“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.”