Leggings Revolt

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

The first thing I notice when we walk into Lajoie High School is the smell. It’s
a mix of citrus and vanilla, with a hint of—what is that smell? Fresh laundry. It’s
definitely fresh laundry. If a guy could get drunk off smells, I’d be out cold on
the floor.

Rory punches my arm. “I think we’re gonna like it here. A lot,” he says.
At first
I think Rory has noticed the smell too. But then I realize he is eyeing a tall girl
with wavy blond hair.

At the top of the stairs is an oil painting of a woman with a serious face and dark
hair pulled back in a bun. Next to her is a poster with a floor map of the school.

Phil studies the map. “The gym is that way,” he says, pointing left.

From kindergarten through grade six, Rory, Phil and I went to O’Donovan Academy,
an all-boys school. The corridors there smelled of armpits and unwashed gym socks.

“Good morning, gentlemen.” It is Mr. Germinato, the principal. We met him at the
open house last year.

“Good morning, sir,” the three of us say at the same time.

Germinato smiles without showing his teeth. He is standing outside his office.
Because
the door is half-open, I notice a wall full of baseball caps.

I have heard of people who collect rare stamps and coins. But a baseball cap collection?
That’s a new one.

“That’s quite a collection of baseball caps you’ve got in there,” I say.

Germinato swallows his smile. “I don’t collect baseball caps,” he says. “I confiscate
them.”

“I, uh, I see,” I tell him. “Well, have a nice day…sir.”

The three of us make a sharp left, and I nearly crash into the most gorgeous girl
I have ever seen. She has pale skin and shiny black hair, and she smells like grapefruit,
only sweeter. She is walking with another girl, a redhead with freckles over her
nose and cheeks. Their arms are looped together.

I mean to say,
Excuse me
, but what comes out is, “Wow!”

The two girls sail past us, giggling. Rory and I whip our heads around for another
look.

The two girls spin around. They must have known we were checking them out.

I feel my cheeks heat up.

“Eric? You’re Eric, aren’t you?” the gorgeous girl asks.

I look left, then right. She must be talking to some other Eric. One who is taller
and smoother with girls than I am. And yet, there is something familiar about her
voice. Something angelic.

Rory answers for me. “Yeah, his name’s Eric.” Then he puffs out his chest. Rory started
weight lifting over the summer, and he is always looking for opportunities to show
off his pecs. “I’m Rory, and this is Phil. What are your na—”

But the girls turn away before Rory can finish his sentence. They have joined up
with another pair of girls,
and they are all hugging and making squealing sounds.

“How do you know her?” Rory asks me.

“I, uh, I’m not sure.”

Rory sighs. “How could you forget a girl who looks like that?”

“There’s more to life than girls,” Phil tells him.

“Yeah, like what?” Rory asks.

I can’t think of anything else myself, but Phil can. “There’s education,” he says.
“Friendship. Artistic endeavors.”

Rory rolls his eyes. “I’ve got one friend who can’t remember a gorgeous girl. And
another one who uses words like
artistic endeavors
. I hate to break it to you losers,
but I may need to widen my social circle.”

When Rory says the word
circle
, it comes to me.

When I was in third grade, my mom was concerned I wasn’t reading at the
right level.
So she signed me up for Reading Circle at the neighborhood library. At first I put
up a fight, but then I got into it. Not only because of the books, which were cool,
but because of the other kids in the circle. One was this girl named Daisy. She and
her family had just moved to Montreal from China. Daisy loved to draw. And there
was something angelic about her voice.

That gorgeous girl with the pale skin and shiny black hair?

It’s got to be Daisy.

Chapter Two

“Seventh-graders at the front!” a woman in track pants calls out as we file into
the gym.

The three of us find spots on the floor. The eighth-graders are behind us. One of
them, a guy with pale, wispy dandelion hair, taps my shoulder and passes me a Handi
Wipe.

When I shrug, Dandelion-Hair whispers, “For fighting off germs. I figured since
you guys are up front…”

“I get it,” I whisper back, trying not to laugh. “Germinato.”

Germinato walks into the gym, and everyone stops talking, even the teachers. The
only sound in the room is the whir of the ceiling fans. Germinato tightens the knot
on his tie and tests the microphone by tapping on it. Staticky noise fills the air.

“Good morning,” Germinato says, clearing his throat. “I’d like to begin by welcoming
those of you who are new to Lajoie High School.” Is it my imagination, or does he
eyeball the three of us? “And to those of you who were here last year, welcome back.
I’m going to use this morning’s assembly to review the school rules.”

