“You should run for the Student Life Committee.”
Chapter Four
Which is how I end up in front of Miss Aubin’s desk. When I tell her my name, she closes her eyes. I get the feeling she is sorting through the files in her brain. She opens her eyes. “Eric Myles. You’re one of the boys from O’Donovan, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Grown-up women like being called ma’am.
Miss Aubin removes her glasses and peers up at me. “So how are you liking Marie Gérin-Lajoie High School so far?”
“I’m liking it. Quite a bit, actually. It’s a lot bigger than O’Donovan. Plus it’s got girls.” I should probably not have mentioned the girls.
The corners of Miss Aubin’s thin lips rise a little. “Girls,” she says. “Of course. I hope they’re not causing you to be too distracted.” If she was not the Germinator’s assistant, I’d guess she was making a joke.
“Uh, well, a little.” Something in the way Miss Aubin watches my face when I speak makes me want to be honest with her.
“That’s perfectly normal,” she says. “You’ll need some time to adjust to being in a coed school. Now, how I can help you today, Eric?”
“I’m thinking about applying for the Student Life Committee. The Germ—” I catch myself. Is it my imagination, or does Miss Aubin nearly smile again? “I mean, Mr. Germinato said we should come to you for further information.”
Now Miss Aubin smiles for real. “It’s wonderful that you want to get involved, Eric.” She hands me two sheets of paper. “The first is a questionnaire. The second outlines what is expected in the essay. Basically, you should explain your motivation.” Miss Aubin rests her chin on her hand. “Why do you want to run for the Student Life Committee?”
At first I think Miss Aubin is only explaining how to write the essay, but then I realize she really wants to know.
“To tell you the truth, I was talking with a couple of my friends.” Is it too soon, I wonder, to call Daisy and Rowena my friends? “About how I’m opposed to the way the dress code works. And one of them suggested I run for the Student Life Committee—”
Miss Aubin does not let me finish my sentence. She tilts her head to the side to check that the door to the Germinator’s office is closed. He must be in there trying on baseball caps. “Eric, if I may give you a word of advice, don’t mention the dress code.” Then she lowers her voice. “Mr. Germinato reads all of the essays. You could mention recycling though. He likes that.”
“Great. Thanks for the advice,” I say. “Also, what did you call the school earlier? I thought everyone calls it Lajoie High School or just Lajoie.”
Miss Aubin walks me out to the hallway. She stops in front of the portrait of the woman with her hair in a bun. “That’s Marie Gérin-Lajoie. The school was named after her,” she says. I notice a gold plaque at the bottom of the frame. It says Marie Gérin-Lajoie, 1867–1945. The way Miss Aubin is gazing at the painting, you would think Marie was her grandmother. “She was a fascinating woman,” Miss Aubin says, and I’m not sure if she is talking to herself or to me. “Ahead of her time.”
It’s not until I am on my way to class that I realize I could have made Miss Aubin’s day by asking her what made Marie Gérin-Lajoie so fascinating to her.
As I walk into the classroom, something else occurs to me. Miss Aubin’s bra strap was showing.
Chapter Five
So far, Life Sciences is my favorite class. The teacher, Mr. Farrell, is cool, and there are three times as many girls as guys in the class. Rory noticed that on the first day. “I’d say our odds are pretty good,” he said. He wasn’t talking about blackjack.
Daisy and Rowena are sitting at the back. Rory has already grabbed the desk next to Daisy’s. Because I spent most of recess with Miss Aubin, I have to take the only empty desk in the middle of the front row.
We are doing a unit on baboons. We have already learned that there are five species of baboons that live in Africa and southwestern Arabia. They have long muzzles and sharp teeth, and their predators include crocodiles, lions and sometimes humans.
“Today you’ll be taking notes on the baboon life cycle,” Mr. Farrell explains. He tells us how in the wild, baboons live to be about thirty. In captivity, they can live up to forty-five years.
“Yeah, but who wants to live in captivity?” Rory calls out.
Another teacher might get ticked off at someone calling out, but not Mr. Farrell. He steps away from the whiteboard and asks whether anyone else wants to contribute to the discussion.
Rowena’s hand shoots up. “We all live in captivity,” she says with a sigh. “I don’t mean to depress you guys, but we’re trapped in this building until the bell goes at 3:15 pm.”
Mr. Farrell chuckles. “Four fifteen, in my case. I’m supervising in the detention room.”
Now Rory’s hand shoots up. “Should we write that down in our notes?” he asks. Even Mr. Farrell chuckles at that as he turns back to the whiteboard.
“Between the ages of four and five, female baboons reach menarche.” Mr. Farrell is looking around the class. I can tell he wants to know if we are familiar with the word. I think I know what it means, but because it’s embarrassing, I pretend to study my notes.
