I thought that Papa was going to drop me off
in front of my new junior high.
Instead, he turns into the drive and parks in front
of the PRINCIPAL sign.
Our car is a green Malibu, which Papa drove
all the way from Berkeley to Hillsborough.
One day he’ll tell us about that trip
all at once.
Or, maybe he has been telling it all along,
the way snowpack grows:
a million tiny flakes
drifting
one by one,
but I haven’t been listening.
“Everything cool?” he asks.
I look out the windshield at the white clapboard building,
the wide steps up to the front doors,
the tall windows framed in green sashes.
“It’s cool,” I say, because it’s what he wants to hear,
and because so far there’s nothing to worry about.
But in my stomach
little ice wings are fluttering.
Then he asks, “Do you want me to go in with you?”
I shrug, which today means yes,
and he knows that. “Just remember,” he says,
“be kind, be respectful, and persist.”
“Like raindrops on granite,” I say,
because we know that’s how I persist—
drip, drip, drip
until the granite cracks.
The office smells like warm wood and paper
and sweet mimeograph,
and when the secretary, Miss Holder, gets up from her desk
and comes to the counter where Papa and I are standing,
I smell Ambush by Dana perfume.
She has to look up at my tall, dark, handsome dad.
“May I help you?” she asks,
glancing at me, then back to Papa.
“Mimi is starting school today,” he says
kindly, and hands her my packet of forms.
That’s when she smiles, finally,
and says, “Oh, yes. We’ve been expecting you.”
Maybe she was expecting a new girl from California
but not expecting me.
Miss Holder takes a folder from the gray file cabinet,
and taps her pencil as she reads. Then she says
my homeroom teacher will be Mr. Pease and
I’ll need to take a test for math.
“Mimi is doing algebra at home,” Papa states respectfully.
“Be that as it may,” she says, “the test is required.”
“And did she bring a skirt? Girls must wear skirts,” she says,
as if I’m not standing right here.
“But it’s freezing outside,” I say.
“It’s the dress code. Those are the rules.”
Papa gives me a quick hug. “I’ll bring you one.”
Then I remember he’s going to school today, too,
and whisper, “Drip, drip, drip.”