Behind the scenes, BTW, I had to wash the shirt every night because I got a stain on it every day, everything from strawberry ice cream to Monty’s paw prints to the orange glow that was constantly creeping around the collar from my hair. Millie took advantage by making sure I did all of the laundry every night when I washed my shirt.

“I mean,” she noted, plonking the basket of to-be-washed on my floor, “you are wearing my T-shirt. Again.”

I did get a sense that Millie got that me wearing the T-shirt and apologizing to Tanner—which somehow everyone knew about, including Millie—was connected. Lucy may have gotten it, too, but it was hard to say because she was buried under the load of her VP duties.

For every school night that I wore the shirt, Millie also, magically, let me pick what we had for dinner. Which, you’re welcome, everyone: tacos, lasagna, and spaghetti, and repeat.

This didn’t help with stains on my shirt, but whatever.

By the way, on the first weekend of my white-shirt spree I wore only sequins. Like as a cleanse. Danny also suggested I wear only orange to combat the white.

I agreed.

So yes, on day seven of the White Shirt Experiment, Berry found me on the way into class and, first pinning her lips together, inquired.

“So. Like. Not to intrude, but I’m just guessing this, like, whole look you’re doing. . .I mean it’s cool! Right? It’s just, like I’m assuming, from the other stuff you wore before, this is not your standard clothing choice? I mean, I haven’t really known you that long but it’s pretty clear you’re an overdresser at heart.”

“Overdresser.” I nodded, tugging up my jeans. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

As we plonked down in our seats, I turned to Berry. “I mean, you wear the same thing every day.”

“Yeah.” Berry looked down at her coveralls, which today were splattered with blue paint. “I mean, I like these coveralls and I don’t like anything else. I have like eight of them.”

“They’re cool.”

Berry reached up and tweaked her ponytail. She did a little side-to-side dance in her chair. Something I noticed she did when she was thinking. “Do you like your outfit, this outfit?”

I pulled out my books for class, noting the students piling in. “No,” I admitted quietly. “I’m trying something. I’m blending in,” I added. “Temporarily.”

“Huh.” Berry nodded. “Blend ing.”

“I just need to fly under the radar for a bit,” I said as Mrs. Sherman strode in through the door with a giant mug of coffee.

Berry looked at the front of the class. “I hope it works.”

She didn’t sound super hopeful.