“Hideous.” I wonder if Maggie’s convictions are strong enough to make her wear something that ugly.
“What’s another time in history women weren’t treated equally?”
“All of them?” I say. “Yesterday? Next Thursday?”
Maggie laughs. She tries “Biblical dress,” which gives us mostly things you see Mary wear in nativity scenes. “Pioneer dress” is basically her costume for the play. I lean over her and try “1950s cocktail dress.” My parents have been watching The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel and Mom can’t stop fawning over the dresses.
“Ooh. Some of these are cute,” she says.
“Definitely.” I pull up a photo of a woman in a short, full dress with a wide boatneck. It’s lime green, with little cap sleeves. There’s another one with a wrapped sleeveless top and contrasting belt. I feel a pang in my stomach, wishing for a second we were shopping for me.
“I wonder what kind of shoes you’d wear,” Maggie mumbles to herself.
We find a bunch more dresses from the fifties and sixties. The thing is, if your goal was to look ridiculous so people would know you were essentially mocking the whole dance, these dresses would not do it. They are too cute. I can see Maggie make a mental shift.
“You know, if I was going to get one of those medieval dresses just to make a point, my parents would end up spending hundreds of dollars, and that’s a big part of what’s so wrong about the whole thing, isn’t it? The amount of money you have to spend on a thing you’re going to wear once? The consumerism is just as bad as the chauvinism.” While she’s talking she’s typing “vintage clothes shop near me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I mean, if I could find a vintage dress it would be reusing. It would still be a rejection of the whole prom-industrial complex.”
I tug her fading green ponytail. “You’d really be making a statement,” I say.
She’s chewing her lip, trying to decide if she’s betraying her ideals to get excited about a dress. I don’t think Maggie’s wanting to make a statement and wear a cute dress at the same time means she is less of a feminist.
All I want is to wear a cute dress and not have it make any statement at all. To blend in with all the other people in all the other dresses. What does that mean about me?
CHAPTER 59
Thursday, there is a sub in math. Ms. Tanner is the advanced math curricular lead for the whole district, so we end up with a lot of subs while she’s consulting with the administration. The subs are usually not qualified to teach calc, so they hand out a worksheet at the beginning of the hour and play on their phones the rest of the time. Some kids scratch away at the problems (the Ashers and Anithas), but for Kyle Tuck and his stupid friends, it’s free time. (Remember this is an honors-level class, so they aren’t stupid in a technical way, just in a who-do-you-want-around-in-a-civilized-society way.) The little pod of Orcs hovers together laughing.
They might be making memes about the sub, not that she’d care. You have to have a thick skin to be a sub, and I bet this one has worked up some good calluses playing Candy Crush while the AP Bullying students teach themselves.
One by one, they keep looking my way. If they catch my eye, they whip back around. My shoulders hunch more than usual. I cave inward, crossing my arms in front of me on the desk. I know in my head that it’s stupid, that I’m better than this, that what they think is as unimportant as the spray of toast crumbs Tyler leaves behind and I sweep out of the way every morning. I try to focus on working ahead through the next week’s learning targets so I won’t have to do it after practice. But Kyle and company keep snorting.
I’m two steps out the door before the bell even stops ringing. I don’t want to play this game with them again, the game that is only fun for them. I don’t have it in me today. Not this week. But I’m not fast enough.
“Hey, Greer!” I should keep my head down and keep moving, but I turn back. Kyle is standing in the doorway holding out a sheet of paper. “Do you want to try our crossword puzzle?”
“Word find, stupid,” one of the other goons corrects him.
Jackson is coming down the hall. I accidentally make eye contact and he stops short and looks at the floor. This must be his strategy, to get to class extra early and run out afterward so he doesn’t have to see me. I’ve upset the pattern by rushing out today.
“Do you want to try our word find?” says Kyle. His tortoise-turd eyes are bright with joy, like a dog that’s just found a dead rabbit to roll in. He’s trying to hold in a laugh as he waves the paper. It’s a big handmade grid of letters and I’m pretty sure I can guess the words without even looking. Seems like a lot of extra Os in that grid. Plenty of Bs. More than an average amount of Ts.
My part of this game is supposed to be a witty comeback that proves I’m above this but you know what? It turns out I’m not. It sucks. It hurts. It makes my shoulders wilt. Instead of my usual pretend superiority, I slap the page out of Kyle’s hand. “Fuck off, Kyle.” The whole hallway hears. The word find drifts to the floor in front of Jackson.
I catch his look of surprise before I’m gone but he can fuck off, too.
CHAPTER 60
After practice, a bunch of us are lined up on the stone wall waiting for rides. It’s January, but we were running around the gym for two hours and the crisp air feels good. Anyone with a car or a friend with a car or who lives close enough to walk is gone. Sylvie is holding one DynaFreeze instant ice pack against her knee with her elbow and another around her middle finger while she tells Nasrah about her plan to take a gap year on an olive ranch so she can get in-state tuition in California. Mena is trying to show me how to do a fishtail braid on Khloe Vang-Ellis, but Khloe’s hair is too short. At least that’s the excuse Mena is making, but really, I’m just no good with hair. I’m only half paying attention to her instructions, listening to Jessa give a pep talk to Kaia Beaumont.
“You’ll get it. You’re really fast. You really got under some of those balls today.” I know Jess is stretching here, because Kaia is the biggest disappointment on the team this year. Her serves are decent, which is good because serving is the only time she’s not afraid of the ball. Once it comes back toward her, she panics. She looked good in tryouts, but after you get nailed a few times, you either accept it as part of playing—like Sylvie, who is now icing the finger and the knee together with one pack so she can drink Mena’s Gatorade with the other—or you shrink. To a player like Jessa, who would not be afraid of a ball if it were made from a wasp nest and shot out of a cannon, this Kaia situation must be maddening. But Jess looks sincere. Kaia’s part of the team and as long as she shows up, suits up, and sweats, Jess is on her side.