Even I held my breath. I’d never seen my dad like that—calm, steady, but sharp. Like a pot of water just starting to boil.

Principal Henley shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “We’re simply enforcing dress code policy.”

“And is the policy written in a way that applies evenly to every student?” he asked, folding his arms. “Because it feels a whole lot like you’re singling out my daughter.”

I sat there frozen, still trying to figure out what hurt more—being pulled out of class in front of everyone, or the humiliation of sitting here like a criminal because my knees were showing.

What made it worse? It was Spirit Week. “Retro Day.” I was wearing my mom’s old 90s plaid skirt and a tucked-in tee. Nothing outrageous. But somehow, I was “inappropriate