Jacob whispered, “Are you ready?” He held out his arm.
I linked my arm through his and said, “Let’s do this.”
The camera began clicking away as we walked toward the main entrance.
We stopped on the steps. That was my idea so that the name of the school would be visible in the pictures.
Jacob and Marion stood to my left, while Miguel, Alex, and Sav were on my right.
I don’t think any of us had ever looked neater. Our ties were knotted tightly, our shirts were tucked in properly, and our shoes were shiny. We were everything Mr. Lynch was always droning on about during assemblies. He was adamant that every student should be “a credit to this school.” We were the perfect poster students for Bankridge Middle School.
Except for one, tiny, insignificant detail.
I wore a pair of brand-new black pants. So did Marion.
Jacob, Alex, Sav, and Miguel wore skirts.
Chapter 30
I finally felt like me. A smarter, less scruffy version of me, but definitely me. Enzo hadn’t laughed when I came down for breakfast that morning. Mom had taken a photo of me before I left the house, just as she’d done on the first day of school. I didn’t mind this time, though. She took several pictures, and we looked through them together, our heads nearly touching. “You look great,” Mom whispered. She sounded like she was going to cry, which was weird, but she managed to hold it together.
Jacob was wearing one of Chloe’s old skirts. I had no clue where the others got theirs. Jacob had planned to wear tights too, but he’d tried them on the night before and texted me: WHAT ARE THESE THINGS?! MY LEGS FEEL LIKE THEY’RE SUFFOCATING!
I texted back: Tell me about it.
=
A lot of people gathered around while the photos were being taken, and most of them had their phones out and were snapping away. Some older boys were wolf-whistling and shouting things like, “Nice legs!” The boys didn’t seem to mind. It did make me think, though. They didn’t mind today because this was all kind of a joke, right? I mean, it was for a good cause, but people still thought it was a laugh. But what if the boys had to wear skirts every day? And what if they had to deal with girls walking behind them and shouting things about their legs or their butts. They wouldn’t like it, would they? Not one little bit. And that was something girls had to go through all the time. Even so-called popular girls, like Jade and Chelsea, had to deal with boys commenting on their physical appearance. They seemed to like the attention—which was mostly positive—but I wondered if they really did. I hadn’t given it much thought before today. The dress code wasn’t just unfair to me. It was unfair to everyone.
Jacob’s phone buzzed in his blazer pocket. He usually kept it in the pocket of his pants, but the skirt he was wearing didn’t have any pockets (reason 142 why pants are automatically better than skirts). He looked at the screen and then laughed out loud. “It’s Chloe,” he whispered. “She says we’re all over Instagram and Twitter! There’s even a hashtag!”
The woman with the notepad stepped forward. “I’m Annie Lawrence from the Gazette. Would you like to tell me a little bit about what you’re doing today?”
I’d rehearsed my little speech in front of the bathroom mirror last night. It was important to get the words just right. “We’re taking a stand against Bankridge Middle School’s outdated and sexist uniform pol–”
“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?”
Chapter 31
We all turned around to see Mr. Lynch standing with his hands on his hips. He looked furious. His face was all red except for the tip of his pointy nose, which was bright white. The vein on his forehead seemed to be pulsating, just as we’d predicted.
Click, click, click.
I knew those pictures would be perfect. Mr. Lynch stood underneath the Bankridge Middle School sign looking like the cartoon version of an angry principal. The six of us stood a few steps below him, our backs to the camera, skirts and pants clearly visible.
Annie Lawrence took her chance. “Mr. Lynch, would you like to comment on this student protest?”
“Protest? This isn’t a protest! It’s a…it’s nonsense is what it is!” He pointed a finger at us (well, mostly at me) and said, “Get inside. NOW!”
Nobody moved.
“Mr. Lynch, I presume you’re aware that Bankridge is the only school in the district that forces girls to wear skirts?”
“We aren’t forcing anyone to do anything. This is simply a matter of—” His mouth snapped shut. Unlike me, Mr. Lynch hadn’t had a chance to prepare what he was going to say. He looked around to see that at least half of the crowd were holding their phones in the air, filming him. Jacob’s dad was still snapping away. Mr. Lynch smiled at the journalist, but you could tell it was a fake smile. “Would you like to discuss this in my office?”
Annie smiled back, but her smile was genuine. “No, thank you. I’d rather discuss this right here. So, you were saying…? Girls aren’t forced to wear skirts? So Miss Spark here is perfectly within her rights to wear pants then?” I didn’t like her calling me “Miss Spark,” but she didn’t know any better.
Mr. Lynch cleared his throat. Once, twice, three times. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and he wiped it away with his handkerchief.
That was when the chanting began. I don’t know who did it, but it spread quickly. It wasn’t particularly clever or original, but it did the job: “Pants! Pants! Pants! Pants!” Before long, it was deafening. Jacob and I stared at each other, amazed. I could see people who’d refused to sign my petition, people who’d said mean things to me in the corridor, people who’d laughed at me, and all of them were chanting.
Three blond figures stood at the back of the crowd, one of them standing a little apart from the other two. Maisie was chanting away with the rest of them, not even caring that Jade and Chelsea were giving her major evil eye.
