The social injustices of Brazelton high: sometimes, a girl's gotta fight for her rights. And other times, girls just wanna have fun.

I'm sitting at the kitchen table, watching my mom wrap a Merle Haggard CD for her man-of-the-minute Arnold, whose birthday is this week. Her men last as long as it takes me to read a book--two to 10 days, depending on how interesting it (or he) is. "I think you'll really like him," Mom says, tousling her brown hair, which is longer than mine. "He works for a charity organization, so I'm sure he'll meet your high standards."

"Mom, working full-time for the National Rifle Association is not some noble cause. Like, arming people with automatic weapons is supposed to make America safer? Please."

"It's our Second Amendment right," she says, no doubt regurgitating what Arnold has preached in the few conversations they've had.

"I'll be sure to post that on my blog," I say, knowing she's never taken an interest in my social-awareness blog. It keeps me feeling as if I'm doing something with my junior year instead of going to parties and puking on my wedges.

Mom didn't always go from guy to guy. But she had a guy--my dad--who bailed on us five years ago to hook up with his decades-younger secretary (say it with me: cliche) and open a surf school in Puerto Rico. I figure there are two ways a girl can deal with being dumped for another woman: 1) Crawl into yourself and lose all sense of security by clinging to every guy who looks your way. Or, 2) square your shoulders, lift your chin and get revenge by having a meaningful life. I have chosen this route. Guess which one my mother chose?

I think my best friend Olivia is actually my mother's daughter. After all, Olivia's lip gloss is as important to her as my blog is to me. Like my mom, Olivia doesn't champion social causes but, unlike my mom, she always cheers me on. This week's cause is home ec class, which I'm campaigning to have cancelled or at least re-envisioned. They teach cooking and sewing when they should teach how to balance a checkbook or complete a tax form.

When I remind Olivia of this, she adjusts her bra strap and asks, "What's so bad about wanting to learn how to cook? Seems pretty practical."

"Pshaw!" I huff as we head down the halls during last period. We both got out of our classes by claiming killer cramps and asking to go to the nurse's office. We have a little time, but we have to hustle. "That's what they want you to think. But it's a conspiracy to keep women in the home and out of the workplace."

"You know, you really need to get out more," Olivia says. "You should have come with me to last night's game instead of working on those posters." She points to the stack I'm holding.

Just because I'm a champion of human and social justice, that doesn't mean I'm some weeping liberal who thinks we should all go out and adopt a cow. I am a feminist humanitarian and red-meat lover, who thinks smoking is a disgusting habit but that the legal drinking age should be 18, since that's when the government has deemed a person old enough to die for his country. I am a realist who refuses to accept the status quo when there's a chance I can change the world (or at least a small part of it) for the better. People either love me or hate me (usually the latter), but I don't care because Olivia is my best friend in the world and I know that, with one great friend, I can get through anything.

But the one thing I despise above all else is hypocrisy. Hypocrisy is worse than dishonesty--it's cowardice.

"We're gonna get busted," Olivia whispers in the hallway outside Mrs. McCann's home ec class.

"We're not doing anything against school policy," I firmly state, dismissing the small lie we told to get out of class.

We hurry over to Mrs. McCann's closed door. I hand two signs and some tape to Olivia, and pull out the bright-yellow CAUTION: DANGER ZONE strip I picked up at the hardware store.

"Oh, my God, they're actually sewing," Olivia says, looking through the slice of window on the door.

We quickly hang up our paraphernalia, keeping an eye out for roaming teachers. The CAUTION tape goes in an X-shape across the door, and our signs are taped to the door and walls beside it: TEACH US SOMETHING USEFUL! HOME EC OPPRESSES WOMEN! GIVE US MATH & SCIENCE, NOT SEWING & COOKING! SEX ED INSTEAD! TEACH ME ABOUT MY BODY, NOT MY HOME! I step back and snap a picture with my camera phone to upload to my blog. As Olivia rushes back to class, I feel so proud and am on such a high that I risk getting majorly busted by stepping outside for a breath of fresh air.

When I push through the side door by the teacher's parking lot, I see our principal Ms. Rutledge leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette. According to our student handbook, smoking is not allowed anywhere on school grounds. Yet, there stands our commander-in-chief, puffing away. Without even thinking, I take aim and click a photo of her.

When I get home, I head to my computer. Mom is already home from work. She's in her bathroom, trying on lipstick from Eckerd's. I sigh as she hums to Mariah Carey's "Shake It Off."

I upload the pic of Ms. Rutledge and write an essay on the hypocrisy of people in power. The photo is great--I snapped her right in the middle of a drag. I also put up the picture of the home ec class, and write about the modern roles of women. I e-mail the link to the few friends and family on my blog list, certain it will end up in a spam filter.

