

  “You can’t wear leggings anymore,” Camille said.

  Stella snorted. “It’s not a school day. And we’re not going to be seen anyway.”

  “We hope,” I muttered.

  “Are you sure Janitor Mike isn’t working today?” Cee asked.

  Stella rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s Saturday, for one. And he worked late last night. He had to lock up after the dance committee did their cleaning.”

  Camille shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other. “If he locked up, how are we going to get in?”

  Stella started walking and we fell in line, following her along the perimeter of the school. “Because I’m the head of the dance committee, and even though I wasn’t allowed to participate in the dance, I was still allowed to clean up,” she said bitterly. “And I left a way for us to get in.”

  She stopped by a metal d
oor. I’d never been on this side of the school. It faced the woods, which I found creepy. I always went in and out of the main entrance or the side. I hadn’t even known this back door to the gym existed.

  Stella reached out and pulled the door open. A tiny stick had been lodged in the bottom corner, keeping it ajar. She held the door for me, but I hesitated. It wasn’t like I’d never broken a rule before. I’d done a few shady things, but they’d been to get the story. Sometimes reporters had to break the rules for the greater good. This was different. This was revenge.

  “Are you guys sure about this?” I asked.

  “What’s there to be sure about?” Camille said over my shoulder. “It’s a little prank. The boys pull pranks all the time.”

  Cee and I shared a look. I wondered if she was also having second thoughts.

  Stella moved closer and got right up in my face. “They took away our Red Club. They took away our comfy clothes. They took away my special night at the dance. They took away your newspaper.”

  I felt my blood pressure rise as she ticked off each item.

  Camille added, “And you’ve tried everything else. You tried getting an advisor. You appealed to Pickford. You asked who’d complained so you could reason with them.”

  “He wouldn’t even publish your article on the dress code,” Cee added bitterly. “They won’t listen to us.”

  “But they listened to the complainer,” Stella said. “Someone was unhappy, and they got so annoying about it that Pickford gave in.”

  “Maybe it’s time that we got a little annoying,” Camille said with a grin.

  All the muscles in my face tightened. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

  We filed in and put the stick back under the door for our quick way out. Enough sun came through the windows that we didn’t need to turn on the lights. It was amazing that this was the same gym from the dance last night. There wasn’t one cutout leaf or glitter star left. The dance committee had done a great job cleaning up.

  But we were about to do some redecorating.

  Stella dropped her backpack to the floor and unzipped it. “Did everyone bring their supplies?”

  We nodded and muttered yes while we opened our bags and spread out our supplies. My heart pounded wildly in my chest, and I couldn’t stop grinning. This was insane. But it was oh so fun.

  The boxes were a rainbow of colors and brands, and inside were pads. As in the feminine-protection product. Giggling maniacally, we ripped the packages open and began to decorate. Each time I ripped the backing off a new pad and stuck it to the wall, a little thrill zipped through me.

  We worked quickly, our little team of four, ripping and slapping until, finally, each pad had been placed. Breathing quickly, sweat dripping off our brows, we stepped back and examined our work. Maxi pads in all sizes and styles wallpapered the gym. Thin, overnight, with wings and without, scented and unscented. It was a cornucopia of pads.

  “It’s a masterpiece,” Stella said.

  “No.” A smirk lifted the corner of Camille’s mouth. “It’s a menstrualpiece.”

  We doubled over laughing, that sort of overtired, contagious gasping that happened late night at sleepovers. What we’d done was nuts, but it was also brave.

  And I couldn’t wait for the whole school to see it.

  * * *

  The whole school did not see it.

  As soon as the first kid strolled through the gym Monday morning and spied our maxi masterpiece, they shut the place down. Gym classes were canceled for the morning, and Janitor Mike cleaned up our protest art.

  I felt bad about that. I guess I hadn’t thought through what would actually happen other than shock and (hopefully) discussion. I hadn’t wanted to give Janitor Mike more work to do. He wasn’t the one who’d shut down the Red Club.

  But as the day progressed, something interesting started to happen. Word about the impromptu feminine art installation spread quickly. Everyone was talking about it. Whether with laughs and giggles or grossed-out shock, everyone knew.

  It didn’t take a genius detective to figure out that girls from the Red Club were the ones to wallpaper the gym in maxi pads. But it became more obvious when Stella bragged about it to a small group of her friends. And that small group whispered it to another small group, and soon enough all the kids knew who the four culprits were. And lots of girls had something to say to us.

  “You should have invited me,” one said while passing out papers in history.

  “I would have loved to have helped,” added another in the restroom.

  “That was you guys, right?” a dozen whispered voices asked me throughout the day. “Awesome.”

