She was fifteen when she said it aloud for the first time. It wasn’t a joke, or a dare, or a moment of adolescent rebellion. It was just a simple truth: “I want to work in demolition.”
Her classmates froze. Then came the laughter. A ripple at first. Then full-throated howls. Like she’d announced plans to become an astronaut, or a wizard, or to marry a movie star. “You?” one girl gasped. “In demolition?!” Another chimed in. “That’s a pretty butch job, you know. Is there something you’d like to tell us?”
By the end of the morning session, she was eating lunch alone. By the end of the week, she had been labelled a lesbian. The fact that she had a boyfriend apparently counted for nothing. But then he was gone too. Being the boyfriend to “demolition girl” apparently didn’t align with what he considered to be “cool”.
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