I ask Mom to come look at what I've done. Her lips are Blathered in shiny peach gloss, and she reads my essay with a glazed look, rolling her tongue across her teeth. When she's done she says, "That's cute, honey."

"Cute?" I ask, incredulous. "A statement about the pretense of the people in charge of my education is not cute. Could you try to understand?"

She kisses my cheek with sticky lips. "You know what I mean, sweetie. I'm meeting Marco. Don't stay up too late."

I sigh, realizing she's already moved on from NRA Arnold. I vow to never let a guy get in the way of my life.

The next day in school, something's a little off. Kids say "hi" to me--and not sarcastically. No one is telling me to move my hippie butt to L.A., and no one is calling me a feral-nazi.

"Oh, my gosh, Jacey!" Olivia exclaims as I dig in my locker for my history book. "I should have called you last night, but I didn't get home until late. Can you believe what's happening. When I give her a blank look, she says, "Haven't you checked your e-mail?" I shake my head. "Your blog? The picture of Ms. Rutledge? Pure genius! I forwarded it to the entire student body." For once in my life, I'm numb, completely unable to move. "Everyone is totally buzzing about it, Jay."

"There she is!" yells Dominick, aka The Dominator. "Brazelton's own Erin Brockovich. Nice job, Casey!"

So he doesn't know my name, but such comments sail me through my day. Teachers give me awkward glances but don't say a thing, while students rally around me. I'm anxious to get home and check my e-mail for more of the accolades I've waited for since junior high.

Then, in my last class, I get a note from the office--to see Ms. Rutledge.

"Miss Cobb," she begins once I've sat down, "we have a bit of a problem here."

For a sec, I actually think she's going to admit her wrongdoing and not only apologize for breaking school policy, but admit that her nicotine actions did, indeed, speak louder than her written words, and then beg for forgiveness.

Instead, Ms. Rutledge says, "You need to take down that picture you put up of me--without my permission--and the subsequent article you wrote. And you need to do it immediately."

I stare at her for a moment. Her hair is as dark as mine is light. It's classic good vs. evil, the outlaw in black and the sheriff in white. "Why should I take it down?" I ask, trying to sound in control. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Jacey," she sighs, leaning forward on her desk. "I would hate to see your perfect school record destroyed by expulsion. I don't think colleges like Sarah Lawrence look too kindly on that sort of thing. I expect you to take down that nonsense by midnight tonight."

"On what grounds?"

"This is harassment and slander," she says, tapping an acrylic nail on her desk with each word. "You will be suspended indefinitely until it disappears. I will not stand for my students disrespecting me."

My breath catches in my throat. "You won't stand for it?" I spring from my chair and say, "I won't stand for it!"

Despite my dramatic exit from Ms. Rutledge's office, I figure she has me. Maybe it is harassment and slander. I look up the word slander just to make sure, and find out she's wrong, at least in that slander is verbal. What she meant was libel, which is a "written defamatory statement that conveys an unjustly unfavorable impression." It seems fitting that the alleged leader of my education can't even get this right. Still, the part that frightens me is what she said about college. No way will I jeopardize my future.

When I tell Mom I'm suspended, she stares at me with wide eyes. "Good Lord, Jacey," she finally manages. "When are you going to give this up?"

"Give what up?" I ask.

She props her hands on her slim hips and says, "Jacey, let me ask you a question. Is your mascara waterproof?."

"Mother. This is not the time for a makeover. My entire future is hanging on this--could you try to focus, please?"

She briefly closes her eyes before she says, "Do you know I have to wear waterproof mascara when I go out? And do you even know why?"

"I do not want to know," I say, folding my arms across my chest.

"Because when I go out, I laugh," she says. "Tears pouring down my face, laughing. It's called 'having fun.' Now I want to ask you, Ms. Cobb, when was the last time you laughed so hard you needed waterproof mascara?"

She knows I don't wear makeup, but I don't mention that. I get what she is saying, but I won't dare admit it. Instead, I retort, "OK, so maybe I don't need waterproof mascara. But that doesn't mean I don't have fun. I happen to find fun in trying to change the world. Maybe you could find something to do other than go out with every single guy in Brazelton. I mean, really, Mom. You act like you need a man to prove your worth. Do you do that deliberately?" I know I've struck a nerve, but I feel like it needed to be said. She's the adult.

"I might ask the same of you. You act like you must not have a boyfriend to prove you can make it. Noble, I suppose, but you're just a teenager. Having a little fun wouldn't burn a hole in the ozone."

"And acting your age won't get you admitted to a nursing home!" I stomp off to my room to write on my blog about the burden of kidult parents.

