Margie Kelly Breaks the Dress Code

by Bridget Farr

  I nod. I’ve seen it happen. “And then they’re surprised when they hear you talk?”

  “Exactly. The way to change their minds isn’t to complain about it—it’s to prove them wrong. Like my dad did with his real estate business. People didn’t think a Mexican American man from a small border town in the Rio Grande valley could be successful in Austin, but now he’s one of the top agents in the city. That’s why I work so hard to be good at school and make it on the Quiz Bowl team. You think Marcus and Mikey aren’t fair to girls because they’re sexist? Well, prove them wrong by studying and getting better.”

  “How am I supposed to prove to Ms. Scott that my skirt isn’t a distraction besides wearing more short skirts and asking everyone in class if they can still learn?”

  Daniela laughs. “You would totally do that.”

  “You need a hashtag,” Jamiya says. “If you’re going to try to do a protest like one of these, you need something catchy for Instagram. That’s the only way people are going to show up.”

  I didn’t realize she was still reading the articles, but she has several on her desk.

  “Yes, definitely,” I say. “I’ve been thinking about a symbol, too, or a slogan, like these girls have. We could march maybe, or hold signs outside the school. Maybe you could help me with—”

  Jamiya shakes her head. “I’ve got high school applications coming up, but get your ideas together first, and then I can help with your social media.”

  “That would be awesome!” As one of the popular eighth graders, she knows all the kids at school. She could really make a protest happen. “See, Daniela? Jamiya’s in.”

  “I’m in-ish,” Jamiya says as she picks up a stack of flash cards. “Like I said, I have my own changes I’m trying to make at Live Oak right now with Student Council. Besides, it is practically impossible to get Mr. Franklin to change his mind on anything.” She flies through the cards faster than I could even read one, her mouth forming answers with each flip.

  “So will you do it?” I ask, needing Daniela to say yes. I can’t do this without her.

  “I still think there might be a better way, but—”

  “Yes!” I throw my arms around her shoulders, my desk tilting so it clangs into hers.

  “Dress Code,” Marcus calls from his seat at the front table, “come read these last few questions since Elman has to go.” Finally, an official duty at practice, but now I just want to talk protests with my best friend!

  “Dress Code!” Marcus yells again. “You’re the alternate, so alternate.”

  I rush to the front of the room and almost trip again, this time over someone’s saxophone case. Elman leaves the questions on the podium, and I note the purple pen marks beside the ones he’s already asked. Four left. Standing in front of the tables full of boys, all their eyes on me—me, Dress Code, Margie—I feel a swell of power. I can do this. I can moderate this team of power-hungry boys, and I can run a protest, too.

  “Toss-up. This senator was barred from speaking during debate after reading aloud a letter from Coretta Scott King. Senate majority leader Mitch McConnell employed Senate Rule Nineteen, stating that she had ‘impugned the motives and conduct’ of fellow senator and nominee for attorney general, Jeff Sessions. McConnell later defended the action, saying, ‘She had appeared to violate the rule. She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless, she persisted.’ For ten points, name this—”

  A buzzer lights up. And so do I, realizing even famous women like Elizabeth Warren are speaking up and demanding respect.

  Nevertheless, she persisted. And I will, too.

  Chapter 13

  Blood rushes to my head, my feet propped above me, my legs parallel to Daniela’s against my light-green wall. We’ve been lying on the bed like this so long that my toes prickle. It’s our monthly Saturday sleepover, though we usually convince our parents to say yes to more. Especially since they can save a drop-off trip and return us at mass. We’re supposed to be picking a movie to watch so we can “start settling down,” but Daniela’s doing impressions and I can’t stop howling.

  “Do another one!” I shout. “Do Father James!”

  Father James was the priest at Saint Mark’s when we got our First Communion. Daniela taps her unpainted toes against the wall, then stretches her hands in front of her like she’s holding the tin of hosts. She bends her shoulders and raises her eyebrows.

  “Boat-y of Christ,” she says, her voice singsong as she hands out fake hosts. “Boat-y of Christ.”