“Menarche,” Mr. Farrell says, “refers to menstruation. Like human females, female baboons get a monthly period.”
There’s some giggling, and someone whispers something about baboon-sized sanitary napkins. “There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Mr. Farrell says. “Menstruation is perfectly natural. There would not be baboons—or humans, for that matter—without it.
“Male baboons take a little longer to mature than the females do,” Mr. Farrell continues. “Another parallel to the human life cycle—and something I am sure some of you have noticed.”
The girl next to me nods.
Mr. Farrell writes the words reproductive signaling on the whiteboard. It turns out that to signal her fertility, the female baboon wags (Mr. Farrell does not say wags—he says presents) her swollen rump in front of the male baboon’s face.
Phil raises his hand. “Excuse me, sir, but is this a joke?”
“This is not a joke,” Mr. Farrell answers. “It’s Life Sciences.”
Mr. Farrell goes to the computer on his desk. Thirty seconds later, we are looking at the hot-pink, swollen rump of a female baboon. Mr. Farrell has projected the image on the whiteboard. It could be the grossest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Are you saying male baboons think that’s sexy?” Rory asks.
Mr. Farrell nods. “I suppose they do.”
Some of the girls giggle. Other students squirm in their chairs. The girl next to me covers her eyes.
Mr. Farrell stands perfectly still at the front of the room, without saying anything. I think he is giving us a moment to settle down.
“Earlier in today’s class, Rowena drew an interesting parallel between the experience of baboons and our own human experience. She pointed out that, like baboons who live in captivity, we too are sometimes restricted in our actions.
“Now, if I may draw your attention back to the screen, can you think of any parallels between the female baboo
n’s reproductive signaling and our own society?”
I think I know where Mr. Farrell is going. I raise my hand. “Are you talking about how girls dress, sir?”
“I’m not talking about how girls dress, Eric. You are,” Mr. Farrell answers.
“Well, uh, I guess some girls dress in a way that is, I mean, could be…meant to attract guys,” I say.
Mr. Farrell looks at the rest of the class. “Do any of you want to respond to what Eric just said?”
I should not be surprised that Rowena has a response. “Why do you automatically assume that how girls dress is about guys? Why can’t a girl’s clothes be a form of self-expression? I have a friend who wants to be a fashion designer. Her clothing choices are part of her identity.”
I know she means Daisy. “Uh, I guess it could be that too,” I say, trying to dig myself out of the hole I did not realize I was digging.
Mr. Farrell saves me. “Eric and Rowena, you’ve both raised valid points. I think the lesson for today is that Life Sciences is not only a class you take to pass seventh grade. The life sciences affect us all. At every moment.”
Chapter Six
Rory was not kidding about wanting to widen his social circle.
When Phil and I get to the cafeteria, we hear Rory’s loud laugh from the other end of the room. He is huddled at a table with his new pals. There is Martie, who trains at Rory’s gym, and Theo. Rory shares a locker with Theo.
“Should we go over there?” Phil sounds nervous.
“Why not?” I say, though I can think of a few reasons.
“Hey,” Rory says as Phil and I sit down. Rory goes back to his conversation with Theo and Martie without introducing us. It’s hard to tell what they are talking about. I hear them mention numbers—eight, seven, seven point five. Rory is good at math, but I would not have pegged Theo or Martie as the kind of guys who discuss math over tuna sandwiches. This goes to show how wrong it is to make assumptions about people.
“Are you guys in accelerated math?” I ask Theo and Martie.
Theo grunts. Martie looks at me like I am from Saturn. “What are you talking about?” he asks.
“Well, I figured…since you’re discussing numbers…”
Rory guffaws. “That’s a good one, little buddy!” I like that Rory has called me buddy in front of the other guys, but I wish he had left out the little part.
The blonde girl we saw on the first day of school walks past our table. She is wearing a black T-shirt with red cut-off pants and carrying a tray with salad. Alfalfa must be her favorite food.
“Seven-point-five,” Theo says.
Rory scratches his head. “Eight.”
Then Martie adds, “Seven. Definitely seven. Not round enough.”
“What’s not round en—” But before the words are out of my mouth, I figure out what the three of them are discussing. Not math. They are rating girls’ butts on a scale from one to ten.
My mind flashes on the photo of the female baboon’s swollen rump. I blink to make the image go away.
Another girl walks by. This one is about a foot shorter than the blond.
Martie uses the back of his hand to wipe tuna off the side of his mouth. “Seven. Too round.”
Theo sighs as if to say rating girls’ butts takes a lot of effort. “Eight,” he says.