Two days into my suspension, I get the phone call: Janice Cho from Channel 7 Action News. She's heard about my ordeal and wants to run a piece about it on the evening news. "We'd love to hear your thoughts on-camera about your expulsion and other free speech issues you've faced in your school," she says.

When I tell my mom a news crew is coming over, she about busts out of her too-small cashmere hoodie. We haven't yet talked about our blowout, and I'm feeling guilty about what I said to her.

Janice and her camera guy come over, and the interview goes perfectly. I'm not even nervous when they flip the glaring light on me and roll the camera. Janice says to just tell my story, and that's exactly what I do.

Olivia comes over to watch the news with us. She and Mom make popcorn, and when my school photo comes up on the screen, they scream like cheerleaders. Even though Janice interviewed me for an hour, the only quote that airs is this: "I'm tired of teens being denied the same basic rights as adults. I don't care if Ms. Rutledge wants to smoke, but she can't do it on school grounds--it's her rule. If she doesn't agree with it, she shouldn't have put it in the school handbook."

Afterward, Mom puts her arm around me and squeezes tight. "I have never been so proud of you," she says, with misty tears in her eyes. "I truly admire you, Jacey Cobb."

I think my heart might explode with gratitude for that one little comment. "Mom, I'm so sorry about what I said the other day. I didn't mean it."

"Yes, you did," she says with a smile. "It was a hard thing to hear but, the worst part is, there was some truth to it." She smooths my hair down and says, "I meant what I said. Honey, just because something is important to you it doesn't mean it's important to everyone. Just because some kids your age like going to parties instead of protests that doesn't mean you should look down on them." She rests her soft hands on my shoulders and says, "I'm so proud of you, but it wouldn't hurt to lighten up a bit."

As Mom and I hug, the phone rings and Olivia runs to grab it. She hollers from the kitchen, "Jacey, telephone! Some lawyer chick from the ACLU, whatever that is."

My jaw hits the floor. "The American Civil Liberties Union is only the preeminent defender of individual rights. And they're seriously on the phone?"

Olivia smiles slyly from the kitchen doorway and says, "Totally."

Once the school board hears I've been speaking with an ACLU lawyer, they order Ms. Rutledge to immediately drop my suspension and wipe it from my record. I'm back to school the next day.

"The best part," I say breathlessly to Olivia as we walk into school my first day back, "is that I might get a summer internship at the ACLU's Fort Worth office. Can you imagine how amazing that would be?"

"Truly? ... I cant, she says with an eye-roll, but then she smiles. "Really, I'm happy for you, Jacey. Ya done good, girl."

"Hey, Jacey," calls The Dominator as we head toward our lockers. "Listen, I'm having a party at my dad's ranch on Friday. You two should come. The school should freaking honor you for what you did to Ms. R." Rumors are already circulating that Ms. Rutledge is in trouble with the school superintendent for trying to expel me. She won't be fired or anything, but I hope she has learned that she isn't above the rules.

"Oh, thanks," I tell him, surprised by his invite. A smile creeps on my lips as I say, "Yeah, maybe we'll come."

"Oh, my gosh," Olivia says when Dominick turns toward the science labs. "I can't believe he just invited you to his ranch--those parties are legendary!"

"Well, we should begin our campaign to stop the school from using that stupid so-called Lady Bronco mascot, who wears a skirt and lipstick. I mean, a lady bronco? There is no such thing. They should just be called ..."

"Jacey, wait!" Olivia says, putting her hands in front of her. She lets out a deep breath and says, "I'm going to that party on Friday, and you're coming too."

"But what about the Lady Bronco?" I ask. "I can't do it alone." A two-person protest is pathetic, but a one-person?

"The bronco will still be there on Monday. I feel the need to protest your protesting. Look, I love you and all, but you've earned the right to loosen up. Celebrate your victory. Go to the party." She says this like it's a command.

"You sound like my mom.... Fine. We'll attack the Lady Bronco on Monday," I say. "But you'll have to loan me something to wear. Otherwise, I'm wearing my Radical Feminist tee."

She throws back her head and laughs. "Wear it. It'll be perfect! But wear it with tight, ripped jeans, and I'll lend you my long pink necklace. You'll be the hottest feminist in town."

I laugh, even though she's promoting objectification. I realize I've done something good by speaking out about Ms. Rutledge, and I'll keep on standing up for things that are unjust. Meantime, I can still have a little fun. Maybe I'll even wear some makeup to the party--waterproof mascara, I think.

Taylor Morris is the author of Original Divas: All-True Tales From the World's Most Fabulous Stage & Screen Divas (Girl Press/Alloy). Jacey and the rest of the Brazelton crew are part of a novel Ms. Morris is currently working on.

Illustration by Debbie Hanley