Monday morning, the intercom came on, and I heard, "Dallas Delaney, please come to the principal's office."

As much as I wanted to sneak out to the parking lot and take a coffee run, I had to go. I couldn't hit delete and run away forever.

When I walked into the room, Ms. Brooks was sitting there, looking downcast, and I got this horrible feeling in my stomach, with all the fears that had been brewing over the weekend beginning to churn again and my heart beating fast, making me wonder why I'd thought another coffee would've been a good idea.

"Sit down, Dallas," Runsberger said. I obliged him and he said, "Well, that was quite the pep rally fiasco we had on Friday, wasn't it?"

I wanted to tell him, "It's better to have the school cheering for equality than for a sucky basketball team," but I didn't. I just nodded.

"Is there a reason I haven't heard back from your parents?"

I shrugged.

"Well then. Ms. Brooks has told me that this thing started as a project for her class." He paused before saying, "It needs to stop."

"Why?"

"I think that should be obvious. We can't have something so vulgar associated with the school. You were supposed to be doing this for a grade, Ms. Delaney, not for shock value." He emphasized the "Ms.," making it sound like "Mizz." I didn't like it.

"I don't think Dallas was doing it for shock value. I think her project is brilliant," said Ms. Brooks.

"It's vulgar and offensive!"

I couldn't help myself. "You think the fact girls shit is offensive?" I asked.

Maintaining an unnecessary volume, he said, "Girls using cuss words is vulgar, and I think anything having to do with bodily waste is fit for elementary school humor, and not high school academics. We're shaping students into professionals here."

"What about boys using cuss words?" Ms. Brooks asked him.

"What?"

"You only said you think girls using cuss words is vulgar. What about boys?"

"Boys will be boys. But ladies need to act like ladies." Not caring about the shock registering on Ms. Brooks' face, he said, "Alice, are you telling me that you condone and encourage this sort of behavior? One of your students coming in here and cussing at me? Disruptions at school events?"

"I don't think she cussed at you. And she didn't disrupt the pep rally—everyone else was rallying for her. She wasn't leading them; they were leading themselves in support of her movement."

"Ms. Brooks, the administration already had a hard enough time bending over to meet the so-called needs of your generation of teachers, but we won't bend over anymore. Tradition has its place in schooling. In fact, I'm thinking we might need to rethink the amendment to the policy that now allows seniors to do applied projects in lieu of papers. I'm actually wondering how that amendment passed in the first place. How are our seniors going to survive in the world if they don't know how to persuade people through the written word, using the Aristotelian structure?"

"Mr. Runsberger, please. This social media project involves an interactive audience, allowing much more room for collaboration and cooperation and compromise. The traditional argumentative paper will always have its place, but should it maintain so much dominance over all argumentative forms?"

"Yes."

"But it was birthed by the patriarchy, and its sole mission is to convert the reader. It's a conquest! Don't you see a problem with — "

"No."

"But there are many new and rising argumentative forms that value collaboration and compromise and — "

"And where do we get with collaboration and compromise? Not far."

Ms. Brooks looked shocked, maybe even disgusted. I felt bad, like this was all my fault. She had been so happy about her influence on the school, and now all of her success was going to be erased.

Runsberger's voice reigned again. "We're trying to reduce the apathy of this bunch, Alice, not to increase it. This social media activism you're promoting isn't really activism at all. Saying girls defecate isn't doing anything positive for society. By allowing your student to do this, you are just showing her she can feel like she's making a difference without actually doing anything valuable. That she can seek stardom for being vulgar. That she can spend even more time being lazy on social media and be rewarded for it."

"She is doing something valuable, and she does care. She's asking for equality. She wants women to be able to act masculine if they—"

"Equality? Don't make me laugh. Equality is nothing more than a trendy buzzword these days. What she's doing is not about equality. She's making a mountain out of a molehill."

Wanting to interject on my own behalf, I found myself frozen in silence.

