Clearly, there were some things Justine would have to figure out as she went along. If the baby ever allowed her to get enough sleep to be able to think.
The phone in the back of the classroom rang as Justine began passing back her students' papers. Justine handed the remainder of the stack to a student sitting in the front row and went to answer it.
"Mrs. Geist, this is Dr. Jackson," boomed her administrator. Justine suppressed a groan. One would think that a man who'd gotten his doctorate from an online degree mill wouldn't be so insistent upon everybody calling him "doctor."
"How can I help you, sir?"
"Do you have Dalia Paxton in your class?"
"Uh, yes. She came in just before morning announcements."
"Can you tell me what she's wearing?"
Justine nearly lost it. She knew where Dr. Jackson was going with this, but it still felt like he was either pranking her or trying to have an obscene phone call.
"Leggings, sir." This had been an ongoing problem with the eighth grade girls. The girls didn't understand what was so wrong with wearing leggings to school, and the teachers couldn't understand how their mothers let them out of the house with pants so thin and tight, one could usually see the pattern of their underwear through them.
"And does Ms. Paxton have on a top that comes down past her fingertips?"
Justine turned her back to her students and faced the wall so she could roll her eyes. She didn't object to enforcing the dress code-- she just didn't like being talked to as though she were the one who'd done something wrong. Dr. Jackson was the only person in the school who seemed to think that all teachers should be constantly scanning the kids' wardrobes as they walked the halls.