Leggings Revolt (5 page)
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.
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, because 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.”
“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.
Rory is spotting some guy on a bench press. The guy grunts as he lifts
a giant dumbbell
into the air. When he drops the dumbbell into its holder and turns his head to the
side, I realize the guy is Theo.
Theo mops the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “Hey,” he says to Rory,
“look who’s here.”
Martie is doing push-ups at the back of the gym.
Rory shows us where the locker room is so we can change. “Don’t look so worried,”
he tells Phil. “We’ll start you with five-pound weights.” Then he looks over at me.
“Maybe the two-point-fives.”
Theo is friendlier than I’d expected. “Don’t worry about how much weight you’re lifting,”
he says. “What counts is your form.” He demonstrates a set of curls with the five-pound
dumbbells. “You want to exhale while you’re lifting. Like this…”
Martie joins us, adjusting his shoulders to give us a better view of his biceps.
I catch my reflection in the mirror. I can’t help noticing how scrawny I look. I
wonder how many push-ups it would take for me to look like Martie.
“Speaking of form,” Martie says, “how’s your friend Daisy doing?” Martie licks his
lips, which makes Rory and Theo burst into laughter.
I guess they expect Phil and me to laugh along with them, but I’m not in a laughing
mood. Don’t they see they’re being jerks?
Phil answers Martie. “Eric went to Daisy’s house after school yesterday. Her parents
want to transfer her out of Lajoie.” Maybe Phil is nervous. He can’t stop babbling.
“Eric said her mom thinks she needs a stricter environment. I bet you anything they’ll
send her to Queen of the Mountain. The principal there makes the Germinator look
like Mother Teresa…”
Martie flexes his forearm. “We can’t let a girl that hot be transferred out. We gave
her butt a perfect sco—”
That’s the moment I decide I’ve had enough. “Don’t talk about Daisy like that!” I
snap.
Even Phil looks surprised—and slightly worried. “Martie was kidding, weren’t you,
Martie?” Phil says.
“Yeah sure, I was kidding,” Martie says, though I don’t believe him. “I didn’t mean
to tease you about your girlfriend, little guy.”
Now I know Martie is looking for a fight. Why else would he call me
little guy
? If
this gets physical, I don’t stand a chance. But even if Martie beats the crap out
of me, I’m glad I’m standing up to him. I’ve had enough.
I think of how Germinato and the other students on the Student Life Committee ignored
me and how I’d
had to turn Daisy in. I did not stand up either of those times, but
I am standing up now. Even if it’s gonna hurt.
“Daisy isn’t my girlfriend,” I tell Martie. “And you know what else she isn’t?” The
strength in my own voice takes me by surprise and gives me the courage to go on.
“She isn’t an object. And that’s what you guys are doing. You’re treating them like
objects. Girls weren’t made for us to ogle. They’re people. And in case you haven’t
noticed, Daisy is a really interesting person.”
Theo wags his finger in the air. “I’m a little confused,” he says. “Weren’t you rating
girls’ butts in the cafeteria too?”
I feel my ears heating up. “I did,” I say. “But I didn’t feel good about it. And
I apologized to Daisy and Rowena afterward.”
Theo rolls his eyes. “Poor baby didn’t feel good about it.” Then he sticks his thumb
in his mouth and wails like a baby.
“I didn’t feel good about it either,” Phil says softly. Then, in a louder voice,
he adds, “Eric’s right. We need to stop objectifying girls.” Phil looks into Theo’s
eyes. “D’you have a sister?”
“So what if I do?” Theo asks.
“A younger sister?” Phil asks.
“She’s in fifth grade.”
“How would you feel if you heard guys talking about her the way we’ve been talking
about girls?”
Theo doesn’t answer right away.
“You wouldn’t like it, would you?” Phil says.
“Okay, okay, we’re getting it,” Martie says. “What do we have to do to show you guys
we see your point?”
That’s when the lightbulb goes off inside my head. “You can join the Leggings Revolt,”
I tell him. “It’ll be a way for us to help Daisy and every other girl at Lajoie.
And our participating will
show we don’t believe in treating girls like objects.”
“Did you say
Leggings Revolt
?” Phil asks.
“That’s exactly what I said.”
Rory and Theo are laughing again, but they stop when Martie extends his palm in front
of them. “Leggings Revolt,” Martie says. “I like the sound of that. We’re in, right,
guys?”