Page 86 of Dust Storm

I knelt in front of Bree, pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket, and handed it to her. “What happened, baby?”

She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Principal Beeker was the sub for my English class today and said my shirt was too low and it was distracting.”

“Well, that’s bullshit,” Cassandra scoffed, making every head in the office snap to attention.

I had a feeling that scene I was trying hard to avoid was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not.

Keys jingled down the hall—the foreboding sound of the principal approaching.

“I hate schools,” Cassandra muttered as she looked around. “It’s like a prison. No wonder the adults act like wardens.”

“That’s her,” Bree whispered to Cassandra as Principal Beeker strolled through the office like she owned the place.

“Don’t say a word,” Cassandra hissed. “Make her talk first. Nine times out of ten people will dig their own graves. Let them.”

“Is this really the time to be teaching my daughter how to manipulate people?” I whispered as we were led into the principal’s office.

“Yes,” Cassandra whispered back. “And I prefer to call it ‘controlling the narrative.’ Manipulation has such a negative connotation.”

“Cass—”

She paused in the doorway, anger flaring in her eyes as she whispered, “This isn’t about her clothes.”

“It’s unfortunate that we’re interrupting our day to have this meeting,” Principal Beeker said as she lifted her chained bifocals to the tip of her nose. “Bree was told that she could return to class when she changed into something more appropriate, so I’m not sure why we’re all here.” She eyed Cassandra. “Or who you are.”

I was fully expecting Cassandra to take the bait, but she didn’t make a peep. Her face was passive. Her body was relaxed. The only tell that she was nervous was the way she trailed her finger along the edge of her phone.

This was the part of parenting I hated.

I cleared my throat. “I teach my girls to follow the rules, and we make sure their clothes abide by the dress code.”

“Well,” Principal Beeker said with a gleeful smile. “Children can be deceptive. Perhaps Bree left home wearing something else this morning, then changed into—” she wagged her finger in Bree’s direction “—this.”

“I didn’t?—”

Before Bree could argue, Cassandra cupped a hand over her mouth. “What did I tell you on the phone?” she hissed

Bree looked up at her and nodded, and Cassandra removed her hand.

“Don’t take the bait,” Cassandra whispered.

“No,” I said to the principal. “This is what Bree was wearing when I dropped her off this morning, so please think twice before you call my daughter a liar again.”

Bree looked up at me with wide eyes.

Principal Beeker huffed. “The fact of the matter is that she’s out of dress code.”

“How?” Cassandra pressed. “Because according to the dress code, blouse necklines are to be no lower than three inches below the lowest point of the clavicle. Now, I’m more familiar with things that are bigger than three inches, but I can see how you may be more in tune to things of that size.”

I choked on an impulsive laugh.

“Would you like to get a ruler?” Cassandra looked around. “This is a place of learning, after all. I’m sure there’s one around.”

Principal Beeker settled behind her desk and folded her hands together. “While her blouse may fit thetechnicaldress code guidelines,” she began pragmatically. “It’s my job to interpret those guidelines to make sure that students aren’t a distraction to their peers.” She looked at me with a snide smile. “You know how boys can be at this age.”

I glanced at Cassandra, expecting to see her about to go nuclear, but she was smiling.

That waswayworse.

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