Bad Girls, Bad Girls, Whatcha Gonna Do? by Cynthia Voigt

Jace, about who was going to make the pictures and what the pictures should look like. It was the should that got them into trouble.
    Finally Tim suggested, “How about one by each of you? That would work pretty well, visually, don’t you think? Three different images, wouldn’t that be more interesting? You guys decide among yourselves who’s going to do which one, but can you have them for me by Monday morning? Because we’ll want to put the notices up on Wednesday.”
    â€œWill we need signatures?” Casey wondered.
    â€œWe’ll tell people what we’re doing,” they answered. “That, plus the actual restraining orders posted all over the school will do it. I can’t wait for those three to get back to school and see what we’ve got waiting for them. Can you, Hadrian?”
    They all turned to look at Hadrian. He looked both hopeful and worried. “Are you sure it’ll work?”
    â€œOf course not,” Margalo told him.
    â€œBecause it could just make things worse,” he said.
    â€œHow much worse can they get?” asked Mikey.
    â€œThings can always get worse,” Hadrian assured her.

    By waiting until Wednesday to post their notices, they gave rumors about what the ninth grade was up to two and a half days to be planted and to grow fat and weedy, fed by curiosity and a sense of injustice. On Wednesday they waited until Lunch A, hoping that the school—by which they meant administrators, discipliners, those in charge of keeping things orderly—wouldn’t have time in only half a school day to make a decision about how to react. This was in case their reaction was to veto the restraining order and take down the notices. Margalo argued, convincingly, that after two-and-a-half days of waiting impatiently to learn what was going on, and then half a day of knowing about it and wanting to take part, the students would be putting pressure on the school to let the restraining order stand. Probably many parents would agree, since parents could get pretty worked up over injustices and victimizations at school.
    After Lunch A on Wednesday they put up their notices wherever they thought a notice would be seen—in the glass window of the library, beside the entrance to the gym, on the Guidance Department’s student-interest bulletin board, on the glass front of the locked case that displayed all the sports trophies ever won by any of the teams, by the doors to both faculty lounges and, finally, one on each of their own locker doors. They posted their restraining orders and then they waited for whatever would happen next.
    The first thing that happened was people everywhere, inall the corridors, in all the classrooms, anticipating how Sven and his goons would react to this. “This’ll teach them” appeared to be the general opinion.
    The bad side of that enthusiastic response was, as Tim pointed out and Margalo couldn’t disagree, that somebody was bound to tell Sven et al, which meant they would lose the element of surprise.
    â€œWhat do you mean at all?” asked Mikey.
    â€œIt’s Latin,” Margalo explained.
    â€œNo it isn’t.”
    â€œ Et al ,” Hadrian said. “It means and everybody else, in this case, and Harold and Toby .”
    â€œI hate Latin,” Mikey said.
    â€œNo you don’t,” Margalo told her, irritatingly. “You just don’t know anything about it.”
    â€œ De gustibus non est disputandum ,” said Tim, but then he ruined it by laughing. Tim wasn’t the kind of person who could keep a straight face very long.
    â€œWhat-Ever,” Mikey said. “You’re right about losing the element of surprise.”
    â€œBut surprise only lasts a couple of minutes anyway,” Margalo pointed out. “And this way, instead of surprise they’ll feel dread, which is more what we want, isn’t it?”
    In a mood of unusual solidarity, not only