Girls to the Front

constant affront with calamity

always loitering nearby, licking its lips

marinating in shame over having somehow led the fitting-room attendant on—him,

shoved me against a locker

plaid button-down

I froze in the tiny cubicle, a rejected shirt encircling my forearms, my hands disappearing in the collar

browsing the racks,

I drifted, too weird for the smart kids’ clique and too diligent for the purple-haired rebels who smoked cigarettes behind the school gym during lunch.