Free It's Not Easy Being Bad by Cynthia Voigt Page B

assembly: the dance. Every year at West Junior High, the seventh grade hosted a dance for the eighth grade. Mr. Saunders devoted a few seconds to brushing aside his audience’s initial response to this announcement before instructing them to look at their handouts.
    Mikey and Margalo obeyed, opening their notebooks across their laps. Under the cover of that diversion, Margalo insisted, “I could work harder and do better in math; I could try harder. I won’t ever understand, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get an A.”
    â€œHunnh,” Mikey answered, wordlessly doubting it.
    Mr. Saunders wanted them to read along with him as he read the handout aloud, probably to guarantee that they understood it, but maybe only to be sure this class meeting didn’t get out early. The items were:
    1. It was a tradition at West Junior High for the seventh grade to give this dance, although—
    2. Seventh graders couldn’t attend it themselves, unless—
    3. They were asked by an eighth grader, as a date.
    4. Valentine’s Day was the traditional time for the dance.
    5. The seventh-grade class would need to raise over one hundred dollars to cover the cost of music, decorations, and refreshments.
    6. Committees would be formed to work on these various aspects of the project. Every seventh grader had to serve on a committee.
    7. The usual forms of publicity were what was permitted: posters and flyers, a newspaper interview; nothing beyond that without his approval.
    8. The seventh grade would have to find at least ten adult chaperones, preferably from the faculty, and—
    9. The most important point: Every homeroom, every seventh grader, was responsible to see that the gym—where the dance would be held—was cleaned up afterward, and ready for the first phys ed class on the Monday morning after the dance.
    10. These handouts were to be taken home, shown to parents, signed, and returned to their homeroom teachers. By Friday.
    During this, Mikey busied herself writing along the margins of the paper ME, ME, ME , until her initials began to resemble one of those Greek designs around the water jugs they had seen slides of in seminar.
    â€œAny questions?” Mr. Saunders asked, as if he really wanted to hear some.
    Mikey looked up, to show that she was paying attention, which she wasn’t; the principal was scanning the audience for raised hands. He didn’t want to miss anybody’s question, no matter what it was. Even if it was the inevitable give-away question, “Does every seventh grader have to participate?”, Mr. Saunders answered it patiently. Even the inevitable giggly question, “If an eighth grade boy asks you”—interrupted by the inevitable sarcastic comment, “In your dreams an eighth-grade boy will ask you ”—didn’t shake his calm.
    Margalo was busy looking over the audience, noticing how—with Mr. Saunders ready to pounce on them—the boys were neither punching shoulders nor elbowing, but were still visibly restless. The girls had their heads bent over the handout papers, sitting still, whispering without looking like they were. “Why do they make the seventh grade give a dance?” Margalo asked Mikey.
    â€œBecause nobody wants to?” Mikey guessed.
    They spoke in low voices, stiff-lipped like ventriloquists, and kept their eyes on their handouts, as if they were reading them carefully.
    Margalo rephrased her question. “It’s eighth graders who always talk about dances, and dates. They’re the ones who should give a dance.”
    â€œEighth grade does sound pretty bad,” Mikey agreed. “Except, I’ll get to play on the tennis team.”
    â€œTheir class project is a play. But none of them want to do that , either. It’s so perfectly backwards from what the students want to do, it has to be on purpose, don’t you think?” Margalo asked.
    Mikey