  I start giggling again. “Do someone from school! Do Ms. Scott! Or the Kings!”

  She shakes her head, the tips of her loose hair brushing the carpet. “I don’t know any of those yet.”

  “Just try it! Marcus or Mikey would be easy. ‘Hey, Dress Code, dust the buzzers!’”

  “You’ve never had to clean anything,” Daniela says, sitting up to put her hair back in a braid.

  “Girls,” Dad calls, knocking twice before pushing the door open. He peeks around the corner, already dressed in his University of Texas T-shirt and plaid pajama pants even though it’s only nine o’clock on a Saturday night. “I can hear your giggles all the way across the house.”

  I point to Daniela. “It’s her fault.”

  Dad smiles. “Impressions?” Daniela nods. “Let me guess, Father James?”

  “Boat-y of Christ,” we all say together, and even Dad chuckles.

  “Okay, well, good night, girls. Don’t stay up for hours practicing your Quiz Bowl questions, either.” Dad leans over to flick on the jellyfish night-light by my desk. “I know you’re Queens of Quiz, but you need to save your skills for when you’re both onstage, slamming those buzzers.”

  Daniela side-eyes me, and I shake my head.

  “Got it! Night, Dad.”

  He yawns as he pulls my door closed. Daniela pounces. “You didn’t tell your dad you’re not on the Quiz Bowl team?”

  “I am on the Quiz Bowl team.”

  “You know what I mean.” I tuck the pillow behind my head and stare up at the stars. “Margie?”

  “No, he doesn’t know that I’m the alternate, but it doesn’t matter. He’s going to miss all the actual meets for work anyway.”

  Daniela frowns. “Does he know about the dress code and your protest idea?”

  “Uh, no. Definitely not.”

  “He’s going to flip if he finds out.”

  “I know,” I say, reaching for the notebook on my side table. “Which is why he’s not going to know. So, shh. We’re going to have to whisper if we want to actually plan this protest.”

  “I’m not sure I actually do.”

  “You already said yes, and I have the plan right here.” I turn to the list I started Monday. “I’ve been doing more research, and some girls actually changed things at their schools.”

  “But what exactly are people going to do? Walk out of class? Wear short skirts?” Daniela asks. “I love you, but there is no way I’m wearing a miniskirt.”

  “We’ll have to figure that out. For now, let’s start with something easy like the Instagram account.”

  I grab my phone off the charger. Dad let me keep it in my room tonight since he thought we’d want to spend all our time taking selfies. Daniela hates selfies.

  “Doesn’t your dad check your phone?”

  “He used to all the time, but he’s so busy with work he barely checks it anymore. I put a tissue on it the other night so I could tell if he moved it, and he hadn’t.”

  “That is so not like your dad. Is this all because of his new job?”

  I nod. “I guess so. It’s a lot of stress now that he’s a manager.”

  Daniela tilts her head. “Does it bother you? That he’s sort of ignoring you.”

  I force a smile as a pang ripples through my chest. “At least I don’t have to worry about him finding out about our plans.”

  Daniela frowns and pats my arm. “Are you making a new account or doing it under your personal one?”


  “A new one,” I say, opening Instagram. “Just in case. I’m going to search ‘feminist’ for names and see what comes up.” After a few seconds I read, “Feministfightclub, feministwarrior, FeministFabulous, feministvoice, feminist.ashley, feminist—”

  “Does it have to have ‘feminist’ in the name?”

  “How about FutureFeministsofLiveOakMiddle?”

  “Aren’t you already a feminist?” Daniela asks, folding a pillow under her arms.

  “FeministsofLiveOak?”

  Daniela shakes her head. “That’s way too long.”

  “LadiesofLiveOak?”

  “That sounds like we’re having a tea party,” Daniela says. “This whole thing is about the dress code, so why not something with that?” Her fingers drum along her legs as she thinks. “CodeBreakers?”

  “Ooh, I like that!” I say. “It’s not so obvious, but also awesome.”

