But before Ms. Bhatt could finish the sentence, the door swung open and Principal Pickford busted in. Ugh. Great timing. We were just about to find out something really important, and he was probably here to make sure no one was wearing short shorts.
He grinned widely. “Did you tell them the good news?”
Ms. Bhatt’s eyes darted around the room. “I was just getting to it.”
He stood in front of her and turned to face us. “Your new advisor… is me.”
My stomach dropped. Cole’s shoulders stiffened in the seat in front of me.
But Lin let out a giggle. “No, really,” she said. “Who is it?”
Mr. Pickford frowned. “It’s me. I’m your advisor.”
“But… why?” Lin asked. “Ms. Bhatt was doing a great job.”
He waved his hand at Lin dismissively. “Didn’t you hear the announcement this morning? In partnership with the school committee, we’ve decided to buckle down on those darn handbook rules, and one of the rules is about club advisors. Ms. Bhatt doesn’t have a lot of time for the newspaper. She’s already the advisor for the science club and the nature club. The Hawking Observer deserves someone who can give it more attention. A closer eye.”
I pinched my forearm in the hopes that this was a nightmare I could wake up from.
He clapped his hands together. “So, let’s start our first meeting. What’ve we got? Tell me your ideas.”
My mouth clamped shut like it had been stuck with glue. I wasn’t about to relay my excitement about a dramatic report on the unfairness of the old/new dress code.
Thankfully, Cole spoke up first. “In addition to my regular roundup of the results of our sports games for the week, I’ve been thinking about starting a new regular column. I’d interview one school athlete every week. We could talk about various things—how they prepare for games, working out and nutrition, scoping the competition.”
“Wonderful idea!” Mr. Pickford boomed. “I think that’s great. You’re sprouting your wings and learning to fly.”
Um, what?
Lin piped up next. “I had many letters come in this week looking for advice. It’s always hard to choose, but I think I have it narrowed down to two.”
“That’s great. I’ll want to read those first, of course,” he said. “And Riley?”
I tried to swallow, but there appeared to be a giant lump of sand in my throat. “Nothing right now,” I forced out.
“Okay, well, this was a great meeting. Just FYI, we’re going to miss the next few editions as I create a framework of set guidelines for us to follow. But after that, we’ll move forward with responsible journalism. I’m looking forward to it! I’ll let you know, personally, when the next meeting will be.”
Then he left.
The room seemed to tilt and sway. Echoes of his words bounced through my head.
Missing a few weeks.
Set guidelines.
Responsible journalism.
He’d become the new advisor so he could take control. He wanted to prevent us from provoking dialogue. He’d never let me run a story like the one on the dress code.
I sat stiffly in my chair until Lin came over and poked me with her pencil.
“Are you all right?”
I nodded. But I really wasn’t.
“It’ll be okay,” she said.
I nodded. But it really wouldn’t.
“He’ll get bored with us. Or he’ll get pulled into principal drama. And then we’ll get Ms. Bhatt back again. Give it time. Everything will be fine.”
I wasn’t completely convinced, but I could breathe again, so that was a start. I blinked and gazed around the room. Lin was the only one left. I hadn’t even noticed Ms. Bhatt and Cole leave.
“Do you feel better?” she asked.
“A little.”
“Good,” she said, and then she punched my arm.
“Ow!” I cried. “What was that for?”
“For being an idiot! You’ve had a crush on Cole forever.”
“So?”
“So, he asked you to the dance.”
“What? No he didn’t.”
She raised her fist to punch my arm again, but I recoiled back. “Enough with the hitting!”
She put her hands on her hips. “He asked if you were planning on going. Close enough.”
I replayed the conversation in my head. Could it be true? Could he have been asking me to the dance?
I groaned. “It doesn’t matter now. I told him I wasn’t going. I blew it.”
“It’s not too late. Go find him and tell him you’re going.”
I shook my head. “I don’t even have a dress, and it’s next week.”
“Just go shopping this weekend. It’s not a big deal.”
My grandma was coming this weekend. But maybe I could go shopping tonight. I paused, thinking about it. I supposed that was possible. But I was in such a bad mood because of this newspaper thing. Did I really want to go to a dance, even if Cole would be there?
Lin started pulling me up and out of my seat. “You should go find Cole before he leaves the school.”
“But why bother?” I croaked.
“Because the newspaper isn’t everything, and you need one thing to go right today.”
Once again, Lin was spot-on with her advice. “Okay.”
Her face lit up. “You’ll do it?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, you’d better hurry.” She practically pushed me out the doorway.
I didn’t know where Cole was, but he’d only been gone a couple of minutes, so he couldn’t have gone far. I turned a corner into the next hall and saw him in the distance, stopped at his locker.
My nerves prickled as I walked toward him. What if Lin was wrong? What if Cole had only been asking because he was curious? Or because he wanted to make sure I wouldn’t be there? Or because he was thinking about writing an article about the dance? There were so many options, and just following Lin’s assumption could end in deep and painful humiliation.
