Blue Cotton Work Shirts Stitched Together for a Spring Dance
“This will cover the full rental of a gown from the shop in town,” he said, sliding the paper across the polished wood. “The one with the yellow trim in the window. No one else has to know where the funds came from.”
I looked at the pink voucher, the ink fresh and dark.
“My father’s shirts are clean, Mr. Bradley, and they are the only things I intend to wear,” I said.
The principal adjusted his glasses again, looking at me with a quiet, tired expression. “It is a difficult crowd, Nicole. High school seniors can be unkind to those who stand out.”
“My father stood out every day,” I said, standing up from the chair. “And he never hid in the basement.”
“He cared about your future,” Bradley said, his voice dropping. “More than you might realize.”
“I know what he cared about,” I said, turning the brass doorknob.
The walk back to Clara’s house was cold, the spring wind cutting through my thin denim jacket. When I reached the kitchen, Clara was already clearing the table, a single lamp casting long shadows across the floral wallpaper.
