“Don’t worry,” Daisy says. “I plan to stay out of his way.”
It is just plain bad luck that when we leave the library Germinato is standing by the turnstile. I put my arms on my hips in an attempt to block his view of Daisy. “Good afternoon, sir.” I keep my voice as casual as I can.
“Eric,” Germinato says. For a minute, I think my plan has worked. But then his expression changes. He has spotted Daisy.
“Young lady.” Germinato’s voice sounds louder than it did over the PA system.
“Yes, Mr. Germinato?” Daisy does not sound nervous.
“It appears that you are in flagrant violation of the Lajoie High School dress code. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Flagrant?” Daisy says. “I don’t know that word.” For a moment, my mind flashes on the Daisy I first met in Reading Circle, the shy newcomer who was more interested than any of us in learning new words.
“It means ‘total’ or ‘utter,’” Germinato says.
Rowena has come to stand next to Daisy. “It’s extremely hot outside, sir,” she says. “And inside too, since this school has no air-conditioning. Daisy is dressed to keep cool. Also, she bought her dress at a garage sale, so it’s a form of recycling.”
Germinato glares at Rowena. “It doesn’t matter where her dress came from. What matters is that she’s not abiding by the Lajoie High School dress code. Young lady”—he turns back to Daisy—“consider this a warning. Next time, and I certainly hope there won’t be a next time, there will be consequences. Serious consequences.”
Chapter Eight
The Student Life Committee meets every other Wednesday at lunch. Germinato left out who was catering the lunch. It’s the same company that runs the school cafeteria, which isn’t saying much.
A platter with sandwiches sits on the middle of the boardroom table. I grab an egg-salad on brown bread. The bread is so soggy my thumb goes right through it.
I am the youngest member of the Student Life Committee. The president is a girl from eleventh grade named Vicky. The vice-president is a guy from grade ten named Ivan. There is also a treasurer plus five other members at large, like me.
Someone knocks on the boardroom door. It’s Germinato. Miss Aubin is behind him. “I won’t be long,” Germinato says. “I want to have a few words with you. As those of you who served on the committee last year know, Miss Aubin will act as secretary. Which means she’ll attend all your meetings.”
Miss Aubin gives us a tight-lipped smile. She sits down at the end of the table and opens her laptop. Something tells me she is skipping lunch.
“I want to congratulate all of you on being elected or”—Germinato looks at me—“acclaimed to the Student Life Committee. As I’m sure you realize, being part of such an important committee is an excellent addition to your résumés. Which is why I know I can count on your full cooperation.” Germinato smiles at Vicky and Ivan, and they beam back at him.
“This afternoon,” Germinato continues, “I need every member of this committee to help with an initiative that is close to my heart.” At first I think the initiative will have something to do with recycling, but then he says, “The enforcement of our school’s dress code.”
I look at the other students seated around the table. A couple of them are nodding. A girl is doodling on the back of her notebook. The rest have blank looks on their faces. So I raise my hand.
“Have you got a question?” Germinato sounds surprised.
“More of a comment, sir. You see…I was wondering if maybe we could discuss the dress code and the way it targets…”
Miss Aubin shoots me a look over the top of her computer.
Vicky flicks a spot of lint from her navy-blue sweater. Then she looks up at Germinato. “What is it you need us to do for you, sir?” she asks.
It’s as if Germinato did not even hear my comment. “I need you to go to every gym class this afternoon to ensure that every student is wearing regulation-length shorts.” Germinato extends his hands by the sides of his legs the way he did at the opening assembly. For a second he reminds me of a wooden soldier.
Miss Aubin catches Germinato’s eye. “Sir, it is the beginning of the school year, and this could put them in an awkward position with their classmates.” She pauses, as if she wants to give Germinato time to consider her words. “I could do it, sir.”
Germinato waves his hand in the air. “Last time I checked, Miss Aubin, I was the principal of this school, not you.”
Miss Aubin’s lower lip quivers as she types something on her laptop.
“We’ll do it, sir,” Vicky says.
“Absolutely,” Ivan adds.
“But—” I begin.
Vicky cuts me off. “Eric, we value your participation on the Student Life Committee.” She smiles in a way that tells me she does not mean it. “But there’s something you need to understand. The newbies on this committee, well, they don’t usually say much.”
Ivan nods. “It’s not that we don’t want you to participate, Eric. You need some time to learn how things work around here.”
“I think Eric is a quick study,” Miss Aubin says, without looking up from her computer.
Before Germinato leaves, he hands around a list of all the gym classes for the afternoon. The first group are grade sevens.
I get a knot in my stomach as I remember the promise I made Rowena.
“Do I have to do it?” I ask Vicky when the meeting is over.
