Geek Chic (6 page)

It’s official.

My hair has been canceled.

Not even a fancy-schmancy barrette could save me. If I had a fancy-schmancy barrette.

If I was up to speed on accessorization, I might have a scrunchie. Or a headband. Or yarn.
(Wait. Even I can’t believe I just said yarn. My brain cells have been fried from that hair dryer—which, believe me, does not work as well as a clothes dryer when you’re trying to get wrinkles out of your hair.)

Of course, I can’t find any of my hats because—that’s correct—I had to CLEAN my room!

I should have inventoried.

Or made a map.

Or sticky-noted.

Or made a map out of sticky notes.

Where is my

bucket hat?

(No. It’s not stuffed in my dresser drawers.)

But what
is
stuffed in the third drawer, right-hand side, is my great-grandpop’s fedora!

(which is one excellent name for headwear)

My great-grandma told me it’s
spiffy
—which
Merriam-W
says is a word for “cool,” which means “chic.”

So—I think it might just WORK!

Or
maybe not.

BAD NEWS:

It only covers the top part of my head.

GOOD NEWS: It does go superbly with the bowling shirt. Especially the hatband with the yellow feather.

And
(the best reason)
it’s the only hat I can find.

It may be even spiffy enough to stop anybody from connecting the dots to my …

“What’s that weird thing on your head?”

Except for Maddie.

Stay tuned for an episode of

“Breakfast with Zoey”

Cornflakes

Bananas

1 Percent Milk
(I’m a little lactose intolerant.)

a Cold Egg Roll

and a four-year-old sister.

“Zoey? Zoey? Zoey? … Zoey?”

“Yes … Maddie?”

“What’s that weird thing on your head?”

“It’s not weird.”

“It looks weird.”

“It’s not weird.”

“Looks weird.”

“It’s not weird. It’s a hat.”

“It’s a weird hat.”

“It is not a weird hat.”

“Looks like a weird hat.”

“It is not a weird hat. It’s called a fedora.”

“It’s a weird hat with a weird name.”

“It is not a weird hat, and it’s not a weird name.”

“It’s an ugly hat with a weird name.”

“You are only four years old, Maddie. You do

not know what is weird or ugly.”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don’t.”

“Do.”

“Don’t.”

“Do.”

“Don’t.”

“Do.”

“Don’t.”

“Do.”

“Don’t.”

“MOM!”

“Girls. Eat your breakfast.”

“Do.”

“Maddie, stop squishing the banana in your fingers.”

“Don’t.”

“Zoey, finish your cereal or you’ll be late for school.”

“Do.”

“Maddie, stop picking your nose.”

“Don’t.”

“Zoey, you don’t really need to wear that hat. Your hair looks fine.”

Doesn’t.

“And please wear your heavy coat today.”

uh-oh

“… The poofy coat?”

“Zoey? You know what? That’s even weirder than the hat.”

Note to fairy godmother: Are you watching any of this?

Harry S. Truman Rule #5
ABSOLUTELY NO HATS ALLOWED.

It’s THE LAW.

(Pretty sure this includes fedoras.)

Technically… girls are allowed to wear hats at Harry S. because it’s considered fashion and not plain old headwear. And while a fedora is incredibly fashionable, no disputing that,

technically it was my great-grandpop’s
who technically was a boy,
which technically might mean I am
technically not allowed to wear it,
technically speaking.

Especially if Mrs. Pappazian sees me, because if there is one thing our principal is, it’s technical.

Something tells me this isn’t going to

technically meet with her approval either.

Which means technically this could be an even worse day than I thought it would be since I am more than technically having a bad-hair day and looking like a huge, poofy pumpkin.

All of that, and because Mrs. Pappazian and I had a … sort of
debate
last Tuesday.

Spilling: You are never ever allowed to wear a hat during Assembly. (Assembly is when the All-Purpose Room is not being the Gym or the Lunchroom.)

But when the All-Purpose Room is being used for a gym and not an assembly, then it’s okay to wear a baseball cap. However, it’s also never okay to wear a baseball cap in the All-Purpose Room when it is the Lunchroom.

(Mrs. Helferich must have written Rule #5.)

So, last Tuesday during Assembly, Mrs. Pappazian, who has extremely excellent eagle eyes, immediately zeroed in like a dart on a bull’s-eye to Walter—who was wearing a baseball cap. Walter not only loves baseball like I do
(we had a long discussion one day when Venus and I were sitting at Table Ten)
, but he also has porcupiney hair.

From personal experience, I could tell that it was one of those very bad you-know-what days for Walter. He had to do something.

Yes! Even if rules were broken!

Therefore, dot-dot-dot, Baseball Cap.

It was all very logical.

And besides, we were in the All-Purpose Room slash Lunchroom slash Gym. Walter could have easily gotten all those slashes mixed up.

But Mrs. Pappazian didn’t want to hear any logical explanations. She made Walter take off his hat in front of the whole entire school. And then kids started to laugh because his hair was sticking out all over the place. His face got all pink and splotchy, and his neck and arms started to polkadot. Walter was changing colors right before our eyes! Nobody should have to get all pink and polka-dotted over bad hair.

Somebody had to say something.

So I did!

I stood up in Assembly and shouted,

“I Object!”

I told Mrs. Pappazian that Harry S. Truman School should have an “open hat” policy for everyone.

“Fair and equal!

Bedhead equality!

Justice for all!”

(I think President Truman would have wanted that from a school named after him.)

DUN DUND

(sound effect)

DUN DUND

(Yup. She definitely doesn’t watch Law & Order.)

So now besides looking like a poofy, orange pumpkin and having my own extremely bad, porcupiney-hair day, Mrs. Pappazian is probably waiting for the moment when she sees me wearing this hat.

Even if technically the hat is called a
fedora
.

The thing is … Mrs. Pappazian just has no idea what a look at one of my bad-hair days could do to her.

DUN DUND

I give the arms-stretched safety patrol signal to the last first graders, then wave them across the sidewalk. “Always remember, safety first.”

Venus is waiting for me at the front door.