Margie Kelly Breaks the Dress Code

by Bridget Farr

  Cactus Canyon crushes us on the first three toss-ups, and I start an audit of which players get which questions correct. I quickly number the lines in my notebook so I can write the general theme for each question and then who got it right or wrong. As the questions fly, so do my fingers. Cactus Canyon beats us at almost every science question and most of the current events. We buzz in on the history ones, but they’re faster. They miss one math question, but so do we. We do well on political science and sports. Marcus looks more and more frustrated as each question is read, and beneath the table Jamiya’s right leg is bouncing at a hundred beats per minute. At the break, Daniela turns to me.

  “We’re getting destroyed.”

  “Annihilated.”

  “Crushed.”

  The moderator calls for the match to start again, and the next nine minutes are painful as we only get five toss-ups and win only half the bonuses. Ugly. When the misery is finally over, our players flop to the floor in our corner, everyone muttering about how fast the Cactus Canyon team was and how their buzzers were probably rigged. I don’t think it was the buzzers.

  “Hey, hey, none of that,” Mikey says, patting everyone on the back. “We have to own our losses if we want to own our wins. We have one more match left today. We can’t be getting down on ourselves.”

  Our team is quiet as people pull out their phones, several people putting in earbuds while we wait. Sean passes around a bag of banana chips and some trail mix. I want to send a text to Dad, telling him how awful we’re doing, but he probably wouldn’t have time to respond. Finally, we’re up again.

  Marcus calls out, “Sean, Henry, José, Deven.”

  I turn to Daniela. “You’re not playing this round? You should be! You were great at practice all week.”

  She shrugs, though I can see in her eyes she’s disappointed. “The Kings pick teams.”

  “But you should definitely be on there. That’s not a balanced team because they’re all math and science guys. They don’t have anyone who’s good at literature like you.”

  Daniela shrugs again, but she won’t look at me. She presses a finger to the corner of her eye.

  “Seriously! You should say something. They’re underestimating you just because you’re a girl!”

  “You don’t know that,” Daniela snaps. “You’re not the captain, so you don’t know how they make decisions.”

  “But this feels unfair.”

  “Let it go, Margie. There’s enough actual problems at our school without you seeing them when they aren’t there. Quiz Bowl is the one thing I have to be excited about—please don’t ruin it.”

  She marches toward the playing area, taking a seat next to Jamiya, who puts a hand on her shoulder. The two whisper together. Maybe that’s what I should have done—just comforted my best friend.

  The moderator steps up to the podium. “For this final round of our preseason match today, we have the Live Oak Middle School B team coached by Mr. Shao and Austin Day School coached by Ms. Almeida.”

  At the table across from our team sits the boy in the blue shirt. Alone. I elbow Xavier. “He’s a team of one?”

  He looks up from his hidden phone. “I guess so.”

  “We better not lose to one single kid.”

  He laughs. “Marcus and Mikey will destroy us in practice on Monday if that happens.”

  It happens.

  He beats us by almost three hundred points. The matches are timed, so we couldn’t just admit defeat after he got the first eighty-five points in a row. Instead, we spent the full eighteen minutes slapping at the buzzers and muttering answers seconds too late. I learned the boy’s name is Mateo from the yelling of the adult fan club that showed up. It was eight times larger than his team.

  “That kid is incredible,” Daniela whispers as we trudge toward the bus. “Do you think he’s really only in middle school?”

  “He’s not that tall,” I whisper back, not wanting anyone to hear us saying anything good about the boy genius. “But he is amazing.”

  “I’m going to sit with Jamiya on the ride back,” Daniela says as she walks past me, taking a seat three rows behind.

  I plop the buzzer kit in the empty seat beside me. Suddenly, I’m a team of one, too.