“Only if you want to stay on the Student Life Committee,” she says.
“Maybe I should resign…” I mutter.
Ivan pats my shoulder. “Didn’t you hear what Mr. Germinato said about having this on your résumé?”
I thought Miss Aubin would go back to her office, but it looks like she is coming to the gym too. “Eric,” she says, in a half-whisper as we walk together, “sometimes the best way to effect change is from the inside.”
Chapter Nine
The first person I see when I walk into the gym is Rowena. It would be hard to miss her. She is wearing a pair of Bermuda shorts—with pictures of palm trees and convertible cars on them. The best thing about those shorts is they go almost to Rowena’s knees.
Maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe all the girls will be wearing regulation length shorts. We may not like the school dress code, but hey, isn’t it easier to go along with the rules and not fight over every little thing?
Vicky punches my shoulder. “You got this, Eric?” she asks me.
I take a deep breath. “I got it.”
Miss Aubin goes to speak with the gym teacher. They huddle for a moment, then the gym teacher whistles to get the class’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she says, “the members of the Student Life Committee are here to verify that your gym clothes meet the dress code.”
“You mean whether the girls’ clothes meet the dress code!” Rowena calls out.
The gym teacher does not respond to Rowena’s comment. Instead, she asks Vicky and Ivan to be as quick as possible. “I wouldn’t want this… this inspection…to interfere with our broomball game,” she says.
“It shouldn’t take long,” Vicky assures her. Vicky turns to the class. “If you could all line up along the back wall, with your hands extended by your sides, Eric will check that your shorts are regulation length.” It is obvious from Vicky’s tone and the way she puts her hands on her hips that she likes telling people what to do.
I scan the gym for Daisy, but I don’t see her. She must be in another class.
As I am thinking that, the gym doors swing open and Daisy sails in. My heart sinks when I see that she is wearing extremely short shorts.
Daisy looks from the back wall, where her classmates are lined up, to me and the other members of the Student Life Committee, then over to the wall again. I can tell she has figured out what is going on. For a second, I wonder if maybe she will try to leave the gym. Can’t she go hide out in the bathroom until the inspection is over?
But Daisy does not make a run for it. Instead, she gives me this giant smile that makes my knees wobble. Then she walks over to the back wall and stands by Rowena. I try looking down at the gym floor, but my eyes are refusing to take orders from my brain—because next thing I know, I am sneaking a peek at Daisy’s legs, which are still slightly tanned from summer. I swear, if I was a painter, I’d paint them.
Next to Rowena’s shorts, Daisy’s look even shorter.
“Eric.” It’s Vicky. I get the feeling she has already called my name, but I might have been, well, distracted. “Eric.” Vicky sounds annoyed. “Let’s get this over with. Now.” She lifts her chin toward the back of the gym.
“It’s not fair! Look how short your fingers are! Mine are almost twice as long!” I hear a girl complain to the girl standing next to her.
I look back at Vicky. She must have heard the girl’s comment too. It’s a valid point. If a student has long fingers, her shorts need to be longer than if she were a short-fingered person. Maybe Vicky will say we need to review the rules. But I catch her eye, and she lifts her chin again. She is telling me to get on with it.
My heart is thumping. If only there were some way for me to get out of this situation. But there isn’t. Not if I want to stay on the Student Life Committee. Then I hear Miss Aubin’s words in my head. Sometimes the best way to effect change is to work from the inside. But how does that help me now? A guy who is trapped can’t effect change.
I move to the end of the line, as far away as I can get from Rowena and Daisy.
The first two students are guys in baggy khaki shorts that go to their knees. They lower their arms, and I make a point of checking where their fingers reach even though I know their shorts are regulation length.
The second guy salutes me—which makes some of the other kids laugh. I feel my ears getting hot.
Next in line is the girl who sits next to me in Life Sciences. I take a quick look at her shorts. They are burgundy and made of sweatshirt material, but they are not as long as Rowena’s. My breathing quickens. This is going to be close. I really hope she has short fingers. She extends her arms. Am I the only one who sees that she has folded her fingers so that her knuckles line up with the bottom of her shorts? I nod as I pass her. She nods back—at least, I think she does. The nod was so small and quick I might have imagined it.
The next couple of girls are wearing jeans that are cut off at the knee. None of the guys’ shorts are a problem.
Rowena is next. She smirks when I lean down to check where her fingertips end. I know she is remembering the promise I made her.
Some kids have been whispering, but when I get to Daisy, the whispering stops. Everyone is watching us.
I catch Daisy’s eye. I’m sorry, I say, mouthing the words.
