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The Lunch Line

I was on the lunch line at school. I was wearing a long dress my little brother had given me for Christmas (our parents helped us but presents financially, but the cap was probably under $20.00) I had seen it on clearance a few times. Anyway, I went to get lunch, waited on line until I finally entered the door with the lunch people serving food. The Vice Principal was there. When I was a freshman I had gotten 2 awards at a ceremony at the high school and was one of the only people who dressed up, a long woven dress from my mother. The Vice Principal at the time loved it and hugged me and told me how pretty I looked in it, this was not the dress on the lunch line- but I had worn it once more to school, and I went to the nurses office because I had just gotten my period and bled into the tan woven garment. The nurse told me to expect to be dress coded for the back was too low (it was also a halter top style which I later found out was against the dress code too) -before she helped me get out of my bloody dress and into cotton underwear. – back to the lunch line. My brother gave me the dress, I wore a pretty red layered necklace that overlapped the dress and my lack of breast tissue showing. I was pulled off the line because it was strapless, and it had come with straps, but they were spaghetti straps, which I knew were banned at my middle school because, allegedly, a boy pulled down a girls shirt that had spaghetti straps. There was no rule about not pulling people’s shirts down, or off their body- especially without consent. I am probably leaving out more than I recall, but I had to get back to the end of the line when I was done being told I should have known better- how disctracting I must have been… It all happened under L.I. the new principal, this lack of safety I felt wearing my afab body. She watched me all day while I wore overall shorts, and as I went to the buses, she told me how she just realised my outfit was too short. She gawked at me, like the lunch monitors giggling at the middle school oogling the afab children, deciding whether or not to tell a higher power how they look like little w****s or s***s. When I told my parents I wanted to fight the system, it was too late, I was about to graduate and the fuss might have screwed over my diploma. Thanks for listening.

A little girl’s story

When I was in the second grade I begged my mother to let me wear my hair down for the first day of school. She was hesitant because I was a tomboy and I like to play rough and dirty, but she acquiesced.

On the school bus on the way back home, their were two boys sitting behind me. I could hear them whispering and I just knew they were talking about me. Then one of the boys spit in my hair and his friend followed suit. I walk off of that bus defeated. I never liked school.