Chapter 31
TORI
The new Instagram profile I’ve set up with all the information about our campaign got almost a hundred followers just over the weekend.
After the morning assembly – at which a surprising number of girls wore beige or dark blue chinos, and the boys were in pleated skirts – the photos I shared in the story were reposted so often that we passed the thousand mark in just a few days.
People at other boarding schools say we’ve inspired them to protest against their dress codes too, and total strangers assure us of their virtual support.
And it’s working. The teachers look stunned when they first see us, but it doesn’t take them long to give us appreciative nods and whispers of off-the-record support.
Mr Acevedo looks particularly proud as we pass him after the assembly in which Mrs Sinclair informs us that she was unable to persuade the governors, and that this has to be the last time we break the rules. If only she knew that this was just the start.
Charlie was coy at first when he tried on one of my skirts yesterday evening.
I can’t blame him. It must feel weird to be unrestricted down below when you’re used to wearing trousers all the time, but he didn’t moan much, or make fun.
Unlike Valentine and his pals, who – obviously – think the whole thing is ridiculous.
Val spends the whole of assembly, and later on at breakfast, laughing about us with his gang.
I’m too excited by how many people have joined in the campaign to be annoyed.
Girls in every form have left their skirts in their wardrobes and worn ordinary trousers with their blouses and blazers.
The lads are a bit more reluctant, especially in the lower forms, but that’s OK.
There’s another assembly next Monday when we can make our protest before the grand finale – the Farewell to the Upper Sixth.
But we might not even need to, as I notice when we meet Charlie’s mum later in the corridor.
Her eyes run over Emma, Olive and me, then come to rest on Henry and her son.
It would be untrue to say that I’m not at all afraid of her reaction, seeing that none of us have changed, like she told us to at assembly.
But I’m not prepared to back down again.
‘Mrs Sinclair,’ Charlie greets her, and I wonder how he can keep such a straight face.
‘Good morning, all of you,’ she says. ‘You know that I have to issue another reminder of the official dress code, right?’
‘I would like to speak to you about that,’ Henry says, ‘as school captain, on behalf of everyone at the school. Tori will back me up.’
Mrs Sinclair sighs. ‘Fine. You two come and see me in my office after study hour. Although I can tell you now that nothing about the situation is going to change.’
‘With all due respect,’ Henry gives her his politest school-captain smile, ‘we’ll see about that, Mrs Sinclair.’
SINCLAIR
I suspect it’s thanks to the media attention that, after a lot of back and forth, Mum psyches herself up to announce a gender-neutral uniform policy – against the will of the governors.
It doesn’t mean us boys are about to start wearing pleated skirts, but we could if we wanted to.
And the girls are now allowed to wear trousers, even on formal occasions.
The Instagram profile that Tori set up for our campaign went sufficiently viral for Mum to be interviewed by the local press.
Something must have happened, though, which I notice at dinner at home on Saturday evening: she looks anything but happy.
‘Is everything OK?’ I ask, as I sit down with her and Dad.
Mum sighs. ‘I’m afraid not.’ She looks at me. ‘The governors are still on at me about the uniform business. They won’t change their minds.’
‘Meaning?’
‘They’re furious, and they’re demanding an instant return to the traditional dress code. Some parents are even threatening to take their children out of the school.’
‘They’re what?’ I blurt. ‘Seriously? Over a stupid uniform policy?’
‘You know that your fellow pupils come from a wide range of cultures, Charlie. It’s important to me that Dunbridge Academy is an inclusive and liberal place, where everyone feels comfortable, but I also understand that it can be hard to let go of old beliefs and be tolerant towards newer ones.’
‘How can it be a liberal place where everyone feels comfortable if it’s going to give way over something so silly?’
‘Charlie, this is about one day a week . . .’
‘This is about the principle, Mum.’
‘I’m on your side, love,’ she says, which makes everything all the more frustrating. ‘And I really have tried to explain to the governors and the parents’ council that even an elite boarding school, for all its traditions, has to move with the times.’
