the start of the sixth grade, the crisp uniforms, the fresh nails. She hopes to slip by them all unseen. Sleek braids fall to one side of Dasani’s face, clipped by yellow bows. Her polo shirt and khakis have been pressed with a hair straightener, because irons are forbidden at the Auburn shelter. This is the type of fact that nobody can know. She irons her clothes with a hair straightener.
