Today is the day. Highschool. Yes, it's just high school but still, this is pretty big for someone who’s been homeschooled up until this point. Turn left. Not only was I a homeschool kid my entire life but it’s senior year! Now is a better time than any. Turn again. Now I'm the new kid. Got myself a parking spot, school supplies, and a really cool backpack. Chirp chirp, car locked. All there is to do is find homeroom and survive my first day at this massive place! It must have gotten bigger over the summer. Its brick exterior cascaded in a picturesque canvas of early morning stars. I tried to figure this out from the closest entrance but what’s with the numbers? 280-300 This school only has 2 stories and a basement. If anything zero means basement.
First I find the lunch room. Obvious spot on the map. Nowhere to really see how to get to the main office. This place is teaming with people to talk to yet no one stops for more than two seconds. Hopefully, I meet the people, I’ll one day call my friends, here. I got a couple strange looks. Probably because I’m giving off very freshman vibes but I don’t care. I made my way up the stairs and into the main courtyard. Wow, I truly am lost.
“Ma’am?” Some guy called out to me.
Probably someone whose job it is to help.
“Yes? Do you know where class two thousand eight is?” I answered back.
Maybe it wasn’t wise to carry my agenda, my schedule, and a notepad on a clipboard. Flop! There goes the folder and everything else at the top of the stairs.
“Ma’am!” He persisted.
With the best smile I can muster I squeezed out a polite, “Yes?”
An administrator. It's a pretty one for a guy in his mid-forties.
He let out a huff as he patiently waited for me to gather my belongings. “Ma’am what you’re wearing is against the school dress code.”
I gave him a sigh. “I have a cardigan in my backpack. I'll put it on in a minute. I just need to get to my homeroom, so where is room two-o-o-eight?” I tried to reiterate.
Wrinkles crushed up to the center of his face. That’s when he sighed again and gestured to me entirely. Scribble scribble. “That’s a strike for your shoulders and that’s two for the crop top. Meet me in my office.” As he handed me the slip.
I scoffed. “Sure. When I find it.”
I don't get it. Bystanders don’t want to get involved, no biggie. Not everyone is born with a spine. With Mr. No help gone now, I wondered the halls trying to go…where to? I couldn't find the front office. Turns out the only reason I couldn’t find anything else is because I’m on the first floor and I came from the east wing and the map is of…another floor? But I just went up the stairs. That’s how the random kid explained it to me after I found the auditorium.
He introduced himself first, “Oh you're like brand new. Nice to meet you. Names Charles. I'm a sophomore so you might not ever see me again.”
Shorter than me and I just made it to five seven. Very bright freckles for a brunette.
After he pointed out where we were relative to where I was trying to go, it became so much easier to map out the rest of the routes for the rest of my classes. As soon as I stepped into my homeroom class however the teacher sounded off with a comment about my attire. Another one.
Ugh! “Can I get through my first day? This is the first day of school.”
It occurred to me moments later, that teachers don’t get talked back to in this school. What happened to schools being a place to build character? All the best shows are modeled after this fundamental part of our lives.
The homeroom teacher took her place at the front of the class and turned to the board as I satisfied the request to put a dumb jacket on.
She announced in a shriveled-up voice, “Everyone, take your seats.”
Welcome back drawn in overlapping colors on the white board. Roll call and I’m already in a bad mood? Alright time to put that in my pocket. Be nice, it's a public school after all. My homeroom teacher's name is Ms. Cornet. Her frail pale fingers went down the list of names popping each person up and down like a game of whack-a-mole until she stumbled onto mine. Great.
“Fey. Fee-”
I stood up, “Feyisha. Like Fae-ee-sha. Last name Vernier Vern-ee-n-yay. Present.”
“Ah yes, you put on a dress code-appropriate cover.” She paused for a moment. Propping me up like a sacrificial lamb. All eyes hungrily waiting to ridicule. It's Public shaming one-o-one.
Ms. Cornet eyed me up and down. “You’re a new face? Take a seat please”
As she continued, waltzing from one side of the classroom to the other, students became more and more quietly conversational. Even with a cardigan, it's as if this act only stoked little fires everywhere. Although I’ve been known to think its all about me.
"Alright everyone, now we will pass down your school folders."
While getting my supplies in order, a hand erupted from the back of the classroom.