Daisy drops her arms to her sides. She does not bother trying to fold her hands. Her shorts are so short they barely reach her wrists.
I want her to tell me it’s okay, that she understands I have no choice about turning her in. But when I look at her again, Daisy just stares at me blankly. As if we never met in Reading Circle or walked to school together.
I force myself to meet Daisy’s eyes. “Your shorts, uh, they’re not regulation length.” My voice cracks on the word length. Rowena laughs, and my ears get hot again.
Vicky and Ivan have come to stand next to me.
“You have to report to Mr. Germinato’s office,” I say. At least this time my voice doesn’t crack.
“Now?” Daisy asks.
“Now!” Vicky barks. “Eric, you go with her!”
Chapter Ten
Miss Aubin follows us as far as the library. “I’ll see you two downstairs,” she says. “And good luck.” At first I think she is wishing only Daisy good luck, but when she catches my eye, I realize she means me too.
Daisy walks ahead of me. I try to catch up, but she walks faster. She must be ticked off. I don’t blame her.
I take the opportunity to sneak a peek at her legs. Without meaning to, I sigh.
Daisy slows her pace. When she turns around, she looks worried. “Is something wrong?”
“Uh, no, nothing. It’s just that…you look really good in those shorts.”
“You must like red and blue,” Daisy says. To be honest, I hadn’t noticed the color of her shorts. I only noticed how good she looks in them.
“Look, Daisy, I’m really sorry about this. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice.”
“I heard you tell Rowena you were going to take a stand against the dress code,” Daisy says, shaking her head.
I hate that I have disappointed her. “I tried,” I tell her. “Sort of. Apparently, the seventh-grade member at large doesn’t get much say.”
Daisy makes a snorting sound. I guess she doesn’t find my argument very convincing.
Germinato’s office is around the corner.
Daisy bites her lower lip. “I hope he doesn’t call my parents,” she says.
Germinato is standing in the hallway, near the painting of Marie Gérin-Lajoie. “Good afternoon, sir.” I speak quickly, because I want to get this over with. “Vicky asked me to bring Daisy to your office. As you have probably noticed, her shorts aren’t regulation length.”
Germinato makes tsking noises as he eyes Daisy. “Young lady, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Daisy throws her shoulders back and looks Germinato squarely in the eye. “I think your dress code is stupid. And sexist.”
Germinato’s cheek twitches. “That will be enough,” he says. “As long as I am the principal of this school, you will abide by my rules. And because this is your second infraction this year, there will be a punishment.” Germinato’s eyes brighten.
From where I am standing, I can see Daisy fiddling behind her back with her fingers. She is more nervous than she is letting on.
“You’re going to change out of those…those clothes—immediately. Pick something out of there.” He gestures to the giant lost-and-found bin in the hallway. “Once you’re properly attired, you’ll knock on my door so I can approve your outfit.” With that, Germinato returns to his office.
Now it’s Daisy’s turn to sigh. She must be relieved Germinato didn’t mention anything about contacting her parents.
Since Germinato did not send me ba
ck to class, I figure I might as well stick around. I want to support Daisy, but mostly I want to hang out with her.
I help her hoist open the lid of the lost-and-found bin. The smell of mold and mothballs makes us both take a few steps back.
“Let me guess. He’s forcing you to wear something from the lost and found.” It’s Miss Aubin. “There are a few decent things in there,” she tells Daisy. “Check the very bottom of the bin.”
“Yeah, but what about the odor?” I say.
“I happen to have a steam iron in my drawer,” Miss Aubin says. “Pick something,” she tells Daisy, “and then I’ll give it a quick steam. That should reduce the odor.”
Daisy pinches her nose as she sorts through the clothes. “Gross,” she says, pulling out oversized gray sweatpants and handing them to me. “Some people have absolutely no fashion sense.”
I have never seen anyone sort through clothes so quickly.
“What am I supposed to do with all this stuff?” I ask, but Daisy does not hear me.
“I can’t believe anyone would wear this,” she says, holding up a pair of jean overalls before she adds them to the pile of discards I’m holding.
I am starting to feel like a human clothes rack.
Miss Aubin supervises from her desk. “Reach all the way down to the bottom,” she tells Daisy. “I put some of the better stuff there”—she lowers her voice—“so he wouldn’t find it.”
Daisy reaches to the bottom of the bin and practically disappears into it. When she speaks, her voice is muffled. “There’s just more sweatpants and sweatshirts.”
Miss Aubin gets up from her desk. “There were a couple of cute T-shirts that I’d bet you like. Here, let me have a look,” she tells Daisy.
But Miss Aubin can’t find the T-shirts. “Someone must have taken them from the lost and found.”
Leggings Revolt Page 3