  “It could get confused with something else, though,” Daniela argues, twisting the end of her braid. “Like the code breakers during World War II or the Navajo code talkers.” Leave it to Quiz Bowl girls to get nerdy about a name. I type it into Instagram.

  “CodeBreakers is already taken anyway. How about LiveOakCodeBreakers?”

  “I like it,” Daniela says with a yawn. I reach over to high-five her.

  “You didn’t even want to be a part of the protest, and now you helped with the hardest part: the name!”

  She laughs. “I don’t think picking a name is going to be the hardest part.”

  I cross “Instagram account” off the to-do list. “What should our first post be?”

  Before she can answer, it hits me. “I know exactly!”

  I hop off the bed, bumping Daniela, who was taking a drink of water. “Ack, careful, Margie!”

  “Sorry,” I say as I race to the closet, swiping through the properly measured dresses and skirts until I feel the tulle in my hands, the sequins along the edge: the perfect first-day-of-sixth-grade skirt. The skirt that started it all.

  “Get off the bed,” I tell her, and she rolls off, leaning against the wall. I spread the floral comforter smooth before laying the skirt in the middle of the bed, straightening the edges and fluffing the layers.

  I pull over my desk chair and stand on the seat, the chair wobbly on my plush carpet. I center the skirt in my phone screen, hoping the sequins pick up the light. I take several photos before showing Daniela.

  “I’ll add a filter, and then we’ll post it with this caption: Does this skirt look like a distraction to you? Plus our own hashtags.”

  “That is good,” Daniela says as she crawls back into bed. She watches as I edit the photo. The sequins and the flowers on my bed really pop with the Lo-Fi filter. Butterflies flood my stomach.

  “Are you really doing this?” Daniela asks, her eyes as worried as I feel.

  For a moment I wonder what Dad would say if he found out. What my mom might say. Would she be proud of me for standing up for myself? I hope so.

  We look at the picture: a skirt that shouldn’t have been remarkable, that shouldn’t have caused a protest. It’s just a skirt. “Do you think this will actually work?” I ask. “Should I do it?”

  My finger hovers over the button. Daniela smiles.

  “Post it.”

  Chapter 14

  It’s been over a week, and we only have seventeen likes on our Instagram post, and all the comments are from me. Daniela and I tried talking to some girls we know from elementary school, but they were all afraid to get in trouble. And none of them had even gotten dress coded yet, though they’d all seen me in the gym shorts. Or at least heard about it. We need to start recruiting people, but outside the few kids from elementary and the Quiz Bowl team, I don’t really know anyone here at Live Oak. I’ve been so obsessed with the dress code that I haven’t bothered to make new friends. And I guess I didn’t really worry because I had my best friend, Daniela.

  At least I thought I did.

  Across the room, Daniela and Jamiya are hunched over Jamiya’s phone, both of them reading with squinted eyes before writing something in matching notebooks. They’re just extra notebooks Mr. Shao gave the team from his closet, but they match. And I didn’t get one because I’m the alternate. Jamiya points to something, and they both start laughing. Last year during Quiz Bowl, I could make Daniela laugh so hard she would start coughing whenever I did my buzzer dance, mostly me just slapping my hands around and humming whatever song came to my head. Whenever we got bored with studying, she’d yell, “Buzzer!” and I’d start dancing. She isn’t laughing that hard now, but still. Even with her help on the protest, things feel different.

  The whole team is in research mode for the first thirty minutes of practice, and while a projected timer runs down on the chalkboard, I’ve been setting up the buzzer system. Everyone is silently working on their phones or one of Mr. Shao’s Chromebooks. Strangely, Mr. Shao is the only one making noise, singing along off-key to the music on his headphones.

  “What are you guys looking at?” I ask Daniela and Jamiya when I finish with the buzzers. They don’t respond. “Daniela? What is it?”

  Daniela tugs on a cord and pulls out an earbud.

  “We’re watching this video about Brexit. You know, the United Kingdom leaving—”

  “I know about Brexit,” I say, even though I don’t really. I just know the word sounds like those Hollywood mash-up names Grandma has memorized. Jamiya keeps watching the video, writing a few notes every few seconds, her deep-purple nail polish the same color as her pen.

