My mom wouldn’t let me.
All my leggings were in the laundry.
But I knew the truth. They’d been scared to get in trouble. And could I blame them? Most girls weren’t as familiar with Principal Pickford’s office as I was. They feared that label. Trouble Bad girl. So while I was disappointed that we hadn’t taken this giant, unified stand, I shouldn’t have been surprised.
And now what would happen? We had no further plan.
I buried myself under the covers of my bed and called Cee.
“So, what’s your punishment?” she asked instead of saying hello.
I picked at a piece of lint on my purple bedspread. “I don’t know yet. Mom won’t even talk to me. I’m terrified for dinnertime.”
“Oh yeah.” Cee giggled. “The Dunne Family Dinner Game is going to be extra interesting tonight.”
I raked a hand down my face and groaned. “How about you?”
“My parents are fine with it. They’re proud of me for taking a stand.”
Of course they were. Cee’s parents were cool. Meanwhile, my mom was probably drawing up a written contract for my long-term grounding, and my dad would just go along with whatever she decided.
“So, what do we do now?” Cee asked. “What’s the Red Club’s next step?”
I’d been thinking about that myself, and I hadn’t come up with a good answer. “I don’t know. Nothing’s working. Pickford isn’t changing his mind.”
“I’m not ready to give up, though,” Cee said.
“Me either, but I don’t know where to go from here. If we keep pulling the same stunts, we’ll just keep getting in trouble.”
“But there has to be something else we can do.”
I thought about where this had all begun: with that school committee meeting and the mysterious complaints. “I wish I’d figured out who the secret complainer was. Even though your mom said it wouldn’t make much difference, I just want to know who got our club shut down.”
“If you’re not grounded, maybe we can meet at my house tomorrow,” Cee suggested. “Go over your list of suspects. See if there’s anything you missed. Tell your parents it’s for a project.”
Not a lie. This was a project.
“Riley!” Mom’s sharp voice echoed from downstairs. “Dinner!”
“Yikes, even I heard that,” Cee said. “That’s her angry voice.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Pray for me.”
“I will. You’ll need it.”
CHAPTER 24
I PADDED DOWN THE STAIRS as quietly as possible and slipped into my seat at the table, wishing I were invisible.
Danny looked at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. Why is Mom acting weird? he mouthed.
I shook my head quickly. Maybe if it didn’t get brought up, I wouldn’t be murdered right there at the dinner table. But Danny crossed his arms and pouted at my silence. He hated being left out of drama.
Even Dad entered the room as quiet as a cat and looking just as skittish. I stared at him, hoping for some sort of sign to see whose side he was on. But he just stared down at his empty plate.
Wait… Mom had cooked last night. They usually alternated. This made no sense.
“Why is Mom cooking?” I whispered to him. “It’s your night.”
He glanced at me quickly. “She said she wanted to. She needed to… keep busy.”
Wow. Mom was so mad that she chose to cook on her night off. Either that or she was purposefully poisoning my food.
“Just tell me,” I said in a hushed voice. “Am I about to be murdered at the dinner table?”
Dad rolled his eyes. “Stop.”
Danny perked up. “What did you do?” He rubbed his little hands together. “This is going to be good.”
Mom strolled in holding a platter of meat loaf and placed it in the middle of the table. It looked innocent enough, but I waited for someone else to take a bite first. Okay, no poison.
“So,” Mom said, suddenly breaking the quiet. “Time for the game.”
My fork fell into a mountain of mashed potatoes. For real? Cee had only been joking. We weren’t really going to play this game tonight.
As if she could read my mind, my mother said, “Tradition is tradition, and we’re not going to skip a night because of someone’s day.”
That someone being me.
Danny piped up. “I’ll go first! A good thing about today was that James said I wasn’t any good at kickball but then during recess I was up and kicked the ball right into his face. And the thing I’m looking forward to is finding out what Riley did so wrong that Mom is going to murder her at the dinner table.”
Mom’s eyes shot daggers at me over a bowl of green beans.
Dad coughed into his hand. “Okay, I’ll go next. A good thing about today was that I closed a deal I’d been working on for a couple weeks. And the thing I’m looking forward to is this dinner being over.”
Everyone looked at me next. But I couldn’t take my turn. All these feelings were twisting and turning inside me like emotion soup. I felt like if I started talking, I’d burst into tears.
Mom dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin and said, “Fine. I’ll go. My favorite part of the day was getting a call from the school to come pick up my rule-breaking daughter. And the thing I’m looking forward to is our appointment with the principal on Monday. Just what a mother dreams of.”
I gripped my fork tighter. “You’re acting like I set a house on fire.”
“You got sent home from school.”
“For wearing comfortable clothes!” I snapped. “The horror! Lock me up now! Reserve my room at the local juvenile prison!”
“Riley,” Dad warned.
But I couldn’t stop. The floodgates were opened. The lump that had been sitting in my throat had dislodged, and I’d found my voice.
“I’ll take my turn.” I put down my fork and clasped my hands together like a little lady. “My favorite part of the day was when I led a movement against unfair, sexist rules and my own family wasn’t supportive of me.”
