Blue Cotton Work Shirts Stitched Together for a Spring Dance
As I stepped onto the hardwood floor, the nearest group of students stopped talking.
A girl in a peach silk dress turned her head first. She whispered something to the boy beside her, her hand rising to cover her mouth. The boy looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide as he took in the blue cotton skirt and the green bodice of my dress.
I kept my chin up and walked toward the center of the room. The space around me seemed to widen, people stepping back slightly to let me pass. The fabric of my skirt rustled against my stockings, a crisp, dry sound that felt incredibly loud in the growing silence of the floor.
I walked past the refreshment table, where Mrs. Miller, the home economics teacher, was arranging small glass cups in neat rows of four. The glass punch bowl was filled with a bright red liquid, slices of oranges and lemons floating on the surface like little rafts.
She looked up as I passed, her hand freezing for a second over a stack of paper napkins. Her eyes took in the green bodice, her lips parting slightly. She did not say anything, but she gave me a slow, quiet nod before turning back to her oranges.
