"Why'd you put that sweater on over your dress?" Gina asks as she comes into class. I see her earlier in the day for a different class. The temperature fluctuates in my room. I layer.
"I was cold," I say.
"You're always changing clothes," someone pipes up from the back. The way he says it, it sounds like I jump into the closet like Superman, emerging in a new costume once an hour.
"I regulate my temperature with layers," I say. "It's not like I'm changing my clothes all day long."
"Well, I like it better without the sweater," Gina says. "We were talking about it earlier. You looked like a wolf." I raise my eyebrow. "In a good way," she continues.
I wonder if my bewilderment shows on my face. "A wolf?" I ask.
"Yeah. You know, you're wearing all gray and black. Your hair's down and long around your face. Kind of wolf-like."
I'm thinking about how lions are the ones with hair around their faces, but I don't say anything about it. I'm thinking about the randomness of the eighth grade mind. I decide that wolves are beautiful, after all, and I'll take it as a compliment.