I don’t know how much time passed with me just staring at him. But when he repeated his question to me, I just said, “No, I don’t think so.”

  “It’s going to be okay,” Forrest said. “They told my mom and me that we’re not going to get in any trouble. They just want all this to go away.”

  Then, like a bucket of cold water, it hit me. Forrest was there, being interrogated along with the rest of us, entirely because of me. I dragged him into this.

  “God, they know you were in there, right?” I said. “How? I didn’t tell anyone.”

  Then the second bucket of cold water hit me: Bet had told them about Forrest too.

  “Oh,” I said, mostly to myself.

  “Don’t be mad at her. She’s freaking out. They probably told her they would kick her out of school if she didn’t talk,” Forrest said.

  Even in the midst of everything, I enjoyed the fact that Forrest had kind of read my mind there. It was then that I shivered and realized I was still holding the refrigerator door open. I turned my back on Forrest and told the water bottles and the extra milk jug that I was sorry.

  “What?” Forrest said.

  Then I closed the fridge, turned to him, and said it—in English, in person, and out loud.

  “I’m so sorry, Forrest, about everything.”

  Here came the pause I was so worried about. He could say anything or nothing. I held my breath because I didn’t want to think about what it would be like to go to school on Monday, and all the other days that would follow, if I couldn’t look forward to seeing Forrest there. But he didn’t stay silent. And he didn’t say he hated me. Or that he didn’t want to talk to me ever again.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “And I didn’t say anything to Taylor.”

  “Good,” I said. “That’s good.”

  Right then I wanted to ask him if he was going to break up with her. But I just could not do it. Instead, I just stood there staring in his direction.

  Then Forrest smiled at me, the smile of old times. He smiled like that when we used to play flashlight tag and that time when we ate pizza at the Fourth of July fireworks. It was back before he was my number-one obsession. Years ago, he was just a boy who was my friend. Maybe that’s what he still was, or could be. But before I could analyze our laundry-room moment as much as I wanted to, he said we’d better get going.

  Out in the living room, the grown-ups were wrapping up. Principal Finklestein was gone, thankfully, but left a stack of his business cards on the coffee table. Forrest left with his mom. Then one by one, the girls left with their parents until I was left alone with mine. Usually, Mom and Dad want to talk about stuff until the cows come home. But this time they just said, “Why don’t you get ready for dinner? It’s been a long day.”

  Never fear, the lecture came soon enough. Later that night, after we ate, my mom and dad told me that I shouldn’t have been so secretive. They too said even though we meant well, we shouldn’t have gone ahead and started a Web site alone.

  “It’s too much responsibility, as you unfortunately found out,” my mother said.

  I wanted to remind them about Taylor and all she had done, but I knew they weren’t going to see it exactly my way.

  After a little while, I started to cry. I think I cried some for the Pink Locker Society, which now seemed lost forever, like a dream you can only remember bits of. Though it made me seem younger than I am, it felt very good for my parents to be sitting there with me, wiping my tears away and saying what my mother always says: “This too shall pass.”

  It took more than a month, but I started to think less and less about the Pink Locker Society. My grades improved. Piper, Kate, and I were still best friends. We all supported Bet’s new MSTV show, but she did not do any further reports about the Pink Locker Society. I remained on the track team, started putting more effort into my running, and seemed to be good at it.

  Taylor never did get any kind of school suspension or anything. She and Forrest continued to be a couple, which broke my heart and confused me deeply. Kate was kind enough not to say “I told you so.” My mother, quoting Forrest’s mom, gave me the only clue I have about the Forrest-Taylor situation. Turns out that the night Principal Finklestein came over, Mom and Mrs. McCann actually talked about it.

  “Vera thinks it’s a bit soon for Forrest to have a girlfriend,” Mom told me. “But she says something about Taylor just fascinates him.”

  Occasionally, I would hear that recycled rumor about Taylor and Gabe, but it no longer gave me any hope. I knew the story behind the story. I used to take any opportunity to look at Taylor, to check out her clothes and her shoes. But now I just looked the other way whenever she came into view.

  What else do you need to know? No, I still hadn’t gotten my period. But I wasn’t completely a Flatty McFlat Chest anymore. And, no, I wasn’t stuffing my bra.

  We didn’t know what to do about the pink locker doors. No one ever asked us about Edith, the other Pinkies, or our secret offices. So we assumed nobody knew about that. The hardest part though was not being there for girls who needed us. Sometimes I would run across a sixth-grade girl who looked particularly confused and think that she really needed the Pink Locker Society. I didn’t even have to hear her speak to know that she could use some guidance, probably because not so long ago I was that girl. You know the one? She pushes with all her might on the door that says “PULL” in letters as big as her head.

  But who would answer her now? Our laptop was gone. The Web site was gone. It had been weeks since our cell phones alerted us to a new question. There might be a thousand questions waiting for us. We didn’t know.

  School life readjusted to a different rhythm. I wasn’t as busy. It felt OK to go at a slower pace, but I missed the work of the Pink Locker Society. It made me feel needed and smart. I learned a lot, including that I wasn’t such a freak myself with all my many concerns.

