“Now, Lucinda,” he says. “This is the compromise. Sending you home isn’t the answer. And perhaps in-school suspension isn’t the answer either. But you don’t get rewarded for violating the rules.”
I turn to him fiercely, shocked he’d believe this nonsense. But his expression makes me think he’s reciting Mrs. Montgomery’s explanation. I look at her.
“You want to shame me,” I say. “That’s why you’re doing this.”
“Shame, Lucinda,” she says patronizingly, “is a way of learning from bad behaviors. If you willfully disregard the rules, there must be a punishment.”
“You’re psychotic,” I growl.
“Hey, hey,” Mr. Jones says, stepping in front of me. “Let’s not . . . Let’s all just take a moment. What Mrs. Montgomery is suggesting is a tactic other schools use as well. You’ll cover your current outfit with the provided school clothing. End of the day, you drop them back off. It’s not difficult. And you get to stay in class.”
“I’m going to sue you,” I say to both of them. Although for what, I don’t know. And how, I couldn’t say. But this feels so egregious, so goddamn dismaying, that it’s all I can do to not burst into tears and run out into the hallway.
“The school makes the rules, Lucinda,” Mrs. Montgomery says. “Either follow them or don’t, but you have to learn that violating the rules has consequences.”
Her blue eyes trail over me, and it’s like I can see her hatred. Resentment. No one has ever looked at me the way she does right now—like I’m beneath her. Like I’m the problem of an entire generation. Who knows—maybe she had some repressive, fucked-up childhood. Or maybe her husband is the force behind this. Whatever reason, Mrs. Montgomery is using me to prove her moral superiority. And I won’t be a symbol for her misguided leadership.
“No,” I say simply, and turn to Mr. Jones. “Yeah, no. I won’t wear that.”
“Then I’m sorry, Lucinda,” he says, sounding like he means that. “You’re suspended indefinitely pending a board review.”
My mouth falls open. And I’ll be honest—in that moment I want to burn the entire place to the ground.
*
“Is that how you ended up here?” Georgia asked, interrupting Lucinda. “You burned down your high school?”
“No,” Lucinda responded. And then in a lower voice, added, “Not the entire high school.”
*
“I’d like to go back to in-school suspension until my mother can pick me up,” I say, my voice shaky. If they think I’m going to put on a uniform that’s intended to shame me, embarrass me— Well, I’d rather stand here naked.
Mrs. Montgomery looks over at Mr. Jones, clearly annoyed. But Mr. Jones ignores her and motions for me to wait in the hallway. I don’t say a word to my teacher and walk out the door.
I rest against the light blue wall, wrapping my arms around myself. In the quiet of the hallway, this uncomfortable feeling slides over me. It takes me a moment to process it, and I realize that I feel violated. The way Mrs. Montgomery wants to hold me up for ridicule, like putting me on a pillory for people to throw food at. Inviting people to hurl insults at me. Inviting them to mock me.
Tears well up in my eyes, and for a second I wish I wasn’t a girl. Constantly judged and objectified. I’m fucking sick of it. I just wish . . .
I sniffle and look down at the shiny white floor. It wouldn’t matter what I wish. My crime is being female in a place that values male education over mine. And I hate them. I hate them all for making me regret even one second of being who I am. I hate the way they’ve made me feel outnumbered and helpless.
There’s a tickle on my cheek as a tear slides down, and I wipe it roughly with my palm. I clear my throat, hearing the soft murmur of conversation float out from the room. My sorrow passes, and I’m instead filled with rage. The injustice of it all physically hurts me. Bakes me from the inside. Tears me open.
I don’t wait for Mr. Jones. My phone is in my backpack in the in-school suspension room, and I need to call my parents. I need them to know what the school plans to do. They’ll fight for me.
With a quick look at the open door, I back away until I jog down the hallway, heading to the cafeteria and the in-school suspension room.
Cece is at her desk, her elbow on the top, her chin in her palm. She straightens as I walk in, probably noticing that I’m upset. She reaches across the aisle and slaps Jameson’s shoulder to get his attention. When he turns to her, she nods at me.
I go over to Shelly’s desk, and she seems curious about what went down with me and Mr. Jones, but she doesn’t ask. “I’m going home,” I tell her.
“They’re sending you home?” Cece yells from her desk.
“Yeah,” I respond. “Indefinitely.”
I turn to Shelly and ask her if I can collect my things. She agrees, and I see a bit of sympathy in her eyes. Does she know that I’ve been humiliated? Can she see it on my face?
I get to my desk, and Jameson is staring at me wide-eyed, his normally cool demeanor faltering.
“He fucking suspended you?” he whispers fiercely.
“I guess,” I say, and Jameson leans back in his seat, his brow furrowed. “Does it still count if I took off before Mr. Jones could call home?” I ask.
“Uh, yes,” Jameson says. “That’s still suspending.”
“Well, damn.” I smile at him, even though I’m furious. Hurt. But now I have the chance to make this right. Okay, maybe not right. But I have the chance to get revenge.
“I’ll call you later,” I tell Jameson, and bend down to pick up my backpack. I glance at Cece. “Try to sneak out,” I tell her. “I need your help with something near the art room.”
“On it,” Cece says with a smile.
I loop my backpack over my shoulder, and head down the aisle. I need to get out of here before Mr. Jones comes looking for me.
I take the back stairs, waiting near the door to the second floor until the bell rings. I walk into the corridor just as students begin to flood the hall, and I slip into the stream of them, trying not to draw attention to myself.
When I get to the art room, I check to make sure Mr. Jones and Mrs. Montgomery are gone. Then I go inside and close the door behind me. There aren’t any classes in here in the mornings, since the art teacher who helps with the fashion design elective does half days at another campus.
My gaze falls on the screen-printed sweatshirt, still waiting on the table, and I feel sick all over again. It couldn’t be a mistake the way she had the words placed so boldly over the breasts, the word “Violation” darker than the others.
And fuck her because it worked—she shamed me. Even though I’m not wrong, I feel embarrassed. My nose burns as tears gather again, but there is a rattle on the door, and I quickly duck down. Cece pops her head in the window, and I go over to let her in.
She checks me over, but doesn’t mention that I’m about to cry. Instead, she looks fierce. She waves a pass she got from the office, one that excuses her from in-school while she meets with her counselor. Fortunately, the branches of high school government don’t interact so they’ll never know if she doesn’t show.
“So what’s this about?” Cece asks. “Why did they suspend you?”