“A movement?” Mom repeated. “You’re the ringleader of a group of troublemakers.”
I shook my head fervently. “Not troublemakers. Girls who want fairness. Girls who have been made to feel ashamed and humiliated. Girls who’ve never used their voice but are sick of being quiet.”
Dad got up from his chair and tapped Danny on the shoulder. “Let’s go. Mom and Riley need to talk.”
“But I’m not finished eating,” he whined. “I’m still hungry.”
“We’ll go out for ice cream,” Dad promised, pulling him up out of his seat.
“But this was just getting good!” Danny’s voice echoed on his way out of the room.
I brought my eyes back to my mother’s. “I have to finish my turn. The thing I’m looking forward to is someday, somehow, finally making my mom proud.”
She blinked quickly. “Stop that nonsense. You know I’m proud of you.”
“You’re not.” My voice trembled. “You wish I was a quiet little girl who only cared about pleasing people and not causing a stir. All you want is for me to be a ladylike, nice girl. But I want to be me. I want to raise my voice and stand up for myself. And stand up for others. I don’t want to be quiet. I don’t want to have to hold all my feelings inside.”
Mom got up and came around the table to sit in the chair beside me. Her expression softened. “You really feel like that? Come on. You know I love you.”
I swallowed hard, holding back tears. “Yes, you love me, but you kind of have to. I think you wish I was different, though. Another type of girl.”
Her mouth opened and closed, and she hesitated before speaking. “I don’t wish that. I’m just…” She looked away and stared at the wall for a long time. So long that I thought she’d fallen asleep with her eyes open. What could she possibly be thinking about this whole time?
Finally she spoke again. “You know how I grew up. You know how Grandma is.”
&nb
sp; Oh boy, did I know. Mom had told me stories about growing up with Grandma and her strict rules. Mom wasn’t even allowed to wear pants! Just dresses, all the time, to look “like a lady.” And I was sure there was more that Mom hadn’t yet told me. But still…
“Just because Grandma is a certain way, that doesn’t mean you have to repeat—” I stopped myself from saying her mistakes. I didn’t want to make Mom feel bad. She already looked like she wanted to cry.
She let out a sigh that sounded like it had been held in for a year. “I know we don’t have to all be our mothers. I can see that in what a free, outspoken young woman you have become. You’re nothing like me.” There was a sad twinge in her voice. “It’s hard for people to change, if they grew up a certain way or find themselves stuck in their ways.”
I didn’t know what to say. We’d never really talked like this before.
Mom pushed a strand of hair away from my eyes and cupped my face in her hands. “But that doesn’t mean they can’t try to change,” she said, her eyes welling up. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like you can’t share your feelings.”
That lump returned to my throat, and this time it was the size of a baseball. “Okay.”
She leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand, examining my face in that Mom way. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “And be honest.”
I exhaled loudly. “I’m angry. I’m tired. And I’m tired of being angry.”
“Well, that’s okay.”
I gave her a look. “It is?”
“It’s all right to be angry. What matters is what you decide to do with that strong emotion.”
Like not get sent home from school was what she meant. And I understood that. All the stuff I’d done at school had only served to distract. It hadn’t solved anything.
I chewed on my lower lip. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel like I put in all this effort and we’re right back to where we started. We accomplished nothing.”
“It sounds like you’re ready to give up. That’s not the Riley I know.”
“I don’t know what else I can do. We did all this work, and we didn’t create any change.”
“Do what you do best. Use your superskill.”
I didn’t see the point. I’d already tried that. Mr. Pickford wouldn’t publish it. I didn’t even know if he’d bother to read the next article before he tossed it in the trash. I sighed. “But the newspaper—”
Mom cut in. “Who said it had to be for the paper? Remember when you got that idea for a blog?”
“And you said I didn’t have the time,” I reminded her.
Mom reached out and grabbed my hand. “Maybe now’s the time after all.”
I paused for a long moment. “Do you really think people would read it?”
“I know a few girls who definitely would. And then they’d share it on their phones like you all do. It would get around the school.”
“Thanks,” I said.
She leaned back in her chair. “Now, about your punishment.”
I winced, waiting for the details of the Grounding to End All Groundings.
“You do the dishes every night for a week.”
I opened my eyes and let out a breath. That couldn’t be it. “And?”
Mom gave me a small smile. “And you have to spend some time with me this weekend, telling me all the stuff you’ve been holding back—about these unfair rules, this Red Club movement, everything. I want to be armed with information when we go to meet with the principal on Monday.”
I nodded quickly, tears threatening to appear in the corners of my eyes again. “I can do that.”
“Okay.” She patted my leg. “Go clean up.”
I went into the kitchen and started on the dishes with a big smile on my face. Sure, it was great that my punishment wasn’t severe. But more important, this was the first time in a long time that I felt like Mom and I had really connected. And it felt wonderful.
As I was finishing up, Danny skipped into the room with a chocolate ice cream mustache. “I got ice cream and you didn’t,” he teased in a singsong voice.
But it didn’t even annoy me. “Oh well,” I said, and ruffled his already-messy hair.