  Chapter 18

  Daniela and I carry our lunch trays toward the library, where Jamiya is working as an aide. After we got destroyed on Saturday, we decided to start using our lunch as additional study time, and the librarian said that if Jamiya shelved all the books in the return bin, she could use the rest of her class period to study with us. With our first official match only ten days away, we have been studying every minute we can. Paper cuts line my fingertips from all the card flipping. Today we’re supposed to focus on current events.

  The library is empty when we get there except for Jamiya, who’s checking in a stack of books. She’s wearing an enormous Live Oak Middle School T-shirt.

  “Give me a second to finish these last two,” Jamiya says, holding up the bar codes to the scanner before adding the books to a cart behind her. Daniela and I set our lunch trays on one of the empty round tables.

  When Jamiya walks around the counter with a stack of magazines in her arms, I realize the T-shirt goes halfway to her knees and billows at her sides like a ghost costume on Halloween.

  “Is that—Did you get dress coded?” I ask, realizing her shirt might be the same as my terrible Live Oak shorts.

  “Yep. Third period. Ms. Lohrstorfer’s sub.”

  “I thought your parents didn’t let that happen,” I say as I open my chocolate milk.

  “Oh, my mom is on her way.” Jamiya drops into a chair beside us.

  “I’m so sorry,” Daniela says, and Jamiya shrugs.

  “It’s just annoying. And this shirt smells terrible.” She lays the magazines out on the table between our trays.

  “The gym shorts I had to wear smelled fine, but they looked disgusting.”

  “They’re supposed to. It’s our punishment for being female.” Jamiya pulls at the sleeve of her T-shirt, which seems longer than the other, maybe stretched out in the wash.

  “Do you want some?” Daniela asks Jamiya, offering her some cucumber slices from a ziplock bag. “I also have Skittles.”

  Jamiya shakes her head. “I’m fine. Thanks, though.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” I say, “what were you wearing that got you dress coded?”

  Jamiya rolls her eyes. “I can show you.”

  She lifts up the enormous T-shirt to show a plain, white scoop neck top. The shirt is snug and the neckline is a little low, but it isn’t especially revealing.

  “You got dress coded for that?” Daniela asks. “Seriously?”

  Jamiya drops the shirt down and shakes her head with exasperation.

  “I’m really sorry,” I say, reaching out to pat her shoulder. Jamiya flips open a copy of People magazine, the same one Grandma Colleen has on her nightstand. Daniela takes a bite of her lunch before grabbing a Newsweek.

  Suddenly Jamiya looks at me. “I want to help with your protest. Like really help. What do you need?”

  My mouth drops open. “Oh… Let me think.”

  Jamiya holds out a hand, and Daniela drops in some Skittles. “I’m up for anything.”

  I run through the list in my notebook. Gloria has social media pretty much taken care of now. “We do need posters?” I offer.

  “Done,” Jamiya says. “My mom would love to go on a shopping trip for supplies.”

  “You’re going to tell your mom?” Daniela asks. I was thinking the same thing.

  “Of course. My mom supports what I do, especially when it’s speaking up for myself.”

  I bet Mom would have bought supplies with me. We would have stayed up late laughing and painting our posters, snacking on popcorn and preparing to fight. But I don’t know what Dad would say if I told him. He’d probably want me to stay out of trouble. And he hasn’t been around enough for me to even have the opportunity.

&
nbsp; “Don’t your parents know?” Jamiya asks, and even though I think she’s asking both of us, I wait for Daniela to answer. She shakes her head. I didn’t think she’d tell them. Her parents take getting in trouble very seriously, as if it’s a reflection on her mom as a teacher and a parent. Daniela only got in trouble once in fourth grade, when the substitute teacher called home on us for talking too much, and she was grounded for a month.

  “My dad doesn’t know, either,” I say.

  Jamiya raises her eyebrows. “That’s risky on a whole ’nother level.”

  I change the subject, not wanting to think about what will happen if Dad finds out I’m running a school-wide dress code protest. “So you’ll make posters?”

  “Sure. Easy. I’ll get enough supplies to pass out to other girls who want to make them. What should I write?”

