“And while I create the account, choose a template, and design a header, you work on the investigation.”
“Okay.” I nodded, even though I only understood a little bit of what she’d said.
Cee started clicking away at the keys on my laptop, and I leaned back in the chair and tried to refocus on the investigation. I wrote a few more names on the board, including my mother’s, but then I stopped. Mom thought the Red Club was inappropriate. She didn’t like that I was a part of it. But we’d shared a lot over the last day. We’d gotten so much closer. I wasn’t sure about a lot of things, but I was sure about this one.
I crossed her name off the list.
My mom wasn’t the secret complainer. I was sure of that now. But that didn’t help me figure out who was.
CHAPTER 26
BY MONDAY MORNING, MY BLOG was up and running. Stella and Camille had texted me to say that the post was “amazing,” and they were going to share it all over school and on social media. Even my parents read and loved it. I think it made them understand me a bit more. But none of that mattered if Principal Pickford wouldn’t see it and pause to really think about what I wrote.
As I walked through the main doors of school, I got that chased-by-a-bear feeling again. My heart was pounding; my breath came too fast. I’d been in Principal Pickford’s office before, but never with my mother. It had always been for little things that I could easily talk my way out of. I wouldn’t be able to talk my way out of this.
Mom pushed open the door to the main office and approached the desk. It was early. The first bell hadn’t even rung yet. I stood beside her, wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans. I wished my dad were with us too. He could crack one of his corny jokes and lighten the mood. But he’d said he had a meeting he couldn’t miss and that I shouldn’t worry because “Mom has this.” Whatever that meant.
I coughed into my hand. “Um, excuse me, Miss Nancy. We have an appointment with Principal Pickford.”
Miss Nancy looked at us over the rim of her glasses. “You’re next? I could have sworn it was someone else. We’re very busy here this morning.”
Due to Legging-palooza, which was my fault. I felt my cheeks turn red.
Miss Nancy flipped open a big leather spiral book. “Yes, I still keep a paper calendar,” she said, running her finger down a list of times and names. “But someday the power will go out, and I’ll be the only one who can still keep this place running and organized.”
“That’s very smart,” my mother said. “I also keep a paper calendar as a backup in case something happens to my phone.”
Miss Nancy pointed to her head and smiled. “Great minds think alike, Mrs. Dunne.”
I was glad that Mom and Miss Nancy were bonding over being old-fashioned, but I really wanted to get this over with.
“Oh yes, here you are. You’re next. You can have a seat until he’s ready to—” she began, but then the door to Pickford’s office opened and a red-faced sixth grader came out with both her parents. I wanted to reach out and grab her hand, say sorry, apologize for being a bad influence.
“Actually, you can go in right now,” Miss Nancy finished.
I gulped. It was my turn.
Mom poked her head in the office and did that knocking-on-an-open door thing, which I’d always thought was weird. I mean, the door was open. Why knock on it?
Principal Pickford waved us in.
I settled myself into a chair, and Mom sat beside me. My eyes immediately went to my favorite picture on the wall, the lone palm tree on the beach. It was strangely calming. Maybe that was why the principal had kept it up there all these years.
Principal Pickford finished typing something on his computer, and then he gave us his full attention. If it was possible, he looked even more tired than usual.
“So, Mrs. Dunne, you’re aware of why you’re here today?”
“Very much so,” Mom said.
She leaned down to pull a manila folder out of her bag and placed it on her lap. I had no idea what she’d brought, which was strange because we’d spent a long time talking the night before about my blog post. Mom was really impressed with my writing “and my ideas,” she’d said. But what she had in that folder was a mystery.
“I know you’re very active in our school community,” Principal Pickford began.
Mom nodded. “I never miss a school committee meeting. I believe that community involvement is important, as is having a say and a seat at the table.”
“Then you were there the night the committee decided to start enforcing some rules we’d unfortunately overlooked in the handbook.”
“Oh, I was there. I heard Mrs. Scruggs and a few others stand up and complain.”
“So you understand why the committee was motivated to make the decision that it did.”
“The squeaky wheel does get the grease,” Mom said.
I had no idea what that meant, but this conversation wasn’t going as I had expected, and that seemed good, maybe.
Before Mr. Pickford could say anything else, Mom asked, “Were any students allowed to speak at the meeting?”
Mr. Pickford frowned, and a zillion lines formed on his forehead. “No students were at the meeting. You were there, Mrs. Dunne. You know that.”
“I wonder if they would have gone to the meeting if they’d known decisions were about to be made that would affect their lives so greatly.”
I watched my mother speak, clearly and calmly, legs crossed at the ankle, hands clasped over the folder on her lap, a perfect lady. But there was a fire inside her, one that I could only see in her eyes. And for the first time, I thought she kind of looked like me.
“Perhaps they would have,” Principal Pickford said, waving his hand like he could wave her question away. “But the meeting already occurred.”
Mom’s head snapped toward mine. “How did the school committee’s decision make you feel?”
“Me?” I blurted, even though, like, duh, she was looking at me. “Um, it made me feel lots of ways.”
