“No, vintage means old on purpose.”
That got a bigger laugh.
I remember staring at my tray while I held back my tears through sheer willpower.
“Ew, I can see Alice’s dirty sock through the front of her shoe.”
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But sometimes willpower wasn’t enough.
Dana looked at me in class one day and said, “Flap, flap, flap. That’s what it sounds like when you walk.”
“Are you ever going to get new shoes, or are you too poor?” Her friend sniggered.
I couldn’t hold back the tears that day.
I raised my book to cover my face, and sat there at my desk in the back corner of the math class, crying as quietly as possible.
I thought nobody noticed, but I was wrong.
“Flap, flap, flap. That’s what it sounds like when you walk.”
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“Is she crying?” One girl asked with a giggle.
“I’d cry, too, if my shoes looked like that,” Dana replied.
“Class, pay attention, please,” Mrs. Price, the math teacher, called out. “We have a test next week, and you need to know this.”
***
A few days later, Mrs. Price called me as I was heading out to recess with everyone else.
“Alice, can you come in here a minute?” she asked.
My stomach dropped.
