“Traitor!” the redhead said, and Emmie transitioned through a dozen shades of red. Angeline actually felt a little sorry for her.
“I should say something,” Angeline whispered to Maxine.
“Do that. After you win the primary.”
Angeline hesitated.
“What?” Maxine said. “You want to win, don’t you? Here’s your chance.”
Angeline thought of Leo, and a knot tightened in the pit of her stomach.
But Leo was gone.
Evelyn’s Epic Everyday was here.
Angeline pictured a million, two, five million subscribers. And she pictured all of them hitting a thumbs-up beside her name.
She elongated her neck. “We can’t just wait. We can’t sit back and let our fates be determined by those who are not us—those who don’t care as much as we do. Which is why, if I’m elected student council president, I’m going to . . . to . . .” Angeline’s eyes flickered to Emmie, and she thought back to what Emmie had said about the power of the masses. And giving them a voice. “To create a system for you to voice your concerns—”
“This isn’t the time or place for primary speeches,” Emmie said, a vein pulsing in her neck.
“Didn’t seem to bother you the other day,” Angeline shot back. “Or is vegan bacon more concerning than the objectification of women? Than having a voice? Than . . .” Her mind seized on the question she’d just answered for her loyal Ask an Angel viewers. “Than ensuring justice?”
Justice . . . sure, but what really engaged was a rallying cry. #femaleempowerment, right?
Angeline swiveled her head to ensure everyone got a glimpse of her good side. “But to have justice, we must have accountability. And accountability starts with us. Bras were strewn all over the school, and we Instagrammed it. A few decried the spirit week cupcake stunt, but one defaced shirt sold on eBay for two hundred dollars. We need to stop. We need to demand responsibility. And we need to advocate for ourselves, every day, right here. One way we can do that is with a peer jury system where students investigate and determine consequences for acts like these committed by their classmates. We need more stringent guidelines for behaviors and sanctions for infringements—ones we collectively agree on. We create an environment where these Frankengirls won’t happen again because they won’t be tolerated, period. Because we know we must answer to one another as fellow citizens of this school.” She wet her lips. “Hashtag #MoreThanOurParts.”
Silence, and then a resounding “More Than Our Parts” echoed through the cafeteria.
Tad planted himself in front of Leo. “You seriously letting this chick lead a witch hunt, Torres? Your balls still tucked in a little velvet pouch in her purse? Or are they in your mommy’s? Or do they share ’em like a custody agreement?”
Leo’s eyes coldcocked Tad, but his hands remained pressed flat against the table.
“More can’t dos, like, seriously?” Josh said. “Man, already I can’t even wear a baseball cap.”
“Abomination,” Tad said, staring at Leo.
The redhead who yelled “traitor” set her sights on Tad. She pointed to his feet, which wore the newest, flashiest sneaker named after a player on the Boston Celtics.
“And you shouldn’t be wearing those,” the girl said. “They cost more than my car.”
Tad snickered. “Remind me not to hitch a ride.”
The girl remained unflustered, like she’d been waiting for this moment a long time. “They foster a divisive environment. We’re here to learn, aren’t we? Not to flash our credit cards. The dress code should have limits.”
Extreme? Probably. But more agreement than Angeline would have expected rolled through the cafeteria. And so, even though it went against every pricey parka, every strappy sandal, and every prepaid prom limo offer that she’d used her talent—not a trust fund—to acquire, she said, “Damn straight. Ultra expensive clothes and shoes and limos to prom single out those whose parents don’t work in tech.” Beside her, Maxine muttered a “Jugular, huh?” but the nods and fist pumps encouraged Angeline. “School should be a safe space where what we have and wear doesn’t create a hierarchy. It’s hard enough, isn’t it? So let our peers at it—figuring out what stays and what goes. From thousand-dollar backpacks to—”
“Dried fruit in the vending machine!” Natalie cried.
“And apples!” Lush Curls said.
“Why not?” Angeline said, surprised that healthy snacks trumped Leo’s smoldering eyes and great hair.
Emmie once again tried to insert herself. “Those are all things to be taken up, but there is already a system in place to do so. Suggestions made to the appropriate teacher liaison using the forms readily available in the front office are filtered through to the administration and brought up—”
“In about a thousand years,” Angeline said. “Screw bureaucracy. We form the world we want by taking action. Ourselves. We bring change. We. Bring. It.”
Tad scoffed. “By ramming things down our throats, more like it. What about you, Torres? Political dynasty offering us the same load of crap?”
Tad pounded his fist against the table, egging Leo to climb up. But Leo’s fear of heights meant even a step stool offered a challenge.
He took a stand but kept his feet firmly on the ground. “What am I offering? One thing that’s easy to comprehend. Stop telling us what to do. We’re here, expected to get top grades, lead our teams to state, drive a car, hell, vote for president. And yet we can’t be trusted to wear whatever we want to school? Because a hat or a plaid shirt tied around your waist is distracting? We should be able to wear whatever we want.”
“Got my vote, hundred percent,” Josh said.
Leo gave a thumbs-up. “This school used to trust us. There was a time we could go off campus and grab a slice of pepperoni from Frank’s Pizza for lunch. We should be able to go where we want.” Agreement spread through the room. “They tell us what clubs we can have, what plays we can put on, what music band performs. Take away our hats, jerseys, our straws. They keep taking, and what are they giving? Nothing but an environment full of pissed-off kids. That’s what makes something like these Frankengirls happen. Pure and simple misplaced frustration. She wants more restrictions? I want less. I want us to be trusted to make our own decisions—all of us, not some elite jury of what surely won’t be all of our peers.”
Emmie stood before them, waving her hand. But this wasn’t class, and there was no teacher to call on her. Angeline and Leo were firmly in charge.
Leo held out his palms to calm the hoots of support, led by Tad. “These photos are unacceptable. But we can’t have a bunch of vigilantes leading the charge.”