Suddenly my hand is stretching out, up into the sky.
“Um, Mr. Davies?” I never talk in class. Ever. It’s like when you hear your voice on a recording and it sounds totally bizarre to your ears, like it can’t actually be you. That’s what it’s like to hear my voice out loud in a classroom.
“Yes, Viv?” Mr. Davies says, looking at me, surprised.
“I was wondering if you might be willing to review that last grammar concept?” I start, not caring that my cheeks are pink. Only caring that, for the moment, Mitchell has shut up. “I was a little lost on the … what did you call them, the gerundive phrases?”
And then, from across the room, Seth’s voice.
“Yeah, me, too, Mr. Davies. I was a little lost, and we have five pages of homework on them, don’t we?”
I glance at Seth, my eyes grateful.
Mr. Davies groans and runs his hand through his buzz cut like he’d rather not, but he eases out of his desk and starts lecturing again, and his presence in front of us is enough to shut Mitchell up. When the bell rings, Lucy turns to look at me.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
*
By the end of the day, Moxie stickers are everywhere, and when I get to my locker to gather my stuff, I’m feeling more than proud of myself. That’s when I spot Claudia darting through the hallway with determination.
“Viv, did you hear?” she says, breathless.
“What?” I ask, slamming my locker door shut.
“Well…,” she says, but then she shakes her head. I can’t tell if she’s happy or scared or both. “You have to come see.”
She tugs me by the wrist and drags me out the side door toward the faculty parking lot. As I follow, I hear the distinct buzz of voices building. Snippets of students saying, “No shit?” and shouts full of the giddiness that comes with good gossip. With the excitement of Something Finally Happening.
And there the something is, in the front row of the faculty lot. Right under the RESERVED FOR PRINCIPAL sign.
There, on the bumper of Principal Wilson’s bright red, late model, extended cab Ford truck are four Moxie stickers, lined up one right after another like floats on parade.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The assembly is mandatory. And girls only.
We file in during first period on Tuesday, and it hits me that I’ve never been in a space with so many girls before and no guys. Even though I’m sure we’re about to be punished, something about it feels special, exhilirating even. It’s just us. Just girls. I remember seeing some of my mom’s old Riot Grrrl zines and flyers—how they advertised girl-only spaces and girl-only shows, or how they wouldn’t let the boys come to the front of the stage when their bands were playing but reserved that space just for ladies, so all the women would feel safe.
But right now the East Rockport High School auditorium doesn’t feel safe, especially with Principal Wilson standing on the stage, his arms crossed in front of him, his mouth a firm line.
“File in quickly, you’re going too slow,” he commands into the microphone.
“So what’s going to happen to us?” Lucy says, tucking an arm into mine. “Will we be threatened with the gallows? Or burned at the stake? It’s all going to go down very Salem Witch Trials. Mark my words.”
Claudia’s in front and she turns around, her face anxious.
“He does seem pissed, doesn’t he? You don’t think they know who did the stickers, do they?”
“We don’t know who did the stickers, remember?” Lucy says. “Don’t worry, Claudia.”
“But I…” Claudia’s voice drops to barely there levels. “I put one on a locker.”
We continue getting jostled down the aisle of the auditorium as Lucy puts her arm around Claudia. “Claudia,” she says, “I’m betting half of the girls in this room put one on a locker. Did you see the school yesterday? I’m sure Wilson is just going to blow off some steam and give us all a warning.”
“But what if they have cameras?” Sara pipes up.
“They don’t, so don’t worry,” I say. It’s one thing I checked on before I distributed my first copies of Moxie. East Rockport High spends more money on football than security.
Still, my friends’ nervousness is contagious. Maybe someone did spot something. Maybe somehow something has been traced back to somebody, namely me. Maybe Frank at U COPY IT is some undercover spy for Principal Wilson.
Stop it, Viv, you’re being ridiculous.
As we take our seats, I notice Emma Johnson walking across the stage, taking the one empty seat next to Principal Wilson, who is standing at the microphone. She has her hands folded in her lap, her slender fingers wrapped around several index cards. She crosses her feet at the ankles and gazes out at all of us, like a warden at a women’s prison.
“What is she doing up there?” I ask, but no one gets a chance to answer because Principal Wilson raises his hands to get our silence.
“Ladies of East Rockport, your attention, now,” he barks, and my stomach burns at the sound of his voice. His beady little eyes remind me of a snake’s. And of his son’s.
We shift in our seats as Principal Wilson waits for total silence. Even after he gets it he waits a few beats more, his mouth turning into a small frown. Finally he starts talking again.
“Girls, to say I’m angry would be an understatement,” he begins. “I’m livid. There are stickers all over boys’ lockers and reports that girls are placing stickers on boys’ shirts.” I’m surprised he doesn’t mention his truck. I hope it’s because he’s too embarrassed. “This destruction of school property must stop. This bad behavior must stop. Immediately. The cost to remove these stickers will eat into the school budget, so in the end, you’re only hurting yourselves.” I imagine the football budget won’t be touched, but Principal Wilson’s expression is so angry, his voice so stern, that I’m almost scared to think something rebellious for fear he might read my mind.
“Now it’s my understanding this Moxie club has been doing bake sales in the cafeteria for the girls’ soccer team,” he continues, and my cheeks flood with heat. I work up the guts to glance at Lucy. Her name is on the club paperwork in the main office. But she just stares ahead, her expression icy.
“Raising money for an athletic team is a noble goal and is allowed on school grounds, but now that this graffiti has become such a problem in our fine school, I have no choice but to ban the Moxie club from any future activities,” continues Principal Wilson. “Any girl who is caught defacing school property or using this Moxie label will be suspended immediately and I will move to have her expelled.”
The audience of girls breaks into whispers.
“Can he really do that?” Sara murmurs.