I spin the dial on my locker and then check the schedule taped inside. It’s Monday, but I don’t have a clue what day in the rotation it is. A girl nearby closes her locker. “Hey, what’s today?”
She looks at me, squints, and her mouth forms a wiggly line, like she wants to say something, but can’t find the words. It’s always like this. Kids know I’m trash from who I hang with, but not from the way I look. I keep myself clean, ironing board in the bedroom and everything pressed. I do my own laundry and make damn sure my kicks stay spotless, so if I’m on my own, they have to guess. “Monday.” She presses her books close to her chest.
I shake my head. “No. What day?” I point at my schedule.
“Oh.” She straightens. “C-Day.”
“Thanks.” She’s got her back to me before I speak, but at least she spoke (13).