Only Girls Allowed (12 page)

The principal responded by saying that while our intentions might have been good, he was concerned with “outcomes” and “liability.” Among themselves, the grownup conversation then turned to why, “in this day and age,” none of us had told our parents.

Well, not exactly none
.

I locked eyes with Kate. Her mother spoke up next.

“I blame myself,” Kate's mom told the crowd. “I was a part of this Pink Locker group twenty years ago, and I told her it was okay.”

The crowd murmured as if they were trying to figure out if that was terrible or an understandable mistake. Principal Finklestein was the first to speak.

“Maybe it was fine twenty years ago, but not anymore,” he said. “Times have changed.”

I felt dizzy and sick. No one had mentioned Edith yet, and I sure wasn't going to bring her up. With no real destination in mind, I wove in and around the people in my living room until I was in the kitchen. Then I moved through there into the laundry room.

I opened the extra fridge and thought about getting something to drink. But instead I just stared into the cool
air, unable to focus on any one thing. I needed a moment to absorb what had just happened. I needed more than a moment, actually. The secret society we were in had been entirely revealed. And that is why, at 5:25 in the afternoon, my living room was filled with my school principal, my best friends, as well as the boy I am in love with, and everyone's parents.

Because I was still in this state of early absorption, I was not prepared to hear that boy call my name. But he did. Forrest was standing in the door frame of the laundry room and looked a little like he did that day I dragged him into the PLS offices. Not scared exactly, but rattled.

“You all right?”

I studied him for a moment like he was a ghost, probably because I often imagined what it would be like if he were where I was. Last summer, I pictured him on the seat next to mine during that long whale-watching boat tour my family took. I've also imagined him at the other end of the pool as I executed a perfect dive, my painted, pointed toes entering the water with hardly a splash. All that imagining made him seem unreal, but here he was: just a boy in the doorway of my laundry room. He was standing next to the old washboard my mom hung on the wall.

I don't know how much time passed with me just staring at him. But when he repeated his question to me, I just said, “No, I don't think so.”

“It's going to be okay,” Forrest said. “They told my
mom and me that we're not going to get in any trouble. They just want all this to go away.”

Then, like a bucket of cold water, it hit me. Forrest was there, being interrogated along with the rest of us, entirely because of me. I dragged him into this.

“God, they know you were in there, right?” I said. “How? I didn't tell anyone.”

Then the second bucket of cold water hit me: Bet had told them about Forrest too.

“Oh,” I said, mostly to myself.

“Don't be mad at her. She's freaking out. They probably told her they would kick her out of school if she didn't talk,” Forrest said.

Even in the midst of everything, I enjoyed the fact that Forrest had kind of read my mind there. It was then that I shivered and realized I was still holding the refrigerator door open. I turned my back on Forrest and told the water bottles and the extra milk jug that I was sorry.

“What?” Forrest said.

Then I closed the fridge, turned to him, and said it—in English, in person, and out loud.

“I'm so sorry, Forrest, about everything.”

Here came the pause I was so worried about. He could say anything or nothing. I held my breath because I didn't want to think about what it would be like to go to school on Monday, and all the other days that would follow, if I couldn't look forward to seeing Forrest there. But
he didn't stay silent. And he didn't say he hated me. Or that he didn't want to talk to me ever again.

“It's okay,” he said. “And I didn't say anything to Taylor.”

“Good,” I said. “That's good.”

Right then I wanted to ask him if he was going to break up with her. But I just could not do it. Instead, I just stood there staring in his direction.

Then Forrest smiled at me, the smile of old times. He smiled like that when we used to play flashlight tag and that time when we ate pizza at the Fourth of July fireworks. It was back before he was my number-one obsession. Years ago, he was just a boy who was my friend. Maybe that's what he still was, or could be. But before I could analyze our laundry-room moment as much as I wanted to, he said we'd better get going.

Out in the living room, the grown-ups were wrapping up. Principal Finklestein was gone, thankfully, but left a stack of his business cards on the coffee table. Forrest left with his mom. Then one by one, the girls left with their parents until I was left alone with mine. Usually, Mom and Dad want to talk about stuff until the cows come home. But this time they just said, “Why don't you get ready for dinner? It's been a long day.”

Never fear, the lecture came soon enough. Later that night, after we ate, my mom and dad told me that I shouldn't have been so secretive. They too said even though we meant
well, we shouldn't have gone ahead and started a Web site alone.

“It's too much responsibility, as you unfortunately found out,” my mother said.

I wanted to remind them about Taylor and all she had done, but I knew they weren't going to see it exactly my way.

After a little while, I started to cry. I think I cried some for the Pink Locker Society, which now seemed lost forever, like a dream you can only remember bits of. Though it made me seem younger than I am, it felt very good for my parents to be sitting there with me, wiping my tears away and saying what my mother always says: “This too shall pass.”

 

It took more than a month, but I started to think less and less about the Pink Locker Society. My grades improved. Piper, Kate, and I were still best friends. We all supported Bet's new MSTV show, but she did not do any further reports about the Pink Locker Society. I remained on the track team, started putting more effort into my running, and seemed to be good at it.

Taylor never did get any kind of school suspension or anything. She and Forrest continued to be a couple, which broke my heart and confused me deeply. Kate was kind enough not to say “I told you so.” My mother, quoting Forrest's mom, gave me the only clue I have about the Forrest-Taylor situation. Turns out that the night Principal
Finklestein came over, Mom and Mrs. McCann actually talked about it.