The rules are the usual blah-blah. No running except for in the gym. Report to
the
office if you are late for class. If you are late three times, you can expect a detention.
Cell phones used during class will be confiscated. Swearing and rude remarks are
strictly prohibited.

I scan the gym for Daisy. She must be sitting somewhere up front too.

Someone at the back of the gym coughs. Then someone else sneezes. “Gesundheit,” a
voice says.

After two more rounds of coughing and sneezing, I realize it’s a joke. I lean closer
to Phil. “Germinato,” I whisper. “Get it?”

If Germinato gets it, he does not let on. He talks right over the coughing and sneezing.

“As you know, there are no uniforms at Lajoie High School.” When Germinato mentions
uniforms, I scratch my neck. It’s as if I can still feel the starched white collar
of the shirt that was part of the uniform at O’Donovan.

“But we do have a dress code. And we adhere to it. Strictly.” Germinato smiles as
he says the word
strictly
. “This morning I noticed that many of you were dressed
in ways that violate the Lajoie High School dress code. Since this is the first week
of school, the dress code will not be enforced. However, it will take effect as of
next Monday.”

Germinato rattles off the regulations. “No baseball caps. No tops with spaghetti
straps. No visible bra straps. No visible midriffs. No shorts or skirts shorter than
the reach of your fingertips.” Germinato steps away from the microphone to demonstrate.
He extends his arms, tapping the spot on his thighs where his fingertips end. “Basically,
nothing that could
distract
”—he emphasizes the word—“your fellow students at Lajoie
High School. Because the focus at Lajoie is neither fashion nor fun. It is”—he pauses—“education.”

A hand flies up into the air at the other side of the gym. “Can I ask a question,
sir?” It’s the redhead who was walking with Daisy. Daisy is sitting next to her.
I think she’s got a sketchpad on her lap.

Germinato shakes his head. “Not right now. I’ll leave time for questions at the end
of my presentation. What I want to discuss next is our Student Life Committee. We
need one representative from every grade. If you are interested in serving on this
committee, you will have to fill out a form and write an essay outlining your platform.
My assistant, Miss Aubin, can provide more details.”

A tall thin woman standing at the side of the gym waves one hand in the air. That
must be Miss Aubin.

“Elections for the Student Life Committee will be held at the end of next week,”
Germinato says. “You may now proceed to your homerooms.”

“What about the question period?” the redhead calls out.

Germinato checks his watch. “Unfortunately, we’re nearly out of time. But I will
take one question.”

The redhead’s arm is raised, but Germinato looks around the gym to see if anyone
else has a question.

Nobody does, so he turns back to Daisy’s friend. “All right, Rowena,” he says in
a tired voice. “What’s your question?”

Rowena stands up. “Sir,” she says, “the dress-code regulations you mentioned are
directed mostly at girls. Except for the baseball caps, which are unisex.”

“Do you have a question, Rowena?” he asks, drumming his fingers on the podium.

“I do have a question,” Rowena says. “Are there any dress-code rules specifically
for the male students at Lajoie?”

Germinato tightens his tie again. If he keeps that up, the guy is going to choke.
He clears his throat. I think he is buying time while he tries to come up with an
answer.

“Well, are there?” Rowena asks.

Germinato sighs into the microphone. “No,” he says. “There are not.” He checks his
watch. “I’m afraid we’re out of time. Your homeroom assignments are posted outside
the gym.”

As we pile out of the gym, Dandelion-Hair is walking in front of us. He nudges the
guy next to him, and I hear him ask, “So who do you think is the hottest girl at
Lajoie?”

The guy turns to the left, then to the right, scanning the gym. “It’s hard to decide,”
he says. “This place is full of hot girls.”

“I know how you feel.” I blurt the words out without meaning to.

Dandelion-Hair turns to face me. “Let me guess,” he says. “You’re a new arrival from
an all-boys school.”

I nod. “Yup. O’Donovan.”

“Well, then,” he says, “you’ve just died and gone to heaven.”

Chapter Three

I am waiting for Rory and Phil outside the Villa Maria metro station when I get a
whiff of grapefruit. Daisy is walking up to me. She is wearing an orange top and
pink shorts. I cannot help noticing that one of her bra straps is showing.

“Hey, Eric,” she says.

“Daisy.” My voice squeaks when I say her name. She can probably tell that
I have
no experience talking to girls. “It’s been years. How ya doing? D’you still like
to draw?”

“I’m okay. And yeah, I still draw—fashion sketches mostly. But hey, I’m kind of in
a hurry. I need to use the washroom.” She pats her backpack. I blush because I think
she is telling me she is having
a female issue
. Why else would she need to use the
bathroom at a metro station? Everyone knows they are the grossest bathrooms in the
city.