They’ll come to far more useful conclusions on their own than you could suggest. ~ Myrddin Wyltt, 6th century Master Tuesday morning took its sweet time to show up. My breakfast was sharing space in my stomach with a bunch of butterflies as Mom pulled into the school parking lot again. We passed kids milling around near the front doors and along the narrow strip of grass in front of the school. The groups were easy to sort by their wardrobes. Polo shirts and ass-hugging designer jeans didn't mingle with the baggy, strap-laden pants and dark t-shirts; and the sports jerseys and angled ball caps didn't mix often with the dress shirts and earth-tone pants and fedoras. I took a quick look down at my clothes, and tried to see where I might fit. Black cargo pants tucked into my new black, mid-calf combat boots, and a gray t-shirt with black sleeves under a black leather jacket. The only groups that even looked remotely like me were the pale and tragic goths, and the equally pale group of pimple-faced guys in black trench coats and combat boots.