Rory high-fives Theo. “Hey, that’s what I was going to say.” Rory punches my arm. “So what do you say, Eric?” Then he looks past me at Phil. “What about you?”
Phil tenses up next to me. I have never heard Phil make the kind of comment about a girl that Rory and his pals are making. So I nearly fall off my chair when Phil says, “Seven,” and then adds, “I agree with Martie. Too round.”
Now all four guys look at me. I consider saying this is a dumb game and asking if they realize they are objectifying girls. But I can already hear them laughing at that.
“Uh, seven-point-five,” I say.
Martie leans across the table toward Phil and me. “You two should come to the gym sometime.”
I spot Daisy and Rowena in line, buying lunch. I lower my head so they won’t see me. If they come to sit over here, the guys will rate their butts. And I will have to do it too.
Rory sees them. And then he does something I really wish he would not. He waves them over.
“You friends with that girl Daisy?” Theo asks Rory. Theo sounds impressed.
“Actually, she’s my friend,” I say.
Daisy and Rowena stop at a nearby table to talk to some other girls, giving us a perfect view of their butts.
“Ten. Eight-point-five,” Rory says.
“Ten. Eight,” Theo calls out.
“Not so loud,” I tell him, but it is too late.
Rowena turns to face us. She looks like she just tasted sour milk. “Are you guys doing what I think you’re doing?” Her voice is so shrill that kids from other tables are turning around to see what is happening.
Rowena grabs Daisy’s arm and whispers something in her ear.
I can tell from the way Daisy’s eyes are flashing that she is angry too. The worst part is that she seems to be especially angry with me. “I thought you were better than that,” she hisses at me before she storms off with Rowena.
Chapter Seven
“Where are you going?” Theo asks when I get up from the table.
“I’m going to talk to Daisy and Rowena,” I tell him. “To apologize.”
“Apologize for what?” Rory asks, and then he guffaws, which makes Theo and Martie crack up too.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Phil offers. I think he is as eager as I am to get away from Rory and his pals.
“Sure. But I should do the talking.”
At first Daisy and Rowena ignore us. But after I apologize twice to Daisy’s back, she turns around and says, “Do you promise never to do that again—ever?”
I cross my hands over my heart. “I promise.”
“Me too,” Phil chimes in.
Rowena only wants to know one thing. “Are you going to run for Student Life Committee?” she asks me.
“I already got the application from Miss Aubin.”
Rowena eyes me. I think she is deciding whether I can be trusted. “If you get elected, do you promise to fight the dress code?”
I cross my hands over my heart again. “I promise.”
I did not need to work so hard on my application letter for the Student Life Committee. Since I’m the only seventh-grader who applied, there is not going to be an election for our grade.
I am in the library, catching up on homework, when Germinato makes the announcement on the PA system. “The first Student Life Committee meeting is noon on Wednesday in the boardroom. There will be a catered lunch,” Germinato’s voice booms. “Thank you and have a good day.”
Rowena is working in the next cubby. “Way to go, Eric!” she says, reaching over to clap my shoulder. “Just don’t forget your promise.”
The librarian turns to look at me. I am expecting her to shus
h us. But she smiles and mouths the word Congratulations.
“Hey, Rowena.” I whisper because I want to stay on the librarian’s good side. “Can I ask you something?”
Rowena rocks on the back legs of her chair. “Ask away,” she whispers back.
“How come you didn’t run for Student Life Committee? I mean, you’ve got strong opinions and all.”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t run. Besides, it would have been a confl—” Rowena stops herself.
“A conflict?” I ask.
“Something like that,” she mutters. “If you don’t mind, I need to get back to my math homework.”
We are studying in our cubbies when Daisy comes up behind us. “Hey, you two,” she says. Then she taps my shoulder. “Congratulations on getting elected to the Student Life Committee.”
“I wasn’t exactly elec—” It is hard to get the words out, because Daisy looks so amazing. Because her hair is in a ponytail, I notice how high her cheekbones are. She is wearing a short turquoise dress. I see both bra straps—and quite a lot of leg.
I think Daisy has noticed my reaction, because she says, “It’s a new dress. I mean, an old dress. I got it at a garage sale. It’s from the sixties. Turquoise was really popular back then.”
“I like it.” It’s hard not to stare at Daisy. I try looking at the floor instead. The carpet is beige and worn on the spots where kids have pulled back their chairs. My eyes travel to Daisy’s feet. She is wearing fuchsia flip-flops. Her toenails are the same shade of turquoise as her dress.
“You’d better hope the Germinator doesn’t see you now that the dress code is in effect,” Rowena tells Daisy. “From what I’ve heard, none of the teachers will turn you in, but the Germinator’s obsessed with that stupid dress code.”
Leggings Revolt Page 2