"Even the subtlest aspects of equality are important," Ms. Brooks said for me, trying to remain calm. "That's why social media is amazing. Because it will allow girls like Dallas to be heard by the masses before they are silenced by the — " she stopped talking then.

"By the what?"

"By the men who will accuse them of making mountains out of molehills."

His eyes suddenly looked wider, scarier, lava filled. "You are walking a very dangerous line. I think you know the potential consequences should you continue."

That silenced her.

Then he turned to me. "I'm aware you're applying for the Hearst Scholarship. You've made some poor choices. The Hearsts want to pick a girl who has something valuable to contribute to the world, not something vulgar and ... unimportant. I suggest you start coming up with something valuable, with your new project. Because this project is ending now."

"You can't do that," I said, finding my voice. Then, turning to Ms. Brooks, I asked, "Right?"

Looking down at her lap, she spoke softly. "The project meets all of the guidelines of the project I assigned. I approved it."

"Well that was your mistake," he said to her. She didn't say anything back, so he turned back to me. "Mizz Delaney, please repeat: The project is ending now."

"Are you really going to force me to stop my senior project halfway through the semester because it has the word shit in it? Can't I just...change it to poop?"

Now he frowned, and he didn't answer my question when he said, "That's the second time you've cussed at me. You might not be aware of the rules, young lady, but the use of obscene language, especially as directed at a school official, is a level 3 offense, meaning that I can suspend you. Depending on the severity of the language and the intention behind its use, an out-of-school suspension can be in order."

Ms. Brooks looked like she was going to say something, but he spoke his command first: "Alice, you can go."

Slowly, she got up and walked out, not looking at me again. I couldn't blame her; listening to his command was the first step off that dangerous line she was walking, and she probably didn't want to be fired.

But I kept walking on mine. "Are you really going to suspend me?"

"Why don't you call your parents? We can talk suspension when they get here."

I didn't do anything, so he said, "Go ahead, on your cell phone. Make sure you call a number where they can be reached. You're not leaving until we have a meeting."

For a brief moment, I thought about pulling something tricky, maybe calling some other number where no one would answer. But Runsberger was watching me like a vulture, so I opened my contacts, called "Mom," and showed him. Since it was early in the morning, Mom would either be out or at home before Jace's nap, and would probably answer, unlike Roy, who was at work. Besides, this was a good opportunity for Mom. I needed her to fight alongside me, using our girl power to take down Runsberger, if she was even able to musterup any girl power. I had to believe she could; after all, I was arguing that #girlsshittoo, wasn't I?

The ring tone sounded a few times before she picked up. "Hey, sweetie."

"Hey, Mom. You need to come to the school."

"Why?"

"My principal wants to have a meeting with the two of us."

"What? Why?"

"We need to discuss my use of foul language."

Runsberger smiled as I said it. Mom was silent for a while, then said, "Alright then. Now?"

"Well, I'm bound to his office until you get here, so..."

"Let me call a friend to come watch Jace. Then I'll be right over."

Mom didn't get there until ninety minutes later, and the whole time I was trapped in the uncomfortable chair in Runsberger's office, observing the mirror on the wall and imagining what he used it for: to fix his hair, make sure nothing was in his teeth, tell himself that he was the man, the manliest man in the land. Maybe there was even a thing in that mirror, mirror on the wall that confirmed his masculinity for him on a daily basis.

But today his masculinity had been challenged by the idea that girls shit too, and now he needed to take something away from me, to prove that I couldn't have my cake and shit it out too, because ladies need to act like ladies or whatever.

When Mom sat down, he got right to the point. "We have a couple of things to discuss today. The first is the fact that your daughter directed obscene language at me twice this morning. As I've already explained to her, this is a level three offense, for which the punishment is suspension."

"Suspension?"

He nodded. "Did you receive the message I left on your home phone last Friday?"

Mom shook her head, looking at me in confusion. Shit.

"Hmmm. Wonder why... Your daughter also started a disruption to our very important Winter Sports pep rally Friday. We had to end early because of her."

