Leggings Revolt

by Monique Polak

  Daisy and I look at each other. We both know that someone must be Germinato.

  Daisy grabs a pair of gray sweatpants and a baggy gray T-shirt from the pile of clothing I am holding.

  I am still there when she comes out of the bathroom wearing the oversized clothes. “You still look good,” I tell her.

  Daisy marches past me and over to Germinato’s office. She raps on his door. From where I am standing, I make out a hint of a smirk on his face when he sees her. “You’ll wear those lost-and-found clothes until school is out this afternoon,” he says.

  Daisy bows her head for a moment, then looks up. “You can force me to wear these hideous clothes for the rest of the day. But I won’t call them lost-and-found clothes, Mr. Germinato. They’re shaming clothes.” Then Daisy throws back her shoulders and adds, “And I refuse to be shamed.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Two days later, the temperature plummets. The trees outside are still leafy, but some of the leaves are beginning to turn yellow or red.

  The mood at school is different too. We spend longer at our lockers, stuffing hats and mitts into the sleeves of our jackets. The corridor smells like mothballs. Most of us are still wearing runners, but some of the girls are in high boots. It’s hard to imagine that soon we’ll need winter boots, and the snow will be as high as the schoolyard fence.

  The only person wearing shorts today is an eleventh-grade boy with hairy legs. Maybe all that hair acts as insulation.

  I am going to miss the warm weather. In a few weeks it will be too cold to play basketball or baseball outside. And I may have to wait till spring to see Daisy’s legs and midriff again.

  Just as that thought is going through my head, Daisy breezes by. “Did you see Rowena?” she asks me.

  I figure the fact that Daisy has spoken to me is a sign I have been forgiven for turning her in to Germinato. “Nope,” I tell her.

  Daisy takes off her pea jacket and stuffs it in her locker. She is wearing a black top that goes to her waist and black leggings. They give me a perfect view of Daisy’s legs.

  Maybe I’ll be able to handle the cold weather after all.

  Rowena shows up next. She is wearing baggy camo pants. I look down the hallway and notice a few other girls in leggings. The rest of the girls are in jeans or sweats. Maybe now that the cold weather is on its way, we can forget the dress code for a while. And the Student Life Committee won’t have to do Germinato’s dirty work.

  “Hey, I haven’t seen those leggings before,” Rowena says to Daisy. “Are they new?”

  “Yeah,” Daisy says. “I bought them with my babysitting money. They’re made of breathable bamboo—and they’re super comfortable.” Daisy flexes one leg to demonstrate. “D’you like my new leggings?” she asks me.

  “Oh yeah.” And because I worry I sounded like some kind of pervert, I add, “They make you look like a gymnast—or a ballerina.”

  I’m not used to complimenting girls. But I think I’m getting better at it, because Daisy laughs and does a pirouette.

  I don’t know if it’s Daisy’s legs or her grapefruity smell or the fact that she is talking to me again, but my math textbook slips out of my hands. When I reach for it, I lose my footing. Next thing I know, I am sprawled on the floor like a bug on its back.

  While Daisy and Rowena are helping me up, Germinato comes marching down the hallway. He stops in front of us and shakes his head in disapproval.

  “Let me guess!” he says, eyeing Daisy’s outfit. “You were distracted!”

  I stumble to my feet and wipe some dirt off my sleeve. “N-no, sir, I swear it wasn’t that. I dropped my notebook, and I—”

  Rowena clears her throat—something about the way she does it reminds me of how Germinato clears his throat before he makes a speech. “I’d like to point out that Daisy’s outfit is not in violation of the Lajoie High School dress code—” Rowena pauses before adding the word, “Sir.”

  “She’s right,” Daisy says. “My midriff isn’t showing, and neither are my bra straps. And my legs are completely covered. Leggings have been a stylish fashion trend since the early 2000s, sir.” I am afraid Daisy may do another pirouette. I am grateful she has the good sense not to.

  All Germinato says is, “Hmmm,” but what he does next worries me—he whips a small notebook and pencil out of his front pocket and jots something down. I can’t tell what he is writing, but I notice he underlines it twice.

  Rowena imitates Germinato when he’s out of earshot. “Hmmm.”

  In Life Sciences class, Germinato’s voice crackles over the PA system.

  Mr. Farrell raises one finger in the air so we will know to pay attention.

  “Good morning, students,” Germinato says. “I want to let you all know that there has been an addendum to the Lajoie High School dress code. As of tomorrow, leggings are strictly forbidden. Thank you and enjoy the rest of your day.”

  The girl next to me isn’t too happy. “My mom just bought me three new pairs of leggings,” she mutters to herself.

  Rowena groans. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard,” she calls from the back of the classroom. “A person can’t just go around making up rules whenever he wants to.”