  I missed getting thank you letters from our . . . whatever they were . . . our customers, our clients, our friends? Who doesn’t like a heap of praise? Not that I need applause all day long, but they always put a smile on my face. I forwarded one of them to my phone and I refused to delete it. It said:

  “I thank you soooooooo much for creating this Web site. It makes me feel normal and special at the same time.”

  The Pink Locker Society did the same for me. And now, I just felt normal. Normal is OK, but it’s a wee bit dull. That’s why I invited Kate and Piper to my house for a sleepover.

  “Viva la sleepovers!” Piper called out when I invited her on Thursday. She sometimes did this—took a phrase and tried to work it into every possible situation. One summer she talked like a pirate from the time school let out until it started up again in August. But now she was on a Spanish kick. So instead of “Long live sleepovers!” or “Woo-hoo sleepovers!” Piper gave us “Viva la sleepovers!” I had to agree. May they never end!

  We decided this sleepover should start right after school on Friday, so Piper and Kate walked home from school with me. The night stretched out ahead of us with good stuff planned: a movie, pizza, and then some joint decision making about yearbook photos.

  “Viva la doorbells!” Piper yelled when the doorbell rang at my house.

  The mailman was standing there with a large manilla envelope—the kind with Bubble Wrap lining the inside. It was addressed to my mother, and it was from Margaret Simon Middle School. It was way too heavy to be just a letter.

  We found my mother on the sunporch, with her reading glasses on the tip of her nose and a book in her lap. Good old Mom.

  She pulled the zip tab on the envelope and pulled out our pink laptop. We shrieked.

  “Girls, girls,” she said, “let me see what this is all about.”

  There was a letter taped to the top. Mom read it aloud.

  “Dear Mrs. Colwin, Due to the unfortunate events, blah-blah-blah. Our school attorneys tell me it would be inappropriate for me to seize this piece of personal property. Blah-blah-blah. We are returning this laptop in the hope that the girls will use it only for productive purposes. Sincerely yours, Prinicpal Finklestein.”

  “Viva la U.S. Mail!” Piper yelled out.

  My mother giggled and said, “Okay, girls. Looks like you can have this computer back. Where did it come from, anyway?”

  “It was mine,” Piper said, “Thanks.”

  She grabbed the laptop and we followed her back to the family room.

  “Viva la laptop!” Piper whispered when we were out of my mother’s earshot.

  It was just a cold piece of plastic technology, but having the computer back sent us on a trip down memory lane.

  “Remember our first meeting when Jem couldn’t open the pink locker?” Piper said.

  “And remember when Jem decided that Forrest needed a personal tour?” Kate said.

  In the weeks since we’d been permanently shut down, I had confessed my wrongdoing.

  “Hey, does anyone remember that we actually did some good?” I said. “People loved us. We had fans.”

  “Let’s turn it on,” Piper said, “just for old time’s sake.”

  “It’s just a computer now. It’s nice to have, but not that special anymore,” I said.

  “Let’s see if there’s anything left,” Piper said, and spun the laptop toward her.

  “What must Edith think?” Kate said, “We should have sent her a PLS-SOS.”

  “And say what? That we’ve been banned?” Piper said.

  Piper clicked around and found that the site was still there. But it was frozen in time, still showing that message about being temporarily shut down.

  Meanwhile, between bites of pizza, Kate and I kept talking about all that had happened.

  “If you could go back in time, would you do anything differently? Like maybe never step through the pink locker door?” Kate asked me.

  “No, I think I’d still go. Well, I’d still go if you pulled me in.”

  “Oh, my gosh, remember the snacks?” Kate said.

  “Viva la snacks!” said Piper, pumping a fist in the air and then getting back to her clicking and clacking. Then we heard the laptop start humming; its internal fan started whirring, and simultaneously all three of our phones sprang to life. The old “Think pink!” ringtone. We had messages—Pink Locker Society messages!

  “It’s probably just Piper cranking us,” Kate said.

  “Yeah, Pipes. That’s cruel. You got us all excited,” I said.

  “Viva la text messages!” Piper said. “Look for yourselves.”

  She spun the laptop toward Kate and me and we saw it was true. Piper, the computer whiz, had linked us back into our Pink Locker Society mailbox, and we now had dozens of unread text messages. Most of them came in more than a month ago, before news started to trickle out that the site was down, apparently forever. We wanted to read each and every one.

  My best friend stole my boyfriend. What do I do?

  Can I go on vacation while I have my period?

  People tease me because I don’t wear makeup. What should I do?

  I have a huge crush on my teacher. Help!

  I do not have pretty feet. Should I wear sandals anyway?

  I’m the shortest girl in my class, and I’m sick of the nicknames. What should I do?

  Everyone tells me I look fine, but I still feel fat. How can I lose weight?

  On and on they went, a rainbow of woes. Each one represented a person’s sincere question. Some were serious issues, others more minor, but each one mattered to someone.

  “Gosh, this stinks that we can’t answer any of them,” Kate said. “We’ve just abandoned them.”

  “Look how the number of messages trailed off in the last few weeks. They’re forgetting about us,” I said.

  “Read this one,” Piper said.