When I was writing an article, doing research, or interviewing someone, I felt super confident. Why did the thought of talking to Cole about the dance make me feel like I was being chased by a bear? I took a deep breath and told my heart to chill out. Everything would be fine.
An idea occurred to me. I’d pretend I was interviewing him for a newspaper article. I’d trick my nerves. That would work!
I dashed down the length of the hall until I reached his locker.
“Hey, Cole!”
He turned around, surprised, and then flashed me that big smile.
Oh no. Here it was. The chased-by-a-bear feeling.
I gave him an awkward smile back. And then totally forgot what I was going to say.
“Um, did you want something?” he asked at my weird and socially unacceptable silence.
“Um, about, you said before, um, your question.”
His brow furrowed at the word salad coming out of my mouth. “Are you talking about the dance?”
I raised a finger in the air. “Yes! That! Um, I am going after all.”
His face brightened. “Oh, great! I’ll see you there, then.”
And with that he closed his locker and walked away.
The conversation had actually been pretty easy, though I still didn’t know what it meant. But at least it had temporarily taken the sting off the horrible advisor news.
Now that I thought about it, things weren’t so bad. Maybe Lin was right and this would only be a short-term problem. Everything would work out okay.
With a smile and a hop in my step, I headed down the corridor toward the main door. I had about twenty minutes before the late bus came to pick up kids from after-school activities. So I took my time, running my hand along the lockers and smiling at everyone who walked by.
Until I came to the office.
Principal Pickford was standing in the doorway talking to Cee, and she looked upset. Her arms were crossed, and though I couldn’t make out their
words, her voice seemed extra high and off.
I picked up the pace. He wasn’t getting mad at her about my cafeteria article, was he? It wasn’t her fault. It had been my decision to write it.
I reached them and wrapped my hand protectively around Cee’s arm. “What’s going on?”
She turned to me, her eyes shiny and wet. “He’s killing the Red Club!”
My head snapped toward Mr. Pickford. “What? Why?”
“I’m only following the rules in the handbook. It clearly states that each club needs an advisor, and the Red Club has been operating with students alone.”
“So we’ll get one,” I said quickly. I was already running through teachers in my mind, thinking about who might say yes.
“Each club also needs approval from me,” he said, pointing a thumb at his chest. “We got complaints about the Red Club. There are unhappy students and therefore unhappy parents.”
“Who?” I asked, baffled by the thought.
“You know I can’t tell you that. But between the complaints and the fact that you’ve been operating against the rules—”
“We didn’t know about the rule!” Cee pleaded. “No one warned us or anything.”
He put up his hand. “It was an unapproved club. I’m sorry, but those are the rules.”
CHAPTER 8
CEE SENT OUT A GROUP text calling for an emergency meeting of the Red Club at her house—eighth-grade leadership only. Just like we didn’t have a club president but Cee ran things, we didn’t have officers but we had the eighth-grade girls who came every week. And that was me, Cee, Stella, and Camille.
We settled onto the rug in Cee’s room, which looked more like an executive’s office than a thirteen-year-old’s bedroom. She had sleek, modern furniture and framed posters with inspirational quotes. A glass-top desk was the centerpiece of the room, with a sleek silver laptop and an overly complicated-looking filing system.
Cee placed some snacks in the center of our circle and got everyone up to speed with Principal Pickford’s decision.
Stella shook her head of long, red curls. “What are we going to do?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Cee said. “But I don’t want to give up without a fight.”
“Your room is awesome, Cee,” Camille said. “How about we have the club meetings here every week? The school can’t shut the club down if it meets off school property.”
Cee shook her head. “We can’t. My mom works from home. It was hard enough to convince her to let this one meeting happen.”
“Plus,” I said, “the point is that the Red Club is an open club at school for any girl who needs it. Can you imagine some shy sixth grader showing up at an eighth grader’s house?”
“I wouldn’t have done that,” Stella admitted. “And I’m really confident.”
“We noticed,” Camille said under her breath.
Cee plucked a piece of lint off the rug. “Having the club meet somewhere else changes the feel of it. There is something safe about the school library. It feels comfortable.”
“We obviously have some sort of advisor,” Stella pointed out. “Someone makes sure the locker belongs to the club every year and doesn’t get assigned to a student. And the combination never changes.”
Cee wrapped one of her braids around her finger. “And when supplies are running low, they magically reappear. I know a few of us have donated stuff. But items have also appeared without any of us knowing who did it.”
“And we have the library automatically booked every Wednesday afternoon,” Camille added.
I reached out to the bowl of chips and grabbed a handful. “Maybe our secret helper would agree to be our advisor.”
“But we don’t even know who it is,” Cee said. “No one has ever known.”
Stella frowned. “And if there was a period fairy godmother, wouldn’t she have come forward and helped us?”
“Only if she could help,” I said. “Her hands are probably tied like Ms. Bhatt’s with the newspaper drama.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Cee said sadly. “There’s still the problem of the complaints.”
I hated this. Someone complained, and the club was taken away from the rest of us? What about all the girls who needed the club? Were they less important than one angry parent?