  Mr. Farrell raises his finger in the air again. “That’s where you’re wrong, Rowena. A person can go around making up rules whenever he wants to—if he’s the principal.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Did Rowena put you up to it?” I ask Daisy the next morning at the metro station. She is wearing the same black leggings she got in trouble for wearing yesterday.

  “I put myself up to it.” Daisy’s dark eyes shine. She is more offended now than when I turned her in to Germinato.

  “I’m not saying Rowena bosses you around or anything.”

  Daisy puts her hands on her hips. “It sounded like that’s what you were saying.”

  “It’s just that Rowena is a very strong person. She talked me into running for the Student Life Committee. And that didn’t exactly work out.” I avoid looking at Daisy. “Aren’t you worried you’ll get in trouble?”

  Daisy unbuttons her coat to show me the long grey sweater she is wearing over the leggings. “This tunic top passes the fingers test,” she explains.

  “I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “He said leggings are strictly forbidden. He didn’t mention anything about tunic tops or the fingers test.”

  Daisy shrugs. “If Germinato thinks leggings are too revealing, he shouldn’t object to an outfit that covers our butts and thighs. Rowena says it doesn’t make any sen—” Daisy stops herself.

  So Rowena is behind this!

  Which is why, when Rowena meets up with us, I am surprised that she is not wearing leggings. She gets prickly when I ask her about it. “The Germinator and I have a complicated relationship,” is all she’ll say.

  When we get to school, Miss Aubin is standing by the painting of Marie Gérin-Lajoie. “Good morning,” she says to us. She raises an eyebrow at Daisy’s leggings.

  “Miss Aubin, can I see you in here for a moment?” Germinato’s voice booms from his office.

  “I’ll be
right there, sir.” Miss Aubin waves us away with the back of her hand. “Keep out of his way,” she whispers to Daisy.

  But Germinato must have heard her whispering, because he comes lumbering out of his office like a bear whose hibernation has been disturbed.

  “What’s going on out here?” he asks.

  The three of us are already rushing down the hall. “Rowena!” Germinato calls after us. “Do you have something to do with this?”

  Rowena pretends not to hear him, but her face is flushed.

  “Daisy!” Germinato’s voice bellows behind us. “Get back here this instant!”

  For a split second Daisy freezes. Then she turns around and starts walking back toward Germinato. I hear her take a deep breath.

  “You go with her,” Rowena hisses.

  I could tell Rowena that she’s being bossy. But I don’t. Instead, I follow Daisy down the hall. I need to hurry, because she is picking up speed.

  Germinato has a wild look in his eyes.

  “You can’t even see my leggings, sir,” Daisy says.

  Germinato laughs, but it’s not a happy laugh. It’s a diabolical laugh—the kind you’d expect from a madman, not a school principal. “I certainly can see them!” he says. “Once again you have violated the Lajoie High School dress code. And since this is your third offense, Daisy Fung, I have no choice but to suspend you for three days. Wait here while I phone your parents.”

  “My parents?” Daisy’s voice quivers. “Please don’t do that, sir.”

  Daisy’s plea makes Germinato laugh even harder.

  I have to do something. Even if it means getting in trouble. “Mr. Germinato. Sir,” I say. “You made that rule up yesterday. Isn’t that kind of”—I suck in my breath before I say the next word, since I know it will tick him off—“arbitrary?”

  I was right about ticking him off.

  “Arbitrary?” Germinato shouts. “For your information, all rules are arbitrary, young man! Now go to your class this instant, or I’ll suspend you too!”

  Daisy turns to me. “You should go,” she whispers. Her eyes are watery, like she is fighting back tears.

  I am sitting by the window in math class when a navy-blue car pulls up in front of the school. A couple gets out, and I know they must be Daisy’s parents. They walk quickly into the building without speaking to each other.

  I can’t concentrate on fractions. I keep checking to see whether the car is still there.

  Daisy’s parents must be talking to Germinato.

  The next time I check, Daisy’s parents are walking in single file toward the car. Daisy trails behind them, her shoulders hunched and her head bowed.

  Since the temperature dropped, the heat has been on full-blast at school, and the windows are tightly sealed. It feels like I’m watching a pantomime.

  Daisy’s dad waits at the curb while her mom gets into the passenger seat. Just before Daisy steps into the backseat, she looks back at the school. This time, she is not able to hold back the tears.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It’s day two of Daisy’s suspension, and no one has heard from her. Not even Rowena. Daisy has not answered my Facebook messages, and Rowena says Daisy is not answering her phone. Rowena thinks Daisy’s parents confiscated her phone and are not letting her use the home computer. “They’re crazy strict,” Rowena says. “They’re almost as strict as my parents.”

  “You have strict parents?” Somehow that isn’t what I pictured.

  Rowena rolls her eyes. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer not to discuss my parents.”

  “Okay, fine. Do you think we should go over to Daisy’s?”

