Margie Kelly Breaks the Dress Code

by Bridget Farr

  “Excuse me?” Jamiya asks, and I nod.

  “Remember? He buzzes in slower when he’s confident. Right now, he thinks he can beat us. He’s relaxing already. Look.”

  Mateo is snacking on blue-and-pink cotton candy in a ziplock bag, handed over by his mom. He sips some Gatorade and waves at us.

  “You guys are doing really good this time! A few toss-ups with the bonus and we’re tied.”

  His smile would annoy me if he was being sarcastic, but he’s not. He’s just as sweet as that cotton candy.

  “We can take him in this next round,” Mikey says, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “We take him down while he’s confident, and then we just don’t stop. Your plan better work, Dress—Margie.”

  I take a deep breath. “It’s not about my plan anymore. It’s about us. We can do this.”

  Jamiya nods and Daniela squeezes my hand. How hard can it be to defeat one boy?

  The second half of the match flies by with my fingers slamming the buzzer so fast my thumb has a red mark. With each answer—Bay of Bengal, Plato, a red square—we move faster than Mateo, and our rising score gets to him. Soon, he’s perched up in his chair, legs tucked underneath him, elbows resting on top of the table. He bites his lower lip, occasionally closing his eyes as he listens to each question.

  With less than three minutes on the board, we’re only down by forty-five points. “Toss-up number twenty. Males of this species utilize a brood pouch to incubate their offspring—”

  I watch Mateo move in milliseconds, the words channeling from our ear canals into the Wernicke area and the angular gyrus, flying through our neurons and synapses and headed straight to our thumbs. In slow motion, I watch his thumb bend, slamming my buzzer down at the same time.

  My buzzer lights up red. “Seahorse.”

  “Correct. Fifteen points.” On to the bonus. Mateo’s head drops, his dark hair flopping over his eyes. I look away.

  “For ten points each—answer the following about technological developments to the television. Appropriately called the Lazy Bones, the first television remote communicated with the television set in what manner?”

  “Radio waves?” Mikey suggests, and Jamiya shakes her head.

  “Infrared light?” Daniela adds, and again Jamiya shakes her head.

  “What, then?” Mikey huffs.

  “I’m thinking,” Jamiya says.

  “Team, we need an answer.”

  “Wires,” Jamiya answers, and Mikey slumps back in his chair. What was she thinking?

  “Correct. Ten points.”

  Jamiya smiles. “You’ve got to trust me.” I don’t know when she added midcentury technology to her studies, but I’m glad she did. Daniela smashes the next question about infrared, and Mikey scores ten for “analog.” We’re tied up!

  “You guys are really heating up,” Mateo calls before the moderator reads the next question. I smile, wanting to trounce him and also, maybe, be his friend. He could lose this match, but he’s still smiling.

  Mateo gets the next question on the Ottoman Empire, but only at a ten-point level. Then, he misses one of the bonuses. His mom shouts encouragement. Our crowd is silent. We’re down by thirty points, and the timer just passed twenty seconds. “This American mathematician’s calculations of orbital mechanics contributed to the success of the first US crewed spaceflights. Her role at NASA—”

  Jamiya beats Mateo to the buzzer. We wait. A nod. “Katherine Johnson.”

  “Correct. Fifteen points.”

  The crowd erupts, but we still have to nail two bonus questions to win. Mateo drops his head to the table before picking it up with a smile. “We got this,” Jamiya whispers. “Just take our time and stay calm.”

  The timer beeps, signaling the end of the match. Thankfully, we get the next three bonus questions anyway. “This daughter of a tenant farmer at Domrémy believed herself guided by divine voices—”

  “Joan of Arc,” Daniela and I call at the exact same time. I press a hand to my shirt, feeling beneath it my pendant with Joan of Arc carrying a flag, the words PRAY FOR US inscribed below.

  Jamiya calmly repeats our answer to the moderator.

  “Correct. Joan of Arc led the French army to a massive victory at this city during the Hundred Years’ War.”

  Mikey points to us. “You guys got this.”

  I shake my head. “Daniela does.”

  “Orléans,” she tells Jamiya, even pronouncing it the proper French way, not Or-leens, as Dad says. Jamiya repeats her answer and the moderator nods.

  “Correct. Ten points.”

  Our side of the crowd erupts. That’s it. We did it.

  “And for the final points of tonight’s match. Despite being falsely described by early historians as a mere “cheerleader” for the French army, Joan of Arc carried this medieval weapon into battle.”

  Daniela smiles. “A lance.”

