Leggings Revolt (4 page)
“It’s not fair! Look how short your fingers are! Mine are almost twice as long!”
I hear a girl complain to the girl standing next to her.
I look back at Vicky. She must have heard the girl’s comment too. It’s a valid point.
If a student has long fingers, her shorts need to be longer than if she were a short-fingered
person. Maybe Vicky will say we need to review the rules. But I catch her eye, and
she lifts her chin again. She is telling me to get on with it.
My heart is thumping. If only there were some way for me to get out of this situation.
But there isn’t. Not if I want to stay on the Student Life Committee. Then I hear
Miss Aubin’s words in my head.
Sometimes the best way to effect change is to work
from the inside
. But how does that help me now? A guy who is trapped can’t effect
change.
I move to the end of the line, as far away as I can get from Rowena and Daisy.
The first two students are guys in baggy khaki shorts that go to their knees. They
lower their arms, and I make a point of checking where their fingers reach even though
I know their shorts are regulation length.
The second guy salutes me—which makes some of the other kids laugh. I feel my ears
getting hot.
Next in line is the girl who sits next to me in Life Sciences. I take a quick look
at her shorts. They are burgundy and made of sweatshirt material, but they are not
as long as Rowena’s. My breathing quickens. This is going to be close. I really hope
she has short fingers. She extends her arms. Am I the only one who sees that she
has folded her fingers so that her knuckles line up with the bottom of her shorts?
I nod as I pass her. She nods back—at least, I think she does. The nod was so small
and quick I might have imagined it.
The next couple of girls are wearing jeans that are cut off at the knee. None of
the guys’ shorts are a problem.
Rowena is next. She smirks when I lean down to check where her fingertips end. I
know she is remembering the promise I made her.
Some kids have been whispering, but when I get to Daisy, the whispering stops. Everyone
is watching us.
I catch Daisy’s eye.
I’m sorry
, I say, mouthing the words.
Daisy drops her arms to her sides. She does not bother trying to fold her hands.
Her shorts are so short they barely reach her wrists.
I want her to tell me it’s okay, that she understands I have no choice about turning
her in. But when I look at her again, Daisy just stares at me blankly. As if we never
met in Reading Circle or walked to school together.
I force myself to meet Daisy’s eyes. “Your shorts, uh, they’re not regulation length.”
My voice cracks on the word
length
. Rowena laughs, and my ears get hot again.
Vicky and Ivan have come to stand next to me.
“You have to report to Mr. Germinato’s office,” I say. At least this time my voice
doesn’t crack.
“Now?” Daisy asks.
“Now!” Vicky barks. “Eric, you go with her!”
Miss Aubin follows us as far as the library. “I’ll see you two downstairs,” she says.
“And good luck.” At first I think she is wishing only Daisy good luck, but when she
catches my eye, I realize she means me too.
Daisy walks ahead of me. I try to catch up, but she walks faster. She must be ticked
off. I don’t blame her.
I take the opportunity to sneak a peek at her legs. Without meaning to, I sigh.
Daisy slows her pace. When she turns around, she looks worried. “Is something wrong?”
“Uh, no, nothing. It’s just that…you look really good in those shorts.”
“You must like red and blue,” Daisy says. To be honest, I hadn’t noticed the color
of her shorts. I only noticed how good she looks in them.
“Look, Daisy, I’m really sorry about this. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice.”
“I heard you tell Rowena you were going to take a stand against the dress code,”
Daisy says, shaking her head.
I hate that I have disappointed her. “I tried,” I tell her. “Sort of. Apparently,
the seventh-grade member at large doesn’t get much say.”
Daisy makes a snorting sound. I guess she doesn’t find my argument very convincing.
Germinato’s office is around the corner.
Daisy bites her lower lip. “I hope he doesn’t call my parents,” she says.
Germinato is standing in the hallway, near the painting of Marie Gérin-Lajoie. “Good
afternoon, sir.” I speak quickly, because I want to get this over with. “Vicky asked
me to bring Daisy to your office. As you have probably noticed, her shorts aren’t
regulation length.”
Germinato makes
tsk
ing noises as he eyes Daisy. “Young lady, what do you have to
say for yourself?”
Daisy throws her shoulders back and looks Germinato squarely in the eye. “I think
your dress code is stupid. And sexist.”
Germinato’s cheek twitches. “That will be enough,” he says. “As long as I am the
principal of this school, you will abide by my rules. And because this is
your second
infraction this year, there will be a punishment.” Germinato’s eyes brighten.
From where I am standing, I can see Daisy fiddling behind her back with her fingers.
She is more nervous than she is letting on.
“You’re going to change out of those…those clothes—immediately. Pick something out
of there.” He gestures to the giant lost-and-found bin in the hallway. “Once you’re
properly attired, you’ll knock on my door so I can approve your outfit.” With that,
Germinato returns to his office.
Now it’s Daisy’s turn to sigh. She must be relieved Germinato didn’t mention anything
about contacting her parents.
Since Germinato did not send me back to class, I figure I might as well stick around.
I want to support Daisy, but mostly I want to hang out with her.
I help her hoist open the lid of the lost-and-found bin. The smell of mold and mothballs
makes us both take a few steps back.
“Let me guess. He’s forcing you to wear something from the lost and found.” It’s
Miss Aubin. “There are a few decent things in there,” she tells Daisy. “Check the
very bottom of the bin.”
“Yeah, but what about the odor?” I say.
“I happen to have a steam iron in my drawer,” Miss Aubin says. “Pick something,”
she tells Daisy, “and then I’ll give it a quick steam. That should reduce the odor.”
Daisy pinches her nose as she sorts through the clothes. “Gross,” she says, pulling
out oversized gray sweatpants and handing them to me. “Some people have absolutely
no fashion sense.”
I have never seen anyone sort through clothes so quickly.
“What am I supposed to do with all this stuff?” I ask, but Daisy does not hear me.
“I can’t believe anyone would wear this,” she says, holding up a pair of jean overalls
before she adds them to the pile of discards I’m holding.
I am starting to feel like a human clothes rack.
Miss Aubin supervises from her desk. “Reach all the way down to the bottom,” she
tells Daisy. “I put some of the better stuff there”—she lowers her voice—“so he wouldn’t
find it.”
Daisy reaches to the bottom of the bin and practically disappears into it. When she
speaks, her voice is muffled. “There’s just more sweatpants and sweatshirts.”
Miss Aubin gets up from her desk. “There were a couple of cute T-shirts that I’d
bet you like. Here, let me have a look,” she tells Daisy.
But Miss Aubin can’t find the T-shirts. “
Someone
must have taken them from the lost
and found.”
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.”
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.”
“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.”
