Plaid, Panic, and Poor Decisions

Earth, a great man once said, is the insane asylum of the universe. Standing in a room full of boys dancing on top of desks, I can confirm this. The only thing I can truly say about that situation? I was one of those monkeys. Do I regret it? No. Do I wish I hadn’t gotten Saturday detentions for the rest of the year? Yes. Do I still think it was for a good cause? Also yes.

The Snowcap Middle Strike. I am proud to say it will go down in middle school revolution history. The only thing people will be wondering years from now, when all the revolutionaries are old grandpas, is this: how did it all begin? It's my job to answer this fair inquiry.

It all started one afternoon, a dreary Wednesday, smack dab in the middle of October. On that particular day, Sam Wells, my best friend, was trying to get Kate Park’s attention for the third time that week. Just as he threw a crumpled ball of paper at her, a very abused math test, Mrs. Lenburg snatched it out of his hand. In hindsight, she saved Sam from a very annoyed Kate Park, which might have been worse than a slightly perturbed Mrs. Lenburg.

Although the whole Sam-and-Kate thing was interesting, Mrs. Lenburg had my attention. I assumed my attention would go straight into her trash bin, as it always did during pre-algebra, but this time was different. She held my attention with the iron grip of her next few words. In fact, she had the whole class trapped in an auditory cage.

“Students,” she began in her snobby, transatlantic accent, “as you are likely aware, Principal Newman announced at the beginning of the year that there would be some changes implemented for the betterment of your education.” So far, the lecture wasn’t going well. For the students, at least. “Starting next week, we will be increasing the homework, and”—everyone in the room will swear she had an evil grin—“the school will now require uniforms. Any questions?”

Twenty-two hands shot up. I didn’t raise mine because I genuinely didn’t have any questions. Mrs. Lenburg was pretty clear. Leanne Fletcher didn’t raise her hand either, probably because she didn’t give two pence.

“Mrs., we already changed the curriculum. Wouldn’t increasing the workload this early in the year be counterproductive to the school’s goals?” Liah Hartman asked. The rest of the class nodded along, even if half of them didn’t understand a word she was saying.

“And, Mrs., no one wants to wear uniforms. Don’t we already have a ridiculously strict dress code?” Andy Morris chimed in. At this point, the buzz of indignant murmuring had taken over most of the classroom. Although most of the girls hated Andy, it seemed the dumb jock had them on his side for once. Good going, Andy.

See, the problem with Mrs. Lenburg’s class was simple: her students were smart. And I mean very smart. Like, at least two of them wrote five-page essays explaining cryptocurrency and how it impacts America smart. I myself have a photographic memory, not to brag or anything, but for the sake of the story. Basically, Mrs. Lenburg had just walked into an eight-foot pool holding a rock. She was way over her head and about to start a war with eighth graders.

That day was the first time I actually considered Darwin’s claim that humans evolved from monkeys. The buzz of indignant murmuring turned to indignant shouting, and the only person who didn’t participate was Leanne Fletcher. She was too busy sharpening a pencil with a pocket knife that must’ve wormed its way into her backpack. As chaos raged around her, Mrs. Lenburg looked like a cornered monkey with an extremely odd taste in fashion. It took her forty-five minutes to calm us down, which just so happened to be the amount of time before the bell rang.

Don’t ever tell Mrs. Lenburg this, but we totally played her with the timing thing.

While the rest of the world went about life as normal, the students of Snowcap Middle were planning a revolution. By Monday, it didn’t feel like a school anymore. It felt like the quiet right before a thunderstorm. My twin sister Mia had Hamilton on full blast as she got ready that morning. Meanwhile, I was mapping out a strategy in my head like we were about to overthrow something bigger than a dress code. And yeah, I do grasp how stupid that sounds. My phone buzzed. Sam had called for an emergency lunch meeting.

When Mia and I arrived, everyone looked… blank. Too blank. Conversations were whispers. Movements were careful. It was the kind of silence that isn’t really silence at all. I grinned.

The revolution had begun.

“So, I read the entire dress code book last night,” Sam said, hands spread like he was presenting a master plan, “and let’s just say there are some loopholes we can work with.” The lunch table was laser-focused that day. Not one stray airplane took flight.

I leaned forward. “How?”

“The dress code doesn’t say anything about decorating uniforms,” he said. “That’s where we start. I just need you to get your sister on board.”

“I still can’t believe you two are related,” Jay muttered. “Your sister is somewhere between diva and monster.” Mia scared the crud out of Jay. Scratch that. Mia scared the crud out of grown men.

“In her defense,” I said, “that’s exactly what we need. Well, that and a really big group chat."

“I can make the group chat.”

We all jumped. Leanne Fletcher dropped into the seat next to me like she’d been there the whole time. Punk bag. Pocket knife. Zero emotion.

“You’re in on this?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a rebellion.”

“We prefer the term revolution,” Sam muttered.

“Whatever,” she said. “I need your guys’ numbers.”

And just like that, the heroes teamed up with the villain. Friday was the beginning.

It started small. A rhinestone here. A patch there. Then slogans. Colors. Entire sleeves rewritten in Sharpie. By the second period, the halls looked less like a school and more like a moving, breathing protest.

As the week ended, I had a feeling that the revolution had only just started. And that bedazzling some uniforms wasn’t half as far as a bunch of eighth graders would go in the name of justice. Was it dumb to start a war over a couple of plaid skirts and nice pants? Absolutely. Did it singlehandedly unite the entire eighth grade? Yes. Will I ever regret it? No. Because even though the school system works, kids need a chance to be their own people. Because today’s crazy kids will be tomorrow's crazy leaders. After all, a great man once said, Earth is the insane asylum of the universe.