Girls in Charge (2 page)

Of course, that didn't happen. But it did seem magical that someone had fixed us a pot of tea. Our fairy godmothers (aka Mrs. Percy, Ms. Russo, and Edith) had also set out three china teacups on saucers along with some kind of cinnamon strudel bread.

Kate poured the tea and I started talking about my plan for the Magic 8 Ball Period Predictor. A girl could answer some questions about herself, her age, and physical changes she had experienced so far. Then, using a bit of computer code, we could compute an estimate of when she'd get her period. How perfect would this be! No more worrying it would happen at some unfortunate time—like at school or on the first day of a beach vacation.

“Are you sure, Jemma?” Piper asked.

“Yeah, these things are pretty unpredictable,” Kate said. She gave me a knowing look. She was the only one who knew I wasn't in the period club yet. Piper assumed I was and I never corrected her.

“I disagree,” I said. “Periods are predictable if you know certain things about puberty and what happens first, second, and third.”

“And that's something you know now?” Piper asked.

I explained how the medical books say a girl's period usually comes two to two and a half years after she starts developing breasts.

“Therefore, we ask girls on what day they got their first bra and add two to two and a half years to that,” I said.

“I have to say it would relieve a lot of worry and confusion,” Kate said.

Questions about first periods accounted for approximately twenty percent of all questions submitted to the Pink Locker Society. In other words, one out of every five questions was about this subject, I said.

Kate raised her eyebrows, impressed.

“It could potentially cut down on our workload,” I said.

We had made good on our goal of answering five questions a week, but we were buried in more questions than we would ever have a chance of answering.

“Yes, let's try it,” Piper said. “Why not?”

What I didn't reveal was that I had already done this calculation for myself. The Period Predictor said I would get my period no later than March 21—just three weeks away.

 

Four

There's something weird about your mom being pregnant. Of course, you can guess the obvious, non-weird parts. You spend lots of time thinking about your new brother or sister. We were planning a baby shower, for example. The name game can eat up an evening. And we'd chosen a new color for the guest bedroom, which would become the baby's room. It was yellow, owing to my parents' refusal to find out if we were having a boy or a girl.

“Let's cherish the pleasant surprise,” my mom explained when I asked—no, begged—that they find out already. Now for the weird part. I worry about my mom and the baby and that everything will turn out all right. I mean, Mom will be going to the hospital and everyone knows it's hard work to have a baby. I don't want her to be in any pain. Would they want me in the delivery room? Wow, I hope not.

I also worried (a little) about how things would change when the baby comes. I wasn't talking about the diapers and the crying, which everyone jokes about. I was thinking about our day-to-day world. It had been just the three of us since … well, since forever!

From the topic of my particular little family, it's not much of a leap to think about the future day when I might get married and, eventually, have a baby of my own. It feels as far as Mars from me right now. And boys might as well be Martians because I don't understand a thing about them, even though I spent seventy-one days as Forrest McCann's pretend girlfriend.

Yes, he put his arm around me and kissed me. We even talked about real-life stuff. But I remember him saying, “Girls always want answers, Jem. I don't have any answers.” He told me even he didn't know how he felt or why he did the things he did. So if that's the case, how could I ever understand him?

Stop, stop, stop. You don't want to move that bracelet today.

I looked down at my soda tabs that reminded me of my five goals. Big sisterhood, school, friends, the PLS, and running.

Did I mention I'm on the cross-country team for real this year? And now that spring is on the way, practices have begun. I'm not super-fast yet. I've run in a few 5Ks, which are about three miles. But the truth is I wasn't prepared for the hills and I needed to stop and walk. I do not want to do that in a real cross-country race. When I run in a race, I'm thinking about looking silly and not finishing and everyone who's passing me.

But when I'm just running, no pressure, my mind just clears, like clouds lifting. My thoughts go to a new place and I sometimes figure out what I'm going to do about this or that. I get in a rhythm and my brain goes somewhere that I can't get to otherwise, even in a quiet room all alone. It could be the sweating or the measured puffs of breath. Or maybe it's the steady beat of my feet as they hit the ground. I'm never really running away from anything. But what I'm running toward I don't exactly know.

 

Five

We all jumped out of our cushy office chairs when the phone rang. Kate answered and we all watched her as she talked.

“It's Ms. Russo,” she said, and pressed the speakerphone button.

“And Edith,” another voice chimed in. “It's no secret that you girls will be graduating eighth grade before you know it. Where did the time go?”

“And what have you decided about going public with the PLS?” Ms. Russo asked.

We hadn't decided anything as far as I was concerned.

“I agree that the secrecy thing just takes up a lot of time,” Piper said. “Let's get it out in the open.”

Kate nodded her agreement.

“I agree,” she said.

“Excellent,” Ms. Russo said.

Then Kate and Piper both turned to me, warily. I was clearly the holdout here.

“We haven't heard from Jemma on the question, have we?” Edith asked.

“I-I don't think it's excellent,” I said. “Won't we get in trouble, like instantly?”

“We're going to see to it that you don't,” Edith said.

“That would be awesome,” Piper said. “Then our work is done here. Or not done. You know what I mean.”

“How are you going to see to it that we don't get suspended or worse?” I asked.

Both Ms. Russo and Edith let a few beats pass before answering, which made me even more concerned.

“We have people on the inside, as you know,” Edith finally said.

“And I have every confidence that that particular person will be very effective,” Ms. Russo said.

I knew who they meant and mouthed “Mrs. Percy” to Kate and Piper.

“People do say she pretty much runs the school,” Piper said.

“She's impressive in her influence, to be sure,” Edith said.

“Can you guarantee us that she will smooth things over with Principal F. so that nothing happens to us? That's what I'm looking for,” I said.