Tears pricked the corner of my eyes. “Why would they do this to us?”
“It’s so unfair,” Camille said.
Cee shook her head in disgust. “Think about all the girls who got support from this club over the years. Girls who are off to college right now.”
I added, “And think about all the little girls in elementary who won’t have this club when they need it. Between this, the newspaper changes, and the dress code, I don’t even recognize Hawking Middle right now.”
Stella coughed gently into her hand. “I totally agree with everything you’re all saying, but I just don’t want these bad feelings to poison the dance next week.”
“Stella, really?” Camille snapped. “Is that important right now?”
“It is!” Stella’s cheeks turned as red as her hair. “I worked really hard. The committee worked hard. They’ve taken away our leggings and cute tank tops. They’ve taken away our club. We can’t let them ruin this dance, too.”
When she worded it that way, I got kind of fired up. I’d been thinking about skipping the dance, even after the conversation with Cole, because I couldn’t imagine being in the mood to laugh and celebrate. But now I wanted to go. I wouldn’t let all these changes ruin my plans for an amazing night.
“She’s right,” I said. “Even when terrible things are happening, we should still be allowed to have some fun and forget.”
Cee stood and brushed potato-chip crumbs off her jeans. “And I still need to run my business. Emergency meeting is adjourned. For now.”
I’d been texting Ava all afternoon, but she hadn’t responded because of practice. She usually couldn’t respond to texts until nighttime. I knew she wasn’t going to the dance. She had a practice that night—shocker. But I was at least hoping for some best-friend dress-shopping advice. I wasn’t about to bring that up in this meeting with the fashion police in attendance.
Instead I texted my mom:
Could you take me dress shopping? I’m going to my first school dance.
She quickly texted back in all caps:
YES! I THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER ASK! GIRLS’ NIGHT!!!!
A little smile lifted the corner of my mouth. At least one person would be happy today.
CHAPTER 9
MY MOM WAS THE QUEEN of skirts and dresses. I supposed she had to have some for work, but she even wore them when she could’ve worn sweats. I’d never been into dresses or fashion. My jeans and hoodies were comfy, and I liked them just fine. I was happier saving my money for more books or a new laptop. But apparently my mother had been waiting my whole life for this moment. She was smiling so wide, she looked like a demented clown.
“If none of the stores at the mall have anything, there are a couple little shops I know that we can try,” she said, guiding the car into a parking spot.
I didn’t really want to make a big production out of it. The first dress in the first store that didn’t look horrible was fine by me.
She killed the engine, then put her finger in the air like she’d thought of something else. “You’ll need shoes, too.”
“Oh yeah. I guess I can’t wear my favorite purple sneakers to a dance.” I lifted my foot up to show them off. “Unless I get a purple dress and it matches.”
Mom’s mouth dropped open, aghast.
“Just kidding,” I said with a smirk. “I’ll get new shoes. But no heels! Ballet flats will be fine.”
“What about a short heel, and we’ll get ice cream on the way home?”
“You run a tough bargain, lady,” I said, but I agreed. First, because ice cream. Second, because if the shoes were really uncomfortable, I could always kick them off and dance barefoot.
We breezed
through the first store, a small boutique. Mom dismissed everything as “too casual.”
“You know this isn’t prom, right?” I said, trying to keep up with her fast stride on the way to the next store.
“Yes, Riley. I’m not looking for a gown, but I don’t want anything too blah either.”
“Not too blah,” I repeated with a giggle. “Maybe that’s what we should say to the salesperson.”
The next stop was a department store, which had a much larger selection. We headed toward the juniors section and started flipping through the racks.
I held up a knee-length orange dress.
“Not with your skin tone,” she said.
Um, okay.
Mom held up a sparkly gold dress with sequins.
“Sequins? Do you know me at all?” I snarked.
Mom laughed. “So why the hurry?” she asked. “It’s unlike you to be spontaneous like this. You always plan things ahead.”
“It was a last-minute decision,” I said as nonchalantly as I could. I flipped past four dresses in a row that had spaghetti straps—something that wouldn’t pass our new dress code.
“You’ve never been to one of the middle school dances before. Can Ava make it to this one?”
“Of course not,” I said, rolling my eyes. “She has practice, like always.”
“Then why are—” Mom’s eyes widened. “Did a boy ask you?”
I froze, my hand on a hanger. “I don’t know.”
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“He didn’t ask me to, like, go with him. But he asked if I was going to be there.”
“And is that why you decided to go?” she asked, grinning ear to ear.
“Yes,” I admitted with a sigh, “but please don’t make a big deal out of it.”
Mom dropped the dress she was holding and flailed her hands in the air. “Oh my goodness! What’s his name? Does he come from a good family?”
“Mom,” I interrupted. “We’re not getting married. He just asked if I was going to be there. Could you please chill out?” Her excited questions were kind of cute. Though it slightly annoyed me that Mom never got that excited over my investigative reports. But she was starting to make me nervous. What if it was a date? What if it was a bigger deal than I thought?
Revenge of the Red Club Page 4