Mom's face looked shocked, and turned to me again, angrier this time.

I pfffted, and they both widened their eyes at me. "That disruption was not my fault, Mom! All these students were cheering for my project... but I didn't even start it. I didn't even know what was happening at first."

"If you weren't guilty, Mizz Delaney, then why did you run? Why did you prevent your mother from receiving my message?"

"Because I knew some crazy bullshit was going to happen no matter what I did."

"Well, that's a third time she's cussed at me," Runsberger noted, looking a little too smiley under his frown. "I think an out-of-school suspension is certainly in order."

"Dallas, apologize to him right now!"

"Sorry, not sorry."

After looking back and forth from me to him, Mom said, "I'm so sorry. I don't know what's gotten into her!"

"Hormones?" he suggested.

Angrier pffft. "Don't blame my hormones. My anger is completely justified, Mom—he's making me shut down my senior project! Do you know how much work I've put into it?"

Now Mom stopped being so mad, turning to him and saying, "I just don't understand. Her teacher approved her project. And we've been following it—it seems just fine to us."

"Missuzz Delaney..."

"It's Mrs. Ian, actually."

"Oh. Missuzz Ian. This is an academic setting. I don't know why anyone ever thought obscene language would be appropriate for a school project, especially a project as important as the senior project. But your daughter seems to think obscene language is appropriate anytime, anywhere. Do you wonder why that is?"

Mom appeared ashamed at this accusation, which made me fume, not at him but at her. Why was she letting him make her feel ashamed?

Her voice sounded mouse-like: "Can't she just change the title? She was originally going to call it Appropriating Masculinity."

No, I thought. As much as I liked Ms. Brooks's talk about how compromise can work, I didn't feel like compromising with this prick. I felt angry at my mom. Why wouldn't she just stand up for me? Roy would have. I should have called him. Because even though #girlsshittoo, my mom didn't. My mom couldn't. What had I expected? She was just a stay-at-home mom with no other ambitions beyond raising Jace.

Runsberger's face was still puckered from hearing the original title. "Look, Missuz Ian, with everything that's happened with all of the social media fame-seeking and what not, I really think it's best that Dallas does the traditional senior paper. Since she'll be starting it late, she'll only be required to do thirteen of the fifteen pages."

His compromise was even worse, but Mom nodded like it was a good one, without even consulting me first.

Then he looked at me. "If Dallas will agree to put a halt on this project of hers and to make this compromise, I will agree to forget about her disrupting our pep rally and attacking me. No more level three offense. No more suspension."

"Well, Dallas? Why don't you say yes?"

"I think I'll go with OSS for now."

"What?" Mom said.

"We'll discuss it in the car," I said, getting up.

Runsberger appeared more than pleased to whisk me out his office to begin my suspension, the ending of which was contingent on his terms. He made sure to gaze at his reflection in his mirror as he said, "Don't forget, Ms. Delaney, that out-of-school suspensions count as absences. And if you exceed the maximum amount of absences allowed, then teachers are required to fail you." I wondered how long he could actually suspend me for, and if my fight would even be worth it. Failing my senior year was not an option.

When we got in the car, Mom let me know how pissed she felt at me. "Your principal was trying to be fair, Dallas. He was trying to make a compromise. I can't believe the way you're acting. It's like I can't even control my own child!"

"That wasn't a compromise," I said. "That was blackmail. And people aren't meant to be controlled. We should be guided in the right direction, and supported when we're already going that way."

Then I refused to talk to her anymore for the rest of the way home.

And I didn't speak to her again until the next night, when she said at dinner, "Dallas, Roy and I have been talking, and we really think you need to accept your principal's terms. Can you please be reasonable?"

Playing with my fork instead of looking at her, I nodded. I didn't really see any way out of this. It wasn't reasonable, but neither was staying suspended.

So I went to my room and announced the discontinuation of Girls Shit Too to the Twitterverse.