“Ah, youth,” Edith said. “I wish I could give you a gold-standard guarantee, but I can't. What I can say is that it feels like a risk worth taking.”

“Think of the brave women who've come before you. No one just handed women the right to vote, remember?” Ms. Russo said.

Oh, great. Now she's comparing us to Susan B. Anthony.

“I'm up for an adventure,” Piper said.

“And I think, you know, it will all work out,” Kate said. She looked at me, since I was the only one who needed convincing.

I felt surrounded and I gave in by simply lifting my palms skyward as if to say “I have no argument left.” Well, I did have one argument but I wasn't going to share it since it was, simply “I'm chicken.”

Ms. Russo explained that they'd planned a meeting with Principal Finklestein to discuss the matter. They'd bring along Mrs. Percy so she could push our case.

“I do wonder what he's going to say,” Kate said.

But Kate said her worries had given way to her feeling that this was the right decision.

“We're doing something good here. Maybe not, like, heroic, but important at Margaret Simon Middle School,” she said.

“Right-o,” Edith said. “You girls should discuss how you'd like us to proceed.”

“I think we should be at the meeting,” Piper said.

“I agree one hundred percent,” Ms. Russo said. “This is a girls' movement. You should do some of the talking.”

Gulp.
This is not what I'd imagined. Sitting in the principal's office and admitting that we'd been carrying on with the PLS all along, and that we now planned to reveal ourselves to the whole school?

Kate read the look on my face and suggested that just us girls talk and get back to the grown-ups about what to do next about the meeting.

“Great,” Ms. Russo said. “Oh, and I have some exciting news. I've nominated you three to speak at the national Tomorrow's Leaders Today conference.”

I had heard about this conference, but until now, I had known only total brainiacs to attend. You know, eighth-graders who already know which college they're going to and expect to be president of the United States someday.

“You're going to talk about the Pink Locker Society and how other girls can form a group like this at their school,” Ms. Russo said.

“So it's already decided?” I asked.

“Well, the committee was very impressed when I described your work,” Ms. Russo said. “There's even interest in having a session for boys. Wouldn't it be incredible to create Blue Locker Societies, too?”

“What about Principal F.?” I asked.

“By the time of the conference, the PLS will be out in the open, right?” Ms. Russo said.

By this point, Kate and I were speechless. But Piper leaned over the table, with interest, toward the speakerphone.

“Where is this conference?” she asked.

Ms. Russo answered with three of the most exciting words I'd ever heard.

New. York. City.

Of course we wanted to go, even if it meant we'd have to work on a session about Blue Locker Societies. Having the chance to stay in a hotel and explore the coolest city in the world was just too amazing to pass up.

 

Six

It was normal for my parents to know very little about what I was thinking. I mean, I was getting older and it was my life and all. But I was sort of reaching a point where there was too much they didn't know. I was constantly thinking about the Pink Locker Society and the New York City trip. None of us had told our parents we restarted the PLS, so we couldn't spill the beans yet about the trip. And, of course, our parents would have to say okay and sign the permission form. That meant the two topics that were most on my mind—that I'd most like to discuss—were completely unavailable for dinnertime discussion. When my parents asked, “What's new with you?” I froze.

I started to feel confined by how much they didn't know. And as plans unfolded for taking the Pink Locker Society public, it seemed high time to tell them.

I picked a time when I thought they'd be most understanding. It was Sunday afternoon and I had just folded a load of laundry. I delivered the items like a mailman to our bedrooms and other spots in the house as appropriate. I brought the empty basket downstairs to where they were sitting together, reading the Sunday paper and drinking coffee.

“Okay, I have something to say.”

They both looked up. My dad peeked at me over the sports page.

“Well, remember the Pink Locker Society?”

They nodded and looked at each other.

“The Web site, the whole Principal Finklestein fiasco?” Dad asked.

Having the principal show up at your house after school was definitely quite a fiasco.

“Yeah, that's it. Well, it's still going,” I said.

“Okay, and who's running it now?” Mom asked.

“I am,” I answered hesitantly. “Me and Kate and Piper. And sometimes Bet.”

My parents shared a look of surprise and then looked back at me.

“How long has this been going on?” Dad asked.

“Since not long after we were supposed to have shut it down. When we got the laptop back.”

“I knew this would happen,” Mom said, resting her folded newspaper on her belly. “You girls are going to be in a heap of trouble if the principal finds out.”

“Susan B. Anthony got in a lot of trouble, too. And now she's a hero. She's on a coin, right?”

I was stammering here, making a comparison I didn't exactly buy myself.

“I'm not sure what Susan B. Anthony has to do with your particular situation,” Mom said, narrowing her eyes.

“I have to agree it doesn't explain your being dishonest with us,” Dad said.

I closed my eyes, praying that some kind of convincing explanation would come flying out of my mouth. To my shock, it did. It wasn't pure accident, though. I dug deep for the truest, true feeling I had about the whole situation.

“I'm proud of how we've helped girls,” I said. “It's the only important thing I've really done in my whole life.”

My parents both smiled at this, and I spotted the early signs of me winning them over. Then I told them how we answer questions from girls every week who have all sorts of problems.

“They are so happy we answer their questions even when we don't have easy answers, like when it's about bullying or someone's parents getting divorced,” I continued.

“Where is all this going on?” my mother asked.

“In the school basement, in study hall.”

“Is it safe down there?” my mother asked.

I thought about the dark, the dust, and the churning furnace, but told her it was fine.

“It's … noble, yes. Certainly sounds so, but I'm still not over your going against the explicit orders from Prinicpal Finklestein,” Mom said.

Though I was still nervous myself, I explained how we were going public with help from Ms. Russo, Edith, and Mrs. Percy.