Mom turned back to the principal. “Could my daughter express these feelings to you right now?”
Caught off guard, Principal Pickford blinked slowly. I was sure this was the last thing on earth that he wanted to sit and listen to. He had a long line of other families waiting to come in to hear about the evils of leggings that their insolent daughters and sons had worn to school Friday. But the way my mom had worded it gave him no choice, unless he wanted to be a huge jerk. And I knew he wasn’t a jerk.
“Of course,” he said.
Mom motioned to me. “Go on, Riley.”
I licked my lips nervously. I knew all the ways these decisions had made me feel. That was the basis of my article. But it was much easier for me to write them down than to say them out loud to my principal. A rush came over me, a tingling from my head to my toes. The way my mom had worded this… she’d set me up. She’d given me a chance. Mr. Pickford might never read the article I wrote. But I could recite it for him.
My chest tightened as I looked at my mother. She gave me a small smile and nodded.
It wasn’t like I had my article memorized or anything, but I could remember the main points. I cleared my throat. “At first, when all these rules came at us out of nowhere, I was confused.”
“There were no new rules, Riley,” Principal Pickford interrupted. “They were all in the handbook.”
“But they were never enforced,” I said. “And all of a sudden, without warning, they were. First there were the newspaper changes.”
“And how did that make you feel?” Mom prodded.
“Disappointed,” I said, remembering the day. “But then that was overshadowed by all the dress-coding.”
Principal Pickford cut in. “You didn’t even get dress-coded that first day. Not until the day you chose to break the rules on purpose.”
“But I had feelings while watching my friends get pulled out of class and sent home. Watching some of them cry. Having to sit by and see tons of gi
rls—and only girls—miss important class time so they wouldn’t be a distraction to the boys, while certain boys bullied and distracted us all the time.” My teeth clenched as I thought about Brody taunting Bloody Julia.
“How did the newly enforced dress code make the other girls feel?” Mom asked, bringing me back to the subject at hand.
“Humiliated. Shamed. One girl told me that when she stood in the hallway, getting her shorts measured by a teacher, with all these kids walking by… she felt dirty. And my friend Stella got coded at the dance for wearing the same exact dress that I was wearing. But she was coded and I wasn’t because, um, because…”
“She was discriminated against due to her body maturity?” Mom suggested.
“Yes. That.”
“And the boys? Do you know how it made them feel?” Mom smirked as she said this. She remembered that part in my article.
“One boy confessed to me that he felt insulted. He felt that the policy assumed boys were weak-minded and easily distracted.”
“That’s an interesting perspective, don’t you think?” Mom directed the question to Mr. Pickford, who’d stopped interrupting and was now only listening. He gave a slow nod in response.
“Also,” Mom added, “it might give some of the less well-behaved boys perceived permission to taunt and disrespect girls for their bodies. If the administration was shaming the girls, why couldn’t they?”
Pickford’s mouth opened and closed like he was a fish out of water.
Mom turned back to me. “How did this newly enforced dress code affect your education?”
“It added some stress,” I said. “Girls were worried and scared all the time about getting coded. I saw them measuring straps in the hallway and showing up late to class. Shopping for khakis the night before a test rather than studying. The whole thing was super distracting.”
Mom tapped on her chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Distracting, eh? The dress code was supposedly in place to prevent distractions.”
Mom didn’t even have to prod me this time. “It only added more distractions for the girls. And how that made me feel was that my class time and my education weren’t as important as a boy’s. And that if I wore leggings at school to be comfortable and a boy thought, said, or did nasty things, that it would be my fault. The boy doesn’t have to stop; he doesn’t have to learn to be a gentleman. The blame is on me.”
Principal Pickford’s face turned pale.
“And then your club was taken away,” Mom said quietly.
A lump formed in my throat. Talking about this would be the hardest of all. “I loved the Red Club. Lots of girls did. We supported each other, helped each other. And when it was shut down, I felt… I felt…” I stopped and took a deep breath so that the tears wouldn’t come. “I felt like the school was taking away everything I cared about. The newspaper, our comfy clothes, our support group. Walking into school every morning used to feel great. Now it felt… hostile.”
“Hostile,” my mother repeated.
She opened the folder on her lap and read out loud from a paper. “ ‘Hawking Middle School is committed to providing an educational experience in a safe, supportive environment that fosters respect for all equally.’ ”
Then she closed the folder. “Do you recognize that, Mr. Pickford?”
“Of course,” he said, but his voice sounded different. “That’s our school’s Core Values Statement.”
“And you’ve just heard my daughter speak about how some of the recent decisions have made students feel. Disappointed, humiliated, shamed, dirty, insulted, stressed, worried, and scared. And the environment felt hostile. Does that sound like it’s in accordance with our Core Values Statement?”
Mr. Pickford dragged his hands down his face and sighed. “I think you know the answer to that.”
Mom closed the folder and reclasped her hands on top of it. “Then I think you know things can’t stay the way they currently are. We need to make a change.”