  We don’t hear the moderator proclaim “correct” over the cheers of the crowd. The rest of the Quiz Bowl team rushes the stage, their arms and hands pulling us up and out of chairs as the group laughs and high fives.

  Across from us, Mateo’s mom places her hand on his shoulder, and he pauses to tidy up the buzzers at his solitary table. When we lock eyes, he gives me a thumbs-up. Suddenly, Daniela pulls me into a big hug, her jumping feet lifting us off the stage floor.

  “We did it!”

  We did. Joan of Arc may not have ended the Hundred Years’ War, but she led the charge. We may not have ended sexism at our school, but we gave it a start. We’re code breakers. Change makers. And soon, the Queens of Quiz.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The road to publication for my debut novel was five or more years, so I’m still amazed at how quickly Margie Kelly Breaks the Dress Code is out in the world. So many people helped make it possible, especially:

  My editor, Nikki Garcia, who has been a consistent guide, always asking the right questions to push this story where I wanted it to go. You give me confidence my books will be good, even when I’m deep in the stages of revision and it all seems like trash. Editing this book will always be part of the strange memories of April 2020, when we were both staying home and staying safe as the world battled COVID-19. I’m forever grateful for the distraction of escaping with you into the world of books.

  My agent, Melissa Edwards, who supports my ideas while still reining them in. I’m so grateful for your constant advocacy and the way you’ll always send the email I don’t want to write.

  My WriteByNight book coach, Jessamine Chan: you were a constant cheerleader, and the only person who has read all the variations of this book. (Remember when Margie stole the ball at a powderpuff football game?) You even managed to keep up with all the changing character names. I’m grateful for your willingness to support me as an author, not just as a writer, and for having the hard talks about what it means to be a white author and how that identity affects the stories I tell.

  It has been a joy working with the Little, Brown Books for Young Readers team for a second time. I am always impressed by the attention to detail of my copy editors, Marisa Finkelstein and Sherri Schmidt, who uncover disregarded subplots and irregular timelines like paleontologists. Your work gives me the freedom to focus primarily on the story. Thank you. Thanks as well to Julia Bereciartu for capturing the spirit and energy of Margie Kelly and friends. It’s amazing to see the characters in my head suddenly appear in front of me, and I couldn’t be happier with this vibrant cover. I’m also grateful for the talents of designer Angelie Yap and my publicist, Katharine McAnarney.

  Also at WriteByNight, owner Justine Duhr: your company makes my books happen. Thank you. And Tom Andes, I appreciated your perspective into the novel as you helped me see how the message I wanted to relay was still waiting to be revealed.

  Ria Ferich, Natalie Neumann, and Nina Vizcarrondo: thank you for your help with the protest signs and other feminist trivia. You’re great advocates, and even better friends.


  Thank you to my teacher friend, Sarah Paiga, for answering my questions about sixth-grade math and for bringing so much joy (and jalapeño dip) to our Fulmore lunches. And thank you to Beth Griesmer, another teacher colleague turned friend, who read the last-minute chapter revisions and discussed my ideas while we walked the neighborhood. I’m so glad to know you and be your friend.

  Muchísima gracias, Christi Almeida, por tu ayuda con el español y el spanglish en esta novela. Por siempre, my perfect work wife, no hay nadie mejor que tú.

  Writing a book about race and gender takes insight from many people. I’m grateful to both Idris Grey and Brandy Colbert, authenticity readers at different stages of this project. Your knowledge and experience helped me write a novel that reflects the many students who will read it. Thank you. Gratitude, also, to Daniel Williams and Leslie LaFollette for your perspectives on queer identity. (And thank you, Daniel, for officiating our wedding!) So much of my educational philosophy is owed to you, Dr. Terrance Green, but thank you specifically for providing me research on the capitalization of Black (and for helping me become an anti-racist educator). I also relied heavily on the Writing with Color Tumblr—a great resource!

  The idea for this book originated in the halls of Fulmore Middle School. I have learned so much from my students about their experiences of racism and sexism in school, and the many ways I, too, have played a part. I’m grateful to all my former students for sharing your stories, speaking out in the classroom or on the stage, and for giving me so much hope that the world will change for the better.

  My husband, Shiva, who does all our cooking, cleaning, and gardening: you break the stereotype of gender roles and make it possible for me to spend so much time upstairs, writing. I’m grateful for your love and support, as well as your ability to come up with synonyms on demand. I love you forever.

  And finally, my parents: Thank you for buying me all those Girl Power T-shirts. This book is for you. And Dad, you’ve always been great at shopping for me; that navy corduroy miniskirt was perfect. Despite what Coach said, you were right—it wasn’t too short for school.

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