This freaking doll will be the death of me. Every part of my day is ten thousand times harder when I have to lug it around. Fortunately I get to hand it back over to Webster next period. Unfortunately, I have about two minutes left in passing time and I still can’t find its stupid magnetic bottle, which is the only thing that makes it stop crying—which it has been doing since my last class let out. I’m on my hands and knees digging through my locker when I spot Reese walking down the hall, gaze locked on me.
Which...to be fair, a lot of people are watching me, because it’s probably pretty clear I’m about to join the doll and have a full-scale meltdown of my own. But I’ve been psyching myself up to see her today, thinking through what I might say. I even wore the shirt she got me for my last birthday as a sort of olive branch. It still had the tags on it—it’s not really my usual style, but every time Reese sees it in my closet, she tells me how cute it would look on me.
I abandon my search and straighten as Reese slows to a stop in front of me. My stomach is heavy as cement. My hands smooth down my blouse—a black, off-the-shoulder shirt with a floral print that would definitely look better on Reese than me, but the point is I’m trying. When she reaches me, she doesn’t even seem to notice. All her focus goes to the doll instead of my shirt.
“That’s a cute sound.”
“Yeah, I lost the bottle thing...” I turn back to my locker, shift aside a few books to search a spot I’ve definitely already looked in. “And I’m starting to think I left it at home, which is just...perfect.”
Reese hitches her tote higher and takes a big breath. Now her gaze is anywhere but on me. The silence between us is thick, tangible in a way it’s never been before. Although I half expected her to actively avoid me today, so I guess I should be glad she came over here at all. Still, it’d be nice if she actually said something. I know I owe her an apology—a better one—but I don’t even know where to begin. So I mumble, “How’s your day going?”
Her jaw shifts and she glances at me again. “Look, I’m going to be late for class. I’ll see you later.”
The bell rings a beat after she’s gone, and then I’m standing in an empty hall with a doll that has finally stopped crying but is now staring at me accusingly.
I gather my books and slam my locker door. I’m still beating myself up as I race down the main staircase and head for my Life Skills class. I’m just outside the door and can already hear Miss Holloway speaking when I hear hurried footsteps behind me.
“Miss Cash.” The vice principal stops a few feet away and offers a bland smile. “Could I have a word?”
I’m initially surprised he knows my name. But then I get a burst of adrenaline, because I hate getting in trouble, and I’m not even sure if I am in trouble, but I start apologizing anyway. “Sorry for running in the hall.”
“I appreciate that, but that’s actually not why I stopped you.”
“Oh...so what is this about?”
“You’re in violation of the dress code.” He pivots back a step. “Perhaps we should discuss this in my office.”
“The dress code? How?”
“It explicitly states that blouses may not expose shoulders.”
I glance down. My shirt does sit low on my shoulders, but the actual neckline is high and the sleeves go down to my elbows. You can’t even see my bra straps.
His gaze flickers behind me for a moment. I turn around to see we’ve captured the attention of my entire class. Miss Holloway makes her way over to us. “Is there a problem?”
“Miss Cash is in violation of the dress code,” he tells her. He sounds like a robot, like he only has three set phrases programmed into him. His gaze turns back to me. “I’m afraid I need you to change.”
“Change? I don’t...I don’t have other clothes here.” I adjust the doll’s carrier higher, which is digging into the crook of my elbow. “Can’t I just go to class? I won’t wear this to school again.”
“Perhaps a coat?”
I shake my head. This is the first warm-ish day we’ve had in ages; I didn’t wear a jacket to school.
“Gym clothes?”
I’m getting frustrated now. I couldn’t care less what other people wear as long as it isn’t like...a sexist or racist slogan on a T-shirt. And it only ever seems to be girls who get in trouble for breaking the dress code.
He takes my silence as an answer. “Well, then I’m afraid you’ll have to go home. I’ll put a call in to your parents, let them know why you’ll be marked absent in your remaining classes. Do you need to wait here for someone to pick you up?”
“No, I—You’re seriously sending me home? I have a test today.”
“Is this really necessary?” Miss Holloway asks in an even lower voice than before.
