“Charlie Bishop,” the principal said. The door swung open to reveal him sitting behind his desk. The other teachers would have been scowling or rolling their eyes, doing their best to show her just how fed up they were with her, but the principal only ever looked tired, and occasionally a little sad. It was probably why she felt a stab of guilt go through her, despite herself, every time she laid eyes on him. Still, she would not allow herself to walk in with her head bowed. Instead, she entered with her chin high and her expression resolute.
As if you were a queen, darling, her mother had told her when she was a little girl. She felt more like a stray cat than a queen these days, dressed in tatty jeans and an old, worn hoodie. Some kids chose the style as a fashion statement, buying their clothes pre-ripped, and assumed that Charlie did the same, but the truth of it was that this was just what happened when you didn't have the kind of money to go shopping on a regular basis. As if she could afford to have her clothes already threadbare when she bought them.