“Excuse me Ms. Cornet but isn’t she supposed to get written up?” A blonde bob piped up.
The room went silent. What kind of puppet show was I invited to? Yet the teacher said nothing.
I groaned a simple question. “Why?” Under my breath.
The look on her face was hardened like concrete, “Because we all can’t wear what you're wearing, that's really unfair.” She politely retorted.
Once I turned my head in her boot-licking direction, the battle lines were drawn quickly.
My eyes went from the floor to her, “What’s ‘unfair’ is that the rule exists in the first place. What exactly is it for, other than to control what we can and can't do?” I replied.
What. Is. Her. Deal?
“It’s a dress code, It’s there for a reason.” She tilted her head with the same restrained anger underneath the mask of decorum.
Knee-length dress with a long-sleeved blouse down to the wrists, stockings, and babydoll shoes. Is that a golden cross around her neck?
“Some rules make sense; slow down when driving around schools, don’t yell fire in a theater, roll your sleeves up when cooking in the kitchen. This one treats us like animals really. It's not a public or personal safety thing so what is it really? Colleges don't have dress codes but there's still decorum and self-respect. Do you like not to know that? That people can just be treated with respect in general. Regardless of what they look like? Do you, and you call yourself a Christian?”
This feels like a fight with my mom but on the level of a toddler. That’s when the teacher stepped in with an impressed smile in my direction.
Ms. Cornet cleared her throat over the classroom, “And that’s insubordination, unruly behavior, and one dress code violation. Stay here Feyisha, everyone else can grab a folder on your way out.”
Right when the bell rang the classroom cleared out immediately.
Ms. Cornet waited by the door and sighed, “I called for an administrator to escort you to the front office.”
Well, now I fucked up royally.
“You have a good head on your shoulders but that’s a pretty bad attitude. With a lot more refinement you would be great for our debate team.” The teacher politely gestured.
Go fuck yourself, Ms.Cornhole. Knock, knock, knock. It was the same administrator from this morning. Oh, this day just keeps getting better. Mom’s going to kill me. It’s back to homeschooling for my ass. I have a better chance of things working out when I actually get to college, but now I won't get to do all the fun high school stuff as a last hora to my teenage years. I can’t turn eighteen with my whole life in the literal broom closet. It's only been one day, the first day of all day, literally. Maybe just maybe I'll just get a write-up and a public etiquette lecture at home?
Leather chairs are gross even in offices. Could this be considered psychological torture? Everything is cold and sterile, with only a few bits of personality here and there. One of the office ladies has three dogs and they’re all huge breeds. Cane Corso, St.Bernard, and a Great Dane. She’s definitely a scary person. The second-
“I’m here!” Mom came bursting through the doors, swiftly smothering me into one of her momma bear hugs.
I’m more relieved there weren't any other students around. I'd be the laughing stock by lunch. On top of being the one and only problem child of the new year.
The principal turned the corner to his office. “Ms. Vaneer, my office please.”
He took one second to look at the both of us, mostly at my mom. What a coincidence we were dressing in parallel to each other. This was not what I expected.
I could tell Mr. Principal tried to word this as best he could. “Ma’am I called you here to address your child’s...attire and insubordination.”
Silence. They looked at me, then back at each other.
Mom’s tongue clicked, “What’s wrong with her attire?”
Oh great, I’m going back to homeschooling with an ass-whooping on top of that.
“Her top is exposing and it violates the school dress code. Here at Madison High, we teach professionalism and… self-respect.” He said out loud.
He even took the time to highlight word for word. Page four inside the school agenda. The regret started to sink in. My mom scanned every part of it with her glasses on. A giggle. Evil starts when she thinks the situation is humorous in some way.
“This is the dumbest thing I’d expect to be called over here for. I thought something was happening at school. I know how hectic working with the local governing systems of education can be. But this is pretty regrettable and I work with children younger than she is talking about how gross this actually is. You called me in the middle of a therapy session with a troubled young teen for this? I pulled her out of class where she could be learning right now. To talk about a top? Not a fight that she’s involved in. Not alarming things she's done. Not cussing out a teacher. A top. Are her adolescent breasts attracting the wild animals roaming in your halls?” She calmly ranted in an appalling manner.