  Even Cole found me at my locker. He leaned in close with a smirk on his face. “Nice decorating.”

  With all this attention, I expected Principal Pickford’s voice to come booming out of the intercom at any moment, requesting my presence in his office. But it never came. I even passed by him in the hall and he only frowned at me and shook his head.

  The only one who didn’t want to talk about it was my best friend.

  Ava tore off a piece of her turkey sandwich. “And then, after all that trash talk, she had a totally awkward landing. And I won.”

  I’d listened to the entire retelling of her weekend competition drama with an appropriate amount of nodding and smiling. I wanted to tell her all about the dance, what had happened to Stella, what we’d done to the gym. But she’d spent nearly the entire lunch period complaining about people I didn’t even know and listing off her various muscle pains. She hadn’t even asked about the dance.

  “So enough about that,” she said finally. “Important question.”

  I sat up straight in my chair, ready for her to ask if I danced with Cole.

  “Are you ready for my party Wednesday?”

  My shoulders sagged in disappointment.

  “What?” she said, reading my body language. “You didn’t forget, did you? You know this is important to me!”

  I pushed my tray away. Even though I still had a few bites left, I wasn’t hungry anymore. “I didn’t forget. And yes, I’m still coming. But I thought you’d ask about something else.”

  She paused for a moment and her eyes flicked up to the ceiling like she was figuring out a math problem. Then she gasped. “Oh. Em. Gee. I am the worst friend in the world. I didn’t ask about the dance! How was it?”

  At the beginning of lunch, I’d been so excited to tell her every little detail. But now I didn’t want to anymore. “It was fine.”

  “Did you dance with Cole?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ava stared at me. “Yeah? That’s it?”

  I could have gone into detail—about how amazing it had been and how I’d felt like I could talk to him without getting nervous. But it was obvious that she didn’t really care. I leaned back in my seat. “Do you still like gymnastics?”

  “What?” Ava looked confused. “Of course. Why?”

  “No offense, but you complain about it a lot. The other girls are mean to you. You’re tired and sore. You have no time for anything else. You didn’t even ask me about the dance until after you ranted about the competition.” I stopped, hoping she wasn’t mad at me.

  Instead she took a deep breath and said, “Sometimes I hate it. Practicing every day isn’t very fun. I’d rather just hang out and be normal. But at a comp, when I totally rock it and win?” Her eyes took on a dreamy look. “Then it’s incredible. Those seconds when I’m soaring through the air and nailing a landing make the rest worth it. You can’t have one without the other. I can’t win without practice. So yeah, I still like it,” she finished.

  I guess I hadn’t seen that look in her eyes in a while. I hadn’t been to a competition of hers in a long time. But now I remembered. Yes, Ava at lunch could be whiny and complaining. But Ava at a comp was fierce. I admired that Ava. And I understood why she spent so much time on her sport, good days and bad.

  The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Ava and I w
ent our separate ways. But I only made it a few steps into the hall before Cee grabbed my arm.

  She pulled me into an empty classroom, where Stella and Camille were already waiting.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, searching their faces.

  “Something’s happening,” Cee said. “And I think it’s going to help us get the Red Club back.”

  And just like that, I felt like Ava flying through the air off the vault, heart soaring.

  CHAPTER 18

  “DO YOU FEEL IT TODAY?” Stella asked, her green eyes twinkling.

  We only had a few minutes before the next class started, so I wished they’d get to the point of this secret meeting. “Feel what?” I asked.

  “The enthusiasm,” Cee answered. “It’s everywhere. The girls really like what we did.” She lowered her voice at the last part, even though she wasn’t really saying anything incriminating like “maxi-padded the gym.”

  I leaned against a desk. “I did notice that. I’ve gotten a lot of questions. People wishing they’d helped us.”

  Stella beamed proudly. “We’ve awoken them. Shown them that it doesn’t have to be the way it always was. There can be a new way.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, still a bit confused.

  Cee checked the hallway, then closed the classroom door. “This should be more than one prank. This should be a movement.”

  “The other girls will join us,” Camille said.

  A movement. I liked the sound of that. It sounded much more mature than “pranks.” It sounded like something that could actually bring change.

  “We could make people see things from our point of view,” I said, getting excited. “Maybe we’d even get the Red Club back!”

  I looked at the three of them, their eyes alight. Many girls had told me today that they wished they’d helped with our gym prank. But would they join a movement? There was only one way to find out.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s have an emergency meeting. Send out a group text.”

  As Cee whipped out her phone, Stella added, “Tell them to share it with every girl they know who attended the Red Club. Even if for only one meeting.”