  I give Jamiya the updates on the hashtags and Gloria’s livestream. We agree to have her add a photo of the shirt she’s wearing to the Instagram account tonight. Daniela silently eats her lunch.

  “Are you sure this is the best way to do this?” Daniela finally says, twisting a button on her charcoal button-up. “Maybe we should have talked to the principal or something first?”

  Jamiya shakes her head before I can answer. “My parents have talked to Mr. Franklin every year I’ve been here. He always says the same thing about school policy and keeping kids safe, as if my shirt is putting anyone in danger.”

  “What about Student Council? You could start a petition or something?”

  “If he won’t listen to parents, he’s definitely not going to care about a petition signed by students.”

  “It’s just… we could get in a lot of trouble,” Daniela says. “Something way worse than having to wear an old T-shirt.”

  “Wearing an old T-shirt is pretty awful. You just don’t know how bad it feels because you’ve never had to wear one,” I snap, and Daniela frowns.

  “That’s because I would never wear something that would get me dress coded.”

  “So you think my skirt was inappropriate? That Ms. Scott was right?”

  “No,” Daniela argues, “I’m not saying—”

  “Are you saying my shirt is distracting?” Jamiya asks, and Daniela’s face falls. For a minute, I worry we’re ganging up on her.

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying, I just—”

  “You’re right. You don’t have to worry about it, because you’re never going to get dress coded,” I add. “You sort of dress like a boy, and boys don’t get dress coded.”

  Daniela fumes. “Just because I don’t wear skirts, doesn’t mean I’m not a girl.”

  “I know,” I say, softening. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Clothes have always been a struggle for Daniela since her family always wants her to dress more girly. Her closet is still crammed full of dresses from her abuela and her tías, even though she’s told them a million times that’s not who she is.

  “I get the dress code is unfair,” Daniela continues. “I just don’t know if this is the right way to deal with it.”

  “Do you have any better ideas?” I ask.

  “I told you—talk to Mr. Franklin.”

  “Jamiya already said that wouldn’t work, so what else do you have?”

  We stare at each other, like jousters ready to rush.

  “Why don’t we take a break from this dress code mess and focus on Quiz Bowl for a while since that’s what we’re supposed to be doing,” Jamiya says, handing me a copy of National Geographic.

  Daniela nods and begins flipping through the pages of a magazine, but I can tell she’s not really memorizing any facts.

  “I need you,” I say, reaching for her hand. “I would still be taking grumpy audits in my little notebook without you.”

  Daniela laughs, but the breathy kind, the one she makes when she doesn’t really think something is funny. She turns back to her magazine, and I wonder if she’s going to turn her back on this protest… and on me.

  Chapter 19

  A knock at the door makes Ms. Anthony sigh from her spot at the whiteboard. So far this period we’ve already been interrupted by an office aide telling Jacob to leave early for his dentist appointment, a counselor to talk with Natalie, and another office aide to drop off a box Ms. Anthony smiled about but didn’t open. She sets down her marker, weaving through the backpacks in our crammed seventh period. The person knocks again, louder this time.

  “I’m coming,” Ms. Anthony shouts.

  When she opens the door, a scrawny eighth-grade boy with floppy black hair, sweatpants, and sandals with socks hands her a stack of papers. One earbud dangles around his neck, the other hidden beneath his hair. Ms. Anthony takes the stack from him, pausing to look at the pink sticky note on top, before telling him to put his electronics away. His sleepy eyes remain unchanged as he flicks the other earbud out of his ear and around his neck.

  “Okay, so quickly, since we only have five minutes left,” Ms. Anthony says, winding her way back to the board. She’s reading the first paper and trips over Stella’s backpack, catching herself on the back of a chair. “Oh! Okay. I’ll hand these out at the end of class. Stella, don’t let me forget.”

  I look down at my blank graphic organizer; I don’t have room in my brain to compare the rights of women in matriarchal societies to women in modern America. I don’t have time for a history lesson when tomorrow the girls at Live Oak are going to be making history.

