III. Warriors in Orange
"Thanks to Emma's protest, Rick's Violent behavior is now a public affair."
Queenie introduces me to chips and ketchup: two foods that are all-American, and yet they've never hooked up. Welcome to Canada, Vivian. Now all it takes for me to douse hunger is a bag of Lays and a bottle of Heinz, and the rest is history. I simultaneously reach into the giant Lays bag-with the crinkling sound that can be heard from light years away—while standing in front of a full-body mirror and sliding closet door. Earlier I asked Queenie to place a restraining order between me and the chips. She told me that could be arranged.
I've asked her for assistance with my student council application that Marco gave me earlier today. I want to stand out, but I don't know how.
"Hmm…it's been two weeks since I've known you? Not a very long time to really get acquainted with a person." Queenie says.
"Yeah, well these people have to become acquainted with me through my first impression: a piece of paper." I wipe the corner of my mouth with my pointer fingernail.
"Touché." Queenie agrees. "Listen, Vivian, I'm always prepared for these types of questions because there's been a unique quality in everyone I've befriended; therefore you have a unique quality that sets you apart from other people."
I'm having a sleepover at her townhouse. Her tiny room is decorated in a sunflower theme. Her walls are painted a sky blue, decorated with floating sunflowers. Her pale green comforter also has sunflower heads, and it stands out against the white carpet. It's a pretty room, but it would suck if Queenie got a stain in it anywhere.
"Seriously Vivian; you have an incredible aura about you." Queenie continues. "Your smile is as bright as the sun, and you light up a room once you walk into it. Have you forgotten that you asked me if I needed help getting to my chemistry class even though it was your first time ever in Canada, let alone a new school?"
"You're just as amazing." I tell her through the mirror.
"Why thank you." She says.
"Speaking of which, why don't you apply for StuCo?"
Queenie pauses "Who, me? I'm not really interested."
"Why not? You're such an inspirational person, and you could develop great leadership skills from doing so." I tell her.
"You're so optimistic about things, girly." Queenie flicks my hair. "Write that on your application."
I run a hand down one of my two, jet black rope braids and am irritated to discover a minuscule pimple on my right temple against my skin. I'm no Snow White by any means: sure I have the black hair—down to chest length—but if my complexion had a name, it would be Warm Almond, the mid-brown among us dark humans. Not as in European Olive dark, but African dark. Like my giant almond-shaped eyes that are deep as midnight. Queenie, as I occasionally steel glances at her, is also a member of the African family. Her skin more of a bright amber, it easily compliments her big, mahogany, noodle curls. Of course, she gets the lighter complexion—and hazel eyes—from her white father.
"You see, I think activities like student council are all popularity contests, and I don't think a person should be elected to join based on popular vote." Queenie explains her reasoning.
"Why not?" I say. "Isn't that the whole point to student council: the students have a voice?"
"Sure", Queenie answers. "If the students voted fairly, I'd probably be in favor for it, but…not all voting high school students are reasonable: they're selfish."
"How so?"
"They sometimes only vote based on who looks better to them, no matter what your personality looks like. If you look good, then you're good enough to be on the council. Not to mention having some popularity status. It's a vicious cycle if you ask me: someone who's popular is good-looking, and someone who's good-looking is usually popular." Queenie elaborates.
As shallow as it may seem, it's a true statement that frightens me. If I wanted to run for an office, would my votes be determined based on how pretty I am? Would it even matter if I was able to segue in with the other students and understand their desires for the school? "Okay then, but you're lucky to help me out." I say. "Because I plan on changing the student body community forever." I laugh after saying it just because I sound ridiculous.
Queenie nods. "I believe you."
I look at her. She's staring at me with a lost look on her face. It's the serious I've ever seen her. I turn away to fill out my application.
Today there are so many orange ribbons going by worn by my fellow students. They're designed much like breast cancer ribbons only a pale, creamy colored orange. Curiosity is compelling me: where did they get them from?
I stop a student in the hallway. She looks annoyed: clearly she's not a morning person.
"That orange ribbon on your shirt: where did you get it from?" I ask her. "I'm seeing everyone with them."
"There are two blondes in the lobby walking around and sellin' them for a buck." She answers then walks away.
What a vivid description, I think, but I have a hunch at who one of the two blondes may be: Emma. Queenie told me about her campaigns and protests from the past. The other blonde could be anybody. I head to the lobby to see them in person. The number of people with ribbons multiplies drastically, and I have to use my magic petite powers to swerve through the mass of students. In the heart of the orange lace I spot the two blondes: Emma and Paige.
"Hey, you wanna buy a ribbon?" Paige asks me.
