Blue Cotton Work Shirts Stitched Together for a Spring Dance
“The fabric alone was eighty dollars, and I have three others just like it on this rack.”
A heavy piece of wet plaster broke away from the ceiling and landed with a wet thud on the cutting table.
We dragged the rack into the front hallway, the metal wheels squeaking against the wood floor.
Clara sat down on a low wooden stool, her fingers twitching toward the safety pins pinned to her collar.
“The roof warranty expired in October,” she said, staring at the brown water dripping onto her clean cutting mat.
“How much will the roof cost to fix?” I asked.
She did not look up from her hands.
“More than the shop brings in during a good spring,” she said.
The water continued to drip behind us, hitting the plastic bucket with a flat, hollow sound.
By eight-fifteen the next morning, the hallway of Oakhaven High was crowded with students shoving books into their lockers.
I kept my head down, my hands deep in the pockets of my canvas jacket.
Gary was standing by the water fountain, surrounded by three boys from the varsity track team.
