It Had to Be You

two

"Would you quit tugging before you rip it?" Caroline smacks my hands away from my blouse for the billionth time. Grabbing my wrists, she drags them on top of the table, forcing my pen in between my fingers. "Work on accounting."

I've been fashionably late hundreds of times in my life, but all those times, I arrived looking my best. However, after peeling through a hefty pile of rehearsal clothes at the bottom of my locker to find my spare uniform, anger seeped into my pores as I had tugged the blouse over my head. The fabric wrapped tight around my curves, barely covering my belly button when my arms swung by my sides. And, since I didn't have much of another choice, I slipped my black vest back on and received a nasty scolding in front of my entire homeroom for being late.

If only I could've drank the station coffee, I wouldn't be in this position—gaining a small rash from where the vest rubs against my bare skin, and constantly looking over my shoulder for teachers just waiting to flag me for not following the dress code.

It's all dad's fault, really.

Huffing, I grab my graphing calculator. "You see? Nothing good comes out of waking up before five in the morning."

"You're being dramatic. Ellie wakes up at that time every day."

"It's honestly so worth it," Ellie comments, joining the two of us in the senior center. She sets her stuff down and pulls out the same sheet I'm working on. "The world is so quiet, and the sunrise is stunning."

"If I want to see the sunrise, I'll Google some images." Caroline says, scribbling something in her agenda. She's never made the switch to relying on her phone, preferring to write down important dates by hand.

I nod along, agreeing with Care's point. "Losing a couple hours of sleep over a bunch of colors isn't worth it to me."

Ellie's eyebrows scrunch in my direction. "Is she okay? She seems a little extra dramatic today."

I roll my eyes as Caroline vaguely explains, "She's had a rough morning. Don't get her started."

Bending over, I scoop out my notes from my bag. The crisp air emanating from the large AC unit above us kisses my warm skin, shooting shivers down my spine. I sit straight up, tugging once again at the tight fabric.

"Hey," Ellie points her pen at my ninth grade uniform, "did you figure out how to shrink it?"

"No," I keep tugging, "this is from ninth grade."

"But why—"

"Because the one I was wearing got soaked from my iced coffee when an escaping criminal crashed into me on her way out."

Ellie's eyes widen, words dying on her tongue as she scans my outfit. "You know, now that I think about it, you would never, ever, leave the house with an outfit that could get you in trouble at school."

While many other students push their luck with subtle changes in their uniform, I learned my lesson the hard way in ninth grade when I decided to wear a different colored skirt than the assigned maroon one. Not only is it embarrassing to be called out in front of your classmates, but truly mortifying for your father to come into school, dressed in his own uniform, and drop off my actual skirt, with a harshly whispered scolding about the repercussions if he wore a skirt with his uniform instead.

Message received loud and clear.

"Stop it," Caroline slaps my hands away again. "One, you're going to rip it if you keep tugging and then you'll really be screwed. And two, I've hemmed my skirt to show more skin than that sliver of stomach and never got reported."