"What for?" I ask.
"To support students against violence." Emma answers. "Show the school where you stand."
I shrug and reach into my purse.
"This is about Rick isn't it?"
I look up to see a guy in a baggy gray jacket with a white tank top underneath. He has short blonde hair and round pale blue eyes. There's a girl with long red hair standing beside him dressed form head to toe in black. She's wearing long sleeves in spite of the September heat.
"It's a silent protest." Emma answers the guy. "We wanna pressure Rick. Make his life hell."
"Without breaking any of the rules whatsoever. Emma's a genius." Paige elaborates. "There's nothing Raditch can do."
"Wow." The red head's sarcastic. "Such heroes." She and the blonde guy walk on.
"Aah, come on." I say. "I left my wallet at home." I'm lying to them. How can I participate in a protest when I don't even have all of the details straight about what's going on?
"Here." Emma hands me a ribbon anyway. "Pay me later. The proceeds go to the Directions Women's Shelter."
I nod. I don't mind donating, but I'm NOT for the cause that Emma and Paige are promoting. I'm too confused about what's going on to choose a side. I still don't know all of the details of the abuse, even though I'm positive Rick was responsible for it.
I walk away, baffled and a little anxious about what's to come. Are Emma and Paige REALLY trying to kick Rick out of a public facility? How dangerous is he, or how dangerous do they think he is? I have to get to the heart of the matter, and then I'll determine whether or not Rick is a threat to my safety.
I communicate with Emma in my Chemistry class via old-fashioned note passing. I want answers about this "silent" protest. There's one student between Emma and me in class, so the note doesn't have to travel a long distance, which would make it riskier. I pass the first note discretely behind the back of my chair so as not to disturb the class.
Tell me what you mean by pressuring Rick.
That's what my note reads. I've placed the orange ribbon on my notebook, and I'm staring at it now, waiting for Emma's response. I'm left to conclude that the boy being "pressured" is really dangerous if Emma is involving a majority of the student body to kick him out. I have to find out more, so Ms. Hatzilakos can't know about this. I'm reading over my lab assignment and highlighting important notes to divert her suspense from me.
A pencil taps my leg. The boy sitting between Emma and me hands me a new note. I take it, and watch cautiously for Ms. H. She's scolding a kid for chewing gum. Quickly I unfurl the note.
We don't want him at Degrassi, so we're gonna ostracize him, making him feel like he's not welcome.
I write under her reply in bright red ink: Who's we?
I nudge the boy with my foot and give him the note underhand. Soon the note is returned with the response:
Everyone with an orange ribbon.
I briefly glance around the class. There are some students—no, a lot of students—wearing a ribbon, and according to Emma, ALL of these students are going to ostracize ONE? That would definitely succeed. Who'd want to stay in a school where everyone hated them?
But is this the right thing? I pat the guy's arm, thanking him as he served for our note's transportation. Coincidentally, I also spot him wearing a ribbon. What are all these people going to do to just one? Thanks to Emma's protest, Rick's violent behavior is now a public affair.
As soon as the bell rings and everyone scatters, I feel a tap on my shoulder from behind. I turn and see Emma standing there. "You certainly had a lot of questions." She says.
I nod. "Sorry to pester you; I think it's good to be inquisitive. That and I'm pretty new here, so I'm not familiar with your famous protests I've heard so much about."
Emma smirks. "So this is your first time witnessing an Emma campaign."
"Live from Toronto." Reporter Vivian replies.
"Well brace yourself." Emma sweeps a lock of her hair over her shoulder. "The exciting part is yet to come." She walks away, head high, stride confident.
Was that supposed to mean something...good?
The orange ribbons are gung ho about getting rid of Rick. As I go to my locker to grab supplies, I catch him walking past me down the hall. Today he's wearing a long-sleeve, black and white-checkered button down with a white t-shirt underneath. He's wearing dark gray pants and the gray shoes from the other day.
He's heading towards the double doors that lead to the next corridor, but before he can reach them, a group of girls—all wearing ribbons—blocks his path. He attempts to weave around them, but more show up, and they all glare at him with their arms crossed. They almost look like secret service agents guarding the entrance to The White House. Finally, Rick turns back and walks the other way, only to be bumped in the shoulder on purpose by a tall, blonde girl. Rick pauses, suppressing a sigh, then proceeds down the hall.
Ouch, I think.
It doesn't stop there. Rick happens to walk in the same direction I am as I head to gym class. I'm a few feet behind him when I notice a girl approach him from his right and knock the books he's holding from his hand. He kneels to pick them up, but another girl kicks them away from his grasp, and it nearly intersects with my shin. The air from the kick brushes my lower leg as I avoid the collision in time.
