Blue Cotton Work Shirts Stitched Together for a Spring Dance
I walked past Mrs. Gable’s table and turned down the hallway toward the gymnasium. The hallway was empty, the lockers on both sides standing in long, silent rows of green metal.
I stopped in front of locker 114, which belonged to Gary. The door was closed, but my eyes went straight to the middle hinge. It was a brand-new brass hinge, bright and clean against the scratched green paint, held in place by three silver screws.
I reached out and ran my thumb over the cold metal of the hinge. I remembered how Gary had kicked the door in January, and how my father had spent his lunch hour with a screwdriver, humming a low tune under his breath while he worked. My father had never said a word about it to Gary, and Gary had likely never even noticed the shiny new metal that kept his books from falling onto the floor.
I let my hand drop and continued down the corridor, the tapping of my shoes echoing off the brick walls. The music from the gymnasium was louder now, a slow, rolling song with a heavy drumbeat that shook the floorboards beneath my feet. I turned away from the lockers and walked through the double doors into the bright warmth of the gym.
