She entered the hall, naked and full of everything that clothed everyone. They saw her, shrugged in a chortle, and returned to their chipping footlockers. She found her spot just below a tall Haitian boy who didn’t move as she wedged her texts and gym clothing in. She wondered who was responsible for the sanitation of her keepings. She went into the homeroom like light, bright as their whitened smiles and shoes out of uniform. Hers were trite black like regulation had her and her layers weren’t repeated and stretched over her plaid. They eyed her to the back where she immersed into diffidence, situating her designer flats flat on the linoleum and her bag in the cold, new chairs. They flipped their hairs and played with a set of Rosary beads. It made her feel uncomfortable. She felt blasphemous just watching.
“What school you come from?” the boy said.
She sighed in settlement.
“Just a small Catholic school north of Greenwich.”
But he shrugged in a chortle. She wondered who was responsible for the sanitation of her society, naked and full of everything that clothed everyone.