  “We still only have seventeen likes,” I tell Daniela, pulling out my phone to show her the posts. “We have to get more girls involved or it won’t work.”

  Jamiya reaches over and grabs my phone. She frowns at the screen. “Cool shot, but this doesn’t even say what you want people to do.”

  “We haven’t really decided that yet,” I say, realizing now how stupid it is to start a protest without actually having a plan.

  Jamiya scoffs. “That should be your priority, then. You have a hashtag?”

  I nod.

  “And only seventeen likes. How many followers do you have?”

  “Only a few on this account,” I say, embarrassed to admit that my personal account doesn’t have many more.

  Jamiya scrunches her eyebrows. “You need someone with followers to share it, someone popular.” She hands the phone back to me. “No one is going to risk ISS for sixth graders. But if you could find someone else to post about it, you might get more people involved.”

  “Would you—” I ask, and Jamiya shakes her head before I can even finish.

  “I’m not the right person for this. I’ve only been dress coded once, but there are some girls who live in ISS because of the dress code. Who knows, maybe one of them is already planning a protest of her own.”

  “Thanks,” I say, wondering how a sixth-grade Quiz Bowl alternate who barely knows anyone’s name is going to get a popular girl to support a protest. There are over a thousand kids at this school. Then I remember Gloria and the other girls from ISS. Gloria said she gets dress coded all the time, and from the few times I’ve seen her in the hallway since, she’s definitely popular enough to be our spokesperson.

  “Can I help you guys with research?” I ask, sitting down beside them. Daniela shakes her head before handing Jamiya’s earbud back to her.

  “We’re actually going to go do some research in the library.”

  “I can go with you. I can work on some new post ideas while we research.”

  “No,” Daniela says. “We really need to focus on Quiz Bowl, and we already know what we’re working on. Besides, aren’t you helping Marcus with buzzers when research is over?”

  Bright-red numbers count down the final two minutes. Daniela tucks her matching notebook in her backpack before zipping it up. My throat tightens as I watch her prepare to walk away from me.

  “See you later,” Daniela says, and as the numbers count down, I feel a b
it like they’re counting down the seconds until I’m no longer Daniela’s best friend.

  Chapter 15

  “Please, Daniela, come with me. It won’t take long,” I beg. Daniela marches a few steps ahead of me on her way to world cultures, her shoulders turning, her body curving as she slides through the crowded halls. “It will take two seconds to tell her about the protest. If she’s not interested, we’ll come straight back to school.”

  “I have Quiz Bowl,” she says, yanking the bottom of her backpack strap to tighten it. Without thinking, I pull on mine, too.

  “We have Quiz Bowl. Just tell the Kings you’re meeting with a teacher.”

  Daniela turns to me with a look of horror. “I can’t say I’m at tutoring! Quiz Bowl kids do not need tutoring. Ever.”

  I sigh. “Fine, then say that it’s not for tutoring, but an award or something. Please, Daniela. 7-Eleven is right across the street. It won’t take more than ten minutes.”

  “What makes you think she’ll even say yes?”

  “She might not, but she said she gets dress coded all the time. She’s got to be fed up. And we at least have to try. This protest is going nowhere without an eighth grader on our side.”

  Daniela gets a drink from the water fountain, her ponytail sliding over her shoulder. She stands up and flicks it back, staring at me as if she’s trying to solve a puzzle and I’m the clue.

  “I still don’t get why you need me to go with you. You said you talked to Gloria and her friends when you were in ISS.”

  “I’ll seem like a weirdo if I go by myself. It’ll be more convincing if there’s two of us.”

  “Can’t we go some other time? Before school or something? I really don’t want to miss practice.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know when she gets here in the morning, but she goes to 7-Eleven after school. They were talking about it that day in ISS. Please, Daniela.”

  “Fine,” she says, turning the handle to Ms. Anthony’s room. “But we have to be fast.”