Only Girls Allowed by Debra Moffitt

out that the night PrincipalFinklestein came over, Mom and Mrs. McCann actually talked about it.
    â€œVera 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 cellphones 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:
    Â 
    â€œI 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.
    â€œ
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-hoosleepovers!” 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.
    â€œ
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.
    â€œGirls, girls,” she said, “let me see what this is all about.”
    There was a letter taped to the top. Mom read it aloud.
    â€œDear Mrs. Colwin, Due to the unfortunate events, blah-blah-blah. Our school attorneys tell me