I was right.
DRESS CODED: A PODCAST
EPISODE ONE (TAKE THREE)
ME: My name is Molly Frost, and this is Dress Coded: A Podcast. I’ve decided to speak out on the issue of school dress coding after my friend was humiliated by the principal of our middle school for wearing a tank top that exposed her shoulders. In my opinion, it is wrong to do this to a thirteen-year-old girl. I have invited guests to talk about the issue of dress coding in middle school. Today, I welcome Bea M., renowned local artist, to tell us what happened to her last year in seventh grade. Bea, first tell us a little about yourself.
BEA: Well, I’m really into art, especially painting, although I’m starting to like sculpture. This summer, I’m going to Italy with my dad, and I’m really excited about that. I’ve never been out of the country. And, I don’t know, that’s about it. Oh, also I’m the only person in my friend group obsessed with K-pop.
ME: I don’t mind K-pop.
BEA: You don’t mind K-pop. I’m obsessed with K-pop.
ME: That’s true. Okay, let’s get to the topic of dress coding in middle school. Have you ever been dress coded, and if so, what was your experience?
BEA: I was thinking about this on the way over here, and honestly, I’ve been harassed in the hallways and in class, like, dozens of times, but I’ve only had to go to the office once.
ME: When you say harassed dozens of times, can you explain what that means?
BEA: Oh my gosh, it’s so annoying. Last year, at the beginning of seventh grade, it was impossible to find shorts longer than my fingertips. My arms are freakishly long, and the stores only sell shorter shorts. My mom was getting so irritated. She had bought me a few pairs of shorts for the beginning of the year because the school district is too cheap to get air-conditioning. And literally every day as I was walking to class, Fingertip would call out, “Hey, you gotta pull down those shorts or don’t wear them again.” And I would try to yank on the shorts while I was carrying all my stuff and trying to figure out how to get to class, because everything was so confusing. And then sometimes Couchman would stop me and flash the handbook in my face and give me a “warning” and make me late for class. This happened so many times I can’t count.
ME: So what were you wearing to get called down to the office?
BEA: The same exact shorts as everyone else. The only difference was that these had rips in the front. I was in tech ed, and Mr. Schwab was looking at me like I was a dead bug squished on someone’s shoe. He called me to the front of the room and asked the class if I was going to church, because I looked so “holey.” Then he called the office and told them he was sending me down for a dress-code violation. They called my mom, and she was so furious because she was sick of trying to find long enough shorts. So she brought in her shorts, and I had to walk around wearing beige mom shorts all day. After that, I just boiled to death in pants until the weather got cooler.
ME: Bea, I’m really sorry I made fun of you that day you were wearing your mom’s shorts.
BEA: Molly, you’re only human.
TREEHOUSE SLIME FACTORY
If you asked me to tell you about fifth grade, I probably wouldn’t remember much. That’s because that entire year was dominated by slime. Will found out about it from his cousin in Baltimore and made his mom buy all the ingredients—borax, glue, shaving cream, contact lens solution, and containers—and dump them off in our tree house.
I was skeptical.
“You’re just going to mess up the tree house and leave all this stuff here for me to clean up,” I said to Will. But he was already on the floor watching a YouTube video on slime, with a big plastic bowl and the strange combination of ingredients surrounding him.
The first batch was a bit off. The second batch was better. The third batch hooked us. Within a week, half the neighborhood was stuffed into our little tree house, whipping up slime. We got fancy with glitter and food coloring. After begging our parents to let us make an Instagram page (they finally gave in because “at least we were doing something creative with our hands”), @TreehouseSlimeFactory was born.
That’s how I got to know Ashley. She had just moved to Connecticut from Dallas. We found her roaming our neighborhood with her corgis, Valerie and Allen, and invited them all up to watch us work. It was harder than it might seem to hoist two corgis up into a tree house. Ashley held the camera while Will, Mary Kate, and I made the slime. One time, Ashley thought it would be fun to wear press-on nails, since we were modeling our hands. The nails fell off and ended up embedded in the slime.
My granny gave me a really cool plastic case with a secret compartment so I could store my best slimes in Play-Doh containers. I took them out and played with them all the time.
And then one day, we stopped. I don’t know when or why. I just got kind of tired of slime. Will was the last one to give it up. I kept the case in my closet for when I was bored and wanted to do some squishing.
Last year, Danny came into my room after he was suspended for the third or fourth time. His teacher caught him vaping during history when they were watching the movie Glory.
“You don’t still want to keep all that slime in the Play-Doh containers, right?”
I wasn’t sure if I did or didn’t at that point. “I don’t know. Why is it your business?” Danny never, ever talked to me except to make fun of me, yell at me, ask for food, or tell me to go away.
“I want to use the case for my stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“My vaping stuff. Mom and Dad are acting like it’s a big issue. I don’t know what their problem is. It’s so much healthier than cigarettes.”
I knew it wasn’t healthier. I read all the articles Mom left around the house even if Danny didn’t. “What do I get?”
“How about I don’t punch you?”
“How about you do whatever I say and stop being mean to me and you can have the Play-Doh containers?”
“Fine.”
Danny comes into my room all the time now, to get stuff out of the case. Sometimes he talks to me about random things, like concerts coming up and whether or not I would be willing to move to Canada if he had custody of me in the event Mom and Dad die.
It’s better than it was before I started renting out the Play-Doh containers.
MY FOUNTAIN BROTHER
My fountain brother is the brother I wish for every time I make a wish in the fountain in front of the Cheesecake Factory.
“Why are you standing there with your eyes closed?” Danny always says. “You look stupid.” But I don’t care how I look, because with my eyes shut tight I can picture the brother I wish I had.