He took a deep breath to calmly respond, “Ma’am, you don’t have to make this more than what it is. All she has to do is change her clothes.”
“You called me about what my daughter is wearing. You pulled me out of work, to talk about what my daughter is wearing. Three boys should be in this office right now for similar violations and I just walked through the door or do the rules not apply to boys?” She snapped back.
Color faded from his face. Is mom using an influencing spell or a nightmare charm? Either way, the principal was put in a corner. That was when she stood up with the eeriest warm grin. Chills went up my spine and I’m not even on the receiving end of this verbal assault.
“From now on. Here's what's going to happen. The only time you will ever call me is if my daughter hurts someone, hurts herself, or threatens to do either of those things. Don’t ever waste my time like this ever again.”
And with a newfound fear in my own mother, I waited with Vice Principal Moreno in silence. Sometimes I’m proud to be her kid but most of the time she’s annoying. Never this scary.
“Oh, you get to go back to class. What is this, second or third period? What’s your class about? Oh no, I’ll ask you when you get home. Please have fun and mostly pass all of your classes.” She yammered on.
A few students could clearly see us from the office window. I can hear giggling. Soon I’ll be Ms. Senior Mama's girl.
I broke away from her loving embrace, “Okay Mom I promise I'll get home on time. I’ll even clean out the closet myself.”
To my mom, this was a good coincidence. Earlier this week she got a message from my cousin Lotisha and the guest room still looks like a storage closet to this day. Today's the last day to clean it out. One more kiss to the forehead and she let me go.
Vice Principal Moreno tried to reiterate as discreetly as possible, “Alright Ms. Vernier I’m just going to sweep this incident away. Just be mindful of the school dress code and that is all. I have a student coming to escort you back to your classroom and he’s been instructed to help you around since you are so new here.”
I felt it the moment I turned my head to the front door, a tall athlete in a basketball jersey signed into the front desk. His shirt is so low-cut. Are those abs? I can’t look at him. He's too pretty. My mother only glanced at Madison High’s VP on her way out.
Mr. Monroe cleared his strangely dry throat. “Jerome! Thank You for coming to the front office on such short notice.”
It was the school Jersey that put the nail in the coffin. At this point, he knew my disgust for his authority was final. He cleared his throat again.
"I just wanted to apologize for your first day at our school being…a rough start. Let your mother know, that the school is having a PTA meeting on August twenty-sixth. Maybe all the parents should be present when we discuss adjustments to future school rules?" He nodded.
Am I supposed to agree with him? That's like three weeks away anyway so I'll care when it does come up.
"Thanks for the pamphlet, I'll make sure me and my mom get it marked on our calendars."
He dropped the enthusiasm and walked away from the entire conversation.
Just to add the proverbial salt to an open wound, I topped off our exchange with a smug grin at my newfound friend.
Off into the wilds of the high school jungle.
Jerome’s amiable personality oozed with every word, “The dress coding isn’t very popular anyway. You ain’t gotta worry, you’re not the first to have their mom do that kind of thing. Speaking of, was that your mom in the um tank top and the skirt and that um-”
“Silk robe? Yes. Why do you ask?”
“She just looked cool and uh so do you.” He nudged.
Is he implying that my mom is cool? Is he implying that I’m cool by proxy now? Did opportunities get back on the menu? Seize the school day for it has just begun.
We got to class with small talk here and there. Jerome may be a romantic name but he’s not a very romantic guy. He’s number one regardless. Slipping in for what was left of class, I just stood there taking notes at the back of the classroom. I didn’t think he’d spot me with the projector going. I adamantly shook my head no and the teacher turned back to teaching.
“Hey. Hey you.” A whisper came from the other end of the classroom.
A very tall dark dark-haired boy patted down a seat next to him. Why not? Carpe-Diem!
He leaned in to whisper, “Hey you’re new here too right?”
Do I also have another newbie in this classroom? We can be newbie friends together.
“Yeah.” I chuckled as I sat my stuff on the table.
He’s a pretty chill guy. AP Biology isn’t hard for a witch. Try transmuting a cat into a dog without understanding that we were turning back time to change the genealogical evolutionary timeline. This isn’t the coven, this is a real school with real math. No magic. Luckily the guy let me copy his notes.
Pictures to copy in the fourth period.
ns 15.158.61.42da2
