117

Megan casually inquired if I meant to marry her daughter. I assured her that had been Cassie's fit of delusion, and that I had never suggested any such thing. In text, it was hard to tell if she was relieved, or disappointed.

Isa texted again, this time apologizing for her outburst and swore she would wear anything I commanded. I told her to show our conversation to her girlfriend. Candy texted me a minute later, promising she'd get the tattoo after school tomorrow and asking if she could join us Saturday night.

I slept alone that night. But I didn't feel alone.

At last, Friday.

For all the fuss made -- rightly so -- over punishing young women for letting their bra straps or midriffs show, the notion that teachers couldn't perform their jobs in a pair of jeans didn't receive enough press. The same went for most professions with similar dress codes, really, but standing all day in front of people half of whose fashion sense was clearly guided by the principle of whatever lay at the top