Free The Latte Rebellion by Sarah Jamila Stevenson Page A

to her in the car after school, trying to sound reasonable. “But you have to admit it would be another college application bonus. ‘Launched extracurricular group’ sounds pretty good, right?”
    “I guess so,” Carey said. “But do you really want to add that to everything else we’re doing? You’ve already got that other new club.”
    “Maybe.” I thought about it. “But that’s Bridget’s thing. The Latte Rebellion is our thing. And it isn’t really a bad idea. It could be entertaining to see where this goes. And it’s perfect for all your leadership scholarships.” I didn’t add that it was perfect for my college applications, too, which needed some padding to separate them from all the other honors kids with the same AP classes and club activities as everyone else.
    “Um, hello, our anonymity? I only agreed because you said we’d only be doing publicity, and then the shirts would basically print themselves.” Carey’s voice was tired. “I’m not interested in being a spokesperson for anything.”
    “Seriously, we can put bags over our heads for all I care,” I said quickly. “But it’ll still be worth it. At least our college applications will be memorable.” Having a chaotic mess of different cultural backgrounds—that wouldn’t really help me, especially when I ended up having to check the “other” ethnicity box. Having a personal statement topic that instantly showed exactly how different I was— that would be huge. “It’s prime essay material,” I concluded. “You could totally use that.”
    Carey snorted. “Like you’ve got entirely altruistic motives.”
    “Okay, maybe not. But what I do have is an idea for a club that could really be worthwhile. Not to mention it would liven up the next few months.” I took one hand off the steering wheel and flicked her arm playfully. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
    “My sense of adventure ? I’m saving the ‘adventures’ for when we’ve actually got the money earned and graduation is over. Right now I’m just a teensy bit more concerned with actually getting my applications finished,” she said, looking at me meaningfully.
    “Come on, you sound like my mom.” I was annoyed, again, that she was being so resistant. Maybe she was feeling guilty about spending all her free time with Leonard.
    “You don’t have to be mean about it,” Carey said, and stared out the side window. I could feel one of her icy silences coming on—she could give the cold shoulder like nobody else. Sophomore year, Chris Naysmith had been idiotic enough to ask her for an Oriental massage and she was still not talking to him. I’d gotten the silent treatment a few times myself, because stupid things did tend to come out of my mouth. She always forgave me , though.
    “Come on, I didn’t mean it that way.”
    More silence. Then she heaved a martyred sigh.
    “We wouldn’t have to make that big a deal out of it,” I said, relieved. “Miranda and I will make all the arrangements. I just don’t want you to be mad. I want to do this together.”
    “We can talk about it,” she agreed, sounding sulky. “I need time to … entertain the notion.”
    “It isn’t a notion . It could help us sell more T-shirts if people actually want to join a club. And maybe we can do something meaningful while we’re at it, instead of just being greedmongers.”
    “‘Greedmongers’ isn’t a word. And you never complained about being greedy before,” Carey pointed out.
    “Yeah.” I laughed edgily. “But Miranda’s right—it could actually work. A club for people who are just … generally brown. Not one particular race. Not one particular nationality. People besides us might really be interested in something like this.” I realized I had unintentionally echoed what Thad had said about his clinic project.
    “You’re right about that,” she said ominously.
    “What do you mean?” I looked at her out of the corner of my eye as I turned onto her