“I understand this is inconvenient for you, but the dress code is in place for a reason. Clothes that violate it can be distracting and make it hard for others to learn. However, if you change into something in accordance with the dress code, you are welcome to come back to finish out the day. You’ll just need to have a parent call ahead, and stop by the office to check in—”
“This is ridiculous. My mom is at work right now.” My hands grip the handle of the doll carrier until my knuckles turn white. “I’m a good student—you can look at my record.”
He sighs like he’s feeling really sympathetic. “I know you’re a good student. But—”
“But your concern is protecting my classmates from the possible threat of my body to their education, even at the expense of my education?”
Mr. Davis shifts his jaw and stares at me in silence for a long moment, eyebrows raised as if to say, Are you finished? “If I make an exception for you...”
“Got it.” I turn to Miss Holloway and hand her the doll carrier. Most of the room is laughing behind her—I’m certain Webster is one of them. But as I turn to go, I spot Webster in his usual seat, elbow propped on the countertop and his mouth pressed against his fist.
Miss Holloway tries to wrangle everyone’s attention back to her while I follow Mr. Davis toward the exit. Why do there always have to be so many witnesses when something embarrassing happens to me?
Why did I even bother wearing this fucking shirt?
Mr. Davis walks with me to the doors that lead out to the student lot. He holds one of them open for me and says, “Please pay closer attention to the codes of conduct upon your return.”
I hate myself for nodding, like this whole thing isn’t completely asinine. But I’m shaking, on the verge of tears, and I don’t know if it’s because I got in more trouble than I thought, or because so many people saw, or because I’m actually really angry right now and don’t know what to do about it.
When I get home, I drop my car keys on the kitchen table and head straight to my bedroom. In the middle of the day, my empty house is both too big and too small. It’s uncomfortably quiet without my parents—parent—home. Like my voice might echo. But at the same time, the walls suddenly seem so close together; I need more room to walk off this itchy-crawly sensation on my skin.
I call my mom’s cell phone and leave her a message telling her my side of the story, since I’m sure the school will be contacting her any minute, if they haven’t already. The only silver lining is that she loves this top as much as Reese does, so she’ll probably be angry, too. But even if she tears into Mr. Davis, it doesn’t change the fact that it happened. And I want to talk to someone who will calm me down, who will understand how unfair it is.
So while I wait for my mom to give me the all clear to head back to school, I scroll through the recent contacts on my phone. The school will probably contact my dad, too, but he’s not the best person to vent to about things like this, and I honestly don’t even want to involve him—if only because my mom would be hypercritical of the way he handles it. Reese is in class, but even if she weren’t, I’m not sure I’d call her, or that she’d want me to.
But at least I have Holland. I check the time—his lunch period is around the same time as mine and should still be happening—then hit Call.
“Hey, shouldn’t you be in class now?” he says when he answers.
His voice is tinged with concern, and it wraps around me like a warm blanket. I’m suddenly so grateful to have him in my life. “I should be. But I got sent home.”
“What? Why?”
“Some stupid dress code violation. I’m so pissed. And now I can’t decide if I should even go back, or just...try to make up the work I missed tomorrow. I feel like I’m too rage-y to even think straight, you know?”
“Wow. So what were you wearing?”
I frown at my carpet. “Just...this shirt. It shows my shoulders—which is apparently too distracting for my classmates. Can you believe that?”
“Well. I know I’d be distracted if you were in my class.”
I hear the smile in his voice; I get that he’s kidding. Flirting. He means it as a compliment. But I’m not laughing. I don’t find it funny that I am supposed to worry about the impact my clothing has on the boys in my class. That I got punished because the administration is worried they can’t keep their eyes on their own papers.
I grip the phone tighter in my hand. If his voice was a comforting quilt before, now it’s a whole pile of them, smothering me. Before I can even string a sentence together, Holland says, “Hey, the bell just rang. I gotta get to class. But I’ll call you after school, okay? Hang in there.”
“Okay,” I say. “Bye.”
I hang up feeling worse than before I called. I miss Reese. So much right now—because she would say the right thing, she’d make me laugh without belittling me. I keep thinking about the other day in her car, my head on her shoulder as I said, that’s why I have you. Except I was wrong. She’s not the friend I can always count on to be there for me, to make me feel better. Not anymore.