Another gloomy morning dawned. The cold wind swept past the soft hem of Tracy Goth's skirt, making her stand out even more among the incoming students, because she was the only one wearing a skirt.
There were quite a few girls here to enroll, but most of them wore thick trousers and trench coats, and many had windproof scarves and hats.
Tracy Goth was different from all of them. She wore a white blouse with lace patterns and a long wool skirt over it. Though she had thick wool socks on, her leather shoes still exposed the tops of her feet.
In Gotham's biting spring chill, wearing an outfit like that outside took considerable courage. Not only did one have to endure the cold, but also the looks from everyone nearby as if one were an idiot.
Gotham's citizens would not rein in their scornful stares just because someone looked rich. In the eyes of Gotham's citizens, idiots were all equal.
Tracy glared fiercely at a girl beside her, merely because the girl had looked once more at her skirt. Tracy thought she must be jealous—jealous that her skirt was made from this year's newest fabric, that its color blocking and floral print had all been carefully chosen by her.
This was Tracy's proudest skirt. Even Mrs. Goth had said that, wearing it, she could go to Hollywood and play the female lead.
Tracy held her head high, showing off her rounded chin. That was one of the facial features she was most proud of, making the contours of her face look soft and gentle, closer to the traditional image of a virtuous wife and mother.
Tracy narrowed her eyes and swept her gaze over the girls around her. She found that they either had pointed chins or chins wide