The situation was clearly out of control. Mr. Lynch had to do something. “QUUUIIIEEET!” I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone shout that loud in my entire life. I wonder if they test how loud you can shout before they let you become a principal.
The chanting stopped immediately. Obviously, everyone was having a good time pretending they cared about my campaign, but no one was willing to risk a detention for it. Mr. Lynch attempted another smile, although this one was slightly more successful. He came over and stood next to me, shuffling Jacob out of the way. “Now, as I was saying… Since Olivia came to talk to me about this issue several weeks ago, I’ve given it a lot of thought. Equality and fairness are issues I take extremely seriously. Of course. In fact, before I was, er, interrupted, I was just in the middle of typing up the agenda for the next PTA meeting.”
“Are you saying the uniform policy is going to change, Mr. Lynch?”
Mr. Lynch held up his hands. “I’m not making any promises. It will go to a vote at the meeting a week from Thursday. But I think we can safely say that we might indeed be looking at a positive outcome for all concerned.”
Everyone cheered. I didn’t. What did that even mean? He was probably lying. He just didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of the journalist. I bet he was terrified of being on the front page of the Gazette, looking like a fool with his angry, sweaty face.
Mr. Lynch put his hand on my shoulder. “I’d like to thank Olivia and her young friends for, um, highlighting what is clearly an important issue. When I took the position as principal of Bankridge Middle School, I made it my mission to…” He went on and on and on.
The crowd started drifting away from the front steps. Nobody wanted to listen to this garbage. It was bad enough having to put up with it in assembly.
We had to pose for a photo with Mr. Lynch, with him standing in the middle and smiling as if he’d arranged the whole thing. I could tell Jacob’s dad thought it was ridiculous, but he snapped a few photos anyway, just to keep Mr. Lync
h quiet.
“We did it,” Jacob said under his breath, when Mr. Lynch was busy talking to Annie. “We actually did it!”
I shrugged. “We haven’t done anything yet. The PTA might vote against it.”
“Not a chance. Not once they see the article in tomorrow’s paper. I bet it’s all anyone will be talking about at Back-to-School Night tomorrow night. How did you know Lynch was going to back down like that?”
I didn’t know what to say because I hadn’t known. And I certainly hadn’t anticipated Mr. Lynch pretending that he’d listened to me in the first place.
It felt strange because no one knew the truth about why I’d campaigned so hard for girls to be able to wear pants. It didn’t matter, though, because I truly believed that everyone should be able to wear whatever they wanted. Boys should be allowed to wear skirts too—why not? People should be able to wear clothes that express who they are.
Of course, there was no getting past the fact that we all had to wear a school uniform. The most important thing was that it looked like we might have won. It may just be a small step in a bigger battle, but it was something at least. Before you know it, lots of small steps can cover a lot of ground.
=
I’d half-expected one of the teachers to tell us to go home and change our clothes, but no one did. Jacob, Marion, and I were the last ones entering homeroom, but Mrs. McCready didn’t say a word about us being late. She actually winked at me as I walked past her desk.
Jacob made a big show of smoothing down his skirt before he sat down. “You know, I think I could get used to this after all. It’s kind of…airy.” He grinned.
“Why don’t you talk to Mr. Lynch about making sure the change in the uniform policy works both ways?”
“Hmm, maybe we’d better leave that particular battle until next year. One step at a time.” It was as if he’d read my mind!
As we left homeroom, I overheard Jade talking about how Scottish men in kilts are really hot. Chelsea agreed, nodding as fast as she could. Maisie was still sitting at her desk with her nose in a book. I wondered if Jade had dumped her because she joined in with the chanting outside. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
=
The six of us walked into the cafeteria together. We’d stuck together at recess too—strength in numbers. By then, the boys were fed up with other boys lifting their skirts up and laughing.
None of us were ready for what happened next.
A strange silence descended upon the room as soon as the door closed behind us. Everyone, and I mean everyone, was looking at us. I hadn’t minded the stares earlier, but now it just felt awkward.
It began with a bunch of eighth-graders over by the window. They started clapping. The clapping spread, just like the chanting in the morning. Everyone joined in, even the lunch servers. We just stood there, not quite knowing what to do. Marion blushed as red as ketchup, and Sav awkwardly shuffled his feet.
Eventually Jacob gave me a gentle shove so that I was standing in front of the others. “That’s for you, Liv. Enjoy it.”
And the weirdest thing was the clapping actually got louder when I stepped forward. People were clapping for me!
Jacob grabbed my arm and held it up high, as if I’d just won a boxing match. “Stop it!” I tried to wriggle out of his grasp.
“No chance!” He smiled. “You’ve earned this!”
I shook my head. “We did it together. All of us.”
“Well, yeah, but someone had to be the brains of this little outfit. After all, I brought the legs to the party.” He did a little twirl and gestured to his slightly knobby-looking knees.
