Two
“Seventh-graders at the front!” a woman in track pants calls out as we file into
the gym.
The three of us find spots on the floor. The eighth-graders are behind us. One of
them, a guy with pale, wispy dandelion hair, taps my shoulder and passes me a Handi
Wipe.
When I shrug, Dandelion-Hair whispers, “For fighting off germs. I figured since
you guys are up front…”
“I get it,” I whisper back, trying not to laugh. “Germinato.”
Germinato walks into the gym, and everyone stops talking, even the teachers. The
only sound in the room is the whir of the ceiling fans. Germinato tightens the knot
on his tie and tests the microphone by tapping on it. Staticky noise fills the air.
“Good morning,” Germinato says, clearing his throat. “I’d like to begin by welcoming
those of you who are new to Lajoie High School.” Is it my imagination, or does he
eyeball the three of us? “And to those of you who were here last year, welcome back.
I’m going to use this morning’s assembly to review the school rules.”
The rules are the usual blah-blah. No running except for in the gym. Report to the
office if you are late for class. If you are late three times, you can expect a detention.
Cell phones used during class will be confiscated. Swearing and rude remarks are
strictly prohibited.
I scan the gym for Daisy. She must be sitting somewhere up front too.
Someone at the back of the gym coughs. Then someone else sneezes. “Gesundheit,” a
voice says.
After two more rounds of coughing and sneezing, I realize it’s a joke. I lean closer
to Phil. “Germinato,” I whisper. “Get it?”
If Germinato gets it, he does not let on. He talks right over the coughing and sneezing.
“As you know, there are no uniforms at Lajoie High School.” When Germinato mentions
uniforms, I scratch my neck. It’s as if I can still feel the starched white collar
of the shirt that was part of the uniform at O’Donovan.
“But we do have a dress code. And we adhere to it. Strictly.” Germinato smiles as
he says the word strictly . “This morning I noticed that many of you were dressed
in ways that violate the Lajoie High School dress code. Since this is the first week
of school, the dress code will not be enforced. However, it will take effect as of
next Monday.”
Germinato rattles off the regulations. “No baseball caps. No tops with spaghetti
straps. No visible bra straps. No visible midriffs. No shorts or skirts shorter than
the reach of your fingertips.” Germinato steps away from the microphone to demonstrate.
He extends his arms, tapping the spot on his thighs where his fingertips end. “Basically,
nothing that could distract ”—he emphasizes the word—“your fellow students at Lajoie
High School. Because the focus at Lajoie is neither fashion nor fun. It is”—he pauses—“education.”
A hand flies up into the air at the other side of the gym. “Can I ask a question,
sir?” It’s the redhead who was walking with Daisy. Daisy is sitting next to her.
I think she’s got a sketchpad on her lap.
Germinato shakes his head. “Not right now. I’ll leave time for questions at the end
of my presentation. What I want to discuss next is our Student Life Committee. We
need one representative from every grade. If you are interested in serving on this
committee, you will have to fill out a form and write an essay outlining your platform.
My assistant, Miss Aubin, can provide more details.”
A tall thin woman standing at the side of the gym waves one hand in the air. That
must be Miss Aubin.
“Elections for the Student Life Committee will be held at the end of next week,”
Germinato says. “You may now proceed to your homerooms.”
“What about the question period?” the redhead calls out.
Germinato checks his watch. “Unfortunately, we’re nearly out of time. But I will
take one question.”
The redhead’s arm is raised, but Germinato looks around the gym to see if anyone
else has a
“Seventh-graders at the front!” a woman in track pants calls out as we file into
the gym.
The three of us find spots on the floor. The eighth-graders are behind us. One of
them, a guy with pale, wispy dandelion hair, taps my shoulder and passes me a Handi
Wipe.
When I shrug, Dandelion-Hair whispers, “For fighting off germs. I figured since
you guys are up front…”
“I get it,” I whisper back, trying not to laugh. “Germinato.”
Germinato walks into the gym, and everyone stops talking, even the teachers. The
only sound in the room is the whir of the ceiling fans. Germinato tightens the knot
on his tie and tests the microphone by tapping on it. Staticky noise fills the air.
“Good morning,” Germinato says, clearing his throat. “I’d like to begin by welcoming
those of you who are new to Lajoie High School.” Is it my imagination, or does he
eyeball the three of us? “And to those of you who were here last year, welcome back.
I’m going to use this morning’s assembly to review the school rules.”
The rules are the usual blah-blah. No running except for in the gym. Report to the
office if you are late for class. If you are late three times, you can expect a detention.
Cell phones used during class will be confiscated. Swearing and rude remarks are
strictly prohibited.
I scan the gym for Daisy. She must be sitting somewhere up front too.
Someone at the back of the gym coughs. Then someone else sneezes. “Gesundheit,” a
voice says.
After two more rounds of coughing and sneezing, I realize it’s a joke. I lean closer
to Phil. “Germinato,” I whisper. “Get it?”
If Germinato gets it, he does not let on. He talks right over the coughing and sneezing.
“As you know, there are no uniforms at Lajoie High School.” When Germinato mentions
uniforms, I scratch my neck. It’s as if I can still feel the starched white collar
of the shirt that was part of the uniform at O’Donovan.
“But we do have a dress code. And we adhere to it. Strictly.” Germinato smiles as
he says the word strictly . “This morning I noticed that many of you were dressed
in ways that violate the Lajoie High School dress code. Since this is the first week
of school, the dress code will not be enforced. However, it will take effect as of
next Monday.”
Germinato rattles off the regulations. “No baseball caps. No tops with spaghetti
straps. No visible bra straps. No visible midriffs. No shorts or skirts shorter than
the reach of your fingertips.” Germinato steps away from the microphone to demonstrate.
He extends his arms, tapping the spot on his thighs where his fingertips end. “Basically,
nothing that could distract ”—he emphasizes the word—“your fellow students at Lajoie
High School. Because the focus at Lajoie is neither fashion nor fun. It is”—he pauses—“education.”
A hand flies up into the air at the other side of the gym. “Can I ask a question,
sir?” It’s the redhead who was walking with Daisy. Daisy is sitting next to her.
I think she’s got a sketchpad on her lap.
Germinato shakes his head. “Not right now. I’ll leave time for questions at the end
of my presentation. What I want to discuss next is our Student Life Committee. We
need one representative from every grade. If you are interested in serving on this
committee, you will have to fill out a form and write an essay outlining your platform.
My assistant, Miss Aubin, can provide more details.”
A tall thin woman standing at the side of the gym waves one hand in the air. That
must be Miss Aubin.
“Elections for the Student Life Committee will be held at the end of next week,”
Germinato says. “You may now proceed to your homerooms.”
“What about the question period?” the redhead calls out.
Germinato checks his watch. “Unfortunately, we’re nearly out of time. But I will
take one question.”
The redhead’s arm is raised, but Germinato looks around the gym to see if anyone
else has a
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