Easier said than done. Apparently Monty wasn’t all that fond of the sound of the “country,” including the crickets. (What did she think they were? I wondered). As soon as I opened the door and the first cricket cricketed she plastered herself to the ground and started whining.

“Okay, so walking is out?”

A low squeal escaped from Monty’s snout.

“Fine.”

I wrapped my arms around her middle and pulled our now angry golden area rug out the door so I could walk her onto the front porch, where she pinned herself against my side.

“This is exposure therapy, Monty,” I said, looking around, noting that she wasn’t going to the bathroom, which couldn’t be a good thing.

I put my hand on her head, and she pinned her big brown eyes on me.

I do not want to be here, those eyes said.

“I hear you,” I said. “I mean, obviously we can’t do anything about being in Greenville, but it’s nice just for a moment to not have to pretend to be happy about it.”

In what I took as agreement, Monty shoved her wet nose under my thigh, which probably smelled like Greenville fountain water, the perfume of copper and disapproval.

“At least tomorrow’s another day,” I offered.

I mean, come on, I hadn’t even gotten to school yet.

FOUR

It’s possible to make a day good, or at least better, by starting it off with a small dance party in which you get dressed in some of your favorite clothing items.

Or that’s my theory.

That’s why I chose to prepare for my first day at Greenville High with “Le Freak” by the band Chic (from the album C’est Chic, released 1978) blasting while I dug through a bunch of boxes I was supposed to unpack but didn’t, because I was making the pieces of my, let’s say “failed” or “ill-received,” disco moment.

All my clothing is vintage, or most of it, partly because my moms don’t like buying anything new that we can buy used. For most of my life I’ve made kind of a game of finding clothing that’s the perfect match for my aesthetic. It’s like searching out magic gemstones, only those gemstones often smell like mothballs. And need to be hemmed.

For my first day of school, I rummaged for one of my favorite finds, a pair of legit seventies suede shorts in orange, yellow, and blue, pairing it with peach sparkly leggings, and a lavender-and-neon-orange sweatshirt with massive bell sleeves I think someone made and then hid in a Value Buys in Arizona just for me to find. The tag on the sweatshirt says DAZZLING DUDS, which is like a secret piece of awesome just for me or whoever is doing the laundry.

What’s the best kind of dud? A dazzling dud!