"No, sir. Her sweater comes down to her hips."
"Better send her to me."
"You've got it." And good luck to you when you call her mother, Justine thought. When she'd tried to gently bring up the dress code with Rachel Paxton at the parent-teacher conferences, all she got for her troubles was an icy stare. It had been one of the most uncomfortable moments of her career.
"Dalia, Dr. Jackson needs to see you."
"What?!" cried Dalia, throwing her hands up in the air. "Are you kidding me? Why doesn't he call down Any or Olivia?"
Justine sighed. "Because you're the one he saw, sweetie. You think when I get pulled over for speeding, I say to the cop, 'Why didn't you pull over that other guy? You never pull him over!' No one is picking on you."
"I get called down to the office more than anyone else in this school," Dalia said, grabbing her books and storming out of the room.
"That's because she wears leggings more than anyone else in this school," said Courtney, after the classroom door had shut.