  Beep. Beep. Beep. The overhead intercom crackles.

  “Seriously?” Ms. Anthony mutters. “How am I supposed to teach anything?”

  “Good afternoon, Lions,” Mr. Franklin says over the speaker. Normally Mr. Franklin starts all his announcements with a cringy “Wassup, scholars?” but this is different. Something’s wrong. Everyone stops talking.

  “This is your principal, Mr. Franklin,” he continues. “It has come to my attention that some students are planning a walkout of class tomorrow because they are unhappy with some of the school rules. I encourage all students to come to my office to talk to me when they have concerns, but any students considering joining this walkout must know that the students planning this protest via social media”—he spits out the words as if he bit a poison dart frog—“did not give the proper notification to the school or acquire a permit, so this is not a legal protest. Students who choose to participate will receive consequences.”

  Thirty pairs of eyes shoot to me. I stare down at my notebook but glance up to see Ms. Anthony watching me with a strange look on her face.

  The room is still as we wait. What consequences?

  “These consequences include, but are not limited to, lunch detention, in-school suspension, and home-school suspension. The severity of actions could also lead to a removal to the alternative learning center.” Someone gasps in the back of the room. “Thank you, Lions. Keep studying and make good choices.”

  I doodle on my paper, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, though I’m desperate to talk to Daniela, who is silent beside me.

  “Well, then,” Ms. Anthony says. “I guess that’s what this letter is all about.”

  She walks through the tables, passing out the letter, her mouth opening, as if she’s going to say something, but snapping closed before she does. She glances at the clock as she sets my letter down. Only three minutes until class ends.

  The letter in my hands is so official. “Dear Live Oak Parent or Guardian,” it reads, with the other side in Spanish. The letter says almost the exact same thing Mr. Franklin just told us, with an extra paragraph about monitoring their child on social media.

  “We’ll go ahead and get packed up for the day,” Ms. Anthony says as she sets down the final paper. The room buzzes with whispers. Some kids sneak looks at their phones. Is someone going to show her the Instagram posts? The videos?

  My whole body feels as if someone filled it with cement, my mass so heavy I wouldn’t float, even in space. Carefully, I put my perfect-to-run-a-protest pencil in its case and
shove my notebook in my backpack. Underneath the table, I text Gloria: Did you hear the announcement?

  She responds with the person shrugging emoji and Told you we’d get in trouble.

  You still want to do it?

  She sends the 100 percent emoji and the winking face with the tongue out. I try to make eye contact with Daniela, but she’s angrily shoving items into her backpack. My phone buzzes again. Gloria.

  No te preocupes. It’s gonna be great.

  I wish I had half her confidence. What I really need is Daniela to talk to me, to make me feel relaxed. She helped me not freak out when I was wearing the terrible gym shorts. She told me to post the original photo. I need my best friend, but she’s already at the front of Ms. Anthony’s line. I move to the middle, cutting people behind me, but I don’t want to be last, where Ms. Anthony could stop and ask me questions before I escape. She still looks at me every few seconds. Does she know it’s me? She probably doesn’t know. The account doesn’t even have my name. But maybe. Sometimes teachers know everything.

  The bell rings—taking the lid off a cannon—and kids burst out the door, the volume rocketing up in decibels. When I get outside, Daniela isn’t waiting. Kids stare at me as they pass. I walk to eighth period alone.

  Everyone is on their phones when I get to Mr. Shao’s classroom after school. Even though we have our rematch with Cactus Canyon and the Wonder Boy School of One this weekend, no one is practicing question sets or researching topics. They’re all buzzing about one thing: tomorrow’s protest. Marcus, Mikey, and Sean are huddled in the back corner of the classroom. Mr. Shao is missing. Daniela sits next to Jamiya, who is tapping on her phone faster than the winds in a black hole.

  “You ready to break the rules tomorrow?” Jamiya says with a smile as she sets her phone in her lap.