I don’t get much sleep on Thursday night. I am up past midnight, emailing my list of thirty-five students. Rowena, Maude, Phil, Rory, Theo, Martie and Daisy—she is back at school for what her parents call “a trial period”—are each going to contact thirty-five students too. Even Vicky offered to pitch in.
When I finally get to bed, I am too hyper to sleep.
In the morning there’s a lineup of teenagers outside the bathroom at the metro. I’m not the only guy who didn’t want to leave his house in leggings. I wore jeans over mine, so it doesn’t take me long to peel off the jeans and stash them in my backpack.
When I leave the bathroom, I spot Daisy. “Nice legs!” she says to me.
“I hope you’re not gonna rate my butt!”
“I would never treat anyone like an object,” she says.
We walk to school in a group. I can tell the others feel the way I do, excited and nervous. Excited to be standing up for what we believe, but nervous about Germinato’s reaction.
Students are milling around the school’s front entrance. Every one of them is wearing leggings! Though we did not specify a color, almost everyone is in black leggings. I do see a few gray pairs, and some with patterns. One girl’s leggings have a graffiti design. Germinato is really going to hate those.
I take a deep breath when I see Germinato’s car and another as I push open the front door of the school.
But the first thing I see makes me laugh, which relieves some of the tension I’m feeling. A pair of black leggings hangs off the bottom of the painting of Marie Gérin-Lajoie! Who did that?
There is no sign of either Germinato or Miss Aubin.
Some guy in ninth grade taps my shoulder. His leggings are too short, exposing his hairy calves. “What do you want us to do?” The question takes me by surprise. People don’t usually come to me for instructions.
“Uh, just do whatever you would normally do,” I tell him.
I overhear snippets of conversation around me. “Can you believe how many kids are wearing leggings?” “Where’d you get yours?” “I can’t wait to see the Germinator’s face!”
I am heading to my locker when Miss Aubin walks out of the staff room. She’s wearing leggings! “Good morning, Eric,” she says. Then she winks at me.
Now I hear Germinato’s voice from the other end of the hallway. “Those leggings violate the Lajoie High School dress code. Report to my office immediately. All five of you, on the double! And you too! And you!”
I swear I feel the blood coursing through my veins, pumping me up. Daisy and Rowena are on the way to their lockers too, their elbows linked. “Maybe you should stay out of his way,” I tell Daisy. Then I turn to Rowena. “And you too.” I have not told her that I know Germinato is her dad.
“No way!” they say at the same time.
Germinato is standing in the middle of the locker area, waving his arms like some broken robot. His face is red and swollen-looking. “You! Get to my office!” he shouts.
When he sees the three of us, he gets a wild look in his eyes. “What in tarnation is going on here today?” he asks. “It’s as if everyone in this entire school is wearing leggings! Rowena! Do you have something to do with this…this disaster?”
As I step forward, the locker area becomes suddenly quiet. I can feel everyone watching me. “Mr. Germinato, sir, everyone in this school is wearing leggings. And it’s not a disaster. It’s the Leggings Revolt.”
I want to say more, but Germinato does not let me. “Revolt, my foot!” he shouts. “All of you, to my office now! I am the principal of this school, and you will abide by my rules!”
“Sir,” I say, and I hope no one can tell that my legs are shaking, “there isn’t room in your office for six hundred students. Maybe you need to rethink the dress code.”
Germinato turns his back on all of us and stomps back toward his office. “Should we go to his office like he said?” a girl asks me.
“Like I told him, there won’t be room for all of us,” I say.
“What if we lined up down the hallway?” Rowena asks.
We hear the crackle of the PA system and then Germinato’s voice. “Attention, students and teachers! I am calling an emergency assembly. Everyone to the gym immediately!”
The first thing I notice in the gym is that Miss Aubin is not the only staff or faculty person wearing leggings. Mr. Farrell and half a dozen other teachers are wearing leggings too!
This time no one offers me a Handi Wipe or pretends to cough or sneeze. The gym is a sea of students, all focused on the podium where Germinato is standing. I think we all have the sense that whatever happens, we are making history. From what I can tell, there is only one kid in the gym not wearing leggings—Ivan.