Watch Us Rise(47)

“You can’t use the word ‘revolution,’ ” Ms. Lucas says, eyeing the paper over my shoulder.

“But that’s what it is. You saw how many people showed up here today, right?”

“Listen, I am here for you all, since I am your advisor, but ‘join the revolution’ is very different from ‘join the conversation.’ Let’s get back to the dialogue, and everything will be fine.” She finishes packing up her room and walks out with us. “Let’s keep it all on the up-and-up.”

“Okay,” I say, frustrated that I can’t change her mind. “I gotta run to my locker before my next class. Maybe we can talk about this later?” I add. Ms. Lucas nods as I rush out.

I run upstairs to the third floor to grab my textbook before STEAM. I’ve been reading a ton of tech blogs, and I can’t wait to bring some of my newfound poems to class. I only have a few minutes before the lunch bell rings, so when I see Jacob Rizer near his locker, I almost turn around and leave my poems, but he stops me.

“Chelsea Spencer—poet, activist, T-shirt designer—she does it all,” he finishes, starting to laugh.

“Did you wanna buy a shirt? Because we actually SOLD OUT. Too bad you missed your chance,” I say.

“Oh, I probably still have a chance,” Jacob says, and I take a step back. If he’s flirting with me, and I think he is, then he’s doing it in a creepy way. I give him a look and open up my locker.

“Whatever,” I say.

“So you miss us in poetry club?” he asks, pushing his shoulder up against mine for a quick second. It’s not too hard, but it’s definitely uncomfortable, and way closer than he’s ever gotten to me. Jacob was always such a jerk in class, and now I’m wondering if he was acting like a kid—like how my dad once told me when a boy really likes you they’re mean to you.

“Nope, I’m pretty good where I am, thanks,” I say, and move to grab the book inside my locker and get out of the hallway, which is still empty since lunch hasn’t let out yet.

“Come on, admit it, you miss me just a little, right?”

“Oh yeah, I really miss all the times you talked over me in class, and when you’d make fun of what I said . . . ?yup, I really miss that.”

“Ah, I knew you missed me. But I guess now you’re too busy writing your sweet little poems about how hard the world is for girls. Poor little girl,” he says, and pats me on the head like I’m a puppy or some small animal.

I don’t know what it is, but something snaps in me, and I shove him off me, hard.

“Jeez, Spencer, you can’t even take a little joke?”

“It’s not funny,” I say, “and don’t touch me.” Tears come to my eyes.

“Yeah, everyone is right about you and Jasmine. Always taking everything so seriously. And always making it about you.”

“Shut up,” I say, struggling to find a better comeback, but mostly just trying to walk away. I shut the locker door.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bother you anymore.”

“Thanks,” I say, trying to push past him. He’s standing so close to me that it’s hard for me to move away.

“You can go ahead and keep working on the next Feminist Manifesta,” Jacob says, starting to laugh again, and as soon as I turn around, he slaps me . . . ?on my butt . . . ?right there in the empty hallway, with no one around to witness. I don’t even turn around. My whole body feels like it’s burning, like I’m on fire, and I can’t catch my breath, and the tears are coming down for real now. I keep walking faster and faster.

“It was a joke, Spencer. A JOKE. Come on, lighten up,” he calls after me.

I make it as far as the bathroom at the end of the hall before I’m behind one of the stalls trying to control my sobbing. I lean against the door and start to take deep breaths. I know what I have to do, and I take a few more minutes before pulling myself together. When the end-of-lunch bell rings, I walk down the stairs and straight for Principal Hayes’s office.

“May I help you?” his secretary, Ms. Potts, asks.

“I’d like to speak to Principal Hayes, please. It’s important.”

“And remind me of your name, dear.”

“Chelsea Spencer.”

“Oh, yes, I have been hearing your name quite a bit,” she says, smiling, “and reading that very smart blog of yours and Jasmine Gray’s. Very smart indeed.” She nods in my direction like she’s in on a secret with me and lets Principal Hayes know that a student is here to see him.

“Well, to what do I owe the honor?” Principal Hayes says, standing in his doorway.

“I, um, I just wanted to talk to you about an incident,” I say.

“Okay, I’m all ears,” he says, “and Ms. Potts, could you go ahead and set up that conference call for me—it’s in about ten minutes.”

“Oh, um, well, it’s uh, I would like some time to talk, because it was a pretty big deal,” I say.

“I’ll decide on that,” he answers. “Because, Chelsea, you understand that there have been several issues that you’ve been involved in lately, correct?”

“Yes,” I answer, refusing to say correct, and feeling like I’m being talked down to for the second time today. He waits, looking from me to Ms. Potts, who is watching, trying to pretend she isn’t paying attention, even though it’s obvious that she is.