But what? Mr. Pickford couldn’t overrule the school committee. There were no take-backs.
I thought about why my mom always went to those boring school committee meetings anyway. She’d told me that we couldn’t complain about rules a committee made if we weren’t involving ourselves when they were made. But how could I have involved myself if I wasn’t on the committee?
I remembered what my mom said about having a seat at the table. An idea popped into my brain like a zap of lightning.
“We want a seat at the table!” I blurted.
Mr. Pickford’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”
“The handbook was created without any student input. The school committee runs without any students on it.”
“I appreciate the idea,” Mr. Pickford began. “But we can’t add a child to the school committee. There are town bylaws and elections—”
“What about an advisor?” Mom interrupted him.
I leaned forward in my chair. “Yes! A student advisor who attends meetings and helps to give the perspective of the students on proposed decisions.” The words flowed from my mouth so naturally I was almost shocked.
Mr. Pickford looked from me to my mother and back again. “That’s a bright young lady you have there.”
Mom gave him a nod. “Thank you.”
“And I think you have a great idea, Riley,” he said, looking right at me. My chest swelled with pride. “But,” he added, “I’ll have to run it by the school committee members first.”
My shoulders sagged. That could take days. Weeks, even!
“I’ll try to reach them all via e-mail today,” he added.
“Really?” I said, my voice going unnaturally high.
“Really,” he said with a smile. The first smile I’d seen from him in a while.
Mom and I left the office. Thankfully, there was no one in the waiting area, because we jumped up and down and gave each other high fives. That would have looked totally weird to anyone watching.
“We worked so well together!” I said. “The way you set me up like that with your questions.”
“And the way you answered them. I’m so proud of you,” Mom beamed. “You were amazing in there—well-spoken, professional, and calm.”
We were an awesome team. I never would have predicted it. I took her hands in mine. “Do you remember when you said you’re nothing like me? That was wrong.”
“What do you mean?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“I’ve always been proud of my way with words. Dad says it’s my superskill. But what I just saw in that meeting? Wow! I knew you had a talent for negotiation. That’s why you’re so good at your job. But I never realized until now that you’re who I got my superskill from.” I grinned. “We’re more alike than we thought.”
She smiled so wide I thought she would split her face. And then she turned away, blinking fast and wiping something from her eye.
Mom left for work, and I waited around the office for Miss Nancy to return from her bathroom break or wherever she was. I needed a pass since I’d be entering my first class late.
I lowered myself onto a chair and tapped my fingers on Miss Nancy’s desk. Her calendar lay open, and a thought occurred to me. I remembered what my mom had told me. For every parent who stands up and complains during a public meeting, there are ten more who book time with the principal to complain privately.
No, don’t do it, I silently said to myself. You literally just left the principal’s office. You can’t get back in trouble already.
But the investigative-journalist side of my brain said, It could be right there. All the answers. Just a quick peek. You wouldn’t be harming anyone.…
Before my rational brain could argue back, I turned the calendar around to face me and flipped back in time. My eyes scanned the names and dates, looking for anything unusual in the days before the Red Club shut down.
And then a cold feeling dropped over me. Why was that name there? Why would she have had an appointment with the principal? My b
rain slowly, reluctantly, put the pieces together. It felt like my heart had stopped.
I knew who’d complained about the Red Club.
And it was worse than I could have imagined.
CHAPTER 27
I STRUGGLED TO CONCENTRATE IN my morning classes. I couldn’t believe what I’d seen in Miss Nancy’s calendar. I needed to hear the truth, right now.
As soon as the bell rang, I rushed past Ava to get to the cafeteria first and took my usual seat. I didn’t bother to buy lunch. My stomach was rolling around like a clothes dryer; I wouldn’t be able to eat. I just needed a minute to get my thoughts together while Ava went through the line.
Ava knew something was wrong as soon as she saw my face. I was sure I looked like one of those cartoon characters where smoke came out of their ears.
“What’s up?” she asked gingerly, laying her tray down on the table.
I gripped the edge of the table tightly. “Nothing much. Just found out that my best friend is the one who destroyed my club.”
Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes immediately watered. Nothing she could say, no lies she could conjure up, could make up for what I saw on her face—the truth. It was her. When I’d seen Mrs. Clement’s name written in Miss Nancy’s calendar, I hadn’t wanted to believe it. But it couldn’t be a coincidence that Ava’s mom had met with the principal the day before my club was taken away.
“Why?” I asked simply.
Ava squirmed in her seat, clearly uncomfortable, but I didn’t take any delight in it. My heart was broken. Even though we weren’t really speaking after our fight, we’d still supposedly been best friends when she’d gone behind my back.
“H-how did you find out?” she stammered.
“That doesn’t matter,” I said. “I just want to hear it from you. Why?”
Ava took a deep breath and looked away from me. “Wednesday afternoons are my only time off. And that’s when the Red Club met.”
I cut in. “So because your schedule is too crazy, and I was at my club during the one hour you had free every week, you had to take it away from me?”
Revenge of the Red Club Page 13