Not an official one, but a carefully shaped piece of metal polished like the real thing.
His number was written neatly across the front in black marker.
“I’ve got something for you.”
“I made you your own so you can be my partner.”
Wren took it with both hands. “Am I a police officer too?”
Matt smiled. “You’re my brave girl.”
***
One night, when the gown was almost finished, Wren walked over to the mantle and fetched the box. She opened it and stared at the badge.
Then she turned to me.
“I want it here.” She pressed her palm over her heart.
“I made you your own so you can be my partner.”
I stared at the badge.
People would judge it, they’d misunderstand, and that might be too much for her.
But she was 17. She knew that already, and she wanted to wear it anyway.
“I think that’s a beautiful idea,” I said.
***
When Wren came downstairs on prom night, and I saw her for the first time, my eyes filled with tears.
The lines of the original uniform were there, but softened into something elegant and graceful. And over her heart was the badge.
She wanted to wear it anyway.
When we walked into the gym together, heads turned.
A woman by the refreshment table stared. Susan, the mother of one of Wren’s classmates, paused with a paper cup halfway to her mouth. Her eyes went to the badge, then to Wren’s face.
She gave the smallest respectful nod.
Wren felt it, I could tell. Her back straightened, and she squared her shoulders.
Then the trouble hit hard and fast.
Heads turned.
One of Wren’s classmates, a pretty, sure bet for prom queen type, walked over to Wren with a group of girls trailing behind her.
She looked Wren up and down, then tilted her head and laughed.
“Oh, wow,” she said loudly. “This is actually kind of sad.”
The room quieted. Wren went still.