  “We? There’s no way I’m going there. The Fungs hate me. They think I’m a bad influence.”

  Which is how, that day after school, I end up on Daisy’s doorstep, mustering up the courage to ring the doorbell.

  When I do, I hear footsteps and then I can feel someone peering at me through the peephole.

  “Daisy?” I step a little closer. “Is that you?”

  “Who are you—and what do you want?” a woman’s voice asks. It must be Daisy’s mom.

  “Hello, Mrs. Fung,” I say. “My name is Eric. You met me and my mom a long time ago at Reading Circle.” I figure it’s best not to mention Daisy straightaway.

  “Reading Circle?”

  “Yes, ma’am. At the library.”

  Mrs. Fung opens the door a crack. “Why are you here?” she asks.

  “I came to…uh…see how Daisy is.”

  “Daisy was suspended from her school.” Mrs. Fung’s voice drops when she says the word suspended.

  “I know. That’s why I came to see her.”

  Mrs. Fung looks me up and down, trying to decide whether I am a bad influence like Rowena.

  “I’m on the Student Life Committee.” That’s the only thing I can come up with.

  Mrs. Fung opens the door and gestures for me to come in. “Daisy!” she calls upstairs. “Eric from Student Life Committee is here. You can come downstairs for a few minutes.”

  Daisy comes downstairs wearing pink flannel penguin pajamas. She has a sketchpad with her.

  “Hey, Daisy.” I know I’m smiling. Daisy has that effect on me.

  I wish Mrs. Fung would go away and give me a chance to talk to Daisy in private, but it is clear that that’s not going to happen.

  “Have you been sketching?” I ask Daisy.

  “Uh-huh.” She opens the sketchpad to a drawing of a girl wearing a ruffled dress—with leggings.

  “Very nice,” I say. Because Mrs. Fung is supervising, I decide not to make a comment about the leggings. “People at school are really upset about what happened to you,” I say instead.

  Mrs. Fung shakes her head. “Daisy was not following the rules,” she says.

  Daisy bristles. “I hate when you talk about me as if I’m not standing right here!” she hisses.

  “Daisy!” Mrs. Fung says—and Daisy hangs her head.

  I turn to Mrs. Fung. “Ma’am,” I tell her, “the rule Daisy got in trouble for—well, it doesn’t make any sense.”

  Mrs. Fung raises one finger in the air. “It does not matter whether the rule makes sense. What matters is that it is a rule. My husband and I are starting to think Lajoie High School is not the right place for our Daisy. We think she needs a stricter environment.”

  “Stricter?” Daisy wails. “You’ve got to be kidding, Mom.”

  “Mrs. Fung, I really think—”

  But Mrs. Fung is not listening to either of us. “Go upstairs,” she tells Daisy. Then she turns back to me. “You’d better leave now. And it’s best if you don’t come back.”

  On my way into school the next morning, the strap on my backpack comes loose. I stop to fix it in front of the painting of Marie Gérin-Lajoie. Miss Aubin is standing there too—gazing into the eyes of her idol.

  “Why, Eric,” Miss Aubin says when she realizes I’m standing next to her.

  “I, uh…didn’t mean to interrupt you two.” Then, becaus
e I realize how weird that sounds, I add, “Not that you were having a conversation or anything…”

  Miss Aubin smiles. “In a way we were. I start every workday by taking a moment to communicate—in my own fashion—with Marie Gérin-Lajoie. She is my inspiration.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking—what did she do that was so inspiring?”

  “I’m always surprised how few students know about the woman after whom their school is named,” Miss Aubin says. “Marie Gérin-Lajoie was one of Quebec’s first feminists. In 1922, she led a protest for women’s suffrage, which means the right to vote. Did you know, Eric, that Quebec was the very last province in Canada to grant women the right to vote?”

  “No, I had no idea.”

  “And that didn’t happen until 1940. It was a long, slow battle, but Marie Gérin-Lajoie never gave up the fight.”

  Now I look into the eyes of the woman in the portrait too. She does look determined. “What do you think she’d say about the dress code?” I can’t resist asking Miss Aubin.

  I half expect Miss Aubin to turn to see whether Germinato’s door is open, but she doesn’t. “She’d say the dress code was ridiculous.” Miss Aubin does not even bother lowering her voice.

  Once again I find myself feeling like I can confide in Miss Aubin.

  “I went to Daisy’s house yesterday,” I tell her. “The Fungs want to move her to a stricter school. Do you think there’s any way to stop them?”

  When Miss Aubin answers, I get the feeling she is also speaking to the woman in the portrait. “There is always a way. It’s just a matter of finding it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Is it just me—or does it smell like O’Donovan in here?” Phil says when we walk into Rory’s gym.

  The gym is in the basement of an industrial building. A middle-aged man is lifting hand weights in front of a mirrored wall. Sweat dribbles down his neck.