I looked at him. His messy hair, his bright blue eyes shining with excitement. At that moment, I realized something amazing, or amazing to me, at least. The Pants Project meant a lot to me, and I was beyond thrilled that it actually might have worked. I was ecstatic that I might not have to wear a skirt to school for much longer. And it was nice (weird, but nice) that people were suddenly acting like I was some kind of hero. But the most important thing was that this had all happened with Jacob Arbuckle by my side. He’d stood by me through everything, even though we’d only known each other for a couple of months. He hadn’t even blinked when I’d told him my secret.
I’d somehow found myself a new best friend without even trying, and that’s what made me grin from ear to ear as the Bankridge students continued to clap.
Chapter 32
I should have known something was wrong the second I saw Mom’s car outside the school gate. Jacob and I had been planning to swing by Monty’s to tell the moms all about the protest.
“You didn’t need to give us a ride, Mom! We could have walked. You are not going to believe what… Mom? What’s wrong?”
Mom leaned out the car window and told Jacob that it would be best if he just went home. I started to say something, but Jacob was cool about it. “No worries at all. I’ll see you tomorrow, Liv.” He turned to walk away but not before mouthing the words, “Text me.”
I got into the car and slammed the door a little too hard. “Well, that was rude. And you haven’t even asked how it went today.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
Mom switched off the radio and turned to face me. “Sweetie, your grandfather died. I’m sorry.”
It was the strangest thing. For the tiniest millisecond, I thought she was talking about Granddad, and I felt this sharp sadness stab right through my chest, which was confusing because he had died years ago. Then she said that Mamma was already on a plane, and I finally understood.
“How’s Mamma?” I asked.
Instead of answering, Mom shook her head.
We drove across town to pick up Enzo from his karate lesson. He took the news better than I did, and asked the same question about Mamma.
This time, Mom answered. “She’s sad. Sadder than she thought she would be, I think.”
Mom didn’t ask about the protest until we got home, but I understood. We sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and a plate of cookies and I told her about it, briefly. She smiled and said she wished she could have seen the look on Mr. Lynch’s face.
“So can you wear pants tomorrow?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. But maybe after the meeting.”
“Are you OK with that?”
“I’ve waited this long. I can manage another week or two.”
Mom sat back in her chair. “It’s such a shame that they postponed Back-to-School Night.” I nearly choked on my cookie. “We could have had a word with Mr. Lynch, see if we could help hurry things along a little. Mind you, maybe it’s for the best. Mamma would hate to miss it.”
“When do you think she’ll be back?” I wanted to keep the conversation as far away from Back-to-School Night as possible.
“I don’t know. The funeral will be tomorrow. I don’t think she’ll stay long after that. It depends on how it goes with her family, I guess.”
I was shocked that the funeral was so soon, but Mom explained that that’s how it works in Italy.
While Enzo helped Mom get dinner ready, I went upstairs and text messaged Jacob. He replied right away: I’m sorry. Death sucks. That made me smile. We texted back and forth a few times, and I explained that I’d never even met Mamma’s father, but I still felt sad, so it was all a bit weird.
It was a quiet evening. We ate our dinner in front of the TV and then watched a movie. None of us really felt like talking.
=
Mamma called really early the next morning, just before the funeral. Enzo and I both had a chance to speak to her. Enzo asked if she could bring him back an Italian soccer jersey, and I grabbed the phone out of his hand before he could say anything even more insensitive. Mamma didn’t want to talk about her family or how she was feeling. She just wanted to know about the protest. Even halfway across the world while going thro
ugh something horrible, we were still her priority. She told me she would try to get the jersey for Enzo if they sold them at the airport, and asked if I would like one too. I said no, even though the answer was obviously yes. She said she would be home as soon as she could, and that she couldn’t wait to give me a hug.
I felt extra guilty when I told Mom that I was going to Jacob’s for dinner that night, and then even more guilty when she offered to pick me up. I couldn’t meet her eye when I said that she didn’t need to bother because Jacob’s mom or dad would bring me home by nine o’clock. The truth was I would be walking back from school after Back-to-School Night. I realized I hadn’t really thought through this part of the plan. What if Mom looked out the window and saw me walking up to the house? I guess I could always say they dropped me off at the end of our street. Why did lying have to be so difficult? It was never just one lie, was it? You always had to add another and another, just so you wouldn’t be found out for the first one.
=
It was weird going back to Bankridge that morning. It felt as if nothing had changed, that yesterday had been a dream. I was wearing a skirt, for one thing, and nobody clapped or cheered when I walked past. The excitement was well and truly over.
When I got to homeroom, things were slightly different, though. Marion was sitting on a desk, talking to Todd Staveley and Kesha Lyons. She waved at me and then went right back to her conversation.
Jade didn’t say anything when she walked past my desk. We did make eye contact. She rolled her eyes a little, but didn’t “accidentally on purpose” barge into my chair, which she’d been doing every single day for the past few weeks.
Jacob wasn’t there by the time the bell rang, and Mrs. McCready asked me if I knew where he was. I got my phone out and texted him—making sure that Mrs. McCready didn’t see. She hates cell phones almost as much as she hates people who don’t understand algebra. I kept checking my phone all the way through first and second periods, but there was no reply. I really hoped I wasn’t going to have to face Back-to-School Night alone. I wondered if it was too late to get out of it since we didn’t need to suck up to Mrs. McCready anymore.