Mom drove me home the next morning. The staffer had told her how I was dressed, so she brought a change of clothes; you know, guy clothes. Putting them on felt sick, but I was too tired to refuse them.
I wanted to explain why they found me in a skirt, but she was quick to excuse it away. “You’ve always been flamboyant, and that’s okay,” she’d said, smiling, as though I were a drag queen in the making. Was that really what she thought? Had she not been paying attention at all?
In the days that followed any time I tried to bring up the subject she’d rant about Adrian instead; about how the school was letting our family down and how thugs like that deserved more than suspension, but prison to boot. Even if I agreed with her I couldn’t bring myself to care; there were more important things than anger.
“I guess nothing’s changed at all,” I sighed, and took a bite of the most depressing egg salad sandwich I’d ever tasted (although it may not have been the sandwich that was depressed.)
As it turns out I was relieved to get back to school; recovery was boring, and knowing that Adrian was on suspension made the next ten days seem brighter. It didn’t matter that I was the subject of gossip, or that every second person had taken to calling me ‘princess’; there was nobody threatening to kick the crap out of me, and that was a step up.