But no, Lucy was wearing an undoubtedly uncomfortable, not in character outfit, and she was wearing it for Greenville, I’m assuming. To let them know she wasn’t a militant feminist. Or that if she was a militant feminist, she was at least willing to put in a little effort to blend. (Say this, though, isn’t a stiff fabric like the wool in these dress suits kind of similar to what you’d wear in the army? Maybe?) If Lucy could wear an ugly woman-suit for Greenville, I could wear white and tragically unadorned denim for Greenville.

Not that I had to explain this to Danny, who clearly wasn’t getting the context. I wasn’t fitting in or giving up. I was putting up. . .a white flag. I was chilling for a little bit so Lucy and I could get our footing at Greenville High. That’s all.

Although I’ll say this, who wears white? It’s so annoying. Like two seconds after I put it on, I already had a little spot of coffee on the bottom. You know what you can’t see coffee stains on? Orange. Blue. Floral patterns. You name it.

Right before I left the house I turned and spotted my reflection in the mirror Millie had just hung in the hallway, normally a mirror I used to take a moment to make a really weird face at before leaving the house. You know, just to keep myself in the practice. My orange hair, which that day had decided to retain a bit of a pouf, fluffed around my face.

I pulled a tie out of my pocket and tied it back into a boring ponytail.

I squinted at my reflection. “You can be normal.”

My reflection squinted back. Admittedly the me in the mirror didn’t look convincing or familiar.

“White flag,” I told myself. “It’s going to be fine.”

Me in the mirror blinked as if to say, Sure it is. Nice s hirt.

Roller-skating to school was my one concession, and necessary because Millie had to take Monty to the vet for a checkup. I wore my baby-blue roller skates with the pink stars on the toes for no other reason than the fact that I tripped over them getting out of bed that morning.

(Side note: I really needed to clean up my room.)

By the time I got to Greenville High, I’d almost forgotten about what I was wearing. That is, until, weaving between cars in the parking lot, I almost slammed into Principal Lynde getting out of her massive pickup truck. My toe brakes squealed louder than I wanted them to—and loud enough to fall under Lynde’s judgmental icy glare.

“Anne Shirley,” she snapped, spinning sharply to face me as I attempted to stay still without putting my hand on her car. “Roller-skating in the parking lot.”

“Uh, yes.” I looked down. “Mrs. Lynde. Principal Lynde.”