And then, because my day hadn’t been strange enough, he threw his little arms around my waist and said, “I’m glad you didn’t get murdered at the dinner table.”
“Thanks, buddy,” I said, holding back a laugh. “Me too.”
CHAPTER 25
WHEN CEE INVITED ME OVER Saturday to discuss my investigation into who’d complained about the Red Club, I didn’t expect it to be so organized. Though I should have. I mean, it was Cee.
“Since when do you have a whiteboard? And why?” I asked as she placed a marker into my hand.
“It helps me to work out business problems when I write them up on the board. Or even pro-and-con lists. New ideas. I use it all the time. It was a great investment.”
“Let me guess. You bought it at a garage sale.”
“Five bucks!” She beamed. “From a retired teacher.”
Cee wanted me to write all the suspects up on the board so we could gather evidence, but the truth was, I hadn’t had time to think about too much. I’d spent all night writing my article and all morning filling my mom in on every detail like she’d asked. Then she’d gone into her own office to do “research.” She allowed me to go to Cee’s house while they went to Danny’s soccer game. And now I was promptly put on the spot.
“C’mon, Ms. Investigative Reporter, let’s do this.” Cee nudged me forward.
I uncapped the marker and took a deep breath. “Well, we have the obvious.” I wrote Brody Scruggs on the board.
Cee nodded. “Brody hates us, that’s for sure.”
“And I may or may not have tripped him after a Red Club meeting when he bullied Julia,” I admitted.
Cee smirked. “But I can’t picture him booking time with Principal Pickford to complain about the Red Club. He wouldn’t be able to put forth a coherent argument.”
True. But his mother could. “Mrs. Scruggs complained about the dress code at the school committee meeting. She went on and on, blaming girls in leggings for Brody’s bad grades.”
Cee groaned in frustration. “Totally the type of mom who would go to the administration to get a girls’ club shut down. Especially one that her precious baby doesn’t like.” She rubbed her chin for a moment, staring at the board. “Okay, who’s next?”
I thought for a moment. “Julia’s mom.”
“You still think she could have done it?” Cee asked. “She wasn’t at the school committee meeting.”
“But she could have complained to Pickford privately. Julia told me that her mom didn’t approve of the Red Club.”
Cee’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll never understand people who want to make rules for all children rather than their own kid. If she didn’t want Julia to go to meetings, fine. But would she really try to make it so that all girls couldn’t go?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.” The Alperts were new in town. I’d never even met Julia’s mom, so I had no idea what kind of person she was.
“Put her on the list,” Cee said.
I did, the marker squeaking as I wrote. “I wish there was a way to find out more about her, to get a sense of her.”
Cee tapped a pink painted fingernail on her chin. “We could do some light Facebook stalking.”
I did a double take. Cee was old enough for an account, but no one in our grade had one. It was more for grown-ups. “You have a Facebook account?”
Cee shrugged. “It’s how I get notifications from my local Future Business Leaders of America chapter.”
But of course.
“My stuff is charging downstairs,” she said. “Can I log in on your laptop?”
“Sure.” I walked over to her glass-top desk and opened the computer I’d brought. My most recent document—the article I’d been working on—was up on the screen. I opened a browser window for Facebook.
Cee dragged over a second chair she had in the corner and pushed me over a bit to share the space. She logged in quickly and her feed loaded. As expected, it was all business and self-motivation pages.
“Let’s see if Mrs. Alpert has an account.”
I wouldn’t even have known where to start looking, but Cee immediately clicked to a Hawking Middle School group and opened up the list of its members.
“Ah. Susie Alpert. Here she is.” Cee pointed at a small square photo next to the name. The woman looked just like Julia, only older and with a mom haircut.
Cee clicked to Mrs. Alpert’s page and we looked around, but there wasn’t much to see.
“Why is it mostly blank?” I asked.
“She’s using her privacy settings.” Cee sighed. “Good for her, but bad for us stalkers.”
Cee shut down the browser, and my article filled the screen. She leaned forward in her chair. “What’s this?”
“Oh, that’s…” What I worked on all last night, staying up way later than usual, pouring my heart and soul into. “Just an article.”
“For the paper? I thought Pickford wasn’t having meetings right now and you guys were on hold.”
“We are,” I said, “and even if we weren’t, he definitely wouldn’t publish this. But I felt like I had to write it anyway, to get it all off my chest and onto paper. Or… laptop. I thought maybe I could publish it myself on a blog, but I don’t have a blog and I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Can I read it?”
“Sure.” I moved aside to give her the full view of the screen.
She read slowly and quietly, chewing on her thumbnail the whole time. Now and then I noticed her giving a slight nod. When she was done, she pushed the laptop away and gazed up at me.
“Wh-what did you think?” I asked, suddenly nervous.
“I think that’s the best piece you’ve ever written. And I think that we’re setting up that blog, right now.”
My heart sped up. “You’ll help me?”
She poked a finger at the screen. “Everyone in school needs to read this. If I have to share the blog post with every girl, boy, and teacher myself, I’ll do it.”
I threw my arms around her neck. “Thank you, you Internet wonder!”
Revenge of the Red Club Page 12