But I walk on, not daring to look back at Rick.
I have a feeling that the next anti-Rick strike will happen in the cafeteria, should Rick have a lunch break at this hour. I'm sitting with my friends, Queenie and Ivory. Ivory's name fits her complexion to the "t". She has long, wavy auburn hair and round green eyes. She's wearing a short, collared denim jumpsuit and golden scandals. I almost want to trade her outfit with mine: my raspberry colored tank top; my sky blue cover up; my pale yellow mini-skirt; and my silver scandals. Then again, I like my outfit just a little bit more. Neither of my two friends is wearing a ribbon, which is somewhat of a relief to me due to all of the drama that Emma's campaign has caused.
"So talk, little Vivian." Ivory says as we chow on less-than-decent food in the cafeteria. Good news: Canada and U.S. are more alike than you think.
"Yeah, sunshine." Queenie joins in. "We know when something's troubling you, even this soon in our friendship." She pinches my cheek, and I slap her hand away.
"Stop or you'll regret me having fast reflexes." I say.
"I'm shaking, now are you ready to tell us what's on your mind?" Ivory asks.
"No pressure from you guys, right?" I say as I nearly drink my entire carton of chocolate milk in one sitting. I'm so glad I don't have to go to rehab for my serious addiction.
"We never said that." Queenie says nonchalantly.
"Smart alec." I swipe both her and Ivory's plastic utensils from their grasps, knowing they both need them for the soup they each have. "Here's the deal, ladies: stop two-timing me and I'll tell you."
"Deal." They both say and take back their plastic utensils.
I prepare to spill the beans as I open my mouth, but before I utter a sound, a guy shouts from the corner of the cafeteria. "DON'T LET THE PSYCHO SIT!"
We all avert our gazes towards the direction of the shouting; find the boy who yelled; and follow his glare, which is fixed on the other side of the cafeteria. And there on the far right corner of the room stands Degrassi's infamous Rick. I watch as some of the students rise to their feet and guard pathways to tables. Three students on our side of the room are blocking the way, so Rick can't get through. We all watch as he wanders around the cafeteria with his tray like a lost puppy. Every time he encounters a blocked path, he turns in the opposite direction, which eventually ends up being him going in circles until he can no longer go anywhere because every path to a seat is blocked. I watch from afar. No one wants him to sit with them. Eventually Rick quits and leaves the cafeteria, and a chorus of applause erupts as he's going. Then everything goes back to normal, and the air is vibrant with student chatter once more.
"Well that was very interesting." Queenie comments.
"That's what's driving me crazy!" I exclaim.
Ivory and Queenie both stare at me, silent.
"What, the Rick thing? I think it's pretty impressive how the majority of the student body is passionate about kicking him out." Ivory shakes her head. "It was a mistake for him to return."
"Why is this bothering you?" Queenie asks.
"Because," I say, "Even though Rick isn't a nice person based on what I've heard, is it right to just put him on blast for something he did in the past?"
"He did hurt a girl." Ivory points out.
"But does anyone know exactly what happened?" I say. "Has anybody ever spoken to Rick to get his side of the story?"
"What? His side of the story?" Ivory says. "He put a girl in a coma; how much more information do you need?"
I shake my head. "You know what? Never mind: I'm the new girl, so my opinion doesn't mean anything at Degrassi."
I rise from the table and leave the cafeteria (with my chocolate milk in hand) and storm to the restroom. Does Ivory have to be so one-sided about this predicament like everyone else? I should have given her my ribbon!
As soon as I find the restroom door, I reach for the handle only for someone else to open it on the other side and crash into me, and the last thing I see is black and white checked squares. I recoil back, nearly falling, but the person I run into grabs my waist and steadies me.
The person who everyone wants gone.
I'm holding on to his arms so I don't stumble, and I look at him up close for the first time. Rick's frown has taken a permanent residence on his face, but this time there's a glint of surprise instead of misery. Who would've thought I'd be in the arms of the "psycho"?
"I'm sooo sorry!" I say quickly. "Did I almost walk into the boys' room?" No, this totally isn't awkward.
"It's alright." He replies. "At least you apologized." He looks away as he releases me.
"Well thanks." I say. "You spared me a humiliating experience."
Immediately I wish can I take it back. This guy has already had enough of those experiences to last him a lifetime in just this one day. Now I feel stupid.
"Bye." I hurry off. What did I just do? I could've used that advantage to ask him questions like I said I wanted to do earlier, but I can't find the courage to, especially knowing that everyone hates him for it.
Oh, Vivian, you're a work of art.