“Vera thinks it's a bit soon for Forrest to have a girlfriend,” Mom told me. “But she says something about Taylor just fascinates him.”

Occasionally, I would hear that recycled rumor about Taylor and Gabe, but it no longer gave me any hope. I knew the story behind the story. I used to take any opportunity to look at Taylor, to check out her clothes and her shoes. But now I just looked the other way whenever she came into view.

What else do you need to know? No, I still hadn't gotten my period. But I wasn't completely a Flatty McFlat Chest anymore. And, no, I wasn't stuffing my bra.

We didn't know what to do about the pink locker doors. No one ever asked us about Edith, the other Pinkies, or our secret offices. So we assumed nobody knew about that. The hardest part though was not being there for girls who needed us. Sometimes I would run across a sixth-grade girl who looked particularly confused and think that she really needed the Pink Locker Society. I didn't even have to hear her speak to know that she could use some guidance, probably because not so long ago I was that girl. You know the one? She pushes with all her might on the door that says “PULL” in letters as big as her head.

But who would answer her now? Our laptop was gone. The Web site was gone. It had been weeks since our cell
phones alerted us to a new question. There might be a thousand questions waiting for us. We didn't know.

School life readjusted to a different rhythm. I wasn't as busy. It felt OK to go at a slower pace, but I missed the work of the Pink Locker Society. It made me feel needed and smart. I learned a lot, including that I wasn't such a freak myself with all my many concerns.

I missed getting thank you letters from our . . . whatever they were . . . our customers, our clients, our friends? Who doesn't like a heap of praise? Not that I need applause all day long, but they always put a smile on my face. I forwarded one of them to my phone and I refused to delete it. It said:

 

“I thank you soooooooo much for creating this Web site. It makes me feel normal and special at the same time.”

The Pink Locker Society did the same for me. And now, I just felt normal. Normal is OK, but it's a wee bit dull. That's why I invited Kate and Piper to my house for a sleepover.

“
Viva la
sleepovers!” Piper called out when I invited her on Thursday. She sometimes did this—took a phrase and tried to work it into every possible situation. One summer she talked like a pirate from the time school let out until it started up again in August. But now she was on a Spanish kick. So instead of “Long live sleepovers!” or “Woo-hoo
sleepovers!” Piper gave us “
Viva la
sleepovers!” I had to agree. May they never end!

We decided this sleepover should start right after school on Friday, so Piper and Kate walked home from school with me. The night stretched out ahead of us with good stuff planned: a movie, pizza, and then some joint decision making about yearbook photos.

“
Viva la
doorbells!” Piper yelled when the doorbell rang at my house.

The mailman was standing there with a large manilla envelope—the kind with Bubble Wrap lining the inside. It was addressed to my mother, and it was from Margaret Simon Middle School. It was way too heavy to be just a letter.

We found my mother on the sunporch, with her reading glasses on the tip of her nose and a book in her lap. Good old Mom.

She pulled the zip tab on the envelope and pulled out our pink laptop. We shrieked.

“Girls, girls,” she said, “let me see what this is all about.”

There was a letter taped to the top. Mom read it aloud.

“Dear Mrs. Colwin, Due to the unfortunate events, blah-blah-blah. Our school attorneys tell me it would be inappropriate for me to seize this piece of personal property. Blah-blah-blah. We are returning this laptop in the hope that the girls will use it only for productive purposes. Sincerely yours, Prinicpal Finklestein.”

“
Viva la
U.S. Mail!” Piper yelled out.

My mother giggled and said, “Okay, girls. Looks like you can have this computer back. Where did it come from, anyway?”

“It was mine,” Piper said, “Thanks.”

She grabbed the laptop and we followed her back to the family room.

“
Viva la
laptop!” Piper whispered when we were out of my mother's earshot.

It was just a cold piece of plastic technology, but having the computer back sent us on a trip down memory lane.

“Remember our first meeting when Jem couldn't open the pink locker?” Piper said.

“And remember when Jem decided that Forrest needed a personal tour?” Kate said.

In the weeks since we'd been permanently shut down, I had confessed my wrongdoing.

“Hey, does anyone remember that we actually did some good?” I said. “People loved us. We had fans.”

“Let's turn it on,” Piper said, “just for old time's sake.”

“It's just a computer now. It's nice to have, but not that special anymore,” I said.

“Let's see if there's anything left,” Piper said, and spun the laptop toward her.

“What must Edith think?” Kate said, “We should have sent her a PLS-SOS.”

“And say what? That we've been banned?” Piper said.

Piper clicked around and found that the site was still there. But it was frozen in time, still showing that message about being temporarily shut down.

Meanwhile, between bites of pizza, Kate and I kept talking about all that had happened.

“If you could go back in time, would you do anything differently? Like maybe never step through the pink locker door?” Kate asked me.

“No, I think I'd still go. Well, I'd still go if you pulled me in.”

“Oh, my gosh, remember the snacks?” Kate said.

“
Viva la
snacks!” said Piper, pumping a fist in the air and then getting back to her clicking and clacking. Then we heard the laptop start humming; its internal fan started whirring, and simultaneously all three of our phones sprang to life. The old “Think pink!” ringtone. We had messages—Pink Locker Society messages!

“It's probably just Piper cranking us,” Kate said.

“Yeah, Pipes. That's cruel. You got us all excited,” I said.

“
Viva la
text messages!” Piper said. “Look for yourselves.”