  Hey, are you guys on vacation or something? I wrote twice and the Web site isn’t working. It’s kind of important. My parents are getting a divorce.

  The more messages we read, the more our group mood took a plunge. We had started out all silly and happy. Just moments ago, Piper was shouting, “Viva la erasable pens!” and “Viva la flannel pajamas!” Now, at least twenty minutes had gone by without a “Viva la” anything.

  Instead, we kept murmuring at each other about how there was nothing we could do. What could we do? The Pink Locker Society was closed, by order of the principal.

  Or was it?

  I looked at Kate. Kate looked at Piper, and the two of them looked back at me.

  “Nobody said we had to stop helping people,” I said.

  “Riiiiiight,” Kate said, nodding slowly.

  It was one of those cosmic friend moments. Silently, we were sharing the same thought—once again three flowers on the same stem. Piper stopped tapping on the keyboard. Kate held her triangle of pizza aloft on the palm of her hand. Sure, none of us knew exactly how we would do it. Not yet, anyway.

  But I knew what needed to be said. I, Jemma, jumped up on the couch and shouted it before Piper could beat me to it: “Viva la Pink Locker Society!”

  Viva La Pink Locker Society!

  Now that you’re a part of the club,

  stay in the pink at

  PinkLockerSociety.org.

  It’s fun and free, so bring your BFF!

  Ask questions and get answers.

  Decorate your dream locker, make purses,

  wish necklaces, and other creative crafts.

  Try new recipes, give your opinion,

  start a book club*, and more!

  Find the Pink Locker Society on Facebook, too,

  if you’re thirteen or older.

  Start Your Own Book Club!

  Everything is more fun with a friend, including reading a book. That’s the whole idea behind book clubs. A group of friends read the same book, talk about it, and snack. What could be better than that?

  Follow these steps to start your own book group.

  Get the word out. Round up four to twelve friends who like to read.

  Schedule meeting dates. It’s important to space your meetings far enough apart that members have enough time to read the books. Many clubs find that a monthly meeting works well, and that keeping it on the same day (such as the first Wednesday of every month) helps.

  Pick a place. Most clubs take turns meeting at someone’s house, but they can really happen anywhere: after school in an empty classroom, at the public library, or even the local bookstore.

  Plan for snacks. What fun would a club be without snacks? For variety, ask two or three people to bring some munchies to each meeting.

  Choose the books. The most important thing! Decide how your group will pick the books. Some groups take turns letting each member choose. Others open it up to the group to decide.

  Happy reading!

  THE PINK LOCKER SOCIETY

  Questions & Answers

  The PLS has answers! In this special bonus section, get their trusted advice on dozens of issues. And if you have a question of your own, visit www.pinklockersociety.org to submit it!

  Dear PLS,

  I have a problem in the boob department. One’s bigger than the other. Help!

  Lopsided

  Dear Lopsided,

  Relax! Girls grow a lot during these years and it’s common for one breast to get ahead of the other. This usually evens out over time and you are probably the only one who has noticed this small imbalance in your bra. Speaking of bras, as you get older, if you are still a little uneven, you can always use padding on one side.

  Think pink!

  Dear PLS,

  Brown is the most boring color ever created. And it’s the color of my boring hair. I want to dye it red or, possibly, pink, but my mom says no. How old do you have to be to dye your hair?

  Down With Brown

  Dear D. W. B.,

  Changing your hair is a fun way to experiment with your look, but the people we asked said girls in middle school shouldn’t mess with their hair color. Dyeing your hair means using chemicals on it. Some people report a burning or itching scalp—or even hair loss—after getting their hair dyed. But that aside, we think brown hair is nice. Is yours more golden brown, or a darker brown like deep, dark chocolate? Instead of dyeing it, we’d recommend a new headband, haircut, or hairstyle.

  Think Pink! (But not pink hair!)

  Hey,

  This is going to sound weird, but my boobs are ruining my life. They are ENORMOOSE boobs. Biggest in the whole school. What do I do?

  Signed,

  E. B.

  Dear E. B,

  We hear you! Though lots of girls wish for bigger breasts, when you feel yours are too big, it is no fun. They always seem to get in the way. The best approach is to manage them. Here are good steps to take:

  Buy bras that fit you well. Go to a store that has someone who can measure and fit you for a bra. This may sound embarrassing, but it’s worth it to get a bra that fits right and feels good. If there’s no expert fitter, ask your mom, aunt, big sister, or a female friend to help. Also buy a sports bra so you feel comfortable when it’s time for gym class or sports.

  Choose clothes that work with your figure. A good bra will help you wear most any shirt you like, but if you’re self-conscious, try not to wear shirts that are too tight or too revealing. You can do a quick check at home to see if your shirt is too revealing. Stand in front of a mirror and bend forward. Your shirt shouldn’t open or gap too much.

  Learn to handle gawkers. It’s annoying to have people stare at your chest. But you never have to just put up with rude stares or comments. Tell a parent, teacher, or another adult if someone is bothering you in this way. You can ignore them and walk away, but if you are feeling bold just tell the offending gawker, “Yo, my eyes are up here!”