The parents’ council . . . a.k.a. Valentine Ward’s mother, who’s been gunning for Mum for years and won’t miss an opportunity to kick up a fuss.
Unfortunately, Veronica Ward is also one of the school’s most influential backers, and regularly donates eye-watering sums of money, possibly in the hope that it will somehow help her waste-of-space son to scrape through his A levels.
‘Unfortunately, some of them are very set in their ways.’
‘So what does that mean?’
‘Charlie, it’s breaking my heart, but if certain people stop donating money to the school, things will soon be looking grim. And they’ve made it very clear that they don’t approve of their sons and daughters being taught at an institution that’s undermining traditional values.’
‘But we can’t let them do that!’ I protest. ‘That’s exactly how people like the Wards always end up winning, just because of their shitey money. Mum, you can’t let this happen.’
‘I’m afraid there’s no solution that will keep everyone happy here.’
I want to reply, but I bite the words back.
Mum might believe it, but that makes it our job to find one.
TORI
‘They said what?’ I laugh. ‘God, how old-fashioned can you get? Just because we’re standing up for equality? The governors get to wear whatever they like, don’t they?’
Charlie shrugs. He’s sitting on a bench in the courtyard. ‘Mum thinks it’s stupid too.’
‘But she still won’t do anything?’
‘As head teacher, she has to take everyone’s interests into account,’ Henry says.
‘I think freedom of choice is in everyone’s interests, don’t you?’
‘Man, Tori, sometimes things just aren’t that simple,’ Gideon puts in. ‘Obviously I’m in favour of everyone being able to wear what they like. But I’m also in favour of staying at this school, and just now that’s looking shaky. At least, if you ask my dad.’
‘Do your parents really have that much of a problem with it?’ Olive asks.
‘They’re worried. And I’m not the only one. I’ve spoken to a few people in other years. Especially the younger ones – there are loads of kids from conservative families who want to send them somewhere else.’
‘So we’re giving up?’ I wonder. ‘I think our families would be better off worrying about their children being discriminated against at this school.’
‘I know, Tori,’ says Charlie, but I look past him to Valentine, who’s just walking by with a few of his guys.
He gives me such a look of contempt that hot rage begins to boil in my belly.
He definitely got his parents involved, because he can’t stand the idea that we might succeed with our campaign.
And it doesn’t even matter to him – hopefully he’ll never have to set foot in this school again after this term.
He probably just about scraped through his A levels, and his parents will get him into university somewhere, I’m sure.
It’s hard to express how much you can despise a person, even before he started sabotaging our plans, which is making me mad with rage.
‘Where’s your pretty skirt, Sinclair?’
Charlie whirls round, and I grab his wrist.
‘Shut the fuck up, Ward.’ It’s actually Henry who steps in and gives Valentine a withering glare. Henry, who takes his job as school captain dead seriously and never swears in public. But also Henry whose sister died – his sister who would be livid if she knew what was going on here.
‘No problem. I brought you a little something but there’s no need for words.
’ He slaps a round sticker on Henry’s back.
‘Want some more? Here, they’re on me.’ Val reaches into his trouser pockets and throws a handful at us.
The stickers flutter to the ground as Val walks off.
Charlie catches one and turns it over. brING BACK MANLY MEN, I read.
I burst out laughing.
‘God, how Neanderthal can you get?’ murmurs Charlie.
Emma peels the sticker off Henry’s back and crumples it in her hand.
‘I reckon he actually means it.’ Olive sighs.
‘We can try again next year,’ Emma suggests. ‘He’ll be gone by then, so his mum won’t be on the parents’ council any more, right?’
There’s an awkward silence. Henry’s saying something now, but I’m not even listening: suddenly I’ve got this idea.
‘What’s up?’ Charlie asks, looking at me. ‘Tori?’
Bring back manly men . . .
OK, Valentine Ward, we’re on the same page.
You want trouble?
You’ve got it.