Bad Girls in Love by Cynthia Voigt Page A

he decided,“I don’t need to know just what you said. Although,” he warned Louis and everyone else, “I can guess what it might have been. Also,” he warned Mikey, “I don’t need to hear why you found this enough reason to assault a fellow student.”
    â€œYeah,” Louis said.
    â€œBut I want you both to take a full minute of silence—everybody silent now, you know the drill—to think about whether or not you want to go ahead with this fight.”
    â€œI’m not scared of her.” Louis feinted a couple of times. Mikey drew her arm back and punched at his head but Louis danced back, out of reach. She assumed a boxing stance, arms raised and elbows close to her sides, her gloved fists out in front, and jabbed twice at his face.
    Whispers spread the question and its answer, “What did he call Shawn? Aside from Tooth Decay.”
    Mr. Saunders cleared his throat.
    The whole big, hollow room grew silent. Mikey glared at her sneakers. Louis glared at Mikey, then turned to catch his cousin Sal’s eye, then glared at Mikey again.
    Mr. Saunders, like an orchestra conductor, kept everybody pretty much quiet together. People were staring at Shawn Macavity; or they carefully didn’t even look at him; or they looked at him, then looked away. So everybody noticed when he leaned forward to whisper something to Heather McGinty, who was, as always, positioned right next to him—unless Rhonda Ransom got there first. If you were watching the crowd, as Margalo was, you could see the way whatShawn whispered snaked forward to the inside ring of students, as Heather McGinty whispered into Rhonda’s ear, and Rhonda told Derrie, and Derrie told Lynn, and Lynn told Ira, who told Will, who told Sal.
    â€œSays who?” Sal demanded, too loudly.
    â€œSays who what?” Mr. Saunders asked Sal, checking the clock to see that the minute was as good as up.
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œI’m not buying that, Salvatore.”
    Sal knew better than to try to avoid answering. “He”—Sal jerked his head back toward where Shawn Macavity was standing—”thinks this is stupid. Not the drill, sir. Everybody likes the drill. He means her. Her fighting about what Louis called him. Because he definitely isn’t. But even if he was, he doesn’t believe in homophobia. He thinks Louis is having homophobia.”
    Mr. Saunders looked over at Shawn Macavity, whose alarm at this attention was visible. Then he looked down at Louis and Mikey, and both of their faces were pink, although Louis’s was closer to red. Mikey dropped her hands to her sides and shrugged her shoulders. “All right,” she said.
    â€œAll right?” Mr. Saunders asked, surprised.
    â€œAll right I don’t want to fight,” she told him.
    Louis put both of his gloved hands over his head and shook them together, the boxer who just got the decision.
    â€œI’m not apologizing,” Mikey told Mr. Saunders.
    Mr. Saunders pretended that the topic of apology hadnever come up. He unlaced the boxing gloves and pulled them off her hands. Next he turned around and did the same for Louis. “That’s it, then,” he said. “All right, people, it’s time for class.”
    This was how the drill had always worked out so far; and it had always been something of a disappointment as well as a relief. As if nothing much had happened—and in fact, nothing at all had happened—Mr. Saunders strode to the door, turning there to tell them all, “Let’s get going, people. You’ve got six and a half minutes.” But before he left them, he added, “Louis, I want to see you in my office at the end of the day. No”—he held up his hand—”excuses.”
    This was a variation on the usual final step of the drill. Usually, both combatants were summoned to Mr. Saunders’s office at the end of the drill. “What about her?”