Blue Cotton Work Shirts Stitched Together for a Spring Dance
“The chain is gone, Nicole,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “But the watch still keeps the hour.”
Nicole watches her father carefully place his chainless pocket watch into his worn denim vest pocket.
The morning after, I walked into the school foyer.
The yellow linoleum in the cafeteria entryway always had a dull sheen on Tuesday mornings, the fresh coat of pine-scented wax still tacky under my sneakers. I kept my chin tucked into the collar of my corduroy jacket, hoping to slip past the double doors unnoticed.
Gary, a senior whose father owned the three largest auto dealerships in the county, stood by the water fountain, jangling his heavy brass key fob. He stopped the metal clicking when I reached the threshold.
“Hey, Nicole,” Gary said, his voice carrying easily over the chatter of the morning crowd. “Did your dad spill the bucket on you this morning, or is that just your new perfume?”
Two boys near him laughed, their voices echoing off the concrete walls. I gripped my backpack straps and kept my eyes on the red fire extinguisher at the end of the hall, walking fast enough that the air cooled my face.
