Word spreads quickly about the Leggings Revolt. I am at my locker when a tenth-grade girl hands me a bag. “For the cause,” she says. Inside are three pairs of black leggings. I can use a pair, and I’ll give the other two to guys like me, who don’t have leggings or a sister to lend them some.
Rowena has set up a Facebook page that already has over two hundred Likes. That’s impressive when you consider enrolment at Lajoie is just under six hundred. “You’re good buds with Miss Aubin,” Rowena tells me. “I bet you could sweet-talk her into giving you a list of email addresses for all the students.”
Before, I’d have tried to talk Rowena into doing it, but now that I know Germinato is her dad, I don’t bother.
At recess I am back in front of Miss Aubin’s desk. Miss Aubin waves me away. “Can you give me five minutes?” she whispers, pointing at her computer screen. I tilt my head, expecting to see words on the screen. Instead, there is a grainy image of Daisy, looking sad, and her mother waving her arms in the background. I have interrupted some kind of online meeting.
I mouth the words no problem to Miss Aubin. I consider waving to Daisy, but then decide that would be dumb. Especially since I hope to eavesdrop. I grab a seat about six feet from Miss Aubin’s desk. Because I have my World History textbook with me, I flip it open and pretend to study.
Miss Aubin’s eyes flit toward me, then away.
“Mrs. Fung, I believe it would be a mistake to transfer Daisy out of Marie Gérin-Lajoie High School,” I hear Miss Aubin say.
From where I am sitting, it’s hard to make out Mrs. Fung’s answer, though I manage to catch the words rules and metro. The Fungs must know about Daisy’s habit of putting on makeup at the metro station.
Now Miss Aubin addresses Daisy. “I’m all for freedom of expression, but I wonder if you’ve thought about the sort of image you present when you dress in a way that draws attention to your body.”
I hear Daisy’s answer, which means she must be shouting. “Why should I have to care about my image? Why don’t you talk to the boys instead? Get them to stop looking at girls as if we’re objects!”
“I see your point, I really do, Daisy,” Miss Aubin says. “There’s no question that boys’ attitudes need to change. But perhaps if you” —Miss Aubin pauses to choose her words— “toned it down, even a little…”
“I only dress to be comfortable!” Daisy insists.
Miss Aubin looks directly into the camera at the top of her computer. “I’m in favor of dressing comfortably. But is it possible that some of your fashion choices might be attracting the wrong kind of attention from the boys?”
Daisy shakes her head. “Whose side are you on anyhow?” she asks Miss Aubin.
“I happen to be on your side, Daisy. I’d just like you to think about the impact of your choices.”
“Fine,” I hear Daisy say. “I’ll think about it.” She still sounds angry.
Miss Aubin sighs. “That’s good. There’s something you should know, Daisy. I’m not the only one who’s on your side. The students at Marie Gérin-Lajoie High School want you back, and they want the suspension wiped from your record.”
Which makes me wonder if Miss Aubin has seen the petition.
I wait until Miss Aubin calls me over. When I get to her desk, she eyes my textbook. “You weren’t really studying World History, were you, Eric?”
“I was, I mean…well, not exactly.” Why is it so hard for me to lie to Miss Aubin? “I overheard a bit of your conversation.”
“A bit?” Miss Aubin raises her eyebrows.
“Okay, a lot. Thanks for trying to keep Daisy at Lajoie. She’s really something, isn’t she?”
“I hope you’re not referring to her physical appearance,” Miss Aubin says.
“Of course not. Though I do like her physical appearance. When I say Daisy is really something, I mean all of her.” As the words tumble out, I realize how much I mean them.
“So, Eric, is there something I can help you with today?”
I almost forgot my mission. “We’re trying to organize this thing”—I don’t want to use the word revolt—“to show our support for Daisy. And, well, I was wondering, you wouldn’t happen to have a list of all the students’ email addresses, would you?”
Miss Aubin grips the edge of her desk. “I could get in all sorts of trouble for sharing that information.”
“I guess I shouldn’t have asked…”
“All right then, Eric, I’d better get back to work.” Miss Aubin looks at her computer and types something on her keyboard. A second later I hear the whir of her printer.
“Okay then, I should get going,” I tell her. “Hey, thanks for telling Daisy we’re trying to help her.”
Miss Aubin’s eyes meet mine. “Eric, could you do me a small favor? I left my fruit salad in the staff room. Would you mind my desk and answer the phone? Just say, ‘You have reached Marie Gérin-Lajoie High School’ and explain that I’ll be back in about seven minutes.”
“Do you want me to get your fruit salad for you…”
“No,” Miss Aubin says. Her tone is firm. “Teachers don’t like students in the staff room.”
Miss Aubin does not shut down her computer.
You can’t blame me for looking at the screen.
My heart beats double-time when I see it is open to a document called Student Email List.
I’ll be back in about seven minutes.
That gives me just enough time to print the list.